Oak Street UNCLASSIFIED V. 7-8 \EX LIBRIS] 4, 4 ay ve ee CHAMBERS’S 7 ‘> CxyelLOPrpA DIA : : B: OF . A HISTORY, CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL; OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS, WITH SPECIMENS OF THEIR WRITINGS, - ORIGINALLY EDITED BY ROBERT CHAMBERS, LL.D. ec: tert Pit De ht ELON; REVISED DY ROBERT CARRUTHERS, LL.D. IN EIGHT VOLUMES. VOL, Vil. ee Westie NEW YORK ae WM. L. ALLISON, No. 191 FuLtron 81., cor. OF CHuscH, s : TRAVELLERS. ond Macartney (1737-1806):.......... 1 Sir George Staunton. (1737-1801)...... 1! - James Bruce (1730-1794).........2.... 1 | Supposed Source of the Nile....... 2 Maun eO Park (1171-1805). 2... 55..0. 8 4 Ae Compassionate African Matron.... 4 -hé Traveller’s Pious Fortitude.... 5 . apt. Hugh Clapperton (1788-1827).... 6 & ~ Richard Lander (1804-1834).......... 8 "Rev. J pe Campbell, Missionary (1766- ‘ TESTE SE fae oa Eo Suc are pe John L. *Parckbardt (1784-1817)...... 9 ~ John B. Belzoni (1788-1823)............. 9 é = pete leis ab. NEDCS ak x.) Jami. oe 0's 10 _.~ Opening a Tomb at Thebes......... 10 aa ‘Dr E. D. Clarke (1769-1822)........... 11 Es Description of the Ties Pen oases 12 se Joseph Forsyth (1163-1815). ......50... 14 Pee he Ltaliaiy Vintapeces. fe. osca ss 15 eee PE OOUSECUMN! 6 oas2. 5 Fisted es Sek 15 _ Other Classic Travellers: Eustace, W. ~~. $tewart. Rose, Keppel Craven, i H. Matthews. Lady Morgan, W. Sas ee LOCKEUODY GOCE o's bick tists sevens 16 --- Funeral Ceremony at Rome........ 16 e Statue of the Venus de’ Medici..... 17 "> A Morning in Venice........ ...... 17 =_ ~~ Description_of Pompeii.....-...- 18 EArctic Discovery : Ross, Parry, Frank- = Mny-beechey, WoC. s. hs ote « » 19 er Description of the Esquimaux..... 20 ~ Tod—Sir A. Burnes—Henry cs Loi as Se Seo a ae e ae Ricanoeat Ole Waste ea ese ee wk 27 Poeceptain Basil Hall 30.2.6. st 2... 28 _- Henry David Inglis (1795-1835)... 29 ep eEpiIe SIMONE) ovale s f.5 S55). . ee e 30 a _ Swiss Mountain and Avalanche..... 30 rs PUMABORIT: Sake ys sak os se'tt's Sat ees 31 Zz “ce Oe Tyee Te) er iia Bean cee pera 32 PAGB, ENCYCLOPDIAS AND SERIAL WORKS. Encyclopedia Britannica — Cham- bers’s Encyclopeedia—Lardner’s Cyclopsedia—Constable’s Mis- cellany—Family Library, &c.. HIGHTH PHRIOD. 1830—1876; REIGNS OF GEORGE IV., WILLTAM IV., AND QUEEN VIC- VLA. POETS. Hartley, Derwent, and Sara Cole- BUG [ee ectse grape 2s Coe ire ee Pace a 39 Sonnet] by Hartley Coleridge.....-.- 40 LO SDORSPERTO Ss soos poh d Rode ng team 40 Address to Certain Gold Fishes..... 41 History and Biography...-......... 41 The Opposing Armies on Marston TM OOS a cntec es OWE wane 210s Fxeoee 41 Discernment of Characier.......... 42 J. A. Heraud (born in 1799)—W. B. COTE Nos oes ea els Sma Mrs. Southey (1787-1854).........2.065 48 PLATTE TS ASDA avs gaat ta ote ces ha ad 44 Once npon A LIME ssc ewes oe cee oe 44 The Pauper’s: Death-bed............2% 45 John Edinund Reade.:......../....8. 45 Winthrop. Mackworth Praed a802- SBD so hac Eviar ois ian Saad Sel dals ae 46 (JUEAGORE S26 ox maT arate slernm es nioee 46 Thomas Hood (1798-1845)...........-. 48 Mareweil Life divave bier wiec 104 — Thomas Cooper....ja- deme eememnecec ae i A. Christmas Scenes% 42/23 -acaeieca as 104 Lord Jobn Manners—Hon. Mr. ~ Suiythe.2 2h aoe ee ees 105 Charles Mackay (bornin 1814)......-. 105° Apologue from ‘ Egeria’............106 — Love New and Old— ‘ubal Cain.. .. 107. Philip James Bailey (born in 1816)....108 - Extracts from ‘ Westus’............. . 109), Richard Henry Horne (born in 1868)..119 The Progress of Mankind.—From_ © Onion”. . sie. ogee wrL Willism Allimeham (born in 1828).....111 — To the Nightingales PM oabg lab velerine 112 Alfred T ennyson (born in 1810).......412 ° - Extracts from ‘ Locksley Hall’... 318° & From ‘The Talking Oak’.......... 115 God ivas ..20:.07 coast ee eee 116 The Lotos-eaters aki, ct ee see ee Song, ‘ The Splendour Falls’....--.. Lisi In Memoriam. IX., XXIL, CVL..109 The Funeral of the Great Duke..... IL 8 Extracts from *Maud’..... ek eae! oe From ‘The Passing of ‘Arthur’.....122 Elizabeth Barrett Brownlng (died in ‘a 1S6L eh BGC ee oe beso To Flush; my Doge... 5 eee alot oe Extracts from ‘A Vision of Poets ?.126 The Cry of the Childreiy. 232.3%... 12s Sonnet,.225 $65 aes Sage ae ee 128— An English Landscape. Sergi 2 cbs PEs J“£9 “f Cowper's Gravevinans. tecteuin Sea 130 5) Robert Browning (born in 1812)......4381 © Picture of the Grape-harvest.......134 The Pied Piper of Hamelin A eRe 15s A Parting Sceneéi./i2%, .aeoderneeias 140> From ‘ My Last- Duchess? Br 9s bade eaters 141 Coventry Patmore (born in 1823)......142 © The Joyful Wisdom: ts .2.. 5.0% oy. ages - Counsel to the Young Husband..... TAS eee Edward Robert, Lord Lytion (born in 1831) 4 sca. cele ice ee The Chess Board—Changes........144 _ Rev. H. F. Lyte (died in 1847)..... see 140 oe The Sailor’s' Graves 22. ica eee gee 145 4 | Abide with Me till Eventide........145 Charles Kent (born in 1823)........... M45. Love’s Calendar. cai setts sae eee 146 .. Mrs Sigourney (1791-1865). ........... 146 The Early Blue-Bird..........- Co 146 “Midnight Thoughts at Sea.......... 146 John G. Whittier (born in-1808),.....147 | 4 The Rovin....50 ose cceeeu e's caseuned AT ie = c 44 ~ * Hume—Miss Procter—Isa Graig- Knox — Jean Ingelow— Mrs. OVBLEL oe Sen eh. sees ai eedele oak 109 Oid Songs, by Miss Cook........... 169 Robin Hood, by Miss Parkes.. alit A Doubting Heart, by Miss Procter.171 Going Out and Coming In, by Isa POLO ISMOK partis oars Mike Sens dae 172 When Sparrows Build, by Miss In- ENO Wy Poti Revers trdclsl odeog O5-9% 6 aches 112 The Gift, by Mrs. Augusta Webster.174 Lord Neaves (born in 1800)—Fred. Locker—A. Dobson..-.......... 173 How to Make a Novel............. -.174 VGRIEY: EBM sea S cites Sie% Par ee Poet Translators-—-Bowring, Blackie, &C _ The Theoiogy of Homer,...:......1.6 + i TABLE CF CONTENTS. Vv iM PAGE, SCOTTISH POETS. PAGE. Barbara Fritchie. ic co... seed. oe oe 147 | Wittiam Thom (1789-1 Gaby. seo 1i7 Arthur Hugh Clough (1819-1861)......148 | The Mitheriess Beit 0. o.. PoP Autumn in the Highlands.........4 149°) David Vedder (1790-1854)........0....- 178 Morning in the City................ 149 The Temple of WNaturo’. . 5.00. 25.06% 178 Tn a_Gondola on the Grand Canal, George Outram (1805-1856)........++++ 179 MEISE ee iiss cos ae cmos were ot 48 0 5G Aanityos52 she doa back twee 179 William Wetmore Story (born im 1819)159 | 4 Maclagan—James Ballantine—A. Suppos.d Appearance of the Savi- Park—J. Crawford—H. Scott @urcomenarth i sins s.teed ys ss) 151 } Riddell—_F. Bennoch—W. Glen James Russell Lowell (born in 1819). ..151 Rode BUM kn poe dako cn 38 oes oe 480 On Popular Applause....5.......... 162 From. ‘The W ‘dow,’ by A. Maclag- Hints to Statesmen.. nieces cet saddest se pe Ag eae LON, ar Oe ORS 1s _* What Mr. Robinson Thinks........ 153 Tika pie o? Grass Keps its te Invocation to Peace....-.--.-..++ +. 13 Drap 0’ Dew, by J. Ballantinc...181 Phe Courtii?.c. <5... ea eS Lite ge 155 When the Glen allis Still, ly H. 8. - Matthew Arnold (born in 1822)........ ie Bindele cS oko ns eee 182 Mycerinus Sb e reco se teem eoassedscive 56 Fl ce Nighti gale, b ¥F, Be ~ Children Asleep........ ee rer aa 156 Bodh urate ee ee = 20 pais "189 Lines written in Kensington Gar- 5S Wae’s Me for Prince Charlie, by W. CMS ee eraser eee reser ses eeee cee 7 3s aie ae ig bE en a i 182 Dante G. Rossetti—Christina G. Ros- The Wee Pair 0? Shoon, by J Ss RS et ere eer rye oe 158 SeETELY Cit os eRe ee a ee -¢..188 From ‘The Blessed Damozel’...... 158 j PEL MCPS CH SALTINI ER Safe aio elo viele eratv'e 3 c'e } SPOLUSHENY |. posree ely Bite cite cone one es 235 | Miss C. M. Yonge—Miss Sewell—Miss pat Whe Hebrew Race.c. vcwies oot tees 237 JOWSDULY: | .\054 Res See a ea292 rion Pictures of Swiss Scenery, and of Nathaniel Hawthorne (1804-1864).....: 293 na the City of Venice...........6. 238 The Capitolat Rome.....2....200. 294 a Samuel Warren (born in 1807)........ 289 A Socialist Experiment........2..4. 20528 i se IIIB 8) Agate Re er Aaa ee eee oO ah SS Aho 239 Autumn at Concord, Massachusetts.295 Thomas Crofton Croker (1798-1854). .240 The English Lake Country......... “96 ~ o ~The Last of the Irish Serpents...,. 240 | Mrs, Harriet Beecher Stowe........... 296 ay Charles Dickens (1812-1870) ...2. 24... 241 English Trees—Warwiek Castle ... 297 “Fs Death and Funeral of a Pauper. 2. 245 A Moonlight Scene......2..05. 22. aa aa A Man from the Brown Forests of LOVG ia sree nents Banger tie col muse eaeee yee Ry :: thée-Mississippise 2. os c oes ack 249 | Mrs. Lynn Linton—Mrs envy Woods299 34 28 The Bustling, Affectionate Little | Mrs. Anne Manning—Miss- Rhoda = == « | American Woman ...........:. 250 Broughton WG owe eee 800 Goes Warewen to Uiay-. seen ees ae 251 | Charles Reade (born in 1814).. WO 2 ae William Makepeace Thackeray (1811- Newhaven Fisherwomen............302 FEY 1863)... eee. sete eees eevee £03 | G. Ry Gleig—W.-H. Maxwell—James = mod Car-Travelling in Ireland........... 255 Grant. f.2) ae eee CUS) ays oe Decay of Matrimonial Love........ 260 | George MecDonald (born in 1824)... 0. BOAT Ah te og Lady Clara Newcomb....>....0.... 260 Death of the Drinking, Fiddling Sou- Pee Recollections of Youthful Beauty. .262 TALS 55.53. cei eans Soe enn BORD ree Indifference of the World.......... 263 | Bible Class in the Fisher Village. ...306 aes Lackeys and Footmen in the Last "she Old Churchyard’... +i... 9 8. o.e0term ae ne SIO LOLY vice ys tds Ss ove eee 263 Love Dreams of a Peasant Youth.,.308 = The English Country Gentleman.. ..263 Edmund TT. Yates (born in-1831)...02. 809 eg — Death of Ge orge the Third....... “1964 wiiss Braddon—Louise De La Ramé. -BQO SS yee 4 The Ballad of Bouillabaisse ........ 264 | Gcorge Hot, yo Ge caus semen ene 310.77 ae Rev. Charles Kingsley (1819-1875)... .26 | Description of Adam Bede Pee hoe 310 Sa5e8s Three Fishers went Saillng.........268| Hetty Sorrel........ceceieceveseeees 311 ses ' Scene in the Indian Forest.......-.. 269 Dialogue on Matrimony............ 312 awa Charl lotte Bronté (1796-1855).......... 272 Spring—Bright February Days..... 314 Description of Yorkshire Moors.. 272 Ruined Castles on the Rhine........ 314 Emily Bronté and her Dog‘ Keeper’.274 | Saint Theresa—Unfulfilled Aspira- — Death of Emily and Ann Bronté... O76 HOUB.c acct oat ee et ee Sibea Protest Soper Pharisaism......... fi Detached Thoughts...... sages. PI tise, The Orphan, Childs .t ea. ean swent ‘ Mrs. Craik (Miss Mulock), piano eens 816 - ARS aa Fe % Ha € % A Sas ey >. = ; 7 Der fj - ait x > a ‘ - J a - é ~TABLE.OF CONTENTS. vii aD: es N PAGR, PAGE. ‘| The Chateau of La Garaye...... ....513| Ancient Egyptian Repast........... 357 . The Jast look of Hngland.......... 319 | Chevalier Bunsen (1790-1860) — S. Mrs: Oliphant.........00csen00 uses -B20 o BDOERE tio. t eo a arse Liew eee 359 _An Engiish Rector and Rectory... .321.| Sir Francis Palgrave (178S-1861)...... 360 ~ ~-Fiction and Biography............. 822 The Battle of Hastings.......5....., 361 Anthony Trollope (born in 1815).....823 | George Ticknor (1791-1862)... 6s... 364 “The Archdeacon’s Sanctum and the Goethe at Weimar in 1816........:. 364 UNG RECT Se) 0 te AN a IR arene 524 Sir Walter Scott (1819)... 865 _A Low-Church Chaplain.:...°..... 325 Sunday Dinner in Trinity Hall, ‘Cam- “Tke Humanity of the Age.......... 326 WIRE arcane = vate pie Tapes 8 Uisom tunel 265 Leiter Writing—Early Days—Lov- Jobn L. Motley (born-in \1E814)y.. 2s 366 BUSY Wl Be acts Sots eS <> as bree 327 The Image-breaking at Antwerp... .3€6 Thomas. Adolphus Trollope.......... 828 | George Bancroft (born in:1800). 7.0. 368 Puta aey LSE Y osonrcg sale d Junto ae Sead « 328 Massacre of English Colonists by In- ‘The Great. Bar n and the Sheep shear- GANG Co: Hae iosictagermass faxes 369 irate sus ee « Stier Bap Godee ess 323 The Town of Boston in the Last oA ara BROLMIs ardas Aine bce (OOO. CERRY Fone Lees ck ge oe ere ek Esher tOEe ot Pace. osc uso b ween es 332 | W. C. Bryant and Sydney H. Gay....371 A Snow-storm in the California Si- Three Periods in American History Vedi “AT A ee 332 | Daniel Webster (1782-1852)... 2... FBC Death and Destruction at the Dig- Eloquent Apostrophe to Eng'and...372 ren) Pe I 2 33 Adams and Jdefferson.............4. 72 POUR CHindMan sy os 428 saws s bas B54 WLASMINGTON serv eo. bee co Gomes aes 374 PPPSN RT: DAAC 5 cnc ce. et cess eel dees Sate award. Bing. <= socks 45s teres “6 Ges 37 eee iM ENE-TLODIICES: . 2.80. o. <0 a 335 Condition of the Southern States. ..375 Edinburgh on a Summer Night..... 337 | Lord Macaulay (1800-1859) ..........4 37 Miss PRNCKCTAY Sw 5.5 5.5 gcc. oo. ce 337 Exordinum to History of England. ..376 An English Country Sunday....... 338 The Battle of Sedgeti oor........... 378 Old Kensington ...2+..........24.. *, 339 Execution of Movmouth......... , 380 Fishing village in Normandy...... ",340 The Revolution of 1868-9........... 382 _ Mrs. Macquoid—Hesba ginatton ae ca 3a) The Valley.of Glencoe.: .2. 040 jse.. 383 ~ Florence baer Hlizabeth Wethe- The English Country Gentle man of BEAD Nanton cia Sesiaiccn seb cieaie serge 841 DBRS FL nes tale wioNgy dlaane > «ah hieee ee 3 RD. es SER W. M, Lockhart. 341 The Roman Catholic Church....... 385 _ George A. Sala, E. Jenkins, W. Thorn- Lenry Thomas Buckle (1822-1662)... .387 | NERCa ok Sie a eee, Ce rane er oer 341 Pe Causes of the French A E 5 CVOMMION 05% cea niewte tee eens 3e = ere ee oe cy see aes a The Three Great. Movers of Society.s8S Sir irchibald Alison (1792-1867)......343 | tomas Carlyle (born in 1795)........ 389 - ~ The French epee nary eens Se Men- Of: Glenitisy otk on ee a 390 Pe ee He eI etrOL- CIT OL. cc. =< = coe ep aes Picture of a Retired, Happy, Litera- “Ww, H. Prescott (1796-1859) +... ..-04. o47 ee viite eee Ke pees 391 VEG W Ole MEXICO ads coc. ap et awisind OFS Pieeehal Appearance of Cromwe!]..894 Storming the Temple of Mexico... .349 Portrait of Coleridge.....:......... 3S5 Fatal Visit cf the Inca to Pizarro... -350 Frederick the Grest............6.2,397 Dr. Arnold (1795-1849).........:...-.852 | / Charlotte Corday——Death of Marat-,399 Character of Scipio... .. se rere en 3541 Death of Marie Antoinette......... 400 Character of Nannibal.............- 355 A wait the Issues icc. cos..cc seco dees 401 te eae during the Siege of Ge- Sir George Cornewall Lewis (1806- test ceeerens ea o2tcn 528 BOB ice Cee een ety PIRES Sir Jona Gardiner Wilkinson (1797-_ Niebuhbr’s Ballad Theory.+..%...35. 402 US ) 855 | Rev.-C. Merivale.....c.cseecetduceees 403 Moral Superiority of the Ancient ANUBIS CHSAT. 506 cscs once 8s wees 404 ee eo rae Egyptians..... ats = 25%. CYCLOPADIA ENGLISH LITERATURE. ——e SEVENTH PERIOD. GEORGE II. AND GEORGE III. (Continued.) TRAVELLERS. MACARTNEY—STAUNTON—BRUCE—MUNGO PARK. ~ The growing importance of our trade with China suggested a mis- gion to the imperial court, in- order to obtain some extension of the limits within which the traffic was confined. In 1792 an embassy was formed on a liberal scale, Lonp Macartney (17387-1806) being placed at its head, and Sir Grorer L. Sraunron (1737-1801) being secretary of legation or envoy-extraordinary. These two able diplo- matists and travellers had served together in India, Macartney as governor of Madras, and Staunton as his secretary. The latter nego- tiated the peace with Tippoo Sahib in 1784, for which he was elevated to the baronetcy, and received from the Hast India Company a pen- sion of £500 a-year. The mission to China did not result in secur- ‘ing the commercial advantages anticipated, but the ‘Journal’ pub- lished by Lord Macartney, and the ‘Authentic Account of the Em- bassy’ by Sir George Staunton, added greatly to our knowledge of the empire and people of China. Sir George’s work was in two vol- umes quarto, and formed one of the most interesting and novel books of travels in the language. It was read with great avidity, and translated into French and German. One of the most romantic and persevering of our travellers was JAMES Bruce of Kinnaird, a Scottish gentleman of ancient family and property, who devoted several years to a journey into Abyssinia _to discover the sources of the river Nile. - The fountains of cele- brated rivers have led to some of our most interesting exploratory expeditions. Superstition has hallowed the sources of the Nile and or CYCLOP.EDIA OF ~- = = fro ae the Ganges, and the mysterious Niger long wooed our aeons ee travellers into the sultry plains of ‘Atrica. ‘The inhabitants of moun- Fede tainous countries still look with veneration on their principal streams, and as they roll on before them, connect them in imagination with ; £5 the ancient glories or traditional legends of their native land. Bruce partook largely of this feeling, and was a man of an ardent enthusi- —_- astic temperament, He was born at Kinnaird House, in the county of Stirling, on the 14th of December 1780, and was intended for thie “=< legal profession. He was averse, however, to the study of thelaw, ~~ and entered into business as a wineanerchant in London. Being leds > to visit Spain and Portugal, he was struck with, the architectural eye ruins and chivalrous tales of the Moorish dominion, andappliedhim- self diligently to the study of Eastern antiquities andlanguages. On his return to England he became known to the government, and it~ ~ was proposed that he should make a journey to Barbary, which had — been partially explored by Dr. Shaw.. At the same time, the consul- ship of Algiers became vacant, and Bruce was appointed tothe office. ~~ ~ He left England, and arrived at Algiers in 1762. Above six years 2 were spent by our traveller at Algiers and in various travels—during which he surveyed and sketched the ruins of Palmyra and Baalbec— and it was not till June 1768 that he reached Alexandria. Thencehe ~ _ proceeded to Cairo, and embarked on the Nile. He arrived at Gondar, the capital of Abyssinia, and after some stay there, he set out for the sources of Bahr-el- Azrek, under an impression that this was the principal branch of the Nile. The spot was at length pointed ~. -— out by his guide—a_ hillock of. green sod in the middle of a watery —_ plain. The guide counselied him to pull off his shoes, as the peuee ee were all pagans, and prayed to the river as if it were God. oe First View of the Supposed Source of the Nile. ‘ Half-undressed as I was.’ continues Bruce, ‘ by the loss of my sash. and throwing sae off my shoes, I ran down the hill towards the hill ock of green sod, which was about nls two hundred ‘yards distant: the whole side of the hill was thick grown with flowers, the large bulbous roots of which appearing above the surface of the ground, and oe their skins coming off on my treading upon them, occasioned me two very severe x falls before I reached the brink of the marsh.. I after this came to the altar of green ; turf, which was apparently the work of art. and I stood in rapfure above the princi- pal fountain, which rises in the middle of it. Itis easier to guess than to describe == the situation of my mind at that moment—standing in that spot which had baffled - the genius, industry. and inquiry of both ancients and moderns for the course of tg ‘near three thousand years. Kings had attempted this. discovery at the head of armies, and each expedition was distinguished from the last only by the difference of — — numbers which had perished. and agreed alone in the disappointment which had uniformly, and without exception. followed them all. Fame, riches, and honour had been held out for a series of ages to every individual of those myriads these princes commanded, without having produced one man capable of gratifying the curiosity. of his sovereign, or wiping off this stain upon the enterprise and abilities of » an- kind, or adding this desideratum for the encouragement of geography. ‘Though a — mere private Briton, I triumphed here, in my own mind, over kings and their. armies! and every comparison was leading nearer and nearer to presumption, when ~ the place itself where I stood. the object of my vainglory, suggested what depressed my short-lived triumph. JI was but a few minutes arrived at the sources of the Nile, through numberless dangers and sufferings, the least of which would have 7s “, ~ - BRUCE.] ENGLISH LITERATURE, | es: overwhelmed me, but for the continual goodness and protection of Providence: I was, however, but then half through my journey, and all those dangers through wkich I - had already passed awaited nie on ny return; I found adespondency gaining ground fast, and blasting the crown of laure.s which If had too rashty woven for myself.’ “After several adventures in Abyssinia, in the course of which he received high personal distinctions from the king, Bruce obtained leave to depart. He returned through the great deserts of Nubia into Egypt, encountering the severest hardships and dangers from the sand-floods and simoom of the desert, and his own physical suffering and exhaustion. It was not until seventeen years after his return that Bruce pub- lished his Travels. Parts had been made public, and were much ri- diculed. Even Johnson doubted whether he had ever been in “A bys- sinia!. The work appeared in 1790, in-five large quarto volumes, with another volume of plates. The strangeness of the author’s ad: ventures at the court at Gondar, the somewhat inflated style of the narrative, and the undisguised vanity of the traveller, led to a disbe- _liet of his statements, and numerous Jampoons and satires, both in prose and verse, were directed against him. The really honourable and superior points of Bruce’s character—such as his energy. and daring, his various knowledge and acquirements, and his disinter- ested zeal in undertaking such a journey at his own expense—were overlooked in this petty war of the wits. Bruce felt their attacks Keenly; but he was 2 proud-spirited man, and did not deign to reply to pasquinades impeaching his veracity. . He survived his publica- tion only four years. The foot which had trod without failing the deserts of Nubia, slipped one evening on his own staircase, while hand- ing a lady to her carriage, and he died in consequence of the injury then received, April 16, 1794. A second edition of the Travels, edi- ted by Dr. Alexander Murray—an excellent Oriental scholar—was published in 1805, and a third in 1813. The style of Bruce is prolix and inelegant, though occasionally energetic.. He seized upon the most prominent points, and coloured them highly. The general ac- curacy of his work has been confirmed from different quarters, Mr. Henry Savr (died in 1827) the next European traveller in Abyssinia, twice penetrated into the interior of the country—in 1805 and 1810— but without reaching so far as Bruce. This gentleman confirms the historical parts of Bruce’s narrative; and Mr. NATHANIEL PEARCE (1870-1820), who resided many years in Abyssinia, and was engaged by Salt—verifies one of Bruce's most extraordinary statements—the practice of the Abyssinians of eating raw meat cut out of a living cow! This was long ridiculed and disbelieved, though in reality it is not much more barbarous than the custom which long prevailed among the poor Highlanders in Scotland of bleeaing their cattle in winter for food. Pearce witnessed the operation: a cow was thrown down, and two pieces of flesh, weighing about a pound, cut from the buttock, after which the wounds were sewed up, and plastered over with cow-dung. Dr. Clarke and other travellers have borne ' testimony to the correctness of Bruce’s drawings and maps. The only disingenuousness charged against our traveller is his alleged _ concealment of the fact, that the-Nile, whose sources have been in all ages an object of curiosity, was the Bahr-el-Abiad, or White River, flowing from the west, and not the Bahr-el-Azrek, or Blue River, which descends from Abyssinia, and which he explored. It seems also clear that Paez, the Portuguese traveller, had long previously visited the source of the Bahr-el-Azrek. Next in interest and novelty to the travels of Bruce are those of Munoo Park in Central Africa. Mr. Park was born at Fowlshiels, near Selkirk, on the 10th of September 1771. He studied medicine, -and performed a voyage to Bencoolen in the capacity of assistant- surgeon to an East Indiaman. The African Association, founded in 1778 for the purpose of promoting discovery in the interior of Africa, had sent out several travellers—John Ledyard, Lucas, and Major - Houghton—all of whom had died. Park, however, undeterred by these examples, embraced the society’s offer, and set sail in May - 1795. On the 21st of June following he arrived at Jillifree, on the - banks of the Gambia. He pursued his journey towards the kingdom of Bambarra, and saw the great object of his mission, the river - Niger, flowing towards the east. The sufferings of Park during his journey, the various incidents he encountered, his captivity among the Moors, and his description of the inhabitants, their manners, 4 sates CYCLOPEDIA OF — ~_[r0 1830. x trade, and customs, constitute a narrative of the deepest interest. The traveller returned to England towards the latter end of the year 1797, when all hope of him had been abandoned, and»in 1799 he pub- lished his Travels. The style is simple and manly, and replete with a fine moral feeling. One of his adventures—which had the honour _ of being turned into verse by the Duchess of Devonshire—is thus -related. The traveller had reached the town of Sego, the capital of Bambarra, and wished to cross the river towards the residence of the king The Compassionate African Matron. I waited more than tio hours without having an opportunity of crossing the river, during which time the people who had’ crossed carried information to Man- song, the king, that a white man was waiting for a passage, and was coming to see him. He immediately sent over one of his chief men, who informed me fhat the king could not possibly see me until he knew what had brought me into his country; — and that I must not presume to cross the river without the king’s permission. He therefore advised me to lodge at a distant village. to which he pointed, for the night, and said that in the morning he would give me further instructions how to conduct | myself. ‘This was very “scouraging, However, as there was no remedy, I set off for the villag?, where I found, to my great mortification, that no person would ad-— mitme into his honse. I was regarded with astonishment and fear, and was ob- liged to sit all day without victuals in the shade of a tree; and the night threatened to be very nncomfortable—for the wind rose, and there was a great appearance of a heavy rain—and the wild beasts are so very numerous in the ueighbourhood, that I should have been under the necessity of climbing up the tree and resting amongst the branches. About sunset. however, as I was preparing to pass the night in this manner, and had turned my horse loose that he might graze at liberty, a woman, re-' turning from the labours of the field, stopped to observe me, and perceiving that I 7 At et, eee Y : ‘ : es yee | hat ok ee ke aye Bs tt a ek AR PARK] on WS 5 . ae a ® - os 4 el Nex Clapperton resumed his travels in 1825, and completed a - journey across the continent of Africa from Tripoli to Benin, accom- panied by Captain Pearce, a naval surgeon, a draughtsman, and - Richard Lander, a young man who volunteered to accompany him _ asa confidential servant. They landed at Bagadry, in the Bight of - Benin; but death soon cut off all but Clapperton and Lander. They pursued their course, and visited Bussa, the scene of Mungo Park’s _- death. They proceeded to Sokoto, after an interesting journey, with __ the view of soliciting permission from the sultan to visit Timbuktu ~ and Bornu. In this Clapperton was unsuccessful; and being. seized with dysentery, he died in the arms of his faithful servant on the 13th - of April 1827, Lander was allowed to return; and in 1830 he pub- _ lished an account of Captain Clapperton’s last expedition. The un- ' fortunate traveller was at the time of his death in his thirty-ninth = year. __ Clapperton made valuable additions to our knowledge of the in- terior of Africa. ‘The limit of Lieutenant Lyon’s journey south- ward across the desert was in latitude 24 degrees, while Major Den- y é 5 Mie > Yy in ~ rd oY. ae e ’ Sic CYCLOPADIALOF - [ro-1830.. ‘ham, in his expedition to Mandara, reached latitude 9 degrees 15 minutes; thus adding 14? degrees, or 900 miles, to the extent explor- ~ ed ky Europeans.. Hornemann, it is true, had previously crossed the ~ desert, and had proceeded as far southward as Nyffe, in latitude 10} = ~ degrees; but no account was ever received of his journey. Park in — his first expedition reached Silla, in longitude 1 degree 34 minutes west, a distance of 1100 miles from the mouth of the Gambia. Den- -~ ham and Clapperton, on the other hand, from the east side of Lake™ Tchad in longitude 17 degrees, to Sokoto in longitude 54 degrees, — explored a distance of 700 miles from east to west in the heartof Africa; a line of only 400 miles remaining unknown between Silla and Sokoto. But the second journey of Captain Clapperton added ~~ tenfold value to these discoveries. He had the good-fortune to de- ~~ tect the shortest and most easy road to the populous countries of the . interior; and he could boast of being the first wlio had completed an itinerary across the continent of Africa from Tripoli to Benin.’ * RICHARD LANDER. ee The honour of discovering and finally determining the course of — the Niger was left to RicHARD LANDER. Under the auspices of _. government, Lander and his brother left England in January 1850, and arrived at Badagry on the 19th of March. From Bussa they —§ « sailed down the Niger, and ultimately entered the Atlantic by the river Nun, one of the branches from the Niger. They returned — from their triumphant expedition in June, 1881, and published en ~~ account of their travels in three small volumes, for which Mr. Mur-- — ray, the eminent bookseller, is said to have given a thousand guineas. ~~ Richard Lander was induced to embark in another expedition to — Africa—a commercial speculation fitted out by some Liverpool mer- ~~ chants, which proved an utter failure. A party of natives attacked ~~ the adventurers on the river Niger, and Lander was wounded by a’ musket-ball. He arrived at Fernando Po, but died from the effects” of his wound on the 16th of February 1834, aged thirty-one. A nar- rative of this unfortunate expedition was published in 1837 in two volumes, by Mr. Macgregor Laird and Mr. Oldfield, surviving officers > - of the expedition. : : BOWDICH—CAMPBELL—bBURCHELL. - an Sis Of Western Africa, interesting accounts are given in the ‘Mission _ to Ashantee,’ 1819, by Mr. Bowpicu; and of Southern Africa, in’ © the ‘Travels’ of Mr. CAMPBELL, a missionary, 1822; and in ‘Travels in Southern Africa,’ 1822, by Mr. BurcHEetL. Campbell was the ~~ first to penetrate beyond Lattaku, the capital of the Bechuana tribe of the Matchapins. He made two missions to Africa, one in 18138, — and a second in 1820, both being undertaken under the auspices of — the Missionary Society. He founded a Christian establishment at — * History of Maritime and Inland Discovery. BURCKHARDT.] . ENGLISH, LITERATURE. ee) Lattaku, but the natives evinced little disposition to embrace the pure faith, so different from their sensual and superstitious rites. Until Mr. Bowdich’s mission to Ashantee, that powerful kingdom and its capital, Coomassie (a city of 100,000 souls), although not nine days’ journey from the English settlements on the. coast, were known only by name, and. very few persons in England had ever formed the faintest idea of the barbaric pomp and magnificence, or of the state, strength and political condition.of the Ashantee nation. J. L. BURCKHARDT—J,. B. BELZONI. - Among the numerous victims of African. discovery are two emi- nent travellers—Burckhardt and Belzoni. Joun Lupwie Borcx- “HARDT (1784-1817) was a native of Switzerland, who visited England, ~and was engaged by the African Association. He proceeded to -_ Aleppo in 1809, and resided two years in that city, personating the ~ character of a Mussulman doctor of laws, and acquiring a perfect knowledge of the language and customs of the East. He visited Palmyra, Damascus, and Lebanon; stopped some time at Cairo, and -made a pilgrimage to Mecca, crossing the Nubian desert by the route ~ taken by Bruce. He returned to Cairo, and was preparing to depart ~ thence in a caravan for Fezzan, in the north of Africa, when he was =a cut off by a fever. His journals, letters, and memoranda, were all preserved, and are very valuable. He was an accurate observer of men and manners, and his works throw much light on the geography and moral condition of the countries he visited. They were published at intervals from 1819 to 1880.—JoHN Barrisr BELZONI was a native of Padua, in Italy, who came to England in 1808. He was a man of immense stature and muscular strength, capable of enduring the _ greatest fatigue. From 1815 to 1819 he was engaged in exploring the antiquities of Egypt. Works on this subject had previously ap- ' peared—The ‘ Egyptiaca’ of Hamilton, 1809; Mr. Legh’s ‘ Narrative | ~, of a Journey in Egypt,’ 1816; Captain Light’s ‘ Travels,’ 1818; and ‘Memoirs relating to European and Asiatic Turkey,’ &c., by Mr. R. Walpole, 1817. Mr. Legh’s account of the antiquities of Nubia— the region situated on the upper part of the Nile—had attracted much attention. While the temples of Egypt are edifices raised above ground, those of Nubia are excavaied rocks, and some almost of mountain magnitude have keen hewn into temples and chiseled into sculpture. Mr. Legh was the first edventurer in this career. - Belzoni “ueted as assistant to Mr. Salt, the British consul at Egypt, in explor- ing the Egyptian Pyramids and encient tombs. Some of these re- mains of art were eminently rich and splendid, and one which he discovered near Thebes, containing a sarcophagus of the finest oriental alabaster, minutely sculptured with hundreds of figures, he brought a | Petes ar a 4 with him to Britain, and it is now in the British Museum. In 1820 he published ‘A Narrative of Operations and Recent Discoveries within the Pyramids, Temples, &c. in Egypt and Nubia,’ which shews how much may be done by the labour and unremitting exertions of I Se tae SF he ee 2 oe ee eee eee - S acy , cf 10 CYCLOPZEDIA OF - “ one individual. Belzoni’s success in Egypt, his great bodily strength, — and his adventurous spirit, inspired him with the hope of achieving discoveries in Africa. He sailed to the coast of Guinea, with the intention of travelling to Timbuktu, but died at Benin of an attack of dysentery on the 8d of December 1825, aged sixty-five.. We sub- join a few passages from Belzoni’s Narrative: Sey The Ruins at Thebes. On the 22d, we saw for the first. time the ruins Of great Thebes, and landed at Luxor. Here I beg the reader to observe, that but very imperfect ideas can be formed ~ of the extensive ruins of Thebes, even from the accounts of the most skilful and accu- rate travellers. Itis absolutely impossible to imagine the scene displayed, without see* ing it. The most sublime ideas that can be formed from the most magnificent speci- mens of our present architecture would give a very incorrect picture of these ruins; for such is the difference not only in magnitude, but in form, proportion, and construc- tion that even the pencil can convey but a faint idea of the whole. It appeared to me 4 like entering a city of giants, who, after a long conflict, were all destroyed, leaving the ~ ruins of their various temples as the only proofs of their former existence. '[hetemple ~ of Lux@r presents to the traveller at once one of the most splendid groups of Egyptian grandeur. The extensive propyleon, with the two obelisks, and colossal statues in the front; the thick groups of enormous columns ; the variety of apartments, and the - sanctuary it contains; the beautiful ornaments which adorn every part of the walls and columns. described by Mr. Hamilton—cause in the astonished traveller an ob-— ‘of Thebes by the towering remains that project a great height above the wood of palm-trees, he will gradually enter that forest-like assemblage of ruins of. temples, columns, obelisks, colossi, sphinxes, portals, and an endless number of other asto- nishing objects, that will convince him at once of the impossibility of a description. On the west side of the Nile, still the traveller finds himself among wonders. The teinples of Gournon, Memnonium, and Medinet Aboo. attest the extent of the great — city on this side. The unrivalled colossal figures in the plams of Thebes, the number — of tombs excavated in the rocks, those in the great valley of the kings, with their paintings, sculptures, mummies, sarcophagi, figures, &c., are all objects worthy of the admiration of the traveller, who will not fail to wonder how a nation which was once so great as to erect these stupendous edifices, could so far fall into oblivion that even their language and writing are totally unknown to us. : + Opening a Fomb at Thebes. On ‘the 16th of October 1817, I set a number of fellahs, or labouring Arabs, to. work, and caused the earth to be opened at the foot of a steep hill, and under — the bed of a torrent, which, when it rains, pours a great. quantity of water over the spot in which they were digging. No one could imegine that the ancient Egyptians would make the entrance into such an‘immense and superb excavation just under a torrent of water; but I had strong reasons to suppose that there was a tomb in that place, from indications I had previously observed in my search of other sepulchres. ‘The Arabs, who were accustomed to dig, were all of opinion that nothing was to be found there; but I persisted in carrying on the work; and on ~ the evening of the following day we perceived the part of the rock that had been ~ hewn and cutaway. On the 18th, early in the morning, the task was resumed: and about noon, the workmen reached the opening, which was eighteen feet below the surface of the ground, When there was room enough for me to creep through a passage that the earth had left under the ceiling of the first corridor, I per- ceived immediately. by the painting on the roof, and by the hieroglyphies in basso-— relievo, that I had at length reached the entrance of a large and magnificent tomb. TI hastily passed along this corridor, and came to a staircase 23 feet long, at the foot of which I entered another gallery 37 feet 3 inches long, where my pro- gress was suddenly arrested by a large pit 30 feet deep and 14 feet by 12 feet3 __ mches wide. On the other side, and in front of me, I observed a small aper- — ture 2 feet wide and 2 feet 6 inches high, and at the bottom of the pit a quantity of rubbish. A TOS, fastened to a piece of wood, that was laid across the passage — nS y « - tivion of all that he has seen before. If his attention be attracted to-the northside iW we. > i has " Pee Se Si aE Tet POM 7 } a Oe > As me <4 ~~ a ese ~ ne > A” = = 7% Se iv ; ‘ = a fas : ? ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 11 “-BELZONI.] ~ against the projections which formed a kind of doorway, appeared to have been used - formerly for descending into the pit; and from the small aperture on the opposite side hung another which reached the botiom, no doubt for the purpose of ascending. - fhe wood, and the rope fastened to it, crumbled to dust on being touched. At _ the bottom —of the pit were several pieces of wood placed against the side of it, So as to assist the person who was to ascend by means of the rope into the aperture. It was not till the following day that we contrived to make a bridge of two beams, and crossed the pit, when we discovered the little aperture to be an opening ~ forced through a wall, that had entirely closed what we afterwards found to be the — entrance into magnificent halls and corridors beyond. ‘lhe ancient Egyptians had closely shut it up, plastered the wall over, and painted it Jike the rest of the sides of the pit, so that, but for the aperture, it would have been impossible to suppose that there was any further proceeding. Any one would have concluded that the tomb ended with the pit. ° Besides, the pit served the purpose of receiving the rain-water which might occasionally fall in the mountain, and thus kept out the damp from the ‘inner part of the tomb. We passed through the small aperture, and then made the full discovery of the whole sepulchre. 5 An inspection of the model! will exhibit the nnmerons galleries and halls through - which we wandered; and the vivid colours and extraordinary figures on the walls - and ceilings, which everywhere met our view, will convey an idea of the astonish- ment we must have felt ut every step. In one apartment we found the carcass of a bull embalmed;-and also scattered in various places wooden figures of mummies covered with asphaltum, to preserve them. In some of the rooms were lying about statues of fine carth, baked, coloured blue, and strongly varnished ; in another part - were four wooden figures standing erect, four feet high, and a circular hollow inside, ~~ as if intended to contain a roll of papyrus. The sarcophagus, of oriental alabaster, - -- was found in the centre of the hall, to which I gave the name of the saloon, without a cover, which had been removed and broken; and the body-that had once occupied this superb coffin had been carried away. We were not, therefore, the first who had ; ae Beats entered this mysterious mansion of the dead, though there is no doubt it ~~ had remained undisturbed since the time of the invasicn of the Persians. - The architectural ruins and monuments on the banks of the Nile are stupendous relics of former ages. They reach back to the period - when Thebes poured her heroes through a hundred gates, and Greece ~~ and Rome were the desert abodes of barbarians. ‘From the tops of the Pyramids,’ said Napoleon to his soldiers on the eve of battle, _ ‘the shades of forty centuries look down upon you.’ Learning and ~ research have unveiled part of the mystery of these august memori- als. Men like Belzoni have penetrated into the vast sepulchres, and _unearthed-the huge sculpture ; and scholars like Young and Cham- _ pollion, by studying the hieroglyphic writing of the ancient Egyp- tians, have furnished a key by which we may ascertain the object and history of these Eastern remains. * ae DR. E. D. CLARKE, ~ ‘© One of the most original and interesting of modern travellers was the ~ ~ Rey. Dr. Epwarpd DANIEL CLARKE (1769-1822), a Fellow of Jesus Col- __ lege, Cambridge, and the first Professor of Mineralogy in that univer- sity. In1799 Dr. Clarke set off with Mr. Malthusand some other col- > lege friends on a journey among the northern nations. He travelled for __. three years and a half, visiting the south of Russia, part of Asia, _ Turkey, Egypt, and Palestine. The first volume of his Travels appeared in 1810, and included Russia, Tartary, and Turkey. The _ ~ second, which became more popular, was issued in 1812, and in- _.- eluded Greece, Egypt, and the Holy Land; and three other volumes fi p . + => < Wee wr SS Be 12 : CYCLOP-EDIA OF ~ °-- [ro 1830, appeared at intervals before 1819. The sixth volume was published © — after his death, part being contributed by Mr. Welpole, author of | ‘Travels in the Levant.’ Dr. Clarke received from his publishers ~— the large sum of £7000 for his collection of Travels. ‘Their success ~ was immediate and extensive. As an-honest and accomplished wri- — ter, careful in his facts, clear and polished in his style, and compre-~. ‘th hensive in his knowledge and observation, Dr. Clarke has not been. _ excelled by any general European traveller. powae Description of the Pyramids. aA We were roused as soon as the sun dawned by Antony, our faithful Greek servant ~* and interpreter, with the intelligence that the Pyramids were im view. We hastened _ from the cabin; and never will the impression made by their appearance be obliterx _—- ated. By reflecting the sun’s rays, they appear as white as snow, and of such sur- prising magnitude, that nothing we had previously conceived in our imagination had ~ prepared us for the spectacle we beheld. The sight instantly convinced us that no power of description, no delineation, can convey ideas adequate to the effect pro~ ~ duced in viewing these stupendous monuments. The forinality of their construction is lost in their prodigious magnitude; the mind, elevated by wonder, feels at once ~ the force of an axiom, which, however disputed, experience confirms—that in’ vast- 69 ness, whatsoever be its nature, there dwells sublimity. Another proof of theirinde- scribable power is, that. no one ever approached them under other emotions than — . those of terror, which is another principal source of the sublime. In certain tn- ~~ y stances of irritable feeling, this impression of awe and fear has been so greatas to cause pain rather than pleasure ; hence, perhaps, have origin:.ted descriptions of the Pyramids which represent them as deformed and gloomy masses, without taste or beauty. Persons who have derived no satisfaction from the contemplation of them,” may not have been conscious that the uneasiness they experienced wasa result of _ \ their own sensibility. Others have acknowledged ideas widely different, excited by : every wonderful circumstance of character and of situation—ideas of duration ~~ almost endless, of power inconceivable, of majesty supreme, of solitude most awful, — of pers of desolation, and of repose. earns ys Jpon the 23d of Angust 1802 we set out for the Pyramids, the inundationen- abling us to approach within less than @ mile of the larger pyramid in our djerm [or — boat]. Messrs. Hammer and Hamilton accompanied us. We arrived at Djiza at ~ daybreak, and called upon some English officers, who wished to Join our/party upon. this occasion. From Djiza our approach to the Pyramids was through a swampy ~ country, by means of a narrow canal, which, however. was deep enough; and we arrived without any obstacle at nine o’clock at the bottom of a sandy slope leading - up to the principal pyramid. Some Bedouin Arabs, who had assembled to receive ~ us upon our landing, were much amused by the eagerness excited in our whole party — to prove who should first. set his foot upon the summit of this artificial mountam., Witb what amazement did we survey the vast surface that was presented tous when _ we arrived at this stupendous monument, which seemed to-reach the clouds. Here and there appeared some Arab guides upon the immense masses above us, like s0. many pigmies. waiting to shew the way to the summit. Now and then we thought ~— we heard voices, and listened; but it was the wind in powerful gusts sweeping the — immense ranges of stone. Already some of our party bad begun the ascent, and were pausing at the tremendous depth which they saw-below. One of our military —__ companions, after having surmounted the most difficult part of the undertaking, became giddy in consequence of looking down from the elevation he had attained; — and being compelled to abandon the project, he hired an Arab to assist him in - effecting his descent. ‘The rest.of us, more accustomed to the business of climbing __ - heights, with many a halt for respiration, and many an exclamation of wonder, pur- sued our way towards the summit. The mode of ascent has been frequently described; and yet, from the aupavene which are often proposed to travellers, it does not appear to be generally understood. . The reader may imagine himself to be upon a stairgase, every step of which. to a man of middle stature, is nearly breast-high, andthe breadth __ of each step is equal to its height, consequently the footing is secure; and although a retrospect in going up be sometimes fearful to persons unaccustomed tolookdown ‘ 4 * 4 ; a : = ~ ae” = , x. a _— - | oe ad , - AF: > z x 4 * ee La PS : \ ~ ENGLISIL LITERATURE. - . 18 “CLARKE. ] from any considerable cleyation, yet there is little danger of falling. Insome places, ‘indeed, where the stones are decayed, caution may be required, and an Arab guide is always necessary to avoid a total interruption: but, upon the whole, the means of - ascent are such that almost every one may accomplish it. Our progress was impeded by other causes. We carried with us a few instruments, such as our boat-compass, a thermometer, a telescope, &c.: these could not be trusted in the hands of the Arabs, _ and they were liable'to be broken every instant. At length we reached the topmost _ tier, tothe great delight and satisfaction of all the party. Here we found a platform thirty-two feet square, consisting of nine large stones, each of which might weigh ~ about a ton, although they are much inferior in s ze to some of the stones used in the construction of this pyramid. Travellers of all ages and of various nations have here inscribed their names. Some are written in Greek, many in French, a few in Arabic, one or two in English, and others in Latin. We were as desirous as our predecessors to leave a memorial of our arrival ; it seemed to be a tribute of thankfulness due for the success of our undertaking; and presently every one of our party was seen busied in adding the inscription of his name. Upon this area, which looks like a point when seen from Cairo or from the Nile, itis extraordinary that none of those numerous hermits fixed their abode who re- - tired to the tops of columns and to almost inaccessible solitudes upon the pinnacles of the highest rocks. It offers a much more convenient and secure retreat than was ~ selected by an ascetic who pitched his residence upon the architrave of a temple in the vicinity of Atheus. The heat, according to Fahrenteit’s thermometer at the time of our coming, did not exceed 84 degrees; andthe same temperature continued dur- ing the time we remained, a strong wind blowing from the north-west. The view from this eminence amply fulfilled our expectations ; nor do the accounts which have _ been given of it, as it appears at this season of the year, exaggerate the novelty and - grandeur of the sight. All the region towards Cairo and the Delta resembled a sea , covered with innuinerable islands. Forests of palm-trees were seen standing in the water, the inundation spreading over the land where they stood, so as to give them _ an appearance of growing inthe flood. To the north, as far as the eye could reach, " nothing couid be discerned but a watery surface thus diversified by plantations and _by villages. ‘To the south we saw the Pyramids of Saccdéra; and upon the east of _ these, sinaller monuments of the same kind nearer to the Nile. An appearance of _ ruins might indeed be traced the whole way from the Pyrainids of Djiza to those of _ Saccdra, as if they had once been connected, so as to constitute one vast cemetery. _ Beyond the Pyramids of Saccara we could perceive the distant mountains of the _ Said; and upon an,eminence near the Libyan side of the Nile, appeared a monastery + of considerable size. Towards the west and south-west, the eye ranged over the great Libyan Desert, extending to the utmost verge of the horizon, without a single - object to interrupt the dreary horror of the landscape, except dark floating spots _ caused by the shadows of passing clouds upon the sand. ' _ Upon the south-east side is the gigantic statue of the Sphinx, the most colossal piece of sculpture which remaits of all the works executed by the ancients. The _ French have uncovered all the pedestal of this statue. and ali the cumbent or leonine parts of the figure; these were before entirely concealed by sand. Instead, however, : of answering the expectations raised concerning the work upon which it was sip- posed to rest, the pedestal proves to be a wretched substructure of brick-work and ~s8mall pieces of stone put together, like the most insignificant piece of modern sa ‘ + fro 1830. " BTSs CYCLOPEDIA OF | on the outside, and places as for doors or portals in the walls; also an advanced — work or portico. A third pyramid, of much smaller dimensions than the second, - appears beyond the Sphinx to the south-west; and there are three others, one of which is nearly buried 1m the sand, between the Jarge pyramid and this statue tothe south-east. : Ss : CLASSICAL TRAVELLERS—FORSYTH, EUSTACE, ETC. The classical countries of Greece and Italy have been described by ~ various travellers—scholars, poets, painters, architects, and antiqua-— — ries. The celebrated ‘ Travels-of Anacharsis,’ by Barthélemy, were published in 1788, and shortly afterwards translated into English: - This excellent work—of which the hero is as interesting as any cha- — racter in romance—excited a general enthusiasm with respect to the — memorable soil and history of Greece. Dr. Clarke’s Travels further — stimulated inquiry; and Byron’s ‘Childe Harold’ drew attention to — the natural beauty and magnificence of Grecian scenery and ancient _ art. Mr. Joun Cam Hosnouss, afterwards Lorp BRouGHTON (1786 ~ —1869,) the fellow-traveller of Lord Byron, published an account of — his ‘Journey through Albania.’ Late in life (in 1859), Lord Brough- — ton published two volumes entitled ‘Italy; Remarks made in Several — Visits from the year 1816 to 1854.’ Dr. Honuanp, 1815, gave to the —~ _ world his interesting ‘ Travels in the Ionian Isles, Albania, Thessaly, a and Macedonia.’ A voluminous and able work, in two quarto vo lumes, was published in 1819, by Mr. Epwarp DopwELL, entitled — “A Classical and. Topographical Tour through Greece.’ Srr WiIL- LIAM GELL, in 1823, gave an account of a ‘Journey to the Morea.’ ~ An artist, Mr. H. W. WiuuraMs, also published ‘Travels in Greece ~ and Italy,’ enriched with valuable remarks on the ancient works of - art. Sas Ne 4 Lord Byron also extended his kindling power and energy totaly; , SoA 4 but previous to this time a master-hand had described its ruins and antiquities. A valuable work, which has now become a standard — authority, was in 1812 published under the modest title of “Remarks ~ on Antiquities, Arts, and Letters, during an Excursion in Italy in the ~ years 1802 and 1803,’ by JosEpH Forsytu, Esq. Mr. Forsyth (1763—— 1815) was a native of Elgin, in the county of Moray, and condueted ~ a Classical seminary at Newington-Butts, near London, for many years. On his return from a tour in Italy, he was arrestéd at-Turin — in 1803, in consequence of Napoleon’s harsh and unjust order to de- tain all British subjects travelling in his dominions. After several years of detention, he prepared the notes he had made in Italy, and — published them in England, as a means of enlisting the sympathies of — Napoleon and the leading members of the National Institute in his ~ behalf. Tiis last effort for freedom failed, and the author always — regretted that he had madeit. Mr. Forsyth was at length released~ on the downfall of Napoleon in 1814. The remarks thus has- — tily prepared for a special purpose, could hardly have been improved if expended into regular dissertations and essays. They — ‘arc vigorous and acute, cvincing keen observation and - original — ‘rorsytH} © “ENGLISH LITERATURE. : 15 thinking, as well as the perfect knowledge of the scholar and the critic. Some detached sentences from Forsyth will shew his peculiar -and picturesque style. First, of the author's journey to Rome: — The Italian Vintage, a “The vintage was in full glow. Men, women, children, asses, all. were variously ~ engaged in the work. [remarked in the scene a prodigality ai.u negligence which I never saw in France. The grapes dropped unheeded from the panniers, and hundreds were left unclipped on the vines. ‘The vintagers poured on us as we passed the richest _ ribaldry of the Italian language, and seemed to ciaim from Homer’s old * vindemia- - tor’ a prescriptive right to abuse the traveller.* The Coliseum. -~ A colossal taste gave rise to the Coliseum. Here, indeed, gigantic dimensions _ were necessary; for thongh hundreds could enter at once, and fifty thousand find _ Beats, the space was still insufficient.for room, and the crowd for the morning games _ began at midnight. Vespasian and /Titus,as if presaging their own deaths, hurried _ the building, and left several marks of their precipitancy behind. In the upper walls _ they haye inserted stones which had evidently been dressed for a different purpose. Some of the arcades are grossly unequal; no moulding preserves the same level and - form round the whole ellipse, and every order is full of license. The Doric hasno tri- ~ glyphs and metopes, and its arch is too low for its columns; the Ionic repeats the enta~ RSture of the Doric: the third order is but a rough cast of the Corinthian, and its foli- - age the thickest water-plants: the fourth seems a mere repetition of the third in pilas- _ ters; and the whole is crowned by a heavy Attic. Happily for the Coliseum, the shape _ necessary to an amphitheatre has given ita stability of construction sufficient to resist _ fires, and earthquakes, and lightmings, and sieges. Its elliptical form was the hoop * which bound and held it entire till barbarians rent that consolidating ring ; popes _ widened the breach; and time, not unassisted, continues the work ot dilapidation. ' At this moment the hermitage is threatened with a dreadful crash, and a generation ~ not very remote must be content, I apprehend, with the picture of this stupendous -inonument. Of the interior elevation, two slopes, by some called meniana, are _ already demolished; the arena the podium, are interred. No member runs entire - round the whole ellipse; but every member made such a circuit, and reappears so E often, that plans, sections, and elevations of the original work are drawn with the precision of a modern fabric. When the whole ainphitheatre was entire, a child 2 might comprehend its design in a moment, and go direct to his place without stray- ~ ing in the porticos, for each arcade bears its number engraved. and opposite to every _ fourth arcade was a staircase. This multiplicity of wide, straight, and separate pas- _ Sages proves the attention which the ancients paid to the safe discharge of a crowd; it finely illustrates the precept of Vitruvius, and exposes the perplexity of some modern theatres. Every nation has undergone its revolution of vices; — and as cruelty is not the present vice of ours. we can all humanely execrate _the purpose of amphitheatres, now that they lie in ruins. Moralists may tell us that _ the truly brave are never cruel; but this monument says ‘No.’ Here sat the con- - querors. of the world, coolly to enjoy the tortures and’ death of men who had never iv ‘Yoin. Asit now stands, the Coliseum is a striking image of Rome itself—decayed, grecn—erect on one side and fallen or ai} Comes through the leaves. the vines in light festoons From tree to tree, the trees in avenues, : 16 3 - CYCLOPADIA OF the other, with eonsecrated ground in its bosom—inhabited by a peadsman : visited by every caste; for moralists, antiquaries, painters, architects, devotees, all “meet here to ineditate, to examine, to draw, to measure, and to pray. ‘ln oe antiquities,’ says Livy, ‘the mind itself becomes antique.’ It contracts from sue. objects a venerable rust, which I prefer to the polish and the point of those wits gue have lately profaned this august ruin with ridicule. “ In the year following the publication of Forsyth’s original mets valuable work, appeared ‘ A Classical Tour in Italy,’ in two large _ volumes, by JOHN CHETWODE Evsrace, an English Catholic priest, oe who had travelled in Italy in the capacity of tutor, Though pleas. antly written, Eustace’s work is one of no great authority orresearch. ~ John Cam Hobhouse (Lord Broughton) characterises Eustace as ‘one ~ of the most inaccurate and unsatisfactory writers that have in our | times attained a temporary reputation.” Mr. Eustace died at Naples — in 1815. ‘ Letters from the North of Italy,’ addressed to Mr. Hallam _ the historian, by W. Stewart Rose, Esq., in two volumes, 1819, are — partly descriptive and partly critical; and though somewhat affected — in style, form an amusing miscellany. ‘A Tour through the Southern - Provinces of the Kingdom of Naples,’ by the Hon. R. Keppen : CRAVEN (1821), is more of an itinerary than a work of reflection, but is plainly and pleasingly written. ‘The Diary of an Invalid,’ rl . Henry MATrTHEws (1820), and ‘Rome in the Nineteenth Century’ 2 (1820), by Miss Waupre are both interesting works: the first is lively ~ and picturesque in style; and was well received by the public. In 1821 Lapy Mora@an published a work entitled “Italy,’ containing 3 pictures of Italian society and manners, drawn with more wastes and point than delicacy, but characterized by Lord Byron as very — faithful. ‘Observations on ltaly,’ by Mr. Jomn Ben (1825), and a- 4 ‘Description of the Antiquities of Rome,’ by Dr. Burton (1828), are ~ “works of accur acy and research. ‘Illustrations of the Passes of the: ; 4 Alps,’ by W. BrockEpon. (1828-9), unite the effects of the artist’s pencil with the information of the observant topographer, “Mr. BECKFORD, author of the romance of ‘Vathek,’ had in early life— written a work called ‘ Italy, with Sketches of Spain and Portugal.’ After remaining unpublished for more than forty years, two volumes _ of these eraphic and picturesque delineations were given to the world in 1835, Every season adds to the number of works on a) “i and other parts of the continent. f Funeral Ceremony at Rome.—From Matthews ‘ Diary of an Tnoalid.? +8 One day, on my way home, I met a funeral ceremony. of palaces, of porticos, of towers, opening on every side, and extending ont of sights - The doge’s palace, and the tall columns at the entrance of the piazza of St. Mark,form, _ -together with the arcades of the public library, the lofty Campanile, and the cupolas of — the ducal church, one of the most striking groups of buildings that art can boast of. To behold at one glance these stately fabrics, so illustrious in the records of former - ages, before which, in the flourishing times of the republic, so many valiant chiefs and princes nave landed, loaded with criental spoils, was a spectacle I hadlong and ardently desired. I thought of the days of Frederick Barbarossa, when looking up the piazza of St. Mark, along which he marched in solemn procession to cast him- — self at the feet of Alexander III., and pay a tardy homage to St. Peter’s successor. — Here were no Jonger those splendid fleets that attended his progress; one solitary galcas was all I beheld, anchored opposite the palace of the doge, and surrounded by ~ ~ crowds of gondolas, whose sable bres contrasted strongly with its vermilion oars and shining ornaments. A party-coloured multitude was continually shifting from — one side of the piazza to the other: whilst senators and magistrates, in long black ~ robes, were already arriving to fill their respective offices. pole ‘ : : a I contemplated the busy scene from my peaceful platform, where nothing stirred — 4 but aged devotees creeping to their devotions: and whilst I remained thus calm and — J tranquil, heard the distant buzz of the town. Fortunately, some length of waves rolled between me and its tumults, so th t I ate my grapes.and read Metastasio un- y disturbed by officiousness or curiosity. When the sun became too powerful, Ien- tered the nave. SF After I had admired the masterly structure of the roof and the lightness of its _ arches, my eyes naturally directed themselves to the pavement of white and ruddy — marble, polished, and reflecting like a mirror the columns which rise from it. Over — this I walked to a door that admitted me into the principal quadrangle of the convent, ~ surrounded by a cloister supported on Ionic pillars beautifully proportioned. A flight — of stairs opens into the court, adorned with balustrades and pedestals sculptured with elegance truly Grecian. This brought me to the refectory, where the chef-d@ ~~ wuvre of Paul Veronese, representing the marriage of Cana in Galilee, was the first — object that presented itself. I never beheld so gorgeous a group of wedding-garmeuts a before; there is cvery variety of fold and plait that can possibly be imagined. The — attitudes and countenances are more uniform, and the guests appear a very genteel, © decent sort of people, well used to the mode of their times, and accustomed to mira cles. : af Nine Having examined this fictitious repast, Icast a look on along range of tables — covered with very excellent realities, which the monks were coming to devour with energy. if one might judge from their appearance. ‘These sons of penitence and ~ mortification possess one of the most spacious islands of the whole cluster; a princely = habitation, with gardens ,anc open porticos that engross every breath of air; and ~ what adds not alittle to fhe charms of their abode, is the facility of making excur= — sions from it wlicnever they have a mind. 7 S39 Description of Pompeii. From Williams’ ‘Trave’s in Italy, Greece, be. <8 Pompeii is getting daily disencumbered, and a very considerable part of this Gre — cian city is unveiled. We entered by the Appian Way. through a narrow strect of | marble tombs, beautifully executed, with the names of the deceased plain and legible, — : ee < SWILLIAMS. |. -. ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 19 » We looked into the columbary below that of Marius Arius Diomedes, and perceived jars containing the ashes of the dead, with a small lamp at the side of each. Arriving _-at the gate, we perceived a sentry-box, in which the skeleton of a soldier was found with a lamp in his hand:* proceeding up the street beyond the gate, we went into several streets, and-entered what is called a coffee-house, the marks of cups being visible on the stone; we came likewise to a tavern, and found the sign—not-a very _ decent one—near the entrance. The streets are lined with public buildings and _ private houses, most of which have their original painted decorations fresh and entire. The paveme..t of the streets is much worn by carriage-wheels, and holes are ~ eut through the side stones for the purpose of fastening animals in the market-place ; ~ and in certain situations are placed stepping-stones, which give us a rather unfavour- able idea of the state of the streets. We passed two beautiful little temples ; went-into a - surgeon’s house, in the operation-room of which chirurgical instruments were found ; + entered an ironmonger’sshop, where an anvil and haminer were discovered ; a sculp- _ tor’s and a baker's shop, in the latter of which may be seen an oven and grinding-milis, fike old Scotch querns. We examined likewise an oiJman’s shop, and a wine-shop ~ Jately opened, where money was found in the till; a school, in which was a small pulpit, with steps up to it. in the middle of the apartment; a great theatre ; a temple of justice; an amphitheatre about 220 feet in length; various temples; a barrack for _ soldiers, the columns of which are scribbled with their names and jests; welis, cisterns, seats, tricliniums, beautiful mosaic; altars, inscriptions, fragmeuts of - statues, and many other curious remains of antiquity. Among the most remarkable objects was an anciest wall, with part of a still more ancient marble frieze, built in jit as acommon stone; and a stream which has flowed under this once subterraneous ~ city long before its burial; pipes of terra-cotta to convey the water to the different streets: stocks for prisoners, in one of which a skeleton was found. All these - things incline one almost to look for the inhabitants, and wonder at the desolate silence of the place. x -. ‘The houses in general are very low and the rooms are small; I should think not ~ above ten feet high. Every house is provided with a well and a cistern. Everything ~ seems to be in proportion. The principal streets do not appear to exceed 16 feet in _ width, with side-pavements of about 3 feet; some of the subordinate streets are + from 6to 10 feet wide, with side-pavements in proportion; these are occasionally high, and are reached by steps. The columns of the barracks are about 15 feet in _ height ; they are made of tufa with stucco ; one-third of the shaft is smoothly plas- - tered, the rest fluted to the capital. The walls of the houses are often painted red, —and.some of them have borders and antiqne ornaments, masks, and imitations of marble; but in general poorly executed, [ have observed on the walls of an eating- room various kinds of food and game tolerably represented: one woman’s apart- ~ ment was adorned with subjects relating to love, and a man’s with pictures of a martial character. Considering that the whole has been under ground upwards of _ TR irae Az So S ! p as 0 _ Seventecn centuries, it is certainly surprising that they should be as fresh as at the ee rod of their burial. The whole extent of the city, not one half of which [only a tw ird] is excavated, may be about four miles. * ARCTIC DISCOVERY—ROSS, PARRY, FRANKLIN, LYON, BEECHEY, FTC, Ta Contemporaneous with the African expeditions already described, a strong desire was felt in this country to prosecute our discoveries in the northern seas, which for fifty years had been neglected. The idea of a north-west passage to Asia still presented attractions, and oon the close of the revolutionary war, an effort to discover it was re- “solved upon. In 1818 an expedition was fitted out, consisting of two _ships, one under the command of Caprain Jorn Rogs, and another “under Lrzurenant, afterwards Srm Epwarp Parry. The most in- ‘teresting feature in this voyage is the account of a tribe of Esqui- Sele . . a > = we * This story has since been proved to be fabulous. The place in question was no ~~ sentry-box. but a funeral monument of an Augustal named M. Cerinius Restitutus, as ~ appeared from an inscription.—DYER’s Pompeit, p, 531, : ee Set ae Sern oy, oe ae Se ae * " oe aw ons Ney > : Lt GHC R ex iO, awe + < 4 i: 9 20 CYCLOPADIA OF | win eT O-3850. maux hitherto unknown, who inhabited a tract of country extending on the shore for 120 miles, and situated near Baflin’s Bay. A singu- lar phenomenon was also witnessed—a range of cliffs covered with | snow of a deep crimson cojour, arising from some vegetable sub-— stance. When the expedition came to Lancaster Sound, a passage was confidently anticipated; but after sailing up the bay, Captain Ross conceived that he saw land—a high ridge of mountains, extend- ing directly across the bottom of the mlet—and he abandoned the enterprise. Lieutenant Parry and others entertained a different opinion from that of their commander as to the existence .of land, and the Admiralty fitted out a new expedition, which sailed in 1819, for the purpose of again exploring Lancaster Sound. The expedi- tion, including two ships, the /iecla and Griper, was intrusted to Captain Parry, who had the satisfaction of. verifying the correctness of his former impressions, by sailing through what Captain Ross supposed to be a mountain-barrier in Lancaster Sound. ‘'To have sailed upwards of thirty degrees of longitude beyond the point reached by any former navigator—to have discovered many new lands, islands, and bays—to have established the much-contested ex-— istence of a Polar Sea north of America—finally, after a wintering ~ of eleven months, to have brought back his crew in a sound and vigorous state—were enough to raise his name above that of any for- . mer Arctic voyager.’ The long winter sojourn in this Polar region was relieved by various devices and amusements: a temporary theatre was fitted up, and the officers came forward as amateur per-_ formers. A sort of newspaper was also established, called the ‘North Georgian Gazette,’ to which all were invited to contribute;_ and excursions abroad were kept up as much as possible. The bril- — liant results of Captain Parry’s voyage soon induced another expedi-~ tion to the northern seas of America. That commander hoisted his > flag on board the Fury, and Captain Lyon, distinguished by his ser-— vices in Africa, received the command of the Hecla. The ships 4 sailed in May 1821. It was more than two years ere they returned; and though the expedition, as to its main object of finding a passage into the Polar Sea, was a failure, various geographical discoveries ~ were made. The tediousness of winter, when the vesseis were frozen” up, was again relieved by entertainments similar to those formerly adopted; and further gratification was afforded by intercourse with the Esquimaux, who, in their houses of snow and ice, burrowed along the shores. We shall extract part of Captain Parry’s account of this shrewd though savage race, a Description of the Esquimaue. : ae The Hsquimaux exhibit a strange mixture of intellect and dullness. of cunnin and simplicity. of ingenuity and stupidity; few of them could count neyond five, and no one of them beyond ten, nor could any of them speak a dozen words of Engi after a constant intercourse of seventeen or eighteen months; yet many of the could imitate the manners and’ actions of the strangers, and were on the whole ex: U y ~ -. PARRY.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. : 21 * cellent mimics. One woman in particular. of the name of Iligluik, very soon attracted -. .the attention of our yoyagers by the various traits of that superiority of | nderstand- __ ing for which, it was found, she was remarkably distinguished, and held in esteem even by her own countrymen. She had a great fondness for singing, possessed a soft voice and an excellent ear; but, like another great singer who figured in a differ- -. ent society, * there was scarcely any stopping her whence she had once begun’ she would listen, however, for hours together to the tunes played on the organ. Her snperior intelligence was perhaps most conspicuous in the ~eadiness with which she < was made to comprehend the manner of laying down on paper the geographical out- - » Vine of that part of tie coast of America she was acquainted with. and the neighbour- ing islands, so as to con-truct a Chart. At first it was found difficult to make her | comprehend what was meant; but when Captain Parry had discovered that the Ks- quimaux were already acquainted with the four cardinal points of the compass ‘for - _ which they have appropriate names, he drew them on a sheet of paper, together with that portion of the coast just discovered, which was opposite to Winter Island, where '. they then were, and of course well known to her. t We desired her (says Captain Parry) to complete the rest, and to do it, mikkee _ (smail), when, with a countenance of the most grave attention and peculiar intelli- gence, she drew the coast of the continent beyond her own country, as lying nearly north from Winter Island. ‘he most important part still remained, and it would a juve amused an unconcerned looker-on to have observed the anxiety and suspense ~~ depicted on the countenances of our part of the group till this was accomplished, for - lever were the tracings of a pencil watched with more eager solicitude. Our sur- prise and satisfaction may therefore in some degree be imagined when, without taking it from the paper, Lligluik brought the continental coast short round to the westward, and afterward to the $.S.W., so as to come witdin three or four days journey of Repulse Bay. res" Tam, however, compelled to acknowledge, that in proportion as the superior un- _ derstanding of this extraordinary woman became more and more developed, her _ head—for what female head is indifferent to praise ?—began to be turned by the - general attention and numberless presents she received. ‘i he superior decency and mt ~~ .eyen modesty of her behaviour had combined, with her inteilectual qualities, to raise ’ . her in our estimation far above her companions; and I often heard others express _ » what I could not but agree in, that for Iligiuik alone, of all the Hsquimaux women, that Kind of respect could be entertained which modesty in a female never fails to command in our sex. ‘Thus regarded, she had always been freely admitted into the ’. ships, the quarter-masters at the gangway never thinking of refusing entrance to ‘the wise woman,’ as they called her. Whenever avy explanation was necessary Do tween the Esqnimaux and us, Iligluik was sent fur as an interpreter; information ‘was Chiefly obtained through her, and she thus found herself rising into a degree of consequence to which, but for us. she could never have attained. Notwithstanding ~ amore than ordinary share of good sense on her part, it will not therefore be won- _ dered at if she became giddy with her exaltation—considered her admission into the ships and most of the cabins no longer an indulgence, but a right—ceased to return - the slightest acknowledgment for any kindness or presents—became listless and in- - attentive in unravelling the meaning of our questions, and careless whether her answers conveyed the information we desired. In short, Higluik in February and Thigluik in April were confessedly very different persons ; and it was at last amusing to recollect, though not very easy to persuade one's self, that the woman who now '~ gat demurely in a chair. so confidently expecting the notice of those around her, and she who had at first, with eager and wild delight, assisted in cutting snow for the building of a hut. and with the hope of obtaining a single needle, were actually one and the same individual. ; No kind of distress can deprive the Esquimaux of their cheerful temper and good- _ — humour, which they preserve even when severely pinched with hunger and cold, and _ = wholly deprived for days together both of food and fuel—a_situation to which they _ " are very frequently reduced. Yet no calamity of this kind can teach them to be _ provident, or to take the least thought for the morrow; with them, indeed, it is he _ always either a feast or afamine. ‘The enormous quantity of animal food—they have ~ no other—which they devour at a time is almost incredible. The quantity of meat which they procured between the first of Cctober and the first of April was sufficient “te have furnished about double the number of working-people, who were moderate : e eae CYCLOPADIA OF Fro 1830, ~ eaters, and had any idea of providing for a future day, but to individuals who can ~ demolish four or five pounds at a sitting, and at least ten in the course of a day, and who never bestow a thought on to-morrow, at least with the view to provide for it by . _ economy, there is scarcely any supply which could secure them from occasional ~ scarcity. Itis highly probable that the alternate feasting and fasting to which the — gluttony and improyidence of these people so constantly subject them, may have © occasioned many of the complaints that. proved fatal during the winter; and on this account we hardly knew whether to rejoice or not at the general success of their: — fishery.. _ : A third expedition was undertaken by Captain Parry, assisted by ~ Captain Hoppner, in 1824, but it proved still more unfortunate. The — broken ice in Baffin’s Bay retarded his progress until the season was too far advanced for navigation in that climate. After the winter — broke up, huge masses of ice drove the ships on shore, and the ~ Hury was so much injured, that it was deemed necessary to aban-_ don her with all her stores. In April 1827, Captain Parry once more ~~ sailed in the Hecla, to realise, if possible, his sanguine expecta-- - tions; but on this occasion he projected reaching the North Pole by — employing light boats and sledges, which might be alternately used, as compact fields of ice or open sea interposed in his route. On — reaching Hecla Cove, they left the ship to commence their journey _ Z on the ice. Vigorous efforts were made to reach the Pole, still 500 miles distant; but the various impediments they had to encounter, — and particularly the drifting of the snow-fields, frustrated all their _ endeavours; and after two months spent on the ice; and penetrating _— about a degree farther than any previous expedition, the design was abandoned—having attained the latitude of 82 degrees 45 minutes. — These four expeditions were described by Captain Parry in separate — volumes, which were read with great avidity. The whole havesince ~ been published in six small volumes, constituting one of the most in- — teresting series of adventures and discoveries recorded in our lan- — guage. Onhis return, Captain Parry was appointed Hydrographer to the Admiralty, and received the honour of knighthood. From 1829 ~ to 1834 he resided in New South Wales as commissioner to the Aus- — tralian Agricultural Company. He again returned to England, and — held several Admiralty appointments, the last of which was governor — of Greenwich Hospital. In 1852, he attained to the rank of rear- — admiral, and died, universally regretted, July 1855, aged sixty-five. oo Following out the plan of northern discovery, an expedition was, in ~~ 1819, despatched overland to proceed from the Hudson’s Bay factory, tracing the coast of the Northern Ocean. This ¢xpedition was com- manded by Caprain JOHN FRANKLIN, accompanied by Dr. Richard- son, a scientific gentleman; two midshipmen—Mr. Hood and Mr. — (afterwards Sir George) Back—and two seamen. . The journey to the — Coppermine River displayed the characteristic ardour and hardihood — of British seamen. Great suffering was experienced. Mr: Hood lost ~ his life, and Captain Franklin and Dr. Richardson were at the point ~ -of death, when timely succour was afforded by some Indians, ‘The ~ results of this journey, which, including the navigation along the a 4 =a Ay tS. fF SAE: eee 4S =a a 7 pg *. wr i ore - ~ aot ‘ ‘a 7322 ss p : Law p BS hk pee SF : aad i Sn pocrnqer C= + ‘ Ze x Ane : A > es : ea i: | aS Bee = 3 FRANKLIN, ] > ENGLISH LITERATURE. : ae: coast, extended to 5,500 miles, are obviously of the greatest impor- | eS to Foostapay: As the coast running northward was followed to Cape Turnagain, in latitude 681¢ degrees, it is evident that, if a north-west passage exist, it must be found beyond that limit.’ ~The - narratives of Captain Franklin, Dr. Richardson, and Mr. Back form --a fitting and not less interesting sequel to those of Captain Parry. _ The same intrepid parties undertook, in 1823, a second expedition to explore the shores of the Polar Seas. The coast between the Mackenzie _ ana Coppermine Rivers, 902 miles, was examined. Subsequent expe- ditions were undertaken -by Caprary Lyon and Caprarin BEECHEY. ‘The former failed through continued bad weather; but Captain ~ Beechey having sent his master, Mr. Elson, in a barge to prosecute _ the voyage to the east, that individual penetrated toa sandy point, ~ on which the ice had erounded, the most northern part of the conti- _ nent then known. Captain Franklin had, only four days previous, ~ been within 160 miles of this point, when he commenced his return _ to the Mackenzie River, and it is conjectured with much probability, - that had he been aware that by persevering in his exertions for afew _ days he might have reached his friends, it is possible that a know. ledge of the circumstance might have induced him, through all ha- _zards, to continue his journey. The intermediate 160 miles still re- mained unexplored. In 1829, Captain, afterwards Sir John Ross, - disappointed at being outstripped by Captain Parry in the discovery _ of the strait leading into the Polar Sea, equipped a steam-vessel, " solely from private. resources, and proceeded to Baffin’s Bay. ‘Tt was a bold but inconsiderate undertaking, and every soul who em- _ barked on it must have perished, but for the ample supplies they re- . ceived from the Fury, or rather from the provisions and stores - which, by the providence of Captain Parry, had been neh stored up on the beach; for the ship herself had entirely disappeare - He proceeded down Regent’ s Inlet as far as he could in his little ship : the Victory; placed her among ice clinging to the shore, and after _ two winters, left her there; and in returning to the northward, by _ great good-luck fell in with a whaling-ship, which took them all on board and brought them home.’ Captain James Ross, nephew of the 2 commander, collected some geographical information in the course of - this unfortunate enterprise. Valuable information connected with the Arctic regions was i afforded by Mr. WinitAmM Scoressy (1760-1829), a gentleman who, : while practising the whale- fishing, had become the most learned — - observer and describer of the regions of ice. His ‘Account of the Northern Whale Fishery,’ 1822, is a standard work of great value; _ and he is author also of an ‘Account of the Arctic Regions’ (1820). pals son, the Rev. Dr. WintniAM Scoressy (17 789-1857), was distin- ished as a naval writer, author of ‘ Arctic Voyages,’ ‘ Discourses to amen,’ and other works, i a if = . * - x PI, fe i vee 5 4 +4 + ee ee Fil ee Ps & ie BP. he cine - a Se a ‘ Pade eK 2 ~ ony 2 + - i J 3 ‘ ae < . eoker’s § : Sea ge eee B4> ss . - CYCLOPAEDIA OF nae _ [ro 1839. EASTERN TRAVELLERS, ~ irs oF The scenes and countries mentioned in Scripture have been fre. quently described since the publications of Dr. Clarke. BurckHAnRpr traversed Petreea (the Edom of the prophecies); Mr. WimitaAm RAE Witson, in 1823, published ‘ Travels in Egypt and the Holy Land;? — Mr. Ciauprus JaAmms Ricu—the accomplished British resident at. Bagdad, who died in 1821, at the early-age of thirty-five—wrote an — excellent ‘Memoir on the Ruins of Babylon;’ the Hon. Grorén KEPPEL performed the overland journey to India in 1824, and gave -a narrative of his observations in Bassorah, Bagdad, the ruins of ~~ Babylon, &c. Mr. J. 8. Buckrneam also travelled by the overland route—taking, however, the way of the Mediterranean and the Turk- ish provinces in Asia Minor—and the result of his journey was given to the world in three separate works—the latest published in 1827—entitled ‘Travels in Palestine;’ ‘Travels among the Arab — Tribes;’ and ‘Travels in Mesopotamia.’ Dr. R. R. MappEn, a~ medical gentleman, who resided several years in India, in 1829 pub- a lished ‘ ‘Travels in Egypt, Turkey, Nubia, and Palestine.’ ‘Letters — from the Hast,’ and ‘Kecollections of Travel in the East’ (1850), by JOHN CARNE, Esq., of Queen’s College, Cambridge, extend, the first —~ over Syria and Egypt, and the second over Palestine and Cairo. Mr. Carne is a judicious cbserver and picturesque describer, yet he some- times ventures on doubtful biblical criticism. The miracle-of the — passage of the Red Sea, for example, he thinks should be limited to ~ a specific change in the direction of the winds. The idea of repre- — senting the waves standing like.a wall on each side must consequently be abandoned. ‘This,’ ke says, ‘is giving a literal interpretation to the evidently figurative language of Scripture, where it is said that ‘‘the Lord caused the sea to go back by a strong east wind all night;? —_ that the ‘‘sea returning to his strength in the morning,” was the rush- — ing back of an impetuous and resistless tide, inevitable, but net im stantaneous, for it is evident the Egyptians turned and fled at its approach.’ In either case a miracle must have been performed, and ~ it seems unnecessary and hypercritical to attempt reducing it to the ~ lowest point. Mr. Milman, in his ‘ History of the Jews,’ has fallen into this error, and explained away the miracles of the Old Testa- — ment till all that is supernatural, grand, and impressive disappears. = ‘Travels along the Mediterranean and Parts Adjacent’ (1822), by Dr. Rosert RicuarDson, is an interesting work, particularly as re- — lates to ‘antiquities. The doctor travelled by way of Alexandria, ~ Cairo, &¢c., to the Second Cataract of the Nile, returning by Jeru- — salem, Damascus, Baalbek, and Tripoli. He surveyed the Temple of ~ Solomon, and was the first acknowledged Christian received within its holy walls since it has been appropriated to the religion of Mo. — hammed. The ‘Journal to some Parts of Ethiopia’ (1822), by we ae | « porTer.] “ENGLISH LITERATURE. 25 Messrs. WADDINGTON and HANBURY, gives an account of the anti- quities of Ethiopia and the extirpation of the Mamalukes. - Sir Joun MALcoio (1769-18838) was author of a ‘ History of Persia’ and ‘Sketches of Persia.’ Mr. Morrer’s ‘Journeys through Persia, Armenia, and Asia Minor,’ abound in interesting descriptions of the country, people, and government. Sr WILLIAM OvseLEY (1771-1839) _ —who had been private secretary to the British Embassy in Persia— has published three large volumes of Travels in various countries of the East, particularly Persia, in 1810, 1811, and 1812. This work illustrates subjects of antiquarian research, history, geography, phil- ology, &c., and is valuable to the scholar for its citations from rare eriental manuscripts. Another valuable work on this country is by $m Rosert Ker Porter (1780-1742), and is entitled ‘Travels in Georgia, Persia, Babylonia,’ &c., published in 1822. tS Society in Bagdad.—From Sir R. K. Porter’s ‘ Travels.’ The wives of the higher classes in Bagdad are usually selected from the most beautiful girls that can be obtained from Georgia and Circassia; and, to their natural charms, in like manner with their captive sisters all over the East, they add the fancied embellishments of painted complexions, hands and feet dyed with henna, ~ and their hair and eyebrows stained with the rang, or prepared indigo leaf. Chains __ of gold, and collars of pearls, with various ornaments of precious stones, decorate the upper part of their persons, while solid bracclets of gold, in shapes resembling ~ serpents, clasp their wrists and ankles. Silverand golden tissued muslins not only form their turbans, but frequently their under-garments. In summer the ample pelisse is made of the moat costiy shawl, and in cold weather lined and bordered with - the choisest furs. The dress is altogether very becoming; by its easy folds and glittering transparency, shewing a fine shape to advantage, without the immodest - exposure of the open vest of the Persian ladies. The humbler females generally move abroad with faces totally unveiled, having a handkerchief rolled round their heads, from beneath which their hair hangs down over their shoulders, while another _ piece of linen passes under their chin, in the fashion of the Georgians. Their gar- _ Inent is a gown of a shift form, reaching to their ankles. open before, and of a gray colour. Their feet are completely naked. Many of the very inferior classes stain - their bosoms with the figures of circles, half-moons, stars, &c., in a bluish stamp.— _ In this barbaric embellishment the poor damsel of Irak-Arabi has one point of _ vanity resembling that of the ladies of Irak-Ajemi. The former frequently adds this . frightful cadaverous hue to her lips; and to complete their savage appearance, thrusts a ring through their right nostril, pendent with a flat, button-like ornament set round with blue or red stones. But to return to the ladies of the higher circles, whom we left in some gay saloon _ Of Bagdad. When all are assembled, the evening meal or dinner is soon served. The _’ party, seated in rows, then prepare themselves for the entrance of the show, which, consisting of music and dancing, continues in noisy exhibition through the whole . night. At twelve o’clock, supper is produced, when pilaus, kabobs, preserves, fruits, dried sweetmeats, and sherbets of every fabric and flavour, engage the fair convives for some time. Between this second banquet and the preceding, the perfumed nar- _ guilly is never absent from their rosy lips, excepting when they sip coffee, or indulge _ in @ general shout ‘of approbation, or a hearty peal of laughter at the freaks of the dancers or the subject of the singers’ madrigals. But no respite is given to the en- _-tertainers; and, during so long a stretch of merriment, should any of the happy J gests feel a sudden desire for temporary repose, without the least apology she lies _ down to sleep on the luxurious carpet: that is her seat; and thus she remains, sunk _ in as deep an oblivion as if the nummud were spread in her own chamber. Others _ -8peedily follow her example, sleeping as sound; notwithstanding the bawling of the singers, the-horrid jangling of the guitars, the thumping on the jar-like double-drum, _ the ringing and loud clangour of the metal bells and castanets of the dancers, with _ an eternal talking in all keys, abrupt laughter, and vociferous expressions of gratifi- -*. ELL. v.%2 wa 26 - €YCLOP-EDIA OF * [v0 1830, — cation, making in all a ful) toncert of distracting sounds, sufficient, one might sup- pose, to awaken the dead. But the merry tumult and joyful strains of this convivi- ality gradually become fainter and fainter; first one aud tuen another of .the visitors ~ —while even the performers are not spared by the soporific god—sink down under the- drowsy influence, till at length the whole carpet is covered with the sleeping beauties, wnixed indiscriminately with handmaids, dancers, aud musicians, as fast asleep as themselves. The business, however, is not thus quietly ended. * As soon as the sun begins to call forth the blushes of the morn, by lifting the veil that shades her- slumbering eyelids,’ the faithtnl slaves rnb their own clear of any lurking drowsi- — ness, and then tug their respective mistresses by the toe or the shoulder, to rouse them up to perform the devotional ablutions usual at the dawn of day. All start - mechanically, as if touched by a spell; and then commences the splashing of water and the muttering of prayers, presenting a singular contrast to the vivacious scene vf a few hours before. This duty over, the fair devotees shake their feathers like birds from a refreshing shower, and tripping lightly forward with garments, and per- _ haps looks, a little the worse for the wear of the preceding evening, plunge at once - again into all the depths of its amusements. Coffee, sweetmeats, kaliouns, as be- fore, accompany every obstreperous repetition of the midnight song and dance; and nul being followed up by a plentiful breakfast of rice, meats, fruits, &c., towards’ noon the party separate, after having spent between fifteen and sixteen hours in this hiotous festivity. The French authors Chateaubriand, Laborde, and Lamartine have minutely described the Holy Land; and in the ‘Incidents of Travel in Egypt, Arabia, and the Holy Land,’ by J. L. SrepHens, informa: tion respecting these interesting countries will be found. sm Various works on India appeared, including a general Political — History of the empire by Sir Joun Maucoum (1826), and a ‘Memoir _ of Central India’ (1823), by the: same author. ‘Travels in the Him-- malayan Provinces of Hindostan and the Punjaub, in Ladakh and — Cashmere, in Peshawar, Cabul, &c., from 1819 to 1825,’ by W. — Moorcrort and GEORGE TREBECK, relate many new and important articulars. Mr. Moorcroft crossed the great chain of the Himalaya ountains near its highest part, and first drew attention to those stu- — pendous heights, rising in some parts to above 27,000 feet. ‘A Tour through the Snowy Range of the Himmala Mountains” was made by Mr. James Bariuure Fraser (1820), who gives an interesting account of his perilous journey. He visited Gangotri, an almost in- accesible haunt of superstition, the Mecca of Hindu pilgrims, and also the spot at where the Ganges issues from its covering of per- petual snow. In 1825 Mr. Fraser published a ‘ Narrative of a Jour- - ney into Khorasan, in the years 1821 and 1822, including an Account of the Countries to the north-east of Persia.” The following is a brief sketch of a Persian town: ; oe Viewed from a commanding situation, the appearance of a Persian townis most uninteresting ; the houses, all of mud. differ in no respect from the earth in colour, ‘ and from the irregularity of their construction, resemble inequalities on its surface _ rather than human dwellings. The houses, even of the great, seldom exceed one ~—— story; and the lofty walls which shroud them from view, without a window toen- liven them, have a most monotonous effect. There are few domes or minarets, and ~~ stil! fewer of those that exist are either splendid orelegant. There are no-public — buildings but the mosques and medressas; and these are often as mean as the rest, or perfectly excluded from view by ruins. The general coup-d' ail presents a succes- sion of flat roofs and long walls of mud, thickly interspersed with ruins; and the only relief to its monotony is found in the gardens, adorned with chinar, poplars, _ and cypress, with which the towns and villages are often surrounded and intermingled. — - ELLIS. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 24 The same author published ‘ Travels and Adventures in the Per- _gian Provinces, 1826;° ‘A Winter Journey from Constantinople to Tebran, with Travels through Various Parts of Persia, 1838;’ &c. Among other Indian works may be mentioned, ‘The Annals and _ Antiquities of Rajasthan,’ 1830, by LinuTENANT-COLONEL JAMES ~ Pop (1782-1835); and ‘Travels into Bokhara,’ by Lruren ant, after- wards Sir ALEXANDER BurRNeEs. The latter is a narrative of a journey from India to Cabul, Tartary, and Persia, and isa valuable work. The accomplished author was cut off in his career of use- fulness and honour in 1841, being treacherously murdered at Cabul, in his thirty-sixth year. Of China we have the history of the two embassies—the first in 1792-94, under*Lord Macartney, of which a copious account was given by Sir GEORGE STAUNTON, one of the commissioners. Further information was afforded by Sir JoHN Barrow’s ‘ Travels in China, published in 1804, and long our most valuable work on _ that country. The second embassy, headed by Lord Amherst, in 1816, was recorded by Henry Eis, Esq., third commissioner, in a work in two volumes (1818), and by Dr. ABEL, a gentleman attached _ to the embassy. One circumstance connected with this embassy oc- - easioned some speculation and amusement. The ambassador was required to perform the xo-tou, or act of prostration, nine times re- ‘peated, with the head knocked against the ground. Lord Amherst and Mr. Ellis were inclined to have yielded this point of ceremony; but Sir George Staunton and the other members of the canton mis- sion took the most decided part on the other side. The result of - their deliberations was a determination against the performance of _ the ko-tou; and the emperor at last consented to admit them upon their own terms, which consisted in kneeling upon a single knee. _ The embassy went to Pekin, and were ushered into an ante-chamber_ of the imperial palace. ; | Scene at Pekin, described by Mr. Edis. ; Mandarins of all buttons* were in waiting; several princes of the blood, distin- | _ guished by clear rnby buttons and round flowered badges, were among them; the silence, and a certain air of regularity, marked the immediate presence of the sove- . reign. The small apartment, much out of. repair. into which we were huddled, now witnessed ascene 1 believe unparalleled in the history of even oriental diplomacy, - Lord Amherst had scarcely taken his seat, when Chang delivered a message from Ho (Koong-yay), stating that the emperor wished to see the ambassador, his son, and the commissioners immediately. Much surprise was naturally expressed; the pre- _ vious arrangement for the eighth of the Chinesé month, a period certainly much too ~ early for comfort, was adverted to, and the ufter impossibility of His Excellency appearing in his present state of fatigue, inanition, and deficiency of every neces- - gary equipment was strongly urged. Chang was very unwilling to be the bearer of this answer, but was finally obliged to consent. During this time the room had filled with spectators of all ages and ranks, who rudely pressed upon us to gratify their + brutal curiosity, for such it may be called, as they seemed to regard us rather as wild _~ beasts than mere strangers of the same species with themselves. Some other mes- _- Sages were interchanged between the Koong-yay and Lord Amherst, who, in addi- ; Sg The buttons. in the order of their rank, are as follows: ruby red, worked coral. _ @pooth coral, pale blue, dark blue, erystal, ivory, and gold. Fav ‘ ‘ 28 CYCLOPEDIA OF fro 1830. tion to the reasons already given, stated the indecorum and irregularity of his ap- pearing without his credentials. In his reply to this it was said, that in the proposed audicnce the emperor merely wished to see the ambassador, and had no intention of entering upon business. Lord Amherst having persisted in expressing the inadmis- - sibility of the proposition, and in transmitting through the Koong-yay a huinbie re- quest to his imperial majesty that he would be graciously pleased to wait till to- morrow, Chang and another mandarin finally proposed that His Excellency should go over to the Koong-yay’s apartments, from whence a reference might be made to the emperor. - Lord Amherst, having alleged bodily illness as one of the reasons for declining the audience, readily saw that if he went to the Koong-yay, this plea, which to the Chinese—though now scarcely admitted—was in general the most foreci- ble, would cease to avail him, positively declined compliance. This produced a visit from the Koong-yay, who, too much interested and agitated to heed ceremony, stood . by Lord Amherst, and used every argument to induce him to obey the emperor's — commands. Among other topics he used that of being received with our Own cere- mony, using the Chinese words, ‘ne mun tih lee’—your own ceremony. All proving — ineffectual, with some roughness, but under pretext of friendly violence, he laid 4 hands upon Lord Amherst, to take him from the room; another mandarin followed } his example. His lordship, with great firmness and dignity of manner, shook them — off, declaring that nothing but the extremest violence should induce him to quit that room for any other place but the residence assigned to him; adding that hewasso — overcome by fatigue and bodily illness as absolutely to require repose. Lord Amherst. - further pointed out the gross insult he had already received, in having been exposed to the intrusion and indecent curiosity of crowds, who appeared to view him rather _ as a wild beast than the representative of a powerful sovereign. At all eyents,he eutreated the Koong-yay to submit his request to his jmperial majesty, whe, he felt confident, would, in consideration of his illness and fatigue, dispense with hisim=- mediate appearance. The Koong-yay then pressed Lord Amherst to come to his apartments, alleging that they were cooler, more convenient, and more private. This Lord ‘Amherst declined, saying that he was totally unfit for any place but hisown ~~ residence, The Koong-yay, having failed in his attempt to persuade him, left the room for the purpose of taking the emperor’s pleasure upon the subject. _During his absence, an elderly man, whose dress and ornaments bespoke hima =~ prince, was particularly inquisitive in his inspection of our persons and inquiries, 4 1 His chief object seemed to be to communicate with Sir George Staunton, as the person who had been with the former embassy; but Sir George very prudently avoided any intercourse with him. Itis not easy to describe the feelings of annoy= ance produced by the conduct of the Chinese, both public and individual : of the former I shall speak hereatter ; of the latter I can only say that nothing could be more disagreeable and indecorous. a A message arrived soon after the Koong-yay’s quitting the room, to say that the : emperor dispensed with the ambassadovr’s attendance; that he had further been ; pleased to direct his physician to afford to His Excellency every medical assistance . that his illness anieht require. ‘The Koong-yay himself soon followed. and His Ex- 4 cellency proceeded to the carriage. The Koong-yay not disdaining to clear away the crowd, the whip was used by him to all persons indiscriminately ; buttons were no ; protection; and however indecorous, according to our notions, the employment =a might be for a man of his rank, it cculd not have been in better hands. ~ Lord Amherst was generally condemned for refusing the proffered audience. The emperor, in disgust, ordered them instantly to set out 4 for Canton, which was accordingly done. _Thisembassy madescarcely _ any addition to our knowledge of China. aa CAPTAIN BASIL HALL. | The embassy of Lord Amherst to China was, as we have related, comparatively a failure; but the return-voyage was rich both in dis. covery and in romantic interest. The voyage was made, not along — the Coast of China, but by Corea and the Loo-choo Islands, an accounts of it were published in 1818 by Mr. Mactxop, surgeon of — —, « = ~ wat] _- ENGLISH LITERATURE. 29° _the ‘ Alceste,’ and by Caprarn Basti Haut of the ‘Lyra.’ The work of the latter was entitled ‘An Account of a Voyage of Discovery to the West Coast of Corea and the Great Loo-choo Island.’ In the course of this voyage it was.found that a great part of what had been laid down on the maps as part of Corea, consisted of an immense archi- ~ pelago of small islands. ‘The number of these was beyond calcula- _ tion; and during a sail of upwards of one hundred miles, the sea con- tinued closely studded with them. From one lotty point a hundred, and twenty appeared on sight, some with waving woods and green - verdant valleys. Loo-choo, however, was the most important, and by far the most interesting of the parts touched upon by the expedi- tion. ‘There the strange spectacle was presented of a people ignorant equally of the use of firearms and the use of money, living in a state _ of primitive seclusion and happiness such as resembles the dreams of poetry rather than the realities of modern life.: - Captain Basil Hall distinguished himself by the composition of other books of travels, written with delightful ease, spirit, and picturesque- ness. ‘The first of these consists of ‘ Extracts froma Journal written on the Coasts of Chili, Peru, and Mexico,’ being the result of his ob- servations in those countries in 1821 and 1822. South America had, previous to this, been seldom visited, and its countries were also greater objects of curiosity and interest from their political condition, on the point of emancipation from Spain. The next work of Captain Hall was ‘ Travels in North America,’ in 1827 and 1828, written in a more ambitious strain than his former publications, and containing some excellent descriptions and remarks, mixed up with political disquisitions. This was followed by ‘Fragments of Voyages and Travels,’ addressed chiefly to young persons, in three small volumes; which were so favourably received, that a second, and afterwards a third series, each in three volumes, were given to the public. _ A further collection of these observations on foreign society, scenery, and manners, was published by Captain Hall in 1842, also in three volumes, under the title of ‘Patchwork.’ This popular author died at Haslar Hospital in 1844, aged 56. He was the second son of . Sir James Hall of Dunglass, Bart., President of the Royal Society, _-and author of some works on Architecture, &c. HENRY DAVID INGLIS. _ One of the most cheerful and unaffected of tourists and travellers, with a strong love of nature and a poetical imagination, was Mr. HENRY Davip Ines, who died in- March, 1835, at the early age of forty. Mr. Inglis was the son of a Scottish advocate. He was brought up to commercial pursuits; but his passion for literature, and for surveying the grand and beautifulin art and nature, overpowered his business habits, and led him at once to travel and to write. Diffi- dent of success, he assumed the nom de plume of Derwent Conway, -and under this disguise he published ‘The Tales of Ardennes; ’ ‘ Sol- _ » itary Walks.through Many Lands;’ ‘Travels in Norway, Sweden, Ss fey y 80 CYCLOPADIA OF | [ro 1830. - and Denmark, 1829;’ and ‘Switzerland, the South of France, and the Pyrenees in 1830, 1831.’ The last two works were included in ‘Constable’s Miscellany,’ and were deservedly popular. Mr. Inglis was then engaged as editor of a newspaper at. Chesterfield; but tiring of this, he again repaired to the continent, and visited the Tyrol and Spain. His travels in both countries were published; and one of the volumes—‘ Spain in 1830’—is the best of all his works. He next roduced a novel descriptive of Spanish life, entitled ‘ The New Gil las’; but it was unsuccessful. After conducting a newspaper for some time in Jersey, Mr. Inglis published an account of the Channel Islands, marked by the easy grace and picturesque charm that per- vade all his writings. He next made a tour through Ireland, and wrote. his valuable work entitled ‘Ireland in 1884.’ His last work was ‘Travels in the Footsteps of Don Quixote,’ published in parts in the ‘New Monthly Magazine.’ LOUIS SIMOND. Louis Srmonp, a French author, who, by familiarity with our lan. guage and country, wrote in English as well as in his native tongue, published in 1822 a work in two volumes—‘ Switzerland; or a Journal of a Tour and Residence in that Country in the years 1817, 1818 and 1819.’ M. Simond had previously written: a similar work on Great Britain, during the years 1810 and 1811, which was well received and . favourably reviewed by Southey, Jeffrey, and other critics. M. — Simond resided twenty years in America. We subjoin his account — of a Swiss Mountain and Avalanche. After nearly five hours’ toil, we reached a chalet on the top of the mountain (the “Wingernalp). This summer habitation of the shepherds was still unoccupied ; for the snow having been unusually deep last winter, and the aa till lately covered, being still very short, the cows haye not ventured so high. Here we resolved upon a halt, and having implements for striking fire, a few dry. sticks gave us a cheerful blaze in the open air. A pail of cream, or at least of very rich milk, was brought up by the shepherds, with a kettle to make coffee and afterwards boil the milk; very large wooden spoons or ladles answered the purpose of cups. The stock of provi- sions we had brought was spread upon the very low roof of the chalet, being the best station for our repas champetre. as it afforded dry seats sloping conveniently towards the prospect. We had then before us the Jungfrau, the two Eigers, and some of the highest summits in the Alps, shooting up from an uninterrupted level of glaciers of more than two hundred square miles; and although placed ourselves four thousand five hundred feet above the lake of Thun, and that lake one thousand seven hundred. = and eighty feet above the sea, the mighty rampart rose still six thousand feet above our head. Between us and the Jungfrau the desert valley of Trumlatenthal formed a deep trench, into which avalanches fell, with scarcely a quarter of an hour’s inter- val between them, followed by a thundering noise continued along the whole range ; not, however, a reverberation of sound, for echo is mute under the universal winding-. sheet of snow, but a prolongation of sound, in consequence of the successive rents or fissures forming themselves when some large section of the glacier slides down one step. We sometimes saw a blue line suddenly drawn across a field of pure white; then another above it, and another, all parallel, and attended each time with a loud crash ~ like cannon, producing together the effect of }ong-protracted peals of: thunder. At other times some portion of the vast field of snow. or rather snowy ice, pose gery away, exposed to view a new surface of purer white than the first, and the cast- Paar ae ek ST ee ale ar ae 4 a a <4 “S ~ << - > stuonv.] = +~—=- ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 81 drapery gathering in long folds, either fell at once down the precipice, or disappeared ’ behind: some intervening ridge, which the sameness of colour rendered invisible, and -_-was again seen soon after in another direction, shooting out of some narrow channel a cataract of white dust, which, observed through a telescope, was, however, found to be composed of broken fragments of ice or compact snow, many of them sufficient to overwhelm a village, if there had been any in the valley where they fell. Seated on the chalet’s roof, the ladies forgot they were cold, wet, bruised, and hungry, and the cup of smoking café au Jatt stood still in their hand while waiting in breathless suspense for the next avalanche, wondering equally at the deathlike silence inter- vening between each, and the thundering crash which followed. I must own, that ‘while we shut our ears, the mere sight might dwindle down to the effect of a fall of snow from the root of a house; but when the potent sound was heard along the whole range of many miles, when the time of awful suspense between the fall and - the crash was mefsured, the imagination, taking flight, outstripped all bounds at once, and went beyond the mighty reality itself. 1t would be difficult to say where the creative powers of imagination stop, even the coldest; for our common feelings— - our grossest sensations—are infinitely indebted to them; and man, without his fancy, would not have the energy of the dullest animal. Yet we feel more pleasure and more pride in the consciousness of another treasure of the breast, which tames the flight of this same imagination, and brings it bacx to sober reality and plain truth. When we first approach the Alps, their bulk, their stability, and duration, com- pared to our own inconsiderable size, fragility, and shortness of days, strike our _ Imagination with terror; while reason, unappalled, measuring these masses, calcu- ‘lating their elevation, analysing their substance, finds in them only a little inert matter, scarcely forminga wrinkle on the face of our earth, that earth an inferior planet in the solar system, and that systenr one only among myriads, placed at dis- tances whose very incommensurability is in a manner measured. What, again, are those giants of the Alps, and their duration—those revolving worlds—that space— the universe—compared to the intellectual faculty capable of bringing the whole fabric into the compass of a single thought, where it is all curiously and accurately deline- - ated! How superior, again, the exercise of that faculty, when, rising from effects - to causes, and judging by analogy of things as yet unknown by those we know, we are taught to look into futurity for a better state of existence, and in the hope itself v hope ! : ave et pea fh inaccessible shelf of rock on the west side of the J ungfrau, upon which a liimmergeier—the vulture of Jambs—once alighted with an infant it ~ had carried away from the village of Murren, situated above the Staubbach : some red. scraps, remnants of the child’s clothes, were for years observed, says the tradition, on the fatal spot. The following are sketches of character by Simond: Rousseau (1712-1778). Rousseau, from his garret, governed an empire—that of the mind: the founder of a new religion in politics, and to his enthusiastic followers a prophet—he said and ~ .they believed! The disciples of Voltaire might be more numerons, but they were _ bound to him by far weaker ties. Those of Rousseau made the French Revolution _ and perished for it ; while Voltaire, miscalculating its chances, perished by it: Both perhaps deserved their fate ; but the former certainly acted the nobler nart, and went to battle with the best weapons too—for in the deadly encounter of all the passions, of the most opposite principles and irreconcilable prejudices, cold-hearted wit is of little avail. Heroes and martyrs do not care for epigrams : and he must have enthu- _ Ssiasm who pretends to lead the enthusiastic or to cope with them. Une intime ner- suasion, Rousseau has somewhere said. ma towjours tenwu View Meloquence! -And well it might; for the first requisite to command belief is to believe yourself. Nor is it easy to impose on mankind in this respect. There is no eloquence. no ascen- _ dency over the mind of others, without this intimate nersnasion. in yourself. Rons- seau’s might only be a sort. of poetical persuasion lasting but as Jong as the occasion : _ yet it was thus powerful. only hecanse it was true, though but for a quarter of an _ hour perhaps, in the heart of this inspired writer. : Mr M . son of the friend of. Rousseau to whom he left. his manuscripts, and _ especially his ‘Confessions,’ to be published after his death. had the goodness to = yy v . ke : * : : : 4 82 | CYCLOPADIA OF [70 1830. shew them to me. I observed a fair copy written by himself in a small hand like © print, very neat and correct; nota blot or an erasure to be seen. The most curious - of these papers, however, were several sketch-books, or memoranda, half filled, where the same hand is no longer discernible; but the same genius, and the same wayward temper and perverse intellect, in every fugitive thought which is there put down. Rousseau’s composition, like Montesquieu’s, was laborious and slow; his ideas flowed rapidly, but were not readily brought into proper order; they did not appear to have come in consequence of a previous plan; but the plan itself, formed afterwards, came in aid of the ideas, and served as a sort of frame for them, instead of being a system to which they were subservient. Very possible some of the funda- menta! opinions he defended so earnestly, and for which his disciples would willingly ~ have suffered martyrdom, were originally adopted because a bright thought, caught as it flew, was entered in his commonplace-book, = A patie 4 These loose notes of Rousseau afford a curious insight into his taste in composition. You find him perpetually retrenching epithets—reducing his thoughts to their sim- plest expressiom—giving words a peculiar energy by the new Ma tWwne of their original meaning—going back to the naiveté of old language; and, in the artificial. process of simplicity, carefully effacing the trace of each laborious footstep ashe ad-. .~ vanced; each idea, each image, coming out at last, as if cast entire at a single throw, — ~ 7. original, energetic, and clear. Although Mr. M—— had promised to Rousseau thathe would publish his + Confessions’ as they were, yet he took upon himself to suppress . a passage explaining certain circumstances of his abjurations at Anpeci, affording a 4 curious but frightfully disgusting picture of monkish manners at the time. It isa —_ pity that Mr. M—— did not break his word in regard to some few more passiges of that most,admirable and most vile of all the productions of genius. ae Madame de Stael (1766-1817). eatery T had seen Madame de Staél a child ; and I saw her again on her death-bed. The intermediate years were spent in another hemisphere, as far as possible from the scenes in which she lived. Mixing again, not many months since. with a world in which I am a stranger, and feel that I must remain so, I just saw this celebrated wo- man, and heard, as it were, her last words, as I had read her works before, uninflu- enced by any local bias. Perhaps the impressions of a man thus dropped from ~~ another world into this, may be deemed something like those of posterity. Ea Madame de Staél lived for conversation: she was not happy out of a large circle, : and a French circle, where she could be heard in her own language to the best ad- vantage. Her. extravagant admiration of the society of Paris was neither more nor less than genuine admiration of herself. It was the best mirror she could get—and that was all. Ambitious of all sorts of notoriety, she would have given the world to have been born noble and a beauty. Yet there was in this excessive vanity so much honesty and frankness, it was so entirely void of affectation and trick. she made go fair and so irresistible an appeal to your own sense of her worth, that what would have- been laughable in any one else was almost respectable in her. That ambition of elo- quence, so conspicuons‘in her writings, was much less observable in her conversation ; there was more abandon in what she said than in what she wrote. while speaking, the spontaneous inspiration was no jabour, but. all pleasure. Conscious of extraordi-- nary powers, she gave herself up to the present enjoyment of the good things, and the deep things, flowing in a full stream from her own well-stored mind and luxuriant ancy Aa nami apetie was pleasure, a ae i$ was inspiration: and without pre- cisely intending it, she was, every evening of her life, in a circle of com . Corinne she had depicted. ‘ ORIDERY SUEYE a ~ Leese are ee - ee . a eS ee Sa 7 5 aa n a _ REES.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. ar: ss ENCYCLOPASDIAS AND SERIAL WORKS. We have referred to the continuation of the ‘Cyclopeedia’ of Eph- aim Chambers by. Dr. ABRAHAM REES, a dissenting clergyman (1743-1825). This revival was so successful that the publishers of the work agreed with Dr Rees to undertake a new and magnificent work of a similar nature; and in 1802 the first volume of ‘ Rees’s ~ Cyclopedia’ was issued, with illustrations in a style of engraving never surpassed in this country. This splendid work extended to forty-five volumes. In 1771 the ‘Encyclopedia Britannica,’ edited by Mr William Smellie, was published in three volumes. The second edition, commenced in 1776, was enlarged to ten volumes, and embraced biography and history. The third edition, completed in 1797, amounted to eighteen volumes, and was enriched with valuable treatises on Grammar and Metaphysics, by the Rev. Dr. ~ Gleig; with profound articles on Mythology, Mysteries, and Philo- logy, by Dr. Doig; and with an elaborate view of the philosophy of induction, and contributions in physical science, by Professor Robin- son. Two supplementary volumes were afterwards added to this -. work. » Transit,’ and in 1846 ‘The Year of the World,’ ‘both transcendenta. poems, mystical as Mr. Heraud’s strains, - but evidently prompted by admiration of Shelley. In 1854 Mr. Scott issued ‘Poems by a Painter;’ and in 1875 a volume of ‘ Poems, Ballads,’ &c., with etchings by the author and by Alma Tadema. MRS. SOUTHEY. CAROLINE ANNE Bowes (1787-1854) was the daughter of a retired officer, Captain Charles Bowles, of Buckland, near Lymington, Hants, She was, when young, deprived of her parents, and was left almost wholly to the care of the nurse, to whom she makes grateful reference in her writings. In her country retirement, she early cultivated literature, and produced successively ‘Ellen Fitz-Arthur,’ a poem, 1820; ‘The Widow’s Tale, and other Poems,’ 1822; ‘ Solitary Hours, Prose and Verse,’ 1826; ‘Chapters on Churchyards ’—a series of tales and sketches in prose, originally published in ‘ Blackwood’s Maga- zine,’ and reprinted in two volumes, 1829. A long and affectionate intimacy subsisted between Southey and Miss Bowles, and in 1839 _they were married. The ‘Atheneum’ (Aug. 1854) states that no sacrifice could be greater than the one Miss Bowles made on this occasion. She resigned a larger income than she knew she would receive at Southey’s death, and she ‘consented to unite herself to him with a sure prevision of the awful condition of mind to which he - would shortly be reduced—with a certain knowledge of the injurious treatment to which she might be exposed—from the purest motive that could actuate a woman in forming such a connection; namely, the faint hope that her devotedness might enable her, if not to avert the catastrophe, to acquire at least a legal title to minister to the sufferer’s comforts, and watch over the _ few sad years of existence that might remain to him.’ The laureate himself, in writing to his friend Walter Savage Landor on the - subject of this second marriage, said he had, according to human foresight, ‘judged well, and acted wisely; but to his family it was peculiarly distasteful, except to one of its members, Edith - May Southey, married to Mr. Warter, the editor of the posthumous _ edition of Southey’s ‘ Doctor’ and ‘Commonplace Books.’ To this lady, Mrs. Southey, in 1847—four years after the death of the lau- reate—dedicated a volume bearing the title of ‘Robin Hood: a Frag- _ ment; by the late Robert Southey and Caroline Southey; with other ' Fragments and Poems by R. 8. and C. S.’ So early as 1823, South- ey had projected a poem on Robin Hood, and asked Caroline Bowles -to form an intellectual union with him that it might be executed. Various efforts were made and abandoned. The metre selected by Southey was that of his poem of ‘ Thalaba ’—a measure not only dif- ‘ficult, but foreign to all the ballad associations called up by the name of Robin Hood. Caroline Bowles, however, persevered, and we sub- _ join two stanzas of the portion contributed by her. A ‘ eS ne de * r 44 CYCLOPADIA OF _- [ro 1876. Majestically s!ow To the horizon’s verge by the deep for- The sun goes down in glory— est. ‘The full-orbed autumn sun ; From battlement to basement, The holy stillness of the hour, From flanking tower to flanking tower, The hush of human life, The long-ranged windows of a noble hall Lets the low voice be heard— Fling back the flamy splendour. The low, sweet, solemn voice Of the deep woods, Vave above, wave below, Orange, and green, and gold, Its mystical murmuring Russet and crimson, Now swelling into choral harmony, Like an embroidered zone, ancestral Rich, full, exultant ; woods, In tremulous whispers next, Close round on all sides: Sinking away, Those again begirt A spiritual undertone. si In wavy undulations of all hues Till the cooing of the wood-pigeon Is heard alone, The poem was never completed: ‘ clouds were gathering the while, says Mrs. Southey, ‘ and before the time came that our matured pur- pose should bear fruit, the fiat had gone forth, and ‘“‘all was in the ~ dust.”’ The remaining years of the poetess were spent in close re- tirement. She left behind her, it is said, upwards of twelve hundred —— letters from the pen of Southey. The writings of Mrs. Southey, both prose and verse, illustrate her love of retirement, her amiable charac- ter, and poetical susceptibilities. A vein of pathos, runs through ~ most of the little tales or novelettes, and colours her poetry. Mariner's Hymn. Launch thy bark, mariner! Christian, God speed thee! Let loose the rudder-bands— Good angels lead thee! Set thy sails warily, Tempests will come; Steer thy course steadily ; Christian, steer home! Look to the weather-bow, Breakers are round thee $ Let fall the plummet now, Shallows may ground thee. Reef in the foresail, there! Hold the helm fast ! So—let the vessel wear— Be wakeful be vigilant— Danger may be At an hour when all seemeth Securest to thee. How! gains the leak so fast? Clean ont the hold— Hoist up thy merchandise, Heave out. thy gold; There—let the ingots go— Now the ship rights ; Hurrah! the harbour’s near Lo! the red lights! Slacken not sail yet. At inlet or island ; Pee ! i ¥ « * Straight for the beacon steer, Straight for the high land ; Crowd all thy canvas on, Cut through the foam— Christian cast anchor now— Heaven is thy home! * Once upon a Time. a I’ve never heard such music since, From every bending spray ; I’ve never plucked such primrosea, “a Set thiek on bank and brae; at I’ve never smelt such violets As all that pleasant time I found by every hawthorn root— When I was in my prime. There swept the blest. -¢What of the night. watchman ? What of the night?’ ‘ Cloudy—all quiet— No land yet—all’s right.’ I mind me of a pleasant time, A season long ago; The pleasantest I’ve ever known, Or ever now shall know. Bees, birds, and little tinkling rills, . So merrily did chime; The year waa in its sweet spring-tide, And I wes in my prime. . ee ——— ~ READE. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE, _ 45 Yon moory down. so black and bare, The morning mist and evening haze— -___Was gorgeous then and gay Unlike this cold gray rime— _ With golden gorse—bright blossoming— Seemed woven warm of golden air— As none blooms nowaday. When I was in my prime, The blackbird sings but seldom now Up there in the old lime, And blackberries—so mawkish now— Where hours and hours he used to sing— Were finely flavoured then; When I was in my prime. And nuts—such reddening clusters ripe } : Ine’er shall pull again; _ Such cutting winds came never then ' Nor strawberries blushing bright—as rich To pierce one through and through ; As fruits of sunniest clime ; More softly fell the silent shower, How all is altered for the worse More balmily the dew. Since I was in my prime! The Pauper’s Death-bed. Tread softly—bow the head— Lifting with meagre hands In reverent silence bow— A dying head. No passing-bell doth toll— , Yet an immortal soul No mingling voices sound— ~ Is passing now. An infant wail alone; A sob suppressed—again Stranger! however great, That. short deep gasp, and then With lowly reverence bow; The parting groan. -There’s one in that poor shed— One by that paltry bed— O change—O wondrous change !|— Greater than thou. Burst are the prison bars— : This moment there, so low, - Beneath that Beggar’s roof, So agonized, and now Lo! Death doth keep his state: . Beyond the stars ! Enter—no crowds attend— Enter—no guards defend O change—stupendous change ! This palace-gate. : There lies the sc ulless clod: The sun eternal breaks— That pavement damp and cold The new immortal wakes— No smiling couriiers tread ;_ Wakes with his God. ' _ One silent woman stands JOHN EDMUND READE. _ The first production of Mr. READE appears to have been a volume entitled ‘The Broken Heart and other Poems,’ 1825. From that period up to 1868 he has published a long series of poems and dramas. ‘Cain the Wanderer’ and the ‘ Revolt of the Angels’ in 1830; ‘ Italy,’ 1838; ‘Catiline’ and ‘The Deluge,’ 1839; ‘Sacred Poems,’ 1843; ‘Memnon,’ 1844; ‘Revelations of Life,’ 1849; &c. Mr. Reade has lived to superintend and publish four collective editions of his poetical works (1851-1865). He has also written some novels, and two volumes of ‘Continental Impressions’ (1847). The poem of ‘Italy,’ in the Spenserian stanza, recalls Byron’s ‘Childe Harold,’ while the ‘Revelations’ resemble. Wordsworth’s ‘Excursion.’ We subjoin a few lines of description: We looked toward The sun. rayless and red ; emerging slow From a black canopy that lowered above. O’er a blue sky it hung where fleecy clouds Swelled like how hills along the horizon’s verge. Down slanting to a sea of glory, or O’er infinite pena in luminous repose. 46 CYCLOPAEDIA OF . [To 1876. — Eastward the sulphurous thunder-clouds were rolled .. é While on the lurid sky beneath was marked The visibly falling storm. The western rays Braided its molten edges, rising up Like battlemented towers, their brazen fronts Changing perturbedly: from which, half seen, - The imaginative eye could body forth Spiritual forms of thrones and fallen powers, : é Reflecting on their scarred and fiery fronts, +e The splendours left behind them. ‘ of _ Catiline,’ a drama, is well conceived and executed; but. here also a Mr. Reade follows another poetical master, Ben Jonson. a WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED. This. gentleman (1802-1839) was early distinguished for scholarship and poetic talent. In conjunction with a school-fellow—the Rev. — John Moultrie, who also wrote some pleasing poetry—Mr. Praed set — up a paper called ‘The Etonian;’ and he was associated with Mac-— — aulay as a writer in ‘ Knight’s Quarterly Magazine.’ The son of* — a wealthy London banker, Mr. Praed was educated at Eton and — Trinity College, Cambridge; he studied for the bar, and having — entered public life as a Conservative politician, sat in:the House of. Commons for English boroughs, and for a short period in 1835 held _ the office of Secretary of the Board of Control. His poetical pieces — were contributed to periodicals, and were first collected by An — American publisher in 1844, They are light, fashionable sketches, ~ yet executed with great truth and sprightliness. The folowing isan — excellent portrait of a wealthy English bachelor and humorist: Quince. Near a small village in the West, Where many very worthy people Eat, drink, play whist, and do their best To guard from evil church and steeple, y There stood—alas! it stands no more !— = A tenement of brick and plaster, ; > Of which, for forty years and four, , 3 My good friend Quince was lord and master, eae <4 Welcome was he in hut and hall, To maids and matrons, peers and peasants ; He won the sympathies of all By making puns and making presents. . Though all the parish was at strife, He kept his counsel and his carriage, = And laughed, and loved a quiet life, F* And shrunk from Chancery-guits and marriage. , Sound was his claret and his head, ° Warm was his double ale and feelings ; ce His partners at the whist-club said That he was faultless in his dealings. ‘a He went to church but once a week, ‘He Yet Dr. Poundtext always found him o4 An upright man, who studied Greek, : ~ti And liked to see his friends wound him, 4 7 ad + » = y ™ ‘ > ENGLISH LITERATURE. Asylums, hospitals, and schools He used to sweur were made to cozen 3 All who subscribed to them were fools— And he subscribed to, half a dozen. It was his doctrine that the poor Were always able, never willing: And so the beggar at the door Had first abuse, and then a shilling. Some public principles he had, But. was no flatterer nor fretter ; He rapped his box when things were bad, And said: ‘I cannot make them better.’ And much he loathed the patriot’s snort, ~ And much he scorned the placeman’s snuffle And cut the fiercest quarrels short With, ‘ Patience, gentlemen, and shuffle!’ For full ten years his pointer, Speed, Had couched beneath his master’s table ; For twice ten years his.old white steed Had fattened in his master’s stable. Old Quince averred upon his troth They were the ugliest beasts in Devon ; And none knew why he fed them both With his own hands, six days in seven. Whene’er they heard his ring or knock, Quicker than thought the village slatterns Flung down the novel, smoothed the frock, And took up Mrs. Glasse or patterns. Alice was studying baker’s bills ; Louisa looked the queen of knitters ; Jane happened to be hemming frills ; And Nell by chance was making fritters. But all was vain. And while decay Came like a tranquil moonlight o’er him, And found him gouty still and gay, With no fair nurse to bless or bore him; His rugged smile and easy chuir, His dread of matrimonial Jectures, His wig, his stick, his powdered hair, . Were themes for very strange conjectures, Some sages thought the stars above Had crazed him with excess of knowledge3 Some heard he had been crossed in love Before he came away from college; Some darkly hinted that His Grace Did nothing, great or small, without him $ Some whispered, with a solemn face, That there was something odd about him, I found him at threescore and ten A single man, but bent quite double ; Sickness was coming on him then To take him from a world of trouble.! He prosed of sliding down the hill, Discovered he grew older per One frosty day he made his will, The next he sent for Dr. Baillie. 48 | -CYCLOPADIA OF >” [To 1876, And s0 he lived, and so he died: * When last I sat beside his pillow, > 423 a He shook my hand: ‘Ah me!’ he cried, Ai ‘Penelope must wear the willow! z Tell her I hugged her rosy chain ss While life was flickering in the socket, a And say that when I call again - I'll bring a license in my pocket. ‘I’ve left my house and gtounds to Fag— I hope his master’s shoes will suit him !— And I’ve bequeathed to you my nag, To feed him for my sake, or shoot him. i aan The vicar’s wife will take old Fox; She’l] find him an uncommon mouser} And let her husband have my box, My Bible, and my Assmanshijuser. ‘ Whether I ought to die or not, My doctors cannot quite determine ; ~ ' It’s only clear that I shall rot, : a And be, like Priam, food for vermin. r My debts are paid. But Nature’s debt : Almost escaped my recollection ! ‘ Tom, we shali meet again; and yet I cannot leave you my direction!’ THOMAS HOOD. ‘Tuomas Hoop (1798-1845) appeared before the public chiefly asa ~*~ comic poet and humorist; but several of his compositions, of a differ- ent nature, shew that he was also capable of excelling in the grave, pathetic, and sentimental. He had thoughts ‘ too deep for tears,’ and _ a .rich imaginative dreams and fancies, which were at times embodied — in continuous strains of pure and exquisite poetry, but more frequently thrown in, like momentary shadows, among his light and fantastic _ effusions. His wit and sarcasm were always well applied. - se This ingenious and gifted man was a native of London, son of 4 one of the partaers in the book-selling firm of Vernor, Hood, and — Sharpe. He was educated for the counting-house, and at an early age was placed under the charge of a City merchant. His health, — however, was found unequal to the close confinement and application required at the merchant’s desk, and he was sent to reside with some relatives in Dundee, of which town his father was a native. While resident there, Mr. Hood evinced his taste for literature. He con- tributed to the local newspapers, and also to the ‘Dundee Magazine,’ — a periodical of considerable merit. On the re-establishment of his” is health, he returned to London, and was put apprentice to a per an engraver. At this employment he remained just long enough to — acquire a taste for drawing, which was afterwards of essential service — to him in illustrating his poetical productions. About the year 1821 he had adopted literature as a profession, and was installed as regular assistant to the ‘ London Magazine,’ which at that time was left with- _ out its founder and ornament, Mr. John Scott, who was unhappily ‘a killed ina duel. On the cessation of this work, Mr. Hood wrote for ot s to -Hoop.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. tee 49 various periodicals. He was some time editor of the ‘New Monthly Magazine,’ and also of a magazine which bore his own name. His - life was one of incessant exertion, embittered by ill health and all the disquiets and uncertainties incidental to authorship. When almost prostrated by disease, the governmeut stepped in to relieve him with a small pension; and atter his premature death in May 1845, his literary friends contributed liberally towards the support of his widow and family. The following lines, written a few weeks before his death, possess a peculiar and melancholy interest: Farewell, Life ! my senses swim, Welcome, Life! the spirit strives : And the world is growing dim; Strength returns, and hope revives: Thronging shadows cloud the light, Cloudy fears and shapes forlorn Like the advent of the night— Fly like shadows at the momn— Colder, colder, colder still, O’er the earth there comes a bloom ; Upwards steals a vapour chill ; Sunny light for sullen gloom, Strong the earthy odour grows— Warm perfume for vapour-cold— _ I smell the mould above the rose! I smell the rose above the mould! April, 1845. Mr. Hood’s productions are in various styles and forms. © His first work, ‘ Whims and Oddities,’ attained to great_popularity. Their most original feature was the use which the author made of puns—a figure _ generally too contemptible for literature, but which in Hood’s hands, became the basis of genuine humour, and often of the purest pathos. _ He afterwards (1827) tried a series of ‘ National Tales’; but his prose was less attractive than his verse. A regular novel, ‘Tylney Hall,’ was a more decided failure. In poetry he made a great advance. ‘The Plea of the Midsummer Fairies’ isa rich imaginative work, superior to his other productions. As editor of the ‘Comic Annual’ and also of some of the literary annuals, Mr. Hood increased his repu- tation for sportive humour and poetical fancy; and he continued the same vein in his ‘ Up the Rhine ’—a satire on the absurdities of English travellers. In 1843, he issued two volumes of ‘ Whimsicalities, a Periodical Gathering,’ collected chiefly from the ‘New. Monthly - Magazine.’ His last production of any importance was the ‘Song of the Shirt,’ which first appeared in ‘Punch’ (1844), and is as admirable in spirit as in composition. : This striking picture of the miseries of the poor London semp- stresses struck home to the heart, and aroused the benevolent feelings of the public. In most of Hood’s works, even in his puns and levi- ties, there is a ‘ spirit of good’ directed to some kindly or philan- _ thropic object. He had serious and mournful jests, which were the more effective from their strange and unexpected combinations. Those who came to laugh at folly, remained to sympathise with want and suffering. The ‘various pen’ of Hood, said Douglas Jerrold, ‘touched alike the springs of laughter and the sources of tears.’ Charles Lamb said Hood carried two faces under his ‘namesake,’ a tragic one and a comic. Of Hood’s graceful and poetical puns, it would be easy to give 50 CYCLOPADIA OF ~—__— [ro 1876 abundant specimens. The following stanzas form part of an inimit- able burlesque: g a Lament for tne Decline of Chivalry. c Well hast thou said, departed Burke, The curtal-axe is out of date! Ali chivalrous romantic work ‘he good old cross-bow bends to Fate; _is ended now and past! "Lis gone the archer’s craft! That iron age, which some have thought No tough arm bends the springing yew. Of mettie rather Overwrought, And jolly draymen ride, im lieu a: Is now all over-cast. Of Death, upon the shaft... . Ay! where are those heroic knights In cayils when will cavaliers | p Ut old—those armadillo wights Set ringing helmets by the ears, Who wore the plaited vest? And scatter plumes about? Great Chariemague and all his peers Or blood—if they are in the vein? Are coid—enjoyl:g with their spears That tap will never run again— Ab everiasig rest. Alas, the casque is out! The bold King Arthur Sleepeth goynd; _ No iron cracklin i dierent S g now is scored. So sleep his knights who gave that Rouud By dint of battle-axe or sword, — Old ‘able sucn eclat } To find a vital place; a ee has plucked the plumy brow! Though certain doctors still pretend, oe none engage at turneys now Awhile, before they kill a friend, ut those that go tolaw!... To labour through his case! Where are those old and feudal clans. Farewell, then, ancient m ight! Where ¢ : en of might! one pikes, and bills, and partisans ; ; Crusader, errant squire, and knight! pet a hauberks, jerkius, puffs ? Our coats and customs soften ; ‘- aa attle was a battle then, To rise would only make you weep; A breathing piece of work ; but men Sleep on in rusty iron, sleep a Fight now with powder puffs! As in a safety coffin! | The grave, lofty, and sustained style of Hood is much more rare ~ than this punning vein, but a few verses will shew how truly poeti- cal at times was his imagination—how rapt his fancy. The diction of the subjoined stanzas is rich and musical, and may recall some of the finest flights of the Elizabethan poets. We quote from an ‘Ode to the Moon.’ ; Mother of light! how fairly dost thou go Over those hoary crests, divinely led! Art thou that huntress of the silver bow Fabled of old? Or rather dost thou tread Those cloudy summits thence to gaze below, - - Like the wild chamois on her Alpine snow, 4 Where hunter never climbed—secure from dread? | A thousand ancient fancies I have read <4 Of that fair presence, and a thousand wrought, Wondrous and bright, Upon the silver light, Tracing fresh figures with the artist thought. What art thou like? Sometimes I see thee ride A far-bound galley on its perilous way ; P Whilst breezy waves toss up their silvery spray ; © a ’T was there with thee I wont to talk; Think thou upon the days gone by, And heave a sigh. > iH. When gails the moon above the mountains, And cloudless skies are purely blue, And sparkle in her light the fountains, And darker frowns the lonely yew, , Then be thou melancholy too, While pausing on the hours I proved _With thee beloved. III. ; When wakes the dawn upon thy dwelling, a And lingering shadows disappear, | Y As soft the woodland songs are swelling. A choral anthem on thine ear, Muse. for that hour to thought is dear, * And then its flight remembrance wings To brpast things. Iv. o To me, through every season dearest ; In every scene, by day, by night, Thou, present to.my mind appearest A quenchless star. for ever bright ; . My solitary sole delight; £ Where’er I am. by shore—at sea— I think of thee! REV. JOHN MOULTRIE, } Associated with Praed, Macaulay. Henry Nelson Coleridge, and others in the “£toxian’ and ‘ Knight’s Quarterly Magazine,’ was the - = “MOULTRIE. ] "ENGLISH LITERATURE. 55 Rev. JonHn Movuutrre (1799-1874), for some time rector of Rugby—an amiable 4nd accomplished man, and one of the most graceful and meditative of the minor poets. He published two volumes—‘ My Brother’s Grave, and other Poems,’ 1887; and ‘The Dream of Life, and other Poems,’ 1848: also a volume of ‘Sermons preached in the Parish Church of Rugby,’ 1852. A complete edition of Moultrie’s poems was published in 1876, with memoir by the Rev. Derwent Cole- ridge, one of the most attached and admiring of his college friends. The following is part of one of his earliest and best poems. My Brother's Grave. Beneath the chancel’s hallowed stone, Exposed to every rustic tread, ‘To few save rustic mourners known, ~My brother, is thy lowly bed. Few words upon the rough stone graven, Thy name, thy birth, thy youth declare ; Thy innocence, thy hopes of heaven, In simplest phrase recorded there : No ’scutcheons shine, no banners wave, In mockery o’er my brother’s grave. The place is silent—rarely sound Is heard those ancient walls around ; Nor mirthful voice of friends that meet, Discoursing in the public street ; Nor hum of business dull and loud, Nor murmur of the passing crowd, Nor soldier’s drum, nor trumpet’s swell From neighbouring fort or citadel— No sound of human toil or strife To death’s Jone dwelling speaks of life ; Nor breaks the_silence still and deep, Where thou, beneath thy burial stone, Art laid ‘in that unstartled sleep The living eye hath never known.’ The lonely sexton’s footstep falls In dismal echoes on the walls, As, slowly pacing through the aisle, He sweeps the unholy dust away. And cobwebs, which must not defile Those windows 9n the Sabbath day ; And, passing through the central nave, Treads lightly on my brother’s grave. But when the sweet-toned Sabbath chime, Pouring its music on the breeze, Proclaims the well-known holy time Of prayer, and thanks, and bended : nees ; When rustic crowds ae meet, And lips and hearts to God are given, And souls enjoy oblivion sweet Of earthly ills, in thought of heaven ; What voice of calm and soiemn tone Is heard above thy burial stone? What form, in priestly meek array Beside the altar kneels to pray? What holy hands are iifted up To bless the sacramental cup ? Full well I know that reverend form, And if a voice could reach the dead, Those tones would reach thee, though the worm, My brother, makes thy heart his bed; That sire, who thy existence gave, Now stands beside thy lonely grave. It is not long since thou wert wont Within these sacred walls to kneel ; This altar, that baptismal font, These abe which now thy dust con- ceal, The sweet tones of the Sabbath bell, Were holiest objects to thy soul; On these thy spirit loved to dwell, Untainted by. the world’s control. My brother, these were happy days, When thou and I were children yet ; How fondly memory still surveys ‘Those scenes that heart can ne’er forget ! ue soul was then, as thine is now, Jnstained by sin, unstung by pain ; Peace smiled on each unclonded brow— Mine ne’er will be so calm again. How blitheiy then we hailed the ray Which ushered in the Sabbath day ! How lightly then our footsteps trod Yon pathway to the house of God! For souls, in which no dark offence Hath sullied childhood’s innocence, . Best meet the pure and hallowed shrine Which guiltier bosoms own divine. . .° And years have passed, and thou art now Forgotten in thy silent tomb; And cheerful is my mother’s brow ; My father’s eye has Jost its gloom; And rare have passed, and death ves aid —: Another victim by thy side; With thee he roams, an infant shade; But not more pure than thou he died. Blest are ye both! your ashes reat 56 | “CYCLOPADIA OF fro 1876, Beside the spot ye Joved the best; But who can tell what blissful shore And: that dear home, which -saw your Your angel spirit wanders o’er? birth, ; . — And who can tell what raptures high O’erlooks you in your bed of earth. Now bless your immortality ? THE HON. MRS. NORTON. The family of Sheridan has been prolific of genius, and Mrs. — . Norton has well sustained the honours of her race. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, by his marriage with Miss Linley, had one son, Thomas, whose convivial wit and fancy were scarcely less bright or less esteemed than those of his father, and whose many amiable qualities greatly endeared him to his friends. He died at a com- paratively early age (in 1817), while filling the office of Colonial Pay- master at the Cape of Good Hope. In 1806, Thomas Sheridan was in Scotland, in the capacity of aide-de-camp to Lord Moira, and he - there married a daughter of Colonel and Lady Elizabeth Callender of Craigforth, by whom he had a numerous family.* Caroline Elizabeth Sarah was one of three sisters; she was born in 1808, and in her nineteenth year was married to the Hon. George Chapple Norton, son of the first Lord Grantley. This union was dissolved in 1840, after Mrs. Norton had been the object of suspicion and perse- cution of» the most painful description: Mr. Norton was for thirty years recorder of Guildford; he died in 1875. From her childhood, Caroline Sheridan wrote verses. Her first publication was an at- — tempt at satire, ‘The Dandies’ Rout,’ to which she added illustrative drawings. In her seventeenth year she wrote ‘The Sorrows of Rosalie,’ a poem embodying a pathetic story of village-life, but which — ‘was not published until 1829. Her next work was a poem founded on the ancient legend of the Wandering Jew, and which .she termed ‘ The Undying One,’ 1881. A novel, ‘ The Wife and Woman’s Reward,’ 18385, was Mrs. Norton’s © next production. In 1840 appeared ‘The Dream, and other Poems.’ In 1845, she published ‘The Child of the Islands,’ a poem written to — draw the attention of the Prince of Wales, when he should be able to attend to social questions, to the condition of the people ‘in aland and time wherein there is too little communication between Classes,’ and too little expression of sympathy on the part of the rich towards the poor. This was no new theme of the poetess: she had years be- — Yore written letters on the subject, which were published in the ‘Times’ newspaper. At Christmas 1846, Mrs. Norton issued two — poetical fairy tales, ‘Aunt Carry’s- Ballads for Children,’ which charm alike by their graceful fancy and brief sketches of birds, woods, and flowers. In 1850 appeared a volume of ‘Tales and Sketches in Prose and Verse,’ being a collection of miscellaneous pieces originally contributed to periodicals. * Lady Elizabeth, the mother of Mrs, Norton, was a daughter of the Earl of Antrim, She wrote a novel, entitled Carwell. Those who trace the preponderance of talent to the mother’s side. may conclude that a tresh infusion of lrish genius was added to the Sheridan family by this connection, % ~ MRS. NonTON.)] ENGLISH LITERATURE. Next year a bolder venture is tried, a three-volume novel, entitled ‘Stuart of Dunleath, a Story of Modern Times.’ The incidents of this story are too uniformly sad and gloomy—partly tinged by the bitter experiences of the authoress ; but it presents occasional passages of humour and sarcasm, and a more matured though unfavourable knowledge of the world. It seemed as if the mind of the accomplished ‘writer had been directed more closely to ‘the evils done under the sun,’ and that she longed passionately for power to redress them. In 1854 she wrote ‘English Laws for Women in the Nincteenth Cen- “tury ; in 1862, The ‘ Lady of Garaye ; in 1863, a novel entitled ‘Lost and Saved.’ Her subsequent public appearances have been chiefly on topics of social importance ; and the recent improvement in the English marriage laws may be traced primarily to the eloquent plead- ings and untiring exertions of Mrs. Norton. ‘This lady,’ says a writer ‘in the ‘ Quarterly Review,’ ‘is the Byron of our modern poetesses. She has very much of that intense personal passion by which Byron’s poetry is distinguished from the larger grasp and deeper communion with man and nature of Wordsworth. She has also Byron’s deautiful intervals of.tenderness, his strong pracfical thought, and his forceful expression. It is not an artificial imitation, but a natural parallel,’ Phe truth of this remark, both as to poetical and personal similarity of feeling, will be seen from the following impassioned verses, _ addressed by Mrs. Norton to- the late Duchess of Sutherland, to Whom she dedicated her Poems. The simile of the swan flinging aside the ‘turbid drops’ from her snowy wing is certainly worthy of Byron. But happily Mrs.. Norton has none of Byron’s misanthropy or cold hopelessness. ; . Lo the Duchess of Sutherland. Once more, my harp! once more, although I thought Never to wake thy silent strings again. A wandering dream thy gentle chords have wrought, . And my sad heart, which long hath dwelt in pain, Soars, like a wild bird from a cypress bough, Into the poet’s heaven, and leaves dull grief below ! And unto thee—the beautiful and pure— Whose Jot is cast amid that busy world Where only sluggish Dullness dwells secure, > And Fancy’s generous wing is faintly furled ; To thee—whose friendship kept its equal truth e Through the most dreary hour of my embittered youth <* | = I dedicate the Jay. Ah! never bard, ; In days when poverty was twin with song; Nor wandering harper, lonely and ill-starred, Cheered by some castle’s Chief. and harboured long; 5 Not Scott’s Last Minstrel, in his trembling lays, : Woke with a warmer heart the earnest meed of praise! { For easy are the alms the rich roan spares = To sons of Genius, by misfortune bent; But thou gav’st me, what women seldom dares, EL. w7-3 . Sha!l pause, to conjure up a vision of its grace! CF CYCLOPEDIA OF ~—_ [ro 1876. Belief—in spite of many a cold dissent— When, slandered and maligned, I stood apart From those whose bounded power hath wrung, not crushed, . my heart. Thou, then. when cowards lied away my name, 4 And scoffed to see me feebly stem the tide ; : When some were kind on whom I had no claim, And some forsook on whom my love relied, And some, who might have battled for my sake, Stood off in doubt to see what turn the world would take. Thou gav’st me that the poor do give the poor, Kind words and holy wishes, and true tears ; The loved, the near of kin could do no more, Who changed not with'the gloom of varying years, But clung the closer when I stoed forlorn, de And blunted Slander’s dart with their indignant scorn. For they who credit crime, are they who feel Their own hearts weak to unresisted sin 5 e Memory, not judgment, prompts the thoughts which steal O’er minds like these, an easy faith to win 3 y And tales of broken truth are still believed Most readily by thosg who have themselves deceived. But like a white swan down a troubled stream, Whose ruffling pinion hath the power to fling t Aside the turbid drops which darkly glean, “ And mar the freshness of her snowy wing— So thou, with queenly grace and gentle pride, Along the world’s dark wayes in purity dost glide: Thy pale and pearly cheek was never made . To crimson with a fdint false-hearted shame 5 @ Thou didst not shrink—of bitter tongues afraid 5 Who hunt in packs the objects of their blame ; To thee the sad denial still held true, For from thine own good thoughts thy heart its mercy drew. And though my faint and tributary rhymes Add nothing to the glory of thy day, _ Yet every poet hopes that after-times Shall set some value on his votive lay ; ’. And I would fain one gentle deed record, Among the mény such with which thy life is stored. So when these lines, made in a mournful hour, Are idly opened to the stranger’s eye, (a A dyeam of thee, aroused by Fancy’s power, Shall be the first to wander floating by ; And they who never saw thy lovely face im a poem entitled ‘ Autumn’ there is a noble simile: I know the gray stones in the rocky glen, Where the wild red deer gathegone by one, And listen, startled, to the tread of men Which the betraying breeze hath backward »'own! So—with such dark majestic eyes, where shone Less terror than amazement—nobly came Peruvia’s Incas, when, through lands unknown, The cruel conqueror with the blood-stained name Swept with pursuing sword and desolating fame. = Aa rae * “MRS. NoRTON.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 59 In ‘The Winter’s Walk,’ a poem written after walking with Mr. Rogers the poet, Mrs. Norton has the following graceful and pictur- esque lines: Gleamed the red sun athwart the misty haze Which veiled the cold earth from its loving gaze, Feeble and sad as hope in sorrow’s hour— But for thy soul it still had warmth and power; Not to its cheerless beauty wert thou blind ; To the keen eye of thy poetic mind Beauty still lives, though nature’s flowerets die, And wintry sunsets fade along the sky! And nought escaped thee as we strolled along, Nor changeful ray, nor bird’s faint chirping song. Blessed with a fancy easily inspired, All was beheld, and nothing nnadmired ; From the dim city to the clouded plain, Not ove of all God’s blessings given in vain. The affectionate attachment of Rogers to Sheridan, in bis last and evil days, is delicately touched upon by the poetess: And when at length he laid his dying head ; - On the hard rest of his neglected bed, : He found (thou,h few or none around him came Whom he had toiled for in his hour of fame— Though by his Prince unroyally forgot, And left to struggle with his altered lot), By sorrow weakened, by disease unnerved— Faithful at least the friend he had not served: For the same voice essayed that hour to cheer, Which now sounds welcome to his grandchild’s ear; And the same hand, to aid that life’s decline, Whose gentle clasp so late was linked in mire. Picture of Twilight. O Twilight! Spirit that dost render birth To dim enchantmeuts ; melting heaven with earth, Leaving on craggy hills and run ving streams A softness hike the atmosphere of creams; Thy hour to all is welcome! Faint and sweet Thy light falls round the peasant’ homeward feet, Who, slow returning from his task of toil, Sees the low sunset gild the cultured soil, And, though such radiance round him brightly glowa, Marks the small-spark his cottage-window throws Still as his heart forestalls his weary pace, Fondly he dreams of each familiar face, Recalls the treasures of his narrow life— « _ His rosy children and his sunburut wife, To whom his coming is the chief event Of simple days in cheerful labour spent. “he rich man’s chariot hath gone whirling paet, And these poor cottagers have only cast One careless glance on all that show of pride, Then to their tasks turned quietly aside ; But him they wait for. him they welcome homes Fixed sentinels look forth to sce him come} The fagot sent for when the fire grew dim, ‘The frugal meal prepared. are all for him: For him the watching of that sturdy boy, W8O?- FS CYCLOPADIA OF ’ For him those smiles of tenderness and joy, For himn—who plods his sauntering way along, Whistling the fragment of some village song! Dear art thou to the lover, thou sweet light, Fair fleeting sister of the mournful Night! < As in impatient hope he stands apart, ‘ Companioned only by his beating heart, And with an eager fancy oft beholds , E The vision of a white robe’s fluttering folds. Not Lost, but Gone Before. ~~ ee How mournful-seems, in broken dreams, And the orphan’s tears lament for years The memory of the day, ’ A friend and father gone. $ When icy Death hath sealed the breath - Of some dear form of Clay ; For death and life, in ceaseless strife, : ; Beat-wild on this world’s shore, When pale, unmoved, the face we loved, And all our calm is in that balm, The face we thought so fair, ‘Not lost, but gone before.’ ~ And the hand Sies cold, whose fervent : ‘s hold O world wherein nor death, nor sin, . Once charmed away despair. Nor weary warfare dwells; — ; , : Their blessed home we parted from Oh, what could heal the grief we feel With sobs and sad farewells 5 é For hopes that come no more, a> Had we ne’er heard the Scripture word, | Where eyes awake, for whose dear sake ‘ Not lost, but gone before.’ Our own with tears grow dim, And faint accord of dying words mu Oh, sadly yet with vain regret Are changed for heaven s sweet hymn 5 The widowed heart must yearn 5 % ~ And mothers weep their babes asleep Oh! there at last, life’s trials past, } In the sunlight’s vain return ; We'll meet our loved Guce more, 7 _ Whose feet have trod the path to God—_ The brother’s heart shall rue to part ‘Not last, but gone before.* 3 From the one through childhood : known; “ : Pa THOMAS KIBBLE HERVEY—ALARIC A. WATTS. . ¥ ¥ Mr. Hervey, a native of Machester (1804-1859), for some years | conducted the ‘Atheneum’ literary journal, and contributed to varl- ous other periodicals. He published ‘ Australia, and other Poems, 1824: «The Poetical Sketch-book,’ 1829; ‘Iltustratiens of Modern Sculpture,’ 1832; ‘The English Helicon,’ 1841; &c. His verses are characterised by delicate fancy and feeling. < 2 The Convict Ship. . | Morn on the water! and, purple and bright, e ae Bursts on the billows the flushing of light ; O’er the glad waves, like a child of the sun, See the tall vessel goes gallantly on; _ Full to the breeze she unbosoms her sail, | F And her pennon streams onward, like hope, in the gale; The winds come around her, in murmur and song, And the surges rejoice as they bear her along; See ! she looks up to the golden-edged clouds, An@ the sailor sings gaily aloft in the shrouds * Onward she glides, amid ripple and spray, ig Over-the waters—away. and away! Bright as the visions of youth, ere they part, . - Passing away, like a dream of the heart! ; ~~ = coe Saenvex:] ” ENGLISH LITERATURE. = SBI Who—as the beautiful pageant sweeps by, ~« Music around her, and sunshine on high— ~ Pauses to think, amid glitter and glow, Oh ! there be hearts that are breaking below! Night on the waves !—and the moon is on high, Hung, like a gem, on the brow of the sky, Treading its deaths in the power of her might, x And turning the clouds, as they pass lier, to fight ! : Look to the waters !—asleep on their breast, Seems not the ship like an isiand of rest? Bright and alone on the shadowy main, i Like aheart-cherished home on some desolate plain! : ee Who—as she smiles in the silvery light, Spreading her wings on the bosom of night, Aione on the deep, as the moon in the sky, : A phantom of beauty—could deem, with a sigh, z.¢e 3 That so lovely a thing is the mansion of sin, And that souls that are smitten jie bursting within! Who, as he watches her silently gliding. Remembers that wave after wave is dividing Bosoms that sorrow and guilt could not sever, - Hearts which are parted.and broken for ever ! Or deems that he watches afloat on the wave, The death-bed of hope, or the young spirit’s grave! °Tis thus with our life, while it passes along, Like a vessel at sea, ainidst sunshine and song! Gaily we glide. in the gaze of the world, With streamers aficat, and with canvas unfurled, All gladness and glory, to wandering eyes, Yet chartered by sorrow and freighted with sighs: Fading and false is the aspect it wears, As the smiles we put on, just to cover our tears} And the withering thoughts which the world cannot know, a Like heart-broken exiles, lie burning below 3 = Whilst the vessel drives on to that desolate shore Where the dreams cf our chijidhood are vanished and o’e,, - _ The ‘ Poetical Sketches’ (1822) and ‘Lyrics of the Heart’ (1850) of “Mr. Auartc ALEXANDER Warts (1799-1864) are similar to the pro- - ‘ductions of Mr. Hervey. Their author—a native of London—was connected with the periodical press, and was also among the first editors of those illustrated annual volumes once so numerous, in which poems and short prose sketches from popular or fashionable writers of the day were published. The ‘Literary Souvenir’ ran to ten volumes (1824-34), and the ‘Cabinet of Modern Art’ to three volumes (1835-38). Though generally very poor in point of literary merit, these illustrated annuals unquestionably fostered a taste for art among the people. In/1853, a pension of £300 was settled upon Mr. Watts. = GEORGE DARLEY—SIR AUBREY AND AUBREY THOMAS DE VERE. “@Pcritic has said that many ‘pensive fancies, thoughtful graces, and intellectual interests blossom beneath our busier life and our “more rank and forward literature.’ Some of these we have had the pleasure of pointing out, and among the graceful contributors of such 62 ; CYCLOP-EDIA OF [To 1876. a poetry, we may include Mr. Darey, author of « Sylvia, or the May — ‘Queen’ 1827; of ‘ Thomas a Becket,’ and ‘ Ethelstan,’ dramas; ‘Errors - ot Extasic, and other Poems.’ Mr. Darley—who was a native of Dub- ~ lin—died ata comparatively early age in 1846. He was in the lat- | ter part of his life one of the writers in the ‘ Athenzeum,’ and an _ac- complished critic. —Srm AUBREY DE VERE (died in 1846) was author of two dramatic poems, ‘Julian, the Apostate,’ 1822, and the ‘ The Duke of Mercia,’ 1823; also of ‘A Song of Faith, and other Poems,’ 1842. The ' last volume is dedicated to Wordsworth, who had perused and ‘re- — warded with praise’ some of the pieces.—Sir Aubrey’s third son, — AvuBrery THOMAS DE VERE (born in 1814), has published several pieces — both in verse and prose—‘ The Waldenses, with other Poems,’ 1842; © ‘The Search after Proserpine,’ 1843; ‘Mary Tudor, a Drama,’ 1847; ‘Sketches of Greece and Turkey,’ 1850; ‘ The Infant Bridal, and other — Poems,’ 1864, &e. 4 ARCHBISHOP TRENCH. : J Though of late chiefly known as a theologian and prose author, — RIocHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH early attracted attention by some poems ~ evincing genuine feeling and graceftl expression. * The Story of © Justin Martyr, and other Poems,’ appeared in 1830: ‘Sabbation,’ — ‘Honor Neale,’ &c. in 1888; ‘Elegiac Poems,’ 1850; ‘Poems from | Eastern Sources,’ 1851, &c. This accomplished divine is a native of Dublin, born in 1807. Having studied for the church, he was some = time engaged im different places as curate. In 1845, he became Rector - of Itchin-Stoke, near Alresford; Hulsean Lecturer at Cambridge in — 1846; Professor and Examiner at King’s College, London, in 1847; Dean of Westminster in 1856; and in 1864 he succeeded Dr. Whately © as Archbishop of Dublin. - a 13 : Evening Hymn. : To the sound of evening bells What a still and holy time! All that lives to rest repairs, Yonder glowing sunset seems Birds unto their leafy dells, Like the pathway to a clime Beasts unto their forest lairs. Only seen till now in dreams. ~ All things wear a home-bound look, Pilgrim ! here compelled to roam, From the weary hind that plods Nor allowed that path to tread, Through the corn-fields, to the rook Now, when sweetest sense of home Sailing toward the glimmering woods. On all living hearts is shed, *Tis the time with power to bring Doth not yearning sad, sublime, Tearful memories of home At this season stir thy breast, To the sailor wandering That thou canst not at this time _ On the far-off barren foam. Seek thy home and happy rest ? ; . Some Murmur, when their Sky is Clear, * gy Some murmur. when their sky is clear If but one streak of light, _.. And wholly bright to view, One ray of God’s good mercy gild If_one small speck of dark appear The darkness of their nights . In their great heaven of blue. Tn palaces are hearts that ask, And some with thankful love are filled, In discontent and pride, a —~R AY 2s ee Se, Se rk ew Ste Lo a Fra ha ay i oe ‘ : TRENCH] ~~ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 63 ‘Why life is such & dreary task, How Love has in their aid And all good things denied. (Love that not ever seems to tire) And hearts im poorest huts admire Such rich provision made, THOMAS. AIRD—JAMES HEDDERWICK. A few poems of wild imaginative grandeur, with descriptive sketches of Scottish rural scenery and character, have been written by THomas Arrp, born at Bowden, county of Roxburgh, August 28, 1802. Educated at the university of Edinburgh, Mr. Aird formed the acquaintance of Professor Wilson, Mr. Moir, and other contributors to ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine; and in this favourite peri- odical he published most of the poetical pieces collected into one volume, 1848, and reprinted in 1856. Two volumes of prose sketches have also proceeded from his pen—‘ Religious Characteristics,’ 1827, and ‘The Old Bachelor in the Old. Scottish Village,’ 1848. For nearly a quarter of a century, Mr. Aird conducted a Conservative weekly newspaper, ‘The Dumfries Herald.’ Resident in a beautiful country, with just employment enough to keep the mind from rust: ing, and with the regard of many friends, his life glided on in a simple and happy tranquillity as rare among poets as it is enviable. He died at Dumfries on the 25th of April 1876. From ‘ The Devil's Dream on Mount Aksbeck.’ Beyond the north where Ural hills from polar tempests run, A glow went forth at midnight hour as of wnwonted sun; Upon the north at midnight hour a mighty noise was heard, As if with all his trampling waves the Ocean were unbarred; And high a grizzly Terror hung, upstarting from below, Like fiery arrow shot aloft from some unmeasured bow. *T was not the obedient seraph’s form that burns before the Throne, Whose feathers are the pointed flames that tremble to be gone: With twists of faded glory mixed, grim shadows wove his wing ; An aspect like the hurrying storm proclaimed the Infernal King. And up he went, from native might, or holy sufferance given, As if to strike the starry boss of the high and vaulted heaven, Aloft he turned in middle air, like falcon for his prey, And bowed to all the winds of heaven as if to flee away ; . Till broke a cloud—a phantom host, like glimpses of a dream, Sowing the Syrian wilderness with many a restless gleam : He knew the flowing chivalry, the swart and turbaned train, That far oad pushed the Moslem faith, aud peopled well his reign: With stooping pinion that ontflew the Prophet’s winged steed, ‘ In pride throughout the desert bounds he Jéd the phantom speed ; But prouder yet he turned alone, and stood on Tabor hill, With scorn as if the Arab swords had little helped his will: With scorn he looked to west away, and left their train to die, Like a thing that had awaked to life from the gleaming of his eye. 2 What hill is like to Tabor hill in beanty and in fame ? There. in the sad days of his flesh, o’er Christ a glory came ; And light outflowed him like a sea, and raised his shining brow; And the voice went forth that hade all world’s to God’s Beloved bow. One thought of this came o’er the fiend. and raised his startled form, And up he drew his swelling skirts, as if to meet the storm = ~~ “CYCLOPADIA OF With wing that stripped the dews and birds from off the boughs of Night, Z; Down over T'abor’s trees he whirled his fierce distempered flight; And westward o’er the shadowy earth he tracked his earnest way, Till o’er him shone the utmost stars that hem the skirts of day; Then higher ’neath the sun he flew above all mortal ken, Yet looked what he might see on carth to raise his pride again. He saw a form of Africa low sitting in the dust; ~ The feet were chained, and sorrow thrilled throughout the sable bust. The idol and the idol’s priest he hailed upon the earth, Aud every slavery that brings wild passions to the birth. = All forms of human wickedness were pillars of his fame, All sounds of human misery his kingdom’s loud acclaim. Exulting o’er the rounded earth again he rode with night, Vill, sailing o’er the untrodden top of Absbeck high and white, He closed at once his weary wings, and tonched the shining hill; For less his flight was easy strength than proud unconquered will: For sin had dulied his native strength, and spoilt the holy law Of impulse whence the archangel forms their earnest being draw. _ 7 At last, from out the barren womb of many thousand years, A sound as of the green-leaved earth his thirsty spirit cheers; And oh! a presence soft and cool came o’er his burning dream, * A form of beauty clad about with fair creation’s beam: A low sweet voice was in his ear, thrilled through his inmost soul, And these the words that bowed his heart with softly sad control : ‘No sister e’er hath been to thee with pearly eyes of love; No mother e’er hath wept for thee, an outcast from above; No hand had come from ont the cloud to wash thy scarred face; No voice to bid thee lie-in peace, the noblest of thy race : But bow thee to the God of love, and all shall yet be well, And yet in days of holy rest and gladness thou shalt dwell. ‘ And thou shalt dwell ’midst leaves and rills far from this torrid heat, And I with streams of cooling milk will bathe thy blistered feet? And when the troubled tears shall start to think of all the past, My mouth shall haste to kiss them off. and chase thy sorrows fast : And thou shalt walk in soft white light with kings and priests abroad, = And thou shalt summer high in bliss upon the hilis of God.’ [The fiend sprung upward in haughty defiance.] His pride would have the works of God to’shew the signs of fear, . With flying angels to and fro to watch his dread career : ¥ But all was calm: he felt Night’s dews upon his sultry wing, And guashed at the impartial laws of Nature’s mighty King; Above control, or show of hate, they no exception made, : ~But gave him dews, like aged thorn, or little grassy blade. 2 Terrible like the mustering manes of the cold and curly sea, So grew his eye’s enridged gleams: and doubt and danger flee: +> Like veteran band’s grim valour slow, that moves to avenge its chief Up slowly-drew the fiend his ferm, that shook with proud relief: — < And he will upward go, and pluck the windows of high heaven, And stir their calm insulting peace, though teufold hell be given. Quick as the levin, whose blue forks lick up the life of man,” Aloft he sprung, and through his wings the piercing north wind ran Till, like a glimmering lamp that’s lit in lazar-house by night, : & *~ x a a {Here he was visited by a dream or series of visions. While plunged inthe lake ~ of Goud’s wrath, and fixed there, as it seemed, for thousands of 1 years, in dull, passive — lethargy, a new heavenly vision burst upon the fiend.] = a SF a eet > Se 2 af; = eee . : HEDDERWICK.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. a 6s + To see what mean the sick man’s cries, and set his bed aright, Which in the damp and sickly airthe sputtering shadows mar, So gathered darkness high the fiead, tili swallowed like a star. _ What judgment from the tempted heavens shall on his head go forth? Down headlong through the firmament he fell upon the north. . The stars are up untroubled all in the lotty fields of air: The will of God’s enough, without His red right arm made bare. T'was He that gave the fiend a space. to prove him still the same; Then bade wild Hed, with hideous lzugh, be stirred her prey to claim. Among the other volumes of verse about this time we may mention ‘The Lays of Middle Age, and other Poems,’ 1859, by JAMES HEDDER- Wick, Glasgow. These ‘Lays’ are the fruit of a thoughtful poetic mind, loving nature, and ‘whatsoever things are pure and lovely, and of good report.’ : | Middle Age.- Fair time of calm resolve—of sober thought ! z Quiet half-way hostelry on Life’s long road, In which to rest and re-adjust our load! High table-land, to which we have been brought By stumbling steps of ill-directed toil! Season when not to achieve is to despair ! Last field for ns of a full fruitful soil! Only spring-tide our freighted aims to bear Ouward to ali our yearning dreams have sought! How art thou changed! Once to our youthful eyes Thin silvering Jocks and thought’s imprinted lines : j Of sloping age gave weird and wintry signs; But now, these trophies ours we recoguize Only a voice faint-rippling to its shore, And a weak tottering step, as marks of eld. None are so far but some are on before ; Thus still at distance is the goal beheld And to improve the way is truly wise: Farewell, ye blossomed hedges! and the deep . Thick green of summer on the matted bough! os n The languid*autumn mellows round us now: P : Yet Fancy may its vernal beauties keep, Like holly leaves for a December wreath. : To take this gift of life with trusting hands, aa. And star with heaventy hones the night of death, er : Is all that poor humanity demands To lull its meaner fears in easy sleep. LORD MACAULAY. __ In 1842 Toomas BAprineton Macaunay surprised and gratified the lovers of poetry and of classic story by the publication of his ‘ Lays of Ancient Rome.’ Adopting the theory of Niebuhr—now generally acquiesced in as correct—that the heroic and romantic incidents re- lated by Livy of the early history of Rome are founded merely on ancient ballads and legends, he selects four of those incidents as ‘themes for his verse. Identifying himself with the plebeians and _tribunes, he makes them chant the martial stories of Horatius Cocles, -the battle of the Lake Regillus, the death of Virginia, and the pro- & ~ + wa 2s iv mee "(eee CYCLOPEDIA OF phecy of Capys. The style is homely, abrupt, and energetic, carry- - ing us along like the exciting narratives of Scott, and presenting brief but striking pictures of local scenery and manners. The incidents and characters so happily delineated were hallowed by their antiquity and heroism. - ‘The whole life and meaning of the early heroes of Rome,’ says the enthusiastic Professor Wilson, ‘are represented in the few iso- lated events and.characters which have come down; and what a source of picturesque exaggeration to these events and characters there is in the total want of all connected history! They have thus acquired a ‘pregnancy of meaning which renders them the richest subjects of poetic contemplation; and fo evolve the sen- timent they embody in any form we choose is a proper exer- - cise of the fancy. tor the same reason, is not the history which is freest of the interpreting reflection that characterises most modern histories, and presents most strictly the naked incident, always that which affords the best, and, as literature shews, the most frequent subjects of imagination? The Roman character is highly poetical, bold, brave, and independent—devoid of art’ or subtlety—full of faith and hope—devoted to the cause of duty, as comprised in the two great points of reverence for the gods and love of country. Shakspeare saw its fitness for the drama; and these ‘* Lays of Ancient Rome” are, in their way and degree, a further illustration of the truth. Mr. Macaulay might have taken, and we trust will yet take, wider ground; but what he has done he has done nobly, and like ‘“an antique Roman.”’ Previous to this, during his collegiate career, the ~ poet-historian had shewn his fitness todeal with picturesque incidents ~ and characters in history. His noble ballads, ‘The battle of Naseby;’ ‘Ivry, a song of the Huguenots;’ and ‘The Armada, a Fragment,’ ~ are unsurpassed in spirit and grandeur except by the battle-pieces of — Scott. Os Sg a The ancestors of Lord Macaulay were long settled in the island of - Lewis, Ross-shire. His grandfather, the Rev. John Macaulay, was — successively minister of South Uist, of Lismore, of Inveraray, and of Cardross in Dumbartonshire. In Inveraray, he met with Johnson — and Boswell on their return from the Hebrides in the autumn of ~ 1773. He died at Cardross in 1789. Two years previous to his death, a daughter of Mr. Macaulay was married to Thomas Babington, Esq., — of Rothley Temple, Leicestershire—many years the representative of — Leicester in Parliament—and thus an English connection was formed, — from which, at a subsequent period, Lord Macaulay derived the scene * of his birth, his Christian name, and many of his early associations. Zachary Macaulay (1768-1838), son of the Scottish minister, was sent — when a boy to the West Indies. He was disgusted with the state of — slavery in Jamaica, and afterwards, on his return to Great Britain, — resided-at Clapham, and became an active associate of Clarkson and — Wilberforce. He married Selina, daughter of Mr. Thomas Mills, a — a ee Oe ae ee ed hi e od ‘ F: f ‘A : en ee ee eee ee Le ee “ s MACAULAY.].. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 67 bookseller in Bristol, and had, with other children, a son destined to take a high place among the statesmen, orators, essayists, and histo- rians of England, Thomas Babington Macaulay was born at Rothley Temple, the _ seat of his paternal uncle, on the 25th of October, 1800. At the age of twelve he was placed under the care of the Rev. Mr. Preston, first at Shelford, afterwards near Buntingford, in the neighborhood of Cambridge. As a schoolboy he was noted as being an insatiable reader; and he sent a defence of novel-reading to the serious journal of his father’s friends, the ‘Christian Observer.’ This passion for novel-reading adhered to him to the last.* In his nineteenth year he was entered of Trinity College, Cambridge; he gained two prizes for _ English verse, one in 1819 on ‘Pompeii,’ and one two years after- wards on ‘Evening.’ He gained the,Craven scholarship in 1821, took his degree of B. A. in 1822, became Fellow of his college in 1824, and took his degree of M. A. in 1825. He had distinguished himself by ‘contributions to ‘Knight’s Quarterly Magazine’ in 1823 and 1824; and in August, 1825 appeared his celebrated article on Milton in the. ‘Edinburgh Review.’ This essay, though afterwards condemned by its author as ‘containing scarcely a paragraph such as his matured’ judgment approved,’ and as ‘overloaded with gaudy and ungraceful ornament,’ arrested public attention in no ordinary degree, and was ’ bailed as the precursor (which it proved to be) of a series of brilliant ~ contributions to our critical literature. Having studied at Lincoln’s Inn, Mr. Macaulay was called to the bar in 1826, and joined the Northern Circuit. In 1827, Lord Lyndhurst—generously discarding political feeling, as he did also in the case of Sydney Smith—ap- pointed Macaulay Commissioner of Bankruptcy. Three years afterwards, a distinguished Whig nobleman, the Mar- quis of Lansdowne, procured his return to parliament for the borough of Calne, and he rendered effective service in the Reform debates of _ 1831 and 1832. The speeches of Macaulay were carefully studied and nearly all committed to memory, but-were delivered with anima- tion and freedom, though with too great rapidity and in too uniform _ a tone and manner to do full justice to their argument and_ richness of illustration. In 1832 he was appointed Secretary to the Board of _ Control, and the same year the citizens of Leeds returned him as _ their representative to the House of Commons. In 1834 he proceeded _ to India as legal adviser to the Supreme Council of Calcutta, and was placed at the head of a Commission for the reform of East India legislation. He took an active part in the preparation of the Indian - criminal code, enriching it with explanatory notes, which are described as highly valuable. He returned to England in 1838, and in the fol- lowing year was triumphantly and almost without expense returned to parliament for the city of Edinburgh, which he continued to re- —-—- — e+ Dean Milman’s Memoir of Lord Macaulay, written for the Annual Journal of the _ Royal Society. 2 é ¥ 68. CYCLOPADIA OF present until 1847, In the Melbourne administration he held the office of Secretary at War, and in that of Lord John Russell, Pay- master cf the Iorces, with a seat in the cabinet. During this time — he had written most of his essays, and published his ‘Lays of An- cient Rome.’ ier Shige 5 As member for Edinburgh, his independence of character is said to have rendered him somewhat unaccommodating to certain of his constituents; his support of the Maynooth grant was resented by others; and his general political principles, so decidedly liberal, and so strongly and eloquently expressed, were opposed to the sentiments of the Conservative citizens of Edinburgh. Thus a com- bination of parties was formed against him, and it proved successful. He was rejected by the constituency at the general election in 1847. This defeat forms the subject of a striking copy of verses by Ma- caulay, but which were not published until after his death: part of these we subjoin. The electors of Edinburgh redeemed, or at least palliated, their error by returning Macaulay again to Parliament, free 5 (s) ‘of expense, and without any movement on his part~ This was in 1852. He had previously published the first two volumes of his ‘History of England, which appeared in 1849, and were read with extraordinary avidity and admiration. Other two volumes were published in 1855, and a portion of a fifth volume after the death of the author. In 1849 he was elected Lord Rector of the university of Glasgow, and presented with the freedom of the city. While en- gaged on his History, Macaulay turned aside to confer a graceful and snbstantial favour on Mr. Adam Black, publisher, Edinburgh. Mr. Black had solicited literary assistance from his distinguished — friend for a new edition (the eighth) of his ‘ Encyclopedia Britan- nica.’ ‘The request was complied with; ‘and,’ says Mr. Black, ‘it is but justice to hismemory that I should-record, as one of the many in- stances of the kindness and generosity of his heart, that he made it a stipulation of his contributing to the Encyclopedia that remuneration should not beso much as nientioned.’ On this generous footing, Ma- caulay contributed five carefully: finished biographies—Atterbury, Bunyan, Goldsmith, Johnson, and Pitt—the last appearing in 1859. From failing health he withdrew from parliament in January 1856. In 1857 various honours were showered on the popular author; he was elected a foreign member of the French Academy, a member of the Prussian Order of Merit, High Steward of Cambridge, and a peer of Great Britain under the title of Baron Macaulay of Rothley. His health, however, was gone; he laboured under derangement of the action of the heart, and felt, says Dean Milman, ‘inward monitions: his ambition (as the historian of England) receded from the hope of reaching the close of the first Brunswicks; before his last illness he had reduced his plan to the reign of Queen Anne. His end, though — not without warning to those who watched him with friendship and. — affection, was sudden and singularly quiet; on December 28, 1859, ee Me v aA a4 a +. Yel pak ee [ro ’1876, ara. Tae oe Rumor ean, og Nese th ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 69. ~ MACAULAY.) . f _he fell asleep and woke not again. He was buried in Westminster. _ Abbey, in Poets’ Corner, his favourite haunt.’ ; _ Lord Macaulay’s memory and conversational powers were the won- _ der and envy of ail his contemporaries. He was‘ constantly heaping “up stores of knowledge, as his reverend biographer remarks, and. _ those stores ‘could not overload his capacious and retentive memory, ~ which disdained nothing as beneath it, and was never perplexed or - burdened. by its incalculable possessions.’ He has'been accused of talking too much, and Sydney Smith alluded to the ‘ eloquent flashes of silence’ with which it was sometimes, though rarely, relieved; but _ this was a jocular exaggeration, and in general society Macaulay sel- dom demanded a larger share than all were willing to yield to him. Lines Written in August 1847. The day of tumult, strife, defeat, was o’er ; Worn out with toil, and noise, and scorn, and spleen, I slumbered, and in slumber saw once more ° bars A room in an old mansicn, long unseen. That room, methought, was curtained from the light ; - Yet through the curtains shone the moon’s cold ray Full on a cradle. where, in linen white. ~ Sleeping life’s first soft sleep, an infant lay. Pale flickered on the hearth the dying flame, And all was silent in that ancient. hall, Save when by fits on the low night-wind came ‘The murmur of the distant waterfall. And lo! the fairy queens who rule our birth Drew nigh to speak the new-horn baby’s doom : With noiseless step. which left no trace on earth, 3 From gloom they came, and vanished into gloom. Not deigning on the boy a glance to cast, Swept careless by the gorgeous Queen of Gain 5 More scornful still, the Queen of Fashion passed, _ With mincing gait, and sneer of cold disdain. The Queen of Power tossed high her jewelled head, - And o’er her shoulder threw a wrathful frown ; : : - The Queen of Pleasure on the pillow shed . v. Scarce one stray rose-leaf from her fragrant crown. Still fay in long procession followed _-fay ; < . And still the little couch remained unblest: = But, when those wayward sprites had passed away, Came One, the last, the mightiest, and the best. -O glorious lady, with the eyes of light, And laurels clustering round thy lofty brow, Who by the cradle’s side didst watch that night, Warbling a sweet, strange music, who wast thou? ‘Yes, darling; let them go;’ so ran the strain: ‘Yes; let them go, Gain. Fashion, Pleasure, Power, And all the busy elves to whose domain Belongs the nether sphere, the fleeting hour. * Without one envious sigh, one anxious scheme, - - The nether sphere, the fleeting hour regign 5. CYCLOPADIA OF Mine is the world of thought, the world of dream, Mine all the past, and all the future mine, ‘Fortune, that lays in sport the mighty low, Age, that to penance turns the joys of youth, Shall leave untouched the gifts which I bestow, The sense of beauty, and the thirst of truth.... ‘ Ard even’so. my child, it is my pleasure : That thou not then alone should’st feel me nigh, When in domestic bliss and studious leisure, Thy weeks uncounted come, uncounted fly; ‘Not then alone, when myriads, closely pressed Around thy car, the shout of triumph raise ; Nor when, in gilded drawing-rooms, thy breast Swells at the sweeter sound of woman’s praise, *No: when on restless night dawns cheerless morrow, When weary soul and wasting body pine, Thine am i still. in danger, sickness, sorrow; In conflict, obloquy, want, exile, thine. ‘Thine, where on mountain waves the snowbirds scream, Where more than Thule’s winter barbs the breeze, Where scarce, through lowering clouds, one sickly gleam Lights the drear May-day of antarctic seas. ‘Thine, when around thy litter’s track all day White sand-hilis shall reflect the blinding glare Thine, when through forests breathing death, thy way All night shall wind, by many a tiger’s lair. ‘Thine most, when friends turn pale. when traitors fly, When, hard beset, thy spirit, justly proud For truth, peace, freedom, mercy. dares defy A sullen priesthood and a raving crowd. ‘Amidst the din of all things fell and vile, . Hate’s yell, and Envy’s hiss; und Folly’s bray, Remember me, and with an enforced smile See riches, baubles, flatterers, pass away. ‘Yes, they will pass; nor deem it strange: They come and go as comes and goes the sea: And let them come and go; thou. through all change, Fix thy firm gaze on virtue and on me,’ Epitaph on a Jacobite (1845). To my true king I offered. free from stain, Courage and faith; vain faith and courage vain. For him I threw lands, honours, wealth. away, And one dear hope that was more prized than they. For him I languished iu a roreign clime, Gray haired with sorrow in my manhood’s prime; Heard on Lavernia Scargill’s whispering trees, And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees; Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep, Each morning started from the dream to weep; Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave The resting-place I asked, an early grave. O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone, From that proud country which was once mine own, By those white cliffs I never more must see, ° x ro doe eee ab ‘ a aol = * ere r eo S Oe, paRee shy ah! AS mis gic iitior =, ~ ;- » - "MACAULAY. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE, 71 _By that dear nen abe which I spake like thee, Forget all feuds, und shed one English tear O’er English dust—a broken heart lies here. Ketracts from ‘ Horatius.’ The following are extracts from the first of the ‘ Lays of Ancient Rome,’ founded on the legend of Horatius Cocles. ‘‘he Lays or ballads must, however, be read con- tinuously to be properiy appreciated, for their merit does not live in particular pas- ages, but in the rapid movement and progressive interest of the story, and the Roman spirit and bravery which animate the whole. [Horatius offers to defend the Bridge.]} ‘Then out spake brave Horatius, The captain of the gate: ‘To every man upon this earth Death cometh soon or late. And how can man die better Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his gods, « And for the tender mother Who dandled him to rest, And for the wife who nurses His baby at her breast, And for the holy maidens Who feed the eternal flame, ’ To save them from false Sextus That wrought the deed of shame! ‘Hew down the bridge, Sir Consul, With all the speed ye-may ; I, with two more to help me, Will hold the foe in play. In yon strait path a thousand May well be stopped by three, Now, who will stand on either hand ~ And keep the bridge with me?’ Then out spake Spurius Lartius: A Ramnian proud was he: ” ‘Lo, I will stand at thy right hand And keep the bridge with thee.’ ’ And out spake strong Herminius: Of Titian blood washes _ £T will abide on thy left side, And keep the bridge with thee,’ ‘ Horatius,’ quoth the Consul, ‘ As thou say’st, so let it be.’ And straight against that great array Forth went the dauntless three. For Romans in Rome’s quarrel Spared neither land nor gold, Nor son nor wife, nor limb nor life, In the brave days of old. Then none was for a party ; Then all were for the state; Then the great man helped the poor, And the poor man loved the great; Then land was fairly portioned ; Then spoils were fairly sold: The Romans were like brothers In the brave days of old. Now Roman is to Roman More hateful than a foe, And the tribunes beard the high, And the fathers grind the low. As we wax bot in faction, In battle we wax cold; Wherefore men fight not as they fought In the brave days of old. [The bridge is hewn down; Lartius and Herminius escape, and Horatius is left alone.] Alone stood brave Horatius, But constant still in mind ; Thrice thirty thousand foes before, And the broad flood behind. ‘Down with him!’ cried false Sextus, With a smile on his pale face, ‘Now yield thee,’ cried Lars Porsena, ‘ Now yield thee to our grace.’ Round turned he, as not deigning Those craven ranks to see3 Nought spake he to Lars Porsena, To Sextus nought spake he; But he saw on Palatinus The white porch of his home; And he spake to the noble river That rolls by the towers of Rome ‘O Tiber, Father Tiber! To whom the Romans pray, - A Roman’s life, a Roman’s arms, Take thou in charge this day!’ So he spake, and sneaking sheathed The good sword by his side. And, With his harness on his back, Plunged headlong in the tide. No sound of joy or sorrow Was heard from either bank ; But friends and foes in dumb surprise, With parted lips and straining eyes, Stood gazing where he sank; And when above the surges ~ g) 72 4 CYCLOPATDIA OF 4 (TO 7876. They saw his crest appear, For boys with hearts as bold All Rome seut forth a rapiurous cry, As his who kept the bridge so well And even the ranks of ‘Tuscany In the brave days cf old. . Could scarce forbear to cheer, = And in the nights of winter, > [How Horatius was rewarded.]} When the cold north winds blow, And the Jong howling of the wolves They gave him of the corn-land, Is heard am.dst the snow; _ ‘That was of public right, When round the lonely cottage ~ Asmuch as two stroug oxen ; Roars loud the tempest’s din, Could plough from morn till night: And the good logs of Algidus And they made a molten image, Roar louder yet within ; ef And set. it up on high, And there it stands unto this day When the cldest cask is opened, To witness if I lie. And the largest lamp is lit, n : When ‘ne chestnuts glow in the embers, It stands in the Comitium, And the kid turns on the spit; ~ Plain for all folk to see; When young and old in circle > ee Horatius in his harness, Around the firebrands close; — _ Halting upon one knee: When the girls are weaving baskets ~ = . And underneath is written, And the lads are shaping ows; . In letters all of gold, ha a How vali:ntly he kept the bridge When the goodman mends his armour, f - In the brave days of old. And trims his helmet’s plume; > When the goodwife’s shuttle merrily - - And still his name sounds stirring : Goes flashing through the loom 3 Sal ~ Unto the men of Rome, With weeping and with laughter As the trumpet-blast that cries to them Still is the story told, To charge the Volscian home: How well Horatius kept the bridge ) And wives still pray to Juno In the brave days of old. Biss. ie Ivry. “ag Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are! And glory to our sovereign liege, King Henry of Navarre! > Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance, +4) a Through thy corn-fields-greep. and sunny vines, O pleasantland of France! — And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters, _ a. Again let rapture light the eyes of-all thy mourning daughters, z As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy, a a For cold, and stiff, and still are they who wrought thy walls anuoy. Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war; Hurrah ! hurrat! for Ivry, and Henry of Navarre. Oh! how our hearts were beating, when. atthe dawn of day, We saw the army of the I_eague drawn out in long array ; With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers, : And Appenzcel’s stout infantry. and Egmont’s Flemish spears. — ae There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land ! eS vie” And dark Mayenne was in the midst. a truncheon in his hand! 2 And as we looked on them, we thought. of Seine’s empurpled flood, | And good Coligni’s hoary hair all dabbled with his blood ; ea Aud we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war, To fight for his own holy name, and Henry of Navarre. The king is come to inarshal us, in all his armour drest; And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest. He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye; a He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and high. - ° ae Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing towing, ae, Down all our line, a deafening shout. ‘ God save our lord the King.? a And if my standard-bearer fall, as fall full well he may— = ae ; “= an = ‘avTounj <> ENGLISH LITERATURE. > 3 ne RD a For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray— Si ae Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of war, a And be your,oriflamine to-day the helmet of Navarre.’ Harrah! the foes are moying! Hark to the mingled din \ 2 > Ss ./'9 Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin, The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre’s plain, With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne. Now by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France, Charge for the golden lilies—upon them with thelauce! A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest, A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white crest ; 2 And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre. Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned his rein. D’Aumale hath cried for quarter. he Flemish Count is slain. Their rauks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale ; The field.is heaped with bleeding steeds. and flags, and cloven mail. And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van, “Remember St. Bartholomew,’ was passed from man to man; But out spake gentle Henry: ‘No Frenchman is my foe: Down, down with every foreigner, but let your brethren go.’ “4 Oh! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war, As our sovereign lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre ! Right well fougit all the Frenchmen who fought for France to-day ; ‘ And many a lordiy banner God gave them for a prey. But we of the religion have borne us best in fight; And the good Jord of Rosny hath ta’en.the cornet white; Our own true Maximi.ian the cornet white hath ta’en, The cornet white with crosses black, the flag of false Lorraine. 5S Up with it high; unfurl it wide; that allthe host may know - ‘ How God hath humbled the proud house which wrought his church such woe. Then on the ground, while trumpets sound their Joudest points of war, -. Fling the red shreds, a foot-cloth meet for Henry of Navarre. _ Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne! Weep, weep, aud rend your hair for those who never shall return. _ Ho! Philip, send, for charity, thy Mexican pistoles, : ~That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen’s souls! S Ho! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright ; . “Ho! burghers of Saint Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night, For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the slave, a And mocked the counsel of the wise, and the valour of the brave. ae _Then glory to his holy name, from whom all glories are; And glory to our sovereign lord, King Henry of Navarre. E: - o.W. BE. AYTOUN—THEODORE MARTIN. _ ‘The same style of ballad poetry, applied to incidents and characters - in Scottish history, was adopted with distinguished success by PRo- FESSOR WILLIAM EDMONDSTOUNE AyTOUN, author of ‘Lays of the ~ Scottish Cavaliers,’ 1849, and ‘ Bothwell,’ a tale of the days of Mary, ~ Queen of Scots,’ 1856. The ‘ Lays’ range from the field of Flodden _ to the extinction of the Jacobite cause at Culloden, and are animated - bya fine martial spirit, intermingled with scenes of pathos and mourn- - ful regret. The work has gone through a great number of editions. - Ina similar spirit of nationality, Mr. Aytoun published a collected and collated edition of the old ‘ Scottish Ballads,’ two volumes, 1858. SSL CVCEQPADIAOR 74 In satirical and humorous composition, both in poetry and prose, Mr. Aytoun also attained celebrity. His tales and sketches in ‘ Black- wood’s Magazine’ are marked by a vigorous hand, prone to-carica- — ture; and he is author of a clever satire—‘ Firmilian, a Spasmodic ‘Tragedy, by Percy T. Jones,’ 1854. Mr. THEODORE Martin, Mr. Aytoun wrote ‘The Book of Ballads, - by Bon Gaultier’—a series of burlesque poems and parodies contri- buted to different periodicals, and-collected into one volume; and to the same poetical partnership we owe a happy translation of- the ballads of Goethe. Mr. Aytoun was a native of Edinburgh, born in 1813. Having” studied at the university of Edinburgh, and afterwards in Germany, he was admitted to the Scottish bar in 1840. In 1845 he was ap- pointed to the chair of Rhetoric and Belles-lettres in Edinburgh Uni- versity, and in 1852 he was made sheriff of Orkney. His poetical talents were first displayed in a prize poem, ‘ Judith,’ which was eulogized by Professor Wilson, afterwards the father-in-law of the young poet. He died at Blackhills, near Elgin, August 4, 1865.— Mr. Martin is a native of Edinburgh, born in 1816. He is now a par- liamentary solicitor in London. Besides his poetical labours with Mr. Aytoun, Mr. Martin has translated Horace, Catullus, and Goethe’s ~ In conjunction with his friend, ~ > ‘Faust; also the ‘ Vita Nuova’ of Dante; the ‘Corregio’ and ‘ Alad- din’ of the Danish poet Cfhienschlager, and ‘ King Rene’s Daugh- — ter,’ a Danish lyrical drama by Henrik Herts. Mr. Martin was se- — lected by Her Majesty to write the ‘ Life of the Prince Consort,’ the ~ first volume of which appeared in 1874, and was highly creditable to the taste and judgment of the author. ried to Miss Helen Faucit, an accomplished and popular actress. The Burial-march of Dundee.—From the ‘Lays of the Scottish Cavaliers? — I Sound the fife, and cry the slogan— Let the pibroch shake the air With its wild triumphant music, Worthy of the freight we bear. Let the ancient hills of Scotland Hear once more the battle-song Swell within their glens and valleys ___As the clansmen march along! Never from the field of combat, Never from the deadly fray, Was a nobler trophy carried Than we bring with us to-day ; Never since the valiant Douglass _ On his dauntless bosom bore Good yan g Robert’s heart—the -price- ess— To our dear Redeemer’s shore ! Lo! we bring with us the hero— Lo! we bring the conquering Greme, Crowned as best beseems a victor From the altar of his fame ; Fresh and bleeding from the battle Whenee his spirif took its flight, In 1851 Mr Martin was mar- | *Midst the crashing charge of squadrona, 4 And the thunder of the fight ! Strike, I say, the notes of triumph, As we march o’er moor and lea ! Is there any here will venture To bewail our dead Dundee? Let the widows of the traitors . Weep until their eves are dim 1 Wail ye may full well for Scotland— Let none dare to mourn for him! See! above his glorious body Lies the royal banner’s fold— See! his valiant blood is mingled With its crimson and its gold. See how calm he looks and stately, Like a warrior on his shield, Waiting till the flush of morning Js Breaks along the battle field! ~ See—Oh never more, my comrades, Shall we see that falcon eye Redden with its inward lightning, As the hour of fight drew nigh ! : MARTIN. | Never shall we hear the voice that, _ Olearer than the trumpet’s call, Bade us strike for king and country, Bade us win the field, or fall! 4 Hi; On the beights of Killiecrankie Yester-morn our army lay: Slowly rose the mist in columns From the river’s broken way; Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent, And the Pass was wrapped in gloom, ~ When the clansmen rose together From their lair amidst the broom. ~ Then we belted on our tartans, And our bonnets down we drew, As we felt our broadswords’ edges, And we proved them to be true; _ And we prayed the prayer of soldiers, And we cried the gathering-cry, _ And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, And we swore to do or die! Then our leader rode before us, On his war-horse black as. night— Well the Cameronian rebels Knew that charger in the fight !— And a ery of exultation From the bearded warriors rose ; For we loved the house of Claver’se, And we thought of good Montrose. But he raised his hand for silence— ‘Soldiers! I have sworn a vow ; Ere the evening-star shall glisten -On Schehallion’s lofty brow, Hither we shall rest in trlamph Or another of the Greemes Shall have died in battle-harness Tor his country and King James! Think upon the royal martyr— Think of what his race endure— Think on him whom butchers murdered On the field of Magus Muir: By his sacred blood I charge ye, By the ruined hearth and shrine— By the blighted hopes of Scotland, By your injuries and mine— Strike this day as if the anvil Lay beneath your blows the while, - Be they Covenanting traitors, _ Or the brood of false Argyle 5 Strike! and drive the trembling rebels Backwards o’er the stormy Forth ; Let them tell their pale Convention -~ How they fared within the North, - Let them tell that Highland honour ___Ts not to be bought nor sold, - That we scorn their prince’s anger . _ As we loathe his foreign gold Strike! and when the fight is over, Tf you look in vain for me, . Where the (ead are lying thickest Search for him that was Dundee!’ ENGLISH LITERATURE. ee 2 et Tr Loudly then the hills re-echoed With our answer to his call, But a deeper echo sounded In the bosoms of us all. For the lands of wide Breadalbane, Not a maz who heard him speak Would that day have left the battle. Burning eye and flushing cheek Told the clansmen’s fierce emotion, And they harder drew their breath; For their souls were strong within them, Stronger than the grasp of Death. Soon we heard a challenge-trumpet Sounding in the Pass below, And the distant tramp of horses, And the voices of the foe: Down we crouched amid the bracken, Till the Lowland ranks drew near, Panting like the hounds in summer, When they scent the stately deer.’ From the dark defile emerging, Next we saw the squadrons come, Leslie’s foot and Leven’s troopers Marching to the tuck of drum; Through the scattcred wood of birches O’er the broken ground and heath, Wound the long battalion slowly, Till they gained the field beneath 3. Then we bounded from our covert. ° Judge how looked the Saxons then, When they saw the rngged mountain Start to life with armed men! ~ Like a tempest down the ridges Swept the hurricane of steel, ~ Rose the slogan of Macdcnald— Flashed the broadsword of Lochiel! _Vainly sped the withering volley Amongst the foremost of our band— On we poured until we met them Foot to foot, and hand to hand. Horse and man went down like drift-wood When the floods are black at Yule, And their carcases are whirling In the Garry’s deepest pool, Horse and man went down before us— Living foe there tarried none On the field of Killiecrankie, Whep that strbborn fight was done ! IV. And the evening-star was shining’ On. Schehallion’s distant head, When we wiped our bloody broadswords, And returned to count the dead. There we found him gashed and gory, Stretched upon the cumbered plain, As he told us where to seek him, In the thickest of the slain. And a smile was on his visage, For within his dying ear Pealed the joyful note of triumph, 76 : 2 CYCLOP/EDIA OF And the clansmen’s clamorous cheer: Than outlive the land’s disgrace ! So, amidst the batrle’s tnunder, O thou lion-hearted warrior! r ie Shot, and steel. and scorching flame, Reck not of the after-time : : In the glory of his manhood Honour may: be deemed dishonour, —- Passed the spirit of the Greme! Loyalty be called a crime. ; a at Sleep in peace with kindred ashes v. Of the noble and the true, - Open wide the vaults of Athol, - Hands that never failed their country, : Where the bones of heroes rest— Hearts that aever baseness knew. * Open wide the hallowed portals Sleep !—and till the latest trumpet To receive another guest ! Wakes the dead from earth and sea, < Last of Scots, and last of freemen— Scotland shall not boast a braver : Last of all that dauntless race Chieftain than our own Dundee! Who would rather die unsullied, aad 2 Sonnet to Britain, by the D: of W- From ‘ Bon Gaultier.’ ' Halt! Shoulder arms! Recover! As vou were! ’ 5 Right wheel! Eyes left ! Attention! Stand at ease! - O Britain! O my country! words like these : Have made thy name a terror and a fear . “tee To all the nations. Witness Ebro’s banks, 5 ee Assaye, Toulouse, Nivelle, and Waterloo, “as Where the grim despot muttered Sawve quipeut! : And Ney fled darkling—silence in the ranks}; < . ‘ Fy fe Pi = ae 7 ‘ ny mS Sh 8 CYCLOPAEDIA OF Ero 1876. efforts in support of national education, and generally his support of ali questions of social amelioration.and reform. In 1848 he edited the ‘ Life and Remains of John Keats;’ and in 1873-76 published two volumes of biographical sketches, entitled ‘Monographs, Per- sonal and Social,’ abounding in anecdote and in. interesting illustra- tions of English social life and literature. In 1876 the collected Poetical Works of Lord Houghton were published in two volumes. St. Mark’s at Venice. Walk in St. Mark’s the time the ample space Lies in the freshness of the evening shade, When, on each side. with gravely darkened face The masses rise above the light arcade ; Walk down the midst with slowly tunéd pace, But gay withal, for there is high parade Of fair attire and fairer forms, which pass Like varying groups on a magician’s glass. ... Walk in St. Mark’s again some few hours after, When a bright sleep is on each storied pile— When fitful music and inconstant laughter Give place to Nature’s silent moonlight smile: Now Fancy wants no faery gale to waft her To Magian haunt, or charm-engirded isle; All too content, in passive bliss, to see This show divine of visible poetry. On such a night as this impassionedly The old Venetian sung those verses rare} ‘That Venice must of needs eternal be, For Heaven had looked through the pellucid air, ~ - « And cast its reflex on the crystal sea, Aud Venice was the image pictured there ;’ I hear them now, and tremble, forI seem — As treading on an unsubstantial dream. That strange cathedral! exquisitely strange— That front, on whose bright varied tints the eye Rests as of gems—those arches whose high range Gives its rich-broidez-d border to the sky— Those ever-prancinjr steeds! My friend, whom change Of restless will has led to lands that lie > Deep in the East, does not thy fancy set Above those domes an airy minaret? : The Men of Old. I know not that the men of old I heed not those who pine for force Were better than men now, A ghost of time fo raise, Of heart more kind, of hand more bold, As if they thus could check the course - Of moze ingenious brow: Of these appointed days. ~~ ‘ ; 73 Su ac : oe. 4 a ae — HOUGHTON. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 79 Still is it true, and over-true, Blending their souls’ sublimest needs That I delight to close With tasks of every day, This book of life self-wise ard new, They went about their gravest deeds ~ And let my thoughts repose As noble boys at play. - On ail that hub e happiness : ~~ The world has since toregone— And what if Nature’s fearful wound The daylight of contentedness They did not probe and bare, That on those faces shone! For that their spirits never swooned To watch the misery there— _ With rights, though not too closely For that their love but flowed more fast, scanned. Their charities more free, Enjoyed, as fur as known— Not conscious what mere drops they cast With will, by no reverse unmanned— Into the evil sea. ; With pulse of even tone—- ~ They from to-day and from to-night A man’s best things are nearest him, Expected nothing more Lie close about his feet, Than yesterd2y and yesternight It is the distant and the dim Had proffered them before. That we are sick to greet: 24 For flowers that grow our hands beneath To them was life a simple ari We struggle and aspire— Of duties to be done, Our hearts must die, except they breathe A game where each man took his part, The air of fresh desire. A race where al] must run; E A battle whose great scheme and scope But. brothers, who up Reason’s hill They little cared to know, Advance with hopeful cheer— Content, as men-at-arms, to cope Ob! loiter not; those heights are chill, Each with his fronting foe. As chill as they are clear ; Man now his virtue’s diadem And still restrain your haughty gaze, Puts on, and proudly wears— ‘ The loftier that ye go, Great thougats, great feelings, came to Remembering distance leaves a haze them, On all that lies below. Like inst.ncts, unawares: From the ‘ Long-ago.’ ~ On that deep-retiring shore Death. to those who trust in good, — Frequent pearls of beauty lie, Vindicates his hardest blow ; Where the passion-waves of yore Ob ! we would not, if we could, __Fiercely beat and mounted high; Wake the sleep of Long-ago! Sorrows that ave sorrows still Lose the bitter taste of woe; Though the doom of swift decay ‘Nothiny’s altogether ill Shocks the soul where life is strong, In the griefs of Long-ago. Though for frailer hearts the day “t Lingers sad and overlong— _ Tombs where lonety love repines, Still the weight will find a leaven, * Ghastly tenements of tears. ' _ Still the spoiler’s hand is slow, Wear the look of happy sbrines~ While the future has its heaven, Through the golden mist of years: And the past its Long-ago. 4 * FITZGREENE HALLECK. Without attempting, in our confined limits, to range over the fields of American literature, now rapidly extending, and cultivated with ar- __dour and success, we have pleasure in including some eminent trans- - -atlantic names in our list of popular authors. Mr. HALLecK became generally known in this country in 1827 by the publication of a vo- lume of ‘ Poems,’ the result partly of a visit to England. In this vo- - lume afe some fine verses on Burns, on Alnwick Castle, &c., and it — includes the most elevated of his strains, the martial lyric, ‘Marco _ Bozzaris.’ Our poet-laureate, Mr. Tennyson, has described the po- etical character: ; : mes Ba } f 80 * oe i je i ee rt e ent Re —e fe Y ae SS 2 . em = ’ en aie a ‘8 ha se = R mee AL. i Sack 3 ie 82 : CYCLOPEDIA OF - - [ro 1876. vita respectably in life failed. He was reckless, debauched, and un-: mcnageable. He was expelled from college and from a military acedemy in which he was placed by Mr. Allan; he enlisted in the army, but soon. deserted; and after various scenes of wretchedness, . he pecame a contributor to, and occasional editor of, several Ameri- can periodicals, His prose tales attracted notice from their ingenuity and powerful, though morbid and gloomy painting; and his poem of ‘The Raven,’ coloured by the same diseased imagination, but with bright gleams of fancy, was hailed as the most original and striking ~ poem that America had ever produced. Poe died in a hospital at Baltimore, the victim of intemperance, October 7, 1849. A complete edition of the works of Poe, with Memoir by John H. Ingram, was published in 1875, in four volumes—three of them prose, and one poetry. The editor clears the memory of the unfortunate poet from certain charges brought against him by Griswold, the American editor. Some of the criticisms by Poe collected in this edition of his works are marked by a fine critical taste and acuteness. The Raven. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, ~ Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore— While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber-door: ‘“°Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘ tapping at my chamber-door— Only this, and nothing more,”? ~ Ah! distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, . And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow : From my books surcease of serrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—. For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore— avy Nameless here for evermore. And the silken sad uncertain rustling of each purple curtain Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before ; So that now, to stijl the beating of my heart, I stood repeating : “Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door— Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber-door; This it is, and nothing more.’ Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, ‘Sir,’ said I, ‘ or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, shal And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber-door, ? That I scarce was sure I heard you ’—here I opened wide the door—— . Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing, _- Dreaming, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; ~ But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, ‘ Lenore !’—_ This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, ‘ Lenore !’—= Merely this, and nothing more, Back into the chamber turning, all my son! within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping something louder than before. ‘Surely,’ said I— surely that is something at my window lattice; Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore— a ENGLISH LITERATURE. 83 Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery explore. : : "Tis the wind, and nothing more.’ Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber-door— Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above ny chamber door— Perched and sat, and nothing more, Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, ‘By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, ‘Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, tou,’ I said, ‘art sure no craven. Ghastly, grim, and ancient Raven, wandering from the nightly shore— Tell me what thy lordly name is on the night’s Plutonian shore!’ Quoth the Raven: * Nevermore.’ Much I marvelled this ungainly fow] to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore 5 For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber-door— Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber-door, With such a name as ‘ Nevermore,’ But the Raven, sitting lonely on that placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour, Nothing further then he uttered ; not a feather then he fluttered— Till I scarcely more than muttered : ‘ Other friends have flown before— On the morrow /e will leave me, as my hopes have flown before.’ Then the bird said : ‘ Never more.’ Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken, _ ‘Doubtless,’ said I, ‘ what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some vnhappy master, whom unmerciful disaster Followed fast and followed faster, till his songs one burden bore— Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore. Of ‘* Never—never more.”’ But the Raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird and bust and door ; Then upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking, Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore— What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore : Meant in croaking ‘ Neyer more,’ This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core; This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er, But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-lhght gloating o’er, She shall press, ah, never more! Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim, whose footfalls tinkled on the tufted floor. ‘Wretch !’ I cried, ‘thy god hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore ! Quaif, O quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore!’ Quodth the Raven: ‘ Never more!’ ‘Prophet !* said I, ‘ thing of evil !—prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore, Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted— On this home by horror hannted—tell me truly. I implore— Is there—is there balm in Gilead ?—tell me—tell me, I implore!’ - Quoth the Raven: ‘ Never more, - 43 ~ 7 < = Ss a “ bs : = : > z ey 84 3) CYCLOPADIA-OF - “2-7 = fro18765 ‘Prophet!’ said I, ‘ thing of evil !—prophet still, if bird or devil! — <6; By that heayen that bends above us—by that God we both adore, Tell this soul, with scrrow laden, if within the distant Aiden, It shall clasp a sainted maiden. whom the angels name Lenore— ~~ Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the avgels name Lenore?’ ~ ‘4 ; Quoth the itaven: * Never more.’ » ‘Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend !’ I shrieked upstarting— “Get thee back into the tempest and the night's plutonian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath cpoxen! Leave my lone.iness unbroken !—quit the bust above my door! ‘ Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!?—__ Quoth the Raven: ‘Never more? "tex And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting, a On the pallid bust of Pallas, just aboye my chamber-door; - . And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming, And the lamyp-light o’er him streaming, throws his shadow cn the floor And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor, — Shall be lifted—never more! Se WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. The father of the present generation of American poets, and one — of tl: most original of the brotherhood, is W1L1L1AM CULLEN BRYANT, — born at Cummington, Hampshire County, Massachusetts, November — 3, 1794. With a precocity rivalling that of Cowley or Chatterton, — Bryant at the age of thirteen wrote a satirical poem on the Jéfferso- nian party, which was published in 1808 under the title of ‘The Em- bargo.’ A few lines-from this piece will shew how well the boy-poet — had mastered the-art of versification: °: a 1. F’en while I sing, see Faction urge her claim, Mislead with falsehood and with zeal inflame ; . Fils ae {ift her black banner, spread her empire wide, . =e And.stalk triumphant with a Fury’s stride! ; +n She blows her brazen trump. and at the sound bey A motley throng. obedient, flock around ; A mist of changing hue around she flings, ~ ‘ _ And Darkness perches on her dragon wings! : " Ob, might some patriot rise. the gloom dispel, ee Chase Error’s mist, and break her magic spell! But vain the wish—for, hark, the murmuring meed . tt > Of hoarse applause from yonder shed proceed ! we Enter and view the thronging concourse there, Intent with gaping month and stupid stare; While ‘n their midst their supple leader stands, : Har.2gues aloud and flourishes his hands. e- To adulation tones his servile throat, ; And sue= successful for each blockhead’s vote. 1 - ‘From this perilous course of political versifying, the young author — was removed by being placed at Williams College. He wasadmitted — to the bar, and practised for several years with fair success; but in — 1825, he removed to New York, and éntered upon that literary life 9 which he has ever since followed. In 1826 Mr. Bryant became editor ~ of the ‘New York Evening Post,’ and his conneetion. with that” ‘journal still subsists. His poetical works consist of ‘Thanatopsis — an exquisite solemn strain of blank verse, first published in 1836; . . ae ae ENGLISH'LITERATURE. 85 ‘The Ages, a survey of the experience of mankind, 1828; and various pieces scattered through periodical works. Mr. Washington “Irving, struck with the beauty of Bryant’s poetry, had it collected ‘and published in London in 1882. ‘The British public, he said, had expressed its delight at the graphic descriptions of American scenery and wild woodland characters contained in the works of Cooper. - ‘Thesame keeneye and just feeling for nature,’ he added, ‘the same - indigenous style of thinking and local peculiarity of imagery, which _ give such novelty and interest to the pages of that gifted writer, will -ybe found to characterise this volume, condensed into a narrower com- pass, and sublimated into poetry.’ From this opinion Professor Wilson—who reviewed the volume in _‘*Blackwood’s Magazine’—dissented, believing that Cooper’s pictures -are infinitely richer in, local peculiarity of imagery and thought. ~*The chief charm of Bryant’s genius,’ he considered, ‘ consists in a - tender pensiveness, a moral melancholy, breathing over all his con- _templations, dreams, and reveries, even such asin the main are glad, and giving assurance of a pure spirit, benevolent to all living crea- tures, and-habitually pious in the felt omnipresence of the Creator. His poetry overflows with natural religion—with what Wordsworth calls the religion of the wocds.’ This is strictly applicable to the ‘ Thanatopsis ’ and ‘ Forest Hymn;’ but Washington Irving is so far right that Bryant’s grand merit is his nationality and his power of painting the American landscape, especially in its wild, solitary, and magnificent forms. His diction is pure and lucid, with scarcely a flaw, and he is master of blank verse. Mr. Bryant has translated the ‘liad’ and ‘ Odyssey,’ 4 vols. (Boston, 1870-1872.) From ‘ Thanatepsis.’ z Not to thy eternal resting-place ; : Shalt thourretire alone, nor couldst thon wish s Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings, The powerful of the earth, the wise, the good— = Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past— Allin one mighty sepulchre! The hills, _. Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun—the vales, Stretching in pensive quietness between— The venerable woods, rivers that move- In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green ; and, poured round all, Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste— ; ' Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man! ‘The golden sun, a The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, es. Are shining on the sad abodes of death, Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. -T'ake the wings. Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolis the Oregon, and hears no sonnd Save his own dashings ; yet, the dead are there, 86 CYCLOPA:DIA. OF And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest. And what if thou shalt fall Unheeded by the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure! All that breathe Will snare thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of Care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Of ages glide away, the sons of men— In the full strength of years, matron, and maid, Shall one by one be gathered to thy side: 7 a : Their mirth and their employments, and shall come . And make their bed with thee. As the long train 4 The youth in life’s green spring, aud he who goes 4 ‘a And the sweet babe, and the gray-headed man— - oa NiGg 4 By those who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan that moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon: but, sustained and suothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. The Wind-flower. Lodged in sunny cleft Where the cold breezes come not, blooms alone The little wind-flower, whose just-opened eye " Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at, i Startling the Joiterer in the naked groves With unexpected beauty, for the time Of blossoms and green leaves is yet afar. The Disinterred Warrior. - Gather him to his grave again, And solemnly and softly Jay, Beneath the verdure of the plain, The warrior’s scattered bones away. Pay the deep reverence, taught of old, The homage of man’s heart to death 5 Nor dare to trifle with the mould Once hallowed by the Almighty’s breath. ‘ The soul hath quickened every part— That remnant of a martial brow, Those ribs that held the mighty heart, ‘That strong arm—strong no longer now. Spare them, each mouldering relic spare, Of God’s own image; let them rest, Till not a trace shall speak of where The awful likeness was impressed. For he was fresher from the Hand That formed of earth the human face, And to the elements did stand In many a flood to madness tossed, In many a storm has been his path, He hid him not from heat or frost. P But met them, and defied their wrath. ~~ In nearer kindred than our race. ‘ : “ Then they were kind—the forests here, Rivers. and stiller waters, paid A tribute to the net and spear Of the red ruler of the shade. eg Fruits on the woodland branches lay, Roots in the shaded soil below, LONGPELLOW:) ENGLISH LITERATURE. | ol The thrush, poor wanderer, dropping meekly down, »Clad in his remnant of autumnal brown ; The oriole, drifting like a flake of fire, Rent by the whirlwiud from a blazing spire. The robin jerking his spasmodic throat Repeats, staccato, his peremptory note; Tue crack-brained boboiink courts his crazy mate Poised on a bulrush tipsy with his weight. Nay, in his cage the lone canary sings. Feels the soft air, and spreads his idie wings. Why dream I here within these caging walls, Deaf to her voice while blooming Nature calls, While from heaven’s face the long-drawn shadows roll, And all its sunshine floods my opening soul! H. W. LONGFELLOW. - Henry Wapsworta LoNGFELLOW, a distinguished American author both in prose and verse, was born in Portland, Maine, in 1807. Having studied at Bowdoin College, Brunswick, the poet, after three years’ travelling and residence in Europe, became Professor of Modern Languages in his native college. This appointment he held _ from 1829 to 1855, when he removed to the chair of Modern Lan- guages aad Literature in Harvard University, Cambridge. While a youth at college, Mr. Longfellow contributed poems and criticisms to American periodicals. In 1833 he published a translation of the Spanish verses called ‘Coplas de Manrique,’ accompanying the poem ‘with an essay on Spanish poetry. In 1835 appeared his ‘ Outre-Mer, or Sketches from beyond Sea,’ a series of prose descriptions and reflections somewhat in the style of. Washington Irving. His next work was also in prose, ‘Hyperion, a Romance’ (1889), which in- stantly became popular in America. In the same year he issued his first collection of poems, entitled ‘Voices of the Night.’ In 1841 ‘appeared ‘ Ballads, and other Poems;’ in 1842, ‘Poems on Slavery; in 1843, ‘The Spanish Student,’ a tragedy; in 1845, ‘The Poets and Poetry of Europe;’ in 1846, ‘The Belfry. of Bruges;’ in 1847, . * Evangeline,’ a poetical tale in hexameter verse; in 1849, ‘ Kavanagh,’ a prose tale; and ‘The Seaside and the Fireside, a series of short poems; in 1851, ‘The Golden Legend,’ a medieval story in irregular rhyme; and in 1855, ‘The Song of Hiawatha,’ an American-Indian tale, in a still more singular style of versification, yet attractive from its novelty and wild melody Thus: Ye who love the haunts of Nature, Throngh their palisades of pine-trees, Love the sunshine of the meadow, And the thunder in the mountains, - Love the shadow of the forest, Whose innumerable echoes. ve the wind among the branches, Flap like eagles in their eyries 5 And the rain-shower and the sn ow-storm,- Listen to these wild traditions, And the rushing of great rivers To this Song of Hiawatha! _ In 1858 appeared ‘ Miles Standish:’ in 1863, ‘Tales of a Wayside -Tnn; in 1866. ‘Flower de Luce;’ in 1867, a translation of Dante; in 1872, ‘The Divine Tragedy,’ a sacred but not successful drama, em- ‘bodying incidents in the lives of John the Baptist and Christ; and ag 92 the same year, ‘ Three Books of CYCLOPADIA OF ~ [ro 1876. Song; in 1875, ‘The Masque of Pandora.’ Other poems and translations have appeared from the fertile pen of Mr. Longfellow; and several collected editions of his Poems, some of them finely illustrated and carefully edited, have been published. He is now beyond all question the most popular of the American poets, and has also a wide circle of admirers in Europe. If none of his larger poems can be considered great, his smaller pieces are finished with taste, and all breathe a healthy moral feeling and fine tone of humanity. An American critic (Griswold) has said justly that of all their native poets he be st deserves the title of artist. Excelsior. The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, ’mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior ! His brow was sad; his eye beneath, Flashed hke falchion from its sheath ; And like a silver clarion rung, The accents of that anknown tongue, Exce'sior ! In happy homes he saw the light ; Of household fires gleam warm and bright; Above, the spectral glueiers shone, And from his lips escaped a groan, Excelsior ! ‘Try not the Pass!’ the old man said; ‘ Dark lowers the tempest overhead, “The roaring torrent is deep and wide!’ And loud the clarion voice replied, Excelsior! ‘O stay,’ the maiden said, ‘and rest Thy weary head upon-this breast !’ A tear stood in his bright blue eye, A Psalm of Life. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, * Life is but an empty dream !’ For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. -Life is real! Life is earnest ! And the grave is not its goal; ‘Dust thou art, to dust returnest,’ Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Ts our destined end or way ; But to act, thnt.each to-morrow _ Find us farther then to-day. ~° Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, - But still he answered with a sigh, Kxcelsior ! . ‘ Beware the pine-tree’s withered branch { Beware the awfal avalanche!’ - This was the peasant’s Jast good-night. — A voice replied far up the height, Excelsior ! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of Saint Bernard Uttered the oft-repeated prayer; A voice cried through the startled air, Excelsior! ~~ A traveller, by the faithful hound, Half-buried in the snow was found, Still grasping in his hand of ice That banner with the strange device,. Excelsior! There in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but besutiful, he lay. And from the sky, serene and far, — A voice fell, hke a falling star, Excelsior ! Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave; In the world’s broad fteld of battle, In the bivouae of Life. Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Be a heroin the strife. Trust no future, howe’er pleasant ! Let the dead Fast bury its dead ; Act—act in the living Present! Heart within, and God o’erhead ! ie Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, - And, departing, leave behind us Foot-prints on the sands of Times , * pe - “woNcFELtow.]. ENGLISH LITERATURE. aS ‘Foot-prints, that perhaps another, Sailing o’er Life’s solemn main, ‘A foriorn and shipwrecked brother, Seeing, shall take heart aguih. - Saint Augustme! well hast thon said, That of our vices we can frame -A Jadder, if we will but tread Beneath our feet each deed of shame ! - All common things, cach day’s events, -_ That with the hour begin and end, Our pleasures and our discontents, Are rounds by which we muy ascend. The low desire. the base design, That makes another’s virtues less; The revel of the treacherous wine, And all occasions of excess 5 The longing for ignoble things ; The strife for triumph truth ; E The hardening of the heart that brings Irieverence for the dreams of youth; All thoughts of ill ; ali evil deeds. That have their root in thoughts of ill; Whatever hinders or impedes . The action.of the nobler will: All these must first be trampled down Beneath our feet, if we would gain Tn the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. God’s-Acre ! 6! more than 93 Let us, then, be mp and doing, With a heait for any fate; Still acbieving, still pursuing, Learn to lavour and to wait. s The Ladder of St. Augustine. We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale aud climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The mighty pyramids of stone That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, When nearer seen and better known, . Are but gigantic flights of stairs. The distant mountains that uprear Their solid bastions to the skies, Are crossed by pathways, that appear As We to higher levels rise. The heights by great men reached and kept 5 Were'not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. : Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent, and downcast eyes. We may discern—unseen before— A path to higher destinies. ; Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last To something nobler we attain. % God s- Acre. -. ; T like that ancient Saxon phrase, which calls “* : The buria!-ground God’s-Acre! Itis just; Z ~ It consecrates each grave within its walls, io And breathes a benison o’er the sleeping dust. Yes, that blessed name imparts Comfort to those who in the grave have sown The seed that they had garnered in their hearts, Their bread of Jife; alas! no more their own. ge. Into its furrows shall we all be cast, Tn the suve faith that we shall rise again At. the great harvest, when the archangel’s blast Shall winnow, lke a fan, the chaff aud erain, mo Then shall the good stand in immortal bloom, 3 - -.. In the fair gardens of that second birth; . And each bright blossom mingle its perfume With that of flowers which never bloomed on earth, With thy rade plonzhsbare. Death, turn un the sod, And spread the furrow for the seed we sow ; This is the field and Acre of our God, This is the place where human harvests grow | 94 CYCLOPADIA OF Autumn in America. With what a glory comes and goes the year! The buds of spring, those beautiful harbingers Of sunny skies and cloudless times, enjoy Life’s newness, and earth’s garniture spread out; And when the silver habit of the clouds Comes down upon the autumn sun, and with A sober gladness the old year takes up His bright inheritance of golden fruits, A pomp ani pageant fill the splendid scene. There is a beautiful spirit breathing now Its mellow richness on the clustered trees, And, froma beaker full of richest dyes, Pouring new glory on the autumn woods, And dipping in warm light the pillowed clouds. Morn on the mountain, like a summer bird, Lifts up her purple wing; and in the vales The gentle wind, a sweet and passion:te wooer, Kisses the blushing leaf, and stirs up life Within the solemn woods of ash deep-crimsoned, And silver beech, and maple yellow-leafed, Where Autumn, like a faint old man, sits down By the wayside aweary. The golden robin moves. Through the trees The purple finch, That on wild cherry and red cedar feeds, A winter bird comes with its plaintive whistle, And pecks by the witch-hazei ; whilst aloud From cottage roofs the warbling blue-bird sings 3 And merrily, with oft repeated stroke, Sounds from the threshing-floor the busy flail. Oh, what a glory doth this world put on For him who with a fervent heart goes forth, Under the bright aad glorious sky, and looks On duties well performed, and days well spent ! For him the wind, ay. and the yellow leaves, Shall have a voice, and give him eloquent teachings; ? He shall so hear the so'emn hymn, that Death Has lifted up for all, that he shall go To his long resting-pJace without a tear A Rainy Day. A cold, uninterrupted rain, That washed each southern pane, And madea river of the road 3 A sea of mist that overflowed The house, the barns, the gilded vane, * And drowned the upland and the plain, Through which the oak-trees, broad and high. Like phantom ships went drifting by; And, hidden behind a watery screen, The sun unseen. or only seen As a faint pallor in the sky— Thus cold and colourless and gray, The morn of that: autumnal day, As if reluctant to begin, Dawned on the silent Sudbury Inn, And all the guests that in it lay. window- Full late they slept. They did not hear The challenge of Sir Chanticleer, Who on the empty threshing-fioor, Disdainful of the rain outside. Was strutting with a-martial stride, As if upon his thigh he wore The famous broadsword of the Squire, And said. ‘ Behold me. and admire!’ Only the Poet seemed to-hear In drowse or dream. more near and near Across the border-land of sleep The hlowing of a blifhesome horn, That Janghed the dismal day to scorn 3 A splash of hoofs and rush of wheels Through sand and mire like stranding keels, : a As from the road with sudden sweep, __ The mail drove up the little steep, ~ {To 1876. vw F ‘ J 1 And stopped beside the tavern door; A moment stopped, and then again, With crack of whip and bark of dog, ENGLISH LITERATURE, Plunged forward throuch the sea of fog, And all was silent as before— All silent save the dripping rain, ri. CVARLES SWAIN. ; A native of Manchester, and carrying on business there as an engraver, CHARLES SWAIN (1803- 1874) became known asa poet in the pages of the ‘ Literary Gazette’ and other literary journals. His collected works .are: ‘Metrical Essays,’ 1827; ‘The Mind and other Poems,’ 1831 ; ‘ Dramatic Chapters, Poems, and Songs, 1847 ; ‘English Melodies,’ 1849; ‘Art and Fashion,’ 1863; and ‘ Songs and Ballads,’ 1868. Some of Mr. Swain’s songs and domestic poems— which are free from all mysticism and exaggerated sentiment—have been very popular both at home and abroad. They have great 2 epwecthess. tenderness, and melody. The Death ef the Warrior King. There are noble heads bowed down and N ale, Deep sounds of woe arise, ae tears flow fast. around the couch ee Where a wounded warrior lies ; The hue of death is gathering dark Upon his lofty brow, And the arm of might ‘and valour halls, | Weak as an infant’s now. -- Isaw him ’mid the battling hosts, Like a bright and/leading star, ele panne, helm, and falchion gleam- And f . the bolts of war. ~ When, in his plenitude of power, He trod the Holy Land, ~ I saw the routed Saracens , Fee from his blood-dark brand. i saw him in the banquet hour _ . Forsake the festive throng, ‘ To seek his favourite minstrel’s haunt, - _ And give his soul to song; _ For dearly as he loved renown, b * He loved that spell-wrought strain - Which bade the brave of perished days light Conquest’s torch again. ‘Then seemed the bard to cope with Time, And triumph o’er his doom— Another w orld i in freshness burst Obliviou’s mighty tomb! Again the hardy Britons rushed Like lions to the fight. While horse and foot—helm, shield, and lance, Swept by his visioned sight! But battle shout and waving plume, The drum’s heart-stirring beat, The glittering pomp of prosperous war, The rush of million feet, The magic of the minstre Vs sone, Which told of victories 0” er, Are sights and sounds the dying kirg Shall see—shall hear no more ! It was the hour of deep midnight, In the dim and quiet sky, When, 7 ith sable cloak and ’broidered pa A funeral train swept by ; Dull and sad fell the torches’ glare On many a stately crest— They bore the noble warrior king To his last dark home of rest. bf 4 SYDNEY DOBELL—ALESANDER SMITH—GERALD MASSEY. ‘Under the pseudonym of ‘Sydney Vendys, ~ (1824-1874) published several claborate poetical works. SYDNEY DOBELL He was born at Cranbrook, Kent,in 1824, but spent the greater part of his youth in the neig hbourhood of Cheltenham, where his father was engaged in _ business as a wine-merchant. whose regular employment was in his father’s Basted to write a dramatic poem, ‘ The Roman,’ published i in 1850. Part the First; _ 1864 appeared ‘ Balder, In his intervals of leisure the young poet s counting-house—con- In in 1855, ‘Sonnets on the : paps CYCLOPADIA OF War,’ written in conjunction with Mr. A Smith ; Ane in, 1856, ; ‘Eneland i in Time of War. A man of cultivated intellectual tastes and benevolence of char acter, Mr. Dobeil seems to have taken up some false or exaggerated theories of poetry and philosophy, and to have wasted fine “thoughts and conceptions on uncongenial themes. The great error of some of our recent poets is the want of simplicity and nature. They heap up images and sentiments, the ornaments of poetry, without aiming at order, consistency, and the natural development of passion or feeling. "We have thus many beautiful and fanciful ideas, but few complete or correct poems. Part of this defect is no doubt to be attributed to the youth of the poets, for taste and judgment come slowly even where genius is abundant, but part also is due to neglect of the old masters of song. In Mr, Dobell’s first poem, however, are some passages of finished blank verse: Ai The Italian Brothers. I had a brother: We were twin shoots from one dead stem. He grew Nearer the sun, and ripened into beauty ; ; And I, within the shadow of my thoughts, Pined at his side and loved him. He was brave, Gallant and free. I was the silent slave Of fancies; neither laughed, nor fought, nor played, And loved not morn nor eve for very trenibling At their long wandering shades. In childhood’s sports He won for me, and I looked on aloof ; And when perchance I heard him called my brother, Was proud and happy. So we grew together, - : Within our dwelling by the desert plain, > Where the roe leaped, And froin his icy hills the frequent wolf Gave chivairy to slaughter. Here and there a Rude heaps, that had been cities, clad the ground ; - With history. And far and ear, where grass Was greenest, and the uneonscions coat browsed free, The teeming soil was sown w ith desolations, As though Time—str iding o’er the field he reaped— Warmed with the spoil, rich droppings for the gleaners Threw round his barvest way. Frieze. pedestal, Pillars that bore throngh years the weight of glory, ~ And take their rest. ‘i ‘ombs, arches, monuments, Vainly set up to save a name. as though The eternal saved the perishable ; urns, Which winds had emptied of their dust, but left : Full of their immortality. In shronds Of reverent leaves, rich works of wondrous beauty Lay sleeping—like the Children in the Wood— Fairer than they. The Ruins of Ancient Rome. * Upstood The hoar unconscious walls, bisson and bare, Like an old man deaf, blind, and gray, in whom The years of old stand in the sun, and murmur Of childhood and the dead. From parapeis eg Uae See if 3 print ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 97° -- Where the sky rests, from broken niches—each a ~ More than Olympus—for gods dwelt in them— Below from senatorial hanuts and seats Imperial, where the ever-passing fates Wore ont the stone, strange hermit birds croaked forth » . Sorrowful sounds, like watchers on the height Crying the hours of ruin. When the clouds “ ~— Dress: d every myrtle on the walls in mourning, 8 _ ~ With calm prerogative the eternal pile : ; Impassive shone with the unearthly light Of immortality. When conquering suns Triumphed in jubilant earth, it stood out dark With thoughts of ages: like some mighty captive E _ Upon his death-bed in a Christian land, pire And lying, through the chant of psalm and creed, Risk Unshriven and stern, with peace upon his brow, 3 . ~ And on his lips strange gods. : ¢ Rank weeds and grasses, vs ' Careless and nodding, grew, and asked no leave, Where Romans trembled. Where tle wreck was saddest, Sweet pensive herbs, that had been gay elsewhere, With conscious mien of place rose tall and still, BD And bent with duty. Like some village children Who found a dead king on a battie-field, And with decorous care and reverent pity Composed the lordly ruin, and sat down Grave without tears. At length the giant lay, And everywhere he was begirt with years, And everywhere the torn and mouldering Past Hung with theivy. For Time, smit with honour Of what he slew, cast his own mantle on him, That uone should mock the dead. In 1871 Mr. Dobell published a spirited political lyric, entitled - * England’s Day.’ _ The day has gone by when the public of this country could be _justly charged with neglect of native genius. Any manifestation of original intellectual power bursting from obscurity is instantly recog- nised, fostered, and applauded. ‘The ever-open periodical press is ready to welcome and proclaim the new comer, and there is no lack of critics animated by a tolerant and generous spirit. In 1853 ap- “peared ‘Poems’ by ALEXANDER SmitTH (1830-1867), the principal piece in the collection being a series of thirteen dramatic scenes, en- “titled ‘A Life Drama.’ The manuscript of this volume had been submitted to the Rev. George Gilfillan, and portions of it had been laid before the public by that enthusiastic critic, accompanied with a - Strong recommendation of the young author as a genuine poet of a high order. Mr. Smith (born in Kilmarnock) had been employed as a designer of patterns in one of the Glasgow factories, but the publi- ‘cation of his poems marked him out for higher things, and he was elected to the office of Secretary to the Edinburgh University. Thus placed in a situation favourable for the cultivation of his ta- ‘lents, Mr. Smith continued his literary pursuits. He joined with Mr. - Dobell, as already stated, in writing a series of War Sonnets; he con ~ tributed prose essays to some of the periodicals; and in 1857 he came oe ’ 98 "-C¥CLOPAEDIA OF “7- > 1 fre 1896 forward with a second volume of verse, ‘City Poems,’ similar in style to his first collection. In*1861 appeared “Edwin of Deira.’ ~ Nearly all Mr. Smith’s poetry bears the impress of youth—excessive imagery and ornament, a want of art and regularity. In one of Miss Mitford’s letters we read: ‘ Mr. Kingsley says that Alfred Ten- nyson says that Alexander Smith’s poems shew fancy, but not imagi- nation; and on my repeating this to Mrs. browning, she said it was exactly her impression.’ The young poet had, however, a vein-of — fervid poetic feeling, attesting the genuineness of his inspiration, and a fertile fancy that could form brilliant pictures. With diligent study, simplicity, distinctness, and vigour might have been added, had the poet not been cut down in the very flower of his youth and genius. His prose works, ‘ Dreamthorp,’ ‘A Book of Essays, ‘A Sum- mer in Skye,’ and ‘ Alfred Hagart’s Household,’ are admirably writ- ten. A Memoir of Smith, with some literary remains, was published — in 1868, edited by P. P. Alexander. Autumn. The lark is singing in the blinding sky, Hedges are white with May.. The bridegroom sea is toying with the shore. his wedded bride, And, in the fullness of his marriage joy, He decorates her tawny brow with shells, Retires a sp2ce to see how fair she looks, Then proud, runs up to kiss her, All is fair— All giad. from grass to sun! Yet more Llove Than this, the shrinking day, that sometimes comes In Winter’s front, so fair ’mong its dark peers, It seems a straggler from the files of June, Which in its wanderings had lost its wits, And half its beauty ; and, when it returned, Finding its old companions gon: away. It joined Novemb2r’s troop. then marching past}; And so the frail thing comes,.and greets the world With a thin crazy smile, then bursts in tears, And all the while it holds within its hand A few half-withered flowers. Unrest and Ohildhood. Unrest! unrest! The passion-panting sea Watches the unveiled beauty of the stars ? Like a great hungry soul. The unqniet clouds Break and dissolve, then gather in a mass, And float like mighty icebergs through the blue. Summers, like blushes, sweep the face of earth ; Heaven yearns in stars. Down comes the frantic rain 3 We hear the wail of the remorseful winds In their strange penance. And this wretched orb Knows not the taste of rest; a maniac world, Hom:less and sobbing through the deep she goes, {A chiid runs past.] O thon bright thing, fresh from the hand of God; The motions of thy dancing limbs are swayed By the unceasing music of thy being! * Y ae , - eee + Ree as ae ee Sd i - 7, ‘MASSEY. | - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 99 Nearer I seem to God when looking on thee. ’Tis ages since He made his youngest star, His hand was on thee as ’twere yesterday. Thou later revelation! Silver stream, — Breaking withJaughter from the lake divine Whence all things flow. O bright and singing babe, What wilt thou be hereafter ? ay GERALD Massey, born at Tring, in Hertfordshire, in the year 1828, has fought his way to distinction in the face of severe difficulties. Up to his seventeenth or eighteenth year he was either a factory or an errand boy. He then tried periodical writing, and after some ob- scure efforts, produced in 1854 the ‘Ballad of Babe Christabel, and other Poems.’ a volume that passed through several editions; in 1855, ‘ War Waits; in 1856, ‘ Craigcrook Castle, and other Poems.’ Mr. Massey is author also of ‘ Havelock’s March,’ 1861; ‘Tale of Eter- nity,’ 1869; and of various other pieces in prose and verse. By these publications, and with occasional labours asa journalist and lecturer, he has honourably established himself in the literary profession. His poetry possesses both fire and tenderness, with a delicate lyrical fancy, but is often crude and irregular in style. It is remarkable that the diligence and perseverance which enabled the young poet to surmount his early troubles, should not have been employed to cor- rect and harmonize his verse. Ofall the self-taught English poets, Bloomfield seems to have been the most intent on studying good models and attaining to correct and lucid composition. A prose ~ work, ‘Shakspeare and his Sonnet,’ by Mr. Massey, is ingenious and well written. Conclusion of Babe Christabel. In this dim world of clouding cares, We rarely know, till wildered eyes See white wings lessening up the skies, The angels with us unawares. And thou hast stolen a jewel, Death! Shall light thy dark up like a star, A beacon kindling from afar Our light of love, and fainting faith. Through tears it gleams perpetually, And glitters through the thickest glooms, Till the eternal morning comes To light us o’er the jasper sea. With our best branch in tenderest leaf, We’ve strewn the way our Lord doth come ; And, ready for the harvest-home, His reapers bind our ripest sheaf. Our beautiful bird of light hath fled: Awhile she sat with folded wings—- Sang round us a few hoverings— Then straightway into glory sped. ' And white-winged angels nurture her; With heaven’s white radiance robed and crowned, ~ 1 100 CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, And all love’s purple glory round, ae . By She summers on the hills of myrrh. ‘ Through childhood’s morning-land, serene She walked betwixt us twain, like love; While, in a robe of light above, Her better angel waiked unseen. Till life’s highway broke bleak and wild; Then, Jest her starry garments trail In inire, heart bleed, and courage fail, 7 The angel’s arms caught up the child. Her wave. of life hath backward rolled _ To the great ocean ; on whose shore We wander up and down, to store Some treasures of the times of old: And aye we seek and hunger on Yor precious pearis and relies rare, strewn on the sands for us to wear At heart, for Jove of her that’s gone. . O weep no more! there yet is balm In Gilead! Love doth ever shed , Rich healing where it nestles—spread 5 O’er desert pillows some green palm ! ~s Strange glory streams through life’s wild renis, And through the open dvor of death = We see the heaven that beckoneth To the beloved guing hence. God’s ichor fills the hearts that bleed 3 The-best fruit loads the broken bough ; ant And in the wounds our sufferings plough, Immortal love sows sovere.gn seed. pe DAVID GRAY, | In 1862 appeared a small volume, ‘The Luggie, and ofher Poems,’~ ~ by Davip Grey (1888-1861), with a memoir of the author by James — Hedderwick, and a prefatory notice by R. M. Milnes, afterwards Lord Houghton. Gray was born on the banks of the Luggie,* and — reared in the house of his father, a handloom weaver at Merkland, — near Kirkintillock. David was one of a large family, but he was in- tended for the church, and sent to Glasgow, where he supported him~ — self by teaching, and attended classes in the university for four sea- — sons. The youth, however, was eager for literary fame; he had written thousands of verses, and published from time to time pieces — in the ‘Glasgow Citizen,’ a journal in which Alexander Smith had — also made his first appearance in all the glory of print. In his — twenty-second year Gray started off for London, as ambitious and — self-confident, and as friendless as Chatterton when he left Bristol on — = a Similar desperate mission. Friends, however, came forward. Gray * The Iuggie flows past Merkland at the foot of a precipitous bank. and shortly after. wards loses itself among the shedews of Oxgang. with its fine old mansion-honse and — rookery. and debouches into the Kelvin. one of the tributaries of the Clyde. celebrated — in Scottish song: Itis a mere unpretending rivulet -HEDDERWICK’s Jlcinoir of Gray. . 2 ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 101 had corresponded with Sidney Dobell and Mr: Monckton Milnes, ‘and he became acquainted with Mr. Lawrence Oliphant, and with two accomplished ladies—Miss Coates, Hampstead, and Miss Marion er J oe ° . . . _James, an authoress of considerable reputation. Assistance inmoney and counsel was freely given, but consumption set in, and the poor ‘poet, having longed to return to his native place, was carefully sent * back to Merkland. ‘There he wrought hopefully at his poems, and oo when winter came, it was arranged that he should remove to the south jof England. ‘ 1 Mr. Milnes, the kind ladies at Hampstead, and some Scottish friends (Mrs. Nichol, widow of Professor Nichol, Mr. William Logan, and - - others), supplied the requisite funds, and Gray was placed in a ~ hydropathic establishment at Richmond. Thence he was removed, _ through the kindness of Mr. Milnes, to Devonshire; but the desire for home again returned, and in the middleof January 1861, the - invalid presented himself abruptly at Merkland. ‘Day after day,’ "* says Mr. Hedderwick—‘ week after week—month after month—life * was now ebbing away from him for ever.’ But ‘even under the _ strong and touching consciousness of an early doom—with the dart of death, like the sword of Damocles, continually suspended over him and visible—Gray continued to weave, in glory, if not in joy, his poetic fancies.’ His ardent wish was. to see his poems in print, and they _ were sent to the press. One page was immediately put in type, and the dying poet had the inexpressible gratification of seeing and read- ing it on the day preceding his death. This was part of a description ~ Of a winter scene on the banks of the Luggie: ~ A Winter Scene. - Se How beautiful! afar on-moorland ways, s Bosomed by mountains, darkened by huge glens (Where the lone altar raised by Druid hands Stands like a mournful phuntom), hidden clouds ~ Let fali soft beauty, till each green fir branch Is p umed and tasselled. till each heather stalk Is delicately fringed. The sycamores, Ni Through all their mystical entanglement Of bcughs, are draped with silver. All the green “ - Of Sweet leaves plaving with the subtle air In dainty murmuring ;. the obstinate drone oo | Of limber bees that in the monkshood bells ‘ie House diligent ; the imperishable glow ~ The young poet received this specimen page as ‘ good news,’ and 2 Of summer suishine never more confessed The harmony of nuture, the divine Diffusive spirit of the Beautiful, d Out in the snowy dimness, half revealed, Si Like ghosts in glimpsing moonshine, wildly run’ ii The children in bewildering delight. - paid he could now subside tranquilly ‘ without tears’ into his eternal rest. A monument was erecied to his memory at Kirkintilloch in: a on. 1865, Mr. Henry Glassford Bell, the sheriff of Glasgow, delivering an 7 Ps eS BE SSL fa en ae ee eee ee a “ ~~ 7 Yee : i +7 Pi as a ean ¢ 4% ibe #i: . ~ e * a 4 ps 7 ae aA wv 55% “7 102 " €YCLOPEDIA OF —sérro 1875, interesting speech on the occasion. The monument bears the follow-. img inscription, from the pen of Lord Houghton: ‘ This monument of affection, admiration, and regret, is erected to Davip GRAy, the ~ poet of Merkland, by friends from far and near, desirous that his grave should be remembered amid the scenes of his rare genius and early death, and by the Luggie, now numbered with the streams illustrious in Scottish song. Born 29th January 1838; died 8d De- cember 1861.’ Three of the most active of the literary friends of David Gray—namely, Lord Houghton, Mr. Hedderwick (the accom- plished and affectionate biographer of. the poet), and Sheriff Bell (whose latest literary task was editing a new edition of Gray’s Poems) — —have borne testimony to the rich though immature genius of this young poet, and to the pure and noble thoughts which fired his am- bition, and guided his course through the short period of his life. — Besides his» principal poem, ‘The Luggie,’ Gray wrote a series of Sonnets entitled ‘In the Shadow,’ which are no less touching than beattiful_in composition, and greatly superior to the poetry of Siichael Bruce, written under similarly affecting circumstances. An Auiumnal Day. Beneath an ash in beauty tender leaved, : And through whose boughs the glimmering sunshine flowed In rare ethereal jasper, making coel A chequered shadow in the dark green grass, s I lay enchanted. At my head there bloomed A hedge of sweet-brier, fragrant as the breath : Of maid beloved, when her cheek is laid E To yours in downy pressure, soft as sleep. A bank of harebells, flowers unspeakable For half-transparent azure, nodding, gleamed ig As a fain’ zephyr. laden with perfuine, j Kissed them to motion, gently, with no will. pefore me streams most dear unto my heart, Sweet Luggie, sylvan Bothlin—fairer twain ‘Than ever sung themselves into the sea. r Lucid Afgean, gemmed with sacred isles— Were rolled together mn an emerald vale 3 And into the severe bright noon, the smoke “ Tn airy circles o’er the sycamores | Upcurled—a lonely little cloud of blue j = Above the happy hamlet. _ Far away, f 2 A gently rising hill with umbrage clad, iz Hazel and glossy birch and silver fir. Met the keen sky. Oh, in that wood, I know, The woodruff and the hyacinth are fair ; * kn their own season; with the bilberry i Of dim and misty blue, to childhood dear. ~ . Here on a sunny August afternoon, - % A vision stirred my spirit half-awake . ‘oie To fling a pzrer lustre on those fields ? That knew my boyish footsteps ; and to sing Thy pastoral beauty, Luggie, into fame. Lf t% must be that I Die young. If it must be; if it must be, O God! That I die young, and make no further moans; Geax | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 103 _That, underneath the unrespective sod, In unescutchconed privacy, my bones Shall crumble soon—then give me strength to beax The last convulsive throe of too sweei breath ! I tremble from the edge of life to dare The dark and fatal leap, having no faith, No glorious yearning for the Apocalypse : But like a child that in the night-time cries For light, I crv ; forgetting the eciipse Of knowledge and our human destinies, O peevish and uncertain soul! obey The law of life in patience till the day. All Fair Things at their Death the Fatrese Why are all fair things at their death the fairest ¢ Beauty, the beautifullest in decay ? Why doth rich sunset clothe each closing day With ever new appavelling the rarest ? Why are the sweetest imefories all born Of pain and sorrow? Monrneth not the dove, In the green forest gloom, an absent love ? Leaning her breast against that cruel thorn, Doth not the nightingale, poor bird, complain And integrate her uncontrollable woe To such perfection, that to hear is pain? Thus Sorrow and Death—alone realities— Sweeten their ministration, and bestow On troublous life a relish of the skies ! Spring. Now, while the long-delaying ash assume3 The delicate April green, and loud, and clear, Through the cool, yellow, twilight glooms, The thrush’s song enchants the captive ear; Now, while a shower is pleasant in the falling, Stirring the still perfuine that wakes around ; Now that doves mourn, and from the distance calling, » The cuckoo answers with a sovereign sonnd— Come with thy native heart, O true and tried ! But leave all books; for what with converse high, Flavoured with Attic wit, the time shall glide : On smoothly, as a river fleweth by, Or as on stately pinion, through the gray Evening, the culver cuts his liquid wuy : THOMAS RAGG—THOMAS COOPER. Two other pocts sprung from the people, and honourubly dis- tinguished for self-cultivation, merit notice. THomas HR4suG was born in Nottingham in 1808. In 1823 he issued his first publication, ‘The Incarnation, and other Poems,’ being at that time engaged in a lace factory. ‘The Incarnation’ wes part of a philosophical poem on ‘The Deity,’ and was published for the purpose of ascertaining whether means could be obtained for the publication of the whole. In consequence of the favourable critical notices, two gentlemen in the West of England—whuse names deserve to be recorded—Mr. Mann of Andover, and Mr. Wyatt of Stroud, offered to become Tesponsible for the expenses of bringing out ‘The Deity,’ and the / 104 - CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, then venerable James Montgomery undertook to revise the manuscript. It was published in 1834 with considerable success, In 1885 he pro- duced *The Martyr of Verulam, and other Poems;’ in 1887, ‘ Lyrics fromthe Pentateuch;’ in 1840, ‘ Heber and. other Poems;’ in 1847, ~ ‘Scenes and Sketches;’ in i855, ‘Creation’s Testimony to its Au- ~ thor;’ and in 1858, ‘ Man’s Dreams and God’s Realities.” The poet had been successively newspaper reporter and bookseller; but in 1858 Dr. Murray, Bishop. of Rochester, offered him ordination in the - church, and he is now vicar of Lawley, near Wellington, Salop. The Earth full of Love.—From ‘ Heber.’ The earth is full of Jove, albeit the storms . mal Of passion mar its influence benign, : And drown its voice with discords. Every flower That to the sun its heaving breast expands : ; cee Is born of love. And every song of bird 4 That floats, mellifluent, on the balmy air, ‘ Is but a love-note. “Heaven is ful! of love; Its starry eyes run o’er with tenderness, And soften every heart that-meets their gaze, As downward looking on this wayward world They light it back to God. But neither stars, Nor flowers, nor song of birds, nor earth, nor heaven, So tell the wonders of that glorious name, | As they shall be revealed, when comes the hour - Of nature’s consummation, hoped-for long, © < When, passed the checkered vestibule of time, . The creature in immortal youth shall bloom, And good, unmixed with.ill, for ever reign. Va oat % s y o THOMAS CoopER, ‘the Chartist,’ while confined in Stafford jail, -~ 1842-44, wrote a poem in the Spenserian stanza, entitled ‘ The Pur- gatory of Suicides,’ which evinces poetical power and fancy, and has — gone through several editions. ‘This work was published in 1845;° and the same year Mr. Cooper issued a series of prose tales and — sketches, ‘ Wise Saws and Modern Instances.’ In thefollowlng year _ he published ‘ The Baron’s Yule Feast, a Christmas Rhyme.’ Though * — addressed, like the ‘Corn-law Rhymes’ of Elliott, to the working- — classes, and tinged with some jaundiced and gloomy views of society, there is true poetry in Mr. Cooper’s rhymes. ‘The following is a -, scrap of landscape-painting—a Christmas scene: $ : 9 How joyously the lady bells Sparkles so far transcending gems, Ss Shout, though the bluff north breeze The bard would gloze who said their Loudly his boisterous bugle swells! sheen - And though the brooklets freeze, Did not out-diamond $3 4 How fair the leafless hawthorn tree All brightest gauds that man hath seen, © Waves with its hoar-frost tracery ! Worn by earth’s proudest king or queen, - While eens throw o’er stalks and In pomp and grandeur throned! e stems * In 1848 Mr. Cooper became a political and historical lecturer, set up cheap political journals, which soon died, and wrote two novels, — ‘Alderman Ralph,’ 1853, and ‘The Family Feud,’ 1854. He was — tinged with infidel opinions, but these he renounced, and commenced 7 mene kG ra 2 je es ia “MACKAY. } “ENGLISH LITERATURE. 105 ~ a course of Sunday evening lectures and discussions in support of > Christianity. He has also written an account of his ‘Life, which has reached a third cdition. .. LORD JOHN MANNERS—HON. MR. SMYTHE. ». Aseries of poetical works, termed ‘ Young England’ or ‘ Trae- - tarian Poetry’ appeared in 1840 and 1841. ‘England's Trust, and other Poems,’ by Lorp Jonn MaAnnurs; ‘ Historic Fancies,’ by the Hon. Mr. SMyTHeE (afterwards Lord Strangford); ‘The Cherwell ~ Water Lily,’ &c., by the Rev. F. W. Faser. The chief object. of _ these works was to revive the taste for feudal feeling and ancient sports, combined with certain theological and political opinions _ characteristic of a past age. The works had poetical and amiable ’ feeling, but were youthful, immature productions; and Lord John -Manners must have regretted the couplet which we here print in | ditalics, and which occasioned uo small ridicule: . . No; by the names inscribed in History’s page, 4 ~ Names that-are England’s nob est heritage ; Names that shali live for yet unnumbered years Shrined in our hearts.with Cressy and Poictiers ; , Let wealth and commeree, laws and learning die, 7 ont, But leave us stili our old nobicity. _ Lord John has since applied himself to politics. He held office in the Conservative administrations from 1852 to 1867, and again in Mr. . Disraeli’s administration of 1874, being appointed Postmaster-general. His lordship is author also of ‘Notes of an Irish Tour,’ 1849; * Eng- - lish Ballads and other Poems,’ 1850; ‘A Cruise in Scotch Waters;’ ‘ and several pamphlets on religious and political questions. _ Lord Strangford (the seventh viscount) also took,a-part in public - affairs, and promised to become an able debater, but ill health with- drew him from both politics and literature. He died in 1857, at the _ age of forty. S CHARLES MACKAY. ~ Among the authors of the day, uniting political sympathies and aspirations with lyrical poetry, is Dr. CHarites Mackay. Some of “his songs are familiar as household words both in this country and in America, and his influence as an apostle or minstrel of soctal re- form and the domestic affections must have been considerable. Dr. . Mackay commenced his literary career in 1834, in his twentieth year, by the publication of a small volume of poems. Shortly afterwards he became connected with the ‘ Morning Chronicle’ daily journal, and continued in this laborious service for nine years. In 1840, he ‘published ‘The Hope of the World,’ a poem in verse of the style of Pope and Goldsmith. In 1842 appeared ‘The Salamandrine,’ a poet- -ieal romance founded on the Rosicrucian system, which supplied Pope with-the inimitable aérial personages of his ‘Rape of the -Lock.’ ‘The Salamandrine’ is the most finished of Dr. Mackay’s LR: . : 5 r : Se : 106 CYCLOP-EDIA OF _~ — fro 1876 works, and has passed through several editions. From 1844 to 1847, our author -couducted a Scottish newspaper, the ‘ Glasgow Argus;’ and while resident in the north, he received the honorary distinction of LL. D. from the university of Glasgow. : Returning to London, he resumed his connection with the metro- politan press, and was for several years editor of the ‘ Illustrated Lon- don News,’ in the columns of which many of his poetical pieces first appeared. His collected works, in addition to those already enume- rated, consist of ‘ Legends of the Isles,’ 1845; ‘ Voices from the Crowd,’ 1846; ‘ Voices from the Mountains,’ 1847; ‘Town Lyrics,’ 1848; ‘Egeria, or the Spirit of Nature,’ 180; ‘The Lump of Gold,’ &c., 1856; ‘Songs | for Music,’ 1857; ‘ Under Green Leaves,’ 1858; ‘A Man’s Heart,’ 1860; “Studies from the Antique,’ 1864, &c. Some prose works have also proceeded from the pen of Dr. Mackay—‘ The Thames and its Tribu- taries,’ two volumes, 1840; ‘ Memoirs of Extraordinary Popular Le- lusions,’ two volumes, 1852, &c. In 1852, Dr. Mackay made a tour in _ America, and delivered a course of lectures on Poetry, which he has repeated in this country. His transatlantic impressions he has em- bodied in two volumes of lively description, bearing the title of ‘ Life — and Liberty in America.’ The poet, we may add, isa native of Perth, born ii 1814, while his father, an officer in the army, was on recruiting service. He was in infancy removed to London, and five years of his youth were spent in Belgium. Apologue from ‘ Egerta.’ In ancient time, two acorns, in their cups, Shaken by winds and ripeness from the tree, Dropped side by side into the ferns and grass. ‘ Where have I fallen? to what base region come?? Exclaimed the one. ‘The joyous breeze no more Rocks me to slumber on the sheltering bough ; The sunlight streams no longer on my face ; I look no more from altitudes serene © Upon the world reposing far below; Its plains, its hills, its rivers, and its woods. To me the nightingale sings hymns no more} But I am made companion of the worm, And rot on the chill earth.” Around me grow Nothing but useless weeds, and grass, and fern, Unfit to hold companionship with me. Ah me! most wretched! rain. and frost, and dew, And all the pangs and penalties of earth, . Corrupt me where I jie—degenerate.’ = And thus the acorn made its daily moan. The other raised no murmur of complaint, And looked on with no contempt upon the grass, ‘Nor called the branching fern a worthless weed, ‘ Nor scorned the woodland flowers that round it blew. All silently and piously it lay Upon the kindly bosom of the earth. 4 It blessed the warmth with which the noonday sun Made fruitful a]] the ground; it loved the dews, The moonlight and the snow, the frost and rain, i And all the change of seasons as they passed.” % “MACKAY. ] __ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 107 ; It sank into the bosom of the soil: The bursting life, inclosed within its husk, Broke through its fetters 5 it extended roots, And twived them freely in the grateful ground 3 It sprouted up, and looked upon the lignt ; The sunshine fed it ; the embracing air Endowed it with vitality and strength; The rains of heaven supplied it nourishment, And so trom month to month, and year to year, It grew in beauty and in usefuln ss, Until its large circumference inclosed Shelter for flocks and herds; until its boughs Afforded homes for happy multitudes, The dormouse, and the chafliuch, and the jay, And countless myriads of minuter life; r Until its bole, too vast for the embrace Of human arms, stood in the forest depths, The model and the glory of the wood. Its sister-acorn perished in its pride. Love New and Old. And were they not the happy days And are they not the happy days When Love and I were young, When Love and J are old, _ When earth was robed in heavenly light, And silver evening has repiaced And all creation sung ? A morn and noon of gold? When gazing in my true love’s face, Love stood alone mid youtuful joy, Through greenwood alleys lone, But now by sorrow tried, I guessed the secrets of her heart, It sits and calmly looks to heaven By whispers of mine own. * With angels at its side. Song—Tubal Cain. - Old Tubal Cain was a man of might ; In the days when Earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright The strokes of his hammer rung ; And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Tili the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, As he fashioned the sword and spear. ~ * And he sang: * Hurra for ny handiwork! Hurra, for the spear and sword! Hurra for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be king and lord!’ To Tubal Cain came many a one, - As he wrought by his roaring fire, tery Play; and in 1851, ‘The Dreamer and the Worker,’ two vols. In 1852 Mr. Horne went to Australia, and for some time held the office of Gold Commissioner. | We may note that ‘Orion’ was originally published at the price of one farthing, being ‘an experiment upon the mind of a nation,’ and ‘as there was scarcely any instance of an epic poem attainin any reasonable. circulation during its author’s lifetime.’ ‘This nomi: a ‘HORNE,} ENGLISH LITERATURE. “ 11) - ‘nal price saved the author ‘the trouble and greatly additional ex- _pense of forwarding presentation copies,’ which, he adds, ‘are not always particularly desired by those who receive them.’ Three of these farthing editions were published, after which there were se- everal at a price which ‘ amply remunerated the publisher, and left “the author no great loser.’ Orion, the hero of the poem, was meant to present ‘atype of the struggle of man with himseif—that is, the -eontest between the intellect and. the senses, when powerful ener- gies are equally balanced.’ The allegorical portion of the poem is defective and obscure, but it contains striking and noble passages. The Progress of Mankind.—From ‘ Orion.’ The wisdom of mankind creeps slowly on, ; Subject to every doubt that can retard, > Or fling it back upon an earlier time; So timid are man’s footsteps in the dark, But blindest those who have no inward light. One mind perchance in every age contains The sum of all before, and much to come; Much that’s far distant still; but that full mind, Companioned oft by others of like scope, Belief, and tendency, and anxious will, j : A circle small transpierces and Nlumes: Expanding. soon its subtle radiance ° Falls b'unted from the mass of flesh and bone. The man who for his race might supersede The work of ages, dies worn ‘out—not used, And in his track disciples onward strive, Some hair-breadths only from his starting-point : Yet lives he not in vain ; for if his soul Hath entered others, though imperfectly, The circle widens as the world spins round— His soul works on while he sleeps ’neath the grass, 4 So let the firm Philosopher renew ry His wasted Jamp—the lamp wastes not in vain, Though he no mirrors for its rays may see, vie Nor trace thei through the darkness; let the Hand jie Which feels primeval impulses, direct ry A forthright plough, and make his furrow broad, 5 With heart untiring while one field remains ; : So let the herald poet shed his thoughts, Like seeds that seem but lost upon the wind. "§ Work in the night, thou sage. while Mammon’s brain Teems with low visions on his couch of dow pier 9 Break thou the clods while high-throned Vanity, Midst glaring ligh:s and tr umpets. holds its court 3 eee? Sing thou thy song amidst the stoning crowd, wie Then stand apart, obscure to man, w ith God. =, WILLIAM ALLINGHAM. ; _ This poet is a native of Ballyshannon, county of Donegal, Ire. land: The kindly spot. the friendly town, where every one is known, And nota face i in all the place but partly seems my own. Te was born ir 1898, ard from an early age contributed to periodical literature; removing to England he obtained an appointment in the Customs. His publications are—‘ Poems,’ 1°50; ‘Day and Night ae 112. Songs,’ 1854; ‘Laurence Bloomfield in Ireland’ (a poem in twelve chapters), 1864; and ‘Fifty Modern Poems,’ 1865. says his ‘ works’ ciaim to be ‘ genuine in their way. ~ CYCLOPADIA OF Mr. Allingham ~ They are free _ from all obscurity and mysticism, and evince a fine feeling for nature, as well as graceful fancy and poetic diction. Mr. Allingham is editor of ‘ Fraser's Magazine.’ To the Nightingales, - Yon sweet fastidious nightingales! The myrbe blooms in Trish vales, By Avondhu and rich Lough Lene, Was haunted on his hills and slain, % Aud, one to France and one to Spain, _ The remnant of the race withdrew ? Through many a grove and bowerlet Was it fromanarchy ye flew, 24 green, And fierce Oppression’s bigot crew, - Fair-mirrored round the loitering skiff. Wild complaint, and menace hoarse, ‘9 The purple peak, the tinted cliff. Misled, misleading voices, loud and © The glen where mountain-torrents rave, coarse? Ete - ; And foliage blinds their leaping wave, Come back. O birds. or come at last! — For Ireland’s furious days are past; And, purged of enmity and wrong, Broad emerald meadows filled with flowers, Embosomed ocean-bays are ours With all their isles; and mystic towers Her cye. her step, grow calm and Lonely and gray, deserted long, . strong. - Less sad if they might hear that perfect Why should we miss that pure delight ? + Brief is the journey, swift the flight ; And Hesper finds no fairer maids In Spanish bowers or English glades, No loves more true on any Shore, No lovers loving music more. Melodious Erin, warm of heart, Entreats you; stay not then apart, But bid the merles and throstles- know (And ere another May-time go) ~ Their place is in the second row. — Come to the west, dear nightingales! _ The rouse and myrtle bloom in Trish vales,_ H : A * ALFRED TENNYSON. a Mr. Tennyson, the most popular poet of his times, is the young — est of a poetical brotherhood of three—Frederick, Charles, and _ _Alfred—sons of the late Rev. George Clayton Tennyson, a Lincoln.” song! What scared ye? (ours, I think, of old) The sombre fowl hatched in the cold? King Henry’s Normans, mailed and stern, Smiters of galloglas and kern ? (1) - Or, most and worst, fraternal feud, Which sad Ierne long hath rued ? Forsook ye, when the Geraldine, Great chieftain of a glorious line, «JS on iN bilasteg Duden: 4 wets A % . , % ~ i | ~ shire clergyman,* who is described as having been a man remarkable for strength and stature, and for the energetic force of his char- acter. This gentleman had a family of eleven or twelve children, seven of whom were sons. The eldest three we have mentioned were ~ all educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, pupils of Dr. Whewell.— - 1 Galloglas—kerii—trish foot-soldier ; the first hGAvy-armed, the second light. — = lx The motherof the laureate was also of a clerical family, danghterof theRev. Steptoe Fytche. Hispaternal grandfather was a Lincolnshire squire, owner of Bayons Manorand — Usselby Hall--properties afterwards held by the poet’s uncle, the Right Hon Charles Ten-— -nyson D’Kyhecourt. who assumed the name of D’Kyncourt to commemorate his descent from that ancient Norman family. and in compliance with a condition attached to th possessi nof certain manors andestates. The eldest of the laureate’= brothers, Frederick, — is author of a volume of poems—gracetul. but without any original distinctive characte —entitled Duys and Hours, 1s64. Charles. the second brother. who dined with 4 ltred _as stated ahove, in the composition of a volume of verse, became vicar of Grassby. Li colnshire, in 1835. He took the name of Turner, on succeeding to a property in shire- Ju 1864, he published a volume of Sonnets. _ TENNYSON. j : ENGLISH ‘LITERATURE, ee 118 a _ Alfred was born in the parsonage at Somersby (rear Spilsby) tn 1810. . * In 1829, he gained the Chancellor’s medal for the English prize poem, his subject being ‘Timbuctoo.’ Previous to this, in conjunction with his brother Charles, he published anonymously a small volume en- _ titled ‘Poems by. Two Brothers.’ In 1830 appeared * Poems, chiefly. » Lyrical, by Alfred Tennyson.’ This volume contained poenis since _ altered and incorporated in later collections. These early productions had the faults of youthful genius—irregularity, indistinctness of con- _ ception, florid puerilities, and occasional affectation. In such poems, however, as ‘Mariana,’ *Recollections of the Arabian N ights,’ and _-*Ciaribel,’ it was obvious that a true original poet liad arisen. In 1833, Mr. Tennyson issued another volume, shewing an advance in ~ poetical power and in variety of style, though the collection met with _ severe treatment from the critics. “For nine years the poet continued “Silent. In 1842, he reappeared with ‘ Poems,’ in two volumes—this _ third series being a reprint of some of the pieces in the former vo- -_ lumes; considerably altered, with many new poems, including the most striking and popular of all his productions. These were of various classes—fragments of legendary and chivalrous story, as ~‘ Morte d’Arthur,’ ‘Godiva,’ &c.; or pathetic and beautiful, as ‘The May Queen’ and ‘Dora’; or impassioned love-poems, as ‘ The Gar- dener’s Daughter,’ ‘The Miller’s Daughter,’ ‘The Tal king Oak,’ and ‘Locksley Hall.’ The last is thie most finished of Tennyson’s works, full of passionate grandeur and intensity of feeling and imagination. At partly combines the energy and impetuosity of Byron with the pic- torial beauty and melody of Coleridge. The lover of ‘Locksley Hall’ is ardent, generous, and noble-minded, ‘ nourishing a youth sublime’ “With lofty aspirations and dreams of felicity. His passion is at first returned : Ss, Lixtracts from ‘ Locksley Hall.’ ne Love took up the glass of Time, and turned it in his glowing hands: Come Every moment. lightly shaken, ran itself in golden sands. — etl Love took up the harp of Life, and smote-on all the chords with might $ ig _ Smote the chord of Self} that. trembling, passed in music out of sight. BRA Many a morning on the moorland did we hear the copses ring. = And her whisper thronged my pulses with the fullness of the Spring. eet Many an eveying by the waters did we watch the stately ships, = .* ~ And our spirits rushed together at the touching of the lips. ve The fair one proves faithless. and after a tumultof conflicting passions—indigna- ‘ion, grief, self-reproach. and despair—the sufferer finds relief in glowing visions of future enterprise and the world’s progress. a For I dipt into th» future. far as human eye could see, Saw the Vision of the world. and all the wonder that would be; ‘ Saw the heavens fill with commerce, areosies of magic sails, i Pilots of the purple twilight. dropping down with costly bales; ~ Heard the heavens fill with shonting. and there rained a chastly dew a le From the nations’ airy navies grappling in the central blue: ane # Far along the world-wide whisper of the south wind rushing warm, " With the standards of the peoples plunging throngh the thunder-storm 3 - 114 CYCLOPEDIA OF Till the war-drum throbbed-no longer, and the battle flags were furled In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the worid. : There the common sense of mo-t shall hold a fretfui realm in awe, And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law. There is a marvellous brilliancy of colouring and force of sentiment and expression in this poem, while the versification is perfect. The. ballad strains of Te inyson, and particularly his musical ‘ Oriana,’ also evince cousummate art; aud when he is purely descriptive, - bothing can exceed the minute fidelity with which he paits the English landscape. The poet having shifted his residence from Li: colushire to the Isle of Wight, his scetie-paintiung partook of the change.* The following is from his ‘Gardener’s Daughter:’ —= *— Not. wholly in the busy world, nor quite Beyond it. blooms the garden-that I love, News from the humming city comes to it In sound of funeral or of marriage bells ; And, sitting muffied in dark leaves, you hear The windy clanging of the minster clock ; Although between it and the garden lies A league of grass, washed by a slow broad stream, That, stirred with languid pulses of the oar, Waves all its lazy lilies. and creeps on, Barge laden, to three arches of a bridge Crowned with the minster towers. The fields between 4 Are dewy-fresh. browsed by deep-uddered kine, * And all about the Jarge lime feathers low, ae The lime a summer home of murmurous wings. The poet, while a dweller amidst the fens of Lincolnshire, painted morasses, quiet meres, and sighing reeds. The exquisitely modulated poem of ‘The Dying Swan’ affords a picture drawn, we think, with « wonderful delicacy: Some bine peaks in the distance rose, 2 And white against the cold-white sky, y Shone out their crowning snows; . One willow over the river wept. ~ 2 And shook the wave as the wind did sigh ; PA ~ The route from Alum Bay to Carisbrooke takes you past Parringtord, where resided sak ieicpcr oetege The house stands so far back as to be invisible from the road, but the = A eareless ordered garden. . oe Close tothe ridge of a noble down— | looked very pretty. and thoroughly English. In another verse of the poem from which I have anoted—the invitation to the Rev. F. D. Maurice—he exactly describes the sitaae — tion of Farringford: “Me For sroves of pine on either hand. - To break the blast of winter. stand: ‘ of And further on the hoarv channel - Tumbles a billow on chalk and sand. £3 Every one well aeqnainted with Tennyson’s writings will have noticed how the spirit of | the scenery which he has depicted has chanced from the *glooming flats.’ the ‘level — Waste.’ were ‘stretched wide and wild the waste enormous marsh.’ which were the re- _ flex of bis Lincolnshire observation, to the beantiful meadow and orchard thoronghly English ruralities of The Cariencerts Nauabter.and The Brook Many glimpses in the neighbourhood of Farringford will eall to mind descriptive passages in these last named — poems. — Letter in the Daily News. The laureate has also an estate in Surrey (Aldworth, - Haslemere) to which he retreats when the tourists and admirers become oppressive iD the Isleof Wight. : 3 ; “ a ~ ‘TENNYSON ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 1165 Above in the wind was the swallow, Chasing itself at its own wild will; ‘ And far through the a¢narish green and still, | The tangied water-courses sk pt, > Shot over with purple, and ereen, and yellow. The ballad of ‘The May Queen’ introduces similar scenery: When the flowers come again, mother, beneath the waning light,. You'll never see me more in the long gray fields at night; When from the dry dark wold the summer airs blow cool : On the out-grass and the sword-grass, and the bulrush in the pool. ‘The Talking Oak’ is the title of a fanciful and beautiful poem of seventy-ilve stanzas, in which a lover and an oak-tree converse upon the charms of a certain fair Olivia. The-oak-tree thus describes to the lover her visit to the park in which it grew: Extracts from ‘The Talking Oak.’ ‘Then ran she, gamesome as the colt, And livelier than a lark She sent her voice through all the holt Before her and the park... . ‘And here she came, and round me played, And sang to me the whole Of those three stanzas that you made About my * giant bole ;” *And in a fit of frolic mirth She strove to span my waist: Alas! I was so broad of girth, I could not be embraced. *J wished myself the fair young beech That here beside me stands, That round me, clasping each in each, ’ She might have locked her hands. ... O mufile round thy knees with fern, And shadow Sumner-chace! Long may thy topmost branch discern _ The roofs of Sumner-place ! But tell me, did she read the name _ IT earved with many vows, hen last with throbbing heart I came To rest beneath thy boughs? *O yes; she wandered round and round ‘Yhese knotted knees of mine, And found, and kissed the name she found. And sweetly murmured thine. *A tear-drop trembled from its scurce, And down my surface crept ° My sense of touch is something coarse, - But I believe she wept. “Then fiushed her cheek with rosy light ; |. She glanced across the plain; Nine 7 But not a creature was in sight: She kissed me once again. ~ ‘Her kisses were so close and kind, That, trust me on my word, Hard wood I am, and wrinkled rind, But yet my sap was stirred: ‘ And even into my inmcst ring A pleasure I discerned, * ; Like those blind motions of the Spring, That shew the year is turned... . ‘TI. rooted here among the groves, But Janguidly adjust My vapid vegetable loves With anthers and with dust: ‘For ah! my friend, the days were brief Whereof the poets talk, When that, which breathes within the eat, Could slip its bark and walk. ‘But could I, as in times foregone. From spray, and branch, and stem, Have sucked and gathered into one The life that spreads in them, ‘She had not found me so remiss ; But lightiv issuing through, TI would have paid her kiss fur kiss, With usury thereto.’ O flourish high, with leafy towers, ° And overlook the lea; Pursue thy loves among the bowers, But leave thon mine to me. O fiourish. hidden deep in fern, Old oak, I love thee well ; A thousand thanks for what I learn, And what remains to tell. 110 And the poet, in conclusion; proinisés to praise t more than England honours his brother-oak, _ C¥CLOPASDIA-OF > 5 he mystic tree even — Wherein the younger Charles abode Vill all the paths were dim, And fur below the Rowndhead rode, And hunumed a surly hymn. The last two lines furnish a finished little picture. : Still more dramatic in effect is the portrait of the heroine of — _ Coventry. Godiva, She sought her lord, and found him, where he strode About the hall, among his dogs, alone... - 7; She to!d him of their tears, And prayed him, ‘If they pay this tax, they starve.’ Whereat he stared. replying, half amazed, ‘You would not let your little finger ache | For such as these ?’—‘ But I would die.’ said she, He laughed. and s\ore by Peter and by Paul; Then filliped at the diamond in her ear 3. “O ay, ay. ays you talk ?—‘Alas ?? she said, ‘But prove me what it is I would not do.’ And from a heart as roug: as Esan’s hand, ~ He answered : ‘Ride you naked through the town, And I repeal it;? and nodding as in scorn He parted, wit : great strides among his dogs. So left alone, the passions of her mind— As winds from all the compass shift and blow— Made war upon each other for an hour, Till pity won. She sent a herald forth, And bade him cry, with sound of trumpet. all Vhe hard condition ; but that she would loose . The people: therefore, as they loved her well, From then till noon no foot should pace the street, No eve look down, she passing; but that all Should keep within, door shut. and window barred. ‘hen fled she to her inmost bower. and there Unclasped the wedded eavles of her belt, The grim Earl’s gift; but ever ata b eath She lingered. looking tike a sumimer moon Half-dipt in cloud: anon she shook her head, And showered the rippled ringlets to her knee; Unclad herself in haste 3 adown the stair Stole on; and, like a creeping sunbeam. slid - From pillar unto pillar, until she reached The gateway; there she found her palfrey trapt In purple blazoned with armorial gold. ‘Then siie rode forth, clothed on with chastity: The deep air listened round her us she rode, And all the low wind hardly breathed for fear. The little wide-mouthed heads upon the spouts Had cunning eyes to see; the barking cur Made her cheek flame: her palfrey’s footfall shot Light horrors through her pulses: the blind walls Were full of chinks and holes; 2nd overhead Fantastic gables, crowding, stared : but she Not less through all bere up. till, last. she saw The white-flowered e!der-thicket from the field Gleam through the Gotuic archways in the wall. _ ‘then she rode back, clothed on with chastity: - 5 TENNYSON. | _ An extract poet’s modulations of rhythm. rt — ‘ENGLISH LITERATURE. And one low churl, compact of thankless earth, The fatal byword of all years to come, Boring a lituie auger-lole in fear; Peeped—but his eyes, before they had their will, Were shrivelled junto darkness in his head, And dropt betore him. On noble deeds, cancelled a sense misused ; And she, that knew not, passed: and all at once, With twelve great shocks of sound, the shaineless noon Was clashed and hammered trom a hundred towers, One after one: but even then she gained Her bower ; whence reissuing, robed and crowned, ‘!'o neet her lord, she took the.tax away, And built herself an everlasting name. from ‘The Lotos-eaters’ will give a specimen of our This poem represents the luxurious So the Powers, who. wait lazy sleepiness said to be produced in those who feed upon the lotos, and contains passages not surpassed by the finest descriptions in the “Castle of Indolence.’ ‘s The Loios-eaters. Why are we weighed upon with heaviness, And utterly consnimed with sharp distress, While all things el-e have rest from weariness ? _ All things have rest: why should we toil alone, We only toil. who are the first of things, And make perpetual moan, Still from one sorrow to another thrown. ... Lo! in the middle of the wood, The folded leaf is wooed from out the bud With winds upon the branch, andthere, Grows green and broad, and takes no care, Sun-steeped at noon. and in the moon Nightly dew fed; and turning yellow Fal's, and flonts adown the air. Lo! sweetened with the summer light. The full-jniced apple. waxing over-mellow, Drops in a silent antumn night. All its-allotted length of days, The flower ripens in its place, Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil, Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil... . Let ns alone. Time driveth onward fast, And in a little while our lins are dumb. Let usalone. What is it that will last? All things are taken from us and become Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. Let us alone, What pleasnre can we have To war with evil? Js there anv peace In ever climbing up the climbing wave ? All things have rest. and ripen toward the grave In silence: ripen, fall and cease: “Give us long rest or death. dark death, or dreamful ease. How sweet it were. hearing the downward stream, With half-shut eyes ever to seem Falling asleep in a half-dreum!... : It is rich in striking and appropriate imagery, and is sung to a rhythm which is music itself. 118 CYCLOPADIA OF | fro 1876; - To hear each other’s whispered speech 3 Eating the lotos day by day, To watch the crisping ripples on the beach, And tender curving ines of creamy spray ; Yo lend our hearts and spirits wholiy Yo the influence of mild-minded melancholy ; To muse and brood and live again in memory, With those old faces of our iutaucy, Heaped over with a mound of grass, Two handfulsof white dust, shut in an urn of brass! The most prominent defects in these volumes of Mr. Tennyson were occasional quaintness and obscurity of expression, with some incongruous combinations of low and familiar with poetical images.— ‘His next work, ‘ The Princess, a Mediey,’ appeared in December 1847. This is a story of a prince and princess contracted- by their parents without having seen each other. The lady repudiates the alliance ; but after a series of adventures and incidents as improbable and in-. coherent as the plots of some of the old wild Elizabethan tales and dramas, the princess relents and surrenders. The mixture of modern ideas and manners with those of the age of chivalry and romance— — the attempted amalgamation of the conventional with the real, the farci- cal with the sentimental—renders ‘The Princess’ truly a medley, and produces an unpleasant grotesque effect. Parts of the poem, how- ever, are sweetly written; there are subtle touches of thought and satire, and some exquisite lyrical passages. Tennyson has nothing — finer than these stanzas : Song, ‘ The Splendour Falls.’ The splendour falls on castle walls, And snowy summits old in story: The long light shakes across the lakes, ( And the wild cataract leaps in glory. | Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O hark. O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going! O sweet and far from cliff and scar, ae The horns of Elfland faintly blowing ! Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying: | Blow, bugle ; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying. O love, they die in yon rich sky. They faint on hill or field or river: Our echoes roll -from son! to soul And grow for ever and for ever. Blow. bugle, b'ow, set the wild echoes flving : And answer. echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying. The poet’s philosophy as to the sexes is thus summed up: For woman is not undeveloped man. But diverse: could we make her as the man. Sweet love were slain: his dearest bond is this, Not like to like, but like in difference. Yet in the long years liker must they grow; The man be. more of woman, she of man; AVS +3 » Hag py > , —< ‘6 : aod : re é hs ag ae ' alee rENNYSON.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 119 He gain in sweetness and in moral height, Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the world: She mental breadth, nor fail in childward care, Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind 3 Till at the last she set herself to man, Like perfect music unto noble words. In 1850 appeared, at first anonymously, ‘In Memoriam,’ a volume of short poems, divided into sections, but all devoted, like the Son- néts of Shakspeare, to one beloved object—a male friend. Mr. Ar- thur Hallam, son of the historian, and affianced to Mr. Tennyson’s sister, died at Vienna in 1833, and his memory is here embalmed in a series of remarkable and affecting poems, no less than one hundred and twenty-nine in number, and all in the same stanza. This same- ness of subject and versification would seem to render the work mo- notonous and tedious; so minute a delineation of personal sorrow is also apt to appear unmanly and unnatural. But the poet, though adhering to one melancholy theme, clothes it in all the hues of im- agination and intellect. He lifts the veil,.as it were, from the inner life of the soul; he stirs the deepest and holiest feelings of our na- ture; he describes, reasons, and allegorises; flowers are intermingled with the cypress, and faith and hope brighten the vista of the future. His vast love and sympathy seem to embrace all nature as assimila- ted with his lost friend. ea Thy voice is on the rolling air: I hear thee where the waters run 3 Thou standest in the rising sun, And in the setting thou art fair. The ship containing his friend’s remains is thus beautifully apos- trophised: In Memoriam, TX. Fair ship, that from the Italian shore, As our pure love, throvfgh early light Sailest the placid ocean-plains Shall glimmer on the dewy decks. With my lost Arthur’s loved remains, Spread thy full wings and wafthim o’er. Sphere all your lights arourd, above; Sleep gentle heavens before the prow; So draw him home to those that mourn Sleep gentle winds as he sleeps now, In vain; a favourable speed My friend, the brother of my love! - Ruffle thy mirrored mast, and lead Through prosperous floods his holy urn. My Arthur, whom I shall not see Be Gy ‘Till all my widowed race be run; All night no ruder air perplex Dear as the mother to the son, Thy sliding Keel, till Phosphor, bright More than iny brothers are to me. Arthur Hallam was interred in Clevedon Church, Somersetshire, situated on a still and sequestered spot, on a lone hill that overhangs the Bristol Channel :* * Memoir prefixed to Arthur Hallam’s Pemeains. by his father. the historian. Anin- teresting account of this voluimeis given by Dr. Joby Brown. Edinburgh. in Hore Sub- secive. Arthur Henry Hallam was born in London. February 1, 1811. He distinguished himself at Eton and at Trinity College, Cainbridge. and wasxauthor of several essays and poetical productions. which gave promise of future excellence. He died in his twenty-third year, September 15, 123, ae = 120° The Danube to the Severn gave The darkened heartthat beat no more} They laid him by the pieasant shere, And in the hex ring Of the wave. CYCLOPEDIA OF ee There twice a day the Severn fills; _ The salt sea-water passes by; And hushes half the babb} ing Wye, And makes a silence in the piliss- We add one of the sections, in which description of external nature is finely blended with the mourner’s reminiscences: In Memoriam, XXII. The path by which we twain did go, Which led by tracts that pleased ns well Through four sweet years arose and fell, From flower to flower, snow: * from snow to And we with singing cheered the way, And crowned with all the season lent, ¥rom April on to April went, And glad at heart from May to May: But where the path we walked began To slant the fifth autumnal slope, As we descended following hope, There sat the shadow feared of man 5 Who broke our fair companionship, And spread his mantie dark and co And w tapt thee formless in the fold, And dulled the murmur on thy lip, And bore thee where I could not see ~ Nor follow, though I walk in haste; And think that somewhere in the waste, The shadow sits and waits for me. Winter scenes are described; Christmas, with its train of sacred — and tender associations, comes ; ’ put the poet is in a new home: ; a Our father’s dust is left alone And silent under other snows. - ~ With the genial season, however, his sympathies expand, and in 1 one section of noble verse he sings the Gee of the old year and the” . advent of the new: Th Memoriam, Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky, The flying cloud. the frosty light : The year is dying in the night ; Ring out, wild bells, ‘and let him die. Ring out the old, ring in the new, ing, happy bells, across the show : The: year is going, let him go; Ring out the false, ring in the true. Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more; Ring out the fend of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying ca LUISE, “And ancient’ forms of party strife; Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manne rs, purer laws. ° The patriotic aspirations here expressed are brought out more full in some of Mr. Tefnyson’s political lyries, which : are aninaiae D true wisdom and generous sentiment. = OVI. | Ring out the want, the care, the eine: The faithless coldness of the times ;__ Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel i in. Ring out false pride in place and bloc The civic slander and the spite; - Ring in the love of truth and right, Ring in the common love of good. Ring out old shapes of foul di iscase 5 ‘Ring ont the narrowing lust of old Ring out the thousand wars of old Ring in the thousand years of peace. 4 dems. an the valiant man and free, ¢ ‘he larger heart. the kindiier hand Ring out the darkness of the land, | Ring in the Christ that is to be. N 2 Bene \ deca “ENGLISH LITERATURE. - ‘124 the Duke of Wellington’ (1852)—a laureate offering, which he after- wards revised and improved, rendering it not unworthy of the hero = The Funeral of the Great Duke. _ O give him welcome, this is he, Roll of cinnon and clash of arms, ~ Worthy of our gorgeous rites ; Aud Englaud ponring on her foes. For this is England’s greatest son, Such a war bad such a close. ‘He that gained a hundred fights, Again their ravening eagle rose ~ Nor ever lost an English gun; In anger, wheeled on Europe-shadewing This is he that far away. wings, = - Against the myriads of Assaye And barking for the thrones of kings; ' Clashed with his fiery few and won; . Till one that’ sought but Duty’s iron - And underneath another sun, crown : Warring ova later day, On that loud Sabbath shook the spoiler - Round affrighted Lisbon drew down ; ~The treble work, the vast designs A day of onsets of despair! Of his laboured rampart-linces, Dashed on every rocky square - Where he greatly stood at bay, Their snrging charges foamed themselves _ Whence he issued forth anew, away : And ever great and greater grew, Last, the Prussian trumpet blew3 Beating from the wasted vines Throngh the long tormented air Back to France her banded swarms, Heayen flashed.a sudden jubilant ray, Back to France with countless blows, And down we swept and charged -and * Till o’er the hills her eagles flew overthrew. ~ Past the Pyrenean pines, So great a soldier taught us there - Followed up in valley and glen What long-endnring hearts could do, - With blare of bugle, clamour of men, In that world's earthquake, Waterloo! ~ Tn 1855 appeared ‘ Maud, and other Poems’—the first, an allegori- cal vision of love and war, treated in a semi-colloquial bizarre style, “yet suggestive and passionate. Maud isthe daughter of the squire, and ‘in the light of her youth and her grace’ she captivates a myste- ‘rious misanthropic personage who tells the story. But Maud has another suitor, a ‘new-made lord,’ whose addresses are favoured by -Maud’s father and brother—the latter described as Ls i That jeweiled mass of millinery, = That oiled and curled Assyrian bull. . : ~The squire gives a grand political dinner, ‘a gathering of the Tory,” to which the Timen-lover is not invited. He fiads, however, in the rivulet crossing his ground, a garden-rose, brought down from the Hall, and he interprets it as a message from Maud to meet her’in the garden among the roses at night. He proceeds thither, and invokes ‘the fair one in a lyric which is unquestionably the charm of the vo- Tume. — Ii begins: >.> be 3 Come into the garden. Maud, esis: Fz -For the black bat. night, has flown. © 3 Come into the garden, Maud, . } IT am here at the gate alone; cies And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad, e. avi ; Ana the musk of the rose is blown. ~Maud obeys the call ; but her brother discovers them, insults the in- “truder, and a duel ensues, in which the brother is slain. The lover : E. L. Va. G—5 ~ + an " ae ; ‘ to F we : x rua one » , = = : - 450 “ - 4 te Fe oo oe =e oS = 2 122 CYCLOPRATDIALOR Sam _ [To 1876, flees to France, but returns to England; for ever haunted by visions of Maud, and then, in another section, we are startled to find him de-- clare himself ‘dead, long dead,’.and buried, but without finding peace in the grave! It is a vision, and the dreamer obtains a new excitement ; he rejoices to think that a war is arise in defence of the right : ; That an iron tyranny now should bend or cease, Yhe glory of manhood stand on his ancient height, Nor Britain’s one sole god be the millionaire: No more shall commerce be all in all, and Peace 2 Pipe on her pastoral hillock a languid note, And watch her harvest ripen, her herd increase, Nor the cannon-bullet rust on a slothful shore, And the cobweb woven across the cannon’s mouth Shall shake its threaded tears in the wind no more, And as months ran on, and rumour of battle rave ‘Tt is time, it is time, O passionate heart,’ said I— For I cleaved to a cause that I felt to be pure and true— ‘Tt is time, O passionate heart and morbid eye, That old hysterical mock-disease should die.’ And I stood on a giant deck and mixed my breath ° With a loyal people shouting a battle-cry,. Till I saw the dreary phantom arise and fly : Far into the north, and battle, andseas of death. And the Tyrtzan war-strain closes with a somewhat fantastic image: And now by the side of the Black and the Baltic deep, And deathful-grinning mouths of the fortress, flames > The blood-red blossom of war with a heart of fire. - ‘Maud’ was the least successful of Mr. Tennyson’s longer poems, But three years afterwards (1858) the poet redeemed himself by the publication of ‘The Idylls of the King,’ consisting of four poems— ‘nid,’ ‘ Vivien,’ ‘ Klaine,’ and “ Guinevere.’ This Arthurian romance ~ was completed in 1869, by another volume, entitled ‘The Holy Grail,’ and including ‘The Coming of Arthur,’ ‘Pelleus and Etarre,’ and ‘The Passing of Arthur’—the whole of this Arthurian collection of. idylls forming, according to Dean Alford, ‘a great connected poem, dealing with the very highest interests of man,’ King Arthur being — typical of the ‘higher soul of man,’ as shewn in the king’s coming, — his foundation of the Round Table, his struggles, disappomtments, and departure. Of the versification of the Idylls—pure, flowing, blank verse—we subjoin a brief specimen : From ‘ The Passing of Arthur.’ . ‘ Then loudly cried the bold Sir Bedivere: ; * Ah! my Lord Arthur, whither shall I go? Where shall I hide my forehead and my eyes? For now I see the true old times are dead, , When every morning brought a noble chance, And every chance brought out a noble knight. Such times have been not since the light that led The holy Elders with a gift of myrrh. But now the whole Round Table is dissolved, “qeNNYSON.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. pe oe Which was an image of the mighty world, | And I the last, go forth companionless, _. And the days darken round ine, and the years, < e Among new men, strange faces, other minds,’ . And slowly answered Arthur from the barge: ‘The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? I have lived my life, and that which I have done May He within himself make pure! but thou, If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, y If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer ; Both for themselves and those who call them friend ? ¥or so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. But now farewell. Iam going a long way With these thou seest—if indeed I go {For all my mind is clouded with a doubt)— To the island valley of Avilion ; Where falls not hail, or rain, or any snow, Nor ever wind blows loudly ; but it lies Deep-meadowed happy, fair with orchard lawns. - And bowery hollows crowned with summer sea, : Where I will heal me of my grievous wound. So said he, and the barge with oar and sail Moved from the brink like some full-breasted swan That, fluting a wild carol ere her death, Ruffies her pure cold plume, and takes the flood With swarthy webs. Long stood Sir Bedivere Revolving- many memories, till the hull Looked one black dot against the verge of dawn, And on the mere the wailing died away. Between the publication of the series of Arthurian idylls, Mr. Tennyson issued ‘ Enoch Arden, and other Poems’ (1864). One of the _ latter was a piece in the North Lincolnshire dialect, written in the - character of a farmer of the old school, and which displayed a vein of broad humour and a dramatic power that surprised as well as gratified the admirers of fhe poet. He afterwards gave a companion to this bucolic painting by depicting a farmer of the new school, as stolid and selfish, but not quite so amusing, as his elder brother, ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. The highest place among our modern poctesses must be claimed for Mrs. Browntne, formerly Miss Barrett. In purity and loftiness of sentiment and feeling, and in intellectual power, she is excelled only by Tennyson, whose best works, it is evident, she had carefully studied. Herearlier style reminds us more of Shelley, but this arises from similarity of genius and classical tastes, not imitation. The first _ publication of this accomplished lady. was an ‘Essay on Mind, and - other Poems,’ said to have been written in her seventeenth year. In 424 “CYCLOP-EDIA OF _ Tro 1876. 1833 appeared her translation of the ‘ Prometheus Bound’ of Eschy-’_ 4 lus, of which she has since given an improved version. In 1838 she — ventured on 2second volume of original poetry, ‘ The Seraphim, and other Poems,’ which was followed “by ‘The Romance of te Page,’ _ 1839. About this time a personal calamity occurred to the poetess, ~ which has been detailed by Miss Mitford in her ‘Literary Recollee- tions.’ She burst a blood-vessel in the lungs, and after a twelve- — month’s confinement at home, was ordered to a milder climate. She went with some relatives to reside at Tor quay, and there a fatal event ~ took place ‘which saddened her bloom of youth, and gave a deeper — hue of thought -and feeling, especially devotional feeling, to her poetry.’ Her favourite brother, with two other young men, his — friends, having embarked on board a small vessel for a sail of a few _ hours, the boat went down, and all on board perished. Thistragedy — completely prostrated Miss Barrett. She was not able to be removed — to her father’s house in London till the following year, and on her ~ return home she ‘ began that life,’ says Miss Mitford, “which she con- — tinued for many years-confined to a darkened chamber, to which - only her own family and a few devoted friends were admitted; reading y meanwhile almost every book worth reading in almost every language, — studying with ever-fresh delight the great classic authors in the 4 original, and giving herself, heart and soul, to that poetry of which she ~ : 4 — seemed born to be the priestess.’ Miss Mitford had presented her — friend with a young spaniel, ‘Flush, my dog,’ and the companionship of this humble. but faithful object of sympathy, has been commem- orated in some beautiful verses, graphic as the pencil of Landseer: ~ To Flush, my Dog. “2 Yet, my pretty, sportive friend, Little is’t to such an end That I praise thy rareness ? Other dogs may be thy peers “Haply in these drooping ears, And this glossy fairness. But of thee it shail be said, This dog watched beside a bed Day and night unweary— Watéhed within a eurtained room, Where no sunbeam brake the gloom Round the sick and dreary. Roses, gathered for a vase, In that chamber died apace, Beam and breeze resigning. This dog only, waited on, Knowing that when Hght is gone, Love remains for shining. * Other dogs in thymy dew Tracked the hares and followed through After—plaiforming his chin Sunny moor or meadow. This dog only, crept and crept a Next a languid cheek that slept, Sharing in the shadow. Other dogs of loyal cheer Bounded at the whistle elear, ~- ‘nae Up the woodside hieing. eT This dog only, watched in reach Of a faintly uttered speeeh, Or a louder sighing. And if one or two quick tears Dropped upon his glossy ears, Or a sigh came double— Up he sprang in eager haste, Fawning, fondlin g, breathing ae In a tender trouble. And this dog was satisfied Tf a pale thin hand would glide Down his dewlaps sloping— Which he pushed his nose apts On the palm left open. Ra $a Se ae = Ss Browsinc}] - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 125 Ds a. - : ¥ . The result of those years of seclusion and study was partly seen by - the publication in 1844 of two volumes of * Poems, by Klizabeth Bar- vett,’ many of which bore the impress of deep and melancholy thought, and of high and fervid imagination. ‘ Poetry,’ said the au- thoress in her preface, ‘has been as serious a thing to me as life itself; and life has been a very serious thing. 1 never mistook _ pleasure for the final cause of poetry; nor leisure for the hour of the poet. I have done my work so far, as work : not as mere hand and head work, apart from the personal being; but as the completest ex- pression of that being to which I could attain: and as work I offer it to the public: feeling ts shortcomings more deeply than any of my readers, because measured from the height of my aspiration ; but feeling also that the reverence and sincerity With which the work was done, _ should give it some protection with the reverent and sincere.’ To each of the principal poems in the collection explanatory notices were given. Thus, of ‘A Drama of Exile,’ she says, the subject was ‘ the - new and strange experience of the fallen humanity, as it went forth - from Paradise into the wilderness, ‘with a peculiar reference to Eve’s allotted grief, which, considering that self-sacrifice belonged to her womanhood, and the consciousness of originating the Fall to her offence, appeared to me imperfectly apprehended hitherto, and more expressible by a woman than a man.’ The pervading principle of the drama is love—love which conquers even Lucifer : ADAM. The essence of all beauty. I call love. The attribute. the evidence, and end, The consummation to the inward sense, Of beauty apprehended from without, me I still call love. As form. when colourless, ae ~ ‘ Is nothing to the eye—that pine-tree there, = Without its black and green, being all a blank~ ‘a So, without love, is beauty undiscerned =) In man or angel, Angel! rather ask What love is in thee, what love moves to thee, And what collateral love moyes on with thee; Then shalt thou know if thou art beantiful. Lucirer. Love! what is love? TIloseit. Beauty and love! - I darken to the image. Beauty—love! {He fades away while alow musi counds, ADAM. Thou art pale, Eve. i Eve. The precipice ot ill . ; Down this colossal nature. dizzies me— ay And, hark! the starry harmony remote Seems measuring the heights from whence he fell. Avam. Think that we have not fallen so. By the hope And aspiration, by the love and faith, - We do exceed the stature of this angel. Eve. Happier we are than he is, by the death. ApAM. Or rather, by the life of the Lord God! How dim the angel grows. as if that blast Of music swept him back into the dark. * Notwithstanding a few fine passages, ‘A Drama of Exile’ cannot be considered a successful effort. The scheme of the poetess was imperfectly developed, and many of the colloquies of Adam and Ba SE Ce OF NET te OS ER ee a Ne \ 126 ~ CYCLOPA:DIA OF- - [ro 1876. \ I ms Eve, and of Lucifer and Gabriel, are forced and unnatural. The lyrics interspersed throughout the poem are often harsh and un-— musical, aud the whole drama is deficient in action and interest. -In_ ‘A Vision of Poets,’ Miss Barrett endeavoured to vindicate the neces- sary relations of genius to suffering and self-sacrifice. ‘i have at tempted,’ she says, ‘to express in this poem my view of the mission of the poet, of the duty and glory of what balzac has beautifully and truly called “la patience angélique du génie,” and of the obvious — truth, above all, that if knowleuge is power, suffering should be ac- ceptable as a part of knowledge.- The discipline ot suffering and | sorrow which the poetess had herself undergone, suggested er co-— loured these and similar speculations. The attliction which saddened had also purified the heart, and brought with it the precious fruits of resignation and faith. This is an old and familiar philosophy, and Miss Barrett’s prose exposition of it must afterwards have appeared | to her superfluous, for she omitted the preface in the later editions of her works. The truth is, all such personal revelations, though ~ sanctioned by the examples of Dryden and Wordsworth, have inevi-- tably an air of egotism and pedantry. Poetry is better able than painting or sculpture to disclose the object and feeling of the artist, — and no one ever dreamt of confining those arts—the exponents of ~ every range of feeling, conception, and emotion—to the mere office — ‘of administering pleasure. ‘A Vision of Poets’ opens thus beauti- © 7 fully : A poet could not sleep arig*t, — Where, sloping up the darkest glades, For his soul kept up too much light The moon had drawn long colonnades, Under his eyelids for the night. Upon whose floor the verdure fades, And thus he rose disquieted _ Toa faint silver—pavement fair a With sweet rhymes ringing through his The amen wood-nymphs scarce would head, dare a And in the forest wandered. To foot-print o’er, had such been there. He meets a lady whose mystical duty it is to ‘crown all poets to their worth,’ and he obtains a sight of some of the great masters of song—‘the ~ dead kings of melody ’—who are characterised in brief but felicitous — descriptions. A few of these we subjoin: Here, Homer, with the broad suspense Of thunderous brows, and lips intense » Of garrulous god-innocence. There. Shakspeare, on whose forehead climb The crowns 0’ the world. Oh, eyes sublime, With tears and laughter for ail time! Euripide, with close and mild Scholastic lips—that could be wild, And laugh or sob out like a child. Theocritus, with glittering locks Dropt sideway, as betwixt the rocks He watched the visionary flocks. > Tee a eee 4 i, - Gc d 3 “BROWNING.| | ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 127 _ The moderns, from Milton down to ‘poor proud Byron,’ are less , happily portrayed; but in spite of many blemishes, and especially the yant of careful artistic finishing, this poem is one of great excellence. There are other imaginative pieces oi the authoress of a more popu- lar character—as the * Khyme of the Duchess May,’ a romantic ballad _ fuil of passion, incident, and melody; and ‘Bertha in the Lane,’ a _ story of the transfer of affection from one sister to another, related by the elder and dying sister in a strain of great beauty and pathos. One stanza will shew the style and versification of this poem: And, dear Bertha, let me keep On my hand this little ring, Which at nights, when others sleep, I can still see glittering. Let me wear it out of sight, In the grave—where it will light All the Dark up, day and night. There are parts of this fine poem resembling Tennyson’s ‘May Queen,’ but the laureate would never have admitted such an incon- gruous and spasmodic stanza as that with which Miss Barrett un- happily closes her piece : ‘ Jesus, Victim, comprehending Love’s divine self-abnegation, A Cleanse my love in its self-spending, And absorb the pooz libation ! & Wind my thread of life up higher, Up, through angel’s hands of fire !— I aspire while I expire. The most finished of Miss Barrett’s smaller poems—apart from _ the sonnets—are the verses on ‘Cowper’s Grave,’ which contain not one jarring line or expression, and ‘The .Cry of the Children,’ a ~ pathetic and impassioned pleading for the poor children who toil in mines and factories, In individuality and intensity of feeling, this piece resembles Hood’s ‘Song of the Shirt,’ but it infinitely sur- passes it in poetry and imagination. The Cry of the Children. Do ye hear the children weeping, O. my brothers, Ere the sorrow comes with years ? They are Jeaning their young heads against their mothers, And that cannot stop their tears. The young lambs are bleating in the meadows; The young birds are chirping in the nest; The young fawns are playing with the shadows $ The young flowers are blov ing toward the west— But the young, young children, O my brothers, They are weeping bitterly! They are weeping in the playtime of the others, In the country of the free. .... *For oh,’ say the children, ‘ we are weary, And we cannot run or leap. If we cared for any meadows, it were merely To drop-down in them and sleep. Our knees tremble sorely in the stooping— Lio - BE RSS SOG, SSR gen oes on eee . ’ = 2 . ni > =i . <; ox 4 a ie, = sins I cas '> gl ne ; G Sta is ae: 5 1280 CYCLOPEDIA OF ——S~S=«* 00 1876 We fall upon our faces, trying to go; = ae And, underneath our heavy eyelids drooping, ieee : The reddest flower would look as pale as snow. For, all day, we drag our burden tiring 3 Through the coal-dark, underground— “ Or, all day, we drive the wheels of iron ; In the factories, round and round. re ‘For. all day, the wheels are droning, turning— Their wind comes in our faces— F Till our hearts turn—our heads, with pulses burning, 3 And the walls turn in their places. : > Turns the sky in the high window blank and reeling— ve Turns the long light that drops adown the wall— =< Turn the black flies that crawl along the ceiling— All are turning, all the day, and we with all. And all day, the iron wheels are droning, And sometimes we could pray, ; ~ “0 ye wheels ”—breaking out in.a mad moaning— “Stop! be silent for to-day !””’ ; Ay! be silent! Let them hear each other breathing For a moment, mouth to mouth ! x Let them 10uch each other’s hands, in a fresh wreathing Of their tender human youth! Let them feel that this cold metallic motion Is not all the life God fashions or reveals. Let them prove their inward souls against the notion 3 That they live in you, or under you, O wheels !— Still, all day, the iron wheels go onward, Grinding life down from its mark 5 And the children’s souls, which God is calling sunward, Spin on blindly in the dark. The ‘Sonnets from the Portuguese’ are as passionate as Shaks- peare’s Sonnets, and we suspect the title, ‘from the Portuguese,’ has — no better authority than Sir Walter Scott’s ‘Old Play’ at the head_ of the chapters of his novels. The first of these so-called translations ; is eminently beautiful—quite equal to Wordsworth, or to Words- — worth’s model, Milton: = 4 4 7 ee oo oe Sonnet.’ is I thought once how Theocritus had sung % Of the sweet years, the dear and wished-for years, Who each one In a gracious hand appears : To bear a gift for mortals, old or youne: And, as I mused it in his antique tonzue, I saw, In gradual vision through my tears, The sweet, sad years. the melancholy years, ~ Those of my own life, who by turns had flange ¥ A shadow across me. Straightwav I was "ware, uM So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move ; Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair, , And a voice said in mastery. while T strove: ‘Guess now who holds thee ?’*—‘ Death!’ T said. But, there, ~ The silver answer rang: ‘Not Death, but Love. : ; An interval of some years elapsed ere Miss Barrett came forwar with another volume, though she was occasionally seen as a con- tributor to Nterary journals. She became in 1846 the wife of a Kindred spirit, Robert Browning, the pset, and removed with him to ‘ BROWNING.J ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 129 Italy. In Florence she witnessed the revolutionary outbreak of 1848, and this furnished the theme of her next important work, ‘Casa ~ Guidi Windows, a poem containing ‘the impressions of the writer “upon events in Tuscany of which she was a witness’ from the win- dows of her house, the Casa Guidi in Florence. The poem is a - spirited semi-political narrative of actual events and genuine feelings. - Part might pass for the work of Byron—so free is its versification, ‘end. so warm the affection of Mrs. Browning for Italy and the _ Italians—but there are also passages that would have served better for a prose pamphlet.. The genius of the poetess had become prac- tical and energetic—inspirited by what she saw around her, and by - the new tie which, as we learn from this pleasing poem, now bright- ened her visions of the future: The sun strikes, through the windows, up the floor: Stand out in it, my young Florentine, Not two years old, and let me see thee more! ... And fix thy brave blue English eyes on mine, And from my soul, which fronts the future so, With unabashed and unabated gaze, Teach me to hope for, what the angels know When they smile clear as thou dost. In 1856 appeared ‘ Aurora Leigh,’ an elaborate poem or novel in * blank verse, which Mrs: Browning characterises as the ‘most mature’ of her works, and one into which her ‘highest convictions upon life and art are entered.’ It presents us, like Wordsworth’s ‘ Prelude,’ with the history of a poetical mind—an autobiography of the heart ané intellect; but Wordsworth, with all his contempt for literary “conventionalities,’ would never have ventured on such a sweeping ~ departure from established critical rules and poetical diction as Mrs. - Browning has here carried out. There isa prodigality of genius in the work, many just and fine remarks, ethical and critical, and pas- sages evincing a keen insight into the human heart as well as into the ’ working of our social institutions and artificial restraints. A noble hatred of falsehood, hypocrisy, and oppression breathes through the whole. But the materials of the poem are so strangely mingled and so discordant—prose and poetry so mixed up together—scenes of splendid passion and tears followed by dry metaphysical and polemi- cal disquisitions, or rambling common-place conversation, that the effect of the peem as a whole, though splendid in parts, is unsatisfac- tory. An English Landscape.—From ‘ Aurora Leigh.’ The thrushes sane, And shook my pulses and the elm’s new leaves— And then I turned. and held my finger up, And bade him mark. that howsoe’r the world Went ill, as he related. certainly e ‘The thrushes still sang in it. At which word i His brow would soften—and he bore with me pee ; In melancholy patience, not unkind, 130 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~~ ——_ ro 1870, While breaking into volnble ecstacy, es. I flattered al! the beauteous country round, : As poets use—the skies, the clouds, the fields, % The happy violets, hiding from the roads The primroses run down to, carrying gold— The tangled hedgerows, where the cows push out ; Their tolerant horns and patient churning mouths 4 *Twixt dripping ash-boughs—hedgerows all alive - With birds, and gnats, and large white butterflies, Which look as if the May-flower had caught life And palpitated forth upon the wind— Hills, vales, woods, netted in a silver mist; Farms, granges, doubled up among the hills, And cattle grazing in the watered vales, =s And cottage chimneys smoking from the woods, And cottage gardens smelling everywhere, Confused with smell of orchards. ‘See,’ I said, ‘ And see, is God not with us on the earth ? And shall we put Him down by aught we do? : Who says there’s nothing for the poor and vile, =an Save poverty and wickedness? Behold!’ And ankle-deep in English grass I leaped, And clapped my hand, and called all very fair. In 1860, ‘Poems Before Congress’ evinced Mrs. Browning's un- abated interest in Italy and its people. This was her last publication. She died on the 29th.of June, 1861, at the Casa Guidi, Florence ; and in front of the house, a marble tablet records that in it wrote and _ died Elizabeth Barrett Browning, who, by her song, created a golden — link between Italy and England, and that in gratitude Florence had ~ erected that memorial. In 1862 the literary remains of Mrs. Brown. — ing were published under the title of ‘Last Poems.” __ We subjoin a piece written in the early, and we think the purest style of the poetess : y * Cowper’s Grave. \It is a place where poets crowned may feel the heart’s decaying, Tt is a place where happy saints may weep amid their praying. Yet let the grief and aumbleness. as low as silence, languish. — A Earth surely now may give her calm to whom she gave her anguish. kad O poets. from a maniac’s tonete was poured the deathless singing! ¢ O Christians, at your cross of hope, 4 hopeless bane wee So ee e is i nf : our wear souilin O men. this man in brotherhood your weary paths beg ; Se Groaned inly while he taught you peace, and died while ye were smiling! And now. what time ye all may read through fait 3 tears his story, How discord on the music fell, and darkness on the gory, | : Ion. Am I indeed so pale? : | It is a solemn office I assume, ‘ Which well may make me falter; yet sustained ee. By thee, and by the gods I serve, I take it.— : Stand forth, Agenor. : [Sits on the throne, - AGENOR. I await thy will. ~ 24 Ion. To thee I look as to the wisest friend 7 ae: Of this afflicted people; thou must leave _ 4 Awhile the quiet whrch thy life has earned, s To rule our councils ; fill the seats of justice + With good men, not so absolute in goodness : As to forget what human frailty is ; % ‘ And order my sad country. E a AGENOR, Pardon me—- yl Jon. Nay, I will promise ’tis my last request 3 Grant me thy help till this distracted state 3 Rise tranquil from her griefs—’twill not be long, . If the great gods smile on us now. Remember, — Meanwhile, thou hast all power my word can give, Whether [ live or die. AgENoR,. Die! Ere that hour, : aan % May even the old man’s epitaph be moss-grown | * Ion. Death is nof jealous of the mild decay ““—e That gently wins thee his; exulting youth f Provokes the ghastly monarch’s sudden stride, z And makes his horrid fingers quick to clasp, ; : His prey benumbed at noontide.—Let me see % 4 The captain of the guard. y oe | CryTuHEs. I kneel to crave ; a Humbly the favour which thy sire bestowed ia On one who loved him well. ~ __ Ton, I cannot mark thee, : That wak’st the memory of my father’s weakness, - ‘ i in 3ut I will not forget that thou hast shared . The light enjoyments of a noble spirit, And learned the need of luxury.- I grant For thee and thy brave comrades ample share Of such rich treasure as my stores contain, To grace thy passage to some distant land, Where, if an honest cause engage thy sword, May glorious issues wait it, In our realm EERO i Wee % Pha ef we: DPOB seeds ca GEE eR tne SO saat Soke tone aes ag a. Sain ey << la | Seni Seat - - ENGLISH LITERATURE. We shall not need it longer. ~ . CrytTHEs. Dost intend et To banish the firm troops before whose valour - Barbarian millions shrink appalled, and leave. Our city naked to the first assault Of reckless foes? Ion. No,-Crythes, in ourselves, In our own honest hearts and chainless hands Wii! be our safeguard ; while we do not use Our power towards others, so that we should blush To teach our children ; while the simple love Of justice and their country shall be born With dawning reason; while their sinews grow Hard ’midst the giadness of heroic sports, We shali not need, to guard our walls in peace, One selfish passion, or one venal sword. 1 would not grieve thee; but thy valiant troop~ For I esteem them valiapt—must no more With luxury which suits a desperate camp Infect us. See that they embark, Agenor, ' Ere night. _CryTuHEs, My lord— Ion. No more—my word hath passed.— Medon, there is-no office I can add To those thou hast grown old in; thou wilt guard The shrine of Pheebus, and within thy home— Thy too delightful home—befriend the stranger As thou didst me; there sometimes waste a thought - On thy spoiled inmate. Mzpon. Think of thee, my lord? Long shall we triumph in thy glorious reign. : Ion. Prithee, no more.—Argives! I have a boon To crave of you. Whene’er i shall rejoin in death the father from whose heart in life Stern fate divided me, think gently of him! Think that beneath his panoply of pride Were fair affections crushed by bitter wrongs. Which fretted him to madness; what he did, Alas! ye know; could you know what he suffered, Ye would not curse his name. Yet never more Let the great interests of the state depend Upon the thousand chances that may sway A piece of human frailty; swear to me That ye will seek hereafter in yourselves The means of sovereignty: our country’s space So happy in its smallness, so compact, Needs not the magi¢ of a singie name Which wider regions may require to draw ‘Their interest inte one; but, circled thus, Like a blest family, by simple laws May tenderly be governed—all degrees, Not placed in dexterous balance. not combined By bonds of parchment, or by iron clasps, But blended into one—a single form- Of nymph-like loveliness, which finest chords Of sympathy pervading, shall endow With vital beauty : tint with roseate bloom In times of happy peace, and bid to fash With one brave impulse, if ambitious bands Of foreign power should threaten. Swear to me That ye will do this } ie" "| "@YCLOPADIA OF 4 MEDoN. Wherefore ask this now? ~— eer Thou shalt live long’ ‘he paleness of thy face, 3 = Which late seemed d-“e'h-fike, is grown radiant now, : And thine eyes kindle with the prophecy ; p Of glorious yeurs. Ion. The gods approve me then !- f oe vey - Yet I will use the function of a king, ; ae ss = 4 “And Claim obedience. Swear, that if T die, : an And leave no issue, ye will seek the power : a ‘lo govern in the free-Lorn people’s choice, _ And in the prudence of the wise. 7S | MEDON AND OTHERS. “We swear it! s jon. Hear and record 2s oath, immortal powers! = No give me leave a moment te approach | That altar unattended. : ae [He goes to the altar, — ceecicus gods! “ oS In whose mild service mv stad youth was spent, — Rs Look on me now; and ‘f there is a power, tw BY oa As at this solemn time _ el there is, ; a Beyond ye, that hath breathed through all your shapes - The spirit of the beautifn! that lives ‘ : In earth and heaven; to ye Loffer up - > ‘Lhis conscious being. full of life and love, For my dear country’s welfare. Let this blow End all her sorrows! on" Py bacco TY karate W ve See [Stabs himself. CLEMANTHE rushes forward. Pc eauer et. LEMANTHE, Hold! » Let me support him—stand away—Indeed - 4 Ihave best right, although ye know it not, To cleave to him in death. ~ . = Ion. This is a joy j I did not hope for-- This is sweet indeed. Bend thine eyes on me! B 8g CLEM. And for th 3 it was Thou wouldst have .yeaned me from thee! Couldst thou think ar SS 3x Would be so divorsed ? Ton. Thou art rigst, Clemanthe—_. _ It was a shallow anJ an idle thought; Tis past; no show of coldness frets us now; No vain disguise, ny girl, Yet thou wilt. think On that which, when I *cigned, 1 truly spoke— Wilt thou not, sweet one? : CuiEem. I will treasure ali - Enter Irvs. Trus. I bring you glorious tidings— Hx! no joy } Can enter here. Ton. Yes--is it as T hope? Inv3. The pestilence abates. Jon. [Springs ‘to his feet.) Do ye not hear? Why shout ye pot? ye are strong—think not of me; Hearken ! the curse my ancestry had spread O’er Argos is dispelled !—My own Clemanthel * Let this console thee—Argos lives »gain— Lhe offering is accepted—all is well! x an va bee Pe ey ehh ae ro tee sey SP ah Soe “ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~~ — ~ tgg ~~ 5 <3.> © SIR HENRY TAYLOR: _ Although long engaged in public business—in the Colonial Office —Mr. (now 81x) Henry Tay or is distinguished both as a poet and ‘ose essayist. He is a native of the county of Durham, born in _ 1800, only son of George Taylor, of Wilton Hall. In 1827 appeared Bo play of ‘Isaac Commenus,’ ‘which met with few readers,’ says- Southey, ‘and was hardly heard of.’ In 1854 was published ‘ Philip _ van Artevelde,’ a play in two parts, characterised by its author as an ‘historical romance cast in a dramatic and rhythmical form.’ The subject was suggested by Southey, and is the history of the two Van \rteveldes, father and son, ‘ citizens of revolted Ghent, each of whom - wayed for a season almost the whole power of Flanders against their. evitimate prince, and each of whom paid the penalty of ambition by an untimely and violent death.’ if There is no game so desperate which wise men Will not take treely up for love of power, ~ Or love of fame, or merely love of play. ~ These men are wise, and then reputed wise, And so their great repute of wisdom grows, ; Till for great wisdom a great price is bid, . And then tieir wisdom they do part withal. ‘ Such men must still be tempted with high stakes : = Philip van Artevelde is such a man. _ As the portrait of a revolutionary champion, Philip is powerfully _ delineated by the dramatist, and there are also striking and effective scenes in the play. The style and diction resemble those of Joanna -Baillie’s dramas—pure, elevated, and well sustained, but wanting ae brief electric touches and rapid movement necessary to insure : omplete success“in this difficult department of literature. ‘Two os after the historical romance had established Henry Taylor's ‘Teputation as a poet, he produced a prose treatise, ‘The Statesman,’ -a small volume, treating of ‘such topics as experience rather than - inventive meditation suggested to him.’ The counsels and remarks of. the author are distinguished by their practical worldly character; he appears-as a-sort of political Chesterfield, and the work was said > by Maginn to be ‘the art of official humbug systematically digested and familiarly explained.’* It abounds, however, in acute and sen- sible observations, shewing that the poet was no mere visionary or -Tomantic dreamer. The other works of Sir Henry are—‘ Edwin the Fair,’ an historical drama, 1842; ‘The Eve of the Conquest, and sther Poems,’ 1847; ‘Notes from Life,’’1847; ‘Notes from Books,’ * In, Crabb Robinson’s Diary. vol. iii,. isthe following notice of Henry Taylor. then wader Sir James Stephen in the Colonial Office: ‘“Tuylor is known as literary executor Of Southey. and author of several esteemed dramas. especially Philip van Artereidie, “He tmartied Lord Monteagie’s danghter. He is now one of my most respected acquaint- Bice? Hismuanuers are shy and heis more a manof letters than-o’ the world... He pub- shed a book ca'led Pie Statesman. which some thought presumptuous in a junior clerk s0vernment office.’ Southey said Henry Taylor was the only one of a generation unger than his Own whom he had taken into his heart of hearts. 190 CYCLOPEDIA OF oe \ 1849; “The Virgin Widow,’ a play, 1850; ‘St. Clement’s Eve,’ a clay 1862: ‘A Sicilian Summer, and Minor Poems,’ 1868. The poetical works of Sir Henry Taylor enjoy a steady popularity with the more intellectual class of readers. ‘Philip van Artevelde’ has gone through eight editions, ‘Isaac Comnenus’ and ‘ Edwin’ through five,” 4 “and the others have all been reprinted. 2 Tie Death of Launoy, one of the Captains of Ghent.—Hrom ‘ Philip oun _ Artevelde,’ Part I. SrconD DEAN. Beside Nivelle the Earl and Launoy met. Six thousand voices shouted with the last : ‘Ghent, the good town! Ghent and-the Chaperons Blancs!’ .<% But from that force thrice-told there came the cry 4 Of ‘Flanders, with the Lion of the Bastard !’ So then the battle‘joined, and they of Ghent Gave back and opened after three hours’ fight ; And hardly flying had they gained Nivelle, When the earl’s vangard came upon their rear; Ere they could close the gate, and entered with them. Then all were slain save Launoy and his guard, Who, barricaded in the minster tower, Made desperate resistance; w hereupon The earl waxed wrothful, and bade fire the church. First BURGHER. Say’st thou? Oh, sacrilege accursed | Was’t done? Ps SEconD Dean. ’Twas done—and presently was hearda yell. And after that the rushing of the flames! ‘ Then Launoy from the steeple cried aloud ‘ ‘A ransom!’ and held up his coat to sight With florins filled, but they without but laughed And mocked him, saying: ‘Come amongst us, John, ts And we will give thee welcome ; make a leap— : = Come out at window, John.’ With that the flames ; Rose up and reached. him, and he drew his sword, 4 Cast his rich coat behind him in the fire, And shouting: ‘ Ghent,’ye slaves !’ leapt freely forth, a When they below received him on their spears. = And ‘so died John of Lannoy. - > First BUEGHER. A brave end. : ce *Tis certain we must now make peace by times; a The city will be starved else.—W ill be, said 1? ee Starvation is upon us. . a Van ARTEVELDE. I never looked that he should ie solong. He was a man of that unsleeping spirit, at He seemed to live by miracle: his food } 4 Was glory, which was poison to his mind, . ae And peril to his body. - He was one ae | Of many thousand such that die betimes, i Whose story is a fragment, known to few. Then comes the man who has the luck to live, And he’s a prodigy. Compute the chances, And deem there’s ne’er a one in dangerous times, 7 Who wins the race of glory, but than him A thousand men more “gloriously y endowed Have fallen upon the cours e; a thousand others Have had their fortunes founded by a chance, Whilst lighter barks pushed past them; to shat add A smaller tally, of the singular few, ° ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 191 _. Who, gifted with predominating powers, : ; Bear yet a temperate will, and keep the peace. The world knows nothing of its greatest men. FATHER JOHN. Had Launoy lived, he might have passed for great, But not by conquest inthe Franc of Bruges. The sphere—the scale of circumstance—is all Which makes the wonder of the many. An ardent soul was Launoy’s, and his deeds Were such as dazzled many a Fiemish dame. There'll be some bright eyes'in Ghent be dimmed for him. VAN ARTEVELDE. They will be dim, and then be bright again. All is in busy, stirring, stormy motion ; And many a cloud drifts by. and none sojourns. Lightly is life laid down amongst us now, And lightiy is death mourned: a dusk star blinks As fleets the rack, but look again, and lo! In a wide solitude of wintry sky be Twinkles the reilluminated star, iS, And all is out of sight that smirched the ray. - We have no time to mourn. Still a eS a FATHER JOHN. ‘The worse for us! Ske ; He that lacks time to mourn, lacks time to mend. aS Eternity mourns that. ’Tis an ill cure ie For life’s worst ills, to have no time to feel them. Where sorrow’s held intrusive and turned out, There wisdom will not enter, nor true power, - Nor aught that dignifies humanity. a. -_~ Yet such the barrenness of busy life! But this thou knows’t. 3° _ A bark is launched on Como’s lake, -. A maiden Sits abaft ; _ Alittle sail is loosed to take be - The night-wind’s breath, and waft ‘The maiden and her bark away, . Across the lake and up the bay. | _ And what doth there that lady fair -._ Upon the wavelet tossed ? - Before her shines the evening star, ~ Behind her in the woods afar aay __ The castle lights are lost. . . . pe: was not for the forms—though fair, Though grand they were beyond com- “=. pare Tt was not only for the forms Of hills in sunshine or in storms, Or only unrestrained to look On wood and lake, that she forsook _._. Wandered by light 5 ~. » Of sun or star. dt was to feel her fancy free, _ Free in a world without an end, From shelf io shelf Ambition clambers up, ‘ To reach the naked’st pinnacle of all; ~- Whilst Magnanimity, absolved from toil, Reposes self-included at the base. ee . The «Lay of Elena.’—From the same. With ears to hear, and eyes to see, And heart to apprehend. It was to leave the earth behind, And rove with liberated mind, As fancy led, or choice or chance, Through wildered regions of romance. ... Be it avowed, when all is said. She trod the path the many tread. She loved too soon in life; herdawn | Was bright with sunbeams, whence is drawn A sure prognostic that the day Will not unclouded pass away. oo young she loved, and he on whom Her first love lighted, in the bloom Of boybood was. and so was graccd With all that earliest runs to waste. Intelligent, Joquacious, mild, Yet gay and sportive as a child, With feelings light and quick, that came And went like flickerings of flame ; A soft demeanour, and a mind Bright and abundant in its kind, 192 That, playing on the surface, made A rapid change of light and shade, Or, if a darker hour perforce At times o’ertook him in his course, Still, sparkling thick like glow-worms, CYCLOPADIA OF -And passion with her growth had grown, - Aud strengthened with her strength ; and how Could love be new, unless in name, Degree, and singleness of aim ? A tende:ness had filled hér mind Pervasive, viewless, undefined ; As keeps the subtle fluid oft —~ - In secret, gathering-in the soft And sultry air, til! felt at length, In al] its desolating strength— So silent, so devoid of dread, Her objectiess affections spread :_ é Not wholly unemployed, but squandered At large where’er her fancy wandered Till one attraction, one desire Concentred all the scattered fire ; It broke, it burst, it blazed amain, It flashed its light o’er hill and plain, O’er earth below and heaveu above— And then it took the name of love. shewed ite was to him a summer’s road— Such was the youth.to whom a love For grace and beauty far above Thor due-deserts, betrayed a heart Which anight have e!se performed a - > prouder part. a First love the world is wont to call The passion which was now her all. So be it called; but be it known The feeling which possessed her now Was novel in degree alone ; Love early marked her for his own; Soon as the winds of heaven had blown Upon her, had the seed been sown In soil which needed not the plough ; - : We add a few sentences of Sir Henry’s prose writings : On the Ethics of Politics.—From.* The Statesman.’ <= The moral principle of private life which forbids one man to despoil another of his ae property, is outraged in the last degree when one man holds another in slavery. Carry it therefore in all its absoluteness into political life, and you require a states- men to do what he can. under any circumstances whatever, to procure immediate~— freedom for any parties who may be holden in slavery in the dominion of the state which he serves. condition of barbarism in which they were thirty years. ago, and we find the of men and strictest of moralists falling short of the conclusion. magnitude of the good which results from maintaining the principle inviolate, far overbalances any specific evil which may possibly attend an adherence to it in a par- ticular case. But in political affairs, it may happen that the specific evil is the urest greater of the two. even in looking to the longest train of consequences that can be said to be within the horizon of human foresight, For to set a generation of savages free in a civilised community, would be merely to maintain one moral principle in- violate at the expense of divers c*her moral principles. Upon the whoie, therefore, I come to the conclusion that the cause of public morality will be best served by — moralists permitting to statesmen, what statesinen must necessarily take and exer- cise—a free judgment namely, though a most responsible-one, in the weiching of specific against general evil, and in the perception of perfect Or imperfect analogies” yetween public aud private transxetions, in respect of the moral rules by which they Yet, take the case of negro slaves in the British dominions in the ~ In private life, the ~ > _ ~*~ ~ Sate are to be governed. The standard of morality to be held forth by moralists to states« — men is sufficiently elevated when it is raised to the level of practicable virtue: such — standards. to be influential. must be above common opinion certainly. but not re=_ _motely above it; for if above it. yet near, they draw up common o be far off in their altitude, they have no attractive influence. Of Wisdom—From-* Notes from Life.’ Wisdom is not the same with understanding, talents. capacity, sense, or pru- - pinion ; but if they ; dence; not the same with any one of these; neither will all these together make it — up. It is that exercise of the reason into which the heart enters—a structure of the understanding rising out of the mora! and spiritual nature. It is for this -canse that_ a hie order of wis@om—that fs, a highly intellectual wisdom—is still more rare than — a high order of genius. When they reach the very highest order they are one; for each includes the other, and intellectual greatness is matched with moral strength, 4 ae «- RRoLD.} . | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 398 ut they hardly ever reach so high, inasmuch as great intellect, according to the ways of Providence, almost always brings along with it great infirmities—or, at Jeast, infirmities which appear grest owing to the scale of. operation ; and it is cer- tainly exposed to unusual temp.ations; for as power and pre-eminence lie before it, £0 almbition aitends it, which, whilst it determines the will and strengthens the acti- _ Vities, inevitably weakens the moral fabric Wisdom is corrupted by ambition, even when the quality of the ambition is in: -tellectual. For ambition, even of this quality. is but a form of self-love, which, _ seeking gratification in the consciousvess of intellectual power, is too much delighted _ with the exercise to have a single aud paramount regard to the end—that is, the moral and spiritual consequences—should suffer derogation in favour of the intel- — Jectual means. God is love, and God is light: whence, it results that_ love is light, __and.tis only by following the cffluence of that light, that intellectual power issues | “into wisdom. ‘rhe iitellectual power which loses that light, and issues into intel- —Jectual pride, is out of the way to wisdom, and will not attain even to intellectual _- greatness. ee DOUGLAS JERROLD. __- The works of Dovcias JERROLD (1803-1857) are various, con- sisting of pliys, tales, and sketches of character, in which humour, fancy, and satire are blended. The most popular of these were con- tributed to ‘Punch, or the London Charivari.’ Jerrold was born in Tondon in January 1803. His father was an actor, lessee of the _ ‘Sheerness Theatre, and the early years of Douglas were spent in Sheerness. But before he had completed his tenth year, he was- _ transferred to the guard-ship Namur, then lying at the mouth of the | ‘Tiver—‘ a first-class volunteer in His Majesty’s service, and not.a little proud of his uniform.’ Two years were spent at sea, after hich Douglas, with his parents, removed to London. He became apprentice to a printer—worked diligently during the usual business hours—and seized upon every spare moment for solitary self-instruc- tion. ‘The little, eager, intellectual boy was sure to rise in the world. He had, however, a sharp novitiate. His great friend at this time was Mr. Laman Bruancnarp (1803-1845), who was en; gaged in periodical literature, and author of numerous tales an says, collected after his premature death, and published with a Memoir of the author by Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton. Douglas _ Jerrold-took early to dramatic writing, and in his eighteenth year he as engaged at a salary of ‘a few pounds weekly’ to write pieces - for the Coburg Theatre. His nautical and domestic drama, ‘ Black- eyed Susan,’ was brought out at the Surrey Theatre in 1829, and had a prodigious success. It hadarun of above three hundred nights, and produced many thousands to the theatre, though it brought only about £70 to the author. The other dramas of Jerrold are—‘ The ~ Rent Day,’ 1832; ‘Nell Gwynne’ and ‘The Housekeeper,’ 1833; ~“The Wedding Gown,’ 1884; ‘The School-fellows’ and ‘ Doves in a a age,” 1855; ‘ Prisoner of War,’ 1842; ‘Bubbles of the Day’ and _* Time Works Wonders,’ 1845; ‘ The Catspaw,’ 1*50; ‘ Retired from > Business,’ 1851; ‘St. Cupid,’ 1858; ‘Heart of Gold,’ 1854. The. plays of Jerrold, like all his other writings, abound in pointed and Witty sayings and lively illuctration. His incidents and characters » a : ; \ a [ro 1876. — ‘194 . ~“CYCLOP/EDIA, OF Ay are also well contrasted and arranged for stage-effect, yet there isa want of breadth and simplicity. About 1831 Jerrold became a contributor to the magazines; and in 1840 he was editor of a series of sketches, called ‘Heads of the- People,’ illustrated by Kenny Meadows, to which Thackeray, R. H. Worne, Blanchard, Peake, and others contributed. Some of the best _ of Jerrold’s essays appeared in this periodical. Afterwards ‘Punch’ absorbed the greater part of this time, though he still continued to write occasionally for the stage. Henceforward his life was that of a professional littérateur, steadily rising in public estimation and in worldly prosperity—famous for his sarcasm, his witty sayings, and general conversational brilliancy. In 1852a large addition wasmade _ to his income—£1000 per annum—by his becoming editor of ‘ Lloyd’s — Weekly Newspaper.’ He was a zealous advocate of social reform; a passionate hater of all cant, pretence, and affectation; and though on some grave questions he wrote without sufficient consideration, his — career was that of an honest journalist and lover of truth. Of his personal generosity of character many memorials remain. Mr. Dickens relates one instance: ‘There had been an estrangement - between us—not on any personal subject, and not involving an angry ~ word—and a good many months had passed without my even seeing him in the street, when it fell out that we dined, each with his own separate party, in the strangers’ room of the club. Our chairs were almost back to back, and I took mine after he was seated and at dinner. I said not a word—TI am sorry to remember—and did not — look that way. Before we had sat long, he openly wheeled his chair — round, stretched out both his hands, and said aloud, with a bright» and loving face that I can see as I write to vou: ‘‘ For God’s sake let us be friends again! A life ’s not long enough for this.” ’* He died, after a short illness, on the 8th of June 1857, and was interred ~ in Norwood Cemetery—followed to the grave by all his literary confreres, who nobly raised a memorial fund of £2000 for the benefit of his family. The collected miscellaneous writings of Douglas Jerrold fill six duodecimo volume. The longest is a story of town- life, ‘St. Giles and St. James,’ by no means his happiest production, He was best in short satirical and descriptive sketches—sponta- neous bursts of faney or feeling. “His ‘Caudle Lectures,’ ‘Story of a Feather,’ ‘Men of Character,’ and ‘Sketches of the English,’ were highly popular. The style is concise and pungent—too much, per-— haps, in the manner of dramatic dialogue, but lightened up by poetic — feeling and imagery. His satire was always winged with fancy.- Some brilliant or pointed saying carried home his argument or senti- — ment, and fixed it firmly in the mind. Like Charles Lamb and most — * The Life and Remains of Dougias Jerrold, by his Son. Blanchard Jerrold, 1859, Mr. Blanchard Jerrold sueceeded his father as editor of Llovd’s Weekly Newspaper. and ee author of Jmperial Paris, The Life of the Emperor Napoleon 1II., and othe? works. a “JERROLD. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. . 195 humorists, he had tenderness and pathos, ‘After all,’ he said, ‘life _ has-something serious in it—it cannot be all a comic history of hu- real mingles with the ideal, and shrewd, kindly observation and ac- tive sympathy are at the bottom of his picturesque sketches and - portraits, He was oftcn wrong, often one-sided—an ardent, impul- sive man—but high-principled, sincere, and generous. In witty re- parte he was unequalled among his contemporaries. _ The following extracts are from his drama of ‘Bubbles of the pe Day’. ~ Fancy Fair in Guildhall for Painting St. Pauls. Earn PHENIX CLEARCAKE,. I come with a petition to you—a petition not parlia- _ mentary, but charitable. We propose, my lord, a fancy fair in Guildhall; its object _s0 benevolent, and more than that, so respectable. _ Lorp SKINDEEP. Benevolence and respectability! Of course ’m with you. Well, ~ the ee object ? _ Sim P. It is to remove a stain—a very great stain from the city; to give an air of maiden beauty to a most venerable institution ; to exercise a renovating taste at a a. most inconsiderable outlay ; to call up, as it w ere, the snowy: beauty of Greece in the . coal smoke atmosphere of London: in a word, my lord, but as yet ’tis a profound _ 8ecret—it is to paint St. Paul’s! ‘To give it a vir gin outside—to make it so truly re- _ -spectable. Lorp SEIN. A gigantic effort. Sir P. The fancy fair will be on a most comprehensive and philanthropic scale. eat th alderman takes a stall, and to give you an idea of the enthusiasm of the city— ee) but Opes also is a secret—the ‘Lady Mayoress has been up three nights making pin- ~ cushions. ~ Lorp SKIN. But do you want me to take a stall—to sell pincushions? Sir P. Certamly not, my lord. And yet your philanthropic speeches in the _ House, my lord, convince me that, to obtain a certain good, you would sell anything. LorpD SKIN. Ww ell, well; command me in a any way; benevolence is my foible. _ Companies for leasing Mount Vesuvius, for making a Trip all round the World, for Buying the Serpentine Ruer, Le. CAPTAIN SMOKE. We are about to start a company to take on lease Mount Vesu- _yius for the manufacture of lucifer matches. ~ $1r P. A stupendous speculation. I should say that, when its countless advan- ie ~ tages are duly numbered, it will be found a certain w heel of fortune to the enlight- ened capitalist. ___ Smoke. Now, sir, if you would but take the chair at the first meeting—[A side to ~ Chatham: We shall make it all right about the shares]—if you would but speak for _ two or three hours on the social improvement conferred by the lucifer-match, with man, woman, or child to strike a light without our permission. 5 ee CHATHAM. Truly, sir, in such a cause, to Such an auditory—I fear my eloquence, _ — Smoke. Sir, if you would speak well anywhere. there’s nothing like first grinding “ee eloquence on amixed meeting. Depend on ’t, if you can only manage a little umbug with a mob. it gives you great confidence for another place. _ Lorp Sx1n. Smoke, never say humbug; it’s coarse. ’ Sir P. And not respectable. _ “such high patronage, that now it’s quite classic. : Cuat. But why not embark his lordship in the lucifer question ? SMOKE. I can’t: I have his lordship in three companies already. Three. First, there’s a company—half a million capital—for extracting civet from asafetida. ‘The Gomes is a company for a trip all round the world. “We propose to hire a three- a >. — manity.’ Hence, amidst all the quips and turns of his fancy, the _ _ the monopoly of sulphur secured to the company—a monopoly which will suffer no — ‘SMOKE. Pardon me, my lord, it was coarse. But the fact is, hnmbug has received os 7 196 ~CYCLOP-EDIA OF decker of the Lords of the Admiralty, and fit her up with every accommodation fis families. We've already advertised for wet-nurses and maids-of-all-work. sir P. A magnificent project! And then the fittings-up will be so respectable. A delightful bilhard-table in ‘the ward-room; with. for the humbler classes, skittles on the orlop-deck, Swi ings and archery for the ladies, trap-ball and cricket for the children, whilst the marine sportsman Will find the stock of gulls unlimited. W se aan pert’s quadrille band is cngaged, and os é SmoxkeE. For the convenience of lovers, the ship will carry a parson. = Cuat. And the object? fs © SMOKE. Pleasure and education. At every new country we shall drop anchor tor at Jeast a week, that the children may go to school and learn the language. ‘The trip must answer: ’twill occupy only three years, and we’ve forgotten nothing to make it delightful—nothi ing from hot rolls to cork jackets. . Brown. And now, sir, the third venture? 3 re SMOKE, That, sir, is a company to buy the Serpentine River for a Grand Junc- tion ‘femperance Cemetery. Brown. What! so many watery graves? SmoKE. Yes, sir, with floating tompstones. Here’s the prospectus. Look here: i surmounted by a hy acinth—the very emblem of temperance—a hyacinth floweringin _ the limpid flood. Now, if you don’t feel equal to the Juciters—I know his lordship’s ~ goodness—he’ll give you ep the cemetery. [Aside to Chatham: A family vault as ao bonus to the chairman. J Sir P. What a beautiful subject fora speech! Water-lilies and aquatic plants © gemming the translucent crystal, shells of rainbow brightness, a constant supply of gold and silver fish, with the right of angling secured to shareholders. The extent of eae er being necessarily limited, will render lying there so select, so PLY re- spectable e Time's Changes.—From ‘Time Works Wonders,’ FLORENTINE. O, siz, the magic of five long years! We paint Time with glase- and scythe—should he not carry harlequin’s own wand? for, oh, indeed Time’s changes ! y S ~ CLARENCE, Are they, in truth, so very great? FLoR. Greater than harlequin’s ; but then Time works them with so grave a@ face, that even the hearts he alters doubt the change, though often turned from very flesh to stone. CuaR. ‘time has his bounteous changes too; and sometimes to the sweetest bud will give an unimagined beauty in the flower. ; ¥ . Retired from Business. TACKLE. Kitty, see what you ll get by waiting! Ill grow you such a garland for your wedding. 4 : Kirry. A garland, indeed! A daisy to-day -is worth a rose-bush to-morrow, Purrins, But, Mr. Pennyweight, I trust you are now, in every sense, once and for ever, retired from business ? GUNN. No; in every sense, who is? Life has its duties ever; none wiser, better, than a manly disregard of false aistinctions, made by ignorance, maintained by weak: ness. ~ Resting from the activities of life, w e haye yet our daily task—the interchange | of simple thoughts and geutle doings. When, following those already passed, we rest beneath the shadow of yon distant spire, then, and ‘then Yate may it be said of us, retired from business. 5 oe Winter in London. The streets were empty. Pitiless cold had driven all who had the shelter of a roof , to their homes; and the northeast blast seemed to howl in triumph above the un- trodden snow. Winter was at the heart of all things. The wretched, dumb with ~ ‘a excessive misery, suffered, in stupid resignation, the tyranny of the season. Hu-_ m4 man blood stagnated in the breast of want ; and death in that despairing hour, josing its terrors, looked in the eyes of many a wretch a sweet deliverer. It was a_ $ edi Be ey se ae apc: SG oo ee 5 Se: : a4 oo = oe “4 > ig = Sx: tes —~ e. RAE > vi J -- —_ENGLISII LITERATURE. _- 197 me when the very poor, barred from the commonest things of earth, take strange ounsel with theniselves, and in the deep humility of destitution, believe they ure the burden and the offal of the world. eee oe At was a time \ ben the easy, comfortable man, touched with finest sense of human > suffering, gives from his abundance ; and, whilsi bestowing, feels xlmost ashamiwd that; with such wide-spread misery circled round him, he has sll things fitting, all thines grateful. ‘The smiitten spirit asks wherefore he is not of the muliitude of wretched- hess; demands to “now tor what cspeciai excclience he is promoted above the thonsand thousand starving creatures; in his very tenderness for misery, tests his privilege of exemption from a woe that withers manhood in man, bowing lim down- ‘ward tothe brute. And so questioned, this man gives in medesty of spi:it—in very thankfulness of soul. His alms are not cold, formal charitics; but reverent. sacri- ‘fices to his suffering brother, rset It was a time when selfishness hugs itself in its own warmth, with no other thoughts than of its pleasant possessions, all made pleusenter, sweeter, by the de- “solation zround ; when the mere worldhng rejoices the more in his warm Chamber, _ because it is so hitter cold without; when he eats and drinks with whetted appetite, because he hears of destitution prowling like a wolf around his well-barred house: “when, in fine, he bears bis every comfort about him with the pride of « conqueror. A time when such a man sees in the misery of his fellow-beings nothing save his own yictory or foriune--his own successes in a suffering world. To such a man, ‘the poor are but the tattered slaves that. grace his triumph. - Itwas a time. too, when human nature often shews its true divinity, and with Misery like a garment clinging to it, forg¢ts its wretchedness in sympathy with suf- ering. A time when, in the cellars and garrets of the poor, are ucted scenes which nake the noblest heroism of life; which prove the immortal texture of the human ~ heart not wholly seared by the branding-iron of the torturing hours. A time when in“want. in anguish, in throes of mortal agony, some seed is sown that bears a flower in heaven. ; : The Emigrant Ship. -_ Some dozen folks, with gay, dull, earnest, careless, hopeful, wesried looks, epy about the ship. their future abiding-place upon the deep for many aday. Some dozen, with different feelings, shew in different emotious, enter cabins, dip below. , emerge on deck, and weave their way among packages and casks, merchandise and food, lying in a labyrinth about. ‘he ship isin most seemly confusion. The ‘Tandsman thinks it i:,possible she can be all taut upon the wave in a week.- Her yards are all soup and cuw and her rigging in such a tangle. euch disorder. like a -wench’s locks after amacd <;}iae at romps. Nevertheless, Captain Goodhody’s wo d “isastrne asoak. On the. vpointed day. the skies permitting, the frigate-built Hai- ce fd with her white wings spread, will drop down the Thames—down to the illimit- able sea, She-carries a glorious freightage to the sntipodes—English hearts and English _ 8inews—hope and strength io conquer and control the waste, turning it to usefu:nces ‘and beauty. She carrics in her the seeds of English cities, with English laws to crown thein free. She carries with her the strong, deep, earnest music of the &nglish tongue—the music soon to be universal as the winds of heaven. What should fancy do in a London dock? All is so hard, material. positive. Yet there, amid the tangled ropes. fancy will behold---clustered like birds—poets and philosophers, history-men and story-inen, annalists and -legalists—English all —bound for the other side of the world. to rejoice it with their voices. Put g horr of Vietoria; sees them all gathered aloft, and with fine ear lists the rustling . their bays. mx ty 198 CYCLOPEDIA OF 5 ifro. 1876.: Puns and Sayings of Jerrold. DoGmATIsM is the maturity of puppyism. UNREMITTING KINDNESS. —‘ Call that a kind man,’ said an actor, speaking of an absent acquaintance 5 ; ‘aman who is away from his family, and never sends them a farthing! Call that kindness!’ ‘ Yes, unremitting kindness,’ Jerrold replied. Tur Retort Direct.—Some member of ‘ Our Club,’ hearing an air mentioned, exclaimed: ‘That always carries me away when I hear it.’ ‘Can nobody whistle it?’ exclaimed Jerrold. AusTRALIA.—Earth is so kindly there that, tickle her with a hoe, and she laughs’ with a harvest. THe SHARP ATTORNEY.—A friend of an unfortunate lawyer met Jerrold, and sail: ‘Have you heard about poor R.——? His business is going to the devil. 7a JERROLD: ‘ That’s all right: then he is sure to get it back again,’ Tue Reason WHy.—One evening at the Museum Club a member very ostenta- tiously said in a loud voice: ‘ Isn’t it “strange ; we had no fish at the marquis’s last night? That has happened twice lately—l can’t account for it.’ ‘Nor JL’ replied Jerrold, ‘ unless they ate it all up-stairs.’ OSTENTATIOUS GRIEF. —Reading the pompous and fulsome inscription which Soyer the cook put on his wife’s tomb in Kensal Green Cemetery, Jerrold shook his head and said: ‘ Mock-furile.’ A Fiuiau Smite.—In a railway-carriage one day, a gentleman expatiated on the beauty of nature. Cows were grazing in the fields. ‘ In reading in the fields,’ said he, ‘sometimes a cow comes and bends its head over me. I look up benignantly at it.’ ‘ With a filial smile,’ rejoined Jerrold. Tur ANGLO-FRENCH ALLIANCE —A Frenchman said he was proud to see the English and French such good friends at last. JERRou~p: ‘Tut! the best thing I know between France and England is—the sea.’ TuE Scorcon.—Jerrold w as fond of girding at the Scotch jocularly. ‘ Every Scotchman hus a niche [an itch] iu the temple of Fame.’ Look at the antiquity of the paintings in Holyrood Palace! ‘Ay, and _you had the distemper before the oil- paintings.’ 3 GILBERT ABBOT A BECKETT—MARK LEMON—SHIRLEY BROOKS— > TOM. TAYLOR. This cluster of genial wits and humorists—contributors to ‘ Punch, and all of them well known in general literature—attempted the. drama, and one of them (Mr. Tay lor) with continued and marked success. Mr. A Becxerr (1810-1856) delighted in puns and bur? lesque; he produced above thirty dram atic pieces, and wrote the -“Comic Blackstone’ and ‘ Comic Histories of England’ and ‘ Rome.’ He latterly filled the office of police magistrate—a man universally respected and beloved. Mark Lrmon (1809-1870) wrote a vast number of dramatic pieces —above fifty, it is said—but his highest honours were derived from his editorship of ‘Punch,’ a valuable weekly peri dical, witty with- out coarseness, and satirical without scurr ility—which he conducted - from its commencement, July 17, 1841, till his death. Mr. Lemon was author also of occasional poems. and prose sketches. ; CHARLES SHIRLEY Brooks (1815-1874) succeeded Mark Lemon as © editor of ‘Punch,’ to which he had for many years been a regular contributor.. Mr. Brooks was a native of London, studied for the law, and was articled to a solicitor (his uncle) at Oswestry: but he early adopted literature as a profession, He was engaged on the ‘ Morning Chronicle,’ writing the parliamentary summary of that vs 7 Pexooxs} © | ENGLISH LITERATURE... _ 199 Bo. ‘ - * ee for five years. He also travelled in the south of Russia, Asia _ Minor, and Egypt as special commissioner for the ‘ Chronicle,’ investi- _gating the condition of the labouring classes; and part of the results _ of his journey was published under the title of ‘The Russians in the _ South.’ Mr. Brooks was author of several successful dramas and _of four novels—‘ Aspen Court,’ ‘The Gordian Knot,’ ‘The Silver Cord’ and ‘Sooner or Later.’ All these works are distinguished by -witty and sparkling dialogue, by variety of incident and knowledge of the world, especially of town life and character. We subjoin one short extract from ‘The Gordian Knot:’ ee : Portrait of Douglas Jerrold. +. Margaret found herself alone; but not being one of.the persons who find them- _ selves bores, and must always seek companionship, she sat down, and amused her- - 8elf with one of the new books on the table. And as the volume happened to bea » fresh and noble poem by a poetess who is unreasonable enough to demand that - those who would understand her magnificent lines shall bestow on them some little ~ thonght in exchange for the great thought that has produced them (and then the _ Yreader is but like the scrubby Diomed giving his brass arms for the golden harness _ .0f splendid Sarpedon), Margaret’s earnest attention to Mrs. Browning rendered the’ __ reader unaware that another person had entered the room. _ His footfall was so light that her not hearing his approach was not surprising ; _ andas he stood for a minute or more watching her intelligent face_as it expressed __ the pleasure she felt as rose-leaf after rose-leaf of an involved and beautiful thought _ unfolded and expanded to her mind. Then, as she raised her eves, her half-formed smile changed to a look of surprise as she found herself confronted by a stranger ; and she coloured highly as that.look was returned by a pleasant glance and a- bow, respectful and yet playful, as the situation and the difference of age might warrant. — Before her stood a gentleman, considerably below the middle height, and in form _ delicate almost to fragility, but whose appearance was redeemed from aught of fee- 4 bleness by a lion-like head, and features which, classically chiselled, told of a mental _ force and will rarely allotted, The hair, whose gray was almost whiteness, was long and luxuriant, and fell back from a noble forehead. The eye, set back under a bold strong brow, yet in itself somewhat prominent, was in repose, but its depths were those that, under excitement, light up to a glow. About the flexible mouth there lingered a smile, too gentle to be called mocking, but evidence of a humour ready at the slightest call—and yet the lips could frame themselves for stern or passionate ut- terances at need. The slight stoop was at first taken by Margaret for part of the ‘a _bow with which the stranger had greeted her, but she perceived that it was habitual, i as the latter, resting his small white hands on the head of an ivory-handled cane, ‘said in a cheerful and kindly voice, and with a nod at the book: ‘Fine diamonds __ ina fine casket there, are there not ?’ ae _ His tone was eyidently intended to put Margaret at her ease, and to make her for- get that she had been surprised; and his manner was so pleasant, and almost _- fatherly, that she felt herself in the presence of some one of a kindred nature to that _ Of her Uncle Cheriton. By a curious confusion of idea, to be.explained only by the sf suddenness of the introduction, Margaret seized the notion that her other uncle was 4 before her. Iam sorry, however, to say that neither the poetess’s page nor the visi- aes ee pErace inspired her with a cleverer answer to his speech than a hesitating ‘O— ie. es, very. : E = = And abn she naturally expected to receive her relative’s greeting; but as she 4 rose, the gentleman made a slight and courteous -gesture. which seemed to beg her se to sit, or do exactly what she liked, and she resumed her chair in perplexity. Her _ companion looked at her again with some interest, and his bright eye then fell upon Bertha’s volume, which Margaret had laid on the table. - _*Ah,’ he said, pointing to. the word on the cover, ‘those five letters again in con- - Spiracy against the peace of mankind. They eught to be dispersed by a social police, _ Sut-may one look ?’-— ; a Deep,’ ‘The Ticket-of-Leave Max,’ ‘Victims,’ ‘An Unequal Match,’ = - 3 > ee ine 3 ; ON Bt eee Fe Reto a 200 - | CYCLOPADIA GF Sarg: sae - = ‘There is scarcely anything there,’ said Margaret, as he Dougan the book. : Only afew pages have been touched.’ ‘Ah, I see,’ he said. . ‘Just a few songsivrs, as ine bird-catchers put some caved. - birds near the nets, to persuade the otis that the sifnation is eligible. But,’ he continued, turning on until he came to a drawing, ‘this is another ikind of thing. 2 This is capital. ? It was a sketch by Margaret, and represented her cousin Latimer, in shooting-costnme, and gun in hand... At his feet lay a hare, victim of his skill. = vapital, >he re epeated. «*‘ Your own work?’ 7 - Yes,’ said Margaret; ae likeness happeued to be thought fortunate, and so’ “Nc, no; you draw char mingly. Ili give you a motto for the picture. Shall I??_ ‘Pleass. Tai glad of any contribution.’ Ye tu0k a pen and in a curious little hand wrote below the sketch: Se X And beauty draws us with a -ingle hare. ~ ‘T shall not find any poetry of yours here.” 1e said. ‘You read Mrs. Brbwning, - and so you know better. What a treasure-u use of thought that woman is! Some — ot the boxes are locked, and you must tutu: he key with a will; but when you have opened, you are rich for life” - ie Tom TAYLor is said to have ntpaoesd about a hundred dramatic ‘ pieces, original and translated Many of these have been highly - successful, and in particular we may mention ‘Still Waters Run ‘The Contested Election,’ ‘'The Overland Route,’ ‘”"T'wixt Axe-and ~ Crown,’ and ‘Joan of Are.’ ‘The two last mentioned are historical ~ dramas of a superior class, and to ‘Joan of Arc,’ Mrs. Tom Taylor ~ (nee Laura Barker, distinguishes. as a musical composer) contributed — an original overture and Gar ace, At the Literary Fund banquet, — London, in June 1878, Mr. Txylor said that, ‘while serving litera- ture as his mistress, he inde ser ed the state as his master—a jealous — one, like the law, if not so je*:ous—and while contributing largely to: literature grave and gay,-fy help of the invaluable three hours before breakfast, he had gives’ the daily labour of twenty-two of — his best years to the duties of « public office.’ In 1850 Mr. Taylors J 2 was appointed Assistant-secretsy to the Board of Health ; and in — 1854, on the reconstruction of that Board, he was made Secretary 3 of the local Government Act Oi¥ce, a department of the Home Office — connected with the administration of the Sanitary Act of 1866. From this public employment he retired in 1872. Besides his dramatic pieces Mr. Taylor has been a steady contributor to ‘Punch,’ — and on the death of Shirley Brooks became editor of that journal. a He has added to our literature the ‘Autobiography of B. R. Hay- — don,’ 1858, compiled and edited from the journals of that unfortunate — ast also the ‘Autobiography and Correspondence of the late Cal; Leslie, R.A.,’ 1859 ; and the ‘Life and Times of Sir Joshua ~ Reynolds, > 1865—the last having been commenced by Leslie shortly — before his death, and left in a very incomplete state. Mr. Tayloris — a native of Sunderland, born in 1817; he studied at Glasgow Uni- — versity, and afterwards at Trinity College, Cambridge, of which he was elected a Fellow. He héld for two years the Professorship ofa _ English Literature at University College, London ; was called tothe — “bar of the Inner Temple in 1845, and went the northern circuit until = += % _ MARSTON, J A p ws his appointment to the Board of Health in 1850. A rare combination of taste and talent, industry and private worth, has insured Mr. _ Taylor a happy and prosperous life, with the esteem and regard of all his literary and artistic contemporaries. aaa : WESTLAND MARSTON, ETC. ' . There are numerous other dramatists: Mr. WESTLAND MARSTON ~ {born at Boston, in Lincolnshire, in 1820) produced ‘The Patri- - cian’s Daughter,’-1841; ‘The Heart and the World,’ 1847; ‘Strath- > more,’a tragedy, 1849; &c.—Mr. Rosertr B. Brovew (born m _ tL ndon in 1828) has produced several burlesque and other dra- --inatic pieces.—In the list of modern draratists are Mr. PLANCHE, s Mr. Buckstonn, Mr. Oxenrorp, Mr. Leman Reps, Mr. Svuvt- » VAN, Mr. Strruinc Coyne, Mr. Epwarp Firzpauni, Mr, Dron ~ BovucitcavutT, Mr. W. S. Gitpert, &c. The play-goers of the me- _ tropolis welcome these ‘ Cynthias of the minute,’ and are ever calling for new pieces, but few modern dramas can be said to have taken a __ permanent place in our literature. YW _) Zr Ut i pe Nair gh 5 r i -F ST \ ‘eS d / As NOVELISTS. a _ JAMES. FENIMORE COOPER, co This distinguished American novélist (1789-1851) has obtained great celebrity in England and over all Europe for his pictures of the sea, _ sea-life, and wild Indian scenery and manners. . His imagination is _— essentially poetical. He invests the ship with all the interest of a _ living being, and makes Nis readers follow its progress, and trace the ety. Of humour he has scarcely any perception ; and in delineating fs character and familiar incidents, he often betrays a great want of _ taste and knowledge of the world. ‘When he attempts to catch the _ ease of fashion,’ it has been truly said, ‘ he is singularly unsuccessful.’ *& _ was born at Burlington, New Jersey, son of Judge William Cooper. _ Afier studying at Yale College, he entered the navy asa midshipman; _and though he continued only six years a sailor, his nautical experi- - ence gave a character and colour to his after-life, and produced im- _ pressions of which the world has reaped the rich result. On bis mar- _ Ylage, in 1811, to a lady in the state of New York, Mr. Cooper left the navy. His jirst novel, ‘Precaution,’ was published anonymously youn e 7 _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. oS 2 OO _ operations of those on board, with intense and never-flagging anxt?- | _ He belongs, like Mrs. Radcliffe, to the romantic school of novelists— . especially to the sea, the heath, and the primeval forest. Mr. Cooper — * ms 302 CYCLOPEDIA OF 7. Fro 1876 a in 1819, and attracted little attention ; bus in 1821 appeared his story of ‘ The Spy,’ founded upon incidents connected with the American Revolution. This is a powerful and interesting romanee, and it was highly successful. waa’ ’ . . z 4 Jookeil around hiin for a rope, but all had gone over with the spars, or been swept away by the waves, At this moment of disappointment, his eyes met those of the desp2rate Dillon. Calm and inured to horrors as was the veteran seaman, he invol- untatily passed his hand before his brow to exclude the look of despair he encoun- tered ; and when, a moment afterwards, he removed the rigid member, he beheld the sinking fori of the victim as it gradually settled in the ocean, still struggling with regular but impotent strokes of the arms and feet to vain the wreck, and to preserve |= an existeuce that had been so much abused in its hour of allotted probation... * He will soon meet his God. and learn that his God knows him!’ murmured the cock swain to himself. As he yet spoke, the wreck of the Aried yicided to an overwhelin- ing sea, and after a universal shudder, her timbers and piunks gave way, and were swept towards the clitfs, bearing the body of the simple-hearted cockswain among - the rains. RICHARD HARRIS BARHAM. The Rev. Rrowarp Harris Barwa (1788-1845), under the name of Thomas Ingoldsby, contributed to ‘ Bentley’s Miscellany’ a series of papers, ‘The Ingoldsby Legends,’ which were afterwards collected into volumes, and went through several editions. To the third series - (1847) was prefixed a life of the-author by his son. Mr. Barham also wrote a novel, ‘ My Cousin Nicholas.’ The Ingoldsby papers, prose ~ . . and verse, contain sallies of quaint humour,-classic travesties and illustrations, droll rhymes, banter and irony, with a sprinkling of — ghost stories and medieval legends. The intimate friend of Theodore — Hook, Mr. Barham had something of Hook’s manner, with a love of ~ punning and pleasantry as irrepressible as that of Hood, though ac- companied with less literary power. Few of the readers of ‘ Ingolds- - by,’ unless moving in a certain circle, imagined that their author was — a dignitary of the Church, a minor canon of St. Paul's, a rector and less than witty and agreeable man. : CAPTAIN FREDERIC MARRYAT. This popular naval writer—the best painter of sea characters since Smoiiett—commenced what proved to be a busy and highly success- ~ ful literary career in 1829, by the publication of ‘The Naval Officer,’ > y royal chaplain. Heappears to have been a learned and amiable, no~ ~ author’s works. His naval commander, Captain, Savage, Chucks ~ the boatswain, O’Brien the Irish licutenant, and Muddle the car- . ~ penter, are excellent individual portraits—as distinct and life-like as - Tom Bowling, Hatchway, or Pipes. Thescenes in the West Indies - display the higher powers of the novelist; and the escape from the rich prison interests us almost as deeply as the similar efforts of “Caleb Williams. om Continuing his nautical scenes and portraits—Captain Marryat < wrote about. thirty volumes—as ‘Jacob Faithful’ (one of his best reo uctions), ‘The Phantom Ship,’ ‘Midshipman Easy,’ ‘ The- - Pacha of Many Tales,’ ‘Japhet in Search of a Father,’ ‘'The Pirate and the Three Cutters,’ ‘Poor Jack,’ ‘Joseph Rushbrook the Poach- er, ‘Masterman Ready,’-&c. In the hasty production of so many $ volumes, the quality could. not always be equal. The nautical hu- ~ mour and racy dialogue could not always be produced at will, of a * new and different stamp at each successive effort. Such, however, 2 was the fertile fancy and active observation of the author, and his ie Basely powers of amusing and describing, that he has fewer repeti- tions and less tediousness than almost any other writer equally volu- Minous. His next novel, ‘Percival Keene,’ 1842, betrayed no fall- : ing-off, but, on the contr ary, is one of the most vigorous and interest- _ ing of his ‘sea cha unges.’ In 1843 he published a ‘ Narrative of. the sat Travels and Adventures of Monsieur Violet,’ in which fact and fiction are blended with little artistic skill, and which -was proved to be _ chiefly a compilation. Two other works of mediocre character fol- = lowed—‘ The Settlers in Canada,’ 1844, and ‘The Mission, or.Scenes _ in Africa,’ 1845.. In 1846 he regained something of his old nautical _ animation in ‘The Privateersman One Hundred Years Ago.’ Captain Marryat made a trip to America in 1837, the result of Which he gave to the world in 1839 in three volumes, entitled ‘A ‘Diary in Ameri ica, with Remarks on its Institutions.’ This was fly- om ing at higher game than he had previousiy brought down; but the “real value of these volumes consists in their resemblance to parts of his novels—in humorous caricature and anecdote, shrowd observa- 806 CYCLOPADIA OF “<4 fro 1846, tion, and lively or striking description. His account of the Ameri- can navy is valuable; and so practical and sagacious an observer could not visit the schools, prisons, and other public institutions of the New World wivhout throwing out valuable reflections, and noting what is superior or defective. He was no admirer of the democratic government of America; indeed, his ‘ Diary’ is as unfavourable to the national character as the sketches of Mrs. Trollope or Captain Hall. But it is in relating traits of manners, peculiarities of speech, and other singular or ludicrous characteristics of the Americans, that Captain Marryat excelled. These are as rich as his fictitious delinea- tions, and, like them, probably owe a good deal to the suggestive fancy and love of drollery proper to the novelist. The success of this ‘ Diary’ induced the author to add three additional volumes to it in the following year, but the continuation is greatly inferior. The life of this busy novelist terminated, after a long and painful illness, at Langham, in Norfolk, August 9 1848. Captain Marryat was the second son of Joseph Marryat, Esq., M. P., of Wimbledon » House, Surrey, and was born in the year 1792. He entered the navy at an early age, and was a midshipman on board the Jmperieuse when that ship was engaged as part of Lord Cochrane’s squadron in sup- porting the Catalonians against the French. On board the Linpericuse young Marryat was concerned in no less than fifty engagements. — After one of these, an officer, who had an aversion to the youth, see- ing him laid out, as if dead, among his fallen comrades, exclaimed: ‘Here’s a young cock who has done crowing. Well, for a wonder, — this chap has cheated the gallows!’ Marryat faintly raising his head, exclaimed: ‘ You’re a liar!’ Afterwards the ‘chap’ served in the attack on the French fleet in Aix Roads and in the Walcheren ex- ~ pedition. In 1814, as heutenant of the Wewcastle, he cut out four vessels in Boston Bay, an exploit of great difficulty and daring. During the Burmese war, he commanded the Larne, and was for some time senior officer on the station. His services were rewarded by professional promotion and honours. He was a Companion of the Bath, a Knight of the Hanoverian Guelphie Order, an officer of © the Legion of Honour, &c. The latter years of the novelist were spent in the pleasant but not profitable occupations of a country gentleman. His receipts from farming, in one year, were £164, 2s. 9d.; his expenditure, £1637, 0s. 6d.! He spent large sums on his place in Norfolk. At one time, we are told, he hada hobby for mak- — ing a decoy ; he flooded some hundred acres of his best grazing- ground, got his decoy into full working order, so as to send some five thousand birds yearly to the London market, and then—drained it again. In February 1848, Captain Marryat received intelligence of the death of his son, lieutenant on board the Avenger steam-frigate, — Which was lost on the rocks off Galita. This bereavement tended to hasten the death of the able and accomplished novelist. In 1872, 7 aNUy pe me = ‘ A ~~ = f ec PMARRYAT.) © ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 207 ‘The Life and Letters of Captain “Marryat’ were published by his - daughter, Mrs. Ross Church. A Prudent Sea Captain—Abduse of Ship’s Stores.—From ‘ The King’s - gt . : . Own,’ : ‘Well, Mr. Cheeks, what are the carpenters about 2?’ ; 4 ‘Weston and Smaljbridge are going on with the chairs—the whole of them will be - finished to-morrow.’ __ * Well?’—‘ Smith is about the chest of drawers, to matth the one in my Lady ~ Capperbar’s bedroom.’ ; - ‘Very good. And whatis Hilton abont ?’—‘ He has finished the spare leaf of the dining-table, sir; he is now about a little job for the second iieutenant.’ _ +A job for the second lieutenant, sir! How often have I told you, Mr. Cheeks, _ that the carpenters are not to be employed, except on ship’s duty, without my special ; a eon Y—‘ His standing bed-place is broken, sir; he is only getting out a chock y Yor two. : ‘Mr. Cheeks, you have disobeyed my most positive orders. By the by, sir, I un- ~ derstand you were not sober last night.’—‘ Please your honour,’ replied the carpenter, ‘J wasn’t drunk—I was ouly a little fresh.’ ee ‘Take you care, Mr. Cheeks. Well, now, what are the rest of your crew about ?— ~ ‘Why, Thomson and Waters are cutting out the pales for the garden out of the jib- boom; I’ve saved the hec! to return.’ - ‘Very well; but there won’t be enough, will there?’ *No, sir; it will take.a hand-mast to finish the whole.’ *Then we must expend one when we go out again. We can carry away a top- * mast, and make a new one out of the hand-mast at sea. In the meantime, if the _ Sawyers have nothing to do, they may as well cut the palings at once. And now, let _ me see—oh, the painters niust go on shore to finish the attics.’. ; _ * Yes, sir; but my Lady Capperbar wishes the jealowsees to be painted vermilion ; _ she says it will look more rural..—' Mrs. Capperbar ought to know enough about _ ship’sstores by this time to be aware that we are only allowed three colours. She ' may choose or mix them as she pleases; but as for going to the expense of buying paint, I can’t afford it. What are the rest of the men about ?’—‘ Repairing the se- cond cutter, and making a new mast for the pinnace.’ i ‘By the by—that puts me in mind. of it—have you expended any boat’s masts 2” _ -—‘ Only the one earried away, sir.’ _ _ ‘Then you must expend two more. Mrs. C. has just sent me off a list of a few _ things that she wishes“made while we are at anchor, and I see two poles for _ ¢lothes-lines. Saw off the Sheave-holes, and put two pegs through at right angles— ~ you know how I mean ? _ ‘Yes, sir. What amTI to do, sir, about the cucumber frame? My Lady Capper- -. bar says she must have it, and [ haven’t glass enough. ‘They grumbled at the yard last time.’— Mrs. C. must wait a little. What are the armourers about?’ _ __-* They have been so busy with your work, sir, that the arms are in a very bad E. _ condition. The first lieutenant said yesterday that they were a disgrace to the ship.’ __. ‘ Who dares say that ?’—‘ The first lieutenant, sir.’ : x ___. ‘Well, then, let them rub up the arms, and let me know when they are done, and _ we'll get the forge up.’ ‘The armourer has made six rakes and_six hoes, and the two little hoes for the _ Children ; but he says that he can’t make a spade.’ _ _ ‘Then Vl take his warrant away, by heavens! since he does not know his duty. _ What will do, Mr. Cheeks. I shall overlook your being in liquor this time; but take _ care. . Send the boatswain to me.’ eS CAPTAINS GLASSCOCK AND CHAMIER—MR. HOWARD—M, scoTT— aes - J. HANNAY. ae A few other authors have, like Captain Marryat, presented us _ With good pictures of maritime life and adventures. ‘The Naval ES fal sl tinh - : ; : . AW 2 Po ae et ae : OS LOSS eee re DOSS eS SC¥CLOPASDIA*OF ¢ Fi. ee pmo. 1870; 8 Sketch-Book,’ 1828; ‘Sailors and Saints,’ 1829; ‘Tales of a Tar,’ 1880; ‘Land Sharks and Sea Gulls,’ 1838; and other works, by Car: TAIN GLASSCOCK, R._N., are all gentine tales of the sea, and display. _ & hearty comic humour and rich phraseology, with as cordial a con- tempt for regularity of plot. _ Captain Glasscock died in 1847, He was one of the inspectors under the Poor Relief Act in Ireland, and ~ in that capacity, as well as in his naval character, was distinguished by energy and ability.—‘ Rattlin the Reefer,’ and ‘Outward Bound, or a Iferchant’s Adventures,’ by Mr. Howanrp, are better managed as to fable—particularly ‘Outward Bound,’ which is a well-con- ~ structed tale—but have not the same breath of humour as Captain ~ Glasscock’s novels.—‘ The Life of a Sailor’ and ‘Ben Brace,’ by CAPTAIN CHAMIER, are excellent works of the same class, replete —_ with nature, observation, aud humour.—‘Tom Cringle’s Log,’ by ~ Micnaren Scorr, and ‘The Cruise of the Midge’—both originally published in ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine ’—are also veritable productions of the sea—a little coarse, but spirited, and shewing us ‘things as _ they are.’ Mr. Scott, who was a native of Glasgow, spent a consid- _erable part of his life—from 1806 to 1822—in a mercantile situation — sat Kingston, in Jamaica. Ue settled in_his native city as a mer- chant, and died there in 1885, aged forty-six.—Mr. JAMps HANNAY also added to our nautical sketches. He may, however, be charac- - terised as a critical and miscellaneous writer of scholastic taste and acquirements. Mr. Hannay was a native of Dumfries, a cadet of an old Galloway family, and was born in 1827. He served in the _ navy for five years—from 1840 to 1845, and was afterwards engaged in literature, writing in various periodicals—including the ‘Quarterly ~ and Westminster Reviews,’ the ‘ Athenseum,’ &c.—and he published the following works: ‘Biscuits and Grog,’ ‘The Claret-Cup,’ and ‘Hearts are Trumps,’ 1848; ‘King Dobbs,’ 1849; ‘Singleton Fonte- noy, 1850; ‘Sketches in Ultramarine,’ 1858; ‘Satire and Satirists,’ a series of six lectures, 1854; ‘ Eustace Conyers,’ a novel in three vo- lumes, 1855; &c. Mr. Hannay died at Barcelona (where he resided as British consul), January 8, 1873, in the forty-sixth year of his age. We subjoin from ‘ Eustace Conyers’ a passage descriptive of . Nights at. Sea. , Eustace went owdeck. A dark night had come on by this time. The ship was tranquilly moving along with a fair wind. Few figures were moving on deck. ‘The officer of the wetch stood on the poop. The man at the wheel and quarter-master 4 _- stood in silence before the binnacle 3 inside which, in a bright spot of light, which contrasted strongly with the darkness outside, lay the compass, with its round elo- ~~ quent face, full of meaning and expression to the nauticaleye. ‘The men of the | watch were lying in black heaps, in their sea-jatkets, along both sides of the ship’s waist.- Nothing could be stiller than the whole scene. Eustace scarcely heard the ripple of the ship’s motion, till he leant over the gangway, and looked ont on thesea, Nights like these make aman meditative ; and sailors are more serious than js gen- erally supposed ; being serious just, as they are gay, because they give themselves up. to natural impressions more readily than other people. At this moment, the least conventional men now living are probably afloat. If you would know how your an- — eR we LS As ~ GLASSCOCK.) | NS Sere ora ‘es nae “— Ipust co and have a cruise on salt water, for the sea’s businessis to keep the earth fresh : and it preserves character as it preserves meat, Our Frocley Foxes and Pearl “studdses are exceptions; the results of changed times, which have brought the navy nto closer relation with the shore than it was mold days; and sprinkled .t with tho Genizens of other regions, - Our object is toshew how-the character of the sailor born is afrected by contact with the results ofsmodern ages. . Can we retdin the spirit of Benbow minus that pigtail to which clegant gentlemen have a. natural objection ? Can we.be at onc polished, yct free from: what the newspapers call ‘jnvenile extrav- #eance?’ Such i; owr ambition for Itustacc. Still, we know that Pearl Stucds > would go into action as checrfuly as eny en. and fears less any foo’s face than the ~» banner of Levy, and we musi do him no injustice. ‘Such nights, then, Eustace already felt as fruitfel in thought. If he had been -- pining for a little more activity, if he had drooped under the influence of particular - kinds of talk, a qniet muse-on deck refreshed him. The sca regains all its natural ss grand old familiar majesty you forget trouble. and care little for wit. Hence, the talk of the middle watch, which occupies the very heart of the night. from twelve to _ four. in the most serious, the deepest, the tenderest, the most confidential of the _ twenty-four hours; and by keeping the micde with a man, you Jearn him more inti- _ mately than you would in any other way.. Even Studds in the middle watch. at Jeast _ after the ‘ watch-stock.’ or refreshment. was disposed of. grew a somewhat different ~ man. ~A certain epicnrean melancholy came over the spirit of Studds. like moonlight - falling ona banquet-tablé after the lamps are out! ‘By Jove. sir.’ he would sigh, ~ Speaking of the hollowness of life generally; and was even heard to give tender re- > Mminiscences of one ‘ Eleanor.’ whose fortune would probably have pleased him as - mnuch as her beauty, had not both been transferred in matrimony to the possession _ of x Major Jones, : ere ‘Ss _ . Hannay was very profuse, and often very happy, in similes, a few - of which we subjoin. ; Repti ts Detached Simitles. Many a hich spirit, which danger, and hardship, and abgénce from home could never turn from its aims, has shrunk from the chill thrown on its romantic enthusi- asm. ‘The ruder the hand, the more readily it brnshes away the fine and delicate _bioom from ige grape. And the bloom of character is that ight enthusiasm which ~~ makes men love their work for the beauty in it—which is the essence of excellence = inevery-pursuit carried on in this world. |, ¥romné/ admirari to worldly ambition is only a short step. Itis an exchange of a passive selfishness for active selfishness—that’s all. Z »» how that-chanees! But for regular consistency, there’s nothing koa broomstick ; ». for-it never puts out a fresh leaf. 5; Theré were signs of cnergy about the boy. which on a small scale predicted _ power. Mr. Conyers studied them, as Watt studied the hissing of a tea-kettle, de- gseryine far off the steam-cngine. cs _ tions of me~kind? A ship goes along so merrily with a trade-wind. 4 A party is like a mermaid; the head and face may cuchant-and attract you. and - “ed in a moment you shall be frightened off by a wag of the cold, scaly, and slimy Srabails ' ~~ (Of Sir W. Scott.) We Co nct hear s0 much of himas his contemporaries did, of ' eour es but jnst-as we don’t have any longer yesterday’s rain, which is the life of __ to-dav’s vegetation. © (Of Thackerary’s poetical vein.) He was not essentially poetical, as Tennyson, . for instance, is. Poetry was not the predominant mood of his mind, or the _ dntellectual law by which the objects of his thought and observations were arranged - and classified. But inside his fine sagacious common-sense understanding. there __was, so to speak, a pool of poctry—like the ampluvium in the hall of a Roman house, ne = ENGLISH LITERATURE. > 209 cestors looked and talked, before towns became Babylonish, or trade despotic, you ee ihe over the spirit, when the human life of the ship ishushed. In the‘presence of Tt Consistency.—There may be consistency and yct change. Look ata growine tree,’ > ~ Could he place him but safely under the influence of one of the leading ambi- © >. 210 CYCLOPEDIA OF 2 [To 1876, which gave an air of coolness, and freshness, and nature, to the solid marble columns aud tesselated floor. . x; ‘ MRS. CATHERINE GRACE FRANCES GORE. - : This lady (1799-1861) was a clever and prolific writer of tales and fashionable novels. Her first work, ‘Theresa Marchmont,’ ‘was published in 1823; her next was a small volume containing two tales, ‘The Lettre de Cachet’ and ‘The Reign of Terror,’ 1827. One of these relates to the times of Louis XIY., and the other to the French Revolution. They are both imteresting, graceful tales—superior, we. think, to. some of the more elaborate and extensive fictions of the authoress. A series of ‘Hungarian Tales’ succeeded. In 1830 ap~ peared ‘Women as they Are, or the Manners of the Day,’ three volumes—an easy, sparkling narrative, with correct pictures of modern society; much lady-like writing on dress and fashion ; and some rather misplaced derision or contempt for ‘excellent wives’ and ‘good sort of men? This novel soon went through a second edition; and Mrs. Gore continued the same style of fashionable portraiture. In 1831, she issued “Mothers and Daughters, a Tale of the Year 1830. Here the manners of gay life—balls, dinners, and fétes—with clever — sketches of character and amusiag dialogues, make up the customary three volumes. The same year we find Mrs. Gore compiling a series of narratives for youth, entitled ‘The Historical Traveller.”. In 1832 she came forward with ‘The Fair of May Fair,’ a series of fashion- able tales, that were not so well received. The critics hinted that Mrs. Gore had exhausted her stock of observation; and we believe she went to reside in France, where she continued some years. Her next tale was entitfed ‘ Mrs. Armytage,’ which.appeared in 1836; and in the following year came out ‘Mary Raymond’ and ‘ Memoirs of a Peeress.’ In 1838, ‘The Diary of a Desennuyee,’‘The Woman of the World,’ ‘ The Heir of Selwood,’ and ‘ The Book of Roses, or Rose-fancier’s Manual,’ a delightful little work on the history of the rose, its propagation and culture. France is celebrated for its rich varieties of the queen of flowers, and Mrs. Gore availed herself of the taste and experience of the French floriculturists. Mrs. Gore long continued to furnish one or two novels a year. She had seen much of the world both at home and abroad, and was never at a loss for character or incident. The worst of her works must be pro- — nounced clever. Their chief value consists in their lively caustic pictures of fashionable and high society. Besides her long array of regular novels, Mrs. Gore contributed short tales and sketches to the periodicals, and was perhaps unparalleled for fertility. All her works were welcome to the circulating libraries. They are mostly of the same class—all pictures of existing life and manners; but the want of genuine feeling, of passion and simplicity, in her living models, and the endless frivolities of their occupations and pursuits, make us sometimes take leave of Mrs. Gore’s fashionable triflers in the temper with which Goldsmith parted from Beau Tibbs—*The fue eee io = ~ “ENGLISH LITERATURE... .-° . ‘11 ee! ; ¢ * company of fools may at first make us smile, but at last never fails of rendering us melancholy.’ _ Mrs. Gore waSa native ot East Retford, Nottinghamshire, daughter - of Mr. Moody, a wine-merchant of that town. In 1823 she was ' married to Captain C. A. Gore, by whom she had two children, a son and daughter; the latter married, in 1858, to Lord Edward Thynne. : Character of a Prudent Worldly Lady.—From ‘Women as they Are.’ Lady Lilfield was a thoroughly worldly woman—a worthy scion of the Mordaunt _ stock. She had professedly accepted the hand of Sir Rebert because a connection with him was the best that happened to present itself in the first year of her débui— ' the‘best match’ to be had at a season’s warning! She knew that she had been brought out with the view to dancing at a certain number of balis, refusing a certain numberof good offers, and accepting a better one, somewhere between the months - of January and June; and she regarded it as a propitious dispensation of Providence _ to her parents and to herself, that the comparative proved a superlative—even a high- sheriff of the county, a baronet of respectable date, with teu thousand a year! She F felt that her duty towards herself necessitated an immediate acceptance of the dullest *good sort of man’ extant throughout the three kingdoms; and the whole routine of her after-life was regulated by the same rigid’ code of moral selfishness. She was peed with a most exact sense of what was due to her position in the world; ut she was equally precise in her appreciation of all that, in her turn, she owed to society ; nor, trom-lLer youth upwards— . Content to dwell in decencies for ever— had she been detected in the slightest infraction of these minor social duties. She knew with the utmost accuracy of domestic arithmetic—to the fraction of a course or an entrée—the number of dinners which Beech Park was indebted to its neigh- _ bourhood—the complement of laundry-maids indispensable to the maintenance of its -_ county dignity—the aggregate of pines by which it must_retain its horticultural pre- 4 cedence. She had never retarded by a day or an hour the arrival of the family-coach in Grosvenor Square at the exact moment creditable to Sir Robert’s senatorial pune- _tnality ; nor procrastinated by half a second the simultaneous bobs of her ostenta- tious Sunday school, as she sailed majestically along the aisle towards her tall, stately, ig ee squire-archical pew. ‘True to the execution of her tasks—and her whole __ life was but one laborious task—true and exact as the great bell of the Beech Park _ turret-clock, she was enchanted with the monotonous music of her own cold iron _ tongue; proclaiming herself the best of wives and mothers, because Sir Robert’s rent-roll couid afford to command the services of a first-rate steward, and butler, and housekeeper, and thus insure a well-ordered household ; and because her seven sub- stantial children were duly drilled through a daily portion of rice-pudding and spell- : ~_ ing-book, and an annual distribution of mumps and measles ! All went well at Beech ~ Park; for Lady Lilfield was ‘the excellent wife’ of ‘a good sort of man?’ ~ — So bright an example of domestic merit—and what country neighbourhood cannot Ys ¥ ; eS boast of its duplicate ?—was naturally superior to seeking its pleasures in the vapid and. _ varying novelties of modern fashion. ‘The habits of Beech Park still affected the _ dignified and primeval purity of the departed century. Lady Lilfield remained true _ to her annual eight rural months of the county of Durham; against whose claims ' Kemp.Town pleaded, and Spa and Baden bubbled in vain. During her pastoral se- ~ _ clusion, by a carefuldistribution of her stores of gossiping, she contrived to prose, ~ in undetected tautology, to successive detachments of an extensive neighbourhood, - concernisg her London importance—her court dress —her dinner parties—and her re- _ ‘fusal to visit the Duchess of --—; while, during the reign of her London importance, _ she made it equally her duty to bore her select visiting list with the history of the : “new Beech Park school-house—of the Beech Park double dahlias—and of the Beech __ Park privilege of uniting, in an aristocratic dinner-party, the abhorrent heads of the rivul political factions—the Bianchi e Neri—the houses of Montague and Capulet of ~ the county palatine of Durham. By such minute sections of the wide chapter of col- > loquial boredom. Lady Lilifield acquired the character of being a very charming is ~ * ~ - = at ran * : = ; al Z A p19 CyCLORADIA-OR= oa ~ ~ woman throughout her respectable clan of dinner-giving baronets and their wives; but the reputation of a very miracle of prosiness aniong those _ . Men ofthe world who know the world like men., She was but a weed in the nobler field of society. Heclusive London Life. A squirrel in a cage, which pursucs its monotonous round from summcr to sume mer, as though it had forgotten the gay green-wood and glorious air of libctty, is not condemncd to a more wonotonous cxistence thaw the fashionable world in the unvarylng ronune of its amusements; xand when a London beauty expands into _ecstasies couccrning the delights of London to some country neighbour on a foggy auilunu cay, vaguely alluding to the ‘countless’ pleasures and ‘diversificd’ auiusements Of Londen, the country neighbour may be assured that the truth is not inher, Nothing can be more mimutely monotonous than the recreations of the really fashionavic; monotony being, in fact, essential to that distinction. Tigers muy amuse themselves in a thousand irregular diverting ways ; “but the career of a gcnulue exclusive is one to which a miil-horse would scarcely look for relief. — London houses, London establishments, are formed after the same unvarying model. At the fifty or sixty balls to which she is to be indebted for the excitement of her season, the fine lady listens to the same band, is refreshed from.a buffet prepared by the same skill, looks at the same diamonds, hears the same trivial observations; and but for au incident or two, the growth of her own fellies, night find it difficult t- point ont_ the slichte st difference between the féte of the countess on the first of June and thut of the marquis on the first of July. But though twenty seasons’ experience of these dego- luting facts might be expected to damp the odour of certain dowagers and dandies who ~ are to be found hurrying along the golden railroad year after ycur, it is not wonderful . that the young girls their daughters should be easily allurcd from their dull school- ~ roous by fallacious promises of. pleasure. MRS. FRANCES TROLLOPE, Another keen observer and caustic delineator of modern manners, Mrs. Frances TROLLOPE, was the authoress of a long series of - fictions. . This lady had nearly reached her fiftieth year before she entered on that literary career which proved so prolific and distin- ' guished. She first came before the public in 1882, when her “Domestic Manners of the Americans’ appeared, and excited great attention. The work was the result of three years’ residence and — travels in the United States, commencing in 1829. Previous to this period, Mrs. Trollope had resided at Harrow. ‘She drew so severe a picture of American faults and foibles—of their want of delicacy, their affectations, drinking, coarse selfishness, and ridiculous pecu- liarities—that the whole nation was incensed at their English — satirist. There is much exaggeration in Mrs. Trollope’s sketches ; but having truth for their foundation, her book is supposed to have had some effect_in reforming the ‘minor morals’ and social ‘habits of the Americans...The same year our authoress continued ~ her satiric portraits, in a novel entitled ‘The Refugee in America,’ marked ‘by the same traits as, her former work, but exhibiting litile - art or talent in the construction of a fable. Mrs, Trollope now tried ~ new ground. In 1883, she published,‘ The Abbess,’ a novel ; and in the following year, ‘Belgium and Western Germany in 1888,’ coun. tries where she found much more to gratify and interest her than in ~ America, and where she travelled in generally good-humour, The 7 7 , A Se eine Be Si A id BP ~ y _ ¢ “~ 4 Peo ee ar LS ae Saag ter OFSa 3 é c_ i *- OLLOPE.] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE, Seale OS. - only serious oa phuket Mrs. Trollope seems to have encountered in “Germany was the tobacco-smoke, which ‘she vituperates with ~unweariled perseveranec. 2 ‘In 1836’ she renewed her war with the Amerfe ans in ‘The Aaven- fures of Jonathan Jefferson Whitlaw,’ a tale in -which she power. fully depicts the miseries of the black and coloured population of the een, States.’ In this year, also, she published ‘Paris and: the - Parisians in 1835. In 1887 appeared the ‘Vicar of Wrexhill.’ her *best novel, an able and interesting work, full of prejudices, but con- J ‘taining some excellent painting | ‘of manners and eccentricities. In _ -1838 our authoress appeared again as a traveller: ‘ Vienna and the _ Austrians’ was of the same cast as ‘ Belgium and Germany,’ but more E ‘deformed by predjudice. Between 1838 and 1843, Mrs. Trollope threw off seven or eight novels, and an account of a ¢ Visit to Italy.’ ~ ‘The smart caustic style of our authoress was not so well adapted to’ the classic scenes, manners and antiquities of Italy, as.to the broader features of ‘American life and character, and this work was not so -successful.as her previous publications. Returning to fiction, we find Mrs. Trollope, as usual, abounding. ‘Three novels, of three volumes each, were the produce ‘of 1843—< ‘Hargrave,’ Jessie Phillips, and the -* Laurringtons.’ The first is asketch of aman of fashion; the second ~ an attack on the new English poor-law ; and the third, a lively satire ‘on- ‘superior people,’ the ‘bustling Botherbys’ of society. Other Peayels followed , but these later works of Mrs. Trollope are much in- ferior to her early novels : the old characters are reproduced, and coarseness is too often substituted for strength. The indefatigable novelist died at Florence (where she had for several years resided) October 6, 18638, in the eighty-fifth year of her age. Mrs. Trollope was born at Stapleton, near Bristol, daughter of the Rev. William Milton. She was married in 1809 to Thomas Anthony gene a barrister, by whom she had six children. ‘The wife of a barrister who-had not been fortunate,’ says the ‘ Athenszeum’ (1863), ‘Frances Trollope found herself, after an unsuccessful attempt to- establish a home in America, here in England, with the world to begin-again, a husband too ill to aid her, and children who needed aid and could as yet give none. Many men in like circumstances would have appealed to public charity, but the true woman’s heart - did not fail her. She wrote for bread, and reaped that and honour.’ She has been honoured too in her surviving sons, Anthony and ~ Thomas Adolphus Trollope. i LNT Oe NGS ere et + MARGUERITE, COUNTESS OF BLESSINGTON. This lady, long known in the world of fashion and light! literature, _ was born ‘at Knoc! xbrit, near Clonmel, September 1, 1790. Her: father, Edmund Power, was a small proprietor in Ireland—a squdreen "who ig said to have forced his daughter, when only fifteen, into a Marriage with a Captain Farmer. ~The marriage Was unhappy; ss ee Lg” ae J - 4 Seis eae ee * o14 - €YCLOPAIDIA OF Marguerite left her husband, and Captain Farmer «was accidentally killed. This was in 1817. In a few months afterwards, Marguerite | was united to an 8h peer, Charles Gardiner, Earl of Blessington. Her rank, her beauty, and literary tastes: now rendered her the centre of a brilliant circle, and the doting husband revelled in every - species of extravagant display. ~ te a r In‘1822 they set out on a continental tour. They visited Byron in Genoa; and Lady Blessington’s ‘Conversations with Lord Byron’ (published after the death of the poet) present a faithful and in- teresting—though of course incomplete—picture of the noble bard. In May 1829, Lady Blessington was again left a widow, but with a jointure of about £2000 a year. A daughter of the deceased earl, by a former marriage, became the wite of Count Alfred D’Orsay, son of a French general officer, and remarkable for his handsome appear- [ro 1876, eS ance and varied accomplishments. This marriage also proved un- _ fortunate; the parties separated, and while the lady remained in Paris, the count accompanied Lady Blessington to England. This connection was only broken by death. It gave rise to scandalous rumours, yet the countess and her friend maintained a conspicuous _ place in society. Count D’Orsay was the acknowledged leader of fashion, besides being an accomplished artist in both painting and scuipture. A career of gaiety and splendour soon involved the - countess in debt. She then applied herself -to literature, and pro-. duced several light sketchy works, now forgotten. Latterly, the popularity of the countess greatly declined. She was forced to break -up her establishment in Gore House, Kensington; all was sold off, and Lady Blessington and D’Orsay repaired to Paris. She died June 4, 1849. The count survived her just three years. The most favour- able—perhaps the truest—view of. this once popular lady is thus given in the epitaph written for her tomb by Mr. Procter (Barry Cornwall): ‘In her lifetime she was loved and admired for her many graceful writings, her gentle manners, her kind and generous heart. - Men, famous for art and science, in distant lands sought her friend- ship; and the historians and scholars, the poets and wits, and painters of her own country found an unfailing welcome in her ever-hospitable home. She gave cheerfully, to all who were in need, ~*~ help and sympathy, and useful counsel; and she died lamented by many friends. Those who loved her best in life, and now Jament her most, have reared this tributary marble over the place of her rest.’ 7 MRS. 8. C. HALL, : Mrs. 8. ©. Hat, authoress of ‘Lights and Shadows of Irish * Life,’ and various-other works, ‘is a native of Wexford, though by — her mother’s side she is of Swiss descent. Her maiden name was Fielding, by which, however, she was unknown in the literary world, as her first work was not published till after her marriage to 3H ; STS ae et Bo ieee Lat ty = - - i * ai “A s _ : ; a! . : i > ‘ : ) ; ENGLISH LITERATURE. water 2 i" Samuel Carter Hall in 1824. She first: quitted Ireland at the early age of fifteen, to reside with her mother in England, and it was some time before she revisited her native country ; but the scenes which were familiar to her as a child have made such a vivid aud lasting impres- ‘sion on her mind, and all her sketches evince so much freshness and vigour, that her readers might easily imagine she had spent her life amoug the scenes she describes. To her early absence from her native country is probably to be traced one strong characteristic of all her writings—the total absence of party feeling on subjects counected with politics or religion.’* Mrs. Hall’s first work appeared in 1829, and was entitled ‘Sketches of Irish Character.’ These bear a closer resemblance to the tales of Miss Mitford than to the Irish stories of Banim or Griffin, and the works of Miss Edgeworth probably directed Mrs: Hall to the,peculiarities of Irish character. They contain some fine rural description, and are animated by a healthy tone of moral feeling and a vein of delicate humour. ‘The coquetry of her Irish girls—very different from that in high life—is _ admirably depicted. In 1831 she issued a second series of ‘ Sketches of Irish Character,’ fully equal to the first, and which was well received. The ‘Rapparee’ is an excellent story, and some of tbe _ satirical delineations are hit off with great truth and liveliness. In 1852 she ventured on a larger and more difficult work—an historical romance in three volumes, entitled ‘The Buccaneer.’ The scene of this tale is laid in England at the time of the Protectorate, and _ Oliver himself is among the characters. The plot of ‘' The Buccaneer’ a N . ; ; - 03 _ S $ 3 ee is well managed, and some of the characters—as that of Barbara Iverk, the Puritan—are skilfully delineated ; but the work is too feminine, and has too little of energetic passion for the stormy » times in which it is cast. In 1834 Mrs. Hall published ‘Tales of a Woman’s Trials,’ short stories of decidedly moral tendency, written in the happiest style of - the authoress. Jn 1885 appeared ‘Uncle Horace,’ a novel; and in - 1888, ‘Lights and Shadows of Jrish Life,’ three volumes. The latter had been previously published’in the ‘ New Monthly Magazine,’ and enjoyed great popularity. The principal tale in the collection, ‘The Groves of Blarney,’ was dramatised at one of the theatres with dis- tinguished success. hi 1840 Mrs. Hall issued ‘ Marian, or a Young Maid’s Fortunes,’ in which ber knowledge of Irish character is again displayed. Katey Macane, an Irish cook, who adopts Marian, a foundling and watches over her with untiring affection, is equal to any of the Irish portraitures since those of Miss Edgeworth. The next work of our authoress was a series of ‘Stories of the Irish Peasantry,’ contributed to ‘Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal,’ and afterwards published in a collected form. In 1840, Mrs. Hall aided her husband in a work chiefly composed by him, and which reflects * Dublin University Magazine for 1840. — as “ [- a CYCLOP-EDIA OF — 316 [ro 1876, 3 "7% credit upon his talents and industry—‘ Ireland, its Scenery, Character,” é&c. ‘Topographical and statistical information is here blended with the poetical and romantic features of the country—the legends oz the peasantry—scenes and characters of humour or pathos—and all hat could be gathered in five separate tours through Freland, added o early acquaintance aad recollection of the country. The work was highly embellished by British artists, and extended to three large volumes. In 1345, Mrs. Hall published what is considered by many her best novel, ‘The Whiteboy’—a striking Irish story—and a fairy tale, ‘ Midsummer Eve;’ in 1857, ‘a Woman's Story,’ in 1862, “Can Wrong be Right?’ in 1868-9, ‘The Fight of Faith.” To the ‘Art Journal,’ conducted by hershusband, Mrs. Hall has con- tributed many pleasant and picturesque sketches, some of which have been collected and re-issued under the title of * Pilgrim- ages to English Shrines,’ ‘The Book of the Thames,’ &c. Mrs. Hall has also produced some pleasing children’s books. In tasteful ~ description of natural objects, and pictures of everyday life, Mrs, Hall has few superiors. Her humour is not so broad or racy as that of Lady Morgan, nor her observations so exact and extensive as Miss Edgeworth’s: her writings are also unequal, but in general they con- ; atitute easy delightful reading, and possess a simple truth and purity of sentiment. Stn. Depending upon Others.—From Sketches of Irish Character. — < ‘Independence !’—it is the word, of all others, that Irish—men, women, and - children—least understand; and the calmness. or rather indifference. with which — they submit to dependence, bitter and miserable as it is, must be a source of deep. ~ regret to all who * love the land,’ or who feel anxious to uphold the dignity of humane kind. Let us select a few cases from our Irish village, such as are abundant in every ~ neighbourhood. Shane Thurlongh, ‘as dacent a boy,’ and Shane’s wife, as ‘clane- skinned a girl,’ as any in the world. There-is Shane, an active handsome-looking fellow, leaning over the half-door of his cottage, kicking a hole in the wall with his- brogue, and picking up all the large gravel within his reach to pelt the ducks with— - those useful Irish scavengers. Let usspeakto him. ‘*Good-morrow, Shane!’ ‘Och! . the bright bames of heayen on ye every day! and kindly welcome, my lady; and won't ye step in and rest—it’s powerful hot, and a beautiful summer, sure—the Lord _ be praised’. *'Thank you, Shane. I thought you were going to ent the hay-field to- — day; if a heavy shower comes it will be spoiled; it has been fit for the scythe these. two days.” ‘Snre it’s all owing to that thief. 0? the world, Tom Parrel, my lady. Didn’t he promise me the loan of his scythe; and, by the same token. I was to pay. him for it; and depinding on that, I didn’t buy one, which I have been threatening — to do for the last two years.’ ‘But why don’t you go to Carrick and purchase one? - ‘To Carrick! Och. ’tis a good step toCarrick. and my toes are on the ground—saving your presence—for I depinded on Tim Jarvis to tell Andy Cappler, the brogne- maker, to. do my shoes; and, bad Inck to. him, the spalpeen! he forgot it. *Where’s your pretty wife, Shane?’ ‘She’s in all the woe o’ the world, ma’aim,~ dear And she puts the blame of it on me, though I’m not in the fault — this time anyhow. The child’s taken the small-pox. ‘and she deninded on— me to tell the doctor to cut it for the cow-pox, and I depinded on Kitty Cackle, the limmer, to tell the doctor’s own man, and thought she would not forget it, because the boy’s her bachelor: but ont o’ sight, out o’ mind—the never a word she tould him about it, and the babby has got it nataral. and the woman’s in heart trouble—to ~ say nothing o’ myself—and it the first, and all.’ ‘I am very sorry, indeed, for you — have got a much better wife than most men.’ ‘That’s a true word, my lady, only om c 4 4; b Fhe *y > Rag ers '¢ We ~ oe .S _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 217 _ she’s fidgety-like sometimes, and says I don’t hit the nail on the head quick enough ; ' and she takes a dale more trouble than she need about many a thing.’ ‘I do not ‘think | ever saw Ellen’s wheel without flax before, Shane.’ ‘Bad cess to the wheel! - —I got it this morning about that too. I depinded on John Williams to bring the © flax from O7ilaherty’s this day week, and he forgot it; and she says I ought to have | broueht it myself, and I close to the spot. But where’s the good’ says1; sure he'll -bring it next time.’ +I suppose, Shane, you will soon move inio the rew cottage af _ > Cinrn Bul? I passed if to-day, and it looked so cheerful; and when you get tere, F you must take Kilen’s advice, and depend solely on yourself.’ ‘Och, maam dear, » don’t mintion if; sure it’s that makes me so down im the mouth this Very nuit. ~Sare I saw that born blackeuard, Jack Waddy, and he comes in here quite innocent- like: ‘¢Shane, you’ve an eye to squire’s new lodge,” says he. ‘‘ Maybe 1 have,” says I.- “Iam yer man,” says he. ‘‘How so?” says I. ‘Sure J’m as good as married _ to my lady’s maid,” said he; ‘and Ill spake to the squire for you my own self.” _ “The blessing be about you,” says I, quite grateful—and we took a strong cup oR the strength of it—and, depinding on him, I thought all safe. And what d’ye think, - mylady’ Why, himself stalks into the place—talked the squire over, to be sure— ~ and without so much as by yer lave, sates himself and his new wife on the laase in ’ the house; and I may go whistle.’ ‘It was a great pity, Shane, that you didn’t go yourself to Mr. Clurn.’ ‘‘That’s.a true word for ye ma’am, dear; but it’s hard it a _ poor man can’t have a frind to depind on.’ ~ G. P. R. JAMES. _ Mr. Grorcr Payne RArssrorp JAMEs was one of Scott’s historical imitators. If he bad not written so much—if, instead of employing -an amanuensis, to whom he dictated his ‘thick-coming fancies,’ he had concentrated his whole powers on afew congenial subjects or periods of history, and resorted to the manual labour of penmanship as a drag-chain on the machine, he might have attained to the highest _ honours of this department of literature. As it is, he has furnished ‘many light, agreeable, and picturesque books—none of questionable’ tendency. Mr. James’s first appearance as an author was made at _ the age of seventeen, when he published some eastern’ tales, entitled _*The String of Pearls.’ In 1822 he published a ‘ History of the Life of Edward the Black Prince.’ In 1825, he struck into that path in ' which he was so indefatigable, and produced his historical romance of ‘ Richelieu,’ a very attractive fiction. In 188(, he issued two ‘romances, ‘Darnley, or the field of the Cloth of Gold,’ and ‘De 'L’Orme.’ Next year he produced ‘Philip Augustus ;’ in 1832, a ‘History of Charlemagne,’ and a tale, ‘Henry Masterton ; in 1832, ‘Mary of Burgundy, or the Revolt of Ghent ; in 1834, ‘The |! ife and Adventures of John Marston Hall;’ in 1885. ‘ One ina Thousand, or the Days of Henri Quatre,’ and ‘The Gipsy, a ‘Pale ; in 1837, ‘Attila,’ a romance, and ‘The Life and Times of Leuis XIV.;’ in -1838, ‘The Huguenot, a Tale of the French Protestants,’ and ‘The Robber ; 1889, ‘Henry of Guise ;’ and other works of fiction of a simi- Jar character. Altogether. the original works of Mr. James extend to one hundred and eighty-nine volumes, and he edited about a dozen “more! ‘There seems,’ says a lively writer, ‘to be no limit to his ingenuity, his faculty of getting up scenes and incidents dilemmas, artifices, contre-temps, battles, skirmishes, disguises, escapes, trials, % E.L. v.7%-8 / 218 __ CYCLOPADIA OF combats, adventures.’ The sameness of the author’s style and characters is, however, too marked to be pleasing. Mr. James was a native of London, born in the year 1801. He early commenced writing tales, encouraged by Washington Irving, and the success of ‘ Kichelieu’ proved an incentive to exertion. During the reign of William IY., the honorary office of Historio- grapher of Great Britain was conferred upon him ; but he afterwards relinquished it, and proceeded with his family to the United States. He was six years (from 1852 to 1858) consul at Richmond, Virginia ; and at the expiration of that period, was appointed consul at Venice, which ofiice he held till his death, June 6, 1860. _ EDWARD, LORD LYTTON. Among our modern authors, the name of Epwarp Lytton BuLWER, afterwards Lorp Lyrron, was long conspicuous. It is half a century since he appeared as an author, and during that time” till his death there was, as Scott said of Byron, ‘no reposing under the shade of his laurels—no living upon the resource of past reputa- tion: his foot was always in the arena, his shield hung always in the lists.’ He is remarkable also as having sought and obtained distinc- tion in almost every department of literature—in poetry, the drama, the historical romance, domestic novel, philosophical essay, and _ political disquisition. Like Cowley, too, he is memorable as having appeared as an author, in a printed volume, in his fifteenth year. This early and indefatigable candidate for literary distinction enjoyed. advantagés in the circumstances of his birth, education, and fortune. He was born in May 1805, the youngest son of General Bulwer of. Haydon Hall and Wood-Dalling, in the county of Norfolk. His. mother, an amiable and accomplished woman, was of the ancient family of Lytton of Knebworth, in Hertfordshire; and on her death. in 1848, the novelist suceeeded to her valuable estate, and took the ~ name .of Lytton.* General Bulwer died in 1807, and the charge of. his three sons fell to his widow, whose care and tenderness have been commemorated by the youngest and most distinguished of her’ children. ‘From your graceful and accomplished taste,’ says the: novelist, in the dedication of his works to his mother, ‘I early. ® His fnll name, like that of his brother-novelist, Mr. James, might serve in point of lencth for a Spanish hidalgo. It was Edward George Earle Lytton Bulwer Lytton. His brother, Sir Henry Lytton Bulwer (in 1871 raised to the peerage a8 Lord Dalling — and Bulwer. and who died in 1872), was a well-known diplomatist, and author of several works—A7 Autumn in Greece» France, Social and Literary ; The Monarchy of % the Middie Classes; a Life of Lord Byron, prefixed to a Paris edition of the poet's works: Historical Characters, Life of Lord Palmerston, &e. Lord Dalling was de~— scribed as ‘the prop and pillar of the Palmerstonian Policy in the East.’ In 1827 Lord ~ Lytton was married to Rosina, daughter of Francis Wheeler, Esq., of Lizzard Con- nel, county of Limerick—an unhappy connection which was soon dissolved. The — lady wrote several novels not deficient in talent. but wild and extravagant. The issue of this marriage was a son and daughter. ~The latter died in 1848; the former, — Edward Robert, now Lord Lyiton, has already been noticed as a poet. Yara = a> - arto], ENGLISH LITERATURE. 29 learned that affection for literature which has exercised so large an - influence over the pursuits of my life ; and you who were my first guide were my earliest critic.’ He is said to have written verses when he was only five or six years old. Tn June 1820, appeared his first volume, ‘fsmael, an Oriental Tale, with other Poems, written between the Age of Thirteen and Fifteen.’ ‘The boyish rhymes are, of course, merely imitative. His next public appearance was as the successful candidate for the prize poem in Cambridge University; he was then a fellow-commoner of Trinity Hall; and in 1825 he carried off the Chancellor's gold medal for the _ best English poem. The subject selected by Bulwer-was Sculpture, 3 ‘and his verses are above the average of prize poems. ‘The long vacation - in his college terms was spent by our author in rambles over England | —_ and Scotland and France. In 1826 he published a volume of miscel- ~ Janeous verse, entitled ‘Weeds and Wild Flowers; and in 1827 a " poetical narrative, called ‘ O’Neill, or the Rebel.’ The latter was in _ the style of Byron’s ‘ Corsair,’ echoing the false sentiment and mor- _ bid feeling of the noble poet, but wanting the poetic ardour, con- densed energy of expression, and graceful picturesqueness which gild, if they do not redeem, the errors of Byron’s style. A love of - poetry, however intense, even when combined with general literary ' talent and devoted study of the art ‘unteachable, untaught,’ will ~ never make a poet; and of this truism Lytton Bulwer was a striking - illustration. He returned again and again to his first love and early ambition, and at times seemed to be on the brink of complete suc- cess; yet, with all his toil and repeated efforts, ke never was able to ~ yeach the summit of the sacred mount. The following is a favour- > able specimen of these poetic aspirations: Py Se ere th ‘Eternal air—and thou; my mother earth, Hallowed by shade and silence—and the birth Of the young moo: (now watching o’er the sleep Of the dim mountains and the dreaming deep): . And by yon star, Heaven’s eldest born—whose light. Calls the first-smile upon the cheek of night; And beams and bodes, like faith beyond the tomb, Life through the calm, and glory through the gloom ; A My mother earth—and ye, her loftier race, Midst whom my soul hath held its dwelling-place ; Rivers, and Rocks, and valleys, and ye shades Which sleep at noonday o’er the haunted glades Made musical by waters aud the breeze, ; All idly dallying with the glowing trees; Aud songs of birds which, ever as they fly. Breathe soul and gladness to the summer sky 3 Ye courts of Nature; where aloof and lone She sits and reigns with darkness for her throne; Mysterious temples of the breathing God, If ’mid your might my earliest steps have trod; If in mine inmost spirit still are stored The wild deep, memories childhood most adored ¢ Tf still amid the drought and waste of years, Ye hold the source of smiles and pangless tears: } 220 see CYCLOPADIA OF fro 18976 : Will ve not yet inspire me ?—for my heart Beats low and languid—and this idle art Wiich J have suimmoned for airidle exd, Forsakes and flies me like a faithless friend. Are all your voices silent? Ihave made | My home as erst amid your thickest shade: Aud even now your sott sir from above Brceathes on my temples like a sister’s love. Ah! could it bring the freshness of the day : When first my young heart lingered o’er its lay, J + - Tain would this wintry soul and frozen string * 1 Recall one wind—one whisper {rom the spring! Tn the same year, 1827, Bulwer published his first novel, ‘ Falkland,’ a highly coloured tale of love and passion, calculated to excite and inflame, and evidently based on admiration of the peculiar genius and seductive errors of Byron. Taking up the style of the fashion- able novels—rendered popular by Theodore Hook, but then on the wane—Bulwer next came forward with ‘ Pelham, or the Adventures _ of a Gentleman,’ 1828. This is a novel full of brilliant and witty writing, sarcastic levity, representations of the manners of the great, piquant remark, and scenes of intrigue -and passion. ~- There was a - want of skill in the construction of the story, for the tragic and satirical parts were not well adjusted; put the picture of a man of fashion—a Charles Surface of the nineteenth century—was attractive, and a second cdition of ‘ Pelham’ was called for in a few mouths. Towards the close of the same year, Bulwer issued another novel, - ‘lhe Disowned,’ intended by the author to contain ‘ scenes of more exciting interest and vivid colouring, thoughts less superficially ex- pressed, passions more energetically called forth, and a more sensible _ and pervading moral tendency.’ This was aiming at a high mark; but the labour was too apparent. The scene of the novel was laid in the last century—the days of Chesterfield, George Selwyn, and Horace Walpole; but it had no peculiar character or appropriate illustration, and consequently did not attain to the popularity of ‘Pelham.’ ‘ Devereux, a Novel,’ 1829, was a more finished perform- ance. ‘The lighter portion,’ said one of the critics in the ‘ Edinburgh Review,’ ‘ does not dispute the field with the deepér and more sombre, but follows gracefully by its side, relieving and heightening it. We _ move, indeed, among the great, but it is the great of other times— names familiar in our mouths—Bolingbroke, Louis, Orleans; amidst manners perhaps as frivolous as those of the day, but which the gen-" tle touch of time has already invested with an antiquarian dignity; > the passions of men, the machinery of great motives and universal feelings, occupy the front; the humours, the affections, the petty | badges of sects and individuals, retire into the shadows of the back- — ground: no undercurrent of persiflage or epicurean inditference checks the flew of that mournful enthusiasm which refreshes its pictures of life with living waters; its eloquent pages seem consecrated to the memory of love, honour, religion, and undeviating faith.’ In 1830 | “\ s we i x

i¥rTon.) == ENGLISH LITERATURE. 221 > 7 , - 5 \. - Bulwer brought out another work of fiction, ‘Paul Clifford,’ the hero being a romantic highwayman, familiar with the haunts of low vice and uissipation, but afterwards transformed and elevated by the influence of love. Parts are ably written, but the general effect of the novel was undoubtedly i:ajurious to the public taste and morals. ‘The author seemed to be sinking into a representative of the artificial, unnatural school—an embodiment of Moore’s sentimentalist— A fine, sallow, subiime sort of Werther faced man, = With inoustaches that gave—what we read of so oft— a _ The dear Corsair exprersion, half-savage, half-soft. _ And with this sickly sentimentalism there was a great deal of prolix Gescription. The love of satire, which had mingled largely in all Bul- » “wer’s works, taoka more definite shape in 1881 in ‘The Siamese ‘Twins,’ a poem satirical of fashion, of travellers, of politicians, London __ notoriety, and various other things, discussed or glanced at in sport- ~ ive or bitter mood, and in verses that tlow easily, and occasionally express vigorous and lively thoughts. . Among the miscellaneous poems that follow ‘The Siamese ‘I'wins,’ is one entitled ‘ Milton,’ which was subsequently corrected and enlarged, and is unquestion- ably Bulwer’s best poetical production. He tried fiction again—the poetical satire having proved a comparative failure—and produced, in 1881, ‘ Eugene Aram,’ a story of English life, founded on the his- _ tory of the clever murderer of that name. This novel was suggested _ to Bulwer, and partly sketched out, by Godwin. The character of the sordid but ingenious Eugene Aram is idealised by the fancy of ~ -the novelist. He is made an enthusiastic student and amiable vision- ary. The humbling part of his crime was, he says, ‘its low calcu- lations, its poor defence, its paltry trickery, its mean hypocrisy: these made his chiefest penance.’ Unconscious that detection was close at hand, Aram is preparing to wed an interesting and noble- ' minded woman, the generous Madeline; and the scenes connected _ with this ill-fated passion possess a strong and tragical interest. ~ ‘Throughout the work are scattered some beautiful moral reflections and descriptions, imbued’ with poetical feeling and expression. -frien?s who forgive munch. who endure long..who exact little; they partake cf the i character of disciples as well us friends. There lingers about the Luan heart a it ry - frong inclination to Jook upward—to revere: in this inclination lies the source of 1e- ligio::. of loyalty, 2nd also of the worship and immortality which are rendcred £0 cheerfi lly to the great of old. And, in truth. it is a divine pleasure to admire! ad- _ ‘Miration seemsinu some mengsure1o appropriate to ourselves the qualities it honours in others. We wed—we root ourselves to the natures we so love to conteimp!ate, and _ their life grows apart of onrown. Thus, when a great man, who has engrossed our _ thonghts, our conjectures, our homage, dies, a gap seems_suddenly left in the world ~~ ae : _ CYCLOPEDIA-OF- --——‘fr0-1876. —a wheel in the mechanism of our own being appears abruptly stilled ; a portion of ourselves, and not our worst portion—for how many pure, high, generous sentiments it contains !—dies with him. . There was strong interest, though a want of simplicity and nature, in ‘Eugene Aram; but Bulwer’s next novel, ‘Godolphin,’ published - anonymously, was in all respects an inferior work. About this time, he undertook the management of the ‘New Monthly Magazine’— _ which had attained a high reputation under the editorship of Camp- bell—and published in that work several essays and criticisms, su} _ ; sequently collected and issued under the title of ‘ The Student.’ le 1833 appeared his ‘England and the English,’ a seri.s of observe: tions on society, literature, the aristocracy, travelling, and other chai acteristics and peculiarities of the English people. Some of these are acute and clever, but many are tinged with prejudice, and a de- sire to appear original and sarcastic. ‘The Pilgrims of the Rhine’ -(1834)—a fanciful and beautifully illustrated work—was Bulwer’s next offering; and it was almost immediately afterwards succeeded @o? by one’ of his best romances, ‘The Last Days of Pompeii.’ This brilliant and interesting classic story was followed by one still more vigorous and masterly, the tale of ‘ Rienzi, the Last of the Tribunes,’ which is the most complete, high-toned, and energetic of al! the author’s romantic fictions. His tendency to minute and prolonged description is, in these works, relieved by the associations connected with hig story, and by historical information, while the reader’s in- terest in the characters and incidents is seldom permitted to flag. Bulwer might then be said to have attained the acme of popularity as an imaginative writer, but he was still to appear as a master of the English domestic novel. ; Ambitious of shining in politics as in literature, our author had obtained a seat in the House of Commons. In 1831 he was returned for the borough of St. Ives, and in the folowing year for the city of — Lincoln, which he continued to represent until the year 1842. - He was a supporter of extreme Reform. principles; and in 1885 he con- ferred a signal favour on his party by a political pamphlet, entitled ‘The Crisis,’ which had almost unexampled success. Lord. Mel- bourne, in return for this powerful support, offered Bulwer an ap- — pomtment in his administration. He declined to accept office; butin 1838 the honour of a baronetcy was conferred upon him. He after- wards greatly modified his political opinions—conscientiously, there is every reason to believe—and in 1852 he was returned as a Con-- servative member for Hertfordshire, the county in which his property —— was situated. His few parliamentary speeches were able and com- prehensive. They evinced little of the partisan or keen debater; but were marked by a thoughtful earnestness, and by large and liberal views of our national interests and dependencies. In politics, he — was still the man of letters—not a political adventurer; and in the — busiest portions of his public life, literature was never neglected, - = 3 : t, ‘ Ping ae 2 My +! (eter ‘ eet ~_————_ ~ tyrron.] - | ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 228 In 1837 appeared Bulwer’s novel of ‘Ernest Maltravers.’ He de- signed this story to illustrate ‘what, though rare in novels, is com- “mon in human life—the affliction of the good, the triumph of the un- principled.’ The character of Maltravers is far from pleasing ; and Alice Darvil is evidently a copy from Byron’s Haidee. Ferrers, the villain of the tale, is also a Byronic creation; and, on the whole, the © ‘violent contrasts and gloomy delineations of this novel render it more akin to the spurious offspring of sentimental romance, than to the family of the genuine English novel. A continuation of this work was given in the following year, under the title of ‘ Alice, or the Mys- teries,’ with no improvement as to literary power or correct moral philosophy, but still containing some fresh and exquisite descriptions, ~ and delightful portraiture. His next work was ‘ Athens,’ partly his- torical and partly philosophical. In the same year (1888) we had ‘Leila, or the Siege of Granada,’ and ‘ Calderon the Courtier ’—light and sketchy productions. Passing over the dramas of Bulwer, we come to ‘ Night and Morning,’ a novel with a clear and simple plot, - and some good characters. Gawtrey, a swindler, is well drawn, and ~ the account of his death affords a specimen of the novelist’s ‘ scenic’ _ style. Gawtrey is the chief of a gang of coiners in Paris; they are detected, and Gawtrey, with his associate Morton, is pursued to the attic in which they live. am ~ Death of Gawtrey the Coiner. = : > : 4 At both doors now were heard the sound of voices. ‘Open, in the king’s name, aS SOF expect no mercy!’ ‘Hist!’ said Gawtrey. ‘One way yet—the window—the ~ rope. er 3 Morton opened the casement—Gawtrey uncoiled the rope. The dawn was break- ing ; it was light in the streets, but all seemed quiet without. The doors reeled and ‘Hark! hark!—are youmad? You keep guard! What. is your strength to mine? ~_ Twenty men shall not move that door, while my weight is against it. Quick, or you - destroy us both! Besides, you will hold the rope for me; it may not be strong ~ enough for my bulk of itself. Stay!—stay one moment. If you escape, and I fall— - Fanny—iny father, he will taketare of her—you remember—thanks! Forgive me aii! Go; that’s right !~ _ With a firm pulse, Morton threw himself on that dreadful bridge; it swnng and _ erackled at his weight. ~ Shifting his grasp rapidly—hoiding his breath—with set _ _teeth—with closed eyes—he moved cn—he gained the parapet—he stood safe-on the opposite side. And, now straining his eyes across, he saw through the open.caxe- ‘ent into the chamber he had just quitted. Gawtrey was still standing against the door to the principal staircase, for that of the two was the weaker and the more 4 assailed. Presently the explosion of a firearm was heard; they had shot through the panel. Gawtrey seemed wounded, for he staggered forward, and uttered a fierce cry: a moment more, and he gained the window—he seized the rope—he hung over

  • You ure saved? cried Morton; when at that moment a volley burst from the - fatal casement—the smoke rolled over both the fugitives—a groan, or rather howl, of rage and despair, and agony, appalled even the hardiest on whose ear it came. Morton sprung to his feet, and looked below. He saw on the rugged stones, far down, a dark, tormless, motionless mass—the strang man of passion and levity—the giant who had played with life and soul, as an infant with tre baubles that it prizes and breaks—was what the Cesar and the leper aike are, when all clay is without God’s breath—what glory, genius, power, and beauty, would be for ever and for ever, if there were no God! This novel of ‘Night and Morning’ was followed by ‘ Day and Night,’ ‘Lights and Shadows,’ ‘Glimmer and Gloom,’ an afiected title toa picturesque and interesting story. ‘Zanoni,’ 1842, is more unconnected in plot and vicious in style than the previous fictions of Bulwer, and possesses no strong or permanent interest. ‘ Eva, the Iil-omened Marriage, and other Tales and Poems,’ 1842, was another attempt of our author to achieve poetical honours, ever present to his imagination, but, like the Mowers on the mountain cliff, Not to be come at by the willing hand. We give, however, from the volume a happy definition: Talent and Genius. Talent convinces—genius but excites 5 This tasks the reason. that the sou] delights. Talent from sober judgment takes its birth, And reconciles the pinion to the earth ; Genius unsettles with desires the mind, Contented not ti}l earth be left behind ; Talent. the sunshine-on a culiured soil. Ripens the fruit by slow degrees for toil. Genius the sudden Iris of the skies. On cloud itself reflects its wondrous dyes? And. to the earth. in tears and giory given, Clasps in its airy arch the pomp of Heaven! Talent gives all that vulgar critics need— From its plain horn-book learn the dull to read 3 Genius, the Pythian of the beantifal, Leaves its large truths a riddle to the dull— From eyes profane a veil the Isis screens, And fools on fools sti}] ask—' What Hamlet means ?? The next Work of our author was ‘The Last of the Barons,’ 1848. 5 ee Phe By fees ~ ¥ re - - “ = ok ee te be ves e - , wet os = ¥ eo wat eet” | . - - "6 ee Tu (hier ~ 5 z i 7 = net " P ¢ 4 = i ake 5 » . ¢ “LYTTON | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 225 and even dreary as a story, this romance, viewed as a whole, is a Ms <4 powerful and great work. in 1844 the novelist appeared as a trans- later: he gave to the world a version of Schiller’s poems—executed carefully, as all Bulwer’s works are, and occasionally with poctic spirit and felicity. He then ventured on an original poetic work, “The New Timon,’ a poem partly satirical and partly narrative, which he issued anonymously, the first part appearing at Christmas, 1845, and three others being subsequently added. ‘'Limon”’ is a ro- mance of London, exhibiting, on the groundwork of an improbable plot, sketches of the leading public men and authors of the metro- polis—culogising some, vituperating others, and dealing about praise “and censure with a degree of rashness, levity, and bad taste almost inconceivable in so practised a writer and so accomplished a man. Among those whom he assailed, both in verse and prose, was Alfred Tennyson, who was designated ‘School Miss Alfred,’ and the po- etry of the laureate—so highly original, refined, and suggestive— was classed among The jingling medley of purloined conceits, Out-babyiug Wordsworth and out-glittering Keats. ‘That the satirist was unable to appreciate the works of Wordsworth, Keats, or Tennyson, is incredible. We must impute this escapade to a desire to say smart and severe things, as Pope and Byron had said before him, and to try his artistic hand in a line of authorship sure to attrict attention. The disruise of the ‘New Timon’ was seen through, and-‘ Miss Alfred’ is believed to have rebuked the audacity of the assailant in a very masculine reply.* But whatever were his affectations or blunders, Bulwer persevered, and he at last wrought out works worthy of hisfame. His next novel, however, Was nota happy effort. ‘ Lucretia, or the Children of Night,’ was written to exhibit some of the workings of the arch-ruler of civilisa- tion, Money, ‘which ruins virtues in the spendthrift, no less than * We know him, out of Shakspeare’s art, And those fine curses which he spoke— The Old ‘fimon with his noble heart, ‘That strongly loathing, greatly broke. ° So died the Old; here comes the New: Regard him—a familiar face ; ig I thought we knew him. What! it’s you. The padded man that wears the stays ; Who killed the girls and thrilled the boys With dandy pathos when you wrote: O Lion, you that made a noise, * And shook a name en papillotes.... But men of long-enduring hopes, _ And careless what the hour may bring, Can pardon little would-be Popes And Bruinmels when they try to sting. An artist, sir, should rest in art, And waive a little of his claim: To have the great poetic heart Is mere than all poetic fame... - What profits now to understand The merits of a spotless shirt— A dapper boot—a little hand— If half the little soul is dirt? A Timon you! Nay, nay. for shame $' It looks too arrogant. a jest— That fierce old man—to take hi: name, _ You bandbox! Off, and Jet him rest. Punch, 1846, ‘ > er » SS ATS 2. ee aes - ero Ay SF So eM — . Mier oF jf a = ~ : a = . as Pe ~ pes sears A 5 - a - FS ek - , < 926 | CYCLOPEDIA OF | ~_ [to 1876, engenders vices in the miser.’ The subject is treated in a melo- dramatic style, with much morbid sentiment and unnecessary horrors ; and the public condemnation of the tale was so emphatic, that Sir Edward (who was tremblingly alive to criticism on his works) deemed it necessary to reply in ‘A Word to the Public.” In this pamphlet the novelist sought to vindicate the moral tendency of his tales, and to defend the introduction. of crime and terror in works of fiction. His reasoning was just in the abstract, but had no - particular reference to the story in question, which was defective as | a work of art; and, notwithstanding his defence, Sir Edward, in a subsequent edition, modified some of the incidents and details. As_a.contrast to ‘ Lucretia,’ he next presented the public with a_ tale of English domestic life, ‘The Caxtons, a Family Picture,’ which appeared in monthly parts in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ and in 1849 was collected and issued in the usual three-volume form, Free from all mysticism and terror, and abounding in humour, quaint ~ fancies and delineation of character, this work was highly success- ful. The characters were modelled upon the creations of Sterne— jie head of the family being a simple, learned, absent recluse, who speculates like Mr. Shandy ; while his brother the half-pay captain, his son Pisistratus—the historian of the family—his gentle, affection- ate wife, and the eccentric family doctor, are ail more or less copies from the elder novelist, retaining much of his genial spirit, whim, and satire, but with none of his grossness. While this work was in- progress, delighting the readers of the magazine, its untiring author issued another historical romance, ‘ Harold, the Last of the Saxon Kings,’ a story of love and war, of Gothic and Celtic superstitions and character, presenting much animated description, though some- what overlaid with archeological details. _ The same year (1848), alternating, as before, poetical with prose fiction, and again assuming the anonymous guise, Sir Edward came forward with the first part of a metrical romance, ‘King Arthur, by the Author of the New Timon.’ The concluding portion was pub- lished.early in 1849, and with it the name of the author was given, A serio-comic legendary poem in twelve books was a bold experi- ment. Sir Edward had bestowed on the work much thought and Jabour. It exhibits a great amount of research, of curious mytho- Jogical and Scandinavian lore, and of ingenious allusions to modern events and characters, mixed up with allegorical and romantic inci- flents. We have the wandering king sent out by Merlin in quest of chivalrous adventures, guided by his emblematic silver dove (love), and protected by his magic sword (heroic patriotism) and by his sil- ver shield (freedom). He vanquishes, of course, all enemies, and ~ _ ranges through all regions, having also his ladye-love, Aigle, a fair maid of Etruria. But with all its variety, its ingenuity, and learned lore, ‘King Arthur’ is found to be tedious. Thecharm of human interest is wanting, and the vivifying soul of poetry which lightens + ~ Sua © Sipe a” a ee SS eo Sate sy neon . tyTTon.] —- © ENGULISH° LITERATURE. 227 -. up the-allegories of Spenser and Ariosto is absent from the pages of _ their modern imitator. he blending of satire and comic scenes with romantic fable, though sanctioned by the example of Ariosto, was also a perilous attempt; and we cannot say that the covert de- _ scriptions of Louis-Philippe, Guizot, or the Parisian February revo- _. lution, are either very just or very effective. Here is the portrait of the French minister: 7 With brow deject, the mournful Vandal took Pe Occasion prompt to leave his royal guest, ” And sought a friend who served him, as a book ~ _ Read in our illness, in our health dismissed ; Yor seldom did the Vandal condescend To that poor drudge which monarchs call a friend. ; And yet Astutio was a man of worth Sp. Before the brain had reasoned out the heart; = But now he Jearned to look upon the earth 2 As peddling hucksters look upon the mart ;' 3%. Took souls for wares, and conscience for a till; =a And damned his fame to save his master’s will. E Much lore he had in men, and states, and things, " s And kept his memory mapped in prim precision, ' = * : With histories, laws, and pedigrees of kings, And moral saws which ran through each division, All neatly colored with appropriate hue— The histories black, the morals heavenly blue! e s } sits actioned 7 But state-craft, mainly, was his pride and boast; : The ‘ golden medium’ was his guiding star, ae Which means, ‘move on until you ’re uppermost, And then things can’t be better than they are!’ ty Brief, in two rules, he summed the ends of man— ‘Keep all you have, and try for all you can!’ _ was performed at Devonshire House, m aid of the Guild of Litera- - ture and Art—an institution for decayed and destitute authors and artists, projected by Charles Dickens and others, but which proved a failure. The Queen and Prince Consort were present at this dra- _ matic representation, and among the amateur performers were Dick- ens, Forster, R. H. Horne, Mark Lemon, and Frank Stone. - The later works of this eminent author fulfilled the promise of healthtul moral feeling, and the more complete mastery of his intel- lectual resources, indicated in the family picture of the Caxtons. ‘My Novel, or Varieties of English Life,’ 1853, and ‘ What will He Do with It? 1858, are genuine English stories, uniting the charac- teristics of town and country life, and presenting the contrasts of tational character. His country squires and clergymen are perhaps tvo good, and his manufacturers and borough Radicals too coarse - aad vulgar. He views society too exclusively from the atmosphere _of-Admack’s and May Fair. -He is also more apt. to describe his characters-than~to develop: them ‘in ‘action -and. dialogue; and _ his . Es: ~_ In 1851 Bulwer wrote a comedy, ‘ Not so Bad as we Seem,’ which = $ CES ae: ti +, Nera t ’ ‘ “a t Ny Pe a sie as ls rye - aN le ¥ . 228 CYCLOPADIA OF ~ [ro 1876. ~ digressions, though always ingenious, even when they are pedantic and egotistic, are sometinies misplaced. These are his most promi-- ment defects or drawbacks. But there is so much variety in his por- traits, so much to delight the fancy and exercise the understanding, that it is on these Hnelish tales, as we conceive, that the novelist’s. fame will ultimately rest. His .‘ Caxtoniana,’ a series of essays (1863) and contributions to the Reviews, are also worthy of his repu-— tation. In the course of his long career he exhibited an amazing versatility of intellect and noble perseverance. He worked himself! free of the pruriency and affectations of his early manner, and dis- played the matured powers of the artist, with deeper and broader ~ sympathies, and a wiser philosophy of human life. In 1853 Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer received from the university _ of Oxford the degree of D. C. L.; in 1856 he was elected Rector of / the university of Glascow; and in 1858 he joined the administration of the Earl of Derby as Secretary for Colonial Affairs Iu 1:66 he - was elevated to the pee'age as Baron Lytton. His literary industry was never relaxed. He successfully. produced ‘The Lost Tales of Miletus,’ a collection of. ancient. legends in original rhythmical_ strophes (1866) ; a translation of ‘‘ Horace’s Odes* (1865) ; ‘ Walpole, or Every Man has his Price,’ a rhyming comedy (1869); and ‘The Coming Race’ (1870)... The last is a narrative of imaginary travels ; it was published anonymously, and.excited much attention and specu- lation, running rapidly through ‘several editions. In this curious work Lord Lytton seems to have been indebted for some hints to a Latin work by Holberg, the Danish poet, ‘ Nicolia Kliminii Iter Sub-, terranean,’ of which a translation is given in Weber’s Popular Ro- mances. Both profess to be the narrative of an underground jour- ney, the countries that are the scene of the travels being alike situa-_ ted in the interior of the earth. In 1872-8, a novel, ‘ The Parisians,’ appeared in monthly parts in ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine ; and Lord Lytton had just completed another work, ‘Kenelm Chillingly,’ when his busy career terminated. He was seized with a severe pain—a terrible agony—from inflammation in the ear and head, which in three days proved fatal. He died at Torquay on the 18th of January. 1573, and was interred in Westminster Abbey. The sudden death of Lord Lytton was much regretted, He was at the head of our litera- ture, with the single exception of Mr. Carlyle ; his works were popu- Jar over all Europe, and his fertility and industry seemed unabated. His son, the present Lord Lytton, has, with a just pride, said of his father: ‘Whether as an author, standing apart from all literary cliques and coteries, or as a politician, never wholly subject to the — exclusive dictation of any political party, he always thought and acted in sympathy with every popular aspiration for the political, Social, and intellectual improvement of the whole national life.’* .* Prefatory Memoir to Speeches of Edward, Lord Lytton, 1874, ee ~ ee ta As 4yttox.] +-ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 229 e “Lord Lytton left an. unfinished romance, ‘Pausanias, the Spartan,’ which was published (edited by his son) in 1876. Imagination on Canvas and tn Books. __ It is when we compare works of imagination in writing with works of imagina ’ tion on the canvas, that we can best form a critica! idea of the different schoo's _ which exist in each; for common both to the author and the painter ure those styies — which we call the fa: iliar, the picturesque, and the intellectual. By recurring to this comparison, we can without much difficulty classify works of fiction in their a proper order, and estimate the rank they should severally hold, ‘The inte!lectau will _ probably never be the most widely popular for the moment. He who prefers to study ~ inthis school, must be prepared for much depreciation, for its. greatest excellences, even if he achieve them, are not the most obvious to the many. In discussing, for a - instance, a modern work, we hear it praised, perhaps, for some striking passage, some prominent character; but when do we ever hear any comment on its harimouy Of coustruction, on its‘fitness of design, on its ideal character, on its essentials—in — short, asa work of art?» What we hear most valued in a picture. we often find the most - neglected in 2 book—namely, the composition ; and tnis, simply, because in England _ painting is recognised as‘an art, aud estinated according to definite theories. But in literature, we judge froma taste never formed—from a thousand prejudices and _ ignorant predilections. We do not yet comprehend that the author isan artist. and ge: . 1 4 Sess A that the true rules of art by which he should be tested are precise and immutable. * Hence the singular and fantast.c caprices of the popular opinion—its exaggerations _ Of. praise or ceusure—its passion aud reaction. These violent fluc uations betray + ~ botha public and a criticism utterly unschooled in the clenentary principles of lit- 3 erary art. and entitle the hu:nblest author to dispute the c.usure ef the hour, while _ ther ought to render the greatest suspicious of its praise. It is, then, in conformity, not with any presumptuous conviction of his own supe: s riority. but with his common experience 2nd common fense. that every author who ~. addresses an English audience in serious carnest: is permitted to feel that his final __ Sentence rests not with the jury before which he is first he rd. The literary history Pon veut ~ of the day consists of a series of jud ments set aside. 4 But this nnce'tainty must more essentially betide every student. however lowly, - in the school I have called the intellectual, which must ever be more or less at variance with the popnlar canons; it is its hard necessity to use and disturb the lazy _ quietude of vulgar taste, for unless it did so. it could neither elevate nor move. He ~ who resigns the Dutch art for the Italian. must continue through the dark to explore os 4 the principles upon which he founds his design—to which he adapts his execution ; ~ in hove or in despondence, still faithful to the theory which cares less for the amount of intere t created. than for the sotirces from which the interest is to be drawn—seeking in action the movement of the pronder passions or the subtler - springs of conduct—seeking im repose the colouring of intellectual beauty. The low and the high of art are not very readily comprehended ; they depend not npon the worldly degree or the physical condition of the characters delineated ; they _ depend entirely upon the quality of the emotion which the characters are intended to excite: namely, whether of sympathy for something low, or of admiration for some- _ thing high. There is nothing high ina boor’s head by Teniers—there is nothing low jin a boor’s head by Guido. What makes the difference between the two? The 9 absence or presence of the ideal! But every one can judge of the merit of the a oF ern =) first. for it is of the familiar schoo!; it requires a connodijsscur to see the merit of the A> ___ las:, for it is of the intellectual. : Power and Genius—Idols of Imagination.—From ‘The Last of the ag Barons.’ _ The father and child seated themselves on the pavapet..and saw. below, the ery and numerous vessels that @ided over the sparkling river. while the dark walls f ~ Bavnard’s Castle. the adjoining bulwark and battlements of Montfichet. and the t: 1 __watch-tower of*Warwick’s mighty mansion, frowned, in the distance, against the _ boft blue sky. = tei aS iar dies Sie ig ~~ nal he hy, ee 930 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~ ————- Fro. 1896, ‘There,’ gaid Adam quietly, and pointing to the feudal roofs—‘ there seems to rise power ; and yonder’ (glancing to the river)— * yonder seems to flow genius! A cen-- tury or so hence the walls shall vanish, but the river shall roll on. “Man makes the castle and founds the power—God forms,the river, and creates the genius. And yet, Sybill, there may be streams.as broad and stately as yonder Thames, that flow afar in the waste, never seen, never heard by man. What profits the river unmarked? what the genius never to be known?’ acai = It was not a common thing with Adam Warner to be thus eloquent. Usually silent and absorbed, it was not his gift to moralise or declaim. His soul must be deeply moved before the profound and buried sentiment within it could escape into words, Sybill pressed her father’s hand, and though her own heart was very heavy, she forced her lips to smile, and her voice to soothe. Adam interrupted her. : iz 2 ‘Child, child, ye women know not what presses darkest and most bitterly on the minds of men. You know not what it is to form out of immaterial things some ab=_ stract but glorious object—to worship—to serve it—to sacrifice to it. as.on an altar, youth, health, hope, life—and suddenly, in old age, to see that the idol was a phan- tom, a mockery, a shadow laughing us to scorn, because we have sought to clasp it.’ _‘*O yes, father, women have known that illusion.’ { * What! do they study ?’ “No, father, but they feel!” ‘Feel! I comprehend thee not.’ is 3 ‘AS man’s genius to him, is woman’s heart to her,’ answered Sybill, her dark and deep eyes suffused with tears. ‘Doth not the heart create—invent? Doth it not dream? Doth it not form its idol out of air? Goeth it not forth into the future to rophesy to itself? And, sooner or later, in age or youth, doth it not wake itself at ast, and see how it hath wasted its all on follies? Yes, father, my heart can answer, when thy genius would complain.’ ae WILLIAM HARRISON AINSWORTH. Mr. W. Harrison Atnswortn, son of a solicitor in Manchester, “was born in 1805. He has written several novels and: romances, partly founded on English history and manners. His first novel, “Sir John Chiverton,’ appeared in 1825. His next work, ‘ Rook- wood,’ 1834, is a very animated narrative, in which the adventures of Turpin the highwayman are graphically related, and some of the vulgar superstitions of the last century coloured .with a tinge of romance. In the interest and rapidity of his scenes and adventures, Mr. Ainsworth evinced a dramatic power and art, but no originality or felicity of humour or character. His romance, ‘ Crichton,’ 1836, is founded on the marvellous history of the Scottish cavalier, but is scarcely equal to the first. He has since written ‘Jack Sheppard’ (1839),-a sort of Newgate romance, ‘The Tower of London,’ ‘Guy Fawkes,’ ‘Old St. Paul’s,’ ‘ Windsor Castle,’ ‘ The Lancashire Witches,’ ‘The Star Chamber,’ ‘The Flitch of Bacon,’ * The Spend- thrift,’ &c. There are rich, copious and brilliant descriptions in ~ some of these works, hut their tendency must be reprobated. To portray scenes of low successful villainy, and to paint ghastly and hideous details of human suffering, can be no elevating task for a man of genius, nor one likely to promote among noyel-readers. a healthy tone of moral feeling or sentiment. The story of ‘Jack Sheppard,’ illustrated by the pencil of Cruikshank, had immense -guccess, and was dramatised. i, Ye a = “DISRAELT. | -.\ ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 281 | BENJAMIN DISRAELI. , ' The Rigut Hon, Bensamrn DisRaest, son of Mr. Isaac D’Israeli, . author of the ‘Curiosities of Literature,’ was born in London, De- _ cember 21, 1804. He-was privately educated; and placed in a solicitor’s office, in order to give him some knowledge of business. _ His inclination, however, was for literature, not law, and in 1826 he _ appeared as an author, publishing ‘ Vivian Grey,’ a novel, in two volumes. 2 ~ oF _ where it fails to apply its influence, may involve usin fatal mistakes, _ A literary man who is a man of action is a two-edged weapon; nor - should it be forgotten that Caius Julius and Frederick the Great '. were both eminently literary characters, and yet were perhaps the - twomost distinguished men of action of ancient and modern times.’ ' Before the novelist had succeeded in realizing this rare combination, he continued his literary labours. In 1839 he produced:a tragedy, ' *Alcaros,’ which is alike deficient in poetic power and artistic skill. In 1844 and 1845 he was successful with two semi-political novels, _ ‘Coningsby, or the New Generation,’ and ‘Sybil, or the Two Na- B.! tions.’ The former was a daring attempt to portray the public men - of his own times—to delineate the excesses of the Marquis ot Hert- ford, the subserviency and Irish assurance of Mr. John Wilson Cro- ker (Rigby), the tuft-hunting and dissipation of Theodore Hook, ‘and _ the political influence and social life of men like the Duke of Rut- ~ Jand and Lord Lonsdale. 'The lower class of trading politicians and _ supple subordinates was well drawn in the trio Messrs. Earwig, Tad- ~ pole and ‘i’aper; while the doctrines of ‘Young England’ were -€X- _ emplified in the hero Coningsby (the Hon. Mr. Smythe), in Sidonia Mt, the Jew (obviously Mr. Disraeli himself) and in the various dialogues - and episodes scattered throughout the work. Pictures of high life ~ and fashionable frivolities vary the gravcr scenes, and defects in our _ domestic institutions and arrangements are commented upon in the -. author’s pointed and epigrammatic style: ‘These opinions of the ‘new Mee ee ee 3 generation’ are often false in sentiment and utterly impracticable— : ~ such as the proposed revival of May-games and other rustic sports, _- with profuse hospitality on the part of land-owners—while the his- torical retrospects of public affairs and English rulers are glaringly - partial and unjust. ‘The same defects characterise ‘Sybil,’ but with ' less interest in the narrative portions of the work. Jt is, indeed, — more strictly a collection of political:essays and conversations than a - novel. One peculiarity in these works, and one which has become _ characteristic of .Mr. Disraeli, is his chivalrous defense of the Jews. -- Touched by hereditary associations and poctic fancy, he places the ‘ Hebrew race above all others. But even in their day of power the Jews yielded to various conquerors, and their depressed political + condition cannot but be regarded as a proof of their inferiority. _ . The next flight of our author was towards the East. ‘Tancred, or " the New Crusade,’ 1847, is extravagant and absurd in its whole con- ~s ~ 234 CYCLOPADIA OF ception and plot, yet contains some gorgeous descriptions of oriental lifé*and scenery. The hero, Tancred; a young English nobleman, = bro 1876. desires to ‘penetrate the great Asian mystery,’ and travels over the — Holy Land, encountering perils and adventures; he fights, loves, and meditates; but in the end, when the reader expects to be able to ‘pluck the heart out of this great mystery,’ the English father and mother appear in Jerusalem, and bear off the érrant and enthusiastic crusader. With this second ‘ wild and wondrous tale’ Mr. Disraeli’s career as a novelist closed for a quarter of a century. He was now iminersed in politics and conspicuous as a debater. : When Sir Robert Peel avowed and acted upon his conversion to the principles of free-trade, he was assailed, night after night, by Mr. Disraeli in speeches memorable for their bitterness, their concen- trated sarcasm, and studied invective. No minister since Walpole had been so incessantly and perseveringly attacked. He denounced Sir Robert- Peel as the head of an ‘organised hypocrisy,’ and as a- politician who had ‘found the Whigs bathing, and stolen their clothes.’ The Opposition at this time was led by Lord George Ben- tinck; and when the chief was cut off by a sudden and premature -death, Mr. Disraeli commemorated his services in a volume entitled ‘Lord George Bentinek, a political Biography,’ 1851. A few months after this period, the Earl of Derby was called upon to form a Con- servative administration, and Mr. Disraeli was made Chancellor of the Exehequer. He retired with his party after about nine months. possession of office; but when Lord Derby returned again to power in 1858, Mr. Disraeli resumed his former important appointment... In 1859, the defeat of the administration again led to his retirement. In February, 1868, he attained the highest parliamentary distinction —he was appointed first Lord of the Treasury or Premier. This Office he held till December of the same year, when the Conserva- tive administration was supplanted by that of Mr. Gladstone. In 1870 Mr. Disraeli astonished the world by appearing again as a no- velist . one which has had the greatest circulation. In 1874 Mr. Disraeli Wes once more restored to his high office of First Minister of the Crown, and in 1876 he was called to the House of Lords as Earl of - Beaconsfield. é The Principle of Utility. ‘Tu this country,’ said Sidonia, ‘since the peace, there has been an attempt to ad- author of ‘ Lothair,’ the weakest of all his novels, yet the vocate a reconstruction of society on a purely rational basis. The principle of utility has been powerfully developed. I speak not with lightness of the labours of the dis- ciples of that school. I bow to intellect in every form; and we should be grateful to any school of philosophers, even if we disagree with them; doubly grateful in this country, where for so long a period our statesmen were in so pitiable an arrear of public intelligence. There has been an attempt to reconstruct society on a basis of material motives and calculations. It has failed. It must ultimately have failed under any circumstances: its failure in an ancient and densely peopled kingdom was ~ inevitable. How limited is human reason, the profoundest inquirers are most con- scious. We are not indebted to the reason of man for any of the great achievements aa 3 = Rie _° Et ; e = oe : ~ pIsRAELt.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 235 _ which are the landmarks of human action and human progress. It was not reason / that besieged Troy; it was not reason that sent forth the Saracen from the desert to * conquer the world; that inspired the Crusades; that instituted the monastic orders; _ it was not reason that produced the Jesuits; above all, it was not reason that created the French Revolution. Man is only truly great when he acts from the passions; ever irresistible but when he appeals to the imagination. Even Mormon counts more votaries than Bentham.’ . ‘ And you think, then, that as imagination once sub- _ dued the state, imagination may now save it?’ ‘Man is made to adore and to obey ; . but if you will not command him—if you give him nothing to worship—he will fash- jon his own divinities, and find a chieftain in his own passions.’ ‘ But where can we find faith in a nation of sectaries? Who can feel loyalty to a sovereign of Downing - §treet?’ ‘I speak of the eternal principles of human nature; you answer me with the passing accidents of the hour. Sects rise and sects disappear. Where are the » Fifth-monarchy men? England is governed by Downing Street: once it was gov- -~ erned by Alfred and Elizabeth.’ * - Jerusalem.—From ‘ Tancred. - The broad moon lingers on the summit of Mount Olivet. but its beam has Jong * left the garden of Gethsemane and the tomh of Absalom, the waters of Kedron and _ the dark abyssof Jehoshaphat. Full falls its splendour, however, on the opposite city, vivid and defined in its silver blaze. A lofty wall, with turrets and towers and frequent gates, undulates with the unequal ground which it covers, as it encircles the Jost capital of Jebtovah. Itis acity of hills far more famous than those of Rome; - for all Europe has heard of Sion and of Calvary, while the Arab and the Assyrian, > -and the tribes and nations beyond, are asignorant of the Capitolan and Aventine _ Mounts as they are of the Malvern or the Chiltern Hills. é The broad steep of Sion crowned with the tower of David; nearer. still, Mount - Moriah, with the gorgeous temple of the God of Abraham, but built, alas! by the _ child of Hagar, and not by Sarah’s chosen one; close to its cedars and its cypresses, its lofty spires and airy arches, the moonlight falls upon Bethesda’s pool; further on, entered by the-gate of St. Stephen, the eye, though ’tis the noon of night, traces with ease the Street of Grief, a long winding ascent to a vast cupolaed pile that now covers Calvary—called the Street of Grief, because there the most illustrious of the human, as well as of the Hebrew race, the descendant of King David, and the divine son of the most favoured of women, twice sank under that burden of suffering and shame . Which is now throughout all Christendom the emblem of triumph and of honour ; passing over groups and masses of houses built of stone, with terraced roofs, or sur- mounted with small domes, we reach the hill of Salem, where Melchisedek built his mystic citadel; and still remains the hill of Scopas, where Titus gazed upon Jerusa- ~ lem on the eve of his final assault. Titus destroyed the temple. ‘The religion of Ju- - dea has in turn subverted the fanes which were raised to his father and to himself in ___ their imperial capital; and the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Jacob is now wor- ' shipped before every altar in Rome. as Jerusalem by moonlight! ’Tis a fine spectacle, apart.from all its indissoluble .. associations of awe and beauty. The mitigating hour softens the austerity of a ~ mountain landscape magnificent in outline, however harsh and severe in detail; and, while it retains al! its sublimity, removes much of the savage sternness of the strange and unrivalled scene. A fortified city, almost surrounded by ravines, and rising in the centre of chains of far-spreading hills, occasionally offering, through their rocky -. gilens, the gleams of a distant and richer land ! > Tbe moon has sunk behind the Mount of Olives, and the stars in the darker sky shine doubly bright over the sacred city. ‘The all-pervading stillness is broken by a _ ~ breeze, that seems to have travelled over the plain of Sharon from the sea. It wails among the tombs, and sighs among the cypress groves. The palm-tree trembles as it passes. as if it were a spirit of woe. Is it the breeze that has travelled over the plain of Sharon from the sea? 4 Or is it the haunting voice of prophets mourning over the city that they could not - save? Their spirits surely Sond: linger on the ant where their Creator had deigned __~ to dweil, and over whose impending faith Omnipotence had shed human tears. From ~ ~- this mount! .Who-can but believe that; at-the-midnight-hour; from the summit-ef _ the Ascension, the great departed of Israel assemble to gaze upon the battlements of m~ ay Yr ’ ca Ue ee ar tae et eee - 236 CYCLOPZEDEA. OF a —- Fro.1876. their mystic city! There might be counted heroes and sages, who need shrink from ~ nO rivalry with the brightest and the wisesr of otherlands; but the lawgiver ofthe time — of the Pharaohs, whose !aws are still obeyed; the mouarch, whose reign has ceased ~ for three thousand years, but whose wisdom is a proverb in all nations of the earth; ~ the teacher, whos: doctrines have modeled civilised Hurope—the greatest of levisla- tors, the greatest of. adininistrators, and the greatest of reftormers—what race, extinct or living, can produce three such mien as these! The last light is extinguished in the village of Bethany. The wailing breeze nas _ become a moaning wind; a white film spreads over the purple sky} the stars are — veiled, the stars are hid; all becomes as durk as the waters Of Kedron and the valley of Jehoshaphat. ‘lhe tower of Dav.d merges into obscurity; no longer glitter the minarets of the mosque of Omar; Bethesd’s angelic waters, the gate of Stephen, | the street of sacred sorrow, the hill of salem, and the heights of Scopas, csn no louger be discerned. Alone in the increasing darkness, while the very line of the — walls gradually eludes theeye, the church of the Lioly Sepulchre is a beacon light. And why is the church of the Holy Sepuichre a beacon light? Why, when it is® already past the noon of darkness, when every soul slumbers in Jerusalem, and not a sound disturbs the deep repose execpt the howl of the wild dog crying to the wilder wind—why is the cupola of the sanctuary illumined, though the hour has Jong since been numbered. when pilgrims there kneel and monks pray 2? Anarmed Turkish guard are bivonacked in the court of the church: within the church itselr, two bretnren of the couvent of terra Santa keep holy watch end ward:- while, at the tomb beneath, there kneels a solitary youth, who prostrated himself at _ sunset, and who will there pass unmoved the whole of the sacred night. Yet the pilgrim is not in communion with the Latin Church; neither is he of the Church Armeiian, or the Church Greek; Maronite, Coptic, or Abyssinian—these al-o are Christian churches which caunot cali him child. : He comes trom a distant and auorthern isle to bow before the tomb of 2 descend ant of the kings of Israel, becuuse he, in common with all the peop!e of that isle,_ recognises in that sublime Hebrew incarnation the presence of a Divine Redeemer. Then why does he come alone? It is not that he has availed himself of ihe inven- tions of modern science, to repair first to a spot, which dl his countrymen may equally desire to visit. aud thus anticipate their hurrying arrival. _Betore the inven- tions of modern science, all his countrymen used to flock hither. Then why do they not now? Is the Holy Land no longer hallowed? Is it not the land of sacred ond mys- .__ terious truths? ‘fhe land of heavenly messages and earthly miracles ?- ‘The land of prophets and apostles? Is it not the land upon whose mountains the Creator of the Jniverse parleyed w.tlt man, and the flesh of whose anointed race He mystically as- sumed, when He struck the last blow at the powers of evil? Is it to be believed that there are no peculiar and eternal qualities in a land thus visited, which distinguish it from all others—that Palestime is like Normandy.or Yorkshire, or even Attica or Rome? There may be some who maintain this; there have been some, and those, too, among the wisest and the witiiest of the northern and western races, who. touched by a presumptuous jealousy of the long predominance of that oriental intellect to which they owed their civilisation, would have persuaded themselves and the world that the traditions of Sinai and Calvary were fables. Half a century ago, Europe made a violent and apparently successful effort to disembarrass itself of its Asian faith. ‘he most powerful and the most civilised of its kingdoms, about to conquer. the rest, shut up its churches, desecrated its altars, massacred and persecuted their _ sacred servants, and announced that the Hebrew creeds which Simon Peter brought from Palestine, and which his successors revealed to Clovis, were a mockeryand a fiction. What has been the result? In every city. town, village, aud hamlet of that great kingdom, the divine image of the most illustrious of Hebrews has been again raised amid the homage of ‘kneeling millions: while, in the heart of its bright and “witty capital, the nation has erected the most gorgeous of modern temples. and con-. secrated its marble and golden walls to the name, and memory, and celestial cflicacy of a Hebrew woman. : Par The country of which the solitary pilgrim, kneeling at this moment at the Holy — Sepulchre, was a native, had not actively shared in that insurrection against the first _ and second Testament which distinguished the end of the eighteenth century. But — DISRAELT.) ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 937 more than six hundred years before. it had sent its king, and the flower of its peers and people, to rescue Jerusalem from those whom tucy considered infidels! and ~ now, in-tead of tue third crusade, they expend their superiluous cuergies in the con- + struction of railroads. Phe failure of tue European kingdom of Jerusalem, on which such vast treasure, ~ guch prodigies of valour, aud such ardent belief had seen wasted, has been oue of - those circumstances winch have tended to disturb the taith of Kurope, altuough it should have czrried convictions of a very diiferent character. ‘he Crusaders looked upon the Saracens as intidels, whereas tae children of the Desert bore a much nearer ‘aflinity to the sacred corpse that had, for a brief space, consecrated the Holy Sepul- chre. than any of the invading host of Europe. ‘The same blood flowed in their ~ veins, and they recognised the divine missons both of Moses and of his greater suc- cessor. In au age so deticient in physiological learning as the twelfth century, the mysteries of race were unknown. Jerusalem, if cannot be doubted, will ever remain the appan ige either of Israel or of Ishmavl; and it, in the course of those great vicis- situdes which are no doubt impending for the East, there be any atiempt to place upon the throne of David « priuce of the House of Coburg or Deuxponts, the saine fate will doubtiess await bim, as, with all their brilliant qualities and ail the sympathy of Europe, was the final doom of the Godfreys, the Baldwins, aud the Lusignans, The Hebrew Race.—From ‘Coningsby.’ You never obs2rve a great intellectual movement in Exrope iu which the Jews do not greatly participate. The first Jesuits were Jews: that mysterions Russian di- ppeacy which so alarms Western Europ: is organised and principally carried on by ews; that mighty revolution whichis at this moment preparing in G rmauy. aud which will -be, in fact, a second and greater Reformation, and of which so little is as yet known in England, is entirely developing under the anspices of Jews, who al- ' most monopodlise the professorial chairs of Germany. Neander. the founder of spiritual Chistianity, and who is Regius Professor of Divinity in the University of Berlin, is a Jew. Benary, equally ‘famous, and in the same university, is a Jew. ’ Wehl, the Arabic professor of Heidelberg, is a Jew. Years ago. when T was in Palestine. I met a German student who was accumulating materials for the His- _ toryof Christianity, and studying the genius of the place; a modest and learned man. It was Wehbl; then unknown, since become the first Arabic scholar of _ the day, and the author of the Life of Mohimmed. But for the German professors or ee. Wa © ‘ 1, ‘ * y} 4 i Se it - rule to interpose when affairs of state were on thecarpet. Otherwise I never inter- x ; 2 i ous. A few years back we were applied to by Russia. Now tiere has been no friend- _ ship between the court of St. Petersburg and my family. It has Dutch connections _ consult the president of the French council; I beheld the son of a French Jew, a russian minister, who attended a few days after our conference. entered the cabinet, aud I beheld a Prussian Jew. So you see, my dear Com [ro 1876 -208 CYCLOPADIA OF. ~ ingsby, the world is governed by very different personages to what-is imagined by — those who are not behmd the scenes. Favoured by nature and by nature’s God, we prox — duced the lyre of David; we gave you Isaiah and Ezekiel; they are our Olynthians, our Phillipics. Favoured by nature we still remain; but in exact proportion as we ~ have been favored by nature we have been persecuted by man. After a thousand © struggles—after acts of heroic courage that Rome has never equalled—deeds of divine | patrotism that Athens, and Sparta, and Carthage have never excelled—we have en- dured fifteen hundred years of supernatural slavery ; during which every device that can degrade or destroy man has been the destiny that we have sustained and baffled, The Hebrew child has entered adolescence only to learn that he was the pariah of that ungrateful Europe that owes to him the best part of its laws, a fine portion of its lit« — erature, all its religion. Great poets require a public; we have been content with — the immortal melodies that we sung more than two thousand years ago by the waters — of Babylon, and wept. ‘They record our triumphs; they solace our affliction. Great orators are the creatures of popular assemblies ; we were permitted only by stealth — to meet even in our temples. And as for great-writers, the catalogue is not blank. What are all the schoolmer, Aquinas himself, to Maimonides? And as for modern- philosophy, all springs from Spinoza! . But the passionate and creative genius that is the. nearest link to divinity, and which no human tyrant can destroy, though it can divert it—that should have stirred the hearts of nations by its inspired sympathy, or governed senates by its burning elogquence—has found a medium for its expres- sion, to which, in spite of your prejudices and your evil passions, you have been obliged to bow. ‘rhe ear, the voice, the fancy teeming with combinations—the imag- ination fervent with picture and emotion, that came from Caucasus, and which we. have preserved unpolluted—have endowed us with almost the exclusive privilege of — music; that science of harmonious sounds which the ancients recognised as most — divine, and deified in the person of their most beautiful creation. I speak not of the past ; though were I to enter into the history of the lords of melody, you would find ~ it the annals of Hebrew genius. But at this moment even, musical Europe is ours. ~ There is not a company of singers, not an orchestra in a single capital, that is not crowded with our children, under the feigned names which they adopt to conciliate the dark aversion which your posterity will some day disclaim with shame and dis- rust. Almost every great composer, skilled musician, almost every voice that ray- ishes you with its transporting strains, springs from our tribes. ‘The catalogue is — too vast to enumerate ; too illustrious to dwell for a moment on secondary names, — however eminent. Enough for us that the three great creative minds, to whose ex- quisite inventions all nations at this moment yield—Rossini, Meyerbeer, Mendelssohn — —are of Hebrew race; ind little do your men of fashion, your ‘*‘ Muscadins” of Paris, and your dandies of London, as they thrill into raptures at the notes of a Pasta — or a Grisi, little do they suspect that they are offering homage to the sweet singers of Israel.’ = Ta ¢ Pictures of Swiss Scenery and of the City of Venice. It was in Switzerland that I first felt how constantly to contemplate sublime creation develops the poetic power. Jt was here that I first began to study nature. Those forests of black gigantic pines rising out of the deep snows; those tall white cataracts. leaping like headstrong youth into the world, and dashing from their preci- pices as if allured by the beautiful delusion of their own rainbow mist; those mighty clouds sailing beneath my feet, or clinging to the bosoms of the dark green’mountains, or boiling up like a spell from the invisible and wmfathomable depths; the fell ava- — lanche, fleet as a spirit of evil, terrific when its sound suddenly breaks upon the almighty silence, scarcely less terrible when we gaze upon its crumbling and pallid frame, varied only by the presence of one or two blasted firs; the head cf a mountain — loosenmg from its brother peak, rooting up, in the roar of its rapid rush, a whole forest of pines, and covering the earth for miles with elephantine masses; the super- - natural extent of landscape that opens tous new worlds; the strong eagles and the © strange wild birds that suddenly cross you in your path, and stare, and shrieking fly ~ —and all the soft sights of joy and loveliness that mingle with these sublime and savage spectacles, the rich pastures’and the numerous fiocks, and the golden bees — and the wild-flowers, and the carved and painted cottages, and the simple manners’ and the primeval grage—wherever I moved, Iwas in tura-appalled.or enchanted;- but — as » ‘ - ~ 2 ¥ ’ ~ Ud ~~ a 5 4 s ENGLISH LITERATURE. soe 280 ee — ps “whatever I beheld, new images ever sprang up in my mind, and: new feelings ever crowded on my fancy. . . . If I were to assign the particular quality which conduces to that dreamy and voluptuous existence which men of high imagination experience in Venice, I should describe it as the feeling of abstraction, which is remarkable in that city, and pecu- liar to it. Venice is the only city which can yield the magical delights of solituce. “Ali is still and silent.. No rude sound disturbs your reveries; faucy, therefore, is ay put to flight. No rude sound distracts your self-consciousness. This renders existence intense. We feel everything. And we fee] thus keenly in a city not only eminently beautiful, not only abounding in wonderful crc ations of art, but each step of which is hallowed ground, quick with associalions. that in their more various nature, their nearer relation to ourselves, and perhaps their more picturesque charac- . =ter, exercisesa greater influence over the imagination than the more antique stary of » Greece and Roine. We feel all this in a city too, which, although her lustre be indeed ~ dimnted, can still count among her daughters maidens faircr than the o1ient pearls - with which her warriors once loved to deck them. Poetry, Tradition, and Love— these are the Graces that Lave invested with an ever chalming cestus this Aphrodite of cities, S, =: ‘SAMUEL WARREN. - In vivid painting of the passions, and depicting scenes of modern life, the tales of Mr. SAamvEL WARREN (born in Denbighshire in 1607) _ enjoyed on their appearance a high degree of popularity. His ‘ Pass- ages from the Diary of a Late Physician,’ two volumes, 1887, contain “Many touching and beautiful stories. His ‘Ten ‘Ihousand a Year’ _ 1841), though in some parts ridiculously exaggerated, and liable to the suspicion of being a satire upon the middle classes, is also an _ amusing and able novel. ‘lhe same remark applies to his third work of fiction, ‘ Now and Then’ (1847). After the Great Exhibition of 1851, Mr. Warren published a slight work, ‘The Lily and the Bee,’ eavbich was almost inconceivably puerile and absurd. In 1854 he pro- _ ~duced a work on the ‘Moral and Intellectual Development of the * Age.’ He has contributed various articles to ‘Blackwood’s Maga- zine,’ and has written several professional works, besides editing -‘Blackstone’s Commentaries.’ In 1859 Mr. Warren was appointed one of the two Masters in Lunacy. tees ee . a MRS. BRAY. ' Mrs. Anna ExizaA Bray has written several novels, and other ‘works, descriptive and biographical. A native of Devonshire, this - lady became in 1818 the wife of Mr. Charles Stothard, author of ‘The Monumental Effigies of Great Britain; and on the premature death of Mr. Stothard, his widow published Memoirs of his life. She was afterwards married to the Rev. Mr. Bray, vicar of Tavistock. The novels of Mrs. Bray are—‘ De Foix, or Sketches of Manners and Cus- “toms of the Fourteenth Century,’ 1826; ‘The White Hoods,’ 1€28; ‘The Protestant,’ 1829; ‘Fitz of Fitzford;’ ‘Henry de Pomeroy;’ _‘Talba, or the Moor of Portugal;’ ‘Trelawney of Trelawney ;’ ‘ Trials Bot Domestic Life;’ &c. Mrs. Bray has also published ‘ Traditions and ‘Sketches of Devonshire’ (being a series of letters addressed to fouthey ‘the poet); ‘Tours in Normandy and Switzerland;’ and a ‘Life of srioumis Stothard, -R.-A., 1851. In 1844 a collected edition of Mrs. " 3a a aoe 240 - CYCLOPHEDIA OF ——-——s«&r0. 18476, - Bray’s works of fiction was published in ten volumes, She has since _ added several works—‘Life of Handel,’ 1857; ‘The Good St. Louis’ and his Times;’ ‘ Hartland Forest,’ 1871; &c. | si THOMAS CROFTON CROKER. is Mr. Croker (1798-1854) was one of the most industrious and ~ tasteful collectors of the legendary lore, the poetical traditions, and antiquities of Ireland. He was a native of Cork—a city famous also as the birthplace of Maginn, Maclise. and Mahony (Father Prout). ~ In 1824 appeared Mr. Croker’s ‘Researches in the South of Ireland,’ in 1825, the first portion of his ‘Fairy Legends and Traditions of the — South of Ireland,’ to which two additional volumes were added in © 1827. His other works are—‘ Legends of the Lakes, or Sayings and — Doings at Killarney,’ two volumes, 1828; ‘Daniel O’Rourke, or ~ Rhymes of a Pantomime founded on that Story,’ 1829; ‘ Barney Ma- honey,’ 1832; ‘My Village versus Our Village,’ 1232; ‘ Popular Songs of Ireland,’ 1839; ‘Historical Songs of Jreland,’ 1841; &c. Mr,. Croker edited various works illustrative of the history of his country. ” He held the office of clerk in the Admiralty, to which he had been appointed through the influence of his countryman and namesake, John Wilson Croker. The tales of ‘ Barney Mahoney ’-and ‘ My Vil- lage’ are Mr. Crofton Croker’s only strictly original works. Neither~ is of the first class. Miss Mitford, in ‘Our Village,’ may have occa-. sionally dressed or represented her village en raudeville, like the back- ~ scene of a theatre, but Mr. Croker in ‘ My Village’ errson the oppo- site side. He gives us a series of Dutch paintings, too little relieved — by imagination or passion to excite or gratify the curiosity of the reader. He is happiest among the fanciful legends of his native country, treasuring up their romantic features, quoting fragments of — song, describing a lake or ruin, hitting off a dialogue or merry jest, and chronicling the peculiarities of his countrymen in their humours, © their superstitions, and rustic simplicity. The following is related by-one of his characters: se | The Last of the Irish Serpents. Sure everybody has heard tell of the blessed St Patrick, and how he druve the sarpints and all manner of venomous things out of Ireland; how he ‘bothered al! — the varmint’ entirely. But for all that. there was one ould sarpint left who was too. cunning to be talked out of the country. or made to drown himself. St Patrick” didn’t well know how to manage this fellow. who was doing great havoc; till atlong ~ last he bethought himself and got a strong iron chest made with nine bhoults upon it. So one fine morning he takes a walk to where the sarpint used to keep: and the sar- yint, who didnt like the saint in the least, and small blame to him for that, began to_ giss and shew his teeth at him like anything. ‘Oh. says St. Patrick. says he, ‘where’s the use of making such a piece of work abont a .entleman like myself coming to see you? ’Tis a nice house I have got made for you agin the winter: for I’m going to civilise the whole country. man and beast.’ says he, and you can come and look at it whenever you please, and ’tis myself will be glad to see you.’ The sar~ pint, hearing such smooth words, thought that though St. Patrick had druve all the rest of the sarpints into the sen. he meant no harm to himself; so the sarpint walkg fair and easy up to see him and the house he was speaking about. But when the sar- 2 . oe a ee) ew Gar Ce ~ are sk tans 7 eee 7 +>.” : Pate Net ages ee) Fo 25 Fas “A re Ty Ca, ; RY = ‘ 4 . 2 Ge - croker.] ..-«- ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 244 int saw the nine boults upon the chest he thought he was sould (betrayed), and was “formaking off with himseif as fast as ever he could. ?fis a nice warm house. you’ ‘see,’ says St, Patrick. ‘and ’tis a good friend Tanto you.’ *I thank “you kindly, St. 'Paizrick for vour civility.’ says the sarpint; -but I thin: it’s too smali it is fcur-ime? SmMmeanive it for an cxcuse, ind away he was going. *Too sinali!’ says St. Patrick’: = *stop, if you picase,’ says he; *von ‘re out in tual, my dyy, anyhow—L om sure ’till.- Pht you conipletely ;and Vil tellycu what.’ says be,* Vi! bet you aga lon of porier,’ says he. ~thait it youw’il only iry and get in they'll be plenty of room for you’ ‘he sarpint sAwas aS thirsty as could be with his walk :*and ’twus great joy to bin the thougits -ofdoing St Pairick out of the gation: of porier; so, swelling himsele up as big as he © could, in he got to the chest, all but a litle. bit of his tau: ‘1here, now,’ says hie 3 > *!l’ve won the gallon, for you see the house is 100 sniall ior me. for I can’t- get in my - wail’? When what does St. Patrick do, but he comes behind the great licavy iid of tae ehest, and, putting his two hands to it, down he slaps it with a bang like thuuder. _-When the rogue of a sarpint saw the lid coming down, in went his t:dl like a shot, forfear of be.ng whipped off him, and St. Patrick began at once to boult the nine - iron boults: ‘Oh, murder! won’t you let me out, St. Patrick?’ says the sarpint; - *}’ve lost the bet fairly, aud Tl pay you the gallon like aman.’ ‘Let you out, my - darling? says St. Patrick; ‘to be sure I will, by all manner of means; but you see I haven’t time now, so you must wait till to-morrow.’ And so he took the iron _ chest, with the sarpint in it, and pitches it into the luke here, where it is to this hour for certain; and ‘tis the sarpiut struggling down at the bottom that makes the waves upon it. Meny is the living man (continued P.cket) besides myself has heard the _ gsurpint, crying out from within the chest under the water: ‘Is it to-morrow yet ?— “is it. to-morrow yet?’ which, to be sure, it never can be. And t.at’s the way St. Pa- trick settled the lust of the sarpints, sir. im, r CHARLES DICKENS. _ Few authors succeed in achieving so brilliant a reputation as that - which was secured by Mr. CHarves Dickens in a few years. The 3 sale of his works has been almost unexampled, and several of them have been translated into various languages, including even the _ Dutch and Russian. Writings so universally popular must appeal to " passions and tastes common to mankind in every country, and at the Piame time must possess originality, novelty of style or subject, and 4 force of delineation. Mr. Dickens was born February 7, 1812, at a Landport, in Portsea, in that middle rank of English life, within and _ below which his svmpathies,and powers as a novelist were bounded. ’ His father was a clerk in the N avy Pay Office, and was then stationed s in the Portsmouth Dockyard. He was a good-natured thriftless man; : but both he and his wife lived to enjoy the prosperity of their cele- brated son. Charles was the second in a family of ‘eight children, _ two of whom diéd in infancy, and only one of whom (a sister) sur- _ Vived her distinguished brother. When only two years old, Charles ‘was brought with his parents to London; but their home was soon _ afterwards again changed, as the elder Dickens was placed upon duty inChatham. There Charles lived till he was about nine years of ave, _ and made his first acquaintance with ‘Don Quixote’ and ‘The Vicar of Wakefield,” with ‘Gil Blas,’ ‘Roderick Random,’ ‘ Peregrine - Pickle, ‘Humphrey Clinker,’ ‘Tom Jones,’ ‘The Arabian N ights,’ and ‘Tales of the Genii,’ some of the essayists, and Mrs. Inchhbald’s _ Collection of farces, The dramatic spirit was always strong in him. ‘The family was again moved to London; and the circumstances of ion a a9 CYCLOP.EDIA OF — - ___ fro 1876. the elder Dickens getting embarrassed, he was before long imprisoned | in the Marshalsea for debt. Almost everything in the house was by — degrees sold or pawned, the books among other.things, and little Charles was the agent.in these sorrowful transactions. About the * same time a relative of the family took a-share in a blacking ware- house, which was. started in opposition to ‘ Warren's Blacking.’ Charles, then a weakly, sensitive child, was sent to work in this cs- tablishment at a wage of six or seven shillings a week, his occupation’ being to cover the blacking- pots with paper. 4 Ina fragment of autobiography which he left unpublished, Charles describes his wretchednes at this time. It does not appear that he was over-wrought or received unkind treatment, but a sense — of degradation settled on his mind, his lively imagination intensified — the misery of his situation, and he suffered bitterly while suffering in silence. He was only eleven or twelve years old when he left— this uncongenial employment. Writing about a quarter of a century afterwards, he says: ‘ From that hour till this my father and — my mother have been stricken dumb upon it. I have never heard the least allusion to it, however far off and remote, from either of | them. I have never, until I now impart it to this paper, inany burst ~ of confidence with any one, my own wife not excepted, raised the — curtain which I then dropped, thank God.’ -He adds that he never _ had the courage to go back to the place where his servitude began — (about Hungerford Stairs) until the very nature of the ground was * changed! The bitterness with which Dickens speaks of this portion — of his life, and of the seeming neglect of his parents, appears rather ~ the reflection of what he felt in after -life, in the midst of his success than what he experienced at the time. It reminds us of. Swift's | recollection of what he deemed the sordid parsimony and neglect of | his uncle, on whose protection he was thrown. In both cases there was.an unhealthy morbid feeling. The,affairs of the elder Dickens — : afterwards improved a little, and Charles was put to school. When — about fifteen he was placed in an attorney’s office among the in- ferior grade of young clerks. Having probably small prospect of advancement there, he took to the study of short-hand, Redueted the British Museum, and read diligently. é Pray, Mr. Dickens,’ said a friend one day to the young student’s father, ‘where was your son — educated?’ ‘Why, indeed, sir—ha! ha!—he may be said to” have educated himself,’ In ‘Pickwick, *Mr. Weller speaks in a similar ~ strain about his hopeful son Sam: *I took a good deal o’ pains wit his eddication,. sir; let him run in the streets when he was wery — young, and shift for his-self,’ Charles got to practice asa reporter — in the law -courts, his father having also taken to it in 9'd of the ~ family resour ces, | _ At the age of nineteen the persevering youth made his way into the . Gallery of the House of Commons, first as areporter for the “True Sun,” and afterwards for the ‘Morning Chronicle.’ At this ectploy eat 2 a a i EE RSs a Se ; Tn Ae Y: ee _ ; : Peat ‘PICKENS] ENGLISH ‘LITERATURE. 243 - was acknowledged as the best. The situation was one calculated to sharpen his faculties and store his mind with miscellaneous informa- tion. Parliamentary reporting is more of a mental than mechanical Jabour. To the power of wr iting rapidly, there must be joined quick- ness of apprehension, judgment - to select and condense, and a degree _ of imagination, ready sympathy, or dramatic talent which identifies _ the reporter with the speaker, and enables him to render his meaning _ faithfully and vividly. The difficulty is, to find the mechanical art 3 combined with the intellectual qualifications ; but these Dicken® pos- a sessed in perfection. The Reporters’ Gallery was a good field of dis- _ cipline and observation for the future novelist, and out of it, in his long unemployed forenoons, he had the range of the world of London - —its oddities, humours, streets and houses—which he made his _ favourite study. One day he ventured to drop a story he had written : into the letter-box of the ‘Old Monthly Magazine;’ it appeared in all - the glory of print; and the young author followed it up with other sketches, signed ‘ Boz,’ which appeared in that magazine and in the ~ ‘Byening Chronicle.’ In consideration of the ‘Chronicle’ sketches, = his salary was raised from five to seven guineas a week. ; The year 1836 was a memorable one in Dickens’s career. In that 4 year he collected into two volumes the first series of ‘Sketches by Boz,’ x for the copyright of which he received £150,and which was repurchased next year for £2000! On 3ist March he commenced the ‘ Pickwick ; Papers,’ the foundation of hisfame. On the 2d of April he was _ married to Catharine, eldest daughter of Mr. George Hogarth, one of his fellow-workers on the ‘Chronicle.’ In August he closed his con- necticn with the Reporters’ Gallery, trusting henceforth to literature - asa profession ; and in the same month he agreed to edit ‘ Bentley’s aad (which was to be started in the following January), and to _ contribute to ita serial story; and before the year was out he had _ written two dramatic pieces—‘The Strange Gentleman,’ a farce, acted “in September, and ‘The Village Coquettes,’ an opera, performed i in December 1836. ‘Pickwick’ was commenced with illustrations by - acomic draughtsman named Seymour ; but between the first and second number, the artist, in some moment. of despondency, com- f mitted suicide. Another artist, Mr. Hablot Browne, was procured, "and continued the illustrations under the name of ‘ Phiz.’ Boz and _ Phiz, after the first four or five numbers, became the rage of the ‘town. The sale before the close of the work had risen to 40,000 ! Though defective in plan and arrangement, as Dickens himself ad- » mits—in fact, originally intended as only a representation of a club of oddities—the characters, incidents, and dialogues in this new F. series of sketches were irresistibly ludicrous and attractive. Criticism - was lost in laughter. The hero, Pickwick, is almost as genial, un- 80 histicated, and original as My Uncle Toby; while his man, Sam Veller, and Sam’s father, Mr, Weller, senior, were types of low life oe distinguished himself: out of eighty or aivety reporters he a ee: as 4 ‘2 - Bad. CYCLOPEDIA OF, ~~. ae 1876. new to fiction. They were caricatures, as every Suet saw ; but so many curious traits of character were depicted, with such overflow-_ ing, broad, kindly humour, felicities of phrase and slang expression, and such a mass of comic incidents and details, that the effect of the whole was to place Dickens at one bound at the head of all his con- — temporary novelists. . The pictorial accompaniments aided greatly in the success of the work, What Boz conceived and described, Phiz represented with truth, spirit, and individuality. The intimate acquaintance evinced in ‘ Pickwick’ with the middle and low life of London, and of the tricks and knavery of legal and medical pretenders, the arts of bookmakers, and generally of particular classes and usages common to large cities, was a novelty in our literature. Jt was a restoration © of the spirit of Hogarth adapted to the times in which the story appeared, ‘So much cant,’ as one of Dickens’s critics remarks, ‘had - been in fashion about the wisdom of our ancestors, the clorious constitution, the wise balance of King, Lords, and_ Commons, and - other such topics, which are embalmed in the ‘ Noodle’s Oration, that a large class of people were ready to hail with intense satisfaction the advent of a writer who naturally, and without an effort, bantered ~ everything in the world, from elections and law-courts, down to Cockney sportsmen, the boots at an inn, cooks and chambermaids.’ In the midst of the brilliant success of ‘Pickwick’ a personal sorrow occurred, which illustrates the keen sensibility of the novelist. His wife’s younger sister, Mary, who lived with them, and had made herself ‘the ideal of his ‘life,’ died with a terrible suddenness that completely bore him down. The publication of * Pickwick’ was interrupted for two months, the effort of writing it not being possible ~ to him.* This Mary appears to have been the original of his Agnes _ in ‘ David Copperfield,’ in which novel he embodied much of his — own early carecr and experiences. While ‘ Pickwick’ was in progress, ‘Oliver Twist’ was in course- of publication in ‘Bentley’s Miscellany.” It is a story of outlaw English life—of vice, wretchedness, and misery. The hero is an or ph an brought up by the parish, and thrown among scenes and — characters of the lowest and worst description. That he should not, under such training. have become utterly callous and debased, is ‘an: improbability which the author does not well get over; but the Inter- ~ est of the story is admirably sustained. The ch aracter of the ruffian — Sikes, and the detail of his: atrocities, particularly his murder of the e'rl Nancy, are brought out with extraordinary effect. The deserip-— tive passages evince that close obseby alton and skilful management, ot detail in which Di ckens never fails, except when. he attempts — ” Pot: afer’ Life of Di ftir’ The Spits yn ofthis. young lady written by Dick-. ens, cana upon agravestone in the c: emetery at Kensal Green: * Young, beauti-— ful, and good, God in His mercy numbered her among His angels at the en age of c seventeen.’ ee: “abe i *’ s 7 - L <5 = a Boas S Pa ee Ss KENS. ] - ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 945 _ scenes in high life, or is led to carry his humour or pathos into the _ regionof caricature. Take, for example, the following account of a _ Scene of death witnessed by Oliver while acting in the capacity of. attendant to an undertaker: Sa Death and Funeral of a Pauper. ~ __ There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the open door where Oliver and his ~ master stopped ; so. groping his way cantiously throngh the dark passage, and Dbid- ~ ding Oliver keep close to him. and not be ufraid. the undertaker mounted to the top _ of the first flight of stairs,.and, stumbling against a door on the landing, rapped at it with his knuckles. - _ It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or fourteen. The undertaker at once — gaw guns) of what the room contained to know it was the apartment to which he _ had been directed. He stepped in. and Oliver fol:owed him. _ _- There was no fire in the room; but a man was crouching mechanically over the - empty stove. An old woman. too, had drawn a low stool to the cold hearth, and _ Was sitting beside him. ‘There were some ragged children in another corner; and _ inn smail recess opposit» the door. there Jay upon the ground something covered _ with an old blanket. — Oliver shuddered as he cast his eyes towards the place, and » Crept involuntarily closer to.his master ; for, though-it was covered up, the boy felt that it was a corpse.’ The man’s f:ce was thin and very pale; his hair- and beard were grizz!y, end his _ eyes were bloodshot. ‘Ibe old woman’s face was wrinkled, her two remaining teeth _ protruded over her upper lip. and her eyes were bright and piercing. Oliver was _ afraid to look at cither her or the man; they seemeu so like the rats he had scen Outside, — é é -* ‘Nobody shall go near her.’ said the mam, starting fiercely up as the undertaker approached the recess. * Keep back !—keep back, if yon ’ve a life to lose!’ _ — ‘Nonsense, my good men.’ said. the undertaker, who was pretty well used to __ misery in all its shapes— nonsense!’ a ; ~~ §T tell yon,’ said the man, clenching his hands and stamping furiously on the floor ~ —T tell you I won’t have her put into the ground. ‘She cou:dn’t rest there. The ~ worms would worry—not eat her—she is so worn away.’ ~ ‘rhe undertaker offered no reply to this raving, but producing a tape from his __ pocket, kne!t down for a moment by the side of the body. —_ ~ ©Ah!’ said the man, bursting into tears, and sinking on his knees at the feet of _ the dead woman ;.‘ kneel down, kneel down ; knee! round her, every one of you, and mark my words. I say she starved to death. I never knew how bad she was till the _ fever came upon her. and then her bones were starting through the skin. There was ey % - faces, though we heard her gasping out their names. I begged for her in the streets, * and they sent me to prison. When I came hack she was dying ; and all the blood in és my heart has dried up, fer they starved her to death.. I swear it before the God that saw jit—thcy starved her!’ He twined his hands in his hair, and with aloud scream _ roll-d grovelling upon the floor, his eves fixed, and the foam gushing from his lips. “The terrified children cried bitterly ;°but the old woman, who had hitherto re- Mained as quiet as if she had been wholly deaf to all that passed, menaced them into silence; and hay ng unloosened the man’s cravat, who still remained extended on the 3 ground, totiered towards the undertaker. ~ j ; — *She was my danehter,’ said the old woman, nodding her head in the direction_of the corpse, and speaking with an idictic leer more ghastly than even the presence of © ‘deathitself. ‘Lord, Lord! well, it 7s strange that I who gave birth to her, and was a » woman then, should be alive and merry now, and she lying there so cold and stiff! — Lord, Lord !—to think of it; it’s as good as a pay, ag good asa play ! ' = As the wretched creature mumbled and chuck!ed in her hidests merriment, the undertiktr tunel to go away. ; = ‘ a - *Stop. stop!’ ssid the old woman ina loud whisper. ‘ Will she be buried to- morrow. or next day, or to-ni¢ght? I laid her out, and IT mu-t walk, you know. Send me a larve cloak; a good warm one. for it it is-bitter cold. . We should have _ cake and wine, too, before we go! Never mind: send some bread; only a loaf of ” - neither fire nor candle; she died in the dark! She conldn’t even see her children’s — + Sp te ES Sy eee Seer Sar See one 3 . 3 a ‘ eae see ies See's . cake 4 3AG ~ CYCLOPADIA OF ca to 3676. bread and’a cup of water. Shall we have some bread, dear 2?’ she said eagerly, catch- _ ing at the undertaker’s coat as he ouce more moved towards the door. 34 32 ‘Yes, yes,’ said the undertaker ; ‘of course; anything, everything.’ _ He diser- gaged himself from the old woman's grasp, and dragging Oliver after him, hurrieds away. ee he next day—the family having been meanwhile relieved*with a half-quartern | loaf and a piece of cheese, left with them by Mr. Bumble himself—Oliver and his master returned to the miserable abode, where Mr. Bunible had already arrived, ac- companied by four men from the workhouse who were to act as bearers. An old. black cloak had been thrown over the rags of the old woman and the man; the bare coffin having been screwed down, was then hoisted on the shoulders of the bearers, and carried down-stairs into the street. ; ‘Now, you must put your best leg foremost, old lady,’ whis ered Sowerberry in the old woman’s ear; ‘we are rather late, and it won’t do to keep the clergyman waiting.—Move on, my men—as quick as-you like.’ Thus directed. the bearers trotted -on under their light burden, and the two mourn- ers kept as near them as they could. Mr. Bumble and Sowerberry walked at a good ~ smart pace in front: and Oliver, whose legs were not so long as his master’s, ran by the side. ¥ There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as Mr. Sowerberry had antici- pated, however; for when they reached the obscure corner of the churchyard in which the nettles grew and the parish graves were made, the clergyman had not ar- rived, and the ae who was sitting by the vestry-room fire, seemed to think it by no means improbable that it might be an hour or so before he came. So they set the bier down on the brink of the grave; and the two mourners waited patiently in the damp clay, with a cold rain drizzling down, while the ragged boys whom the specta- cle had attracted into the churchyard played a noisy game at hide-and-seek among - the tombstones, or varied their amusements by jumping backwards and forwards — over the coffin. Mr. Sowerberry and Bumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat by the fire with him and read the paper. = At length. after the lapse of something more than an hour, Mr. Bumble and Sow- erberry, and the clerk were seen running towards the grave; -and immediately after- wards the clergyman appedred, putting on his surplice as he came along. Mr. Bum- ble then thrashed a boy or two, to keep up appearances; and the reyerend gentleman, having read as much of the burial-service as could be compressed into four minutes, — gave his surplice to the clerk,:and ran away again. ‘ Now, Bill,’ said Sowerberry to the grave-digger, ‘fill up.’ It was no very difficult task, for the grave was so full that the uppermost coffin was within a few feet of the surface. The grave-digger shovelled in the earth, stamped it loosely down with his feet, shouldered his spade, and walked off, fol- lowed by the boys, who murmured very loud complaints at the fun being over so soon. ‘Come, my good fellow,’ said Bumble, tapping the man on the back; ‘they want © to shut up the yard.’ . ; : ce ‘he man, who had never once moved since he had taken his station by the grave-~ side, started, raised his head, stared at the person who had addressed him, walked forward for a few paces, and then fell down in a fit. The crazy old woman was too much occupied in bewailing the loss of her cloak—which the undertaker had taken ~ off—to pay him any attention; so they threw a can of cold water over him, and when he came to, saw him safely out of the churchyard, locked the gate, and departed on their different ways. ‘Well, Oliver,’ said Sowerberry, as they walked home, ‘how do you like it??” ‘ Pretty well, thank you, sir,’ replied Oliver with considerable hesitation. ‘ Not very much, sir.’ ‘Ah! you'll get used to it in time, Oliver,’ said Sowerberry. ‘Nothing, when you are used to it, my boy.’ ‘ Oliver wondered in his own mind whether it had taken a very long time to get Mr. Sowerberry used to it; but he thought it better not to ask the question, and — walked back to the shop, thinking over ail he had seen and heard. he Dickeng’s next work, ‘Nicholas Nickleby,’ was also published in monthly numbers, 1838-39, and was no less extensively read. The f - _ plan of this work is more regular and connected than that _ of ‘Pickwick,’ and the interest of the narrative is well sus- _ tained. The pedagogue Squeers, and his seminary of Dotheboys _ Hall, is one of the most amusing and graphic of English satirical _ delineations; and the picture it presents of imposture, ignorance, - €atured. The exposure was a public benefit. The ludicrous account _ of Mr. Crummies and his theatrical company will occur to tae reader - as another of Dickens’s happiest conceptions, though it is pushed _ into the region of farce. In several of our author’s works there appears a minute knowledge of dramatic rules and stage affairs. _ He took great interest and pleasure in the business of the drama, _ As an amateur comedian—in which he occasionally appeared for ' tasters of the stage, such as Charles Lamb loved to see and write _ hoyelist may be traced to this predilection. To paint strongly to the eye, and produce striking contrasts of a pathetic or grotesque de- _ &eription—to exaggerate individual oddities and traits of character, _ as marking individuals or classes—are almost inseparable from dra- - Matic representation. Dickens was soon independent of all criticism. _ Hewas arecognized master of English fiction, and critics and readers _ alike looked forward with anxiety to each successive appearance of __ the popular novelist. In 1840, he commenced a new literary project, _ entitled ‘Master Humphrey’s Clock,’ designed, like the ‘Tales of My _ Landlord,’ to comprise different tales under one general title, and - joined by one connecting narrative. The outline was by no means _ prepossessing; but as soon as the reader had got through this exterior - scaffolding, and entered on the first story, ‘The Old Curiosity Shop,’ _ there was no lack of interest. The effects of gambling are depicted with great force. _ _ There is something very striking in the conception of the helpless _ old gamester, tottering upon the verge of the grave, and at that period which sustains them, still- maddened with that terrible infatuation, _ which seems to shoot up stronger and stronger as every other desire and energy dies away. Little Nell, the grandchild, is a beautiful creation of pure-mindedness and innocence, yet with those habits of - pensive reflection, and that firmness and energy of mind, which misfor- _ tune will often ingraft on the otherwise buoyant and unthinking spirit . of childhood; and the contrast between her and her grandfather, now * dwindled in every respect but the one into a second childhood, and - comforted, directed, and sustained by her. unshrinking firmness and love, is very finely managed. The death of Nell isthe most pathetic and touching of the author’s serious passages—it is also instructive in its pathos, for we feel with the author, that.‘ when Death strikes _ down the innocent and young, for cyery fragile form from which he - a and brutal cupidity, is known to have been little, if at all, cari-~ benevolent objects—he is described as having been equal to the old ~ _ about; and doubtless some of his defects as well as excellencies as a - when most of our-other passions are as much worn out as the frame - ‘ pe: be é a ~~ 248 CYCLOPEDIAOF — ~—_— [ro 1876 lets the panting spirit free, a hundred virtues rise, in shapes of mercy, charity, aud love, to waik the world and blessit. Of every tear that sorrowing mertals shed on such green graves, some good is born, some gentier nature comes. In the destroyer’s steps there spring up | bright creatio.s that defy his power, and his dark path becomes a way of light to heaven.’ ‘Lhe horrors of the almost. hopeless want - which tco often prevails in the great manutacturing towns, and the wild and reckless despair which.it engenders, are descr.bed with equal mastery of colouring and effect. ‘ihe account of the wretch whese whoie life had been spent in watching day and night a furnace, until he imagined it to be a living being, and its roaring the voice of the only friend he had ever known, although grotesque, has something in it very terrible: we may smile at the wildness, yet shudder at the horror of the fancy. A second story, ‘Barnaby Rudge,’ .is included in ‘Master Humphrey’s Clock,’ and this also contains some excellent minute painting, a variety of broad humour and laughable carica-- ture, with some masterly scenes of passion and description. ‘The ac? count of the excesses committed during Lord George Gordon’s riots in 1780 may vie with Scott’s narrative of the Porteous Mob; and poor Barnaby Rudge with his raven may be considered as no un- worthy companion to Davie Gellatley. There is also a picture of an old English inn, the Maypole, near Epping Forest, and an old inn- keeper, John Willet, which is perfect in its kind—such, perhaps, as-— only Dickens could have painted, though Washington Irving might. - have made the first.etching.. .Of the success of this work and of its author, we have a passing glimpse in one of Lord Jefifrey’s letters, dated May 4, 1841: ‘I have seen a good deal of Charles Dickens, with whom I have struck up what I mean to be an eternal and inti- mate friendship. I often sit an hour feze-q-tete or take a long walk in — the park with him—the only way really to know or be known by | either man or woman. ‘Taken in this way, I think him very amiable and agreeable. .In mixed company, where heis now much sought after as a lion, he is rather reserved, &c. He has dined here, and me with him, at rather too sumptuous a dinner fora man with a — family, and only beginning to be rich, though selling 44,000 copies of his weekly [monthly] issues.’ * ae . In 1841 Dickens was entertained to a great public dinner in Edin- — burgh, Professor Wilson in the chair; after which he made a tour in — the Highlands, visiting Glencoe and ncighbouring scenery—‘ tre- — mendous wilds, really fearful in their grandeur and amazing solitude.’ ~ Next year he made a trip to America, of which he published an ~ account in 1842, under the somewhat quainttitle of ‘ American Notes. — for General Circulation,’ This work disappointed the author’s ad- ~ a ————$___- -— SS eee * Life of Lord Jeffrey, vol. ii, p 338. In fact 60.000 copies of Master Humphrey — were printed at. first. and many thousands afterwards. Jeffrey’s letters shew the affectionate interest which the then aged critic took in the fame and prosperity of the — young novelist. i i | ‘ eh... x ed i Ae ee % ; — DICKENS.] - ENGLISH LITERATURE 249 - mirers, who may be considered as forming nearly the whole of the - reading public. The field had already been well gleaned, the Ameri- ean character and institutions frequently described and generally un- derstood, and Dickens could not hope to add to our knowledge on ) any of the great top cs connected with the condition or future desti- » nies of the New World. His descriptive passages (as that on the Falls of Niagara) are often overdone. ‘The newspaper press he de- > scribes as corrupt and debased beyond any experience or conception in this country. He also joins with Captain Basil Hall, Mrs. Trol- lope, and Captain Marryat, in representing the social state and mo- : rality of the people as low and dangerous, destitute of high principle ¥ or generosity. So acute and practised an observer as Dickens could not travel without noting many oddities of character and viewing - familiar objects in a new light. The following is a sketch of an o77- i gina) met with by our author on board a Pittsburg canal-boaté 2 , A Man.from the Brown Forests of the. Mississippt. A thin-faced, spare-ficured man of middle age and stature, dressed in a dusty abbish-coloured suit, such as I never saw betore. He was perfectly quiet during i i a ; the first part of the journey ; indeed I don’t remember having so much as seen him - until he was brought out by circumstances, as great men often are. The canal ex- _ conveyed across it by land-carriage, and taken on afterwards by another cane. doat, ~ the counterpart of the first, which awaits them on the ovner side. There are two - canal lines of passage-boat; one is cailed the Express, and one—a cheaper one— - the Pioneer. The Pioneer gets first to the mountain, and waits for the Hxpress people * tocome up, both sets of passengers being conveyed across it at the same time. We were the Hvpress company, but when we had crossed the mountain, and had come to _ the second boat. the proprietors took it into their heads to draft all the Pioneers into it likewise, so that we were five and forty at least, and the accession of passengers was not all of that kind which improved the prospect of sleeping at night. Our _ people grumbled at this, as people do in such cases, but suffered the boat tobe towed off with the whole freight aboard nevertheless; and away we went down the canal. - At home I should have protested lustily, but, being a foreigner here, I held my peace. Not so this passenger. He cleft.a path among-the people on deck—we were ~ nearly all on deck—and without addressing anybody whomsoever, soliloquised as - follows: ‘This may suit you, this may. but it don’t suit me. This may be all very well with down-easters and man of Boston raising, but it won't suit my figure no- _ how; and no two ways about that; and so I tell you. Now, I’m from the brown forests of the Mississippi, Z am. and when the sun shines on me, it does shine—a little. It don’t glimmer where T live. the sun don’t. No. Iama brown forester, Jam. I ain’ta Jonnny Cake. There are no smooth skins where I live. We’re - rough men there. Rather. If down-easter3'and men of Boston raising like this, I #m olid of it, but ’m none of that raising, nor of that breed. No. This company - Wants a little fixiug, 7¢does. Iam the wrong sort of a man for ’em, FT ams They won’t like me, they won’t. This is piling of it up, a little too mountainous, this is.’ At the end of every one of these. short sentences, he turned upon his heel and Be ypiiced the other way: checking himself abruptly when he had finished another - Short sentence, and turn‘ne back again, It is impossible for me to say what terrific ~ Meaning was hidden in the words of this brown forester, but I know that the other - passengers looked on in a sort of admiring horror, and that presently the boat was ote to the wharf, and as manv ef the Pioneers as could be coaxed or bullied a to going away were got rid of. When we started again some of the boldest spirits ~ 0n board mad2 bold to say to the obvions occasion of this improvement, in Our pros- Ky pects, ‘ Much obliged to you, sir :’ whereunto the brown forester—waving his hand, _and still walking up and down as before—replied: ‘No, you an’t.? You’re none @ Mees. BL. -v..%7—9 Rae Ie: # / tends to the foot of the mountain, and there of course it stops, the passengers being _ 250 CYCLOPEDIA OF ‘Fro 1876, my raising. You may act for yourselves, you may. I have p’inted out the way. — Down-easters and Jonny Cakes can follow if they please. I an’t aJohnny Cake, I an’t. Iam from the brown forests of the Mississippi, J am ;? and s9 on as before. He was unanimously voted one of the tables for his bed at night—there is a great — contest for the tables—in consideration of his public services, and he had the | warmest corner by the stove throughout the rest of the journey. But I never could find out that he did anything except sit there; nor did I hear him speak | again until, in the midst of the bustle and turmoil of getting the luggage ashore in_ the dark at Pittsburg, I stumbled over him as he sat smoking a cigar on the cabin _ steps, and heard him muttering to himself, with a short laugh of defiance: ‘ 7 an’t a Johnny Cake, J an’t. I’m from the brown forests of the Mississippi, Jam!’ I am inclined to argue from this that he had never left off saymg so. Another American sketch is full of heart: The Bustling, Affectionate, little American Woman; ~ There was a little woman on board with a little baby; and both little woman and. fittle child were cheerful, good-looking, bright-eyed, and fair to see. The little woman had been passing a long time with her sick mother in New York, and had left her home in St. Louis in that condition in which ladies who truly love their lords desire to be. The baby was born in her mother’s house, and she had not seen her. — husband (to whom she was now returning) for twelve months, having left him a month or two after their marriage. Well, tobe sure, there never was a Tittle woman so full of hope, and tenderness, and love, and anxiety, as this little woman was; and all day long she wondered whether ‘he’ would be at the wharf; and whether ‘he’ had got her letter; and whether, if she sent the baby ashore by somebody else, © ‘he’ would know it, meeting it in the street; which, seeing that he had never set_ eyes upon it in his life, was not very likely in the abstract, but was probable enough to the young mother. She was such an artless little creature, and was in such a sunny, beaming, hopeful state, and let out all this matter clinging close about her. heart so freely, that all the other lady passengers entered into the spirit of it as much as she; and the captain (who heard all about it from his wife) was wondrous sly, [ promise you, inquiring every time we met at table, as in forgetfulness, whether she expected anybody to meet her at St, Louis, and whether she would want to go ashore the night we reached it (but he supposed she wouldn’t), and cutting many other dry jokes of that nature. ‘There was one little weazen-dried, apple-faced old woman, who took occasion to doubt the constancy of husbands in such circumstances of be- reavement; and there was another lady (with a lapdog), old enough to moralise on the lightness of human affections, and yet not so old that she could help nursing the baby now and then, or laughing with the rest when the little woman called it by its father’s name, and asked it all manner of fantastic questions concerning him, - in the joy of her heart. It was something of a blow to the little woman, that when - we were within twenty miles of our destination, it- became clearly necessary to put — this baby to bed. But she got over it with the same good-humonur, tied a handker- chief round her head, and came out into the little gallery with the rest. Then, such an_ oracle as she became in reference to the localities! and such facetiousness as was. displayed by the married ladies, and such sympathy as was shewn by the single ones, and such peals of laughter as the little woman herself (who would just as soon have cried) greeted every jest with! At last there were the lights of St. Louis, and here was the wharf, and those were the steps; and the little woman, covering her face with her hands, and laughing (or seeming to laugh) more than ever, ran into her own cabin and shut herself up. Ihave no doubt that in the charming inconsistency of | such excitement, she stopped: her ears, lest she should hear ‘him’ asking for her—_ out I did not see her do it. Then a great crowd of people rushed on board, though the boat was not yet made fast, but was wandering about among the other boats to find a landing-place; and everybody looked for the husband, and nobody saw him, when, in the midst of us all—Heaven knows how she ever got there !—there was the tittle woman clinging with both arms tight round the neck of a fine, good-looking, ~ sturdy young fellow; and in a moment afterwards there she was again, actually clap- ~ ping her little hands for joy, as she dragged him through the s door of her small. cabin to look at the baby as he lay asleep! ¢ XY picxens.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 254 -. Inthe course of the year 1842, Dickens entered upon’a new tale, ~ * Martin Chuzzlewit,’ in which many of his American reminiscences are embodied. The quackeries of architects are admirably ridiculed “in the character ci _Pecksniff ; and the nurse, Mrs. Gamp, with her - eidolon, Mrs. Harris, is one of the most finished and original of the --author’s portraits. About Christmas of the same year the fertile author threw off a light production in his happiest manner, ‘A - Christmas Carol, in Prose,’ which enjoyed vast popularity, and was _ dramatised at the London theatres. A goblin story, ‘The Chimes,’ - greeted the Christmas of 1844; and a fairy tale, ‘The Cricket on the # Hearth, was ready for the same genial season in 1845. These little - annual stories are imbued with excellent feeling, and are rodolent of both tenderness and humour. A residence in Italy furnished Dick- _ ens with materials for a series of sketches, originally published in a + mew morning paper, ‘ The Daily News,’ which was for a short time under the charge of our author; they were afterwards collected and _ republished in a volume, bearing the title of ‘Pictures from Italy,’ - 1846. . It is perhaps characteristic of Dickens that Rome reminded ~ him of London! - _ — We began in a perfect fever to strain our eyes for Rome; and when, after another _ mile or two, the Eternal City appeared, at length, in the distance, it looked like—I am - half afraid to write the word—London. There it lay under a thick cloud, with in- _ numerable towers, and steeples, and roofs of houses rising up into the sky, and high - above them all, one dome. I swear that, keenly as I felt the seeming absurdity of _ the comparison, it was so like London, at that distance, that if youcould have shewa -it me in a glass, I should have taken it for nothing else. ~ Though of the slightest texture, and cenerally short, these Italian pictures of Dickens are not unworthy of his graphic pencil. We ex- _ tract his concluding sentences: F Farewell to Italy. + Beyond the walls fof Florence] the whole sweet valley of the Arno, the convent ~ at Fiesole, the tower of Galileo, Boccaccio’s house, old villas, and retreats ; innumer- able spots of interest all glowing inalandscape of surpassing beauty steeped in the _ fichest light. are spread before us. Returning from so much brightness how solemn . and grand the streets again, with their great, dark, mournful paiaces, and many _ itegends—not of siege, and war, and might, and Iron Hand alone, but of the trium- -. phant growth of peaceful arts and sciences. 3 What light is shed upon the world at this day, from amidst these rugged palaces _ of Floren¢e! Here, open to all comers, in their beautiful and calm retreats, the ancient sculptors are immortal, side by side with Michael Angelo, Canova, Titian, - Rembrandt, Raphael, poets, historians, philosophers—those illustrious men of _ history, beside whom its crowned heads and harnessed warriors shew so poor and smail, and are so soon forgotten. Here, the imperishabie part of noble minds sur- _ vives, placid and equal, when strongholds of assault and defence are overthrown ; _ when the tyranny of the many, or the few, or both, is but a tale; when pride and - power are so much cloistered dust. The fire within the stern streets, and among _ the massive palaces and towers, kindled by rays from heaven, is stil] burning _ brightly, when the flickering of war 1s extinguished, and the household fires of ¥ generations have decayed; as thousands upon thousands of faces, rigid with the _ strife and passion of the hour, have faded out of the old squares and public haunts, __ while the nameless Florentine lady, preserved from oblivion by a painter’s hand, yet _ lives on in enduring grace and truth., ‘ 252 CYCLOP.EDIA OF ee ROOT, et us look back on Florence while we may, and when its shIning dome is seen no more, go travelling through cheerful Tuscany, with a brighy remembrance of wis for Italy will be the fairer for the recollection. The summer time being come; and Genoa, and Milan,and the Lake of Como lying far behind us; and we resting at Faido, a Swiss village, near the awful rocks and mountains, the everlasting snows and roaring cataracts, of ‘he Great St. Gothard, hearing the Italian tongue for the last time on this journey; let us part from Italy, with ui its miseries aud wrongs, affectionatély, in our admiration of the beauties, natural and artificial, of which itis full to overflowing, and in our tenderness towards a people naturally well disposed, and patient, and sweet-tempered, Years of neglect, oppression, and misrule, have been at work, to change their nature and reduce their spirit; miserable jealousies fomented by petty princes to whom union was destraction, and division strength, have been a canker at the root of their nationality, and have barbarised their lan- — guage; but the good that was in them ever, isin them yet, and a noble people may ‘be one day raised up from these ashes. Let us entertain that hope! And let us not remember Italy the less regardfully, because in every fragment of her fallen temples, aud every stone of ber deserted palaces and prisons, she helps to inculcate the lesson that the wheel of Time is rolling for an end, and that the world is, in all great essen- tials, better, gentler, and more forbearing, more hopeful as it rolls! f The novelist afterwards visited Switzerland, and resided several summers in France; and his letters written during these residences abroad, have all the liveliness, humor and interest of his published works. In 1848 appeared his novel of ‘Dombey and Son,’ and in 1850, ‘ David Copperfield,’ perhaps the most perfect, natural, and agreeable of his novels. In this story, Dickens introduced much of his own life and experience, his father sitting for the character of Micawber, one of the most humorous and finished of his portrait- ures. In his next work, ‘ Bleak House,’ he also drew from living originals—Savage Landor and Leigh Hunt, The latter, though a ~ faithful, was a deprecatory sketch, and led to much remark, which its author regretted, In 1850, Dickens commenced a literary periodi- cal, ‘Household Words,’ which he carried on with marked success until 1859, when, in consequence of a disagreement with his publish- ~ ers (in which Dickens was clearly and decidedly in the wrong), he discontinued it, and established another journal of the same kind under the title of ‘All the Year Round.’ His novels subsequent to * Bieak House’ were—‘ Hard Times,’ 1854 ; ‘ Little Dorrit,’ 1855; ‘A 2 Tale of Two Cities,’ 1859; ‘ Great Expectations,’ 1861; ‘Our Mu-_ tual Friend,’ 1865. During part of this time he was engaged in giv- ing public readings from his works by which he realized large sums of moacy,* and gratified thousands of his admirers in England, Ire- land, and Scotland, He also extended his readings to America, hay- ing revisited that ¢ountry in 1867, and met with a brilliant reception. His health, however, suffered from the excitement and fatigue of these readings, into which he threw a great amount of dramatic power and physical energy. The combined effects of a love of money and a love of applause ~ { -s & < “Tt may be worthy of note, as illustrating the popularity of Dickens’s works and. vale readings, that, on his death, his real and personal estate amounted to £93,000, { this, upwards of £40,000 was made by the readings in Great Britain and America. _ ee | \ | picKens] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 253 > urged him on incessantly long after he should have ceased. He gave . his final reading in London, March 15, 1870, and in the same month appeared the first part of anew novel, ‘The Mystery of Edwin Drood,’ which promised to be one of the best of his long file of fictions. About - halt of this novel was written, when its author one afternoon, whilst at dinner, was struck down by an attack of apoplexy. He lingered in a state of unconsciousness for about twenty-four hours, and died on _ the evening of the 9th of June 1870. He was interred in Westminster - Abbey. The sudden death of an author so popular and so thoroughly national, was lamented by all classes, from the sovereign downwards, - asa personal calamity. lt was not merely as a humorist—though that was his great distinguishing characteristic—that Charles Dickens ob- tained such unexampled popularity.. He was a public instructor, a — reformer,and moralist. ‘Ah!’ said he, speaking of the glories of _ - Venice, ‘ when I saw those places, how I thought that to leave one’s hand upon the time, with one tender touch for the mass of.-toiling - people that nothing could obliterate, would be to lift one’s self above ~ the dust of all the doges in their graves, and stand upon a giant’s _ staircase that Samson couldn’t overthrow!’ Whatever was good and ~ ~ amiable, bright and joyous in our life and nature, he loved, supported, - _ and augmented by his writings; whatever was false, hypocritical, and vicious, he held up to ridicule, scorn, or contempt. _ The collected works of Dickens have been published in various forms, the best being the ‘ Library Edition,’ twenty-six volumes, which contains the original illustrations. ‘ A Life of Charles Dickens,’ by his friend and counsellor on all occasions, Mr. John Forster, is ‘published in three volumes. Bo le a. W. M. THACKERAY. _ _While Dickens was in the blaze of his early fame, another master . _ . of English fiction, dealing with the realities of life and the various aspects of English society, was gradually making way in public fa- Be - your, and. attaining the full measure of his intellectual strength. “WitiiamM MAxkEPEACE THACKERAY—the legitimate successor of Henry Fielding—was a native of Calcutta, born in the year 1811. Hie ~~ family was originally from Yorkshire, but his great-grandfather, Dr. ' Thomas Thackeray, became Master of Harrow School. The youngest ~ * _ son of this Dr. Thackeray, William Makepeace, obtained an appoint- ~ ment in the East India Company’s service; and his son Richmond ‘Thackeray, father of the novelist, followed the same career, filling, at the time of his death in 1816 (at the early age of thirty), the office of _ Secretary to the Board of Revenue at Calcutta. The son, with his __ widowed mother, left India, and arrived in England in 1817. * When I first saw England,’ he said in one of his lectures, ‘she was in _ mourning for the young Princess Charlotte, the hope of the empire. a J came from India as a child, and our ship touched at an island on - the way home. where my black servant took me a walk over rocks z iq) “—s .* ‘ Zz Jae Pa eh 5 { ae Se at en) Aeeet. 254 - CYCLOPADIA OF - [ro 1876. and hills, till we passed a garden where we saw a man walking. « > # ¥ 4 ~~ 7 oe aa : | | THACKERAY. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 255 _ travels and residence abroad, his artistic and literary experiences, _ even his ‘losses,’ supplied a wide field for observation, reflection, - and satire. He was thirty years of age or more ere he made any _ -bold push for fame. By this time the mind was fully stored and ~ Inatured. _~ Thackeray never, we suspect, paid much attention to what Burke called the ‘mechanical part of literature ’—the mere collocation of _ words and construction of sentences; but, of course, greater facility as well as more perfect art would be acquired by repeated efforts. The great regulators—taste; knowledge of the world, and gentle- manly feeling—he possessed ere he began to write. In 1886, as he has himself-related, he offered Dickens to undertake the task of illus- trating one of his works—‘ Pickwick ’—but his drawings were con- ’ sidered unsuitable. . In the same year he joined with his step-father, _ Major Carmichael Smyth, and others in starting a daily newspaper, ~~ *The Constitutional,’ which was continued for about a twelvemonth, but proved a loss to all concerned. Thackeray entered himself of _ the Middle Temple, and was called to the bar (May 1848), but appar- _ ently without any intention of following the profession of the law. _ Under his pseudonym of Titmarsh, literary. Cockney and sketcher, - he had published several works—‘ The Paris Sketch-book,’ two vol- ~ umes, 1840; ‘The Second Funeral of Napoleon,’ ‘The Chronicle of ' the Drum,’ 1841; and the ‘ Irish Sketch-book,’ 1848. None of these ~ became popular, though the Irish sketches are highly amusing, and _ contain some of Thackeray’s happiest touches. ‘Ihe following inci- - dent, for example, is admirably told. The tourist meets with a set of _ jovial Irish yachtsmen, bound, like himself, for Killarney: € Ay? are - Car-travelling in Ireland. __.. The Irish car seems accommodated for any number of persons. It appeared to be full when we left Glengariff, for a traveller from Beerhaven and five gentlemen _ from the yacht took seats upon it-with myself; and we fancied it was impossible * more than seven should travel by such a conveyance, but the driver shewed the capa- __ bilities of his vehicle presently. The journey from Glengariff to Kenmare is one of __ astonishing beauty; and I have seen Killarney since, and am sure that Glengariff loses nothing by comparison with this most beautiful of lakes. Rock, wood, and sea, stretch around the traveller a thousand delightful pictures; the landscape is at first wild, without being fierce, immense woods and plantations enriching the val- __ leys, beautiful streams to be seen everywhere. Here, again, I was surprised at the : ee population along the road; for one saw but few cabins, and there is no village - between Glengariff and Kenmare. But men and women were on the banks and in the fields; children, as usual, came trooping up to the car; and the jovial men of ___ the yacht had great conversation with most of the persons whom we met on the road. _ A merrier set of fellows it were hard to meet. ‘Should you like anything to drink, ~ sir?’ says one, commencing the acquaintance; ‘we have the best whisky in the - world, and plenty of porter in the basket.’ Therewith, the jolly seaman produced - along bottle of grog, which was passed round from one to another; and then began _ singing, shouting, laughing, roaring for the whole journey— British sailors have a knack, pull away, yeho, boys! Hurroo! my fine fellow, does your mother _ know you’re ont? ~-Hurroo! Tim Hurlihy? you’re a fluke, Tim Hurlihy?’ _ Oxe man sang on the roof, one hurrooed to the echo, another apostrophised _ the aforesaid Hurlihy, as he passed grinning on a car; a fourth had a pocket-hand- Ge eee ~*~ AL a MT i 1 \ ‘ } \ / : A ‘ & i y Ay 3 4 / SS } - fo S; Pe te A * Mi Tall ds ; ro | CYCLOPADIA OF sro 1876. kerchief flaunting from a pole, with which he performed exercises in the face of any horseman whom he met; and great were their yells as the ponies shied off ~ at the salutation, and the riders swerved in their saddles. In the midst of this rat- tling chorus we went along; gradually the country grew wilder and more desolate, and we passed through a grim mountain region, bleak and bare; the road winding round some of the innumerable hills, and ence or twice, by means of a tunnel, rush- ing boldly through them. Ove of these tunnels, they say, is a couple of hundred yards long; and a pretty howling, I need not say, was made through that pipe of rock by the jolly yacht’s crew. ‘We saw-you sketching in the blacksmith’s shed at Glengariff,’ says one, ‘and we wished we had you on board. Such a jolly life as we had ot it!’ They roved about the coast, they sailed in their vessel, they feasted off the best of fish, mutton, and whisky; they had Gamble’s turtle-soup on board, azid- fun from morning till night, and vice versa. Gradually it came out that there was not, owing to the tremendous rains, a dry corner in their ship—that they slung two in a huge hammock in the cabin, and that one of their crew had been ill, and shirked off. What a wonderful thing pleasure is! to be wet all day and night; to be scorched and blistered by the sun and rain; to beat in and out of little harbours, and to exceed dinurnally upon whisky punch. Faith, Londen and an arm-chair at the club are more to the tastes of some men! , The pencil of Titmarsh, in this and some other of his works, © : comes admirably in aid of his pen; and the Irish themselves confessed that their people, cabins and costume had never been more faith- fully depicted. About the time that these Irish sketches appeared, their author was contributing under his alter ego of Fitz-Boodle, to ‘Fraser’s Magazine’ his tale of ‘Barry Lyndon,’ which appears‘to us the best of his short stories. It is a relation of the adventures of an Irish picaroon, or gambler and fortune-hunter, and abounds in racy humor and striking incidents. _The commencement of ‘Punch’ - —the wittiest of periodicals—in 1841 ‘opened up-a new field for Thackeray, and his papers signed ‘ The Fat Contributor,’ soon be- came ramous. These were followed by ‘Jeames’s Diary’ and the ‘Snob Papers,’ distinguished by their inimitable vein of irony and wit; and he also made various contributions in verse. A journey to- the East next led to ‘Notes of a Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo, by way of Lisbon, Athens, Constantinople and Jerusalem, by M. A. Titmarsh.’ This volume appeared in 1846; and in the following year he issued a small Christmas book, ‘Mrs. Perkins’s Ball.’ But before this time Thackeray had commenced, in monthly parts, his — story of ‘Vanity Fair, a Novel without a Hero,’ illustrated by him- self, or, to use his own expression, ‘illuminated with the author’s own candles.’ The first number appeared in February, 1847, Evy-— ery month added to the popularity of this work; and ere it was con- cluded it was obvious that Thackeray’s probationary period was past — —that Michael Angelo Titmarsh and George Fitz-Boodle would dis- appear from ‘Fraser,’ and their author take his place in his own proper name and person as one of the first of English novelists, and — the greatest social satirist of his age. In regularity of story and consistency of detail—though these by ) =i x no means constitute Thackeray’s strength—‘ Vanity Fair’ greatly ex- — cels any of his previous works, while in delineation of character it — stands pre-eminent. Becky Sharp and Amelia Sedley—one recog: } Pf } oe b : ; . 3 y : - = mee _ THACKERAY. | ENGLISH LITERATURE, 257 ~ nized as the ‘ impersonation of intellect without virtue, and the other as that of virtue without intellect ’—are not only perfectly original characters, but are drawn with so much dramatic power, knowledge of life, and shrewd observation, as to render them studies in human nature and moral anatomy. Amidst all her selfishness, Becky pre- __ serves a portion of the reader’s sympathy, and we follow her with unabated interest through her vicissitudes as French teacher, govern- | -ess, the wife of the heavy dragoon, the lady of fashion, and even s the desperate and degraded swindler. From part of this demoralisa- tion we could have.wished that Becky had been spared by her - historian, and the story would have been complete, morally and artistically, without it. But there are few scenes, even the most cyn- ' ical and humiliating, that the reader desires to strike out: all have such an air of truth, and are lively, biting, and humorous. The novelist had soared far beyond the region of mere town-life and snobbism. He had also greatly heightened the interest felt in his characters by connecting them with historical events and places. We have a picture of Brussels in 1815; and as Fielding ia ‘Tom Jones’ glanced at some of the incidents of the Jacobite rising in ’45, Thackeray reproduced, as it were, the terrors and anxieties felt by thousands as to the issue of the great struggles at Quatre Bras and Waterloo. _ Having completed ‘Vanity Fair,’ Thackeray published another Christmas volume, ‘ Our Street,’ 1848, to which acompanion-volume, * Dr. Birch and his Young Friends,’ was added next year. He had also entered upon another monthly serial—his second great work— “The History of Pendennis (1849-1850). This was an attempt to describe the gentlemen of the present age—‘no better nor worse than most educated men.’ . And even these educated men, according to the satirist, cannot be painted as they are, with the notorious foibles --and selfishness of their education: ‘Since the author of ‘‘Tom Jones” was buried, no writer of fiction among us has been permitted ~~ to depict to his utmost powers @ man. We must drape him, and give him acertain conventional simper. Society will not tolerate the naturalin our art.’ This is rather too broadly stated, but society, © no doubt, considers that it would not be benefited by such toleration, Thackeray, however, has done more than most men to strip off con- ventional disguises and hypocrisies, and he affords glimpses of the interdicted region—too near at times, but without seeking to render evil attractive. His hero, Pendennis, is scarcely a higher model of humanity than Tom Jones, though the difference in national man- _ ners and feelings, brought about during a hundred years, has saved - him from some of the descents into which Jones was almost perforce drawn. Thackeray’s hero falls in love at sixteen,. his juvenile flame _ being a young actress, who jilts him on finding that his fortune is ‘ 7 not what she believed it to be. This boyish passion, contrasted with the character of the actress and that of her-father—a drunken Irish ~ a. ° : 4, ~ 258 CYCLOP-EDIA OF . [To 1876, captain—is forcibly delineated. Pendennis is sent to the university, gets into debt, is plucked, and returns home to his widowed mother, who is ever kind, gentle, and forgiving, but without an or firmness—another favourite type of character with ‘Thackeray. The youth then becomes a law student, but tires of the profession, and adopts that of literature. In this he is ultimately successful, and by means of his novels and poetry, aided by the services of his uncle, Major Pendennis, he obtains an introduction into fashionable society. A varied career of this kind affords scope for the author's powers of description, and for the introduction of characters of all y strong sense — grades and pretensions. Major Pendennis—an antiquated beau, a — military Will Honeycomb, and a determined tuft-hunter—is a fin- - ished portrait. The sketches of literary life—professional writers— may be compared with a similar description in ‘ Humphry Clinker,’ and the domestic scenes in the novel are true to nature, both in their satirical views of life and in incidents of a tender and pathetic na- ture. ‘* Pendennis ’ was.concluded in 1850. Inthe Christmas of that year Thackeray republished one of his Titmarsh contributions to ‘Fraser,’ 1846, a mock continuation of Scott’s ‘Ivanhoe,’ entitled “Rebecca and Rowena.’ This piece was certainly not worthy of re- suscitation. An original Christmas tale was ready next winter— “The Kickleburys on the Rhine,’ in which Mr. M. A. Titmarsh was revived, in order to conduct and satirise the Kicklebury family— mother, daughter, courier, and footman, in all their worldly pride, vul- garity, and grandeur, as they cross the Channel, and proceed to. their destination at ‘ Rougetnoirburg.’ This a clever little satire—faithful though bitter, as all continental travellers admit; but it was seized upon by the ‘Times’ newspaper as illustrating that propensity charged upon the novelist of representing only the dark side of hu- man nature—its failings and vices—as if no real goodness or virtue \ existed in the world. The accusation thus brought against Thack- eray he repelled, or rather ridiculed, in a reply entitled ‘An Essay on Thunder and Small Beer,’ prefixed to a second edition of the Christmas volume. One passage on verbal criticism may be quoted — as characteristic. - ‘It has been customary,’ says the critic, ‘of late years for the purveyors of amus- ing literature to put forth certain opuscules, denominated Christmas books, with the ostensible intention of swelling the tide of exhilaration, or other expansive emotions, incident upon the exodus of the old of the inauguration of the new year.’ ts That is something like a sentence (rejoins Titmarsh) not a word scarcely but ’s in Latin, and the longest and handsomest out of the whole dictionary. That is proper ~ economy—as you see a buck from Holywell Street put every pinchbeck pin, ring, and chain which he possesses about his shirt, hands, and waistcoat, and then go and cut — a dash in the park, or swagger with his order to the theatre. It costs him no more ~ to wear all his ornaments about his distinguished person than to leave them at home. If you can be a swell at a cheap rate, why not? And I protest, for my part, I had no idea what I was really about in writing and submitting my little book for sale, until eny friend the critic, looking at the article, and examining it with the eyes of .a con- noisseur, pronounced that what I had fancied simply to be a book was in fact ‘an opuscule denominated so-and-so, and ostensibly intended to swell the tide of expan- P . . 2 fet > = 4r . M ¥ ms ‘ ae » => fa — 0 ‘ “ See ete “ eee ate eee _ THACKERAY.} | ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 259 _Sive emotion incident upon the inanguration of the new year.’ I can hardly believe _ a8 much even now—so little do we know what we really are after, until men of genius come and interpret. ~ Inthe summer of 1851 Thackeray appeared as a lecturer. His _ subject was ‘The English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century;’ and all the rank and fashion, with no small portion of the men of letters of London, flocked to Willis’ss Rooms to hear the popular novelist descant on the lives and works of his great predecessors in fiction from Swift to Goldsmith. The lectures were afterwards re- eated in Scotland and in America; and they. are now published, “forming one of the most delightful little books in the language. Ten ‘thousand copies of the cheap edition of this volume were sold in one week. To Swift, Thackeray was perhaps too severe—to Fielding, too indulgent; Steele is painted en beau in cordial love, and with lit- tle shadow; yet we know not where the reader will find in the same ‘limited compass so much just and discriminating criticism, or so many fine thoughts and amusing anecdotes, as those which this lov- ing brother of the craft has treasured up regarding his ‘fellows’ of the last century. The Queen Anne period touched upon in these lectures formed the subject of Thackeray’s next novel, ‘Esmond,’ published in three volumes, 1852. The work is in the form of an autobiography. ‘The hero, Colonel Henry Esmond, is a Cavalier and - Jacobite, who, after serving his country abroad, mingles with its wits and courtiers at home; plots for the restoration of the Cheva- ‘lier St. George; and finally retires to Virginia, where, in his old age, ~he writes this memoir of himself and of the noble family of Castle- wood, of which he is a member. ‘Historical events and characters are freely introduced. Esmond serves under Marlborough at Blenheim and Ramilies, and we have a . ‘at of the great general as darkly coloured as the portrait of im by Macaulay. The Chevalier is also brought upon the stage; - and Swift, Congréve, Addison, and Steele areamong the interlocutors. But the chief interest of the work centres in a few characters—in Esmond himself, the pure, disinterested, and high-minded Cava- lier; in Lady Castlewood; and in Lady Castlewood’s daughter, Beatrix, a haughty and spoiled, yet fascinating beauty. Esmond woos Beatrix—a hopeless pursuit of many years; but he is finally _ rejected; and in the end he is united to Lady Castlewood—to the mother instead of the daughter—for whom he had secretly cherished from his boyhood an affection amounting to veneration. It required all Thackeray’s art and genius to keep such a plot from revolting the reader, and we cannot say that he has wholly triumphed over the difficulty. The boyish passion is true to nature. At that period of life the mature beauty is more overpowering to the youthful imagi- ~ nation than any charmer of sixteen. But when Esmond marries he is forty, and the lady is ten years his senior. The romance of life is over. The style of the Queen Anne period is admirably copied in 260 - CYCLOPEDIA OF % thought, sentiment, and diction, and many striking and eloquent passages occur throughout the work. It is a grand and melancholy story, standing in tie same relation to Thackeray’s other works that Scott’s ‘ Bride of Lammermoor’ does to the Waverly group. We give one extract—sardonic and sad—from ‘Esmond?’ . Decay of Matrimonial Love. : *Twas easy for Harry to see, however much his lady persisted in obedience and admiration for her husband, that my lord tired of his quiet life, and grew weary, and then testy, at those gentle bonds with which his wife would have held him. As they say the Grand Lama of ‘l hibet is very much fatigued by his character of divinity, and yawns On his altar as his bonzes kneel and worship him, many a home-god grows heartily sick of the reverence with which his family devotees pursue him, and sighs for freedom and for his old life, and to be off the pedestal on which his dependants would bave him sit for ever, whilst they adore bim, and ply him with flowers, and hymns. and incense, and flattery: so, after a few years of his marriage, my honest Lord Castlewood began to tire; all the high flown raptures and devotional ceremonies with which his wife. his chief priestess, treated him, first sent him to sleep, and then drove him out of doors; for the truth must be told, my lord was a _ jolly gentleman, with very little of the august or divine in his nature, though his fond wife persisted in revering it—and besides, he had to pay a penalty for this love, which persons of his disposition seldom liked to defray ; and, in a word. if he had a loving wife, he had a very jealous and exacting one. ‘Lhen he wearied of this jealousy ; then he broke away from it; then came, no doubt, complaints and recriminations; then, perhaps, promises of amendment not fulfilled; then upbraidings, not the more pleas- ant because they were silent, and only sad looks and tearful eyes conveyed them, Then, perhaps, the pair reached that other stage which is not uncommon in married life, when the woman perceives that the god of the honeymoon is a god no more; only a mortal like the rest of us—and so she looks into her heart, and,lo! vacuece sedes et inania arcana. And now, supposing our lady to have a fine genius and a brilliant wit of her own, and the magic spell and infatuation removed from her which had led to her to worship as a god avery ordinary mortal—and what follows? They live together, and they dine together, and they say ‘My dear’ and ‘ My love’ as heretofore; but the man is himself, and the woman herself: that dream of love is over, as every- thing else is over in life; as flowers and fury, and griefs and pleasures are over, | The next work of Thackeray is considered his masterpiece. ~ It isin the old vein—a transcript of real life in the present day, with all its faults and follies, hypocrisy and injustice. The work came recom- mended by the familiar and inviting title of ‘The Newcomes: Memoirs of a Most Respectable Family. Edited by Authur Pen- dennis, Esq.’ It was issued in the monthly form, and was completed in 1855. The leading theme or moral of the story is the misery occa- -sioned by forced and ill-assorted marriages. That unhallowed trafic of the great and worldly is denounced with all the author’s moral in- dignation and caustic severity, and its results are developed in inci- dents of the most striking and affecting description. ‘Thus of one fair victim we read: fe Lady Clara Newcome. Poor Lady Clara! I fancy a better lot for you than that to which fate handed you over. I fancy there need have been no deceit in your fond. simple, little heart, could it but have been given into other keeping. But you were consigned to a master whose scorn and cruelty terrified you; under whose sardonic glances your scared eyes were afraid to look up, and before whose gloomy coldness you dared not be f “a | 7 ° ye? ~~ a > a) Fo “SSS hei ie eee = Caer ye Ha Wik Sti Lae Ay < SS As ee eee 7 5 = * b, - = - ara gi bvped 5 " guacKuRAY.} © ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ Q6i gS - happy. Suppose a little plant; very frail and delicate from the first, but that might have bloomed sweetly and borne fair flowers, had it received warm shelter and _kindly nurture; suppose a young creature taken out of her home, and given over to -ahard master whose caresses are as insulting as his neglect; consigned to cruel usage, to weary loneliness, to bitter insultiug recollections of the past; suppose her a schooled into hypocrisy by ty anny—and then, quick let us hire an advocute to roer - out to a British jury the wrongs of herinjured husband, to paint the agonies of his _ + bleeding heart (if Mr. Advocate gets plaintiffs brief in time, and before defendant's ie attorney has retained him), and to shew society injured through him! Let us con- . solethat martyr, I say, with thumping damages; and_as for the woman—the guilty wretch !—let us lead her out and stone her. . .-. So Lady Clara flies from the cus- ’ © tody of her tyrant, bnt to'what a rescue! The very man who loves her, and gives _. her asylum, pities and deplores her. She scarce dares to look out of the windows of her new home upon the world, lest it should know and reproach her. All the sister- - hood of friendship is cut off from her. If she dares to go abroad, she feels the sneer of the world as she goes through it, and knows that malice and scorn whisper be- ~ hind her. People as criminal. but undiscovered. make room for her, as if her. touch "~~ were pollution. She knows she has darkened the lot and made wretched the home -— of the man she loves best, that his friends who see her treat her with but a doubtful - respect, and the domestics who attend her, with a suspicious obedience. In the _ country lanes, or the streets of the country town, neighbors look aside as the car- riage passes in which she is splendid and lonely. Rough hunting companions of her husband’s come to the table: he isdriven perforce to the company of flatterers _- and men of inferior sort; his equals, at least’in his own home, will not live with : him. She would be kind, perhaps, and charitable to the cottagers. around her, but _ she fears to visit them, lest they too should scorn her. The clergyman who distri- ~ bites her charities, blushes and looks awkward on passing her in the village, if he j should be walking with his wife or one of his children. Could anything more sternly or touchingly true be written? The - summation of Clara’s miseries, item by item, might have been made - by Swift, but there is a pathos and moral beauty in the passage that - the Dean-never reached. The real hero of the novel is Colonel New- _ come—a counterpart to Fielding’s Allworthy. The old officer’s _ high sense of honour, his simplicity, his never-failing kindness of heart, his antique courtesy—as engaging as that of Sir Roger de e- gag - Coyerley—his misfortunes and ruin through the knavery of others— and his death as a ‘poor brother’ in the Charterhouse, form alto- - gether so noble, so aifecting a picture, and one so perfectly natural _ and life-like, that it can scarcely be even recalled without tears. The _ author, it was said, might have given a less painful end to the good ~ Colonel, to soothe him after the buifetings of the world. The same - remark was made on Scott’s treatment of his Jewess Rebecca, and we = have no doubt Thackeray’s answer would be that of Scott—‘A char- _ acter of a highly virtuous and lofty stamp is degraded rather than - exalted by an attempt to reward virtue with worldly prosperity. _ Such is not the recompense which Providence has deemed worthy of _ suffering merit.’ ‘Jhe best of Thackeray’s female portraits—his highest compliment to the sex—isin this novel. Ethel Newcome, in her pride and sensibility—the former balancing, and at last over- ‘coming, the weaknesses induced by the latter—is drawn with great _ delicacy and truth; while in the French characters, the family of De Florac and others, we have an entirely new creation—a cluster of originals. The gay 7oué, Paul de Florac—who plays the English- i ic 7 t ; oe aye eae ete: ee rE 262 -CYCLOPADIA OF 253 [ro 1876, - Inan in top-boots and buckskins—could only be bit off by one equally at, home in French and in English society. Of “course there are in ‘The Newcomes’ many other personages and classes—as the sanctimonious fop, the coarse and covetous trader, the parasite, the schemer, &c.—who are drawn with the novelist’s usual keen insight and minute detail, though possessing fewer features of novelty or interest. Recurring to the pléasant and profitable occupation of lecturing, . Thackeray ‘crossed the Atlantic, taking with him four more lectures —‘The Four Georges’—which, after being delivered in the United _ a ae nt —_ ~~“ oe Lee ee eee ¢ 7. - ie ed a - ¢ 7 - > . ee - - >. ° ¥ ~s = .> ger Va — “ ae Pd ‘. = = We™ aoe States in 1855-56, were, on his return, repeated in London, and in — most of the large towns in England and Scotland. The Hanoverian monarchs afforded but little room for eulogistic writing or finé moral painting; and the dark shades—the coarseness, immorality, and heartlessness that pervaded the courts of at least the First, Second; and Fourth of the Georges—were exhibited without any relief or softening. George IIL, as the better man, fared better with the lec- turer; and the closing scene, when, old, blind, and bereft of reason, the monarch sank to rest, was described with great pathos and pic- turesque effect. The society, literature, manners, and fashion of the different periods were briefly touched upon—somewhat in the style of Horace Walpole; and we believe Thackeray contemplated, among his future tasks, expanding these lectures into memoirs of the differ- ent reigns. The novelist now aimed at a different sort of public dis- tinction. 'The representation of the city of Oxford becoming vacant, he offered himself as a candidate—the advocate of all liberal measures _—but was defeated by Mr. Cardwell (July 1857), the numbers being 1085 to 1018. Before the close of the year Thackeray was at the more appropriate occupation of another serial. The Castlewood family was revived, and in ‘The Virginians’ we had a tale of the days of George II.—of Chesterfield, Queensberry, Garrick, and Johnson— the gaming-table, coffee- house, and theatre, but with Washington, ‘Wolfe, and the American war in the background. As a story, ‘The Virginians’ is defective. The incidents hang loosely together, and — : want progressive interest, but the work abounds in passages of fine philosophic humour and satire. The author frequently stops to mo- ralise and preach sotto voce to his readers, and in these digressions we have some of his choicest and most racy sentences. Youth and love are his favourite themes. There is a healthy natural world both within and without the world of fashion—particularly wéthout. Mere _ wealth and ¢on go for nothing in the composition of happiness, and genuine, manly love is independent of the sunshine of prosperity. We quote a few of his ‘ mottoes of the heart’ and satirical touches. Recollection of Youthful Beauty. When cheeks are faded and eyes are dim, is it sad or pleasant, I wonder, for the woman who is a beauty no more, to recall the period of her bloom? When the heart is withered, do the old love to remember how it once was fresh, and beat with warm — Bye Pe ae ts ag OS ~{e Wee ENGLISH LITERATURE. | py. - “ emotions? When the spirits are languid and weary, do we like to think how bright _they were in other days; the hope how buoyant, the sympathies how ready, the en- a of life how keen and eager? So they fall—the buds of prime, the roses of : I eeuity, ou florid harvests of summer—fall and wither, and the naked branches shiver - in the winter. es Indifference of the World. ~ The world can pry out everything about us which it hasa mind to know. But “there is this consolation, which men will never accept in their own cases, that the world doesn’t care. Consider the amount of scandal it has been-forced to hear in its _ time, and how weary and blasé it must be of that kind of intelligence. You are taken _ to prison, and fancy yourself indelibly disgraced? You are bankrupt under odd cir- cumstances? You drive a queer bargain with your friends, and are found out, and imagine the world will punish you? Pshaw! Your shame is only vanity. Go and _ talk to the world as if nothing had happened, and nothing has happened. Tumble - down; brush the mud off your clothes ; appear with a smiling countenance, and no- nil MOR ES ge ur _ body cares. Do you suppose society is going to take out its pocket-handkerchief and be inconsolable when you die? hy should it care very much, then, whether your _ ‘worship graces yourself or disgraces yourself? Whatever happens, it talks, meets, _ jokes, yawns, has its dinner pretty much as before. 23 Lackeys and Footmen in the Last Century. g Lackeys, liveries, footmen—the old society was encumbered with a prodigious % quantity of these. Gentle meu or women could scarce move without one, some- - times two or three. vassals in attendance. Every theatre had its footmen’s gallery; 3 an army of the liveried race hustled round every chapel-door. They swarmed in an- _terooms, they sprawled in halls and on landings, they guzzled, devoured, debauched, ' cheated, played cards, bullied visitors for vails [or gratuities]. _That noble old race of s footmen is well-nigh gone. A few vhousand of them may still be left among us. _ Grand, tall, beautiful, melancholy, we still behold them on levee days, with their nosegays and their buckles, their plush and their powder. So have I seen in Ameri- _ca specimens, nay, Camps and milages, of Red Indians. But the race is doomed. _ ‘The fatal decree has gone forth, and Uncas with his tomahawk and eagle’s plume,” and Jeames with his cocked-hat and long cane, are passing out of the world where as "they once walked in glory. Se j 3 Bs : The English Country Gentleman. Be ETO be a good old country gentleman, is to hold a position nearest the gods, and at ~ " the summit of earthly felicity. To have a large unencumbered rent-roll, and, the - rents paid St heaped by adoring farmers, who bless their stars at having such a land- _ Jord as His Honour; to have no tenant holding back with his money, excepting just. _— one, perhaps, who does so just in order to give occasion to Good Old Country Gentle-. “4 -man to shew his sublime charity and universal benevolence of soul; to hunt three ~~ days a week, love the sport of all things. and have perfect good health and good ap- petite in consequence; to have not only a good appetite, but a good dinner; to sit down at church in the midst of a chorus of blessings from the villagers, the first ~ man in the parish, the benefactor of the parish, with a consciousness of consum- -~ mate desert, saying, ‘Have mercy upon us miserable sinners,’ to be sure, but only for form’s sake and to give other folks an example :—a G. O. C.G, a miserable sin- - ner! So healthy, so wealthy, so jolly, so much respected by the vicar, so much hon- > oured by the tenants, so much beloved and admired by his family, amongst whom his story.of Grouse in the gun-room causes laughter from generation to generation; _ this perfect being a miserable sinner! Allons donc! Give any man good health and temper, five thousand g year, the adoration of his parish, and the love and worship of __ his family, and I'll defy you to make him so heartily dissatisfied with his spiritual > condition as to set himself down a miserable anything. Ifyou were a Royal High- ~ ness, and went to church in the most perfect health and comfort, the parson waiting to begin the service until your R. H. came in, would you believe yourself to be @ mi- EP serable, &c.2 You might, whenracked with gout, in solitude, the fear of death be- ~ fore your eyes, the doctor having cut off your bottle of claret, and ordered arrowroot .. and a little sherry—you might then be humiliated, and acknowledge your shortcom- S . : c ei nant 6 - 7 geen te es ae Pee 264. ; CYCLOPADIA OF |? 9 > ¥ [rerr876-- ing’ itv of things in general; but in high health, sunshine, spirits, that | pn tataeanle 4 only a Fok: You can’t think in your heart that you are to be pitied much for the present. If you are to be miserable, what is Colin Ploughman with the ague, seven children, two pounds a year rent to pay for his cottage, and eight shillings a week? No, a healthy, rich, jolly country gentleman, if miserable, - has a very supportable misery ; if a sinner, has very few people to tell him so. | : The following passage in ‘The Four Georges’ is one of the most. striking and affecting in our literature: ae Death of George the Third. All history presents no sadder figure than that of the old man, blind and deprived ~ of reason, wandering through the rooms of his palace, addressing imaginary parlia- ments, reviewing rancied troops, holding ghostly courts. Thave seen his picture as it was taken at this time. hanging in the apartment of his daughter, the Landgravine of Hease-Homburg—amidst books and Windsor furniture, and a hundred fond re- miniscences of her English home. The poor old father is represented in a purple gown. his snowy beard falling over his breast—the star of his famons Order still idly shining on it. He was not only sightless: he became utterly deaf, All light, all reason, all sound of human voices, all the pleasures of this world of God were taken from him. Some slight lucid moments he had; in one of which the queen, desiring -to see him, entered the room, and found him singing a hymn, and accompanying himself at the harpsichord. When he had finished, he knelt down and prayed alou for her. and then for his family, and then for the. nation, concluding with a prayer for himself, that it might please God to avert his: heavy calamity from him, but if not, to give him resignation to submit. He then burst into tears, and reason again fled. : . What preacher need moralise on this story; what words, Save the simplest are re- ° quisite to tell it? It is too terrible for tears. The thought of such a misery smites , me down, in submission before the Ruler of kings and men, the Monarch supreme over empires and republics, the inscrutable Dispenser of life, death, happiness, vic- — tory. *O brothers! Isaid to those who heard me -first in America— O brothers! speaking the same dear mother-tongue—O comrades! enemies no more, let us take a mournful hand together as we stand by this royal corpse, and call a truce to battle! Low he lies to whom the proudest used to kneel once, and- who was cast lower than the poorest; dead, whom millions prayed for in vain. Driven off his throne: buffeted by rude hands; with his children in revolt; the darling of his old age killed before him untimely: our Lear hangs over her breath- less lips and cries: *‘ Cordelia, Cordelia, stay a little!” Vex not his ghost—Oh, let him pass !—he hates him That would upon the rack of this tough world Stretch him out longer.’ : Hush! strife and quarrel, over the solemn grave; sound, trumpets. a mournful march. Fall, dark curtain, upon his pageant, his pride, his grief, his awful tragedy. : We add one specimen of Thackeray’s verse, which differs very little from his prose: the colour and flavour are the same. The Ballad of Bowillabaisse. * A street there is in Paris famous, The New Street of the Little Fields; For which no rhyme our language And here’s an inn, not rich and splendid, yields, But still in comfortabie case ; Rue Neuvedes Petits Champs its name ‘The which in youth I oft attended, is— » To eat a bow! of Bouillahaisse. THACKERAY.] ~ (ee a SG Vs Al le waa This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is— A sort of soup or broth, or brew, _ Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, _ That Greenwich never could outdo; Green herbs, red peppers; mussels, saf- Bez fern, Soles, onions, garlic, roach and dace; All these you eat at Terrés tavern, Ia that one dish of Bouillabaisse. Indeed, a rich and savoury stew ’tis; And true philosophers, methinks, Who love all sorts of natural beauties, Should love good victuals and good drinks. _ _And Cordelier or Benedictine _- Might gladly, sure, his lot embrace, Nor find a fast day too afilicting, _ Which served him up a Bouiliabaisse. T wonder if the house still there is? _ Yes, here the lamp is, as before; - The smiling red-cheeked écaillére is _. Stillopening oysters at the door. {s Verré still alive and able? ~ Lrecolleet his droll griniace ; -_.He’d come and smile before your table, gre 3 Fete Se a is . 4 a , \¥ a te ws | ¥ 2a SD =y sn a al wie TEE * hos ea _ And hoped you liked your Bouillabaisse. _ We enter—nothing’s changed or older. ‘How’s Monsieur Terré, waiter, pray ?’ “The waiter stares and shrugs his shoul- ‘ ders? : ___‘ Monsieur is dead this many a day.’— *It is the Tot of saint and sinzer, So honest ‘Perré’s run his race.’— ‘What wiil Monsieur require for din- er? ’— f . . 4 * Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse ??— *Oh oui, Monsieur,’ ’s the waiters an- ‘ swer ; ‘Quel vin Monsieur désire-t-il 2?’ “Tell me a good one.’—‘ That I can sir: The Chambertin with yellow seal.’— ‘So Terré’s gone,’ I say, and sini in My old accustomed corner place ; “He’s done with feasting and with drink- ing, With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 4 My old accustomed corner, here is, The table still is in the nook; Ah! vanished many a busy year is, This well-kncwn chair since last I took When first I saw ye, cari lioghi, I’d scarce a beard upon-my face, And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse. Where are you, old companions trusty, Of early days here met to dine? Come, waiter! quick, a fiagon crusty— Vl pledge them in the good old wine. The kind old voices and old faces My memory can quick retrace ; Around the board, they take their places, And share the wine and Bouillabaisse. There’s Jack has made a wondrous mars riage ; There’s laughing Tom is laughing yet; There’s brave Augustus drives his car- riage ; There’s poor old Fred in the Gazette; On James’s head the grass is growing: Good Lord! the world has wagged apace Since here we set the claret flowing, And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse.. Ah me! how quick the days are flitting! I mind me of a time that’s gone, When here I’d sit, as now I’m sitting, In this same: place—but not alone. A fair young form was. nestled near me, - A dear, dear face looked fondly up, And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me— There’s no one now to share my cup. I drink it as the fates ordain it. Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes}; _ Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it In memory of dear old times. Welcome the wine, whate’er the seal is; And sit you down and say your grace With thankful heart, whate’er the mealis. —Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse, For two years (1860-62) Thackeray conducted the ‘ Cornhill Maga- Zine, and in the pages of this popular miscellany appeared his “Roundabout Papers’—a series of light graceful essays and sketches; also two novels, ‘Lovel the Widower,’ and ‘Philip on his Way through the World,’ which were scarcely worthy of his reputation. He had commenced another story, ‘Dennis Duval,’ of which four monthly portions-were published; the Reign-of Queen Anne, as a continuation of Macaulay’s History. _ All his schemes, however, were frustrated. by his sudden and lament ’ XN and he contemplated Memoirs of .. : 266 CYCLOPEDIA OF —___ [10 1876, able death. His health had long been precarious, and on the day pre- ceding his death he had been in great suffering. Still he moved about; ‘he was out several times,’ says Shirley Brooks, ‘and was seen in Palace Gardens, Kensington, reading a book. Before the dawn on Thursday (December 24, 1863) he was where there is no night.’ ‘Never more,’ said the ‘Times,’ ‘shall the fine head of Mr. Thack- eray, with its mass of silvery hair, be seen towering among us.’ He had died in bed alone and unseen, struggling, as it appeared, with a violent spasmodic attack, which had caused the effusion on the brain of which he died. The medical attendants who conducted the post- mortem examination stated that the brain was of great size, weighing 584 ounces. Non omnis mortuus est. ‘He will be remembered,’ says James Hannay, ‘ for ages to come, as long as the hymn of praise rises in the old Abbey of. Westminster, and wherever the English tongue is native to men, from the banks of the Ganges to those of the Mis- sissippi.’ REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY. : As a novelist, poet, theologian, and active philanthropist, Mr. Kingsley, Rector of Eversley, Hampshire, and Canon of Westmin-. ster, was one of the most remarkable and meritorious men of his age. His views of social reform verge upon Chartism, and, in some in- stance, are crude and impracticable in-the present state of society; but his zeal, disinterestedness, and unceasing perseverance in seeking to remedy evils which press upon the working classes, no one doubts or questions, while the genius he brought to bear on his various du- ties and tasks reflects honour on our literature. Mr. Kingsley was a_ native of Devonshire, born at Holne Vicarage, near Dartmoor, in . 1819. He studied at King’s College, London, and Magdalene College, | Cambridge, and intended to follow the profession of the law. He soon, however, abandoned this intention, and entered the church, obtaining first the curacy, and then the rectory of Eversley, which he has invested with affectionate interest and celebrity. Mr. Kingsley’s first appearance as an author was in 1844, when he published a col- lection of ‘ Village Sermons ’—plain, earnest, useful discourses. He has published several other volumes of sermons and lectures; but it is from his imaginative works that Mr. Kingsley derives his chief fame. In 1848 he appeared as a dramatic poet, author of ‘The - Saint’s Tragedy,’ or the story of Elizabeth of Hungary, Landgravine of Thuringia, and a saint of the Romish calendar. This poem is a sort of protest against superstitious homage and false miracles, but it gives also a vivid picture of live in the middle ages, and is animated by a poetical imagination. ) His next work was one of fiction—‘ Alton Locke, Tailor and Poet : an Autobiography,’ two volumes, 1849. The design of this tale is to shew the evils of competition and the grievances of the artisan class, ~ The hardships which drove Alton to become a Chartist, and his men- ‘ 7 tal struggles as he oscillated between infidelity and religion are pow- — tle ety SS SSS ae ns an Res ae > « < ~ Scam woe Sato Sp. a be ee “ a Pg ~ m2 a a an Ta 7 rg bw xrncstry.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 267 4 pcs i _ erfully depicted, though the story isin some respects a painful one, _ and in parts greatly exaggerated. Mr. Kingsley’s remedy for the ~ - evils of competition and the tyranny of masters in large towns is the adoption of the associative principle among the workmen—combin- ing capital and labour—and in the case of the tailors and a few other trades, the scheme was tried. The same social topics are discussed ~ in Mr. Kingsley’s ‘ Yeast, a Problem,’ 1851, which is devoted more particularly to the condition of the agricultural labourers, and is written with a plainness and vehemence that deterred fastidious read- ers. Mr. Kingsley put his views into a more definite shape in a lec- - ture on the ‘ Application of Associative Principles and Methods to Agriculture,’ published also in 1851. But in this tract the author’s _ denunciation of large towns and mill-owners, and his proposal to re- store the population to the land, are erroneous both in theory and sentiment. ‘The earth,’ he says, ‘hath bubbles, and such cities as _ Manchester are of them. A short-sighted and hasty greed created them, and-when they have lasted their little time, and had their day, _ they will vanish like bubbles.’ Such ‘ Christian Socialism’ as this would throw back society into ignorance and poverty, instead of _ solving the problem as to the rich and the poor. ‘Phaethon, or _ Loose Thoughts for Loose Thinkers,’ 1852, and ‘ Hypatia, or New _ Friends with an Old Face,’ 1853, were Mr. Kingsley’s next works. ‘These were followed by a series of lectures, delivered at the Philo- sophical Institution, Edinburgh, on ‘ Alexandria and her Schools,’ 1854; and in the following year.our author took a higher and more _ genial position as a man of letters by his novel of ‘ Westward Ho!’ _ and his delightful little treatise of ‘Glaucus, or the Wonders of the _ Shore.’ In his ‘Westward Ho!’ Mr. Kingsley threw himself into _ the exciting and brilliant Elizabethan period, professing to relate the - *Voyages and Adventures of Sir Amyas Leigh, Knight, of Burrough, in the county of Devon, in the reign of Her Most Glorious Majesty _ Queen Elizabeth; rendered into modern English by Charles Kingsley.’ _ Here we have Raleigh, Drake, Hawkins, and the other great names _ of Devonshire once more in action; we have adventures in the Span- _ ish Main and South American continent, the memorable chase and defeat of the Spanish Armada, the plots of Jesuits, the pride of _ Spaniards, English burghers, Puritans, seamen, and soldiers—an end- _ less variety of incidents and characters, with descriptions of scenery ~ which for rich colouring and picturesqueness have rarely been sur- _ passed. Believing that the Protestantism of the Elizabethan age was, . _ all-important to the cause of freedom as well as true religion, Mr. _ Kingsley gives no quarter to its opponents, and has marred the effect _ of parts of his narrative by frequent and bitter assaults on the Romish Church. In the delineation of passion—especially the passion of love, as operating on grave and lofty minds like that of Amyas _ Leigh—Mr. Kingsley is eminently successful. He is more intent on _ guch moral painting and on the development of character, than on e Wh we SS - iz * oe bie 9; me 7 My i - 268 CYCLOPEDIA OF .—s—>_— [ro 1876, ~ the construction of a regular story. But the most popular passages in his tale—the most highly wrought and easily remembered—are his . pictures of wild Indian life and scenery. In these we have primeyal lanocence and intense enjoyment, in connection with the gorgeous, un- checked luxuriance of nature—as if the pictorial splendour of the ‘Fairy Queen’ had been transported to this wild Arcadia of the west. Passing over some sermons and occasional tracts, we come to Mr. Kingsley’s next novel, ‘Two Years Ago,’ published in 1857. This work is of the school or class of ‘Alton Locke,’ ex- hibiting- contrasts of social life and character, with references to modern events, as the gold-digging in Australia, the Crimean war, and the political institutions of the United States. The story is deficient in clearness and interest, but contains scenes of do- mestic pathos and descriptions of. external nature worthy the graphic pencil and vivid imagination of its author. Reverting again to poetry—though few of his prose pages are without some tincture of the poetical element—Mr. Kingsley, in 1858, published ‘ Andromeda, and other Poems,’ a classic theme adopted from a Greek legend, and expressed in hexameter verse, carrying the reader Over the sea, past Crete, on the Syrian shore to the southward: The poetry of Mr. Kingsley, like that of Lord Lytton, is rather a graceful foil to his other works, than the basis of a reputation; but we quote a pathetic lyric of the sea, which, set to music by Hullah, has drawn tears from many bright eyes, and perhaps—what the author would have valued more—prompted to acts of charity and kindness: : Three Fishers went Sailing. Three fishers went sailing out into the west, Out into the west, as the sun went down; Each thought on the woman who loved him best, And the children stood watching them out of the town. For men must work and women must weep, And there’s little to earn and many to keep, Though the harbour bar be moaning. Three wives sat up in the lighthouse tower. And they trimmed the lamps as the sun went down; They looked at the squall, and they looked at the shoyer, And the night-rack came rolling up ragged and brown But men must work and women must weep, Though storms be sudden and waters deep, And the harbour bar be moaning. a+ Three corpses lay out on the shining sands In the morning gleam as the tide went down, And the womer are weeping and wringing their hands For those who will never come back to the town. For men must work and women must weep, y And the sooner it’s over the sooner to sleep, ‘vt And good-bye to the bar and its moaning. A R a = Hf) . ©. Peli - a : S . > Ps - RS , ae a nem ~ KINGsLEY.| ENGLISH LITERATURE. 269 Scene in the Indian Forest—Sir Amyas Paulet pursues Two of his miss- . ing Seamen. Forth Amyas went, with Ayacanora as a guide, some five miles upward along the forest slopes, till the girl whispered, There they are ;’? and: Amyas pushing himself gently through a thicket of bamboo, beheld a scene which, in spite of his wrath, kept iin silent. and perhaps softened, for a minute. 4 - On the further side of a little lawn, the stream leaped through a chasm beneath overarching vines, sprinkling eternal freshness upon all around. and then sank foam- ing into a clear rock-basin, abath for Dian’s self. On its further side the crag rose some twenty feet in height, bank upon bank of feathered ferns and cushioned moss, over the rich green beds of which drooped a thousand orchids, scarlet, white, and orange, and made the still pool gorgeous with the reflection of their gorgeousness. _ At its more quiet outfall it was half-hidden in huge fantastic leaves and tall flower- ing stems; but near the water-fai] the grassy bank sloped down toward the stream, and there, on palm leaves strewed-upon the turf, beneath the shadow of the crags, lay the two men whom Amyas sought, and whom, now he had. found them, he had hardly heart to wake trom their delicious dream. : ; __ For what anest it was which they had found! The air was heavy with the scent of flowers. and quivering with the murmur of the stream, the humming of the coli- ' pris and insects, the cheerful song of birds, the gentle cooing. of a hundred dover; while now and then, from far away, the musical wail of the sloth, or the deep toll of the bell-bird, came softly to the ear. What was not there which eye or car could need? And what which palate could need either? For on the rock above, some ‘strange tree, leaning forward, dropped every now and then a luscious apple upon the grass below, and huge wild plantains bent beneath their load of fruit. _. There, on the stream bank, lay the two renegades from civilised life. They had cast away their clothes. and painted themselves, like the Indians, with arnotta and indigo. One lay lazily picking up the fruit which fell close to his side; the other saf, his back against a cushion of soft moss, his hands folded languidly upon his lap, giving himself up to the soft influence of the narcotic cocoa-juice, with half-shut dreamy eyes fixed on the everlasting sparkle of the water-fall— While beauty. born of murmuring sound, Did pass iuto his face. , ‘Somewhat apart crouched their two dusky brides, crowned with fragrant flowers, - but working busily, like true women, for the lords whom they delighted to honour. _ One sat plaiting palm-fibres into a basket; the other was boring the stem of a huge - wilk-tree, which rose like some mighty column on the right hand of the lawn, its _ broad canopy of leayes unseen through the dense underwood of laurel and bamboo, and betokened only by the rustle far aloft, and by the mellow shade in which if _ bathed the whole delicious scene. : By: y Amyas stood silent for a while, partly from noble shame at seeing two Christian ~ men thus fallen of their own self-will ; partly because—and he could not but confess ; that—a solemn ‘calm brooded above that glorious place, to break through which ' seemed sacrilege eyen while he felt it duty. Such, he thought, was Paradise of old 5 such our first parents’ bridal bower! Ah! if man had not fallen, he too might have _ dwelt for ever in such a home—with whom? He started, and shaking off the spell, &, advanced sword in hand. ; ~The women saw him, and sprang to their feet. caught up their long pocunas, and 4 yeaped like deer each in front of her beloved. There they stood, the deadly tubes pressed to their lips, eyeing him like tigresses who protect their young, while every - slender limb quivered, not with terror, but with rage. Amyas paused, half in ad- - MIniration, half in prudence ; for one rash step was death. But rushing through the anes, Ayacanora sprang. to the front. and shrieked to them in Indian. _At the sight _ of the prophetess the women wavered, and Amyas, putting on as gentle a face as he could. stepped forward, assuring them in his best Indian that he would harm no one. _.. ‘Ebsworthy! Parracombe! Are you grown such savages already, that you have _ forgotten yourcaptain? Stand up, men, and salute!’ Ebsworthy sprang to his feet, ~ obeyed mechanically, and then slipped behind his bride again, as if in shame, The dreamer turned his head Janguidly, raised his hand to hisforehead, and then returned f _ to his contemplation. Amyas rested the point of his sword on the ground, and his . aan i e 7 a 270 ~s CYCLOPEDIA OF ~—_ [ro 1846. hands upon the hilt, and looked sadly and solemnly upon the pair. Ebsworthy broke © the silence, half reproachfully, half trying to bluster away the coming storm. M33 ‘Well, noble captain, so you’ve hunted out us poor fellows; and want to drag us — back again in a halter, I suppose?’ : ‘I came to look for Christians, and I find heathens; for men, and I find swine. [I shall leave the heathens to their wilderness, and the swine to their trough. Parrae combe! ‘He’s too happy to answer you, sir. And why not? What do you want of us? — Our two years’ vow is out, and we are free men now.’ ‘Free to become like the beasts that perish? You are the Queen’s servants still, and in her name J charge you’—— : ; ‘Free to be happy,’ interrupted the man. ‘ With the best of wives, the best of food, a warmer bed than a duke’s, and a finer garden than an emperor's. As for ~ clothes, why the plague should a man wear them where he don’t need them? Asfor - old, what’s the use of it where Heaven sends everything ready-made to your hands? earken, Captain Leigh. You’ve beena good captain to me, and I’l] repay you with a bit of sound advice. Give up your gold-hunting, and toiling and moiling after hononr and glory, and copy us. Take that fair maid behind you there to wife; pitch here with us; and see if you are not happier in one day than ever you were in all your life before.’ ‘You are drunk, sirrah! William Parracombe! Will you speak to me, or shall I heave you into the stream to sober you?’ ‘Who calls William Parracombe ?’ answered a sleepy voice. ‘I, fool!—your captain!’ ‘I amnot William Parracombe. He is dead long ago of hunger, and labour, and heavy sorrow, and will never see - Bideford town any more. He is turned into an Indian now; and he is to sleep, sleep, sleep for a hundred years, till he gets his strength again, poor fellow’—— *‘ Awake, then, thou that sleepest, and arise from the dead, and Christ shall give thee light! A christened Englishman, and living thus the life of a beast!’ ‘Christ shall give thee light?’ answered-the same unnatural, abstracted voice. ‘Yes; so the parsons say. And they say, too, that he is Lord of heaven and earth, I should have thought his light was as near us here as anywhere, and nearer too, by © the look of the place. Look round,’ said he, waving a lazy hand, and see the works of God, and the pluce of paradise, whither poor weary souls go home and rest, after their masters in the wicked world have used them up, with labour and sorrow, and made them wade knee-deep in blood—I’m tired of blood, and tired of gold. Ill march no more; [’ll fight no more; [’ll hunger no more after vanity and vexation of. spirit. What shallI get by it? Maybe I shall leave my bones in the wilderness. I ~ can but do that here. Maybe I shall get home with a few pezos, to die an old cripple in some stinking hovel, that a monkey would scorn to lodge in here. You may go on; it’ll pay you. You may be arich man, and a knight, and live in a fine house, and — drink good wine. and go to court, and torment your soul with trying to get more, when you ’ve got too much already; plotting and planning to scramble tpon your neighbour’s shoulders, as they all did—Sir Richard, and Mr. Raleigh, and Chichester, and poor dear old Sir Warham, and all of them that I used to watch when I lived before. They were no happier than I was then; I’ll warrant they are no happier now. Go your ways, captain; climb to glory upon some other backs than ours, and Jeave us here in peace, alone with God and God’s woods, and the good wives that God has given us, to play a little like school children. It’s long since I’ve had play-hours; ~ and now [11 be a little child once more, with the flowers, and the singing birds, and the silver fishes in the stream, that are at peace, and think no harm, and wantneither — clothes, nor money, nor knighthood, nor peerage, but just take what comes; and ~ their heavenly Father feedeth them, and Solomon in al! his glory was not arrayed like one of these—and will he not much more feed us, that are of more value than many sparrows?’ a ‘ And will you live here, shut out from all Christian ordinances ?’ . ‘Christian ordinances! Adam and Eve had no parsons in Paradise. The Lord ~ was their priest, and the Lord was their shepherd, and he’ll be ours too. But go — your ways, sir, and send up Sir John Brimblecombe, and Jet him marry us here church fashion—though we have sworn troth to each other before God already—and let him give us the Holy Sacrament once and for all, and then read the funeral ser- vice over us, and go his ways, and count us for dead, sir—for dead we are to the» —— A ERY “xincstzy.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 271 wicked worthless world we came out of three years ago. And when the Lord chooses to call us, the little birds will cover us with leaves, as they did the babies in _ the wood, and fresher flowers will grow out of our graves, sir, than out of yours in that bare Northam churchyard there beyond the weary, weary, weary sea.’ __~ His voice died away to a murmur, and his head sank on his breast. Amyas stood _ spell-bound. © The effect of the narcotic was all but miraculousin hiseyes. Thesus- tained eloquence, the novel richness of diction in.one seemingly drowned in sensual _ loth, were in his eyes the possession of some evil spirit. Aud yet he could not an- _ §swer the EvilOne. His English heart, full of the divine instinct of duty and public spirit, told him that it must be-a lie: but how to prove it a lie? And he stood for _ full ten minutes searching for an answer, which seemed to fly further and further off the more he sought forit.... + Arustle! a roar! a shriek! and Amyas lifted his eyes in time to see a huge dark _ bar shoot from the crag above the dreamer’s head, among the group of girls. A dull crash, as the group flew asunder; and in the midst, upon the ground, the tawny _ limbs of-one were writhing beneath the fangs of a black jaguar, the rarest and most - terrible of the forest kings. Of one? But of which? asit Ayacanora? And _ «sword in hand, Amyas rushed madly forward: before he reached the spot, those tor- tured limbs were still. So ~ | It was not Ayacanora; for with a shriek which rang through the woods, the - wretched dreamer, wakened thus at last, sprang up and felt for his sword. Fool! he had left itin his hammock! Screaming the name of his dead bride, he rushed on the - jaguar, as it crouched above its prey. and seizing its head with teeth and nails, worried _ ityin the ferocity of his madness, like a mastiff dog. The brute wrenched its head from his grasp, and raised its dreadful paw. Another tMmoment, and the husband’s corpse would have lain by the wife’s. But high in air gleamed Amyas’s blade; down, with all the weight of his huge body and strong arm, fell that most trusty steel; the head of the jaguar dropped grinning or its vic- _ tim’s corpse: And all stood still who saw him fall, While men might count a score. ‘O Lord Jesus,’ said Amyas to himself, ‘thou hast answered the devil for me! And this is the selfish rest for which I would have bartered the rest which comes by orking where thou hast put me!’ BS 2 They Dore away the lithe corpse into the forest. and buried it under soft moss and virgin’ mould: and so the fair clay was transfigured into fairer flowers, and the poor gentle untanght spirit returned to God who gave it.. And then Amyas went sadly and silently back again, and Parracombe walked after him, like one who walks in _ sleep. Ebsworthy, sobered by the shock, entreated to-come {00; but Amyas for- - ‘bade him gently. ‘No, lad; you are forgiven.” God forbid that I should judge you orany man. Sir John shall come up -and marry you ; and then, if it still be your will to stay. the Lord forgive you, if you be wrong ; in the meanwhile, we will leave ~ with you all that we.can spare. Stay here, and pray to God to make you, and me _ too. wiser men.’ ~~ And so Amyas departed. He had come out stern and proud, but he came- back ~ again like a little child. . ~The other works of Canon Kingsley are ‘ Miscellanies’ from ‘ Fra- _-ser’s Magazine,’ 1859; ‘The Water Babies,’ 1863; ‘Hereward, the - Last of the English,’ 1866; ‘The Hermits,’ 1867; ‘How and Why,’ 1869; ‘At Last, a Christmas in the West Indies,’ 1871; ‘Health and _ Education,’ 1874.. Mr. Kingsley was made Canon of Chester in 1869, _ which he resigned in 1873, when made Canon of Westminster. This _ popular author and good man died at his parsonage of Eversley, 3 Birioshite; January 28, 1875, and was interred in Westminster psAbbey. se Z y i “ a : a > 272 CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1846 / CHARLOTTE BRONTE. In the real as distinguished from the ideal school of fiction, CHAR- . LOTTE BrontT# (afterwards Nicholls), by her tale of ‘Jane Eyre,’ at- tained immediate and remarkable popularity. Its Yorkshire scenes and characters were new to readers, and the whole had the stamp of truth and close observation. The life of Charlotte Bronté was one of deep and painful interest. Her father, the Rev. Patrick Bronté— who survived to a great age, outliving all his gifted children—was a native of the county Down in Ireland. One of a family of ten, the children of a small farmer, Patrick Bronté saw, the necessity for early exertion. A%@the age of sixteen he opened a school, then became a— tutor in a gentleman’s family, and afterwards, at the age of twenty- five, entered himself of St. John’s College, Cambridge. Having taken dis degree, he obtained a curacy in Essex, whence he removed to Yorkshire—first to Hartshead, near Leeds. At Hartshead he mar- ried a gentle, serious young Cornish woman, Maria Branwell, by whom in little more than six vears he had six children. In 1820 the family moved to another Yorkshire home, Mr. Bronté having ob- tained the living of Haworth, four miles from Keighley. The in- come of the minister, £170-per annum, might have sufficed for humbie comfort, but the parsonage was bleak and uncomfortable—a low oblong stone building, standing at the top of the straggling vil- lage on a steep hill, without the shelter of a tree, with the churchyard pressing down on it on both sides, and behind a long tract of wild moors. Charlotte Bronté thus describes the scene: Description. of Yorkshire Moors. A village parsonage amongst the hills bordering Yorkshire and Lancashire. The scenery of these hills is not grand—it is not romantic; it Is scarcely striking. Lone ; low moors, dark with heath, shut in little valieys, where a stream waters, here an there, a fringe of stunted copse. Milis and scattered cottages chase romance from these valleys: it is only higher up, deep in amongst the ridges of the moors, that Im- agination can find rest for the sole of her foot; and even if she finds it there, she must bea solitude-loving raven—no gentledove. Ifshedemand beauty toinspire her, — she must bring it inborn: these moors are too stern to yield any product so delicate, The eye of the grazer must 7tse/f brim with a ‘purple light,’ intense enough to per- petuate the brief flower-flush of Angust on the heater, or the rare sunset-smile of June; out of bis heart must well the freshness that in later spring and early summer brightens the bracken, nurtures the moss, and cherishes the starry flowers that span- gle for a few weeks the pasture of the moor-sheep. Unless that light and freshness _ are innate and self-sustained, the drear prospect of a Yorkshire moor will be found as barren of poetic as of agricultural interest: where the love of wild nature is strong, the locality will perhaps be clung to with the more passionate constancy, because from the hill-lover’s self comes half its charm. The population of Haworth and its neighbourhood was chiefly en- gaged in the worsted manufacture. They were noted fora wild law- less energy, and were divided by sectarian differences: The Bronté family kept aloof unless when direct service was required, and the minister always carried a pistol with him on his walks. He was an eccentric, half-misanthropical man, with absurd notions on the sub- Cae oe af Bribie Cee oy ee Be Se CS pile Browri.] - = ENGLISH LITERATURE. — - 273 e x ject of education. He kept his children on-a vegetable diet, and " clothed them in the humblest garments, that they might grow up ~ hardy and indifferent to dress. ie took his meals in his own room. His wifegslied the year afier the arrival of the family at Haworth, and ‘the poor children. were mostly left to themselves, occupying a room called the ‘children’s study ’"—though the eldest séwdent was only about seven years of ag andered hand in shand over the moors. - They were all small and feeble, stunted in their growth, but with remarkable precocity of intellect. The eccentric minister one day made an experiment to test their powers of reflection or under-. standing. He had a mask in the house, and thinking they might speak with less timidity if. thus concealed, he told them all to stand and speak boldly from under cover of the mask, The youngest, about four years of age, was asked what a child like her most want- ed; she answered: “Age and experience.’ The next was asked what “had best be done with her brother, who was sometimes a- naughty boy: ‘Reason with him,’ she said; ‘and when he won’t listen to rea- son, whip him:* The boy was then questioned as to the best way of knowing the difference between the intellects of man and woman, and. vhe replied: ‘By considering the difference between them as to their bodies.’ Charlotte was asked what was the best book in the world: _*'The Bible,’ she said; ‘and next to that the Book of Nature.” Another was asked what was the best education for a woman, and she re- ~ plied: ‘ That which would:make her rule her house well.’ Lastly, the oldest—about ten years of age—was asked what was the best - mode of spending time, and she answered: ‘By laying it out in - preparation for a happy eternity.’ These extraordinary little reason- ers took a great interest in politics and public events; they read and discussed the newspapers, and set up among themselves ‘little maga- _ Zines’ in imitation of ‘ Blackwood's Magazine.’ Tales, - dramas, _ poems, and romances were all attempted by the girls; and in one : ~ period of fifteen months, before she was fifteen years of age, Char- . lotte had filled twenty-two volumes with original compositions, writ- _ ten in a hand so painfuliy small and close as scarcely to be decipher- able without the aid of a magnifying-glass. Four of the girls were at length sent out to be educated. An active, wealthy clergyman, the Rev. W. Carus Wilson, established a school for the education of the daughters of poor clergymen at a place called Cowan’s Bridge, between Leeds and Kendal. Each pupil paid £14 a year, with £1 “of - entrance-money. The institution, however, was badly managed. _ The food was insufficient and badly cooked, and one of the teachers _ —satirised in ‘Jane Eyre’ as ‘ Miss Scatchard’ yrannised over one of the Bronté$ with inhuman severity. A fever afterwards broke out in the school, and the little band of sisters returned to the old stone parsonage and the ‘children’s study’ at Haworth. Death, - however, soon thinned the affectionate group. Maria died in 1825 in her twelfth year, and in the same year Elizabeth, aged eleven. - B< 4 is * s 4 ;. br ea a74 CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, Branwell, the only boy of the family, was educated at home; he had -~ the family talent and precocity, wrote verses, and had a turn for drawing, but ultimately became idle and dissipated, and occasioned the most poignant distress to-his sisters. The latter made many efforts to place themselves in an independent position. They went ' out as governesses, but disliked the occupation. Charlotte wrote to Southey, sending some of her poetry, and the laureate replied ina kindly but discouraging tone. - The project of keeping.a school was — then suggested. Tie aunt—who~ had come from Cornwall and as- | sisted at Haworth since the death of her sister—advanced a little money, and Charlotte and Emily proceeded to Brussels in order to acquire a knowledge of foreign languages. They entered a-pension- nat, and remained from.February to September 1842, when they ~ were recalled by the death of their aunt. Charlotte again returned ~ to Brussels, and officiated about a twelvemonth as a teacher, her salary being just £16 per annum, out of which she had to pay ten ‘francs a month for German lessons. In January 1844 she was again at Haworth. The sisters advertised that they would receive pupils in the parsonage; but no pupils came. They then ventured on the publication of a volume of their poems. The death of their - aunt had somewhat improved their circumstances, and a sum of £31, 10s. was spent in printing the ‘Poems, by Currer, Ellis, and Acton Bell.’ This ambiguous choice of names was dictated, as Charlotte relates, by ‘a sort of conscientious scruple at assuming Christian names positively masculine, while they did not like to declare them- selves women.’ The volume had little success. The best of the pieces are those by Emily, who had more vivacity and force of char- acter than her sisters. Mrs. Gaskell, in her interesting ‘Life of — Charlotte Bronté,’ has the following remarkable statement relative — to Emily, and the passage also illustrates Charlotte’s novel of ‘Shirley?’ Emily Bronte and her Dog ‘ Keeper.’ From her, many traits in Shirley’s character were taken: her way of sittingonthe — rug reading, with her arm round her rough bull-dog’s neck; her calling to a strange _ _ dog. running past with hanging head and lolling tongue, to give it a merciful draught +s of water. its maddened snap at. her, her nobly stern presence of mind, going right ~ into the kitchen, and taking up one of Tabby’s [the old servant in the parsonage] — red-hot Italian irons to sear the bitten place, and telling no one, till the danger was — well-nigh over. for fear of the terrors that might beset their weaker minds. All this, — looked. upon as a well-invented fiction in Shirley, was written down by Charlotte _ with streaming eyes; it was the literal account of what Emily had done. The same — tawny bull-dog (with his “strangled whistle’) called ‘Tartar’ in Shirley, was — ‘Keeper’ in Haworth parsonage—a gift to Emily. With the gift came a warning. — Keeper was faithful to the depths of his nature as long a8 he was-with friends; but — he who struck him with a stick or whip roused the relentless nature of the brute, — who flew at his throat forthwith. and held him there until one or fhe other was _ at the point of death. Now Keeper’s household fault was this: he loyed to” steal up-stairs. and stretch his square, tawny limbs on the comfortable beds, COVE. ¥, | ered over with white delicate counterpanes, But the cleanligess of the par ; - % . “ ef ~-pronTi.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 215 sonage arrangements was perfect, and Emily declared that if he was found again trans- - gressing, she herself, in defiance of warning and his well known ferocity of nature, would beat him so severely, that he would never offend again. In the gathering dusk of the evening, Tabby came to tell a ae Keeper was lying on the best bed in drowsy voluptuousness. Charlotte saw Emily’s whitening face and ~ set mouth, but dared not interfere; no@one dared when Emily’s eyes glowed in that manner out of the paleness of her face, and when her lips were so compressed into stone. She went up-stairs, and Tabby and Charlotte stood in the gloomy passage -below. Down-stairs came Emily, dragging after her the unwilling Keeper, his hind- _ legs set in a heavy attitude of resistance, held by the ‘ scuft of his neck,’ but grow- _ ling low and savagely all the time. The watchers would fain have spoken, but durst not, for fear of taking off Emily’s attention, and causing her to ave't her head for a moment from the enraged brute. She let him go, planted in a dark corner at the boitom of the stairs; no time was there to fetch stick or rod, for fear of the strang- _ ling clutch at ber throat—her bare clenched fist struck against his red fierce eyes, be- fore he had time to’make his spring, and, in the language of the turf, she ‘ punished’ him till his eyes were swelled up, and the half-blind stupefied beast was led to his ac- - customed lair to have his swollen head fomented and cared for by the very Emily her- self. The generous dog owed her no grudge; he loved her dearly ever after; he walked first among the mourners at her funeral; he slept moaning for nights at the , moor of her empty room; and never, so to speak, rejoiced, dog-fashion, after her eath. -- Each of the three sisters commenced a novel; Charlotte’s was “called ‘ The Professor,’ Emily’s ‘Withering Heights,’ and Anne’s ‘Agnes Grey.” When completed, the tales were sent to London. Charlotte’s was rejected by several publishers; and her sisters’, after various refusals, were only accepted on terms ‘ impoverishing to their authors.’ Charlotte, however, was encouraged to try a longer work in a more saleable form, and the very day that ‘The Professor’ was re- turned, ‘Jane Eyre’ was commenced. It was finished, accepted by Smith, Elder & Co., and published in October 1847. Its success was instant and remarkable. Three editions were called for within a _ twelvemonth. A new genius had arisen, ‘capable of depicting the _ strong, self-reliant, racy, and individual characters which lingered still in the north.’ This individuality of character and description, eulog- _ ised by Mrs. Gaskell, constitutes the attraction and the value of the ~ novel, for the plot is in many parts improbable, and some of the scenes are Grawn with coarseness, though with piquancy and power. A mas- ~ culine vigour and originality pervade the work. There was truth in the observation, that Jane Eyre was too like Richardson’s Pamela in her intercourse with her Master, though the inherent indelicacy of > such passages—of which the authoress was unconscious—Wwas soon forgotten in the strong interest excited by Jane’s misfortunes and - moral heroism. Much of Charlotte’s own history, down even to her - petite figure and plain face, is embodied in the story of the heroine. - The authorship had been kept a secret. But when success was as- ~ sured, Charlotte carried a copy of the novel to her father; he read jt in his study, and at tea-time said: ‘ Girls, do you know Charlotte ~ has been writing a book, and it-is much better than likely,’ He had —~ tried book-making himself, but with very different powers and differ- ex, 276 ‘ CYCLOPADIA OF ent results.* In Decémber 1847, ‘ Wuthering Heights’ and ‘Agnes Grey,’ by Emily and Anne Bronté,’ were published. The former had some strong delineation—a finished picture of a villain—but the — effect was unpleasing. A second tale by Anne, ‘The Tenant of — Wildfell Hall,’ is an improvement of the former work, and was more successful. Both of these novelists, however, were now fast sinking into the grave. Emily first declined, amd Charlotte has told the — melancholy sequel in a few brief but impressive words. . ; Death of Emily and Anne Bronte. a } Never in all her life had she [Emily] lingered over any task that lay before her, _ and she did not linger now. Shesank rapidly. She made haste to leave us. Yet, — while physically she perished, mentally she grew stronger than we had yet known her. Day by day, when I saw with what a front she met suffering, I looked on her - with an anguish of wonder-and love. I have seen nothing like it; but, indeed, I have never seen her parallel in anything. Stronger than a man, simpler than a child, her nature stood alone. ‘lhe awful point was, that while full of ruth for others, on herself she had no pity; the spirit was inexorable to the flesh; from the trembling - hand, the unnerved limbs, the faded eyes, the same service was exacted as they had rendered:in health. To stand by and witness this, and not dare to remon-trate, was a pain no words can render.- ‘’wo cruel months of hope and fear passed painfully by, and the day came at last when the terrors and pains of death were to be undergone by this treasure, which had grown dearer and dearer to our hearts as it wasted before ~ our eyes. Towards the decline of that day, we had nothing of Emily but her mortal _ remains as consumption left them. She died December 19, 1848 [in her thirtieth year], — We thought this‘enough; but we were utterly and presumptuously wrong. She was — not buried ere Anne fell ill. She had not been committed to the grave a fortnight, before we received distinct intimation that it was necessary to prepare our minds to see the younger sister go after the elder. Accordingly, she followed in the same path with a slower step. and with a patience that equalled the other’s fortitude. She was ~ religious, and it was by leaning on those Christian doctrines in which she firmly be-- — lieved that she found support through her most painful journey. I witnessed their efficacy in her latest hour and greatest trial, and must bear my testimony to the calm triumph with which they brought herthrough. She died May 28, 1849 [aged twenty- nine]. : Charlotte alone was now left with the aged father, for Branwell, after sinking from vice to vice, had died the year before, in his — thirty-first year. Literary labour was indispensable; and Charlotte completed her tale of ‘ Shirley,’ another series of Yorkshire delinea- — tions, fresh and vigorous as the former, and as well received by the public. It was published in 1849. With the publication of ‘Shir-— ley’ ended the mystery of the authorship. A Haworth man, resi- ding in Liverpool, read the novel, and recognised the localities and — dialect ; he guessed it to be Miss Bronté’s, and communicated his ~ discovery to a Liverpool paper, after which Miss Bronté paid a visit — —— \ged® * Mrs. Gaskell was probably not aware—and Charlotte Bronte might wish to conceal — that the singular minister of Haworth. while resident at Hartshead, published two — small volumes of verse—Cottuge Poems. 18113 and The Purval Minstrel. a Miscellany of Descrivtive Poems, 18138—the year after his marriage, His name is prefixed to both="_ ‘Bythe Rev. Patrick Bronte. B..\.. Minister of Hartshead-cum-Cli'ton. near Leeds, — Yorkshire:’ and both volumes bear the imprint. * Holifax. printed and sold-by P. Kus | ‘Holden for the autkor.’ There would have been difficulty in ushering them ito the world in any other way, for assuredly no publisher would, at hisown cost. have under= — taken the risk. The poems have nothing but their piety to recommend them 08 $ : t we = - pronré.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 277 to London, and the fact was made distinctly known. It was three _ years after this ere she appeared again asa novelist. * Her experi- _ ences at the pensionnat in Brussels, and the insight she had obtained into French character, suggested the subject of her next work, _ * Villette,’ which was published in 1853. In mere literary merit and _ skill of construction, it is superior to ‘Shirley,’ but it had not the same strong interest or air of reality. This was to be the last of _ Charlotte Bronté’s triumphs. Her father’s curate, Mr. Nicholis, had entertained a deep and enduring attachment for her.~ The old min- ister was at first oppused to the match; but he at length yielded, and - Charlotte was married in June, 1854. A few months ot happy wed- _ ded lite brightened the close of her strange and sad career, in which ~ she had displayed the virtues of a noble self-sacrificing nature, and she died March 31, 1855, in the thirty-ninth year of her age. Her first novel, ‘The Professor,’ has since been published, but it will not bear comparison with her other works. ; ‘Charlotte Bronte’s Protest against Pharisaism.—From Preface to Second P Hidition of ‘Jane Hyre.’ _ To that class in whose eyes whatever is unusual is wrong; whose ears detect in each protest against bigctry—that parent of crime—an insult to piety, that regent of Goce == earth, I wouid suggest to such doubters certain obvious distinctions; I would remind them of certain simple truths. _. Conventionality is not morality. Self-righteousness is not religion. To attack _ the first is not to assail the last. ‘To pluck the mask from the face of the Pharisee, is not to lift an impious hand to the crown of thorns. These things and deeds are diametrically opposed; they are as distinct as vice from virtne. Men too often confound them: they should not be confounded : appearance should not be mistaken for truth; narrow human doctrines, ihat only tend to elate and magnify a few, should not be substituted for the world-redeeming creed of Christ. There is—I - repeat it—a difference; and it is a good and nota bad action to mark broadly and clearly the line of separation between them. _. The world may not like to see these ideas dissevered. for it has been accustomed to blend them: finding it convenient to make external show pass for sterling worth —to let white-washed walls vouch for clean shrines. It may hate him who dares to “scruti:ize and expose—to raze the gilding, and shew base metal under it—to pene- _ trate the sepuichre, end reveal charnel relics: but hate as it will, it is indebted — to him. , Ahab did not like Micaiah, because he never prophesied good concern‘ng him, but evil; probably he liked the sycophant son of Chenaanah better; yet mizht Ahab hava escaped a bloody death, had he but stopped his ears to flattery, and opened them te faithfuiconneel. ¥ There is aman in our Own days whose words are not framed to tickle delicate @ars; who, to my thinking, comes before the great ones of society much as the son of Imlai came before the throned kings of Judah and Israci; and who speaks - truth as deep, with a power as propheftike and as vital—a mien as dauntless and ag daring. Is the satirist of ‘Vanity Fair’ admired in high places? I canmot ted: but _ I think if some of those amongst whom he hurls the Greek-tire of his sercasm, and ever whom he flashes the levin-brand of his denunciation, were to take his warnings _ in time—they or their seed might yet escape a fatal Ramoth-Gilead. x Why have I allnded to this man? I have alluded to-him, reader, because I think fY - Jsee in him an intellect profounder and more unique than his contemporar.es have ~ -yetrecognised ; because Iregard him as the first social regenerator of the day—as * -the very master of that working corps who would restore to_rectitnde the warped _ Bystern of things, — eA x : = 378 - CYCLOPAIDIA OF [70 1876, The Orphan Child.—From ‘ Jane Fiyre. My feet they are sore, and my limbs they are weary 3 > Tans is the way, and the mountains are wild; Soon will the twilight close moonless and dreary Over the path of the poor orphan child. Why did they send me so far and so lonely, : Up where the Moors spread and gray rocks are piled? : Men are hard-hearted, and kind a: gels only Watch o’er the steps of a poor orphan child. Yet distant and soft the night-breeze is blowing, Clouds there are none, and clear stars beam mild* God in his mercy protection is shewing, Comfort and hope to the poor orphan child. Ev’n should I fall o’er the broken bridge passing, Or stray in the marshes, by false lights beguiled, Still will my Father, with promise and blessing, Take to his bosom the poor orphan child. There is a thought that for strength should avail me Though both of shelter and kindred despoiled * Heaven is a home, and a rest will not fail me; God is a friend to the poor orphan child. CHARLES JAMES LEVER. A series of Irish novels, totally different in character from those of Banim or Carleton, but as distinctly and truly national, has been ~ written by Mr. LEVER, who commenced his career in 1839 with — ‘The Confessions of Harry Lorrequer.’ The author was born in ’ Dublin, August 31, 1806. e studied medicime, and practised in Ire- ‘and. When the cholera broke out in 1832 he exerted himself nobly, — and was rewarded with the appointment of physician to the British Embassy at Brussels. The success of ‘ Harry Lorrequer’ deter- mined Mr. Lever in favor of the literary profession. In 1841 he pro- duced ‘Charles O’Malley,’ which was highly popular; and for thirty years afterward scarcely a year passed without a novel from the gay and brilliant author. Among them were ‘Jack Hinton;’ ‘Tom Burke of Ours;’ ‘The O’Donoghue, a Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago;’ — “The Knight cf Gwynne, a Tale of the Union;’ ‘ Roland Cashel,’ - ‘The Daltons,’ ‘The Dodd Family Abroad,’ ‘The Martins of Cro’ Martin,’ ‘The Fortunes of Glencore,’ ‘Davenport Dunn,’ ‘Maurice Tierney,’ ‘ Sir Jasper Carew,’ ‘ Luttrell of Arran,’ ‘Sir Brook Foss- | brooke,’ ‘That Boy of Norcott’s,’ ‘ Paul Gosslett’s Confessions,’ ‘ A Day’s Ride,’ ‘ Con Cregan,’ ‘The Bramleighs of Bishop’s Folly,’ &c. — His Last novel, ‘ Lord Kilgobbin,’ was produced only a few months be- fore his death, and aware that his end was near at hand, he said: ‘I hope this effort may be my last.’ He died of heart-disease at Tri- este, June 1, 1872. Besides his long file of novels, Lever published in ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine’ (where many of his fictions also first ap- _ eared) a series of papers ‘upon men and women, and other things in general, by Cornelius O’Dowd.’ ‘These are clever, sarcastic and = : . eee | a | “LEVER.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. ; 279 _ humorous essays, which, when collected, formed three volumes of admirable light reading. : For about three years (1842-45) Mr. Lever conducted the ‘Dublin University Magazine.’ The novels of this versatile and lively author had all a considerable sale—some of the early ones rivalled the works of Dickens in popularity. ‘Charles O'Malley’ has gone through twelve editions. Besides his strange adventures, his battle-scenes, and romantic exploits, Mr. Lever has a rich, racy, national humour, His heroes have all a strong love of adventure, a national proneness to blundering, and a tendency to get into scrapes and questionable situations. The author’s chief fault is his sometimes mistaking farce - for comedy—mere animal spirits for wit or humour. - In ‘Glencore’ _he tried the higher style of fiction—‘ the detection of character and the unravelment of that tangled skein which makes up human mo- tives;’ but his satire and serious painting are not equal to his light- hearted gaiety, rollicking fun, and broad, laughable caricature. In ‘The Dodd Family’ is an excellent view of foreign life. During the latter part of his life Mr. Lever constantly resided abroad. He was many years in Florence; in 1858 he was appointed vice-consul at - Spezia, where he remained till 1867, when he was transferred to Trieste. In 1871 the university of Dublin conferred upon him the _degree of LL.D. Dispensing Charity among the eee Poor.—From ‘ The Martins of Cro’ artin,’ Most of those who came were desirous of tickets for dispensary aid, for sickness has its permanent home in the Irish cabin, and fever lurks amidst the damp straw and smoky atmosphere of the poor peasant’s home.. Some, however, came for articles _ of clothing, or for aid to make and repair them ; others, for some little assistance in diet, barley for a sick man’s drink, a lemon, or an orange, to moisten the parched _ lips of fever; others, again, wanted leave ‘to send a grandchild or a niece to the school; and, lastly, a few privileged individuals appeared to claim their weekly rations of snuff or tobacco—little luxuries accorded to old age—comforts that solaced many _ adreary hour of a joyless existence. Amongst all the crowded mass, there was not _ one whom Mary had not known and visited in their humble homes. Thoroughly cone ~ -versant with their condition and their necessities, she knew well their real wants _ and if one less hopeful than herself might have despaired to render any actual relief - to such wide-spread misery, she was sanguine enough to be encouraged by the results _. before her, small and few as they were, to think that. possibly the good time was yet - to come when such efforts would be unneeded, and when Ireland’s industry, em- _ ployed and rewarded, would more then suffice for all the requirements of her humble ~ poor. é , - ‘Jane Maloney,’ said Mary, placing a small packet on the table. ‘ Give this to _ Sally Kieran as you pass her door; and here is the order for your own cloak.’ _ *May the heavens be your bed. May the holy "—— : ‘Catty Honan,’ cried Mary, with a gesture to enforce silence. ‘Catty, your grand- + daughter never comes to the school now that she has got leaye. What ’s the reason of that? : + ¢¥eix, your reverence, miss, tis ashamed she is by rayson of her clothes. gays Luke Dascias danghters have check aprons.’ stay poe Ee _ _£No more of this, Catty. Tell Eliza to come on Monday, and if I’m satisfied with t 3 her, she shall have one too.’ .. a ‘Two ounces of tea for the Widow Jones.’ aig ° Se vegies 2 280 ~ CYCLOPEDIA-OF- = fro 1875, . ‘*Ayeh,? muttered an old hag, ‘but it’s weak it makes it without a little green in ity ; i ‘How are the pains, Sarah?’ asked Mary, turning to a very feeble-looking old creature with crntches. . = : ‘Worse and worse, my lady. . With every change of the weather they come on afresh.’ < * The doctor will attend you, Sally, and if he thinks wine good for you, you shai have it.’ ‘Tis that same would be the savin’ of me. Miss Mary,’ said a cunning-eyed little woman. with a tattercd straw bonnet on her head, and a ragged shawl over her, ‘I don’t think so, Nancy. Come up to the house on Monday morning, and help Mrs. Taafe with the bleaching.’ é ig ‘So this is the duplicate, Polly 2?’ said she, taking a scrap of paper from an old” woman, whose countenance indicated a blending of dissipation with actual want. ‘ Qne-and-fourpence was all I got on it, and trouble enough it gave me.’ These words sie uitered with a heavy sigh, and in a tone at once resentfui and complii: - ing. *, Were my uncle to know that you had pawned your cloak, Polly, he ’d never per- mit you to cross his threshold.’ ‘ Ayeh, it’s a great sin, to be sure,’ whined out the hag, half insolently. ‘A great shame anda great disgrace it certainly is; and I shall stop ail relief to _ you till the money be paid back.’ - 4 And why not?’—‘ To. be sure !’—‘ Miss Mary is right !)—‘* What else could she do?’ broke in full twenty sycophant voices, who hoped to prefer their own claims by the cheap expedient of condemning another. ‘The Widow Hannigan ?’ ‘Here, miss,’ simpered out a smiling, little old creature, with a curtsey, as she held up a scroll of paper in her hand. ‘What. ’s this, Widow Hannigan ?’ ; ‘*Tis a picture Mickey made of you, miss, when you was out riding that day with the hounds; he saw you jumping a stone wall.’ P Mary smiled at the performance, which c:rtainly did not promise future excel- lence, and went on: ‘ Tell Mickey to mend his writing; his was the worst copy in the class; and here ’s a card for your daughtev’s admission into the infirmary. “By the way, widow. which of the boys was it.I saw dragging the river on Wednesday ?? - ‘ Faix. miss, I don’t know. -Sure it was none of ours would aare to ’—— : ‘Yes, they would, any one of them; but I ’ll not permit it; and what’s more, widow. if it occur again, I'll withdraw the leave I gave to fish with a rod.’ ‘Teresa Johnson. your niece is a very good child. and promises to be véry ue Reet co. Pe I Seale ec F K handy with her needle. Let her hem these handkerchiefs, and there’s a frock for | herself... My uncle says, ‘Tom shall have half his wages paid him till he’s able to come to work again.’ ae g But why attempt to fotiow out what would be but the long unending catalogue of z native misery—that dreary series of wants and privations to which extreme destitu= _ tion subjects a long-neglected and helpless people. _There was nothing from the cra- dle to the coffin, from the first wailing wants of infancy to the last requirement of doting old age, that they did noi stand in need of. A melancholy spectacle. indeed, — was it to behold an entire population so steeped in misery. so utterly inured to ~ wretchedness, that they felt no shame at its exposure, ut rather a sort of self-exalt- ation at any opportunity of displaying a more than ordinary amount of human suf- fering and sorrow—to hear them how they caressed their afilittions, how they seemed to fondle their misfortunes, vying with each other in calamity, and bidding higher and higher for a little human sympathy. Mary Martin set herself stoutly to combat — this practice. mcluding. as it does, one of the most hopeless features of the national eharacter. ‘To inculcate habits of self-reliance, she was often driven, in violation o£ — her own feelings, to favour those who least needed assistance, but whose efforts te- improve their condition might serve as an example. , SAMUEL LOVER—LEITCH RITCHIE. a + Another Irish worthy, SamuEL Lover (1798-1868), a native of Dublin, produced a number of. good Irish songs—‘ The Angels’ — / . his: oe , At a oF eet fi ey o> Pos 4 4 i Ror . ~ LLover.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 281 pes,’ ‘Molly Bawn,’ ‘The Four-leaved Shamrock, &c.’ His Irish novels —‘ Rory O’ More’ (1839), ‘Handy Andy’ (1842), and ‘ Treasure _ Trove’ (1844), were well received. His short Irish sketches, how- ever, are much better ; and by reciting some of these, and singing _ his fine wild songs, he made up a public entertainment which he gave with great success in Ireland, England, and America. The Angels’ Whisper. } A baby was sleeping, its mother was wecp'ng, | For her husband was far on the wild raving sea; | And the tempest was swelling round the fisherman’s dwelling, And she cried: ‘ Dermot, darling, oh! come back to me.’ Her beads while she numbered, the baby still slumbered, And similed in her face while she bended her knee. ‘Oh! blest be that warning, my child, thy sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee. * And while they are keeping bright watch o’er thy sleeping, 2 ‘Oh! pray to them softly, my baby with me; ‘ : And say thou wouldst rather they’d watched o’er thy father, | For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.’ The dawn of the morning saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe’s father to see, And closely caressing her child with a blessing, Said: ‘1 knew that the angels were whispering with thee.’ -. Errrcs Rircutre (1800-1865), a native of Greenock, was author of - four novels—‘ Schinderhannes,’ ‘The Game of Life,’ ‘The Magician,’ and ‘ Wearyfoot Common,’ 1855. He wrote various short tales and continental tours, and for several years bore a part in conducting _ *Chambers’s Journal.’ THOMAS HUGHES. ‘Tom Brown’s School-days, by an Old Boy,’ 1857, gives an excel- lent account of Rugby School under Dr. Arnold; also some delight- _ ful sketches of scenery, rural customs, and sports in Berkshire. ‘The _ hero, Tom Brown, is the son of a Berkshire squire; he is genial, good-humoured, and high-spirited; he fights his way nobly at Rugby, and battles against bullying, tossing, and other evils of our public schools. The tore and feeling of the volume are admirable, and it "was pleasant to see so healthy and wise a book—for so it may be - termed—in its sixth edition within twelve months. Several more edi- _ tions have since been published. The same author has still further commemorated his beloved Berkshire in ‘The Scouring of the ' White Horse, or the Long Vacation Ramble of a London Clerk,’ 1858. In this work the country games, traditions, and antiquarian - associations of Berkshire are described. >. The Browns. a The Browns have become illustrious by the pen of Thackeray and the pencil of _ Doyle, within the memory of the young gentlemen who are now matriculating at the "universities. Notwithstanding the well-merited but late fame which has now fallen f E.L. v. 7—10 4 . : ns ~ “= VE OS Ties ee oY ea’ @ po NSO Se rr rr ~ 7 4 ’ _ “ts Fe Di “pe nN a 9 ise Ne be AL i Sea _ . * eS) , 282 _CYCLOPEDIA OF ———s [ro 1876, upon them, any one at all acquainted with the family must feel that much has yet to © be written and’said before the British nation will be properly sensible of how much of its greatness 1t owes to the browns. For centuries, in their quiet, dogged, hoime- spun way, they have been subduing the earth in most English counties, and leavin their mark in American forests and Australian upiands. Wherever the fleets an arimies of England have won renown, there stalwart sons of the Browns have done yeoman’s work. With the yew-bow and cloth-yard shatt at Cressy and Agincourt— with the brown bill and pike under the brave Lord Wiioughby—with cuiverin and demi-culverin against Spaniards and Dutchmenu—with hand-grenade and sabre, and tousket and bayonet, under Rodney and St. Vincent, Wolf and Moore, Nelson and Wellington, they have carried their lives in their hands; getting hard knocks and hard work in pienty, which was on the whole what they looked for, aud the best thing for them: aud little praise or pudding, which indeed they, and most of us, are better without. ‘Talbots and Stanleys, St. Maurs and such-like folk, have led armies and made laws time out of mind; but those noble families would be somewhat as- tounded—if the accounts ever came to be fairly taken—to find how smali their work for England has been by the side of that of the Browns. The author of ‘Tom Brown’s School-days’ is ‘Thomas Hughes, a Chancery barrister (appointed Queen’s Counsel in 1869), son of John Hughes, Esq., of Oriel College, Oxford, author of the ‘Itinerary of Provence,’ and editor of the ‘ Boscobel Tracts.’ Sir Walter Scott pronounced this gentleman ‘a poet, a draughtsman, and a scholar.’ The once famous ballad of ‘ The One-horse Shay’ and other political pout @esprit in ‘John Bull,’ were by the elder Mr, Hughes. His son, orn in 1823, was educated at Rugby under Dr. Arnold. Mr. Hughes was for some time an active member of parliament, warmly advocating the interests, without flattering the prejudices, of the working-classes. In all social questions he takes a deep interest, and evinces a manly, patriotic spirit. MRS. CROWE, This lady differs from most of her sister-novelists in a love of the supernatural and mysterious. She possesses dramatic skill in de- scribing characters and incidents, and few who have taken up one of her stories will lay down the volume until it has been read through. Mrs. Crowe’s first publication was a tragedy, ‘ Aristode- mus,’ 1488. Her next work was addressed to the many. ‘The Adventures of Susan Hopley,’ 1841, is a novel of English life, and was very successful. It was followed by ‘Men and Women, or Manorial Rights,’ 1843—a tale less popularly attractive than ‘Susan — Hopley,’ but undoubtedly superior to it in most essential points. Mrs. Crowe next translated ‘The Seeress of Prevorst,’ revelations concerning the inner life of man, by Justinus Kerner; and two years afterwards (1847), she published ‘The Story of Lilly Dawson.’ The heroine, when a child, falls into the hands of a family of English smugglers, desperadoes of the Dirk Hatteraick stamp; and the account — given of the gradual development of her intellect and affections amidst scenes of brutal violence and terror, with the story of her subsequent escape and adventures when the world was all before her, form a narrative of psychological as well as of romantic interest. Among ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 283 | the opinions and reflections thrown out by the authoress is an ad- _ mission that the intellectual faculty of woman is inferior in quality - aud calibre to that of man: If, as we believe, under no system of training, the intellect of woman would be _ found as strong as that of man, she is compensated by her intuitions being strouger —if her reason be less majestic, her insight is clearer—where man reasons, she sees, _ Nature, in short, gave her all that was needful to enable her to fill a nobie part in the _ world’s history, if man would but let her play it out, and not treat her like a full- grown baby, to be flattered and spoiled on the one hand, and cocrced and restricted - onthe other, vibrat.ng betwixt royal rule and slavish serfdom. In 1848 Mrs. Crowe issued two volumes representing ‘The Night- side of Nature, or Ghosts and Ghost-seers.’ Some of the stories are derived from the German, and others are relations of supernatural events said to have happened in this country, some of them within - the author’s knowledge. A three-volume novel from her pen ap- _ peared in 1852, ‘The Adventures of a Beauty,’ describing the per- _ plexities arising out of a secret marriage contracted by a wealthy - baronet’s son with the daughter of a farmer ; and another domestic story, ‘Linny Lockwood,’ two volumes, 1854, appears to complete ' the round of Mrs. Crowe’s works of fiction. The novelist, we may - add, is a native of Borough Green, county of Kent; her maiden name was Catherine Stevens, and in 1822 she was married to Colonel Crowe. Stages in the History of Crime. It is in the annals of the doings and sufferings of the good and brave spirits of the earth that we should learn our lessons. It is by these that our hearts are mel- owed. our minds exalted, and our souls nerved to go and do likewise. But there are occasionally circumstances connected with the history of great crimes that render them the most impressive of homilies: fitting them to be set aloft as beacons to warn away the frail mortal, tossed on the tempest of his passions, from the destruc- tion that awaits him if he pursues his course; and such instruction we hold may be best derived from those cases in which the subsequent feelings of a criminal are disclosed to us; those cases, in short, in which the chastisement proceeds from within instead of from without; that chastisement that no cunning concealment, no legal subtlety, no eloquent counsel, no indulgent judge can avert... . One of the features of our time—as of all times, each of which is new in its generation—is the character of its crimes. Every phasis of human affairs, every ad- _ vance in civilisation, every shade of improvement in our material comforts and con- __veniences, gives rise to new modes and forms—nay, to actual new births—of crime, _ the germs of which were only waiting for a congenial soil to spring in ; whilst others - are but modifications of the old inventions accommodated to new circumstances. There are thus stages in the history of crime -indicative of ages. First, we have ' the heroic. Ata very early period of a nation’s annals. crime is bloody, bold, and _Tesolute. Ambitious princes ‘ make quick conveyance’ with those who stand in the . Way of their advancement; and fierce barons slake their enmity and revenge in the _ blood of their foes, with little attempt at concealment, and no appearance of remorse. oe Next comes the age of strange murders, mysterious poisonings. and lifelong incarce- ‘Ss rations; when the passions. yet rife, unsubdued by education and the practical in- » fluence of religion. and rebellious to the new restraints of law, seek their gratifica- _ Won by hidden and tortuous methods. Thisis the romantic era of crime. But as Civilisation advances, it descends to a lower sphere. sheltering itself chiefly in the _ 8qualid tistricts of poverty and wretchedness ; the last halo of the romantic and he- _ Yoic fades from it; and except where it is the result vf brutal ignorance, its chief __ characteristic becomes astuteness. wre aS a y . as WF : erie a as 284 . CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876, “a. But we are often struck by the strange tinge of romance which still colours the page of continental criminal records, causing them to read like the annals of a pre~- vious century. We think we perceive also a state of morals somewhat in atrear of ~ the stage we have reached, and, certainly, some curious and very defective forms of law ; and these two causes combined, seem to give rise to criminal enterprises which, ju this country, could scarcely have been undertaken, or, if they were, must have been met with immediate detection and punishment. Theré is also frequently a singular complication or imbroglio in the details, such as would be impossible in this isiand of duylight—for, enveloped in fog as we are physically, there is a greater glare thrown upon our actions here than among any other nation of the world perhaps—an imbroglio that appears to fling the narrative buck into the romantic era, and to indicate that it belongs to a stage of civilisation we bave already passed, MISS PARDOE. JULIA PARDOE (1806-1862), born at Beverley, in Yorkshire, the daughter of Major Thomas Pardoe, was an extensive writer in fiction, in books of travels, and in historical memoirs. Her most successful efforts have been those devoted to Eastern mannersand society. She is said to have produced a volume of Poems at the age of thirteen. The first of her works which attracted any attention was ‘ Traits and Traditions of Portugal, published in 1888. Having proceeded to the East, Miss Pardoe wrote ‘The City of the Sultan,’ 1886; which was succeeded in 1839 by ‘The Romance of the Harem’ and ‘The Beau- ties of the Bosphorus.’ In 1857, reverting to these Eastern studies and observations, Miss Pardoe produced a pleasant collection of ori- ental tales, entitled ‘Thousand and One Days.’ not unnaturally operated upon our common notions of the country; and for the ‘south of France,’ we are very apt to conjure up a brave, fictitious landscape. Yet, this country is no Eden. It has been admirably described in a single phrase, the ‘Austere South of France.’ It 7s austere—grim—sombre. It never smiles; it-is scathed and parched. There is no freshness or rurality in it. It does not seem the country, but a vast yard—shadeless, glaring, drear, and dry. Let us glance from our elevated perch over the district we are traversing. A vast, rolling wilderness of clodded earth, browned and baked by the sun; here and there masses of red rock heaving themselves above the soil like protruding ribs of the earth, and a vast coating of drouthy dust, lying like snow upon the ground. To the left. a long ridge of iron-like mountains—on all sides rolling hills, stern and kneaded, looking as thongh frozen. On the slopes and in the plain, endless rows of scrubby, ugly trees, powdered with the universal dust, and looking exactly like mopsticks. Sprawling and straggling over the soil beneath them, jungles of burnt-up leafless bushes, tangled and apparently neglected. The trees are olives and mulberries—the bushes, vines. Glance again across the country. It seems a solitude. Perhaps one or two distant figures, gray with dust, are labouring to break the clods with wooden hammers; but that is all. No cottages—no farm-houses—no hedges—all one rolling sweep of iron-like, burnt-up, glaring land. In the distance you may espy a village. It looks like a fortification—all blank, high stone walls, and no windows, but mere loopholes. A square church tower gloomily and heavily overtops the houses, or the dungeon of an ancient fortress rears its massive piie of mouldering stone. Where have you seen such a landscape before? Stern and forbidding, it has yet a familiar look.. These scrubby, mop-headed trees—these formal square lines of huge edifices—these banks and braes, varying in hue from the gray of the dust to the red of the rock—why. they are precisely the backgrounds of the pictures of the renaissance painters of France and Italy. , With his various tasks and incessant labour, the health of the young littérateur gave way. Mental disease prostrated him, and for the last two years of his life he was helpless. One eminent and generous man of letters—Mr. Thackeray—by special lectures and personal bounty, contributed largely to the comfort of the sufferer ; and an- other—Mr. Shirley Brooks—undertook, and for many months cheer- fully fulfilled, some of his friend’s literary engagements. The Liter- . 4 he a ~ Pea i —/ ” — , 292 CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876. ary Fund also lent assistance. It is gratifying to note these instances — of sympathy, but more important to mark the warning which Mr. Reach’s case holds out to young literary aspirants of the dangers of over-application. Mr. ALBERT SmitrH (1816-1860), born at Chertsey, is best known for his illustrated lectures or amusing monologues in the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly, in which he described a visit to Constantinople, the ascent of Mont Blanc, and a trip to China in 1858-9. Of these tours he also published accounts. Mr. Smith studied medicine both in London and Paris, but began early to write for the magazines, and threw off numerous tales and sketches—as ‘The Adventures of Mr. Ledbury,’ ‘The Scattergood Family,’ ‘Christopher Tadpole,’ ‘ The Pottleton Legacy,’ several dramatic pieces, &c. His lectures—some- what in the style of Mathews’s ‘ At Home,’ but with the addition of very fine scenery—were amazingly successful: ‘Mont Blanc’ was repeated above a thousand times, and almost invariably to crowded houses. . : MRS. ELLIS. This lady is the Hannah Moore-of the present generation. She has written fifty or sixty volumes, nearly all conveying moral or reli- gious instruction. Her principal works are—‘ The Women of Eng- land,’ 1838; ‘A Summer and Winter in the Pyrenees,’ 1841; ‘The Daughters of England,’ 1842; ‘The Wives of England,’ and ‘The Mothers of England,’ 1848; ‘Prevention Better than Cure,’ 1847; ‘Hints on Formation of Character,’ 1848. Several short tales and poems have also been published by Mrs. Ellis. This accomplished and industrious lady (nee Sarah Stickney) was in 1847 married to the. distinguished missionary, the Rev. William Ellis, author of ‘ Poly- nesian Researches in the Society and Sandwich Islands,’ four vol- umes, 1882. MISS C. M. YONGE—MISS SEWELL—MISS JEWSBURY. A not less voluminous writer is CHARLOTTE Mary YONGE, a na- tive of Hampshire, born in 1823. Her novel, ‘The Heir of Red- clyffe,’ 1853, at once established her reputation. She had, however, previous to this date written several other tales—‘ Henrietta’s Wish,’ ‘Venneth,’ and ‘ Langley School,’ 1850; ‘The Kings of England,’ ‘The Two Guardians,’ and ‘Landmarks of Ancient History,’ 1852, &c. The popularity of ‘The Heir of Redclyffe’ induced the au- thoress to continue what may be called the regular novel style; and in ‘ Heart’s Ease,’ 1854; ‘ Daisy Chain,’ 1856; and ‘Dynevor Ter- race,’ 1857, we have interesting, well-constructed tales. Since then she has produced several other works—‘ The Young Stepmother,’ ‘Hopes and Fears,’ ‘The Lances of Lynwood,’ ‘Clever Woman of the Family,’ ‘ Prince and the Page,’ &c. The children’s books of Miss Yonge have also been exceedingly popular ; and all her works, tike those of Mrs. Ellis, have in view the moral improvement of the ‘ » “>. es 2 » al s - 4 F f : = - % ; _ \ : Star c ~ = 2 a : . ‘ - s 3 ij - = 4 -. YONGE.) ENGLISH LITERATURE. _. - 993 young, more particularly those of her own sex. Miss Yonge is said to have given £2000, the profits of her tale ‘ Daisy Chain,’ towards _ the building of a missionary college at Auckland, New Zealand, and also a portion of the proceeds of the ‘ Heir of Redclyffe’ to fitting - out the missionary ship Southern Cross, for the use of Bishop Selwyn. ELizABETH Misstnc SEWELL, a native of the Isle of Wight, born in 1815, is authoress of various works of what is exlled ‘High _ Church fiction,’ but works affording moral instruction, blended with delicate womanly pictures of life and character. The best known of these are ‘Amy Herbert,’ 1844; ‘ Gertrude’ and ‘ Sketches,’ 1847; ‘Katherine Ashton,’ 1854; ‘Margaret Percival,’ 1858, &c. Miss Sewell has written various religious works, sketches of continental travel, &c. GERALDINE JEWSBURY is more ambitous in style, but not always so successful. Her works are—‘ Zoe,’ 1845; ‘ The Half-Sisters,’ 1848; ‘Constance Herbert’ and ‘ Right or Wrong,’ 1859, &c. Of these, ‘Constance Herbert’ is the best, both for the interest of the story and its literary merits. Miss Jewsbury has written a story for chil- dren, ‘Angelo, or the Pine Forest in the Alps,’ 1855. The elder sister of this lady, Maria Jane, wife of the Rev. W. Fletcher, ac- companied her husband to India, and died at Bombay in 1883; she Was an amiable, accomplished woman, authoress of various essays, sketches, and poems, including two volumes, ‘ Phantasmagoria,’ 1829, which Professor Wilson characterised as ‘always acute and never coarse.’ a NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. This distinguished American author was born on the 4th July 1804 —the American Independence Day. He was a native of Salem, ~ Massachusetts, and was early in the fieid as a contributor to periodi- cal literature. Two volumes of these pieces were collected and published under the title of ‘ Twice-told Tales’ (1837 and 1842.) In 1-45 appeared ‘ Mossés from an old Manse,’ and in 1850 ‘ The Scarlet Letter,’ which may be said to have given its author a European reputation. He afterwards joined with some friends in a scheme like the contemplated Pantisocracy of Southey and Coleridge—a ‘society called the Brook Farm Community, from which Arcadian felicity and plenty were anticipated, but which ended in failure. In 1851, Ate. Hawthorne produced ‘The House of the Seven Gables,’ and in 1852 ‘The Blithedale Romance.’ He published also a ‘ Life of General Pierce,’ and ‘A Wonder Book,’ a second series of which, called ‘ Tanglewood Tales,’ was published in 1858. On the accession of General Pierce to the presidency in 1852, Hawthorne was ap- - pointed consul for the United States at Liverpool, which he held for about five years. A visit to Italy gave occasion to his writing _ *'Transformation’ (1860)—a novel which gives an admirable view of b he 4 . Ted SO ae ees So eS ~ A * 2 -~* . on Si ee ea ~~ >. ae _< ~ : = + . - > ‘ ; 3 = : ey 294 ° CYCLOPEDIA OF [re 1876. — | ' : » 1 Roman life, antiquities, and art. How graphic and striking and — true, for example, is the picture presented by the opening scene! The Capitol at Rome. Four individuals, in whose fortunes we should be glad to interest the reader, hap- pened to be standing in one of the saloous of the sculpture-gallery in the Capitol at Rome. It was that room (the first after ascending the staircase) in the centre of which reclines the noble and most pathetic figure of the Dying Gladiator, just sink- ing into his death swoon. Around the walls stand the Antinious, the Amazon, the Lycian Apollo, the Juno; all famous productions of antique sculpture, and still shining in the undiminished majesty and beauty of their ideal life, although the mar- ble that embodies them is yellow with time, and perhaps corroded by the damp earth _ in which they lay buried for centuries. Here, likewise is seen a symbol (as apt at this moment as it was two thousand years ago) of the human soul, with its choice of innocence or evil at hand, in the pretty figure of a child, clasping adove to her — bosom, but assaulted by a snake. — ; : From one of the windows of this saloon, we may see a flight of broad stone steps descending alongside the antique and massive foundation of the Capitol, towards the battered triumphal arch of Septimus Severus, right below. Farther on, the eye skirts along the edge of the desolate Forum (where Roman washerwomen hang out their linen to the sun), passing over a shapeless confusion of modern edifices, piled rudely up with ancient brick and stone, and over the domes of Christian churches, built on the old pavements of heathen temples, and supported by the very pillars that — ounce upheld them. At a distance beyoud—yet but a little way, considering how — much history-is heaped into the intervening space—rises the great sweep of the Coli- seum, with the blue sky brightening through its upper tier of arches. Far off, the view is shut in by the Alban Mountains, looking just the same, amid all this decay - and change, as when Romulus gazed thitherward over his half-finished wall. : ; We glance hastily at these things—at this bright sky, and those blue, distant ~ mountains, and at the ruins, Etruscan, Roman, Christian, venerable with a three- fold antiquity. and at the company of world-famous statues in the saloon—in the hope of putting the reader into that state of feeling which is experienced oftenest at Rome. It is a vague sense of ponderous remembrances; a perception of such weight and density in a bygone life, of which this spot was the centre, that the pres- ent moment is pressed down or crowded out, and our individual affairs and interests are but half as real here as elsewhere. Side by side with the massiveness of the Roman Past, all matters that we handle or dream of nowadays look evanescent and visionary alike. Mr. Hawthorne returned to America, and published ‘Our Old Home,’ two vols., 1863, giving an account of England, but written in a tone of querulous discontent and unfairness which pained his — friends on both sides of the Atlantic. Part of this must be attri- buted to ill-health, which continued to increase till the death of the novelist, which took place at Plymouth, New Hampshire, May 19, 1864. An interesting volume of Memorials of Hawthorne has been published by Henry A. Pace. _ His widow also edited and published ‘ Passages from the American Note-books of Nathaniel Hawthorne,’ two vols., 1868; ‘ Passages from the English Note-books of Nathan- iel Hawthorne,’ two vols., 1870; and ‘Septimius,’ an unfinished romance, 1871. The three early romances, ‘The Scarlet Letter,’ ‘Seven Gables,’ and ‘ Blithedale,’ are the most popular and original of Mr. Hawthorne’s works. The first of these pictures of New Eng- land life and Puritanism is on a painful subject, for ‘The Scarlet Letter’ is the badge of the heroine’s shame, and her misery and Re ee yee ca _ HAWTHORNE. ] ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. . 205°. _ degradation form the leading theme of the story. But it is intensely - interesting, and its darker shades are relieved by passages of fine - description. Perhaps its only fault is one which attaches also to _ Scott's. ‘ Waverley’—a too long and tedious introduction. The second romance does not possess the same harrowing interest, but it has greater variety, and the inmates of the old house-are drawn with consummate skill. ‘The Blithedale Romance’ is a story - founded on the Socialist experiment at Brook Farm. A strain of weird fancy and sombre thought pervades most of Hawthorne’s writings. A Socialist Experiment. | The peril of our new way of life was not lest we should fail in becoming practical ~ agriculturists, but that we should probably cease to be anything else. While our en- terprise lay all in theory, we had pleased ourselves with delectable visions of the spiritualisation of labour. It was to be our form of prayer and ceremonial of wor- ship. Each stroke of the hoe was to uncover some aromatic root of wisdom, here- tofore hidden from the sun. Pausing in the field, to let the wind exhale the moisture - from our foreheads, we were to look upward, and catch glimpses into the far-off _ soul of truth. In this point of view, matters did. not turn out quite so well as we anticipated. It is very true that, sometimes, gazing casually around me, out of the midst of my toil, I used to discern a richer picturesqueness in the visible scene of earth and sky. There was, at such moments, a novelty, an unwonted aspect, on the face of nature, as if she had been taken by surprise and seen at unawares, with no opportunity to put off her real look, and assume the mask with which she mysteri- ously hides herself from mortals. But this was all. The clods of earth which we so _ constantly belaboured and turned over and over, were never etherialised into thought. Our thoughts, on the contrary, were fast becoming cloddish. Ourlabour symbolised no: hing, and left us mentally sluggish in the dusk of the evening. Intellectual ac- tivity is incompatible with any large amount of bodily exercise. The yeoman and the scholar—the yeoman and the man of finest moral culture, though not the man of sturdiest sense and integrity—are two distinct individuals, and can never be melted or welded into one substance. ¥ In quaint description and love of odd localities, Mr. Hawthorne, in his short pieces, reminds us of Charles Lamb. He is a humorist with poetical fancy and feeling. In his romances, however, he puts forth greater power—a passionate energy and earnestness, with a love of the supernatural, but he never loses the simplicity and beauty of ~ his style. Autumn at Concord, Massachusetts. Alas for the summer! The grass is stil] verdant on the hills and in the valleys ; the foliage of the trees is as dense as ever, and as green: the flowers are abundant along the margin of the river, and in the hedgerows, and deep among the woods; the days, too, are as fervid as they were a month ago; and yet, in every breath of wina and in every beam of sunshine, there is an autumnal influence. I know not how ta describe it. Methinks there is a sort of coolness amid all the heat. and a mildness in the brightest of the sunshine. A breeze cannot stir without thrilling me with the breath of autumn : and I behold its pensive glory in the far, golden gleams among the huge shadows of the trees. The flowers, even the brightest of them, the golden rod and the gorgeous cardi- nals—the most glorious flowers of the year—have this gentle sadness amid their Y pop. Pensive autumn is expressed in the glow of every one of them. I have felt his influence earlier in some years than in others. Sometimes autumn may be per- _ ceived even in the early days of July. There is no other feeling like that caused by ~ x 296 - CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876. , this faint, doubtful, yet real perception, or rather prophecy of the year’s decay, 30 | Ree Rey ese aut sad at the same time. ... a scarcely remember a scene of more complete and lovely seclusion sage of the river through this wood [North Branch]. Beet an Tide ee: ah oluen times, could not have floated onward in deeper solitude than my boat. I have never elsewhere had such an opportunity to observe how much more beautiful refiec- tion is than what we call reality. ‘The sky and the clustering foliage on either hand and the effect of sunlight as it found its way through the shade, giving lightsome hues in contrast with the quiet depth of the prevailing tints—all these seemed unsur- passably beautiful when beheld in upper air. But on gazing downward, there they Were, tue Same even to the minutest particular, yet arrayed in ideal beauty, which satistied the spirit incomparably more than the actual scene. Iam half convinced that the reflection is indeed the reality, the real thing which Nature imperfectly images to our grosser sense. At any rate the disembodied shadow is nearest to the soul. ‘There were many tokens of autumn in this beautiful picture. ‘Il'wo or three of the trees were actually dressed iu their coats of many colcurs—the real scarlet and gold which they wear before they put on mourning. _ Sunday, September 23.—There is a prevading blessing diffused over all the world Ljook out of the window, and think: +O periect day! O beautiful world! O good God!’ And such a day is the promise of a blissful eternity. Our Creator would never have made such weather, and given us the deep heart to enjoy it, above and beyond ail thought, if He had not meant us to be immortal. It opens the gates of heaven, and gives us glimpses far inward. The English Lake Country— Grasmere. I question whether any part of the world looks so beautiful as England—this part of England at least—on a fine summer morning. It makes one think the more cheerfully of human life to see such a bright universal verdure ; such sweet, rural, eaceful, flower-bordered cottages—not cottages of gentility, but dwellings of the abouring poor; such nice villas along the roadside so tastefully contrived for com- fort and beauty, and adorned more and more, year after year, with the care and afterthought of peopie who mean to live in them a great while, and fee] as if~their children might live in them also. And so they plant trees to overshadow their walks, and train ivy and all beautiful vines up against their walls—and thus live for the future in another sense than we Americans do. And the climate helps them out, and makes everything moist and green, and full of tender life, instead of dry and arid. as human life and vegetable life are so apt to be with us. Certainly, England can present a more attractive face than we can, even in its humbler modes of life— to say nothing of the beautiful lives that might be led, oue would think, by the higher classes, whose gateways, with broad, smooth, gravelled drives leading through them, one sees every mile or two along the road, winding into some proud seclusion. All this is passing away, and society must assume new relations; but there is no harm in believing that there has been something very good in English life—good for all classes—while the world was in a state out of which these forms naturally grew. MRS. STOWE. No work of fiction, perhaps, ever had so large an immediate sale as the American Story of ‘ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ by Mrs. Harrier Beecuer Stowe. — It first appeared in parts in a weekly journal, ‘The Washington National Era,’ 1850; and when completed, it was published in a collected form, and in less than a year 200,000 copies are said to have been sold in the United States. It was soon im- ported into this country, and there being no restraining law of inter- national copyright, it was issued in every form from the price of a shilling upwards. At least half a million copies must have been sold in twelve months. So graphic and terrible a picture of slavery in the Southern States of America could not fail to interest all classes; =e _ STOWE. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 297 and though ‘Uncle Tom’ may have been drawn too saint-like, and Legree, the slave-owner, too dark a fiend, it is acknowledged that the characters and incidents in the tale are founded on facts and authen- tie dvcuments. ‘To verify her statements, Mrs. Stowe, in 1858, pub- lished a ‘ Key to Uncle Tom’s Cabin,’ in which she had collected ad- vertisements of the sale of slaves, letters from the sufferers, and arguments in support of slavery from newspapers, law reports, and even sermons. Mrs. Stowe visited England the same year (1853), and was received with great distinction. In London she reccived an address from the ladies of England, presented to her in Stafford House—the residence of the Duke of Sutherland—by Lord Shaftesbury. She afterwards travelled over the country, and from England she proceeded to France and Switzerland. An account of this European tour was published by Mrs. Stowe, under the title of ‘Sunny Memories of Foreign Lands.’ ‘There are some pleasant passages of description in this work, but on the whole it is unworthy of the authoress. Se much tuft-hunting, vanity, and slip-slop criticism could hardly have been expected from one who had displayed so much mastery over the stronger feelings and passions of our nature, and so much art in the construction of a story. Receptions, breakfast-parties, and personal compliments make up a large portion of these ‘ Memories,’ but here is one pleasing extract: Linglish Trees—Warwick Castle. _ When we came fairly into the court-yard of the castle, a scene of magnificent beauty opened before us. I cannot describe it minutely. The principal features are the battlements, towers, and turrets of the old feudal castle, encompassed by grounds ~ on which has been expended all that princely art of landscape gardening for which England is famous—leafy thickets, magnificent trees, openings and vistas of verdure, and wide sweeps of grass, short, thick, and vividly green, as the velvet inoss we sometimes see growing on rocks in New England. Grass is an art and a science in England—it is an institution. The pains that are taken in sowing, tending, cutting, clipping, rolling, and otherwise nursing and coaxing it, being seconded by the misty breath and often falling tears of the climate, produce results which must be seen to be appreciated. So again of treesin England. ‘l'rees here are an order of nobility ; and they wear their crowns right kingly. A few years ago, when Miss Sedgwick was in this couutry, while admiriug some splend d trees in a nobleman’s park, a lady standing by said to her encouragingly: ‘O well I suppose your trees in America will be grown up after a while!’ Since that time, another style of thinking of Amcrica has come up, and the remark that I most generaly hear made is: ‘ Oh, I suppose we cannot think of shewing you anything in the way of trees, coming as you do from America!’ Throwing out of account, however; the gigantic growth of our western river-bottoms, where I have seen sycamore trunks twenty feet in diameter—leaving out of account, I say, all this mammoth arboria—these English parks have trees as fine and as effective, of their kind, as any of ours; and when I gay their trees are an “order of nobility, I mean that they pay a reverence to them such as their magnifi- cence deserves. Such elms as adorn the streets of New Haven, or overarch the mea- dows of Andover. would in England be considered as of a value which no money could represent; no pains, no expense would be spared to preserve their life and health ; they would never be shot dead by having gas-pipes laid under them. as they haye been in some of our New England towns; or suffered to be devoured by canker- _ worms for want of any amount of money spent in their defence. Some of the finest 293 CYCLOPADIA OF [To 1876, trees in this place are magnificent cedars of Lebanon, which bring to mind the ex- pression in the Psalms, ‘ Excellent as the cedars.’ ‘I hey are the very impersonation of kingly majesty, and are fitted to grace the old feudal stronghold of Warwick the king-iiaker. ‘These trees, standing ¢ as they do amid magnificent sweeps and undula- tions of lawn, throwing out their mighty arms with such majestic breadth and freé- dom of outline, are themselves a living, growing, historical epic Their seed was brought from the Holy Land in the old days of the Crusades; and a lkindred legends miviit be made up of the time, date, and occasion of their planting. In 1856, Mrs. Stowe published another novel written to expose the evils of slavery and the state of Southern society in America— namely, ‘Dred, a Tale of the Great Dismal Swamp,’ a work much inferior to ‘Uncle Tom.’ Before the period of her European fame, the authoress had contributed tales and sketches to American peri- odicals, the most popular of which was ‘ The Mayflower, or Sketches of the Descendants of the Pilgrims,’ 1849; a number of children’s books, religious poems, and anti-slavery tracts have proceeded from her fertile pen. Among her late separate works may be mentioned ‘The Min:ster’s Wooing,’ 1859—an excellent novel, descriptive of Puritan life in New England: ‘The Pearl of Orr’s Island,’ 1862 ; ‘Agnes of Sorrento,’ 1862 ; ‘Little Foxes, or the Insignificant Little Habits which mar Domestic Happiness,’ 1865 ; ‘ Light after Dark- ness,’ 1867; ‘Men of our Times, or Leading Patriots of the Day,’ 1862 ; ‘Old Town Folks,’ 1869 ; ‘ Little Pussy Willow,’ 1870; ‘My Wife and I,’ 1871; ‘Pink and White Tyranny,’ 1871 ; ‘Old Town Fireside Stories’ (humorous little tales), ‘ Palmetto Leaves,’ 1878 ; &. One publication of Mrs. Stowe’s which appeared simultaneously in America and England—‘ The True Story of Lady Byron’s Life,’ 1869 —excited a strong and painful interest. This was a narrative dis- closing what the authoress termed ‘a terrible secret,’ confided to her thirteen years before by Lady Byron. The secret was that Lord Byron was guilty of incest with his half-sister, Mrs. Leigh, to whom he had dedicated some of the most touching and beautiful of his verses. So revolting an accusation called forth a universal burst of indignation. When | examined, the statement was found to be inac- curate in dates and in some of its leading features, Letters written by Lady Byron to Mrs. Leigh in terms of the warmest affection, after the separation of the poet and his wife, were produced, and a formal contradiction to some of the principal allega- tions was given by the descendants and representatives of both Lord and Lady. Byron. Mrs. Stowe attempted a vindication next year, but it was a failure. No new evidence was adduced, and her de- fence consisted only of strong assertions, of aspersions on the char- acter of Byron, and of extracts from the most objectionable of his - writings. The whole of this affair on the part of the clever Amer- ican lady was a blunder and a reproach, No one, however, ventured to think she had fabricated the story. Lady Byron was the delin- quent; on that subject Lady Byron was a monomaniac. ‘Her mind was not a weak one, but she had impaired it by religious speculations . t é. “srowr.} © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 299 beyond her reach, and by long brooding over her trials, involving some real and many imaginary wrongs. She could at first account for her gifted husband’s conduct on no hypothesis but insanity; and now, by a sort of Nemesis, there is no other hypothesis on which the moralist can charitably account for hers; but there is this marked difference in their maladies—he morbidly exaggerated his vices, and she her virtues’ (‘Quarterly Review’). This seems to be the true view of the case. We add a few sentences from ‘The Minister’s Wooing.’ A Moonlight Scene. Mary returned to the quietude of her room. The red of twilight had faded, and the silver moon, round and fair, was rising behind the thick boughs of the apple trees, She sat down in the window, thoughtful and sad, and listened to the crickets, whose ignorant jollity often sounds as mournfully to us mortals as ours may to supe- rior beings. There the little, hoarse, black wretches were scraping and creaking, as if life and death were invented solely for their pleasure, and the world were created only to give them a good time in it. Now and then alittle wind shivered among the boughs, and brought down a shower of white petals which shimmered in the slant beams of the moonlight; and now a ray touched some small head of grass, and forth- with it blossomed into silver, and stirred itself with a quiet joy, like a new-borr saint just awaking in Paradise... And ever and anon came on the still air the soft eternal” ulsations of the distant sea—sound mournfullest, most mysterious, of all the harp- ings of Nature. It was the sea—the deep, eternal sea—the treacherous, soft, dread- ful, inexplicable sea. Love. Tt is said that, if a grape-vine be planted in the neighbourhood of a well, its roots, running silently under ground, wreath themselves in a network around the cold clear waters. and the vine’s putting on outward greenness and unwonted clusters and fruit js all that tells where every root and fibre of its being has been silently stealing. So those loves are most fatal. most absorbing. ia which, with unheeded quietness, every thought and fibre of our life twines gradually around some human soul, to us the un- suspected well-spring of our being. Fearful, it is, because so often the vine must be uprooted, and all its fibres wrenched away ; but till the hour of discovery comes, how is it transfigured by a new and beantiful life! _ There is nothing in life more beautiful than that trance-like quiet dawn which precedes the rising of love in the soul, when the whole being is pervaded impercepti- bly and tranquilly by another being, and we are happy, we know not and ask not why, te soul is then receiving all and asking nothing. At a later day she becomes eelf- conscious, and then come craving exactions, endless questions—the whole world of ‘the material comes in with its hard counsels and consultations, and the beautiful trance fades for rver. ... Do not listen to hear whom a woman praises, to know where her heart is ; do not ask for whom she expresses the most earnest enthusiasm? But if there be one she once knew well, whose name she never speaks; if she seem to have an instinct to avoid every occasion of its mention; if, when you speak. she drops into silence and changes the subject—why, look there for something !—just as, when getting through deep meadow-grass, a bird flies ostentatiously up before you, you may know her nest is not there, but far off under distant tufts of fern and buttercup, through which she has crept, with a silent flutter in her spotted breast, to act her pretty little falsehood before you. MRS. LYNN LINTON—MRS. HENRY WOOD. Mrs Exiza Linton, a popular novelist, is a native of the pictures- que Lake country. She was born at Keswick in 1822, daughter of the Rev. J. Lynn, vicar of Crosthwaite in Cumberland. In 1858 she = ao) 800 ‘CYCLOPADIA OF [To 1876, was married to Mr. W. J. Linton, engraver. Mrs. Linton appeared as an authoress in 1844, when she published ‘ Azeth the Egyptian,’ which was followed by ‘Amymone, a Romance of the Days of Peri- cles,’ 1848 ; ‘ Realities,’ 1851; ‘ Witch Stories,’ 1%61; ‘ Lizzie Lorton,’ 1866; ‘ Patricia Kemball;’ and other works of fiction, with various piquant essays and critical contributions to the periodical press. Mrs. Tinton has also published an account of ‘The Lake Country,’ with illustrations by Mr. Linton. ‘The novels of this lady represent, in clear and vigorous English, the world of to-day. All the little frivoli- ties, the-varieties, the jinesse of women, all the empty pretence and conscious self-deception of men, she paints with real power and with a peculiar tinge of cynicism, which is so regularly recurrent as to make the reader a little doubtful of its genuineness. In ‘ Patricia Kemball’ she lays bare the hollow hearts and secret vices of society; the real heroine, Dora, is insincere, and instigates to crime, yet is re- presented as ‘a girl of the period.’ Mrs. Linton has real constructive faculty, with descriptive and satirical power. Her earlier novels are healthier in tone and feeling than her later ones. She appears to be passing into sensationalism and love-stories based on intrigue; and though professedly she would by these teach a high moral, we doubt if the bulk of her readers will draw the lesson she intends. The ‘History of Joshua Davidson,’ sufficiently shews that Mrs. Lynn Linton has latterly been exercised in seeking a solution of the great social problems of the day—the ‘ enigmas of life.” Her book cannot be regarded otherwise than as a rejection of Christianity as a creed im- possible of application to our complex modern society, or as applica- ble only in the form of an undisguised communism. Mrs. Henry Woop (nee Price), born in Worcestershire in 1820, has written a great number of novels (twenty are enumerated in Bentley’s crtalogue), beginning with ‘Danebury House,’ 1860; ‘ East Lynne,’ which was published in 1861, and met with great success; ‘The Channings’ (1862); ‘Mrs. Halliburton’s Troubles,’ ‘ Verner’s Pride,’ ‘Bessy Rane,’ ‘Roland Yorke,’ ‘Lady Adelaide’s Oath,’ &e. Mrs. Wood has edited a monthly magazine, ‘The Argosy,’ and has — contributed, during an active literary life, to various other periodicals. In her novels she contrives to unite plot and melodrama with healthy moral -teaching. She has shewn talent in dealing with character alone, as seen in her anonymous ‘ Johnny Ludlow Papers,’ which were highly praised by critics who had spoken coutemptuously of the novels published under her own name. MISS ANNE MANNING—MIS8S RHODA BROUGHTON, &C. A series of novels, most of them cast in an antique autobiographi- — cal form, commenced in 1850 with ‘The Maiden and Married Life — of Mary Powell, afterwards Mrs. Milton,’ an ideal representation of Milton’s first wife, written and printed in the style of the period. This has been followed by ‘The Household of Sir Thomas More,’ — MANNING] © © ENGLISH LITERATURE; 301 { ~1851 ; ‘Edward Osborne,’ 1852; ‘The Provocations of Madame if Palissy,’ 1853 ; ‘ Chronicles ot "Merrie England,’ 1854; ‘ Caliph “Haroun Alraschid,’ 1855; ‘Good Old T imes,’ 1856; a ‘Cottage ’ ae of England,’ EM satic of Ludlow,’ &c., 1866. These works ’ are stated to be written by a lady, Miss ANNE MANNING. Miss Roopa BrouGuron has constructive talent, combined with no ordinary knowledge of society, with little sentiment and some ‘4 defiance—at least disregard—of conventionalism. Her novels are —‘ Nancy;’ ‘ Good-bye, Sweetheart; ‘ Red as a Rose is She; ‘Cometh 9 up as a Flower,’ &c. Not unlike Miss Br oughton is Mrs. Epwarps, who has written ‘Steven Lawrence, Yeoman,’ ‘ Archic Lovell,’ &c. Mrs. Edwards’s heroes are of- the masculine sort, and in her “Archie Lovell’ (which was very popular) she has delineated some of the features of the fashionable Bohemianism of the day. Houma _ LEE (whose real name is Harriet Parr) is of the purest and brightest of the domestic school of novelists, and also a writer of some ex- _ cellent essays. She has but slight skill in plot, but has a firm hold _ of certain ranges of character, and superior analytical faculty. The unwearying industry of ‘Holme Lee’ has enabled her to reside on a - small property of her own in the Isle of Wight: Her novels are— ‘Against Wind and Tide,’ ‘Sylvan Holt’s Daughter,’ ‘Kathie Brande,’ “Warp and Woof,’ ‘Maude Talbot,’ ‘ The “Beautiful Miss se Barrington,’ &c. Mrs. Rmpert made a reputation among the ~ novel- readers by her novel ‘ George Geith,’ a really powerful fiction, _ In her later works she has gone too far in the direction of plot and sensation merely. In 1875. an anonymous novel, ‘Coming through _ the Rye,’ became at once popular, and various authors are named. - At length it was found that it was written by Miss Marumr, a lady : known as the author of some poems. CHARLES READE. The novels of Mr. CHARLES READE have been among the most ' popular and most powerful of our recent works of fiction. In 1853 - appeared his ‘Peg Woffington,’ a lively, sparkling story of town-life and the theatres a century ago, when Garrick, Quin, and Colley _ Cibber were their great names. The heroine, Peg Woffington, was an actress, remarkable for beauty and for her personation of certain characters in comedy. Walpole thought her an ‘impudent Ivish- faced girl,’ but he admitted that ‘all the town was in love with her.’ Mr. Reade’s second heroine was of a very different stamp. His ~ ‘Christie Johnstone,’ 1853, is a tale of fisher-life in Scotland, the - scene being laid at Newhaven on the Forth. A young lord, Viscount Ipsden, is “advised by his physician, as a cure for ennwi and dys- pepsia, to make acquaintance with people of low estate, and to learn their ways, their minds, and their troubles. He sails in his yacht to _ the Forth, accompanied by his valet = * a ‘ i> i , oe , 802 ““. - ma re. i Vets BR 4.) 4 ; Be ; 58 tee Weta: "ENGLISH LITERATURE, © 5: 82% tune or acquirement, had been removed; they had triumphed over their oppressors, ‘seized their possessions, and risen into their stations. And what was the conse- quence? ‘The establishment of a more cruel and revolting tyranny than any which F mankind had yet witnessed ;-the destruction of all the charities and enjoyments of _ life ; the dreadful spectacle of streams of_blood flowing through every part of France, The éarliest friends, the warmest advocates, the firmest supporters of the people, were swept off indiscriminately with their bitterest enemies; in the unequal strug- gle virtue and philanthropy sunk under ambition and violence, and society returned _.toa state of chaos, when all the elements of private or public happiness were secat- - tered to the winds. Such are the results of unchaining the passions of the multi- tudes such the peril of suddenly admitting the light upon a _benighted people. _ The extent to which blood was shed in France during this melancholy period, will hardly be credited by future ages. The Republican Prudhomme, whose preposses- _ sions led him to anything rather than an exaggeration of the horrors of the popular _ party, has given the following appalling account of the victims of the Revolution: Nobles, saibuitd ta : ; : . ° : 4 - . 1,28 Noble women, ; ° ° si ef nd bn pret eh? fa 750 Wives of labourers and. artisans,™.- . . ‘. « « 1,467 *« Religienses, . pie i Nero te ig tel a at as ye 350 > . -Priests, pes Rieke. age aS Te le. Oak cet) «2d, LSD Ss Common Persons, not noble, 4 : 3 5 : ) = 18,623 ” Guillotined by sentence of the Revolutionary Tribunal, . . 18,603 18,603 ‘fe Women died of premature childbirth, Ses ht tte ee see 3,400 Serer a OOuGairen sO Priel 2 Oe ee 348 -- Women killed in La Vendée, eae of eave F ot Fike erties 15,000 eee Gilden Killed in La-Vendée;. +. 6. ee es we 22,000 : Men slain in La Vendée, é ‘ ° ‘ ° ete aah ae - 900,000 Victims under Carrier at Nantes, .. tar the ns 32,000 3 ---( Children shot, EY relde oes hme kay feet Sart ey 7s ff O00 Childred drowned, . i : : 5 : : - 1,500 Women shot, . 3 - goer = . P fs . 264 Women drowned, . A A 4 sipiee 3 é 500 Priests shot, . : ~ 5 » ‘ ° ; Z - 3800 Priests drowned, oe eo RSET toe be a : 460 Nobles drowned, . : : A : ~ : . - 1,400 Artisans drowned, . : 3 * 5 5 5 . - 5,800 -. . Victims at Lyon, . ° . e ° . . e . . . 31,000 ULMER ee Beh ak Se eel (int a eG tay oti DOD ABE ( In this enumeration are not comprehended the massacres at Versailles, at the Abbey, the Carmes, or other ~-isons on September 2, the victims of the Glaciare of Avignon, those shot at Toulon and Marseille, or the persons slain in the little town of Bedoin, of which the whole population perished. It is in an especial manner re markable in this dismal catalogue, how large a proportion of the victims of the __ Revolution were persons in the middling and lower ranks of life. The priests and nobles guillotined are only 2413, while the persons of plebeian origin exceed 13.000! ’ The nobles and priests put to death at Nantes were only 2160; while the infants » drowned and’ shot are 2000, the women 764. and the artisans 5300! So rapidly in ~ revolutionary convulsions does the career of crueity reach the lower orders, and so wide-spread is the carnage dealt out to them, compared with that which they have _ sought to inflict on their superiors. The facility with which a faction, composed of a few of the most audacious and reckless of the nation. triumphed over the immense _ mInajority of their feliow-citizens, and led them forth like victims to the sacrifice, is not the least extraordina: y or memorable part of that eventful period. The bloody _ faction at Paris never exceeded a few hundred men; their talents were by no means -of the highest order. nor their weight in society considerable; yet they trampled * under foot all the influential classes, ruled mighty armies with absolute sway, kept _ 200.000 of their fellow-citizens in captivity, and daily led out several hundred persons, - of the best blood in France, to execution. Such is the effect of the unity of action Bet te es Of whom . 846 : CYCLOPEDIA OF oe _ [To 1876, which atrocious wickedness produces; such the ascendancy which in periods-of = anarchy is acquired by the most savage and lawless of the people. The peaceable and inoffensive citizens lived and wept in silence; terror crushed every attempt at ~ combination; the extremity of grief subdued even the firmest hearts. lu despair at - effecting any change in the general sufferings, apathy universally prevailed, the people sought to bury their sorrows in the delirium of present enjoyents, and the theatres w_re never fuller than during the whole duration of the Keign of Terror. - Tguorance of human nature can vAlone lead us to ascribe this to any pectiliarity in the. - French character; the same effects have been observed in. all parts and ages of the world, as invariably attending a state of extreme and long-continued distress. "i he death of Hebert ane the anarchists was that of guilty depr avity ; ; that ot Robes- pierre and the Decemvirs, of sanguinary fanaticism; that of Danton and his confed-— erates, of stoical infidelity; that of Madame Roland aud the Girondists, of deluded virtue; that of Louis and his family, of religious forgiveness. The moralist will contrast the different effects of virtue and wickedness in the last moments of life ; the Christian will mark with thankfulness the superiority in the supreme hour to the sublimest efforts of human virtue, which was evinced by the believers in his own faith. A continuation has been made to this work—‘The History of Europe from the fall of Napoleon in 1815 to the Accession of Louis Napoleon in 1852,’ eight volumes, 1852-59. The author, however, : had not exercised much care in this compilation. It is hastily and inaccurately written, and is disfigured by blunders, omissions, and in- _ consistencies. Some of the author’s vpinions or crotchets are pushed to — a ridiculous extreme, as his delusion that most of the political changes ~ of the previous thirty years—the abolition of the corn-laws, Catholic emancipation, and parliamentary reform—may all be traced to the act ~ of 1826 which interdicted the further issue of the £1 and £2 bank- notes! The diffuse style of narrative which was felt as a drawback on the earlier history, is still more conspicuous in this continuation— no doubt from want of time and care in the laborious work of condensa- tion. The other writings of our author—exclusive of pamphlets on ~ Free-trade and the Currency—are a ‘ Life of Marlborough,’ 1847 (after- wards greatly enlarged in the second edition, 1852), and ‘ Essays, Po- litical, Historical, and Miscellaneous,’ three volumes, 1850, These essays were originally published in ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ to which their author was a frequent contributor. The other works of Sir Archi-. bald are—‘ Principles of Population,’ 1840; ‘Free Trade and Protec-. tion,’ 1844 ‘ Engiand in 1815 and in 1845,’ &e. Srr ARCHIBALD ALISON was the eldest son of the Rev. Archibald ; Alison, author of the ‘ Essay on Taste,’ &c.. His mother was Doro- » eo ee ron . thea, daughter of Dr. John Gregory of Edinburgh. He was +. born at Kenley i in Shropshire in 1792. His father having i in 1800’re- moved to Edinburgh to officiate in the Episcopal Chapel in the Cow-- 5 gate, Archibald studied at Edinburgh University, was admitted tothe bar in 1814, and in 1834 was appointed sheriff of Lanarkshire. He — ri had distinguished himself professionally by his ‘ Principles of the — Criminal Law of Scotland,’ 1832, and his ‘ Practice of the ‘ Criminal b | Law,’ 1833. He was successively Lord Rector of Marischal College, _ Aberdeen, and Glasgow RNs and subsequently the title oie Sa “a prescoTr} ENGLISH LITERATURE. 84: ~_D.C.L. was conferred upon him by the university of Oxford. In 1853 _ he was created a baronet by Lord Derby’s administration. He died onthe 28d of May 1867. . ; | W. H. PRESCOTT. __. The celebrated American historian, WrLL1AM Hickimne PREscorT, ~ was born at Salem, Massachusetis, May 4, 1796. His father was an —eminent judge and lawyer. While a student in Harvard College, a _ slight accident threatened to deprive the future historian of sight, and in the result proved a severe interruption to his studies. One of his _ fellow-collegians threw a crust of bread at him, which struck one of his eyes, and deprived it almost wholly of sight, while the other was sympathetically affected. He travelled partly for medical advice, and visited England, France, and Italy, remaining absent about two | ears. On his return to the United States, he married and settled in _ Boston. His first literary production was an essay on ‘ Italian Narrative ~ Poetry,’ contributed in 1824 to the ‘North American Review,’ in ~ which work many valuable papers from his pen afterwards appeared. _ Devoting himself to the literature and history of Spain, he fixed -_upon the reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, and commenced his his- - tory of that period. He had only, however, commenced his task when his eye gave way, and he enjoyed no use of it again for read- _ ing for several years. His literary enthusiasm, however, was too strong to be subdued even by this calamity ; he engaged a reader, dic- tated copious notes, and from these notes constructed his composi. _ tion, making in his mind those corrections which are usually made inthe manuscript. Instead of dictating the work thus composed, he used a writing-case made for the blind, which he thus describes : *TIt consists of a frame of the size of a piece of paper, traversed by brass wires as many as lines are wanted on the page, and with a sheet _ of carbonated paper, such as is used for getting duplicates, pasted on — the reverse side. With an ivory or agate stylus the writer traces his. characters between the wires on the carbonated sheet, making indel- ible marks which he cannot see on the white page below.’ In this way the historian proceeded with his task, finding, he says, his writ- _ ing-case his best friend in his lonely hours. Thesightof hiseye par- _ tially returned, but never sufficiently to enable him to use it by candle- light. = In 1887 appeared his history of ‘ Ferdinand and Isabella,’ in three - volumes, and the work was eminently successful on both sides of * the Atlantic. In 1843, ‘The Conquest of Mexico,’ three volumes, * and in 1847, ‘The Conquest of Peru,’ two volumes, still further ~ extended Mr. Prescott’s reputation, and it is calculated that latterly he received from £4000 to £5000 a year from the sale of his writings. - The successful historian now made a visit to England, and was < received with the utmost distinction and favour, the university of _ Oxford conferring upon him the henorary degree of LL.D, In 7 a ee Te ’ - 343 : ~CYCLOPEDIA OF — , > [10 1676, | 1854 his ‘ History of Philip Il.’ was ready for the press, and he was to receive £1000 for each volume of the work, which, it was sup- _ yosed, would extend to six volumes. A decision of the House of Lords, however, annulled this bargain. it was found that no American, not domiciled in England at the time of the publication of his book, could claim the benefit of our copyright laws. * If Mr. Prescott had thought proper to have resided in England during, and for a certain time before and atter the publication of the book, he ~ might have reaped the full benefit of its great success on both sides of the Atlantic. But he would not take this course. At a great pecuniary sacrifice, he preferred to present to the world one signal example more of the injustice to which the writers of England and America are exposed by the want of a reasonable system of interna-—— tional copyright—a want for which the American legislature appears to be wholly responsible.’** Two volumes of ‘Philip I.’ appeared in 1855, and the third volume in 1858. _1n the interval the author had experienced a shock of paralysis, and another shock on _ he 28th of January 1859 proved fatal. When sitting alone in his — library, the historian was struck down by this sudden and terrible — agent of death, and in less than two hours he expired. His remains — were followed to the grave by a vast concourse of citizens and mourners, ne As an historian, Prescott may rank with Robertson as a master of — the art of narrative, while he excels him in the variety and extent of his illustrative researches. He was happy in the choice of his’ — subjects. The very names of Castile and Arragon, Mexico and — Peru, possess a romantic charm, and the characters and scenes he ~— depicts have the interest and splendour of the most gorgeous fiction. To some extent the American historian fell into the error of Robert- 3 son in palliating the enormous cruelties that marked the career of the Spanish conquerors; but he is more careful in citing his authori- — ties, in order, as he says, ‘ to put the reader in a position for judging — for himself, and thus for revising, and, if need be, for reversing the judgments of the historian.’ v a. ¥ View of Mexico from the Summit of Ahualeo. Their progress was now comparatively easy, and: they marched forward witha buoyant step, as they felt they were treading the soil of Montezuma. a ‘hey had not advanced far when, turning an angle of the sierra, they suddenly cane on a view which more than compensated the toils of the preceding day. Itavas that of the valley of Mexico, or ‘lenochtitlan, as more commonly called by the nas tives; which, with its picturesque assemblage cf water, woodland and cultivated plains, its shining cities und shadowy hills, was spread out like some gay and got- geous panorama before them. In the high!y rarefied atmosphere of these wpper re- gions even remote objects have a brilliancy of colouring and a distinctness of outline ~ which seem to annihilate distance. Stretching far away at their feet were seen nc ble torests of oak, sycamore and cedar, and beyond yellow fields of maize, and th : Se ~ fe : % | ; * Memoir of Prescott, by Sir William Stirling Maxwell, in Encyclopedia Britanntea. + i oP Ny? hy ype x + + é Pe . : ENGLISH LITERATURE. 349 iowering maguey, intermingled with orchards and blooming gardens; for flowers, in such demand for their religious festivals, were even more abundant in this populous yaliey than in other parts of Anahuac. Jn the centre of the great basin were beheld the lukes, occupying then a much larger portion of its surface than at present, their borders thickly studded with towns and tamiets; end m the midst—like some In- dian empress with her coronal of pearls—the fair city of Mexico, with her white~ towers und pyramidal temples, reposing, as it were, on the bosom of the waters— - the far-famed * Venus of the Aztecs.’ High over all rose the royal hill of Chapol- tepec. the residence of the Mexican monarchs, crowned with the same grove of - gigantic cypresses which at this day fling their broad shadows over the land. In the distance, beyond the blue waters of the take, and nearly screened by intervening fo- liage, was seen & shining speck, the rival capital of ‘Tezcuco; and still further on, the dark belt of porphyry, girdling the valley around, like a rich setting which nature had devised for the fairest of her Jewels. Such was the beautiful vision which broke on _ the eyes of the conquerors. Aud even now, when so sad a change has come over the scene; when the stately forests have been laid low, and the soil, unsheltered from the fieree radiance of a tropical sun, is in many places abandoned to sterility ; when __ the waters have retired, leaving a broad and ghastly margin white with the incrusta- ~ tion of salts, while the cities and hamlets on their borders have mouldered into ruins, _ even now that desolation broods over the landscape, so indestructible are the lines of beauty which nature has traced on its features, that no traveller, however cold, can _ gaze on them with any other emotions than those of astonishment and rapture. ; What, then, must have been the emotions of the Spaniards, when, after working their toilsome way into the upper air, the cloudy tabernacie parted before their eyes, ~-and they beheld these fair scenes in al! their pristine magnificence and beauty! It was like the spectacle which greeted the eyes of Moses trom the summit of Pisgah, - audin the warm glow of their feelings they cried out: ‘It is the promised land!’ fee) Lene \ et lr om & Storming the Temple of Mexico, a _ Cortés, having cleared a way for the assault, sprung: up the lower stairway, fol- — lowed by Alvarado, Sandoval, Ordaz, and the other gallant cavaliers of his little i band, leaving a file of arquebusiers and a strong corps of Indian allies to hold the enemy in check at the foot of the monunient. On the first landing, as well as on the several galleries above, and on the summit, the Aztec warriors were drawn up to dis- pute his passage. From their elevated position they showered down volleys of ighter missiles, together with heavy stones, beams and burning rafters. which, thundering along the stairway, overturned the ascending Spaniards, and carried desolation through their ranks. The more fortunate, eluding or springing over these obstacle2, succeeded in gaining the first terrace, where, throwing themselves on their enemies, they compelled them, after a short resistance, to fall back. The assailants pressed on, effectually supported by a brisk fire of the musketeers from below, which so much galled the Mexicans in their exposed situation, that they were _ glad to take shelter on the broad summit of the teocalli. ~~. Cortés and his comrades were close upon their rear, and the two parties soon found themselves face to face on_this aérial battle-field. engaged in mortal combat in — presence of the whole city, as well as of the troops in the courtyard, who paused, as - if by mutual consent, from their own hostilities, gazing in silent expectation on the issue of those above. The area, though somewhat smaller thanthe base of the teo- Galli, was large enough to afford a fair field of fight for a thousand combatants. It "was paved with broad flat stones, No impediment occurred over its surface, except the huge sacrificial block, and the temples of stone whieh rose to the height of forty ~ feet, at the further extremity of the arena. One of these had been consecrated to the gross; the other was sti!l occupied by the Mexican war-god, The Christian and the _ Aztec contended fcr their religions under the very shadow of their respective shrines; whilethe Indian priests, rmnning to and fro, with their hair wildly streaming over - their sable mantles, seemed hovering in mid-air, like so many demons of darkness urging on the work of slaughter. __ ‘Vke parties closed with the desperate fury of men who had no hope but in victory. _ Quarter was neither asked nor given; and to fly was impossible. The edge of the ' area was unprotected by parapet or battlement. The least slip would be fatal; and _ the combatants, as they struggled in mortal agony, were sometimes seen to roll over -_ ee F : tte, Ra eRe te oe rah ats — i . ae *y or, 4 350 CYCLOPASDIA OF — on him, and were dragging him violently towards the brink of thy pyramid. Aware — _ from every obstacle, and singing songs of triumph as they came, ‘ which in our ears,’ =e ier” the sheer sides of the precipice together. Cortés himself is said t4 Lave had a nare row escape from this dreadful fate.. ‘Two warriors, of strong mus41'ur crames, seized of their intention, he struggled with all his force, and, before they could accomplish — their purpose, succeeded in tearing himself from their grasp, and hurling one of them _ over the walis with his own arm. ‘The story is not improbable in itself, for Cortés — was a man of uncommon agility and strength. It has been often repeated, but not — by contemporary history. > ay The battle lasted with unintermitting fury for three hours. The number of the ~ enemy was double that of the Christians ; and it seemd as if it were a contest which — must be determined by numbers and brute force, rather than superior science. Bnt~ it was notso. ‘he invulnerable armour of the Spaniard, his sword of matchless tem-+ — per, and his skill in the use of it, gave him advantages which far outweighed the odds — of physical strength and numbers. After doing all that the courage of despair cou!d — enable men to do, resistance grew fainter and fainter on the side of the Aztecs. One — after another they had failen. ‘Two or three priests only survived to be led away in ~ triumph by the victors. Every other combatant was stretched a corpse on the ~ bloody arena, or had been hurled from the giddy heights. Yet the loss of the Span= — jards was not inconsiderable: it amounted to forty-five of their best men ; and nearly all the remainder were more or less injured in the desperate conflict. ae The victorious cavaliers now rushed towards the sanctuaries. The lower story was of stone, the two upper were of wood. Penetrating into their recesses, they had — the mortification to find the image of the Virgin and Cross removed. But in the other edifice they still beheld the grim figure of Huitzilopotchli, with his censer of smoking hearts, and the walls of his oratory reeking with gore—not improbably of — their own countrymen. With shouts of triumph the Christians tore the uncouth monster from his niche, and tumbled him, in the presence.of the horror-struck — Aztecs, down the steps of the teocalli. They-then set fire to the accursed building. — The flame speedily ran up the slender towers, sending forth an ominous light over city, lake, and valley, to the remotest hut among the mountains. It was the funeral — Vhs of paganism, and proclaimed the fall of that sanguinary religion which had so ~ ong hung like a dark cloud over the fair regions of Anahuac. ae Fatal Visit of the Inca to Pizarro and his Followers in the City of Caxa-— malea. Cae ve, =f aa It was not long before sunset when the van of the royal procession entered the gate 3 of the city. First came some hundreds of the menials, employed to clear the path "i says one of the conquerors, ‘sounded like the songs of hell!’ Then followed other bodies of different ranks, and dressed in different liveries. Some wore a showy stuff; checkered white and red, like the squares of a chess-board; others were clad in pure white, bearing hammers or maces of silver or copper; and the guards, together with” those in immediate attendance on the prince, were distinguished by arich azure livery and a profusion of gay ornaments, while the large pendants attached to the ears in=— dicated the Peruvian noble, Ja Elevated high above his vassals came the Inca Atahuallpa. borne on a sedan or open litter, on which was a sort of throne made of massive gold of inestimable value. The palanquin was lined with the richly coloured plumes of tropical birds, and stud= ded with shining plates of gold and silver. Round his neck was suspended a collar” of emeralds, of uncommon size and brilliancy. His short hair was decorated with” olden ornaments, and the imperial bor/a encircled his temples, The bearing of th nca was sedate and dignified ; aud from his lofty station he looked down on the multi-” tudes below with au air of composure, like one accustomed to command. oe | As the Jeading files of the procession entered the great square, larger says an ald chronicler, than any square in Spain, they opened to the right and left for the royal retinue to pass. Everything was conducted with admirable order. The monarch was permitted to traverse the plaza in silence, and not a Spaniard was to beseeD. When some five or six thousand of his people had entered the place, Atahuallpa nailed, and turning round with an inquiring look, demanded, ‘Where are the str. gers : i. », At this moment Fray Vicente de Valverde, a Dominican friar, Pizarro’s cha) ‘ .]_- ENGLISH LITERATURE. pg OL d afterwards bishop of Cuzco, came forward with his- breviary, or, as other ac- ‘counts say, 2 Bible, in one hand, and a crucifix in the other, and anproaching the Tnea, toid him that he came by order of his commander to expound to him the doc- frines of his true faith, for which purpose the Spaniards had come from a great dis- tance to his country. ‘The friar then explaiucd, as clearly as he could, the mysterious ‘doctrine of the ‘irmity, and, ascending high in his account, began with the creation of man, thence passed to his fall, to his subsequent redemption by Jesus Christ, to he crucifixion, and the ascension, when the Saviour left the apostle Peter as his postle good and wise men. who, under the title of popes, held authority oyer all _ powers und potentates on earth. One of the last of these popes had commissioned the Spanish emperor, the most mighty monarch in the world, to conquer and convert the natives in this western hemisphere: and his general, Francisco Pizarro, had now ‘come to execute this important mission. ‘lhe friar concluded with beseeching the Peruvian monarch to receive him kindly; to abjure the errors of his own faitii, and embrace that of the Christians now proffered to him, the only one by which he could hope for salvation ; and, furthermore, to acknowledge himself a tributary of the Emperor Charles the Fifth, who, in that event, would aid and protect him as his Joyal vassal.. _ Whether Atahuallpa possessed himself of every link in the curious chain of argu- ent by which the monk connected Pizarro with St. Peter, may be doubted. It is ertain, however, that he must have had very incorrect notions of the Trinity, if, as Garcilasso states, the interpreter Felipillo explained it by saying, that the Christians elieved in three Gods and one God, and that made four.’ But there is no doubt he erfectly comprehended that the drift of the discourse was to persuade him to resign is sceptre and acknowledge the supremacy of another. ' The eyes of the {ndian monarch flashed fire, and his dark brow grew darker, as he plied : ‘I will be no man’s tributary! TI am greater than any prince upon earth. his subjects so far across the waters; and I am willing to hold him as a brother. As _ for the pope of whom you speak, he must be crazy_to talk of giving away countries -which do not belong to him. For my faith,’ he continued, ‘I will not change it. Your own God, as you say, was put to death by the very men whom he created. But mountains—‘ my god still lives in the heavens, and looks down ou his children.’ ~ ~__ He then demanded of Valverde by what authority he had said these things. The Tiar pointed to the book which he held as his authority. Atahuallpa, taking t, turned over the pages a moment, then, as the insult he had received probably flashed across his mind, he threw it down with vehemence, and exclaimed: ‘ Teil our comrades that they shall give me an account of their doings in my land. I will - committed.’ . The friar, greatly scandalised by the indignity offered to the sacred volume, stayed nly to pick it up, and hastening to Pizarro, informed him of what had been done, exclaiming at the same time: ‘Do you not see that while we stand here wasting onr breath in talking with this dog, full of pride as he is, the fields are filling with In- “dinns? Seton at once; I absolve you.’ Pizarro saw that the hour had come. He “waved a white scarf in the air, the appointed signal. The fatal gun was fired from the fortress. Then springing into the square. the Spanish captain and his fo!lowers houted the old war-cry of ‘St. Jago and at them!’ It was answered by the battle- try of every Spaniard in the city, as. rushing from the avenues of the great halls in Which they were concealed. they poured into the plaza, horse and foot. each in his Own dark column, and threw themselves into the midst of the Indian crowd. The latter. taken by surprise, stunned by the report of artillery and muskets, the echoes ‘of which reverberated like thunder from the surrounding buildings, and blinded by he smoke which rolled in sulphureous volumes along the square. were seized with a panic. They knew net whither to fly for refuge from the coming rnin. Nobles and ~commoners—all were trampled down under the fierce charge of the cavalry. wha dealt their blows right and left. without sparing ; while their swords flashing through “the thick gloom, carried dismay into the hearts of the wretched natives, who now, the first time, saw the horse and his rider in all their terrors. They made no re- cegerent upon earth. ‘This power had been transmitted to the successors of ihe - our emperor may be a great prince; I do not doubt it, when I see that he has sent - ine,’ he concluded, pointing to his deity—then, alas! sinking in glory behind the ~ ot go from here till they have made me full satisfaction for all the wrongs they have ya , eh CYCLOPEDIA OF “~ ‘fro 1876, * sistance—as, indeed, they had no weapons with which to make it. Every avenue to | escape was closed, for the entrance to the square was choked up with the dead bodies — of men who had perished in vain efforts to fly ; and such was the agony Of the survivors — under the terrible pressure of their assailants, that a large body of Indians, by their convulsive struggles, burst through the wall of stone and dried clay which formed. part of the plaza! It fell, leaving an opening of more than a hundred paces. through — which multitudes now found their way into the couniry, still hotly pursued by the’ cavalry, who, leaping the falleu rubbish, hung on the rear of the fugitives, striking them down in all directions. Roe to Meanwhile the fight, or rather massacre, continued hot around. the Inca, whose person was the great object of the assault. His faithful nobles, rallying about him, threw themselves in the way of the assailants, and strove, by tearing them from. their saddles, or, at least, by offering their own bosoms as a mark for their vengence, to shield. their beloved master. It is said by some authorities that they carried weapons concealed under their clothes. If so, it availed them little, as itis not pre- — tended that they used them. But the most timid animal will defend itself when at bay. That they did not so in the present instance, is proof that they had no weapons to use. Yet they still continued to force back the cavaliers, clinging to their horses ~ with dying grasp, and as one was cut down, another taking the place of his fallen comrade with a loyalty truly affecting. The Indian monarch, stunned and bewildered, saw his faithful subjects falling round him without hardly comprehending his situation. The litter on which he — rode heaved to and iro, as the mighty press swayed backwards and forwards; and — he gazed on the overwhelming ruin, like some forlorn mariner, who, tossed about in his bark by the furious elements, sees the lightning’s flash, and hears the thunder bursting around him, with the consciousness that he can do nothing to avert hisfate., At length, weary with the work of destruction, the Spaniards, as the shades of even- a ing grew deéper, felt afraid that the royal prize might, after all, elude them; and — ‘some of the cayaliers made a desperate attempt to end the affray at once by taking z . 2 Atahuellpa’s life. But Pizarro, who was nearest his person, called out with sten- - torian voice: ‘Let no one, who values his life, strike at the Inca;’ and, stretching out his arm to shield him, received a wound on the hand from one of his own men— ~ the only wound received by a Spaniard in the action. ; 4 The struggle now became fiercer than ever round the royal litter. It reeled more — and more, and at length, several of the nobles who supported it having been slain, — it was overturned, and the Indian prince would have come with violence to the © ground, had not his fall been broken by the efforts of Pizarro and some other of the © cavaliers, who caught him in their arms. The imperial bor/a was instantly snatched — from his temples by a soldier named Estete, and the unhappy monarch, strongly se- cured, was removed to a neighbouring building, where he was carefully guarded. __— All attempt at resistance now ceased. The fate of the Inca soon spread over town ~ and country. The charm which might have held the Peruvians together was dis-— solved.. Every man thought only of his own safety. Even the soldiery encamped — on the adjacent fields took the alarm, and, learning the fatal tidings, were seen fying = in every direction before their pursuers, who in the heat of triumph shewed no touch of mercy. At length night, more pitiful than man, threw her friendly mantle over the fugitives, and the scattered troops of Pizarro rallied once more at the sound of the trumpet in the bloody square of Caxamalca. | ie of asf DR. ARNOLD. ah T antiquary of the séventeenth century) was, that the commovly=re- — ceived history of the early centuries of Rome was in great part — I i / ¥ od 3 ae - -ENGLISH LITERATURE. 353 fabulous, founded on popular songs or lays chanted at the Roman _banquets. Greece had her rhapsodists, the Teutonic nations their bards, and Rome, he concluded, had also her poetical chroniclers. To eliminate whatever portion of truth was contained in the stories of the “mythic period—and Niebuhr believed that they did contain many au- _thentic facts—was the chosen task of the learned Prussian, and of all- those who adopted his ‘ ballad theory’ as a sound historical hypothe- sis. ~ One of the most enthusiastic of his admirers was Dr. THomas _ ARNOLD (1795-1842), the well-known and popular master of Rugby School. Arnold was a native of East Cowes, in the Isle of Wight, where his father resided as collector of customs. He was educated at Winchester, and afterwards at Oxford, being elected a fellow of Oriel College in 1815. He remained at Oxford four more years, employed ‘in instructing pupils; and in his twenty-fifth year he settled at Lale- ham, near Staines, in Middlesex. At Laleham he took pupils as be- ‘fore, married, and spent nine yearsof happinessand study. He took ' priest’s orders in 1828, and in that year occurred the great turning-point of his life—he was appointed to Rugby School. He longed to ‘try whether our public school system has not in it some noble elements -which may produce fruit even to life eternal,’ and his exertions not only raised Rugby School to the highest popularity, but introduced a ct change and improvement into all the public schools in England. ‘He trusted much to the ‘sixth form,’ or elder boys, who exercise a ‘recognised authority over the junior pupils, and these he inspired with love, reverence, and confidence. His interest in his pupils was that of a parent, and it was unceasing. On Sunday he preached to them; ‘he was still the instructor and the schoolmaster, only teach- Ang and educating with increased solemnity and energy.’ All ‘un- “promising subjects,’ or pupils likely to taint others, he 1cmoved from ‘the school. ‘It is not necessary,’ he said, ‘that this should be a ‘school of three hundred, or one hundred, or of fifty boys; but it zs “necessary that it should be a school of Christian gentlemen.’ His firmness, his sympathy, his fine manly character, and devotion to duty, in time bound all good hearts to him. _ Out-of-doors, Arnold had also his battles to fight. He was a Lib- eral in politics, though not a partisan, and a keen church reformer. To the High Church party he was strenuously opposed. The Church, he said, naeant not the priesthood, but the body of believers. _ Chris- tianity recognized no priesthood—the whole body of believers were “equally brethren. Nothing, he conceived, could save the Church but “@ union with the Dissenters; and the civil power was more able than the clergy, not only to govern, but to fix the doctrines of the Church: | These Erastian views, propounded with his usual zeal and earnest- hess, offended and alarmed many of Arnold’s own friends, especially those of the clergy, and he also failed to conciliate the Dissenters. “The Whig government, in 1835, appointed him a Fellow in the Senate of the new university of London. Arnold, convinced that co n. cs ee CYCLOPEDIA OF | Christianity should be the basis and principle of all education in a Christian country, proposed that every candidate for a degree in the’ university should be examined on the Scriptures. This was resisted —at least to the extent that the examination should not be compul- — sory, but voluntary—and Arnold aiterwards resigned his appoint-— ment. In 1841, he obtained one more congenial to his tastes and — pursuits—he was nominated Regius Professor of Modern History at_ Oxford. His inaugural lecture was attended by a vast concourse of” students and friends, for the popular tide had now turned in bis— favour, and his robust health promised a long-succession of profess-— ional triumphs, as well as of general usefulness. He had purchased~ a small property in Westmoreland—Fox How, situated in one of the most beautiful portions of the Lake country, with the now classic — river Rotha, ‘ purior electro,’ winding round his fields. At Fox How he spent his vacations; and he was preparing to return thither in the — summer of 1842, when one night he was seized with spasms of the heart, and died ere eight o’clock next morning, June 12, 1842._ The works of Dr. Arnold give but a faint idea of what he accom-~ plished. He was emphatically a man of action. His writings, — however, are characteristic of the man—earnest, clear in conception — and style, and independent in thought. His ‘ History of Rome,” which he intended t6 carry down to the fall of the Western Empire, was completed only to the end of the Second Punic War, and is con-— tained in three volumes: he edited ‘Thucydides,’ and his ‘Intro-— ductory Lectures on Modern History ’—eight in number— were — published after his death, in one volume, 1843. Six volumes of his” ‘Sermons,’ chiefly delivered to the Rugby boys, have also been pub-— lished, with a volume of tracts on social and political topics, collected oy > and republished by his pupil and biographer, the Rev. A, P. Stanley, \ now dean of Westminster. His ‘Roman History ’—in which he) closely follows Niebuhr—is striking and picturesque, rather than” philosophical. His strong moral feeling and hatred of tyranny in all | its shapes occasionally break forth, and he gave animation to his nar-_ rative by contrasting ancient with modern events—a mode of illustra= tion in which he has been followed by Macaulay and Grote. EI Character of Scipio. oa | A mind like Scipio’s, working its way under the peculiar influences of his time | and country, cannot but move irregularly—it cannot but be full of contradictions. Two hundred years later, the mind of the dictator, Cesar, acquiesced contentedly i |} epicureanism; he retained no more of enthusiasm than was inseparable from the © intensity of his intellectual power, and the fervour of his courage, even amidst his utter moral degradation. But Scipio could not be like Cesar. is mind rose above : the state of things around him; bis spirit was solitary and kingly; he was cramped by living among those as his equals whom he felt fitted to guide as from some ‘ higher sphere; and he retired at last to Liternum, fo breathe freely, to enjoy the ~ simplicity of his childhood, since he could not fulfil his natural calling to be a hero= — king. So far he stood apart from his countrymen—admired, reverenced, but not loved. But he could not shake off all the influences of his time; the virtue, na 1 | ~ aud private, which still existed at Rome—the reverence paid by the wisest au a - >. Braet a ae # a Sil a : a a ~ i 9 «™* > 4 = % > 4 : x : 4 Tepe ENGLISH LITERATURE. 857 earliest descriptive illustrations of the manners and customs of any nation. Of this work, an abridgment was published by the author, ‘a ‘Popular Account of the Ancient Egyptians,’ two volumes, 1854. Sir John truly remarks, that ‘the influence which Egypt had in early - times on Greece gives to every inquiry respecting it an additional in- terest; and the frequent mention of the Egyptians in the Bible con- - nects them with the Hebrew records, of which many satisfactory illustrations occur in the sculptures of Pharaonic times.’ Sir John -. was a son of the Rev. John Wilkinson of Haxendale, Westmoreland, _ and studied at Exeter College, Oxford. Amongst the latest of his lit- ’ erary lahours was assisting Sir Henry Kawtimsvn in his edition of _ * Herodotus.’ . . ‘ : Moral Superiority of the Ancient Egyptians. ' £The early part of Egyptian monumental history is coeval with the arrivals of eS Abraham and of Joseph, and the exodus of the Israelites; and we know from the ' Bible what was the state of the worldat that time. But then,and apparently long ~ before, the habits of social life in Egypt were already what we find them to haye ee been during the most glorious period of their career; and as the people had already * aid aside their arms, and military men only carried them when on service, some no- _ -tion may be had of the very remote date of Egyptian civilization. In the treatment ~ of women they seem to have been very far advanced beyond other wealthy commu- _ nities of the same eri, having usages very similar to those of modern Europe; ant ~~ such was the respect shown to women, that precedence was given to them over men, © ~ and the wives and daughters of kings succeeded to the throne like the male branches Of the royal family. Nor was this privilege rescinded, even though it had more a . than once entailed upon them the troubles of a contested succession ; foreign kings - often having claimed a right to the throne through marriage with an Egyptian princess. It was not aimere influence that they possessed, which women often ac- ~~ quire in the most arbitrary eastern communities ; nora political importance accorded to a particular individual, like that of the Sultana Valideh, the queen-mother at -. Constantinople; it was a right acknowledged by law. both in public and private life. os i) _. They knew that unless women were treated with respect, and made to exercise an ' infinence over society, the public standard would soon be lowered, and the manners ~ and morals of men would suffer; and in acknowledging this they pointed ont to ~~ women the very responsible duties they had to perform to thecommunity. It has been said thatthe Egyptian priesta were only allowed to have one wife, while the __ rest of the community had as many as they chose; but. besides the improbability of - sucha license, the testimony of the monuments accords with Herodotus in disproy- a ing the statement, and each individual is represented in his tomb with a single con- sort. Their mutual affection is also indicated by the fond manner in which they are * seated together, and by the expressions of endearment they use to each other, as ~ wellas to their children. And if further proof were wanting to show their respect for social ties, we may mention the conduct of Pharaoah, in the case of the supposed sister of Abraham, standing in remarkable contrast to the habits of most princes of ~ those and many subsequent ages. + Ancient Egyptian Repast. 7, While the guests were entertained with music and the dance, dinner was pre- apd pared ; but as it consisted of a considerable number of dishes, and the meat was - }illed for the occasion, as at the present day in eastern and tropical climates, some time elapsed before it was put upon the table. An ox, kid, wild goat, gazelle, or an oryx, and a quantity of geese, ducks, teal, quails, and other birds, were generally selected; but mutton was excluded from a Theban table. Sheep were not killed for the altar or the table, but they abounded in Egypt, and even at Thebes ; and large - flocks were kept for their wool, particularly in the neighbourhood of Memphis. . Sometimes a flock consisted of more than two thousand; and in a tomb below the % - Pyramids, dating upwazds of four thousand years ago, nine hundred and seventy- Soe 7: ra : = ? ~ 308 CYCLOPZDIA OF , [76%876; J four rams are brought to be registered by his scribes, as ‘part of the stock of the de- “ ceased; implying an equal number of ewes, independent of lambs. Beef and goose constituted the principal part of the animal food throughout Egypt; end by a prudent foresight in a country possessing neither extensive pasture. lands. nor great abundance of cattle, the cow was held sacred, and consequently for- bidden to be eaten, ‘Thus the risk of exhausting the stock was prevented, and a con- 3 stant supply of oxen was kept for the table and for agricultural purposes. A, ‘ . ee ens “ 2 Sei hx ¥ oo Ee , dv « Oe ote ye eo tae < S eX sate Paes cea - rare ey - _ a= 2 / > ( i “wpalcrave.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. = 361 \ ment on the coast of Gaul under the Danish chieftains, till their j} union with England by William the Conqueror. Of this work, entitled ‘The Hisiory of Normandy and of England,’ two volumes / appeared—one in 1851 and the other in 1857. ~Some fanciful posi- » tions and generalisations have been adopted by Sir Francis Palgrave, _ but few have dug so deep in the dark mines of our early history, - and the nation owes him gratitude for the light he has thrown on the - origin of the British people and institutions. He thinks that the _ great truth on which the whole history of European society and - civilisation depends, is the influence of Rome, even when she had _ fallen, and was ‘tattered, sordid, and faded as was her imperial -robe.’ The chicftains of the barbarian dynasties’ each-assumed the semblance of the Caesars, and employed their titles and symbols. - To Charlemagne this infusion of the imperial principle into the leuto- » nism of the West is chiefly due. Sir Francis wrote several less im- - 3 z é - Italy,’ &c. He was also a contributor to the ‘Edinburgh’ and ' ‘Quarterly Reviews.’ Sir Francis died in 1861. ‘ es The Battle of Hastings, October 14, 1066. 4 3 William had been most actively employed. .As a preliminary to further proceed- _ ings, he had cansed all the vessels to be drawn on shore and rendered unserviceable. He told his men that they must prepare to conquer or to die—flight was impossfble. 9 He had occupied the Roman castle of Pevensey, whose walls are yet existing, flanked by Anglo-Norman towers, and he had personally surveyed all the adjoining country, for he never trusted this part of a general’s duty to any eyes but his own. - train: An oriental monarch, at the present time, never engayves in battle without a _ previous horoscope ; and this superstition was universally adopted in Europe duving the middle axes. But William’s ‘clerk’ was not merely a star-gazer. He had gradu- — ated in all the occult sciences—he was a necromancer, or, as the word was often - spelled, in order to accommodate it to the supposed etymology, a nigro-mancer—a ' ‘sortilegus’—and a soothsayer. These accomplishments in the sixteenth century _ would have assuredly brought the clerk to the stake ; but in the eleventh, although ’ -they were highly illegal according to the strict letter of the ecclesiastical law, yet they ' were studied as eagerly as any other branch of metaphysics, of which they were sup- - posed toform apart. The sorcerer or sortilegus, by casting sortes or lots, had ascer- _ tained that the duke would succeed, and that Harold would surrender without a battle, upon which assurance the Normans entirely relied. After the landing, ~. William inquired for his conjurer. a $n In the Norman Leaguer, far otherwise had the dread of the approaching morn affected the hearts of William’s soldiery. No voice was heard excepting the solemn — response of the Litany and the chant of the psalm. The penitents confessed their — . sins, the masses were said, and the sense of the imminent peril of the morrow was ~ tranquillised by penance and prayer. Each of the nations, as we are told by one-of - our most trustworthy English historians, acted according to their ‘ national custom ;’> and severe is the censure which the English thus receive. +.) JG .The English were strongly fortified in their position by lines of trenches-and pal- — isades; and within these defences they were marshalled according to the Danish fashion—shi-ld against shield, presenting an impenetrable front to the enemy. “The. men of Kent formed the vanguard. for it was their privilege to be the first-in the” strife. The burgesses of London, in like manner, claimed and obtained the honour — of being the reyal body-guard. and they were drawn up aroundthe standard. At the ~ foot of this banner stood Harold, with his brothers, Leofwin and Gurth, and achosen body of the bravest thanes. ; 3 Bam Te Before the Normans began their march, and very early in the morning of the feast of St. Calixtus, William had assembled his barons around him, and exhorted ~ them to maintain his righteous Cause. Asthe invaders drew nigh, Harold saw a division advancing. composed of the volunteers from the county of Boulogne and from the Amiennois. under the command of William Fitz-Osbern and Roger) Mont- gomery. ‘It is the duke,’ exclaimed Harold, ‘and little shall I fear him. By my — forces will his be four times outnumbered!’ Gurth shook his head, and expatiated — on the strength of the Norman cavalry, as opposed to the foot-soldiers of England; ~ but their discourse was stopped by the appearance of the combined cohorts under Aimeric, Viscount of Thouars. and Alan Fergant of Brittany. Harold’s heart sunk ~ at the sight. and he broke out into passionate exclamations of fear anddismay. But ~ now the third and last division of the Norman army was drawing nigh. The con-~ secrated Gonfanon floats amidst the forest of spears. and Harold is now too well” aware that he beholds the ranks which are commanded in person by the Duke of © Normandy. ' : E> Ses Y ae Immediately before the duke rode Taillefer, the minstrel, singing, with a loud and clear voice, the lay of Charlemange and Roland, and the emprises of the Paladins — who bad fallen in the delorous pass of Romcevaux. -Taillefer, as his guerdon, had ~ craved permission to strike the first blow, for he was a valiant warrior emulating the deeds which he sung; his appellation, Taz//e-fer, is probably to be considered not as his real name, but as an epithet derived from his strength and prowess; and he fully justified his demand, by transfixing the first Englishman whom he attacked, and by — felling the second to the ground, ‘The battle now became general. and raged with greatest fury. The Normans advanced beyond the English lines; but they v A on Se Sa SO eS te ee Sis 4 * =k Ie cr Seal en FS =e PASS - 7) ’ ~ = : > " * a = 8 ~ ~ ee ¥ ——— ; vN LGRAVE. } ENGLISIY LITERATURE, "863: fearful confusion. More Normans were slain here than in any other part of the field. ‘The alarm spread; the light troops left in charge of the bagvageand the ‘stores thought that all was lost, and were about to take flight; but. tie fierce Odo, Dishop of Bayeux, the duke’s half-brother, and who was better fitted for the shield - than for the mitre, succeeded in reassuriug them, and then, returning to the field, and Tushing into that part where the battle was hottest, he fought as the stoutest of the warriors engaged in the conflict. From nine in the morning till three in the afternoon, the successes on either side were nearly balanced. ‘The charges of the Norman cavalry gave them great advan-~ tage, but the English phalanx repelled their enemies ;-and the soldiers were so well ~ protected by their targets, that the artillery of the Normans was long disctarged in ~vain. The bowmen, seeing that they had failed to make any impression, altered the riven back, and forced into a trench, where horses and riders fell upon each other Phe Normans sudde:ly wheeled about, aad a new and fiercer battle was urged. The field was covered with separate bands of spread dismay amongst the Frenchmen. He was cut down by Roger de Montgomery. The Normans have preserved the name of the Norman baron, but that of the Englishman is lost in oblivion. Some other English thanes are also i aving singly and by their personal prowess, delayed the ruin of their _< At one period of the battle, the Normans were near] y routed, The cry was raised that the duke was slain, and they began to fly in every direction. William threw off — is helmet, and galloping through the squadrons, rallied his barons, thongh not with- ‘Out great difficulty. Harold, on his part, used every possible exertion, and was distin- guished as the most active and bravest among the soldiers in the host which he led on to Be sienction: A Norman arrow wounded him in the left eye; he dropped from his steed ‘In agony, and was borne to the foot of the standard. The Enelish began to give way, or rather to retreat to the standard as their rallying-point.. The Normans encircled them, and fought desperately to reach this goal. Robert Fitz-Ernest had almost ‘seized the banner, but he was killed in the attempt. William led his troops on with the intention, it is said, of measuring his sword with Harold. He did encounter an English horseman, from whom he received such a stroke upon his helmet, that he was nearly brought to the ground. The Normans flew to the aid of their sovereign. and the bold Englishman was pierced by their lances. About the same time the tide of battle took a momentary turn. The Kentish men and East Saxons rallied, and re- elled the Norman barons? but Harold was not amongst them; and Wilham led on his troops with desperate intrepidity. In the thick crowd of the assailants and the assailed, the hoofs of the horses were plunged deep into the gore of the dead and the dying. Gurth was at the foot of the standard, without hope, but without fear; he fell by the falchion of William. The English banner was cast down, and the Gonfa- non planted in its place announced that William of Normandy was the conqueror. It Was now late in the evening. The English troops were entirely broken, yet no Eng- ‘ishman would surrender. The conflict continued in many parts of the bloody field Pad after dark. r _ By William’s orders, a spot close to the Gonfanon was cleared, and he caused his pavilion to be pitched among the corpses which were heaped around.- He there sup- ved with his barons; and they feasted among the dead; but when he contemplated ‘he fearful slaughter, a natural feelin g of pity, perhaps allied to repentance, arose in his stern mind ; and the Abbey of Battie, in which the prayer was to be offered up perpetu- uly for the repose of the sou!s of all who had fallen in the conflict, was at once the nonument of his triumph and the token of his piety. The abbey was most richly en- lowed, and all the land for one league round about was annexed to the Battle franchise. (ke abbot was freed from the authority of the Metropolitan of Canterbury, and fvested with archiepiscopal jurisdiction. ‘The high-altar was erected on the very pot where Harold’s standard had waved; and the roll, deposited in the archives of thee ; ® — x 7, a ria -CYCLOPEDIA OF * the monastery, recorded the names of those who had fought with the Conqueror, and amongst whom the lands of broad England were divided. But all this pomp and — solemnity has passed away like a dream. ‘The ‘perpetual prayer’ has ceased for ever—the rol! of Battle is rent. The shields of the Norman lineages are trodden in the dust—the abbey is levelied with the ground—and a dank and reedy pool fills the — spot where the foundations of the choir have been uncovered, merely for the gaze of — the idle visitor, or the instruction of the moping antiquary. ~ ¢ GEORGE TICKNOR. a America has been desirous, as was remarked by Lockhart, to dis- charge the debt due to Spain, her first discoverer : ‘the names of © Irving and Prescott are already associated with Columbus and Isa-_ bella; nor will Ticknor henceforward be forgotten when Cervantes | and his compeers are held in remembrance.’ ‘’The-History of Span-— ish Literature,’ three volumes, 1849, by GzoreE TrcKNoR (1791-1862), ~ is a work of great merit, full, minute, and accurate, the result of thirty years’ labour. ‘The Life, Letters, and Journals of George Ticknor’ were published in 1876, in two volumes. . He was a native © of Boston, born in 1791, son of a wealthy citizen who is described as " of the true New England type of character, energetic and cultivated, — and who was one of the first importers of Merino sheep into the United- States. The son was educated at Dartmouth College, and studied for the bar, but having practised for a twelvemonth, he satisfied himself that the life of a lawyer would not suit his simple ideas of usefulness” or happiness. He therefore turned his thoughts to plans of study and travel. He started for Europe in 1815, and for five years travelled over various countries, residing successively in London, Gottingen, | Paris, Geneva, Rome, Venice, Madrid, and Lisbon. In all’those capi+™ tals he seems to have been in the best society, and his journal is full” of the best sort of ‘interviewing.’ Mr. Ticknor afterwards became ™ Professor of the French and Spanish languages, and of the ‘ Belles” Lettres’ in Harvard University. He died January 26, 1871, in his’ eightieth year. Besides his ‘ History of Spanish Literature,’ Mr. Tick, nor wrote a ‘ Life of Lafayette,’ and amemoir of his friend and coun- tryman, Prescott, the historian. He also contributed various articles” to reviews-and literary journals. The following are extracts from letters and journals : Gethe ai Weimar in 1816. ; 2 He is something above the middle size. large but not gross, with gray hair, a dark ruddy complexion, and full rich black eyes which, though dimmed by age, are sti very expressive. In manners he is simple. He received us without ceremony, but with care and elegance, and made no German compliments. The conversation, of course, rested in his hands, and was various. Of Lord Byron he spoke with interes and discrimination—said that his poetry shewed great knowledge of human nature, and great talent. in description. Once his genius kindled, and he grew almost fervent as he deplored the want of extemporary eloquence in Germany, and said, what IT never heard before, but which is eminently true, that the English is kept a much more living language by its influence. * Here.’ he said, ‘we have no eloquence, our preaching is a monotonous, middling declamation—public debate we have not at a ahd if a little inspiration comes to us in our lecture-rooms, it is out of place, for quence does not teach.” We remained with him nearly an hour, and when we c ‘ ° Mg ‘i eee > erie a qickNon} ~~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 360: ‘ wy 3 i F = Se } a away he accompanied us as far as the parlour door with the same simplicity with 4 whicirhe received us. f Sir Walter Scott. iy? ‘He is the lord of the ascendant now (1819) in Edinburgh, and weil! deserves to be, 4 for I look upon him to be quite as remarkabie in intercourse and conversation as he isin any of his writings. even in his novels. His countenance, when at rest. is dull - and almost heavy, and even when in common conversation expresses Only a high de-. { gree of good-nature ; but when he is excited, and especially when he is reciting po- _ eiry that he likes, his whole expression is changed, und his features kindle into a __ brightness of which there were no traces before. . .. One evening, after dinner, he : - told his daughter, Sophia Scott, to take her harp and play five or six ballads he men- -~ tioned to her, as a specimen of the different ages of Scottish music. I hardly ever 72 ‘deard anything of the kind that moved me so much. And yet, I imagine, many ] .sing better; but I never saw such an air and manner, such spirit and feeling, such decision and power. -I was so much excited that I turned round to Mr. Scott and said to him, probably with great emphasis: ‘I never heard anything so fine;’ and he, seeing how involuntarily I had said it, caught me by the hand, and replied very ear- _nestly: ‘* Everybody says so, sir;’ but added in an instant, blushing a little, ‘but I ‘must not be too vain of her.’ I was struck, too. with another little trait in her char- acter and his that exhibited itself the same evening. Lady Hume asked her to play _ *Rob Koy,’ an old ballad. A good many persons were present, aud she felt a little ~~ embarrassed by the recollection of how much her father’s name had been mentioned in connection with this strange Highlander’s. - (The authorship of the novels was not __ yet acknowledged, though generally believed) She ran across the room to her § fatber, and, blushing pretty deeply, whispered to him. ‘ Yes, my dear,’ he ‘said, loud »* enough to-be heard, ‘play, to be sure, if you are asked, and ‘‘ Waverly,” and ‘The __ Antiquary ” too, if there be any such ballads.’ One afternoon, after I had become - more acquainted with them, he asked me to come and dine, and afterwards go to the theatre and hear ‘Rob Roy ’—a very good piece made out of his novel, and then playing in Edinburgh with remarkable success. It was a great treat. He did not - attempt to conceal his delight during the whole performance, and when it was over _ said to me: ‘That’s fine, sir; I think that is very fine ;’ and then looked up at me with one of his most comical expressions of face, half-way between cunning and humor, and added: ‘All I wish is that Jedediah Cleishbotham could be here to enjoy it! 5 Sunday Dinner in Trinity Hall, Cambridge. The afternoon’s service at King’s College Chapel was very fine, especially the music; and everything produced its full effect in that magnificent and_solmn~hall, the finest of its sort, no doubt. in the world. Afterwards I went with W hewell and - Sedgewick to dine in the Hall of Trini‘y, a grand old place, vast, and a little gloomy and rude with its ancient rafters; but imposing. and worthy of the first cojlege in the world, for the number of great men it has produced. It is the fashion fora noble- man, when he comes here, to be furnished with a silver cover, forks, and spoons, - &c., and to leave them when he goes away. It chanced to-day that I had poor Lord _ Milton’s cover, with his name and arms on it. At our table there were several strangers, among whom were Sir Francis Forbes, just from India, and the famous Joseph Hume of radical notoriety. After dinner, according to ancient custom, a huge silver cup or pitcher was passed round. containing what is called Audit Ale, or very fine old ale, which is given to the tenants of the College when they come to _ audit their accounts and pay their rents. We all drank from it standing up, each, - as his turn came, wishing prosperity to the college. When this was Over, an en- ; 366 ~ = SC¥CLOPADIA OF "<= 2 Trasaeye: nary amount of health-drinking, but here we had it on a more serious and regular footing. At last the bell rang for evening prayers. The chapel was brilliantly lighted, and the Master _and Fellows, in their robes of ceremony, made a striking appearance. JOHN L. MOTLEY. An excellent history of the ‘ Rise of the Dutch Republic,’ three ~ volumes, 1856, has been written by Joun LotHrop Moruey, born at Dorchester, Massachusetts, in 1814, graduated at Harvard University in 1831, and sometime secretary to the United States Legation at St, Petersburg. -Returning to America he devoted himself to literary pursuits. He had early in life written two novels, which proved failures, and he afterwards applied himself to historical researches, residing for some years in Germany and the Netherlands for the bet- ter prosecution of his labours. His history embraces the period from the abdication of Charles V. in 1555 to the death of William the Silent, Prince of Orange in 1584. A continuation appeared in 1860, and a further portion in 1865, entitled ‘The History of the United Netherlands, from the Death of William the Silent to the Synod of Dort. In 1874 Mr. Motley added ‘The Life and Death of John of Barneveid, Advocate of Holland, with a View of the Primary Causes and Movements of the Thirty Years’ War,’ 2 vols. The greater part of Barneveld’s life had been previously told by Mr. Motley in ~ his ‘ History of the United Netherlands,’ but this later work describes the nine closing years of Barneveld’s career. These historical labours of Mr. Motley not only supply a desideratum in our historical litera- ture, but constitute a narrative of deep interest, clear, vivid and elo- quent in style and diction. Their author has been rewarded with the honorary titles of D.C.L, from the university of Oxford, and LL.D. from the universities of Cambridge and New York. He was six years (1861-1867) minister from the United States at the Court of - Vienna, and one year (1869-70) at the Court of St. James’s, London... The Image-breaking of Antwerp.—From ‘ The Rise of the Dutch Republic.” A very paltry old woman excited the 1mage-breaking of Antwerp (1566). She had for years been accustomed to sit before the door of the cathedral with wax tapers and wafers, earning a scanty subsistence from the profits of her meagre trade, and by the small coins which she sometimes received in charity. Some of the rabble began _ to chaffer with this ancient huckstress. They scoffed at her consecrated wares ; they » bandied with her ribald jests, of which her public position had furnished her with a supply; they assured her that the hour had come when her idolatrous traflic was to he for ever terminated, when she and her patroness Mary were to be given over to- destruction together. The old woman, enraged, answered threat with threat, and gibe with gibe. Passing from words to deeds, she began to catch from the ground every Offensive missile or weapon which she could find, and to lay about her in all directions. Her tormentors defended themselves as they could. Having destroyed her whole stock-in-trade, they provoked others to appear in her defence. The pas- sers-bv thronged to the scene; the cathedral was soon filled to overflowing; a furious tumult was already in progress. ° ; Many persons fied in alarm to the Town House, carrying information of this out- break to the magistrates. John van Immerzeel, Margrave of Antwerp, was then~ holding communication with the senate, and awaiting the arrival of the wardmasters, whom it had at last been thought expedient to summon. Upon intelligence of this a * ~ e -3 “= Ee = Anes Yards” ae allied ‘ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 367 AS ve rk _ MOTLEY, ] as riot, which the militia, if previously mustered, might have prevented, the senate de- ‘termined to proceed to the cathedral in a body, with \he hope of quelling the mob by _ the dignity of their presence. The margrave, who was the high executive officer of the little commonwealth, marched down to the cathedral accordingly, attended by the two burgomasters and all the senators. At. first their authority, solicitations, and _ .personal influence produced a good effect. Some of those outside consented to retire and the tumult partially subsided within. As night, however, was fast approaching, _ many of the mob insisted upon remaining for evening service. ‘hey were informed« _ that there would be none that night, and that for once the people could certainly dis- pexse with their vespers. ‘ _ Several persons now manifesting an intention of leaving the cathedral, it was Suggested to the senators that if they should lead the way, the population would follow in their train, and so disperse to their homes. The excellent magistrates took the adyice, not caring perhaps to falfil auy longer the dangerous but not dignified functions of police-ofticers. Before departing, they adopted the precaution of closing all the doors of the church, leaving a single one open, that the rabble still remaining might have an opportunity to depart. It seemed not to occur to the senators that the same gate would as conveniently afford an entrance for those Without as an egress for those within. That unlooked-for event happened, however. No sooner had the magistrates retired than the rabble bu st through the single door which hid been left open, overpowered the margrave, who, with a few attendants, had remained behind, vainly endeavouring by threats and exhortations to appease -the tumult, drove him ignominiously from the church, and threw all the other portals wide open. Then the populace flowed in like an angry sea. The whole of the cathedral was at the mercy of the rioters, who were evidently bent on mischief. The wardens and treasurers of the church, after a vain attempt to secure afew of its most precious possessions, retired. They carried the news to the senators, who, ~ accompanied by a few halberdmen, again ventured to approach the spot. It was but for a moment, however, for, appalled by the furious sounds which came from withia the church, as if invisible forces were preparing a catastrophe which no -human power could withstand, the magistrates fled precipitately from the scene. Fearing that the next attack would be upon the Town House, they hastened to is Meats at that point their available strength, and left vhe stately cathedral to its fate. ~ ; And now, as the shadows of night were deepening the perpetual twilight of the church, the work of destruction commenced. ‘Instead of vespers rose the fierce _ mnusic of a psalm yelled by a thousand angry voices. It seemed the preconcerted signal for a general attack. A band of marauders flew upon the image of ‘the Virgin. dragged it forth from its receptacle, plunged daggers into its inanimate body, tore off its jewelled and embroidered garments, broke the whole fignre into a thou- sand pieces, and scattered the fragments along the floor. A wild shout succeeded, and then the work, which seemed delegated to a comparatively small number of the assembled crowd, went on with incredible celerity. Some were armed with axes, some with bludgeons, some with sledge-hammers; others brought ladders, pulleys, ropes, and levers. Every statue was hurled from its niche, every picture torn from the wall, every painted window shivered to atoms, every ancient monument shat- tered, every sculptured decoration, however inaccessible in appearance, hurled to the “ground. Indefatigably, audaciously endowed, as it seemed, with preternatural strength and nimbleness, these furious iconoclasts clambered up-the dizzy heights, shrieking and chattering like malignant apes. as they tore off in triumph the slowly- matured fruit of centuries. in a space of time wonderfully brief they had accom- plished their task. } F A colossal and magnificent group of the Saviour crucified between two thieves _ adorned the principal altar. The statue of Christ was wrenched from its place with _ ropes and pulleys, while the malefactors, with bitter and blasphemexs irony, were left on high, the only representatives of the marble crowd which had bc. x destroyed. A very beautiful piece of architecture decorated the choir—the * repository,’ as it was called, in which the, body of Christ was figuratively enshrined. This much-admired - work rested upon a single column, but rose. arch upon arch, pillar upoz pillar, to the _ height of three hundred feet, till quite lost in the vault above. It was now shattered - into a million pieces. The statues, images, pictures, ornaments, as they lay upon the ; = lics that the Confederates, and other opulent Protestants, had organised this company of profligates for the meagre pittance of ten stivers a day. On the other hand it was believed by many that the Catholics had themselves plotted the whole: outrage in order to bring odium upon the Reformers. Both statements were equally unfounded. The task was most thoroughly performed, but it was prompted by a furious fanaticism, not by baser motives. Pwo days and nights longer the havoc raged unchecked through all the churches of Antwerp and the neighbouring villages. Hardly a statue or picture escaped de- struction. Yet the rage was directed exclusively against stocks and stones. Not a~ man was wounded nor a woman outraged. Prisoners, indeed, who had been lan- — guishing hopelessly in dungeons were liberated. A monk who had been in the prison — of the barefoot monastery for twelve years, recovered his freedom. Art was trampled iu the dust, but humanity deplored no victims. s 7 Leh GEORGE BANCROFT. The history of the United States has been ably and copiously re- lated by a native historian, Mr. GeorcE Bancrort, This gentle — ian was born in 1800, at Worcester, in Massachusetts. His father, Dr. A. Bancroft, a Congregational or Unitarian minister, had written ~ a ‘Life of Washington,’ 1807, andthe paternal tastes and example — % sin Lt alias Es ee A. ‘be ee ee a “sank Se Le ee ee a a ee een a Se ae a "eer 4 cis AD es en are i Teak ‘ - * & + - eae ee > i ieee 4 * - ENGLISH LITERATURE, 369 be BANCROFT. | : ~ had probably some effect in directing the literary labours of the son. Having graduated with distinction at Harvard College, he afterwards _ studied in Germany, and on his return entered the Church. , Ree ta eg BO GOt i , ee: mS es ees vip j ; A ‘ ae Sa eee ips Ee ae ae: Pinay : ay: = -_ BANCROFT.| ENGLISH LITERATURE. Te 371 ee 3 * ; 3 - suffrage, but did not exclude enough to change the character of the institution. ' ‘There had never existed a considerable municipality approaching so nearly to a pure -— .democracy; and, for so populous a place, it was undoubtedly the most orderly and best governed in the world. - a Its ecclesiastical polity wasin like manner republican. The great mass were Congregationalists ; each church was an assembly formed by voluntary agreement; self-constituted, self-supported, and independent. They were clear that no person or church had power over another church. ‘There was not a Roiman Catholic altar in the places the usages of * papists * were looked upon as worn-out superstitions, fit only for the ignorant. But the people were not merely the fiercest enemies of . ‘popery and siavery ;’ they were Protestants even against Protestantism ; and though the Engiish Church was tolerated, Boston kept up its exasperation against prelicy. Its ministers were still its prophets and its guides; its pulpit, in which, now that “Mayhew was no more, Cooper was admired above all others for eloquence and patriotism, by weekly appeals inflamed alike the fervour of piety and of liberty. In the ‘ Boston Gazette,’ it enjoyed a free press, which gave currency to its conclusions on the natural right of man to self-government. Its citizens were inquisitive ; seeking to know the causes of things, and to search _ for the reason of existing institutions in the laws of nature. Yet they controlled their speculative. turn by practical judgment, exhibiting the seeming contradiction of sus- ceptibility to entnusiasm, and calculating shrewdness. They were fond of gain. and adventurous, penetrating, and keen in their pursuit of it; yet their avidity was tem-. pered by a well-considered and continuing liberality. Nearly every man was strug- gling to make his own way in the world and his own fortune; and yet individually, and as a body, they were public-spirited. ‘A Popular History of the United States,’ by WiLLtIAM CULLEN Bryant, the poet, and SypNey Howarp Gay, was commenced in 1876, to be completed in four volumes. ‘This will be a very splendid work, finely iilustrated and printed, and written in a pleasing style. _ Three Periods in American History. The history of the United States (says Mr. Bryant) naturally divides itself into three periods, upon the third of which we lately, at the close of our civil war, entered as a people with congruous institutions in every part of our vast territory. ‘The first was the colonial period; the second includes the years which elapsed from the Decla- ration of Independence to the struggle which closed with the extinction of slavery. The colonial period was a time of tutelage, of struggle and dependence, the child- hood of the future nation. But our real growth, as a distinct member of the com- munity of nations, belongs to the second period, and began when we were strong enough to assert and maintain our independence. To this second period a large space has been allotted in the present work. Not that the mere military annals of our Revolutionary War would seem to require a large proportion of this space, but the various attendant circumstances, the previous controversies with the mother- country, in which all the colonies were more or less interested, and which grew into acommon cause; the consultations which followed; the defiance of the mother- country in which they all joined ; the service in an army which made all the colonists fellow-soldiers; the common danger, the common_privations, sufferings, and expedi- ents, the common sorrow at reverses-and rejoicing at victories, require to be fully set forth, that it may be seen by how natural a transifion these widely-scattered com- munities became united in a federal republic, which has rapidly risen to take its place ‘among the foremost nations of the world, with a population which has in- creased tenfold, and a sisterhood of States enlarged from thirteen to thirty-seven. So crowded with events and controversies is this second part of our history, and the few years which have elapsed of the third; so rapid has been the accumulation of wealth and the growth of trade; so great have been. the achievements of inven- tive art and the applied sciences; with such celerity has our population spread itself Over new regions, and sO vehement have been the struggles maintained against its abuses, moraland political, that it has not been easy to give due attention to all of them, without excecding the limits prescribed for this work.... 372 - CYCLOPADIA OF ‘We are not without the hope that thpse who read what we have written, will see in the past, with all its vicissitudes, the promise of a prosperous and honourable future, of concord at home, and peace and respect abroad; and that the same cheerful piety, — which leads the good man to put his personal trust in‘a kind Providence, will prompt ~ the good citizen to cherish an equal confidence in regard to the destiny reserved fo our beloved country. ott, DANIEL WEBSTER. | ; As we have noticed the popular forensic oratory of Erskine and — Brougham, the great American orator, DANIEL WEBSTER (1782-1852), — should not be overlooked. He was the Chatham of the New World, and Chatham could not have pronounced a more glowing eulogium on England than fell from the lips of this Western Republican.. Eloquent Apostrophe to England. pie Our fathers raised their flag against a power to which, for purposes of foreign conquest and subjugation, Roime, in the height of her glory, is not to be compared— _ a power which has dotted the surface of the whole globe with her possessions and _ military posts, whose 1norning drum-beat, following the sun in his course and keep- ing pace with the hours, circles the earth with one continuous and unbroken strain of the martial airs of England. The remarkable fact of the simultaneous death of Adams and Jef- _ ferson—the second and third presidents of the United States—hap- pening on the fiftieth anniversary of the Declaration of Independence ~ (July 4, 1826), could not but powerfully affect the mind of Webster, as it did that of the whole nation. Jefferson had written the Declara- — tion, and Adams had proclaimed it m congress. Daniel Webster, — speaking at Boston on the 2d of August following, thus characterized — the departed statesmen: ~ Adams and Jefferson. Adams and Jefferson are no more; and we are assembled, fellow-citizens, the aged, _ the middie-aged, and the young, by the spontaneous impulse of all, under the — authority of the municipal government, with the presence of the chief magistrate of the Commonwealth, and others its official representatives, the University, and _the learned societies,to bear our part in those manifestations of respect and gratitude if which pervade the whole land. Adams and Jefferson are no more. On our fiftieth —~ anniversary, the great day of national jubilee, in the very hour of public rejoicing, in the midst of echoing and re-echoing voices of thanksgiving, while their own names _ were on all tongues. they took their flight together to the world of spirits. If it be true that no one can safely be pronounced happy while he lives. if that event which _ terminates life can alone crown its honours and its glory, what felicity is here! The — great epic of their lives. now happily concluded! Poetry itself has hardly terminated — illustrious lives, and finished the career of earthly renown, by such a consummation, ~ If we had the power, we conld not wish to reverse this dispensation of the Divine Providence. The great objects of life were accomplished, the drama was ready (a to be closed. _It has closed; our patriots have fallen; bnt so fallen, at snch age, »!) with such coincidence, on sucha day, that we cannot rationslly lament that the — end has come, which we knew could not be long deferred. Neither of these great - men, fellow-citizens, could. have died, at any time. without leaying an immense — void in our American society. They have been so intimately, and for so long. a tinie, blended with the history of the country. and especially so united. in our thoughts and recollections, with the events of the Revolution, that the death of either would have touched the chords of public sympathy. We should haye felt that one great link, connecting us with former times, was Lonbante that we had lost — something more, as it were, of the presence of the Revolution itself, and of the Act M ENGLISH LITERATURE, 873 ‘of Independence, and were driven on, by another great remove from the days of our country’s early distinction, to meet posterity, and to nix with the future. Like the mariner, whom the currents of the ocean and the winds carry along, till he sees the ‘stars which have directed his course and lighted his pathless way descend, one by one, beneath the rising horizon, we should have felt that the stream of time had borne us onward till another great luminary. whose light had cheered us, and whose guidance we had followed, had sunk away from our sight. But the concurrence of their death on the anniversary of independence has naturally awakened stronger - emotions. Both had been presidents, both had lived to great age, both were early ‘patriots, and both were distinguished and ever honoured by their immediate agency - the Act of Independence. It cannot but seem striking and extraordinary. that these two shonid live to see the fiftieth year from the date of that act; that they f shonld complete that year; and that then, on the day which had fast linked for ever _ their own fame with their country’s glory, the heavens should open to receive them both at once. As their lives themselves were the gifts of Providence, who is not willing to recognise in their happy termination, as well as in their long continuance, Beco that our country and its benefactors are objects of His care? Adams and _Jefferson, I have said, are no more... As human beings, indeed, they are no more. They are no more, as in 1776, bold and fearless advocates of independence ; no more, as at subsequent periods, the head of the government; no more, as we have recently seen them, aged and venerable objects of admiration and regard. ‘They are no more. "They are dead. But how little is there of the great and good which can die! To ‘their country they yet live, and live for ever. They live in all that perpetuates the “remembrance of men on earth ; in the recorded proofs of their own actions, in the off- spring of their intellect, in the deep-engraved lines of public gratitude, and inthe re- spect and homage of mankind. ‘hey live in their example; and they live, emphati- cally, and will live, in the influence which their lives and efforts, their principles and opinions, now exercise, and will continue to exercise, on the affairs of men, not only in their own country, but throughout the civilised world. A superior and commanding human intellect, a truly great man, when Heaven vouchsafes. so ,rare a gift, is not a temporary gift, is not a temporary flame, burning brightly for a while, and then giving place to returning darkness. It is rather a spark ‘of fervent heat, as well as radiant light, with power to enkindle the common -mass of human mind; so that. when it glimmers in its own decay, and finally “goes out in death.no night follows, but it leaves the world all light, ali on fire, ‘from the potent contact of its own spirit. Bacon died; but the human under- standing, roused by the touch of his miraculous wand to a perception of the true “philosophy and the just mode of inquiring after the truth. has kept on its course suc- cessfully and gloriously. Newton died; yet the courses of the spheres are still known, and they yet move on by the laws which he discovered. and in the orbits which he “saw, and described for them, in the infinity of space. No two men now live, fellow- ‘citizens, perhaps it may be doubted whether any two men bave ever lived in one age, ‘who more than those we how commemorate, have impressed on mankind their own “sentiments in-regard to politics and government, infused their own opinions more deeply into the opinions of others. or given a more lasting direction to the current of human thought. Their work doth not perish with them. ‘the tree which. they as- ‘sisted to plant will fiourish, although they water it and protect it no lonyer ; forit has ‘struck its roots deep, it kas sent them to the very centre; no storm. not of force to “burst the orb, can overturn it; its branches spread wide; they stretch their protect- ‘ing arms broader and broader, and its top is destined to reach the heavens. We are not deceived. There is no delusion here. No age will come in which the American Reyolution will appear less than it is, one of the greatest events in human history. No age will come in which it shall cease to be seen and felt. on either continent, that a mighty step, a great advance, not only in American affairs, but in human affairs, was made on the 4th of J uly 1776. And no age will come, we trust, so ignorant or so “npjust as not to see and ncknowledge the efficient agency of those we now honour 1 producing that momentous event. _ Another memorable day in the history of the United States was the centenary celebration of the birth of Washington, se: = ~~ * aS mye pence ae CYCLOPADIA OF Washington. . That name (said Webster) was of power to rally a nation, in the hour of thick- throbbing public disasters and calamities ; that name shone, amid the storm of war, a beacon light, to cheer and guide the country’s friends; its flame, too, like a me=- teor, to repel hertoes. That name, in the days of peace, was a loadstone, attracting to itself a whole people’s confidence, a whole people’s love, and_ the whole world’s — respect ; that name, descending with all time, spread over the whole earth, and ute - tered in all the languages belonging to the tribes and races of men. will for ever be- pronounced with affectionate gratitude by every one in whose breast there shall arise an aspiration for human rights and human liberty. 4 We perform this grateful duty, gentlemen, at the expiration of a hundred years— from his birth, near the place so cherished and beloved by him, where his dust now reposes, and in the capital which bears his own immortal name, » Ai ee _ All experience evinces that human sentiments are strongly affected by associa. tions. ‘The recurrence of anniversaries, or of longer periods of time, naturally - freshens the recollection, and deepens the impression of events with which they ara VEBSTER. | - ENGLISH LITERATURE. : 875 a9 7 alge aa ; fide ual men, and, with a freedom and strength before altogether unknown, i ‘ ppied to these objects the whole power of the human understanding. It has been he era, in short, when the social principle has triumphed over the teudal principle ; when. society has maintained its right against military power and estabiisued, on “foundations never hereafter to be shaken, 1ts competency to govern itself. oF 4 ‘Southern States of North America,’ by Epwarp aM sas Sa of artists, spent most of the years 1yi3 and. —1874-on a tour of observation, will be found interesting and valuable. The party travelled more than twenty-tive thousand miles, Visiig — ‘nearly every city and town of importance in the Se ee ae western States. The-artist-in-chief, My. Champney, eee fer than four hundred of the sketches which illustrate the wol all o which are well executed and constitute a gallery of pictures o Amer ican life, character, and scenery. is ~ Condition of the Southern States since the War. ifs There is (says Mr. King) much that is discouraging in the present condition of the south, but no one is more loth than the Southerner to admit the impossibility of its” thorough redemption. The growth of manufactures in the southern states, while -insiguificant as compared with the gigantic development in the north and west, is highly encouraging, and it is actually true that manufactured articles formerly sent “south from the north, are now made in the south to be shipped to northern buyers. __ There is at least good reason to hope that in a few years linmigration will pour into the fertile fields and noble valleys along the grand streams of the south, assuring -amighty growth. ‘UVhe southern people, however, will have to make more vigorous “efforis in soliciting immigration than they have thus far shewn themsel yes capable of, if they intend to compete with the robust assurance-of western agents in Europe. “Texas and Virginia do not need to exert themselves, for currents of Immigration are ‘now flowing steadily to them; and as has been seen in the north-west, one immigrant always brings, sooner or later, ten in his weke. But the cotton states need able and efficient agents in Europe to explain thoroughly the nature and extent of their re- sources, and to counteract the effect of the political misrepresentation which 18 SO con- -spicuous during every heated campagn, and which never fails todo these states incalcu- lable harm. The mischief which the grinding of the outrage mill by cheap politi- cians, in the vain hope thatit might serve their party ends at the elections of 1874, - ‘did such noble commonweulths as Alabama, Georgia, Mississippi, can hardly be estimated. ~ Mr. King’s work, it appears, was undertaken at the instance of >. the publishers of ‘Scribner's Monthly Magazine,’ and the British publishers (Blackie and Son) have brought it out in an attractive form. - v5 = LORD MACAULAY. ~ In 1842, as already stated, Lorp MacatLay produced his ‘Lays of Ancient Rome.’ In the following year, he published a selection of * Critical and--Historical Essays, contributed ~to the Edinburgh eview,’ which are still unrivalled among productions of this kind. In questions of classical learning and critieism—in English pbiloso- phy and history—in all the minutix of biography and literary anecdote—in the principles and details of government—in the revo- lutions of parties and opinions—in all these he seems equally versant. He enriched every subject with illustrations drawn from a vast a = a. = 7 =~ 3e xz 4 a Vig wie } * nn te FRAO See PLS ele a i> ee er eG i ge os 7 . eG ee A 2 toes 376 ‘20> CY CLOPADIALOR Gat seme ® [to 1870, - range of reading. He is most able and striking in: his historical articies, Which presents pictures ot the times of which he treats, | with portraits of the principal actors, and comparisons and contrasis draw irom contemporary events-aud Characters in other countries. — His reviews of Haliam’s ‘Constitutional iistory,’ Kankes * bilstory - of the Popes,’ and the Menioirs of Burleigh, tiampden, Sir boperi Walpole, Chatham, Sir William iempie, Clive, and Warren Hastings, form a series of brilliant and compiete historical retrospects or~ summaries unsurpassed in our literature. His eloquent papers on Bunyan, Horace Walpole, Boswell’s ‘ Johnson,’ Adaison, pouthey s ‘Colloquies,’ byron, we., have equal literary value; and to these — must be added wis later works, the viographies in the * Encyclopedia Britannica,’ which exhibit Lis style as sobered and chastened, though. -not entfeebled. ; a ee In 1848 appeared the first two volumes of his ‘ History of England “ram the Accession of James IL.,’ of which it was said 18,000 copies — were sold in six months. In his opening chapter he explains the nature and scope of his work. poisar Exordium to History of FEngland.- I purpose to write the history of England from the accession of King James II. down to a time which is within the memory of men still living, I shall recount the errors which, in a few.-months, alienated a loyal gentry and priesthood from the — House of Stuart. I shall trace the course of that revolution which terminated the ~ long struggle between our sovereigns and their parliaments, and bound up together the rights of the people and the title of the reigning dynasty. I shall relate how — the new settlement was, during many troubled years, successfully defended against — foreign and domestic enemies; how, under that settlement, the authority of law and — the security of property were found to be compatible with a liberty of discussion and of individual action never before known; how, from the auspicious union of order and freedom, sprang a prosperity of which the annals of human affairs had — furnished no example; how our country, from a state of ignominious yassalage, rapidly rose to the place of umpire among European powers ; how her opulence and — her martial glory grew together; how, by wise and resolute good faith, was gradu- _ ally established a public credit fruitful of marvels, which, to the statesman of any — former age would have seemed incredible; how a gigantic commerce gave birth toa — maritime power compared with which every other maritime power, ancient or mod- — ern, sinks into insignificance; how Scotland, after ages of enmity, was at length — united to England, not merely by legal bonds, but bv indissoluble ties of interest and affection; how in America, the British colonies rapidly became far mightier and wealthier than the realms which Cortes and Pizarro had added to the dominions of» Charles V.; how in Asia, British adventurers founded an empire not less splendid ~ and more durable than that of Alexander. ; ie Nor will it be less my duty faithfully to record disasters mingled with triumphs. ~ with great national crimes and follies far more humiliating than any disaster. It will | %¢ seen that what we justly account our chief blessings were not without alloy. It _ Whi be seen that the system which effectually secured our liberties against the en-— crouchments of kingly power, gave birth to a new cliss of abuses from which abso. lute monarchies are exempt. It will be scen that in consequence partly of unwise interference, and partly of unwise neglect the increase of wealth and the extension of trade produced, together with immense good, some evils from which poor and rude societies are free. It will be seen how, in two important dependencies of the crown, wrong was followed by just retribution; how imprudence and obstinacy broke the- ties which bound the North American cojonies to the parent state; ow Ireland, — ~ 2ursed by the domination of race over race, and of religion over religion, remaine indeed a member of the empire, but a withered and distorted member, adding ENGLISH LITERATURE. 377 _ Strength to the body politic, and reproachfully pointed at by all who feared or envied - the greatness of Huyiand.. ; Let, uniess I greatiy deceive myself, the general effect of this checkered narrative Wili be to excite Lnankruimess im ali reuigious minds, and hope in tie Licuets of all patdots. Wor the nistory of our country during the last hunured anu sixty years is eminently the history 0] piysicul, of moral, anu of intellectual improvement. ‘hose who compare the age OL wich their loo has fallen with a goidcu age which exists only in wuaginatiou, may talk Of degeneracy and decay ; but pO wan who is correctiy —inturmed a to the past, wii be disposed Lo take a morose or desponding view ot the present. 5 : . L should very imperfectiy execute the task which I have undertaken, if I were _ merely to treat of buitles and sieges, of the rise and fall of administrations; of in- _ trigues in the palace, aud of deba.es in the parliament. It will be my endeavour to _ relate the history of tuc peopie as weil us the history of the government, to trace the - progress of useit and ornamental aris, to describe the rise of religious sects and the _ changes Ot lite.ary taste, lo portray the manners of successive geucrations, aud not _ to pass by with neglect even the revolutions which have tuken piace in dress, furni- © ture, repusts, and public entcriainments. J shall cheertuuly bear the reproach of having aescended beiow the dignity of history, if I can succeed in placing before the . Englisn of the nineteenth century w tiue picture of the life of their ancestors, Volumes III. and IV. appeared in 1855, and it soon became mani- fest that it was hopeless to expect that the historian would live to realise his intention of bringing down his History to ‘a time within _the memory of men still living, or living in 1848. The anticipated period we may assume to be the close of the last century; and be- tween 1685—the date of the accession of James I].—and 1800, we _have one hundred and fifteen years, of which Lord Macaulay had then only travelled over twelve. “His fourth volume concludes with the Peace of Ryswick in 1697. Part of a fifth volume was written, bringing down the History to the general election in 1701, but not published until after the death of the author. No historical work in modern times has excited the same amount of interest and anxiety, or, we may add, of admiration, as Lord Macaulay’s History. Rob- -ertson and Gibbon were astonished at their own success; it greatly exceeded their most daring and sanguine hopes; but the number of readers was then limited, and quarto volumes travelled slowly. Com- -pared with Macaulay, it was as the old mail-coach drawn up with ‘the railway express. Before the second portion of Macaulay’s History was ready, eleven large editions of the first had been disposed of. 1t. had been read with the eagerness and avidity of a romance. The colouring might at times appear too high, almost coarse, but there were no obscure or misty passages... Highly embellished as was the style, it was as clear and intelligible as that of Swift or Defoe. It was the pre-Raphaelite painting without its littheness. Whether ‘drawing a landscape or portrait, evolving the nice distinctions and subtle traits of character cr motives, stating a legal argument, or dis- ‘entangling a complicated party question, this virtue of perspicacity “never forsakes the historian. It is no doubt a homely virtue, but here it is united to vivid imagination and rhetorical brilliance. &e@ “much ornament with so much strong sense, logical clearness, and easy < E.L, v. %—13 878 CYCLOPADIA OF ~~ fro 1876, adaptation of style to every purpose of the historian, was never be’ fore seen in combination. eg In producing his distinct and striking impressions, the historian is charged with painting too strongly and exaggerating his portraits. He has his likes and dislikes—his moral sympathies and antipathies. His sympathies were all with the Whigs, and his History has been called an epic poem with King Wiiliam for its hero, Marlborough is portrayed in too dark colours, and William Penn also suffers in: ~ justice. The outline of each case is correct. Marlborough was treacherous and avaricious, and Penn was too much of a courtier in’ a bad court.* But the historian magnifies their defects. He does ~ not make allowance for the character and habits of the times in | which they lived, and he seizes upon doubtful and obscure ineidents — _or Statements by unscrupulous adversaries as pregnant and infaflible. proofs of guilt. In his pictures of social life and manners there is. \ also a tendency to caricature ; exceptional and accidental cases are made general ; and the vivid fancy of the historian sports amon startling contrasts and moral incongruities. . Blemishes of this Kin have been pointed out by laborious critics and political opponents ;. the ‘eritical telescope’ has been incessantly levelled at the great luminary, yet nearly all will subseribe to the opinion that ‘a writer — of more passionless and judicial mind would not have produced a; — work of half so intense and deep an interest ; that if Macaulay had been more minutely scrupulous,-he would not have been nearly as — picturesque ; and that, if he had been less picturesque, we should not — have retained nearly so much of his delineations, and should, there-: ~ fore, have been losersof so much knowledge which is substantially, — if not always circumstantially correct.’+ His History is altogether-— one of the glories of our country and literature. . The Battle of Sedgemoor, July 6, 1685. Shes Jai The night was not ill suited for such an enterprise. The moon was indeed atthe — full, and the northern streamers were shining brilliantly. But the marsh fog lay so thick on Sedgemoor that no abject could be diseerned there at the distance of fifty paces. ‘The clock struck eleven ; and the Duke (of Monmouth) with his body-guard rode out of the castle. He was not in the frame of mind whieh befits one whois about to strike a decisive blow. The very children who pressed to see him pass observed, and long remembered, that his look was sad and full of evifangury. His — army marched by a circuitous path, near six miles in length. towards the royal — encampment on Sedgemoor. Part of the route is to this day called War Lane. The — foot were led by Monmouth himself. The horse were confided to Grey, in spite of the remonstrances af same who remembered the mishap at Bridport. Orders were — * mob. At length the axe was taken up. ‘l'wo more blows extin- guished the last remains of life; but a knife was used to separate the head from the shoulders. The crowd was wrought up to such an ecstasy of rage that the execu- :: Boner was in danger of being torn in pieces, and was conveyed away under a strong 4 Tr ‘os - Inthe meantime many handkerchiefs were dipped in the duke’s blood; for by a large part of the multitude he was regarded as a martyr who had died for the Pro- testant religion. The head and body were placed in a coffin covered with black ' velvet, and were laid privately under the communion table of St. Peter’s Chapel in the Tower. Within four years the pavement of the chancel was again disturbed, ~ and hard by the remains of Monmouth were laid the remains of Jeffreys, In truth _ there is no sadder spot on the earth than that little cemetery. Death is there associ- ated, not, as in Westininster Abbey and St. Paul’s, with genius and virtue, with _ public veneration and imperishabl> renown; not, as in our humblest churches and _ ehurchyards, with everything that is most endearing in social and domestic Charities ; _ but with whatever is darkest in human nature and in human destiny, with the Bayage triumph of implacable enemies, with the inconstancy, the ingratitude, the cowardice of friends, with all the miseries of fallen greatness and of blighted fame. Thither have been carried, through successive ages, by the rude hands of gaolers, ~ without one mourner following, the bleeding relics of men who had been the captains » of armies, the leaders of parties, the oracles of senates, and the ornaments of courts. _ Thither was borne, before the window where Jane Grey was praying, the mangled corpse of Guildford Dudley. Edward Seymour, Duke of Somerset, and Protector of _ the realm, reposes there by the brother whom he murdered. There has moulded _ away the headless trunk of John Fisher, bishop of Rochester and cardinal of St. _ Vitalis, a man worthy to have lived in a better age, and to have died in a better cause. There are laid John Dudley, Duke of Northumberland, Lord High Admiral, and Thomas Cromwell, Earl of Essex, Lord High Treasurer. There, too, is another _ Essex, on whom nature and fortune had lavished all their bounties in vain, and whom vulour, grace, genius, royal favour, popular applause, conducted to an early and ignominious doom. Not far off sleep two chiefs of the great house of Howard —Thomas, fourth Duke of Norfolk, and Philip, eleventh Earl of Arundel. Here - and there, among the thick graves of unquiet and aspiring statesmen, lie more deli- _ tate sufferers—Margaret of Salisbury, the last of the proud name of Plantagenet, - and those two fair queens who perished by the jealous rage of Henry. Such was the dust with which the dust of Monmouth mingled. : Yet a few months, and the quiet village of Toddington, in Bedfordshire, witnessed a still sadder funeral. Near that viHage stood an ancient and stately hall, the seat of the Wentworths. The transept of the parish church had long been their burial-place, - Yo that burial-place, in the spring which fo!lowed the death of Monmouth, was borne th» coffin of the young Baroness of Nettlestede. Her family reared a sumptuous mausolenm over her remains; but a less costly memorial of her was long contem- lated with far deeper interest. Her name, carved by the hand of him whom she _ loved too well, was, a few years ago, still discernible on a tree in the adjoining park. ote . ony 7 ee 382 CYCLOP.EDIA OF > - “fro 1876, The Revolution of 1683-9. as On the morning of Wednesday the 13th of February {1389], the court of Whitehall gnd all the neighbouring streets were filled with tn The magnificent Banquet- jng House, the masterpiece of Inigo, embellished by masterpieces of Rubens, had been prepared for a great ceremony. ‘The walls were lined by the yeomen of the guard. Near the northern door, on the right hand, a large number of peers had as-. seinbled. On the left were the Commons with their Speaker, attended 4! the mace, The southern door opened; aud the Prince and Priucess of Orange, side by side, en- ~ tered, and took their place under the canopy of state. Both Houses approached, bowing low. William and Mary advanced a few steps. Halifax on the right, and Powle cn_the left, stood forth, and Halifax spoke. The Convention, he said, had agreed to a resolution which he prayed their highnesses to hear. _ They signified their assent; and the clerk of the House of Lords read, in a. loud voice, the Declaration of Right. When he had concluded, Halifax, in the name -of all the estates of the realm, requested the prince and princess to acceptthe crown. ~ William, in his own name, and in that of his wife, answered that the crown was, ~ in their estimation, the more valuable because it was presented to them as a token of the confidence of the nation. ‘ We thankfully accept,’ he said, ‘what you have offered us.’ Then, for himself, he assured them that the laws of England, which he — had once already vindicated, should be the rules of his conduct; that it should be his study to promote the welfare of the kingdom ; and that, as to the means of doing so, he should constantly recur to the advice of the Houses, and should be disposed to’ trust their judgment rather than his own. These words were received with a shout of joy which was heard in the streets below, and was instantly answered by huzzas from many thousands of voices. The Lords and Commons then reverently retired from the Banqueting House, and went in procession to the great gate of Whitehall, where the heralds 4nd pursuivants were waiting in their gorgeous tabards. All the space as far as Charing Cross was one sea of heads. The kettle-drums struck up, the trumpets pealed, and Garter King at Arms, in a loud voice, proclaimed the Prince _ and Princess of Orange king and queen of England; charged all Englishmen to pay, — from that moment, faith and true allegiance to the new sovereigns; and besought~ — God, who had already wrought so signal a deliverance for our church and nation, to. — bless William and Mary with a long and happy reign. Ssue : Thus was consummated the English Revo.ution. When we compare it with — those revolutions which have during the last sixty years overthrown so many ancient governments, we cannot but be struck by its peculiar character. The — continental revolutions of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries took place in — countries where all trace of the limited monarchy of the middle ages had long been effaced. The right of the prince to make laws and to levy money, had during many — enerations been undisputed. His throne was guarded by a great regular army. is administration could not, without extreme peril, be blamed even in the mildest — terms. , His subjects held their personal liberty by no other tenure than his pleasure. — Nota single institution was left which had, within the memory of the oldest’ man, afforded efficient protection to the subject against the utmo-t excess of tyranny. Those great councils which had once curbed the regal power had sunk into oblivion, . Their composition and their privileges were known only to antiquaries. We cannot wonder, therefore, that, when men who had been thus ruled succeeded in wresting — supreme power from a government which they had long in secret hated, they shoal 7 have been impatient to demolish and unable to construct; that they should haye ~ been fascinated by every specious novelty; that they should have proscribed every — title, cereinony, and phrase associated with the old system; and that, turning away with disgust from their own national precedents and traditions, they should have — sought for principles of government in the writings of theorists. or aped, with — ignorant and ungraceful affectation, the patriots of Athens and Rome. As little © can we wonder that the violent action of the revolutionary spirit should have been followed by reaction equally violent, and that confusion should speedily have engendered despotism sterner than that from which it had sprung. 3's Had we been in the same situation; had Strafford succeeded in his favourite scheme of Thorough; had he formed an army as numerous and as well disciplined as that which, a few years later, was formed by Cromwell; bad a series of judicial de- ~ cisions similar to that which, a few years later, was pronounced by the Exchequer — “macautay.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 383 _ Chamber in the case of ship-money, transferred to the crown the rignt of taxing the _ people ; had the Star Chamber and the High Commission continued to fine, mutilate, and imprison every man who dared to raise his voice against the government; had _ the press been as completely enslaved here as at Vienna or Naples; had our kings _ gradually drawn to themselves the whole legislative power; had six generations of _ Englishmen passed away without a single session of parliament; and had we then at length risen up in some moment of wild excitement against onr masters, what an outbreak would that have been! With what a crash, heard and felt to the furthest ends of the world, would the whole vast fabric of society have fallen! How many _ thonsands of exiles, once the most prosperous and the most refined members of this ‘great community, would have begged their bread in continental cities, or have shel- - tered their heads under huts of bark in the uncleared forests of America! How _ often should we have seen the pavement of London piled up in barricades, the houses - dinted with bullets, the gutters foaming with blood! How many times should we _ have rushed wildly from extreme to extreme, sought refuge from anarchy in despot- ism, and been again driven by despotism into anarchy ! Bats The Valley of Glencoe. ~ Mac Ian dwelt in the mouth of a ravine situated not far from the southern chore of Lochleven, an arm of the sea which deeply indents the western coast of Scotland, - and separates Argyleshire from Inverness-shire. Near his house were two or three small hamlets inhabited by his tribe. The whole population which he governed was _ Dot supposed to exceed two hundred souls. In the neighbourhood of the little clus- ~ ter of villages was some copsewood and some pasture-land ; but a little further up the defile, no sign of population or of fruitfu‘ness was to be seen. In the Gaelic _ tongue, Glencoe signifies the Glen of Weeping; and in truth that pass is the most - dreary and melancholy of all the Scottish passes—the very Valley of the Shadow of _ Death. Mists and storms brood over it through the greater part of the finest sum- _ mer; and even on those rare days when the sun is bright, and when there is no - cloud in the sky, the impression made by the landscape is sad and awful. The path lies along a stream which issues from the most sullen and gloomy of mountatn- pools. Huge precipices of naked sione frown on both sides. Even in Jwiy the _ streaks of snow may often be discerned in the rifts near thesummits. . All down the _ sides of the crags heaps of ruin mark the headlong paths of thetorrents. Muic aftcr --mile the traveller looks in vain for the smoke of one hut, or for one: human form _ wrapped in a plaid, and listens in vain for the bark of a shepherd’s dog, or the bli at of alamb. Mile after mile the only sound that indica‘es life is the faint cry of a - bird of prey from some storm-beaten pinnacle of rock. The progress of civilisation, which has turned so many wastes into fields yellow with harvests, or gay with apple- _ blossoms, has only made Glencoe more desolate. All the science and Industry of a ay pepoetul age can extract nothing valuable from that wilderness ; but in an xege of vio- lence and rapine, the wilderness itself was valued on account of the shelter it _ afforded to the plunderer and his plunder. The English Country Gentleman of 1688. -_A country gentleman who witnessed the Revolution was probably in the receipt Of about the fourth part of the rent which his acres now yield to his posterity; he ~ was, therefore, as compared with his posterity, a poor man, and was generally under ' the necessity of residing, with little interruption, on his estate. To travel on the continent, to maintain an establishment in London. or even to visit London frequent- _ ly, were pleasures in which only the great proprietors could indulge. It may be con- -fidently affirmed that of the squires whose names were in King Charles’s commissions of peace and lieutenancy, not one in twenty went to town once in five years, or had - éver in-his life wandered so far as Paris. Many lords of manors had received an _ education differing little from that of their menial servants. ‘The heir of an estate often passed his boyhood and youth at the seat of his family with no better tntors ‘than groome and gamekeepers, and scarce attained learning enough to sign his name _to a mittimus. If he wentto school and to college, he generally returned before he “Was twenty to the seclusion of the old hall; and there, unless his mind were very happily constituted by nature, soon forgot his academical pursuiis in rural ‘business and pleasures. His chief serious employment was the care of his property. x ene + 7 - J 7 x= r ‘Som c a et SSS ie me Perret ie a SP Oe 4 oo os i ‘ FOS. ~s y ah 4 a ae ee - $Pr, Sg cy ee SP J Ae ar | Fm ip rat ee Nae eels 3 ‘ areas, ee. ee + ym. Si a 384 | -CYCLOPADIA OF ~~: [ro. 1876, ,He examined samples of grain, handled pigs, and on market-days made bar- Pains over a tankard with drovers and hop-merchants. His chief pleasures were commonly derived- from field-sports and from an unrefined sensua- lity. His language and pronunciation were such as we should now expect to hear only from the most ignorant clowns. His oaths, coarse jests, and scurrilous terms of abuse, were uttered with the broadest accent of his province. It was easy to dis- cern, from the first words which he spoke, whether he came from Somersetshire or Yorkshire.. He tronbled himself little about decorating his abode, and if he attempt- ed decoration, seldom produced anything but deformity. The litter of a farmyard gathered under the windows of his bedchamber, and the cabbages and gooseberry bushes grew close to his hall door. His table was loaded with coarse plenty, and guests were cordially welcome to it; but as the habit of drinking to excess was gene- — ral in the class to which he belonged, and as his fortune did not enable him to intoxi- cate large assemblies daily with claret or canary, strong beer was the ordinary beve= rage. The quantity of beer consumed in those days was indeed enormous; for beer ~ then was to the middle and lower classes not only all that beer now is, but all that wine, tea, and ardent spirits now are; it was only at great houses, or on great occa- — sions, that foreign drink was placed on the board. The ladies of the house, whose business it had commonly been to cook the repast, retired as soon as the dishes had — been devoured, and left the gentlemen to their ale and tobacco. The coarse jollity — of the afternoon was often prolonged till the revellers were laid under the table. From this description it might be supposed that the Enghsh esquire of the Seven- teenth century did not materially differ from a rustic miller or ale-house keeper of our time. There are, however, some important parts of his character still to be — noted, which will greatly modify this estimate. Unlettered as he was and umpol- ished, he was still in some important points a gentleman. He was a member of a proud and .powerful aristocracy, and was distinguished by many both of the good ~ and of the bad qualities which belong to aristocrats. His family pride was beyond — that of a Talbot ora Howard. He knew the genealogies and coats-of-arms of all his — neighbours, and could tell which of them had assumed supporters without any right, — and which of them were so unfortunate as to be great-grandsons of aldermen. He — was a magistrate, and as such administered gratuitously to those who dwelt around ~ him arude patriarchal justice, which, in spite of innumerable blunders and of occa- — sional acts of tyranny, was yet better than no justice at all. He was an officer of the ~ train-bands; and his military dignity, though it might move the mirth of gallants _ who had served a campaign in Flanders, raised his character in his own eyes and in the eyes of his neighbors. Nor, indeed, was his soldiership justly a subject of de- — rision. In every county there were elderly gentlemen who had seen service which — was no child’s play. One had been knighted by Charles I. after the battle of Edge- — hill; another still wore a patch over the scar which he had received at Nase- — by; a third had defended his old house till Fairfax had blown in the ~ door with a petard. The presence of these old Cavaliers, with their old swords and holsters, and with their old stories about Goring and Lunsford, gave — to the musters of militia an earnest and warlike aspect which would otherwise haye — been wanting. ~ Even those country gentlemen who were too young to haye them- selves exchanged blows with the cuirassiers of the Parliament, had, from childhood, — been surrounded by the traces of recent war, and fed with stories of the martial ex-— ploits of their fathers and uncles. Thus the character of the English esquire of the — seventeenth century was compounded of two elements which we are not accustomed — to find united. His ignorance and uncouthness, his low tastes and gross_phrases, | would, in our time, be considered as indicating a nature and-a breeding thoroughly — plebeian. Yet he was essentially a patrician, and had, in large measure, both the — virtues and the vices which flourish among men set from their birth in high places, ~ and accustomed to authority, to observance, and to self-respect. It is not easy for & generation which is accustomed to find chivalrous sentiments only in compan : with liberal studies and polished manners to image to itself a man with the denna { ment, the vocabulary, and the accent of a carter. yet punctilious on matters of gene-— alogy and precedence, and yet ready to risk his life rather than see a stain cast on the honou" of his house, It is only, however, by thus joini g together things seldom or never fonnd together in our own experience, that we can form a just idea of that ristis aviatocracy which constituted the main strength of the armies of Charles L, and w.ich long supported with strange fidelity the interest of his descendants. “e ee Fai gi ¢ pte OS Fae, ei ae i ao” “ee ae Lo he * ss * ee eed << s 3 ni ay as ‘ ‘ , / ; a oe . ¢ ; es s , cok , Fe : _ MACAULAY. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 385 + When the lord of Lincolnshire or Shropshire manor appeared in Fleet Street, he was as easily distinguished from the resident population as a ‘{urk ora Lascar. His _ dress, his gait, his accent, the manner in which he stared at the shops, stumbled into the gutters, ran against the porters, and stood under the water-spouts, marked him out as an excellent subject for the operations of swindlers and banterers. Bullies _ jostled him into the kennel. Ifackney-coachmen splashed him from head to foot. . Thieves explored, with perfect security, the huge pockets of his horseman’s coat, while he stood entranced by the splendour of the lord-inayor’s show. Money-drop- “pers, sore from the cart’s tail, introduced themselves to him, and appeared to him the ~ most friendly gentlemen he had ever seen. Painted women, the refuse of Lewkner Lane and Whatstone Park, passed themselves on him for countesses and maids of honour. If he asked nis way to St. James’s, his informant sent him to Mile End. If _ he went into a shop, he was instantly discerned to be a purchaser of everything that - nobody else would buy—of second-hand embroidery, copper rings, and watches that _ would not go. If he rambled into any fashionable coffee-house, he became a mark _ for the insolent derision of fops and the grave waggery of ‘'emplars. Enraged and mortified, he soon returned to his mansion; and there, in the homage of his tenants, _ and tbe conversation of his boon companions, found consolation for the vexations and humiliations he had undergone. ‘There he once more found himself a great man ; _ and he saw nothing above him, except when at the assizes he took his seat on the _ bench near the judge, or when at the muster of the militia he saluted the lord-lieu- _ tenant. - The Roman Catholic Church.—From the review of Ranke’s ‘History of ae ; the Popes.’ pF _ There is not, and there never was on this earth, a work of human policy so well ' deserving of examination as the Roman Catholic Church. The history of that _ Church joins together the two great ages of human civilisation. No other institution is left standing which carries the mind back to the times when the smoke of sacrifice - rose from the Pantheon, and when camelopards and tigers bounded in the Flavinian _ amphitheatre. The proudest royal houses are but of yesterday, when compared with - the line of the Supreme Pontiffs. That line we trace back in an unbroken series, _ from the pope who crowned Napoleon in the nineteenth century, to the pope who- - crowned Pepin in the eighth; and far beyond the time of Pepin the august dynasty extends, till it is lost in the twilight of fable. The republic of Venice came next in - antiquity. But the republic of Venice was modern when compared with the Papacy ; “and the republic of Venice is gone, and the Papacy remains. The Papacy remains, not in decay, not a mere antique, but full of life and youthful vigour. The Catholic _ Church is still sending forth to the farthest ends of the world missionaries as zealous as those who landed in Kent with Augustine, and still confronting hostile kings with the same spirit with which she confronted Attila. The number of her children “ee greater than in any former age. Her acquisitions in the New World have more than compensated for what she has lost in the Old. Her spiritual ascendency ex~ ‘ tends over the yast countries which lie between the plains of the Missouri and Cape ‘Horn, countries which, a century hence, may not improbably contain a population as large as that which now inbabits Europe. The members of her communion are _ certainly not fewer than a hundred and fifty millions; and it will. be difficult to shew that ali other Christian sects united amount to a hundred and twenty millions. Nor do we see any sign which indicates that the term of her long dominion is approach- Ing. She saw the commencement of all the governments and of all the ecclesiastical establishments that now exist in the world; and we feel no assurance that she is hot destined to see the end of them all. She was great and respected before the _ Saxon had set foot on Britain, before the Frank had passed the Rhine. when Grecian eloquence still flourished at Antioch, when idols were still worshipped in the temple of Mecca. And she may still exist in undiminished vigour when some traveller from New Zealand shall, in the midst of a vast solitude. take his stand on ggbroken arch of London Bridge to sketch the ruins of St. Paul’s.* a iin teks Ore 8 Jo ET iy - * Tkis poetical figure has become almost familiar as a household word. Itis not origi- mal. as has often-been pointed out. Horace Walpole. ina letter to Sir H. Mann. says: _ * At last some curious native of Lima will visit London, and give a sketch of the ruins es ae ; ~ .. 386 - CYCLOPADIA OF ~ [ro 1876, On the success of the History and other works of Lord Macauley, — information will be found in the life of the historian by his nephew, Mr. Trevelyan. ‘Within a generation of its first appearance, up- wards of 140,000 copies of the History will have been printed and ~ sold in the United Kingdom alone. It has been translated into — nearly all European lat guages, and been unprecedentedly. popular.’ In a journal kept by the historian we read, under date of March 7, 1856: ° ‘Longman came, with a very pleasant announcement. He and his partners find that they are overflowing with money, and think that they cannot invest it better than by advancing to me, on the usual terms of course, part of what will be due to me in December. — We agreed that they shall pay twenty thousand pounds into Wil- liams’s Bank next week. What a sum to be gained by one edition of a book! I may say, gained in one day. But that was harvest day. — The work had been near seven years in hand.’ The cheque is still — preserved as a curiosity among the archives of Messrs. Longman’s ~ firm. ‘The transaction,’ says Macaulay, ‘is quite unparalleled in — the history of the book-trade.’ * a We have referred to Macaulay’s wonderful memory and stores of | knowledge (see ante). . On this subject we may quote a passage — from a journal kept by his sister, Margaret Macaulay: a ‘JI said that I was surprised at the great accuracy of his informa- — tion, considering how desultory his reading had been. “‘ My accuracy — ~ of Westminster and St. Paul’s.’ Volney. in his Ruin’ of Empires, had written: *Re- — flecting thatif the places before me had once exhibited this animated picture. who. said ¥ Itomyself. can assure me that their present desolation will not one day be the lot of our — own country? Who knows but that hereafter some traveller like myself will sitdown — upon the banks of the Seine the Thames, orthe Zuyder Zee. where now. in the tumult — of enjoyment, the heart and the eyes are too slow to take in the multitude of sensations —who knows but that he will sit down solitary amid silent ruins, and weep @ people — jnurned. and their greatness changed into an empty name?’ . e See also Henry Kirke White. ante, ; i Mrs. Barbauld had shadowed forth the same idea: ~ a * With duteous zeal their pilgrimage shall take, : aa From the blue mountaius on Ontario’s lake, % With fond adoring steps to press the sod, ~ By statesmen. sages, poets. heroes trod. 3 Pensive and thoughtful shall the wanderers greet Each splendid square and still, untrodden street ; ; Om Or of some crumbling turret. mined by time, 7 7 The broken stairs with perilous step may climb. And when ’midst fallen London, they survey The stone where Alexander’s ashes lay, . 3250 am | Shall own with humble pride the lesson just, ae | By time’s slow finger written in the dust.’ =e Shelley, in the preface to Peter Bell the Third addressed to Moore. has a similar ile lustration: ‘In the firm expectation. that when London shall be a habitation of bitterns, — when St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey shall stand shapeless and nameless ruins, in ~ the midst of an unpeopled marsh; when the piers of Westminster Bridge shall become the muclei of islets of reeds and osiers. and cast the jagged shadows of their broken arches on the solitary stream; some transatlantic commentator will be weighing in the scales of some new and now unimagined system of criticism the respective merits of the Bells, and the Fudges, and their historians.’ <9 < ‘ a> * The Life and Letters of Lord Macaulay, by his nephew, George Otto Trevel M. P. (1867), vol. ii, page 410, -MAcAULAY.] = ENGLISH LITERATURE. ae ceat ys ae as to facts,” he said, ‘‘ ] owe to a cause which many men would not - confess. It is due to my love of castle-building. The past is in my mind soon constructed into a romance. With a person of my turn, the minute touches are of as great interest, and perhaps greater than the most important events. Spending so much time as I do in soli- tude, my mind would have rusted by gazing vacantly at the shop - windows. — As it is, lam no sooner in the streets than I am in Greece, om ¢ t in Rome, in the midst of the French Revolution. Precision in dates, __ the day or hour in which a man was born or died, becomes absolutely necessary. A slight fact, a sentence, a word, are of importance in -my romance. Pepys’s Diary formed almost inexhaustible food for my fancy. I seem to know every inch of Whitehall. I go in at Hans Holbein’s Gate, and come out through the matted gallery. The conversations which I compose between great people of the time are Jong, and sufficiently animated; in the style, if not with the merits, -of Sir Walter Scott’s. The old parts-of London, which you are sometimes surprised at my knowing so well, those old gates and houses down by the river, have all played their part in my stories.” He spoke, too, of the manner in which he used to wander about Paris, we iving tales of the Revolution, and he thought that he owed his command of language greatly to this habit.’ His biographer, Mr. Trevelyan, notices another help to memory— - the ‘extraordinary faculty of assimilating printed matter at first _ sight. To the end of his life, Macaulay read books faster than other people skimmed them, and skimmed them as fast as anyone else could turn the leaves.’ His vast erudition, his painstaking care te - ‘his support of his parents, and his generous self-sacrificing character _as a literary workman; and his hatred of all cant, affectation, and 7 ‘injustice, have been depicted by his biographer. His journals and letters disclose his true nobility of soul, his affection for: his sisters, - and independence of spirit, equally conspicuous in adversity and aa prosperity. : HENRY THOMAS BUCKLE. The ‘History of Civilisation,’ by Henry THomas Buck LE (1822- 1862), was a portion of a great work designed by its author to extend _ to fourteen volumes! Four were published between 1857 and 1864. They were the result of twenty years’ study—the fruit of a specu- lative genius of no common order, but containing many rash gener- alisations and doctrinaire views. The public opinion concerning them seems to-have subsided into Macaulay’s estimate: ‘ Buckle, a * man of talent and of a great deal of reading, but paradoxical and : said. He wants to makea system before he has got the materials, -and he has not the excuse which Aristotle had of having an eminently incoherent. He is eminently an anticipator, as Bacon would have systematising mind.’ The book reminded Macaulay of the ‘ Divine - Legation’ of Warburton (see ante)—that huge structure of pa- ; Sd td Fa wae ¥. oy Sagi 888. | 3 CYCLOP-EDIA OF — fro 1876, radox and learning. Mr. Buckle wasthe son of a London merchant, 4 and was born at Lee in Kent. He was an amiable enthusiastic — student. Proximate Causes of the French Revolution. Looking at the state of France immediately after the death of Louis XIV., we have seen that his policy having reduced the country to the brink of ruin, and having destroyed every vestige of free inquiry, a reaction became necessary ;. but that the materials for the reaction could not be found among a nation whica for fifty years” had been exposed to so debilitating a system. This deficiency at home caused the most eminent Frenchmen to turn their attention abroad. and gave rise to a sudden admiration for the English literature, and for those habits of thought which were then peculiar to the English people. New life being thus breathed into the wasted frame of French society, an eager and inquisitive spirit was generated, such as had not been seen since the time of Descartes. 'The upper classes, taking offence at this unexpected movement, attempted to stifle it, and made strenuous efforts to destroy that love of inquiry which was daily gaining ground. To effect their object, they persecuted literary men with such bitterness as to have made it evident that — the intellect of France must either relapse into its former servility, or else boldly as- sume the defensive. Happily for the interests of civilisation, the latter alternative was adopted ; and in or about 1750, a deadly struggle began, in which those puneinise of liberty which France borrowed from England, and which had hitherto been sup- posed only applicable to the church. were for the first time applied to the state. Coin-. _ ciding with this movement, and indeed forming part of it, other circumstances occur- red of the same character. Now it was that the political economists succeeded in proving that the interference of the governing classes had inflicted great mischief __ even upon the material interests of the country; and had by their protective — measures injured what they were believed to be benefiting. This remarkable dis- covery in favour of general freedom put a fresh weapon into the hands of the ; democratic party ; whose strength was still further increased by the unrivalled elo- —_ quence with which Rousseau assailed the existing fabric. Precisely the same ten- _ dency was exhibited in the extraordinary impulse given to every branch of physica i. science, which familiarised men with ideas of progress, and brought them into col- ~ lision with the stationary and conservative ideas natural to government. The discoveries made respecting the external world, encouraged a restlessness and excitement of mind. hostile to the spirit of routine. and therefore full of danger — for the institutions only recommended by their antiquity. This eagerness for Ns knowledge also effected a change in education: and the ancient languages — eing neglected, another link was severed which connected the present with the past. The church, the legitimate protector of old opinions, was unable to resist the pas- sion for novelty. because she was weakened by treason in her own camp. For, by this time, Calvinism had spread so much among the French clergy, as to break them into two hostile parties, and render it impossible to rally them against their common ; foe. The growth of this heresy was also important, because Calvinism being essen- tially democratic, a revolutionary spirit appeared even in the ecclesiastical profession, ~ so that the feud in the church was accompanied by another feud between the govern- ment and the church. These were tne leading symptoms of that vast movement which culminated in the French Revolution; and all of them indicated a state of socivty so anarchical and so thoroughly disorganised, as to make it certain that — 2 - some great catastrophe was impending. At length, and when everything wasready — for explosion, the news of the American Rebellion fell like a spark on the inflam- — matory mass, and ign ted a flame which never ceased its ravages until it had de: _ stroyed all that Frenchmen once held dear, and had left for the instruction of man: _ kind an awful lesson of the crimes into-which long-continued oppression may hurry a genexous and long-suffering people. co The Three Great Movers of Society. ra | In a great and comprehensive view, the changes in every civilised people are, 15 . their aggregate, dependent on three things: first on the amount of knowledges ae ee —< b - Cth ek hee, 2 as, < al | Cp ee er es : ~ ~ — , ie : ie © BUCKLE. _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 389° possessed by their ablest men; secondly, on the direction which that knowledge _takes—that is to say, the sort of subjects to whichit refers; thirdly, and above all, onthe extent to which the knowledge is diffused, and the freedom with which it pervades allclasses of society. se - reason to think that any permanent change has been effected in the proportion which * _ those who naturally possess good intentions bearto those in whom bad ones seem to ' be inherent. In what may be called the innate and original morals of mankind there _ig, so far as we are aware, no progress. These are the three great movers of every civilised country ; and although their ope- ration is frequentiy disturbed by the vices or the virtues of powerful individuals, ‘such moral feelings correct each other, and the average of long pericds remains un- affected. Owing to causes of which we are ignorant, the moral qualities do, no doubt, constantly vary, so that in one man, or perhaps even in one generation, there will be an exce=s of good intentions, in another an excess of bad ones.. But we have no The desolation of countries and the slaughter of men are losses which never fail to be repaired, and atthe distance of a few centuries: every vestige of them is effaced. The egeone crimes of Alexander or Napoleon become after a time void of effect, and the affairs of the world return to their former level. This is the ebb and flow of history—the perpetual flux to which the laws of our nature are subject. Above all this there is a far higher movement; and as the tide rolls on, now ad- yancing, now receding, there is amidst its endless fluctuations one thing, and one alone, which endures for ever. The actions of bad men produce only temporary evil, the actions of good men only temporary good ; and eventually the good and the evil altogether subside, are neutralised by subsequent generations, absolved by the inces- “sant movement of future ages. But the discoveries of great men never leave us; - they are immortal, they contafm those eternal truths which survive the shock of em- -pires, outlive the struggles of rival creeds, and witness the decay of successive relig- jions. Aljl these have their different measures and different standards; one set _of opinions for one age, another set for another. They pass away like a dream; they are.as the fabric of a vision which leaves not a rack behind. The discoveries of genius alone. remain; it is to them we owe all that we now have; they are for all ages and all times; never young and never old, they bear the seeds of their own life: ‘they flow on in a perennial and undying stream ; they are essentially cumulative, and giving birth to the additions which they subsequently receive, they thus influence the most distant posterity, and after the lapse of centuries produce more effect than they were able to do even at the moment of their promulgation. . THOMAS CARLYLE. The writings of Mr. CarLy1e are so various, that he may be char- acterised as historian, biographer, translator, moralist, or satirist. _ His greatest and most splendid successes, however, have been won in the departments of biography and history. The chief interest and charm of his works consist in the individual portraits they contain _ and the strong personal sympathies or antipathies they describe. He has a clear and penetrating insight into human nature; he notes every fact and circumstance-that can elucidate character, and having selected his subject, he works with passionate earnestness till he re- produces the individual or scene before:the reader, exact in outline according to his preconceived notion, and with marvellous force and _ vividness of colouring. Even as a landseape-painter a character he by no means affects—Mr. Carlyle has rarely been surpassed. A. Scotch shipping town, an English fen, a wild mountain solitude, or a - Welsh valley, is depicted by him in a few words with the distinct- nesss and reality of a photograph. Mr. Carlyle is a native of the south of Scotland—born December 4, “ . . *y at he o a A ; Fak oa Tee ee oes = 390. CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, _ 1795, in the village of Ecclefechan, in Annandale—a fine pastoral — district, famous in Border story, and rich in ancient castles and Ro- ~— main remains. His father, a farmer, is spoken of as a man of great ~~ moral worth and sagacity; his mother as affectionate, pious, and — more than ordinarily intelligent; and thus, accepting his own theory that ‘the history of a man’s childhood is the description of his parents and environment,’ Mr. Carlyle entered upon ‘the mystery of life’ under happy and enviable circumstances. As a school-boys he became acquainted with Edward Irving, the once celebrated preacher, whom he has commemorated as a man of the noblest nature.* —~ From the grammar-school of Annan, Carlyle went to Edinburgh, and studied at the university for the church; but before he had com- — pleted his academical course, his views changed. He hadexcelledin mathematics; and afterwards, for about four years, he was a teacher | of mathematics—first in Annan, and afterwards in Kirkcaldy, Fife- shire, where Edward Irving also resided as a teacher. In 1818 he — proceeded to Edinburgh, where he had the range of the University ~ Library, and where he wrote a number of short biographies and — other articles for the ‘Edinburgh Hncyclopexdia,’ conducted by — Brewster. In 1821 he became tutor to Mr. Charles Buller, whose — honourable public career was prematurely terminated by his death, in ~ his forty-second year, in 1843. ‘ His light airy brilliancy,’ ‘said Car-_ lyle, ‘has suddenly become solemn, fixed in the earnest stillness of — eternity.’ Mr. ‘Gari vie in 1823 contributed to the ‘London Magazine’ in — monthly portions his ‘ Life of Schiller,” which he enlar. ed and pub- — lished in a separate form in 1825. He was also peas in translat- ing Legendre’s ‘Geometry,’ to which he prefixed an essay on Pro- ~ portion ; and in the same busy year (1824) he translated the ‘Wil- helm Meister’ of Goethe. Mr. Carlyle’s translation appeared with- — out his name. Its merits were too palpable to be overlooked, though some critics objected to the strong infusion of German phraseology ~ which the translator had imported into his English version. This — never left Mr. Carlyle even in his original works; but the ‘ Life of — Schiller’ has none of the peculiarity. How finely, for example, does # the piesraphen expatiate on that literary life which he had now fairly adopted: ied ef ¥ 4 f we . | ¥ Men of Genius. ee Atnong these men are to bo found the brightest specimens and the chief benefac- tors of mankind. It is they that keep awake the finer parts of our souls; that give CO — T , hd ‘ * - s * eo The first time I saw Irving was six-and-twenty years ago (19091, in his native town Annan. He was tresh trom Edinburgh. with college prizes. high character, and promise: _ he had come to see our schoolmaster. who had a!so been his. We heard of famed profes- sors. of high matters classical, mathematical—a whole wonderland of knowledge: +. ay | nothing-but joy. health. hopefulness without end looked out from the blooming youug min. The last time I saw him was three months ago. in London. Friendliness still beamed in his eyes. but now from amid unquiet fire; his face was flaccid. wasted, une 3 sound: hoary as with extreme age: he was trembling over the brink of the grave, -\dieu. thou first friend—adien while this confused twilight of existence lasts! Mizht we ineet where twilight has become day!’~—CARLYLE’s Miscellanies, 2 rt ee z xs 5 peer ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 891 - us better aims than power or pleasure, and withstand the total sovereignty of Mam- - mon inthis earth. They are the vanguard in the march of mind; the intellectual backwoodsmen, reclaiming from the idle wilderness new territories for the thought - andthe activity of their happier brethren. Pity that, from all their conquests, so _ fich in benefit to others, themselves should reap so little! But it is vain to murmur. “They are volunteers in this cause; they weighed the charms of it against the perils; _- and they must abide the results of their decision, as all must. The hardships of the course they follow are formidable, but not at all inevitable; and to such as pursue it rightly, it is not without its great rewards. If an author’s life is more agitated and more painful than that of others, it may also be made more spirit-stirring and ex- _ alted; fortune may render him unhappy, it is only himself that can make him despi- cable. The history of genius has, in fact, its bright side as well as its dark. And if it is distressing to survey the misery, and what is worse, the debasement, of so many gifted men, it is doubly cheering. on the other hand. to reflect on the few who, amid _ the temptations and sorrows to which life in all its provinces, and most in theirs, is liable, have travelled through it in calm and virtuous majesty, and are now hallowed -_ in-our memories not less for their conduct than their writings: Such men are the - flower of this lower world: to such alone can the epithet of great be applied with its _~true emphasis. ‘There is a congruity in their proceedings which one loves to con- _ template: he who would write heroic poems, should make his whole life a heroic ~~ poem. ____In 1825, marriage lessened the anxieties attendant on a literary life, while it added permanently to Mr. Carlyle’s happiness. The lady to _ whom he was united was a lineal descendant of John Knox—Miss Jane Welsh, daughter of Dr. Welsh, Haddington. Mrs, Carlyle had a smail property, Craigenputtoch, in Dumfriesshire, to which, after _ about three years’ residence in Edinburgh, the Jady and her husband _.Yetired. In Edinburgh, Carlyle had published four volumes of * Specimens of German Romance’ (1827), and written for the ‘ Edin- burgh Review’ essays on. ‘Jean Paul’ and ‘German Literature,’ His Dumfriesshire retreat he has described in a letter to Goethe: aaa Picture of a Retired, Happy Literary Life. CRAIGENPUTTOCH, 25th September 1823. A You inquire with such warm interest respecting our present abode and occupa- tions, that [am obliged to say a few words about both, while there is still room _ . left. Dumfries is a pleasant town, containing about. fifteen thousand inhabitants, - and to be considered the centre of the trade and judicial system of a district which possesses some importance in the sphere of Scottish activity. Our residence _ is not in the town itself, but fifteen miles to the north-west of it, among the granite ~ hills and the black mcrasses which-stretch westward through Galloway, almost to _ the Trish sea. In this wilderness of heath and rock, our estate stands forth a green oasis, a tract of ploughed, partly inclosed and planted ground, where corn ripens, ‘and trees afford a shade, although surrounded by sea-mews and rough-woolled sheep. Here, with no small effort, have we built and furnished a neat, substantial dwelling; here, in the absence of a professional or other office, we live to cul- tivate literature according to our strength, and in our own peculiar way. Wa _- wish a joyful growth to the roses and flowers of our garden; we hope for health and peaceful thoughts to further our aims. The roses, indeed, are still in part to be planted, but they blossom already in anticipation. Two ponies, which carry us everywhere. and the mountain air, are the best medicines for weak nerves. ‘Ihis daily exercise, to which I am much devoted, is my only recreation ; for this nook of burs isthe loneliest in Britain—six miles removed from any one likely to visit me. Here Rousseau would have been as"happy as on his island of St. Pierre. My town __ friends, indeed, ascribe my sojourn here to asimilar disposition, and forebode me no good result. But I came hither solely with the design to simplify my way of life, and to secure the independence through which I could be enabled to remain true to myself. This bit of earth is our own; here we can live, write and think, as best 892 = SSGYGEOPADIASOFR Sie a rede pleases ourselves, even though Zoilus himself were to be crowned the monarch of — literature. Nor is the solitude of such great importance; for a stage-coach takes us speedily to Edinburgh, which we look upon as our British Weimar. And have I not, too, at this moment, piled upon the table of my little library, a whole cart-load — of French, German, ‘American and English journals and periodicals—whatever may be their worth ? 2 Of Antiquarian studies, too, there is no lack. From some of our heights J can descry, about a day’s journey to the west, the hill where Agricola and his Romans left a camp behind them. At the foot of it I was born. and there both father and mother still live to love me. And so one must let time work. But whither am I wandering? Let me contess to you, I am uncertain about my future literary activity, and would gladly learn your opinion respecting it; at least pray write to me again, and speedily, that Imay ever feel myself united to you. .... The only piece of any importance that I haye written since I came here is an ‘ Essay on Burns.’ Perhaps you never heard of him, and yet he is a man of the most decided genius; but born in the lowest rank of peasant life, and through the entanglements of his peculiar position, was at length mournfully wrecked, so that what he effected is comparatively unimportant. He died in the middle of his career, in the year 1796. We English, especially we Scotch, love Burns more than any poet that lived for cen- turies. I have often been struck by the fact that he was born a few months before Schiller, in the year 1759, and that neither of them ever heard the other’s name. a They shone like stars in opposite be ee og or, if you will, the thick mist of earth ~ intercepted their reciprocal light. In this country residence Mr. Carlyle wrote papers for the ‘For-— eign Review,’ and his ‘Sartor Resartus,’ which, after being rejected — by several publishers, appeared in ‘ Fraser’s Magazine,’ 1838-384. The book might. well have puzzled the ‘book tasters’ who decide for publishers cn works submitted to them in manuscript. ‘Sartor’ — professes to be a review of a German treatise on dress, and the hero, Diogenes Teufelsdréckh, is made to illustrate by his life and char- acter the transcendental ‘philosophy of Fichte, adopted by Mr. Car-. — lyle, which is thus explained : ‘That all things which we see or work with in this earth, especially we ourselves and all persons, are as a kind of vesture of sensuous appearance : that.under all these © lies, as the essence of them, what he calls the ‘‘ Divine Idea of the World; ” this is the reality which lies at the bottom of all appear- — ance. To the mass of men no such divine idea is recognisable in the world. They live merely, says Fichte, among the superticialities, practicalities, and shows of the world, not dreaming that there is anything divine under them.’—(‘ Hero Worship. ’) Mr. Carlyle works out this theory—the clothes-philosophy—and finds the world false and hollow, our institutions mere worn-out rags or disguises, and that our only safety lies in flying from falsehood to truth, and becoming in harmony with the ‘divine idea.’ There is much fanciful, gro- tesque description in ‘Sartor,’ but also deep thought and beautiful imagery. The hearty love of-truth seems to constitute the germ of — Mr. Carlyle’s philosophy, as Milton said it was the foundation of — eloquence. And with this he unites the ‘gospel of work,’ duty and - obedience. ‘ Laborare est orare—work is worship.’ In 1834 Mr. Car- lyle left the ‘ever-silent whinstones of Nithsdale’ for a suburb of - 4g ~~ Pi London—a house in the ‘remnant of genuine old Dutch-looking ® ee clsea’—the now famous No. 5 Cheyne Row, in which he still. ae sides. RN IS patina tr a er ee Ve ar. Se cas “¥ cartyir.] “ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 393 oy @ % In 1837 he delivered lectures on ‘German Literature’ in Willis’s Rooms; and in the following year another course in Edward Street, - Portman Square, on the ‘ History of Literature. or the Successive ~ Periods of European Culture.’ ‘i wo other courses of Lectures—one on the ‘ Revolutions of Modern Europe,’ 1889, and the other on _ ‘Heroes and Hero Worship,’ 1840—added to the popularity of Mr. _ Carlyle. ‘It appeared,’ said Leigh Hunt, ‘as if some Puritan had - come to life again, liberalised by German philosophy and his own in- __tense reflections and experience.’ This vein of Puritanism running _ through the speculations of the lecturer and moral censor, has been - claimed as peculiarly northern. ‘That earnestness,’ says Mr. Hannay, _ ‘that grim humour—that queer, half-sarcastic, half-sympathetic fun - —is quite Scotch. It appears in Knox and Buchanan, and it appears in Burns. I was not surprised when a school-fellow of Carlyle’s told ~ me that his favourite poem as a boy was ‘ Death and Dr. Hornbook.’ _ And if I were asked to explain this originality, I should say that he * was a Covenanter coming in the wake of the eighteenth century and ~ the transcendental philosophy. He has gone into the hills against “shams,” as they did against Prelacy, Erastianism, and so forth. __But he lives in a quieter age and in a literary position. So he can _ give play to tne humour which existed in them as well, and he over- - flows with arange of reading and speculation to which they were “necessarily strangers.’ But at least one-half the originality here _ sketched, style as well as sentiment, must be placed to the account of German studies. In 1837 appeared ‘The French Revolution, a _ History, by Thomas Carlyle.’ This is the ablest of all the author’s * works, and is indeed one of the most remarkable books of the age, - The first perusal of it forms a sort of era in a man's life, and fixes _ for ever in his memory the ghastly panorama of the Revolution, its scenes and actors. _- Jn 1828 Mr. Carlyle collected his contributions to the Reviews, and published them under the title of ‘ Miscellanies,’ extending to five volumes. The biographical portion of these volumes—essays on _ Voltaire, Mirabeau, Johnson and Boswell, Burns, Sir Walter Scott, ~&c.—is admirably executed. ‘They are compact, complete, and at ~onee highly picturesque and suggestive. The character and history of Burns he has drawn with a degree of insight, true wisdom, and pathos not surpassed in any biographical or critical production of the present century. Mr. Thackeray’s essay on Swift resembles it in power, but it is more of a sketch. ~The next two appearances of Mr. -» Carlyle were political, and on this ground he seems shorn of his Strensth. ‘ Chartism,’ 1839, and ‘Past and Present,’ 18438, contain Many weighty truths and shrewd observations, directed against all Shams, cant, formulas, speciosities, &c.; but when we look for a remedy for existing evils, and ask how we are to replace the forms and institutions which Mr. Carlyle would have extinguished, we find little to guide us in our author’s prelections. The only tangible ie ~ ‘ Ce a ek {pe SSE a ee ce oe ee es ne ~ ; jp re roe . he ot ee ee ath, . i FS 7) aye -5 eae ~~ < 394 CYCLOPADIA OF . vy fTo:1876.; 3 measures he proposes are education and emigration, with a strict en- — forcement of the penal laws. We would earnestly desire to extend - still more the benefits of education; but when Mr. Carlyle vituper- ates the present. age in comparison with the past, he should recollect how much has been done of late years to promote the instruction of the people. The next work of our author was a special service to history and to the memory of one of England’s historical worthies. His collection of ‘Oliver Cromwell’s Letters and Speeches, with Elucidations,’ two volumes, 1845, is a go d work well done. ‘The authentic utterances of the man Oliver himself,’ he says, ‘I have gathered them from far and near; fished them up from the foul Lethean quagmires where they lay buried ; I have washed or en- — deavoured to wash them clean from foreign stupidities—such a job — of buck-washing as I do not long to repeat—and the world shall now _ see them in their own shape.’ The world was thankful for the ser- — vice, and the book, though large and expensive, had a rapid sale. — The speeches and letters of Cromwell thus presented, the spelling — and punctuation rectified, and a few words occasionally added for — the sake of perspicuity, were first made intelligible and effective by Mr.-Carlyle; while his editorial ‘elucidations,’ descriptive and his- — torical, are often felicitous. Here is his picture of Oliver in 1653: - Personal Appearance of Cromavell. = ‘His Highness,’ says Whitclocke, ‘was in a rich but plain suit—black velvet, with cloak of the same; about his hat a broad band of gold.’ Does the reader see him ? A rather likely figure, 1 think. Stands some five feet ten or more; a man of strong, - solid stature, and dignified, now partly military carriage: the expression of him valour and devout intelligence—energy and delicacy on a basis of simplicity. Fifty- — four years old, gone April last; brown hair and moustache are getting gray. A figure of sufficient impressiveness—not lovely to the man-milliner species, not pre- — tending to be so. Massive stature; big, massive head, of somewhat leonine aspect; ~ wart above the right eyebrow ; nose of considerable blunt-aquiline proportions; strict yet copious lips, full of all tremulous sensibilities, and also, if need were, of all — fiercenesses and rigours; deep, !oving eyes—call them grave, call them stern—look- — ing from under those craggy brows as if in life-long sorrow, and yet not thinking it _ sorrow, thinking it only Jabour and endeavour: on the whole, a right noble lion-face and Fero-face ; and to me royal enough. = z Another series of political tracts, entitled ‘Latter-day Pamphlets,’ — 1850, formed Mr. Carlyle’s next work. In these the censor appeared ~ in his most irate and uncompromising mood, and with his peculiari- ; ties of style and expression in greater growth and deformity. He | seemed to be the worshipper of mere brute-force, the advocate of all harsh, coercive measures. Model prisons and schools for the reform _ of criminals, poor-laws, churches, as at present constituted, the aris: tocracy, parliament, and other institutions, were assailed and ridiculed in unmeasured terms, and, generally, the English public was set down as composed of sham-heroes and a valet or jflunkey world. On some political questions and administrative abuses, bold truths and merited _ satire appear in the Pamphlets; but, on the whole, they must be con- sidered, whether viewed as literary or philosophical productions ia ¥ . __ as Poe iO Tepe arenes ~ “CARLYLE.J ENGLISH LITERATURE. 895 - unworthy of their author. The ‘Life of John Sterling,’ 1851, was _ an affectionate tribute by Mr. Carlyle to the memory of afriend. Mr. Sterling, son of Captain Sterling, the ‘ Thunderer of the ‘‘Times,”’ had written some few volumes in prose and verse, which cannot be said to have possessed any feature of originality; but he was amiable, - accomplished, and brilliant in conversation. His friends were strongly _ attached to him, and among those friends,were Archdeacon Hare and ___ Mr. Carlyle. The former, after Sterling's death in 1844 (in his thirty- eighth year), published a selection of his ‘Tales and Essays’ with a Life of their author. ___ Mr. Carlyle was dissatisfied with this Life of Sterling. The arch- ’ deacon had considered the deceased too exclusively as a clergyman, _ -whereas Sterling had been a curate for only eight’ months, and lat- - terly had lapsed into sceptciism, or at least into a belief different _ from that of the church. ‘Truc,’ says Mr. Carlyle, ‘he had his re- 3 gugion to seek, and painfully shape together for himself, out of the _~ abysses of conflicting disbelief and sham-belief and bedlam delusion, - now filling the world, as all men of reflection have;,and in this re- spect too—more especially as his lot in the battle appointed for us all was, if you can understand it, victory and not defeat—he is an expres- _ sive emblem of his time, and an instruction and possession to his -~ contemporaries.’ The tone adopted by the biographer in treating of _ Sterling’s religious lapse, exposed him to considerable censure. Even - the mild and liberal George Brimley, in reviewing Mr. Carlyle’s _ _ book, judged it necessary to put in a disclaimer against the tendency _ it was likely to have: ‘Mr. Carlyle has no right, no man has any ‘right, to weaken or destroy a faith which he cannot or will not. re- place with a loftier. He ought to have said nothing, or said more. Scraps of verse from Goethe, and declamations, however brilliantly ‘they may be phrased, are but a poor compensation for the slightest _ obscuring of the hope of immortality brought to light by the gospel, and by it conveyed to the hut of the poorest man, to awaken his - crushed intelligence and lighten the load of his misery.’ As a literary _- work, the ‘ Life of Sterling’ is a finished, artistic performance. There was little in the hero of the piece to demand skilful portrait-paint- * ing; but we have the great Coleridge and the ‘Times’ Thunderer _ placed before us with the clearness of a daguerreotype—the former, perhaps, a little caricatured. : i Portrait of Coleridge. Coleridge sat on the brow of Highgate Hill, in those years, looking down on - London and its smoke-tumult, like a sage escaped from the inanity of life’s battle; * attracting towards him the thoughts of innumerable brave souls still engaged there. _ His express contributions to poetry, philosophy, or any specific province of humau - literature or enlightenment, had- been small and sadly intermittent; but he had, _ especially among young inquiring men, a higher than literary, a kind of prophetie or - magician character. He was thought to hold, he alone in England, the key of German and other trancendentalisms; knew the sublime secret of believing by ‘the reason’ what ‘the understanding’ had been obliged to fling out as incredible; and could - i ~ re EG on Nn Ra Eee’ (896 ~CYCLOPEDIA OF - [ro 1876. ‘still, after Hume and Voltaire had done their best.and worst with him, profess him- self an orthodox Christian, and say and print to the Church of England, with its singular old rubrics and surplices at Allhallowtide, Esto perpetua. A sublime man ; who, alone in those dark days, had saved his crown of spiritual manhood; escaping from the black materialisms, and revolutionary deluges, with ‘God, Freedom, Immortality ’ still his: a king of men. ‘The practical intellects of the world did not ‘much heed him, or carelessly reckoned him a metaphysical dreamer: but to the rising spirits of the young generation he had this dusky sublime character; and sat there as a kind of Magus, girt in mystery and enigma; his Dodona oak-grove—Mr. Gilman’s house at Highgate—whispering strange things, uncertain whether oracles or jargon. - The Gilmans did not encourage much company. or excitation of any sort, round their sage; nevertheless, access to him, if a youth did reverently wish it, was not difficult. He would stroll about the pleasant garden with you, sit in the pleasant ~ rooms of the place—perhaps take you to his own peculiar room, high up, with a rearward view, which was the chief view of all. A really charming outlook, in fine weather. Close at hand, wide sweep of. flowery leafy gardens, their few houses mostly hidden, the very chimney-pots veiled under blossomy umbrage, flowed gloriously down hill; gloriously issuing in wide-tufted undulating plain- country, rich in all charms of field and town. Waving blooming country. of the brightest green; dotted all over with handsome villas, handsome groves; crossed by roads and human traffic, here inaudible or heard only as a musical hum; and behind all swam, under olive-tinted haze, the illimitab!e limitary ocean of London,-with its domes and steeples definite in the sun, big Paul’s and the many memories attached to it hanging high over all. Nowhere, of its kind, could you see a grander prospect on a bright summer day, with the set of the air going southward—southward, and so draping with the city-smoke not you but the city. Here for hours would Coleridge talk concerning all conceivable or inconceivabie things; and liked nothing better than to have an intelligent. or failing that, even a silent and patient human listener. He distinguished himself to all that ever heard him as at least the most surprising talker extant in this world—and to some small minority, by no means to all, as the _ most excellent. ... Brow and head were round. and of massive weight, but the face was flabby and irresolute. The deep eyes of.a light hazel were as full of sorrow - as of inspiration ; confused pain looked mildly from them, as in a kind of mild as-_ tonishment. The whole figure und air, good and amiable otherwise, might be called flabby and irresolute ; expressive of weakness under possibility of strength. He hung loosely on his limbs, with knees bent, and stooping attitude ; in walking, he rather shuffled than decisively stepped; and a lady once remarked, he never could fix which side of the garden-walk would suit him best, but continually shifted, in corkscrew fashion, and kept trying both. A heavy laden, high-aspiring, and surely much-suf-~ fering man. _ His voice, naturally soft and good. had contracted itself into a‘plaintive — spuffiie and sing-sovg; he spoke as if preaching—you would have said preaching — earnestly and also hopelessly the weightiest things. I still recollect his ‘object’ and _ and ‘subject,’ terms of continual recurrence in the Kantean province: and how he — sung and snuffled them into ‘om-m-mject’ and ‘sum-m-miject,’ with a kind of solemn _ shake or quaver, as he rolled along. No talk in his century, or in any other, could — be more surprising. ar In 1858 appeared the first portion of Mr. Carlyle’s long-expected — work, the ‘ History of Friedrich II., called ‘Frederick the Great,’ vo- ; lumes i. and ii. The third and fourth volumes were published in — 1862, and the fifth and sixth, completing the work, in 1865. A con- — siderable part of the first volume is devoted to ‘clearing the way” — for the approach of the hero, and tracing the Houses of Branden- — burg and Hohenzollern. Frederick, as Mr. Carlyle admits, was — rather a questionable hero. But he was a reality, and had ‘ nothing — whatever of the hypocrite or phantasm.’ This was the biographer’s — inducement and encouragement to study his life. ‘How this man, — officially a king withal, comported himself in the eighteenth century, and managed not to be a liar and charlatan as his century was, de Oe el ei RE Se ae ee) eee | > . \ Te of Sa se merston for about three years—1855-58. He was also some time Se-. cretary of State for the Home Department, and Secretary for War. — He was for about three years ('852-55) editor of the ‘Edinburgh Re-_ view.’ An accomplished classical and German scholar, Sir George — examined the early history of Greece and Rome with the views.of the German commentators, and he reviewed the theory of Niebubr in an elaborate work, entitled ‘An Inquiry into the Credibility of Early Roman History,’ two volumes, 1655. All attempts to reduce the pic- turesque narratives of the early centuries of Rome to a purely histo- rical form he conceives to be nugatory, and he devotes considerable space to an examination of the primitive history of the nations of Italy. Dionysius, Livy, and the other ancient historians, had no au-- thentic materials for the primitive ethnology and the early national movements of Italy, and, of course, modern. inquirers cannot hope — to arrive at safe conclusions on the subject. Hence he dismisses the ~ results not only of the uncritical Italian historians, but those of the-_ learned and sagacious Germans, Niebuhr and Miiller. ‘The legends — are mere shifting clouds of mythology, which may at a distance de- — ceive the mariner by the appearance of solid land, but disappear as he approaches and examines them by a close view.’ The scepticism of Sir George, however, is considered rather too sweeping; and it has — justly been remarked, that ‘we may be contented to believe of Ro- — man history at least as much as Cicero believed, without inquiring too curiously the grounds of his belief.’ The following notice of — Niebuhr's theory also appears to tell against Sir George’s own rule with respect to the rationalistic treatment of early history. E Niebuhr’s Ballad Theory. aa He divides the Roman history into three periods: 1. The purely mythical pele ; 2. ry %. including the foundation of the city and the reigns of the first two kings. Ng mythico-historical period, including the reigns of the last five kings, and the first a / * Ss ; S45 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 403. * fourteen years of the republic. 3. The historical period, beginning with the first secession. The poems, however, which he supposes to have served as the origin of the received history, are not peculiar to anyone of these periods; they equally ap- _ pear in the reigns of Romulus and Numa, in the time of the arquins, and in the narratives of Coriolanus and cf the siege of Veii. If the history of periods so widely different was equally drawn from a poetical source, it is clear that the poems must have arisen under wholly dissimilar circumstances, and that they can afford no sure foundation for any historical inference. For solving the problem of the early Roman history, the great desideratum is te Obtain some means of separating the truth from the fiction; and, if any parts be true, of explaining how the records we e preserved with fideli.y, until the time of the - earliest historians, by whom they were adopted, and who, through certain intermedi- - ate stages, have transmitted them to us, __. For example, we may believe that the expulsion of the Tarquins, the creation of ~ a dictator and of tribunes, the adventures of Coriolanus, the Decemvirate, the expe- ~ dition of the Fabii and the battle of the Cremera, the siege of Veii, the capture of ~ Rome by the Gauls, and the disaster of Caudium, with other portions of the Samnite - wars, are events which are indeed to a considerable extent distorted, obscured, and corrupted by fiction, and incrusted with legendary additions; but. that they, never- _ theless, contain a nuclens of fact. in varying degrees: if so, we should wish to know how far the fact extends, and where the fiction begins—and also what were the means - by’ which a general historical tradition of events, as they really happened, was perpet- uated. This is the question to which an answer is desired ; and therefore we are not- assisted by atheory which explains how that part of the narrative which is not his- - torical originated. - Sir George C. Lewis was a laborious student and voluminous wri- ter. How he found time, in the midst of official and public duties, and _ within the space of a comparatively short life, for such varied and _ profound studi»s, is remarkable. Among his works are treatises on the ‘ Romance Language,’ on the ‘ Use and Abuse of Political Terms,’ on the ‘ Influence of Authority in Matters of Opinion,’ on the ‘ Method of Observation and Reasoning in Politics,’ on the ‘Irish Church Question,’ on the ‘Government of Dependencies,’ on the ‘Astronomy of the Ancients,’ a ‘ Dialogue onthe Best Form of Government,’ &c. The indefatigable baronet was a frequent contributor to ‘Notes and Queries.’ His death was lamented by all parties, and was indeed a ~ national loss. ie ie os REY. C. MERIVALE. The ‘Roman History’ of Dr. Arnold was left, as already men- - tioned, in an unfinished state, in consequence of the sudden death of the author. No good account of the period between the close of the - second Carthaginian war and the death of Sylla existed in our English historical literature, and to supply the void, the Rev. CHARLES - Mertvate, B.D., late Fellow of St. John’s College, Cambridge, com- menced in 1850 a ‘ History of the Romans under the Empire,’ which _ he completed in 1862. ‘Mr. Merivale’s undertaking,’ said 9 critic in _ the ‘Edinburgh Review,’ ‘is nothing less than to bridge over no small portion of the interval between the interrupted work of Arnold and the commencement of Gibbon. He comes, therefore, between *‘mighty opposites.” it is p.aise enough that he proves himself no ‘unworthy successor to the tw > most gifted historians of Rome whom English literature has yet pre luced.” A cheap edition.cf Mr. Men- sina . ~~ \ 404 CYCLOPEDIA OF Tro 1876. vale’s History in eight volumes was published in 1865. Its author is son of the late John Herman Merivale, Commissioner of Bankruptcy; he was born in 1808, studied at St. John’s College, Cambridge, en- tered the church, and was successively rector of Lawford, Essex (1848-70), chaplain to the Speaker of the House of Commons (1863-69), and dean of Ely (December 1869). new Augustus Cesur (31 B.c.—14 A.D.) In stature Augustus hardly exceeded the middle height, but his person was lightly and delicately formed, and its proportions were such as to convey a favourable and even a striking impression. His countenance was pale and testified to the weak= — ness of his health, and almost constant bodily suffering; but the hardships of mili- tary service had imparted « swarthy tings to a complexion naturally fair, and his eye- brows meeting over a sharp and aquiline nose gave a serious and stern expression to his countenance. His hair was light, and his eyes blue and piercing; he was well pleased if any one on approaching him looked on the ground and affected to be un- able to meet their dazzling brighiness. It was said that his dress concealed many imperfections and blemishes ou his person ; but he could not disguise all the infirmi- ties under which he laboured ; the weakness of the forefinger of his right hand and a | lameness in the left hip were the results of wounds he incurred in a battle with the - Tapydee in early life; he suffered repeated attacks of fever of the most serious kind, - especially in the course of the campaign of Philippi and that against the Cantabri- ans, and again two years afterwards at Rome, when his recovery was despaired of. | From. that time, although constantly liable to be affected by cold and heat, and obliged to nvrse himself throughout with the care of a valetudinarian, he does not appear to have had any reiurn of illness so selious as the preceding; and dying at the age of seventy-four, the rumour obtained popular currcncy that he was prema- turely cut off by poison, administered by the empress. As the natural consequence of this bodily weakness and sickly constitution, Octavian did not attempt to distinguish himself by active exertions or feats of personal prowess. ‘The splendid examples of his uncle the dictator and of Antonius his rival, might have early disconr- — aged him from. attempting to shine as a warrior aul hero; he hd not the vivacity and animal spirits necessary to carry him through such exploits — as theirs; and aithough hedid not shrink from exposing himself. to per- — sonal danger, he prudently declined to aliow a comparison to be insti- — tuted between himself and rivals whom he could not hope to equal. Thus — necessarily thrown back upon cther resources, he trusted to Caution and circum- — spection, first to preserve h.s own life, and afterwards to obtain the splendid prizes — which had hitherto been carried off by daring adventure, and the good fortune which — is so often its attendant. His contest therefore with Antonius and Sextus Pompeius ~ was the contest of cunning with bravery; but from his youth upwards he was ac- — customed to overreach, not the bold and reckless only, but the most considerate and — wily of his contemporaries, such as Cicero and Cleopatra; he succeeded in the end — in deluding the senate and people of Rome in the establishment of his tyranny; and — finally deceived the expectations of the world, and falsified the lessons of the Re- ublicar history, in reigning himself forty years in disguise, and leaving a throne to ~ e Claimed without a challenge by his successors for fourteen centuries. ¥ But although emperor in name, and in fact absolute master of his people, the — manners of the Cesar, both in public and private life, were still those of a simple citizen. On the most solemn occasions he was distinguished by no other dress than — the robes and insignia of the offices which he exercised; he was attended by no — other guards than those which his consular dignity rendered customary and decent, — In his court there was none of the etiquette of modern monarchies to be recognised, — and it was only by slow and gradual encroachment that it came to prevail in that of — his successors, Augustus was contented to take up his residence in the house which — had belonged to the orator Licinius Calvus. in the neighbourhood of the Forum; which he afterwards abandoned for that of Hortensius on the Palatine, of which ~ Suetonius observes that it was remarkable neither for size nor spiendour. Its halla were small, and lined, not with marble, after the luxurious fashion of many patrician palaces, but with the common Alban stone, and the pattern of the pavement was 4 ~ Re - " MERIVALE. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 405 \ x _ plain and simple. Nor when he succeeded Lepidus in the pontificate would he re- a linguist this private dweiling for the regia or public residence assigned that honour- able office. _~ Many anecdotes are recorded of the moderation with which the emperor received _ the opposition, and often the rebukes, of individuals in public as well as in private. _ ‘Phese stories are not without their importance, as shewing how l.ttle formality there was in the tone of addressing the master of the Roman world, and how entirely dif- ferent the ideas of the nution were, with regard to the position occupied by the _ Cesar and his family, from those with which modern associations have imbued us. _ We have already noticed the rude freedom with which Tiberius was attacked, _ although step-son of the emperor, and participating in the eminent functions of the _ tribunitian power, by a declaimer in the schools at Rhodes: but Augustus himself seems to have suffered almost as much as any private citizen from the general _ coarseness of behaviour which characterised the Romans in their publie assem- _ blies, and the rebukes to which he patiently submitted were frequently such as _ would lay the courtier of a constitutional sovereign in modern Europe under per- petual disgrace. i Vn one occasion, for instance, in the public discharge of his functions as corrector _ of manners, he had brought a specific charge against a certain knight for having _ £quandered his patrimony. The accused proved that he had, on the contrary, aug- - mnented it. ‘ Well,’ answered the emperor, somewhat annoyed by his error, ‘ but you » are at all events living in celibacy, contrary to recent enactments.’ The other was -abie to reply that he was married, and was the father of three legitimate children ; _ aud when the emperor signified that he had no further charge to bring, added aloud : _ ‘Another time, Czesar, when you give ear to informations against honest men, take _ cave that your informants are honest themselves.’ Augustus felt the justice of the _ tebuke thus publicly administered, and submitted to it in silence, Bi, END OF VOLUME VII. te $25 ¥ ae a Af en Oe et = 5 * ~*~ Py, > hw nagege j 3 _CHAMBERS’S- GYCLOPA DIA or ENGLISH LITERATURE — A HISTORY, CRITICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL, OF BRITISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS, WITH SPECIMENS OF THEIR WRITINGS, QMRIGINALLY EDITED BY ROBERT CHAMBERS, LL.D Prt iN DSB DITION, REVISED BY ROBERT CARRUTHERS, LL.D. te Hi IN EIGHT VOLUMES. VOL, VOL. NEW YORK: JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER 1882. live eee | TABLE OF CONTENTS—VOL, VIIL * ee ee ee ey ° Bishop Thirlwall (1797-1875).......... 1 Tennyson’s Lines on the Char ge 37 George Grote (1794-1871)............. 2} RevaWw.. Stubbs: -o. Sica hss okt. 38 Early Greek History not to be JBUESG ae eee of Germanic Races in Eu- | ty Modern Feeling....2.@..... tes aT ODS as ce tS ae ee eet e Xenophon’ s Address to the Araby: S English National Unity, 1155-1215 harcrer Of WtOMias 26... wen also es oe Sita tS ALD Mackie eet ad eee of ele 44 George Finlay (died in 1875).......... 6 | John Richard GYBen Rs se scamor sees oe 41- Vicissitudes of Nations............. 6 Older elantvacck oc sree ao aes pees os 4) William Mure (1799-1860)............. 7|Sir Thomas Erskine May (born in The Unity of the Homeric Poems.. 7 TEL eee 5 ale 25 adie ba doers DEER cae ee . 42 William E. Gladstone (born in 1809).. $8 Free Constitution of British Colo- whe eons of Homer, a World of WIC Re Sec ie sey Psan te trates a Aas ROR Serres k ns v's os a's divine 22 9| Clements R. Markham—H. M. er © Earl Stanlope (1805-1875) 2... 0.5.6. 9 ley—William Massey.. wre 43 _ Whig and Tory in the Reign of Gambling in the Last Century... hep ae ; Queen ANGE... ...fserst.k. ede ee 10 | Edward A. Freeman..........0:.00005 44 = Charles Edward Stuart, the Young Death of William the Conqueror... ., 45 PPOvENCST hi oe saws Sheu ek Foes 10 | Jobn Iiill Burton (born in 1809)....... 46 Thomas Keightley (1792-1872)........ 14 The Scottish Language after the Superstitions Beliefs....-.......... 15 RevVOMOH, Lie ewes peaks 46 Could Milton have written Paradise Cosmo Innes (1798-1874) ...........2.. 48 : Lost in the Nineteenth Century? 16 Miss Strickland (1801-1874)........... 48 Dean Milman (1791-1868).............. 16; Queen Mary at Lochleyen Castle... 49 How ought the History of the Jews i Trord ds MASBelL Ss c Saale Pek oe ee 50 NErDE VW ITEEN seo 08 sues Nicos ace 16} William Forsyth—William Smyth— P)- burnins of the Temple... ...0. 6. 1s | Sir J. Stephen—Thomas Wright VE sti Meer. >. cc's. webiove sts « — Robert Pitcairn — Robert Date of the Welsh Poems........... 9) White—Danicl Wilson—J. J. A. - ‘ Battle of Mons Granpius........... PH "Wiarsdaerc ss Ve ainr net eeaeete 5t Lucy Aikin (1781-1864)............... 22 | John Dunlop—Mark Napier.......... 52 George Lillie Craik (179S-1866). ... 23| 5. G. Lockhart—Dean Stanley See ee 53 ' James Anthony Froude (born i in 1818) 23 The Sons of Great Men............. 54 2 Markets and Wages in the Reign of Burns on his Farm at Ellisiand..... 54 aa TOUT YON Lbkcs ta tee teree or vee 25 Few Men take Life in Earnest...... 55. 5! Portraitof Henry VI = iv......0.5 26 Eome and Old Friends............. 55-5 “Death of Mary, Queen of Scots..... 27| London and Mont Blanc............ 55 aE VEL COR WS me Vtes tp oe eae eae ie 29 | Sir W. Stirling Maxwell (born in 1818) 53 Improved Prcapeet of Affai:s in Ire- Epicurean Habits of the Emperor DREN SL oss Sat eas oe tesa vee. 80 CRAanes Va eet ot. Fae es cooks ire 5S ekea GATEIHMET ces pec cas Pace So dea See bs 30 The Emperor performs the Funeral Sir John W. Kaye ({814-1876)—Lady Service for Himself. ........... 57 PIC HOO hes pity dite cerhe eee oe 31 Velasquez’s Faithful Cclour-grinder 78 Alexander W. Kinglake (born in 1811) 31 | George Henry Lewis (born iu 1817)... 59 EPL PANY IT te oy seco Sone becca We 82 Superiority of the Moral over the _ The Beginning of the Crimean War 32 PPUTIGUNGATCH 5 .c\ sip aise sc cle ccc cde od eas William Howard Russell (born in 1821) 34 The Battle of Balaklava.......... oo BA = i PAGE, Charge of the Light Brigade, and Intellectual Nature of Man..... 59 Men of Genius Resolute Workers. . Children of Great Men—Hereditary Tendencies 4 oll Mies ekaee eG ie Se ee Pee Sire COV Lo See ~ é wk ar Sag ba - W TABLE OF CONTENTS. res PAGE. PAGE. PICEHTS OL. W CLIN AP ested «4.7 aly oes bo ce 64 | Dr. J. H. Newman—¥. W. Newman..10 Death of Goethes. eo8. oo a. nares 66 Description of Athens.............. MIrBs OUpW ANE ror chien clean sis aieu lates 6T Influence and Dawas.s.sswsasne » sant 104 Notice of, Edward Irving.. ... . 69! The Beautiful end the Virtuous..... 105 _ Foreign Memories caso oh.+ i on tac ols 69 The Jewish and Christian Churches105 George Whitefield and the Bristol Dr: Channing (1780-1842)..0.3........ 104 MolWiers fk ara vee Sew ce wo 69 The Character of Christ............ 107 BDro-William -Reeveseoc. . «cs stecs sans 70 The New Testament Epistles....-..104 Lord Campbell (1781-1861)..........0. 70 Napoleon Bonaparte.............2% 108 Hames Spedding. A: seve ssw cle cic wees 71 Great Idéassi 7 Jaassask eae a eee 109 Lord Bacon’s Culpability........5... 72 | Rev. Henry Blunt (1794-1848)........ 119 William Nassau Molesworth....,..... (2. |-Dr.Kitto (1804-1854). #55 7 eis oe > 119 Death of the Duke of Wellington... 72 Account of his Deafness........... 141 = William Hepworth Dixon (born in Dr. Robert Vaughan (1795-1868) ge MA 111 DODD SALe Seale vies 56% sew any ean 7D Henry Rogers. oy aa ase er aeae ee R Ue 12 Death of idmiral Blake............ 73 The i ee ity of the Saviour....... 112 The Black Man, the Red Man, the Archbishop Whately 1787-186.) ......113 McCHOW SMAD So sie cheatin st eeee ga ree T4 Firat IMpressiOnus. i.e «.% oe esses aes 115 A Hundred Years ef White Pro- A Hint to Anonymous Writers..... 115 OTERG 2 e-clee's sew ma wiaenene tae teats 15 The Neeative Character of Calvinis- John Forster CEST 2-1876) 5). wemacewel x 76 tic Doctrin€S.c¢sinigas cenae seen 116 ~ Toe Literary Profession and Law of EXpediency «sds ss,450ne es et PS HF Copyright: 3. scare ne ae TT Consistency Jin». -igasbeee ph a on Ree 118 wlagentioe Dy ce (1798-1869) ........... 7~ | Dr. Burton (1794-1836)..... Aor, AM See 119 Professor Mason (born in 1822)....... 79 | Edward Bickersteth (1786-1850)....... 119 Character of Archbishop Laud...... 79 | Drs. Hawkins, .4inds, Hampden, Iiith Mts: Satan 4255 vbr: ke Tia es €1 Greswell.......-. Daeiee eC London Suburbs... <6 ac esl «ct quien 82 Value of Negative T estimony. « 5 Sew 120 Sir James Stephen (1789-1859) ........ 52 | Rev. Henry Melvill (1798-1871). .......: 122 ~ J.P. Muirhead—8. Smiles............ 82; . The Great Multitude. <.c.sec.ve-s.s ss e The Steam-engine. «0... sei sees 84} Rev. John James Blunt (1794-1855)... 7 Lord Brougham’s Epitaph on Watt. 83 Undesigned Coincidences........... ars preting the First Railw ay Locomo- | Augustus” W. Hare (1794-1824)—J nlius TVG. pcs Se. ni eee a ene 83 | C, Here (4.795-1855). 22.22. wteaa 125 eae of the Liverpool and-Man- | - Wastefulness of Moral Gifts. . 125 Chester Raitwar s,s. 9 tsesk> tare 89' - Age Lays Open the Character.,.....126 George Stephenson at Sir Robert | Loss of the Village Green........... 126 BOQ S26 isla los Satiee uh sien tte oe 90 |. Archbishop Trenth.s. Phe $: iles and Tears of Life....... 141 Rev. Stopford A. Brooke............. 142 BIN TOR TOD «gre cd m gis) Chine Hive bee 2 143 Bishop. Wilberforce (1805-1872). ..2... 144 ~ .. The Reformation of the Church of i ity Real OE) 9 TERRES = n> a 144 Bishop ROM aati, Ss Dies sade 145 ‘The f pepphant Entry into Jerusa- SonP AE Be Sie ee ee Pnere 145 Becp E. Flarold Browne.......«:... 147 Interpretation of Thirty-Nine Arti- LSE tig Ie eee ee eee 147 ~Arehbishop Thomson............ . ld, The Doctrine of Reconciliation..... 149 eee VN MIEN SII sos, ons oad va ste os 148 - Dr. Charles John Vanghan............ 150 RO DPCOM ATED YS 5 ties ass nevis end ss 150 1 FEDS GECONSION -os.5 5.0/ii wa ves ae eee > 152 BE AIOE eo oet's ho. py ive des cee 668 «2 153 Harth Seat mt oa “173 | Mind above Matter..........-..- .-- 174 | MISCELLANEOUS. WRITERS. > Richard Sha (1750-1835) 0.5.2.0..." 74 _ Maxims and Refiections............175 TABLE OF CONTENTS. v PAGE. William Maginn (1793- ab becca 175 Epitaph on Maginn by Lockhart....176 Francis Mahony “(1804- FULSGG) ress cern ts ce ».176 The Sandon Bells ses view. VTi Sir George Head (1782-1855)... peri rs 5" Sir Francis Bond Head (17938-1875)....178 Description of the Pampas ......... 178 A French Commissionnaire........ 79 The Electric Wires and Tawell the Mircerens S055 Wate sia cure 179 T. C. Haliburton (1796-1865).......... 180 Soft Sawder and Human Natur..... i81 Themas Miller (1€09-1874)—W. Hone (1778-1842)\— Miss Louisa Stuart Costello (died in 1870).2...2.... 183 Bre, dameson (1797-1860). ...5 2. eee. 1&3 Counsel to Young Lrdtes... 2.6... 184, Pictures of the Medonna........... 184 The Loves of the Poet............. 18; The Studious Mcnks of the Midale POOR oe oda sales wend Mee meted 1&5 Venice— Canaletti and Turnei 185_ Charies Waterton (1782-1865) ......... 186 Adventure with the Snake......... 187 Riding oma Crocodile... 1. 0645-08 187 EKot Warburton (1810-1852) 0... sees 188 Crecodil) Shooting in the Nile..... 188 PU PIRDY EVEN LO? ieee Flows wines hice alae 189 "Thomas De Quincey (1785 eens ibs. ore 190 Dreams of the Opium Eater........192 SOA OL ALC Heese eas thea Ohio ames 195 John Wilson Croker (1780-1857)...... 196 Character-of Swift... .ccc.cs secs io L 96 Hurriet Martineau (1802-1876).....,..198 Effects of Love and Happiness on EHO MING «ase Ricans os Ts Week ee 99 Sea-view from the Window of a Sick RROORMM isc tte: slcle sre wiok op chlo darwretaee GOL The Napiers... Jafar emanate aA The Royal M arriage ‘Law. a ahal Ie ote 204 Postal Reform...e......e005 ara ges 205 Anecdote of Coleridge.............205 William Howitt (born in 1795)........ 207 . Extract from Forest Minstrel...... 268 Love of the Beautiful....... eA 209 ° Mountain Children, by Mary Howitt 210° IMDGUDTAINS aoe cures ereselesa-alp ayeusre stats 211 Country Rambles—the South of DOT f 2 croc san eer wapie Safes s Vin elgts 212 Rev. George Gilfillan (born in 1813)...215 Lochnagar and Byron Ae sas Ae 215 The Rev. Edward Irving ..........216 Bayard Taylor (born in ESQ) 40a ane 218 _ Student Life in Germany........+.. 219 Herman Melville (born in 1819). wy. 221 Scenery of the Marquesas.......... 222, First Interview with the Natives... .223 William Gilmore Simms.. 2226 Ralph Waldo Emerson (born in 4808). 22" Civ.lisation.,..... ee Beauty ce cctevccee Conc aki tnemeness eae + ee eee ee ee vi TABLE OF CONTENTS. PAGE. [ - PAGE. OVOF7A 26 svete caw mien cleo entire ea eeee 223 | Dr. James C. Prichard (178521848) -; . 265 Mr. Ruskin (born in 1819)........--- 223 | Sir William Hamilton (1788-1864)... .265 The Sky ip fans ee no Pea Ons Paes 229 On Mathematics:..i....5.00--6. 0% ah The ‘l'wo Paths..... gid ire aie eaten oi 23) | Dean Mansel (born in 1820)...........26 The Dangers of National Security. .239 | John Stuart Mill (1806-1873). ......... 27) What isDruly Practital.<. 2. tos. <3 232 Social Intolerance... Soy s vec. Fae = 270 The Beautiful Alone not Good ior On the Laws against Intemperance.270 ~ Mans ..vecsesecess waysvara tote oe we 232 The Limits of Government luterfer- Precipices of the Alps......05.0.23-. 233 ONCRss.de 3.2 a ee eee 271 The Fall of the Leaf.... 2. 5...-.... 233 | Sir David Brews ter (1781-1867) «.: weet eigee John Sterling (1806-1844)............- 233 Is the Planet Jupiter inhabited ?,...274 The Miseries of Old Age......--++- 23 Bacon and Newton.:.......s+5+es 276 Nhe Worth of Knowledge......--- 234 Epitaph on a Scotch Jacobite.-....278 Edward William Lane (1801-1876)....235 | Michael Faraday (1791-1867)... ......2%d F. T. Buckland—C. Knight.........- 235 From ‘Chemical History «f a Can- GAS Hayward—Albany F onblanqte. a dle? .. a ee eee =e Dr. Doran (born in 1807).....+-++++++: 236 |. Augustus de Morgan (1808-1871... .. 5. 280 The Style Royal and Critical....... 237 | Dean Swift and the Mathematicians 281_ Visit of George III. and Queen Char- Dr. Alexander Bain (born in_1518)....282 Tobie 0 the Citya, ss eek. ee le 237 Robert Stephenson (1803-1859)... 0... 98% William John Thoms........+066 -. 239 | Sir William Fairbairn (1789-1874)..... 233 Sir Arthur Helps (1814-1875).......... 239 | Sir Charles Wheatstone (born in 180 4 Advantages of Foreign ‘Travel..... 240 | Dr. Buckland (1784-1856).........2.-- The Course of History.....----++++ 249 | Sir Charles Lyell (1797-1875)... eer i Discovery of the Pacific Ocean..... 241 Geology compared to History...... 985 = Great Questions of the Present Age 242 Advice to Men in Small Authority. 242 Samuel Langhorne Clemens (born in 1HSANGr eS he hae ees 242 The Noblest Delight... 006. oo. ees e 243 Puzzling an Italian Guide.......... 243 Dr. John Brown (born “in. 1810). soc. 244 ueen Mary’s Child Garden........ 246 Malcolm M’Lennan.. ...5..8.. 000. cece 247 William Rathbone Greg (born circa HG) Sear pin ne eis fies ies a 2 patente QA4T ChGrified: Spirits =.-3.. 2 ocr see ono « 247 Human Development.............. 248 Matthew Arnold—W. Minto—Leslie Glepheis.: Tidiy 5. .s eee ote es 249 SCIENTIFIC WRITERS. Sir Humphry Davy (1778-1829)... 251 - The Future State of Human Beings2: 52 Indestructibility of ue SCA Pa ya 8 Sir John Herschel (1792-1871)........ 953 ‘Tendency and Effect of Philosophi- Cal Stidiesss 7s Hl oR est sen 256 Mrs. Mary Somerville "(1780-1872) Ceca = Scene iu the Campngna........e..5s Professor J. D. Forbes (1899- i868). =P a5 Dr. Whewell (1794-1859) Sede BW opeuseliotte. sin 250 Wonders of the Universe...,....... 262 Final Destiny of the Universe....+.262 C. Babbage (1792-1871)—Sir George B. Airy (born in 1801)—J. R. Hind —J. P. Nichol (1804-1859)...... 962 Adams—Grant—Proctor—Lockyer ..,263 The Rey. Baden Powell (1796-1860), , ,264 The Great Earthquake of Lisbon.. De La Beche—Mantel—Pye Smith. EO287 Sir geen’ p Impey Murchison (1792- Ks 1870 5288 4 - The Lower Silurian Rocks........- 289 The Relative Value of Gold and Sil- Vl Se Oe ee ee ae 290. Hint to Geologists. .....+.......... 290 Proposed Purchase of Isle of Staffa,291 _ Professor Sedgwick (circa 1787-1873) .291 Professor OWeN......2.... eceee cree 291-3 The British Mammoth.......+--+.: 294 Dr. Carpenter—Dr. Elliotson.........295 Hugh Miller (1802-1856). -............ 295 The Tur ning-point in Hugh Miller’s~ Lifer ee ba ce. dees ee ee 296 The Antiquity of the Globe ....... 297° The Mosaic Vision of Creation.....300 — The Fossil Pine-tree..........--.+ 302 — The National Intellect of England end Scottand) 2. fr. seeas «cae 302 — Dr. Lardner—Professor Ansted—Pro- fessor Fleming, &......+-++++. -. 803 a3 Charles Darwip (born in 1809).. 304 — First Conception of Theory ‘of Natu- ral Selection. ........ --d04 A Poetical View of Natur al Selection 306 — Utilitarianism not the Sole Motive. 305. Variability; : ~. 1: 203 eh eee enate se 80 Improvement in Flowers...... ret 308 — Prof. Huxley (born in 1825)........... poe Caution to Philosophic Inguirers.. The Objectors to pore st Inguiry. 3 The Power‘of Speech .35 vaesnes wa Professor Max Miller bora in 1823)..8 : vii PAGE, | PACE . Langnage the Barrier between Brute Captains King and Fitzroy....’. veo es 036 iy GEE] 63.13 ea rae ge eS eee 311 George C Pnabe vol. eaeec a eee 5387 “Spread of the Latin Language Naps s 312 An American Cymon and Iphigenia337 Pate essor ‘l'yndall (born circa 1820)...313 | J. S. Buckingham (1786-1855), &G....337 Freedom of Inquiry........-...+-+- 314 | Gtorge Borrow (born in 1808)........ 358 Advance in Science since the days Impressions of the City of Madrid.:33 as OL Bichon Batlers 4. a. iss cne 315-| Richard*Ford (1495-1858) ./.... 04.0: 340 Herbert Spencer (born in 1820)....... 315 Spalnsand’ Spaniards jx fo Sec. ee 340 Professor Geikie (born in 1835) ..... 315 The Spanish Muleteers............. 341 Professor Whitney (born in 1827).....816 | A. H. Layard (born in 181T)........ . 342 Celtic Branch of Indo- European Lan- Appearance of Nimroud.:........ 342 BID Cries wet a atten cet Soa Se + oke 316 Discovery of a Colossal Sculpture. .243 Dr. Jobn W. Draper (born in 1811)...317 IY Gia Ba oo ad ss. Kora: aikme catetca ated 345 Luxuries of the Spanish Caliphs...318 | Sir C. W entworth Dilke—J. F. Camp- George Smith (1840-1876)............. 318 PM he Sy rca eRe tals o ween. . 845 Influence of the English Race......846 TRAVELLERS. Brigg. VOUNLs om va asiaake aaa s eat 346 The Rev. Horatio Southgate, &...... 319 | ilium Gifford” A A a Religious Status of omen in the 182 26)... ed Oe seeeeees 348 - ohammedan System.......... 319 The Arab Character. wetwevessee te OLS Pian Lindsay....... Se gee aes 320 The SIMOON... ..--+eeeececeeseress et "The Red Sea.......... Sas icar S70 }obbe Ali Expeditions 45 sexs nes cB SY Lieut. Arthur Conolly.............%.. 329 | _ Graves of English Scamen....... +. BbL Miss Roberts—Mrs. Postans.......... 321 ges Burton (born in 1820) ...-.«.852 Sacrifice of a Hindu Widow. "391 | Captains Speke and Grant.eeee..... ae EPect. |’. Bacon—Mountstuart L™hin- First View of the Nile.......... Ee Pe: Rete ces TABLE OF CONTENTS. stone (1778-1859)—C. R. Baynes.322 322 ~_. Remark by an Arab-Chief.......... _ Legend of the Mosque of the Bioady Baptism at Cairo. ....0..0..5... cot MRSA LOWNTOD 5 a0 cic. oS iawn Fess 303 State and Ceremonial of the Sia- UNSSC er al de" o ieee Giese Bo niets 278 20 oe _ John Francis Davis—Mr. Gutzlaff.. - Commander Bingham, &¢............ et Chinese Ladies? TEN cTS Te iene ere Se 825 Robert Fortune—M. Hue, &c........ 326 Beem ninese “TNICVES 5. set os ae ees foes 326 What the Chinese think of the Euro- | 01212521: eee erate 327 _ George Wingrove Cooke (1814-1865). .328 328 The Chinese hanguage, 2s cs oye The Execution-ground of Canton. See The Horrors of ‘the Canton Prisons 829. Join Barrow—The Rev. Mr. Venables330 7 * Russian Peasant’s Houses....... ..331 Employments « oe the People... 831 OAMUC! LANL. WC... dee ec. esses. 332 Agricultural Peuminiry of Norw ay. ae Society BESS WEEN tin canaid Metering ous 333 _ Joseph Bullar—Johm Bullar..........884 _. Cultivation of the Orange.......... 334. ‘Earnest Dieffenbach— Anthony ies BUSING petctthctchs ote w cle Gators ais e.0: «'sie'd woes - Squatters and Free Settlers of New OMIC 8, ccws gicen $< s a 8 > Bae ee os, pa e ee : “ ; E “7 ce) tye is : “ ‘ js “ Z . ene - . - FINtay.] ENGLISH LITERATURE, vs of Greece under the Othoman and Venetian Domination,’ from 1453 ‘to 1°21 (1856). Mr. Finlay died in 1875, the last survivor of the small ~ band of enthusiasts who went out to Greece to join Lord Byron and the Philhellenes. He acted for some years as correspondent of the “Times’ in Athens. ss Vicissttudes of Nations. The vicissivudes which the great masses of the nations of the earth have under- - gone in past ages have hitherto received very little attention from historians, who have adorned their pages with the records of kings, and the personal exploits of _- princes and great men, or attached their narrative to the fortunes of the dominant [elasses, without noticing the fate of the people. History, however, continually re- 4peats the lesson that power, numbers, and the highest civilisation of an aristocracy, ‘are, even when united, insufficient to insure national prosperity, and establish the powers of the rulers on so firm and permanent a basis as shall guarantee the domi- nant class from annihilation. On the other hand, it teaches us that conquered tribes, destitute of all these advantages, may continue to perpetuate their existence in mis- ery and contempt. It is that portion only of mankind which eats bread raised from the soil by the sweat of its brow, that can form the basis of a permanent national ex- istence. The history of the Romans and of the Jews illustrates these facts. Yet even _ the cultivation of the soil cannot always insure a race from destruction, ‘for muta- - bility is nature’s bane.’ The Thracian race has disappeared. The great Celtic race _ has dwindled away, and seems hastening to complete absorption in the Anglo-Saxon. ' The Hellenic race. whose colonies extended from Marseille to Bactria, and from the Cimmerian Bosphorus to the coast of Cyrenaica, has become extinet in. many coun- tries where it once formed the bulk of the population, as in Magna Greecia and Sicily. On the other hand, mixed races have arisen, and, like the Albanians and Vallachians, have intruded themselves into the ancient seats of the Hellenes. But these revolu- ‘tions and changes in the population of the globe imply no degradation of mankind, as some writers appear to think, for the Romans and English afford examples that mixed races may attain as high a degree of physical power and mental superiority as has ever been reached by races of the purest blood in ancient or modern times. A different view of the Homeric question from that entertained by Mr. Grote. and also of some portions of Athenian history, has been taken by Wixiu1aAm Mors, Esq., of Caldwell,(1799-1860), in his able _ work, ‘ A Critical History of the Language and Literature of Ancient Greece,’ four volumes, 1850-53. Colonel Mure had travelled in - Greece; and in the ‘Journal,’ of his tour—published in 1842—had entered into the Homeric controversy, especially with regard to the - supposed localities of the ‘Odyssey,’ and had adduced several illustra- tions of the poems from his observation and studies. A sound scholar, and chiefly occupied on Greek literature and history fora _ period of twenty years, he brought to his ‘ Critical History’ a degree of knowledge perhaps not excelled by that of Mr. Grote, but tinc- _ tured by political opinions directly opposite to those of his brother Hellenist. His examination of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘ Odyssey’ occupies -a considerable portion of his ‘ History,’ and the general conclusion _ at which he arrives is, that each poem was originally composed, in its substantial ‘integrity, as we now possess it. We give one short specimen of Colonel Mure’s analysis. The Unity of the Homeric Poems. It is probable that, like most other great painters of human nature, Homer was _ indebted to previous tradition for the original sketches of his principal heroes. 4 These sketches, however, could hive been little more than outlines, which, as worked 7 -” / a = ais CYCLOPEDIA OF up into the finished portraits of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘ Odyssey,’ must rank as his own genuine productions. In every branch of imitative art, this faculty of representing: to the life the moral phenomena of our nature, in their varied phases of virtue, vice, weakness, or eccentricity, is the highest and rarest attribute of genius, and rarest of all-as exercised by Homer through the medium of dramatic action, where the charac- _ ters are never formally described, but made to develop themselves by their own lan- guage and conduct. Itis this, among his many great qualities, which chiefly raises Homer above all other poets of his own class ; nor, with the single exception, perhaps, of the great English dramatist, has any poet ever produced so numerous and spirited a variety of original characters, of different ages, ranks, and sexes. Still more peculiar to himself than their variety, is the unity of thought, feeling, and expression, offen of minute phraseology, with which they are individually sustained, and yet with- out an appearance of effort on the part of their author. Each describes himself spon- taneously when brought on the scene, just as the automata of Vulcan in the ‘ Odys- sey,’ though indebted to the divine artist for the mechanism on which they move, ap- pear to perform their functions by their own unaided powers. ‘That any two or more poets should simultaneously have conceived such a character as Achilles, is next to ‘impossible. Still less credible is it, that the different parts of the ‘Iliad,’ where the _ hero successively appears as the same sublime ideal being, undcr the influence of the same combination of virtues, failings, and passions—thinking, speaking, acting, and suffering, according to the same single type of heroic grandenr—can b. the produc- tion of more than a single mind. Such evidence is, perhaps, even stronger in the | case of the less prominent actors, in so far as it is less possible that different artists should simultaneously agree in their portraits of mere subordinate incidental person-' ages, than of heroes whose renown may have rendered their characters a species of public property. Two poets of the Elizabethan age might, without any concert, have harmonised to a great extent in their portrait of Henry V.; but that the corre- t spondence should have extended to the imaginary companions of his youth—the Fal- » staffs, Pistols, Bardolphs, Quickleys—were incredible. But the nicest shades of pe- culiarity in the inferior actors of the ‘Iliad’ and ‘ Odyssey,’ are conceived and main-. tained in the same spirit of distinction as in Achilles or Hector. mij I Colonel Mure’s work was left incomplete. His fourth volume. enters on the attic period of Greek literature—the great era of the drama and the perfection of Greek prose—from the usurpation of — Pisistratus at Athens, 560 B.c., to the death of Alexander the Great, 323 B.c. He gives an account of the origin and early history of — Greek prose composition, and an elaborate biographical and critical ~ study of Herodotus, reserving for future volumes the later Greek — prose authors and Attic poets. A fifth volume was published, and ~ at the time of his death he was engaged on a sixth, devoted to the © Attic drama. Colonel Mure derived his title from being commander — of the Renfrewshire Militia. His family had long been settled in the — counties of Ayr and Renfrew, and he himself was born at the patri’ — monial property of-Caldwell in Ayrshire. He was an excellent coun + az try gentleman as well as accomplished scholar and antiquary. “a Another and more distinguished votary of Greek literature is tha — Rigor Hon. W. E. Guapsronn, M.P., who, in 1858, published — ‘Studies on Homer and the Homeric Age,’ three volumes. Mr. Glady — stone does not enter into any detailed criticism of the ‘ Iliad’ or ‘ Odyaas sey; he deals with the geography, history, and chronology of the ‘poems, maintaining the credibility of Homer as the delineator of pe | age, and finding also fragments of revealed religion in his system of mythology. He traces the notion of a Logos in Minerva, the Dsliv- erer in Apollo, the Virgin in Latona, and even the rainbow of the et: __. ENGLISH LITERATURE. es Old Testament in Iris; while the principle of Evil acting by deceit, _ he conceives to be represented i in the Homeric At’. This certainl y _ appears to be fanciful, though supported by Mr. Gladstone’s remark- _ able subtlety of intellect and var iety of illustration. One volume of the work is devoted to Olympus, and another to establish Homer's right to be considered the father of political science. . In supporting _his different hypothesis, we need | not say that Mr. Gladstone evinces ~ great ingenuity and a refined critical taste. His work is indeed a cy- clopzedia of Homeric illustration and classic lore. The World of Homer a World of His Owi. : The Greek mind, which became one of the main factors of the civilised life of - Christendom, cannot be fully comprehended without the study of Homer, and is nowhere so vividly or co sincerely exhibited as in his works. He has a world of his own, into which, upon his strong wing, he carries us. There we find ourselves “amidst a system of ideas, feelings, and actions different from what are to be found s anywhere else, and forming a new and distinct standard of humanity. Many among them seem as if they were “then shortly about to be buried under a mass of ruins, in - order that they might subsequently reappear, bright and fresh for application, among ; Jater generations of men. Others of them almost carry us back to the early morning of our race, the hours of its greater simplicity and purity, and more free intercourse with God. In much that this Homeric world exhibits, we see the taint of sin at _ work, but far, as yet, from its perfect work and its ripeness; it stands between Paradise and the vices of later heathenism, far from both, from ‘the latter as well as _ the former, and if among all earthly knowledge the knowledge of man be that which “we should chiefly court, and if to be genuine ‘it should be founded upon experience, how is it possible to overvalue this primitive representative of the human race ina form complete, distinct, and separate with its own religion, ethics, policy, history, arts, manners, fresh and true to the standard of its nature, like the form of an infant from the hand of the Creator, yet mature, full and finished, in its own sense, after its _ Own laws, like some master-picce of the sculptor’s art. __ We may notice here a work now completed, ‘A History of the Literature of Ancient Greece, by K. O. MuLuer, continued after the author’s death by J. W. Donaupson, D.D., three volumes, 1858. | Dr. Donaldson’s portion of tlie work embraces the period from the ‘foundation of the Socratic schools to the taking of Constantinople by the Turks, The work is altogether a valuable one—concise with- “out being dry or meagre. ‘A History of Greece, mainly based upon that of Dr. Thirlwall,’ by Dr. L. Scumrrz, principal of the Inter- 5 national College, London (1851), is well adapted for educational pur: poses: it comes down to the destruction of Corinth, 146 P.c. Dr. Schmitz is author of a popular ‘History of Rome’ (1847), and a -* Manual of Ancient History’ to the overthrow of the Western Em- pire, 476 4.p. He has also translated Niebuhr’s Lectures. Few for- eigners have acquired such a mastery of the English language as Tk Schmitz. EARL STANHOPE. Puature Henry, Earp Stannorr, when Lord Mahon, commenced a “History of England from the Peace of Utrecht to the Peace of Ale la-Chapelle (1718-1783). The first volume appeared in 1836, and 10 3 -CYCLOPADIA OF hs 4 the work ultimately extended to seven volumes, of which a. second — edition has since been published. ‘The period of seventy years thus” copiously treated had been included in Smollett’s hasty, voluminous ~ History, but the ground was certainly not pre-occupied. Great addi- tional information had also been accumulated in Coxe’s Lives of ~ Marlborough and Walpole, Lord Hervey’s Memoirs of the Court ore George IIL., the Stuart Papers, the Suffolk and Hardwicke Correspon- ~ dence, and numerous other sources. In the early portion of his work — —the Queen Anne period—there is a strong and abiding interest de- | rived from the great names engaged in the political struggles of the - day, and the nearly equal strength of’ the parties. Lord Mahon thus — sketches the contending factions: ms Be ait n ree" ‘pes eae: Whig and Tory in the Reign of Queen Anne. At that period the two great contending b tnbly were distinguished, as at present, ‘by the nicknames of Whig and Tory. But it is very remarkable that in Queen Anne’s reign the relative meaning of these terms was not only different but opposite. to that which they bore at the accession of William IV. In theory, indeed, the main — principle of each continues the same. ‘The leading principle of the Tories is the — dread of popular licentiousness. The leading principle of the Whigs is the dread of royal encroachment. It may, thence, perhaps, be deduced that good and wise men — would attach themselves either to the Whig or to the Tory party, according as there ~ seemed to be the greater danger at that particular period from despotism orfrom democ-— racy. ‘he same person who would have been a Whig in 1712 woald have been a Tory a ae es Ae 1830. For, on examination, it will be found that, in nearly all particulars, a modern Tory resembles a Whig of Queen Anne’s reign, and a ‘ory of Queen Anne’s reign a modern Whig. ea First as to the Tories. The Tories of Queen Anne’s reign pursued a most un-— ceasing opposition to a just and glorious war against France. They treated the great general of the age as their peculiar adversary. To our recent enemies. the French, their policy was supple and crouching. They had an indifference, or even an aver= sion. to our old allies the Dutch; they had a political leaning towards the Roman Catholics at home; they were supported by the Roman Catholics in their elections; they had a love of triennial parliaments, in preference to septennial; they attempted — to abolish the protecting duties and restrictions of commerce: they wished to favour our-trade with France at the expense_of our-trade with Portugal; they were sup-— ported by a faction whose war-cry was ‘ Repeal of the Union,’ in a sister-kingdom. J'oserve a temporary purpose in the House of Lords, they had recourse—for the first time in our annals—to a large and overwhelming creation of peers. Like the Whigs in May 1831, they chose the moment of the highest popular passion and excitement — to dissolve the House of Commons, hoping to avail themselves of a short-lived ery — for the purpose of permanent delusion. The Whigs of Queen Anne’s time, on the ~ other hand, supported that splendid war which led to such victories as Ramillies and — Blenheim. ‘They had for a leader the great man who gained those victories; they advocated the old principles of trade; they prolonged the duration of parliaments; ~ they took their stand on the principles of the Revolution of 1688; they raised the: cry of ‘No Popery.;’ they loudly inveighed against the subserviency to France, the desertion of our old allies, the outrage wrought upon the peers, the deceptions prac- tised upon the sovereign. and the other measures of the Tory administration. Such were the Tories, and such were the Whigs of Queen Anne. . fae We give a specimen of the noble historian’s character-painting: _ Charles Edward Stuart, the Young Pretender. : _ Charles Edward Stuart is one of those characters that cannot be portrayed a ale sketch, but have so greatly altered, as to require a new delineation at different periods. View him in his later years, and we behold the ruins of intemperance ies = - ek | ies . eee meh - = ; ¥ 7 == Z z = ‘sTANHOPE.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 11 - + ce : such was the gallant Prince full of youth, of* hone, of courage, who, landing with seven men in the wilds of Moidart, could rally a kingdom round his banner, and scatter his foes before him at Preston and at Falkirk. Not such was the gay and courtly host of Holyrood. Not such was he, whose endurance of fatigue and eager- ness for battle shone pre-eminent, even amongst Highland chiefs ; while fairer critics proclaimed him the most winning in conversation, the most graceful in the dance! Can we think lowly of one who could acquire such unbounded popularity in so few months, and over so noble a nation as the Scots; who could so deeply stamp his “image on their hearts that, even thirty or forty years after his departure, his name, a8 we are told, always awakened the most ardent praises from all who had known him—the most rugged hearts were seen to melt at his remembrance—and tears to steal down the furrowed cheeks of the veteran? Let us, then, without denying the faults of his character, or extenuating the degradation of his age, do justice to the lustre of his manhood. - ‘The person of Charles—I begin with this for the sake of female readers—was tall -and well formed ; his limbs athletic and active. He excelled in all manly exercises, -and was inured to every kind of toil, especially long marches on foot, having applied himself to field-sports in Italy, and become an excellent walker. His face was strik- ingly handsome, of a perfect oval andafair complexion ; his eyes light-blue; his fea- tures high and nohle. Contrary to the custom of the time, which prescribed pernkes, his own fair hair usually fell in long ringlets on his neck. This goodly person was en- hanced by his graceful manners; frequently condescending to the most familiar kindness, yet always shielded by a regai dignity, he had a peculiar talent to please and to persuade, and never failed to adapt his conversation to the taste or to the sta- tion of those whom he addressed. . Yet. he owed nothing to his education: it had been intrusted to Sir Thomas Sheridan, an Irish Romen Catholic, who has not es- ~caped the suspicion of being in the pay of the British government, and at their insti- “gation betraying his duty as a teacher. I am bound to gay that, { have found ro corroboration of so foul a charge. Sheridan appears to me to have lived and dicd a -man of honour; but history can only acquit him of bese perfidy by accusing nim of gross neglect. He had certainly left his pupil uninstructed in the most common éle- ments of knowledge. Charles’s letters, which I have seen emongét the Siuart tapers, are written in a large, rude, rambling hand like a schcoi-boy’s. In spelling, ih¢y “are still more deficient. With him ‘humour,’ for example, becomes UMER; the weapon he knew so well how to wield. isa sorp; and even his own father’s name appears under the alias of Gems. Nor are these errors confined to a single Jan- guage: who, to give another imstance from his French—would recoyvnize a aunting nife in cooTO DE CHAS? I can, therefore, readily believe that. as Dr, King assures > “us, he knew very little of the history or constitution of England’ But the letters of Charles, while they prove his want of ‘education, no less clearly display his natural powers, great energy of character, and great warmth of heart. Writing confidenti- _aliy; just before he sailed for Scotland, he says: ‘1 made my “evoticns on Pentecost ‘Day, recommending myself particularly to the Almighty cn this cccasion to guide and direct ine, and to continue to me always the same seutiments, which arersiher ‘to suffer anything than fail in any of my,duties,’ OHis young brother, Hevry of ‘York, is mentioned with the utmost tenderness; and, though on his return from Scotland, he conceived that he had reason to complain of Henry’s coldness and. re- ferve, the fault is lightly touched upon, and Chazles observes that, whatevez may be ‘his brother’s want of kindness, it shall never diminish his own. To his father his tone is both affectionate and dutiful: he frequently acknowledges his gocdnese ; and when, at the outset of his great enterprise of 1745, he entreats a blessing from the pope, surely the sternest Romanist might forgive him for adding, that he shall think a blessing from his parent more precious and more holy still. 4s to his friends ‘and partisans, Prince Charles has been often accused of not being sufficiently moved ‘by their sufferings, or grateful for their services. Bred up amidst monks and big- ‘Ots: who seemed far less afraid of his remaining excluded from power, than that on gaining he should use it liberally, he had been taught the highest notions of preroga- ive and hereditary right. From thence he might infer that those who served him in Bcotlasd did no more than their duty; were merely fulfilling a plain social & 4 ye 12 CYCLOP.EDIA OF ~ obligation; and were not, therefore, entitled to any very especial praise and. admiration. Yet, on the other hand, we must remember how prone 3 are all exiles to exaggerate their own desert. to think no rewards sufficient for it, and — to complaiz of neglect even where none really exists ; and moreover that. in point of — fact, many passages from Charles’s most familiar correspondence might be adduced. az to shew a watchfui and affectionate care for his adherents. As avery young man. he ‘ determined that he would sooner submit to personal privation than embarrass his — friends by contracting debts. On returning from Scotland, he told the French min- — ister, D’Argenson, that he would never ask anything for himself, but was ready to go — down on his knees to obtain favours for his brother-exiles. Once, after lamenting — some divisions and misconduct amongst his servants, he declares that, nevertheless, — an honest man is so highly to be prized that, ‘unless your majesty orders me, I should — sart with them with a sore heart.’ Nay, more, as it appears to me, this warm feeling — of Charles for his unfortunate friends survived almost alone, when. in his decline of — life, nearly every other noble quality had been dimmed and defaced from his mind. — Tn 1783, Mr. Greathead, a personal friend of Mr. Fox, succeeded in obtaining an in- — terview with him at Rome. Being alone with him for some time, the English travel- — ler studiously led the conversation to his enterprise in Scotland. The Prince shewed — some reluctance to enter upon the subject, and seemed to suffer much pain at the re= — membrance; but Mr. Greathead, with more of curiosity than of discretion, still per= — seyered. At length, then, the Prince appeared to shake off the load which oppressed | him; bia eye brightened, his face assumed unwonted animation; and he began the — narrative of his Scottish campaigns with a vehement. energy of manuer, recounting — his marches, his battles, his victories, and his defeat; bis hairbreadth escapes, au 2 | the inviolable and devoted attachment to his Highland followers. and at length pro- _ ceeding to the dreadful penalties which so many of them had subsequently under- ~ one. But the recital of their sufferings appeared to wound him far more deeply — than his own; then, and not till then, his fortitude forsook him, his voice faltered, | his eye became fixed, and he fell to the ficor in convulsions. At the noise, in rushed — the Duchess of Albany. his illegitimate daughter, who happened to be in the next apartment. ‘Sir,’ she exclaimed to Mr. Greathead, ‘ what is this? You must have — been speaking to my father about Scotland and the Highlanders?’ No one dares to mention these subjects in his presence.’ ~ Oxce more, however, let me turn from the last gleams of the expiring flame to the hours of its meridian brightness. In estimating the “abilities of Prince Charles, I may first observe that they stood in most direet contrast to his father’s. Each ex-_ celied in what the other wanted. No man could express himself with more- clear=> ness and elegance than James; it bas been said of him that he wrote better than any of those whom he employed ; but, on the other hand, his conduct was eile. ONS i n deficient in energy and enterprise. Charles, 28 we have seen, was no penman: while jn action—in doing what deserves to be written, and not in merely writing what de-— serves 10 be read—he stood far superior. He had some experience of war—havip 4 when very young, joined the - CYCLOPADIA OF sex in general; and I have found, in a paper of his writing about that rete a ‘gn : for men, I have studied them closely; and were [ to live till ‘fourscore, I could scarcely a know them better than now; but as for women, I have thought it useless, they cede a so much more wicked and impenetrable.’ Ungenerous “and ungrateful words > — Surely, as he wrote thei, the image of Flora Macdonald should have risen in his — heart and restrained his pen! - 3 The History of Lord Stanhope, in style and general merit, may — rank with Mr. P. F. Tytler’s ‘ History of Scotland.’ The narrative 4 is easy and flowing, and diligence has been exercised in the collec- a tion of facts. The noble historian is also author of a “Histo of — the War of the Succession in. Spain,’ one volume, 1882; a fe ofa the Great Prince Condé,’ 1845; a ‘Life of Belisarius.’.1848; avolume of ‘Historical Essays,’ contributed to the ‘ Quarterly Review,’ and — containing sketches of Joan of Arc, Mary, Queen of Scots, the Mar- — quis of Montrose, Frederick Tis, &e. His lordship has also edited Mj the ‘ Letters of the Earl of Chesterfield,’ four volumes, 1845, and ~ was one of the executors of Sir Robert Peel and-the Duke of Wel- — lington. In conjunction with Mr. E. Caldwell, M.P., Lord Stanhope — published ‘Memoirs of Sir Robert Peel,’ being chiefly an attempted 4 vindication by that statesman of his public conduct as regards Ro- — man Catholic Emancipation and the Corn Laws. His lordship has also published a ‘ Life of the Right Hon. Wiliam Pitt,’ valuable for — the correspondence and authentic personal details it contains: and a ~ -‘ History of the Reign of Queen Anne until the Peace of Utrecht,’. i (1701-17138), a work in one volume (1870), which, however inferior, may be considered a continuation of Macauley’s History. Earl Stanhope was born at Walmer in 1805, was educated at osm ford, and was a member of the House of Commons, first for Wooton — Bassett, and afterwards for Hertford, from 1830 to 1852. He was — fora short time Under-secretary for Foreign Affairs, and Secretary — to the Board of Control. He succeeded to the peerage in 1855, and died in 1875. si | THOMAS KEIGHTLEY, A volume of ‘Outlines of History’ having appeared in 1830 ial ‘Lardner’s Cyclopedia,’ Dr. Arnold urged its author, Mr. Thomas’ — Keightley, to write a series of histories of moderate size, which might — be used in schools, and prove trustworthy manuals in after-life. Ma. Keightley obeyed the call, and produced a number of historical com- — pilations of merit. His ‘ History of England,’ two volumes, and the- same enlarged in three volumes, is admitted to be the one most freex, from party-spirit ; and his Histories of India, Greece and Rome, — each in one volume, may be said to contain the essence of most of — what has been written and discovered regarding those countries. 4 Keightley also produced a ‘ History of the War of Independence i in Greece,’ two volumes, 1830 ; and ‘The Crusaders,’ or scenes, event? and characters from the times of the Crusades. These works have all been popular, The ‘ Outlines’ are read in schools, colleges, and uni - ee a a ee eT Se ad * on es . - - 6h 4, 1 EARS i ina ai, Sie See ee tort te a. at : songs : bee ‘KEIGHTLEY.] | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 15 versities ; the Duke of Wellington directed them to be read by offi- cers and candidates for commissions in the army. The ‘ History of Greece’ has been translated into modern Greek and published at Athens. In the department of mythology, Mr. Keightley was also a ‘successful student, and author of the ‘ Mythology of Ancient Greece and Italy ; ‘Fairy Mythology,’ illustrative of the romance and su- perstition of various countries ; and ‘Tales and Popular Fictions, their Resemblance and Transmission from Country to Country.* From the second of these works we give a brief extract. Superstitious Beliefs. - According to a well-known law of our nature, effects suggest causes: and another law, perhaps equally general, impels us to ascribe to the actual and efficient cause the attribute otf intelligeice. ‘he mind of the deepest philosopher is thus acted upon equally with that of the peasant or the savage; the only difference lies in the nature of the intelligent cause at which they respectively stop. The one pursues the chain of cause and effect, and traces out its various Jinks till he arrives at the great intelligent cause of all, however he may designate him; the other, when unusual phenomena excite his attention, ascribes their production to the immediate ‘agency of some of the inferior beings recognised by his legendary creed. ‘I'he action of this iatter principle must forcibly strike the minds of those who disdain ‘not to bestow a portion of their attention on the popular legends and traditions of different countries. Every extrwordinary appearance is found to have its extraordi- nary cause assigned; a cause always cornected with the history or religion, ancient or modern, of the country, and nof unfrequently varying with a change of faith. The noises and eruptions of Attna and Stromboli were, in ancient times, ascribed to Typhon or Vulcan, and at this day the pOpular belief connects them with the infernal regions. The sounds resembling the clanking of chains, hammer- ing of iron, and blowing of bellows, once to be heard in the island of Barrie, were made by the fiends whom Merlin had set to work to frame the wall of brass to sur- round Caermarthen. . The marks which natural causes have impressed on the solid and unyielding granite rock were preduced, according to the popular creed, by the contact of the hero, the saint, or the god: musses of stone, resembling domestic im- plemeuts in form, were the toys, or the corresponding implements of the heroes or giants of old. Grecian imagination ascribed to the galaxy or Milky-way an origin in ‘the teeming breast of the queen of heaven: marks appeared in the petals of flowers on the occasion of a youth’s ora hero’s untimely death: the rose derived its present hue froin the blood of Venus, as she hurried barefooted through the woods and lawns; ‘while the professors of Islam, less fancifully, refer the origin of this flower to the moisture that exuded from the sacred person of their prophet. Under a purer form Of religion, the cruciform stripes which ma k the back and shoulders of the patient ass first appeared, according to the popular tradition, when the Son of God conde- scended to enter the Holy City. mounted on that animal; and a fish. only to be found in the sea, still bears the impress of the finger and thumb of the apostle, who drew him out of the waters of Lake Tiberias to take the tribute-money that Jay in his mouth, The repetition of the voice among the hills is, in Norway and Sweden, ascribed to ‘the dwarfs mocking the human speaker; while the more elegant fancy of Greece gave birth to Echo, a nymph who pined for Jove, and who still fondly repeats the accents that she hears. ‘The magic scenery occasionally presented on the waters of the Straits of Messina is produced by the power of the fata morgana; the gossamers that float through the haze of an autumnal morning are woven by the ingenious dwarfs ; the verdant circlets in the mead are traced beneath the light steps of the dancing elves; and St. Cuthbert forges and fashions the beads that. bear his name, and lie scattered along the shore of Lindisfarne. In accordance with these laws, we find in most countries a popular belief in different classes of beings distinct men, and from the higher orders of divinities. ‘These beings are usually be- lieved to inhabit, in the caverns of earth. or the depths of the waters, a region of their own. They generally exce! mankin:i in power and in knowledge, and, like them, are subject to the inevitable laws of death, though after a more prolonged Pe : r \ Z sake mane Pe es 56 Pate j= OS Ag SP ae ae” iy . a ' fey . es ees a SOP NS ey ett. 5" ; t4< Ve 2s oxi Te “> 2S i= P 2? Ero 1876, z 16 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~ period of existence. How these classes were first called into existence it is not easy " to say; but if, as some assert, all the ancient systems of heathen religion were de- — vised by philosophers for the instruction of rude tribes by appeals to their sen3es, we 4 might suppose that the minds which peopled the skies with their thousands and tens — of thousands of divinities gave birth also to the inhabitants of the field and flood, ~ and that the numerous tales of their exploits and adventures are the produetion of 3 poetic fiction or rude invention. 22 In 1855, Mr. Keightley published a ‘ Life of Milton,’ and afterwards — edited Milton’s poems. ‘The biography is an original and in many ~ respects able work. The opinions of Milton are very clearly and fully elucidated, and the extensive learning of the biographer and his- — torian has enabled him to add some valuable suggestive criticism: — for example, in Milton’s time the Ptolemaic astronomy was the pre- : ae aie — by: valent one, and Mr. Keightley asks, “4 Could Milton have written ‘ Paradise Lost’ in the Nineteenth Century ? Now, with the seventeenth century, at least in Eneland, expired the astronomy of ~ Ptolemy. ‘Had Milton, then, lived after that century, he could not fora moment — have believed in a solid, globous world, inclosing various revolving spheres, with the ~ earth in the centre, and unlimited, unoccupied, undigested space beyond. His local — heayen and local hell would then have become, if not impossibilities, fleeting and un-=~ certain to a degree which would preciude all firm, undoubting faith in their existence; — for far as the most powerful telescopes can pierce into space, there is nothing found” but a uniformity of stars after stars in endless succession, exalting infinitely our idea — of the Deity and his attributes, but enfeebling in proportion that of any portion of — space being his peculiar abode. Were Milton in possession of this knowledge, is it possible that he could have written. the first three books of Paradise Lost? Weare | decidedly of opinion that he could not, for he would never have written that of the truth of which he could not have persuaded himself by any illusion of the imagina-— tion. It may be said that he would have adapted his fictions to the present state of astronomy. But he could not have done it; such is the sublime simplicity of the true system of the universe, that it is quite unsuited to poetry, except in the most transient form. a Mr. Keightley was a native of Ireland, born in 1792. He long re-_ sided at Chiswick on the Thames, a retired but busy student, and died in 1782. a DEAN MILMAN. - The prose works of the late Dean of St. Paul’s (ante) place him in the first rank of historians. His ‘History of-the Jews’ ~ was originally published in Murray's ‘Family Library’ (1829), but’ was subsequently revised (fourth edition, 1866). When thus repub- - lished, the author considered that ‘the circumstances of the day,’ or, in other words, the objections which had been made to his plan of treating the Jewish history, rendered some observations necessary. Lae How ought the History of the Jews to be Written ? | What should be the treatment by a Christian writer, a writer to whom truth is the one paramount object, of the only documents on which rests the earlier history of the Jews, the Scriptures of the Old Testament? Are t»ey, like other historical’ documents, to be submitted to calm but searching criticism as to their age, their authenticity, their authorship: above all, their historical sense and historical in pretation ? : — Some may object (and by their objection may think it right to cut short all this ~f, ™ “WILMAN.] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. ; 17 - momentous question) that Jewish history is a kind of forbidden ground, on which ‘it is profane to enter; the whole history being so peculiar in its relation to theology, rasting, as it is asserted, even to the most minute particulars, on divine authority, ought to be sacred from the ordinary laws of investigation. But though the Jewish eople are especially called the people of God, though their polity is grounded on their religion, though God be held the author of their theocracy, as well as its con- fervator and administrator, yet the Jewish nation is one of the families of mankind ; their history is part of the world’s history : the functions which they have performed -jn the progress of human development and civilisation are so important, so endur- ing; the veracity of their history has been made so entirely to depend on the rank which they are entitled to hold in the social scale of mankind; their barbarism has been so: fiercely and contemptuously exaggerated, their premature wisdom and humanity so contemptuously depreciated or denied; above all, the barriers which kept them in their holy seclusion have long been so utterly prostrate; friends as well as foes, the most pious Christians as well as the most avowed enemies of Christian faith, have so long expatiated on this open field, that it is as impoasible, in my judgment, as it would be unwise, to limit the full freedom of inquiry. _ Adopting this course, Dean Milman said he had been able to follow out ‘all the marvellous discoveries of science, and all the hardly less marvellous, if less certain, conclusions of historical, ethnological, linguistic criticism, in the serene confidence that they are utterly ‘irrelevant to the truth of Christianity, to the truth of the Old Testa- ment as far as its distinct and perpetual authority, and its indubitable meaning,’ This was the view entertained by Paley, and is the view now held by some of-the most learned and able divines of the present day. The moral and religious truth of Scripture remains untouched by the discoveries or theories of science. ‘If on such subjects some solid ground be not found on which highly educated, reflective, read- ‘ing, reasoning men may find firm footing, I can foresee nothing but ‘a wide, a widening, I fear an irreparable breach between the thought and the religion of England. A comprehensive, all-embracing, truly Catholic Christianity, which knows what is essential to religion, what is temporary and extraneous to it, may defy the world. Obstinate adhe- ‘rence to things antiquated, and irreconcilable with advancing know- ledge and thought, may repel, and for ever, how many, I know not; how far, I know stillless. Avertatomen Deus.’ “A much greater work than the ‘ History of the Jews’ was the ‘History of Latin Christianity,’ inclu- ding that of the Popes to the Pontificate of Nicholas V.,’ completed in six volumes, 1856. The first portion of this work was published in 1840, and comprised the history of Christianity from the birth of Christ to the abolition of Paganism in the Roman empire; a further portion “Was published in 1854, andthe conclusion in 1856. Nosuch work,’ ‘said the ‘Quarterly Review,’ ‘has appeared in English ecclesiastical diterature—none which combines such breadth of view with such depth of research, such high literary and artistic eminence with such ‘patient and elaborate investigation.’ This high praise was echoed by Prescott the historian, and by a host of critics. It is realiy a great ‘work—great in all the essentials of history—subject, style, and re- ~ ‘search, The poetical imagination of the author had imparted warmth and colour to the conclusions of the philosopher and the _ ‘sympathies of the lover of truth and humanity, The last work of = ya a a 18 | CYCLOPEDIA OF Dean Milman was his ‘ History of St. Paul’s Cathedral,’ over which he had presided for nearly twenty years, and in which his remains -were interred. Asa brief specimen of the dean’s animated style of nairative, we give an extract from the ‘ History of ihe Jews?’ Lie Burning of the Tempie, Aug. 10, 70 A.c. It was the 10th of August, the day already darkened in the Jewish calendar by tae destruction of the former temple by the king of Babylon; that day was almost past.- Titus withdrew again into the Antonia, intending the next morning to make a gen- eral assault. ‘he quiet summer evening came on; the setting sun shone for the last time on the snow-white walls and glistening pinnacles of the Temple roof. Titus had retired to rest, when suddenly a wild and terrible cry was heard, and a man came rushing in, announcing that the 'l’emple was on fire. Some of the besieged, notwith- stauding their repulse in the morning, had sallied out to attack the men who were busily employed in extinguisuing the fires about the cloisters. The Romans not merely drove them back, but, entering the sacred space with them, forced their way to the door of the Temple. A soidier, without orders, mounting on the shoulders of ~ one of his comrades, threw a blezing brand into a small gilded door on the north side of the chambers, in the ouver building or porch. The flames sprang up at once. The Jews uttered one simultaneous shriek, and grasped their swords with a furious determination of revenging and perishing in the ruins of the Temple. ‘Titus rushed ~ down with the utmost speed; he shouted, he made signs to his soldiers to quench — the fire; his voice was drowned, and his signs unnoticed, in the blind confusion. ~ The legionaries either could not of would not hear ; they rushed on, trampling each other down in their furious haste. or stumbling over the crumbling ruins, perished with the enemy. Each exhorted the other, and each hurled his blazing brand into the inner part of the edifice, and then hurried to his work of carnage. The un- _ armed and defenceless people were slain in thousands; they lay heaped like sacri- — fices round the altar; the steps of the Temple ran with streams of blood, which ~ washed down the bodies that lay about. ; Ng Titus found it impossible to check the rage of the soldiery; he entered with his ~ officers, and surveyed the interior of the sacred edifice. The splendour filled them ~ with wonder; and as the flames had not yet penetrated to the Holy Place, he made a ~ last effort to save it, and springing forth, again exhorted the soldiers to stay the pro= — gress of the conflagration, he centurion Liberalis endeavored to force obedience Z with his staff of office; but even respect for the emperor gave way to the furions — animosity against the Jews, to the fierce excitement of battle, and to the insatiable — hope of plunder. The soldiers saw everything around them radiant with gold, which E shone dazzlingly in the wild light of the flames; they supposed that incalculable ~ treasures were laid up in the sanctuary. A soldier, unperceived, thrust a lighted 3 torch between the hinges of the door; the whole buildings was in flames in a > instant. The blinding smoke and fire forced the officers to retreat, and the noble ~ edifice was left to its fate. \ ; It was an appalling spectacle to the Roman—what was it to the Jew? The whole ~ summit of the hill which commanded the city blazed like a volcano. One after another» the buildings fell in, with a tremendons crash, and were swallowed up in the fiery — abyss. The roofs of cedar were like sheets of flame; the gilded pinnacles shone — like spikes of red light; the gate towers sent up tall columns of flame and smoke. The neighbouring hills were lighted up; and dark groups of people were seen watch-_ ing in horrible anxiety the progress of the destruction; the walls and heights of the — upper city were crowded with faces, some pale with the agony of despair, others scowls | ing unavailing vengeance. The shouts of the Roman soldiery as they ran to and fro, and the howlings of the insurgents who were perishing in the flames, mingled with — : the roaring of the conflagration and the thundering sound of falling timbers. The © echoes of the mountains replied or brought back the shrieks of the people on the” heights ; all along the walls resounded screams and wailings ; men who were expite. ing with famine, rallied their remaining strength to utter a cry of anguish and aeegs ation. y The slaughter within was even more dreadful than the spectacle from withou Men and women, old and young, insurgents and priests, those who fought and th a : ~2 5 % - ENGLISH LITERATURE, | Se _jwho entreated merey, were hewn down in indiscriminate carnage, The number of . _ the slain exceeded that of the slayers. The legionaries had to clamber over heaps of dead to carry-on the work of extermination. John, at the head of some of his _ troops, cut his way through, first into the outer court of the Temple. afterwards into _ the upper city. Some of the priests upon the roof wrenched off the gilded spikes, with the’r sockets of lead, and used them as missiles against the Romans below. _ Afterwards they fled to a part of the wall, about fourteen feet wide; they were sum- moned to surrender, but tivo of them, Mair, son of Belga, and Joseph, son of Dalai,’ _ plunged headlong into the flames. No part escaped the fury of the Romans. The treasuries, with all their wealth of money, jewels, and costly robes—the plunder which the Zealots had laid up—were totally destroyed. Nothing remained but a small part of the outer cloister. in which about six thousand unarmed and defenceless people, with women and children, had taken refuge. These poor wretches. like multitudes of others, had been led up to the Temple by a false prophet, who had proclaimed that God commanded.all the _ Jews to go up to the Temple, where he would display his almighty power to save his people. ‘The soldiers set fire to the building: every soul perished. The whole Roman army entered the sacred precincts, and pitched their standards among the smoking ruins; they offered sacrifice for the victory, and with lond accla- “mations saluted Titus as Emperor. Their joy was not a little enhanced by the value of the plunder they obtained, which was so great that gold fell in Syria to half its former value. WILLIAM F. SKENE. _ An eminent Celtic antiquary, versant in both branches of the lan- “guage, the Cymric and Gaelic, Mr. Wriitram F. Skene, has pub- lished two important works—‘ The Four Ancient Books of Wales,’ 2 vols., 1868 ; and ‘Celtic Scotland,’ vol. i., ‘ History and Ethnology,’ 1876. The former contains the Cymric Poems attributed to the bards of the sixth century—to Aneurin (510-560 a.p.) ; to Taliessin (520- 570) ; to Llywarch Hen, or the Old (550-640 ;) and to Myrdden, or Mer- lin (530-600). These dates are uncertain. The Four Books are much later: (1) the Black Book of Caermarthen, written in the reign of Henry II, (1054-1189) ; (2) the Book of Aneurin, a manuscript of the latter part of the thirteenth century ; (3) the Book of Taliessin, a Manuscript of the beginning of the fourteenth century ; and (4) the Red Book of Hergest, completed at different times in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. It isin these four books or manuscripts that the oldest known texts are to be found, and Mr. Skene has had them translated by two of the most eminent living Welsh scholars—the Rey. D. Silvan Evans of Llanymawddwy, the author of the ‘ Eng- lish and Welsh Dictionary,’ and other works ; and the Rev. Robcrt Williams of Rhydycroesau, author of the ‘Biography of Eminent Welsh men,’ and the ‘Cornish Dictionary.’ Besides the poems in the Red Book of Hergesi, the manuscript also contains the text of several prose tales and romances connected with the early history of Wales, published with an English translation by Lady Charlotte Guest, in 1849, under the title of ‘ The Mabinogion.’ ' Date of the Welsh Poems, _. During the Jast half-century of the Roman dominion in Britain, the most import- ant military events took place at the northern frontier of the province. where it was chiefly assailed hy those whom they called the barbarian races, and their troops were massed at the Roman walls to protect the province, After their departure it was t * y z sa 20 CY CLOPEDIA OF. oy [To 1876, aa still the scene of a struggle between the eontenaine races for supremacy. It was here that the provincial Britons had mainly to contend under the Guledig against the invading Picts. and Scots,.succeeded by the resistance of the native Cymric popula- tion of the north to the encroachment of the Angels of Bernicia. Throughout this clash and jar of contending races, a body of popular poetry appears to have grown up, and the events of this nev er-ending war, and the dim recollections of social changes and revolutions, seem to have been Feflected in national | lays attributed to bards supposed to have lived at the time in which the deeds of their warriors were celebrated, and the legends of the country preserved in language, which, if not poetical, was firurative and obscure. It was not till the seventh century that these popular lays ‘floating about among the people were brought into - oe and assumed a consistent form... . I do not attempt to take them farther ack e The principal poem in the Four Books, supposed to possess his- torical value, is entitled ‘Gododen,’ by Aneurin, in which the bard laments the inglorious defeat of his countrymen by the Saxons. This war ode or battle-piece is in ninety-four stanzas. One of them —the twenty-first—has been paraphrased by Gray, and the reader may be interested by seeing together, the literal translation in Mr. Skene’s book, and the version of the English poet: The men went to Catraeth; they were renowned ; Wine and mead from golden cups was their beverage 5 That year was to them of exalted solemnity ; é ‘Three warriors and three score and three hundred, wearing the golden torques, k Of those who hurried forth after the excess of revelling But three escaped by the prowess of the gashing sword, 4 The two war-dogs of Aeron and Cenon the dauntless, A And myself from the spilling of my blood, the rew. ard of my sacred song. : Gray renders the passage thus: a To Cattraeth’s vale in glittering row, Or the er ape’s ecstatic juice. +s Thrice two hundred warriors ago: Flushed with mirth and hope they burn: Every warrior’s manly neck But none from Cattraeth’s vale return. Chains of regal honour deck, Save Aeron brave and Conan strong Wreathed in many a golden link; m (Bursting through the bloody throng), From the golden cup ‘they drink ’ And I, the meanest of them all, * Nectar that the bees produce, That live to weep and sing their fall.* ‘ The ‘ Celtic Scotland’ of Mr. Skene is, like his Welsh work, de- signed to ascertain what can be really extracted from the early thorities. . He adopts the conclusion of Professor Huxley, tha eighteen hundred years ago the population of Britain comprised peal ples of two types of complexion, the one fair and the other dark—the latter resembling Aquitani and the Iberians ; the fair people resem- bling the Belgic Gauls. An Iberian or Basque people preceded the Celtic race in Britain and Ireland. The victory gained. by Agricola, | 86 A.D., is said by Tacitus to have been fought at ‘Mons Grampius. The hills now called the Gr umpians were then known as Drumalban, fd So ee | , As to the scene of the strugzle, Mr. Skene says : ‘ It is plain from the poem 4 two districts, called respectively Gododen and Catraeth, met at or near a great ram- part; that both were washed by the sea. and that in connection with the latter was) fort called Eyddin. Tne name of Eyddin tukes us to Lothain, where we have D din, or Edinburgh, and Caredin on n the shore. 2 ie ENGLISH LITERATURE, -. 21 80 that we cannot identify the scene of action with that noble moun- tain range. But it appears that the latest editor of the Life of Agri- ‘cola has discovered from some Vatican manuscripts that Tacitus eally wrote ‘Mons Graupius,’ and thus the word Grapius is, as Mr, Burton says, ‘an editor’s or printer's blunder, nearly four hundred rears old.’+ The name of the Western Islands, it may be mentioned, originated nh a similar blunder.- The printer of an edition of Pliny in 1503 con- verted ‘Hebudes’ into < Hebrides,’ and Boece having copied the error, _became fixed. Mr, Skene prefers reading ‘ Granpius’ to ‘Grau. i It is hardly possible, he says, to distinguish ~ from n in such ipts; but the point is certainly of no importance. The old ch narratives Mr. Skene traces to the rivalry and ambi- ~Uon of: ecclesiastical establishments and to the great national contro- _Versy of old excited by the claim of England to a feudal superiority ver Scotland. The attempt made by Lloyd and Stillin gfleet in the eventeenth century to cut off King Fergus and twenty-four other | chronicled by Hector Boece, filled the Lord Advocate Sir George Mackenzie, with horror and dismay. < Pre- eedency,’ he said, ‘is one of the chief glories of the crown, for which not only kings but subjects fight and debate, and how could I suffer this right and privilege of our crown to be stolen from it by the asser- tion which did expressly substract about eight hundred and thirty years from its antiquity?’ Sir George would as willingly have prose- tuted the iconoclasts, had they been citizens north of the Tweed, as he prosecuted the poor Covenanters. But King Fergus and his twen- y-four royal successors were doomed. They have been all swept off ne stage into the limbo of vanity, and Scotland has lost eight hun- red and thirty years of her imaginary but cherished sovereignty. a 5 Battle of Mons Granpius, 86 A.D. - On the peninsula formed by the junction of the Isla with the Tay are the remain Of a strong and massive vallum, called Cleaven Dyke, extending irom the one rive to the other, with a smali Kkoman fort at one end, and inclosiug a large triangula® space capable of containing Agricola’s whole troops, guarded by therampart in front, and by a river on each side. [efore the rampart a plain of some size extends to the ae of the Blair Hill, or the mount of battle, the lowest of a suecession of elevations hich rise from the plain till they attain the full height of the great mountain range of the so-called Grampians; and on the heights above are the remains of a large native encainpment called Buzzurd Dykes, capabie of containing upwards of thirty thous- and men. Certainly no position in Scotland presents features which correspond so remarkably with Tacitus’ description as this... . _ Such was the position of the two armies when the echoes of the wild yells and shouts of thé natives, and the glitter of their arms as their divisions wero seen in mo- tion and hurrying to the front. announced to Agricola that they were forming the line of battle. The Roman commander immediately drew out his troops on the plain. In the centre he placed the auxiliary infantry, amounting to about eight thousand men, and three thousand horse formed the wings. Behind the main line, and in front of the great vallum or rampart, -he stationed the legions, consisting of eo veteran Roman soldiers, His object was to fight the battle with the auxiliary : Fa a SS & ¢ Burton’s History of Scotland, 2d edit. 1.3. 9g + CYCLOPADIA OF troops, among whom were even Britons, and to support them, if necessary, with the Roman troops as a body of reserve. : -; 4 ~ The native army was ranged upon the rising grounds, and their line as far extended as possible. ‘he first line was stationed on the plainsy while the others ~ were ranged in separate lines on the acclivity of the hill behind them. On the plains the chariots and horsemen of the native army rushed about in all directions. — - Agricola, fearing from the extended line of the enemy that he might be attacked both in front and flank at the same time, ordered the ranks to form in wider range, at. the risk even of weakening his line, and placing himself in front with his colours, this memorable action. commenced by the interchange of missiles at a distance. -In order to bring the action to close quarters, Agricola ordered three Batavian and two ‘Tungrian cohorts to charge the enemy sword in hand. In close combat they proved to be superior to the natives, whose smal] targets and large unwieldy swords were no match for the vigorous onslaught of the auxiliaries; and having driven back their first line, they were forcing their way up the ascent, when the whole line of the — Roman army advanced and charged with such impetuosity as to carry all before them. The natives endeavoured to turn the fate of the battle by their chariots, and dashed with them upon the Roman cavalry, who were driven back and throsyu into confusion ; but the chariots becoming mixed with the cavalry, were in their turn thrown into confusion, and were thus*rendered ineffectual as well by the roughness of the ground. as ee The reserve of the natives now descended, and endeavoured to outflank the Ro- - man army and attack them in the rear, when Agricola ordered four squadrons — of reserve cavalry to advance to the charge. The native troops were repulsed, and being attacked in the rear by the cavalry from the wings, were completely routed, and this concluded the battle. The defeat became general ; the natives drew off ina body to the woods and marshes on the west side of the plain. They attempted to — check the pursuit by making a last effort and again forming, but Agricola sent some ~ cohorts to the assistance of the pursuers ; and, surrounding the ground, while part — of the cavalry scoured the more open woods, and part dismounting entered the closer ~ thickets, the native line again broke, and the flight became general, till night put an — end to the pursuit. . * _ Such was the great battle at Mons Granpius, and such the events of the day as ~ they may be gathered from the concise narrative of a Roman writing of a battle in — which the victorious general was his own father-in-law. The slaughter on the part — of the natives was great, though probably as much overstated, when put at one= — third of their whole army, as that of the Romans is underestimated; and the signi+ ~ ficant silence of the historian as to the death of Calgacus, or any other of sufficient — note to be mentioned, and the admission that the great body of the native army at © first drew off in good order, shew that it was not the crushing blow which might — otherwise be inferred. On the succeeding day there was no appeare&ce of the enemy ; silence all around, desolate hills, and the distant smoke of burning dwell- — ings alone met the eye of the victor. S 2g : 3 : *. > A series of historical memoirs by Lucy Arkrn (1781-1864), daughter of Dr. John Aikin,* and sister of Mrs. Barbauld, enjoyed a consider- able share of popularity. These are—‘ Memoirs of the Court of Queen Elizabeth,’ 1818; ‘Memoirs of the Court of Charles T.,’ 1833; and ‘ Memoirs of the Court-of James I.’ Miss Aikin also wrote ; ‘Life of Addison,’ 1843 (see ante), which, besides being the moe copious, though often incorrect, memoir of that English classic, — hadthe merit of producing one of the most finished of Macaulay’s critical essays. EE y ae — ee . * Dr. John Aikin (1747-1822) was an industrious editor and compiler. Besides — several medical works, he published Essays on Song Writing, 1772, and was editor successively of the Month/y Magazine, the Atheneum (1807-1809), a General Bio- graphical Dictionary, Dodsley'’s Annual Register from 1811 to 1815, and Select Works of the British Poets (Johnson ta Beattie), 1820. ie ~ 5 TT i ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 228 PICTORIAL HISTORY OF ENGLAND : PROFESSOR CRAIK— a C. MACFARLANE. _. The ‘Pictorial History of England,’ planned by Mr. Charles Knight, in the manner of Dr. Henry’s History, is deserving of honour- able mention. It was commenced about the year 1840, and was con- tinued for four years, forming eight large volumes, and extending from the earliest period to the Peace of 1815. Professing to be a _histery of the people as well as of the kingdom, every period of Eng- lish history includes chapters on religion, the constitution and laws, national industry, manners, literature, &e. A great number of illustrations was also added; and the work altogether was precisely _ what was wanted by the general reader. The two principal writers _in this work were Mr. Craik and Mr. Macfarlane. GrorGE LILLIE _ CRAIK was born in Fife in 1798. He was educated for the church, but preferred a literary career, and was one of the ablest and most dil- -igent of the writers engaged in the works issued by the Society for the Diffusion of Useful Knowledge. Mr. Craik was editor of the ‘ Picto- rial History of England,’ and parts of it he enlarged and published senarately—as, ‘Sketches of Literature and Learning from the Nor- Man Conquest,’ 1844; and ‘ History of British Commerce,’ 1844. His first work was a series of popular biographies, entitled ‘The Pursuit '0: Knowledge under Difficulties,’ 1831. He contributed numerous articles to the ‘Penny Cyclopedia.’ _ In 1849 he was appointed to the chair of English History and Literature in Queen’s College, Belfast, which he held till his death in 1866. Mr. Craik-was author of ‘ The Romance of the Peerage,’ 1849; “Outlines of the History of the English Language,’ 1855; ‘The Eng- lish of Shakspeare,’ 1857; ‘History of English Literature and the ‘English Language,’ two volumes, 1861; &. Mr. Cuartes Mac- FARLANE was a voluminous writer and collaborateur with Mr. Craik ‘and others in Mr. Charles Knight’s serial works. He wrote ‘ Recollec tions of the South of Italy,’ 1846; and ‘A Glance at Revolutionised Italy,’ 1849. The elaborate account of the reign of George UL, in the “ Pictorial History,’ was chiefiy written by Mr. Macfarlane. He died in the Charter House in 1858. To render the History still more ‘complete, Mr. Knight added a narrative of the Thirty Years’ Peace, 4816-1846. This ‘ History of the Peace’ was written by Miss Har- “RiET MARTINEAU, whose facile and vigorous pen and general know- ledge rendered her peculiarly well adapted for the task. The ‘ Pic- torial History,’ and the ‘History of the Peace,’ have been revised and corrected under the care of Messrs. Chambers, in seven volumes, with sequels in separate volumes, presenting ‘Pictorial Histories of ‘the Russian War and Indian Revolt.’ ~~ MR. FROUDE. , , The research and statistical knowledge evinced by Lord Macaulay In his view of the state of England in the seventeenth century, have + gS eCYCLOPAIDIA OR 9, oa eeeegng roe been rivalled by another historian and investigator of an earlier period. ‘The History of England from the Fall of Wolsey to the Death of Elizabeth,’ by JamMEes Anrnony FROUDE, twelve volumes, 1856-1869, is a Work of sterling merit, though conceived in the spirit of a speciai pleader, and over-coloured both in light and shadow. Mr. Froude is a son of Dr. Froude, archdeacon of 'Votness, and rec- tor of Dartington, Devonshire. He was born in 1818, and educated at Westminster and at Oriel College, Oxford. In 1842 he carried off the chancellor's prize for an English essay, his subject being Political Economy, and the same year he became a Fellow of Exeter College. — Mr. Froude appeared as an author in 1847, when he published ‘ Shad-_ ows of the Clouds, by Zeta,’ consisting of two stories. Next year he produced ‘The Nemesis of Faith,’ a protest, as it has been called, against the reverence entertained by the church for what Mr. Froude called the. Hebrew mythology. Such a work could not fail to offend the university authorities. Mr. Froude was deprived of his Feilow-— ship, and also forfeited a situation to which he had been appointed in ‘l'asmania. He then set to periodical writing, and contributed to. the ‘ Westminster Review’ and ‘ Fraser's Magazine: of the latter he was sometime editor. His réputation was greatly extended by his History, as the volumes appeared from time to time; and he threw off occasional pamphlets and short historical dissertations. One of these, entitled ‘The Influence of the Reformation on the Scottish — Character,’ being an address delivered before the Philosophical Insti- tution of Edinburgh, in 1865, attracted much attention, especially on account of its eulogy on John Knox, who, according to Mr. Froude, — ‘saved the kirk which he had founded, and saved with it Scottish and English freedom.’ Another of these occasional addresses was one on Calvinism, delivered to the university of 5t. Andrews in 1869, — which was given by Mr. Froude in his capacity of rector of that- university. : - a Previous to this (1867) he had issued two volumes of ‘ Short Studies on Great Subjects.” The fame of Mr. Froude, however, rests on his” ‘History of England,’ so picturesque and.dramatic in detail. The, object of the author is to vindicate the character of Henry VIIL., and to depict the actual condition, the contentment and loyalty of the people during his reign. For part of the original and curious de. tail in which the work abounds, Mr. Froude was indebted to Sir Francis Palgrave, but he has himself been indefatigable in collecting information from state-papers and other sources. ‘The result is, not justification of the capricious tyranny and cruelty of Henry—which in essential points is unjustifiable—but the removal of-some stains from hismemory which have been continued without examination by previous writers ; and the accumulation of many interesting facts relative to the great men and the social state of England in that tran- sitionary era, Life was then, according to the historian, unrefined, but ‘ wlored with a broad rosy English health.’ Personal freedom, ° striction or protection as then prevailed, no nation could ever haye ' advanced. in many nassages.of his history—as the account of the ' death of Rizzio and the execution of Mary, Queen of Scots—Mr. ' Froude has sacrificed strict accuracy in order to produce more com- - plete dramatic eifects and arrest the attention of the reader. And _ his work is one of enchaining interest. In 1872 Mr. Froude pub- lished ‘The English in Ireland in the Eighteenth céntury,’ volume ' first, the narrative being brought down to the year 1767. Tsvo more ' volumes were added in 1874, and the work was read with great | avidity.. It is in some respects a vindication, or at least a-palliation, - of the conduct of the English government towards Ireland, written in a strong Anglo Saxon spirit. Markets and Wages in the Reign of Henry VIIE. 4 Wheet, the price of which necessarily varied, averaged in the middle of the j ‘fourteenth century tenpence the bushei; barley averaging at the same time three _ shillings the quarter. With wheat the fluctuations were excessive; a table of its _ possible yariations describes it as ranging from eighteenpence the quarter to twenty shillings; the average, however, being six-and-cightpence. . When the price was ' above this suin, the merchants might import to bring it down; when it was belojv this price, the farmers were allowed to export to the foreign markets; and the same + average continued to hold, with no perceptible tendency to rise, till the close of the _ reign of Elizabeth. 33 ‘Beef and pork were a halfpenny a pound—mutton was three-farthings. They > were fixed at these prices by the 3d of the 24th of Henry VIII. But this act was unpopular both with buyers and with sellers. The old practice had been to sell in the gross, and under that arrangement the rates had been generally lower, Stowe ~ says: ‘It was this year enacted that butchers should sell their beef and mutton by “weight—beef for a halfpenny the pound, and mutton for three-farthings; whiclr being devised for the great commodity of the realm—as it was thought—hath proved - far otherwise; for at that time fat oxen were sold for six-and-twenty shillings and - eightpence the piece; fat wethers for three shillings. and fourpence the piece; fat + calves at a like price; and fat lambs for twelvepence.. Ihe butchers of London sold penny pieces of beef for the relief of the poor—every piece two pounds and a half, - sometimes three pounds for a penny; and thirteen and sometimes fourteen of these »ieces for twelvepence; mutton, eightpence the quarter; and an hundredweight of - beef for four shillings and eightpence.’ The act was repealed. in consequence OF > the complaints against it, but the prices never fell again to what they had been, calthough beef, sold in the gross, could still be had for a halfpenny a pound in 1570. , _ = Strong beer, such as we now buy for eighteenpencea gallon, was then a penny 2 gallon; and table-beer less-than a halfpenny. French and German winc¢s. were ' eightpence the gation. Spanish and. Portuguese wines, a shilling, © This was _ highest price at which the best wines might be sold; and if there was any fault im: ~ et . portant consideration, cannot be fixed so accurately, for parliament did not interfere * with it, Here, however, we are not without very tolerable information. ‘My father,’ says Latimer, ‘was a yeoman, and had:no land of his own; only he had a » farm of three or four ponds by the year at the uttermost, and hereupon he tilled so ~ much as kept half-a-dozen men. ~ He had walk for a hundred sheep, and my mother ~ milked thirty kine. He was able, and did find the king a harness, with himself and - his horse. 1 remember that I buckled on his. harness when he went to Blackheata field. He kept me to school,.or else I had not been able to have preached before the ~ King’s majesty now. He married my sisters with five pounds, or twenty nobles, : each, having brought them up in godliness and fear of God.-.He kept hospitality for his poor neighbours, and som alins he gave to the poor; and all this he did off the ‘said farm.’ If ‘three or four pounds at the uttermost’ was the rent of -a farm yicld- > ELL.V.8—2 | ‘quality or quantity, the dealers forfeited fourtimes the amount. Rent, another im-. - - = ‘ x ‘ : < oe Seo - CYCLOPAEDIA OF _ (To 1876, ing such results, the rent of labourers’ cottages is not likely to have been con- siderable. I am belowy the truth, therefore, with this scale of prices in assuming the penny in terms of a labourer’s necessities to have been equal in the reign of Henry VIII. to the present shilling. For a penny, at the time of which I write, the labourer could buy more bread, beef, beer, and wins—he could do more towards finding lodging for himself and his family—than the labourer of the nineteenti century can for a shil- ling. I do not see that this admits of question. Turning, then, to the table of wages, it will be easy to ascertain his position. By the 8d ot the 6th of Henry VIII, it was enacted that master carpenters, masons, bricklayers, tylers, plumbers, gla- ziers, joiners, and other employers of such skilled workmen, should give to each of their journeymen, if no meat or drink was allowed, sixpence a day for half 2 year, fivepence a day for the other half; or fivepence halfpenny for the yearly average. The common labourers were to receive fourpence a day for half the year, for the remaining half, threepence. In the harvest months they were allowed to work by the piece, and might earn considerably more; so that, in fact—and this was the rate at which their wages were usually estimated—the day labourer received, on an aver- \ age, fourpence a day for the whole year. Nor was he in danger, except by his own - fault or by unusual accident, of being thrown out of employ ; for he was engaged by contract for not less than a year, and could not be dismissed before his term had ex- pired, unless some gross misconduct could be proved against him before two magis- trates. Allowing a deduction of one day in the week for a saint’s day ora-holiday, he received, therefore, steadily andregularly, if well conducted, an equivalent of twenty shillings a week 3 twenty shillings a week and a holiday; and this is far from being a full account of his advantages. In most parishes, if not in all, there were large ranges of common and uninclosed forest-land, which furnished his fuel to him gratis, where piys might range, and ducks and geese ; where, if he could afford a cow, he was in no danger of being unable to feed it; and so important was this privilege considered, that when the commons began to be largely inclosed, parliament insisted that the working-man should not be without some plece of ground on which he could employ his own and his family’s industry. By the Tth of the 3lst of Eliza- beth, it was ordered that no cottage should be built for residence without four acres of land at lowest being attached to it for the sole use of the occupants of such cot- tage. : Portrait of Henry VITZ. Nature had been prodigal to him of her rarest gifts. In person he is said to have. resembled his grandfather, Edward IV., who was the handsomest man in Europe. His form and bearing were princely; and amidst the easy freedom of his address, his manner remained majestic. No knight in England could match him in the tourna- ment, except the Duke of Suffolk; he drew with ease as strong a bow as was borne by any yeoman of his guard; and these powers were sustained in unfailing vigour by a temperate habit and by constant exercise. Of his intellectual ability we are not left +o judge from the snspicious panegyrics of his contemporaries. His state-papers and letters may be placed by the side of those of Wolsey or of Cromwell, and they Jose nothing in the comparison. — ‘| hough they are broadly different, the perception is equally clear, the expression equally powerful, and they breathe throughont an irresis- tible vigour of purpose. In addition to this, he had a fine musical taste, carefully — cultivated ; he spoke and wrote in fourlanguages; and his knowledge of a multitude of other subjects, with which his versatile ability made him conversant, would have formed the reputation of any ordinary man. He was among the best physicians of his age ; he was his own engineer, inventing improvements im artillery, and new cone structions in ship-building ; and this not with the condescending incapacity of a royal amateur, but with thorough workmanlike understanding. is reading was vas’, especially in theology, which has been ridiculously ascribed by Lord Herbert to his father’s intention of educating him for the archbishopric of Canterbury—as if the scientific mastery of such a subject could have been acquired by a boy of twelve years of age, for he was no more when he became Prince of Wales. He must have studied theology with the full maturity of his understanding ; and he had a fixed, and perhaps unfortunate, interest in the subject itself, In all directions of human activity, Henry displayed natural powers of the highes% order, at the highest stretch of industrious culture. He was ‘ attentive,’ as itis called, \ mR te es ea ee ete pROUDE] © | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 4 to his ‘religious duties,’ being present at the services in the chapel two or three times _ aday with unfailing regularity, and shewing to outward appearance a real sense of ’ religious obligation in the energy and purity of his life. In private, he was good- humoured and good-natured. His letters to his secretaries, though never undigni- fied, are simple, easy and unrestrained; and the letters written by them to him are ' similarly plain and business-like, as if the writers knew that the person whom they _ were addressing disliked compliments, and chose to be treated asaman. Again, _ from their correspondence with one another, when they escribe interviews with _ him, we gather the same pleasant impression. He seems to have been always kind, _ always considerate; inquiring into their private concerns with genuine interest, and _ winning, as a consequence, their warm and unaffected attachment. __~Asaruler, he had been eminently popular. All his wars had been successful. He _ had the splendid tastes in which the English people most delighted, and he had sub- aS eine out his Own theory of his duty, which was expressed in the following crds: ; _ ‘Scripture taketh princes to be, as it were, fathers and nurses to their subjects, and by Scripture it appeareth that it appertaineth unto the office of princes to see ba that right religion and true doctrine be maintained and taught, and that their sub- ~ jects may be well ruled and governed by good and just laws; and to provide and care _ for them that all things necessary for them may be plenteous; and that the people ~ and commonweal may increase; and to defend them from oppression and invasion, _ as well within the realm as without; and to see that justice be administered unto _ them indifferently ; and to hear benignly ali their complaints; and to shew towards _ them, although they offend, fatherly pity.’ ,, __ These principles do really appear to have determined Henry’s conduct in his ear- tier years. He bad more than once been tried with insurrection, which he had soothed down without bloodshed, and extinguished in forgiveness; and London _ long recollected the great scene which followed ‘evil May-day,’ 1517, when the ap- _ prentices were brought down to Westminster Hall to receive their pardons. There _ had been a dangerous riot in the streets, which might have provoked a mild govern- _ ment to severity ; but the king contented himself with punishing the five ringleaders, _ and four hundred other -pri-oners, after being paraded down the streets in white _ shirts with halters round their necks, were dismissed with an admonition, Wolsey ‘weeping as he pronounced it. 2 Death of Mary, Queen of Scots, Feb. 8, 1587. __ Briefly, solemnly, and sternly they delivered their awful message. They informed her that they had received a commission under the great seal to see her executed, and _ she was told that she must prepare to suffer on the following morning. -She was _ dreadfully agitated. For amoment she refused to believe them. Then, as the truth _ forced itself upon her, tossing her head in disdain, and struggling to control herself, - she called her physician, and began to speak to him of money that was owed to her in France. At last it seems that she broke down altogether, and they left her with a fear either that she would destroy herself in the night, or that she would refuse to _ Come to the scaffold, and that it might be necessary to drag her there by violence. _ . Theend hadcome. She had long professed to expect it, but the clearest expecta- _ tion is not certainty. The scene for which she had affected to prepare she was to en» _ Counter in its dread reality, and all lier busy schemes, her dreams of vengeance, her vis- _ ions of a revolution, with herself ascending ont of the convulsion and seating herself _ on her rival’s throne—all were gone. She had played deep, and the dice had gone _ against her __ Yet in death, if she encountered it bravely, victory was still possible. Could she _ but sustain to the Jast the character of a calumniated suppliant accepting heroically _ for God’s sake and her creed’s the concluding stroke of along series of wrongs, she might stir a tempest of indignation which. if it could not save herself, might at least _ Overwhelm her enemy. Persisting, as she persisted to the last,in denying all knowledge of Babington, it would be affectation to crédit her with a genuine feel- _ ing of religion; but the imperfection of her motive exalts the greatness of her . fortitude. To an impassioned believer death is comparatively easy, Se > Dae . é £ eat Bee POP ape ery ea ae Seer Sse O6-o- =. Sa CVCLOPARDIAMOIe a At eight in the morning the provost-marshal knocked «a hich There had been a fear of some religious melodrama which it was thought well to — avoid. Her ladies, who had attempted to follow her. had been kept back also. She | could not afford to leave the account of her death to be reported by enemies and Pu- — vitans, and she required assistance for the scene which she meditated. Missing ~ them, she asked ‘the reason of their absence, and said she wished them to see her die. Kent said he feared they might scream or faint. or attempt perhaps to dip their — handkerchiefs in her blood. She undertook that they shou'd be quiet and obedient. — [ro 1876, = Et, surround his memory, and the many and grievous faults that obscured his life. But when to the good services he rendered to his country, we oppose the sectarian and class warfare that resulted from his pol- icy, the fearful elements of discord he evoked, and which he alone could in some degree control, it may be questioned whether his life © was a blessing or a curse to Ireland.’ : j The aim of every statesman should be, as Mr. Lecky justly con- ceives, to give to Ireland the greatest amount of self-government that is compatible with the union and the security of the empire. Difficult- ies of no ordirary kind surround*this duty, but influences are in operation which must tend towards its realisation. Improved Prospect of Affairs in Ireland. In spite of frequent and menacing reactions, it is probable that sectarian animosity will diminish in Ireland. The general intellectual tendencies of the age are-certainly hostile to it. With the increase of wealth and knowledge there must in time grow up among the Catholics an independent lay public opinion, and the tendency of their politics will cease to be purely sacerdotal. The establishment of perfect religious equality and the setilement of the question of the temporal power of the Pope have removed grave causes of irritation, and united education, if it be steadily maintained and honestly carried out, will at length assuage the bitterness of sects, and perhaps secure for Ireland the inestimable benefit of real union. The division of classes is at present perhaps a graver danger than the division of sects. But the Land Bill of Mr. Gladstone cannot tail todo much to cure it. If it be possible in a society like our own to create a yeoman class intervening between landionds and tenants, the facili- ties now given to tenants to purchase their tenancies will create it; and if, as is probable, it is economically impossible that such a class should now exist to any considerable extent, the tenant class have at least been given an unexampled security —they have been rooted to the soil. and their interests have been more than ever. -identified with those of their landlords. The division between rich and poor is also rapidly ceasing to coincide with that between Protestant and Catholic, and thus the old lines of demarcation are being gradually effaced. A considerable time must -elapse before the full effect of these Changes is felt, but sooner or later they must ex- ercise a profound influence on opinion ; and if they do not extinguish the desire of the people for national institutions, they will greatly increase the probability of their > obtaining them. Mr. Lecky is author of more elaborate works than his Irish volume. et AT pel a Ti he ~ Ki - b His ‘History of Rationalism in Europe,’ 1865, and ‘ History of 3 European Morals from Augustus to Charlemagne,’ 1869, are contri. butions to philosophical history, in which the narrative or historical parts are clear and spirited. ‘Their author was born in the neighbor- hood of Dublin in 1888, and educated at Trinity College. SAMUEL RAWSON GARDINER, A valuable addition to our knowledge of the reigns of James I. and Charles I. has been made by a series of historical works by MR. SAMUEL RAWSON GARDINER. These are—‘ History of England from the Accession of James I. to 1616; ‘ Prince Charles and the Spanish Marriage’ (1617-1623); ‘History of England ‘under the Duke of Buckingham and Charles I.’ (1624-1628). Mr. Gardiner is more fa- fourable to the character of James I, in point of learning and acute’ ae. < < = + b> eed i) PAL — ~, way 4x 2 - ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 31 ness, than most historians, but agrees with all previous writers as to _the king’s want of resolution, dignity, and prudence. ‘It was the great misfortune of James’ character that while, both _ in his domestic and foreign policy, he was far in advance of his age fin ee a oe eee in his desire to put a final end to religious strife, he was utterly unfit to judge what were the proper measures to be taken for the_attain- ment of his object.’ SIR JOHN W. KAYE—LADY SALE, ETC. A number of military narratives and memoirs has been called forth by the wars in India, in Russia, and on the continent. Among the - most important of these are the ‘ History of the War in Afghanistan’ in 1841-42, by Jonn Winiam Kaye (afterwards Sir John), and a ‘History of the Sepoy War in India’ in 1857-58, of which three vol- umes have been published (1876), and a fourth is to follow. The - author says: ‘There is no such thing as the easy writing of history. - If it be not truth it is not history, and truth lies far below the surface. It is a long and laborious task to exhume it. Rapid production is a ‘proof of the total absence of conscientious investigation. For history is not the growth of inspiration, but of evidence.’ Sir John Kaye (born in 1814) served for some time in India, as a lieutenant of artil- lery, but returning to England in 1845, devoted himself to literature. Previous to his histories of the disastrous events in India, he had "written memoirs of Lord Metcalfe and Sir John M alcolm, and an ac- ~ count of ‘Christianity in India.’ He died July 24, 1876. Besides the careful, elaborate work of Sir John Kaye on Afghan- istan, we have a ‘Journal of the Disasters in Afghanistan,’ by Lapy FLORENTIA SALE (‘a woman who shed lustre on her sex,’ as Sir : Robert Peel said); and Lady Sale’s husband, SrrR Roperr Henry SAH, published a ‘Defence of Zellelabad; LreurENant’ VINCENT Eyre wrote ‘ Military Operations in Cabul; J. Haruan, ‘ Memoirs of India and Afghanistan; Mr. C. Nasu, a ‘History of the War in Afghanistan; and there were also published—‘ Five Years in India,’ by H. G. Fane, Esq., late aide-de-camp to the commander-in-chief; ‘ Narrative of the Campaign of the Army of the Indus in Scinde and Cabul,’ by Mr. R. H. KENNEDY; ‘Scenes and Adventures in Afghan- istan,’ by Mr. W. Tayuor; ‘ Letters,’ by CoLonEL DENNIE; ‘ Per- ~ sonal Observations on Scinde,’ by Caprarn T. Posrans, &c. ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE, ‘The Invasion of the Crimea, its Origin, and an Account of its i“ Progress down to the Death of Lord Raglan’ (June 28, 1855), has been described by ALEXANDER WILLIAM KINGLAKE, sometime M.P. for Bridgewater, in an elaborate work, of which’ five volumes have _ been published (1875). Mr. Kinglake’s history is a clear, animated, and spirited narrative, written with a strong animus against Louis ~ Napoleon of France, but forming a valuable addition to our moderna » vest historical literature. Its author is a native of Taunton, born in 1811, 4 educated at Eton and Trinity College, Cambridge. Tle was called to the bar at Lincoln’s Inn in 1857, but retired from the legal pro- — fession in 1856. In 1844 Mr. Kingtake published his experiences of ~ Eastern travel under the. title of ‘ Kothen,’ a work which instantly ~ became popular, and was justly admired for its vivid description and - ‘eloquent expression of sentiment. In the discursive style of Sterne, ~ Mr. Kinglake rambles over the East, setting down, as he says not ~ ; those impressions which ought to have been produced upon any “well- — constituted mind,’ but those which were really and truly received at ~ the time. We subjoin his account of FR BIG: ' ; The Sphynx. 2. A sa And near the Pyramids, more wondrous and more awful than all else in the land s of Egypt, there sits the lonely Sphnyx. Comely the creature is, but the comeliness — is not of this world; the once worshipped beast is a deformity and a monster to this ~ generation, and. yet you can see that those lips, so thick and heavy, were fashioned — according to some ancient mould of beauty—some mould of beauty now forgotten— forgotten because that Greece drew forth Cytherea from the flashing foam of the Aivean, and in her image created new forms of beauty, and made it a law among men that the short and proudly wreathed lip should stand for the sign and the main con- dition of loveliness through all generations to come. © Yet still there lives on the race of those who were beautiful in the fashion of the elder world, and Christian girls of Coptic blood will look on you with the sad, serious gaze, and kiss your charitable hand with the big pouting lips of the very Sphynx. ; : Laugh and mock if you will at the worship of stone idols; but mari ye this, ye breakers of images, that in one regard the stone idol bears awful semblance of Deity —unchangefulness in the midst of change—the same seeming wil!, and imtent for ever and ever inexorable! Upon ancient dynasties of Ethiopian and Egyptian kings — —upon Greek and Roman, upon Arab and Ottoman conquerors—upon Napoleon — dreaming of an Eastern empire—upon, battle and pestilence—upon the ceaseless — misery of the Egyptian race—upon keen-eyed traveliers—Herodotus yesterday, and — Warburton to-day—upon all and more this unworldly Sphynx has watched, and- watched like a Providence with the same earnest eyes, and the same sad, tranquil — mien. And we, we shall die, and Islam will wither away, and the Englishman strain-— ing far over to hold his loved India, will plant a firm foot on the banks of the Nile, — and sit in the seats of the Faithful, and still that sleepless rock will lie watching and ~ watching the works of the new busy race. with those same sad, earnest eyes, and — . the same tranquil mien everlasting. You dare not mock at the Sphynx ! Si ‘ if » ‘sy ¢ AC EMT tat bF4 4 te The Beginning of the Crimean War. a Looking back upon the troubles which ended in the outbreak of war, one sees the — nations at first swaying backward and ferward like a throng so vast asto be helpless, - but afterwards falling slowly into warlike array. And when one begins to search for the man or the men whose volition was governing the crowd, the eye falls upon the towering form of the Emperor Nicholas. He was not single-minded, and therefore — his will was unstable. but it had a huge force; and, since he was armed with the — whole authority of his empire, it seemed plain that it was this man—and only he— who was bringing danger from the north, And at first. too, it seemed that within his _ TES range of action there was none who could be his equal: but in a little whilethe looks — of men were turned to the Bosphorus, for thither his ancient adversary was slowly - bending his way. To fit him for the encounter, the Englishman was clothed with — little authority except what he could draw from the resources of his own mind and — from the strength of his own wilful nature. Yet if was presently seen that those wno were near him fel] under his dominion, and did as he bid-them, and that the circle of deference to his will was always increasing around him; and soon it~ appeared that, though he moved gently, he began to have mastery Over a foe = ie pat, So ie : ‘ ee ey A fs le NGLAKE.] ~~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 23 ho was consumin¢e his stren gth in mere anger. When he had conquered, he stood, Sit were, with folded arms, and seemed Willing to desist from strife. h nd to please the lustiest man of those days, for he watched thein from over the Chan- ay, 80 long as are not to deceive m, they ought to be encouraged, they ought to be made use of, they ought to have he sheltcr they wanted ; and, the Frenchmen agreeing to his conditions, he was ling tolevel the barrier—he called it perhaps false pride—which divided the gov- ‘ment of the Queen from the venturers. of the 2d of December. - In this thought, the moment, he stood almost a'one, but he abided his time. At length he saw spring of 1853~bringing with it grave peril to the Ottoman State. Then, throw- hg aside with a laugh some ‘papers which belonged to the Home Office, he gave his trong shoulder to the levelling work.: Under the weight of his touch the barrier Thenceforth the hindrances that met him were but slight. As he from the first ‘Willed it, so moved the two great nations of the West.~ = : The Mareh. {Both in Turkey and in the Crimea, the left was nearest to the enemy, whilst the tight was nearest to the sea]. Lord Raglan had observed all this, but he had ob- erved in silence: and finding the right always seized by our allies, he had quietly t up with the left. Yet he was not without humour; and bow, when he saw that this hazardous movement along the coast the French were still taking the right, ere was something like archness in his way of remarking that, although the French re bent upon taking precedence of him, their courtesy still gave him the post of nger. This he well might say, for, so far as concerned the duty of covering the nturesome march which was about to be undertaken, the whole stress of the enter- ire was thrown upon the English army. ‘The French force was covered on ita ht flank by the sea, on its front.and rear by the fire from the steamers, and on its t by the English army. On the other hand, the English army, though covered on ight flauk by the French, was exposed iu front, and in rear, and on its whole left to the full brunt of the enemy’s attacks, . . hus marched the streneth of the Western Powers. The sun shone mimer’s day in England, but breezes springing fresh from the sea floated briskly mg the hils. The ground was an undulating steppe alluring to cavalry. It was kly covered with a herb like southernwood; and when the stems were crushed der foot by the advancing columns, the whole air became laden with bitter fra- ce. The aroma was new to some. To men of the western counties of England S$ so familiar that it carried them back to childhood and the village church ; they nembered the nosegay of ‘boy's. love’ that used to be set by the prayer-book of unday maiden too demure for the vanity of flowers, ; each of the close massed columns whieh were formed by our four complete siofis there were more than five thousand foot soldiers. The colours were flying; bands at first were playing ; and once more the time had come round when in this armed pride there was nothing of false majesty; for already vidcttes could Seen on the hillocks, and (except at the spots where our horsemen were marching) re was nothing but air and sunshine. and at int-rvals, the dark form of a single cman, to divide our columns from the enemy. But more warlike than trumpet drum was the grave quiet which followed the ceasing of the bands: The pain ariness had begun. _ Few spoke. ~All toiled. Waves break upon the shore, n0ugh they-are many, still distance will gather their numberless cadences into So also if was with one ceaseless hissing sound that a wilderness of tall erisp- herbage bent under the tramp of the coming thousands. As each mighty column arched on, one hardly remembered -at first the weary frames, the aching limbs Hn Composed it ; for—instinct with its own proper soul and purpose, absorbing the Ons of thousands of men, and bearing no likeness to the mere sum of the beings out of whom it was made—the column itself was the living thing, the - 34 CYCLOP-EDIA OF — [ro 1876. slow, monstrous unit of stren brought into question. But a 3 the army began to make it seen that the columns 1n with the bodies of suffering mortals. WILLIAM HOWARD RUSSELL. — * og ’ The Russian war has been brilliantly illustrated by an eye-witness, Mr. Wiiitam Howarp RUSssELL, * Special Correspondent ’ of the “Times.’ Mr. Russell accompanied the army to the Crimea, and trans- mitted from day to day letters descriptive: of the progress of the troops, the country through which they passed, the people they met, and all the public incidents and events of that dreadful campaign, His picturesque style and glowing narratives deepened the tragic in terest of the war. But the letters told also of griev us Mismanage- ment on the part of the home authorities, and of supineness on the part of certain of our commanders. These details, it is now proved, were in some instances exaggerated; the merits of our allies th French were also unduly extolled; but much good was undoubtedl done by the revelations and comments of the fearless and energetic ‘Correspondent.’ A bad system of official routine was broken i upon, if not entirely uprooted, and a solemn public warning was he c out for tlie future. The benefit of this was subsequently experk enced in India, whither My. Russell also went to record the inck dents of the revolt. His Russian battle-pictures. and descriptio were collected into two volumes, 1855-06; the first giving an accoun of the war from the landing of the troops at Gallipoli to the death 0 Lord Raglan, and the second continuing the history to the evacua: tion of the Crimea. We give a portion of one of his battle-pieces. — a eth which walks the modern earth where empire is ittle while, and then the sickness which had clung to all their pride were things built The Zouaves close to us were lying like tigers at the spring, with ready rifl hand, hidden chin-deep by the earthworks which ran along the line of these on our rear; but the quick-eyed Russians were manceuvring on the — side of the valley, and did not expose their columms to attack. Below Zouaves we could see the Turkish gunners in the redoubts, all in confusion 4 the shclls burst over them. Just as I came up the Russians had : No. 1 Redoubt, the furthest and most elevated of all, and their: h were chasing the Turks across the inverval which lay between it @ pe oe Ae Pte OTe y * “Russett.} ENGLISH LITERATURE, 35 doubt No. 2. At that moment the cavalry, under Lord Lucan, were formed - in giittering masses—the Light Brigade, under Lord Cardigan, in advance; the _ Heavy Brigade, under Brigadier-general Scarlett, in reserve. ‘They were drawn up , ep in front of their encampment, and were concealed from the view of the enemy y a slight ‘wave’ in the pluin. Considerably to the rear of their right, the 93d _ Highlanders were drawn up in line, in front of the approach to Balaklava. Above - and behind them. on the heights, the marines were visible through the glass, drawn up under arms, and the gunners could be seen ready in the earthworks, in which _were placed the heavy ships’guns. ‘he 93d had originally been advanced somewhat - more into the plain, but the instant the Russians got possession of the first redoubt _ they opened fire on them from our own guns, which inflicted some injury, and Sir Colin Campbell ‘retired’ his men to a better position. Meantime the enemy advanced _ his cavalry rapidly. ‘To our inexpressible disgust we saw the Turks in Redoubt No. 2 fiy at their approach. ‘They ran in scattered groups across towards Redoubt No.3, and towards Balaklava; but the horse-hoof of the Cossack was too quick for them, and sword and lance were busily plied among the retreating herd. 's he yells of the pursuers and pursued were plainly audible. As the Janccrs and light cavalry of the Russians advanced, they gathered up their skirmishes with great speed and in _ excellent order—the shifting trails of men. which played all over the valley like - moonlight on the water, contracted, gathered vp, and the little peloton in a few moments became a solid column. ‘then up came their guns, in rushed their gunners to the abandoned redoubt, and the guns of No. 2 Redoubt soon played with deadly effect upon the dispirited defenders of No.3 Redoubt. Two or three shots in return from the earthworks, and allis silent. The Turks swarm over the earth- “works, and run in confusion towards the town, firing their muskets at the enemy as _theyrun. Again’ the solid column of cavalry opens like a fan, and resolves itself into a ‘long spray’ of skirmishers. It laps the flying Turks, steel flashes in the air, and down go the poor Moslem quivering on the plain, split through fez and musket- guard to the chin and breast-belt! There is no support for them. It is evident _ the Russians have been too quick for us. The Turks have been too quick also, for they have not held their redoubts Jong enough to enable us to bring them help. In vain the naval guns on the heights fire on the Russian cavalry ; the dis- tance is too great for shot or shell to reach. In vain the Turkish gunners in the earthen batteries, which are placed along the French intrenchments, strive to pro- tect their flying countrymen ; their shot fly wide and short of the swarming masses. ~ The Turks betake themselves towards the Highlanders, where they check their flight, and form into companies on the flanks “of the Highlanders. As the Russian cavalry on the left of their Jine crown the hill across the valley, they perceive the ’ Highlanders drawn up at tie distance of some half-mile, calmly waiting their ap- proach. They halt, and squadron after squadron flies up from the rear, till they have - a body of some fifteen hundred men along the ridge—lancers,, and dragoons, and hus- »sars. Then they move en échelon in two bodies, with another in reserve. The cav- _ alry, who have been pursuing the Turks on the right, are coming up to the ridge be- ~ neath us, which conceals our cavalry from view. The Heavy Brigade in advance is _drawn up in two lines. The first line consists of the Scots Greys, and of their old companions in glory, the Enniskillens; the second, of the 4th Royal Irish, of the 5th _ Dragoon Guards, and of the Ist Royal Dragoons. The Light Cavalry Brigade is on their left, in two Jines also. The silence is oppressive; between the cannon bursts ~ one can hear the champing of bits and the clink of sabres in the valley below. The Russians on their left drew breath for a moment, and then in one grand line dashed atthe Highlanders. The ground flies beneath their horses’ feet; gathering speed at every stride, they dash on towards that thin red streak topped with a line of steel. - The Turks fire a volley at eight hundred yards, aud run. As the Russians come within six hundred yards, down goes that line of steel infront, and out rings a roll- ing volley of Minié musketry. ‘The distance is too great; the Russians are not checked, but still sweep onward through the smoke, with the whole force of horse _ and man, here and there knocked over by the shot of our batteries above. With * breathless suspense every one awaits the bursting of the wave upon the line of Gaelic rock; but ere they come within a hundred and fifty yards, another deadly volley - flashes from the levelled rifie, and carries death and terror into the Russians. They wheel about, open files right and _left, and fly back faster than theycame. ‘Bravo, - Highlanders! well done!’ shouted the excited spectators; but events thicken. The K sa -. -CYCLOPADIA OF .. [ro 1876, Highlanders and their splendid front are soon forgotten, men scarcely have a mometit < to think of this fact, that the 93d never altered their formation to receive that tide of horsemen, ‘ No,’ said Sir Colin Campbell, ‘I did not think it worth while to for them even four deep!’ The ordinary British line, #wo deep, was quite snfficien fo P: repel the attack of these Muscovite cavaliers. Our eyes were, however, turned in a : “moment On Our own Cavalry. We saw Brigadier-general Scarlett ride along in front of his massive squadrons. The Russians—ev.dently corps @ éte—their hight blue ~ jackets embroidered with silver lace, were advancing on their left. at an easy gallop, - towards the brow of the hill. A forest of lances glistened in their rear, and several __ kquadrons of gray-coated dragoons moved up quickly to support. them as they - * reached the summit. ‘The instant they came in sight the trumpets of our cavalry” gave out the warning-blast, which told us all that in snother moment we should see the shock of battle beneath our very eyes. Lord Raglan, all his staff and escort. and groups of officers. .the Zouaves, French generals and officers, and bodies of French infantry on the height. were spectators of the scene as though they ~ were looking on the stage from the boxes of atheatre. Nearly every one dismounted. | and sat duwn, and not a word was said. The Russians advanced down the bill at a slow canter, which they changed toa trot, and at last nearly halted. ‘Their. first line wes at least double the length of ours—it was three times as deep. Behind - them was a similar line, equally strong and compact. They evidently despised their - -insiguificant-looking enemy; but their time was come. ‘he trrmpets rang out - again through the valley, and the Greys and Enniskilleners wert right at the centre — of the Russian cavalry. The space between them was only a few hundred yards; it-was scarce enough to let the horses ‘gather way,’nor had the men. quite space z sufficient for the full play of their sword-arms. The Russian line brings forward cach wing as our cavalry advance, and threatens to annihilate them as they pass on. — ‘lurning a little to their left, so as to meet the Russian right, the Greys rush on witha — cheer that thrills to every heart—the wild shout of the Enniskilleners rises through — - the sirat the same instant. As lightning flashes through a_cloud.the Greys and — Enniskilleners pierce through the dark masses of Russians. The shock was butfora moment. There was a clash of steel end a light play of sword-bledes in the air, and, i then the Greys and the redcoats disappear in the midst of the shaken and quiver- ~ ing columns. In another moment we see them emerging and dashing on with diminished numbers, snd in broken order, against the second line, which is ad- — vancing against them as fast as it can to retrieve the fortune of the charge. It wasa — terrible moment. ‘God help them! they are lost!’ was the exclamation of more ~ than one man, and the thought of many. With unabated fire the noble hearts dashed ~ ~ at their enemy. It wasa fight of heroes. ‘The firstline of Russians, whichhad been 3 y smashed utterly by.our charge, and had fled off at one flenk and iowaids the centre, were coming back to swallow up our handfnl of men. By sheer steel end sheer courage Enuiskillenér and Scot were winning their desperate way right through the — enemy’s squadrons, and already grey horses and redcoats had appeared right at the J ' rear of the second mass, when, with irresistible force, like one bolt from a bow, the ¥ Ist Royals, the 4th Dragoon Guards, and the 5th Dragoon Gnards rushed at the rem- — ; nants of the first line of the enemy ; went through it as though it were made of paste- — 4 board; and, dashing on the*second body of Russians as they were still disordered by \ the terrible assault of the Greys and their companions, put them to utter rout. This — Russian horse, in less than five minutes after it met our dragoons, was flying with all its speed before a force certainly not half its strength. A cheer burst fromeverylip— ~ in the enthusiasm, officers and men took off their caps and shouted with delight, and ~ thus keeping up the scenic character of their position, they clapped their handsagain | and again. Lord Raglan at once despatched Lieutenant Curzon, aide-de-camp. to- convey his congratulations to Brigadier-general Scarlett, and to say: * Well done!? — The gallant old officer’s face beamed with pleasure when he received the message. ‘I — beg to thank his lordship very sincerely,’ was his reply. The cavalry did not long ~ ursue their enemy. Their loss was very slight, about thirty-five killed and wounde “he in both affairs. There were not more than four or five men killed outright, and our — most material loss was from the cannon playing on our heavy dragoons afterwards, — when covering the retreat of our light cavalry. i : A disastrous scene followed this triumph—the famous Light Cay- alry charge. It had been Lord Raglan’s intention that the cavalry _ / - _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. — + 3? faken from the ‘Turks, or, in detault of this, prevent the Russians rom carrying off the guns at those redoubts.. Some misconception curred as to the order; Captain Nolan, who conveyed the message, Lord Lucan, to mean, that he should attack at all hazards, and the rl of Cardigan, as second in command, put the order in execu- Charge of the Light Brigade. he whole brigade scarcely made one effective regiment according to the numbers yntinental armies; and yet it was more than we Could spare. As they rushed wards the front, the Russians opened on them from the guns ia the redoubt on the ight, with volleys of musketry and rifles. They swept proudly past, glittering in the morning sun in all the pride and splendour of war. We could scarcely believe the evidence of our senses! Surely that handful of men are not going to charge an army in position? Alas! it was but too true—their desperate valour kuew no bounds, and far indeed was it removed from its so-called better part—discretion. Piiey advanced.in two lines, quickening their pace as they closed fowards the enemy. . more fearful spectacle was never witnessed than hy those who. without the power fo aid. beheld their heroic countrymen rushing to the arms of death. At the distance Of twelve hundred yards, the whole line of the enemy belched forth, from thirty iron mouths, a flood of smoke and flame, through which hissed the deadly halls. . Their * The poet-Laureate. Mr. Tennyson, has commentoratcd this splendid but melanchol of war ( Works edit. 1872): roe et The Charge of the Light Brigade. ees I. IV. = ae ee » ; as Higitatenaio, bolt steams, “Flashed alt Hele cabres bare, AL in the ic oot Deg th : Sabring the gunners there, rx Sode-the six PORiKaT ; Charging an-army. while ~4Forward, the Light Brigade! AL bho wovid: wondered : Th Aswan: + ee eT are Plunged in the battery smoke, 4 Bis ine valley ot Death gra Right through the ling they broke— “Rode the six hundred Cossack and Russian } Wr tre Ses “i : Reeled from the sabre stroke ie : Shattered and sundered— | ee 8 LL Then they rode back. but not, ee y Not the six hundred. Forward the Light Brigade!’ > Was there a man dismayed ? . eP _ Not though the soldier knew Cannon to right of them, ~~, some one had blundered : Cannon to left of them, ___ Pheir’s not to make reply, Cannon behind them . Their’s not to reason why, Volleyed and thundered. _ Their’s but to do and die: ag Stormed at with shot and shell, a Into the valley of Death While horse and hero fell. _. Rode the six hundred. They that had fought so well (. Sa . Came through the jaws of Death Be YIN. 7 : Back from the mouth of Hell, my os ; All that was left of them, annon to right of them, Lett of six hundred. Cannon to left of them, VI 5 Cannon in front of them : Volleyed and thundered; When can their glory fade? Stormed at with shot and-shell, O the wild charge they made! — Botdly they rode and well, All the world wondered. Into the jaws of Death, _ Honour the charge they made! nto the mouth of Hell. Honour the light Brigade, ‘Rode the six hundred. — Noble six hundred! ‘ i= - iin the charge; but it was construed by the lieutenant general, a ies - CYCLOPADIA OF - [ro 1876, filght was marked by instant gaps in our ranks, by dead. men and horses, by steeds flying wounded or riderless across the plain. The first line is broken ; it is joivued by the — second; they never halt or check their speed an instant. With diminished ranks,thinned — by those tiirty guns, which the Russians had laid with the most deadly accuracy, — with a halo of flashing steel above their heads, and with a cheer, which was many a — noble fellow’s death-cry, they flew into the smoke of the batteries, but ere they were — Jost from view the plain was strewed with their bodies, and with the carcasses of © horses. They were exposed to an oblique fire from the batteries on the hiils on both . sides, as well as to a direct fire of musketry. Through the clouds of smoke we could — see their sabres flashing as they rode up to the guns and dashed between them, cut-— ting down the gunners as they stood. We saw them riding through the guns, as I~ have said ; to our delight we saw them returning, after breaking through a column of » Russian infantry, and scattering them like chaff, when the flank fire of the battery on the hill swept them, scattered and broken as they were. Wounded men and dis- — mounted troopers flying towards us told the sad tale—demi-gods could not haye done what we had failed todo. At the very moment when they were-about to retreat, an- enormous mass of Jancers was hurled on their flank. Colonel Shewell, of the 8th Hus-— sars, saw the danger, and rode his few men straight at them, cutting his way throngh — with fearful loss. The other regiments turned and engaged in a desperate encounter. With courage too great almost for credence, they were breaking their way through the columns which enveloped them, when there took place an act of atrocity without parallel in the modern warfare of civilised nations. ‘The Russian gunners. when the - storm of cavalry passed, returned to their guns. ‘hey saw their own cavalry mingled — with the troopers who had just ridden over them, and, to the eternal disgrace of the — Russian name. the miscreants poured a murderous volley of grape and. canister on the mass of. struggling men and horses, mingling friend and foe in one common ~ ruin! It was as much as our heavy cavalry brigade could do to cover the retreat of © the miserable remnants of that band of heroes as they returned to the place they had 80 lately quitted in all the pride of life. At thirty-five minutes past eleyen not a Brit-— ish soldier, except the dead and dying, was left in front these bloody Muscovite guns, ~ Mr. Russell is a native of Dublin, born in 1821, and studied at Trinity College. In 1843 he was engaged on the ‘'Times; in 1846 he- was entered of the Middle Temple, and was called to the bar in 1850. In 1856 he received from Dublin University the degree of LL.D. Besides his account of the Crimean war, Dr. Russell has published his ‘ Diary in India; his ‘Diary North and South,’ containing the Te-) sult of observations in the United States; ‘My Diary during the last Great War,’ 1873; and other works. % ARCHIBALD Forsss, like Dr. Russell, engaged on the press as a special correspondent, published an account of the Franco-German war, and ‘ Soldiering and Scribbling,’ a series of sketches, 1872. Mr. Forbes is a native of Banffshire, son of the late Rev. Dr. Forbes, Boharm. , : 4 REV. WILLIAM STUBBS—JOHN RICHARD GREEN. : The ‘Constitutional History of England,’ two vols., 1875, by the Rev. Wiii1am Srusss, is an excellent account of the origin and de- velopment cf the English constitution down to the deposition of Richard IT. The English are not aboriginal—that is, they are not identical with the race that - occupied their home at the dawn of history. They are a people of German descent ~ inthe main constituents of blood, character, and language, but most especially in — connection with our subject, in the possession of the elements of primitive German civilisatien and the common germs of German institutions. This descent is not a _ matter of inference. It is a recorded fact of history, which those characteristics bear out te the fullest degree of certainty. The consensus of historians, placing the con- nest and colonisation of Britain by nations of German origin between the middle of the fifth and the end of the sixth century, is confirmed by the evidence of a continu- ous series of monuments. ‘hese shew the unbroken possession of the land thus occupied, and the growth of the language and institutions thus introduced, either in “purity and unmolested integrity, or, where it has been modified by antagonism and by the admixture of alien forms, ultimately vindicating itself by eliminating the new - and more strongly developing the genius of the old. '_ The four great states of Western Christendom—England, France, Spain, and _ Germany—owe the leading principles which are worked out in their constitutional » history to the same source. In the regions which had been thoroughly incorporated with the Roman empire, every vestige of primitive indigenous cultivation had been ~ crushed out of existence. Roman Civilisation in its turn fell before the Germanic races; in Britain it had perished slowly in the midst of a perishing people, who were able neither to maintain it nor to substitute for it anything of their own. In Gaul and Spain it died a somewhat nobler death, and left more lasting influences. In the greater part of Germany it had never made good its ground. In all four the con- structive elements of new life are barbarian or Germanic, though its development is varied by the degrees in which the original stream of influence has been turned aside in its course, or affected in purity and consistency by the infusion of other elements aud by the nature of the soil through which it flows. The system which has for the last twelve centuries formed the history of France, and in a great measure the character of the French people, of which the present con- dition of that kingdom is the logical result, was originally little more than a simple _ adaptation of the old German polity to the government of a conquered race. The & long sway of the Romans in Gaul had re-created, on their own principles of adminis- tration, the nation which the Franks conquered. The Franks, gradually uniting in religion, blood and language with the Gauls, retained and developed the idea.of feu- _ dal subordination in the organisation of government unmodified by any tendencies towards popular freedom. fn France accordingly feudal government runs its log- - icalcareer. The royal power, that central force which partly has originated, and - partly owes its existence to the conquest, is first limited in its action by the very _ agencies that are necessary to its continuance; then it is reduced to a shadow. The _ shadow is still the centre round which the complex system, in spite of itself, revolves; _ itis recognised by that system as its solitary safeguard against disruption, and its wit- ~ -ness of national identity; it survives for ages, nctwithstanding the attenuation of _ its vitality, by its incapacity for mischief. In course of time the system itself loses oy. aes Dit i | pre tas a vem c? * 4 4). | SCYCLOPADIA-OF @ 5 = Sffeatzons ~ its original energy, and the central force gradually gathers into itself all-the-mem-_ ~ou a field exceptionally favourable, prepared and levelled. by Roman agency under a — = ~ 4 - fe = r. a - eal bers of the nationality in detail, thus concentrating all the powers which in earlier _ struggles they had won from it, and incorporating in itself those very forces which — the teudatories had imposed as limitations on the sovereign power. Soits character — of nominal suzerainty is exchanged for that of absolute sovereignty. The only — checks on the royal power had been the fendatories; the crown has outlived them, — absorbed and assimilated*their functions; but the increase of power is turned not to. the strengthening of the central force, but to the personal interests of its possessor. Actnal despotism becomes systematic tyranny, and its logical result is the explosion — which is called revolution. .'The constitutional history of France is thus the summa- © | tion of the series of feudal development, in- a. logical sequence which is indeed un- — paralleled in the history of any great state, but whica is thoroughly in harmony with ~~ the national character, forming it and formed by it.. We see in it the German sys- tem, modified by its work of foreign conquest, and deprived of its home safeguards, _ wv civil system which was capable of speedy amalgamation, and into whose language : most of the feudal forms readily translated themselves. as. ik Finglish National Unity, 1155-1215 Ap, _ The period is one of amalgamation, of consolidation, of continuous growing —~ together and new development, which distinguishes the process of organic life from - that of mere mechanic contrivance, internal law from external order. o gn ‘The nation becomes one and realises-its oneness; this realisation is mecessary * before the growth can begin.. It is completed under Henry II. and his sons, It ~ finds its first distinct expression in Magna Carta. It isa result, not perhaps of the- — design and purpose of the great king. but of the conyerging lines of the policy by which he tried to raise the people at large, and to weaken the feudatories and the ~ principle of fendalism in them, Henry is scarcely an English king, but he is still jess a French feudatory. In his own eyes he is the creator of anempire. Hernics— — England by Englishmen and for English purposes, Normandy by Normans and for — Norman purposes; the end of all his policy being the strengthening of his own — power. Herecognises the true way of strengthening his power, by strengthening the basis on which it rests, the soundness, the security, the sense of a common ~ interest in the maintenance of peace and order. - , ~ Seotiee 4 The national unity is completed in two ways. The English have united; the 3 _English and the Normans have united also. The threefold division of the districts, — - pears after the reign of Stephen. Theterms are become archaisms which occur in the Dane law, the West-Saxon and the Mercian Jaw, which subsisted so long, disap- : the pages of the historians in a way that proves them to have become obsolete; the writers themselves are uncertain which shires fall into the several divisions.. Traces — of slight differences of custom may be discovered in the varying rules of the county ~ courts, which, as Glanvill tells us, are so numerous that it is impossible to put them ow record; but they are now mere local by-laws, no real evidence of permanent divis-« ions of nationality.. In the same way Norman and Englishmen are one. Frequent ~ intermarriages have so united them, that without a careful investigation of pedigree it cannot be ascertained—so at least the author of the ‘Dialogus de Scaccario’ - aflirms—who is Engtish and who Norman. If this be considered a loose statement, — for scarcely two generations have passed away since the Norman blood was first in- troduced, it is conclusive evidence as to the common consciousness of union. The earls, the greater barons; the courtiers, might be of pure Norman blood, but they = were few in number; the royal race was as much English as it wag Norman. The 3 aumbers of Norman settlers in England are easily exaggerated; it is not probable — tbat except in the baronial and knightly ranks the infusion was very great, and it is 3 very probable indeed that, where there was such infusion, it gamed ground by peace=- able settlement and marriage. It is true that Norman lineage was vulgarly regarded as the more honourable, but the very fact that it was vulgarly so regarded would lead to its being claimed far more widely than facts would warrant: the bestowal of Nor- — man baptismal names would thus supplant, and did supplant, the o!d English ones, — and the Norman Christian name would then be alleged as proof of Norman descent. a But it is far from improbable, though it may not bave been actually proved, that the- vast majority of surnames derived from English places are evidence of pure English ~ PE Peg oe ’ > be d . Se aoe ©) ENGLISH LITERATURE, - 0. a descent, whist only those which are derived from Norman places afford even a pre- sumptive evidence of Norman descent. The subject.of surnames scarcely rises into prominence before the fourteenth century; but an examination of the indices to the Rolls of the Exchequer and Curia Kegis shews a continuous increase in number and importance of persons bearing English names: as early as the reign of Henry I. we find among the barons Hugh of Bochland, Rainer of Bath,-and Alfred of Lincoln, with-many otaer names which shew either that Englishmen had taken Norman names in Baptism, or that Normans were willing to siuk their local surnames in the mass of the national nomenclature. : ~The union of blood would be naturally expressed in unity of language, a point which is capable of being more strictly_tested.. Although French is for along period the language of the palace, there is no break in the continuity of the English as a literary language. It was the tongue, not only of the people of the towns aid ~ villages. but of a large proportion of those who could read and could enjoy the pur- — suit of knowledge. The growth of the vernacular literature was perhaps retarded - by the infiux of Norman lords and clerks, and its character was no doubt modified - by foreign influences under Henry IT. and_his sons, as it was in a far greater degree ' affected by the infusion of French under Henry III. and Edward 1.; but it was never ‘stopped. It was at its period of slowest growth as rapid in its development as were most of the other literatures of Europe. Latin was still the language of Jearning, > -of law, and of ritual. ‘the English had to struggle with French as well as with ' Jatin for its hold on the sermon and the popular poem; when it had forced its way to light, the books in which it was used had their own perils to utdergo from the - ’~ contempt of the learned and the profane familiarity of the ignorant. But the fact ~~ that it survived, and at last prevailed, is sufficient to prove its strength. ' A ‘Short History ofthe English People,’ by Joun RicHarp '~ GREEN, Examiner in the Schoolof Modern History, Oxford, 1875, * has been exceedingly popular. "Though somewhat inaccurate in de: tails, the-work is lively, spirited, and picturesque, and must be in- valuable in imbuing young minds with a love of history, and espe- _ cially of that of the British nation. The opening sentence, for exam- - pie, at once arrests attention: . eee Old England. _ ~ For the fatherland of the English race we must look far away from England ~ itself. Im the fifth century after the birth of Christ, the one country which bore the » name of England was what we now call Sleswick. a district-in the heart of the penin- > sula which parts the Baltic from the porthern’seas. Its pl*9 strongest and most powerful in the confederacy. Although they were all known as _. Saxons by the Roman people, who touched them only on their ‘southern border Re 4 & _ where the Saxons dwelt, and who remained ignorant of the very existence of the _ English or the Jutes, the three tribes bore among themselves the name of the cen- ' tral tribe of their league, the name of Englishmen. Mr. Gr2en has also published a volume of ‘Stray Studies’ (1876), in ' which are some fine descriptive sketches of foreign placcs—Cannes, _ San Remo, Venice, Capri, &c. 42 CYCLOPEDIA OF fro"1876. SIR, THOMAS ERSKINE MAY. | & eX A continuation to Hallam’s ‘ Constitutional History,’ though not expressly designated as such, appeared in 1861-63, entitled ‘The Constitutional History of England since the Accession of George III.’ | (1760-1860), by Str THomas Ersxrne May, K.C.B., three vclumes. To the third edition (1871) a supplementary chapter was added, bringing down the political history of the country to the passing of the Ballot Bill in 1871. The work is able and impartial, and forms a valuable repertory of political information and precedents. ‘Con- tinually touching upon controverted topics,’ says the author, ‘I have endeavoured to avoid as far as possible the spirit and tone of contro- versy. But, impressed with an earnest conviction that the develop- ment of popular liberties has been safe and beneficial, I ds not affect to disguise the interest with which I have traced it through all the events of history.’ The historian was born in 1815, and was called to the bar in 1888.. In 1856 he was appointed Clerk-assistant of the House of Commons, and in 1871 he succeeded to the higher office of Clerk. He had previously (in 1866) been made a Knight Commander ofthe Bath. Sir Thomas has wiitten several treatises on the law, usages, and privileges of Parliament, and contributed to the ‘ Edin- burgh Review’ and other journals. : ‘ Free Constitution of British Colonies. ; It has been the destiny of the Anglo-Saxon race to spread through every quarter of the globe their courage and endurance, their vigorous industry, and their love of freedom. Wherever they have founded colonies, they have borne with them the Jaws and institutions of England as their birthright, so far as they were applicable to an infant settlement. In territories acquired by conquest or cession, the existing laws and customs of the people were respected, until they were qualified to share the franchises of Englishmen. Some of these—held only as garrisons—others peopled with races hostile to our rule, or unfitted for freedom—were necessarily governed upon different principles. But in quitting the soil of England to settle new colonies, Englishmen never renounced her freedom. Such being the noble principle of Eng- lish colonisation. circumstances favoured the early development of colonial liberties. The Puritans, who founded the New England colonies, having fled from the oppres- sion of Charles I., carried with them a stern love of civil liberty, and established re- publican institutions. The persecuted Catholics who settled in Maryland, and the yroscribed Quakers who took refuge in Pennsylvania, were little less democratic. Other colonies founded in America and the West Indies, in the seventeenth century, merely for the purposes of trade and cultivation, adopted institutions—less demo- cratic, indeed, but founded on principles of freedom and self-government. Whether established as proprietary colonies, or under charters held direct from the crown, the colonists were equally free. ; The English constitution was generally the type of these colonial governments. The governor was the viceroy of the crown; the legislative council, or upper chamber, appointed by the governor, assumed the place of the House of Lords; and the representative assembly, chosen by the people, was the express image of the House of Commons. This miniature parliament, complete in all its parts, made laws for the internal government of the colony. The governor assembled, prorogued, and dissolved it: and signified his assent or dissent to every act agreed to by the chambers. The Upper House mimicked the dignity of the House of Peers, and the ~ Lower House insisted on the privileges of the Commons, especially that of origina- ting all taxes and grants of n.oney for the public service. The elections were also J 74 eee reek — fh Oe =F te’ S art: 4 hl - > a, ee io we bie a Es Sway) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 83 “eonducted after the fashion of the mother-country. Other laws and institutions were copicd not less faithfuily. * Every colony was a little state, complete in its legislature, its judicature, and its executive administration. But at the sume time, it acknowledeed the sovereignty of the mother-country, the prerogatives of the crown, and the legislative supremacy of parliament. The assent of the king’or his representative, was required to give validity to acts of the colonial legislature ; his veto annulled them; while the imperial parliament was able to bind the colony by its acts, and to supersede all local legisla- tion. Every colonial Judicature was also subject to an appeal to the king in council, at Westminster. The dependence of the colonies, however, was little felt in their . Internal government. They were secured from interference by the remoteness of the mother-country, and the ignorance, indifference, and preoccupation of her rulers. In matters of imperial concern, England imposed her own policy, but otherwise left them free. Asking no aid of her, they escaped her domination. All their expendi- . ture, civil and milita:y, was defrayed by taxes raised by themselves. They provided _for their own defence against the Indians, and the enemies of England. During the Seven Years’ War the American colonies maintained a force of twenty-five thousand men, at a cost of several millions. In the words of Franklin: ‘They were governed at he emypenee to Great Britain of only a little pen, ink, and paper: they were led by a thread.’- CLEMENTS R. MARKHAM—H. M. STANLEY—WILLIAM MASSEY. The British consul in Abyssinia, Mr. Cameron, and other Europ- eans, having been. detained captives by Theodore, emperor of Abys- sinia (1868), an expedition was fitted out for their release, under the command of Sir Robert Napier (now Lord Napier of Magdala), which resulted in the defeat of the Abyssinians, the conquest of their capital city, Magdala, and the recovery of the English captives, The emperor, ‘Theodore, committed suicide. .A ‘ History of the Abyssin- ian Expedition’ was published in 1869 by CLEMENTS ROBERT Mark- HAM, who accompanied the expedition as geographer. Mr. Mark- _ ham had served in the navy, and in the expedition in search of Sir John Franklin. He was born in 1880, is author of ‘Travels in Peru and India,’ a ‘ Life of the Great Lord Fairfax’ (1870), ‘ Spanish. Irri- gation’ (1867), and various geographical papers. A volume by Henry M. STanuey, the adventurous special correspondent of the ‘New York Herald,’ appeared in 1874, entitled ‘Coomassie and Magdala, the Story of two British Campaigns in Africa.’ Mr. Stan- ley said: ‘ Before proceeding to Abyssinia as a special correspondent ‘ot the ‘‘ New York Herald,” Lhad been employed for American jour- nals—though very young—in the same capacity, and witnessed several stirring scenes in our civil war. I had seen Americans fight: J had seen Incians fight; I was glad to have the opportunity of seeing how Englishmen fought. In Abyssinia I first saw English soldiers prepared for war.’ And Mr. Stanley acknowledged that more bril- . liant successes than attended these two campaigns which England. undertook in Africa, in behalf of her honour, her dignity, humanity, and justice, are not recorded in history. ‘A History of England during the Reign of George III.,’ by W1- LIAM MaAssry, M.P., is a popular work, exhibiting no great research, but impartially and pleasantly written. It deals chiefly with the progress of society, and the phases of social life and manners. : a —— F< ~ ‘ ¥ x — ae CYCLOPADIA OF : Gambling in the Last Century: ~ Patel The vice which, above all others, infested English society during the greater part of the eighteenth century, was gaming. Men aud women, the old_and the young, beaux and statesmen, peers and apprentices,,the learned and polite, as well as the ignorant and vulgar, were alike Involved in the vortex of play. Horse-racing, cock-fighting, betting of every description, with the ordinary resources of cards and dice, were the chief employment of many, and were tampered with more or-tess by “ almost every person in the higher ranks of life. The proprictary clubs—White’s, = Brookes’s, Boodle’s—were originally instituted to evade the statute against public > _~ gaming-houses. But every fashionable assembly was a gaming-house. Large balls: aud routs had not yet come in vogue. ~ Tracery of England,’ which had also been published in the previous — year. ~The ‘ Architecture of Landaff Cathedral’ followed, and then ~ the ‘ History and Conquest of the Saracens’ in 1856, Yhe ‘History of Federal Government’ appeared in 1863. The first volume of ‘The Norman Conquest of England’—which was merely introductory— appeared in 1867, and the second in 1868, both reaching a second =~ edition in 1870, whilst the third volume was published in 1869, the : fourth in 1872, and the fifth in 1876. The ‘ Popular Old English His- tory’ was published in 1871, as well as ‘ Historical Essays,’ collected _ from various reviews. Mr. Freeman’s ‘ History of the Norman Con- quest ’ may be ranked among the great works of the present century. oi, (and Ss ee = * See 1 et NJ- *. ENGLISH LITERATURE.” ~ 45 Death of. William the Conqueror, Sept, 9, 1087. _ . The death-bed of William was a death-bed of all formal devotion, a death-bed of penitence which we may trust was more than formal. The English Chronicler -- (William of Malmesoury], after weighing the good and evil in him, sends him out of -_ the world with a charitable prayer for his soul’s rest; and his repentance, late and fear- ' ful as it was, at once marks the distinction between the Conqueror on his bed of death and his successor cut off without a thought of penitence in the midst of his -crimes. He made his will. he mammon of unrighteousness which he had gathered together amid the groans and tears of Hngland he now stroye so to dispose of as to pave his way to an everlasting habitation. All his treasures were distributed among the poorand the churches of his dominions. arrangements which he wished to make for his dominions after his death. The Nor- mans, he said, were a brave and unconquered race; but they needed the curb of a » strong and arighteous master to keep them in the path of order. Yet the rule over - them must by all law pass to Robert. Robert was his eldest born; he had promised . ' him the Norman succession before he won the crown of England, and he had received _ the homage of the barons of the Duchy. Normandy and Maine must therefore pass * to Robert, and for them he must be the mau of the French king. Yet he well knew _ how sad would be the fate of the land which had to be ruled by one so proud and _ foolish, and for whom a career of shame and sorrow was surely doomed. But what was to be done with Englind? Now at last the heart of William smote ~ him. -To England he dared not appoint-a successor ; he could only leave the dis- posal of the isiand realm to the Almighty Ruler of the-world. ‘the evil deeds of his _ past life crowded upon hissoul. Now at last his heart confessed that he had won ' England by no right, by no claim of birth: that he had won the English crown by _ wrong, and that what he had won by wrong he had no right to give to another. He --had won his realm by warfare and bloodshed; he had treated the sons of the English _ 5011 with needless harshness; he had cruelly wronged nobles and commons; he had spoiled many men wrongfully of their inheritance; he had slain countless multitudes _ by hunger or by the sword. The harrying of Northumberland now rose. up before his eyes in all its blackness. The dying man now told how cruelly he had burned " and plundered the land, what thousands of every age and sex among the nowle na- _ tion which he had conquered had been done to death at his bidding. The sceptre of > the realm which he had won by so many crimes he dared not hand over to any but, _ toGodalone. Yet he would not hide his wish that his son William, who had ever _ been dutiful to him, might reign in England afte: him. He would send him beyond _ the sea, and he wouid pray Lanfranc to-place the crown upon his head, if the Pri- _ mate in his wisdom deemed that such an act could be rightly done. -___Of the two sons of whom he spoke, Robert-was far away, a banished rebel; _ Wiiliam was by his bedside. By his bedside also stood his youngest son, the Eng- ~ lish Aitheling. Henry the Clerk. ‘And what dost thou give to me, my father?’ said the youth. ‘Five thousand pounds of silver from my hoard,’ was the Conqueror’s ' answer. ‘But of what use isa hoard to me if I have no place to dwellin2?’ ‘Be ' patient, my son, and trust in the Lord, and let thine elders go before thee,’ It is perhaps by the light of later events that our chronicler goes on to make William tell _ his youngest son that the day would come when he would sueceed_ both his brothers: - in their dominions, and would be richer and mightier than either of them. The king _ then dictated a letter to Lanfranc, setting forth his wishes with regard to the kingdom. He sealed it and gave it to _his son William, and bade him, with his last blessing and his last kiss, to cross at once into England. William Rufus straightway set forth _ for Witsand, and there heard of his father’s death. Meanwhile Henry, too, left his _ father’s bedside to take for himself the money that was left to him, to see that ~ nothing was lacking in its weight, to call together his comrades on whom he could > trust, and to take measures for stowing the treasure in a place of safety. __ And now those who stood around the dying king began to implore his mercy for _ the captives whom he held in prison. He granted the prayer. ... : = ___- The lust earthly acts of the Conqueror were now done. He had striven to make _ his peace with God and man, and to make such provision as he could for the children 46 CYCLOPADIA.OF © <7? *-[10 1846, and the subjects whom he had left behind him. And now his last hour was come. On a ‘thursday morning in September, when the sun had aneee risen upon the earth, the sound of the great bell of the metropolitan minster struck on the ears of the dying king. He asked why it sonnded. He was told that it rang for prime in 2 iS oe 0, 29 i a the church of our Lady. William lifted his eyes to heaven, he stretched forth his — hands, and spake his last words: ‘lo my Lady Mary, the Holy Mother of God, I commend myself, that by her holy prayers sbe may reconcile me to her dear Son, our Lord Jesus Christ.? He prayed, and his soul passed away. William, king of the English and duke of the Normans, the man whose fame has filled the world in his own and in every following age, had gone the way of all flesh. No kingdom was left ae ros but his seven feet of ground, and even to that his claim was not to be un- isputed. The death of a king in those days came near to a break-up of all civil society. Till a new king was chosen and crowned, there was no longer a power in the land to pro- tect or to chastise. All bonds were loosed; all puplic authority was in abeyance; each man had to look to his own as he best might. No sooner was the breath out of William’s body than the great company which had patiently watched around him during the night was scattered hither and thither. The great men mounted their horses and rode with all speed to their own homes, to guard their houses and goods against the outburst. of lawlessness which was sure to break forth now that. the land had no longer a ruler. Their servants and followers, seeing their lords gone, and deeming that there was no longer any fear of punishment, began to make spoil of the royal chamber. Weapons, clothes, vessels, the royal bed and its furniture, were carried off, and for a whole day the body of the Conqueror lay well-nigh bare on the floor of the room in which he died. ~ With the fourth volunie of his history Mr. Freeman ended what he termed his tale—the tale of the Norman Conquest of England. He had recorded the events which made it possible for a foreign prince to win and to keep England as his own. In the fifth volume he traced the results of the Conquest—the fusion of races—which was accomplished with little or no violence during the reign of William’s son, Henry—and the important changes that then took place in the language and arts of the English people. 5 JOHN HILL BURTON. The history of Scotland was left by Mr. FrRAseR TyTLER at the » period of the union of the crowns under James VI. A subsequent por- tion has been fully treated by Mr. Joun Hitt Burton, advocate, in a work, entitled ‘History of Scotland from the Revolution to the Ex-- > tinction of the last Jacobite Insurrection’ (1689-1748), two volumes, — 1858. This work has received the approbation of Lord Macaula and all other historical readers; it is honestly and diligently executed, with passages of vigorous and picturesque eloquence—as the account of the battle of Killiecrankie, and the massacre of Glencoe. We subjoin part of the historian’s notice of the Scottish language and literature. The Scottish Language after the Period of the Revolution. The development of pure literature in Scotland had; for half a century after the Revolution, to struggle with a peculiar difficulty arising out of the tenor of the na- tional history. The languages of England and cf Lowland Scotland, speaking of both in a general sense, were as entirely taken from a northern Teutonic stock com- mon to both, as the languages of Essex and Yorkshire. Like other national charac- pristics, the language of Scotland took a direction severing itself from that of Eng- ¥ + t= We: StF pes ~ os Sg Re ve er a eS. . / * 7 e q ~ ‘ a 4 4 > eee BURTON. | _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 47 S _ land after the War of Independence. Centuries elapsed, however, ere the distinctive peculiarities of each had gone far in its own direction, and away from the other. The earliest material change was in the language of England by the infusion of the Nor- man, while Scotland kept closer to the Old Saxon stock. ‘Thus itis that Scottish writers of the age of Gower and Chaucer—such as Barbour, the Archdeacon of Ab- erdeen, and Wyntoun, the monk of Lochleven—wrote a language more intelligible to the present age than that of their English contemporaries, because it is not so sensi- bly tinged with Gallicisms. France had subsequently, as we have seen, a great £0- cial and constitutional influence in Scotland, which brought a few foreign terms into use, but it scarcely touched the structure of the language. This gradually assumed a purely national, or, as it came to be deemed when Scotland was becoming absorbed into the British community, a provincial tongue. The Scottish poets of the sixteenth century wrote in a language as different from the English as we might suppose the Norse of the same age to be from the Danish. John Knox, who lived much in _ England, was charged with the affected employment of English novelties, because he attempted so to modify the Scottish peculiarities as to make his works read- able to his fiiends beyond the Border. It was felt, indeed, in his day that the Scottish - tongue-was becoming provincial, and those who desired to speak beyond a mere home audience wrote in Latin. Hence arose that class of scholars headed by Bu- chanan, who almost made the language of Rome vernacular to themselves. ‘Those who are acquainted with the epistolary correspondence of learned Scotsmen in the seventeenth century, will observe how easily they take to Latin—how uneasy and diffident they feelin the use of English. Sometimes, indeed, the ancient language is evidently sought asa relief, when the writer is addressing one to whom he cannot use a Scottish expression, while he is unable to handle the corresponding English idiom. But Latin was dying away as the common language of literature and sci- ence. Each great nation was forming her own literary tongue. The revolution was completed within the time embraced in this history. But Scotland had not kept an independent literary language of her own, nor was she sufficiently expert in the use of that which had been created in England. Hence, in a great measure, we can dis- - tinctly account for the literary barrenness of the country. The men may have ex- isted, but they had not the tools. An acquaintance with the correspondence of Scots- _ men, for the first half century after the Revolution, shews the extreme difficulty which even those who were high in rank dnd well educated felt in conveying their thoughts through a dialect imperfectly resembling the language of ‘The Spectator.’ - Any attempt to keep up a Scottish literary language had been abandoned in prose before the Revolution. In verse, incidental causes made it seem asif the struggle were still continued. The old Scottish melodies, so mysterious in their origin, never ceased to have the charm of musical association for the people. Mr. Burton subsequently completed his Scottish history with seven more volumes, ‘The History of Scotland from Agricola’s Invasion to the Revolution of 1688’ (1867-1870). These latter volumes fully sus- tained the author’s reputation for research, discrimination, and liter- ary ability. A second edition, carefully revised, has been published. Mr. Burton has made further additions to our knowledge of Scottish literature and society by his valuable ‘Life and Correspondence of David Hume,’ 1846, his ‘ Lives of Lord Lovat and Duncan Forbes of, Culloden,’ 1847—both works written from family papers and other original sources of information—and his ‘ Narratives from Criminal Trials in Scotland.’ In 1862 he produced a very amusing and inter: esting volume, ‘The Book-Hunter,’ containing ‘sketches of the ways of book-collectors, scholars, literary investigators, desultory readers, and other persons whose pursuits revolve round books and literature.’ In 1864 appeared ‘The Scot Abroad,’ two volumes—a work, like the former, consisting of sketches and anecdotes, and referring to the relations of Scotland and Scotsmen with foreign countries. As a ing mine he has been a successful labourer : his ‘ Political and Social Economy,’ 1849, is a little volume giving a clear and popular sum~- mary of this science, and he has extracted from the mass of Jeremy Bentham’s works a very readable collection of ‘Benthamiana.” To the “ Westminster Review,’ ‘Blackwood’s Magazine,’ and other lit- erary journals, Mr. Burton has been an occasional contributor. This able and indefatigable littérateur is a native of Aberdeen, the son of a military officer, and born August 22,1609. Tle was adiit- ted to the Scottish barin 1831. In 1854 he was appointed secretary -to the Prison Board of Scotland. Mr. Burton has received from Edinburgh University the degree of LL.D. ~ Among other notable contributions to history may be cited the fol- lowing: ‘Scotland in the Middle Ages,’ 1860, and ‘ Sketches of Early — Scotch History,’ 1861, by Cosmo INNxEs (1798-1874). Mr. Innes was- Professor of History in the University of Edinburgh, and the two yolumes we have named contain the substance of his lectures. They are interesting works as illustrating the social progress, the church — organisation, the university and home life of the people, and are written in a pleasing, graphic style. Less popular, but more exact, ‘is ‘Scotland under Her Karly Kings,’ 1862, by E. WinL1AM RoBErt- s0N, which contains a history of the kingdom to the close of the thir- teenth century. . * MISS STRICKLAND. Miss AGNES STRICKLAND (1801-1874), authoress of historical me- moirs of the Queens of England and Scotland, was a native of Suf- folk, daughter of Thomas Strickland, Esq., of Reydon Hall. Her first publication was a poetical narrative, ‘ Worcester Field, or the Cavalier; she also wrote a tale, ‘Demetrius; but she soon struck > into that path for which she seemed best fitted—historical composi- tion. She wrote historic scenesand stories for ehildren, and in 1835 produced the ‘Pilgrims of Walsingham,’ constructed on the plan of Chaucer’s ‘Canterbury Pilgrims.’ She then, aided by a sister, Miss Elizabeth Strickland, entered upon her elaborate work, ‘ Lives of the Queens of England from the Norman Conquest,’ twelve volumes, 1840-49. Of this work, a second edition was published in 1851, in eight volumes. The English history was followed by. ‘ Lives of the Queens of Scotland and English Princesses connected with the Regal Succession of Great Britain,’ eight volumes, 1850-59... The life of Mary, Queen of Scots, in this work is written with great fullness of detail and illustration, many new facts having been added by study of the papers in the Register House, Edinburgh, and documents in the possession of the Earl of Moray and the representatives of other an- cient families. The collection of Mary’s letters by Prince Labanoff ease ee ke 5 .: ee eee ce aad Sipe Sain por, a re as Sie a : < = " sTRICKLAND.] -~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. pete SE he ae ee Ee also afforded new materials, not available to previous historians of _ the unfortunate queen. In 1868 Miss Strickland published ‘ Lives of * ~ the Seven Bishops.’ In 1871 she received a pension of £100 a year. : Queen Mary and the Lords of Council at Lochleven Castle, 6 The conspirators, calling themselves the Lords of Secret Council, having com- pleted their arrangements for the long-meditated project of depriving her of her crown, summoned Lord Lindsay to Edinburgh, and on the 23d of July delivered to ~ a hinrand Sir Robert Melville three deeds, to which they were instructed to obtain her ‘signature, either by flattering words or absolute force. The first contained a declara- re x tion, as if from herself, ‘ that, beiug in infirm health,and worn out with the cares of 1 See area she had taken purpose volunturily to resign her crown and office to her 5 earest son, James, Prince of Scotland.’ In the second, ‘her trusty brother James, _ Earl of Moray, was constituted regent for the prince her son, during the minority of _ the royal infant.’. The third appointed a provisional council of regency, consisting - of Morton and the other Lords of Secret Council, to carry on the government till _. Moray’s return; or, in case of his refusing to accept it, till the prince arrived at the legal age for exercising it himself. Aware that Mary would not easily be induced to - execute such instruments, Sir Robert Melville was especially employed_to cajole her into this political suicide. That ungrateful courtier, who had been employed _ and trusted by his unfortunate sovereign ever since her return from France, and had received nothing but benefits from her, undertook this office. Having obtained _ a private-interview with her, he deceitfully entreated her to ‘sign certain deeds that -- would be presented to-her by Lindsay as the only means of preserving her life, which, ~ he assured her, was in the most imminent danger.’ Then he gave her a turquoise _ ring, telling her ‘it was seni to her from the Karls of Argyle, Huntly, azd Athole, Secretary Lethington, and the Laird of Grange, who loved her majesty, and had by that token accredited him to exhort her to avert the peril to which she would be ex- posed, if she ventured to refuse the requisition of the Lords of Secret Council, whose - designs; they well knew, were to take her life, either secretly or by_a mock-trial _ among themselves.’ Finding the queen impatient of this insidious advice, he pro- - ' duced a letter from the English ambassador Throckmorton, out of the scabbard of _ his sword, telling her ‘he had concealed it there at the peril of his own life, in order _ to convey it to her ’—a paltry piece of acting, worthy of the parties by whom it had been devised, for the letter had been written for the express purpose of inducing _ Mary to accede to the demission of her regal dignity, telling her, as if in confidence, _ ‘that if was tke queen of England's sisterly advice that she should not irritate those” _ who had her in their power, by refusing the only concession that could save her life ; _ and observing that nothing that was done under her present circumstances could be _ of any force when she regained her freedom.’ Mary. however, resolutely refused té P Bien the deeds; declaring, with truly royal courage, that she would not make here _ Self a party to the treason of her own subjects, by acceding to their lawless requisi- _ tion. which, as she truly alleged. ‘ proceeded only of the ambition of a few, and was _ far from the desire of her people.’ : : ' _ The fair-spoken Melville having reported his ill success to his coadjutor Lord _ Lindsay, Moray’s brother-in-law, the bully of the party, who had been selected _ for the honourable office of extorting by force from the royal captive the concession _~ she denied, that brutal ruffian burst rudely into her presence, and, flinging the deeds - violently upon the table before her,.told her to sign them without delay, or worse _ would befall] her. ‘What!’ exclaimed Mary, ‘shall Il set my hand to a deliberate falsehood, and, to gratify the ambition of my nobles, relinquish the office God hath given to me, to ny son, an infant little more than a year old, incapable of governing _the realm, that my brother Moray may reign in his name?’ She was. proceeding to demonstrate the unreasonableness of what was required of her, but Lindsay con- _ temptuously interrupted her with scornful laughter ;: then, scowling ferociously upon ther, he swore witha deep oath, ‘that if-she would not sign those instruments, he would do it with her heart’s blood, and cast her-into the lake to feed the fishes.’ ' Full well did the defenceless woman know how capable he was of performing his threat, having seen his rapier reecking with human blood shed in her presence. when he assisted at the butchery of her unfortunate secretary. The ink was scarcely dry os J 50 CYCLOPEDIA OF - [ro 1876. of her royal signature to the remission she had granted to him for that outrage ; but, reckiess of the fact that he owed his life, his torfeit lands, yea, the very power of injuring her, tv her generous clemency, he thus requited the grace she had, in evil hour for herself, accorded to him. Her ‘heart was too full to continue the unequal contest. ‘1am not yet five-and-tweuty,’ she pathetically observed ; somewhat more she would have said, but her utterance failed her, and she began to weep with hysterical emotion. Sir Robert Melville, affecting an air of the deepest concern, whispered in her ear an earnest entreaty for her *to save her life by signing the papers,’ reiterating ‘that whatever she did would be invalid because extorted by force.’ Mary’s tears continued. to flow, but sign she would not, till Lindsay, infuriated by her resolute resistance, sware ‘ that having begun the matter, he would also finish it then and there,’ forced the pen into her reluctant hand, and, according to the popular version of this scene of lawless violence, grasped her.arm in the struggle so rudely, as to leave the prints of his mail-clad fingers visibly impressed. In an access of pain and terror, with streaming eyes and averted head, she affixed her regal sig- nature to the three deeds, without once looking upon them. Sir Walter Scott alludes to Lindsay’s barbarous treatment of his hapless queen in these nervous lines: And haggard Lindsay’s iron eye, That saw fair Mary weep in vain. _ > George Douglas the youngest son of the evil lady of Lochleven, being present, . indignantly remonstrated wiih his savage brother-in-law, Lindsay, for his miscon- duct; and though hitherto employed as one of the persons whose office it was to keep guard over her, he became from that hour the most devoted of her friends and -champions, and the contriver of her escape. His elder brother, Sir William Douglas, . the custellan, absolutely refused to be present; entered a protest against the wrong that. had been perpetrated under his roof; and besought the queen to give him a letter of exoneration certifying that he had nothing to do with it, and that it was against his consent—which letier she gave him. This oft-repeated story of Moray’s deceit and Lindsay’s ferocity cannot be accepted as historical truth. Private journals and corres- pondence have thrown much light on modern English history. Family pride or cupidity has in some instances led to undue disclo- sures of this description, breaking down the barrier between public and private life; and already most of the secrets of the courts of | George III. and IV., with domestic details and scandal, have been* published. We have had the ‘ Diaries and Correspondence of the f£arl of Malmesbury,’ four volumes, 1845-44; the ‘ Grenville Papers,’ four volumes, 1852-53; the ‘Memorials and Correspondence of Charles James Fox,’ edited by Lorp Jonn Russeut, three volumes, 1853-54; the ‘Correspondence of the Marquis of Cornwallis,’ three volumes 1859 and ‘Memoirs of the Court of George LV.,’ 1820-80, by the Duke of Buckingham, two volumes, 1859; &c. ‘The late emi- nent statesman, Str Ropert PEEL (1788-1850), solicitous concerning his reputation for political. integrity, left behind him ‘Memoirs, explanatory cf his views and conduct on the Roman Catholic question, 1828-29; the government of 1834-35; and the repeal of the: corn-laws, 1845-46. The work was published, in two volomes, 1856- 57, but is only a meagre collection of public papers and stale argu iments, The ‘History of the Captivity of Napoleon at St. Telena, from the Letters and Journals of the late Sir Hudson Lowe,’ by Mz. WILLIAM Ba Ley >See We ate . Po ~ 5 Ri i ; : BE es : _STRICKLAND.}. ENGLISH LITERATURE. BL Forsytu, barrister, three volumes, 1858, is a painful and humilia- ting record. ‘The conduct of the exiled military chief was marked by disingenuous artifice and petty misrepresentation—by weakness - and meanness almost incredible. But Sir Hudson Lowe was not the fit person to act as governor: he was sensitive, quick-tempered, and of a blunt, unpleasing address. __~ Among other works well deserving of study are the ‘ Lectures on -. Modern History, from the Irruption of the Northern Nations to the _ Close of the American Revolution,’ two volumes, 1848, by Win.iamM _ Smytu (1764-1849), some time Professor of Modern History in Cam- _ bridge. The successor of Mr. Smyth as historical lecturer in the university of Cambridge, Sir JAMES STEPHEN, published ‘Lectures on the History of France,’ two volumes, 1851. Sir James was well known from his long connection with the Colonial Office as under- _ secretary—which office he resigned in 1848—and for his eloquent critical and ‘historical contributions to the ‘Edinburgh Review.’ Some of these he collected and published under the title of ‘Essays _ on Ecclesiastical Biography,’ two volumes, 18538. ° Sir James died in - 1859, aged 70. The writings of Mr. THomas Wrient, a distinguished archeolo- gist, in illustration of early English history, are valuable. These are *Biographia Britannica Literaria,’ or biography of literary characters of Great Britain and Ireland, during the Anglo-Norman and Anglo- - Saxon periods, two volumes, 1842-46; and ‘The Celt, the Roman, and the Saxon,’ 1852. Other short contributions connected with the Middle ages have been produced by Mr. Wright, and he has edited the ‘Canterbury Tales’ of Chaucer, and the ‘ Visions of Piers Ploughman.’ : The ‘Criminal Trials in Scotland,’ from 1428 to 1624, by Roprerr -Prircarrn, W.S.—who died in 1855—form also a valuable contribu- tion to the history of domestic life and manners. Of a different character, but delightfully minute and descriptive, is a volume by - Mr. Rosert Waite, Newcastle (1802-1874), a ‘History of the Bat- tle of Otterburn,’ fought in 1388, with memoirs of the chiefs engaged in the conflict. The same author has written a copious ‘History of _ the Battle of Bannockburn,’ 1871. The ‘Archeology and Prehistoric - Annals of Scotland,’ by Mr. Danret Wixson, Professor of English Literature in Toronto College, Canada, published in 1851 ; and ‘ Cal- _ edonia Romana,’ a descriptive account of the Roman antiquities of Scotland, published in 1845, embody the results of long and careful study. Mr. J. J. A. Worsaan, a Danish archeologist, has given an ‘Account of the Danes and Norwegians in England, Scotland and ~ Jreland,’ in 1852. Mr. Worsaae was commissioned by the King of _ Denmark to investigate the memorials of the ancient Scandinavians which might still be extant in this country. DEAN Sranuey has brought local knowledge and antiquarian studies to bear upon gen- ‘eral history in his ‘Memorials of Canterbury,’ 1855; in which we ee in Bei oa > », y ~aea ar Cae) > a. 82> 7 *S.*CYCLOPADIA OFS" = ye = =|te Teyom oh s : 4 2 ex : - EN Spay é AT: 2 have details of the landing or Augustine, the murder of Thomas-2. — Becket, the Black Prince, and Becket’s shrine. . oie ' Family histories are good helps to the general historian. Sir” Walter Scott hung with delight over the quaint pages of ‘old Pits. cottie,’ or the ‘ History of the Houses of Douglas and Angus,’ by ~ David Hume of Godscroft, 1644. The great novelist edited another ~ work of the same kind, the ‘Memorie of the Somerviles,’ written by — a Lord Somerville of the times of Charles I. One of the most in-- teresting and complete works of domestic annals is one published in- 1840; ‘Lives of the Lindsays, or a Memoir of the Houses of Crawford | ~ and Balcarres, by Lord Lindsay,’ four volumes. The Lindsays were of the race ofthe Normans that settled in England under the Con-— queror, and two brothers of the family established themselves in ~ Scotland in the twelfth century. . é peat A ‘History of Roman Literature’ has been written by JoHn ' Duntop, Esq. From the earliest period to the Augustan age is com? , prised in two volumes, and a third volume is devoted to the Augustan age. Mr. Dunlop is author also of a ‘ History of Fiction,’ three vol-_ umes, 1814. _ His latest production was ‘ Memoirs of Spain during the Reigns of Philip IV. and Charles I%.,’ 1621 to 1700, two volumes 1834. Mr. Dunlop was a Scottish advocate, sheriff of Renfrewshire; he died in'1842. fe Some ‘ Historical Memoirs’ by Mr. Marx Napter, advocate, pos- -gess interest if not value. The first is ‘Memoirs of John Napier. of Merchiston’ (born 1550, died 1617). It is remarkable that so emi- nent a man as the inventor of logarithms should have been without a special biographer until the year 1°34, the date of Mr. Mark Napier’s~ book. The strange combination it presents of abstruse theological studies, a belief in the art of divination and other superstitions, and great scientific acquirements, all meeting in the character of the old Scottish laird, a solitary student in fierce tumultuous times, gives a picturesqueness and attraction to the story of his life. Mr. Napier’s next work, ‘Memoirs of the Marquis of Montrose,’ two volumes, 1856, contains original letters of the military hero, and other docu- ments from charter-rooms, essential to the history of Montrose. Mr. Napier in 1859 produced the ‘Life and Times of John Graham of- Claverhouse, Viscount Dundee,’ three volumes. Mr. Napier writes” in the spirit of a keen partisan. ‘ with no attempt,’ he says, ‘ to | by the purists in composition.’ Indeed his writing’ is such as we should expect the Baron of Bradwardine to indite if he took up th pa historic pen, though the Baron would have.had more courtesy tor wards opponents. Mr. Napier, however, is eager in pursuit of infor- mation, and gives his discoveries unmutilated. ‘This veteran defender of the Jacobite chiefs was in 1820 admitted a memberof the Scottish” bar, and is sheriff of Dumfriesshire “ ee LOCKHART.] © “ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~~ 58 Ake MR. LOCKHART—DBHAN STANLEY. . ~ : Several important biographical works have already been noticed in ‘connection with the authors whose lives were related. The number - Of new works in this department of our literature continues daily to increase, but it is only necessary to notice such as have an original - character, or derive special interest from the name and talents of the biographer. _ -Wlemoirs of the Life of Sir Walter Scott, Bart., by J. G. Locx- - HART, Esq.; his Literary Executor,’ seven volumes, 1837, makes the “nearest approach, in fullness of detail, literary importance, and . - general interest, to Boswell’s ‘Life of Johnson.’ The near relation- ship of the author to his subject might have blinded his judgment, yet the Life is written in a fair and manly spirit, without either sup- - pressions-or*misstatements that could alter its essential featyres: * Into the controversial points of the memoir we shall not enter: the author has certainly paid too little deference and regard to the feel- / ings of individuals ; and in most of his conclusions with regard to i the Messrs. Ballantyne, we believe him to have been wrong ; yet far - - more than enough remains to enable us to overlook these blemishes. - The fearless confidence with which all that he knew and believed is laid before the public, and Scott presented to the world exactly as he - was in life—in his schemes of worldly ambition as in his vast literary - undertakings—is greatly to be admired, and well deserves its meed of * praise. The book, in the main, exhibits a sound and healthy spirit, ~ calculated to exercise a great influence on contemporary literature. _ Asan example and guide in real life, in doing and in suffering, it is - equally valuable. ‘The more,’ says Mr. Lockhart, ‘the details of Scott’s personal history are revealed and studied, the more power- - fully will that be found to inculcate the same great lessons with his works. Where else-shall we be better taught how prosperity may be “extended by bencficence, and adversity confronted by exertion ? - ~ Where can we see the ‘‘ follies of the wise” more strikingly rebuked, and a character more beautifully purified and exalted than in the “passage through affliction to death ? His character seems to belong to some elder and stronger period than ours ; and, indeed, I cannot help likening it to the architectural fabrics of other ages which. he “most delighted in, where there is such a congregation of imagery and tracery, such endless indulgence of whim and fancy, the sublime blending here with the. beautiful, . and there contrasted with the gro- tesque—half perhaps seen in the clear daylight, and half by rays - tinged with the blazoned forms of the past—that one may be apt 7 to get bewildered among the variety of particular impressions, and ~ uot feel either the unity of the grand design, or the height and solid- ness of the structure, until the door has been closed on the labyrinth © of aisles and shrines, and you survey it from a distance, but still within its shadow.” 54. CYCLOP#DIA OF — « . In 1843 Mr. Lockhart published an abridgment of his Life of 4 Scott, embracing only what may be called more strictly narrative, to which he made some slight additions. One of these we subjoin : - The Sons of Great Men. The children of illustrious men begin the world with great advantages, if they know how to use them; but this is hard and rare. There is risk that in the flush of youth, favourable to all illusions, the filial pride may be twisted to personal vanity. isorowth, it is apt to do so with a severity that shall ‘When experience checks this misgr each the best sources of moral and intellectual development. The great sons of yreat fathers have been few. It is usual to see their progeny smiled at through life. for stilted pretension, or despised, at best pitied. for an inactive, inglorious pitta “4 The shadow of the oak is broad, but noble plants seldom rise within that circle. It was fortunate for the sons of Scott that his day darkened in the morning of theirs. , — The sudden calamity anticipated the natural effect of observation and_ the collisions of society and business. All weak, unmanly folly was nipped in the bud, and soon — withered to the root. They were both remarkably modest men, but in neither had the@etter stimulus of the blood been arrested. Much light is thrown on the Seott and Ballantyne dispute, and on the Scotch literature of the period, by ‘ Archibald Constable, and his Literary Correspondence ; a Memorial by his Son, Thomas Consta- _ ble,’ three volumes, 1878. Mr. Lockhart’s ‘Life of Burns,’ originally published in 1828, made — a valuable addition to the biographical facts in Dr. Currie’s memoir ~ of the poet. It is finely written, in a candid and generous spirit, and contains passages—that describing Burns’s appearance among the savans of Edinburgh, his life at Ellisland, &c., which mark the hand ~ of the master. ate eee i he a os eS eee ae Pt al Se er on een a Burns on his Farm at Ellisland. 'It is difficult to imagine anything more beautiful, more noble, than what such a ee as Mrs. Dunlop might at this period be supposed to contemplate as the pro- | able tenor of his [Burns’s] life. What fame can bring of happiness he had already tasted ; he had overleaped, by the force of his genius. all the painful barriers of SO- _ ciety ; and there was probably not a man in Scotland who would not have thought — himself honoured by seeing Burns under his roof He had it in his own power to — place his poetical reputation on a level with the very highest names, by proceeding — in the same course of study and exertion which had originally raised him into pub- — lic notice and admiration. Surrounded by an affectionate family, occupied but not — engrossed by the agricultural labours in which his youth and early manhood had de- _ lighted, communing with nature in one of the loveliest districts of his native land, : and, from time to time, producing to the world some immortal addition to his verse —thus advancing in years and in fame, with what respect would not Burns have been — thought of ; how venerable in the eyes of his contemporaries—how hallowed in those — of after-generations, would have been the roof of Ellisland, the ficld.on which he ~ ‘bound ey day after his reapers,’ the solemn river by which he delighted to wal- — der! The plain of Bannockburn would hardly have been holier ground. «= As a reviewer, Mr. Lockhart’s critiques were principally biogra-— phical; and his notices of Campbell, Southey, Theodore ook, Jef-— frey, and others will be recollected by most readers of the ‘ Quarterly — Review.’ The sharp, clear, incisive style, and the mixture of scho-— lastic taste with the tact of the man of the world, distinguish them ali. The biography of Burns afterwards received minute examina= tion and additional facts from Dr. Robert Chambers and Dr, P.j Hately Waddell. = tee fe - | — - LOCKHART.) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 58 ‘The Life and Correspondence of Dr. Arnold,’ by Artnur P. STANLEY (now dean of Westminster), two volumes, 1844, is valuable as affording an example of a man of noble, independent nature, and also as furnishing a great amount of most interesting information relative to the public schools of England, and the various social and political questions which agitated the country from 1820 to 1840. — Whether agreeing with, or dissenting from, the views of Dr. Arnold, _ it is impossible not to admire his love of truth and perfect integrity of character. In intellectual energy, decision, and uprightness he re- -sembled Johnson, but happily his constitutional temperament was as elastic and cheerful as that of Johnson was desponding and melan- ~choly. We add a few scraps from Arnold’s letters and diary, which form so interesting a portion of Dean Stanley’s memoir. Few Men take Life in Earnest. T meet with a great many persons in the course of the year, and with many whom JT admire and like; but what I feel daily more and more to need, as life every year rises more and more before me in itstrue reality, is to have intercourse with those who take life in earnest. It is very painful to me to be always on the surface of things; and I feel that literature, science, politics, many topics of far greater interest _ than mere gossip or talking about the weather, are yet, as they are generally talked about, still upon the surface—they do not touch the real depths of life. It is notthat I want much of what is called religious conversation—that, I believe, is often on the surface, like other conversation—but I want a sign which one catches as by a sort of _ masonry, that a man knows what he is about in life, whither tending, in what cause engaged ; and when I find this, it seems to open my heart as thoroughly, and with as - fresh a’ sympathy, as when I was twenty years younger. Tlome and Old Friends. These are times when I am least of allinclined to loosen the links which bind me - to my oldest and dearest friends; for I imagine we shall all want the union of all the - good men wean get together ; and the want of sympathy which I cannot but feel - towards many of those whom I meet with, makes me think how delightful it would be to have daily intercourse with those with whom I ever feel it thoroughly. What people do in middle life, withont a wife and children to turn to, I cannot imagine ; _ for [ think the affections must be sadly checked and chilled, even in the best men, by their intercourse with people such as one usually finds them in the world. Ido not mean that one does not meet with good and seusible people; but then: their minds are set, and our minds are set, and they will not, in mature age, grow into each other; but with a home filled with those whom we entirely love and sympathise with, and with some old friends, to whom one can open one’s heart fully from time ‘to time, the world’s society has rather a bracing influence to make one shake off mere dreams of delight. . London and Mont Blane. August 1, 1887.—We passed through London, with which I was once so familiar ; and which now I almost gaze at with the wonder of a stranger. That enormous city, grand beyond all other earthly grandeur, sublime with the sublimity of the sea or of mountains, is yet a place that I should be most sorry to call my home. - fact, its greatness repels the notion of home; it may be a palace, but it cannot bea home. How different from the mingled greatness and sweetness of our mountain -yalleys! and yet he who were strong in body and mind ought to desire rather, if he “must do one, to spend all his life in London. than all his life in Westmoreland. For “not yet can energy and rest be united in one, and this is not our time and place for rest, but for energy. a August 2, 1839,—-1 am come oui alonc, my dearest, to this spot, to see the morning oe ] : a S % * odie cs ta Be af oot , *s MS p> eee m ~ br ot : = r eS 56 CYCLOP-EDIA OF 3 = 3 pasos 8 76a . So ey ma ae gun on Mont Blane and on the lake, and to look with more, I trust, than ‘otitward | eyeson this glorious scene. Ii is overpowering, like all other intense beauty, if you~ dwell upon it; but I contrast it immediately with our Rugby horizon, and our. life of~ duty there, and our cloudy sky of England—clouded socially, alas! far more darkly - than physically. But, beautiful as this is,~and peaceful, may I never breathe a wish- to retire hither, even with you and our darlings, if it were possible; but may I he - ‘strengthened to labour, and to do and to suffer in our own beloved country and > church, and to give my life, if so called upon. for Christ’s cause and for them. - And — if—as I trust it will—this rambling and this beauty of nature in foreign lands, shall have strengthened me for my work at home, then we may both rejoice that we haye had this little parting. 2h x ~ = eS GG STR WILLIAM STIRLING-MAXWELL. The ‘Cloister Life of the Emperor Charles V.,’ 1852, by WILLIAM | Stiriine, of Keir (mow Sir William Stirling-Maxwell, Bart.), sup-— plies deficiencies and corrects errors in the popular account of the emperor in Robertson’s History. He had access-to documents un: | known to Robertson, and was, besides, more familiar with Spanish — literature. This work, it must be confessed, destroys part of the © romance of the life of Charles, while it adds materially to our knowl- edge of it. For example, Robertson states that the table of the em-— peror was ‘neat and plain,’ but Sir William draws a very different © picture of the cuisine: — ite ~~ . ae nai - its ag Epicurean Habits of the Emperor Chartes V. : In this matter of eating, as in many other habits, the emperor was himself a true” Fleming. His early tendency to gout was increased by his indulgence at table, which — generally far exceeded his feeble powers of digestion. Roger Ascham, standing ‘hard by the imperial table at the feast of golden fleece,’ watched with wonder the emperor's — ~ progress through ‘ sod beef, roast mutton, baked hare,’ after which * he fed well offa_ capon,’ drinking also, says the Fellow of St. John’s, ‘the best that ever I saw} he | had his head in the glass five times.as long as any of them, and never drank‘ess than ~ a good quart at once of Rhenish wine.’ Eating was now the only physical gratifica~— tion which he could still enjoy, or was unable to resist. He continued, therefore, t6— dine to the last upon the rich dishes, against which his ancient and trusty confessor, — Cardinal Loaysa, had protested a quarter of a century before. The supply of his ible ‘Was a main subject of the correspondence between the mayordomo and the secretary of state, The weekly courier from Valladolid to Lisbon was ordered to change his route that-he might bring, every Thursday, a provision of eels and other rich fish — (pescado grueso) tor Friday’s fast. There was a constant demand for anchovies, — tunny, and other potted fish, and sométimes a complaint that the tronts of the Goun- try were too small; the olives, on the other hand, were too large, and the emperor wished. instead, for olives of Perejon. One day, the seeretary of state was asked” for some partridges from Gama, a place from whence -the emperer remembers that the Connt.of Orsono once sent him, into Flanders, some of the best partridges ‘in the world. Auother day, sausages were wanted ‘of the kind which” the” queen Juana, now in glory, used to pride herself in making, in the Flemish ~fashion, at Tordesillas, and for the receipt for which the secretary is referred to. the Marquess of Denia,’ Both orders were punctually executed. The sausages, ~ although sent to a Jand supreme in that » anufacture, gave great satisfaction. Of the partridges, the emperor said that-they used to be better, Onter pe NOW Orel the remainder to be pickled, The emperor’s weakness being generally known OF soon discovered, dainties of all kinds were sent to him as presents. Mutton, pork and game were the provisions most easily obtained at Xarandilla; but they dear. The bread was indifferent, and nothing was good and abundant but chestnar¢ the staple food of the people. But in a very few days the castle larder wanted f nothing. One day the Count of Oropesa sent an offering of game; another day = — Lo a eS a _~ ~ . , > Pings : ~ >, 2 MAXWELL.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 2 pair of fat caives arrived fromthe archbishop of Zaragoza; the archbishop of Toledo and the Duchess of Frias were constant and magnificent in their gifts of venison, fruit, and preserves ;. and supplies of ali kinds came at regular intervals from Seville, and from Portugal. Luis Quixada, who kuew the emperor’s habits and constitution well. beheld with dismay these long trains of mules Jaden, as it were, with gout and bile. He never acknowledged the receipt of the good things from Valladolid with- out adding some dismal forebodings of consequent mischief; and along with an order he sometimes couveyed a hint that it would be much better if no means were found of executing it. If the emperor made a hearty meal without being the worse for it. the mayordomo noted the fact with exultation : and he remarked with complacency his majesty’s fondness for plovers, which he considered harmless. But his office of urveyor was more commonly exercised under protest; and he interposed between is master and an eel-pie as, in other days, he would have thrown himself between the imperial person and the point of a Moorish lance. : The retirement of the emperor took place on the 3d of February 1557. He carried with him to his cloister sixty attendants—not twelve, as stated by Robertson; and in his retreat at Yuste he wielded the royakpower as firmly as he had done at Augsburg or Toledo. Kis ‘regular life, hovever, had something in it of monastic quiet—his time was measured out with punctual attention to his various em- ployments; he fed his pet birds or siuntered among his trees and flowers, and joined earnestly in the religious observances of the monks. The subjoined scene is less strikingly painted than in Rob- ertson’s narrative, but is more correct: The Emperor performs the Funeral Service for Himself. About this time [August 1558], according to the historian of St. Jerome, his - thoughts seemed to tun more than usua! to religion andits rites. Whenever during _ his stay at Yuste any of his friends, of the degree of princes or knights of the fleece, had died, he had ever been punctual in doing honour to their memory, by causing _ their obsequies to be performed by the friars; and these lugubrious services may be said to have formed the festivals of the gloomy_life of the cloister. The daily masses said for his own soul were always accompanied by others for the souls of his father, mother, and wife. But now he ordered further solemnities of the funeral kind to be erformed in behalf of these relations, each on a different day. and attended them imself, preceded by a page bearing a taper, and joiing in the chant, in a very de- vout and audible manner, out of a tattered prayer-book. These rights ended, he - asked his confessor whether he might not now perform his own funeral, and so do - for himself what would soon have to be done for him by others. Regla replied that _ his majesty, please God. might live many years, and that when his time came these ' services would be gratefully rendered. without his taking any thonght about the mat- ter. - ‘ But,’ persisted Charles, ‘ would it not be good for my soul?’ The monk said, that certainly it would ; pious works done during life being far more efficacious than | * 5 . when postponed till after death. Preparations were therefore at once set on foot: a catafa’que, which had served before on similar occasions, was erected ; and on tire following day, the 30th of August, as the monkish historian relates, this celebrated Service was actually performed. The high altar. the catafalque, and the whole church shone with a blaze of wax-lights; the friars were all in their’places, at the - altars, and in the choir, and the household of the emperor attended in deep monrne- ing. ‘The pious monarch himself was there, attired in sable weeds. and bearing a _ taper, to see himself interred and to celebrate his own obsequies.’ While the solemn _ mass for the dead was sung, he came forward and gave his taper into the hands of the officiating priest, in token of his desire to yield his soul into the hands of his _ Maker. High above, over the kneeling throne and the gorgeous vestments, the ~ flowers, the curling incense, and the glittering altar. the same idea shone forth in _ that splendid cauvas whereon Titian had pictured Charles kneeling on the threshold _ of the heavenly mansions prepared for the blessed... . me oF.L.V.8—3 k 2 age a x E> ‘a 38 i CYCLOPAIDIA OF = [ro 1876, The funern)-rites ended, the emperor d.ned in his western alcove. He ate ‘tittle, fut he remained fora great part of the afternoon sitting in the open air, and bask. fnz in the sun, which, as it descended to the hcrizon, beat strongly upon the white walls. Feeling a violent pain in his head, he returned to his chamber and lay down, Mathisio, whom he had sent in the morning to Xarandrilla to attend the Count of _ Oropesa 15 his illness, found him when he returned still suffering considerably, and attributed the pain to his having remained too long in the hot sunshine. Next morning he was somewhat better, and was able to get up and go to mass, put still felt op- pressed, and complained much of thirst. He told his confessor, however, that the service of the day before had done him good. The sunshine again tempted him into his open gallery. Ashe sat there, he sent for a portrait of the empress, and hung for some time, lost in thought, over the gentle face, which, with its blue eyes, auburn hair, and pensive beauty, somewhat resembled the noble countenance of that — other Isabella, the great queen of Castile. He next called for a picture of Our Lora — Praying in the Garden, and then for asketch of the Last Judgment, by Titian. Having looked _ his last upon the image of the wife of his youth, it seemed as if he were now bidding farewell, in the contemplation of his other favourite pictures, to the noble art which he had loved with a love which cares, and years, and sickness could not quench, and that will ever be remembered with his better fame. Thus oc- — cupied, he remained so long abstracted and motioniess, that Mathisio, who was on the watch, thought it right to awake him from his reverie. On being spoken to, he © turned round and complained that he was ill. The doctor felt his pulse, and pro-— nounced him in a fever. Again the afternoon sun was shining over the great walnut — tree, full into the gallery. From this pleasant spot, filled with the fragrance of the ~ arden and the murmur of the fountain, and bright with glimpses of the golden — Vera, they carried him to the gloomy chamber of his sleepless nights, and laid him - on the bed from which he was to rise 10 more. = a The emperor died in three weeks after this time—on the 21st of September 1558. Sir William Stirling-Maxwell’s narrative, we need hardly add, is at once gracefvl and exact. Its author has written another Spanish memoir—‘ Velasquez and his Works,’ 1855. There was little to tell of the great Spanish painter, whose life was uni-— formly prosperous; but Sir William gives sketches of Philip TV. and his circle, and adds many critical remarks and illustrations. He — prefers Velasquez to Murillo or Rubens. Sir William Stirling-Max-— well succeeded to the baronetcy and estate of Pollok (Renfrewshire) — in 1865. He was born at the paternal seat of Keir, in Perthshire, in~ 1818; is an M.A. of Cambridge University, and LL.D. of the uni- | versities of Edinburgh and St. Andrews. , 4 Velasquez’s Faithful Colour-grinder. She TS Oe Juan de Pareja, one of the ablest, and better known to fame as the slave of Velas- — quez, was born at Seville in 1606. His parents belonged to the class of slaves then numerous in Andalusia, the descendants of negroes imported in large numbers into Spain by the Moriscos in the sixteenth century ; and in the African hue and features — of their son, there is evidence that they were mulattoes, or that one or other of them was a black. It is not known whether he came into the possession of Velasquez by purchase or by inheritance, but he was in his service as early as 1623, when he accompanied him to Madrid. Being employed to clean the brushes, grind the col- ours, prepare the palettes, and do the other menial work of the studio, and living amongst pictures and painters, he early acquired an acquaintance with the imple-— ments of art, and an ambition to use them. He therefore watched the proceedings — af his master, and privately copied his works with the eagerness of a lover and the secrecy of a conspirator. In the Italian journeys in which he accompanied Velasquez, — he seized every opportunity of improvement; and in the end he became an artist of no mean skiJi. But his nature was so reserved, and his candle §0 jealously concealed under its bushel, that he had returued from his second visit to Rome, and had reached — fs = ifs eee See ar. es ‘ ; i> : = MAXWELL. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 59 _ the mature ago of forty-five, before his master became aware that he could use the __ brushes which he washed. When at last he determined on laying aside the mask, he _ contrived that it should be removed by the hand of the king. Finishing a small pic- _ ture with peculiar care, he deposited it in his mastéz's studio, with its face turned to _ the wall. A picture so placed arouses curiosity, and is perhaps more certain to _ attract the eye of a loitering visitor than if it were hung up for ine purpose of being seen. When Philip IV. visited Velasquez, he never failed to cause the daub or the _ masterpiece that happened to occupy such a position to be paraded for his inspec- 5 tion. He therefore fell at once into the trap, and being pleased with the work, asked _ for the author. Pareja, who took care to be at the royal elbow, immediately fell on his knees, owning his guilt, and praying for his majesty’s protection. “The good-na- _ tured king, turning to Velasquez, said: ‘You see that a painter like this ought not to _ Yremain a siave.’ Pareja, kissing the royal hand. rose from the ground a free man. _ His master gave him a forma] deed of manumission, and received the colour-grinder asascholar. The attached follower, however, remained with him till he died; and _-continued in the service of his daughter, the wife of Mazo Martinez, until his own ~ death, in 1670. : G. H. LEWES. _ Mr. Grorcr Henry Lewes, eminent as a philosophical essayist, citic and biographer, has written two novels—‘ Ranthorpe,’ 1847; and ~ Rrose, Blanche, and Violet,’ 1848. In the former, he traces the _ moral influence of genius on its possessor, and though there is little _ artistic power evinced in the plot of the tale, it is a suggestive and able work. In his second novel, which is longer and much more skilfully constructed, Mr. Lewes aims chiefly at. the delineation of character. His three sisters, Rose, Blanche and Violet, are typical _ dfdifferent classes of character—the gay, the gentle and the decided; and as each of the ladies forms an attachment, we have other char- acters and contrasts, with various complicated incidents and love- passages. The author, however, is more of a moral teacher than a _ story-teller, and he sets himself resolutely to demolish what he con- _siders popular fallacies, and to satirise the follies and delusions _ prevaleut in society. Here is one of his ethical positions: Superiority of the Moral over the Intellectual Nature of Man. _ Strength of Will is the quality most needing cultivation in mankind. Will is the central force which gives strength and greess to character. We overestimate _ the value of ‘lalent, because it dazzles us; and we are apt to underrate the import- ance of Will, because its works are less shinirz. ‘Talent gracefully adorns life; but _4t is Will which carries us victoriously through the struggle. Intellect is the ~ torch which lights us on our way; Will is the strong arm which rough-hews the path forus. The clever, weak man sees all the obstacles on his path; the very ‘orch he carries, being brighter than that of most men, enables him, perhaps, to sce _ what the path before him may be directest, the best—yet it also enables him to see ~ the crooked turnings by which he may, us he fancies, reach the goal without encoun- tering difficulties. If. indeed, Inteilect were a snn, instead of a torch—if it irradi- tated every corner and crevice—then would man see how, in spite of every obstacle _ the direct path was the only safe one, and he would cut the way throngh by manful labour. But constituted as we are. it.is the clever, weak men who stumble most—the _ strong men who are most virtuous and happy. In this world, there cannot be virtue - without strong Will; the weak ‘know the right, and yet the wrong pursue.’ . No one, I suppose, wif accuse me of deifying Obstinacy, or even mere brute ‘Will; nor of depreciating Intellect. But we have had too many dithyvrambs in _ honour of mere Intelligence; and the older I grow, the clearer I see that Intellect : > (TO 876, - 60 . CYCLOP/EDIA OF . y is not the highest faculty in man, although the most brilliant. Knowledge, afterall, ~ isnot the greatest thing in life; 1t is not the ‘be-all and the end-all here.’ Lifeis — not Science. ‘The ight of Intellect is truly a precious light ; but its aim and end is + simpiy toshine. ‘the morsl nature of inan is more sacred in my eyes than his intel- lectual nature. I know they cannot be divorced—thaé without intelligence we — should be brutes—but it is the tendency of our gaping, wondering dispositions to — give pre-eminence to those faculties which most astonish us. Strength of character — seldom, if ever, astonishes; goodness, lovingness, and quiet self-sacrifice are worth all the talents in the world. ' " And in the following we have a sound, healthy doctrine which has also received the support of Thackeray: ; r Real Men of Genius resolute Workers. ‘a There is, in the present day, an overplus of raving about genius, and its pre- — scriptive rights of vagaboadage, its irresponsibility, and its insubordination to all — the laws of common sense. -Common sense is so prosaic! Yetit appears from the — history of art tnat the real men of genius did not rave about anything of the kind. They were resolute workers, not idle dreamers. ‘hey knew that their genius was — not a frenzy, not a supernatural thing at all, but simply the colossal proportions of faculties which, in’a lesser degree, the meanest of mankind shared with them.. They knew that whatever it was, it would not enable them to accomplish with success the things they undertook, unless they devoted their whole energies to the task. - _ Would Michael Angelo have built St. Peter’s, sculptured the Moses, and made — the walls of the Vatican sacred with the presence of his gigantic pencil, had he — awaited inspiration while his works were in progress? Would Rubens have dazzled all the gilleries of H1rope, had h2 allowed his brush. to hesitate ? would Beethoven and Mozart have poured out their souls into such abundant melodies? would Goethe _ haye written the sixty volumes of his works—had they not often, very often, sat y down like dradges to an unwilling task, and found themselves speedily engrossed — with that to which they were so averse ? + “ % ‘Use the pen,’ siys the thoughtful anl subtle author: ‘there is no magic in it; ~ but it keeps the mind from staggering about.” This is an aphorism which should he — priuted in letters of gold over the studio door of every artist. Use the pen or the — brush ; do not pause, do not trifl2, have no misgivings; but keep your mind from Staggering about by fixing it resolutely on the matter before you, and -then all that — youcan do you will do; inspiration will not enable you to do more. Write or paint: — act, do not hesitate. If what you have written or painted should turn out imperfect, — you can correct it, and the correction will be more efficient than that correction which ~ takes place in the shifting thoughts of hesitation. You will learn from your failures _ infinitely more than from the vazue wandering reflections of a mind loosened from ~ its moorings; besau32 the failure is absolute. it is precise, it stands bodily before you, — your eyes and judgmnt cannot be juggled with, you know whether a certain verse is — harm9i0us, whether the rhyme is there or not there; but in the other case you not only can juggle with yourself, but do so, the yery indeterminateness of your thoughts — mikes you do so ; as long as the idea is not positively clothed in its artistic form, it — . ’* is impossible accurately to say what it will be. The magic of the ven lies in theeon- ceatratios of your thoughts upon one subject. Let your pen fall, begin to. trifle — wit biotting-paper, look at the ceiling, bite your nails, and otherwise dally with your — purpose, and yon waste your time. scatter your thoughts, and repress the nervous — energy necessary for your task. Some men dally and dally, hesitate and trifle until — the last possib!e moment, and when the printer’s boy is knocking at the door, they — begin; necessity guading them, they write with singular rapidity, and with singular success; they are astonished at themselves. What is the secret? Simply this; they — -have had no time to hesitate. Concentrating their powers upon the one object bes — fore them, they have done what they cow/ld do. <3 Impatient reader! if I am tedious, forgive me. These lines may meet the eyes of some to whom they are specially addressed, and may awaken thoughts in their minds — not unimportant to their future career. Forgive me, if only because I have taken — what is called the prosaic side! I have not flattered the shallow sophisms which — would give a gloss to idleness and incapacity. I have not ayuiled myself of the _ | a } ~LEWES.} _ - ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 61 “~ splendid tirades, so easy to write, about the glorious privileges of genius. My - *preaching’ may be very ineffectual, but at anyrate it advocates the honest dignity _ Of labour; let my cause excuse my tediousness. Mr. Lewes isa native of London, born in 1817. He received his education partly abroad and partly from Dr. Burney at Greenwich. - Being intended for a mercantile life, he was placed in the office of a Russian merchant, but soon abandoned it for the medical profession. From.this he was driven, it is said, by a feeling of horror at witnessing surgical operations, and he took to literature asa profession. His principal works are a ‘Biographical History of Philosophy,’ four volumes, 1845; ‘The Spanish Drama, Lope de Vega and Calderon,’ 1846; ‘ Life of Maximilien Robespierre,’ 1849; ‘Exposition of the Principles of the Cours de Philosophie wositif of Auguste Comte,’ 1858; ‘The Life and Works of Goethe,’ two volumes, 1855; ‘ Sea-side Studies at Ufracombe, Tenby, the Scilly Isles, and Jersey,’ 1857. In the ‘Physiology of Common Life,’ two volumes, 1870, Mr. Lewes has made a very readable and instructive compendium of informa- _tion on subjects which ‘come home to the business and bosoms of men '—such as food and drink, mind and brain, feeling and thinking, dife and health, sleep and dreams, &c. We quote a passage which may be said to be connected with biography: Children of Great Men—Hereditary Tendencies. \ If the father bestows the nervous system, how are we to explain the notorious in- feriority of the children of great men? There is considerable exaggeration afloat on this matter, and able men. have been called nullities because they have not manifested the great talents of their fathers; but allowing for all over-statement. the,palpabie fact of the inferiority of some to. their fathers is beyond dispute, and has helped to foster the idea of all great men owing their genius to their mothers; an idea which will not bear confrontation with the facts. Many men of genius have had remarka- ble mothers; and that one such instance could be cited is sufficient to prove the error ‘both of the hypothesis which refers the nervous system to paternal influence, and of the hypothesis which only refers the preponderance to the paternal influence. If the - male preponderates, how is it that Pericles, who ‘ carried the weapons of Zens upon his tongne,’ produced nothing better than a Paralus and a Xanthippus? How came ‘the infamous Lysimachs from the austere Aristides? How was the weighty intel-~ lect of Thucydides left to be represented by an idiotic Milesias and a stupid Stepha- ~ nus? When was the great soul of Oliver Cromwell in his son Richard? Who were - the inheritors of Henry IV. and Peter the Great? What were Shakspeare’s children and Milton’s daughters? What was Addison’s only son [daughter]? an idiot. Un- less the mother preponderated in these and similar instances. we are without an expla- nation ; for it being proved as a law of heritage, that the individual does transmit his qualities to his offspring. it is only on the supposition of both individua.s transmitting their organisations, and the one modifying the other, that such anomalies are conceiv- able. When the paternal infitence is not counteracted, we see it transmitted. Hence the common remark, ‘ Talent runs in families.’ The proverbial phrases, ‘esprit des Mortemarts,’ and the * wit of the Sheridans,’ imply this transmission from father to son, Bernardo Tasso was » considerable poet, and his son Torquato inherited his faculties, heightened by the inflaecnce of the mother. The two Herschels, the two Colmans, the Kemble family, and the Ooleridges, will at once occur to the reader ; but the most striking example known to us is that of the family which boasted Jean * < = ‘ be See fet o> ~ yes Sebastian Rach as the culminating illustration of a musical genius, which, more or fas) o - fess. was distributed over three hundred Bachs. the children of very various mothers, Here a sceptical reader may be tempted to ask how a man of genius is ever pro- duced, if the child is always the repetition of the parents? How can two parents of 62 | CYCLOPEDIA OF | “fro 1876, erdinary capacity produce a child of extraordinary power? We must consider the ° phenomenon of atavism, or ancestral influence, in which the child manifests strikin resemblance to the grandfather or grandmother, and not to the father or mother. It is to be explained on the supposition that the qualities were transmitted from the — grandfather to the father, in whom they were masked by the presence of some anta- gonistic or controlling influence, and thence transmitted to the son, in whom, the antagonistic influence being withdrawn, they manifested themselves. We inherit the nervous system no Jess than the muscular and bony, and-with the nervous system we inherit its general and particular characters—that is to say, the general sensibility of the system, and the conformation of the brain and sensory ganglia, are as*much subject to the law of transmission as the size and conformation of the bony and muscular structures are; this being so, it is evident that all those tendencies which depend on the nervous system will likewise be inherited; and even special aptitudes, such as those.for music, mathematics, wit, and so on, will be inherited: nay, even acquired tendencies and tricks of gesture will be inherited. But this inheritance is in each case subject to the influence exercised by the other parent; and very often this influence is such as to modify, to mask, or even to entirely suppress the mani- 4 festation. Mr. Lewes has also been an extensive contributor to the reviews and other periodicals ; and he is said to have edited for nearly five years a weekly paper, ‘The Leader.’ English readers are now becoming familiar with both the life and — writings of the great German Goethe. Mr. Carlyle first awakened at- tention in this country to the poet’s personal history, as well as to the just appreciation of his genius. Since then Mr. OXENFoRD has trans- ~ lated the ‘ Autobiography’ and *Eckerman’s Conversations ; Mrs. Austin has given us ‘Goethe and his Contemporaries,’ of which Faulk’s Reminiscences form the nucleus; and Mr. Lewes has pre- sented the public with the ‘ Life and Works of Goethe, with Sketches F of his Age and Contemporaries,’ 1855. We have the-man and all 4 his ‘environments’ before us. Goethe's mother seems to have given him everything, as Mr. Lewes remarks, which bore the stamp of dis-- tinctive individuality. She was a lively, joyous little woman. ‘Order and quiet,’ she said, ‘are my principal characteristics. Hence, I des- patch at once whatever I have to do, the most disagreeable always first, and I gulp down the devil without looking at him. When all has returned to its proper state, I defy any one to surpass me in good- humour.’ Goethe’s mother was just eighteen when he was born, ‘I and my Wolfgang,’ she said, ‘have always held fast to each other, because we were both young together.’ It is pleasing to know that she lived to hail him the greatest citizen of Weimar and the most popular author of Germany. The father, a councillor of Frankfort, was somewhat cold and formal, but he appears to have been indulgent enough to the wayward genius, his son. Mr. Lewes enters at length into the poet’s college life at Leipsic and Strasburg, and has had access to various unpublished sources of information. The first lit-— erary work of Goethe, his drama of ‘Gétz von Bertichingen ’—writ- ten in 1771, but not published till 1773—is a vivid picture cf wild robber life and feudal times. It caught the fancy of Sir Walter Scott, who became its translator; but though highly popular in its = 2) aes - ee = te eS 5 SS i eae t ? : za = - agwes] — —- ENGLISN LITERATURE. — ; 63 _ day, this tragedy gives but faint indication of the depth or delicacy of feeling and the subtle imagination that ‘ interpenetrates’ ‘ Werther. The poet, it is well known, wrote from genuine impulses. He was, or fancied himself, desperately in love with Charlotte Buff. Char- lotte, however, was betrothed to a friend of the poet, Kestner, and a complication of passion and disappointment agitated the affectionate trio. Charlotte and Kestner were married, and Goethe sought relief in his own peculiar way by embodying the story of their love and _hisown feelings, with the addition of ideal circumstances, in his ‘philosophical romance’ of ‘ Werther.’ The romance was published in 1774, and Mr. Lewes says: ‘ Perhaps there never was a fiction which so startled and enraptured the world. Men of all kinds -and classes were moved by it. It was the companion of Napoleon, when in Egypt; it penetrated into China. To convey in a sentence its wondrous popularity, we may state that in Germany it became a _people’s book, hawked about the streets, printed upon miserable paper, like an ancient ballad; and in the Chinese- empire, Charlotte and Werther were modelled in porcelain.’ In this country also, despite its questionable morality and sentimentalism, it had an im- mense popularity in an English version. Carlyle touches on one cause of this success: ‘ That nameless un- rest, the blind struggle of a soul in bondage, that high, sad, longing discontent which was agitating every bosom, had driven Goethe almost to despair. All felt it; he alone could give it voice, and here lies the secret of his popularity.’ A spirit of speculation was abroad, men were disgusted with the political institutions of the age,. and had begun to indulge in those visions of emancipation and free- dom which, in part, led to the French Revolution. Like Ossian’s Poems—which were at first as rapturously received—the ‘ Sorrows of | _ Werther’ find little acceptance now in this country.* In the original the work is a masterpiece of style. ‘We may look through German literature in vain for such clear sunny pictures, fullness of life, and delicately managed simplicity: its style is one continuous strain of music.’ The real and the ideal hid been happily blended. Goethe ~ Was now a literary lion; and the Duke of Weimar _prince—visiting Frankfort, insisted on his spending a few weeks the reigning at his court ‘On the 7th of November 1775, Goethe, aged - twenty-six, arrived at the little city on the banks of the Ilm [Wei- * Thackeray’s ballad on the story is more popular: _ Werther had a love for Charlotte So he sighed, and pined. and ogled, Such as words could never utter; And his passion boiled ai d bubbled, Would you know how first he met her? —‘Ti!l he blew his silly brains out, She was cutting bread and butter. And no more was by it troubled. ‘Char'otte was a married lady. Charlotte, having seen his body And amoral man was Werther, Borne before heron a shutter, And for all the wealth of Indies, Like a well-conducted porson, Would do nothing for to hurt her. Went on cutting bread and butter. 64 -» CYCLOP-EDIA OF duchy the immortal renown of a German Athens.’ Mr. Lewes de- — scribes Weimar in the eighteenth century. mar], where his long residence was to confer on an insignificant Picture of Weimar. Weimar is an ancient city on the Ilm, a small stream rising in the Thuringian forests, and losing itself in the Saal, at Jena, a stream_on which the sole navigation _ seems to be that of ducks, and which meanders peacefully through pleasant vallsys,_ except during the rainy season, when mountain torrents swell its current and over-_ flow its banks. The Trent, between Trentham and Stafford—‘ the smug and silver — Trent,’ as Shakspeare calls it—will give you an idea of thisstream. ‘The town is charmingly placed in the Iim valley, and stands some eight hundred feet above the level of the sea. ‘ Weimar,’ says the old topographer Mathew Merian, ‘is Weinmar — because it was the wine-market for Jena and its environs. Others say it was be- | cause some cne here in ancient days began to plant the vine, who was hence Called ~ Weinmayer. But of this each reader may believe just what he pleases.’ ; On a first acquaintance Weimar seems more like a village bordering a park, than a capital with a court, and haying all courtly environments. It is so quiet, so sim- ple; and although ancient in its architecture, has none of the picturesqueness whica — delights the eye in most old German cities. The stone-coloured, light-brown and — apple-green houses have high-peaked, slanting roofs, but no quaint gables; no ca- _ prices of arcitectural fancy, none of the mingling of varied styles which elsewhere. charm the traveller. One learns to love its quiet, simple streets, and pleasant patns, fit theatre for the simple actors moving across the scene; but one must live there some time to discover its charm. The aspect it presented when Goethe arrived was of course very different from that presented now; but by diligent inquiry we may get some rough image of, the place restored. First be it noted that the city walis — were still erect; gates and portcullis still spoke of days of warfare. Within these walls were six orseven hundred houses, not more. most of them very ancient. Un- — der these roofs were about seven thousand inhabitants, for the most part not hand- — some. ‘The city gates were strictly guarded. No one could pass through them in ~ cart or carriage without leaving his name in the sentinel’s book; even Goethe, min- — ister and favourite, could not escape this tiresome formaljty, as we gather from one — of his letters to the Frau Von Stein, directing her to go out alone, and meet him be- — yond the gates, lest their exit together should be known, During Sunday service a — chain was thrown across the streets leading to the church to bar out all passengers— a practice to this day partially retained: the chain is fastened, but the passengers step over it without ceremony. There was little safety at night in those silent streets ; for if you were in no great danger trom marauders. you were in constant danger of. breaking a limb in some hole or otier, the idea of lighting streets not having pre- — sented itself to the Thuringian mind. In the year 1685 the streets of London were — first lighted with lamps; and Germany, in most things a century behind England, ~ had not yet ventured on that experiment. Jf in this 1854 Weimar is still innocent of_ gas, and perplexes its inhabitants with the dim obscurity of an occasional oil-lamp — slung on acord across the streets, we may imagine that in 1775 they had not even advanced so far. And our supposition is exact. : A century earlier, stage-coaches were known in England; but in Germany, pub- lic- conveyances, very rude to this day in places where no railway exists. were few and miserable, nothing but open carts with unstuffed seats. Diligences on springs were unknown before 1800; and what they Were even twenty years ago many rea’ers © doubtless remember. Then as to speed; if you travelled post, it was said with pride that seldom more than an hour’s waiting was necessary before the horses were got ready, at least on frequented routes. Mail travelling was at the rate of five English © miles in an hour and a quarter. Letters took nine days from Berlin to (a & which in 1854 require only twenty-four hours. So slow wasthe communication of — news, that, as we learn from the Stein correspondence, so great an event as the — death of Frederick the Great was only known as a rumor a week afterwards in Carls- © bad. ‘By this time,’ writes Goethe, ‘you must know in Weimar if it be true.’ — 4 With these facilities it was natural that men travelled but rarely, and mostly on - 4 = oe ENGUISH ‘LITERATURE. 65 borsshack: What the inns were may be imagined from the unfrequency of travellers, and the general state of domestic comfort. = -. JAMES SPEDDING. he ‘betters and Life of Francis Bacon’—Lord Bacon—collected _ and edited, with a commentary, by JAMES SPEDDING, M.A. (1874), is a a work of great research and labour, extending to seven volumes. It is supplementary to the edition of Lord Bacon’s works, collected and edited by Mr. Spedding, Mr. R. L. Ellis, and Mr. D. D. Heath, __ which also extends to seven volumes. The publication of the Works 4 and Life was spread over the long period of seventeen years, during _ which the care and research of the editors seem never to have relaxed. _ Mr. Spedding says his object was to enable _ posterity to “form a true 3 conception of the kind of man Bacon was,’ and accordingly he gives - an unusually full record of a more than ‘unusually full life. The ~~ question of legal guilt Bacon himself admitted. The moral culpa- bility Mr. Spedding does not consider so clear, considering the cor- _ rupt practices of the age, and the philosopher's carelessness as to _ money and household management. fs ice ¢ 4 Z >. J 73 . ~e-CYE€LOP.-EDIA_ OF fro 1876; Bi. _ I knownothing more inexplicable than Bacon’s unconsciousness of the state of hia — own case, unless it be the case itself. ‘hat he, of all men, whose fault had always been too much carelessness about money—who, though always too ready ‘o borrow, _ to give, to lend, and to spend, had never been either a bargainer, or a grasper, or a hoarder, and whose professional experience must have continually reminded him of — the peril of meddling with anything that could be construed into Corruption—that he ~ should have allowed himself on any account to accept money from suitors while their cases were before him, is wonderful. ‘Vhat he should have done it without feeling at the time that he was laying himself open to a charge of what in law would be called bribery, is more wonderful still. That he should have done it often, and not lived under an abiding sense of insecurity—from the consciousness that he had secrets to conceal, of which the disclosure would be fatal to his reputation, yet thesafe keeping __ did not rest solely with himself—is most wonderful of all. Give him credit for noth- ing more than ordinary inteiligence and ordinary prudence—wisdom for a man’s self —and it seems almost incredible. And yet I believe it was the fact. The whole course of his behaviour, from the first ramour to the final sentence, convinces me” | that not the discovery of the thing only, but the thing itself, came upon him as a surprise; and that if anybody had told him the day before that he stood in denger of — a charge of taking bribes, he would have reccived the suggestion with unaffected in- credulity. How far I am justified in thinking so, the reader shall judge for himself ; for the impression is derived solely from the tenor of the correspondence. A ‘History of England’ from the year 1830 to 1874 has been pub- lished in three volumes by Win1aAM-Nassau Mo.esworta, vicar of — Spotland, Rochdale. Mr. John Bright, M.P., has commended this _ work as a book ‘honestly written,’ and ‘calculated to give greatiin-- — formation to the young men of the country.’ The work appears to merit the commendation, and it aims at no higher praise. We quote a brief notice of a memorable national loss and solemnity: 5 Death of the Duke of Wellington. During the interval between the dissolution and re-assembly of Parliament (1852) an event occurred which deeply stirred the heart of the whole nation, from the Queen on the throne to the lowest and meanest of her subjects. The Duke of Wellington, who had attained to the 84th year of his age, had for some time past been becoming more and more infirm. On the 14th of September his feebleness had very percepti- bly increased. and at about a quarter past three in the afternoon of that day he tran- quilly breathed his last at Walmer Castle, where he was then residing. The qualities - which caused him to be regarded with such deep reverence and admiration by the great majority of his fellow-countrymen, and made his decease, at the end of so long a Kife, to be deeply and sincerely regretted, were admirably described in wordswhich Mr. Gladstone quoted from a former speech of Lord John Russell, and waich he elo- ~ quently complimented and applied to the present occasion. “ ‘While many of the actions of his life, while many of the qualities he possessed, are unattainable by others, there are lessons which we may all derive from the life and actions of that illustrious man. It may never be given to.another subject of the British crown to perform services so brilliant as he performed; it may never be given to another man to hold the sword which was to gain the independence of fiurope, to rally the nations around it, and while England saved herself by her con- stancy, to save Europe by her example; it may never be given to another man, after having attained such eminence, after such an unexampled series of victories, to shew equal moderation in peace as he has shewn greatness in war, and to devote the re- __ mainder of his life to the cause of internal and external peace for that country — which he has so served; it may never be given to another man to have equal autho- — ‘ity both with the sovereign he served and with the senate of which he was to the end avenerated member; it may never be given to another man after such a career — to preserve even to the last the full possession of those great faculties with which he — was endowed, and tocarry on the services of one of the most important departments — of the state with unexampled’ regularity and success, even to the latest day of his — datna® tivo 2? s _ 2 _ $PEDDING.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 73 nd . s _ life. These are circumstances, these are qualities which may never again occur in - -the history of this country. But there are qualities which the Duke of Weliington — dispiayed of which we may all act in humble imitation: that sincere and uusceusing ~ devotion to our country ; that honest and upright determination to act for the bene- fit of the country on every occ’ ion; that devoted loyalty. which, while it made him ever anxious to serve the crown, never induced hiin to conceal from the sovereign tiat which he believed to be the truth; the devotedness in the constant performance of duty ; that temperance.of his life, which enabled him at all times to_give bis mind - and his faculties to the services which he was called on to perform; that regular, consistent, and unceasiug piety by which he was distinguished at all times in his life: these are qualities that are attainable by others, and these are qualities which shou!d not be lost as an example.’ q A public funeral was of course decreed, and never in any country was such a sol- emnity celebrated. The procession was planned, marshalled, and carried out, with ~ adiscretion, a judgment, and a-good taste, which reflected the highest honour on the civil and inilitary authorities by whom it was directed. Men of every arm and of - every regiment in the service, for the first and last time in the history of the British ~ army, marched together on this occasion. But what was more admirable still was _ the conduct of the incredible mass of sympathetic spectators, who had congregated from all parts of the kingdom, aud who formed no insignificant proportion of its _- population. From Grosvenor Gate to St. Paul’s Cathedral there was not one foot of - vnoccupied ground; nota balcony, not a window, that was not filled; and as far as - conid be observed, every face ainidst that vast multitude wore an expression of re- _ spectful sorrow.. An-unbroken silence was maintained as the fureral cortége moved slowly and solemnly forward to the mausoleum prepared to receive the remains of England's greatest warricr in the centre of the sinpendous masterpiece of Wren’s _- architectural genius. HEPWORTH DIXON. _ ‘The lives of John Howard,’ 1850 ; ‘ William Penn,’ 1851 (revised edition, 1872); and ‘Admiral Blake,’ 1852, by Mr. Wiutiam Usp. wortH Dixon, may also be characterised as original biographies. _ In the cases of Howard and Blake, Mr. Dixon had access to family _ papers, and in that of Penn he has diligently studied the records of _ tne period and the now neglected works of the Quaker legislator. In _ this memoir Mr. Dixon has combated some of the statements of Lord _ Macaulay relative to Penn. We have already indicated our impres- - - sion that the noble historian had taken too low and unfavcurable an . estimate of Penn’s character and motives, and it is impossible, we think, to read Mr. Dixon’s memoir without feeling how greatly Penn - transcended most of the public men in that venal period of English history. As a specimen of the biographer’s style, which is occasion- _ ally too ornate, we extract part of his account of the death of Blake. _ The last great exploit of the admiral had been his punishing the cor- sairs, and freeing the Christian captives at Sallee, on the western coast of Africa. The Death of Admirwl Blake, August 27, 1657. 4 This crowning act of a virtuous and honourable life accomplished. the dying ad- _ ‘iralturned his thonghts anxiously towards the green hills of his native jand. “The _ letter of Cromwell. the thanks of parljament, the jewelled ring sent to him by an ad- Iniring country, all reached him together out at sea. These tokens of grateful re- _ Membrance caused him a profound emotion. Without after-thought, without selfish ‘impulse, he had served the Commonwealth day and night. earnestly, anxiously, and _ With rare devotion. England was grateful to her hero. With the letter of thanks _ from Cromwell, a new set of instructions arrived, which allowed him to return with , i i 74 CYCLOPAIDIA OF roe TB Bee part of his fleet, leaving his squadron of some fifteen or twenty frigates to ride be ~ fore the Bay of Cadiz and intercept its traders: with their usual deference to his judgment aud experience, the Protector and Board of Adimiralty left theappointment of the command entirely with him; and as his gallant friend Stayner was gone to ¥ngland, where he received a knighthood and otuer well-won honorrs from the goy- aynient, he raised Captain Stouks, the hero of Porto Ferino, and a commanderof rare promise, to the responsible position of his vice-admiral in the Spanish seas, Hoisting his pennon on his old flagship, the S¢. George, Blake saw forthe Jast time I i>e spires and cupolas, the musts and towers, before which he had kept his long and 4 torious vigils. While he putin for fresh water at Cascaes Road, he was very - weak. ‘I beseech God to strengthen him,’ was the fervent prayer of the English ~ resident at Lisbon, as he departed on the homeward voyage. While the ships rolled through the tempestuous waters of the Bay of Biscay he grew every day worse and worse. Some gleams of the old spirit broke forth as they approached the latitude of England. He inquired often and anxiously if the white cliffs were yet in sight. He longed te behold the swelling downs, the free cities, the goodly churches é of his native land. But he was now dying beyond all doubt. Many of his favourite > ofiicerssilently and mournfully crowded round his bed, anxious to catch the last tones of a voice which had so often called them to glory and victory. Others stood at the ¥ poop aud forecastle, eagerly examining every speck and line on the horizon, in hope > of being first to catch the welcome glimpse of land. Though they were coming home crowned with laurels, gloom and pain were in every face. At last the Lizard’wasan- nounced. Shortly afterwards, the bold cliffs and bare hills of Cornwall loomed out grandly in the distance. But it was now too late for the dying hero. He had sent ~ for the captains and other great officers of his fleet to bid them farewell; and while they were yet in his cabin, the undulating hills of Devonshire, glowing with the tints of early autumn, came full in view. As the ships rounded Rame Head, the spires - and masts of Plymouth, the woody heights of Mount Edgecombe, the low island of St. Nicholas, the rocky steeps of the Hoe, Mount Batten, the citadel, the many pictu- resque and familiar‘features of that magnificent harbour rose one by one to sight. But the eyes which had so yearned to behold this scene once more were at that very in- stant closing in death. Foremost of the victorious squadron, the St. George rode with its precious burden into the Sonnd; and just as it came into full view of the eager thousands crowding the beach, the pier-heads, the walls of the citadel, or dart- ing in countless boats over the smooth waters between St. Nicholas and the docks, — ready to catch the first glimpse of the hero of Santa Cruz, and salute,nim with a true — English welcome, he, in his silenf cabin, in the midst of his lion-hearted comrades, — now sobbing like little children, yielded up his soul to God. d Mr. Dixon is a native of the West Riding of Yorkshire, born in 1821. He was entered of the Middle Temple, but devoted himself to literature, and in 1853 became editor of the ‘Atheneum.’ This weekly literary journal, often quoted in our pages, was established about the year 1828, and has certainly done more for modern literary history and bibliography than any other work of this century. Mr. — Dixon relinquished his connection with the ‘Atheneum’ in 1869, and has since become a voluminous author. His chief works are— ‘The Holy Land,’ 1865; ‘New America,’ 1867; ‘Spiritual Wives,’ - 1868: ‘Free Russia,’ 1870; ‘Her Majesty’s Tower,’ four volumes, _ 1871: ‘ The Switzers,’ 1872; ‘History of Two Queens,’ 1874; &c. The Black Man—the Red Man—the Yellow Man.—From ‘New America.’ — The Black Man, a true child of the tropics, to whom warmth is like the breath of — life, flees from the bleak fields of the north. in which the waite man repairs his fibre and renews his blood; preferring the swamps and sayannahs of the south. where, — among palms, cotton-plants, and sugar-canes, he finds the rich colours in which his — : eye delights, the sunny heats in which his blood expands. Freedom would not tempt him to go northward into frost and fog. Even now, when Massachusetts and — 1 _ fa - % Sporades waht aks bs eke thee te top ‘So ise se ? : é ag - ‘pixon.} = ~~~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. © ~~ Connecticut tempt him by the offer of good wages, easy work, and sympathisin people, he will not goto them. He only just endures New York; the most hardy o his race will hardly stay in Saratoga and Niagara beyond the summer months. Since the south has been made free to Sam to live in, he has turned his back on the cold and friendly north, im search of a brighter home. Sitting in the rice-tivld, by the cane-brake, under the mulberry-trees of his darling Alabama, with his kerchief round his head, his banjo on his Kuee, he is joyous as a bird, singing his endless and foolish roundelay, and teeling the sunshine burn upon his face. The negro is but a local fact in the country ; having his proper home in a corner—the most sunny cor- ner—of the United States. The Red Man, once a hunter of the Alleghanies, not less than of the prairies and the Rocky Mountains, has been driven by the pale-face, he and his squaw, his elk, e his buffalo, and his antelope, into the far western country ; into the waste and deso- late lands. lying westward of the Mississippi and Missouri, ‘The exceptions hardly break the rule. A band of picturesque pedlers may be found at Niagara; Red - Jackets, Cherokee chiefs and Mohawks; selling bows and canes, and generally _ sponging on those youths and damsels who roam about the Falls in search of oppor- tunities to flirt. A colony, hardly of a better sort, may be found at Oneida Creek, in Madison County ; the few sowing maize, growing fruit, and singing psalms; the many starving on the soil, cutting down the oak and maple, alienating the best acres, pining after their brethren who have thrown the white man’s giftin his face, and gone away with their weapons and war-paint. Red Jacket at the Falls, Bill Beechtree at Oneida Creek—the first selling beaded work to girls, the second twisting hickory ~canes for boys—are the last representatives of mighty nations, hunters and warriors, who at one time owned the broad lands from the Susquehannah to Lake Erie. Red Jacket will not settle; Beechtree is incapable of- work. The red-skin will not dig, and to beg he is not ashamed. Hence, he has been pushed away from his place, driven out by the spade, and kept at bay by the smoke of chimney fires. A wild man of the plain and forest, he makes his home with the wolf, the rattlesnake, the buffalo, and the elk. When the wild beast flees, the wild man follows. The Alle- ghany slopes, on which, only seventy years age, he chased the elk and scalped the white women, will hear his war-whoop, see his war-dance, feel his scalping-knife, no more. In the western country he is still a figure in the landscape. From the Mis- souri to the Colorado he is master of all the open plains; the forts which the white imen have built to protect their roads to San Francisco. like the Turkish block- houses built along the Syrian tracks, being mainly of use as a hint of their great re- serve of power, ‘The red men find it hard to lay down a tomahawk, to take up a hoe3 some thousands of them only yet have done so; some hundreds only have learned - from the whites to drink gin and bitters, to lodge in frame-houses, to tear up the soil, to forget the.chase, the war-dance, and the Great Spirit. The Yellow Man, generally a Chinese, often a Malay, sometimes a Dyak, has been drawn into the Pacifie states from Asia, and from the Eastern Archipelago, by the hot demand for labour; any kind of which comes to him asa boon. From dig- 4 ging in the mine to cooking an omelet and ironing a shirt. he is equal to everything y which dollars can be gained. Of these yellow people there are now sixty thou- sand in California, Utah, and Montana; they come and go; but many more of them come than go. As vet these harmless crowds are weak and useful. Hop Chang keeps a laundry; Chi Hi goes out as cook; Cum Thing is a maid-of-all-work. Yhey are in no man’s way, and they labour for a crust of bread. To-day, those yel- low men are sixty thousand strong. They will ask for votes. They will hold the balance of parties. In some districts they will make.a majority; selecting the judges, forming, the juries, interpreting the laws. Those yellow men are Buddhists, professing polygamy, practising infanticide. Next year is not more sure to come in its Own season, than a great society of Asiatics to dwell on the Pacific slopes. A Suddhist church, fronting the Buddhist churches in China and Ceylon, will rise in California, Oregon, and Nevada. More than all, a war of Jabour will commence be- tween the races which feed on beef and the races which thrive on rice; one of those wars in which the victory is not necessarily with the strong. A Hundred Years of White Progress.—From the ‘ White Conquest.’ The European races are spreading over every continent, and mastering the isles and islets of every sea. During those hundred years some powers have shot ahead, = Bee ? - a U , - © 76 CYCLOPEDIA OF (ro 1876, and some have slipped into the second rank. Austria, a hundred years ago, the lead- ing power in Europe, has been rent.asunder and has forfeited her thronein Germany. Spain, a hundred, years .ago, the first colonial empire in the world, has lost her coicnies and conquests, and has sunk into a third-rate power. France, which little more than a hundred years ago possessed Canada, Louisiana, the Mississippi Valley, the island of Mauritius, and a strong hold in Hindustan, has lost all those posses- sions, and exchanged her vineyards and corn-fields on the Rhine for the snows of Savoy and the sands of Aigiers. Piedmont and Prussia, on the other hand, have sprung into the foremost rank of nations. Piedmont has become Italy, with a capital in Milan and Venice, Florence and Naples, as well asin Rome. Still more ~ striking and more glorious has been the growth of Prussia. A hundred years ago Prussia was just emerging into notice as a small but well-governed and hard-fighting country, with a territory no larger than Michigan, and a population considerably less - than Ohio. In a hundred years this small but well-governed and hard-fightin Prussia has become the first military power on earth. Kussia, during these hundre years, has carried her arms into Finland. Crim ‘Tartary, the Caucasus. and the Mo- hammedan Khanates, extending the White empire on the Caspian and the Euxine, and along the Oxus. and Jaxartes into Central Asia. Vaster still have been the marches and the conquests of Great Britain, her command of the ocean giving her facilities which are not possessed by any other power. Within a hundred years or thereabouts, she has grown from a kingdom of ten millions of people into an empire of two hundred and twenty millions, with a territory covering nearly one-third of the earth. Hardly less striking than the progress of Russia acct England has been that of the United States. Starting with a population no larger than that of Greece, the Republic has advanced so rapidly that in a hundred years she has become the — third power as to size of territory, the fourth as to wealth of population in the ; world. ‘Sol and population are the two prime elements of power. Climate and fertility ~ count for much; nationality and compactness count for more: but still the natural basis of growth is land, the natural basis of strength is population. Taking these two elements together, the Chinese were, a hundred years ago, the foremost family of mankind. They held a territory covering three millions of square miles, and a population counting more than four hundred millions of souls. But what a change has taken place! China has been standing still, while England, Russia, and America: have been conquering, planting, and annexing lands. JOHN FORSTER. This indefatigable literary student and biographer was a native of » Newcastle, born in 1812. Coming early to London, he studied at — the London University, and became a contributor to periodical works. He was called to the bar, but never practised. In 1834 he joined the ‘ Examiner’ newspaper as assistant editor, and on the retirement of Mr. Albany Fonblanque, he became sole editor, and continued so for ten years. He was induced, through friendship with Charles — Dickens, to become, in 1846, editor of the ‘ Daily News,’ but held that laborious office for only about eleven months. His future life was devoted to literary labours—chieily to historical and literary ‘biographies. His principal works are—‘ Statesmen.of*the Common- — wealth of England,’ 1831-4; ‘Life of Oliver Goldsmith,” 1848; ~ ‘Biographical and Historical Essays,’ 1859; ‘Arrest of the Five Members by Charles I.; ‘Debates on the Grand Remonstrance,’ 1860; ‘Sir John Eliot, a Biography,’.1864; ‘Walter Savage Landor, a Biography,’ 1868; and ‘ Life of Charles Dickens,’ three volumes, - 1871-4. In 1875 Mr. Forster published the first volume of a new ‘Life of Jonathan Swift, Dean of St. Patrick’s,’ which was to be _ = 2 # ¥, rd iz a ¢ f A ~ | Forstes.] | “ENGLISH LITERATURE. » "7 = ~ completed in three volumes. This volume is enriched with much ~ new and valuable information, and like all Mr. Forster’s biographies, a the work promised to be thoroughly exhaustive. ‘ Swift’s later time, when he was governing Treland as well as his _ deanery, and the world was filled with the fame of Gulliver, is,’ _ says Mr. Forster, ‘ broadly and intelligibly written. But as to all the rest, his life is a work unfinished ; to which no one has brought - the minute examination indispensably required, where the whole of | -a career has to be considered to get at the proper comprehension of certain parts of it. The writers accepted as authorities for the _ obscurer portion are found to be practically worthless, and the defect A is not supplied by the later and greater biographers. Jobnson did him no kind of justice, because of too little liking for him ; and Scott, - with much hearty liking, as wellas a generous “admiration, had too much other work to do. Thus, notw ithstanding noble passages in both memoirs, and Scott’s per vading tone of healthy, manly wisdom, - it is left to an inferior hand to attempt to complete the tribute begun by those distinguished men.’ - “Mr. Forster lived to publish only one volume. We may add that - the biographer was successful in life. His name stood well with pub- _lishers and readers. In 1855 he was appointed Secretary to the Lunacy ~ Commission, and in 1861 a Commissioner in Lunacy. ‘Few English- men of this generation,’ says a friendly writer in the ‘Times,’ have combined such unflinching firmness and honesty of purpose with * such real tenderness and sympathy for all with whom they were _ brought into contact. Many there were who, at first sight, thought ~ John Forster obstinate and overbearing, who, on further acquaint- ance, were ready to confess that, in reality, he was one of the tender- est and most generous of men.’ Mr. Forster bequeathed his books Band manuscripts to the nation—a valuable bequest—and they remain in the South Kensington Museum. A similar bequest was made by _ Mr. Forster’s friend, ALEXANDER Dyce (1798-1869), the editor of Shakspeare and of the dramatic works of Peele, Greene, Marlowe, and Beaumont and Fletcher. Mr. Dyce was horn i in Edinbur ch, son of General Dyce, in the Honourable East India Company’s Service, _ Having studied at Edinburgh University and at Excter College, Ox- ford, he entered into holy orders, and was successively curate in . Fowey, Cornwall, and Nayland in Suffolk. Mr. Dyce was a faithful aud learned editor. His latest employment was revising the second edition of his Shakspeare; and the third edition was published by Mr. Forster in 1874. The Literary Profession and Law of Cop wright —From Forster's ‘Life of Oliver Goldsmith.’ ‘It were well,’ said Goldsmith, on one occasion, with bitter truth, ‘if none but _ the dnnces.of society were combined to render the profession of an author ridiculous 7 or unhappy.’ The profession themselves have yet to learn the secret of co-operation ; they have to put away internal jealousies; they have to claim for themselves, as poor = = eN = 78 CYCLOP.EDIA OF Goldsmith, after his fashion, very loudly did, that defined position from which — eater respect, and more frequent consideration in public life. could not long be ~ withheld; in fine, they have frankly to feel that their vocation, properly regarded, — ranks with the worthiest. and that. on all occasions. to do justice to it, and to each other, is the way to obtain justice from the world. If writers had been thus true to — themselves, the subject of ccpyright might have been equitably settled when atten- tion was first drawn to it; but while De Foe was urging th. author’s claim, Swift was _ calling De Foe a fellow that had been pilloried, and we have still to discuss.as in forma pauperis the rights of the English author. *s Confiscation is a hard word, but after the decision of the highest English court, — it is the word which alone describes fairly the statute of Anne, for encouragement of ~ literature. That is now superseded by another statute, having the same gorgeous name, and the same inglorious meaning; for even this last enactment, sorely re- — sisted as it was, leaves England behind any other country in the world, in the amount — of their own property secured to her authors. In some, to this day, perpetual copy- right exists ; and though it may be reasonable, as Dr. Johnson argued that it was, to ~ surrender a part for greater efficiency or protection to the rest, yet the commonest — dictates of natural justice might at least require that an author’s family should not be — beggared of their inheritance as soon as his own capacity to provide for them may — have ceased. In every continental country this is cared for, the lowest term secured — by the most niggardly arrange ent being twenty-five years; whereas in England it — is the munificent number of seven. Yet the most laborious works, and often the ~ most delightful, are for the most part of a kind which the hereafter only can repay. — The poet, the historian, the scientific investigator, do indeed find readers to-day; but — if they have laboured with success, they have produced books whose substantial re-~ ward is not the large and temporary, but the limited and constant nature of their © sale. No consideration of morai right exists, no principle of economical science can 7 be stated, which would justify the seizure of such books by the public, before they — had the chance of remunerating the genius and the labour of their producers. —~ s But though parliament can easily commit this wrong, it is not in such case the ~ quarter to look to for redress. There is no hope of a better state of things till the © author shall enlist upon his side the power of which parliament is but the inferior ex- _ pression. The true remedy for literary-~vrongs must flow from a higher sense than — has at any period yet prevailed in England of the duties and responsibilities assumed by the public writer, and of the social consideration and respect that their effectual — dscharge should have undisputed right to claim. The world will be greatly the — gainer, when such time shall arrive, and when the biography of the man of genius — shall no longer be a picture of the most harsh struggles and mean necessities to 4 which man’s life is subject, exhibited as in shameful contrast to the calm and classic — glory of his fame. With society itself rests the advent of that-time.* ee * It may be interesting to compare Mr. Forster’s view of Goldsmith and the supposed — neglect of authors with the opinion of Lord Macaulay: ‘Goldsmith has sometimes been — represented asamanof genius, cays lines tated by the world.and doomed to struggle with © difficulties, which at last broke his heart. But no representation can be more remote — from the truth. He did. indeed, go through much sharp misery before he had done any= _ thing considerable in literature. Butafterhis name had appeared on the title-page of The — Zraveller, he had none but himself toblame for his distresses. His averageincome.during — the last seven years of his life. certainly exceeded £160 a year: and £100 a year jankedle among the incomes ofthat day. at least.as high as £300 a year would rank at present. A single man living in the Temple with £100a year might then be cal'ed opulent. Not one in ten of the yonng gentlemen of good families who were studying the law there had somuch. But all the wealth which Lord Clive had brought from Bengal, and Sir Law- rance Dundas_from Germany. joined together, would not have sufficed for Goldsmith. — He spent twice as much as he had. He wore fine clothes gave dinners of several courses, | peed court to venial beauties. He had also.it should be remembered. to the honour of his — eart. thougn not of his head, a guinea. or five. or ten, according to the state of his purse, ready for any tale of distress. true or false. But it was not in dress or feasting. in pro- miscuous amours or promiscuous charities. that his chief expense lay. He had been from _ boyhood a gambler, and at once the most sanguine and the most unskillful of gamblers. For a time he put off the day of inevitable Tuin by temporary expedients He obtained advances from bookselleis. by promising to execute works which he fever begun. But at * \sngth this source of supply failed. He owed more tLan £2000 and he saw no hope of. WStrication from his embarassments. His spirits and health gayeway.’ | ae £ Peas wert ry. 8g in 7 . 3 ‘So. eae bax > ta a ee Fi et BS Sasha: : : et a yea J Swe ps - at . — ‘ : iy = 3 > : ‘ Bs * % - ; . - . Ps ‘ x -MAssoN.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 79 a PROFESSOR MASSON—SIR JAMES STEPHEN, — The ‘Life of John Milton, narrated in. connection with the Politi- 7 ‘eal, Ecclesiastical, and Literary History of his Time,’ volume i, 1608- - 1639, by Davip Masson, Professor of Rhetoric and English Litera- ture in the university of Edinburgh, promises to be by far the most ~ accurate as well as the fullest memoir of the great poct. » ‘As if to ~ oblige biography in this instance to pass into history, Milton’s life di- vides itself with almost mechanical exactress into three periods, cor- responding with those of the contemporary social movement—the first extending from 1608 to 1640, which was the period of his educa- _ tion and of his minor poems; the second extending from 1640 to - 1660, or from the beginning of the civil wars to the Restoration, and forming the middle period of his polemical activity as a prose-writer; and the third extending from 1660 to 1674, which was the period of his later muse and of the publication of ‘‘ Paradise Lost.” It is the . pian of the present work to devote a volume to each of those periods.’ _ Such is the herculean task Mr: Masson has laid out for himself. He has cleared up many doubtful points in the poet’s pedigree and aca- demical career, and given a great mass of interesting information, _ literary, historical, and ecclesiastical, conveyed in vigorous and often ‘eloquent language. A second volume of the ‘ Life of Milton’ was pub- ~ lished in 1871, and a third in 1873. Character of Archbishop Laud. What with one means of influence, what with another. Laud, in the year 1632, - being then in the sixtieth year of his age, was the dominant spirit in the English ~ Church, and one of the chiefs of the English state. One would fain think and speak ‘with some respect of any man who has been beheaded : much more of one who was beheaded for a cause to which he had conscientiously devoted his life, and which ~ thousands of his countrymen, two centuries after his death, still adhere to, still exp@ind, still uphold, albeit with the difference, incalculable to themselves, of all that time nas flung between. But it is impossible to like or admire Laud. The nearer we get to him, the more all soft iilusion falls off, and the more Gistinctly we __ have before us the hard reality as D’Ewes and others saw it. of a ‘little. low, red- ~ faced man,’ bustling by the side of that king of the narrow forehead’ and the melan- _ choly Vandyck air, or pressing his-notions with a raspy voice at the council-board till Weston became peevish and Cottington wickedly solemn, or bowing his head in churches not very gracefully. When we examine what remains of his mind in writings, the estimate is not en- hanced. Thetexture of his writing is hard, dry, and coimmon; sufficiently clear as to the meaning, and with no insincerity or superfluity, but without sap, radiance. or force. Occasionally, when one of his fundamental topics is touched, a kind of dull heat rises. and one can see that the old man was in earnest. Of anything like depth _ or comprehensiveness of intel'ect, there is no evidence; much less of what is under- ' stood by genius. There is never a stroke of original insight ; never a flash of intel- lectual generality. In Williams there 7s genius; notin Laud. Many of his humble clericai contemporaries, not to speak of such known men as Fuller and Hacket, _ must have been greatly his superiors in talent—more discerning men, as well as more interesting writers. That very ecclesiastical cause which Laud so conspicu- ously defended, has had, since his time, and has at this day in England, far abler heads among its adherents. How was it. then, that Laud became what he did be- ‘come, and that slowly, by degrees, and against opposition? how was it tbat his pre- cise personality and no other worked its way vpwards, through the clerica] and acade- mic clement of the time, to the very top of ah, and there fitted itself into the very - = 80 /-CYCLOPEDIA OF ~~? [toq8y6.05 socket where the joints of things met? Parvo regitur mundus intellectu. A small intellect, once in the position of government, may svftice for the efficial forms of it; and with Land’s laboriousness and tenacity of purpose. his power of maintaining” his place of minister, under-such a master as Charles, needs be no mystery. Solong — as the proprietor of an estate is satisfied, the tenants must endure the bailiff, what- ever the amount of his wisdom. Then, again, in the last stages of Laud’s ascent, he rose through Buckingham and Charles, to beth of whom surely his nature, with- — a out being great, may have recommended itself by adequate affinities. oo Still, that Land impressed these men when he did come in contact with them, and a that, from his original position as a poor student in an Oxford college, he rose step_ 2 by step to the point where he could come in contact with them, are facts not ex- plicable by the mere supposition of a series of external accidents. Perhapsitisthat. — a nature does not always or necessarily rise by greatness, or intrinsic superiority to. the element about it, but may rise by peculiarity, or proper capillary relation tothe the element about it. When Lord Macaulay speaks of Laud_as intellectually an : ‘imbecile,’ and calls him ‘a ridiculous old bigot,’ he seems to Omit that peculiarity “ which gave Laud’s nature, whatever its measure by a modern standard, so much ~ t force and pungency among his contemporaries. To have hold of the surrounding sensations of men, even by pa‘n and irritation, isa kind of power: and Laud had § that kind of power from the first. He affected strongly, if irritatingly, each suc- cessive part of the body-politic in which he was lodged. As a fellow of a college, — - he was more felt than liked; as a master of a college, he was still felt, but not liked; “f when he came first about court, he was felt still, but still not liked. And why was 2 he felt? Why, in each successive position to which he attained, did he affect sur- a rounding sensation so as to domineer? For one thing, he was a man whose views, if few, were extraordinarily definite. His nature, if not great, was very tight. Early in life he had taken up certain propositions as to the proper theology of the Angli- can Church, and had combined them with certain others as to the divine right of ° Prelacy, and the necessity and possibility of uniformity in creed and worship. These few very definite propositions, each answering to some tendency of society or of opinion at the time in England, he had tied and knotted round him as his sufficient doctrinal outfit. Wherever he went, he carried them with him and before him, acting upon them with a brisk and incessant per-- severance, without regard to circumstances, or even to establish notices of what was ~ fair, high-minded, and generous. Thus, seeing that the propositions were of a kind — npon which some conclusion or other was er might be made socially imperative, he could force to his own conclusions ali laxer, though larger natures, that were tending lazily the same way, and, throwing a ccntinually increasing crowd of such and of others behind him as his followers, leave only in front of him those who oppose@ to ~ Pann ee EY 8 eres oe te his conclusions as resolute contraries. His indefatigable official activity contributed to the result. Beyond all this, however, and adding secret force to it all, therewas something else about Laud. Though the system which he wanted to.enforce was” | one of strict sectilar form, the man’s own being rested on a trembling basis of the fantastic and unearthly. Herein Jay one notable, and perhaps compensating differ- ence between his narrow intellect and the broad but secular genivs of Williams. In _ + that strange diary of Laud, which is one of the curiosities of our literature, we see 2 him in an aspect in which he probably never wished that the public should know > — him. His hard and active public life isrepresented there hut casually, and we sce the man in the secrecy of his own thoughts, as he talked to himself when alone. We hear of certain sins, or, at least, ‘unfortunatenesses,’ of his early and past life, t which clung about his memory, were kept by anniversaries of sadness or penance, aud sometimes intruded grinning faces throngh the gloom of the chamber when — gf all the house was asleep. We see thet, after all, whether from such causes or from some forni of constitutional melancholy, the old man, who walked so briskly and cheerily about the court, and was so sharp and unhesitating in all his notions of — what was to be done in secret, carry in him some sense of the burden of life’s mys- tery, and feel the air and earth to some depth around him to be full of sounds and agencies unfeatured and unimaginable. At any moment they may break through! | The twitter of two robin redbreasts in his room. as he is writing a sermon. sets hig > heart beating ; a curtain rustles—whose hand touched it ?. Above all he has a belief in revelation through dreams and coincidences; and as the very definiteness of his — scheme of external worship may have been a refuge to him from that total mystery, — x SAA, a p 7% eps! Ae 3 oe act 5 . E F : x - Neiiscon) < -» ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 81 the skirts of which, and only the skirts, were ever touching him, so tn his dreams and small omens he seems to have had, in his daily advocacy of that. scheme, some petty sense of near metaphysical aid. Out of his many dreams we are fond of this one: ‘January 5 [1626-7]. Epiphany Eve and Fricay, in the night I dreained, he says, ‘that my mother, jong sce dead, stood by my bed, and drawing aside the clothes a little, looked pleasantly upon me, and that I was glad to see het with somerry an aspect. She then shewed to mea certam old man, long since deceased, whom, while alive, I both knew and loved. He seemed to lie upon the ground merry enough, but with a wrinkled countenance. His name was Grove. While I prepared to saluce him, I awoke.’ Were one to adopt what seems to have been Laud’s own theory, might not one suppose that this wrinkled old man of his dream, squat on the super- + 7 4 7¢ * Ia 5 it ¢ a 4 ~ natura! ground near its confines with the natural, was Laud’s spiritual genius, and so ; dpe pig te : : + iHdng that what of the supernatural there was in his policy consisted mainly of moni from Grove of Honae 2 ‘he question would still remain—at what depth back among the dead Grove was permitted to roam ? “Mr. Masson has published ‘ Essays Biographical and Critical,’ 1856; ‘British Novelists and their Styles,’ 1859; ‘Recent British Philoso- phy,’ 1865; ‘The Life of William Drummond of Hawthornden, 1873; &c. Mr. Masson has also been a copious contributor to our _ reviews, magazines, and other literary journals. He is a native of Aberdeen (born Dec. 22, 1822), and enjoys universal respect as a genial and accomplished author, professor, and member of the lite- rary society of the Scottish capital. Luther’s Satan. Milton’s Satan and Goethe’s Mephistopheles are literary performances ; and, for what they prove, neither Milton nor Goethe nee! have believed in a devilat all. Lu- _ther’s devil, on the other hand. was a being recognised by him as actually existing— as existing, one might say, with a vengeance. ‘| he strong conviction which Luther had on this point is a feature in his character. The narrative of his life abounds in anecdotes. shewing that the devil with him was no chimera, no mere orthodoxy, no fiction. In every page of his writings we have the word Teufel, Teufel, repeated again and again. Occasionally there occurs an express dissertation upon the nature and functions of the evil spirit ; and one of the longest chapters in his ‘ Table-talk ? vA is that entitled ‘The Devil and. his Works’—indicating that his conversation with his friends often turned on the subject of Satanic agency. Terfel was actually the strongest signification he had; and whenever he was excited to his highest emotional pitch, it came in to assist his utterance at the climax, and give him a corres- ponding powerful expression. ‘This thing I will do,’ it was common for him to say, ‘in epi of all who may oppose me, be it duke, emperor, priest. bishop, cardinal, ~ pope, or devil.’ Man’s heart, he says, is a ‘Stock, Stein, Eisen, Teufel, hart Herz’ - (a stock, stone, iron, devil, hardheart). And it was not a mere vague conception he - -had of this being, such as theology might oblige. On the contrary, he had observed _ him as a man would his personal enemy, and in so doing had formed a great many vase’ ? i conclusions regardipg his powers and his character. In general, Luther’s devil may be defined as a personification. in the spirit of Scripture. of the resisting medium which Luther had to coil his way through—spiritual fears. passionate uprisings, fainting resoiutions, within himself; error, weakness, envy, in those around him}; and, without, a whole world howling for his destruction. It is in effect as if Luther had said: ‘Scripture reyeals to me the existence of a great accursed heing, whose function it is to produce evil. It is for me to ascertain the character of this being, whom I, of all men, have to deal with. And how am I to do so except by observing him working? God knows [have not far to go in quest of his manifestations. And thus Luther went on filling up‘the scriptural proposition with his daily experl- ~ ence. He was constantly gaining a clearer conception of his great personal antago- nist, constantly stumbling upon some more concealed irait in the spirit’s eharacter. ‘The being himself was invisible; but men were walking in the midst of his mani- aS , ie =) —— - 7 82 | CYCLOPADIA OF festations. History to Luther was not a physical course of events. It was God acti ing and the devil opposing. 2 London Suburbs— Hampstead. 34 ; London, with all the evils resulting from its vastness, has suburbs as richand — eautiful, after. the English style of scenery, as any in the world: and even now, despite the encroachments of the ever-encroaching- brick and mortar on the sur- — rounding country, the neighborhood of Hampstead and Highgate, near London, ig _ one in which the lover of natural beauty and the solitary might well delight. ‘The ground is much the highest round London; there are real heights and hollows, so that the omnibuses coming from town have put on additional horses; you ascend - steep roads, lying in part through villages or quaint shops, and old high-gabled brick houses, still distinct trom the great city, though about to be devoured by it—in part ~ through straggling lines of villas, with gardens and grassy parks round them, and> here aud there an old inn; and from the highest eminences, when the view is clear, _ you can see London left behind, a mass of purplish mist, with domes and steeples visi- ble through it. When the villages end, you are really in the country. ‘here is the Heath, on the Hampstead side—an extensive tract of knolls and liitle gleus, covered here and there with furze, ali abloom with yellow in the summer, when the larks- may be heard singing over it; threaded here and there by paths with seats in them, _ or broken by clumps of trees, and blue rusty-nailed palings, which inelose old- — fashioned family-houses and shrubberies, where the coachman in livery may be seen ~ talking lazily to the gardener, but containing also sequestered spots where one might. — wander a:one for hours, or lie concealed amid the sheltering furze. At night, Hamp-~— stend Heath would be as ghastly a place to wander in as an uneasy spirit could de- sire. In every hollow seen in the starlight, one could fancy that there had been a. _ murder; nay, tradition points to spots where foul crimes have been committed, or where, in the dead of night. forgers, who had walked, with discovery on their track, — along dark intervening roads from the hell of lamp-lit London, had lain down and © poisoned themselves. In the day, however, and especially on a bright summer day, the scene is open, healthy, and cheerful. : : a. oe a oe L wee he ee en ee” ac ee in Ae diem i) Nae he a “+ ™ Be sae The ‘Essays on Ecclesiastical Biography.’ by Sim JAMES STEPHEN — (1789-1859), contain brief memoirs of Hildebrand, St. Francis of Assisi, Loyola, Luther, Baxter, Wilberforce, the founders of Jesuit-— ism, the Port-Royalists, the Clapham Sect, &c. As originally pub-— lished in the ‘Edinburgh Review, these essays were nearly as popular — with a large body of readers as those of Macaulay, though on less — attractive subjects. They were first published in a collective form ‘ in 1849, and have gone through several editions. SirJames Stephen was long legal adviser to the Colonial Office, then assistant Under-— secretary to the Colonial Office, and afterwards Under-secretary of State, which office he held from 1836 to. 1847. He was a valuable - public servant and a good man. hes, a » J, P. MUIRHEAD (Life of Watt)—s smiues (Life of Stephenson). 3 A relative of James Wati, James Parrick MurrapanD, M. A., who had access to all the family papers. published a volume in 154, entitled ‘The Origin and Progress of the Mechanical Inventions of James Watt:’ three volumes, 1858. The large copper-plate engray- ings of machinery by which it was illustrated necessarily raised the cost of this work above the means of most people, while the minute descriptions of patents and their relative drawings, were more desira- ble for the use of the scientific engineer and the mechanical philoso- - “MUIRHEAD.] ~. ENGLISH LITERATURE. —_ 83 rt pher than of the general reader. To meet the wishes of the latter, Mr. Muirhead, in 1858, remodel!ed and reproduced, in a form at once “more comprehensive, more convenient, and less costly, the biographi- cal memoir of Watt, incorporating with it the most interesting pus- sages in his correspondence, and, as far as possible, Watt’s own clear -and forcible descriptions of his inventions. This volume furnishes ‘fan interesting account of the career of the great inventor, of whom ‘Sir Walter Scott has said that he was ‘not only the most profound man of science, the most successful combiner of powers and calcu- lator of numbers, as adapted to practical purposes—was not only one of the most generally well-informed, but one of the best and kindest of human. beings.’ James Watt was born on the 19th of January -1786, at Greenock, and came of a family that for more than a hun- dred years had more or less professed mathematics and navigation. Many stories are told of his early turn for scienee. When he was “six years of age, a gentleman, calling on his father, observed the child bending over a marble hearth with a piece of coloured chalk in his hand. © Mr. Watt, said he, ‘you ought to send that boy to a public ‘school, and not allow him to trifle away his time at home.’ ‘ Look how my child is occupied before you condemn him,’ replied the father. The gentleman then observed that the boy had drawn “mathematical lines and circles on the marble hearth, and was then marking in letters and figures the result of some calculation he was “carrying on; he put various questions to him, and ended by remark- ‘ing, ‘heis no common child.’ Sitting one evening with his aunt, Mrs. Muirhead, at the tea-table, she said: ‘James Watt, I never saw such an idle boy: take a book, or employ yourself usefully. For the last hour, you have not spoken one word, but taken off the lid of that kettle and put it on again, holding now a cup and now a silver spoon ‘over the steam.’ James was already observing the process of con- ‘densation. Before he was fifteen years of age, he had made for him- self a small electrical machine, with which he sometimes startled his young friends by giving them sudden shocks from it. This must ‘have been only a few years after the Leyden phial wasinvented. His father’s store-rooms, in which he kept a stock of telescopes, quad- rants, and optical instruments for the supply of ships at Greenock, were a valuable school of observation to the young philosopher, and “may have tended to decide the profession which he selected for him- self—that of mathematical instrument-maker. At the age of eighteen, he removed to Glasgow to learn this busi- “ness, and a year afterwards repaired to London for the same pur- pose. But bad health—a gnawing pain in his back, and weariness all over his body’—obliged him to quit London in the year 1756 ; and after investing about twenty guineas in tools and useful books on his ‘trade, he returned to Scotland. In 1757 he received permission to occupy an apartment and open a shop within the precincts of the college of Glasgow, and to use the designation of ‘ mathematical s4 -CYCLOPEDIA OF \ [ro 1876, sy 4 eer we instrument-maker to the university.’ And now, in his twenty-first. year, may be said to have commenced the wonderful career of James Watt asa man of inventive genius. Business was sufficiently prosper- ous, and in his leisure hours he studied without intermission. * Obser- ~ vare’ was the motto he adopted, and his object, as he himself ex-~ pressed it, was ‘to find out the weak side of Nature, and» vanquish her;? ‘for Nature,’ he says again, ‘has a weak side, if we can only — find it out.’ Nothing came amiss. Without knowing one musical — note from another, he undertook to buildan organ for amagon- lodge — in Glasgow. He had studied the philosophical theory of music, and ~ not only did he make the organ, but in the process a thousand things occurred to him which no organ-builder ever dreamed of—nice indi- cators of the strength of the blast, regulators of it, &c.. He after- | wards made many organs; and guitars, flutes, and violins of his manufacture are still in existence. About this time he also contrived — an ingenious machine for drawing in perspective. ‘The great dis-— covery which led to the ultimate triumphs of the steam-engine was . made when Watt was: only twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age—namely, in 1764 or 1765. Dr. Black, an intimate friend, thus ~ narrates the circumstance: . ig ts The Steam-engine. A few yeaxs after he was settled at Glasgow, he was employed by the Erofessoal i of Natural Philosophy to examine and rectify a small workable model of a steam- engine, which was out of order. This turned a part of his thoughts and fertile in- — vention to the nature and improvement of steam-engines, to the “perfection of their | machinery, and to the different means by which their great consumption of fuel ‘ might be diminished, He soon acquired such a reputation for his knowledge on this subject, that he was employed to plan and erect several engines in different places, while at the same time he was frequently making new experiments to lessen_ the waste of heat from the external surface of the boiler. and from that of the cylin-— der. But, after he had been thns employed a considerable time, he perceived that by far the greatest waste of heat proceeded from the waste of steam in filling the cylin- der with steam. In filling the cylinder with steam, for every stroke of the common engine a great part of the steam is chilled and condensed by the coldness of the cylinder, before this last is heated enough to qualify it for being filled with elastic vapour or perfect steam; he perceived, therefore, that by preventing this waste of eteam, an Incomp: wably greater saving of heat and fuel would be attained than by any other contrivance. If was thus in the beginning of the year 1765 that the fortu- nate thought occurred to him of condensing the steam by cold in a separate vessel or app: aratus, between which and the cylinder ; a communication was to be opened for that purpose every time the steam was to be condensed ; while the cylinder itsclf- night be preserved perpetually hot, no cold water or air being ever adinitted into its cavity. This capital improvement flashed on -his mind at once, and filled him with rapture. Here was the weak side of Nature, by the discovery of which he vanquished her. Dr. ee also an intimate friend, assigns the discovery to the year 1764 Dr Robison gives an account of an interview with Watt at this time: ‘I came into Mr. Watt’s parlour without ceremony, and found him sitting before the fire, having lying on his knee a little tin cistern, which he was looking ag. (A entered into conversation on what we had been speaking of at last - ~~ “utRHEAD.) | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 85 meeting—something about steam. All the while Mr. Watt kept looking at the fire, and laid down the cistern at the foot of his chair. At last he looked at me, and said briskly: “ You need not fash your- self any more about that, man; I have now made an engine that shail not waste a particle "of steam. It shall all be boiling hot: ay, and hot water injected, if you please.” So saying, Mr. Watt looked with complacency at the little thing at his feet ,and, seeing that I ob- served him, he shoved it away under a table with his foot. I puta question about the nature of his contrivance. Le answered me rather drvly. I did not press him toa further explanation. . . -J found Mr. Alexander Brown, a very. intimate acquaintance of Mr. “Watt's, and he immediately accosted’ me with: ‘“ Well, have you seen Jamie Watt?” © Yes.” “He'll bein high spirits now with his engine, isn’t: he?” ‘ Yes,” said I, “ very fine spirits.” “Ay,” says Mr. Brown, ‘“‘ the condenser’s the thing; keep it but cold enough, and you may have a perfect vacuum, whatever be the heat - of the cylinder, ” ‘The instant he said this, the whole flashed on my mind at once.’ The first experiment was made with a common anatomist’s great injection syringe for a cylinder, but the contrivance was perfect in Watt’s mind, and fitted the engine at once for the greatest and most — powerful, or for the most trifling task. Dr. Robison says he is satis- fied that when he left: town a fortnight before the interview above quoted, Watt had not thought of the method of keeping the cylinder hot, and that when he returned, he had completed it, and confirmed it by experiment. Sir Walter Scott, according to Lockhart, never ~eonsidered any amount of literary distinction asentitled to be spoken of in the same breath with mastery in the higher departments of practical life; and if ever a discovery in science was entitled to this exalted position, it was surely that made by James Watt—an inven- -tion which is estimated to have added to the available labour of Great Britain alone a power equivalent to that of four hundred millions of men, or more than double the number of males supposed to inhabit -the globe. ~ To reap the benefits of his discovery was now the great object to which Watt directed himself; but it was eight ornine years before it turned to the advantage of the public or to the bencfit of the in- -ventor. For a time he was associated with an ingenious but unsuc- ~ cessful man, Dr. Roebuck, and neither profited much by the connec- tion. The invention was, however, patented in January 1769, and ~ Watt continued to experiment upon and to perfect the mechanism of his ‘fire-engine.’ He bad married a cousin of his own, Miss Miller, in July 1783, and had now three children ; ‘but unhappily, says Mr. Muirbead, ‘ without reeciving that triple proportion of corn which, among the Romans, the jus trium liberorum brought with it. Those little voices, “ w hose crying wasa cry for gold,’ were not to bestilled “by the baser metal of a badly cust Carron cylinder, or the “block-tin f * cad ote © og. 7 86 2s CYCLOPEDIA OF =~ — ‘fro 1876, and hammered lead” of a Glasgow condenser.’ We find Watt writ--_ ing thus: ‘I am resolved, unless those things I have brought to some-— pe fection reward me for the time and money I have lost on them, if - can resist it, to invent no more. Indeed, Iam not near so capable as I once was. I find that Iam not the same person I was four years ago, when I invented the fire-engine, and foresaw, even before 1 made a model, almost every circumstance that has since occurred.’ To carry on the affairs of his household, Watt undertook many occasional commissions. He projected a canal for carrying coals to Giasgow, and received £200 a year for superintending its construc- tion. His mind having been turned to canals, he struck out the idea of the screw-propcller, or ‘spiral oar,’ as he called it. He made sur- veys for various canals in Scotland, and among others, by appoint- ment of the Court of Police of Glasgow, the Caledonian Canal, which was afterwards constructed between Inverness and Fort- William. Mr. Telford, to whom this great work was principally. intrusted, throughout his lengthened labours in connection with it, _ has borne testimony to the particular correctness and value of Watt's _ survey. The inventive genius of the man was never still: clocks, © micrometers, dividing screws, surveying quadrants,and a hundred other inventions flowed from him with the ease that.a létterateur dashes off an article for a magazine. ‘ You might live,’ sid his friend Dr. Small, ‘ by inventing only an hour in a week for mathe- matical instrument-makers.’ : In 1775, Mr. Watt and Dr. Rocbuck dissolved their connection; and — then began the partnership with Mr. Boulton of the Seho Works, in’ Birmingham, which laid the foundation of Watt’s future prosperity. Mr. Boulton was possessed of ample means to do justice to the mag- $ nitude of Watt’s inventions; and the result was, that both realised — an ample fortune, and the Soho Works of Binmingh: im were among. — the greatest establishments of that city. Watt’s inventions continued — to enrich the world almost until his death, at the putriarchal age of. — eighty-three. Among the most important of these, not mentioned — above, were the rotative motion and_ parallel motion, the throttle- — valve, the steam-gauge, the indicator, the governor, &e., in connec- — tion with the steam-engine; the copying-press, tlie steam tilt-ham- ; mer, a smoke-consumer, the’ discovery of the composition of water, — &c. These are among the works which we owe to the great inventor 4 and perfecter of the steam-engine. Lord Brougham’s beautiful epi- — taph on Watt, in Westminstcr Abbey, should never. be omitted from — aby notice of his life and character: . Not to perpetuate a name, Which must endure, while the peaceful arts flourish, But to shew That Mankind have learned to honour those x Who best eee their gratitude, | ing, Th Hs Ministers, and many of the Nobles ae : a at eet Fe get ek) se 8 ee a = > ‘ : Te . \ ge MUIRHEAD.) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 87 And Commons of the Realm, Raised this Monument to JAMES WATT, Who, directing the force of an original genius, Early exercised in philosophic research, To the improvement of The Steam-engine, Enlarged the Resources of his Country, ncreased the Power of Man, And rose to an eminent place Among the most Illustrious Followers of Science And the real Benefactors of the World. Born at Greenock, MDCCXXXVI. 3 Died at Heathfield, in Staffordshire, mpcccxrx. The ‘ Life of George Stephenson,’ by SamurL Sixes, 1857, is in. teresting on account of the history it gives of the. application of locomotives to railway travelling; and it is invaluable as affording the example of a great principle triumphing over popular prejudice, ignorance, and the strenuous opposition of ‘ vested interests.’ The railway engineer rose from very small beginnings. He was the son of a Jabourer in Northumberland, fireman at the pumping-engine of the colliery at Wylam, near Newcastle. George was born in 1781. ~ While a child he ran errands, herded cows, and performed field- labour until, in his fourteenth year, he was promoted to be assistant to his father at the rate of one shilling a day. He could not read, but he imitated everything. -He mended clocks and watches, made -shoes, and otherwise*cisplayed such ingenuity, that he was appointed engine-wright at Killingworth Colliery at a salary of £100 a year. Here he inspired such confidence in his sagacity and skill, that, on application, he at once.obtained permission from Lord Ravensworth, the proprietor, to incur the outlay for constructing what he called a ‘travelling engine’ for the tram-roads between the colliery and the shipping-port nine miles off. With the imperfect tools and unskilled workmen at Killingworth, Stephenson constructed his first locomo- tive. He called it‘ My Lord ;’ and at its first trial, on an ascending gradient of 1 in 450, tlre engine drew eight loaded carriages, of about thirty tons’ weight, at the rate of four miles an hour. This was on the 25th of July, 1814. It was not until 1830 that the public fully recognised the practicability of driving locomotives on smooth rails; and it was then recognised, because the fact could no longer be de- -nied. *Stephenson conviced himself of the two great principles— that friction is a constant quantity at ‘all velocities, and that iron is capable of adhesion upon iron without roughness of surface. He therefore discarded cog-wheels on rails and the idea of running loco- motives on common roads and laboured to adapt the locomotive and the rails to the wants of each other, so that,as he said himself, they might be like ‘man and wife.’ His success led to his appoint- ment as engineer of the Stockton and Darlington Railway, a line projected in order to find an outlet and new markets for the Bishop- 88 CYCLOPEDIA OF sro 188 Auckland coals. Here he succeeded in establishing: the first railway - over which passengers and goods were carried by a locomotive. The opening trial too place 27th September, 1827, and a local chronicler thus records the event : Starting the First Railway Locomotive. The signal being given, the engine started off with this immense train of car-_ Tiages ; and such was its velocity, that In some parts: the speed- was frequeutly twelve miles an hour; and at that time the number of passengers was counted to be 450, which, together with the coal, merchandise, avd carriages, would ammount to near ninety tons. The engine with its load arrived at Darl.ngton. a distance of 83 miles, in sixty-five minutes. The six wagons, loadéd w ith coal intended for Darlington, were then left behind; and obtaining a fresh supply of water, and ar- . rarcing the procession to accommodate a band of music and humerous passengers from Darlington, the engine set off again, aud arrived at Stockton in three hours and seven min. ites, including stoppages, the distance being nearly twelve miles. By the time the train reached Stocktun there were about 600 perscns in the train or- hanging on to the wagons, which must have gone ata safe und steady pace of from four to six miles :n hour from Darlington. *Vhe arrival at Stockton,’ it is added, ” ‘ ‘excited a deep interest and admiration.’ A more important field was, however, necessary, in order to. at- tract public attention, and to test the inherent soundness of the — principle propounded by Stephenson. This was found in Liverpool — and. Manchester. The means of transporting goods between these great cities had not kept pace with the development of the traffic. Cotton, as Mr. Huskisson observed in the House of Commons, was detained a fortnight at Liverpool, while the Manchester manufac- turers were obliged to suspend their labours’ and goods manufac- tured at Manchester for foreign markets could not be transmitted in ~ time, in consequence of the tardy conveyance. In nine years, the quantity of raw cotton alone sent from the one town to the other had increased by fifty million pounds’ weight. A public meeting was held at Liverpool, and it was resolved to construct a tram-road, an idea which, under George Stephenson, was ultimately extended to a railway suitable for either fixed or locomo- — tive engines. At this time the Bridgewater Canal was yielding a re- — turn of the whole original investment about once in two years. The — opposition of the proprietors was therefore natural enough, but the scheme was opposed on all sides. In making the survey, Stephenson was refused access to the ground at one point, turned off by the — gamekeepers at another, and on one occasion, when a clergyman was violently hostile, he had to slip in and make his survey while divine service was going on. The survey was made, however, in spite of all opposition. ‘The next difficulty was to get jeave to make. the line. A shower of pamphlets warned the public against the lo- — comotive: it would keep cows from grazing, and hens from laying; the air would be poisoned, and birds fall dead as it passed; the pre- servation of pheasants and foxes would be impossible; householders — would be ruined, horses become extinct, and oats unsaleable ; country inns would be ruined ; travelling rendered dangerous, for boilers — n yee. PRI? we x ape : : : ; > SMILES.] _ . ENGLISH LITERATURE. 89 - would burst, and passengers be blown to atcms. But there was al- - ways this consolation to wind up with—the weight of the locomotive - would prevent its moving, and railways could never be worked by steam-power. Thi bill forthe Liverpool and Manchester Railway at length came before a committee of the House of Commons. Privately, - Mr. Stephenson talked of driving twenty miles an hour; but the — eouncil warned him of such folly, and in evidence he restricted him- self to ten miles an hour. ‘ But assuming this speed,’ said a member of the committee, ‘suppose that a cow were to stray upon the line and get in the way of the engine; would not that, think you, be a very awkward circumstance?’ ‘ Yes,’ replied the witness, with his strong Northumberland burr, and a merry twinkle in his eye—‘ yes, ~ verry awkward indeed for the coo!’ __ Mr. Stephenson— that unprofessional person,’ as one of the en- gineers of the day called him—failed to convince the committee, and the bill was lost. ‘ We must persevere, sir,” was his invariable reply, when friends hinted that he might be wrong; and a second bill was brought in, which, as the new line carefully avoided the lands of a _ few short-sighted opponents, passed the House of Commons by 88 to _ Al, and the House of Lords with the opposition of only Lord Derby .and Lord Wilton. The railway was commenced; and though told by the first engineers of the day that no man in his senses would ‘attempt to carry it tarougl Chat Moss, Mr. Stephenson did so, at a - cost not of £270,000, but of only £28,000, and he completed the line - jn a substantial and business-like manne. But the adoption of the - Jocomotive was still an open question, and he stood alone among the _ engineers of the day. The most advanced professional men con- curred in recommending fixed engines. ‘ We must persevere, sir, was still George’s motto. He persuaded the directors to give the locomotive a trial, anc he made an engine forthe purpose. The . - trial came on, 6th October 1829. The engine started on its journey, dragging after it about thirteen tons’ weight, in wagons, and made the first-ten trips backwards and forwards along the two miles of road, running the thirty-five miles, including stoppages, in an hour and forty-eight minutes. The second ten trips were in like manner performed in two hours and three minutes. The maximum velocity _ attained by the ‘Rocket’ during the trial-trip was twenty-nine miles an hour, or about three times the speed that one of the judges of the compétition had declared to be the limit of possibility. * Now,’ cried - one of the directors, lifting up his hands—‘now is George Stephen- son at last delivered.’ This decided the question ; locomotives were immediately constructed and put upon the line; and the public open- ing of the work took place on the 15th September 1880. Opening of the Liverpool and Manchester Railway. 7 The completion of the work was justly regarded as a great national event, and was celebrated accordingly. The Duke of Wellington, then prime-minister, 8. _ Robert Peel, secretary of state, Mr. Huskisson, one of the members for Liverpoo,, E.L.V.8—-4 L J “90 - CYCLOPAIDIA OF — = river. The people gazed with wonder and adiniration at the trains which sped along ~ from the carriage, and was standing on the opposite road, along which the * Rocket” a engine was observed rapidly coming up. At this moment the Duke of Mean ‘Northumbrian’ engine conveyed the wounded body of the unfortunate gentleman _ a distance of about fifteen miles in twenty-five minutes, or at the rate of thirty-six — miles an hour. This incredible speed burst upon the world with all the effect of a new and unlooked-for phenomenon. - wis The fortune of George Stephenson was now made. He became a great man. He was offered, but reftised, a knighthood, and his latter — days were spent as those of a country gentleman. He died in 1848, at the age of sixty-seven. Siar : George Stephenson at Sir Robert Peel's seat of Drayton. Though mainly an engineer, he was also a daring thinker on many scientific 3 questions; and there was scarcely a subject of spemmiaton: or a denarineant of — recondite science, on which he had not employed his faculties in such a way as to have formed large and original views. At Drayton the conversation ‘often — turned upon such topics, and Mr. Stephenson freely joined in- it. One one occa- lon, an.animated discussion took place between himself and Dr. Buckland on one oft his favourite theories as to the formation of coal. But the result was, that Dr. Buck- land, a much greater master of tongue-fence than Stephenson, completely silenced him. Next morning before breakfast, when he was walking in the grounds deeply — pondering, Sir William Follett came up and asked what he was thinking about? —— Why, Sir William, I am thinking over that argument I had with Buckland last nig t. I know I am right, and that if Ihad only the command of words which he ey I'd have beaten him.’ ‘Let me know all about it.’ said Sir William, ‘and Tallsee _ what I can do for you.’ The two sat down in an arbour. where the astute lawyer made himself thoroughly acquainted with the points of the case; entering into it % | with all the zeal of an advocate about to plead the dearest interests of his-client. After he had mastered the subject, Sir William rose up, rubbing his hands with glee, and said: ‘Now I am ready for him.’ Sir Robert Peel was made acquainted — with the plot, and adroitly introduced the subject of the controversy after-dinner. — The result was, that in the argument which followed, the man of science was overcome by the man of law: and Sir William Follett had at all points the’ mastery over Dr. Buckland. ‘What do you say, Mr. Stephenson ?’ asked Sir Robert, laughing. ‘Why,’ said he, ‘I will only say this, that -of all the pow Ineadin Se cocksurN.] .. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 91 above and under the earth, there seems to me to be no power so greet as the gift of _ thegab.’ One day at dinuer, during the same visit, a scientific lady asked him the - question, ‘Mr. Stephenson, what do you consider the most powerful force in — nature?’ ‘Oh!’ said he, in a gallant spirit, ‘I will soon answer that question: it is - the eye of a woman for the man who loves her; for if a woman look with affection on a young man, and he should go to the uttermost ends of the earth, the recollec- ~ tion of that look will bring bim back; there is ‘no other force in nature that could -~do that.? One Sunday, when the party had just returned from church, they were - standing together on the terrace near the hall, and observed in the distance a rail- way train flashing along, throwing behind it along line of white steam. ‘Now, ~ Buckland,’ said Mr. Stephenson, ‘I have a poser for you. Can you tell me whatis the _ power thatis driving that train?’ * Well,’ said the other ‘I suppose it is one of your big engines.’ ‘Brt what drives the engine?’ ‘Oh, very likely a canny Newcastle driver.’ ‘ What do yousay to the light of the sun?’ ‘How can that be?’ asked _ the doctor. ‘It is nothing else,’ said the engineer; ‘it is light bottled up in the ~ earth for tens of thousands of years—light, absorbed by plants and vegetables, being - necessary for the condensation of carbon during the process of their growth, if it ~ be not carbon in another form—and now, after being buried in the earth for long - ages in tields of cual, that latent light is again brought forth and liberated, made to * -_ work, as in that locomotive, for yreat humau purposes.’ ‘Ihe idea was certainly a * most striking and original one: like a flash of light, it Uluminated in an instant an entire field of science. ‘ ELIZA METERYARD, * In 1865-6 appeared ‘ The Life of Josiah Wedgwood, two volumes, - by Exviza MereyarD, a lady who had previously written several - sales and other productions under the name of ‘ Silverpen.’ In 1871 ; ‘Miss Meteyard produced a series of biographies, under the title of *A Group of Englishmen’ (1795 to 1815), being records of the - younger Wedgwoods -and their friends, embracing the history of _ photography. ot - HENRY, LORD COCKBURN—DEAN RAMSAY—DR R. CHAMBERS. ~ The awakened curiosity of the public regarding Scottish history ~ and manners—mainly to be attributed to Sir Walter Scott’s works— ~ induced the late Henry CockBuRN (1779-1854) to write and publish _~ (1856) ‘ Memorials. of his Time, or sketches of the public character and social habits of the leading citizens of Edinburgh, from the end of the last century to the culminating-point in the celebrity of the _ Scottish capital at the date of the Waverley novels. The author of ' the ‘ Memorials,” Lord Cockburn, a Scottish judge, was shrewd, ob- _ servant, and playful—a genial humourist and man of fine taste, with - a vein of energetic eloquence, when roused, that was irresistible with _ a Scottish audience. In 1874 were issued two more volumes of the _ same description, ‘ Journal of Henry Cockburn, being a Continuation _ of the “ Memorials of His Own Time.”’’ - Of a similar character with the ‘Memorials, though more fossip- ing and anecdotical, is the work entitled ‘ Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character, 1857, bv the Rev. Eowarp BANNERMAN Ram- say (1793-1872). minister of St. John’s Episcopal Church, Edinburgh - (1830), and dean of the diocese from 1841 till his death. This vol- - ume has gone through twenty-one editions, Jean Ramsay was a man of various graces and accomplishments, and as a clergyman he = - — a 93 CYCLOPEDIA OF - ~~ [10.1876. - combined deep and fervent piety with genuine toleration and benev- olence. The ‘ Reminiscences’ form a curious record of old times and. manners fast disappearing. It is the best refutation of sidney Smith’s — unfortunate joke that the Scotch have no humour, and it has done almost as much as the Waverley novels to make Scotch customs, phrases, and traits of character familiar to Englishmen at home and — abroad. : Edinburgh Society Eighty Years Since.—From ‘ Memorials of his Time,’ by HENRY COCKBURN. . There was far more coarseness in the formal age than in the freeone. ‘I wo vices especially, which have been long banished from respectable society, were very preva- — lent, if not universal, among the whole upper ranks—swearing and drunkenness. Nothing was more common than for gentiemen who had dined with ladies, and meant to rejoin them, to get drunk. To get drunk in a tavern, “hought the right, and the mark, of a gentleman. And, tried by this test, nobody, who had not seen them, could now be made to believe how many gentlemen ~ there were. Not that people were worse-tempered then than now. They were only coarser in their manners, and had got into a bad style of admonition and dissent. he naval chaplain justificd his cursing the sailors, because it made them listen to him; and Braxfield [a Scottish judge] apologised to a lady whom he damned at whist for bad play, by declaring that he had mistaken her for his wife. This odious practice was applied with particular offensiveness by those in authority towards their inferiors. In the army it was universal by officers towards soldiers, — and far more frequent than is now credible by masters towards servants. The prevailing dinner was about three o’clock.. Tw ifthere was nocompany. Hence it was no great deviation from their usual custom for a family to dine on Sundays ‘ between sermons,’ that_ 18, between one and two. The hour, in time, but not without groans and predictions, became four, xb which it stuck for several years. ‘Then it got to five, which, however, was thought positively revolutionary; and four was long and gallantly adhered to by the haters of change as ‘the good old hour.’ At last, even they were obliged to give in, but they only yielded inch by inch, and made a desperate stand at half-psst four. Eyen five, however, triumphed, and continued the average polite hour from (I thnk) about 1806 or 1807 till about 1820. Six has at lust prevailed, and half-an-hour later is not unusual. As yet this is the furthest stretch of London imitation, except in country houses devoted to grouse or deer. The procession from the drawing-room to on a different principle from what it is now. ing as that of each gentleman approaching a lady, and the two hcoking together. 'Yhis would have excited as much horror as the waltz at first did, which never shewed itself without denunciations of continental manncrs by correct gentlemen and worthy mothers and aunts. All the ladies first w row according to the ordinary rules of precedence. Then the gentlemen moved off in single file ; so that when they reached the dining-room, the ladies were all there, lingering about the backs of the chairs, till they could see what their fate was to be. ‘hen began the selection of partners, the leaders of the male line having the advan- tage of priority ; and of course the magnates had an affinity for each other. 4 he dinners themselves were much the same as at present. Any difference is in a more liberal adoption of the cookery of France. Healths and toasts were special torments: oppressions which cannot now be conceived. Every glass during dinner required to be dedicated to the health of some one. This prandial nuisance wes hor- rible, but it was nothing to what followed. For after dinner, and before the ladies retired, there genc¢rally began what were called ‘ rounds’ of toasts, and, worst of all, there were ‘sentiments.’ These were short epigrammatic sentences. expressive of moral feelings and virtues, and were thought refined and elegant productions. The glasses being filled, a person was as something similar was committed; the dining-room was formerly arranged ‘May the pleasures of the evening bear the re- \ $ r . ; , seen.ed to be con- — sidered as a natural, if not an intended consequence of going to one. RWean re was o o’clock was quite common, — There was no such alarming procecd- _ ent off by themselyes in a regular — ked for his or for her sentiment, when this or TRA. ees ~ . ~ COCKRURN.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 98. flections of the morning;’ or ‘May the friends of our youth be the companions of our oid age ;’ or ‘ Delicate pleasures to susceptible minds,’ &c. i Early dinners begat suppers. But suppers are so delightful, that they have sur- vived iong afterdinuers have become late. Indeed this has immemorially been a - favourite Edinburgh repast. How many are the reasons, how strong the associa- tions that inspire the last of the day’s frieudly meetings! Supper is cheaper than dinner; shorter, less ceremonious, and more poetical. The business of the day is - over; and its still fresh events interests. It is chiefly intimate associates that are drawn tozether at that familiar hour, of which night deepens the sociality. If there be any fun, or heart, or spirit in a man at all, it is then, if ever, that it will appear. So far a3 I have geen social life, its brightest suushine has been on the last repast of : the day. ; ea AS _ the comparitive religiousness of the present and the preceding generation, any such comparison is very difficult to be made. Religion is certainly more the . fashion than it used to be. There is more said about it; there has been a great ‘rise, and consequently a great competition of sects; and the general mass of tle religious public has been enlarged. On the other hand, if we are to believe one half of what some religious persons themsclves assure us, religion is now almost ~ extinct. My opinion is that the balance is ih favour of the present time. And Lam certain that it would be much more so, if the modern dictators would only accept of that as religion which was considered to be so by their devout fathers. Scottish Nationality—Drom Preface to Dean Ramsay's ‘Reminiscences.’ There is no mistaking the national attachment so strong in the Scottish charac- ter. Men return after long absence in this respect unchanged; whilst absent, _ Scotchmen never forget their native home. In all varieties of lands and climates their hearts ever turn towards the ‘land o’ cakes and brither Scots.’ Scottish festi- _. _ vals are kept with Scottish feeling on ‘Greenland’s icy mountains’ or ‘India’s coral _ strand.’ Treceived an amusing account of an ebullition of this patriotic feeling ie from my la‘e noble friend the Marquis of Lothian, who met with it when travelling _ inIndia. He happened to arrive at a station upon the eve of St. Andrew’s Day, __ and received an invitation to join a Scottish dinner-party in commemoration. of old _ Scotland. There was a great deal of Scottish enthusiasm. There were seven sheep- a heads (singed) down the table; and Lord Lothian told me that after dinner he sang © __-wita great applause ‘The Laird 0’ Cockpen.’ Love of country must draw forth good feeling in men’s minds. as it will tend to make them cherish a desire for its welfare and ‘improvement, To claim kindred > with the honourable and high-minded, asin gone decree allied with them, must im- ply at least an appreciation of great and eood qualities. Whatever, then, supplies men with a motive for following upright and noble conduct—whatever advances in them a kindly benevolence towards fellow-conntrymen in distress, will alwavs exer- _ Cisea beneficial effect upon the hearts and’ intellects of a Christian people: and es these objects are, ig think, all more or less fostered and encouraged under the in- BE fluence of that patriotic spirit which identifies national honour and national hap- -piness with its own. 3 Mg o preserve peculiarities which I think should be recorded. because they ¥, ere Rational, and because they are reminiscences of gennine Scottish life. No doubt . these peculiarities have been deeply tinged with the quaint. and quiet. humour which 1S more strictly characteristic of our countrymen than their wit. And, as exponents of that humour, ony stories may often have excited some narmless merriment in __ those who have appreciated the real fun of:the drv Scottish character That, I trust, is no offence. T should never be sorry to think that. within the ‘limits of ecoming mirth,’ T had contributed, in however small a degree, to the entertainment and recreation of my conniryvmen Iam convinced that every one. whether clerzy- ~ man orlayman. who adds something tothe innocent enjovment of human life, has joined ina good work. inasmuch-as he has dimfmished the inducement to vicious indulgence. God Iknows there is enough of sin and of sorrow in the world to make ' sad the heart of every Christian man. No one. I think, need be ashamed of hav- 12S sought to cheer the darker hours of his fellow-travellers’ steps through life, or to beguile their hearts, when weary and heavy-laden, into cheerful and amusing __~ trains of thonght. So faras my experience of life goes, I have never found that the 94 What Lord Cockburn and Dean Ramsay did for their time by per- sonal observation and memory, has been done for a much earlier period, through the medium of books and manuscripts, by Dr. Ros- ERT CHAMBERS, in his ‘Domestic Annals of Scotland from the — Reformation to the Revolution,’ two volumes, 1858; and ‘from the Revolution to the Rebellion of 1745, in one volume, 1861. His ob- ject, as stated in the preface to the work, was to detail ‘the series of occurrences beneath the region of history, the effects of passion, ~ superstition, and ignorance in the people, the extraordinary natural ~~ events which disturbed their tranquillity; the calamities which- affected their wellbeing, the traits of false political economy by which that wellbeing was checked, and generally those things which enable -us to see how our forefathers thought, felt, and suffered, and how, on the whole, ordinary life looked in their days.’ The language of the original contemporary narrators is given wherever it was sufficiently __ intelligible and concise. This work has been very successful. Three other volumes by its author are devoted to local and national annals | — The History of the Rebellion of 1745-6) ‘Traditions of Edin-- a burgh,’ and‘ Popular Rhymes of Scotland’ . These are valuable as- — embodying much curious information presented in a form agreeable and attractive. The ‘ History of the Rebellion’ is, indeed, an im- ~ portant contribution to our historical literature. Dr. Chambers’s best services, as has been justly remarked, ‘were devoted to his na- tive country ; and, with the exception of his illustrious contemporary, a Sir Walter Scott, no other author has done so much fo illustrate its social state, its scenery’, romantic historical incidents, and antiquities _- —the lives of its eminent men—and the changes in Scottish society and the condition of the people (especially those in the capital) during the last two centuries.” The lifeof Dr. R. Chambers has been — written by his brother, Dr. W. Chambers.* Both were born in Peebles— William, April 16, 1800; Robert, July 10, 1802—of an old Peebleshire family, who, at the beginning of the century, were sub- — stantial woollen manufacturers. HRobert has thus graphically de- — scribed his native town: ¢ Picture of an old Scottish Town—HFrom ‘ Memoir of Robert Chambers.’ - ; Tn the early years of this century, Peebles was little advanced from the condition 5 in which it had mainly rested for several hundred years previously. It was — eminently a auiet place—‘ As quiet as the grave or as Peebles,’ is a phrase used by Cockburn. It was said to be a finished town, for no new houses (exceptions to be of course allowed for) were ever built in it. Situated. however, among beautiful . pastoral hills, with a singularly pure atmosphere, and with the pellucid Tweed run= —_ | * Memoir of Robert Chambers, with Autobiographic Reminiscences, by William Chambers, 1872. A s : P * yaw BY f CHAMBERS. ] ‘trative. Retailing the matter with gre ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 95 ning over its pebbly bed close behind the streets, the town was acknowledged to be, in the fond language of its inhabitants, a konny place. An honest old burgher was enabled by some strange chance to visit Paris, and was eagerly questioned, when he came back, as to the character of that capitai of capitals; .o which, it is said. he answered that ‘ Paris, a’ thing considered, was a wonderfui place—but still, Peebles for pleesure !’ and this has often been cited as a ludicrous exumple of rustic prejudice and narrowness of judgment. But, on a fair. interpretation of the old gentleman’s words, he was not quite so benighted as at first appears. ‘The ‘ pleesures’ of Peebles were the beauties of the situation and the opportunities of healthful recreation it afforded, and these were certainly considerchle. There was an old and a new town in Peebles—each of them a single street, or little more; and as even the new town had an antique look, it may be inferred that the old looked old indeed. It was, indeed, chiefly composed of thatched cottages, occupied by weavers and labouring people—a primitive race of homely aspect, in many instances eking out a scanty subsistence by having a cow on the town com- mon, or cultivating a r7g of potatoes in the fields close to the town. Rows of por- ridge /uggies (small wooden vessels) were to be seen cooling on window-soles; a smell of peat smoke pervaded the place; the click of the shuttle was everywhere heard during the day; and in the evening, the gray old men came out in their Kilmarnock night-caps, and talked of Bonaparte, on the stone seats beside their doors. The ‘pluiters used in these humble dwellings were all of wood, and the spoons of horn; shives and forks rather rare articles. The house was generally divided into two apartments by a couple of box-beds, placed end to end—a bad style of bed, prevalent in cottages all over Scotland; they were so close as almost to stifle the inmates. Among these humble people, ail costumes, customs, and ways of living smacked of old times. You would see a venerable patriarch making his way to-church on Sunday, with a long-backed, swing-tailed, light-blne coat of the style of George II., which was probably his marriage coat, and half a century old. His head-gear was a broad-brimmed blue bonnet. The old woman came out on the same occa- gions in red scarfs, called cardinals, and white miutehes (caps), bound by a black =: ribbon, with the gray hair folded back on the forehead. There was a great deal of drugget, and huckaback, and serge in that old world, and very little cotton. .One almost might think he saw the humbler Scotch people of the seventeenth century _before his eyes. William Chambers, in that part of the volume devoted to his auto- biographic reminiscences, says of Peebles: art of the population who lived down closes and in d at third or fourth hand, or was merged in con- versation on religious or other topics. My brother and I derived much enjoyment, not to say instruction. from the singing of old ballads, and the telling of ae atk stories, by a kind old female relative, the wife of a decayed ti adesman, Ms ho c hi at in one of the ancient Closes. At her humble fireside, under the canopy of a seo chim- ney, where her half-blind and superannuated husband sat dozing ina plas the bat- tle of Corunna and. other prevailing news was strangely mingled with disquisitions on the Jewish wars. The source of this interesting conversation was a wey orn copy of L’Estrange’s translation of Josephus, a small folio ot date 1720. T a an vied possessor of the work was Tam Fleck, ‘a flichty chietd, as he was consigere A who. not particularly steady at his legitimate employment, struck out a rae pro- fession by going about in the evenings with his Josephus, which he reac an % cur rent news: the only light he had for doing so being usnally that impart. .o @ flickering blaze of a piece of parrot coal, It was his practice not to read more t ak from two to three pages at a time, interlarded with sagacious remarks of his 4s n by way of foot-notes. and in this way he sustained an extroordinary interest int he nar- j at equability in different households, ain kept all at the same point of information, and wound them up with a conve oes anxiety as to the issue of some moving event in Hebrew annals. Althongh in this way he went through a course of Josephus yearly, the novelty somehow never off. ; see Vec, ‘Tam, what’s the news the nicht?’ would old Geordie Murray say, as Among that. considerable. p old thatched cottages, news circulate » j/ 96. CYCLOPADIA OF = —~—~—S=S&P'T'1- 2896, Tam entered with his Josephus under his arm, and seated himself at the family fireside. ® ot 4 ‘Bad news, bad. news,’ replied Tam. ‘Titus has begun to besiege Jerusalem— it ’s gaun to be a terrible business ;’ 4nd then he opened his budget of intelligence, to which all paid the most reverential attention. The protracted and severe famine which was endured by the besieged Jews, was a theme which kept several families im a state of agony for a weck ; and when Tam in his readings came to the final conflict and destruction of the city by the Roman general. there was a perfect paroxysin of horror. At such séauces my brother and I were delighted listeners. All honour to the memory of Tam Fleck. Misfortune overtook the old bowrgeots family of Chambers, in Pec- bles. - They removed to Edinburgh, and there the two brothers, William and Robert Chambers, fought hard and nobly to gain a po- sition in life. How they struggled, manfully and cheerfully—never relaxing, never complaining—is told in the ‘ Memoir’ from which we have quoted, and which is the most interesting and instructive narra- tive of the kind that has issued from the press since Hugh Miller wrote his ‘Schools and Schoolmasters.’ In’ 1868, the university of - St. Andrews conferred on Robert the honorary degree of LL.D. He then resided chiefly in St. Andrews, and there he died on the 17th of March 1871. On William, who survives, the university of Hdin- burgh conferred the honorary degree of LL.D. in 1872. SIR JAMES Y. SIMPSON. Professional biographies—legal, military, medical, &c—are numer- ous, but having only a special interest, do not seem to require men- tion here. We make an exception in the case of Sir James YOUNG SrmMpson (1811-1870), because he proved, by his discovery of the anesthetic virtues of chloroform, to bea benefactor of mankind. He made other improvements and innovations in medical practice, which are, we believe, considered valuable. His chief distinction, however, was the relief of human suffering by this agent of chloroform— ‘wrapping, as he said,‘ men, women, and children in a painless sleep during some of the most trying moments and hours of human existence; and especially when our frail brother man is laid upon the operating table, and subjected to the tortures of the surgeon’s knives and scalpels, his saws and his cauteries.’ Chloroform was first discovered and described at nearly the sane time by Soubeiran (1831) and Liebig (1832); its composition was first accurately ascer- tained by the distingushed French chemist, Dumas, in 1836. Indirect Value of Philosophical Investigation. It is (said Sir James Simpson) not unworthy of remark, that when Sonbeiran and Liebig and Dumas engaged in those inquiries and experiments by which the forma- tion and composition of chloroform was first discovered. their sole and only object was the investigation of a point in philosophical chemistry. They laboured for the pure love and extension of knowledge. They had no idea that the substance to which they called the attenticn of their chemical brethren could or would be turned to any practical purpose, or that it possessed any physiological or therapeutie effects upon the animal economy. I mention this to shew that the ewi bono argument = against philosophical investigations, on the ground that there may be at first no ap= — parent practical benefit to be derived from them, has been amply refuted in this, aa — — e ~ . 7 a ee a A ae ek ee «tte t. _ ee ee ee ae : : Earn Sark a > sie Ae 5 ‘ y "I ‘ f iad ; ‘ : = he -- SIMPSON. ] ENGLISH: LITERATURE: Ot it has been in many other instances. For I feel assured that the use of chloroform will soon entirely supersede the use of ether; and from the facility and rapidity of its exhibition, it will be emp.oyed as an anesthetic agent in many cuses, and under many circumstances, in which ether would never Laye been had recourse to. Here, then, we have a substance which, in the first instance, was merely interesting as a matter of scientific curiosity and research, becoming rapidly an Object of intense importance, as an agent by which human suffering aud agony may be annulled and abolished, under some of the most trying circumstances In which human nature is ever placed.’ One objection made to the use of anzesthesia was, that it enabled women to avoid one part of the primeval curse! Simpson said ‘ the word translated sorrow (Gen. ii. 16) is truly “labour,” “ toil,” and in the very next verse the very same word means this. Adam was to éat the ground with “sorrow.” That does not mean physical pain, and it was cursed to bear thorns and thistles, which we pull up without dreaming that itis asin.’ Dr. Chalmers thought the ‘small theologians’ who objected should not be heeded, and so thought every man of sense. The use of chloroform extended rapidly over all Europe and America, and is now an established recoguised agent in the mitigation of human suffering. Professor Simpson was born at Bathgate in Linlithgowshire, one of a numerous but poor and industrious family. Having studied at Edinburgh University, he graduated as doctor in medicine in 1832. In 1840 he succeeded Professor Hamilton as Professor of Midwifery, : - and in 1347 first introduced the use of chloroform. After a prosper- ous career, the Queen, in 1866, conferred upon him the honour of a baronetcy, and the university of Oxford gave him the honorary degree of D.C.L. Sir James was akeen antiquary, and published a treatise on ‘Archaic Sculpturings of Cups, Circles, &c. upon stones -and Rocks,’ 1867. _ J. E, BAILEY—H. CRABB ROBINSON—C. WENTWORTH DILKE In 1874 Mr Jonn Earrneton Barrery, Manchester, published a ‘Life of Thomas Fuller, D.D., with notices of his books, his kins- men, and his friends—an elaborate and valuable memoir of the ccle- brated church historian, ‘undertaken, as the author states, ‘out. of- admiration of the life and character of the very remarkable man whom it concerns,’ and ‘the result of the study and research of the leisure hours of many years.’ _In the ‘Diary, Reminiscences, and Correspondence of Henry Crabs Ropinson,’ three volumes, 1869, will be found a great amount of literary anecdote and information concerning German and Eng- lish authors. The inscription on his tombstone may suffice for a biographical notice: ‘ Henry Craps Roprnson, born May 15, 1775, _ died February 5, 1867; friend and associate of Goethe and Wordsworth, ' Wieland and Coleridge, Flaxman and Blake, Clarkson and Charles Lamb; he honoured and loved the great and noble in their thoughts and characters, his warmth of heart and genial sympathy embraced all whom he could serve,’ &c. The best account we have of Words. _worth’s literary life and opinions is in Crabb Robinson’s diary. ay Much interesting and curious diterary history, with a dash of pol- itics intermixed, is contained in two Volumes, * Papers of a Critic,’ 1875, selected from the writings of the late CHARLES WENTWORTH DILKE by his grandson, the baronet of the same name, author of a book of travels, ‘Greater Britain” Mr. Dilke was born in 1787, served for many years in the Navy Pay Oftice, and oa his. retiring with w pension, devoted himself to literary inquiry and criticism. He was a man of solid, clear judgment, of un wearying industry, and of thorough independence of character. He became proprietor of the * Athengeum’ literary journal, the price of which he reduced from eightpence to fourpence, and vastly increased its circulation and influ- $3 CYCLOPEDIA OF = ———s[ro 1876, ence. Charles Lamb, Hood, Leigh Hunt, the Howitts, Allan Cun- ningham, Lady Morgan, &c. were among iis writers. To insure im- paruality as a critic and editor, Mr. Dilke made it a rule not to go into society of any kind—a self-denying ordinance that it must have been hard to keep.* He had, however, a band of intimate friends among his regular contributors. Inthe ‘Athengzum’ Mr, Dilke produced his critical papers on Pope, Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, Swift, Junius, Wilkes, Grenville, and Burke. The most important of these are the papers on Pope, Junius, and Burke. It may safely be said that, not- Withstanding all the labours of Walton, Bowles, and Roscoe, the personal history of Pope was never properly understood until it was taken up by Mr. Dilke. On the authorship of Junius, he differed from great authorities—Brougham, Macaulay, Lord Stanhope, and cthers. He investigated the subject with his usual acuteness and re- search, but though he corrected numerous errors in previous state- ments.on the subject, he brought forward no name to supersede that of Sir Philip Francis. With respect to Burke, Mr. Dilke also pointed out many errors in the works of biographers, and convicted the great statesman of a fault not uncommon—buying an estate before he had money to pay ror it, and entering on a scheme of life far too expen- sive for his means. Mr. Dilke died, universally respected and re- | gretted, August 16, 1864. JOHN MORLEY—PROFESSOR MORLEY—WILLIAM MINTO—C, C, F. GREVILLE. : Joun Morey born at Blackburn, Lancashire, in 1838, has pub-~ lished ‘ Edmund Burke, a Historical Study,’ 1867; and ‘* Lives of Vol understand Rintoul’s point,’ wrote Mr. Quiliinan. the son-in-law of Wordsworth. ‘Making it a rule to avoid authors. he makes it a rule to exclude himself from the best intellectual society—that is, if he applies his rule rigerously. If he means that. he avoids the small cliques of authorlings and criticlings who puff one another and abuse every one Bue. t quite understand him, and ‘‘small blame to him,” as the Trishman says.’ *The late Mr. Riztonl of the Spectator adopted the same rule. ‘I don’t quite - ~ 3 3 4 a Pena dx Rady - Pek “GREVILLE. | _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 99 taire, 1872, and ‘ Rousseau,’ 1873. Mr. Morley has been editor of the ‘Fortnightly Review ’ since 1867. _ Henry Mor.ey, Prolessor of English Literature at University College, has written various works, biographical and critical, and contributed extensively to literary journals. Lives of ‘ Palissy the Potter,” 1852; ‘ Jerome Cardan,’ 1454; * Cornelius Agrippa,’ 1856; ‘Clement Marot,’ 1870; ‘ First Sketch of English Literature, 1873, are among the most important of his productions, and he is now. en- gaged on an elaborate ‘ Library of English Literature,’ in course of publication by Messrs. Cassell & Co. Mr. WiiiiamM Minto, M A., is author of two excellent compen- diums of English biography and criticism: ‘A Manual of English Prose Literature, designed mainly to,shew characteristics of style, 1872; and ‘ Characteristics of English Poets from Chaucer to Shirley,’ 1874. Shortly after the publication of the latter work, Mr. Minto became editor of ‘The Examiner’ weekly paper, so long distin- guished by its former editors, Leigh Hunt, Aibany Fonblanque, and John Forster. 7 Great interest was excited by the appearance, in 1874, of ‘The Greville Memoirs, a journal of the reigns of King George IV. and King William IV., by Cuartes OC. F. GreviLien, clerk of the eouncil to those s:vereigns. Mr. Greville was a grandson of the third Duke of Portland. At the age of twenty he was arpointed _private secretary to Lord Bathurst, and seven years afterwards he - succeeded to the clerkship of the council, which he held for about forty years Though too free in his comments and disclosures, and not always just or correct, Mr. Greville’s journal will be valuable to future historians. His sketches of character are drawn with dis- crimination and talent, and in his gallery of portrai‘s are the two sovereigns whom he-served (George IV. being painted as destitute of truth and honour, and a mere selfish sensualis!),and nearly ali the public men, statesmen, and authors, who figured during that period. The contrast between the Queen and her uncle is vividly set forth in the following passage : Queen Victoria's First Days of Sovereignty. June 21, 1837.—The king died at twentv minutes after two yesterday morning; and the young Queen met the council at Kensington Palace at eleven. Never was anything like the first impression she produced, or the chorus of praise and admira- tion which is raised about her manner and behaviour, and certainly not without justice. It was very extraordinary, and something far beyond what was looked for. Her extreme youth and inexperience, and the ignorance of the world concerning her, naturaliy excited intense curiosity to see how she would act on this trying occa-~ sion, and there was a considerable assemblage at the palace, notwithstanding the short notice that was given. The first thing to. be done was to teach her her lesson, which for this purpose Melbourne had himself to learn. I gave him the council ‘ peers, and explained all that was to be done. and he went and explained: all this to _her. He asked her if she would enter the room accompanied by the great officers of state. but she said she would come in alone. When the lords were assembled the Lord President informed them of the king’s death, and suggested, as they were so > as me | > a / aa oe, —- = ere — Py 100 CYCLOPEDIA OF numerous, that a few of them should repair to the presence of the queen and inform her of the event, and that their lordships were assembled in consequence; and ac- cordingly the two royal dukes, the two archbishops, the chancellor, and Mel- bourne went with them. ‘The queen received them in the adjoming room alone. As soon as they had r turned, the proclamation was read and the usual order passed, when the doors were thrown open, and the queen entered, accom- panied by her two uncles, who advanced to meet her, She bowed to the lords, took her seat, and then read her speech in a clear, distinct and audible voice, — and without any appearance of fear or embarrassment. She was quite plainly dressed and in mourning. After she had read her speech, and taken and signed the oath for the security of the Church of Scotland. the privy councillors were sworn, the two royal dukes (Cumberland and Sussex ; the Duke of Cambridge was in Han- over) first, by themselves; and as these two old men, her uncles, knelt bef. re her, swearing allegiance and kissing her hand, I saw her blush up to the eyes, as if she felt the contrast between their civi: and their natural relations, and this was the only sign of. emotion she evinced, Her manner to them was very grateful and engaging ;_ she kissed them both, and rose from her chair and moved towards the Duke of Sussex, who was farthest from her, and too infirm to reach her. She seemed rather bewildered «ut the multitude of men who were sworn, and who came, one after another, to kiss her hand; but she did not speak to anybody, nor did she make the slightest difference in her manner, or shew any in her countenance, to any indi- vidual of any rank, station, or party. I particulary wa‘ched her when Melbourne, — and the ministers, and the Duke of Wellington approached her. She went through the whole ceremony, occasionally looking at Melbourne for instruction when she had any doubt what to do, which hardiy-ever occurred, and with perfect calmness and self-possession, bat at the same time with a graceful modesty and propriety par- ticularly interesting and ingratiating. When the business was done, she retired as she had entered, and I could see that nobody was in the adjoining room. Lord Lansdowne insisted upon being declared president of the council, and I was obliged to write a declaration for him to read to that effect, though it was not usual. The speech was admired except by Brougham, who appeared in a considerable state of excitement. He said to Peel (whom be was standing near, and with whom he is: not in the habit of communicating) : ‘ Amelioration—that is not English ; you might erhaps say melioration, but improvement is the proper word.’ ‘ Oh,’ said Peel, ‘T Pp p Pp ? sse no harm in the word; it is genérally used.’ ‘ You object,’ said Brougham, ‘to ~ the sentiment; I object to the grammar.’ _‘ No,’ said Peel, ‘I don’t object to the sentiment.’ ‘ Well, then, sbe pledges herself to the policy of owr government,’ said Brougham. Pecl told me this, which passed inthe room, and near to the Queen. He [ro 1876. likewise said how amazed he was at her manner and behaviour, at her apparent deep ~ sense of her situation. her modesty. and at the same time her firmness. She ap- peared, in ‘fact, to be awed, but not daunted, and afterwards the Duke of Wel-- lington told me the same thing, and added that if she had been his own daughter he could not have desired to see her perform her part better. It>-was settled that she ~ wus to hol! a council at St. James’s this day. and be proclaimed there at ten o’clock ; and she expressed a wish to see Lord Albemarle, who went to her, and told her he wascome to take her orders. She said: ‘I have no orders to give; you know all this so much better than I do, that I leave it allto you. Iam to be at St. James’s.at © ten to-morrow, and must beg you to find me a conveyance proper for the occasion’? _ Accordingly, he went and fetched her in state with a great escort. ‘The Duchess of Kent was in the carriage with her, but I was surprised to hear so little shouting, ~ and to see so few hats off as she went by. I rode down the Park, and saw her ap- pear at the window when she was proclaimed. The Duchess of Kent was there, but ~ not prominent; the Queen was surrounded by her ministers, and courtesied repeat- edly to the people, who did not, however, hurrah till Lord Lansdowne gave them the — signal from the window. At twelve, she held a conncil, at which she presided with — as much ease as if she had been doing nothing else all her life ; and though Lord Lansdowne and my colleague had contrived between them to make some confusion with the council papers, she was not put out by it. She looked very well; and though so small in stature, and without much pretension to beauty, the gracefulness ~ of her manner and the good expression of her countenance give her, on the whole, a very agreeable appearance, and, with her youth, inspire an excessive interest in al on 4 “THEOLoGIANS.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. | - 101 _ who approach her, and which I can’t help feeling myself. After the council she re- ceived the archbishops and bishops, and after them the judges. They all kiesed her hand, but she said nothing to any of them; very different from her. predecessor, who used to harangue them ail, aud had a speech ready for everybody. ... No contrast can be greater than that between the personai.demeanour of the present and the late sovereigns at their respective nccessions. William 1V. was a man who, coming to the throne at the mature age of sixty-five, was so excited by > the exaltation, that he went nearly mad, and distinguished himself by a thousand _ extravagances of language and conduct, to the alarm or amusement of ail who wit- _-nessed his strange freaks; and though he was shortly afierwards sobered down _ into more becoming habits, he always continued to be something of a blackguard, _ ind something more of a buffoon. It is but fair to his memory, at the same time, to say that he was a_ good-natured, kind-hearted, and well-meaning man, and he _ always acted an honourable and straightforward, if not always a sound and discrect part. ‘The two p:incipal ministers of his reign, the Duke of Wellington aud Lord Grey (though the former was ouly his minister tor afew months), have both spoken of him to me with strong expressions of personal reyard and esteem. The young Queen, who inight well be either dszzled or confounded with the grandeur and novelty of her situation, seems neither the one nor the other. and behaves with a decorum and | propriety beyond her years, and with all the sedateness and dignity, the want of _ which was so conspicuous in her uncle. THEOLOGIANS. _ The publication of the ‘ Tracts for the Times, by Members of the University of Oxford, four volumes, 1833-87, torms an era in the history of the Chureh of England. ‘The movement was com- menced, says Mr. Molesworth, * by a small knot of young men, most of them under thirty years of-age. The two most energetic and original minds among them were RrcHarD HurreL FRovupDE and 'Joun Henry Newman. Froude died at the early age of thirty- three of a pulmonary complaint, but lived long enough to wilness the commencement of the ‘Tracts, and to rejoice in their unexpected success. Newman was the prime mover and real leader of the move- ment, and one who, not only by his writings, but by his sermons, his conversation, and, above ail, by the influence of his pure motives -and lofty intelligence, nurtured and carried it forward. With them eame to be associated two kindred spirits, less energetic indeed, but not less firm or earnest—Dr. Pusry, the learned young Regius Pro- fessor of Hebrew, and Krpie, the sweet singer of the Church of ~England, whose ‘ Christian Year’ will live as long as the church en- dures (see ante). With these were associated other men of less mark and note, of whom WiLL1amM PALMER and ARTHUR PERCIVAL were the chief. They were connected with the higher authorities of the church, and a large body of the most influentiai of the clergy, by Hugh Rose, chaplain to the archbishop of Canterbury, and regarded as the first theological and German scholar of his day. Purer, holier, and “nore unselfish men than those who composed this little band never - ay . are 102 CYCLOPEDIA OF - [ro-187 6. 7 s lived.’* The tenets or beliefs of this sacerdotal party were all of. a Romanising stamp—judgment by works equally as by faith, baptis-_ mal regeneration, the supreme authority of the church, the apostol- ical succession of the clergy, &c. At. the same time the Tractarian — preachers adopted certain peculiarities in the performance of divine — service—as abjuring the black Geneva gown and preaching in the ~ white surplice, bowing to the altar and turning their backs to the — people, arraying the ‘altar with tippet and flowers and mediey: es embellishments, “placing lighted candles on the altar, &e. One effect of these innovations was to stir up a violent contro- versy, in which High and Low and Broad Chureh all mingled; while a few, like Dr. “Arnold, proposed that the Established Church’ should be so comprehensive as to include not merely the churches of — England and Scotland, but nearly all the bodies of Dissenters. — Another eff-ct of the inuovations was to drive many supporters-of — tie establishment into the ranks of the Dissenters, and some into the ~ Church of Rome. Mr. Newman published a work, ‘ Remains of the late Rev. Richard, H. Froude,’ ‘who was not a man,’ observed his — editor, ‘who said anything at random,’ and Mr. Froude spoke of — ‘unprotestantising the church,’ and called the Reformation ‘a Jimb — badly set, which required to be broken again, &c. The serious and — peaceable heads of the church became alarmed. The tracts were — stopped by recommendation of the bishop of Oxford, and the last of” the series, written by Mr. Newman, was condemned by many of the — bishops, and censured by the Hebdomadal Board. The controversy, — however, was not at an end—books, sermons, reviews, charges, me-— moirs, novels, and poems, continued to be issued hy the opposing — parties, and church vestries were occasionally in commotion. Of the — 18,900 clergymen said to be in the Church of England, 7000, it was | calculated, belonged to the High Chureh party, 6 6500 to the Low Church, 8500 to the Broad Church, and about 1000 were peices clergy in the mountain districts.t DR. PUSEY. A The Rev. Epwarp Bovvente Pusey is the second son of the late Hon. Philip Bouverie (half-brother of the first Earl of Radnor), and was born in 1800. He studied at Christ Church, Oxford, was elected to a fellowship at Oriel College, and in 1828 was appointed Regius Professor of Hebrew in the university of Oxford. Dr. Pusey was” one of the must persistent of the Tractarians. A sermon preached by him before the university, was said to contain an ayowal of his— belief in the doctrine of transubstantiation; an examination took at * Molesworth’s History of England. t Edinburgh Review, October 1853. Since this time the High Church party baal jucreased in numbers, and an act of parliament has been passed, adding to the: power of the bishops, for the purpose, as stated by Mr. Disease of ‘ es, down the Ritualists.’ The number of the clergy is now said to be fully 20,00 % > | 5 | 4 PUSEY:| © | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 103 place on the part of judges appointed by the university, and the result “was a censure and sentence of suspension from the duties of a preacher within the precincts of the university. The works of Dr. Pusey are numerous, and: are all theological. Among them are ‘Remarks on Cathedral Institutions, 1815; yal Supremacy,’ 1850; *Doctrine of the Renl Presence Vindicated, 1855; ‘History of the Councils of the Church,’ 51-381 a.p.; ‘ Nine Sermons, 1843-55; and “Nine Lectures,’ 1864; and other professional treatises and sermons. ~The publications of Dr. Pusey are very numerous, but not one of them bids fair to take a permanent place in our literature. He is a “man of exemplary piety as well as learning. . DR. JOHN HENRY NEWMAN—F. W. NEWMAN. This eminent controversialist and man of letters is a native of London, son of a banker, and born in the year 1801. He graduated at Trinity College, Oxford, in 182, was afterwards elected a Fellow of Oriel, and in 1825 became Vice-principal of St. Alban’s Hall. He was sometime tutor of his college, and incumbent of St. Mary’s, Ox- ford, and was associated, as we have stated, with Hurrel Froude and others in the publication of the ‘ Tracts for the Times.’ More con- sistent than some of his associates, Dr. Newman seceded from the _ Established Church and joined the Church of Rome.. Since then he has been priest of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, rector of a Catholic university in Dublin, and head of the Or atory near Birmingham. Dr. "Newman has been a voluminous writer. His collected works form twenty-two volumes, exclusive of various contributions to period- “icals. From 1837 to ‘the present time his pen has rarely been idle, and the variety af his learning, the originality and grace of his style, his sincerity and earnestness, ‘have placed him high among livine authors. The following is a list of his works as collected and classi- fied by himself: ‘Parochial and Plain Sermons,’ eight volumes; ‘Sermons on Subjects of the Day ;’ ‘ University Sermons ; >< Oath- -olic Sermons,’ two volumes; ‘ Present Position of Catholies in Eng- land ;’ «Essay on Assent ;’ ‘Two Essays on Miracles;’ ‘ Essays, Critical and Historical, two volumes; ‘ Discussions and Arguments on Various Subjects ;’ ‘ Historical Sketches ;’ ‘ History of the Arians ;’ ‘History of My Religious Opinions (Apologia) Dr. Newman has also published a volume of ‘ Verses on Various Occasions,’ 1868. ey Description of Athens.—From. ‘ Historical Sketches.’ _ The political power of Athens waned and disappeared ; kingdoms rose and fell ; centuries rolled away—they did but bring, fresh triumphs to the city of the poet and ‘the sage. There at length the swarthy Moor and Spaniard were seen to meet the f ‘blue-eyed Gaul; and the Cappadocian. late subject of Mithridates, gazed without alarm at the haughty conquering Roman. Revolution after revolution passed over the face of Europe, as well as of Greece, but still she was there—Athens, the city of “mnind—as radiant. as splendid, as delicate, as young as ever she had been. Many a more fruitful coast or isle is washed by “the blue Aigean, many a spot is there n more beautiful or sublime to see, many a territory more ample ; but there was us a ee. si, We ~ -CYCLOPAEDIA OF © [re 1876. one charm in Attica, which in the same perfection was nowhere else. The deep — astures of Arcadia, the plain of Argos, the Thessalian vale, these had not the gift; y cotia, which lay {o its immediate north, was notorious for its very want of it. The heavy atmosphere of that Boeotia might be good for vegetation, but it was as- — sociated in popular belief with the dullness of the Beeotian intellect; on the con- — trary, the special purity, elasticity, clearness, and salubrity of the air of Attica, fit - concomitant and emblem of. its genius, did that for it which earth did not; it — brought out every bright hue and tender shade of the landscape over which it was — oh Naa would have illuminated the face even of a more bare and rugged © country. : tap A confined triangle. perhaps fifty miles its greatest length, and thirty its greatest — breadth; two elevated rocky barriers, meeting at an angle; three prominent inountains, commanding the plain—Parnes, Pentelicus, and Hymettus; an unsatis- — factory soil: some streams, not always full—such is about the report which tle — agent of a London company would have made of Attica. He would report that the — climate was mild; the-hills were limestcne ; there was plenty of good marble; more ~ pasture land than at first survey might have been expected, sufiicient certainly for — sheep and goats; fisheries productive ; silver mines once, but long since worked — out; figs fair; oil first-rate; olives in profusion. But what he would not think of © noting down, was, that the olive tree was so choice in nature and so noble in shape, _ that it excited a religious veneration ; and that it took so kindly to the light soil, — as to expand into woods upon the open plain, and to climb up and fringe the hills. He would not think ef writing word to his employers, how that clear air, of which I have spoken, brought out, yet blended and subdued the colours on — the marble, till they had a softness and harmony, for all their richness, which, in — a picture, Jooks exaggerated, yet is, after all, within the truth. He would not a tell how that same delicate and brilliant atmosphere freshened up the pale olive, — till the olive forgot its monotony, and its cheek glowed like the arbutus or ~ heech of the Umbrian Hills. He would say nothing of the thyme and thousand 3 fragrant herbs which carpeted Hymettus; he woud hear nothing of the hum of its — bees; nor take much account of the rare flavour of its honey, since Gozo and £ Minorca were sufficient for the English demand. He would look over the 4igean ~ from the height he had zscende4 ; he would follow with his eye the chain of islands, which, starting from the Sunian headisnée, seemed to offer the fabled divinities of — /,ttica. when they would visit their Ionian cousins, a sort of vivduct thereto across _ thesea; but that fancy would not occur to him nor any admiration of the dark ~ violet billows with their white edges down below ; nor of_those faithful, fan-likejeis of silver upon the rocks, which slowly rise aloft like water spirits from the deep, ~ then shiver, and break, and spread, and shroud themselves, and disappear in a soft Anist of foam; nor of the gentle, incessant heaving end panting of the whole hquid plain; nor of the long waves keeping-steady time, like a line of scldiery, as they resound upon the hollow shore—he wonld not deign to-notice that restlers living ele- _ ment at all, except to bless his stars that he was not upon it. Nor the distinct de- tail, nor the refined colouring, nor the graceful outline and roseate golden-hue of the _ jutting crags, nor the bold shadows cast from Otum or Laurium by the declining sun; our agent of a mercantile firm would not value these matters even atalow — ficure. Rather we must turn for the sympathy we seek to-yon pilgrimstudent,come from a semi-barbarous land to that small corner of the earth, as to a shrine, where he might take his fill of gazing on those emblems and coruscations of invisible, un- | “yiginate perfection. It was the stranger from a remote 3} rovince, from Britain or fom Manritania. who, in a scene so ditfereut from that of his chilly, woody swamps, _ or of his fiery, choking sands. learned at once what areal university must be, by ~ coling to understand the sort of country which was its suitable home. : Influence and Law. Taking influence and law to be the two great principles of government, it is plain é that, historically speaking, influence comes first, and then Jaw. ‘Thus Orpheus pre- ceded Lycurgus and Solon. Thus Deioces the Mede laid the foundations-of his power — in the personal reputation for justice, and then established it in the seven walls by — which he surrounded himself in Ecbatana, First we have the virwm pietate graem, — whose word ‘rules the spirits and soothes the breasts’ of the multitude—or the © ag | ‘hs : ee “NEWMAN,} = - ENGLISII LITERATURE. 105 es, ae warrior—or the mythologist and bard; then follow at length the dynasty and consti+ tution. Such is the history of society: it begins in the poet, and ends in the policeman. - ee The Beautiful and the Virtuous. a i It is maintained that the beautiful and the virtuous mean the same thing, and are - convertible terms. Accordingly conscience is found out to be but slavish ; and a fine taste, an exquisite sense of the decorous, the graceful, and the appropriate, this is to -_ be our true guide for ordering our mind and our conduct, and bringing the whole ~ maninto shape. These are great sophisms it is plain ; for, true though it be that J > virtue is always expedient, it does not therefore follow that everything which is ex- pedient, and everything which is fair, is virtuous. died in 1868, in his seventy-third year. His pulpit oratory is de-. scribed as of an impressive intellectual character. ¥ a 4 “cK HENRY ROGERS. ake Few books of religious controversy have been so popular as ‘ The : Eclipse of Faith, or a Visit to a Religious Sceptic, 1852. This work went through five editions within two years. Though the name of ) the author is not prefixed, ‘ The Eclipse’ is known to be the production: 3 of Mr. Henry Rogers, one of the professors at the Independent Col- | lege, Birmingham. Mr. Rogers officiated for some time as minister of | an Independent congregation, but was forced to relinquish his charge | on account of ill health. He has been a contributor to the ‘ Edin-_ burgh Review,’ and a collection of his various papers has been pub- | lished under ’the title of ‘ Essays: Contributions to the Edinburgh Review,’ three volumes, 1850-55. In 1856 Mr. Rogers published, an ‘ Essay on the Lilie and Genius of Thomas Fuller, with Selections | from his Writings.’ He has also contributed some short biographies’ | to the‘ Encyclopedia Britannica.’ Learned, eloquent, and liberal in | ’ sentiment, Mr. Rogers is an honour to the Dissenting body. ‘The Eclipse’ was written in reply to Mr. F. W. Newman’s ‘Phases of Faith, noticed ina previous page. Mr. Rogers adopts the plan of sending to a missionary in the Pacific Ocean an account of the re- | ligious distractions in this country. All the controversies and new theological opinions, English and German, which have been agitated within the last twenty years are discussed, and a considerable part of the reasoning is in the form of dialogue. The various interlocuall tors state their opinions fully, and are answered by other parties, Deism is representel by a disciple of Professor Newman, who draws - most of his arguments from the ‘Phases of Faith,’ A new edition” of this work being called for, Mr. Newman added to it a* Reply to. the Eclipse of Faith,” 1854, and Mr. Rogers rejoined with ‘A Defence of the Eclipse of Faith” There is a good deal of vigorous thought and sarcasm in Mr. Rogers’s ‘ Eclipse’ and ‘ Defence,’ while in logi- cal acuteness he is vastly superior to his opponent. Occasionally he- rises into a strain of pure eloquence, as in the following passage: _ The Humanity of the Saviour. ; 8 And now what, after all, does the carping criticism of this chapter amount to? Little as it is in itself, it absolutely vanishes; it is felt that the Christ thus portrayed — cannot be the right interpretation of the history, in the face of all those glorious — scenes with which the evangelical narrative abounds, but of which there is here an entire oblivion. But humanity will not forget them; men still wonder at the * gra-— cious words which proceeded out of Christ’s mouth,’ and persist in saying, ‘ Never _ man spake like this man.’ The brightness of the brightest names pales and wanes before the radiance which shines from the person of Christ. The scenes at the 1 tomb of Lazarus, at the gate of Nain, in the happy family at Bethany, in the ‘upper | » room’ where He instituted the feast which should for ever consecrate His memory, — and bequeathed to his disciples the legacy of His love; the scenes in the Garden of Gethsemane, on the summit of Calvary, and at the sepulchre; the sweet remembrance _ of the patience with which He bore wrong, the gentleness with which he rebuked — ae,’ See ENGLISH LITERATURE. 118 it, and the love with which he forgave it; the thousand acts of benign condescen- ‘sion by which-He well earned for himself, from self-righteous pride and censorious hypocrisy, the name of the ‘friend of publicans and sinners;’ these and a hundred things more, which crowd those concise memorials of love and sorrow with such ‘prodigality of beauty and of pathos, will still continue to charm and attract the soul of mmanity, and on these the highest genius, as well as the humblest mediocrity, will Jove to dwell. These things lisping infuncy loves to hear on its mother’s Knees, and ‘over them age, with its gray locks, berds in devoutest reverence. No; before the ‘Infidel can prevent the influence of these compositions, he must get rid of the gospels themselves, or he must supplant them by jictions yet more wonderful! Ah, what bitter irony has involuntarily escaped me! But if the last be impossible, at least the gospels must cease to exist before infidelity can succeed. Yes, before infidels can pre- Font men from thinking as they have ever done of Christ, they must blot out the gentle words with which, in the presence of austere hypocrisy, the Saviour welcomed that timid guilt that conid only express its silent love in an agony of tears; they must blot out the words addressed to the dying penitent, who, soft- ened by the majestic patience of the mighty sufferer, detected at last the Monarch _ under the veil of sorrow, and cast an imploring glance to be ‘remembered by Him when he came into His kingdom ;’ they must blot out the scene in which the de- “moniacs sat listening at His fect, and ‘in their right mind ;’ they must blot cut the “remembrance of the tears which He shed at the grave of Lazarvs—not surely for him whom He was-about to raise, but in pure sympathy with the sorrows of hu- _Manity—for the myriad myriads of desolate mourners, who could not, with Mary, fly to Him and say: ‘Lord, if thou hadst been here, my mother, brother, sister, had not died!’ they must blot out the reeord of those miracles which charm us, not only asthe proof cf His mission, and guarantees of the truth of His doctrine, but as they ‘illustrate the benevolence of His character and are types of the spiritual cures His gospel can yet perform ; they must blot out the scenes of the sepulchre, where: love _ and yeneration lingered, and sa\v what was never seen before, but shall henceforth _be seen to the end of time—the tomb itself irradiated with angelic forms. and bright “With the presence of Him ‘who brought life and immortality 10 light;’ they must _ blot out the scene where deep and grateful love wept so passionately, and found Him _unbidden at her side, type of ten thousand times ten thousand, who have ‘sought - the grave to weep there,’ and found joy and consolation in Him ‘whom, though un- een. they loved ;’ they must blot out the discourses in which He took leave of his dis- ‘Ciples, the majestic accents of which have filled so many depaiting couls with pa- Hence and with triumph; they must blot out the yet sublimer words in which He de- _¢@lares himself ‘the resurrection and the life’—words which have led so many mil- ‘lions more to breathe out their spirits with childlike trust, and to believe, as the gate of death closed behind them, that they would see Him who is invested with the ‘keys of the invisible world,’ ‘who opens and no man shuts, and shuts and no man peta letting in through the portal which leads to immortality the radiance of the “skies ; they must blot out, they must destroy these and a thousand other such things, ‘before they can prevent Him haying the pre-eminence who loved, because he loved “4s, to call himself the ‘Son of Man,’ though angels called him the ‘Son of God.’ It is in yain to tell men it isan illusion. If it bean illusion. everyvariety of experiment oo it to be inveterate, and it will not be dissipated by a million of Strausses and Newmans! Probatum est. At His feet guilty humanity, of diverse races and na- tions, for eighteen hundred years, has come to pour forth in faith and love its ' sorrows, and finds there ‘the peace which the world can neither give nor take away.’ Myriads of aching heads and weary hearts have found, and will find, repose there, and have invested him with veneration, love, and gratitude, which will never, never be paid to any other name than His. ARCHBISHOP WHATELY. In intellectual activity, power, and influence, few men of the present generation exceeded the late Jearned archbishop of-Dublin, Dr, Richard WuHATELY. This eminent prelate was a native of London, born in1787, fourth son of the Rev. Dr. Whately of Nonsuch Park, ‘Surrey. He was educated at Oriel College, Oxford, a college cele- ae « fs 114 ~:~ C¥CLOPADIA OF brated as having sent forth some distinguished modern theologians Arnold, Copleston, Keble, Hampden, Newman, and Pusey. Whately graduated in 1808, took a second class in Classics and mathematics, and gained the university prize for an English essay. Having taken his M.A. degree in 1812, Whately entered the church, was Bampton lecturer in Oxford in 1822,* and appointed the same year to the rece: tory of Halesworth, Suffolk. In 18265 he received the degree of D.D; in 1836 he was chosen Principal of Alban’s Hall, Oxford, and Pro- fessor ot Political Economy, Oxford ; and in 1831 he was consecrated archbishop of Dublin and bishop of Glendalagh, to which was afler: wards added the bishopric of Kildare. The literary career of Arch- bishop Whately seems to have commenced in 1821, when he was in his thirty-fourth year. Previous to this, however, he was conspicuous in the university for-his opposition to the High Church views of Dr. Pusey and Dr. Newman. In 1621 he published ‘The Christian’s Duty with respect to the Established Government and the Laws, considered in three Sermons;’ and the same year he issued neat ' mously his tract, ‘ Historic Doubts relative to Napoleon Bonaparte ’— a grave logical satire on scepticism. The subject of his Bampton lectures was ‘ The Use and Abuse of Party Feeling in Religion,’ and he treated it with distinguished ability and liberality. His next two works were ‘The Elements of Logic, 1826; and‘ The Elements ¢ Rhetoric, 1828 | The former treatise gave a new life to the study of logic, as was admitted by Sir William Hamilton, who combated some of its doctrines, and it has long since taken its place as a standard in the library of mental science. Whately said his mind had for four- teen years brooded over the leading points of his work on Logie. ce _ In the same year (1828) appeared ‘ Essays on some of the Difficul- ties in the Writings of St. Paul, and in other parts of the New. Testa- men;’ then ‘Thoughts on the Sabbath,” 1880; and ‘Errors of Re manism,’ 1830. Of the latter, Miss Martineau says: ‘We do not know that any of his works more effectually exhibits the character- istics of his mind. It has the spirit and air of originality which aitend upon sublime good sense; and the freshness thus cast around a subject supposed to be worn out, is a sample of the vigour whieli in those days animated everything he said and did.’ On the subject of Sabbath observance, which has since been keenly conrtoveaarl Whately agrees with Paley, that the Jewish Sabbath and the Sune day or Lord’s Day are two separate institutions; with the former, the members of the Church of England have nothing to do, but the Lord’s Day ought to be observed by them,in obedience to the authors ity of the church, even independent of apostolic example and ancient usage. “Introductory Lectures to Political Economy,’ an ‘ Essay om * The Rev. John Bampton, canon of Salisbury (1690-1751), left asum of money producing about £120 per annum—tor founding a series of eight lectures each ye On subjects connected with the Christian faith, The lecturer is appointed byt heads of colleges in Oxford. La ts er a. 115 the Omission of Creeds, Liturgies, &c., in the New Testament, and several ‘ Sermons,’ were the product of 1831. Next year the prelate appears to have been chiefly attentive to social and political ques- tions, induced by his elevation to the archiepiscopal chair. He published ‘Evidence before the House of Lords respecting Irish Pithes,? ‘ Thoughts on Secondary Punishment, ‘ Reply to the Address of the Clergy on Nationa] Education in Ireland,’ and an ‘ Introduc- tion to Political Economy.’ Speeches or printed remarks on the question of Jewish disabilities, and the transportation of criminals, and ‘Sermons on Various Subjects, were produced between 1833 and 1836. The Tractarian movement called forth from Whately, in 1841, two ‘ Essays on Christ and his Kingdom ;’ and in 1843 he pub- lished. a Charge against the High Church party. Some other re- pes treatises, the most important being‘ Lectures on St. Paul’s Epistles,’ 1849, were subsequently produced; after which appeared a co lection of * English Synonyms,’ 1851, and addresses delivered at va- rious institutions in Cork, Manchester, and London, 1852-55... In 1856 the archbishop published an edition of ‘ Bacon’s Essays, with Annota- tions’—the discursive nature of the essays, no less than their preg- nancy of meaning and illustration, affording scope for abundance of moral lessons and arguments. Of these the commentator has per- haps been too profuse, for there are about three hundred and fifty pages of annotation to one hundred of text, and a good many are. from the ‘archbishop’s previous works. The collection, however, forms a pleasant, readable volume. We give one or two of the com- mentator’s anecdotical contributions. § Bt First Impressions. “Tn the days when travelling by post-chaise was common, there were usually certain ines of inns on all the principal roads—a series of good and a series of inferior ones, ach in connection all the way along; so that if you once got into the worst line you ‘ould not easily get out of it tothe journey’s end. The ‘White Hart’ of one town would Irive you—almost literally—to the ‘ White Lion’ of the next, and so on all the way; 40 that of two fravellers by post from London to Exeter or York, the one would lave had nothing but’ bad horses, bad dinners, and bad beds, and the other very yood. This is analogous to what befalls a traveller in any new country, with re- ‘pect to the impressions he receives, if he falls into the hands of a party. They tonsign him, as it were, to those allied with them, and pass him on, from one to mother, all in the same connection, each shewing him and telling him just what imits the party, and concealing from him everything else. Le A Hint-to Anonymous Writers. LR well-known author once received a letter from a peer with whom he’was iightly acquainted, asking him whether he was the author of a certain article in the Edinburgh Review.’ He replied that he never made communications of that kind, xcept to intimate friends, selected by himself for the purpose, when he saw fit. His “efusal to answer, however, pointed him out—which, as it happened; he did not care ‘or—asthe author. But acase might occur, in which the revelation of the author- ship might involve a friend in some serious difficulties. In any such case, he might lave answered something in this style: ‘1 have received a letter purporting to be trom your lordship. but the matter of it induces me to suspect that it is a forgery by some mischievous trickster. The writer asks whether I am the author of a certain ore te — . 4 116 CYCLOPAIDIA OF ©. | article. It is a sort of SUL which no one has a right to ask; and I think, there- fore, that every one is bound to discourage such inquiries by answering them— whether one is or is not the author—with a rebuke for asking impertinent questions | about private matters. I say ‘‘private,” because, if an article be libellous or sedi. tious, the law is open, and any one may proceed against the publisher, and compel him either to give up the author, or to bear the penalty. - If, again, it contains false statements, these, coming from an anonymous pen, inay be simply contradicted: And if the arguments be unsound, the obvious course is to refute them ; but who wroteit, - is a question of idle or of mischievous curiosity, as it relates to the private concerns of | an individual. If I were toask yourlordship: ‘‘Do you spend your income? or lay by? or outrun? Do youand your lady ever have an altercition ? Was she your first - love? or were you attached to some one else before? ”—if I were to ask such questions, © your lordship’s answer would probably be, to desire the footman to shew me out. ow, the present inquiry I regard as no less unjustifiable, and relating to private concerns; and, therefore, I think every one bound, when so questioned, always, - whether he-is the author or not, to meet the inquiry with a rebuke. Hoping that— my conjecture is right, of the letter’s being a forgery, I remain,’ &c. Jn any ease, however, in which a refusal to answer does fot convey any information, the best” way, perhaps, of meeting impertinent inquiries. is by saying: ‘Can you keep a se-" cret?’ and when the other answers that he can, you may reply: * Well, so can F.? - In 1859, Dr. Whately continued this light Jabour of annotation, selecting for his second subject, ‘ Paley’s Moral Philosophy,” This afforded a much less varied field for remark and illustration than. Bacon’s Essays, but it was one as congenial to the tastes and studies as the commentator. The low ground or fallacy upon which Paley built his ethical system—nameiy, that self-interest is the rule of vir- tue—has been often attacked, and is again assailed by Dr. Whately ‘Men,’ says the commentator, ‘never do, and apparently never dis account any conduct virtuous which they believe to have proceedei entirely from calculations of self-interest, even though the external act_ itself be such as they conceive would have been done by a virtuous man.’ Paley’s fault as a moralist, as Dr. Whately remarks, is chiefly” one of omission, and it is probable that this argument of self-interest appears much stronger to the reader than it did to the author, whic aimed only at popular leading definitions. Even in this ease, he in- cludes the future world in his view of self-interest. The last publi cation of this eminent divine was a Charge directed against the pe- culiar dangers of the times, inculeating reverence for the Scriptures, and opposing a spirit of finality in ecclesiastical affairs. In all pub- lic questions connected with Ireland he took a warm interest. He supported the National School system with. all his energy, and founded the Statistical Society of Dublin. ‘It is not enough, he siid, ‘to believe what you maintain. You must maintain what you believe, and maintain it because you believe it. Archbishop Whately died October 8, 1863. Lan © ee The Negative Character of COalvinistie Doctrines.—From Whately ‘ Hssays on the Writings of St. Paul.’ ae Tt has been frequently objected to the Calvinistic doctrines, that they lead, i consistently acted npon, to a sinful, or to a Careless, or fo an inactive life; and thé inference deduced from this alleged tendency has been that they are not true, What- ever may be, in fact, the practicai 111 tendency of the Calvinistic scheme, it is und x WHATELY.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 117 es” = _piabie that many pious and active Christians who have adopted it have denied any - such tendency—have attributed the mischievous consequences drawn, not to their » doctrines rightly understood, but to the perversion and abuse of them; and have £0 explained them to their own satisfaction, as to be compatible and consistent with active virtue. Now,if inst-ad of objecting to, we admit, the explanations of this “system, which the -oundest aud most approved of its advocates have given. we shall “find that, when understood as they wow have it, it can lead to no practical result whatever. Some Ciristians, according to them, are cternally enrolled in the book of life, and infailibly ordained to salvation, while others are reprobate, and absolutely excluded; but as the preacher (they add) hasno means of knowing, in the first in- stance at least, which persons belong to which class, and since those who are thus or= _dained are to be saved through the means God has appointed, tiie offers, and promises, " gnd threatenings of the Gospel are to be addressed io all alike, as if no such distinc- tion existed. ‘The preacher, in short, is to act in all respects as if the system were -nottrue. Hach individual Christian, again, according to them, though he is to be- lieve that-he either is, or is not, absolutely destined 10 eternal salvation, yet is also _ to believe that 7f his saivation is decreed, his holiness of life is also decreed; he is -to judge of his own state by ‘the fruits of the Spirit’ which he brings forth: to live in sin, or to relax his virtuous exertions, would be an indication of his not being “Teally (though he may flatier himself he is) one of the elect. Aud it may be adimilt- “ted that one who does practicaily adopt and conform to. this explanation of the doc- trine, will not be led into any evil by it, since his conduct wili not be in any respect ena uenced by it. When thus explained, itis reduced to a purely speculative dogma, barren of all practical results. teat = Expediency.—From ‘Elements of Rhetoric.’ “41 So great is the outcry which it has been the fashion among some persons for ‘Beveral years past to raise against eapediency, that the very word has become almost an ill-omened sound. ‘It but what is erroneously mistaken for it. eh Consistency.—From ‘Elements of Rhetoric.’ : a A man is often censured as inconsistent if he changes his plans or his opinions — on any point. And certainly if he does this often, and lightly, thatis good ground — for withholding confidence from him. But it would me more precise to characterise — him as fickle and unsteady, than as inconsistent } because this use of the term tends _ {0 confound one fault with another—namely, with the holding of two incompatible opinions at once. ae But, moreover, a man is often charged with inconsistency for approving som parts of a book, system, character, &c., and disapproving ethers ; for being now an _— advocate for peace, and now for war; in short, for accommodating his judgment or his conduct to the circumstances before him, as the mariner sets his sails to th 7 wind. In this case there is 10t even any change of mind implied ; yet for this a man is often taxed with inconsistency, though in many instances there would even be an inconsistency in the opposite procedure ; e.g. in not shifting the sails, when > the wind changes. ‘ ; i- In the other case indeed, when a man does change bis mind, he implies some error, either first or last. But some errors every man is liable to, who is not infalli- ble. He, therefore, who prides himself on his consistency, on the ground of resolv=_ ing never to change his plans or opinions, does virtually (unless he means to proclaim himself either too dull to detect bis mistakes, or too obstinate to own them) lay clai to infallibility. And if at the same time he ridicules (as is often done) the absur of a claim to infallibility, he is guilty of a gross inconsistency in the proper and pri- mary sense of the word. . ae But itis much easier to boast of Consistency than to preserve it. For as, in t Cark, or ina fog, adverse troops may take post near each other, without mutu: recognition, and consequently without contest, but as soon as daylight comes the — weaker give place to the stronger; so, in a misty and darkened mind, the most in= compatible opinions may exist together, without any perception of their diss crepancy, till the understanding becomes sufticiently enlightened to enable the ma to reject the Jess reasonable opinions, and retain the opposites. - 4 Tt may be added. that it is a very fair ground for disparaging any one’s judgmen' if he maintains any doctrine or system, avowedly for the sake of consistency. That must always be a bad reason. If the system, &c., is right, you should pursue it because it is right, and-not because you have pursued it bitherto; if it is wrong, ¥: having once committed a fault is a poor reason to give for persisting in it. Hi therefore, who makes such an avowal may fairly be considered as thenceforward @ titled to no voice in the question. His decision having been already given, once for all with a resolution not to reconsider it, or to be open to conviction from aby fresh a! guments, his re-declarations of it are no more to be reckoned repeated acts of ju ment, than new impressions from a stereotype plate are to be regarded as new tions. In short, according to the proverbial phrase, ‘ His bolt is shot.’ : = ie Oe Te eee i ee Se Bs = < Sgt at at ‘ r : : 2, = 2 , : ae Pa a Lu wn"y f ; ¥ 5 é y - - > “rurToN.] © _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. — 119 — DR. BURTON—EDWARD BICKERSTETH. Dr. Epwarp Burton. (1794-1836), a native of Shrewsbury, was Regius Professor of Divinity in the university of Oxford, and Bamp- ton lecturer in 1829. His first work was ‘Observations on the An- tiquities of Rome, which gave evidence of that research which after- _ wards characieriséd his theological works. His most valuable pub- _ lications are— Testimonies of the Anti-Nicene Fathers to the Divinity of Christ, 1826, and to the ‘ Doctrine of the T rinity, 1831; ‘ Inquiry into the Heresies of the Apostolic Age ;’ ‘The Chrorolegy of the Apostles and St. Paul’s Epistles,” 1880; ‘Lectures on the Ecclesias- tical History of-the Fiist Three Centuries, from the Crucifixion to 313 A.D.,’ two volumes, 1831-33; * History of the Christian Church to - the Conyersion of Constantine” 1836; &c. Besides these works, ‘which stamped him as the most profound patristic scholar of bis age, Dr. Burton published an edition cf the Greek Testament with notes, two volumes, 1831. __ The Rev. Epwarp Bickerstern (1786-1850), rector of Walton, was a voluminous wiiter; his collected works, published in 1858, fill. ~ Seventeen volumes, and there are five more of his ¢maller publica- ~~ tions. His views were Low Church or Evangelical. The most pop- _ war of Mr. Bickersteth’s writings arc— The Scripture He}p, a prac- tical introduction to the reading of the Scriptures, of which Mr. - Horne, in his ‘ Introduction, says that 160.600 copies have. been sold; ~a*Practical Guide to the Prophecies, 1829; ‘The Christizn Stu- dent ;’ ‘ Discourses on Justificaticn, on the Lord’s Supper,’ &c. a - DRS. HAWKINS—HINDS—HAMPDEN—GRESWELL. _ Among the Oxford divines may be mentioned Dr. Epwarp Haw- “kins, Provost of Oriel College, who has wiitten ‘ Unauthotitative ‘Tradition,’ 1819 ; several volumes of ‘Sermons and Discourses >? and “the Bampton Lectures (on ‘Christian Truth’) for 1840. Dr. Samuri -Hinbs, vice-principal of St. Alban Hall and bishop of Norwich, has ‘Written, with other works, a ‘Ilistory of Christianity, two. volumes. 1829, part of which appeared criginally in the ‘ Ency eloy edia Metro- Politana, and is characterised by c1udite research and literary a bility. Another theological contributor 10 the ‘Encycloy dia Metropolitana,’ was Dr. Renn Dickson Hamppren, who lad been Principal of St. Mary’s Hall and Regius Professor of Divinity, and who was nominated to the bishopric of Hereford in 1847. Dr Hampcen was orn in the island of Barbadoes in 1793. In 1810 he was entered of Oriel Coilege, Oxford. He was Bampton lecturer in 1882, and his appointment as Regius Professor was violently «pposed by one party Inthe church on account of alleged unsoundness of doctrine. The controversy on this subject raged for some time, but it was as much Political as ecclesiastical, and Lord John Russell evinced his disregard cf it by promoting Dr. Hampden to the see of Hereford. The most important of the works of this divine are— Philosophical Evidence * enue eos ' rs pie oe see 2A 6 jee i, : / zo agtes i nN ~ ¥ mi KT gs 2 7 es 130 | -- CYCLOPZDIA OF of Christianity,’ 1827; the ‘Bampton Lectures ;’ ‘ Les.1ve2 5 Moral Philosophy ;’ ‘Sermons before the University of Oxi” 1836-47: a Review of the Writings of Thomas Aquinas in the * Hine eyclopedia Metropolitana ;’ and the articles ‘Socrates, Plato,’ ond” “Aristotle? in the ‘Encyclopedia Britannica’? Mr. Hatlam hes” characterised Dr, Hampden as ‘ the only Englishthan who, since the revival of letters, penetratcd into the wilderness of scholasticism,? — He died in 1868. a Tie Rev. Epwarp GRrEswELL, Fellow of Corpus Christi College, — has written a valuable ‘ Exposition. of the Parables.and other parts — of the Gospels, five volumes, 1834-35; ° Harmonia Evangelica— 183}-40: ‘Harmony of the Gospels,’ four volumes, 1830-345 ° Fasti- Tempori Catholici) five volumes, 1852. The father of Mr. Greswell- who was incumbent of Denton, Manchester—wrote a very elegant work, ‘ Annals of Parisian Typography, 1818; also a ‘View of the” Barly Parisian Greek Press,’ 1833. . 4 % Value of Negative Testimony.—From Hinds's ‘ Inspiration of Scripture.’ To say that numerous old manuscripts exist ; that they admit of classification and date, and other characteristics ; to speak of evidence, derived “rom contemporary — history, from the monuments of art, from national manners and custems; to assert that there have been persons qualified for the task, who have examined duly these- several branches of evidence, and have given a satisfactory report of that research, is to make a statement concerning the evidence of Christianity, which is intelligi-— ble indeed, but is not itself the evidence, not itself the proof, of which you speak, So far from this being the case, we cannot but feel that the author who is guiding us, and pointing out these pillars of our faith, as they appear engraved on his chert of evidence, can himself, whatever be his learning. be personaliy acquainted with. but a very small portion. ‘he most industrious and able scholar, after spending a life on some individual point of evidence, the collation of manuscripts, the illustra= trations derived from uninspircd authors, translations, or whatever the inquiry be, must, after all (it would seem), rest by far the greater part of his faith immediately | on the testimony of others; as thousands in turn will rest their f aith on his testi- mony, to the existence of sach proof as he has examined, There is no educated — Christian who is not taught to appreciate the force of that proof in favour of the genuineness of the New ‘l'estament, which may be derived from the consent of ane cient copies, and the quotations found in along line of fathers, and other writers; | and yet uot one ip a thousand ever reads the works of the fathers, or sees & manue | script,.or is even capable of deciphering one, if presented to him. He admits the very groundwork of his faith on the assertion of those who profess to have ascets | tained these points; and even the most learned are no further exceptions to this case, — than in the particnlar_ branch of evidence which they have studied. Nay, even in’ their use of this, it will be surprising, when we come to reflect on it, how great a Pee must be examined only through statements resting ou the testimony Of) ethers. fe ; J Nor is it a question which can be waived. by throwing the weight of disproof on those who cavil and deny. It turns upon the use which is made. more or ere | all, of the positive proofs urged in defence of Christianity. Christianity is estaD-— lished; and it may be fair to bid its assailants prove that it is not what it professes to be, the presumption and prescriptive title being on its side. But Christianity does not intrench itself within this fortress; it brings out into the “eld an array OT | evidences to establish that which, on the former view of the case, its adhererts are _ supposed not to be called on to maintain. It boasts of the sacred volume haying” been transmitted pure by means of manuscripts 5 and by asserting the antiquity, th ; freedom from corruption, and the independence and agreement of the several classe of these, the Christian contends for the existence of his religion at the time when | : a F | = SAP a. 8 * nee. al, ER SS a ee a i met EOD hee pay aes ar eo a a Pe ~ x he Ses 7 ee 9 a GRESWELL.} | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 121 @hrist andthe apostles lived. Ancient writings are pppers to. and quotations » ited by various authors from the New Testament are ac : duced, which go to prove _thesame. Even profane history is made to furnish contemporary evidence of the first rise of Christianity. Now it is the way in which this evidenc: is employed that _ is the point to be considered; the question is, in what sense all this can be called evidence to the mass of Christians. All this is, in short. positive proey; and he who hus examined manuscripts, or read the works in question, has gone throngh tne _ demonstration; but he who has not—and this is the: case with all, making a very _ few exceptions—has not gone through the process of proof himself, but takes tho » conclusion on the word of others. He believes those who inform him, that they, or holy wvit. Can this be calied reasonable faith? or, at least, dO we not pretend to x ‘others, have examined manuscripts, read the fathers, compured profane history with be believing on proofs of various kinds, when, in fact, our belief rests on the bare ~ assertions of others? -,. It is very important-that the case should be set in its truc light, because, suppos- ing the Christian ministry able, and at leisure, to investigate and sift the Christian évidence for themselves, the same cannot be done by the barrister, the physician, _~the professional man of whatever department besides theology, however enabled by education ; and then, whut is to be the lot of the great mass of the people? ‘They, clearly, are incompetent even to follow up the several steps of proof which each a proposition would require. They take it for granted, if they apply the evidence at all, thut these things are so, because wiser persons than they say itis so. In the. _ same spirit asthe question was put of old: ‘Have any of the rulers believed on _ Christ? but this people who knoweth not the law are cursed,’ Christians most gen- erally, it would seem, believe in Christ, because their epiritual rulers do, and reject _ the infidel’s views, because these people are pronounced accursed. N ay, the suppo- _ tion of the clergy themselves having the qualification, and the opportunity to go _ through the process of proof, is only a supposition. They often want either or both; _andit is impossible that it should not be so. ‘The lubour of a life is scarcely suf- _ ficient to examine for on’s self one branch alone of such evidence. For the greater part, few men, however-learned, have satisfied themselves by going through the proof. They have admitted the main assertions, because proved by others. ___ And is this conviction then reasonable? Is-it more than the adoption of truth _ On the authority of another? Itis. The principle on which all these assertions are _Feceived, is not that they have been made by this or that creditable individual or body of persons, who have gone through the proof—this may have its weight with the critical and learned—but the main principle adopted by all, intelligible by all, and “Teasonable in itself, is, that these assertions are set forth, bearing on their face a _ Challenge of refutation. The assertions are like witnesses pliced in a hox to be con- “fronted. Scepticism, infidelity. and scofiing, form the very groundwork of our faith. _ As long as these are known to exist and to assail it, so long are we sure that any un- tenable assertion may and will be refuted. The benefit accruing to Christianity in _this respect from the occasional success of those who have found flaws in the several parts of evidence, is invaluable. We believe what is not disproved, most reasonably, _ hecanse we know that. there are those abroad who are doing their utmost to disprove it. We believe the witness, not because we know him and esteem him. but because he is confronted, cross-examined, suspected, and assailed by arts fair and unfair. ‘Its not his authority, but the reasonableness of the case. It becomes conviction -Wwell-crounded, and not assent to man’s words. Cine At the same time nothing has perhaps*more contributed to perplex the Christian Anguirer, than the impression which vague language creates of our conviction Arising Rot out of the application of this principle to the external and monumental evidences ‘of Christianit;, but out of the examination of the evidence itself. The mind feels disappointed and unsatisfied, not because it has not ground for belief, but because it Misnames it. The raan who has aot examined any branch of evidence for himself, may, according to the principle above stated, very reasonably believe in consequence ef it; but his belief does not arise immediately out of it—is not the same frame of Mind which would be created by an actual examination for himself. It may be more, “Or it may be less. a sure soarce of conviction; but the discontent is occasioned, not by this circumstance, but by supposing that it is one of these things that does, or ‘Sught to, influence us, when in fact it is the other; by putting ourselves in the att ~ EB.L.VS8—5 ? a - 4 , ’ re s 4 122 "- CYCLOPAIDIA OF [To 1876. tude of mind which belongs to the witness, instead of that which belongs to the by=— stander. We very well know how the unbroken testimony of writers during eigh- © teen centuries to the truth of Christianity ought to make us feel, if we had ascer- tained the fact by an examination of their writings; and we are surprised ai finding - that we are not in that frame of mind, forgetting that our use of the evidence may be founded on a different principle. REV. HENRY MELVILL. ay ie 4 One of the most eloquent and popular of English preachers for forty years was the Rev. Henry MELvi.. (1798-1871), canon of” St. Paul’s. Mr. Melvill was a native of Cornwall, son of Captain Melvill, lieutenant-governor of Pendennis Castle. Having studied at St. Peter’s College, Cambridge, where he became Fellow and tutor,~ he was appointed minister of Camden Chapel, in which he was in- | cumbent from 1829 to 1843. In the latter year he became principal of the East India College, Haileybury ; in 1846, chaplain to the Tower — of London ; in 1850, preacher to the Golden Lectureship, St Marga-_ ret’s, Lothbury; and in 1856, canon-résidentiary of St. Paul’s. Mr. | Melvill’s works consist solely of sermons, and only a part was pub- — lished by himself. His extraordinary popularity led some of his hearers to take notes, and print his discourses without his consent. © In 1833 he published one volume, and in 1836 a second. In 1843-45 — he published two volumes of ‘Scrmons on certain of the less promi- — nent Facts and References in Sacred History.’ As now collected — and issued in a popular form, Mr. Melvill’s works fill seven volumes, — the Lothbury Lectures constituting one volume, and the’ sermons — preached during the latter years of his life two volumes. The rich — ornate style of Mr. Melvill’s sermons, all carefully prepared, his fine musical voice and impressive delivery, rendered him a fascinating preacher, and he is described as haying been exemplary and inde-— fatigable in visiting the sick and attending to the poor. The follow-— ing extract is from the Lothbury Lectures, and the reader may com- pare it with a similar passage from Jeremy Taylor. (See ante.) ~ The Great Multitude (Rey. vii. 9.) met Taking this vision in the order in which it occurs amongst the visions vouchsafed _ to St. John in his exile, it probably delineates the happy estate of those who had ad- - hered to Christ during the fierce persecutions which preceded the establishment of . Christianity by Constantine. ‘There can be no doubt that the Book of Revelation is in the main a continuous prophecy, its several parts belonging to several seasons — which follow successively in the history of the Church. But without disputing that, — in its primary import, our text may relate to events which have long ago occurred, it — were not easy to doubt that, in its larger and more comprehensive glint it ba J be taken as descriptive of the heavenly state, that condition of repose and triumph which shall be ours, even ours, if we be faithful unto death. Admitting that the ~ great multitude on which the Evangelist was privileged to gaze, ‘clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands,’ must be regarded as the company of those who, ~ during the early days of Christianity, witnessed manfully for the truth, they must stfll, both in number and condition, be emblematic of the Chureh in its final glow and exaltation; and we may therefore safely dismiss all reference to the first fulfil ment of the prophecy, and consider heaven asthe eceneon which the Evangelist = ~ * . bie. Vashe ir a ae ~ — ey - MELVILL } ENGLISH LITERATURE. 123° zed, and ‘just men made perfect’ as constitutin g the great multitude drawn together Prom all parts of the earth. : It is, therefore, on such notices of the heavenly state as the words before us may furnish that we design to discourse on the present occasion. We would refresh you _ and animate you, wearied as you may be by the conflicts and struggles of earth, with glimpses of things within the veil. We do not indeed mean to address ourselves to the imagination ; if we did, there are more dazzling passages in the Book of Reve- lation, and we might strive to set before you the New Jerusalem, the heavenly city, with its gates of pearl and its streets of gold. But we think to find notices in the words of our text which, if not so resplendent with the gorgeous things of the future, shall yet go closer home to the heart, and minister more comfort to those who find themselves strangers and pilgrims below. We will not anticipate what we may have to advance. Weshall only hope that we may meet with what will cheer ~-and sustain us amid ‘the changes and Chauces of this mortal life,’ what will keep _ alive in us a sense of the exceeding greatness of ‘ the recompense of the reward,’ of the ‘desirableness of the inheritance reserved for us above, as, in dependence on the teachings of the Holy Spirit, we apply to our future state the words of the Evan- gelist John: ‘1 beheld, and, lo, a great multitude, which no man could number, of all nations, and kindreds, and people, and tongues, stood before the throne, and be- fore the Lamb, clothed with white robes, and palms in their hands.’ __ Now, when these words are set before us as descriptive of the heavenly state, it can hardly fail but that the first thing on which the mind shall fasten will be the ex- _ Pression, *a great multitude, which no man could number.’ Itis go in regard of parallel sayings: ‘In My Father’s house are many mansions.’ ‘ Many shall come ~ from the east and west, and shall sit down with Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob, in the kingdom of heaven.’ ‘A great multitude,’ ‘ many mansions,’ ‘many shall come.’ But what are ‘many’ in the Divine arithmetic? Doubtless thousands. and tens of thou- 2 sands; yea, an innumerable company. Many are the worlds scattered through im- Mnensity—who shall reckon them? Many are the leaves of the earth’s forests—who shall compute them? Many are the grains of sand on the sea-shore—who shall count them up? Neither may we think to compass the multitude that St. John saw ‘before the throne, and before the Lamb;’ indeed, he tells us this when he adds, *which no man could number,’ . . . Even now it is felt to be an ennobling, inspiriting association, if the eminent of 4 8ingle church, the illustrious of a solitary. couutry, be gathered together in one great conclave. How do meaner men flock to the spot; with what interest, what awe, do they look upon persons so renowned in their day; what a privilege do they account it if they see awhile with sages so profound, with saints so devoted ; how do they treasure the sayings which reach them in so precious an intercourse. And shall we think little of heaven when we hear of it as the meeting-place of all that hath been truly great, for of all that hath been truly good: of all that hath been ‘Teally wise, for of all that hath yielded itself to the teachings of God’s Spirit, from _ Adam to his remotest descendant? Nay, ‘let us fear, lest a promise being left us of entering into that rest, any of us should scem to come short.’ There is a voice to _ us from the ck. multitude,’ who flock with the sound. like the rush of many _ waters, from all nations and tribes. ‘A great multitude ’—there is room then for us, “A great multitude ’—there will be no deficiency without us. We can be spared, ‘the loss will be ours; but, oh, what a loss! and what an aggravation of that loss. that perhaps, as we go away into outer darkness, ‘where shall be weeping and ashing of teeth,’ we shall see those who were once strangers and aliens flocking into the places which might have been ours, and be witnesses to the literal accom- plishment of the vision ; ‘Lo. a great multitude which no man could number, of all nations. and kindreds, and people, and tongues.’ : But it is not merely as asserting the vastness of the multitude which shall finally be gathered into heaven that our text presents matter for devout meditation. We are not to overlook the attitude assigned to the celestial assembly. an attitude of rest and of triumph, as though there had been labour and warfare. and the wearied com- atants were henceforward to enjoy unbroken quiet. ‘ They stood before the throne, and before the Lamb, clothed in white robes, and palms in their hands.’? This ex- actly answers to the assertion already quated, that they had come ‘ out of great tribula- ‘tion,’ and denotes—for such is the inference from the robes that they wore, and the 124 CYCLOPADIA OF palms which they carried, both appertaining to conquerors—that ‘all warfare was at" an end, and that there remained u.othing henceforwards but the enjoyment of deep repose in the presence of the Lord. The imagery of the passage is derived, you ob- Fe from the triumphs of victors. Spiritual things can only be shadowed forth to , s by material; and without pretending to decide that the material is never to be — i ‘erally taken—for w ho, remembering that man is to be everlastingly compounded - of body and soul, will venture to determine that there shall be nothing but what is— purely spiritual in the future economy? Who, when he reads of new heavens and 4 a new earth, will rashly conclude that, for such a being as man is to be, there cannot — be reserved an abode rich in all the splendours of a most refined materialism, pre- senting correspondences to the golden streets, and the jewelled walls, and the crys-_ tal waters, which passed in such gorgeous and beautiful vision before the ee list? But waiving the consideration that there may be something more than mere figure, something « of literal and actual import in these scr iptural delineations of | heaven, the robe, the palin, the harp, we may all feel how expressive is the imagery aa triumphant repose after toi! and conflict, when applied to the state reserved for thoee, who shall be faithful unto death. ae ae a RST) THE REV. JOHN JAMES BLUNT. What Dr. Paley accomplished so successfully with regard to the | % Scripture history of St. Paul, Proressor Biuntr (17 94-1855) at= | tempted on a larger scale in his ‘ Undesigned Coincidences in the a Writings, both of the Old and the New Testament, an Argument of — their Veracity,’ 1847. This work (twelfth edition, 1873) included a — republication of some earlier treatises by its author, and is a work of & great value to every student of the Scriptures. On the nature of the : argument derived from coincidence without design, Mr. Blunt says: ~ Undesigned Coincidences. as 3 If the instances which Ican offer, gathered from Holy Writ, are so numerous, iat of such a kind as to preclude the possibility of their being the effect of accident, itis enough. Itdoes not require many circumstantial coincidences to determine the mind of a jury as to the credibi‘ity of a witness in our courts, even where the life of a fellow-creature is at stake. I say this, not as a matter of charge, but as a matter of — fact, indicating the authority which attaches to this species of evidence, and the con=— fidence universally entertained that it cannot deceive. Neither should it be forgotten © that an argument thus popular, thus applicable to the affairs of common life asa test — of truth, derives no small value when enlisted in the cause of Revelation, from the readiness with which it is apprehended and admitted by mankind at large, and fron i _ the simplicity of the nature of the appeal: for it springs out of the documents t truth of which it is intended to sustain, and terminates in them; so that-he who has these has the defence of them. Noris this all. ‘The argument deduced from coin-— cidence without design has further claims. because if well “made out it establishes the authors of the several books of Scripture as independent witnesses to the facts they — relate; and this whether they consulted euch other’s writings or not; for the coins | cidences. if good for anything, are such as could not result from combination, month v lerstanding, or arrangem<¢ nt.’ | Mr. Blunt was sometime Margaret Professor of Divinity in the university of Cambridge, and, besides his ‘ Undesigned Coincidences,” was author of the following works: ‘ History of the Christian Church in the First Three Centuries, > > = and ever young, through all the centuries of a nation’s existence—nay, that many of them have pleased not one nation only, but many, so that they have made themselves _ a hoine in the most different lands—and further, that they have, not a few of them - come down to us from remotest antiquity, borne safely upon the waters of that great se Sa se which nes ey ewes so much beneath its waves—all this, I think, ay we * Towara, : wae: , Karly Celebration of the Eucharist. — It has been. truly said. thongh with some exaggeration, that for many.centuries ~~ the history of the Eucharist might be considered as a history of the Christian Church. And certainly this passage may be regarded as occupyingin that history, whether in its narrower or larger sphere, a point of remarkable significance. Onthe one hand, we may take our stand upon it, and look back, through its medium,on som: of the institutions and feelings most peculiar to the apostolic age. Weseethe most sacred ordinance of the Christian religion as it was celebrated by those in whose — minds the earthly and the heavenly, the social and the religious aspect of life. were indistirguishably blended. We see the banquet spread in the late evening, after the sun had set behind the western ridge of the hills of Achaia: we see the many ~ torches blazing, as at Troas, to light up the darkness of the upper room, where, as was their wont, the Christian community assembled; we see the couches laid and ~ the walls hung. after the manner of t'* East. as on the night of the betrayal; we see the sacred loaf representing. in its compact unity, the harmony of the whole scciety; we hear the blessing or thanksgiving on the cup responded to by the joint ‘Amen,’ such as even three centuries later is described as like a peal of thunder; we — witness the complete realisation, in outward form, of the apostle’s words, suggested doubtless by the sight of the meal and the sacrament blended thus together, ‘ Whether ye eat or drink, or whatsoever ye do, do all to the glory of God.’ ‘What. “STANLEY. ] -ENGLISI LITERATURE. ~ 231 s soever ye do in word or deed, do callin the name of the Le) d Jesus, giving thanks to God and the Father vy him.’ St. Pauls Manual Labour. On the one hand, the scene of the tent-maker’s trade at Corinth, where the few hours of leisure, after the long arguments in the synagogue and the market-place, were consumed with Aquila and Priscilla in the uncongenial labour of weaving the long goats’ hair of his uative hil.s into the sackcloth or the tent-cover, for the Greek fisherman or wandering Arab. On the other hand, the dugged stupidity, or the im- ~placable animosity of his adversaries, who were ready with their cold insinuations to contrast, as they supposed, tue enforced meanness and degradation of Paul of Tarsus with the conscious dignity azd calm repose of the apostles at Jerusalem, or of those who claimed to be fueir legitimate representatives at Corinth. Conversion of St. Augustine. - Augustine’s youth had been one of reckless self-indulgence. He had plunged into the worst sins of the heathen world in which he lived; he had adopted wild Opinions to justify those sins; and thus, though his parents were Christians, he himself remained a heathen in his manuer of life, though not without some strug- gies of his better self and of God’s grace against these evil habits. Often he strug- gled and often he fell; but he had two advantages which again and again have saved souls from ruin—advantages which no one who enjoys them (and how many of us _do-enjoy them!) can prize too highly—he had a good mother and he bad good _ friends. He had a good mother who wept for him, and prayed for him, and warned him, and gave him that advice which onty a mother can give, forgotten for the moment, but remembered afterwards. And he had good fricnds, who watched every opportunity to encourage better thoughts, and to bring him to his bet- ter self, In this state of struggle and failure he came to the city of Milan, where the Christian community was ruled by a man of fame almost equal to that which he himself afterwards won, the celebrated Ambrose. And now the crisis of his life was ~ come, and it shall be described in his own words. He was sitting with bis friend, his whole soul was shaken with the violence of his inward conflict—the conflict - of breaking away from his evil habits, from his evil associates, to a life which seemcd to. him poor, and profitless, and burdensome. Silently the two friends sat together, and at last, says Augustine: ‘ When deep reflection had brought together and heaped up all my misery in the sight of my heart, there arose a mighty storm of grief, bringing a mighty: shower of tears.’ He left his friend, that he might weep in - solitude; he threw himself down under a fig-tree in the garden (the spot is still poiut- ed out in Milan), and he cried in the bitterness of his spirit: ‘ How long ? how long? _ —to-morrow? to-morrow? Why not now ?—why is there not this hour an end to my uncleanness?’ ‘Sowas I speaking and weeping in the contrition of my heart,’ . he says, ‘ when, Jo! I heard .froma neighbouring house a voice as of a child, chant- . ing and oft repeating, ‘* Take up and read, take up and read.” Instantly my counte- é ve is he nance altered; I began to think whether children were wont in play to sing such word:, nor could I remember ever to have heard the like. So, checking my tears, I rose, taking it to be acommand from God to open the book and read the first chap- ter I should find.’ ... Therelay the volume of St. Paul’s Epistles, which he had just begun to study. ‘I seized it,’ he says, ‘I opened it, and in silence I read that passiuge on which my eyes first fell. ‘Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering - and wantonness, not in strife and envying. But put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ. ana make not provision for the flesh, to fulfil the lust thereof.” No further could I read. _ norneeded I; for instantly at the end of this sentence, by a serene light infused into my soul, all the darkness of doubt vanished away.’ We need not follow the story further. We know how he broke off all his evil courses ; how his mother’s heart was rejoiced; how he was baptised by the great Ambrose; how the old tradition describes their singing together, as he came up from the baptismal waters, the alternate verses of the hymn called from its opening words Te Deum Laudamus. We know-how the profligate African youth was thus trans- formed into the most i/lustrious saint of the Western Church, how he lived long as the light of bis own generation, and how his works have been cherished and read by - good men, perhaps more éxtensively than those of any Christian téacher since the 132° ‘CYCLOPEDIA OF apostles. It is a story instructive in many ways. It js an example, like the conyer= — sion of St. Paul, of the fact that from time to time God calls His servants not by : gradual, but by sudden changes. * The Last Encampment.* ; a Our last Sunday in Syria has arrived, ond it has been enhanced to us this morning — by the sight of those venerable trees which seemed to the Psalmist and the Prophets — of old one of the chief glories and wonders of the creation. ‘lwo main ideas were conveyed to the miuds of those who then saw them, which we may still bear away = ith us. ; x te One is that of their greatness, breadth, solidity, vastness. ‘The righteous,’ says — the Psalmist, ‘shall flourish like a palm-tree.’ ‘Lhat is one part of our life; to be up- — X right, graceful, gentle. like that most beautiful of oriental trees. But there is another = quality added—‘ He shall spread abroad like a cedar in Libanus.’ 4 hat is, his” ‘a character shall be sturdy, solid, broad; he shall protect others as well as himself; he shall support the branches of the weaker trees around him; he shall cover a — vast surface of the earth with his shadow; he shall grow, and spread, and endure; — he and his works shall make the place where he was planted memorable for future — times. ’ <—m The second feeling-is the value of reverence. It was reverence for these great trees which caused them to be employed for the sacred service of Solomon’s Temple, — and which has insured their preservation tor so long. It was reverence for Almighty R God that caused these trees, and these only, to be brought down from this remote ~ —_ situation to be employed for the Temple of old. Reverence, we may be sure, whether ; ~ to God or to the great things which God has made in the world, is one of the quali- ties most needful for every human being, if he means to pass through life in-a man- ner worthy of the place which God has given him in the world. - ; i But the sight of the Cedars, and our encampment here, recall to us that this is the — close of a manner of life which in many respects calls to mind that of the ancient — Israelites, as we read itin the Lessons of this and of last Sunday,in the Book of Numbers andof Deuteronomy, *How goodly are thy tents, O Jacob, and thy taber- — nacles, O Israel ’—so unlike «.ur common life, so suggestive of thonghts which can — hardly come tous again. It brings us back, even with all the luxuries which sur- — round us, to something of the freshuess, and rudeness, and simplicity of primitive q life, which it is good for us all to feel at one time or other. It reminds us, though in — a figure, of the uncertainty and instability of human existence, so often compared to the pitching and striking of a tent. The spots. on which, day after day for the — last six weeks, we have been encamped have again become a desolate open waste— ‘the spirit of the desert stalks in,’ and their place will be known no more. How like ~ the way in which happy homes rise, and sink, and vanish. and are lost. Only the great Rock or Tree ot Life under which they have been pitched remains on from generation to generation. ... ; May I take this occasion of speaking of the importance of this one solemn ordi- nance of religion, never to be forgotten. wherever we are—morning and evening prayer? Itisthe best means of reminding ourselves of the presence of God. To place ourselves in his hands before we go forth on our journey, on our pleasure, on — our work—to comunit ourselves again to Him before we retire to rest; this is the best security for keeping up our faith and trust in Him in whom we all profess to believe, — whom we all expect to meet after we-leave this world. -It is also the best security for our leading a good and a happy life. It has been well said twice over by the most powerful delineator of human character (with one exception) ever produced by — our country, that prayer to the Almighty searcher of hearts is the best check to mur- murs against Providence. or to the inroad of worldly passions, because nothing else — brings before us so strongly their inconsistency and- unreasonableness. We shall find it twice as difficult to fall into sin if we have prayed against it that very morn- % ing. or if we thank God for having kept it from usthat very evening. It is the best — means of gaiving strength and refreshment, and courage and self-denial for the day. — * ay P= WA rie Dei ali) he a ae aT ee LR TE ee ERT a GT * From a sermon preached in the encampment at Ehden. beneath the Mountain of the ~ ee it May 11, 1862, during Dean Stanley’s tour in the East with H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, x , : - % MAURICE. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 183 It is the best means of yain'rg content, and tranquillity, and rest for the night ; for it brings us, as uothing else can bring.us, into the prescnce of Him who is the source © of ail these things, and who yives them freely to those who truly and sincercly ask for them. PROFESSOR MAURICE. In metaphysics and theology, and in practical efforts for the - education of the working-classes, the Rev. JoHN FREDERICK DENI- ‘son Maurice (1805-1872) was strikingly conspicuous. He was the son of a Unitarian minister, and educated at Trinity Hall, Cambridge. _He declined a Fellowship, not being able to declare himself a mem- _ ber of the Church of England; but he afterwards entered the church, and became chaplain of Lincoln’s Inn and Professor of Divinity in King’s College, London. In consequence of what were considered heterodox opinions, Mr. Maurice had to vacate his professorial chair, but without forfeiting his popularity. His views on the question of the atonement and the duration of future punishments lost him the Professorship of Theology. Among the works of this author are— ‘Lectures delivered at Queen’s College, London,’ published in 1849; -*The Religions of the World and their Relations to Christianity,’ being the Boyle Lecture Sermons, 1846-47; ‘Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy,’ reprinted from the ‘ Encyclopedia Metropolitana,’ three volumes 1850-56 (characterised by Mr. ‘thomas Hughes as ‘a mine of learning made living and human, and of original thought made useful for the humblest student, such as no other living man hed >) Paces ’); ‘Christian Socialism,’ tracts and lectures by Maurice, ingsley, and others, 1851; ‘The Prophets and Kings of the Old Testament,’ 1853; ‘The Word ‘‘ Eternal” and the Punishment of the Wicked,’ a pamphlet, 1853; ‘ Lectures on Ecclesiastical History,’ and ‘The Doctrine of Sacrifice,’ 1854; ‘Learning and Working,’ six lectures, and ‘The Religion of Rome,’ four lectures, 1853; _* Administrative Reform.’ a pamphlet, 1855; ‘Plan of a Female - College,’ 1855; with ‘Theological Essays,’ and several volumes of “Sermons.’ Maurice, like his friend Kingsley, had a high standard of duty and patriotism: “The action in the heathen world,’ he said, ‘ which has always in- Spired most of admiration in true minds, is the death of the three hundred Spartans who guarded the pass of Thermopyle against tha army of Xerxes (480 B.c.); and it was recorded on the graves of these three hundred, that they died in obedience to the laws of their country. They felt that it was their business to be there; that was all. ‘They did not choose the post for themselves; they only did not desert the post which it behoved them to occupy. Our countrymen heartily respond to the doctrine. The notion of dying for glory is ~an altogether feeble one for them. They had rather stay by their comfortable and uncomfortable firesides, than suffer for what seems _ to them a fiction. But the words, ‘‘ England expects every man to 2 ity a ‘do his duty,” are felt to be true and not fictitious words. There is 134 CYCLOP-EDIA OF power in them. The soldier orsailor who hears them ringing through ~ nis heart will meet a charge, or go down in his ship, without dream-~ ing that he shail ever be spoken of or remembered, except by a mother, or a child, or an old friend. So it is in private experience. Women are fond of sacrificing their lives, not under a sudden im- — pulse.of feeling, but through a lo.g course of years, tu their children ~ and their husbands, who often requite them very ill; whose words are surly, who spend what affcction they have on other objects. — The silent devotion goes on; only one here and there knows any- thing of it; it is quite as likely that the world in general spends its” compassion upon those to whom they are ministering; none count — + their ministries so entirely matters of course as themselves.’ BISHOP BLOMFIELD—REV. C, HARDWICK, ETC, Z The scholarship of Cambridge was well supported by the late Bishop of London, Dr. CHARLES JAMES BLOMFIELD (1786-1857), a native of Bury St. Edmunds, in Suffolk, where his father was a — schoolmaster. Having distinguished himself at Trinity College, Cambridge (of which he was elected Fellow), Dr. Blomfield evinced — his philological and critical attainments by his editions of Auschylus and Callimachus (1810-1824), and by his editing the ‘ Adversaria Porsoni.’ In 1828 he compiled a Greck Grammar for schools. . He ne ah was author also of ‘Lectures on the Acts of the Apostles’ and of © numerous sermons and charges. His efforts to increase the number of churches were most meritorious and highly successful. He began this pious Jabour when Bishop of Chester, and continued it in London with such energy, that during the time he held the see more churches kk a? were erected than had been built by any other bishop since the Re- — formation. In 1856 Dr. Blomfield resigned his bishopric, but was allowed to retain for life his palace at Fulham, with a pension of — mii a year. A Memoir of the prelate was published by his son in tory of the Christian Church,’ 1853; and ‘Sermons,’ 1858.—The Rev. WiLuiAM Goons, Rector of Allhallows, London, has-been a vigor- The Rev. Cartes Harpwick, of St. Catharine’s Hall, has writ-_ ten a ‘History of the Thirty-nine Articles,’ 1851; a valuable ‘ His. | ous Opponent of the Oxford Tractarians, and author of other theolo- — gical works—‘ The Gifts of the Spirit,’ 1834; ‘The Established Church,’ 1834; ‘The Divine Rule of Faith and Practice,’ 1842; &c. REY. W. J. CONYBEARE—DEAN HOWSON. A complete guide to the knowledge of St. Paul’s life and writings has been furnished by the large work—‘ The Life and Epistles of St. Paul,’ by the Rey. W. J. Conysprarsn, M.A, late Fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge, and the Rey. J. 8. Howson, two volumes quarto, 1852. The purpose of this work is described to be to give “a living picture of St. Paul himself, and of the circumstances by ‘ ; ~ = ® 3 * w3 gs me —" ; ; Se St CONYBEARE.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 136 which he was surrounded.’ The biography of the apostle must be compiled from two sources—his own letters and the narrative in the Acts. Mr. Conybeare translates the epistles and speeches of the apos- tle; and his coadjutor, Mr. Howson, contributes the narrative, arche- ological, and geographical portions. The difficulties of the task are thus stated by Mr. Conybeare: : The Varied Life of St. Paul. ‘Tocomprehend the influences under which he grewto manhood, we must realise - the position of a Jewish family in Tarsus, ‘the chief city of Cilicia ;? we must under- stand the kind of education which the son of sucha family would receive as a boy in his Hebrew home, or in the schools of his native city, and in his riper youth ‘at the feet of Gamaliel’ in Jerusulem ; we must be acquainted with the profession for which _ he was to be prepared by this training, and appreciate the station and duties of an ex- pone of the Jaw. And that we may be fully qualified to do all this, we should ave aclear view of the state of the Reman empire at the time, and especially of its ' system in the provinces ; we should also understand the political position of the Jews of the ‘dispersion ;’ we should be, so to speak, hearers in their synagogues—we should be students of their rabbinical theology. Andin like manner, as we follow the apostle, in the different stages of his varied and adventurous career, we must strive continu- ally to bring out in their true brightness the half-effaced forms and colouring of the scene in which he acts; and while he ‘ becomes all things to all men, that he might by all means save some,’ we must form to ourselves a living likeness of the things and of the mex among whom he moved, if we would rightly estimate his work. Thus we _ must study Christianity rising in the midst of Judaism; we must realise the position _of its early churches with their mixed society, to which Jews, proselytes, and heath- ens had each contributed a characteristic element; we must qualify ourselves to be ~ umpires. if we may so speak, in their violent internal divisiors; we must listen to the strifes of their schismatic parties, when one said, ‘I am of Paul—and ancther, I am of Apollos ;’ we must study the true character of those early heresies which even denied the resurrection, and advocated impurity and lawlessness, claiming the right to sin ‘that grace might abound,’ ‘ defiling the mind and conscience’ of their followers, and ‘making them abominable and disobedient, and to every good work reprobate ;’ we must trace the extent to which Greek philosophy, Judaising formalism, and East- ern superstition blended their tainting influence with the pure fermentation of the new leaven which was at last to leaven the whole mass of civilised socieiy. To this formidable list of requirements must be added some know- ledge of the various countries and places visited by Paul; and as re- lating to the wide range of illustration, Mr. Howson mentions a cir- cumstance connected with our naval hero Nelson. In the account of the apostle’s voyage to Italy, when overtaken by the storm (Acts XXVii.), it is mentioned that the ship was anchored by the stern; Mr. Howson cites some cases in which this has been done in modern times, adding: ‘ There is still greater interest in quoting the instance of Copenhagen, not only from the accounts we have of the precision with which each ship let go her anchors astern as she arrived nearly opposite her appointed station, but because it is said that Nelson stated after the battle, that he had that morning been reading the twenty-seventh chapter of the Acts of the Apostles.’ The Martyrdom of Paut. As the martyr and his executioners passed on, their way was crowded with a mot- ley multitude of goers and comers between the metropolis and its harbour—mer- thants hastening to superintend the unloading of their cargoes—sailors eager to 136 ! CYCLOPADIA OF --- [rq 1876, squander the profits of their last voyage in the dissipations of the capital—officials of the government, charged with the administration of the provinces, or the command of the legions on the Euphrates or the Rhine—Chaldean astrologers—Phrygian eunuchs—dancing-girls from Syria, with their painted turbans—mendicant priests from Egypt howling for Osiris—Greek adventurers, eager to coin their national cun- ning into Roman gold—representatives of the avarice and ambition, the frand and ~ lust, the superstition and intelligence, of the imperial world. Through the dust and — tumult of that busy throng, the small troop of soldiers threaded their way silently, — under the bright sky of an Italian midsummer. ‘lhey were marching, though they — “knew it not, in a procession more truly triumphal than any they had ever followed, in the train of general or emperor, along the Sacred Way. ‘Their prisoner, now at last and for ever deiivered froin his cuptivity, rejoiced to follow his Lord ‘withoutthe gate.? The place of execution was not far distant; and there the sword of the — icadsman ended his long course of sufferings, and released that heroié soul from” that feeble body. Weeping friends took up his corpse, and carried it for burial to — those subterranean labyrinths, where, through many ages of oppression, the persecu- — ted church found refuge for the living and sepulchres for the dead. Thus died the apostle, the prophet, and the martyr; bequeathing to the chureh, in her government and her discipline, the legacy of his apostolic labours; leaving his — prophetic words to be her living oracles; pouring fo’tk his blood to be the seed of a — thousand martyrdoms. Thenceforth, among the glorious company of the apostles, among the goodly fellowship of the prophets, among the noble army of martyrs, his name has stood pre-eminent. And wheresoever the holy church throughout all the — world doth acknowledge God, there Paul of Tarsus is revered, as the great teacher of _ : universal redemption and.a catholic religion—the herald of glad tidings to all man- ~ sind. a Mr. Conybeare, in 1855, published a volume of ‘ Essays Ecclesi- ~ astical and Social,’ reprinted with additions from the ‘Edinburgh — Review.’ In these he treats of the Mormons, the Welsh Clergy, Church Parties, Temperance, &c. His views on church parties and ~ on the different phases of infidelity are further displayed in a novel © —¥‘Perversion,’ three volumes, 1856—a very interesting and clever ~ ‘tale of the times.’ The ingenious author died prematurely in 1857, The father of Dr. Conybeare, W1L1LiAM DANIEL CONYBEARE, Dean ~ ~ of Llandaff (1787-1857), was one of the earliest promoters of theGeo- _ logical Society, and a frequent and distinguished contributor to its — published Transactions. His papers on the Coal-fields were highly valuable; and he was the discoverer of the Plesiosaurus, that strange ~ antediluvian animal, the most singular and the most anomalous in its structure, according to Cuvier, that had been discovered amid the ruins of former worlds. 'To the Bampton Lectures the Dean wasalso — a contributor, having written a work ‘On the Fathers during the — RE beets Period,’ 1839; with a series of ‘Theological Lectures,” ’ DrEAN Howson, associated with the Rev. W. J. Conybeare in the valuable work on St. Paul, was born in 1816, educated at Trinity — College, Cambridge, became Principal of the Collegiate Institution, rt Liverpool, in 1849, and Dean of Chester in 1867. oil . DEAN ALFORD. ; The Rey. Dr. Henry AurorD, of Trinity, Vicar of Wimeswould, Leicestershire, like Dr. Trench, commenced -author as a poet— ‘Poems and Poetical Fragments,’ 1831; ‘The School of the Heart,’ ~ ae ms Srp - ALFORD.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. < 187 -- 1885; &c.—but his ‘ Wulsean Lectures,’ 1841, his various collections ' of ‘Sermons,’ ‘ Greek Testament,’ with notes, &c., gave him a reputa- tion as a divine and a scholar. Dr. Alford was a contributor to va- rious periodicals, and-was cut off suddenly in the midst of a busy and useful life. This excellent divine was a native of London, born in 1010, and educated at. Trinity College, Cambridge; from 1841 to 1807 he acted as Examiner in Logic and Moral Philosophy in the uni- _ yersity of London; and in 1857 was appointed by Lord Palmerston. tothe deanery of Canterbury. He dicd January 12, 187). _ Dean Alford is believed to have had considerable effect, though indirectly, on the textual criticism of. the country. According to _ Bishop Lllicott, his present and future fame both is and will be con- _ nected with his notes and exegesis. ‘ Here the fine qualities of his mind, his quickness, keenness of perception, interpretative instinct, - Jucidity, and singular fairness, exhibit themselves to the greatest pos- sible advantage. Rarely, if ever, does he fail to place before the reader. the exact difficulties of the case, and the true worth of the different principles of interpretation.’ The Prince Consort’s Public Life. He came to us in 1840 fresh from a liberal education ; and in becoming one of us, and that in an undefined and exceedingly difficult position, he determined to bend _ the great powers of his mind, and_to use the influence of his exalted station to do us good. The early days of his residence among us were~cast upon troubled times— the gloomy years between 1840-1848. First, before we speak directly of his great national work, deserves mention the high example of that royal household, whose - unstained purity, and ever cautious and punctual propriety in all civil and Christian _ duties, has been to this people a greiter source of blessiug thun we can appreciate. At last the hour of trial came, and the eventful year 1848, which overturned so _ many thrones, passed powerless over our favoured land. Our royal house was be- yond danger, for its foundations rested in the hearts and prayers of the people. And now a period of calm succeeded, during which our Prince’s designs for the good of our people found scope and time to unfold themselves. ° The Great Exhibition of 1851, the effects of which, for good have been so many _ and so universally acknowledged, is believed to have been his own conception; and - the plan of it, though filled in-by many abie hands. was sketched out by himself, and constantly presided over and brought to maturity by his unwearied care. The. ‘eventof that year opened to us views with regard to the intercourse and interde- pendence of foreign nations and ourselves, unknown to English minds before, and suggested to us. improvements which have shewn new paths of industry and advancement to thonsands of families among us. To him we owe, as a direct ~ consequence of this his plan, our schools of design, which have called out so many a dormant miud, and brought blessing and competence to so many a household in - the lower ranks of life. Of one great society, the ‘Society for the Encouragement. _ of Arts, Manufactures, and Commerce,’ he was to the last the active and indefatiga- _ble president. ; : : nly.a week before his death..he determined an important point connected with the building designed for the Exhibition. Besides these efforts, you will all re- - member the interest which he took in our agricultural progress, and in a matter of _ more vital import to our national wellbeing—the better construction, for decency and comfort, of the cottages of the labouring classes. He has left us his views to be - carried out, his schemes to be completed, his example to be followed. Each citizen, - each head of afamily, ought long to remember, and will long remember, the lessons of his life; we shall. not go back again from the higher level to which he has raised us, but shull, Iam persuaded, go on in the same course, with more earnest endeavour, = . _- c . Fae < 12 CYCLOPALIA OF — - *.__ fro 1876, af = with more scrupulous anxicty, because to all other motives is added that of not — doing dishonour to his memory, vor violence to what were his own wishes. Toll out thy towers, toll on, thou old Cathedral, Filling the ambient air with softest pulses of sorrow; Toll out a nation’s grief, dole for the wail of the people. - Bursting hearts have played with words in the wildness of anguish, Gathered the bitter herbs that grow in the-valley of morning, Turned the darksome flowers in wreaths for the wept, the lost one. Toll for the tale that is told, but for the tale Jeft untold 3 7S oe Toll for the unreturning, but toll tenfold for the mourning; +“. ee Toll for the Prince that is gone, but more for the house that is widowed, a Reeognition after Death. With respect to the subject which furnished us matter for two or three convenm: — tions—the probability of meeting and recognising friends in heayen—I though. 4 — good deal, and searched Scripture yestcrday. The passage, 1 Thess. iv, 13-18, ap- — pears to me almost decisive. Tennyson says: “a of To search the secret is beyond our lore, ae And man must rest till. God doth furzish more. fag Certainly if there has been one hope which has borne the hearts of Christians up 2 more than another in trials and separations, itis this. It has in all ages been one of the loveliest in the checkered prospect of the future, nor has it been confined to Christians ; I mean the idea. You will excuse me, nay, you will thark me, I know, for transcribing an exquisite passage from Cicero’s treatise on ‘Old Age.’ Itisas — follows: ‘O glorious day when J shall go to that divine assembly and company of © spirits, and when I shall depart out of this bustle, this sink of corruption ; for I shall — go not only to those great men of whom I have before spoken, but also to my dear ~ Cato [his son], than whom there never was a better man, or one more excellentin ~ filial affection, whose funeral rites were performed by me, when the contrary was — natural—namely, that mine should be performed by him. His soul not desiring me, — but looking back on me, has departed into those regions where he saw that I myself — must come; and I seem to bear firmly my affliction, not. because I did not grieve for it, but Icomforted myself, thinking that the separation and parting between us would ~ not be for long duration.’ The passage from Cicero is considered one of the finest, — if not the finest passage in all the heathen authors. It certainly isvery fine; but ¥ now, when you have admired it enough, turn to 2 Tim. iv. 6-8, and compare the — two. , Blessed be He indeed who has given ns such a certainty of hope! The Houseliold of a Ohristian.—From ‘ Quebec Chapel Sermons.’ The houschold is not an-accident of nature, but'an ordinance of God. Even na: — ture’s processes, could we penetrate their secrets, figure forth spiritaal truths; and — her highest and noblest arrangements are but the representations of the most gloris — ous of those truths. That very state out of which the household springs, is one, aa Scripture and the Church declare to us, not to be taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly, — or wantonly, seeing that it sets forth and represents to us the relation between Christ 7 and his Church. he household is a representution, on a small scale. as regards — numbers, but not as regards the interests concerned, of the great family in heaven and earth. Its whole relations and mutual duties are but reflections of those which — subsist between the Redeemer and the people for whom He hath given Himself. Tha household, then, is not “n institution whose duties spriug from beneath—from the — necessities of circumstz ces merely ; but it is an appointment of God, whose laws — are His laws, and whose members owe direct account to Him. The father of a house — hold stands most immediately in God’s place. _ His is the post of greatest responsi- — bility. of greatest influence for good or for evil. His it is, in the last resort, to fix — and determine the character which his household shall bear. According as heis good — or bad, godly or ungodly, selfish. or self-denying, so will for the most part the come plexion of the household be also. As he values that which is good, not in his profes- + sions, for which no one cares, but in his practice, which all observe, so will it most a Rye a ALFORD. ] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 139 likely be valued also by his family as they grow up and are plauted out in the world. Of all the influences which can be brought to bear on man, paternal influence may be “made the strongest and most salutary; and whether so made or not, is ever of im- mense weight one way or the other. For remember, that paternal. influence is not that which the father tries to exert merely, but that which in matter of fact he does exert.. That superior life, ever moving in advance of the young and observing and imitative life of all of us, that source from which all cur first ideas came, that _ voice which sounded deeper into our hearts than all other voices, day by day, year by year, through all our tender and plastic childhood, will all through _ jifé, almost in spite of ourselves, still keep in. advance of us, still continue to - sound: no other example will ever take so firm hold, no other superiority be - ever so vividly and constantly felt. And again remember, this example goes for _ what itis really worth. Words do not set it—religious phrases do not give it its life and power—it is not a thing of display and effort, but of inner realities, and recurring acts and habits. It is not the raving of the wind around the precipice—not the sunrise and sunset, clothing it with golden glory—which moulded it and gave it its worn und rounded form: but the unmarked dropping of the silent waters, the inelting of the yearly snows, the gushing of the inner springs. And so it will be, - not that which the outward eye sees in him, not that which men repute -him, not ublic praise, nor public blame, that will enhance or undo a father’s influence im his household; but that which he really is in the hearts of his family: that which they know of him in private: the worth to which they can testify, but which the outer world never saw ; the affections which flow in secret, of which they know'tke depth, but Others only the surface. And so it will be likewise with a father’s religion. -None so keen to see into a man’s religion as his own household. He may deceive others without; he may deccive himself: he can hardly long succeed in de- _ ceiving them. If religion with him be merely a thing put on; an elaborate series of outward duties, attended to for expediency’s sake—something fitting his children, but - not equally fitting him: oh, none will so'soon and so thoroughly learn to appreciate ia this, as those children themselves: there is not a‘iy fact which, when discovered, will _ have so baneful an effect on their young lives, as such an appreciation. No amount mY of external devotion will ever counterbalance it: no use of religious phraseology, nor converse with religious people without. But if, on the other hand, his religion is really a thing in his heart: if he moves about day by day as seeing One invisible: if the love of Christ is really warming the springs of his inner life, then, however - inadequately this is shewn in matter or in manner, it will be sure to be known and thoroughly appreciated by those who are ever living their lives around him, DR. ROWLAND WILLIAMS. This eminent Welsh scholar. and divine was a native of Flint- shire, Wales, born in 1817. He was educated at Etonand at King’s . College, Cambridge, in which he was distinguished as a classical scholar. He was elected toa Fellowship of his college, and was clas- sical tutor in it for eight years—from 1842 to 1850. He then removed to St. David’s College, Lampeter, in which he became Vice-principal _and Professor of Hebrew, was appointed chaplain to the Bishop of ‘Llandaff in 1850, and select preacher to the university of Cambridge in 1855. In the latter year he publishéd a volume of his sermons under the. title of ‘ Rational Godliness after the Mind of: Christ and the written Voices of his Church.’ His views on the subject of in- spiration were considered unorthodox, and led him into controversy, ultimately causing his withdrawal from Lampeter, where he had lived twelve years, greatly benefiting the college there, and discharg- ing his duties as parish minister with exemplary diligence and popu- _ Tar acceptance. - In 1860 appeared the volume entitled ‘ Essays and 140 A CYCLOPZDIA OF . ‘Reviews ;' Dr. Williams was one of the writers, contributing an-arti- _ cle on Bunsen’s ‘Biblical Researches,’ for which he was prosecuted — in the Court.of Arches, and sentenced to a year’s suspension. The Privy Council, however, reversed the decision, and Dr. Williams con-- tinued his pastoral labours and studies until his death in 1870. He died at a vicarage he held near Salisbury, but his friends in Wales” sent flowers from the land of his birth to be laid on his coffin. The_ works of Dr. Williams are numerous. The best is his ‘Hinduism ~ and Christianity Compared,’ 1856; a learned and able treatise. He “was-engaged in his latter years on a more elaborate work, part of which was published in 1866 under the title of ‘ The Prophets of Israel | and Judah during the Assyrian Empire.’ A second volume was_ published after his death, entitled ‘The Hebrew Prophets, tr anslated afresh from the Original,’ 1872. He also wrote various essays on the Welsh Church, Welsh Bards, and An glo-Saxon Antiquities. He was- a various as well as a profound scholar, but chiefly excelled in He- brew and in his ancient native tongue, the Cymric or Welsh. T he ‘Life and Letters of Dr. Williams’ were published by his widow, two volumes, 1874; and Mrs. Williams claims for her husband having done good service by advocating an open Bible and free reverential criticism, and by maintaining these to be consistent with the stand- 7 ards of the English Church. He helped much to vindicate for the | Anglican Establishment the wide boundary which he, Dean Stanley, ‘and others considered to be her lawful inheritance. ‘Dean Milman,’ he says, ‘once wrote to me, that what the world wants is a keener perception of the poetical character of parts, espe- Cially the earlier parts of the Bible. «This work, ” he addéd, ‘* will — be done slowly, but, in my opinion, surely.” In other words, what | the world seems to me to want, is a perception that the religion with - which the Bible, as a whole, impresses us, is a true religion; but that in its associations, accidents, and personal shortcomings, it has had > “no supernatural exemption from those incidents of human nature which we find in the transmission of our moral sentiments in gene-— ral, strengthened as these are by historical examples, but having a fresh germ in ourselves, and yet needing a constant glance heaven- | ward, a tone of mind compounded of prayer and of resolve, in order to keep them sound, and free from all warping influences. Again, to vary the expression, the great object to be set always before our consciences is, *‘the Father of our spirits,” the Eternal Being; and it is an infinite aid to have the records of wor ds and deeds of men who have lived in a like spiritual faith, and who can kindle us afresh. : ¥3 REV. FREDERICK WILLIAM ROBERTSON. . The Rev. F. W. Rozertson of Brighton (1816-1853) was a ce ‘man of the Church of England whose “life was devoted to the int ‘lectual and spiritual improvement of the working-classes, and whose -writings have enjoyed a degree of popularity rarely extended to Sees Pe aX Pe ee = : - “RORERTSON.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. Sd -mons and theologiexl treatises. He was a native of London, son of -an officer, Captain Robertson, R.A. He was educated at Edinburgh -and Oxford, taking his degree of MA. at Brasenose College in 1844. Having entered the Church, he was successively curate at Winchester and Cheltenham, and incumbent of Trinity Chapel, Brighton. At the latter he continued six years till his death. In 1848 he assisted in establishing a working-man’s Institute, and his address on this occasion, which was afterwards published, attracted, as he said, ‘ more notice than it deserved or he had expected: it was read by Her Majesty, distributed by nobles and Quakers, sneered at by Conservatives, preised by Tories, slanged by Radicals, and swal- fJowed, with wry faces, by Chartists!’ Within six months, it was _said Mr. Robertson had put himself at variance with the whole accre- - dited theological world of Brighton on the questions of the Sabbath, the Atonement, Inspiration, and Baptism! His talents, sincerity, and saint-like character were, however, acknowledged by all parties, and his death was mourned as a public calamity. His funeral was attended by more than two thousand persons. Four volumes of Mr. -Robertson’s ‘Sermons’ have been published; also his ‘ Life and Let- ters,’ two volumes, by the Rev. Stopford A. Brooke. Robertson’s ‘Sermons’ have gone through-numerous large editions both in Eng- -jand and America. 2 a Christian Energy. _. ‘Let us be going.’ There were two ways open to Christ in which to submit to “his doom. He might have waited for it: instead of which He went to meet the sol- -diers, He took up the cross, the cup of anguish was not forced between his lips. He ‘took it with his own hands. and drained it quickly to the la:t drop. In after years . the disciples understood the lesson, and acted on it. They did not wait till perse- - ention overtook them ; they braved the Sanhedrim, they fronted the world, they pro- “claimed aloud the nnpopular and unpalatable doctrines of the Resurrection and the _Cross. Now in this there lies a principle. Under no conceivable set of. circum- _Stauces are we justified in sitting : = By the poisoned springs of life, 7 Waiting for the morrow which shall free us from the strife. Under no circumstances, whether of pain, or grief, or disappointment, or irrepara- _ble mistake, can it be true that there is not’ something to be done, as well as some- — ~ - thing to be suffered. And thus itis that the spirit of Christianity draws over our life, not a leaden cloud of remorse and despondency, but a sky—not perhaps of radiant, _but yet of most serene and chastened and manly hope. Thereis a past whichis gone for ever, but there is a future which is still our own. aS The Bible. It is the universal applicability of Scripture which has made the influence of the Bible universal. This book has spell-bound the hearts of nations in a way in which no single book has ever held men before. Remember too, in order to enhance the marvellousness of this, that the nation from which it emanated was a despised peo- -ple. For the Jast eighteen hundred years, the Jews have. been proverbially a by- word and a reproach. But that contempt for Israel is nothing new to the world, for before even the Roman despised them, the Assyrian and Egyptian regarded them with scorn. Yet the words which came from Israel’s prophets have been the life- blood of the world’s devotions. And the teachers, the psalmists, the prophets, and 142 CYCLOPADIA OF (To 1876. the law-givers of this despised nation spoke out truths that have struck the key-note of the heart of man; and this, not because they were of Jewish, but because tney — were of universal application. i This collection of books has been to the world what no other book has ever been — to anation. States have been founded on its principles. Kingstule by a compact — based on it. Men hold the Bible in their hands when they prepare to give solemn — evidence affecting life, death, or property ; the sick man is almost afraid to die unless — the Book-be within reach of his hands; the battle-ship goes into action with one on board whose office it is to expound it ; its prayers, its psalms are the language which — we use when we speak to God: eighteen centuries have found no holier, no diviner language. If ever there has been a prayer or a hymn enshrined in the heart of a na- ~ tion, you are sure to find its basis in the Bible. The very translation of it has fixed language and settled the idioms of speech. Germany and England speak as they — speak because the Bible was translated. It has made the most illiterate peasant more familiar with the history, customs, and geography of ancient Palestine than with the localities of his own country. Men who know nothing of the Grampians, ~ of Snowdon, or of Skiddaw, are at home in Zion, the Jake of Gennesareth, or among the rills of Carmel. People who know little about London, know by heart — the places in Jerusalem where those blessed feet trod which were nailed to the ~ Cross. Men who know nothing of the architecture of a Christian cathedral can yet — tell you about the pattern of the holy Temple. Even this shews us the influence of — the Bible. The orator holds a thousand men for half an hour breathless—a thou- sand men as one, listening to a single word. But the Word of God has held a ~ thousand nations for thrice a thousand years spell-bound; held them by an abiding ~ power, even the universality of its truth; and we feel it to be no more a collection of — books, but the Book. Bee a y Pe The Smiles and Tears of Life. The sorrows of the past stand out most vividly in our recollections, because they — are the keenest of our sensations. At the end of a long existence we should proba- bly describe it thus: Few and evil have the days of the years of thy servant been. But the innumerable infinitesimals of happiness that from moment to moment made life — sweet and pleasant are forgotten, and very richly has our Father mixed the mate- — rials of these with the homeliest actions and domesticities of existence. See two men meeting together in the streets, mere acquaintances. They will not be five minutes together before a smile will overspread their countenances, or a merry laugh ring off — at the lowest amusement. This has Goddone. God created the smile and the laugh, as well as the sigh and the tear. The aspect of this life is stern, very stern. It isa — very superficial account of it which slurs over its grave mystery, and refuses to hear — its low deep undertone of anguish. But there is enough, from hour to hour, of — bright sunny happiness, to reinind us that its Creator’s highest name is Love. REV. STOPFORD A. BROOKE, The biographer of Mr. Robertson is himself a popular preacher and author. The Rev. Stroprorp A. Brooke, M.A., incumbent of — Bedford Chapel, Bloomsbury, was sometime preacher in St. James’s Chapel, York Street; and three volumes of ‘ Sermons’ (first, second, and third series) delivered in York Street, have been published. Mr. Brooke is author also of ‘Freedom in the Church of England,’ six sermons suggested by the Voysey judgment, which were held to con- tain a fair statement of the views in respect to freedom of thought entertained by the liberal party in the Church of England. One volume of Mr. Brooke’s Sermons, entitled ‘ Christ in Modern Life,’ is now (1876) in its ninth edition. He has also published ‘ Theology - in the English Poets, Cowper, Coleridge, Wordsworth, and Burns; she ‘Life and Work of Frederick Denison Maurice,’ a memorial ser “SROOKE. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 143 mon; and a little manual on ‘ English Literature,’ forming one of a ‘series of primers edited by Mr. J. R. Green. The last sentence in this manual is suggestive: _ “Tennyson has always kept us close to the scenery, the traditions, the daily life, and the History of England; and his last drama of -**Queen Mary,” 1875, is written almost exactly twelve hundred years since the date of our first poem, Czedmon’s Paraphrase. To think of one and then of the other, and of the great and continuous stream of literature that has flowed between them, is more than enough to make ‘Ms all proud of the name of Englishmen.’ The Creation (Genesis i, 1). - It was necessary that a spiritual revelation should be given in harmony with the physical beliefs of the period; and when we demand that the revealed writings ‘should be true to our physical knowledge in order that we should believe in imspira- tion. we are asking that which would have made all those for whom the Bible was - originally written disbelieve at once in all it revealed to man. We ask too much: that. book was written on wiser principles. It left these questions aside; it spoke in the language, and through the knowledge, of its time. It was content to reveal ‘spiritual truth ; it left men to find out scientific truth for themselves. It is inspired with regard to the first ; it is not inspired with regard to the latter. It is inspired with regard to universal principles ; it is not inspired with regard to details of fact. The proof that it is inspired with regard to principles is that those principles which _it lays down or implies are not isolated but universal principles. They are true of national, social, political, intellectual, as well asof spiritual life, and above all, and this is the point which I especially wish to urge, they are identical with scientific principles. Let us test this in the case of this chapter. _. The first principle to be inferred is that of the unity of God. One Divine Being is -Trepresenied as the sole cause of the universe. Now this is the only foundation of a ‘true religion for humanity. Starting from the Semitic peoples, it has gradually made its way over the whole of the Aryan family with the exception of the Hindus 5 and even among them, and wherever else the worship of many gods exists, itis gradually _ driving out polytheism and establishing itself as the necessary religion for humanity. __ The next principle in this chapter is that all noble work is gradual. God is not represented as creating everything in a moment. He spent six days at His work, and then said it was very good. Now thereis no principle more universal than this —that in proportion to the nobility of anything, is it long in reaching its perfection. ~The summer fly is born and dies in a few days; the more highly organised animal has along youth and a mature age. The inferior plant rises, blooms, and dies ina year; the oak transforms the storms and sunshine of a century into the knotted fibres of its stem. The less noble powers of the human mind mature first ; the more noble, such as imagination, comparison. abstract reasoning, demand the work of years. ‘lhe greatest ancient nation took the longest time to develop its iron power 5 the securest political freedom in a nation did not advance by bounds, or by violent - revolutions, but in England ‘broadened slowly down from precedent to preéedent.’ ‘rhe greatest modern society—the Church of Christ—grew as Christ prophesied, from a beginning as small as a grain of mustard-seed into a noble tree, and grows now more slowly than any other society has ever grown—so slowly, that persons who are not far-seeing say that it has failed. The same law is true of every indivi- _dual Christian life. The next truth to be inferred from this chapter is that the universe was prepared for the good and enjoyment of man. I cannot say that this is universal, for the stars exist for themselves, and the sun for orher planets than ours; and itis a poor thing to say that the life of animals and plants is not for their own enjoyment as well as ours! but so far as they regard us, itis a universal truth, and the Bible was written for owr learning. ‘Therefore, in this chapter. the sun and stars are spoken of only in their relation to us, and man is set as master over all creation. cad = RET. a =. - ~ nee SO ee = _ > amg tara ‘ Fi Foe Se = 144 CYCLOPADIA OF © The hext principle is the interdependence of rest and work. The Sabbath is the outward expression of God’s recognition of this as a truth for man. It was com-— manded because it was necessary. ‘the Sabbath was made for man,’ said Christ. — And the same principle ought to be extended over our whole existence Thelife of — Christ, the type of the highest human life, was not all work. ‘Come ye intothe — wilderness, and rest awhile.’ Toil and refreshment were woven together. Butasin — this chapter there were six-days of work to one of rest, so in His life, as it ought to be in ours, ‘labour was the rule, relaxation the exception.’ Labour always preceded _ rest; rest was only purchased hy toil. ~ eo Lastly. there is one specially spiritual principle which glorifies this chapter, and the import of which is universal, *God made man in His own image.’ It is the di- vinest revelation in the Old Testament. In it is contained the reason of all that has ~ evei been great in human nature.or in human history. In it are contained all th sorrows of the race as it looks back» to its innocence, and all the hope of the — race as it aspires from the depths of its fall to the height of the imperial palace - whence it came. In it is contained all the joy of the race as it sees in Christ this — great first principle revealed again. In it are contained all the history of the human heart, all the history of the human mind, all the history of the human conscience, all — the history of the human spirit. It is the foundation-stone of all written and unwrit- — ten poetry, of all metaphysics, of all ethics, of all religion. > 3] These are the universal principles which are to be found in this chapter. And — this, we are told, is not inspiration; this is not the work of a higher spirit than the ~ spirit of defective aud one-sided man. ‘This illuminating constellation of all-embrac- _ ing truths; stars which burn, eternal and unwavering, the guides and consolers of — men in the heayen which arches oyer our spiritual life ; their light for ever quiet with - the conscious repose of truth, ‘their seat the bosom of God, their voice the harmony of the world’—to which, obedience being given, nations are great, souls are free, and the race marches with triumphant music to its perfect destiny—this is not inspiga- tion! Brethren, it 7s inspiration. . BISHOP WILBERFORCE. : > SamMuEL WILBERFORCE, D.D., Bishop of Winchester (1805-1872), — was the third son of the Christiau philanthropist, William Wilber force. After his education at Oriel College, Oxford, Mr. Wilberforee was ordained curate of Checkendon, Oxfordshire, and rose to be © Bishop of Oxford in 1845. In 1869 he was translated to the see of — Winchester. Asa scholar, a prelate, and debater in the House of Lords, of gracious manner and winning address, Bishop Wilberforce _ was highly esteemed, and his accidental death by a fall from his horse was deeply lamented. He published several volumes of ‘Sermons — and Charges,’ ‘ Agathos and other Sunday Stories,’ ‘History of the Episcopal Church in America,’ ‘ Hebrew Heroes,’ &c. Two volume of ‘Essays’ contributed by the bishop to the ‘ Quarterly ReviewaE | - were published in 1874. rer | . The Reformation of the Church of England. ~ | + “fy * It bears the mark and impress of the intellectual or spiritual peculiarities of no single man. Herein at once itis marked off from the Lutheran, the Calvinist. the | Zwinglian, and other smaller bodies.. On each one of them lay, as the shadow on the sleeping water, the unbroken image of some master mind or imperial sou]. The min of that founder of the new faith, his mode.of thought and argument, his religious principles, and his great defects, were reproduced in the body which he had formed, and which by anatural instinct appropriated and handed on his name. And so it — might have been with us too, had there been amongst the English Reformers such 4 leader. If. Wycliffe—the great forerunner of the Reformation, whose austere f ure stands out above the crowd of notables in English history—if Wycliffe jived a hundred and thirty years later.than he did, his commanding intellect WILBERFORCE. | ENGRISH-EIFERATURE. 2s 2 ecp= - 145 character might then have stamped upon the religion of England the essential char- acteristic o* asect.. But from this the goodness of God preserved the Church of ~thisland. Jike the birth of the beautiful islands of the great Pacific Ocean, the foundations of the new convictions which were so greatly to modify and purify the ‘medieval fai h were laid slowly, unseen, unsuspected -by ten thousaud souls, who la- ° poured they new not for what, save to accomplish the necessities of their own spir- - itual belief. The mighty convulsion which suddenly cast up the submarine founda- tions into p ak, and mountain, and crevasse, and lake, and plain, came not from “man’s devisii g, and obeyed not man’s rule. Influences of the heaven above, and of the daily sur’ounding atmosphere, wrought their will upon the new-born islands. Fresh convu'sions changed, modified, and completed their shape, and so the new and the old were t lended toxether into a harmony which no skill of man could bave devised. -The English Reformers did not attempt to develop a creed or a community out of their own il.fernal consciousness. Their highest aim,was only to come back to what had been before. ‘They had not the gifts which created in others the ambition to be the foundera of a new system. They did not even set about their task with any fixed plan orretognised set of doctrines. Their inconsistencies, their variations, their in- terval differences, their very retractations witness to the gradualuess with which the new light dawned upon them, and dispelled the old darkness. The charges of hypoc- “risy and time-serving which: have been made so wantonly against Cranmer and his brethren are all honourably interpreted by the real changes which took place in their “own opinions. ‘ihe patient, loving, accurate study of Holy Scripture was an emi- nent characteristic of all these men. Thus the opinions they were receiving from others who had advariced far before them in the new faith, were continually modified by this continual voice of God’s Word sounding in their ears, and by corresponding changes in their own views. Thus they were enabled by God’s grace, out of the utter disintegration round them, to restore in its primitive proportions the ancient ~ Church of England. : BISHOP ELLICOTT. Dr. CHarLEs JoHN Exticott, Bishop of Glovtester and Bristol, a distinguished Scripture commentator and divine, was born in 1819, son of the Rev. C. S. Ellicott, Rector of Whitwell, near Stamford, - Lincolnshire. He studied at St. John’s College, Cambridge; ob- tained the Hulsean prize in 1843;* in 1858 was chosen to succeed _ Dr. French as Professor of Divinity in King’s College, London; in 1860 was elected Hulsean Professor of Divinity in Cambridge; in 1861 was ~made Dean of Exeter; and in 1°63 was promoted to the see of Gloucester and Bristol. Dr. Ellicott’s first work was a ‘ Treatise on Analytical Science,’ 1842, which was followed by the Hulsean lecture on the ‘History and Obligation of the Sabbath,’ 1844. His most important work is a series of * Critical and Grammatical Commentaries on Bt. _Paul’s Epistles,’ published separately (all of which have gone through ‘several editions), namely, ‘ Galatians,’ ‘Ephesians,’ ’ Philippians,’ ‘Colossians,’ ‘ Philemon,’ ‘ Thessalonians; also ‘ Pastoral Epistles.’ A volume of ‘ Historical Lectures_on the Life of Our Lord’ by the ‘bishop is now in its sixth edition; and he has also published * Con- siderations on the Revision of the Authorised Version of the New Testament.’ In the preface to his Lectures, Bishop Ellicott says: ~~ ‘J neither feel nor affect to feel the slightest sympathy with the so- ~ *%he Rey. John Hulse of Elworth, in the county of Chester. by his will, bearing ‘date 1777. directed that the proceeds of certain estazes should be given yearly toa dis- fertator and a lecturer who should ‘shew the evidence for revealed religion. and de- *monstrate the truth and excellence of Christianity.’ The discourses were to be twenty h: dn-number but she Court of Chancery in 1830 reduced the number to e’ght on m. G . = id - m~ < 146 < CYCLOPADIA OF fro 1876, _called popular theology of the present day, but I-still trust that, in the many places in which it has been almost necessarily called forth — _ In the present pages, no expression has been used towards sceptical — writings stronger than may have been positively required by allegi- — ance to catholic truth. Towards the honest and serious thinker who — may feel doubts or difficulties in some of the questions connected — with our Lord’s life, all tenderness may justly be shewn” = The Lectures do not aim at being-a complete Life of our Saviour, — but go over the leading incidents—the birth and infancy, the Judean, — Eastern Galilee, and Northern Galilee ministries, the journeyings “ towards Jerusalem, the Last Passover, and the Forty Days. Copious © notes from the great Greek commentators and German expositors are — given. The critical and grammatical commentaries on St. Paul's — Epistles are also. copious and invaluable to students. A passage is — ‘here subjoined from the “Historical Lectures.’ . t : The Triumphant Entry into Jerusalem. - ae oe In the retirement of that mountain-hamlet of Bethany—a retirement soon to be — broken in upon—the Redeemer of the world may with reason be supposed to have ~ spent His last earthly Sabbath. There too, either in their own house or, as seems — more probable, in the house of one who probably owed to our Lord his return to the ~ society of his fellow-men, did that loving household ‘ make a supper’ for their Diviiie Guest. Joyfully and thankfully did each one of that loving family instinctively do that which might seem,most to tend to the honour and glorification of Him whom ~ one of them had declaréd to be, and whom they all knew to be, the Son of God that — was to come into the world. So Martha serves ; Lazarus it is specially noticed tak his place at the table, the visible living proof of the omnipotence of his Lord; Mary performs the tender office of a mournfully foreseeing love, that thought nought too — Pas or too costly for its God—that tender office, which, though grudgingly rebuked y Judas and, alas! others than Judas, who could not appreciate the depths of such — a devotion, nevertheless received a praise which it has been declared shall evermore — hold its place on the pages of the Book of Life. My ot | But that Sabbath soon passed away. Ere night came on, numbers even of- those — who were seldom favourably disposed to our Lord, now came to see both Him and — the living monument of His merciful omnipotence. The morrow probably brought more of these half-curious, half-awed, yet, 2s if would now seem, in a great measure believing visitants. 'The deep heart of the people was stirred, and the time was fully — come when ancient prophecy was to receive its fulfilmerit, and the daughter of Zion — was to welcome her King. Yea and in kingly state shall he come. Begirt not only — by the smaller band of His own disciples but by the great and now hourly increasing _ multitude, our Lord leaves the little wooded vale that had ministered to Him its Sab-— bath-day of seclusion and repose, and directs his way onward to Jerusalem. As — yet, however, in but humble guise and as a pilgrim among. pilgrims He traverses ally rough mount in-track which the modern traveller can even now somewhat hopefully identify ; every step bringing him nearer to the ridge of Olivet, and to that bamlet or district of Bethphage, the exact site of which it is so hard to fix, but which was separated perhaps only by some narrow valley from the round alopg which thepro- cession was now wending its way. But the Son of David must not solemnly enter — the city of David as a scarcely distinguishable wayfarer amid a mixed and wayfat- ing throng. Prophecy must have its full and exact fulfilment; the King ne . proach the city of the King with some meck symbols of kingly majesty. th haste, it would seem, two disciples sre despatched to the village over against er , to bring to Him ‘who had need of it’ the colt ‘whereon yet never man sat:’ with — haste the zealous followers cast upon it their garments. and all-unconscious of the — significant nature ot their act, place thereon their Master—the — King. Strange it would have been if feelings such as now were eagerly stirring in every — " 4. ‘ ae >, aa +e vo ee WEL WS ye A a ecg eee s ie “ELLICOTT.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 147 heart had not found vent in words. Strange indeed if, with the Hill of Zion now breaking upon their view, the long prophetic past had not seemed to mingle with the present, and evoke those shouts of mysterious welcome and praise, which, first be- pinning with the disciples and those immediately round our Lord, soon were heard from every mouth of that glorifying multitude. _And notfrom them alone. Number- Jess others there were fast streaming up Olivet, a palm-branch in every hand, to greet the raiser of Lazarus and the Conqueror of Death; and now all join. One common feeling of holy enthusiasm now pervades that mighty multitude, and displays itself in befitting acts. Garments ‘are torn off and cast down before the Holy One; green boughs bestrew the way; Zion’s King rides onward in meek majesty, a thousand voices before, and a thousand voices behind rising up to heaven with Hosannas and - with mingled words of magnifying acclamation, some of which once had been sung to the Psalmist’s harp, and some heard even from angelic tongues... . But the hour of triumph was the hour of deepest and most touching compassion. If, as we have ventured to believe, the suddenly opening view of Zion may have caused the excited feelings of that thronging multitude to pour themselves forth in words of exalted and triumphant praise. full surely we know from the inspired narrative, that on our Redeemer’s nearer approach to the city, as it rose up, perhaps suddenly, in all its extent and magnificence before Him who even now beheld the trenches cast about it, and Roman legions mustering round its fated walls, tears fell from those Divine eyes—yea, the Saviour of the world wept over the city wherein He had come to suffer and die. . . . The lengthening procession again moves onward, slowly de- scending into the deep valley of the Gedron, and slowly winding up the opposite slope, until at length by one of the Eastern gates it passes into one of tue now exywiied thoroughfares of the Holy City. Such was the Triumpkal Entry into Jeru- Salem. j BISHOP EDWARD HAROLD BROWNE. The present learned Bishop of Winchester, son of the late Colonel Browne of Morton House, Bucks, was born in 1811, and was edu- _eated at Eton, and at Emmanuel College, Cambridge, where he was wrangler in 1832. His academical career was highly distinguished. In 1833 he obtained the Crosse theological scholarship, in 1834 the first Hebrew scholarship, and in 1835 the Norrisian prize: for a theo- logical essay. He became Fellow and tutor of his college. From - 1843 to 1849 he was Vice-principal and Professor of Hebrew in St. ~David’s College, Lampeter; in 1854 he was elected Norrisian Profes- ‘sor of Divinity in the university of Cambridge; in 1857 canon resi- _dentiary of Exeter Cathedral; in 1864 he was consecrated Bishop of Ely; and in 1874, Bishop of Winchester. The principal theological work of Bishop Browne is his ‘ Exposition of the Thirty-nine Arti- “cles, Historical and Doctrinal,’ which was published (1850-53) in ‘two volumes, but is now compressed into one large volume of 864 pages (tenth edition, 1874). In his introduction (which is a.clear and ‘concise historical summary, relating to the Liturgy and Articles) the ‘bishop has the following sensible remarks: Interpretation of the Thirty-nine Articles. Tn the interpretation of them, our best guides must be, first, their own natural, literal, grammatical meaning; next to th's. a knowledge of the controversies which had prevailed in the Church, and made such articles necessary; then, the other au- -thorised formularies of the Church; af.er them the writings and known opinions of such men as Cranmer, Ridley, and Parker, who drew them up; then, the doctrines of the primitive Church, which they professed to follow; and, lastly, the general sentiments of the distinguished English divines who have been content to subscribe 148 | ee CYCLOPAEDIA OF = the Articles, and have professed their agreement. with them for now three ae years. These are our best guides for their interpretation. Their authority is deriv- — able from Scripture alone. a On the subject of subscription, very few words may be sufficient. To sign any 4 document in a non-natural sense seems neither consistent with Christian integrity nor with common manliness. But, on the other haud, a National church should — never be needlessly exclusive. It should, we can hardly ‘doubt, be ready to embrace, ™ ‘ if possible, all who truly believe in God, and in Jesus Christ ‘whom He hath sent. Accordingly. our own Church requires of its Jay members no confession of theig faith except that contained in the Apostles’ Creed. : In the following pages an attempt is made to interpret and explain the Articles of the Church, Ww hich bind the consciences of her clergy, according to their natural and genuine meaning; and to prove that meaning-to be both scriptural and catholic. — None can fee! so vere) nor act so straightfor wardly, as those who subscribe them 7 in such a sense. But if we consider how much variety of sentiment may prevail é amongst persons who are, in the main, sound in the faith, we can never wish that a — national Church, which ought to have all the marks of catholici ty, should enforce too — rigid and uniform an interpretation of its formularies and terms of union. The ~ Church shon'd be not only holy and apostolic, but as well, one and catholic. Unity and universality are scarcely attainable, where a greater rigour of subscription is re= L quired than such as shall insure an adherence and conformity to those great catholic _ a truths which the primitive Christians lived by, and died for, <4 Besides his elaborate ‘Exposition of the Thirty-nine Articles,’ Die 4 Browne has published two volumes of Sermons, one on the * Atone-_ ment and other Subjects,’ 1859, and the second on ‘ Messiah as Fores , told and Expected,’ 1862. The latter is a vindication of the true pre-~ dictive character of Messianic prophecy, derived chiefly from Jewish — sources. He is author also of ‘The Pentateuch and the Elohistic_ Psalms,’ written in reply to Bishop Colenso in 1863; and * The Dea- i coness,’ a sermon preached in 1871. The bishop is also one of the writers in ‘ Aids to Faith,’ in Smith’s s ‘ Dictionary of the Bible,’ thet ; ‘Speakers’ Commentary,’ &. ARCHBISHOP THOMSON. a The Archbishop of York, Dr. Wit1t1AmM THomson, is a native of | 7 Whitehaven, Cumberland, born February 11, 1819. He was educated at Shrewsbury School and at Queen’s College, Oxford, of which he was successively scholar, Fellow, and tutor. ‘He took his degree of — ; B.A. in 1840, was or dained priest in 1843, and was four yeais pastor at Guildford and Cuddesden; in 1848 he was appointed select preacher at Oxford, and in 1853 was chosen to preach the Bampton Lecture. The subject was the ‘Atohing Work of Christ.’ Two years after-— wards (1855) he became incumbent of All-Souls, Marylebone; and in 1858 was chosen preacher of Lincoln’s Inn. This appointment is_ generally held to be preliminary to the bishopric, and_Dr. Thomson was in 1861 made Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol. In 1863 he was” promoted to the archiepiscopal see of York. His first work was a logical treatise, acute and learned, entitled ‘ An Outlineof the Neces-— sary Laws of Thought,’ 1842. This was’ followed by the Bampton | Lecture; by ‘Ser mous Preached in Lincoln’s Inn Chapel,’ 1861; ‘Pastoral Letter,’ 1864; ‘Life in the Light of God’s Word,’ ght; 3 fa = THOMSON, } ENGLISH LITERATURE. 149 ‘Limits of Philosophical Inquiry,’ 1869; and by a Life of Christ and other articles in Dr. Smith’s ‘Dictionary of the Bible,’ as well as contributions to reviews and other literary journals: One of the most valuable of Archbishop 'Thomson’s professional labours was editing and assisting in the authorship of ‘ Aids to Faith,’ a series of theological essays by several writers, designed as a reply to ‘ Essays and Reviews.’ In this volume (third edition, 4870) Dean Mansel took “up the subject of the ‘ Miracles;’ the Bishop of Cork (Fitzgerald), the ‘ Evidences ;’ Dr. M’Caul, ‘ Prophecy’ and the ‘ Mosaic Record of Creation;’ Canon Cooke, ‘Ideology and Subscription; ’ Professor Rawlinson, the ‘ Pentateuch;’ Dr. Browne, Bishop of Ely, ‘ Inspira- -tion;’ Dr. Ellicott, Bishop of Gloucester and Bristol, ‘ Scripture and its Interpretation;’ while the archbishop himself, as editor, selected as the subject of his essay the ‘ Death of Christ,’ or the doctrine of Reconciliation: - What is there about this teaching that has provoked im times past and present so “much disputation? Not, I am persuaded, the hardness of the doctrine, for none of the theories put in its place are any easier, but its want of logical completeness, Sketched out for us in a few broad lines, it tempts the fancy to fill it in and lend it _colour; and we do not always remember that the hands that attempt this are trying -tomake a mystery into a theory, an infinite truth into a finite one, and to reduce the great things of God-into the narrow limits of our little field of view. To whom was _theransom paid? What was Satan’s share of the transaction? How can one suffer for another? How could the Redeemer be made miserable when He was conscious “that His worix was one which could bring happiness tothe whole human race? Yet ’ this condition of indefiniten:ss is one which is-imposed on usin the reception of _é€very mystery: prayer, the incarnation, the immortality of the soul, are all subjects that pass far beyond our range of thought. And here we see the wisdom of God in - connecting so closely our redemption with our reformation. If the object were to _ give us a complete theory of salvation, no doubt there would be in the Bible much to seek. ‘The theory is gathered by fragments out of many an exhortation and warn- ing; nowhere does it stand out entire and without logical flaw. But if we assume ~ that the New Testament is written for the guidance of sinful hearts, we find a won- - derful aptness for that particular end. Jesusis proclaimed as the solace of our fears, 48 the founder of our moral life, as the restorer of our lost relation with our Father, If He had a cross. there is a cross for us; if He pleased not Himself, let us deny our- _ Selves ; if he suffered for sin, let us hate sin. Andthe question ought not to be, what _ do all these mysteries inean, but are these thoughts really such as will serve to guide _ our life, and to assuage our terrors in the fear of death? The answer is twofold— ~ one from history and one from experience. The preaching of the Cross of the Lord even in this simple fashion converted the world. The sime doc rine is now the _ ground of any definite hope that we find in ourselves, of forgiveness of sins and of everlasting life. = : DR. WILLIAM SMITH. Most of the divines who assisted Archbishop Thomson in his -f Aids to Faith’ have been associated with Dr. WILLIAM SMITH in a ‘Dictionary of the Bible,’ its antiquities, biography, geography, and natural history (1860-1863). This work is a complete storehouse of information on every subject connected with the Bibie. Dr. Smith ~has also edited Dictionaries of Greek and Roman Antiquities, Biog- -raphy, Mythology, and Geography (1840-1852), and several students’ Manuals, grammars, and small dictionaries. In 1867 ne became ed- 150 : CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876, itor of the ‘ Quarterly Review. This indefatigable scholar and lit- térateur is a native of London, born in 1815, and educated at the Lon- don University, in which he was Classical Examiner from 1853 till 1869. In 1870 he published, in conjunction with a friend(Mr, Hall), a ‘Copious and Critical English-Latin Dictionary,’ said to be the result of fifteen years’ labour. In acknowledgment of his services to — the cause of education-and classical literature, the university of Ox. ford, in 1870, conferred upon him the honorary degree of D.C.L. — Perhaps no university honour was ever more worthily won. . < r Me Fier a ew! hn DR. CHARLES JOHN VAUGHAN. ; ic The Master of the-Temple, Coartes Joun Vauanan, D.D., is author of a vast number of sermons and addresses, besides several — works of a more elaborate character. His ‘ Expository Lectures on — the Romans,’ ‘ on Philippians,’ ‘ the First Epistle to the Thessalonians,’ — ‘the Acts,’ ‘the Revelation of St. John,’ &c., are valuable and popular ~ theological works. Some of his collected sermons were delivered — in the chapel of Harrow School (two series, 1849 and 1853); in the — parish church of St. Martin's, Leicester, 1853; ‘ Epiphany, Lent, — and Easter Sermons,’ 1860; ‘Sermons at Doncaster,’ 1863; ‘The ~ Book and the Life,’ being four sermons at Cambridge, 1862; ‘ Twelve Sermons on Subjects connected with the Church of England,’ 1867; — ‘ Lessons of the Cross and the Passion’ (six lectures), 1869; ‘Earnest Words for Earnest Men,’ 1869; ‘Last words in the Parish Church of ~ Doncaster; &c. For thirty years or more, it may be said that not — a single year has passed without some work from Dr. Vaughan; and — his ministrations in the beautiful Temple Church in London (of old — the church of the Knights Templars) are attended by large congrega- tions. Dr. Vaughan was born about 1817, and having passed a — brilliant university career at Trinity College, Cambridge (in 1837 — Browne’s medallist for the Greek ode and epigram, and gainer of — the members’ prize for Latin essay; in 1838, senior classic), he entered into holy orders, and became Vicar of St. Martin’s, Leicester — —a parish of which his father had been incumbent. He was next — Head Master of Harrow School (1844-1859), refused the bishopric of Rochester in 1860, and shortly afterwards became Vicar of © Doncaster. After a residence of nearly ten years at Doncaster, he — accepted the Mastership of the Temple in 1869. As parish clergy-— man and as Master of*the Temple, Dr. Vaughan has been distin-— guished equally for his affectionate earnestness and zeal and his— unwearied activity, while his classical attainments have placed him ~ in the first rank of English scholars. | ae - Three Partings. — From ‘ Last Words in the Parish Church of Doncaster.’ re Life ts full of pirtings. Every day we see some one whom we shall never seo again. Homes are full of these partings, and churches are full of these partings, and ~ therefore Scripture also, the mirror ot life, is full of these partings; tells us how : 5 > ae =< _ YAUGHAN. ] -ENGLISH LITERATURE, 151 bitter they are—or takes that for granted, and tells us rather how solemn they are, how PO TAOEAARY, how important—bids us regard them, use them,-turn them to ac- count. First, I will speak of bodily partings. Those who were once near together in the flesh are no longer so. It is a thing of every-day experience. ‘lo-night there is a family in this congregation which before next Sunday will have left the town. If I ~ had not gone, they would have gone. You will say it is a small event to chronicle in this manner. Still it shews, it serves as an example, how common are these local changes which make people who co-existed before co-exist no longer. It shews how hopeless it is to avoid such separations. They are part of our lot. They remind us of the great dispersion ; they should make us long for the great reunion, It is a serious thing to stand on the pier of some seaport town, and see a son or & brother setting sail for India or New Zealand. Such an experience marks, in a thou- sand homes, a particular day in the calendar with a peculiar, a life-long sadness. _ And when two hearts have grown into each other by a love real and faithful, and the ‘hour-of parting comes—comes under compulsion put upon them, whether by family arrangement or by God’s providence—when they know that in all probability they “can meet never again on this side the grave—tell us not that this is a light sorrow, a irifling pain ; for the time, and it may be for all time, it is a grief, it is a bereave- ment. it is a death; long days and years may run their course, and yet the image is “there; there, and not there—present in dream and vision, absent in converse and in’ communion. The Word of God is so tender to us, so full of sympathy, that it paints this kind of parting in all its bitterness. No passage of Scripture has been more fondly read and re-read by severed friends than that which contains the record Of the love, ‘ passing the love of women,’ between David and the king’s son. That Jast farewell, of which the Prophet Samuel did not disdain to write the full, the al- ‘most photographic history, had in it no pang of unfaithfulness or broken vow: the- two friends loved afterwards, in absence and distance; and it was given to one of them to bewail the death, in glorious though disastrous battle. of the other, ina strain of lyric lamentation which for beauty and pathos stands still unrivalled “among the dirges and dead-marches of the most gifted minstrels and musiciuns of ‘earth. There are partings between souls. I speak still of this life. The sands of Tyre and Miletus were wet with tears when St. Paul there took leave of disciples and elders. But those separations were brightened by an immortal hope, and he could commend his desolate ones to the word of God’s grace, as able to give them an in- heritance at last with him and with the saved. I call that a tolerable, a bearable parting. God-grant ittous! How different is it when souls part! There are partings every day between souls. There are those who once knew each other intimately, calied each other friends, who now scarcely know whether the “once beloved be dead or living. There are those who have drifted asunder, not be- cause one is a lawyer and the other a clergyman; not because one has had experi- ence abroad of battles or sieges, and the other has Jed the home life of a merchant or -ajandowner; not even because seas and lands have permanently separated them, - and hands once closely clasped in friendship can never meet again in loving embrace on this side the grave. ‘They have parted, not in body but in spirit. Ghosts of old ‘obsolete worn-out friendships haunt the chambers of this being, to remind us of the hollowness of human possessions, and the utter transitoriness of all affections save - ore. Go on then from the partings of time to the death-parting which must come. Set yourselves in full view of that—take into your thought what it is—ask, in each ‘several aspect of earth’s associations and companionships, what will be for you the “meaning of the text—* He saw him no more.’ The life-partings, and the sou\-partings, all derive their chief force and signifi- cance from the latest and most awful—the one death-parting, which is not probably, but certainly, before each and all. ‘He saw him no more.’ That parting which the text itself describes was momentous, was memorable. That consecration of the rophet by the prophet—that original casting upon him of the mantle, by which his designation was announced to him—now frifilled inthe very falling upon him of the - @ame mantle, as the chariot of fire made its way into the abyss of heaven above— turned a common life, a life of ploughing and farming, presnerous (it should seem) : oR é ; : , Pa St! 152 -. CYCLOPADIA OF =~ ~ © fro 187 and weathy, into’a life of absolute unworldliness, a life of dedication to God’s ser-— vice, and to the highest interests of a generation. This parting was indeed a meet. — ing. it brought two lives and two souls into one, as no length of bodily converse — could have united them, ‘The spirit of Elijah then began to rest on Elisha, when — they were parted for ever as to the socicty and fellowship of the living. It has ever been so with those highest and most solemn uuities in which man with man, and man with his God, finds the crown and consummation of his being. Itis through the death-parting that the everlasting meeting begins. se a hie “is. The Ascension. . When a man’s heart is crushed within him by the gall‘ng tyranny of sense ; when, d from the dawning of the day till the setting of the sun, and for hours beyond it, he -is compelled to gather straw for Egypt’s bricks, and’ to bake. them in the world’s ~ ecorching kiln, till the spring of life is dried up within, and he is ready to say. Let me but eat and drink and sleep, for there is nothing real but this endless task-work ; — ‘then, how swect to say to one’s self ‘ And a cloud received him out of their sight.’ ~ . Yes, just out of sight, but as certainly as if the eye could pierce it, there is a heaven -all bright, all pure, all real; there is Ore there who has my very nature, in it toiled as ceaselessly as the most care-worn and world-laden ‘of us all, having no home, and no leisure so much as: toeat.. He. is there—His warfare accomplished, His life's — labour fulfilled ; He is there, at rest, yet still working, working for me, bearing me — upon His heart, feeling for and feeling with mein each trial and in each temptation; — and not feeling only. but praying too, with that intercession which is not only near but inside God ; and not interceding only, but also ministering grace hour by hour, - coming into me with that very thought and recollection of good, that exact resolu- tion and purpose and aspiration which is needed to keep me brave and to keep me pure. Only let my heart be fully set to-maintain that connection, that spiritual mar-_ riage and union, which is between Christ above and the soul below; only let me cherish, by prayer and watching that spirit of soberness, that freedom (to use St. Peter’s strong phrase in this day’s Epistle) from the intoxications of sense, which” makes a man in the world and yet not of it—and I too shall at last reach that blessed home where Christ already is, and is for me! ; ee Thus, too, when sorrow comes, when the light of this life is quenched and anni-_ hilated by reason of some fond wish frustrated or some precious possession tern away; when I am beginning to say, take away now my life, for there is nothing left to live for—then I look upward and see, if not at this moment the bow in the cloud, the bow of hope and promise, yet at least the cloud—the cloud behind which Jesus’ is, Jesus the Man of Sorrows, having still a thought for every struggling sorrowing man. and holding in His hand the very medicine, the very balm. for the particular sor- row, the particular void, the particular stroke and pang, cf each disconsolate deso-— late wayfarer towards the home and the rest. yy: Such is one part of the doctrine—let .us say. one utterance of the voice—of the ascension. ‘his is not your home. ‘This life is not your all—no, not even now. Behind the cloud which witnessed the view of the ascending Lord, there, there is — your country, your city, your church, your dwelling-place, even now. ‘Ye are come,’ the apostle says, ‘ to the city of the living God, to the spirits of the perfected — just, to Jesus the Mediator, and to God the Father of all.’ . Comfort is strength. The very word means it. But we separate the two—in idea at least—and the ascension has both for us. We want not soothing ouly, buat vie oration too. The ascension has a voice of this kind. *The.Lord working with them.’ They went forth everywhere, in the strength of the ascension—the Lord working with them. He who is Himself in heaven for us, will have us on earth for — Him. e must be His witnesses. . Think we, ail of us, of that coming day when the cloud which concealed shall he — the cloud which reveals Him. It isasolemn and touching thing to gaze into bls | fathomless depth of a perfectly clear sunlit or starlit sky, and lose ourselves in won-— der and awe, as we vainly search out its mysterious, its ever-growing and mole ing secrets. But scarcely less solemn or less touching, to one whose Bible is in li Fd heart, to mark that little cloud, small as a man’s hand, which just specks with white the otherwise blue expanse, and which, though it seems nearer. less ethereal, celestial far than the other, is‘'yet the token to Christian eyes of an ascension p 4 BS Smet be ~ Pa Eee Y a8 - 5 \ = < eS “G2? = - S “oO ~ _ LIDDON.} ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 153 and an advent future. A cloud then received Him. Ye shall see Him coming ina ‘cloud. Knit the two in your thoughts—knit the two in your prayers and your aspi- -vations—live in the twofold light of the angels’ ascension-day ereeting, ‘This same _desus which is taken up from you into heaven, shail so come in Jike manner as ye have seen him go.’ : DR. LIDDON. ~- The Rev. Henry Parry Lippon, D.D., D.C.L., Canon of St. _ Paul’s, and Ireland Professor of Exegesis in the university of Oxford, is author of the Bampton Lectures for 1866, the subject being ‘ The Divinity of our Lord and Saviour;’ also ‘Sermons Preached before _ the Univetsity of Oxford,’ ‘Some Elements of Religion, being Lent - Lectures,’ &c. Dr. Liddon was educated at Christ Church, Oxford, and took his degree of M.A. in 1852. From 1854 to 1859 he was Vice- principal of the Theological College of Cuddesden; in 1864 he was appointed a prebendary of Salisbury Cathedral, The volume of uni- versity sermons was originally published under the title ‘Some Words ‘for God,’ but that title was soon dropped—wisely we think—as ‘ liable _to misconstruction and in deference to the opinion of critics.’ The - author says his volume makes no pretention to be a volume of essays. ‘ An essay Lelongs to general literature; a sermon is the language of the Church.’ Dr. Liddon, however, is an eloquent preacher, whose pulpit ministrations are highly prized, and appear to want no other graces of literature than those which he adopts. Faith and Intellect (2 Cor. x. 5). Here is an Apostle of the Lord Jesus who used the language of a soldier. He is _ planning a campaign; nay, rather he is making war: he glows with the fire of a gen- _ uine military enthusiasm. _ The original Greek which he uses has in it a vigour and point which is lost, to a great extent, in our English translation. The writer might almost be a Roman general, charged to sustain the honour of the Empire ina re- - volted province or beyond a remote frontier, and bent upon illustrating the haughty ~ maxim which defined the duty of an imperial people— z To spare the vanquished, but to crush the proud. > Indeed, it has been urged that the recent history of Cilicia itself may have weil sue- _ gested this language to St. Paul. The Apostle’s native country had been the scene of 80me very fittce struggles in the wars against Mithridates and the pirates: and we are told that the latter war was only ended, not sixty years before the Apostle’s birth, by the reduction of one hundred and twenty strongholds and the capture of more than ten _ thousand prisoners, The dismantled ruins may have easily and naturally impressed the - boyish imagination of Saul of Tarsus with a vivid sense of the destructive energy of the Military power of Rome; but the Apostle of the nations only remembers these earlier. . impressions to give them a spiritual application. The wearors of his warfare are not carnal; the standard under which he fights is a more sacr d sign than that of the Cesar; the operations which he projects are to be carried out in a territory more dif- ficult of conquest than any which kept the conquerors of the world at bay. He is invading the region of human thought; and as he fights for God. he is sternly re- solved upon conquest. He sees rising before him the lofty fortresses of hostile errors ? they must be reduced and razed.. Every mountain fastness to which the enemy of Light and Love can retreat must be scaled and destroyed; and all the thought of the -umrn soul which is hostile to the authority of the Divine truth, must be ‘led away a8 a prisoner of war’ into the camp of Christ. Truly a vastand unaccountable ame - bition ; a dream—if it were not, as it was, a necessity; a tyranny—if anything less E.L.V.8—6 ae ~. rocks at its immediate base, speaks to the geologist of a subterranean fire that at Po pe ee ee ee ‘pee: OS ae eR Gs Z ? ot, Me. ike > ne 5 , mee, 154 CYCLOPEDIA OF fro 187609 - vigorous and trenchant had been consistent with the claims of the Truth of God, or — equal to the needs of the soul of man. v a The particular opposition to the work of Christ which the Apostle encountered at — Corinth was indeed less intellectual] in its form than the Galatian Judaism, or than the theosophic angel-worship which was popular at Colosse, or than the more sharply- defined heresies of a later time which, as we know-from the pastoral. epistles, threatened or infected the churches of Ephesus and Crete. St. Paul’s Corinthian op- ~ ponents resisted, deprecated, disowned, beyond everything else, the Apostle’s own — personal authority. This, however, was the natural course of things at a time when _ single apostles well-nigh impersonated the whole doctrinal action of the Church; and — feeling this, St. Paul speaks not as Oue who was reasserting a personal claim of any — sort, but merely and strictly as a soldier, as an organ, I might say, as a function, of — the truth.- ‘The truth had an indefeasible right to reign in the intellect of man. The Apostle asserts that right, when he speaks of bringing the whole intelligence of man into the obedience of Christ. Now, as then, Christ’s Church is militant here on — earth, not less in the sphere of thought than in the sphere of outward and visible ac- — tion; and St. Paul’s burning words rise above the temporary circumstances which ~ called them forth, and furnish a motto and an encouragement to us who, after the — lapse of eighteen centuries, fight in the ranks of the same army and against thesame — kind of foes as he did. + a Remark, first of all, that it is ‘the undue exaltation of’ intellect with which the a Church of Christ is in energetic and perpetual conflict. With intellect itself, with y really moral and reasonable intellect, with the thought of man recognising ~ at once its power and its weakness, its vast range and its necessary lim- its, religion has, can have, no quarrel. It were a libel on the all-wise Crea- — tor to suppose that between intellect and spirit, between thought and faith, ; there could be any original relations other than those of perfect harmony. — Paradise could have been the scene of no such unseemly conflict as that which we ~ are considering ; and here, as elsewhere in human nature; we are met with unmis- takable traces of the fall of our first parent. A range of granite mountains, which towers proudly above the alluvial soil of a neighbouring plain and above the softer — is her some remote epoch had thus upheaved the primal crust of the earth with convulsive — violence. And the arrogant pretensions of human thought in the children of Adam — speak no less truly of an ancient convulsion which has marred the harmony of the ~ faculties of the soul, and has forced the mind of fallen man into an attitude which — instinctively disputes the claims of revelation. The Mysteries of Nature. The wonderful world in which we men pass this stage of our existence, whether the higher world of faith be open to our gaze or not, is a very temple of many and august mysteries. You will walk. perhaps, to-morrow afternoon into the country ; and here or there the swelling buds, or the first fresh green of the opening leaf, will remind — you that already spring is about to re-enact before your eyes the beautiful spectacle of her yearly triumph. Everywhere around you are evidences of the existence and movement of a mysterious power which you can neither see, nor touch, nor define, nor measure, nor understand. This power livés“speethless, noiseless, uzseen, yet energetic, in every bongh above your head, in every blade of grass beneath your feet. It bursts forth from the grain into the shoot, from the branch into the bud; it bursts — into leaf, and flower, and fruit. It creates bark, and fibre; it creates height and bulk ; it yields grace of form and lustre of colour. It is incessant in its labour; itis prodigal of its beauty; it is uniformly generous and bountiful in its gifts to man. Yet, in itself, what is it? You give ita name}; you call it vegetation And perhaps — “you are a botanist; you trace out and you register the variety of its effects, and the signs of its movement. But-after all you have only labelled it. Althoughitisso — common, it is not in. reality familiar to you. Althongh you have watched it unthink- — ingly from your childhood upwards, and perhaps see in it nothing remarkable now, _ you may well pause in wonder and awe before it, for of a truth it is a mystery. What A 1s it in itself—this power which is so certainly around-you, yet which so perfectly escapes you when you attempt to detect or to detain it in your grasp? What is ij ~ elated sila oo at te Mi Se Be aie = i Red ‘: phe Starla: Po Ss “qppon.}) .. . ENGLISH LITERATURE. a ne this pervading force, this life-principle, this incomprehensible yet most certainly resent fact, but an assertion of the principle of mystery which robes the soil of ~ God’s earth with life and beauty, that everywhere it may cheer the faith and rebuke the pride of man! Yes, when next you behold the green field or the green tree, be _ sure that you are in the presence of a very sacrament of nature; your eye rests upon _ the outward and visible sign of an inward and wholly invisible force. ‘ Or look at those other forces with which you seem to be so much at home, and which you term attraction and gravitation. What do you really know about them ? ~ Youname them. perhaps you can repeat a mathematical expression which measures theiraction. Butafter all you have only named and described an effect ; you have not accounted for, you have not penetrated into, you have not unveiled itscause. Why, I - ask, in the nature of things, should such laws reign around us? They do reign; but why? what is the power which determines gravitation? where does it reside? how is it to be seized, apprehended, touched, examined? ‘There it is. but there, in- ~ accessible to your keenest study, it remains veiled and buried. You would gladly - capture and subdue and understand it; but, as it is, you are forced to confess the presence of something which you cannot even approach. -~ And you yourselves—fearfully and wonderfully made as you are—what are you but living embodiments, alike in your lower and your higher natures, and in the law _ of their union, of this all-pervading principle of mystery? The life-power which _ feels and moves in your bodies successfully eludes the knife of the anatomist, as he ’ lays bare each nerve and each muscle that contributes to the perfection of feeling and _inovement. Yet how much more utterly mysterious is your human nature when you ~ examine its higher aspects; when you analyse mind, and personality, and that mar- ~ vellous mystery of language, wherein thought takes nothing less than a physical _ form, and passes by means of a sensible vehicle from one immaterial spirit to - another! . ISAAC TAYLOR—DR. WARDLAW. A long series of works on theology and mental philosophy—ingeni- ous in argument, and often eloquent though peculiar in style—pro- ceeded from the pen of Isaac Taylor (1787-1865). Mr. Taylor’s father was an artist and engraver, a nonconformist, who afterwards became minister of an independent congregation at Colchester, and sub- _ sequently at Ongar in Essex (ante). Isaac Taylor was born at * Tavenham in Suffolk. He first commenced writing in the ‘ Eclectic - Review.’ He seems to have early settled down to literature as a pro- ' fession. In 1822 appeared ‘ Elements of Thought; in 1825, ‘The ‘History of the Transmission of Ancient Books to Modern Times,’ in 1826, ‘ The Process of Historical Proot; in 1829, ‘ The Natural His- tory of Enthusiasm.’ At that time the belief that a bright era of re- novation, union, and extension presently awaited the Christian Church was generally entertained. Mr. Taylor participated, he says. in the cheering hope, and his glowing language and unsectarian zeal found many admirers. The tenth edition of the volume is now before us. Discord, however, soon sprung up in Oxford ; and Mr. Taylor, in some papers on ‘ Ancient Christianity,’ published periodically, com- pated the arguments of the Tractarians, and produced a number of works, all of a kindred character, iJlustrating Christian faith or mor- als. These are—‘ Spiritual Despotism,’ 1835; ‘Physical Theory of Another Life,’ 1839; ‘ Lectures on Spiritual Christianity,’ 184! ; ‘Sat- -urday Evening,’ 1842; ‘ History of Fanaticism,’ 1843; ‘ Loyola and Jesuitism,’ 1849; ‘ Wesley and Methodism,’ 1851; ‘Home Education,’ ~ # «ar? ~ ¢$ 156 CYCLOPAIDIA OF. | fro 1876 4 . - 4952.‘ The Spirit of Hebrew Poetry,’ 1852; ‘The Restoration of Be- — ) viet’ 1850; &c. In 1856, Mr, Taylor wrote for the ‘North British — Review’ a long critical analysis ot the works of Dr. Chalmers, which ~ cave great Oifence to many ot the leading supporters of the ‘ Review,’ — and led to its suspension tor some time. With cordial admiration of ~ . the character and exertions of our great countryman, Mr. Taylor — questioned if much of his writing would live. ‘Che works of Dr. | Chalmers, he said, were deficient in method, in condensation, and 4 style; his reasoning was also frequently inconsistent, and his opinions were hampered by adherence to creed, or to the systematic theology — of Scotland. The following extracts will give an idea of the style and manner of Mr. Taylor. & Rapid Exhaustion of the Emotional Faculties.— From ‘ Physical Theory — of Another Life.’ ~ Every one accustomed to reflect upon the operations of his own mind, must be aware of a distinction between the intellectual and the moral faculties as to the rate — at which they severally move; for while the reasoning power advances in a manner — that might be likened to an increase according to the rule of arithmetical progres. ~ sion, and which consists in the adding of one proposition to another, and in the — accumulation of equal quantities; it 1s, on the contrary, the characteristic of the — passions, and of all intense sentiments, to rise with an-accelerated movement, and to — increase at the rate ot a g20ometrical progression. Even the milder emotions of love ~ and joy, and much more the vehement sensations, such as hatred, anger, jealousy, — revenge, despair, tend always towards this sort of rapid enhancement, and failtodoso — only as they are checked, either by a sense of danger conuected w:th the indulgence ~ of them, or by feelings of corporeal exhaustion, or by the interference of the inci- — dents and interests of common life. Especialiy itis to be noticed that those of the emotions which kindle or are kindled by the imagination, are liable to an acceler- — ation such as produces a physical excitement highly perilous both to mind and body, and needing to be speedily diverted. And although the purely moral emotions are ~ not accompanied with precisely the same sort of corporeal disturbance, nevertheless, when they actually gain full possession of the soul, they rapidly exhaust the physical ~ powers, and bring on a state of torpor. or of general indifference. : * Now this exhaustion manifestly-belongs to the animal organisation : nor can we ~ doubt that if it were possible to retain the body in a state of neutrality. or of perfect quiescence, from the first to the last. during a season of profound emotion, then these same affections might advance much further. and become far more intense, than as it is. they ever can or may. The corporeal limitation of the passions becomes, in truth. a matter of painful consciousness whenever they rige to ar. anusual height, or~ ~ are long continued ; and there takes place then within the bosom, an agony, partly — animal, partly mental, and a very uneasy sense of the inadequateness of our strongest emotions. to the occasion that calls them out. We feel that we cannot feel as we should : emotions are frustrate, and the affections which should have sprung upward are detained in a paroxysm on earth. It is thus with the noblest sentiments. and — thus with profound grief; and the malign and vindictive passions draw their tor- menting force from this very sense of restraint, and they rend the soul becanse they — can move it so little. Does there not arise amid these convulsions of ournnture. a tacit — anticipation of a future state, in which the soul shall be able to feel, and to take its — fi!l of emotion? : : Vishive, = ; - : Selfishness of the Anchoret.—From ‘* The Natural History of Enthusiasm.” Che ancient monkery was a system of the most deliberate selfishness. That — solcitude for the preservation of individual interests which forms the basis _of the human constitution. is so broken up and counteracted by the claims and pleasures — of domestic life, that though the principle remains, its mazifestations are sup- a as “pavior.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 151 pressed, and its predominance effectually prevented, except in some few tempers peculiarly unsuciut. but the anchoret isa veltiss by his very professiou; aud like tue Sehsudlist, though his taste 1s of anot er kind, he pursues his persouai gratitica- tion, reckless Of tie Ww. lfure of others. Liis Own advantage or delight, 0O:i—to use his favourliec phrase—tue good of his soul is the sovereign object of his cares. His incditatious, even if thcy embrace the compass Of heaven, Coine round ever and again to find their ultiniate Issue in his own bosom; but can that be true wis- dom which just ends at the point whence it staited? ‘irue wisdom is a progressive principle. in abjuriug the use of the active iaculties, im reducing himseit by the speli of yows to a Coudition of physical and moial unnibiiation, the msuluted says to bis fellows, concerning whatever might otherwise have been conveited to their benefit, -1t is corban ;’ thus making void the law of love to our neigubour, by a pre- tended inteusity of love to God. ‘+hat 80 moustrous an immorality should have dared to call itself by the name of fanctity, and should have done so too in front of Christianity, is indeed arunzing, und couid never have happeued if Christianity had uot first been shorn of its life- giving warmth, as the suu is deprived of its power of heat when we ascend into the varity of upper space. . ‘Lhe tendency of a taste for imaginative indulgences to petrify the heart, has been already adverted to, aud it receives a signai illustration in the monkish life, es- pecially in its more perfect torm of absolute separation from the socieiy of man. “Lhe anchoret was u disjoined particle, frozen deep iiito the mass of bis own seltish- ness, and there embedded, below the touch of every human sympathy. ‘his sort of meditative insulation is the ultimate and natural issue of all enthusiastic piety ; and Thay be met with even in our own times. among those who have no inc:ination to ran away from ‘the cuinforts of common life. Hebrew Figurative Theology.—From ‘ The Spirti of Hebrew Poetry.’ The Hebrew writers, one and all, with marvellous unanimity. spexk of God welatively only or as He is related to the immediate religious purposes of their ‘teaching. . . Itis the human spirit always that is the central or cohesive principle of the Hebrew Theology. ‘The theistic affi: mations that are scattered throughout the _ books of the Old Testament are not susceptible of a synthetic adjustment by any rule of logical distribution ; and although they are never contradictory one of ano- ther, they may seem to be so. inasmuch as the principle which would shew their accordance stands remote from human apprehension : it must be so; and to suppose utherwise would be fo affirm that the finite mind may grasp the infinite. The several elements of Theism are complementary one of another, only in relation to the needs and to the discipline of the human mind; not so in relation to its modes of specu- lative thonght, or to its own reason. ‘Texts packed in order will not build upa _ theology. in a scientific sense ; vhat they will do is this: they mect the variable ae of the spiritual life, in every mocd, and in every possible occasion of that EAS a es Tf we were to bring together the entire compass of the figurative theology of the ~ Scriptures (and this must be the theology of the Old Testament). it would be easy to_ arrange the whole in periphery around the human spirit, as related to its manifold experiences; but a hopeless task it would be to arrange the same passages as if in _cifele around the hypothetic attributes of the Absolute Being. The human reason falters at every step in attempting so to interpret the Divine Nature; yet the quickened soul interprets for itseif, and it does so anew every day, those signal passages upon which the fears, the hopes, the griefs, the consolations of years gone by have sct their mark. A son of Tsaae Taylor, bearing the same name, and Vicar of Holy Trinity, Twickenham, is author of an interesting volume, ‘ Words and Places,’ or etymological illustrations of history. ethnology, and geography (third edition, 1873). Myr. Taylor bids fair to add fresh justre to the ‘ family pen.’ Dr. RatpH WaRrpDLAW (1779-1853), of the Independent Church, — 158 . CYCLOPADIA OF "© © fr 1876.7 | Glasgow, was author of ‘Discourses on the Socinian Controversy,’ 1814, which have been frequently reprinted; and which Robert Hail _ Said completely exhausted the subject. Dr. Wardlaw published various sermons and theological essays, and was a learned, able divine, anda very impressive preacher. A Life of Dr. Wardlaw was published in 1856 by Dr. W. L. Alexander. REV. THOMAS DALE, ETC. The Rev. THomas Dawg, Canon of St. Paul’s, Vicar of St. Pan- cras, and ultimately Dean of Rochester, was author of two volumes of ‘Sermons,’ the first preached at St. Bride, 1830, and the second be- fore the university of Cambridge, 1832-36. The other publications of Mr. Dale are—‘ The Sabbath Companion,’ 1844; ‘Commentary on the Twenty-third Psalm,’ 1845; ‘The Domestic Liturgy and Family ‘Chaplain.’ 1846; &c. ~ Mr. Dale, while at college in Cambridge, pub- lished some poetical narratives, ‘The Widow of Nain,’ ‘ The Outlaw of Tarsus,’ and ‘ Irad and Adah,’ afterwards collected into one vol- ume, 1842. Mr. Dale was a native of London, born in 1797. He was for some time Professor of English Literature at the London Uni- versity, and subsequently at King’s College. He died in 1870. The ‘ Bridgewater Treatises’ form a valuable series of works on the theology of natural history. The Earl of Bridgewater (1758- 1829) bequeathed a sum of £8000 to be invested in the public funds, and paid to persons appointed by the President of the Royal Society to write and publish works on the Power, Wisdom, and Goodness of God as manifested in the Creation. The works so produced are— ‘The Hand, its Mechanism and Vital Endowments, as evincing De- sien,’ by Str CHARLES Beuu, Professor of Surgery in the university of Edinburgh (1774-1842); ‘Geology and Mineralogy considered with Reference to Natural Theology,’ by Dr. Winu1aAmM BucKkuanD, Dean- of Westminster (1784-1856); ‘’The Moral and Intellectual Constitution of Man,’ by Dr. THomags CHatmers (1780-1847); ‘The Physical Condition of Man,’ by Dr. Jonn Kipp; ‘The Habits and Instincts of Animals,’ by the Rev. W. Kirsy (1759-1851); ‘ Chemistry and Meteorology,’ by Dr. W. Prout; ‘Animal and Vegetable Physiology,’ by Dr. P. M. Roger (1779-1869); ‘Astronomy and General Physics,’ by Dr. W. WHEWELL (1794-1866). The names here given afford sufficient evidence of the judicious administration of the trust. The President of the Royal Society called in to his aid, in selecting the writers, the Archbishop of Canterbury and Bishop of London, and it is creditable to their liberality that the first of the treatises was assigned to a Presbyterian minister—Dr. Chalmers. PROFESSOR JOWETT. The Rev. BENJAMIN JOWETT, a native of Camberwell, and born in 1817, was elected to a scholarship at Balliol College, Oxford, in 1835, and became a Fellow in 1838. In 1842 he commenced his career ~ Y ‘ » s Teecao ea SP ae _ JoWETT. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. 159 as tutor, which he held till 1870, when he was elected Master of Bal- liol College. In the interval Mr. Jowett held several appointments and published several works. In 1855; on the recommendation of Lord Palmerston, he was appointed Regius Professor of Greek, and the same year he published a ‘Commentary on the Epistles of St. Paul to the Thessalonians, Gallatians, and Romans.’ In 1860 he con- tributed an essay on the ‘Interpretation of Scripture’ to the volume entitled ‘Essays and Reviews.’ In this essay, and also in his commen- tary on St. Paul’s Epistles, Professor Jowett was charged with having promulgated heretical opinions, and the case was brought before the Church courts, but dismissed on the ground of the inapplicability of the statute under which the proceedings had been instituted. In 1871 the learned professor published the result of many years’ labour, ‘Plato’s Dialogues translated into English, with Analyses and Intro- ductions,’ four volumes. On the Interpretation of Scripture. The difference of interpretation which prevails among ourselves is partly tradi- tional, that is to say, inherited from the controversies of former ages. ‘he use made of Scripture by Fathers of the Church, as well as by Luther and Calvin, affects our idea of its meaning at the present hour. Another cause of the multitude of interpre- tations is the growth or progress of the human mind itself. Modes of interpreting vary as time goes on; they partake of the general state of literature or knowledge. It has uot been easily or at once that mankind have learned to realise the character of sacred writings—they seem almost necessarily to veil themselves from human eyes as circumstances change; itis the old age of the world only that has at length under- stood its childhood. (Or rather perhaps is beginning to understand it, and learning to make allowance for its own deficiency of knowledge ; for the infancy of the human race, as of the individual, affords but few indications of the workings of the mind within.) More often than we suppose, the great sayings and doings upon the earth, ‘thoughts that breathe, and words that burn,’ are lost in a sort of chaos to the ap- prehension of those that come after. Much of past history is dimly seen, and re- ceives only a conventional interpretation, even when the memorials of it remain. There is a time at which the freshness of early literature is lost; mankind have turned rhetoricians, and no longer write or feel in the spirit which created it. In this unimaginative period in which sacred or ancient writings are partially unintelligible, many methods have been taken at different times to adapt the ideas of the past to the wants of the present. One age has wandered into the flowery paths of allegory, In pious meditation fancy fed ; another has straichtened the liberty of the Gospel by a rigid application of logic, the former being a method which was at first more naturally applied to the Old Testa- ment, the latter to thee New. Both methods of interpretation, the mystical and logical, as they may be termed, have been practised on the Vedas and the Koran, as well as on the Jewish and Christian Scriptures, the true glory and note of divinity in these latter being not that they have hidden mysterious or double meanings, but a simple and universal one, which is beyond them and will survive them. Since the revival of literature, interpreters haye not unfrequently fallen into error of another kind from a pedantic and misplaced use of classical learning; the minute examina- tion of words often withdrawing the mind from more important matters. A tend- ency may be observed within the last century to clothe systems of philosophy in the phraseology of Scripture. But ‘new wine cannot thus be put into old bottles.’ Though roughly distinguishable by different ages, these modes or tendencies also exist together ; the remains of all of them may be remarked in some of the popular com- mentaries of our own day. OF SB gpa cee i a ee ins. wale 3 a Pees S - See 190. .. ~—s- ~*~ CYCLOPEDIA OF = “fro 1876," = More common than any of these methods, and not peculiar fo any age, is that — which may be called by way of distinction the rhetorical one. The tendency to ex- — aggerate or ainplify the meaning of simple words for the sake of edification mayin- __ deed have a p-actical use in sermons, the object of which is to awaken not so tnuch he inteliect as the heart and conscience. Spiritual food, like natural, may require- to he of a certain bulk to nourish the human mind. But this ‘tendency to edifica- tion’ has had an unrortunate influence on the interpretation of Scripture. For the preacher almost necessarily oversteps the limits of actual knowledge; his feelings_ overflow with the subject; even if he have the power, he has seldom the time for accurate thought or inquiry; and in the course of years spent in writing, perhaps without study, he is apt to persuade himself, if not others, of the truth of his own repetitions. . ; REV. JAMES MARTINEAU. The Rev. JAMES MARTINEAU (brother of Harriet Martineau), born in 1805, was for some time pastor of dissenting congregations (Uni- tarian) in Dublin and Liverpool, and afterwards Professor of Moral — Philosophy in New College, Manchester, and in London. In 1861, he acceptcd the appointment of preacher im a chapel in Little Port-_ land Street. Mr. Martineau is an eloquent preacher and writer: his chief works are—‘ The Rationale of Religious Inquiry,’ 1825; ‘ En- deavours after the Christian Life,’ 1847; ‘Studies of Christianity,’ 1858; ‘ Essays, Philosophical and Theological,’ two series, 1868-69; &c. We subjoin two passages from the ‘ Endeavours after the Chris- tian Life.’ . Nothing Human ever Dies. ; Standing as each man does in the centre of a wide circumference of social infin- ences. recipient as he is of innumerable impressions from the mighty human heart, his inward being may be justly said to consist far more In others’ lives than in his own; withoutthemand alone. he would have missed the greater part of the thoughts and emotions which make up his existence ; and when he dies, he carries away their life rather than his own. He dwells still below, within their minds: their image in his soul (which perhaps is the best element of their being) passes away to the world incorruptible above. All that is noble in the world’s past history, and especially the minds of the great and good, are, in like manner, never lost. rag aa The true records of mankind, the human annals of the earth, are not to befound — in the changes of geographical names, in the shifting boundaries of dominion,in the travels and adventures of the baubles of royalty, or even in the undulations of the greater and lesser waves of population. We have learned nothing. till we have penetrated far beyond these casual and external changes, which are of interest only as the effect and symptoms of the great mental! vicissitudes of ourrace. History is an account of the past experience of humanity; and this, like the life of the individual, consists in the ideas and senti.nents, the deeds aid passions. the truths and toils. the virtues and the guilt. of the mind and heart within. We have a deep concern in preserving from destruction the theughts of the past, the leading concep- ~ — tions of all remarkable forme of civilisation : the achievements of genius. of virtue, and of high faith. And in this nothing can disappoint us; for though these things may be individually forgotten, collectively they survive. and are in action still. Al the past ages of the world were necessary to the formation of the present; they are essential ingredients in the events that occur daily before onr eyes. One layer of — time his Frovidence piled upon another for immemorial ages: we that live stand _ now upon this * great mountain of the Lord :’ were the strata below removed. the fabric and ourselves would fal in ruins. Had Greece, or Rome, or Palestine been other than they were, Christianity could not have been what it is: had Romanism — been different. Protestantism could not have been the same. and we might not have — be here this day. The separate civilisations of past countries may be of colours ~ MARTINEAU.] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. } 161 singly indiscernible; but in truth they are the prismatic raya which, united, form our present light. And do we look back on the great and good, lamenting that they are one? Do we bend in commemorative reverence before them, and wish that our lot had been cast in their better days? What is the peculiar function which Heaven as- signs to such minds, when tenants of our earth? Have the great and the good any nobler office than to touch the human heart with deep veneration for greatness and goodness ?—to kindle in the understanding the light of more glorious conceptions, and in the-conscience the fires of a holier virtue? And that we grieve for their de- parture. and invoke their names, is proof that they are performing such blessed Office still—that this their highest life for others, compared with which their personal agency is nothing, isnot extinct. Indeed, God has so framed our memory that it is the infirmities of noble souls which chiefly fall into the shadows of the past: while whatever is fair and excellent in their lives, comes forth from the gloom in ideal beauty, and leads us on through the wilds and mazes of our mortal way. Nor does the retrospect, thus glorified, deceive us by any fallacy; for things present with us we comprehend far less completely, and appreciate less impartially. than things past. Nothing can become a clear object of our thought, while we ourselves are in it: we understand not our childhood till we have left it; our youth, till it has departed ; our life-itself, till it- verges to its close; or the majesty of genius and holiness, till we Jook back on them as fled. Each portion of our human experience becomes in suc- cession intelligible to us, as we quit it for a new point or view. God has statioved us at the intersecting line between the known and the unknown: He has planted us on a floating island of mystery, from which we survey the expanse behind in the clear light of experience and truth, and cleave the waves, invisible. yet ever breaking, of the unbounded future. Our very progress, which is our peculiar glory, consists in at once losing and learning the past; in gaining fresh stations from which to take a wiser retrospect, and become more deeply aware of the treasures we have used. We are never so conscious of the succession of blessings which God’s providence has . heaped on us, as when lamenting the lapse of years; and are then richest in the fruits of time, when mourning that time steals those fruits away. Space and Time. Who can deny the effect of wide space alone in aiding the conception of vast time ?. The spectator who, in the diney cellar of the city, under the oppression of a ‘narrow dwelling, watching the Jast moments of some poor mendicant, finds incon- gruity and perplexity in the thought of the eternal state, would feel the difficulty vanish in an instant. were he transplated to the mountain-top, where the plains and streams are beneath him, and the clouds are near him, and the untainted breeze ~ sweeps by, and he stands alone with nature and with God, And when, in addition to the mere spectacle and love of nature, there is a knowledge of it too ; when the laws -and processes are understood which surround us with wonder and beauty every day, when the great cycles are known through which the material world passes without decay-; then, in the immensity of human hopes. there appears nothing which needs stagger faith : it seems no longer strange, that the mind which interprets the mate- rial creation should survive its longest period, and be admitted to its remoter realms. Some Scottish Presbyterian ministers remain to be mentioned: - DR. CANDLISH—DR. CUMMING. Dr. Rosert 8. Canpuisn was one of the ministers of Edinburgh —son of an early friend of Burns the: poct. . He was born in Edin- burgh in 1806. In 1834 he became minister of St George’s, Edin- burgh; but seceding from the Established Church in 1843 along with Dr. Chalmers and a large body of the clergy, he was an active and influ- ential member of the Free Church, and an able debater in its courts. He wrote several theological works—‘ Exposition of the Book of Genesis,’ ‘Examination of Mr. Maurice’s Theological Essays,’ ‘ Dis~ courses on the Resurrection,’ &c. Dr. Candlish died in 1873.—Dr. 182 : CYCLOPEDIA OF [ro 1876. JOHN CuMMING, of the Scotch Church, London (born in Aberdeen- shire in 1809), has distinguished himself by his zeal against popery, and by his interpretation of the Scriptures as to the duration of the world. He has written a great number of religious works—‘ Apoca- lyptic Sketches,’ ‘ Voices of the Night,’ ‘ Voices of the Day,’ ‘ Voices of the Dead,’ ‘Expository Readings on the Old and New ‘Testament,’ and various controversial tracts. He isin theology what Mr. G. P. R. James was in fiction—as fluent and as voluminous. Amidst all the fluctuations of opinion on theology and forms of worship, Dr. Cumming has kept together a large congregation of various Classes in ~ London. DR. GUTHRIE. The Rev. Thomas GUTHRIE was born at Brechin, Forfarshire, July 12, 1803. His father was a banker and merchant. The son was: educated for the Scottish Church. ‘It occupied me,’ he says, ‘eight years to run my regular curriculum. I attended the univer- sity for two additional years before I became a licentiate, and other five years elapsed before I obtained a presentation to a vacant church, and became minister of the parish of Arbirlot. Here were fifteen ~ years of my life spent—the greater part of them at no small cost— qualifying myself for a profession which, for all that time, yielded me nothing for my maintenance.’ And Guthrie adds: ‘The inade- quate means of creditably supporting themselves and their families of which most ministers have to complain is a very serious matter, threatening, in an enterprising and commercial, and wealthy country such as ours, to drain away talent from the pulpit.’ This point is well worthy of consideration. In 1837 Mr. Guthrie was appointed one of the ministers of Old Greyfriars parish in Edinburgh, and by his zeal and eloquence and philanthropy rose into high and general estimation. He left the Establishment at the period of the Disrup- _ tion in 1848, and became one of the founders of the Free Church. His efforts to reclaim the wretched population of the worst parts of Edinburgh, and his exertions in the promotion of tagged schools, ~ were appreciated by the public, and Dr. Guthrie became not only one of the most popular preachers, but one of the best-beloved citizens of Edinburgh. He was a man of a large heart and truly catholie spirit. As a pulpit orator he has rarely been surpassed. His sermons were marked by poetic imagery and illustration—perhaps too profusely— but generally striking, pathetic, and impressive in a high degree. ‘He had all the external attractions of a pulpit orator; an unusu- ally tall and commanding person, with an abundance of easy and powerful, because natural, gesture ; a quickly and strongly expressive » wes . eae fF vial Abe peg countenance, which age rendered finer as well as more comely; a powerful, clear, and musical voice, the intonations of which were varied and appropriate, managed with an actor’s skill, though there was not the least appearance of art.’ The variety of his illustrations was immense, but he delighted j & | 5 - GUTHRIE. } ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 163. most, and was most successful, in those of a nautical character. A storm at sea and a shipwreck from Guthrie were paintings never to be forgotten. This eminent preacher and philanthropist died at St. Leonard’s-on-Sea, February 24, 1873. His principal works are— “The Gospel in Ezekiel,’ 1855; ‘ Christ and the Inheritance of the Saints,’ 1858; ‘The Way of Life,’ 1862; ‘The City, its Sins and Sor- rows; ‘Pleas for Ragged Schools; ‘Saving Knowledge, addressed to Young Men; and various other short religious treatises and tracts on intemperance. Decadence of the Ancient Portion of Edinburgh. There is a remarkable phenomenon to be seen on certain parts of our coast. Strange to say, it proves, notwithstanding such expressions as ‘the stable and solid jand,’ that it is not the land but the sea which is the stable element.~ On some sum- mer day, when there is not a wave to rock her, nor breath of wind to fill her sail or fan a cheek, You launch your boat upon the waters, and, pulling ont beyond lowest tide-mark, you idly lie upon her bows to catch the very glance of a passing fish, or watch the movements of the many curious creatures inat travel the sea’s sandy bed, or creeping out of their rocky homes, wander amid its tangled mazes, If the traveller is surprised to find a deep-sea shell imbedded in the marbles of a mountain eak, how great is your surprise to see beneath you a vegetation foreign to the deep ! Below your boat, submerged many feet beneath the surface of the lowest tide, away down in these green crystal depths, you see no rustiug anchor, no mouldering re- maius of some shipwrecked one, but in the standing stumps of trees, the mouldering vestiges of a forest, where once the wild cat prowled, and the birds of heaven, sing- ing their loves, had nestled and nursed their young. In counterpart to those por- tions of our coast where sea-hollowed caves, with sides the waves have polished, and fioors still strewed with shells and sand, now stand high above the level of strongest stream-tides, there stand these dead. decaying trees—entombed in the deep. A strange phenomenon, which admits of no other explanaticn than this, that there the coast-line has sunk beneath its ancient level. Many of our cities present a phenomenon as melancholy to the eye of a philan- throphist, as the other is interesting to a philosopher or geologist. In their econom- _ical, educational. moral, and religious aspects, certain parts of this city bear palpable evidence of a corresponding subsidence. Not a single house, nor a block of houses, but whole streets, once from end to end the homes of decency, and industry, and wealth, and rank. and piety, have been engulfed. A flood of ignorance, and misery, and sin now breaks and roars above the top of their highest tenements. Nor do the old stumps of a forest still standing up erect beneath the sea-wave, indicate a greater change, a deeper subsidence, than the relics of ancient. grandeur. and the touching memorials of piety which yet linger about these wretched dwellings, like evening twilight on the hills—like some traces of beauty on a corpse. The unfurnished floor, the begrimed and naked walls, the stifling, sickening atmosphere, the patched and dusty window—through which a sunbeam, like hope. is faintly stealing—the ragged, hunger-bitten. and sad-faced children, the ruffian man. the heap of straw where some wretched mother, in muttering dreams, sleeps off last night’s debauch, or lies un- shrouded and uucoffined in the ghastliness of a hopeless death, are sad scenes. We have often looked on them. And they appear all the sadder for the restless play of fancy. Excited by some yes'iges of a fresco-painting that still looks out from the foul and broken plaster, the massive marble rising over the cold and cracked hearth- stone, an elaborately carved cornice too high for shivering cold to pull it down for fuel, some stucco flowers or fruit yet pendent on the crumbling ceiling, fancy, kindled by these, calls up the gay scenes and actors of other days—when beauty, elegance, and fashion graced these lonely halls, and plenty smoked on groaning tables, and where these few cinders, gathered from the city dust-heap, are feebly smouldering, hospitable tires roared up the chimney. : But there is that in and about these houses which bears witness to a deeper subsi- dence, a yet sadder change. Bent on some mission of merey, you stand at the foot of a dark and filthy stair. It conducts you to the crowded rooms of a tenement, 164 -- CYCLOPADIA OF where—with the exception of some old decent widow who has seen better days, and when her family are all dead, and her friends all gone still clings to God and-her faith in the dark hour of adversity and amid the wr.ck of fortune—from the cellar- dens below to the cold garrets be:.eath the roof-tree, you shall find none either read- ing their Bible, or even with a Bible to read. Alas! of prayer, of morning or evening psalms, ot earthly or heavenly peace, it may be said the place that once knew them knows them no more. But before you enter the doorway, raise your eyes to the lintel-stone. Dumb, it yet speaks of other and better times. Caryed in Greek or Latin. or our own mother-tongue, you decipher such texts as these: ‘ Peace be to this house ;’? - Except the lord build the house, they labouri vain that build it;? ‘We. — have a building of God, an house not made with hand-, eternal in the heavens ;? ‘Fear God ;’ or this, ‘Love your neighbour.’ Like the mouldering remnants of a forest that once resounded with the melody of birds. but hears nought Dow save the angry dash or melancholy moun of breaking waves these vestiges of piety furnish a gauge which enables us to measure how low in these dark localities the whole stratum _ of society has sunk. Dr. Guthrie's First-Interest in Ragged Schools. My first interest in the cause of Rageed Schools was awakened by a picture which I saw.in Anstruther, on the shores of the Firth of Forth. It represented a cobbler’s room; he was there himself, spectacles on nose, an old shoe between his knees; that massive forehead and firin- mouth indicating great determination of character; and from beneath his shaggy eyebrows henevolence gleamed out on a group of poor children, some sitting, some standing, but all busy at their lessons around him. Interested by this scene. we turned from his picture to the inscription below; and with growing wonder read how this man, by name John Pounds, by ~ trade a cobbler in Portsmouth. hai taken pity on the ragged children, whom minis- ters and magistrates, ladies and gentlemen. were leaving to run wild, and go to ruin on their strects ; how, like a good shepherd, he had gone forth to gather in these out- casts, how he had trained them up in virtue and knowledge, and how, looking for no famine, no recompense from man, he, single-handed, while earning his daily bread by the sweat of his face, had, ere he died, rescued from ruin and saved to seciety no fewer than five hundred childrez. I confess that I felt humbled. I felt ashamed of myself. I well remember saying to my companion, in the enthusiasm of the moment. and in my calmer and cooler hours I have seen no reason for unsaying it: ‘That man is an honour to humanity. He has deserved the tallest monument ever raised on British shores Nor was John Pounds only a benevolent man. He was a genius in his way; at anyrate he was in- genious; and if he could not catch a poor boy in any other way, like Paul, be would win him by guile. He was sometimes seen hunting down a ragged urchin on the quays of Portsmouth, and compelling him to come to school. not by the power of a oliceman, but a potato! He knew the Jove of an Trishman for a-potato, and might be seen running alongside an unwilling boy with one held under his nose, with a temper as hot and a coat as ragged as his own... . Strolling one day with a friend among the romaritic scenery of the crags and green valleys around Arthur’s Seat. we came at length to St. Anthony’s weil, and sat down on the great black stone beside it to have a talk with the ragged boys who pursue their calling there. ‘Their ‘tinnies’ [tin dishes] were ready with a draught of the clear cold water in hope of a halfpenny.... We began to question them about schools. Asto the beys themseives, one was fatherless, the son of a poor widow ; the father of the other was alive, but a man of low habits and bad character. Both were poorly clothed. The one had never been at school: the other had sometimes attended a Sabbath-school. Encouraged by the success of Sheriff Watson, who bad the honour to lead the enterprise, the idea of a Ragged School was then floating in my brain; and s0, with reference to the scheme, and by way of experiment, I said: ‘Won'd you go to school if—besides your learning—you were to get breakfast, din- ner, and supper there?’ It wenld have done any man’s heart. good. to have seen the - - flash of joy that broke from the eyes of one of them, the flush of pleasure on his” check, as—hearing of three sure meals a dav—the boy leaped to his feet ard ex- claimed: ‘Ay, will I, sir, and bring the hail land [the whole tenement or flat] too ;” and then, as if afraid I might withdraw what seemed to him so large and munificent an Offer, he exclaimed: ‘I'll come for but my dinner, sir!’, ‘Po he ee r hn © s 2 Shi - SMacueop.} - ENGLISH LITERATURE, AGS 2 a . - DR. NORMAN MACLEOD. - The Rey. Norman Macteop (1812-1872), a distinguished member of the Scottish Church, was a native of Campbelton, Argyleshire. He was descended from a family of Highland clergymen, of whose _ life and labours he has drawn an interesting picture in his ‘ Reminis- -cences of a Highland Parish,’ 1867. His paternal grandfather was minister of Morven, where his uncle, the Rev. John Macleod, still labours. His father, an enthusiastic Celtic scholar and a shrewd able man, became minister of Cumpsiec, in Stirlingshire, but Norman ' spent several of his boyish years at Morven, where he enjoyed an open-air life with the excitement of fishing and boativg. A love of _ the sea and of ships and sailors remained with him throughout all - his life, and’ was of importance to him in the way of oratorical illus- tration, both as a preacher and writer. He studied at Glasgow and Edinburgh Universities—not with any marked distinction—and is described as a special favourite with his fellow-s:udents, ‘ever ready with apt quotations from Shakspeare, Wordsworth, Coleridge, and Keats.’. He was a short time tutor to the son of a Yorkshire squire, - with whom he visited Weimar. He sang well to the guitar, sketched ' cleverly, was as keen a waltzer as any attache in Weimar, and threw _ himself with a vivid sense of enjoyment into the gaieties of the little capital. But with it all, he held fast to his own convictions of right ’ and truth, and only once attended the duke’s court on Sunday. ‘To ~ the simple forms and service of the Presbyterian Church he was strongly attached, though he gradually dropped -some of the strict . ' Calvinistic doctrines, and inclined to the more genial theology of men like Stanley, Maurice, and others of what is termed the Broad Church. He thus describes a confirmation scene in York Cathedral: ‘The scene was beyond all description. Fancy upwards of three ~ thousand children under fifteen, the females dressed in white, with ladies and gentlemen, all assembled in that glorious minster—the - thousand stained glass windows throwing a dazzling light of various hues on the white mass—the great organ booming through the never- ending arches! The ceremony is intensely simple: they come in for- ties and fifties and surround the bishop, who repeats the vows, an lays his hand successively on each head I could not help compar- ing this with a sacramental occasion in the Highlands, where there is no minster but the wide heaven, and no organ but the roar of the _ eternal sea, the church with its lonely churchyard and primitive con- _ gregation, and—think of my Scotch pride—I thought the latter scene _ more grand and more impressive.’ He received his first app:intment in the church as minister of Loudon in Ayrshire, a district inhabited by a small proportion of Covenanting farmers and a large number of political weavers. With both, of course, he had his difficulties. The strict theologians exam- - jned him on the ‘fundamentals,’ and the weavers scoffed at religion, Ate eri oe Oe ae 166 : CYCLOPAEDIA OF and disputed his political opinions. Visiting one well-known Char: * ! tist, he was requested to sit down on a bench at the front of the door, — and discuss the ‘seven points.’ The weaver, with his shirt sleeves turned up, his apron rolled about his waist, and his snuff-mull in his hand, vigorously propounded his favourite political dogmas. . ‘When he had concluded, he ee to the minister and demanded — an answer. ‘‘In my opinion,” was the reply, ‘‘ your Snel would drive the country into revslueate and create in the long-run national bankruptcy.” ‘* Nay-tion-al bankruptcy!” said the old man meditatively, and diving fora pinch. ‘‘ Div—ye—think—sae?” then, briskly, after a long snuff, ‘‘Dod, Pd risk it?’ The naiveté of this — philosopher, who had scarcely a. sixpence to lose, ‘‘risking” the na- — tion for the sake of his theory was never forgotten by his com- ~ panion.’ The frankness and geniality of the young minister melted dowel all opposition. From Campsie he removed to Dalkeith, and in 1851 — he succeeded to the Barony parish, in Glasgow, with which in future a his name was to be identified, and in which he laboured with unflag- — ging zeal. His first publication was a volume entitled ‘The Earnest ~ Student,’ being an account of the life of his brother-in-law, John — Mackintosh. The proceeds of the work, amounting to £200, he © sent as a contribution to the Indian missions of the Free Church, ~ of which Mackintosh had been a student. In 1858 he received the — honorary degree of D.D. He was appointed one of the deans of ~ the Chapel Royal, and one of Her Majesty’s chaplains for Scotland. ‘ From 1860 till his death, he was editor of ‘Good Words,’ a periodical projected by Mr. Strahan, the publisher, and which under Dr. ~ Macleod became (as it now continues under his brother and biogra- 3 pher, the Rev. Donald Macleod) eminently successful. To its pages © he contributed his stories, ‘The Old Lieutenant,’ ‘The Highland y Parish,’ ‘ The Starling,’ &c. He was more a man of action than a ~ student, but these works—especially his reminiscences of the High- — land parish of his youth—form pleasant and instructive reading. - | His ‘Peeps in the Far East,’ describing scenes he had visited, and. sketches of society, during a mission to India, are of the same character. His mission to India greatly increased his popularity, ; and he was equally a favourite with the court and aristocracy and ~ with the inmates of the darkest closes and miserable lodgings in — Glasgow. He charmed all circles, and sympathised with all. He | was honoured with the fri endship of the Queen. ‘I am never tempted,’ he says, ‘to conceal my convictions from the Queen, for IZ feel she sympathises with what is true, and likes the speaker to utter ~ the truth exactly as he believes it.’ In another place, Le says: ‘ She has a reasoning, searching mind, anxious to get at the root and reality of things, and abhors all shams, whether in word or deed. . It was really erand to hear her talk on moral courage and living for duty.’ The domestic life of her Majesty at Balmoral is indicated i in 4 — ee , ] eb aah = Oy ‘ oe ar : £ - » ia - ans oe FM, “mactrop.} «ENGLISH LITERATURE. 167 a little note which states that ‘the Queen sat down to spin at a nice Scotch wheel, while I read Robert Burns to her—‘‘ Tam o’ Shanter,” ‘and “‘ A Man’s a Man for a’ that.”’ ‘These particulars are given in a ‘Memoir of Norman Macleod’ by his brother (1876), a work executed with admirable taste and judgment., The Indian mission of Dr. Macleod and his incessant work at home, undermined his naturally robust constitution. On the 3d of June 1872 he completed his sixtieth year, and on the 16th he expired—leaving behind him a noble example of devotion to duty, and of self-sacrificing efforts to promote the good of mankind. . ae Life in a Highland Bothy Fifty Years Since. : * When I was young, I was sent to live among the peasantry in the parish (in the West Highlands) so as to acquire a knowledge of the language, and living, as - I did, very much like themselves, it was my delight to spend the long evenings in their huts, hearing their tales and songs. hese huts were of the most primitive _ description. They were built of loose stones and clay; the walls were thick, the - door low, the rooms numbered one only, or in more aristocratic cases two. The floor | was clay; the peat-fire was built in the middle of the floor, and the smoke, when . amiable and not bullied by a sulky wind, escaped quietly and patiently through a hole in the roof. The window was like a port-hole, part of it generally filled with Bass and part with peat. One bed, or sometimes two (with clean home-made sheets, lankets, and counterpane), a ‘dresser’ with bowls and plates, a large chest, and a corner full of peat.-filled up the space beyond the circle about the fire. Upon the rafters above, black as ebony from peat-reek, a row of hens and chickens with a stately cock roosted in a paradise of heat. _ Let me describe one of these evenings. Round the fire are seated, some on stools, ’ some on stones, some on the floor, a happy group. ‘wo or three girls, fine healthy blue-eyed lassies, with their hair tied up with ribbon snood, are knitting stockings. Hugh, the son of Sandy, is busking hocks; big Archy is peeling willow-wands and fashioning them into baskets; the shephe:d Donald, the son of Black Jobn, is play~ ing on the Jew’s harp; while beyond the circle are one or two herd-boys in kilts, re~ _ ¢lining on the floor, alleyes and ears for the stories. The performances of Donald _ begin the evening, and form interludes to its songs, tales, and recitations. He has two large Lochaber trumps, for Lochaber trnmps were to the Highlands what Cremona violins were to musical “Europe. He secures the end-of each with his teeth, and - grasping them with his hands so that the tiny instruments are invisible. he applies the little finger of each hand to their vibrating steel tongues. He modulates their - tones with his breath, and brings out of them Highlaud reels, strathspeys, and jigs— such wonderfully beautiful, silvery. distinct, and harmonious sounds as would draw forth cheers and an encore even in St. James’s Hall. But Donald, the son of Black John, is done, and he looks to bonny Mary Cameron for a blink of her hazel eye to re- ‘ward him, while in virtne of his performance he demands a song from her. Now _ Mary has dozens of songs, so has Kirsty, so has Flory—love songs, shearing songs, -washing songs, Prince Charlie songs, songs composed by this or that poet in the parish ; and therefore Mary asks ‘What song?’ So until she can make up her mind, _and have a little playful flirtation with Donald, she requests Hugh, the son of Sandy, to tella story, Although Hugh has abundance of this material, he too protests that he has none. But having betrayed this modesty, he starts off with one of those _which are given by Mr. Campbell (‘ Highland Tales’), to whose admirable and truth~ ful volumes I refer the reader. When the story is done, improvisation is often tried, and amidst roars of laughter the aptest verses, the truest and most authentic speci« -mens of tales, are made, sometimes in clever satire. sometimes with knowing illu~ ‘sions to the weakness or predilections of those round the fire. Then follow riddles and puzzles; then the trumps resume their tunes,and Mary sings her song, and Kirsty and Flory theirs. and all join in chorus, and who cares for the wind outside or _ tha peet-reek inside! Never was a more innocent or happy group. . This fondness-for music from trump, fiddle, or. bagpipe, and for song-singing, ome ” 163 - CYCLOPEDIA OF ———_—-[r0.1876,, story-telling, and improvisation, was universal, and imparted a marvellous buoyancy ~ and intelligence to the people. : a. ‘These peasants were, moreover, singularly inquisitive and greedy of information, q It was a great thing if the schoolmaster or any one else was present who could tell — them about other people and other places. I remember an old shepherd who ques- tioned me closely how the hills and rocks were formed, as a gamekeeper had heard — some sportsmen talking about this. ‘lhe questions which were put were no doubt ~ often odd enough. A woman, for example, whose husband was anxious to emigrate — to Australia, stoutly opposed the step until she could get her doubts solved on some — geographical point that greatly disturbed her. She-consulted the minister, and the — tremendous question which chiefly weighed on her mind was, whether t was true ~ that the feet of the people there were opposite to the feet of the people at home? ~ } 5 bs : And if so, what then ? Wee Davie. e ‘Wee Davie’ was the only child of William Thorburn, blacksmith. He had — reached the age at which he could venture, with prudence and reflection, on a journey from one chair to another; his wits kept alive by maternal warnings of ‘Tak care, — Davie; mind the fire, Davie.’ When the journey was ended in safety, and he looked — over his shoulders with a crow of joy to his mother, he was rewarded, in addition to — the rewards of his own brave and adventurous spirit, by such a smile as equalled only ~ . his own, and by the well-merited approval of ‘ Weel done, Davie!’ § Davie was the most powerful and influential member of the household. Neither ~ the British fleet, nor the French army, nor the Armstrong gun had the power of © dole what Davie did. They might as well have tried to make a primrose grow ora ~ ark sing! "a He was, for example, a wonderful stimulus to labour. The smith had been rather — disposed to idleness before his son’s arrival. He did not take to his work on cold mornings as he might have done, and was apt to neglect many opportunities, which — offered themselves, of bettering his condition ; and Jeanie was easily put off by some plausible objection when she urged her husband to make an additional honest penny — to keep the house. But ‘the bairn’ became a new motive to exertion; and the thought — of leaving him and Jeanie more co.::fortable, in case sickness laid the smith aside, or — death took him away, became like a new sinew to his powerful arm, ashe wielded the hammer and made it ring the music of hearty work on the sounding anvil. The — peeping of benefit-clubs, sick-societies, and penny-banks was fully explained by | ; wee Davie. ik Davie also exercised a remarkable influence on his father’s political views and social —_ habits. The smith had been fond of debates on political questions ; and no more so- ~ nor us growl of discontent than his could be heard against ‘ the powers that be.’ the 5 injustice dane to the masses, or the misery which was occasioned by class legislation. _ He had also made up his mind not to be happy or contented, but only to-endure life — ‘as anecessity laid upon him, until the required reforms in church and state, at home ~ and abroad, had been attained. But his wife, without uttering a syllable on matters 4 which she did not even pretend to understand ; by a series of acts out of Parliament; — ‘by reforms in household arrangements ; by introducing good bills into her own House ~ of Commons; and by a charter, whose points were chiefly very commonplace ones— ; such as a comfortable meal, a tidy home, a clean fireside, a polished grate, above all, .2 cheerful countenance and womanly love—by these radical changes-she-had made — cher husband wonderfully fond of his home. He was, under this teaching, getting ~ too contented for a patriot, and too happy for a man in an ill-governed vot His — -old companions at last could not coax him out at night. He was lost as a member of ~ -one of the most philosophical clubsin the neighbourhood. ‘His old pluck,’ they — said, ‘was gone.’ The wife, it was alleged by the patriotic bachelors, had ‘cowed’? — him, and driven all the spirit out of him. But ‘wee Davie’ completed this revolu- 4 .tion: I shall tell you how. = One failing of William’s had hitherto resisted Jeanie’s silent influence. The e@inith had formed the habit, before he was married. of meeting a few companions, — ‘just in a friendly way,’ on pay-nights at a public-house, It was true that he was never ‘what might be called a drunkard ’—‘ never lost a day’s work ’—‘ never was the worst for liquor,’ &c. But, nevertheless, when he pategsa, the snuggery in Peter 4 2 Z J PMacteop.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. . 169 _ Wiison’s whisky-shop, with the blazing fire and comfortable atmosphere; and when, with half-a-dozen talkative. and. to him, pleasant fellows and o!d companions, ‘he sat. round the fire, and ihe glass circulated ; und the gos-ip of the week was dis- cussed; und racy stories were told; and one or two songs sung, linked together. by memories of old merry-meetings ; and current jokes were repeated, with humour, of - the tyrannical influence wiich some would presume to exercise ov “innocent social - enjoyment ’—then would thesmith’s brawny ciest expand. and his fiee beam, and his ~ feelings become malleable, and-his sixpences bevin to melt, and fli out in gener- - ous sympathy into Peter Wilsoun’s fozy hand, to be counted greed\'y beneath his soddeneyes. And so it was that the smith’s wages were always lesce red by Peter’s - gains. His wife had her fears—her horrid anticipations—but did nct like to ‘ even _ to’ her husband anything so dreadful as what she in her heart dreade’. She took ~ her own way, however, to win him to the house and to good, and geni'? insinuated _ wishes rather than expressed them. ‘The smith, 10 doubt, she comfortee herseif by thinking, was only ‘merry,’ and never ill-tempercd cr unkind—‘ yet 6‘ times ’— - fand then, what if—!’ Yes, Jeanie, you are right! The demon sneaks into the house by degrees. and at first may be kept out, and the door shut upon hina; but let him only once take possession, then he will keep it, and shut the door agaiz st every- thing pure, lovely. and of good report—barring it against thee and ‘wee Devie,’ ay, ana against One who is best of all—and will fill the house with sin and shame, with ‘misery and kespair! But ‘wee Davie,’ with his arm of might, drove the demvun out. _ It happened thus: - —_ One evening when the smith returned home so that ‘you could know zt on him,’ _ Davie toddled forward; and his father, lifting him up, made him stand on his knee. - ‘The child began to play with the locks cf the Samson, to pat him on the cheek. and _ to repeat with glee the name of ‘dad-a.’ Tho smith gazed on him intently, and with - “a peculiar look of love, mingled with sadness. -‘Isn’t he a. bonnie bairn ?’ asked ~ Jeanie, as she looked over her husband’s shoulder at the child, nodding and smiling - to him. - The smith spoke nota word, but gazed intently upon his boy, while some _ sudden emotion was strongly vorking in his countenence. . ‘It’s done!’ he at last said. as he put his child down. . ‘What’s wrang? what’s wrang?’ exclaimed his wife as she stood before him, and put her hands round his shouldcrs, bending down until her face was close to his. ‘Everything is wrang, Jeanie.’ ; ‘Willy, what is ’t? are ye no weel ?—tell me what’s wrang wi’ you!—oh, tell me!? _ 8he exclaimed, in evident alarm. < ‘It’s a’ richt noo,’ he said, rising up and seizing the child. He lifted him to his _ breast, and kissed him. Then looking upin silence, he said: ‘Davie has done it, _ along wi’ vou. Jeanie. Thank God, Iam a free man !’ His wite felt awed, she knew not how. - _ ‘Sit doon,’ he said, as he took out his handkerchief, and wiped away a tear from his eye, ‘and [’ll tell you a’ aboot it.’ ‘ _.° Jeanie sat on-a stool at his feet.With Davie on her knee. The smith seized the ~ child’s little hand in one of his own, and with the other took his wife’s. ‘TI hav’na been what ye may ca’ a drunkard.’ he said, slowly, and like a man _ abashed, ‘but I hae been often as I shouldnua hae been, and as, wi’ God’s help, 1 - -Hever, never will be again ! ‘Oh? exclaimed Jeanie. ‘Tt ’s done, it’s done!’ he said; ‘¢sI’ma leevan man, it’s done! But dinna greet, Jeanie. Thank God for you and Davie, my best blessings.’ “ ‘Except Himsel’!’ said Jeanie, as she hung on her husband’s neck. ‘And noo, woman,’ replied the smith, ‘nae mair about it; it’s done. Gie wee _ Davie a piece, and get the supper ready.” REV. DR. JOHN EADIE. ~_ Dr. Jonny Eaprm (1813-1876), an eminent Biblical scholar and Professor of Hermeneutics and Christian Evidences to the United * Presbyterian Church, was a voluminous writer. His principal works » are—* An Analytical Concordance of the Holy Scriptures;’ ‘ Biblical _ Cyclopeedia;’ ‘Commentaries on the Greek Text of the Hpistles of 170° CYCLOPADIA OF © - [10 i876, Paul to the Colossians, Ephesians,-and Philippians;’ * Karly Oriental — History’ (issued as a volume of the ‘Encyclopedia Metropolitana): ‘ History of the English Bible,’ and various other theological writings — —lectures, sermons, biographical sketches, &c. His ‘ History of the. English Bible,’ published only a few weeks before his death, is an ex- | ternal and critical account of the various English translations of 4 Seripture, and is completely exhaustive of the subject. From his c_lebrity as a IHlebrew scholar and Biblical critic, Dr. Eadie was appointed a member of the committee engaged at Westminster in translating and revising the Scriptures, and ‘regularly attended the — monthly meetings of the committee. The Glasgow University (his — alma miter) conferred upon him the degree of LL. D., and he received — the degree of D.D. from the university of St. Andrews. Asa pro- fessor, “Dr. Eadie was highly popular, and in private life was greatly esteemed. He was liberal in many of his views, and differed from — most of his Presbyterian brethren in being favourable to the intro-— duction of instrumental music in churches, and in believing that the 2 Scriptures did not forbid marriage with a deceased wife’s sister. One interesting trait of the learned divine has been recorded: ‘ He was particularly fond of flowers and animals, especially birds, of which — from his earliest years he kept many about him’ (Scotsman). Dr. Eadie was a native of Alva in Stirlingshire. After studying at the university of Glasgow he was licensed as a preacher in 1835, and at — the time of his death was minister of Lansdowne Church, Glasgow. — = In 1860, having attained his semi-jubilee as a pastor, his congregation — honoured him with a substantial token of their good-will and ven- — eration. Ea DR. JOHN TULLOCH—DR. JOHN CAIRD. ge Dr. Joun Tuttocn, Principal of St. Mary’s College, St. Andrews, ~ in 1855 received one of the Burnett prizes for a treatise on ‘Theism, the Witness of Reason and Nature to_an All-wise and All-beneficent — Creator.’ The Burnett Prize Essays are published under the bequest — of an Aberdeen merchant, John Burnett (1739-1784), who left £1600 © to be applied every forty years to the foundation of two premiums — for essays on the Being and Character of God from Reason and — Revelation. Dr. Tulloch, in 1859, published a volume of four lec- — tures, delivered at the Philosophical Institution, Edinburgh—‘ Lead- _ ers of the Reformation,’ or sketches of Luther, Calvin, Latimer, — and Knox. He is also author of ‘English Puritanism and its Lead- ers ’—‘ Cromwell,’ ‘ Milton,’ &c. 1861; ‘Beginning Life,’ ‘Chapters — for Young Men,’ 1862; ‘Christ of the ‘Gospels and Christ in Modern _ & Criticism,’ 1864; ‘Studies in the. Religious Thought of England,’ — 1867 ; “Rational Theology and Christian Philosophy in England in~ the Seventeenth Century,’ two volumes, 1872. This last is an able ~ work, supplying a desideratum in our literature. Also ‘The Chris = 2 tian Doctrine of Sin,’ 1876. se “a | yey ii) > 3 : } i “TULLOCH. ] - ENGLISH LITERATURE. rae et Liberal English Churehmen. Tt was the merit of Hales, and Chillingworth. and» Taylor (says Dr. Tulloch), at- - tached as they were personally to one side in this struggle [between the two theories of church organisation], that they penetrated beneath the theoretical narrowness ’ which enslaved both sides, and grasped the idea of the church more profoundly and comprehensively. ‘They saw the inconsistency ofa formal jus divinwm with the es- - sential spirit of Protestantism, imperfectly as this spirit had been developed in Eng- - Jand; or indeed elsewhere. According to this spirit, the true idea of the churchis “moral.and not ritual. It corsists in certain verities of faith and worship, rether than in any formal unities of creed or order. The genuine basis of Christian communion is to be found in a common recognition of the great realities of Christian thought and - ‘life, and not in any outward adhesion to a definite ecclesiastical or: theological sys- - tem. Ail who profess the Apostles’ Creed are members of the church, and the na- __ tional worship should be so ordered as to admit of all who make this profession. The purpose of these churchmen, in short, was comprehension and not exclusion. While they held that that no single type of church government and worship was absolutely _ divine, they acknowledged in different forms of church order an expression more or less of the divine ideas which lie at the root of all Christian society, and which—and - notany accident of external form—gave to that society its essential character. Ina word, the church appeared to them the more divine, the more ample the spiritual ac- tivities it embraced, and theless the circle of heresy or dissent it cut off. This - breadth and toleration separated them alike from Prelatists and Puritans. Principal Tulloch is a native cf the parish of Tibbermore, Perth- shire, of which his father was minister. He was born in 1823. Be- sides the above works, he has contributed to the reviews and other periodicals, and holds a conspicuous place in the national church. He is author also of ‘ Religion and Theology, a Sermon for the - Times,’ 1876. -The object of this discourse is to shew that religion and theology are two distinct things, and that a person may be de- voutly religious without accepting a complicated creed : % The knowledge that is essential to religion is a simple knowledge, like that which . the loved has of the person who loves, the bride of the bridegroom. the child of the parent. It springs from the personal and spiritual, ezd not from the cognitive or critical side of our being; from the heart, and not from the head. Not merely so; _ but if the heart or spiritual sphere be really awakened in us—if there be a true stir- - ring of life here, and a true seeking towards the light—the essence and strength of a true religion may be ours, although we are unable to answer many questions that may be asked, or to solve even the difficulties raised by our own intellect. -. Inthe course of this argument, the preacher notes the fact that under the most various influences and the most diverse types, the same fruits of character appear. Diverse Modes of Christian Thought. As some men are said to be born Platonists, and some Aristotelians, so some are -born Augustinians, and some Pelagians or Arminians. These names have been strangely identified with true 01 false views of Christianity. What they really denote _ ig diverse modes of Christian thinking, diverse tendencies of the Christian intellect, _- which repeat themselves by a law of nature. It is no more possible to make men - think alike in theology than in anything else where the facts are complicated and the conclusions necessarily fallible. The history of theology is a history of ‘ varia- '. tions;’ not indeed, as some have maintained, without an inner principle of move- _. ment, but with a constant repetition of oppositions underlying its necessary devel- - opment. The same contrasts continually appear throughout its course, and seem never ‘to wear themselves out. From the beginning there has always been the broader and _ the narrower type of thought—a St. Paul and St. John, as well as a St. Peter and St. ba z a “ 7 Z 2 ale es { a= OS iy Pers i ae a ~ 172 CYCLOPADIA OF =. ——-—s [0 1876. James ; the doctrine which leans to the works and the doctrine which Jeans to grace 3 the milder and the severer interpretations of human nature and cf the divine deal- ings with it—a Clement of Alexandria, an Origen and a Chrysostom, as well asa Tertullian, an Augustine, and a Cyril of Alexandria. an Erasmus no less thana Luther, a Castalio as well as a Calvin, a Frederick Robertson as well as a John New-_ man. Look at these men and many others equally significant on the spiritual side as they look to God, or as they work for men, how much do they resemble one — another! The saine divine life stirs them all. Who will undertake to settle which © is the truer Christian? But look at them on the intellectual side, and they are hope- lessly disunited. They lead rival forces in the march of Christian thought—forces which may yet find a point of conciliation, and which may not be so widely opposed _ as they seem, but whose present attitude is one ef Cbyious hostility. Men may mect — incommon worship and in common work, and find themselves at one.. The same faith may breathe in their prayers. and the same love fire their hearts. But men who think can never be at one in their thoughts on the great subjects of the Christian revelation. “they may own the same Lord, and recognise and reverence the same types of Christian character, but they will differ so soon as they begin to define their notions of the Divine, and draw conclusions from the researches either of ancient — or of modern theology. Of all the false dreams that have ever hauuted humenity, — none is more false than the dream of catholic un ty in this sense. It vanishes in | th: very effort to grasp it, and the old fissures appear within the most carefully com- — 5 pacted structures of dogma, The Rrv. Dr. Jonn Cairp, in the year 1855, preached a sermon before the Queen in the parish church at Crathie, which was pub-— lished by a royal command, and attracted great attention and admi-~ ration, and was translated. under the auspices of Chevalier Bun-— sen. This popular discourse was of a prectical nature, and was cn-— titled ‘The Religion of Common Life.’ -In 1858 Dr. Caird published ~ a volume of ‘ Sermons,’ which also was wide-y circulated. Heis one of the most eloquent of divines. Dr. Caird is a native of Greenock, — born in 1823. In 18738 he was elected Principal of the university of © Glasgow. 2 Character and Doctrine. aa Actions in many ways teach better than words, and even the most persnasive oral instruction is ereatly vivified hen supplemented by the silent teaching of the life. Consider, for oue thing, that actions are more intelligible than words. All verbal teaching partakes more or less.of the necessary vagueness of lauguage, and its intel- ligibility is dependent, in a great measure, on the degree cf intellectual culture and — ability in the mind of the hearer. Ideas, reflections, deductions. distinctions. when — resented in words, are liable to misapprehension ; their power is often modified or — ost by the obscurity of the. medium through which they are conveyed, and the im-— pression produced by them is apt very speedily to vanish from the mind. Many minds — are inaccessible to any form of teaching that is not of the most elementary charace— ter; and there are comparatively few to whom an illustration is not more intelligible. than an argument. . ~t But whatever the difficulty of understanding words, deeds are almost alwavs in- telligible. Let a man not merely speak but act the truth : let him revel his soul in the. inarticulate speech of an earnest. pure, and truthful Ife. and this will be a language which the profoundest must admire, while the simplest can appreciate. The most - elaborate discourse on sanctification will prove tame and ineffective in comparison with the eloquence of a humble. holy walk with God. In the spectacl» of a penitent soul pouring forth the broken utterance of its contrition at the Savicur’s feet. there is a nobler sermon on repentance than eloquent lips ever spoke. Instruct yourchild-_ ren in the knowledge of God’s great love and mercy, but let them see that love cheer=_ ing. animating, hallowing your daily life; describe to them the divinity and glory of the Saviour’s person and work. but Jet them note how dany y-v think of Him. hear with what profoundest reverence you name His name, see how the sense of a divine. -s fies. ow ENGiISH: LITERATURE. - - : 173 ‘presence sheds a reflected moral beauty around your own—and this wil be a livin -and breathing theology to them, without which formal teaching wili avail but little, Sermons and speeches, too, may weary ; they may be listened to with irksomeness, and remembered with effort: but living speech never tires : it makes no formal demand on the attention, it goes forth in feelings and emanations that win their way insensi- bly into tae secret depths of th: soul. ‘The medium of verbal instruction. moreover, -is conventional, and it can be understood only where one special form of speech is Vernacular, but the language of action and life is instinctive and universal. The liv- ing epistie needs no translation to be understood in every country and clime; anoble act of heroism or self-sacrifice speaks to the common heart of humanity ; a humble, gentle, holy, Christlike life preaches to the common ear all the world over. There is no speech nor language in which this voice is not heard, and its words go forth to the world’s end _ The Rev. Jonn Ker, D.D., minister of a United Presbyterian ‘ehurch in Glasgow, has published a volume of ‘Sermons,’ 1868, which has gone through several editions, and forms a valuable cen- tribution to our works of practical divinity. Fine literary taste and power are combined with the illustration of Christian dectrine and duty. We subjoin some passages from a sermon on the ‘Eternal Future.’ a o ‘ Ti doth not yet Appear what We shall Be.’ aor first step of the soul into another state of being is a mystery. No doubt it = ‘continues conscious, and its c nscious existence. in the case of God’s children, is most biessed. Yo departand be with Christ is far better. But the existence of the soul separate from the body, and from all material organs, is incomprehensible. _ The place of our future life is obscure. How there can. be relation to place with- ‘out a body, we do not know; and even when the body is restored, we cannot tell the locality of the resurrection-world. Nothing in reason, and nothing certain in revela- Tion, connects it with any one spot in God’s universe. It may be far away from earth. in some central kingdom, the ¢iittering confines of which we can perceive in ‘thick-sown stars, that are the pavemeut of the laud which has its dust of gold. It may be, as our hearts would rather suggest, in this world renewed and glorified—a ‘world sacred as the scene of Christ’s sufferines, and endeared to us as the cradle of our immortal life. Or-that great word, Heaven—the heaven of heavens—may gather many worlds around this one as the centre of God’s most godlike work—niay ‘dciose the new and old, the near and far, in its wide embrace. Jt doth not yet ap- pear ~ The outward manner of our final existence is also unecrtain. That it will be Dlessed and glorious. freed from all that can hurt or annoy, we may well belicve. We may calculate that, in the degree in which the incorruptible and immortal body ‘shall excel the body of sin and death, our final home, with its scenes of beauty and grandeur, its landscapes and skies, shall surpass our dwelling-place on this earth. Whether we may possess mccrely our present facultics, enlarged and strengthened, asa child’s mind expands into a man’s, or whether new facultics of perception may not be made to spring forth, as if sight were given to a blind man, we find it impos- sible to-affirm. -.. : .., here are some minds which trouble themselves with the fear lest. their present life and its natural affections should be irrecoverahly Jost in the future world. The place and circumstances seem so indefinite, and must be so different from the present, that they are tossed in uncertainty. Will they mect their friends again so as to know them, or will they not be sepurated from them by the vast expanses of that world, and by the varied courses they may have to pursne? We may have our tlovughts about these things tranquillised. if we bring them into connection with Christ. Our eternal life begins in unison with Him, and it must for ever.so continue. If we are gathered round Him in heaven, and know Him, and are known of Him, this will in- eure acquaintance with one another. Tt is strange thatit could ever be made matter ot doubt. And when we think that He gave us human hearts and took one into His own ‘breast—that He bestowed on us human homes and affections, and solaced Himself 174 CYCLOPEDIA OF with them—we need not fear that He will deny us our heart’s wish, where itis natural and good. Variety of pursuit and temperament need no more separate us there than it does here, and his own name for heaven—the Father’s house of many mansions— speaks of uuity as well as diversity, of one home, one roof, one paternal presence, — { Mind above Matter. ; 4 It is the presence of life, above all, of intelligent life, which gives significance to’ creation, and which stands like the positive digit in arithmetic, before all its blank Ciphers. The most beautiful landscape wants its chief charm till we see, or fancy 11 it, the home of man. - Bl 24 his may be charged as egotism, but it is the law of our being by which we ‘tat a. judge the world. We must look out on God’s universe with the eyes and heart tha its Maker has bestowed upon us, and we must believe that they were meant to guide us truly. The eras of geology receive their interest as they become instinct witl animation, and as they foreshadow the entrance of the intelligent mind, which wa at last to appear among them to be their interpreter. It is the reason of man which has reconstructed them out of their dead ashes. Itis that same reason which give to the present living world all that it has of meaning and unity. The formso beauty and grandeur which matter puts on are only the clothing furnished by mind. The Alps and Andes are but millions of atoms till thought combines them and stamps on them the conception of the everlasting hills. Niagara is a gush of water-drop till the soul puts into it that sweep of resistless power which the beholder feels. The ocean, wave behind wave, is only great when the spirit has breathed into it the idea of immensity. If we analyse our feelings we shall find that thought meets us wherever we turn. ‘lhe real grandeur of the world is in the soul which looks on it, which sees some conception of its own reflected from the mirror around it—for mind is not only living, but life-giving, and has received from its Maker a portion of his own creative power: it breathes into dead matter the breath of life, and it becomes a living’ soul. . ve J oe ag 7’ ft MISCELLANEOUS WRITERS. RICHARD SHARP. 16 | 5s OE _ This gentleman, commonly called ‘Conversation Sharp’ (1759 1835), after mingling in all the distinguished society of London, from the days of Johnson and Burke to those of Byron, Rogers, and Moore, in 1834 published—at first anonymously—a small volume of ‘ Letters and Essays in Prose and Verse.’ Rogers though tthe volume hardiy cqual to Sharp’s reputation ; but his reputation was founded on his conversational powers, and the hivher order of genius is not—as Sir Waiter Scott observed—favourable to this talent. ‘For forming 3a a good converser,’ adds Scott, ‘good taste, and extensive informa- tion and accomplishment are the principal requisites, to which must be added an easy and elegant delivery, and a well-toned voice.” Mackintosh, however, termed Sharp the best critic he had ever known, and Byron also bears testimony to his ability. Macaulay said he never talked scandal. From commercial concerns Mr. Sharp had re- alized a large fortunc—he left £250,000—and had a seat in parla. ment. The ‘Essays’ evince knowledge of the world and sound sense. &.few of his maxims and reflections are subjoincd: 2 nn | * 4 . ae bi | SHARP} ENGLISH LITERATURE. 178 '_ Satirical writers and talkers are not half so clever as they think themselves, nor ‘as they ought to be. ‘hey do winnow the corn, ’tis true, but ’tis to teed upon the chaff. I am sorry to add that they who are always speaking ill of others, are also very apt to be doing illto them. It requires some talent und some generosity to find out talent and generosity in others; though nothing but self-couceit and malice are needed to discover or to imagine faults. The most gifted men that Ihave known have been the least addicted to depreciate either frieds or foes. Dr. Johnson, Mr. ‘Burke, and Mr. Fox were always more inclined tc overrate them. Your shrewd, sly, evil-speaking fellow is generally a shallow personage, and frequently he is as venom- ‘Ous and as false when he flattcrs as when he reviles—he seldom praises John but to vex ‘Thomas. _ Trifling precautions will often prevent great mischiefs; asa slight turn of the wrist parries a mortal trust. ~ Untoward accidents will sometimes happen; but after many, many years of ‘thoughtful experience, I can truly say, that nearly all those who began life with me have succeeded or failed as they deserved. + Bven sensible men are too commonly satisfied with tracing their thoughts a little way backwards; and they are, of course, soon perplexed by a profounder adversary. In this respect, most people’s minds are too like a child’s garden, where the flowers ‘are planted without their roots. Itmay be said of morals and of literature, as truly “as of sculpture and painting. that to understand the outside of human nature, we ‘should be well acquainted with the inside. ~ It appears to me indisputable that benevolent intention andbenefisial tendency Must combine to constitute the moral goodness of an action. To doas much good and as little evil as we can, is the brief and intelligible principle that comprehends all ‘subordinate maxims. Both good tendency and good will are indispensable; for con- ‘science may be erroneous as well as callous, may blunder as well as sleep. Perhaps ‘aman cannot be thoroughly mischievous unless he is honest. In truth, practice is also necessary, since it 1s one thing to be able to see that a line is crooked, and an- Other thing to be able to draw a straight one. Itis not quite so easy to do good as those may imagine who never try. WILLIAM MAGINN. _ WiiiiAm Maeinn (1793-1842), one of the most distinguished peri. Odical writers of his day, a scholar and wit, has left scarcely any per- Manent memorial of his genius or acquirements. He was born at Cork, and at an early period of life assisted his father in conducting ‘an academy in that city. He reccived his degree of LL.D. in his twenty-fourth year. In-1819 Maginn commenced contributing to “Blackwood’s Magazine.’ His papers were lively, learned, and libel- Tous—an alliterative enumeration which may be applied to nearly all the wrote. He was a keen political partisan, a Tory of the old Orange stamp, who gave no quarter to an opponent. At the same time there ‘Was so much scholarly wit and literary power about Maginn’s con- tributions, that all parties read and admired him. For nine years he ‘Was one of the most constant writers in ‘ Blackwood,’ and his Odo- herty papers (prose and verse) were much admired. He had removed to London in 1828, and adopted literature as a profession. In 1824 My. Murray the publisher commenced a daily newspaper, ‘The Representative.’ Mr. Disraeli was reported to be editor, but he has contradicted the statement. He was then too young to be intrusted with such a responsibility. - Maginn, however, was-engaged as for- ign or Paris correspondent. His residence in France was short; the tn ‘ pe a ae — ¥ 176 “. The Turkman gets; While at a glibe rate, And loud in sir Brass tougues would vibrate— Calls men to prayer, «But all their music From the tapering summitg Z Spoke nonght like thine; Of tall minarets. _. For memory dwelling Such empty phantom Ca each proud swelling I freely grant them; _ OF the belfry knelling But there is an anthem j Tts bold notes free, More dear to me— ~ Made the bells of Shandon ’Tis the bells of Shaudon, _ Sonnd far more grand on That sound so grand on ‘The pieasant waters The pleasant waters _- Of the river Lee. Of the river Lee, | ean ¢ i ou 4 = eae a x EE die Oe ene Tt ye 7 Caney Et ae gat "TPE eee 178 “CYCLOPADIA OF SIR GEORGE AND SIR FRANCIS BOND HEAD. Tho elder of these brothers—sons of an English gentleman, James Roper Head, Esq.—was author of ‘Forest Scenes in North America,” 1829, and ‘Home Tours in England,’ 1835-87. The ‘Home Tours’ were made in the manufacturing districts, through which the auth travelled as a Poor-law Commissioner, and were written in a ligh pleasing style. He afterwards applied himself to a laborious topo- graphical and antiquarian account of ‘Rome’ » a8, 1849, and he translated Cardinal Pacca’s ‘ Memoirs’ Metamorphoses.’ He died in 1895, aged seventy-three. His brother, FRaNcis Bonp Heap (born at Rochester, 1793), had more vivacity and_ spirit ig many of the family characteristics. While a captain in the army, he published ‘ Rough Notes taken during some Rapid Journeys across the Pampas and among the Andes,’ 1826. The work was exceed ingly popular, and the reputation of ‘Galloping Head,’ as the gay captain was termed, was increased by his ‘Bubbles from the Brun nen of Nassau.’ He was appointed governor of Upper Canada in 1835, and created a baronet in 1837; but his administrative was n0j equal to his literary talent, and he was forced to resign in 18838. Ht published a narrative of his administration, which was more amus! than convincing. Turning again to purely literary pursuits, Francis wrote ‘The Emigrant,’ 1892, and essays in the ‘ Quart Review,’ afterwards republished in a collected form with the title ‘Stokers and Pokers—Highways and Byways.’ He wrotea ‘Lif Bruce, the Traveller,’ for the ‘Family Library.’ The national de- fences of this country appearing to Sir Francis lamentably deficient he issued a note of warning, ‘The Defenceless State of Great Brit ain? 1850. Visits to Paris and Ireland produced ‘A Faggot 0 French Sticks, or Paris in 1851,’ and ‘A Fortnight in Ireland,’ 1852 In 1869 he produced a practical work, ‘The Royal Engineer.” The judgments and opinions of the author are often rash and prejudic but he is seldom dull, and commonplace incidents are related in 2 picturesque and attractive manner. Sir Francis died at Croydon i 1879. - =the Description of the Pampas. : oP The great plain, or pampas, on the east of the Cordillera.4s about nine hundre miles in breadth, and the part which I have visited, though under the same latitnd is divided into regions of differeut climate and produce. On leaving Buenos Ayres, the first of these regions is covered for one hundred and eighty miles with clove and thistles; the second region, which extends for four hundred and- miles produces long grass ; and the third region, which reaches the base of the Cordiller is a grove of low trees and shrubs. The second and third of these regions ha nearly the same appearance throughout the year, for the trees and shrubs are eV! reens, and the immense plain of grass only changes its colour from en rown: but the first region varies with the four seasons of the year in & MMOs extraordinary manner. In winter the leaves of the thistles are large and Juxuria! and the whole surface of the conntry has the rough appearance of a turn The clover in this season is extremely rich and strong; and the sight of —— A ng Pv ‘ cattle grazing in full liberty HEAD] _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 179 on such pasture is very beautiful. In spring the clover has vanished, the leaves of the thistles have extended along the ground, and the ‘Couniry still looks like a rough crop of turnips. In less than a month the change is most extraordinary: the whole region becomes a luxuriant wood of enormous thistles, which have suddenly shot up to a height of ten or eleven feet, and are all in full bloom. ‘he road or path is hemmed in on both sides; the view is completely obstructed ; not an animal is to be seen; aud the stems of the thistles are so close to each other, and so strong, that, independent of the prickles with which they are armed, they forma an impenetrable barrier. The sudden growth of these plants is quite astonishing ; and though it would be an unusual misfortune in military history, yet it is really possible that an invading army, unacquainted with this country, might be imprisoned by these thistles before it had time to escape from them. The summer is not over before the scene undergoes another rapid change; the thistles suddenly lose their sap and verdure, their heads droop, the leaves shrink and fade, the stems become black and dead, and they remain rattling with the breeze one against another, until the violence of the pampero or hurricane levels them with the ground, where they rapidly decompose and disappear—the clover rushes up, and the scene is again verdant. A French Commisstonnatre. In Paris this social luxury has been so admirably supplied, that, like iced water tt Naples, the community could now hardly exist without it. Accordingly, at the ntersection of almost all the principal streets, there is posted by the police an intelli~ ent, respectable-looking m an—there are about twelve thousand of them—cleanly ressed in blue velveteen trowsers, and a blue corduroy jacket, on the breast of which 8 affixed a brass ticket, inv md number. The duties of ariably forfeited by risconduct, bearing his occupation this commissionnaire are not only at various fixed prices + 0 go messages in any direction and at determined rates to perform innumerable ither useful services, but he oth sexes in crossing street is especially directed to assist aged and infirm people of 8 croy/ded with carriages, and to give to strangers, who bay inquire their way, every possible assistance. The luxury of living, wherever ‘ou may happen to lodge, within reach of a person of this description. is very great. ‘or instance, within fifty ya ent, dark-blue fellow, who rds of my lodgings, there was an active, honest, intelli- was to me a living book of useful knowledge. Crump- ne up the newspaper he was usually reading, he could in the middle of a paragraph, Hd at a moment’s notice, get me any sort of carriage—recommend me to every de- cription of shop—tell me the colour of the omnibus I wanted—where I was to find where I was to leave it—how I ought to dress to go here, there, or anywhere; ‘hat was done in the House of Assembly last night—who spoke best—what was said f{ his speech—and what the world thought of things in general. The Hlectrie Wires, and Tawell the Murderer. Whatever may have been his fears—his hopes—his fancies or his thoughts—there iddenly flashed along the wires of the electric telegraph, which were stretched close eside him, the following wo rds ; ‘A murder has just been committed at Salthill, and le suspected murderer was seen to take a first-class ticket for London by the train hich left Slough at 7h. 42m. p.m. He is in the garb of a Quaker, with a brown teatcoat on, which reaches nearly down to his feet. He is in the last compartment {the second first-class carriage.’ And yet, fest as these words flew like lightning past him, the information they yntained, with all its details, as well as every secret. thought that had preceded them, id aiready consecutively flown millions of times faster ; indeed, at the very instant ‘at, within the walls of the little cottage at Slough, there had been uttered that ‘eadful scream, it had simultaneously reached the judgment-seat of heaven ! On arriving at the Paddington station, after mingling for some momeuts with the owd, he got into an omnibus, and as it rambled along, taking up one passenger and utting down another, he probably felt that his identity was every minute becoming ‘founded and confused by the exchange of fellow-passengers for stran gers that was onstantly taking place. Bui all the time he was thinking, the cad of the omnibus— policeman in disguise—kne : ‘ ae w that he held his victim like aratinacage. Without, » ‘ ° » 180 | ~ CYCLOPADIA OF © > however, apparently taking the slightest notice of him, he took one sixpence, ga change for a shilling, handed out this lady, stuffed in that one. until, arriving at bank, the guilty man, stooping as he walked towards the carriage-door. descend the steps. paid his fare; crossed over to the Duke of Wellington’s statue, whe pausing for a few moments, anxiously to gaze around him, he proceeded to the Jet salem Coffer-house, thence over London bridge to the Leopard Coffee-house in” Borough, and finally to a lodging-house in Scott’s Yard, Cannon Street. He probably fancied that, by making so many turns and doubles, he had not on effectually puzzled all pu:suit, but that his appearance at so many coffee-louse would assist him, if necessary, in proving an alibi; but whatever may have been” motives or his thonghts. he had scarcely entered the lodging when the policem. who, like a wolf, had followed him every step of the way—-opening the door, ” calmly said to him—the words no doubt were infinitely more appalling to him « than the scream that had been haunting him—‘ Haven’t you just come trom Slou ‘he monosyllable ‘ No,’ confusedly uttered in reply. substantiated his guilt. The policeman made him*his prisoner; he was thrown into jail; tried; fonné euilty of wilful murder; and hanged. — * A tew months afterwards, we happened to be travelling by rail from Padding to Slough, in a carriage filled with people all strangers to one another. Like bngl travellers, they were all mute. For nearly fifteen miles no one had uttered a ‘singh word, until a short-bodied, short-necked, short-nosed, exceedingly respectable-] ing man ia the corner, fixing bis eyes on the apparent)y fleeting posts and rails of the electric telegraph. significantly nodded to us as he muttered aloud: *‘ ‘hem’s the cords that hung John Tawell!’ MK . + T. C. HALIBURTON. au THOMAS CHANDLER HaAurpurton (1796-1865), long a judge Nova Scotia, is author of a series of amnsing works illustrative American and e¢olonial manners; marked by shrewd, sarcastic marks on ‘political questions, the colonies, slavery, domestic inst tions and customs, and almost every familiar topic of the day. — first series—which had previously been inserted as letters in a Ni Scotia paper—appeared in acollested form under the title of ‘ Clockmaker, or the Sayings and Doings of Samuel Slick of 5 ville.’ A second series was published in 1888, and a third in 1 ‘Sam Slick’ was a universal favourite, and in 1843-the suthor ¢ ceived the idea of bringing him to England. ‘The Attaché, or Slick in England,’ gives an account of the sayings and doings of clockmaker when elevated to the dignity of the ‘Honourable Slick, Attaché of the American Legation-to the court of St Jame There 1s the same quaint humour, acute observation, and laugh exaggeration in these volumes as in the former. but, on the wh Sam is most amusing on the other side of the Atlantic. Mr. burton has also written an ‘ Account of Nova Scotia,’ 1828; ‘ Bubb of Canada,’ 1839; ‘The Old Judge, or Life in a Colony,’ and ‘ Letter bag of the Great Western,’ 18389; ‘Rule and Misrule of the Engli in. America,’ 1851; ‘ Yanke» Stories, and Traits of American Hu mour,’ 1852; ‘Nature and Human Nature,’ 1855. a We must do our publishers the justice to say, that the first per eal in Great Britain which noticed Mr. Haliburton’s works *Chambers’s Journal,’ * ~ = ~ . f “HALIRURTON.| | ENGLISH LITERATUEE. 181 Soft Sawder and Human Natrr. ¥n the course of a journey which Mr. Slick performs in company with the repor- ter of his humours, the latter asks him how, in a country so poor as Nova Scotia, he contrives to sell so many clocks. ‘ Mr. Siick paused,’ continues the author, ‘as if considering the propriety of auswering the question, and looking me in the face, ~ said, in a confidential tone: ** Why, I don’t care if I do tell you, for the market-is _giutted, and I shall quit this circuit. It is done by a knowledge of soft sawder and human natar. But here is Deacon Flint’s,” said he; “I have but one clock left, and I guess I will sell it to him.” At the gate of a most comfortable-look'ng _farm-house stood Deacon Flint, a respectable old Iman, who had understood the value _of time better than most of his neighbours. if one might judge from the appearance Of everything about him. After the usual salutation, an invitation to alight was aes cepted by Mr. Slick, who said ** he wished to take leaye of Mrs. Flint before he left - Colchester.” We had hardly entered the house, before the Clockmaker pointed to the view from the window and addressing himself to me, said: “If I was to tell them in Connecticut there was such a farm as this away down east bere in Nova Scotia, they wouldu’t believe me—why, there ain’t such a location in all New Eng- land. ‘the deacon has a hundred acres of dike” * ** Seventy,” said the dea- -con—* only seventy.” ‘> Well, seventy; but then there is your fine deep bottom; why, Icould run a ramrod into iit. ‘hen there is that wa er-privilege, worth three or tour thousand dollars, twice as good as what Governor Cass paid fifteen thousand for. I wonder, deacon, you don’t put up a carding-miil on it: the same works would carry a turning-lathe, a shingle machine, a circular saw, grind bark, and” “Too old,” said the deacon—‘‘too old for all those speculations.” “ Od!” re- peated the Clockmaker—* not you; why, you are worth half a dozen of the young men we see nowadays.” ‘The deacon was pleased. ‘‘ Your beasts. dear me, your beasts must be put iu and have afeed;” saying which, he went out to order them ‘to be taken to the stable. As the old gentleman closed the door after him. Mr. Slick drew near to me, and said in an undertone: * That is what I call soft sawder, An Englishman would pass that man asasheep passesa hog ina pasture—without looking at him. Now I find” Here his lecture on soft-sawder was cut short by the entrance of Mrs. Flint.“ Jist come to say good-bye. Mrs. Flint.” What! have you sold all your clocks?” ‘Yes, and very low, too. for money is scarce. and I wished to close the consarn ; no, Tam wrong in saying all, for [have just one left. Neighbour Steel’s wife asked to have the refusal of it, but I guess T won ’t sell it. “Thad but two of them, this one and the feller of it. that I sold Governor Lincoln. Gen- eral Green, secretary of state for Maine, said he’d give me fifty dollars for this here one ‘—it has composition wheels and patent axles: it isa beautiful article—a real first chop —no mistake, genuine superfine; but I guess ll take it back: and. b side. Squire ‘Hawk might think it ba d that I did not give him the offer.” “ Dear me.” said Mrs. Fiint. ‘“Tshould like to see it; where is it?” “It isin a chest of mine over the way, at Tom Tape’s store; T eness he can ship it on to Eastport.” “ That ’sa good man,” ‘Said Mrs. Flint, “jist let’s look at it.’ Mr Slick. willing to oblige, yielded to these entreaties, and soon produced the clock—a gaudy. highly varnished, trumpery-looking affair. He placed it on the chimney-piece, where ifs beauties were pointed out and duly appreciated by Mrs. Flint, whose admiration was about ending ina pro- osal. when Mr. Flint returned from giving his directions about the care of the horses. The deacon praised the clock; he, too, thought it a handsome one; but the ‘deacon was 2 prudent man: he hada watch, he was sorry, but-he had no occasion fora clock. ‘I guess you’re in the wrong furrow this time. deacon: in ain’t for sale.” said Mr. Slick; ‘‘and if it was, I reckon neighbor Steel’s wife would have it, for she gives me no peace about it.” Mrs. Flint said that Mr. Steel had enough todo, poor man, to pay his interest. without buying clocks for his wife. “It’s no corsain of mine,” said Mr. Slick, *‘as long as he pays me. what he has to do: but I encss I don’t want to sel] it; and beside, it comes too high: that clock can’t be made at Rhode Island under forty doliars.— Why, it an’t possible !” said the Clockmaker. in apparent surprise, looking at his watch; “why, as I’m alive, it is four o’clock, and if Thayn’t been two hours here—how on airth stall I reach’ River Philip to-night ? [li tell you what Mrs. Fhnt: I'll leave the clock in your care ti!l I return on my way ISLE ates a el aan “pie ee *Flat rich land diked in from the sea. > ‘ . — 5 ee QO Ee eS 2 ee a Y St aes os git tae <4 ptr es pan eae an : s ee + ee tobe Foe oe - » ‘ ~! ‘ a < a 2 “ . ~ > = ~ » 182 CYCLOPEDIA OF ~——S™—=«S ro. 1876. YR a eee to the States—Ill set it agoing, and put it to the right time.” As soon as this oper- ation was performed, he delivered the key to the deacon with a sort Of serio-comic injunction to wind up the cloek every Saturday night,which Mrs. Flintsaidshe would — take care should be done, and promised to remind her husband of it, in case he should chance to forget it. : “That,” said the Clockmaker, as soon as we were mounted, “ that I call human - natur ! Now, that clock is sold for forty dollars—it cost me just six dollars and fifty ~ cents. Mrs. Flint will never Jet Mrs. Steel have the refusal—nor will the deacon learn until I call for the clock, that having once indulged in the use of a superfluity, it is difficult to give it up. .We can do without any article of luxury we have never had, — but when once obtained, itis not in human natur to surrender it voluntarily. Of- fifteen thousand sold by myself and partners in this province, twelve thousand were ~ left in this manner, and only ten clocks were ever returned—when we called for them, they invariably bought them. We trust to soft sawder to get them into the house, and to human natur that they never come out of it.””’ a A ait THOMAS MILLER—W. HONE—MISS8S COSTELLO. Among the littérateurs inspired—perhaps equally—by the love of ~ nature and admiration of the writings of Miss Mitford and the — Howitts, was THomas MILLER (1809-1874), a native of Gainsborough, — -one of the humble, happy, industrious self-taught sons of genius. — He was brought up to the trade of a basket-maker, and while thus —~ obscurely labouring ‘ to consort with the muse and support a family,’ ~ he attracted attention by his poetical effusions. Through the kind- — ness of Mr. Rogers, our author was placed in the more congenial — situation of a bookseller, and had the gratification of publishing and — selling his own writings. Mr. Miller was the author of various — works: ‘A Day in the Woods,’ ‘ Royston Gower,’ ‘ Fair Rosamond,’ — ‘Lady Jane Grey,’ and other novels. Several volumes of rural de- ~ scriptions and poetical effusions also proceeded from his pen. | The ‘ Every-day Book,’ ‘ Table Book,’ and ‘ Year Book,’ by WILLIAM ~ Hone (1779-1842), published in 1833, in four large volumes, with above five hundred wood-cut illustrations, form a calendar of popular ~ English amusements, sports, pastimes, ceremonies, manners, customs, — and events incident to every day in the year. Mr. Southey has said — of these works: ‘I may take the opportunity of recommending the *‘Every-day Book ” and ‘‘ Table Book ” to those who are interested in — the preservation of our national and local customs: by these very ~ curicus publications their compiler has rendered good service in an” important department of literature.’ Charles Lamb was no less” eulogistic. Some political parodies written by Hone led to his prose-— cution by the government of the day, in which the government was generally condemned. Hone was acquitted and became popular ;_ the parodies are now forgotten, but the above works will preserve his name. a A number of interesting narratives of foreign travel were published — by Miss Lovrsa Stuart CosTeLLo, who died in 1870; she com- menced her literary career in 1835 with ‘Specimens of the Early Poetry of France.’ Her principal works are—‘A Summer among the Bocages and Vines,’ 1840 ; ‘A Pilgrimage to Auvergne, fr Sti Pr aan t? ah a "mrs, JAMESON.] = ENGLISH LITERATURE, 183 _ -Picardy to Le Velay,’ 1842 ; ‘Béarn and the Pyrenees,’ 1844 ; ‘The Falls, Lakes, and Mountains of North Wales,’ 1845 ; «A Tour to and from Venice by the Vaudois and the Tyrol,’ 1846 ; &c. Miss Cos- tello was also one of the band of lady-novelists, having written ‘The Queen Mother,’ ‘Clara Fane,’ &.; and in 1840 she published a serieg of ‘ Memoirs of Eminent Englishwomen,’ commencing with the reign of Elizabeth. i MRS. JAMESON. On subjects of art and taste, and generally in what may be termed _ elegant literature, the writings of Mrs. ANNA JAMESON (1797-1860) - occupy a prominent place. They are very numerous, including— ‘The Diary of an Ennuyée, (memoranda made during a tour in France and Italy), 1826; ‘ Loves of the Poets,’ two volumes, 1829; ‘ Lives of Celebrated Female Sovereigns,’ two volumes, 1831; ‘ Characteristics of Women,’ two volumes, 1832; ‘ Beauties of the Court of Charles II.’ _ (memoirs accompanying engravings from Lely’s portraits), two vol umes, 1833; ‘ Visits and Sketches at. Home and Abroad,’ two vol- umes, 1884; ‘ Winter Studies and Summer Rambles in Canada,’ three volumes, 1838; ‘ Rubens, his Life and Genius,’ translated from the German of Dr. Waagen, 1840; ‘Pictures of the Social Life of Ger- many, as represented in the Dramas of the Princess Amelia of Sax- ony, 1840; ‘ Hand-book to the Public Galleries of Art,’ two volumes, 1842; ‘Companion to Private Galleries of Art in and “near London,’ 1844; ‘Memoirs of the Early Italian Painters,’ two volumes, 1845; ‘Memoirs and Essays on Art, Literature and Social Morals,’ 1846; ‘Sacred and Legendary Art,’ two volumes, 1848; ‘ Legends of the Monastic Orders,’ 1850: < Legends of the Madonna,’ 1852; ‘ Common-- place Book of Thoughts, Memories and Fancies,’ 1854; ‘Sisters of _ Charity,’ a lecture, 1855; ‘The Communion of Labour,’ a lecture, 1856; with various communications to literary journals. In sucha variety of works, all, of course, cannot be equal—some bear the _ appearance of task-work; but generally we may apply to Mrs. Jame- Son the warm eulogium of Prof. Wilson: she is ‘ one of the most clo- _ quent of our female writers; full of feeling and fancy; a true enthu- siast with a glowing soul.’ On the subject of art, her writing is next ‘to that of Ruskin; to intense love of the beautiful, she adds a fine discriminating and cultivated taste, with rich stores of knowledge. Mrs. Jameson was a native of Dublin, daughter of Mr. Murphy, an artist of ability. Having married a barrister named Jameson, who accepted an official appointment in Canada, she resided there for some time, but her marriage proving unhappy, a separation took place, and ‘Mrs. Jameson returned to England and devoted herself to literature— especially the literature of art. Her latest work (which she. did not live to complete, but which was finished by Lady Eastlake) was an “account of the ‘Scriptural and Legendary History of our Lord, as represented in Christian Art.’ SS ETO. B76. 184 CYCLOPZEDIA OF Counsel to Young Ladies.—An Eastern Apologue. +o. 7m Tt is a common obser. ation, that girls of lively talents are apt to grow pert and _ satirical. I fell into this danger when about ten years old. - Sallies at the expense of ce'tain people, iil-looking, or il'-dressed, or ridiculous, or foolish. Fad been laughed at and applauded in company, until, without being naturally malignant, I ran some risk — of becoming so from sheer vanity. The tables which appeal to our high moral sympathies may sometimes do as much for us asthe truths of science. So thought our Saviour when he taught the multitude in parables. A good clergyman who lived near ns, a famous Persian scholar, took it iuto his head to teach me Persian—J was then about seven years old —and I set to work with infinite delight and earnestness. All I learned was soon forgotten ; but 2 few years afterwards, happening to stumble on a volume of Sir Wil- — liam Jones’s works—his Persian Grammar—it revived my orientalism, and I began — -to study it cagerly. Among the exercises given was a Persian fable or poem—one — of those traditions of our Lord which are preserved in the East. The beautiful apo- ~ legue of St. Peter and the cherries, which Gocthe has versified or imitated, is a well- — known example. ‘This fable I allude to was something similar, but I have not met — wich the original these forty years, and must give it here from memory. a ‘ Jesus,’ suys the story, “arrived One evening at the gates of a certain city, and 3 he sent his discip!es forward to prepare supper, while lhe himself, intent on doing good, walked through the streets into.the market-place. And he saw at the corner of the market some people gathered together looking at an object on the ground: and ~ he drew near to see what it might be. Itwas a dead dog, with a halter round his — neck, by which he appeared to have been Cragged through the dirt; and a viler, a more abject, a more uuclean thing, never met the eyesof man. And those who stood ~ by looked on with abhorrence. ‘* Faugh!” said one, stopping his nose; ‘it pollutes — the air.” “ How Jong,” said another, ‘‘shall this foul beast offend our sight?” ** Look at his tern hide,” said a third; ‘fone could not even cut a shoe out of it.” “And his ears,” said a fourth, ‘all draggled and bleeding!” ‘*No doubt,” said a_ fifth, ** he hath been hanged for thieving!’ And Jesus heard them, and looking down compassionat:ly on the dead creature, he said: ‘* Pearls are not equal to the whiteness of his teeth!” ‘I'hen the people turned towards him with amazement, and said among themselves: ‘‘ Who is this? this must be Jesus of Nazareth, for only He — . could find something to pity and approve even in a dead dog ;” and being ashamed, © they bowed their heads before him, and went each on his way.’ ; aie ~ I can recall, at this hour, the vivid, yet softening and pathetic impression left on my fancy by this old Eastern story. It struck me as exquisitely humorous, as well — as exquisitely beautiful. It gave me a pain in my conscience, for it seemed thencefor- ~ ward so easy and so vulgar to say satirical things, and so much nobler to be benign and merciful, and I look the lesson so home, that I was in great danger of falling into ~ the opposite extreme—seeking the beautiful even in the midst of the corrupt and — s the repulsive. ‘ Pictures of the Madonna. ‘| Of the pictures in our galleries, public or private—of the architectural adornments of those majestic edifices which sprung up in the middle ages (where they haye not heen desnoiled or desecrated by a zeal as fervent as that which reared them), t largest and most beautiful portion have reference to the Madonna—her character. h person, her history. It was a theme which never tired her votaries—whether, a8 in the hands of great and sincere arti-ts, if became one of the noblest and loveliest. or, as in the hans of superficial, unbelieving, time-serving artists, one of the most de- _ graded. All that human genius, inspired by faith. could achieve best—ail that fanati- — cism. sensualism..ath-ism, could perpetuate of worst, do we find in the cycle of_ those representations which have heen dedicated to the glory of the Virgin. And, indeed. the ethics of the Madonna worship, as evolved in art, might be not unaptl likened to the ethics of hnman love: so long as the object of sense remained in sub jection to the moral idea—so long as the appeal was to the best of our faeulties and affections—so long was the image grand or refined. and the influences to be ranked with those which have helped to humanise and civilise our race; but s0 soon as th eee eae a mere idol, then worship and worshippers, art and artists, were togeth egraded. Ree fm we te hos ge —— —— ne e ‘ ‘ i me a pes 2 y. Se coe ep ae : - s MRS. JAMESON.) §.ENGLISH LITERATURE. oes 188 Aq ; - The Loves of the Poets. a The theory which I wish to illustrate, as far as my limited powers permit, is this _ that where a woman has been exalted above the rest of her sex by the talents of & lover, and consigned to enduring fame and perpetuity of praise, the passion was real, and was merited ; thatno deep or lasting interest was ever founded in fancy or in fic- tion ; that truth, in short, is the basis of all excellence in aiatory poetry as in every- thing else; for where truth is, there is good of some sort, and where there is truth and good, there must be beauty, there must be durability of fame. Truth is the go'den chain which links the terrestrial with the celestial, which sets the seal of Heaven on the things of this earth, and stamps them to immortality. Poets have risen up and been the mere fashion of a day. and have set up idols which have been the idols _Ofaday. If the worship be out of date, and the idols cast down, it is because those _ adorers wanted sincerity of purpose and feeling; their raptures were feigned; their “i>cense was bought or adulterate. In the brain orin the fancy, one beauty may eclipse another—one coquette may drive out another, and, tricked off in -airy verse, they float away unregarded like morning vapours, which the beam of genius has tinged with a transient brightness ; but let the heart be once touched, and it is not only wakened but inspired ; the lover kindled into the poet presents to her he loves _ his cup of ambrosial praise ; she ta-tes—and the womun is transmuted into a divinity. When the Grecian sculptor curved out his deities in marb’e, and left us wondrous and godlike shapes, impersonations of ideal grace unapproachable by modern skiil, was it through such mechanical superiority? No; it was the spirit of faith within which shadowed to his imagination what he would represent. In the same manuer, no woman has ever been truly, lastingly deified in poetry, but in the spirit of truth and love. ~ The Studious Monks of the Middle Ages. But for the monks, the light of liberty, and literature. and science, had been for ever extinguished ; and for six centuries there existed for the thoughtful, the gentle, _ the inquiring, the devout spirit, no peace, no security. no home but the cloister. There, Learning trimmed her lamp; there, Contemplation ‘pruned her wings;’ there, the traditions of art. preserved from age to age by lonely studious men, kept alive, in form and colour, the idea of a beauty beyond that of earth— of a might be- yond that of the spear and the shield—of a Divine sympathy with suffering humanity. ‘To this we may add another and a stronger cluim to our respect and moral sympathies, The protection and the better education given to women in these early communities: the venerable and distinguished rank assigned to them when. as governesses of their order, they became in a manner dignitaries of the church ; the introduction of their beautiful and saintly effigies. clothed with ail the ; pusignis of sanctity and authority, into the decoration of places of worship and books of devotion—did more, perhaps, for the general cause of womanhood than all the boasted institutions of chivalry. =x a Venice—Canaletti and ‘Turner. ; It is this all-pervading presence of light. and this snffusion of rich colour glow- - ng through the deepest shadows, which make the very life and soul of Venice; but _ not all who have dwelt in Venice, and breathed her air and lived in her life. have felt their influences ; it is the want of them which 'enders so many of Canaletti’s pic- . _ tures false and unsetisfactory—to meat least. Allthetime I wasat Venice I wasin @ rave with Canalet&. Icculd not come upon a palace, or a church, or a corner of a canal which I had not seen in one or other of his pictures. At every moment I was » reminded of him. But how has he painted Venice! Just.as we ave the face of av beloved friend reproduced by the daguerreotype. or by some bad conscientious ‘psinter—some fellow who gives us eyes, nose, and mouth by measure of compass. _and leaves ont all sentiment. all countenance; we cannot deny the identity, and we cannot endure it. Where in Canaletti are the glowing evening skies—the trauspar- ent gleaming waters—the bright green of the vine-shadowed Traghetto—the fresh- ness and the glory—the dreamy, aérial, fantastic splendour of this city of the sea? Look at one of his pictures—all is real, opaque, solid, stony. formal ; - even his skies and water—and is that Venice? ‘But,’ says my friend, ‘if you " E.L.V8—7 i - = : Re oy ea ieee shall I findit?. Venice is like a dream—but this dream-upon. the canvas, do — you call this Venice ? The exquisite precision of form, the wondrous beauty of: 3 detail, the clear, delicate lincs of the flying perspective—so sharp and defined in the midst of a flood of brightness—where are they ? Canaletti gives us the forms without — ; the colour or light.‘ urner, the colour and light without the forms. Butif you would take into your soul the very soul and inwaid life and spirit of Venice—breathe the . ‘ ; : a . would have Venice, seek it in Turner’s pictures!’ True, I may seek it, but ; ; 3 - f saine air—go to Titian ; there is more of Venice in his * Cornaro Family,’ or his‘ Pe- ~~ saro Madonna,’ than in all the Canalettis in the corridor at Windsor. Beautiful they — 4 are, I must needs say it; but when I think of Enchanting Venice, the most beautiful —- are to me like prose translations of poetry—petrifactions, materialities ; ‘ We start, for jife is wanting there!’ I know not how it is, but certainly things that would else- — 4 where displease, delight us at Venice. It has been said, for instance, ‘put down the » church of St. Mark anywhere but in the Piazza, itis barbarous ;’ here, where east and_ west have met to blend together, itis glorious. And agan, with regard to the sepul- chral effigies in our churches—I have always been of Mr. Westmacott’s principles and party; always on the side of those who denounce the intrusion of monuments of) human pride insolently paraded in God’s temple; and surely cavaliers on prancing ~ _ horses in a chsrch should seem the very acme of such irreverence and impregpriety ~ in taste; but here the impression is far different. O those awful, grim. mounted ~~ warriors and dogs. highover our heads against the walls of the San Giovannie Paolo and the Frari!—man and horse in panoply Of state, colossal, lifelike—suspended, as it were, so far above us, that we cannot conceive how they came there, or are kept there, by human means alone. It seems as though they had been lifted up and fixed ~ on their airy pedestals as by a spell. At whatever hour I visited those churches, and — that was almost daily, whether morn, or noon. or in the deepening twilight, still did those marvellous effigies—man and steed, and trampled Turk; or mitred doge, up- | right and stiff in his saddle—fix me as if fascinated; and still T looked up at them, — wondering every day with anew wonder. and scarce repressing the startled exclama- tion. ‘Good heavens, how came they there?’ And not to forget the great wonder of modern times—I hear people talking of a railway across the Lagune. as if it were to unpoetise Venice; as if this new approach were a malignant invention to bring the syren of the Adriatic into the ‘ dull catalogue of common things.’ and they call on me to join the outcry, to echo sentimental denunciations, quoted out of *Murray’s Hand- — book ? but I cannot—I have no sympathy with them. ~T’o me. that tremendous bridge, spanning the sea, only adds to the wonderful one wonder more; tp great sources Of thought one yet greater. Those persons, methinks, must be strangely prosaic au fond — who.-can see poetry in a Gothic pinnacle, or a crumbling temple, or a gladiator’s cir- cus, and in this gigantic causeway and its seventy-five arches, traversed with flery — speed by dragons, brazen-winged, to which neither alp nor ocean can oppose a bar- rier—nothing but a commonplace. Imust say I pity them. Jsee a future fraught -¥ ie with hopes for Venice, k Twining memories of old time Pe With new virtues more sublime! i CHARLES WATERTON. : 3 ing. Mr. Waterton set out from his seat of Walton Hall, Wakefield, in 1812, to wander ‘through the wilds of Demerara and Essequibo, _ with the view to reach the inland frontiey fort of Portuguese.Guiana; — to collect a quantity of the strongest Wourali poison; and to catch” and stuff the beautiful birds which abound in that part of South America.’ He made two more journeys to the same territories—in — 1816 and 1820—and in 1825 published his ‘Wanderings in South ~ America, the North-west of the United States, and the Antilles.’ His fatigues and dangers were numerous. et * ye beta 4 Bee oe gS : Bete / s = 5 Ts : 2 ai ee ° & A-<¢ r. - ~ . be mle ‘im ’ 4 “~ WATERTON. ) ENGLISH LITERATURE. 187 - oe es In order to pick up matter for natural history, I have wandered hrough the wildest parts of South America’s equinoctial regions. I nave attacked and slain a modern python, and rode on the back of a _cayman Close to the water’s edge; a very different situation from that of a Hyde-Park dandy on his Sunday prancer before the ladies. Alone and barefoot I have pulled poisonous snakes out of their lurk- ing-places; climbed up trees to peep into holes.for bats and vampires; and for days together hastened through sun and rain to the thickest parts of the forest to procure specimens I had never seen before.’ The adventures of the python and cayman—or the snake and cro- _ -codile—made much noise and amusement at the time, and the latter feat formed the subject of a caricature. Mr. Waterton had long | --wished to obtain one of those enormous snakes called Coulacanara, _ _ and at length he saw one coiled up in his den. He advanced towards it stealthily, and with his lance struck it behind the neck and fixed it to the ground. Adventure with the Snake. That moment the negro next to me seized the lance and held it firm in its place, while I dashed head foremost into the den to grapple with the snake, and to get hold of his tail before he could do any mischief. - On pinning him to the ground with the Jance, he gave a tremendous loud hiss, and the little dog ran away, howling as he went. We had asharp fray in the den, the ~ rotten sticks flying on all sides, and each party struggling for the superiority. I “called out.to the second negro to throw himself upon me, as I found I was not heavy ~ ~enough. He did so, and his additional weight was of great service. I had now got _ _ firm hold of his tail, and after a violent struggle or two he gave in, finding himself overpowered. This wus the moment to secure him. So while the first negro con- tinued to hold the lance firm to the ground, and the other was helping me, I con- - trived to unloose my braces, and with them tied up the snake’s mouth. : The snake. now finding himself in an unpleasant situation, tried to better him- self, and set resolutely to work, but we overpowered him, [it measured fourteen feet, and was of great thickness.] We contrived to. make him twist himself round the shaft of the lance, and then prepared to convey him out of the forest. I stood at his head and held it firm under my arm, one negro supported tle belly, and the other the tail. In this order we begun to move slowly towards home, and reached it after resting ten times. : On the following day, Mr. Waterton killed the animal, securing its skin for Walton: Hall. The crocodile was seized on the Essequibo. He had been tantalised for three days with the hope of securing one -of the animals. He baited a shark-hook with a large fish, and at last _ was successful. The difficulty was to pull-him up. The Indians proposed shooting him with arrows; but this the ‘ Wanderer’ resisted. ‘I had come above three hundred miles ou purpose to catch a cay- man uninjured, and not to carry back a mutilated specimen.’ The men pulled, and out he came—Mr. Waterton standing armed with the mast of the cance, which he proposed to force down the animal's throat. = Riding on a Crocodile. By the time the cayman was within two yards of me, I saw he was in a state of Year and perturbation; I instantly dropped the mast, sprung up and jumped on his _ back, turning half round as I vaulted, so that I gained my seat with my face ina is a 188 CYCLOPAEDIA OF [to 1876. Tight position. I immediately seized his fore-legs, and by main force twisted them ou his back; thus they served me for a bridle. He now seemed to have recovered — from his surprise, and. probably fancying himself in hostile company, he began to — plunge furiously, and lashed the sand with his long and powerful tail. I was out of re .ch of the strokes of it, by being near his head. He continued to plunge and strike, and made my seat very uncomfortable. It must have been a fine sight foran unoccupied spectator. The people roared’ out in triumph, and were so vociferous, that it was-some time before they heard me tell them to pull me and my beastof burden further inland. I was apprehensive the rope might break, and thenthere would have been every chance of going down to the regions under water with the ~_ cayman. That would have been more perilous than Arion’s marine morning ride— Delphini insidens, vada csearyla sulcat Arion. a0 Sa The people now dragged us above forty yards cn the sand: 1t was the first and last time I was ever on a Cayman’s back. Should it be asked how I managed to keep my ~ E seat, I would answer, I hunted some years with Lord Darlington’s fox-hounds. ES The cayman, killed and stuffed, was also added to the curiosities of - Walton Hall. Mr. Waterton’s next work was ‘ Essays on Natural — History, chiefly Ornithology, with an Autobiography of the Author — and a view of Walton Hall,’ 1838—reprinted with additions in 1851. His account of his family—an old Roman Catholic family that had suffered persecution from the days of Henry VII. downwards—isa — quaint, amusing chronicle ; and the notes on the habits of’ birds shew minute observation, as well as a kindly genial spirit on the part — of the eccentric squire. ae Fw 4 ELIOT WARBURTON. j . a As atraveller, novelist, and historical writer, Mr. Enror WARBUR- — TON, an English barrister (1810-1852), was a popular though incor- — rect author. He had a lively imagination and considerable power of — description, but these were not always under the regulation of taste — or judgment. His first work, ‘The Crescent andthe Cross, or Ro- — mance and Realities of Eastern Travel,’ 1844, is the best of his pro- — ductions. To ride on a crocodile was Mr. Waterton’s unparalleled — feat, and Mr. Warburton thus describes his first shot at a crocodile, — which, he said, was an epoch in his life. aoe Crocodile Shooting in the Nite. eo We had only now arrived in the waters where they abound, for it is a curions fact that none are ever seen below Mineyeh, though Herodotus speaks of them as fighting with the dolphins at the mouths of the Nile. A prize had been offered for the first man who detected a crocodile, and the crew had now been for two days on the alert _ in search of them. Buoyed up with the expectation of such game, we had latterly reserved our fire for them exclusively, and the wild duck and turtle, nay, even the vuiture and the eagle. had swept past or soared above us in security, At length. the ~ cry of *Timseach, timseach !’ was heard from half-a-dozen claimants of the proffered prize, and half-a-dozen black fingers were eagerly pointed to a spit of sand, on whien were strewn appzrently some logs of trees. It was a covey of crocodiles! Hastily ~ and si ently the boat was run in-shore. R was il, so I had the enterprise to my= self. and clambered up the steep bank with a quicker pulse than when J first Jeyelled — a rifle at a Highland deer. My intended victims might have prided themselves On — their superior nonchalance; and, indeed, as I approached them. there seemed to” be a sneer on their ghastly mouths and winking eyes. Slowly they rose. one after ~ the other, aud waddicd to the water, all but one. the most gallant or most gorged of the party. He lay still until I was within a hundred yards of him; then slowly ris-— 7 : ; 5 e 5 3 Jes a ny We 2 WARBURTON.]) = ENGLISH LITERATURE. 189 ing on his finlike legs, he lumbered towards the river, looking askance at me with an expression of count nance that seemed to say: ‘He can do me no harm ; however, ‘IT may as-welf have aswim.’ I took aim at the throat of this supercilious brute, and, 2s soon as my hand steadied, the very pulsation of my finger pulled the trigger. Bang {went the gun; whiz! flew the bullet; and my excited ear could catch the thud with which it plunged into the scaly leather of his neck. His waddle became ¢ plunge, the weves closed over him, and the sun shone on the calin water, as Treached the brink of the shore, that was stil indented by the waving of his gigantic tail. . But there is blood upon the water, and he rises for a moment to the surface. ‘A hundred piasters for the timseach!’ I exclaimed, and balf-a-dozen Arabs plunged “into the stream. ‘There! he rises again, and the blacks dash at him asif he had n’t a tooth in his head. Now he is gone, the waters close over him, aud I never saw him since. From that time we saw hundreds of crocodiles of all sizes, and fized shots enough at them for a Spanish revoiution ; but we never could get possession of any, even if we hit them, which to this day remains uncertain. I believe each trav- eller, who is honest enough, will make the same confession. ln the same work is a striking incident illustrative of savage life: Nubian Revenge. There appears to be a wild caprice amongst the institutions, if such they may be calied, of all these tropical nations. Ina neighbouring state to that of Abyssinia, the king, when appointed to the r-gal dignity. retires into xn island, and is never .aguin visible to the eyes of men but once—when his ministers come to strargle him; for it may not be that the proud monarch of Behr should die a natural death, No men, with this fatal exception, are ever allowed even to set foot upon the island, which is guarded by a band of Amazons. In another border country, called Habeesh, the monarch is dignified with the title of Tiger. He was formeily Malek of Shendy, when it was invaded by Ismael Pasha, and was even then designated by tuis fierce cognomen. Ismael. Mehemet Ali’s second son, advanced through Nubia, claiming tr- bute and submission from all the tribes. Nemmir—which. signifies Tiger—the - king of Shendy, received him hospitably, as Mahmoud, our dragoman. informed us, and, when he was seated in his tent, waited on him to learn his pleasure. ‘My pleasure is,’ replied the invader, ‘that you forthwith furnish me with slaves. cattle, and money to the value of one hundred thousand dollars.’ ‘Pooh! said Nemmir, ‘you jest; all my country could not produce what you require in one hundred moons.’ *Ha! Wallah!’ was the young pasha’s reply, and he strrck the ‘Viger across the face with his pipe. If he had done so to his namesake of the jungle, the in- sult could not have roused fiercer feelings of revenge, but the human ani- mal did not shew his wrath at once. ‘It is well,’ he replied; ‘Jet the pasha rest; to-morrow he shall have nothing more to ask.’ The Egyptian. and the few Mameluke officers of the staff, were tranquilly smoking towards evening, enter- tained by some dancing-girls, whom the ‘Tiger had sent to amuse them; when they observed that a buge pile of dried stacks of Indian corn was rising rapidly round the tent. ‘What means this?’ inquired Ismael angrily; ‘am notI pasha?’ ‘It is _ but forage for your highne+s’s horses,’ replied the Nubian, ‘for. were your troops once arrived, the people would fear to approach the camp.’ Suddenly. the space is filled with smoke, the tent curtains shrivel up in flames. and the pasha and his comrades find themselves encircled in what they well. know is their funeral pyre. Vuainly the invader implores mercy. and assures the Tiger of his warm regard for him and all his family; vainly he endeavours to break through the fiery fence that girds him round; a thousand spears bore him back into the flames, and the ‘iger’s triumphant yell and bitter mockery mingle with his dying screams, The Egyptians perished toaman. Nemmir escaped up the country, ercwn d with savage glory, and married the dxughter of a king. who soon left him his successor, and the Tiger still defies the old pasha’s power. ‘The latter. however, took a terrible revenge upon * his peopl: : he burned all the inhahitants of the village nearest to the scene of his son’s slaughter. and cut off the right hands of five hundred men besides. So much for African warfare. - The other works of Mr. Eliot Warburton are—‘ Hochelaga, or \ ie = Z 190... 8 CYCLOPAIDIA OP 7 >) fro neem England in the New World,’ 1846 (Hochelaga is an aboriginal In ~ dian name for Canada); ‘Memoirs of Prince Rupert and the Cava-— liers,’ 1849; ‘Reginald Hastings’ and ‘Darien,’ novels, and a — ‘Memoir of tie Earlof Peterborough ’—the famous earl (1658-1735), The last wes a postitumous work, published in 1853. Mr. Warburton ~ had been deputed by the Atlantic and Pacific Junction Company to — visit the tribes of Indians who inhabit the Isthmus of Darien, with — a view to effect a friendly understanding with them, and to make — himself thoroughly acquainted with their country. He sailed in the Amazon steamer, and was among the passengers who perished by — fire on board that ill-fated ship. That awful catastrophe carried ~ grief into many families, and none of its victims were more lamented — than Eliot Warburton. . ;. THOMAS DE QUINCEY. ia The ‘ Confessions of an English Opium-Eater,’ originally printed — in the ‘ London Magazine,’ and published in a separate form in 1822, — describe the personal experiences of a scholar and man of genius — who, like Coleridge, became a slave to the use of opium. ‘To such ~ an extent had he carried this baneful habit that in ‘the meridian stage of his career’ his daily ration was eight thousand drops of — Jaudanum. He had found. he says; that the solid opium required a length of time to expand its effects sensibly, oftentimes not less than four hours, whereas the tincture, laudanum, manifested its presence instantaneously, The author of the ‘ Confessions’ was — THomMAS Dre Quincey, son of an English merchant, and born August — 15, 1785, at Greenhay, near Manchester. His father died while his” children were young, leaving to his widow a fortune of sixteen hun- ~ dred pounds a year. Thomas was educated at Bath, and subse-— quently at Worcester College, Oxford. When about sixteen, he ~ made his way to London, and tried to raise a sum of two hundred — pounds on his expectations from the paternal estate. He was re- — duced to extreme destitution by his dealings with the Jews, and by ~ his want of any profession or remunerative employment. He was — saved from perishing on the streets by a young woman he knew—one ~ of the unfortunate wadfs of the city—who restored him to conscious- ~ ness with some warm cordial, after he had fainted from exhaustion, — This ‘ youthful benefactress’ he tried in vain to trace in his after-” years. : Sally It is strange, as Miss Martineau has remarked, and as indeed oc- curred to himself when reflecting on this miserable period of his” life. ‘that while tortured with hunger in the streets of London for many weeks, and sleeping (or rather lying awake with cold and hunger) on the floor of an empty house, it never once occurred to him to earn money. Asa Classical corrector of the press, and in other ways, he might ne doubt have obtained employment, but it was not = os -pequincey.] || ENGLISH LITERATURE. 191 till afterwards asked why he did not, that the idea ever entered his mind.’ His friends, fowever, discovered him before it was too late, and he proceedid to Oxford. . He was then in his eighteenth year. In the following year (1804) De Quincey seems to have first tasted opium. He took it as a cure for toothache, and indulged in the pleasing vice, as he then considered it, for about eight years. He continued his intellectual pursuits, married, and took up his residence in the Lake country, making occasional excursions to London, Bath, “and Edinburgh. Pecuniary difficulties at length embarrassed him, and, enfeebled by opium, he sank into a state of misery and torpor. -From this state he was roused by sharp necessity, and by the success of his contributions to the ‘London Magazine,’ which were highly prized, and seemed to open up a new source of pleasure and profit. _Healso contributed largely to.‘ Blackwood’s’ and‘ Tait’s ’ magazines, in which his ‘Autobiographic Sketches,’ ‘Recgllections of the Lakes,’ and other papers ‘appeared. Next to Macaulay, he was per- haps the most brilliant periodical writer of the day. After many years’ residence at Grasmere, De Quincey removed to Scotland, and - lived at Lasswade, near Edinburgh. He died in Edinburgh, Decem- + ber 8, 1859, in his seventy-fifth year Besides the ‘ Confessions,’ Mr. De Quincey published the ‘Dia- logues of Three Templars on Political Economy,’ 1824; and twenty years later he produced. a volume on the same science—‘ The Logic of Political. Economy,’ 1844. The highest authority on political ~ economy—Mr. M’Culloch—has eulogised these treatises of Mr. De — Quincey as completely successful in exposing the errors of Malthus and others in applying Ricardo’s theory of value. A collected edi- tion of the works of De Quincey has been published in sixteen vol- umes, distributed in the main, he says, into three classes: first, papers whese chief purpose is to interest and amuse (autobiographic sketches, reminiscences of distinguished tontemporaries, biographi- cal memoirs, whimsical narratives, and such like); secondly, essays, of a speculative, critical, or philosophical character, addressing the understanding as an insulated faculty (of these there are many); and, thirdly, papers belonging to the order of what may be called prose-pcetry—that is, fantasies or imaginations in prose—including the ‘Suspiria de Profundis,’ originally published in ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine ’—and whicl-are remarkable for pathos and eloquence. In all departments, De Quincey must rank high, but he would have been more popular had he practised the art of condensation. His _ episodical digressions and diffuseness sometimes overrun all limits— _ especially when, like Southey (in the ‘ Doctor’), he takes up some favourite philosophical theory or scholastic illustration, and presents it in every possible shape and colour. The exquisite conversation ‘of De Quincey was of the same character—in “linked sweetness long drawn out,’ but rich and various in an extraordinary degree. His: ‘sntobiographic and personal sketches are almost as minute and -jife and scenery, I should go mad. ‘The causes of my horror lie deep, aud some of 192 ‘~~. CYCLOPAIDIA OF unreserved as those of Rousseau, but they cannot be implicitly re- — lied upon. He spared neitlier neither himself nor his friends, and has been accused of unpardonable breaches of confidence and exag- ger itions, especially as respects the Wordsworth family. 1 has been said that if his life were written truthfully no one wouid believe it, so strange the tale would seem.* ‘. ay The following is part of the melancholy yet fascinating ‘ Confes- — sions.’ One day a Malay wanderer had called on the recluse author in his cottage at Grasmere, and De Quincey gave him a piece of ~ opium. _ kee he LP Ea A Y ae Dreans of the Opium-Hater. May 18 —The Malay has been a fearful enemy for months, Every night, through — his means, } have been trasported into Asiatic scenery. I know not whether others ~ share in my feelings on this point, but I have often thought that if I were compelled — +o forego England, and to live in China, and among Chinese manners and modes of them must be common to others. Southern Asia, in general. is the seat of awful © images and as even from the OSes of Grecia 4 he was carried back to Morven, and re 7 Lochnagar, with Ida, looked o’er Troy. ei | From a graphic sketch of a once popular divine by Mr. Gilfillan wo - make an extract: . ® The Rev, Ldward Irving. Y We come, in fine, to the greatest of them all, Edward Irving. And first, let us ~ fe glance at the person of the man. In reference to other literary ‘nen you think, or at least, speak of their appearance last. ‘but so it was of this remarkable man, that hy most people put his face and figure in the foreground,- and spoke of ‘his mental ana moral faculties as belonging to tnem, rather than of them as belonging to the man. In this respect, he bore a strong resemblance to the two heroes of the French Reyolu- tion, Mirabeau and Danton. “Irving was 2 Danton spiritualised. Had he been born in ej eae ects eee Pa x ne atm co ge tr ated ee GILFILLAN.} = ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 217 3 : France, and subjected to its desecrating infinences, and hurled head foremost into the _ vortex of its revolution, he would, in all probability. have cut some such tremendous fizure as the Mirabeau of the Sans-culottes; he would have laid about him as wildly at the massacres of September, and carried his huge black head as high in the dvath- _¢art, and under the guillotine. Had he been boru in England, in certain circles, he had perhaps emerged from obscurity in the shape of an actor, the most powerful that - ever trod the stage, combining the statuesque figure and sonorous voice of the Kemble - family, with the energy, the starts, and bursts and inspired fury of Kean, added to - some qnalities pecgliarly hisown. Had he turned his thought to tne tuaeful art, he had written rugged and fervent verse, containing much of Milton’s grandeur, and much of Wordsworth’s oracular simplicity. Had he snatched the pencil, he would _ have wielded it with the savage force of Salvator Rosa, and his conceptions would haye partaken now of Blake’s fantastic quaintness, and now of Martin’s gigantic mo- - notony. Had he lived inthe age of chivalry. he would have stood side by side in glo- rious and well-foughten field with Coeur de Lion hiinself, and died in the stee! harness - full gallantly. Had he lived in an age of persecution, he had been either whardy martyr, ~ leaping into the flames as into his wedding suit, or else a fierce inquisitor, aggravating ~ by his portentous frown, and more portentous squint, the agonies of his victim. _ Had he been born in Calabria, he had been as picturesque a bandit as ever stood on ‘the point of a rock between a belated pairter and the red evening sky, at once an ob- - ject of irresistible terror and irresistible admiration, leaving the poor artist in doubt _ whether to take to his pencil or to his heels: But, in whatever part or age of the - world he had lived, he must have been an extraordinary man. . . ‘te. No mere size, however stupendous, or expression of face, however singular, could - have uplifted a common man to the giddy height on which Irving stood for a while, calm and collected as the statue upon its pedestal. It was the correspondence, the - refieétion of his powers and passions upon his person ; independence stalking in his ~ stride, intellect enthroned on his brow, imagination dreaming on his lips, physical energy stringing his frame, and athwart the whole across ray, as from Bedlam, shooting in his eye! It was this which excited such curiosity, wonder. awe, rap-+ _ ture, and tears, and made_ his very enemies, even while abusing, confess his power, ~ and tremble in his presence. It was this which made ladies flock and faint. which divided attention with the theatres, eclipsed the oratory of parliament, drew demi- reps to hear themselyes abused, made Canning’s fine countenance flush with pleas- ~ ure, ‘as if his veins ran lightning,’ accelerated in an alarming manner the twitch in _ Brougham’s dusky visage, and elicited from his eye those singular glances, half of ~ envy and half of admiration, which are the truest tokens of applause, and made 4 such men as Hazlitt protest, on returning half squeezed to death from one of his ~ - displays, that a monologue from Coleridge, a recitation of one of his own poems _ from Wordsworth, a burst of puns from Lamb, and burst of passion from Kean, - were not to be compared to a sermon from Edward Irving. — His manner also contributed to the charm. His aspect, wild, yet grave, as of g one labouring with some mighty burden; his voice, deep, clear, and with crashes 4 of power alternating with cadences of softest melody; his action, now graceful as - the wave of the rose-bush in the breeze, and now fierce and urgent as the motion of _ the oak in the hurricane. Then there was the style, curiously uniting the beauties " and faults of a sermon of the seventeenth century with the beauties and faults of a parliamentary harangue or magazine article of the nineteenth—quaint as Browne, “florid as Taylor, with the bleak wastes which intersect the scattered green spots of _ Howe ‘mixed here with sentences involved, clumsy, and cacophonous as the worst _ of Jeremy Bentham’s, and interspersed there with threads from the magic loom of Coleridge. It was a strange amorphous Babylonish dialect, imitative, yet original, rank with a prodigious growth of intertangled bexuties and blemishes, inclosing amid wide tracts of jungle little bits of clearest and purest loveliness, and throwing ~ out sudden volcanic bursts of real fire, amid jets of mere smoke and hot water. It _ had great passages, but not one finished sermon or sentence. It was a thing of shreds, and yet a.web of witchery. It was perpetually stumbling the least fastidious hearer or reader, and yet drawing both impetuously on. And then, to make the ~ medley ‘thick and slab,’ there was the matter. a grotesque compound, including - here a panegyric on Burns, and there a fling at Byron: here a plan of future pnnish- ment, laid out. with as much minuteness as if he had been projecting a bridewell, — E,L.V.8—8 an = lh i tae, | ote 218 CYCLOPAIDIA OF « be 275 and there a ferocious attack upon the ‘Edinburgh Review ;’ here a glimpse of the — gates of the Celestial City, as if taken from the top of Mount-Clear, and there a — description of the scenery and of the poet of the Lakes; here a pensive retrospect — to the days of the Covenant, and there a.dig at the heart of Jeremy Bentham ; here ~ aray of prophecy, and there a bit of politics; here a quotation from the Psalms, — and there from the ‘Rime of the Anciente Mariner.’ Sueh was thé strange, yet — overwhelmixvg exhibition which our hero made before the gaping, staring, wonder-— ing, laughing, listening, weeping, and thrilling multitudes of fashionable, political, — and literary London. : ‘ \ - 3 He was, in fact, as De Quincey one called him to us, a ‘demon of power.? We must not omit, in merest justice, his extraordinary gift of prayer. Some few of his — contemporaries might equal him in preaching. but none approached to the very hem ~ of his garment while wrapt up into the heaven of devotion. It struck you as the rayer of a great being conversing with God. Your thoughts were transported to — inai,-and you heard Moses speaking with the Majesty on high, under the canopy of — darkness, antid the quaking of the solid mountain and the glimmerings of celestial — fire; or you thought of Elijah praying in the cave in the intervals of the earthquake, ~ and the fire and the still small voice. The solemnity of the tones convinced you that he was conscious of an unearthly presence, and speaking to it, not to you. — The diction and imagery shewed that his faculties were wrought up to their highest pitch, and tasked to their noblest endeavour. in that ‘ celestial colloquy sublime? — And yet the elaborate intricacies and s:\ elling pomp of his preaching were exchanged — for deep simplicity. A profusion of Scripture was used; and never did inspired — language better become lips than those of Irving. ‘His public prayers told to those ~ who could interpret their language of many a secret conference with Heaven—they © pointed to wrestlings all unseen, and groanings all unheard—they drew aside, invol-— untarily, the veil of his secret retirements, and let in a light into the sanctuary of ~ the closet itself. Prayers more elegant, and beautiful. and melting, have often been — heard ; prayers more urgent in their fervid importunity have been uttered once and “s > again (such as those which were sometimes heard with deep awe to proceed from the chamber where the perturbed spirit of Hall was conversing aloud with its Maker till — the dawning of the day); but prayers more organ-like and Miltonic, never. The — fastidious Canning, when told by Sir James Mackintosh, of Irving praying for a — family of orphans as ‘ cast upon the fatherhood of God,’ was compelled to start, and own the beauty of the expression. : ane F BAYARD TAYLOR. : . 7. $ An American travelley and miscellaneous writer, BAYARD TAYLOR, © a native of Pennsylvania, born in 1825, was apprenticed to a printer, ~ and afterwards devoted himself to literature and foreign travel.- His ; publications are numerous, including ‘ Ximena, and other Poems,” 18i4; ‘Views Afoot, or Europe seen with Knapsack and Staff,’ 1846; — ‘A Voyage to California,’ &c., 1850 ; ‘The Lands of the Saracen,” j 1854; ‘A Visit to India, China, and Japan,’ 1855; ‘Travels in ~ Greece and Russia,’ 1859 ; ‘At Home and Abroad,’ (sketches of Life ~ and scenery), two volumes, 1859-1862 ; ‘The Poet’s Journal,’ a poet- ~ ical domestic autoblography, 1862; ‘Hannah Thurston,’ a story of — American life, 1863 ; ‘John Godfrey’s Fortunes, ’ a novel, 1864 ; ‘The ~ Story of Kennet,’a tale of American life, 1866 ; ‘Colorado,’ 1867; ~ ‘By-ways of Europe,’ 1°69 ; &c. A collective edition of the poems of Bayard Taylor was published at Boston in 1864, and a collective — edition of his travels in ten volumes, by Putnam of New York, in” 1°69. This enterprising traveller in 1862 was appointed secretary to — the American legation at the Court of St. Petersburg. _ ae - - a 1 “gAYLOR.] -ENGLISH LITERATURE. 219 5. Student Life in Germany.—From ‘Views Afoot.’ ; Receiving a letter from my cousin one bright December morning, the idea of visit- ing him struck me, and so, within an hour, B and I were on our way to Heidelberg. It was delightful weather ; the air was mild as the early days of spring, _ the pine forests around wore a softer green, and though the sun was but a hand’s- breadth high, even at noon, it was quite warm on the open road. Wesitopped for - the night at Bensheim ; and the next morning was as dark as a cloudy day in the north can be, wearing a heavy gloom I never saw elsewhere. The wind blew the _ snow down from the summits upon us, but, being warm from walking, we did not heed it. The mountains looked higher than in summer, and the old castles more ~ grim and frowring. From the hard roads and. freezing wind, my feet became very sore, and after limping along in excruciating pain for a league or two, I poured some brandy into my boots, which deadened the wounds sd much, that Iwas enabled to _ go on in a kind of trot, which I kept up, only stopping ten minutes to dinner, until - we reached Heidelberg. But I have not yet recovered from the lameness which fol- lowed this performance. aig’ _ ‘~The same evening there was to be a general commers, or meeting of the societies among the students, and I determined not to omit witnessing one of the most inter- esting and characteristic features of student life. So, borrowing a cap and coat, I - jooked the student well enough to pass for one of them, although the former article - was somewhat of the Philister form. Baader, a young poet of some note, and _ president of the ‘ Palatia’ Society, having promised to take us to the commers, we - mét at eight o’clock at an inn frequented by the students, and went to the rendez- yous, near the Markt Platz. A confused sound of voices came from the inn, as we drew near, and groups of _ students were standing around the door. In the entrance-hall we saw the Red Fish- - erman, one of the most conspicuous characters about the University. He is a small, _ stout man, with bare neck and breasts, red hair—whence his name—and a strange -mixture.of roughness and benevolence in his countenance.. He has saved many per- ~ sons, at the risk of his own life, from drowning in the Neckar, and on that account _ is lenjently dealt. with by the faculty whenever he is arrested for assisting the stu- _ dents in any cf their unlawful proceedings. Entering the room I could scarcely see _ at first, on account of the smoke that ascended from a hundred pipes. _ All was noise —_ and confusion. Near the door sat some half-dozen musicians, who were getting their instruments ready for action, and the long room was filled with tables, all of _ which seemed to be full, yet the students were still pressifg in;, The tables were cov- ered with great stone jugs aud long beer-glasses; the stu@@fits‘were talking and shout- "ing and drinking. One who appeared to have the arrangement of the meeting, found _ seats for us together, and having made a slight acquaintance with those sitting next us, we felt more at liberty to witness their proceedings. They were all talking in a ~ sociable, friendly way, and I saw no one who appeared to bé intoxicated. The beer ~ was a weak mixture, which I should think would make one fall over from its weight, y rather than its intoxicating properties. Those sitting near me drank but little, and _ that principally to make or return compliments. One or two at the other end of the _ table were more boisterous, and more than one glass. was overturned upon their legs. LS Leaves containing the songs for the evening lay at each seat, and at the head, _ where the president sat, were two swords crossed, with which he occasionally struck _ upon the table to preserve order.. Our president was a fine, romantic-looking young _ man, dressed in the old German costunie—black beaver and plume, and velvet doub- ~ Jet with slashed sleeves.. I never saw in any company of young men so many hand- _ s0me, manly countenances. If their faces were any index of their characters, there ' were many noble, free souls among them. Nearly opposite to me sata young poet, _ whose dark eyes flashed with feeling as he spoke to those near him. After some time passed in talking and drinking together, varied by an occasional air from the _ musicians, the president beat order with the sword, and the whole company joined z. in one of their glorious songs, to a melody atthe same time joyous and solemn. ’ Swelled by so many manly voices it arose like a hymn of triumph—all other sounds _ were stiilled. Three times during the singing all rose to their feet. clashed_their eee together around the tables and drank to their fatherland, a health and bless- __ ing to the patriot, and honour to those who struggle in the cause of freedom. aN a90: = CYCLOPADIA OF [ro 1876, » After this song, the same order was continued as before, except that students — from the different societies made short speeches, accompanied by some toast or senti- ment. One spoke of Germany—predictiug that all her disseusions would be overcome, and she would arise at last, ike a pheenix, among the nations of Europe; and atthe close, gave ‘strong, united, regenerated Germany!’ Instantly all sprang to their feet, - and clashing the glasses together, gave a thundering ‘hoch!’ This enthusiasm for ~~ their country is one of the strongest characteristics .of the German students ; they ~ have ever been first in the field for her freedom, and on them mainly depends her future redemption. d ; =i ; Cloths were passed around, the tables wiped off, and preparations made to sing — the ‘ Landsfather,’ or consecration song. This is one of the mostimportantandsolemn _ of their ceremonies, since by performing it the new students are made burschen, and — the bands of brotherhood continually kept fresh and sacred. All became still a — moment, then commenced the lofty song: : Silent bending, each one lending = a : T'o the solemn tones his ear, F . oe Hark, the song of songs is sounding— Fe , Back from joyful choir resounding, . gs Hear it, German brothers, hear ! a German, proudly rise it, loudly ee Singing of your fatherland. . 4 = Fatherland ! thou land of story, ; ° “F To the altars of thy glory Rit Consecrate us, sword in hand! i - Take the beaker, pleasure seeker, With. thy country’s drink brimmed o’er! <2 In thy left the sword is blinking, ae Pierce it through the cap, while drinking a To thy Fatherland once more! a With the first line of the last stanza, the presidents sitting at the hea? of ihe table ~ oe take their glasses in their right hands, and at the third line the sword in their left, at the end striking their glasses together-and drinking. 24 Tn left hand gleaming, thou art beaming, Sword from all dishonour free! Thus I pierce the cap, while swearing, It in honour ever wearing, 1a valiant Bursch will be! 4 eat alana iaks a= Thev clash their swords together till the third line is sung, whe® each takes his — cap. and piercing the point of the sword through the crown, draws it down to the> | guard. Leaving their caps on the swords, the presidents stand hehi.d the two next — students, who go through the same. ceremony, receiving the swords ft the appropri-. ate time. and giving them back loaded with their caps also, This cercmony is going 4 on at every table at the same time. These two stanzas are repeated for every pair” of students, till all have performed it and the presidents have arrived » the bottom of the table. with their swords strung full of caps. Here they excl wige swords, — while all sing: ‘ud x “ eS Come. thou bright sword, now made,holy, ; Of free men the. weapon free ; ; x Bring it, solemnly and slowly, ae | Heavy with pierced caps to met 37 . From its burden now divest it; Brothers, be ye covered all, ap And till our next festival, ak Hallowed and unspotted rest it ! ~ 7 eS te a es ~<¢\"S> = a] _ all ~ hg a = - - —- ae 2 ; - 2 : 5 7 \ , _ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 221 = —_~ Up, ye feast companions! ever eg ae: : Honour ye our holy band! Bist . And with heart and sou! endeavour a H’er as high-souled men to stand! SS Up to feast. ye men united! . Wortby be your fathers’ fame, And the sword may no one claim, _ Who to hononr is not plighted! _ _ Then cach president, taking 2 cap off his sword, reaches it to the student oppo- gite, and they Cross their swords, the ends resting on the two students’ heads, while _ they sing the next stanza: So take it back; thy head I now will cover, _ And stretch the bright sword over, - : Live also then this bursche, hoch! : . Wherever we may meet him, 3 Will we, as Brother. greet him— i BE. ; Live also this, our Brother, hoch! ; _~ . This ceremony was repeated till all the caps were given back, and they then con- cluded with the followiug: ms ; Rest, the Burschen-feast is over, Hallowed sword, and thou art free! Each one strive a valiant lover ei his fatherland to be! = Hail to him, who glory-haunted, ! Follows stills his fathers i old; And the sword may no one hold : « ~ But the noble and undaunted! The Landsfather being over, the students were less orderly; the smoking and _ drinking began again, and we left, as it was already eleven o’clock, glad to breathe the pure cold air. HERMAN MELVILLE. _*-A native of New York, born in 1819, HERMAN MELVILLE was early struck with a passion for the sca, and in his eivhteenth year _. made a voyage as a common sailor from New York to Liverpool. A _ short experience of this kind usually satisfies youths who dream of ~ the perils and pleasures of sea life; but Herman Melville liked his rough nautical novitiate, and after his return home sailed in a whal- ing vessel for the Pacific. This was in 1841. In the following year _~ the vessel arrived at Nukuheva, one of the Marques: Islands, ~~ ‘Those who for the first time visit the South Seas, generally are _ surprised at the appearance of the islandS when beheld from the sea. - From the vague accounts we sometimes have of their beauty, many - people are apt to picture to themselves enamelled and softly swelling * plains, shaded over with delicious groves, and watered by purling brooks, and the.entire country but little elevated above the surround- ing oecan. The reality is very different; bold rock-bound coasts, with the surf beating high against the lofty cliffs, and broken here and thereinto deep inlets, which open to the view thickly-wooded valleys, separated by the spurs of mountains clothed with tufted - grass, and sweeping down-towards the sea from an elevated atd fur- rowed interior, form the principal features of these islands.’ a q “ - £ “hy : ee >" a , . > ~ ~ x 6 nies. oe CYCLOPEDIA OF + __ [ro 1876, Melville and a brother sailor, Toby, disgusted with the caprice and tyranny of the captain, clandestinely left the ship, and faliing into the hands of a warlike cannibal-race who inhabit the Typee Valley, were detained for four months. Melville was rescued by the crew of a Sidney whaler, and after sometime spent in the Society and Sand- wich Islands, he arrived at Boston, in October 1844, having been nearly three years absent from home. ‘The adventurer now settled down in Massachusetts, married, and commenced author. In 1846 appeared ‘ Typee: a Peep at Polynesian Life, or Four Months’ resi- dence in a Valley of the Marquesas.’ The narrative was novel and , 7 striking. It was the first account of the natives of those islands by one who had lived familiarly amongst them, and. the style of the writer was lively and graphic. Some remarks unfavourable to the missionaries gave offence, but Melville maintained they were based on facts, and protested that he had no feeling of animosity in the matter. The success of ‘Typee’ soon led to another volume of sim- ilar sketches. In 1847 was published ‘Omoo, a Narrative of Adven- tures in the South Seas.’ This also enjoyed great popularity.” The subsequent works of the author were not s@ successful; though fresh and vigorous in style, they wanted novelty and continuous in- terest. These are—‘ Mardi, and a Voyage Thither,’1849 ;‘ Redburn, his first Voyage,’ 1849; ‘ White Jacket,’ 1850; ‘Moby Dick,’ 1851; ‘Pierre,’ 1852; ‘Israel Potter,’ 1855; ‘Piazza Tales,’ 1856; ‘The Confidence Man in Masquerade,’ 1857. ‘The Refugee,’-1865; and a volume of poems, entitled ‘ Battle Pieces and Aspects of War,’ 1866. About 1860, Melville left his farm in Massachusetts and made a voy- age round the world in a whaling vessel. ‘The rambling propensity was too strong to be resistad. 2 . ; ; Scenery of the Marquesas— Valley of Tior. The littlespace in which some of these clans pass away their days would seem almost incredible. The glen of Tior will furnish a curious illustration of this. The inhabited part isnot more than four miles in length. and varies in breadth from half a mnile to less than a quarter. The rocky vine-clad cliffs on one side tower almost per- pendicularly from their base to the height of at least fifteen hundred feet ; while across the vale—in striking contrast to-the scenery opposite—grass-grown elevations rise one above another in blooming terraces. Hemmed in by these stupendous barriers, the valley would be altogether shut out from the rest of the world, were it not that it is accessible from the sea at one end, and by a narrow defile at the other. The impression produced upon my mind, when I first visited this beautiful glen, will never be obhterated. , Thad come from Nukuheva by water in the ship’s boat, and when we entered the bay of Tior it was high noon. ‘The heat had been intense, as we had been floating upon the long smooth swell of the ocean, for there was but little wind. The sun’s rays had expended all their fury upon us; and toadd to our discomfort, we had omit- ted to supply ourselves with water previous to starting. What with heat and thirst together, | became so impatient. to get ashore, that when at last we glided towards ~ it, 1 stood up in the bow of the boat ready for a sprizsg. As she shot two-thirds of her Jength high upon the beach, propelled by three or four strong strokes of the oars, T leaped among a parcel of juvenile savages, who stood prepared to give us a kind re- ception; and with them at my heels, yelling like s0 many imps, I rushed forward if © aoe Nye ron! nr eee Eat a ~ 7 i _~ MELVILLE, | -- ENGLISH, LITERATURE. 228 X across the open gronnd in the vicinity of the sea, and plunged, diver fashion, into the recesses of the-first grove that offered. es What a delightful sensation did I experience! I felt as if floating in some new element, while all sort of gurgling, trickling liquid sounds fell upon my ear. People ‘may say what they will about the refreshing influences of a cold-water bath, but commend me when in a-perspiration to the shade baths of Tior, beneath the cocoa- nut trees, and amidst the cool delightful atmosphere which surrounds them. How shall I describe the scenery that met my eye, as I looked out from this verdant recess! The narrow valley, with its steep and close adjoining sides draperied _ with vines, and arched overhead with a fretwork of interlacing boughs, nearly hidden ‘from view by masses of leafy verdure, seemed from where I stood like an immense arbour disclosing its vista to the eye, whilst as I advanced it insensibly widened into - he Joveliest vale eye ever beheld. It so happened that the very day I was in Tior the French admiral, attended by allthe boats of hissquadron, came down in state from Nukuheva to take formal possession of the place. He remained in the valley about two hours, during which - time he had a ceremonious interview with thé king. ‘The patriarch-sovereign of Tior was a man very fara lvanced in years ; but though age had bowed his form and rendered him almost decrepid, his gigantic frame re- . tained all its original magnitude and grandeur of appearance. He advanced slowly and with evident pain, assisting his tottering steps with the heavy war-spear he held in his hand, and attended by a group of gray-bearded chiefs, on one of whom he oc- casionally leaned for support. ‘The admiral came forward with head: uncovered and extended hand, while the old king saluted him by a stately flourish of his weapon. The next moment they stood side by side, these two extremes of the social scale— -the polished, splendid Frenchman, and the poor tattooed savage. They were both tall and noble-looking men ; but in other respects how strikingly contrasted! Du _ Petit Thouars exhibited upon his person all the paraphernalia of his naval rank, He _while making the aforesaid philosophical reflections. wore a richly-decorated_admiral’s frock-coat, a laced chapeau bras, and upon his breast were a variety of ribbons and orders; while the simple islander, with the ex- ception of a slight cincture about his loins. appeared in all the nakedness of nature. At what an immeasurable distance, thought I, are these two beings removed from - each ofber. In the one is shewn the result of long centuries of progressive civilisa- tion and refinement, which have gradually converted the mere creature into the sen- blance Pall that is elevated and grand; while the other, after the lapse of the same period, has not advanced one step in the career of improvement. ‘Yet, after all,’ quoth I to myself, ‘insensible as he is to a thousand wants, and removedfrom haras- sing cares, may not the savage be the happier of the two?’ Such were the thoughts that arose in my mind as I gazed upon the novel spectacle before me. In truth it Was an impressive one, and little likely to be effaced. I can recall even now with vivid distinctness every feature of the scene. The umbrageous shades where the in- terview took place—the glorious tropical vegetation around—the picturesque group- ing of the mingled throng of soldiery and natives—and even the golden-hued bunch of bananas that I held in my hand at the time, and of which I occasionally partook Fitst Interview with the Natives. It was now evening, and by the dim lightwe conld just discern the savage coun- tenances around-us, gleaming with wild curiosity and wonder; the naked forms and tattooed limbs of brawny warriors, with here and there the slighter figures of young girls, all engaged in a perfect storm of conversation, of which we were of course the one only theme; whilst our recent guides were fully occupied in answering the in- numerable questions which every one put to them. Nothing can exceed the fierce asticulation of these people when animated in conversation, and on this occasion they gave loose to ail their natural vivacity, shouting and dancing about in a manner that well-nigh intimidated us. Close to where we lay, squatting upon their haunches, were some eight or ten _ noble-looking chiefs—for such they subsequently proved to be—who, more reserved than the rest, regarded us with a fixed and stern attention, which not a little dis- composed our equanimity. One of them in particular, who appeared to be the high- ree ae CYCLOPADIA OF | oda 1876. a est in rank, placed himself directly facing me; looking at me with a Lana of as- | “J pes under ‘which I absolutely quailed. He never once opened his lips. out main- ~~ tained his severe expression of countenance, without turning his face aside for a sin- gie moment. Never before had I been subjected to so strange and steady a glance}; it revealed nothing of the mind of the savage, but appeared to. be reading 7 my Own. oa After undergoing this scrutiny till I grew abso lutely nervous, with a view of di- ._ verting it if possible, and conciliating the good opinion of the warrior, took some — ~ tobacco from the bosom of my frock and offered itto him. He quietly rejected the proffered gift, and, without speaking. motioned me to reftrn it to its place. In my previous intercourse with the natives of Nukuheva and ior. I had totinaes Fr that the present of a small piece of tobacco would have renderedany of them devoted to my service. Was this act of the chief a token of his enmity? ‘Typee or Happar? . I asked within myself, I started, for at the same moment this ideutical question = was asked by the strange being before me. -I turned to Toby ; the flickering light of a native taper shewed me his “countenance pale with trepidation at this fatal < ques- tion. I paused for a second, and I know not by what impulse it was that I answered. — *Typee.? The piece oi dusky statuary 1:odded in approval, and then murmured ~~ *Mortarkee !’ ‘ Mortarkee,’ said I, without further hevitation—‘ Typee Mortarkee.’? What a transition! The dark figures around us leaped to their feet, clapped their % hands in transport, and shouted again and again the talismanic sylables, the utters ; ance of which appeared to have settled everything. When this commotion had a little subsided. the principal chief aquatic once —aa more before me, and throwing himself into a sudden rage, poured forth a string of philippics, which I was at no Toss to understand, from the frequent recurrence of “the x word Happar, as being directed against the natives of the adjoining valley. In all> _ these denunciations my companion and I acquiesced, while we extolled the ‘character of the warlike Typees. ‘To be sure our panegyrics were somewhat laconic, consist- ing in the repetition of that name, united with the potent adjective ‘ mortarkee.’ ; But this was sufficient, and served to conciliate the good-will of the natives, with te whom our congeniality of sentiment on this point did more towards aS, a friendly feeling | than :mything else that could have happened. $ At last the wrath of the chief evaporated, and in a few moments he was as acid as ever. Laying his hand upon his breast, he now gave me to understand that his — name was * Mehevi,’ and that, in return, he ‘wished me to communicate my. »pellation. — F: Thesitated for an instant, thinking that it might be difficult for him: rouounce | my !eai name, and then with the most praisew orthy intentions fiagietea that I was 2 known as‘ ‘Tom.’ But I could 1:ot have made a worse selection ; the chief could not master it: ‘Tommo.? ‘Toma,’ ‘'Tommee,’ everything but plain’ ‘Tom.’ As he pers sisted in garnishing the word with an additional syllable, I compromised the matter with him at the word ‘ Tommo;’ and by that name I went during the entire period — of my stay in the valley. The same proceeding was gone through ‘with Toby, whose — mellifluous appellation was more easily caught. i An exchanve of names is equivalent to a ratification of good-will and amity _ ry among th:se simple people; and as we were aware of this fact, we were delighted E: that it had taken place on the present occasion, “i Reclining upon our mats, we now held a kind of levee, giving audience to succes- sive troops of the natives, who introduced themselves to us by pronouncing their re- . | spective names. and retired in high good humonr on receiving ours in return, During Be this ceremony the greatest merriment prevailed, nearly every announcement on the» per of the islanders being followed by a fresh sally of gaiety, which induced me to 2 elieve that some of them at least were innocently diverting the company at our ex- pense, by bestowing upon themselves a string of absurd titles, of the humour of ~~ which we were of course entirely ignorant. _ All this occupied about an hour, when the throng having a little diminished, if ¢! ‘turned to Mehevi and gave him to understand that we were in need of.food and sleep. Immediately the attentive c':ief acdresged a few words to one of the crowd, ; who disappeared, and returned in a few moments with a calabash of ‘ poee-poee,’ and a two or three young cocoa-nuts stripped of their hasks, and with their shells partly broken. We both of ns forthwith placed one of these natural goblets to our lips, _ and drained it in a moment of the refreshing draught it contained. ‘The ee b _ was then placed before us, and even famished as I was, I paused to consider in what — manuer to convey it to my mouth. 7 A y i dail ie. Fe o MELVILE.} = ENGLISH LITERATURE. 225 | _ This staple article of food among the Marquese islanders is manufactured from “the produce of the bread-fruit tree. It somewhat resembles in its plastic nature our bookbinderg’ paste. is of a yellow colour, und somewhat tart to the taste. Such was the dish, the merits of which I was now eager to discuss. I eyed it wistfully for a moment, and then unable any longer to stand on ceremony, plunged my hand into the yielding ‘inass, and to the boisterous mirth of the natives drew it forth laden with the poee-poee, which adhered in lengthy strings to every finger. Seo stubborn was its consistency, that in conveying my heavily-freighted haud to my ~ mouth, the connecting links almost raised the calabash from the mats on which it had been placed. ‘This display of awkwardness—in which, by-the-bye, ‘Toby kept me compauy—convuised the by-standers with uncontrollable laughter. As soon as their merriment had somewhut subsided, Mehevi, motioning us to be attentive, dipped the forefinger of his right hand in the dish, and giving it a rapid and scientific twirl, drew it out coated smoothly-with the preparation. With a second peculiar flourish he prevented the poee-poee from dropping to the ground ashe raised if to his mouth, into which the finger was inserted and drawn forth perfectly free from any adhesive matter. ‘This performance was evidently intended for our instruction; so I again essayed the feat on the principles inculcated, but with very ill-success. A starving man, however, little heeds conventional proprieties, especially on a South-Sea Island, and accordingly oby and I partook of the dish atter our own clumsy fashion, beplastering our faces all over with the glutinous compound, and -- daubing our hands nearly to the wrist. his kind of food is by no means disagree- » able to the palate of a European, though at first the mode of eating it may be. For - my own part; after the lap=c of a few days I became accustomed to its singular fla- vour, and grew remarkably fond of it. So. much for the first course ; several other dishes followed it. some of which were positively delicious. We concluded our banquet by tossing off the contents of two more young cocoa-nuts, after which we regaled ourselves with the soothing fumes of tobacco, inhaled from a quaintly carved pipe which passed round the circle. _ During the repast, the natives eyed_us with intense curiosity, observing our minu- test motions, and appearing to discover abundant matter for comment inthe most trifling occurrence, Their surprise mounted the highest, when we began to remove Our uncomfortable garments, which were saturated with rain. They scanned the whiteuess of our limbs, and seemed utterly unable to account-for the contrast they presented to the swarthy hue of our faces, embrowned from a six months’ exposure to the scorching sun of the Line. They felt our skin, much in the same way that a silk-mercer would handle-a remarkably fine piece of satin; and some of them went so far in their investigation as to apply the olfactory organ. WILLIAM GILMORE SIMMS. In almost every department of literature this author has distin- guished himself, but is comparatively little known out of his own country. Dr. Stns is a native of Charleston, South Carolina, born in 1806, and admitted to the bar of that state in 1827. The same year he published two volumes of ‘ Lyrical Poems and Early Lays,’ which were followed by ‘The Vision. of Cortes, and other Poems,’ 1829: “The Tri-Colour,’ 1830; ‘ Atalantis, a Drama of the Sea,’ 1852; ‘Passages and Pictures,’ 1839; and several other small volumes of poems, descriptive, dramatic and legendary. Dr. Simms has written ‘several volumes of novelettes, colonial romances, revolutionary ro- ‘mances, and border romances, illustrative of North American history and manners. A uniform edition of the ‘Revolutionary’ and ‘ Bor- der Romances’ (completed in 1859) is published in eighteen volumes, -and the collected poems of Dr. Simms in two volumes. A ‘History 50 a td an es ie ke a y os 926 | CYCLOPADIA-OF ~ — * Tro 1876. of South Carolina,’ ‘ Lives of Francis Marion,’ ‘Captain Smith (foun- der of Virginia),’ ‘Chevalier Bayard,’ and ‘ Nathaniel Greene,’ vari- ous critical disquisitions, and political pamphlets, have also been pub- lished by this versatile author. RALPH WALDO EMERSON. The most original and popular of American philosophers and essay- - ists is Ranpu Wanpo Emerson, born at Boston in the year 1803. His father was a Unitarian minister, and after the usual course of educa- tion at. Harvard College, young Emerson was ordained minister of the second Unitarian church in Boston. He held this charge for about three years (1829-1882), and resigning it ‘in consequence of -some change in his religious views, he devoted himself to a life of study, living chiefly at Concord, New Hampshire. His prose works consist of orations, lectures and essays. Those published previous to 1870 were collected and printed in two volumes at Boston. ~He has also produced two volumes of ‘ F’oems.’ His principal works are six ora- a? tions—‘ Man Thinking,’ 1837; ‘ Address to the Senior Class in Di- . vinity College, Cambridge, U. S.,’ 1888; ‘ Literary Ethies,’ 1888; ‘The Method of Nature,’ 1841; ‘Man the Reformer,’ 1841; and ‘The Young American,’ 1844, Mr. Emerson has also published four * series cf essays—small volumes, issued in the years 1841, 1844, 1870 and 1871: In 1848 he delivered a course of lectures in Exeter Hall, London. ‘The logicians have an incessant. tri- umph over him,’ said Harriet Martineau, ‘but their tri umph is of no avail; he conquers minds as well as hearts.’ In 1849 he delivered another course of lectures on ‘ Representative Men’ —namely, Plato, Swedenborg, Montaigne, Shakspeare, Napoleon, and Goethe. This selection of ‘representative men,’ was probably suggested by Mr. Carlyle’s lectures on hero worship delivered in 1840, and Mr. Emerson has been termed ‘the American Carlyle,’ though he is by no means a slavish imitator of his English friend. For four years (1840-1844) Mr. Emerson was associated with Marga- ret Fuller, Countess d’Ossoli, in conducting a literary journal, enti- tled ‘The Dial;’ and on the death of the countess he joined with Mr. W. H. Channing in writing a memoir of that learned and re- markable woman, which was published in 1852. The other works of Mr. Emerson are—‘ English Traits,’ 1856; ‘The Conduct of Life,’ 1860; an ‘ Oration on the Death of President Lincoln,’ 1865 ; ‘ Society and. Solitude,’ twelve chapters or essays, 1870; ‘Parnassus,’ Se- lected Poems;? a volume of ‘Essays,’ 1875; &c, In 1866 the uni- versity of Harvard conferred upon Mr. Emerson the honorary de: gree of LL.D. Civilisation. — From ‘Society and Solitude.’ Poverty and industry with a healthy mind read very easily the laws of humanity, and love ‘them; place the sexes in right relations of mutual respect, and a severg = BE: an) " EMERSON. J “ENGLISH LITERATURE. 227 EN. 7 ~ / Pen! * D hy is 43 4 ce KN ~~ morality gives that essential charm to woman which educates all that is delicate, po- etic, and self-sacrificing, breeds courtesy and learning, conversation and wit in her rough mate; so that I have thought asufiicient measure of civilisation is the influ- ence of good women. Another measure of culture is the diffusion of knowledge, overturning all the old barriers of caste, and, by the cheap press, bringing the university to every poor man’s ~ door in the newsboy’s basket. Scraps of science, of thought, of poetry, are in the coarsest sheet, so that in every house we hesitate to burn a newspaper until we have Jooked it through. , . The ship. in its latest complete equipment, is an abridgement and compound of a nation’s arts: the ship steered by compass and chart—longitude reckoned by lunar observation and by chronometer—driven by steam ; and in wildest sea-mountains, at vast distances from home— The pulses of her iron heart . Go beating through the storm. No use can lessen the wonder of this control, by so weak a creature, of forces so prodigious. Iremember I watched, in crossing the sea, the beautiful skill whereby the engine in its constant working was nade to produce two hundred gailons of fresh-water out of salt-water every hour—thereby supplying all the ship’s wants. The skill that pervades complex details; the man that maintains himself; the chimney taught to burn its own smoke; the farm made to produce all that is con- - sumed on it; the very prison compelled to maintain itself and yield a revenue, and, better still, made a reform school and a manufactory of honest men out of rogues, as the steamer made fresh-water out of salt—all these are examples of that tendency ‘to combine antagonisins. and utilise evil, which is the index of high civilisation. Civilisation is the result of highly complex organisation. In the snake, all the organs are-sheathed; no hands. no feet, no fins, no wings. In bird and beast, the organs are released, and begin to play. In man, they are all unbound, and full of joyful action, With this unswaddling he receives the absolute illumination we call reason, and thereby true liberty. Beauty.—From ‘The Conduct of Life.’ “™ The poets are quite right in decking their mistresses with the spoils of the land- scape, flower-gardens, gems, rainbows, flushes of morning, and stars of night, since all beauty points at identity, and whatsoever thing does not express to me the sea and sky, day and night. is somewhat forbidden and wrong. Into every beautiful object there enters somewhat immeasurable and divine, and just as much bounded by outlines. like mountains on the horizon, as into tones of music or depths of . space. Polarised light shewed. the secret architecture of bodies; and when the second-sight of the mind is opened, now one colour, or form, or gesture, and now another, has a pungency, as if a more interior ray had been emitted, disclosing its deep ho'dings in the frame of things. The laws of this translation we do not know, or why one feature or gesture ‘enchants, why one word or syllable iutoxicates, but the fact is familiar that the fine touch of the eye, or a grace of manners, or a phrase of poetry, plants wings at our shoulders; as if the Divinity, in his approaches, lifts away mountains of obstruction, and designs to draw a truer line, which the mind knows and owns. ‘This is that haughty force of beauty, vis superba Forme, which the poets _praise—under calm azd precise outline, the immeasureable and divine—beauty hiding all wisdom and -” ~ power in its calm sky. All high beauty has a moral element in it, and I find the antique sculpture as ethi- eal as Marcus Antoninus, and the beauty ever in proportion to the depth of thought. - Gross and impure natures, however decorated, seem Impure shambles ; but character gives splendour to youth, and awe to wrinkled skin and gray hairs. An adorer of truth we cannot choose but obey, and the woman who has shared with us the mot al sentimept—her locks must appear,to us sublime. Thus, there is a climbing scale of culture, from the first agreeable Sensation which a sparkling gem or a scarlet stain affords the eye, up through fair outlines and details of the landscape, features of the human face and form, signs and tokens of thought and character in manners, up to -the ineffable mysteries of the human intellect. Wherever we begin, thither our steps ‘ : : forks 228 » CYCLOPADIA OF : [To 1876. tend: an ascent from the joy of a horse in his trappings up to the perception of Newton. that-the globe on which we ride is only a larger apple falling from a larger tree; up to the perception of Plato, that globe and universe are rude and early ex- pressions of an all-dissolving unity—the first stair on the scale to the temple of the mind. - Old Age.—From ‘Society and Solitude.’ When life has been well spent; age is a loss of what it can well spare—muscular strength, organic instincts, gross bulk, and works that belong to these. But the central wisdom, which was old in infancy, is young in fourscore years, and, droppin off obstructions, leaves in happy subjects the mind purified and wise. I have hear that whoever loves isin no condition old.. IE have heard that, whenever the name of man is spoken. the doctrine of immortality is announced; it cleaves to his constitu- tion. ‘lhe mode of it baffles our wit, and no whisper comes to us fromthe other side. But the inference from the working of intellect, hiving knowledge, hiving skill—at the end of life just ready to be born—affirms the inspirations of affection aud of the moral sentiment. MR. RUSKIN. ie , JOHN Ruskin, author of several works on art, was born in Lon- don in 1819, the only son of a wealthy wine-merchant. . He was en- tered at Christ Church College, Oxford, where he graduated, and in 1839 took the Newdegate prize for English poetry. _Impressed with . the idea that art was his vocation in life, he studied painting under Copley Fielding and J. D. Harding; but the pencil has long since. become merely the auxiliary of the pen. In 1843 appeared the first portion of his ‘Modern Painters, by an Oxford Graduate,’ which, though published when the author was only. twenty four years of age, bears the impress of deep thought, and is written with rare elo- quence and in choice English. The second part was published in 1846, and the third and fourth volumes ten years later, 1856 Many other works appeared in the interval. Indeed, Mr. Ruskin is now one of the most voluminous writers of the day; bu‘ it may be ques- tioned if he has ever risen to the level of the first two volumes of the ‘Modern Painters.’ Latterly his works have been little more than hurriedly written pamphlets, reviews, and revisals of popular lec- tures, which, though often rising into passages of*vivid description and eloquence, and possessing the merit of great clearness, are gen- erally loose and colloquial in style. The *Seven Lamps of Archi- tecture,’ 1849; and the ‘Stones of Venice,’ three volumes,’ 1851-53, are the principal of Mr. Ruskin’s works, besides the ‘ Modern Painters;’ but we may-also mention the following: ‘Letters in De- fence of the Pre-Raphaelites,’ published at various times since 1851; “The Construction of Sheepfolds’ (the discipline of the church), 1851; ‘The Opening of the Crystal- Palace,’ 1854; ‘Notes on the Academy Exhibitions,’ published in the month of May for the last few years; ‘The Elements of Drawing’ 1857; ‘The Political Econ- omy of Art,’ 1858; ‘The Two Paths,’ 1859; besides contributions to the ‘ Quarterly Review,’ the ‘ Art Journal,’ the ‘Scotsman,’ &c. In 1861 a selection from the works of Mr. Ruskin was published in one volume—a treasure to all young literary students and lovers of art. Be. \ —_ 7 > a = 5 ¢ es = = _ RUSKIN.]. - _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 229 - His subsequent works have been numerous: ‘ Lectures on Civilisa- tion,’ 1866; ‘The Queen of the Air, being a Study of the Greek Myths of Cloud and Storm,’ 1869; ‘Lectures on Art,’ delivered be- _ fore the university of Oxford in 1870, &c.. Mr. Ruskin made a munificent offer of £5000 tor the endowment of a master of drawiny in Oxford, which was accepted by the university authorities in ~ November 1871. Mr. Ruskin’s influence upon art and art literature has been remark. able. The subject has received a degree of consideration among general, readers that it had not previously enjoyed_in our day, or perhaps in any period of our history; and to Mr. Ruskin’s venera- _ tion for every work of creation, inculcated in ail his writings, may be ascribed the origin cf the society of young artists known as the Pre-Raphaelites. Protesting against what they conceived to be lax conventionalism in the style of most modern painters, the innovators went back, as they said, to Nature, preferring her in all her moods and phases, to ideal visions of what she occ sionally might, or ought to appear. Mr. Ruskin seems often to contradict himself; but on _this pomt his own mind iseasy. ‘I never met with a question yet,’ he says in the inaugural address to the Cambridge School of Art, - ‘which did not need, for the right solution of it, at least one positive and one negative answer, like an equation of the second degree. - Mostly, matters of any consequence are three-sided, or four-sided, -or polygonal; and the trotting round a polygon is severe work for people any way stiff in their opinions. For myself, | am never satisfied that I have handled a subject properly till | have contra- dicted myself at least three times.’ With this clever apology we “may pass over apparent incongruities in the details of his system, and rest satisfied with the great principles which he so eloquently incul- cates. These are singularly pure and lofty. The aim and object of his teaching, he says, is to declare that * whatever is great in human art is the expression of man’s delight in God’s work,’ and he insists - upon a pure heart and earnest mind as essential to success, — The Sky. Tt is a strange thing how little. in general, people know abont the sky. Itis the part of creation in which Nature has done more for the sake of pleasing man. more for the sole and evident purpose of talking to him and teaching him, than in any other of her works; and it is just the pars in which we least attend to her. ‘There are not many of her other works in which some more material or essential purpose than the mere pleasing of man is not answered by every part of their organisation ; but every essential purpose of the sky might. so far as we know, be answered if, once in three days or thereabouts, a great, ugly, black rain-clond were brought up over the blue, and everything well watered, and so all left blue again till next time, with. perhaps, a film of morning and evening mist for dew. And, instead of this, there is not a moment of any day of our lives when Nature is not producing, scene after scene, picture after picture, glory after glory, and working still upon such exquis- ite and constant principles of the most perfect beanty, that it is quite certain that - it is all done for us. and intended for our perpetual pleasure, and every man, - wherever placed, however far from other sources of interest or of beauty, has - . 230 Bee CYCLUPEDIA OF | this doing for him constantly. The noblest scenes of the earth. can ue seen and known but by few; it is not intended that man shonld live always in the midst of them: he injures them by his presence ; he ceases to feel them if, he be always with them. But the sky is for all; bright as it is, it isnot *too bright nor good — for human nature’s daily food 3’ it is “fitted, in all its functions, for the per- petual comfort and exalting of the heart; for the soothing it, and purifyingit ~ from its dross and dust. Sometimes gentle, sometimes capricious, sometimes a * awful; never the same for two moments together; almost human in its passions, “ almost spiritual in its tenderness, almost Divine in its infinity, its appeal to what is © +z immortal in us is as distinet as its ministry of chastisement or of blessing to whatis- — wiortal is essential. And yet we_never attend to it; we never make it asubject of chought, but as it has to do with our animal sensations ; we look upon all by which _ it s peaks to us more clearly than to brutes, upon all which bears witness to the in- _ Pah ton of the Supreme, that we are to receive z.ore from the covering Vault than the light and the dew which we share with the weed and the worm, only as a suc- — cession of meaningless and monotonous accidents, too common and too vain to be ~~ worthy of a moment of watchfulness or a glance of admiration. If, nour moments a; oi utter idleness and insipidity, we turn to the sky as a Jast resource, which of its phenomena do we speak of? One says it has been wet. and another it has been . windy, and another it has been warm. "Who, among the who'e chattering crowd, can 3 tell me of the forms and precipices of the chain of tall white. mountains that gilded the horizon at noon yesterday? Who saw the narrow sunbeam that came out of the — a south, and smote upon their summits, until they melted and mouldered away ina ‘S dust of blue rain? Who saw the dance of the dead clouds, when the sunlight vi ‘ them last night, and the west wind blew them before it, like witherec \eaves? $ has passed. unregretted or unseen ; or. if the apathy be ever shaken off, even tok a an instant, it is only by what is gross or what is extraordinary; and yet it is not in the — broad and fierce manifestations of the elemental energies, not in the clash of the hail, nor the drift.of the whirlwind, that the highest characters. of the sublime are des veloped. God is not in the ear thquake nor in the fire, but in the still small voice. They are but the blunt and the low faculties of our nature, which can only. be ad= — dressed through lampblack and lightning. Itisin quiet and subdued passages of a unobtrusive majesty ; the deep, and the calm, and the perpetual: that which must be a sought ereit is seen. and loved ere it is understood ; things which the angels work | : out ‘for us daily, and yet very eternally, which are never wanting, and never repeated ; which are to be found always, yet each found bnt once. It is through these that the lesson of devotion is chiefly taught and the blessing of beauty given. ~ The Two Paths. Ask yourselves what is the leading motive which actuates you while you are at ‘ work. I do notask what your leading motive is for w orking—thatis a different thing; you may have families to support—parents to help—hrides to win; you may have all — these, or other such sacred and pre-eminent motives, to press the inorning’s labour | and prompt the twilight thought. But when you are fairly af the work, what is the motive which tells upon every touch of it? If it is the love of that which your work represents—if, being a landscape painter, it is love of hills and trees that moves you — —if, being a figure painter, it is love of human beauty and human soul thatmoves — you—if, being a flower or animal painter, it is love, and wonder, and delight in petal : and in limb that move you. then the spirit is upon yon. and the earth is yours, and ~ the fullness thereof. But if, on the other hand, it is petty self-complacency in your < own skill, trust in precepts and laws, hope for academical or popular approbation, or ~ a mi os avarice of wealth—it is quite. possible that by steady industry, or even by fortunate ' chance, you may win the applause, the position, the fortune that you desire: but = One touch of true art you will never lay on canvas or on stone as long as iste live. 4 Nes following eloquent passage is from ‘Modern Painters? © The Dangers of National Security. ~ ;: That is to everything created pre-eminently useful which enables it rightly ait ¢ fully to perform the functions appointed to it by its Creator. Therefore, that we 2 may determine tylat is chicfly useful to man, it is uecessury first to. determine Gea 4 ~ my ae. = bat 2 . . _— “ . ‘ . _ RUSKIN. ]- ENGLISH LITERATURE. 201 q use of man himself. Man’s use and function (and let him who will not grant me ~ this, follow meno further; for this 1 purpose always to assume) is to be the _ witness of the glory of God, and to advance that glory by his reasonable obedience --and resultant happiness. _ Whatever enables us to fulfil this function is in the pure and first sense of the word useful to us. Pre-eminently, therefore, whatever sets the glory of God more _ brightly before us. But things that only help us to exist are in a secondary and mean _ sense useful ; or rather, if they be looked for alone they are useless and worse; for 4 it would be better that we should not exist than that we should guiltily disappoint the purposes of existence. And yet people speak in this working-age, when they speak from their hearts, as if houses and lands, and food and raiinent, were alone useful. and as if sight, thought, and admiration were all profitless; so that men ~ insolently call themselves utifitarians, who would turn, if they had their way, them- selves and their race into vegetables. Men who think, as far as snch can be said to think, that the meat is more than the life and the raiment than the body, who look _ to this earth as a stable and to its fruit as fodder; vine-dressers and husbandmen -_who love the corn they grind, and the grapes they crush, better than the gardens of * the angels upon the slopes of Eden; hewers of wood and drawers of water, who _ think that the wood they hew, and the water they draw, are better than the pine forests that cover the mountain like the shadow of God, and than the great rivers _ that move like His eternity. And so comes upon us that woe of the Preacher, that _ though God ‘hath made everything beautiful in his time: also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man_can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to, the end.’ This Nebuchednezzar curse, that sends us to ' grass like oxen, seems to follow but too closely on the excess or continuance of national power and peace. in the perplexities of nations in their ‘struggles for existence, in their infancy, their impotence, or even their dis-~ organisation, they have higher hopes and nobler passions. Out of the suffering comes the serions mind; out of the salvation, the grateful heart; out of endurance, fortitude; out of deliverance, faith. But when they have learned to live under pro- vidence of Jaws, and with decency and justice of regard for each other ; and when they have done away with violent and external sources of suffering, worse evils seem ° arising out of their rest—evils that vex less and mortify more, that suck the blood, _ though they do not shed it, and ossify the heart, though they do not torture it. And deep though the causes of thankfulness must be to every people at peace with others, and at unity in itself, there are causes of fear also—a fear greater than that of sword aud sedition—that dependence on God may be forgotten because the bread is given - and the water is sure, that gratitude to Him may cease because His constancy of pro- tection has taken the semblance of a natural law, that heavenly hope may grow taint - amidst the full fruition of the world, that selfishness may take place of undemanded dévotion ; compassion be lost in vainglory, and lovein dissimulation ; that enervation _ may succ?zed to strength, apathy to patience, and the noise of jesting words azd foul- - ness of dark thoughts to the earnest purity of the girded loins and the burning lamp. About the river of human life there is a wintry wind, though a heavenly sunshine ; the iris colours its agitation, the frost fixes upon its repose. Let us beware that our rest become not the rest of stones, which so long as they are torrent-t6ssed and - thunder-stricken maintain their majesty ; but when the stream is silent and the storm passed, suffer the grass to cover them, and the lichen to feed upon them, and are - ploughed down into dust. . _And though I believe we ba¥e salt enough of ardent and holy mind amongst us to _ keep us in some measure from this moral decay, ‘yet the signs of it must be watched with anxiety in all matters however trivial, in all directions however distant. And - at this time .... there is need, bitter need, to bring back, if we muy, into men’s minds, that to live is nothing unless to live be to know Him by whom we live, and . that He is not to be known by marring His fair works, and blotting out the evidence of His influences upon His creatures, not amidst the hurry of crowds and crash of - innovation, but in solitary places, and out of the glowing intelligences which He gave - to men of old. He did not teach them how to build for glory and for beauty; He did not give them the fearless, faithful, inherited energies that worked on and down from death to death, generation after generation, that we, foul and sensual as we _ are, might give the carved work of their poured-out spirit to the axe and the ham- mer; He has not cloven the’ earth with rivers, that their white wild waves might di ~ — $ & TP ices ©: : _ 232 - . CYCLOPAEDIA OF > ce ~* > a hy < turn wheels and push paddles, nor turned it up under, as it were fire, thet it might hext wells and cure diseases; He brings not up His quails by the cast wind only to =~ let them fall in flesh about the camp of men; He has not heaped the rocks of the Pe mountain only for the quarry, nor clothed the grass of the field only forthe oven. We give another extract from the same work: > toa ee Ae Wiat ts Truly Praciteal. . aes practical and theoretic science is the step between the miner and the geologist, the 4 ¥ 4 F our reward, for knowledge is its own reward, herbs have their healing, stones their preciousness, and stars their times. 3 lt would appear, therefore, that, those pursuits. which are altogether theoretic, whose results are desirable or admirable in themselves, and for their own sake, and = in which no further end to which their productions or discoveries are referred, can interrupt the contemplation of things as they are, by the endeavour to discover of — what selfish uses they are capable (and of this order are painting and sculpture), ought to take rank above all pursuits which have any taint in them of subserviency ~~ to life, in so far as all such tendency is the sign of less eternal andlessholy — function. The Beautiful alone not Good for Man. , T believe that it is not good for man to live amongst what is most beautiful; that he is a creature incapable of satisfaction by anything upon earth; and that to allow him habitually to possess, in any kind whatsoever, the utmost that earth can giye,is the surest way to cast_him into lassitnde or discontent. A a) Tf the most exquisite orchestral music could be continued without a pause fora series of years, and children were brought up and educated in the room in whichit was pe'petually resounding, I believe their enjoyment of music, or understanding of it, would be very small. Andan accurately parallel effect seems to be produced apon _the powers of contemplation by the redundant and ceaseless loveliness of the high mountain districts. The faculties are paralysed by the abundance, and cease, as we - before noticed of the imagination. to be capable of excitement, except by other sub- jects of interest than those which present themselves tothe eye. Sothatitis,in reality, better for mankind than the forms of their common landscape should offer” no violent stimulus to the emotions—that the gentle upland, browned by.the bending —— furrows of the plongh. and the fresh sweep of the chalk down, and the narrow wind- ing of the cops:-clad dingle, should be more frequent scenes of human life than the~ — Arcadias of clond-capped mountain or luxuriant vale; and that, while humbler (though always infinite) sources of interest sre given to each of us around the homes ~ to which we-are restrained for the greater part of our lives, these mightier and~ stranger glories should become the objects of adventure—at once the cynosuresof — the fancies of- childhood, and themes of the happy memory and the winter’s tale of __ age. _. Nor is it always that the inferiority is felt. For, so natural is ‘t to the human Y =. - af " Zz F Fo RUSKIN. | Se ENGLISH LITERATURE. - 298 heart to fix itself in hope rather than in present possession, and so subtic is the ~ charm which the invagination casts over what is distant or denied. that there is often amore touching power in the scenes which contain far-away promise of something greater than themselves, than in those which cxhaust the treasures and powers of x Nature in-an unconquerable and excellent glory, leaving nothing more to be by the fancy pictured or pursucd. : . Prectpices of the Alps. _ Dark in colour, robed with everlasting mourning, for ever tottcring like a great fortress shaken by war, fearful as much in their weakness as in thei: strength, and yet gathered after every full into darker frowns and unhuwiliating threatening; for ever incapable of comfort or healing from herb or flower, nourishing 10 root it their crevices, touched by no hue of life on buttress or ledge, but to the utmost desolate ; knowing no shaking of leaves in the wind, zor of grass beside the stream—no other motion but their own mortal shivering, the dreadful crumbling of atom from stom in their corrupting stones ; knowing no sound of living voice or living tread. cheered neither by the kid’s bleat nor the marmot’s cry: haunted only by uninterrupted echoes from afar off, wandering hither and-thither among their walls unable to cs- cupe, and by the hiss of angry torrents, and sometimes the shriek of a bird that flits near the face ot them, and sweeps frightened back from under their shadow into the gulf of air; and sometimes, when the echo has fainted, and the wind has carried the sound of the torrent away,_and the bird has vanished, aud the mouldering stones are still for a little time—a brown moth, opening and shutting its wings upon a grain of dust, may be the only thing that moves or feels in all the waste of weary precipice durkening five thousand feet of the biue depth of heaven. The-Fall of the Leaf. If ever, in autumn. a pensiveness falls upon us as the leaves drift by in their fad- ing, may we not wisely look up in hope to their mighty monuments? Behold how fair. huw far prolonged in arch and aisle, the avenues of the valleys. the fringes of * the hills! So stately—so eternal; the joy of man, the comfort of all living creatures, the glory of the earth—they ere but the. monuments of those poor leaves that flit faintly past us to die. Let them not pass without our understanding their last counsel and example; that we also, careless of monument by the grave, may build it in the werld—monument by which men may be taught to remember, not where we died, but where we lived. i : : JOHN STERLING. ‘Joun STERLING (1806-1844) was born at Kaimes Castle, Isle of Bute. His father, Captain Sterling, became editor of the ‘'Times’ daily journal, and his son John, after being educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, was early familiar with literary society. Frederick Man- rice, Coleridge, Carlyle, and other distinguished men of that period, were among his friends. He contributed essays, tales, and poems to the periodicals, all marked by fine taste and culture. Having taken holy orders in the church, he officiated for eight months as curate at. Hurstmonceaux, in Sussex, where Mr. Hare was rector. Delicate health, and some change in his religious opinions, induced him to re- sign this charge, and he continued afterwards to reside chiefly abroad or in the south of England, occupying himself with occasional con- tributions in prose and verse to ‘ Blackwood’s Magazine’ and the “Westminster Review.’ He published also a volume of ‘ Poems,’ _ 4839; ‘ The Election,’ a poem, 1841; and ‘Stafford,’ a tragedy, 1843. He charmed every society into which he entered by his c. nversation and the amiable qualities of his mind and heart. His prose works have been collected and edited in two volumes, 1848, with a memoir =, Pa a a 1 ’ O34 - CYCLOPEDIA OF of his life by his friend, Archdeacon Hare. That-memoir, with the _ letters it contains, and the subsequent memoir by Mr. Carlyle, have given an interest and fame to John Sterling, which his writings alone would have failed to produce. The Miseries of Old Age and the Misfortunes of Early Death. There are two frequent lamentations which might well teach us to doubt the wis-— dom of popular opinions: men bewail in themselves the miseries of old age, and in others the misfortune of anearly death. They do not reflect that life is made up of. “emotions and thoughts, some cares and doubts and hopes and scattered handfuls of sorrow and pleasure, elements incapable of being measured by rule or dated by an almanac. It is not from the calendar or the parish-register that we can justly learn for what to grieve, and wherefore to rejoice; and it is rather an affected refinement han asage instinct, to pour out tears in proportion as our wasting days, or those of our friends, are marked by clepsydra, And even as old age, if it be the fruit of natz- ral and regular existence, is full, not of aches and melancholy, but of lightness antl joy ; so there are men who perform their course in a small circle of years, whose ma- -turity is to be reckoned, not by the number of their springs and summers, but of their inward seasons of greenness and glory, and who by a native kindliness have _ enjoyed, during a brief and northern period, more sunshine of the soul than ever came to the clouded breast of a basking Ethiop. ) Yet the many men of exalted genius who have died in early life, have all been — lamented, as if they had perished by some strange and unnatural chance, and as if He, without whose will no-sparrow falls to the ground, only suspended His provi- dence with regard to the eagle ministers of truth and beauty. Happy indeed, thrice _ happy. are such beings as Sophocles and Titian, in whom the golden chain runs out” to the last link, and whose hearts are fed by a bright calm current until they fall asleep in a fresh and blooming antiquity. But bappy also were Raphael, Sidney, and Schiller, who accomplished in. the half of. man’s permitted term, the fulfilment of their aim, and gained sight of the rising stars, when others were still labouring in~ the heats of noon. Happy we may even call the more disturbed and incomplete career of Byron and Shelley and Burns, who were so much clogged by earthly im- pediments, and vexed with mental disease, nourished by the disease of the material frame, that death would rather seem, if we may humbly speak what perhaps we but ignorantly and wildly fancy, a setting free to further improvement, than a final cut- ting off in the midst of imperfection. The Worth of Knowledge. Read the oldest records of our race, and you will find the writers holding up to admiration, or relating with heart-felt emotion, the facts that we ourselves most de- light in. The fidelity of Joseph to his master, the love of Hector for his wife and child, come home to our hearts as suddenly as to those of the ancient Hebrew among the Syrian mountains, or the pagan Greek in the islands of the Algean Sea. In the Indian code of Menu, said to be at least three thousand years old—as old as Homer ~ —we find that the husband and all the male relations are strictly enjoined to honour . the women: ‘where women are dishonoured, all religious acts become fruitless. Where a husband is contented with his wife and she with her husband, in that house + will fortune assuredly be permanent.’ A hundred generations of mankind have not changed this. _ The first Chaldean who observed-that the planets seem to journey among the other stars, and not merely to rise and set with them, that Jupiter and Sirius follow different laws, knew a truth which is now the foundation of astronomy in London and Paris no less than of old in Babylon. The first Egyptian who, meditating on curved figures, discerned that there is one in which all the lines from one point to the circumference are equal, gained the idea of a circle, such as it has presented itself to every jater mind of man from Thales and Euclid down to Laplace and Herschel. Nay, in truth, those who most exalt the acquirements of our age compared with the past—and they can hardiy be too much exalted—must admit that all progress iipliea a A Jack Ts a ,2 3 [PO18 76) 9 =~ ‘ { ee ee Oe ye ae Sy oe ee a, - Pt . ae OP a ¥ é . _ STERLING. | ~~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 235 . isha Spmecmae we can take a step forward only by having firm footing for the step ehind it. . ~~ According to a well-known story, some Sidonian mariners, probably at least a thou- é, sand years before our era, were carrying « cargo of natron or native carbonate of soda, extensively used for its cleansing properties, as wood-ashes are now. They were sailing along the coast of Syria, and Janded to cook their food at the mouth of a stream flowing down from the Mount Carmel of Scripture. ‘Chey took some lumps ~~ of the natron from their boat, and used them as stones to set their cauldron on. The .- fire which they kindled beneath melted the soda and the flint sand of the shore, and tothe astonishment of these Sidonians, formed ashinivg liquid, which cooled and hardened, and was found to be transparent. ‘his was tue first invention of glass, It was scon manufactured by the Egyptians, andis found abundantly in their tombs. There is astory in the history of England, told, I think, originally by Bede, so justly cailed the Venerable, which is as striking and affecting in its way as any of those deeds of heroic patriotism that enrich the annak0f Greece and Rome. More than twelve hundred years ago, when the north-eastern part of England was occupied by the pagan Angles, or people of Jutland and Holstein, who bad conquered -_ it from the oid Celtic population, a Christian missionary from Rome endeavoured to ~ introduce his better faith among these rude and bloody men. The council of the chiefs was assembled round their king. Paulinus spoke; and at last one of the warriors said; *'The soul of man is like a sparrow, which in a winter night, when the - king with his men is sitting by the warm fire, enters for a moment from the storm and darkness, flits through the lighted hall, and-then passes again into the black = nicht. Thus,’ he said, ‘ our life shoots across the world; but whence it comes and whither it goes we cannot tell. If, then, the new doctrine can give us any certainty, - O king, let us receive it with joy.’ In this simple and earnest fashion does the unap- peasable longing of man for knowledge speak itself out of the ¢im_barbarian soul. ~ % EDWARD WILLIAM LANE, ETC. This able oriental scholar (1801-1875) was a native of Hereford, son of a prebendary in the cathedral there. He made three visits to _ Egypt, one result of which was his.work, ‘The Manners and Cus- toms of the Modern Egyptians,’ 1836, which was highly successful. He next gave the public a translation, ‘drawn chiefly from the most copious Eastern sources,’ of ‘The Arabian. Nights’ Entertainments.’ But his greatest work was the construction of a complete ‘ Arabic- _ English Lexicon,’ one volume of which was published in 1868, and - four others at intervals of three or four years. Though incomplete at the time of his death, Mr. Lane had left materials for three more ~ volumes, which will complete this great work, which all scholars at _home and abroad consider as an honour to England. ~~ FRANK TREVELYAN BouckLAND (born in. 1826), son of Dr. Buck- land the eminent geologist, studied at Christ Church, Oxford. Mr. Buckland is an Inspector of Salmon Fisheries for England and Wales. He has written ‘ Curiosities of Natural History,’ and other works, and “edited White’s ‘Selbourne,’ enriching it with copious additions. As a naturalist and pleasing writer, Mr. Buckland has done much to en- courage the study of nature and increase our knowledge of the habits of animals. 3 CHARLES Knicnt (1790-1872), a native of Windsor, both as pub- ~ -lisher and author, did good service tothe cause of cheap popular liter- ature. His ‘ Etonian,’ and ‘ Knight’s Quarterly Magazine,’ drew forth many accomplished young scholars as contributors—including Ma = ie 2 , cam oe : 236 _. .CYCLOPAIDIA OF caulay—and his Pictorial England, the Pictorial Bible, shilling vol-. [To 1876, — umes, and other serial works, supplied a fund of excellent reading ~ and information. than Dr. Doran, who could trace him into all his recesses and books, ~ and was familiar with the characters and events of which he treated. > _ he had applied himself assiduously to his task. In 1860, Dr. Voran produced ‘Lives of the Princes of Wales; in 1861, ‘ The Bentley - Ballads; in 1863, a ‘History of the English Stage; and in 1868, ‘ Saints and Sinners.’ The Style Royal and Critical—the Plural ‘We.’ _~_ With respect to the style and title of kings, it may be here stated that the royal _ £We?’ represents. or was supposed originaliy to represent, the source of the national ~ power. glory, and intellect in the august person of a sovereign. ‘ Le Roi Je veut’— ~ the King wiil have it so—sounded as arrogantly as it was meant to sound in the royal _ Norman mouth. It is a mere form, now that royalty in England has been relieved of _ responsibility. In haughtiness of expression it was matched by the old French for- ~ mula at the end of a decree: ‘ For such is our good pleasure.’ The royal subscrip- 4 tion in Spain, ‘Yo, el Re ’*—I. the King—has a thundering sort of echo about it too. - The only gallant expression to be found in royal addresses was made by the kings of - -France—that is, by the married kings. Thus, when the French monarch summoned — acouncil to meet upon affairs of importance, and desired to have around him the _ princes of the blood and the wiser nobility of the realm, his majesty invariably com- menced his address with the words. ‘ Having previously consulted on this matter ' withthe qneen,’&c Itisvery probable, almost certain, that the King had done noth- * ing of the sort; but the assurance that he had, seemed to give a certain sort of dig- - nity to the consort in the eyes of the grandees and the people at large. Old Michel _, de Marolles was proud of this display of gallant. y on the part of the kings of France, _ ‘According to my thinking,’ says the garrulons old aybé of Villeloin. * this is a mat- _— ter highly worthy of notice. although few persons have condescended to rake re- - marks thereon down to this present time.’ It may here be added, with respect to - English kings, that the first ‘ king’s speech’ ever delivered was by Henry I, in 1107, Ewuetly a century later, King John first assumed the royal ‘ We?’ it had never before ~ been employed in England. The same monarch has the credit-of having been the first English king who claimed for England the sovereignty of the seas. ‘ Grace,’ and _ ‘My Liege,’ were the ordinary titles by which our Henry IV. was addressed. * Excel- lent Grace’ was given to Henry VI.. who was not the one. nor yet had the other; Edward IV. was ‘ Most High and Mighty Prince ;’ Henry VII. was the first English _ ‘Highness ;’ Henry VIII. was the first complimented by the title of ‘Majesty ;’ and - James I. prefixed to the last title ‘Sacred and Most Excellent.’ ae eS. Visit of George ITT. and Queen Charlotte to the City of London. _ The Queen was introduced to the citizens of London on Lord-Mayor’s Day ; or _ which occasion they may be said emphatically to have ‘ made a dav of it.’ They left _ St. James’s Palace at noon, and in great state. accompanied by all the royal family, - escorted by guards, and cheered by the people, whose particular holiaay was. thus - shared in common. There was the usual ceremony at Temple Bar of opening the __ gates to royalty, and pine. it welcome; and there was the once usual address made “ee OS Fp RX Fini a | _ at the east end of St. Paul’s Churchyard, by the senior scholar of Christ’s Hospita, S x a ot: % ; - Ss =f 239° Set CY CEOPAEDIA SOE Fro 1876. school. Having survived the cumbrous formalities of the first, and smiled at the flowery figures of the second, the royal party proceeded on their way, not to Guiid- = . be hall, but to the house of Mr. Barclay, the patent-medicine vendor, an honest Quaker — whom the king respected, and ancestor to the head of the firm: whose name is not unmusical to Volscian ears—Barclay, Perkins, & Co. Robert Barclay. the only sur- viving son of the author of the same name, who wrote the celebrated ‘ Apology for the Quak 1s.’ and who was now the king’s entertainer, was an octogenarian, who had entertained in the same house two Georges before he had given welcome to the — third George and his Queen Charlotte. The hearty_old man, without abandoning Quaker simplicity, went.a little beyond it, in order to do honour to the young queen ; aud he hung his balcony and rooms with a brilliant crimson damask, that must have scattered blushes on all who stood near—particularly on the cheeks of the crowds of ‘ Friends’ who had assembled within the house to do honour to their sovereigns. . . . Queen Charlotte and George III. were the last of our sovereigns who thus hon- oured a Lord-Mayor’s show. And as it was the last o’ casion, and that the young Queen Charlotts was the heroine of the day, the opportunity may be profited by to shew how that royal lady looked and bore herself in the estimation of one of the Miss Barclays, whose letter, descriptive of the scene, appeared forty-seven years subse-- sequently, in 1808. The following extracts are very much to our purpose: ‘ About cne o’clock papa and mamma, with sister Western to attend them, took their stand — at the streét-door, where my two brothers had long been to receive the nobility, more than a hundred of whom were then waiting in the warehouse. As the royal family came, they were conducted into one of the counting-houses, which was transformed into a very pretty parlour. At half-past two their majesties came, which was two hours later than they intended. On the second pair of stairs was placed our own company, about forty in number, the chief of whom were of the Puritan order, and allin their orthodox habits. Next to the drawing-room doors were -placed our own selves, I mean papa’s children, none else, to the great mortification of visitors, being allowed to enter: for as kissing the king’s hand without kneeling was an unexam- pled honour, the king confined that privilege to our own family, as a return for the trouble we had been at.. After the royal pair had shewn themselves at the balcony, we were all introduced, and you may believe, at that juncture, we felt no small pal- - pitations. The king met us at the door—a condescension I did not expect—at which place he saluted us with great politeness. Advancing to the upper end of the room, we kissed the queen’s hand, at the sight of whom we were all in raptures, not only — from the brilliancy.of her appearance, which was pleasing beyond description, but being throughout her whole person possessed of that inexpressible something that is beyond a set of features, and equally claims our attention. To be sure, she has not a fine face, but a most agreeable countenance, and is vastly genteel, with an air, notwithstanding her being a little woman, truly majestic; and I really think, by her manner is expressed that complacency of disposition - which is truly amiable: and though I could never perceive that she deviated from that dignity which belongs to a crowned head, yet on the inost trifling occasions she displayed all that easy behaviour that negligence can bestow. Her hair, which-is of a light colour, hung in what is called coronation-ringlets, encircled in a band of dia- nionds, so beautiful in themselves, and so prettily disposed, as will admit of no de- scription. Her clothes, which were 4s rich as gold, silver, and silk could make them, was a suit from which fell a train supported by a little page in scarlet and silver. The lustre of her stomacher was inconceivable. The king IJ think a very personable man. Ali the princes followed the kiug’s example in complimenting each of us with a kiss. The queen was up-stairs three times, and my little darling, with Patty Bar- flay, and Priscilla Ball, were introduced to her. I was present, an@not alittle anx=_ jous on account of my girl, who «kissed the queen’s hand with so much grace that [ thought the princess-dowager would have smothered her with kisses. Such a re- port was made of her to the king, that Miss was sent for, and afforded him great amusement. by saying, ‘that she loved the king, though she must not love fine things, and her grandpapa would not allow her to make a courtesy.’ Her sweet face made such an impression on the Duke of York, that I rejoiced she was only five instead of fifteen. When he first met her, he tried to persuade Miss to let him i - wom se introduce her to the queen: but she would by no means consent till I informed her he ~ ‘was a prince, upon which her little female heart relented, and she gaye him her “a “ :. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 2 239 ~ hand—a true copy of the sex. The king never sat down, nor did he taste anything during the whole time. Her majesty drank tea, which was brought her on a sil- _ ver waiter by brother John, who delivered it to the lady-in-waitin g, aud she presented _ it_knéeling.. The leave they took of us was such as we might expect from our - equals ; full of apologies for-our trouble for their entertainment—which they were _ 80 anxious to have expiaiued, that the queen came up to us, as we stood on one side _ of the door, and had every word interpreted. My brothers had the honour of assist- * ing the queen into her coach. Some of us sat up to see them return, and the king ~ and queen took especial notice of us.as they passed. ‘The king ordered twenty-four ¥ of his guard to be placed opposite our door all night,Jest. any of the canopy should _ be pulled down by the mob. in which [the canopy, it is to be presumed] there were _ one hundred yards of silk damask.’ >In Allibone’s ‘Dictionary of British and American Authors,’ 1859, _we find the following biographical particulars relative to the above author: ‘John Doran, Lb.D., born 1807 in London family origi- ~nally of Drogheda, in Ireland. He was educated chiefly by his father. His literary bent was manifested at the age of fifteen, when he produced the melodrama of the ‘ Wandering Jew,’ which was first played at the Surrey Theatre in 1822 for Tom Blanchard’s benefit. His early years were spent in France. He was successively tutor in four of the noblest families in Great Britain.’ Dr. Doran has con- tributed largely to the literary journals. bats WILLIAM JOHN THOMS. ' In 1849 was commenced a weekly journal, ‘ Notes and Queries,’ a medium of inter-communication for literary men, artists, antiquaries, -fenealogists, &c.. The projector and editor of this excellent little periodical was Mr. Wiuiiam Joun Tuoms, born in Westminster in 1803, and librarian in the House of Lords. Mr. Thoms has published _a ‘Collection of Early Prose Romances,’ 1828; ‘Lays and Legends of - Various Nations,’ 1834; ‘ Notelets on Shakspeare,’ and several histori- ' Cal treatises. Having retired from the editorship of ‘ Notes and Queries,’ >, complimentary dinner was given to Mr. Thoms on the tst Novem- ber, 1872, Earl Stanhope Chairman, at which about one hundred and twenty friends and admirers of the retiring editor were present. Mr. Thoms has been succeeded in the editorial chair by Dr. Doran. : SIR ARTHUR HELPS. ~ Several works of a thoughtful and earnest character, written in -what Mr. Ruskin has termed ‘beautiful and quiet English,’ have _been published (most of them anonymously) by ArtTHur HELps, afterwards Sir Arthur, this popular author having been honoured in 1872 by the title of K.C.B. Sir Arthur was born-in 1814, educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he graduated B.A. in 1888, and _having been successively private secretary to the Chancellor of the Exchequer (Lord Monteagle) and _to the Chi-f Secretary for Ireland (Lord Morpeth), he was appointed Clerk of the Privy Council in the year 1859. His works are—‘ Thoughts in the Cloister and the Crowd, 1835; ‘Essays written in the Intervals of Business,’ 1841; ‘King _- | = MN ee see “fate © 240 CYCLOPEDIA OF ° —_—_—_ [ro 1876. Henry II.,’ a historical drama, and ‘Catherine Douglas,’ a tragedy, 1843; ‘The Claims of Labour,’ 1844; ‘Friends in Council, a Series of Readings and Discourses,’ 1847; ‘Companions of my Solitude,’ 1851: ‘Conquerors of the New World, and their Bondsmen,’ two — volumes, 1848-52; ‘History of the Spanish Conquest of America,’ 1855; a second series of ‘Friends in Uouncil,’ 1859; ‘The Life of Pizarro,’ 169; ‘Casimir Maremma,’ and ‘ Breyia, or Short Essays,” in 1870; ‘Conversations on War and General Culture,’ * The Life of Hernando Cortes and the Conquest of Mexico,’ and ‘Thoughts upon | Government,’ in 1871; in 1872, the. ‘ Life of Mr. Brassey the Engi- veer.’ The essays and dialogues of this author evincea fine moral feeling and discriminating taste. "They have all gone through nu- 3 e! r 4 x , : ; A oo merous editions, and their purity of expression, as well as justness of thought, must have had-a beneficial effect on many minds, Sir — Arthur died March 7, 1875. ; Advantages of Foreign Travel. S This, then, is one of the advantages of travel, that we come upon new ground, which we tread lightly, which is free from associations that claim too deep and con-_ stant an interest from us; and not resting long in any one place, but travelling onwards, we maintain that desirable lightness of mind; we are spectators, having — for the time no duties, no ties, no associations, no responsibilities; nothing to do but to look on, and look fairly. Another of the great advantages of travel lies in what you learn from your companions; not merely from those you set out with, or_ 50 much from them as from these whom you are thrown together with on th2 journey. I reckon this advantage to be so great, that I should be inclined to> sy, that you often get more from your companions in travel than from all you come to see. Peopleimagine they are not known,-and that they shall never meet again with the same company—which is very likely so—they are free for the time from the trainmels of their business, profession, or calling; the marks of the harness begin — to wear ont; axd altogether they taik more like men than § aves with their several functions hanging like collars round their necks. An ordinary man on travel will soinetimes talk like a great imaginative man at home, for such are never utterly - enslived by their functions. ‘Then the diversities of character you meet with instruct and delight you. ‘The variety in langnage, dress, behaviour, religious cere- monies, mode of life, amusements, arts, Climate, governments, lays hold of your attention and takes you out of the wheel-tracks of your everyday cares, He must, indeed, be either an angel of constancy and perseverance, or a wonderfully obtuse Caliban of a man, who, amidst all this change, can maintain his private griefs or vexations exactly in the same piace they held in his heart while he was packing | for his journey. "! he change of language is alone a great delight. _ You pass along, ~ living only.with gentlemen and scholars. for you rarely detect what is vulgar or inept — in the talkk around you. Children’s talk in another language is not childish to you, - and indeed everything is literature, from the announcement at a railway-station to the advertisements in a newspaper. Read the Bible in another tongue, and you — ae Le OP Wht ee ee ee ee ee Ore As ee ee will perhaps find.a beauty in it you have not thoroughly appreciated for years — before. é The Course of History. sl T’e course of history is like that of a great river wandering through various — countries; now, in the infancy of its current. collecting its waters from obscure small springs in splashy meadows, and from unconsidered rivulets which the neighboudng rustics do not know the name of; now. in its boisterous youth, forcing its way — straight through mountains; now, in middle life, going with equable current busily by great towns, its waters sullied yet enriched with commerce ; and now, inits bur- — dened old age, making its slow and difficult way with great broad surface, over which _ ~ ‘metrs] = ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 241 - %, % ; ‘ . ; p- the declining sun looms grandly‘to the sea. The uninstructed or careless travelier +, generally finds but one form of beayty or.of meaning in the river: tne romantic . gorge or wild cascade is, perhaps, the only kind of scenery which delights him. And 80 it has often been in our estimate of tistory. Well-fought battics. or the doings - of gay courts, or bloody revolutions, have been the chief sources of attraction ; while ae dressed events, but not of less real interest or import, have often escaped all notice. Discovery of the Pacifie Ocean by Vasco Nufiex. Early in September 1513 he set ont on his renowned expedition for finding ‘ the other sea,’ accompanied by a hundred and ninety men well armed, and by dogs, _- which were of more avail than men, and by Indian slaves to carry the burdens. He ~ went by sea to the territory of his father-in-law, King Careta, by whom he was well A received, and, accompanied by whose Indians, he moved on into Poncha’s territory. _ The cacique took flight. as he had done before, secking refuge amongst his mour- * tains; but Vasco Nufiez, whose first thought in his present undertaking was dis- ~ covery and not conquest, sent messengers to Poncha, promising not to hurt him. The Indian chief listened to these overtures, and came to Vasco Nufiez with gold in - his hands. It was the policy of the Spanish commander on this occasion to keep his. word: we have seen how treacherous he could be when it was not his policy 3 but he now did no harm to Poncha, and, on the contrary, he secured his friend- _ ship by presenting him with looking-glasses, hatchets. and hawk-bells, in return for ~ which he obtained guides and porters from’ among this cacique’s people, which _ enabled him to prosecute his journey. Following Poucha’s guides, Vasco Nunez _ and his men commenced the ascent of the mountains, until he entered the country ~ ofan Indian chief calied Quarequa, whom they found fully prepared to resist tbem. ~ he brave Indian advanced at the head of his troops, meaning to make ~ Vee RP Ae - avigorous attack; but. they cou!d not withstand the discharge of the firearms; in- ~ deed they believed the Spaniards to have thunder end lightning in their hands—not ~ an unreasonable fancy—and, flying in the utmost terrror from the place of battle, a - total-rout ensued. The rout was a bloody one, andis described by an author. who - gained his information from those who were present at it, as a scene to remind one of the shambles. The king and his principal men were slain, to the number of six ~- hundred. In speaking of these people. Peter Martyr makes mention of the sweetness of their languave, and how all the words might be written in Latin letters, as was also _ toberemark d in that of the inhabitants of Hispaniola. This writer also mentions, and there is reason for thinking that he was rightly informed, that there was a region not two days’ journey from Quarequa’s territory, in which Vasco Nunez found _-a race of black men, who were conjectured to have come from Africa, and to have _ been shipwrecked on this coast. Leaving several of his men, who were ill. or over- weary, in Quarequa’s chief town, and taking with him guides from this country, the _ Spanish commander pursued bis way up the most lofty sierras there, until, on the ~ 25th of Scptember 1513, he came neato the top of a mountain from whence the South Sea was visible. The distance from Poncha’s chief town to this point was forty leagues, reckoned then six days’ journey, but Vasco Nufiez and his men took twenty- five days to do it in, suffering much from the roughness of the ways and from the want of provisions. A little before Vasco Nufiez reached the height. Quare- ~-qua’s Indians informed him of his near approach to it. It was a sight which any man would wish to be’ alone to see. Vasco Nufiez~ bade his men sit down while he alone escended and looked down vupon the yast Pacific, the first man of the Old World, so far as we kuow, who had done so. Falling on his __ knees, he gave thanks to God for the favour shewn to him ‘n his being the first - man to discover and behold this sea : then with his hand he beckoned to his men to come up. When they had come, both he and they knelt down and poured forth their thanks to God: He then addressed them in these words: ‘ You see here. gentlemen and children mine, how our desires are being accomplished, and the end of our Ia- - pbours. Of that we ought to be certain. for as it has turned out true what King Com- ~ ocre’s son told of this sea to us, who never thought to see it, so IT hold for certain ~ that what he told us there being incomparable treasures in it will be fulfilled. God and his blessed mother who have assisted us, so that we should arrive here and be- _ hold this sea, will favour us that we may enjoy all that there is in it.” Every great . - “y * - , tl aS C4 eS ae rete ~ - = othe Se as a. gy 249 “< “CYCLOPAIDIA OF. = [ro 1876, - ‘ and.original action has a prospective greatness, not alone from the thoughts of the man who achieves it, but from the various aspects and high thoughts which the same ~ action will continue to present and call up in the minds of others to the end, it may be, of all time. And soa remarkable event maygo on acquiring more and more sig- — nificance. In this case, our knowledge that the Pacific,-which Vasco Nufiez then — beheld, occupies more than one-half of the earth’s surface, is an element of thought— which in our minds lightens up and gives an awe to this first gaze of his upon those mighty waters, ‘lo him the scene might not at that moment have Suggested much— more than it would have done to a_ mere conqueror; indeed, Peter Martyr likens — Vasco Nufiez to Hannibal shewing Italy to his seldiers, 4 * + ye - Great Questions of the Present Age.—rom ‘Companions of my Solitude.’ ‘What patient labour and what intellectual power-is often bestowed in coming to _ a decision on any cause which involves much worldly property. Might there not be — some great hearing of any of the intellectual and spiritual difficulties which beset — the paths of all thoughtful men in the present age? Church questions, for example, — seem to require avast investigation. Asit is, a book or pamphlet is put forward on ~ one side, and somehow the opposing facts and arguments seldom come into each other’s presence. And thus truth sustains great, loss. ; a My own opinion is, if I cau venture to say that I have an opinion, that what we ' ought to seek for is a church of the utmost width of doctrine, and with the most — beautiful expression that can be devised for that doctrine—the most beantiful ex- lo I mean, in words, in deeds, in sculpture, and in sacred song; which should lave a Simple easy grandeur in its proceedings that should please the elevated and — poetical mind, charm the poor, and yet not lie open to just cavilling on the part of — those somewhat hard, intellectual worshippers who must have a reason for every-— thing; which should have vitality and growth in it; and which should attract and not repel those who-love truth better than any creature. She ae Pondering these things in the silence of the downs, I at last neared home; and found that the result of all my thoughts was that any would-be teacher must be con-— tented and humble, or to try to be so, in his efforts of any kind; and that if the great questions can hardly be determined by man (divided, too, as he is from his brother in all ways), he must still try and do what he can on lower levels, See. ever for. more insight, and looking forward to the knowledge which may be gained by death. Advice to Men in Small Authority. It isa great privilege to have an opportunity many times in a day, in the course of your, business, to do a real kindness which is notto be paid for. Graciousness of demeanour is a large part of the duty of any official person whe comes in contact with the world. Where a man’s business is, there is the ground for his religion to manifest itself. OT FR i SAMUEL LANGHORNE CLEMENS (‘MARK TWAIN’). This humorous writer and lecturer is a native of Florida, Monroe county, Missouri, where he was born in 183). He has been suc- cessively a printer, a steamboat pilot, a miner, and a newspaper edi- tor—the.last in San Francisco, In 1867 he published a story of the Californian gold mines, entitled ‘The Jumping Frog,’ which in-~ stantly became popular. In the same year he went on a pleasure - trip to Spain, Italy, Greece, Egypt. &c., and the result was two vol- umes of amusing incidents and description—the first, entitled ‘ Inno- cents Abroad,’ giving the details of the journey from New York-to Naples; and the second, under the title of the “New Pilgrim’ Progress,’ describing the Holy Land and the Grecian and Syrian shores. Mr, Clemens is author of various other works—‘ Burlesque “g ST Ee a EN on SR : ' Ss i Se gaye NA ws GA aoe eat i : ee : : i eo aie ys Sf <7% ‘ » an x eo - 4 > =F . ; > CLEMENS.} ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. | 248 in i ae , < - mie _ Autobiography,’ ‘Eye-openers,’ ‘Good Things,’ ‘Screamers,’ ‘A _ Gathering of Scraps,’ ‘ Roughing It,’ &c. The Noblest Delight. -_ ~ What is it that confers the noblest delight? What is that which swells a mfn’s breast with pride above that which any other experience can bring to him? Dis- _ covery! To know that you are walking where none others have walked ; that you are beholding what human eye has not seen before; that you are breathing a virgin atmosphere. ‘fo give birth to an idea—to discover a great thought—an intellectual __nugget, right under the dust of a field that many a brain-plough had gone over be- _ fore. To find a new planet, to invent a new hinge, to find a way to make the light- _ nings’carry your messages. To be the first—that is the idea. ‘To do something, say - something, see something, before anybody else—these are the things that coufer a pleasure compared with which other pleasures are tame and commonplace, other ecs- facies cheap and trivial. Morse; with his first message, brought by his servant, the lightning; Fulton, in that long-drawn century of suspense, when he placed his hand - upon the throttle-valve, and lo, the steamboat moved ; Jenner, when his patient with -.the cow’s virus in his blood walked through the small-pox hospitals unscathed ; _ Howe, when the idea shot through his brain that for a hundred and twenty genera- * tions the eye had been bored through the wrong end of the needle; the nameless ’ lord of art who laid down his chisel in some old age that is forgotten now, and ~ gloated upon the finished Laocoon; Daguerre, when he commanded the sun, riding - in the zenith, to print the landscape upon his insignificant silvered plate, and he obeyed; Columbus, in the Pinta’s shrouds, when he swung his hat above a fabled > sea and gazed abroad upon an unknown world! These are the men who have really ~ lived—who have actually comprehended what pleasure is—who have crowded long lifetimes of ecstacy into a single moment. & + ~ - ¥ Puzzling an Italian Guide. The guides in Genoa are delighted to secure an American party, becatise Ameri- _ ¢ans so much wonder, ‘and deal so much in sentiment and emotion before any relic _of Columbus. Our guide there fidgeted about as if he had swallowed a spring mat- _ tress. He was full of animation—full of impatience. He said: ‘Come wis me. gen- - teelmen! come! I show you ze letter writing by Christopher Colombo. Write it _ himself !—write it wis his own hand !—come!? _ He took us to the municipal palace... After much impressive fumbling of keys ‘and opening of locks, the stained and aged document was spread before us. The guide’s eyes sparkled. He danced about us and tapped the parchment with his - finger. _ *What I tell you, genteelmen! Is it notso? See! handwriting Christopher _ Colombo !—write it himself!’ _ _*« We looked indifferent—unconcerned. The doctor examined the document very ' deliberately, during a painful pause. Then he ssid, without any show of interest: : tiie? Ferguson, what—what did you say was the name of the party who wrote ee this? ° : ‘Christopher Colombo! ze great Christopher Colombo !’ Another deliberate examination. ‘ Ah—did he write it himself. or—or how 2?’ ae aay write it himself !—Christopher Colombo! he’s own handwriting, write by himself! _. ‘Then the doctor laid the document down, and said: ‘Why, I have seen boys in ~-America only fourteen years old that could write better than that.’ 2 ‘But zis is ze great Christo’ : ; ‘I don’t care who it is! It’s the worst writing I ever saw. Now you mustn’t _ think you can impose on us because we are strangers. We are not fools, by a good deal. If you have got any specimens of penmanship of real merit, trot them out! _-and if you haven’t, drive on!’: " , We drove on. The guide was considerably shaken up, but he made one more _ venture. He had something which he thought would overcome us. He said: ‘ Ah, _ genteelmen, you come wis me! I shew you beautiful, oh, magnificent bust Christo- - pher Colombo !—splendid, grand, magnificeut !’ a a. eee ty Sa. AS es amis a AT “el SSP. Sos a SS ge Se ane : 7 goe - ag Sat pare se Te pda * ; -CYCLOPADIA OF le 2 [to 1876. He brought us before the beautiful bust—for it was besutiful—and sprang back and struck an attitude, : . ‘Ah, look, genteelmen !—beautiful, grand—bust Christopher Colombo !—beautiful ~ bust, beautiful pedestal? - x eee ae The doctor put up his eye-glass—procured for such occasions. *Ah—what did — ‘ you say this gentleman’s name was?’ , a - Christopher Colombo—ze great Christopher Colombo!’ ~ : . ‘Christopher Colombo—the great Christopher Colombo. Well, what did he do ?’ ‘Discover America !—discover America. Oh, ze devil? ; ‘Discover. America. No—that statement will hardly wash. We are just from America ourselves. We heard nothing about it. Christopher Colombo—pieasant — name—is—is he dead ?’ ‘Oh, corpo di Baccho !—three hundred year!’ “What did he die of 2?’ . Mummy!? ~ ' The eye-glass came up as calinly. as deliberately as ever. : ‘ Ah—Ferguson—what did I understand you to say the gentleman’s name was?’ | © ‘Name ?—he got no name ?—Mummy !—’Gyptian muminy !” : F ‘Yes, yes. Born here?’ + Sa ‘Nol ’Gyptian mummy!’ ~ “Ah, just so. Frenchman, I presnme?’ — . ‘No !—not Frenchman. not Roman !—born in Egypta!? — ~ q la “Born in Evypta. Never heard of Egypta before. ~ Foreign locality. likely, S Mummy—mummy. How calm he is—how self-possessed. Is, ah—is he dead?’ 4 ‘Oh, saeré b’eu, beeu dead three thousan’ year !? 2 The doctor turned on him savagely— \ , ‘Here. now. what do you mean by such conduct as this! Playing us for China- men because we are strangers and trying to learn! Trying to impose yonr vile — second-hand carcusses on ws /—thunder and lighting, I’ve a notion to—to—if you de | * J a - a . te got a nice fresh corpse, fetch him out !—or by George we'll brain you!” DR. JOHN BROWN—MR. M. M LENNAN. x Joun Brown, son of the distinguished theological professor in connection with the As-ociate Syned (ante), and an accomp- = lished member of. the literary society of Edinburgh, was born in 1810, studied medicine, and settled down as a medical practitioner in the Scottish capital. In 1858 he published ‘ Hore Subsecive,’ a vol- rey me ge = = - a “prown,]) |. - ENGLISH LITERATURE, . ~ 245 «< ~ lid ume of essays on Locke and Sydenham, with other occasional papers... One of Dr. Brown’s objects in this publication he thus © explains: . ~ Yo give my vote for going back tothe old manly, intellectual, and literary culture of the days of Sydenham, Arbuthnot, and Gregory; when a physician fed, enlarged, > and quickened his entire nature; whén he lived in the world of letters as a free- - holder, and reverenced the ancients, while at the same time Le pushed on among his fellows, and jived in the present, believing that his profession and his patients need noi suffer, though his horce subsecive were devoted occasionally to misceilane- - ous thinking and reading, and to a course of what is elsewhere called ‘fine confused _ feeding,’ or thongh, as his Gaelic historian says of Rob Roy at his bye hours, he be *- ‘aman of incoherent transactions.’. AsI have said, system is not always method, much less progress. ' oa He adds, as of more important and general application : Physiology and the laws of health are the interpreters of disease and cure, over whose porch we may best inscribe hine sanitas. It is in watching nature’s methods *_ of cure in ourselves and in the lower animals, and in a firm faith in the self-regula- tive, recuperative powers of nature, that all our therapeutic intentions and means ~ must proceed, and that we should watca and obey their truly divine voice and finger ~ With weverence and godly fear, as well as with diligence and worldly wisdom— - humbly standing by while He works, guiding and stemming or withdrawing His - current, and acting as his ministers and helps. One story in this volume, ‘ Rab and his Friends,’ has been exceed- ingly popular, and, being published in a separate form, has had as - wide a circuiation as any of the novels of Scott or Dickens. It is __ a short and simple tale of a poor Scotch carrier and his dog Rab : - -Rab had the dignity and simplicity of great size; and having fought his way all along the road to absolute supremacy. he was as mighty in his own line as Julius ~ -Cesar or the Duke of Wellington, and he had the gravity.of all great fighters. A _. Highland gamekeeper, when usked why a-certain terrier. of singular pluck, was so ~ -much graver than thé other dogs, said: ‘ Oh, sir, life’s full o’ sairiousness to him— he can just never get enuff o’ fechtin.’ The carrier’s wife Ailie, a gentle, delicate old woman, had to sub- - mit to an operation for cancer in the breast. It was performed in the Edinburgh Hospital, Rab ind his master being present, and the scene — is painted with a truth and dramatic vividness which go directly to ~ the heait. Ailie dies; her husband caught a low fever prevailing in _ the village, and died also. Rab is present at both interments; there ~~ was deep snow on the round; and after the second of the burials he slunk home to the stable, whence he could neither be tempted or driven, and ultimately he had to be killed. On this homely and slender basis of fact, the story of ‘Rab and his Friends’ has been con- structed, and its mixture of fancy, humour, and pathos—all curl- ously blended, and all thoroughly national in expression and feeling —is quite inimitable. No right-hearted Scotsman ever read the little story without tears. In 1861 Dr. Brown published a second series of ‘Hore Subsecivee,’ containing twelve sketches (‘our dogs’ not being - forgotten), one of which we subjoin: iar \ _ rattle throngh this hard-featured, and to oureye, comfortless village, lying ugly amid /peat-moss ; and far off;.on the horizon, Damyat and the Touch Fells; and at his £43 | - CYCLOPA:DIA OF » Jro 1876. : | a Queen Marys Culd-Garden. Tf any one wants a pleasure that is sure to please, one over which he needn’t growl the sardonic beatitude of the great Dean, let him, when the mercuryisat ‘Fair,’ take the nine A.M. train to the north and a return ticket for Callander. and when he arrives at Stirling, let him ask the most obliging and knowing of station- masters to telegraph to the Dreadnought for a carriage to be in waiting. When pass. ing Dunblane Cathedral. let him resolve to write to the *Scotsman,’ advising the remo- val of a couple of shabby trees which obstruet the view of that beautiful triple end window which Mr. Ruskin and everybody else admires, aud by the time he has writ- ten this letter in his mind, and turned the sentences to it, he will find himself at Cal- lander and the ecarrixge all ready. Giving the order for the Port of Monteith, he will errr a so much grandeur and beauty, and let him stop on the crown of the bridge, and fill _his eyes with the perfection of the’ view up the Pass of Leny—the Teith lying diffuse and asleep, as if its heart were in the Highlands and it were loath to go, the noble Ben Ledi imaged in its broad stream. ‘Then let him make his way across a bit of — — pleasant moorland—fiushed with maiden-hair and white with cotton grass, and fra- ~~ grart with the Orchis conopsia well deserving its epithet odoratissima. He will see from the turn of the hillside the Blair of Drummond waving with corn.and shadowed with rich woods, where eighty years ago there was a black — — side the little loch of Ruskie, in which he may see five Highland cattle, three tawny brown and two brindled, standing in the still water—themselves as. still, all except ; their switching tails and winking ears—the perfect images of quiet enjoyment. Via this time he will have come in sight of the Lake of Monteith, set in its woods, with its magical shadows and soft gleams. There is a loveliness, a gentleness and peace about it more like ‘lone St. Mary’s Lake,’ or Derwent Water, than of any of its sister lochs. It is lovely rather than beautiful, and is a sort of geiitle prelude, in the minor ; Key, to the coming glories and intenser charms of Loch Ard and the true Highlands eyond, You are now at the Port, and have passed the secluded and cheerful manse, and the parish kirk with its graves, close to the lake,-and the proud aisle of the Grahams =~ of Gartmore washed by its waves. Across the road is the modest little inn, a Fish- er’s Tryst. On the unruftled water lie several islets, plump with rich foliage, brood- ‘ ing like great birds of calm. You somehow think of them as on, not in the lake, or > — like clouds lying in a nethér sky—‘liké ships waiting for the wind.’ Yougetacoble, © — and a yauld old Celt, its master, and are rowed across to Inchmahome, ‘the Isle — of Rest.’ Here you find on landing huge Spanish chestnuts. one lying dead, others ~ standing stark and peeled, like gigantic antlers, and others flourishing in their viridis senectus, and in a thicket of wood you see the remains of a monastery of great — beauty, the design and workmanship exquisite. You wander through the ruins, © } overgrown with ferns and Spanish filberts, and old fruit-trees, and at the corner of ~— the old monkish garden you come upon one of the strangest and most touching sights you ever saw—an oval space of about eighteen feet by twelve, with the re- ; mains of a double row of boxwood all round, the plants of box being about four- teen feet high, and eight or nine inches in dia’ eter, healthy, but plainly of great age. _ What isthis? It is called in the guide-books Queen Mary’s Bower; but besides _ its being plainly not in the Jeast a bower, what could the-little Queen, then five years old, and ‘fancy free,’ do with a bower? it is plainly, as was, we believe, first sug- gested by our keen-sighted and diagnostic Professor of Clinical Surgery, the Child- Queen’s Garden, with her little walk, and its rows of boxwood, left to themselves for three hundred years. Yes, without doubt, ‘here is that first garden of her simple- ness.’ Fancy the little. lovely royal child, with her four Marys, her playfellows, her child maids of honour, with their little hands and feet, and their innocent and happy eyes, pattering about that garden all that time ago, ug ae and running, and gar- dening as only-children do and can. As is well known, Mary was placed by her mother in this Isle of Rest before sailing from the Clyde for France. There is some- thing that ‘tirls the heart-strings a’ to the life’ in standing and looking on this un-= © mi-takable living relic of that strange and pathetic old time. Were*we Mr. Tenny- » son, we would write an Idyll of that child Queen, in that garden of hers, eating her 3 bread and honey—getting her teaching from the holy men, the monks of old, and Py WLENNAN.} __ ENGLISH LITERATURE. ees = JS : -. running off in wild mirth to her garden and her flowers, all unconscious of the black, _ lowering thunder-cloud’on Ben Lomond’s shoulder. Oh, blessed vision! happy child! Thou artso exquisitely wild ; I think of thee with many fears, Of what may be thy lot in future years. : =) I thought of times when Pain might be thy guest, Lord of thy house and hospitality. And Grief, uneasy lover! never rest But when she sat within the touch of thee. What hast thou to do with sorrow, Or the injuries of to-morrow? You have ample time to linger there amid The gleams, the shadows and the peace profound, and get your mind informed with quietness and beauty, and fed with thoughts 62 other years, and of her whose story, like Helen of Troy’s, will continue to move the hearts of men as long as the gray hills stand round about that gentle lake, and are mirrored at evening in its depths. A volume illustrative of Scotch rustic life—true in speech, thought, and action—appeared anonymously in 1870, under the title of ‘Peasant Life: Being Sketches of the Villagers and Field-labour- ers of Glenaldie.’ There is a degree of force and realityin these homely sketches,-drawn directly from nature, equal to the: pictures of Crabbe. - Professor Wilson’s ‘ Lights and Shadows of. Scottish Life’ are purely Arcadian. The author of ‘ Peasant Life’ (under- stood to be a solicitor in Caithness, Mr. MaAncotm M’LENNAN) en- lists our sympathy for coarse farm labourers and ‘ bondagers’ or field-workers, and- shews that pure and natural love, and pure and natural emotion, are best studied under thatched roofs and in untu- tored hearts. The author published a second work, ‘ Dr. Benoni,’ but it is inferior to the ‘ Peasant Life.’ WILLIAM RATHBONE GREG. This gentleman is author of various works, political and literary— ‘ Political Problems for,our Age and Country;’ ‘ The Creed of Chris- tendom;” ‘Literary and Social Judgments;’ ‘Truth versus Edifica- tion;’ ‘Enigmas of Life;’ ‘Rocks Ahead, or the Warnings of Cas- sandra;’ &c/ Mr. Greg is aman of intellectual power and fine aspi- rations. Though unorthodox in opinion, he is sound at heart, religious in feeling, and a sincere well-wisher of humanity. He is most popular on directly practical questions, with a philanthropic turn. Mr. Greg (born in Liverpool about 1810) succeeded John ‘ Ramsay M’Culloch in 1864 as Comptroiler of H.M. Stationery Office. The following extracts are from the most eloquent of his writings— the ‘ Enigmas of Life:’. ‘ Glorified Spirits. Whether in the lapse of ages and in the course of progressive being, the more dormant. portions of each man’s vature will be called out, and his desires, and there- fore the elements of his heaven, change; whether the loving willlearn to thirst for Bag. SY AD SCYCLOPADIA OFF = — fro 1876. . knowledge. and the flery and energetic to-value peace, and the active aes earnest: to ° ’ grow weary of steapale and achievement. and to long for tenderness and repose. and | the rested to begin a new life of aspiration, and-those who had long lain satisticd. With the humble constituents of the beatific stare, to-yearn after the conditions Of 18 loftier being, we cannot tell. Probably. It may be, too, that the tendency of every — thought and feeling will be to gravitate towards the erent centre. to inerge in one mighty and all-absorbing emotion ‘The thirst for knowledge may find its mitimate — expression in the conteinph: ition of the Div ne Nature—in which fndecd all may He ~~ contained. It may be that all longings will be finally resolved into striving after a closer union with God, and all human ‘affections merged in the desire to be a partaker in His nature. It maybe that in future stages of our progress, we shall he- ~ come more and more severed from the human, and joined to the divine; that, ~ starting on the ‘threshold of the eternal world with the one beloved being : who has been the -partner of our thoughts «nd feelings .on this earth, we | may find, as we go forward to the goal, and soar upward to the > throne, ~ a and dive deeper and deeper into the mysterics-and immensities of creation, —— that affection will gradually emerge in thought, and the cravings and ~ yearnings or the heart be calmed and superseded by the sublimer interests ofthe-@ perfected intelligence; that the hands which have so Jong been joined in love may ~ slowly unclasp, to be stretched forth towards the approaching glory; that the glance. _ of tenderness which we cast ov the companion at. our side may become faint, languid, and hurried before the earnest gaze with which we watch ‘ the light that shall be re~ vealed.’ We might even picture to ourselves that epoch in our progress through suc-_ cessively loftier and more purified existences, when those who on earth strenerhasieds each other in every temptation, sustained each other under every trial. mingled smiles. at every joy and tears at every sorrow ; and who, in succeeding varieties of being, hand in hand, heart with heart, thought for thought, penetrated together each new secret. gained each added height, ¢ glow ed with each new rapture. drank in each suc- ~ cessive revelation, shall have reached that point where all Jower affections will be, merged in one absorbing Presence ; when the awful nearness of the perfect love will — dissolve all other ties and swallow up all other feelings; and when the finished and completed soul, before melting away into that sea of light which wil be its clement. for ever, shall turn to take a last fond look of the now glorified but. thereby lost com- panion of so much anguish and so many joys! But we cannot yet contemplate the~ prospect without pain: therefore it will not be yet; not till we can contemplate it — without joy: for heaven is a scene of bliss and recompense, not of sorrow and be- -¥ reavement. = a Human Development. Two glorious fitiees lie heforeus: the progress of the race here, the progress OL the man hereafter. Histor rs ai caide that the individual man needs to be Poceienicdal in order to excel the past. e appears to have reached his perfection centuries ago. Men Jived then whom we ee never yet been able to surpass, rarely even to equal. Our knowledge has, of conrse, gone on increasing, for that is a material capable of indefinite accumulation. But for power, for the highest reach and range of mental ~ and spiritual capacity in every line, the lapse of two. or three thousand years has. shewn no sign of increase or improvement. What scniptor has surpassed Phidias ? - What poet. has transcended Eschylus, Homer, or the author of the Book of Job? W hat__ devont aspiranr has soared higher than David or Isaiah ? What statesman have modern times produced mightier or grander than Pericles ? What patriot martyr truer or no- bler than Socrates? Wherein. eave in mere acquirements, was Bacon superior to Plato? or Newton to Thales or Pythagor as? Very early in our history individual men beat their wings against the allotied. boundaries of their earthly Cominions ; earlyin. — history God gave to the human race the types and patterns to imitate and approach, + but never to transcend. Here, then, surely we see clearly imitated to us our appointed work—namely. to raise the masses tothe true standard of harmonions human virtue and capacity. not to strive ourselves to overleap that standaré; not to put our own ~ souls or brains into a hot-bed. but to put all our fellow men into a fertile and a whole- — sone soil. If this be so. both onr practical course and our speculative difficulties are . ‘ preatly cleared, The timid fugitives from the duties and temptations of the world, — the selfish coddlers and nursers of their own souls, the sedulous cultivators either. of ae x7 ~» - . “ ARNOLD.}| ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 249 a cold intellect or of a fervent spiritualism, have alike deserted or mistaken their riijs- sion, and turmed their back upon the goal. The philanthropists, in the measure of their wisdom and their purity of zeal, are the real fellow-workmen of the Most High. This principle may give us the clue to many dispensations which at first seem dark and grievous, to the grand scale and the distracting slowness of nature’s operations; to her merciless incousideration for the individual when the interests of the race are ‘in question : = So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life.—Jn Memoriam. Noble souls are sacrificed to ignoble masses; the good champion often falls, the wrong competitor often wius: but the great car of humanity moves forward by those very steps which revolt our sympathies and crush our hopes, and which, if we could, we would have ordered otherwise. MATTHEW ARNOLD, ETC. _ Mr. Arnowp is perhaps better known as a critic and theologian than as a poet (ante). He has published ‘Essays on Criticism,’ 1865; ‘Lectures ca the Study of Celtic Literature,’ 1867; ‘ Culture and Anarchy,’ 1870; ‘St. Paul and Protestantism,’ ‘Literature and Dogma,’ ‘God and the Bible,’ a review of objections to ‘Literature and Dogma,’ 1875; &c. Without subscribing to Mr. Arnold’s theo- logical opinions, we may note the earnest, reverential tone with which he discusses such subjects, and the amount of thought and reading he has brought to bear on them. He says: ‘Why meddle with re- ligion at all ? why run the risk of breaking a tie which it is so hard to join again? And the risk is not to be run lightly, and one is not always-to attack people’s illusions about religion merely because illu- Sions they are. But at thc present moment two things about the Christian’religion must surely be clear to anybody with eyes in his head. One is, that men cannot do without it; the other, that they — cannot do with it as it is.’ Two volumes, partly biographical and partly critical—‘A Mauual of English Prose Literature,’ 1872; and ‘ Characteristics of English Poets from Chaucer to Shirley,’ 1874—have been published by Wi1- LIAM Minto, M.A., now editor of ‘The Examiner.’ The first work - ‘endeavours to criticise upon a methodical plan,’ and selects certai: authors (De Quincey, Macaulay, and Carlyle) for ‘full criticism and, exemplification.’ The second volume, besides describing the charac- teristics of the poets, traces how far each was influenced by his liter: ary predecessors and his contemporaries. The two works are valuabie for students of our literature, and are interesting to all classes of readers. Mr. Minto is, we believe, a native of Aberdeen, and prom. ises to take a high place among our critical and political writers—q _ place worthy the successor of Leigh Hunt, Albany Fonblanque, and _ John Forster Something similar to Mr. Minto’s volumes are two by Mr. Lresiis STEeruens, editor of the ‘Cornhill Magazine,’ entitled ‘Hours in a Library,’ being a series of sketches of favourite authors, drawn with taste and discrimination, and bearing the impress of a true lover of _ E.L.V.2—9 te a 250 CYCLOPADIA OF © ~~ |r 1876, literature. Another editor, Mr. R. H. Hurron of the ‘Spectator,’ has collected two volumes of his ‘ Essays Theological and Literary,’ _ in which there is more of analytical criticism and ingenious dogmatic — discussion than in the above. ‘ SCIENTIFIC WRITERS. The progresss of physical and mental science, up to the nineteenth — century, was traced with eminert ability in the dessertations written ~ for the ‘ Encyclopedia Britannica.’ Ethical philosophy was treated — by Dugald Stewart and Mackintosh, as already stated, and a third dis- sertation was added by Archbishop Whately, exhibiting a general view of the rise, progress, and corruptions of Christianity. Mathe- matical and physical science was taken up by PROFESSOR JOHN PLAY- — FAIR (1748-1819), distinguished for his illustrations of the Huttonian theory, and for his biographies of Hutton and Robison. Playfair treated of the period which closed with Newton and Leibnitz, and the subject was continued through the course of the eighteenth century by Str JoHN LESLIE, who succeeded to Playfair in the chair of Natural — Philosophy in the university of Edinburgh. Sir John (1766-18382) — was celebrated for his ardour in physical research, and for his work, an ‘ Experimental Inquiry into the Nature and Propagation of Heat,’ 1804. A sixth dissertation was added in 1856 by the Professor of — Natural Philosophy in the university of Edinburgh, Dr. JAMEs Davin ~ ForBEs, who continued the general view of the progress of .mathe- matical and physical science principally from 1755 to 1850. ‘If we look for the distinguishing characteristic of the centenary pe- riod just elapsed (1750-1850), we find it,’ says Professor Forbes, ‘in — this, that it has drawn far more largely upon experiment asa means ~ of arriving at truth than had previously been done. By a natural — conversion of the process, the knowledge thus acquired has been ap- ~ plied with more freedom and boldness to the exigencies of mankind, — and to the further investigation of the secrets of nature. If wecom- — pare the now extensive subjects of heat, electricity, and magnetism, — with the mere rudiments of these sciences as understood in 1750; cr _ if we think of the astonishing revival of physical and experimental optics—which had well-nigh slumbered for more than a century— — during the two short lives of Young and Fresnel, we shall be dispos- — ed to admit the former part of the statement ; and when we recol- lect that the same period has given birth to the steam-engine of Watt, with its application to shipping and railways—to the gigantic teles- — copes of Herschel and Lord Rosse, wonderful as works of art as welf — a4 instruments of sublime discovery—to the electric telegraph, and to . | w ‘ 7 - i DAVY.) _ "ENGLISH LITERATURE. 251 the tubular bridge—we shall be ready to grant the last part of the proposition, that science and art have been more indissolubly united than at any previous period.’ A series of ‘ Lectures on Some Recent Advances in Physical Sci- ence,’ 1876, by Prorrssor Tarr of the university of Edinburgh, continues the history of modern progress, and describes fully the ‘marvels of the spectrum analysis, one of the triumphs of the present generation. SIR HUMPHRY DAVY. A great chemist and a distinguished man of letters, HuMPHRY Davy, was born at Penzance, in Cornwall, in 1778. He was edu- cated at the school of ‘Truro, and afterwards apprenticed to a surgeon at Penzance. He was an enthusiastic reader and student. ‘His was an ardent boyhood,’ says Professor Forbes: ‘Educated in --a manner somewhat irregular, and with only the advantages of a --remote country town, his talents appeared in .the earnestness with which he cultivated at once the most various branches of knowledge aud speculation. He was fond of metaphysics; he was fond of experiment; he was an ardent student of nature; and he possessed at an early age poetic powers, which, had they been cultivated, would, in the opinion of competent judges, have made him as emi- nent in literature as he became in science. All these tastes endured ' throughout life. Business could not stifle them—even the approach _ of death was unable to extingu’sh them. .The reveries of his boy- hood on the sea-worn cliffs of Mount’s Bay may-yet be traced in many of the pages dictated during the last year of his life amidst the ruins of the Coliseum. But the physical sciences—those more emphatically called at that time chemical—speedily attracted and ~ absorbed his most earnest attention. ‘The philosophy of the impon- _ derables—of light, heat, and electricity—was the subject of his earliest, and also that of his happiest essays.’ Of his splendid dis- _ coveries, the most useful to mankind have been his experiments on _ breathing the gases, his lectures on agricultural chemistry, his inven- tion of the safety-lamp, and his protectors for ships. At the early age of twenty-two, Davy was appointed lecturer to “the Royal Institution of London. In 1803 he commenced lecturing - on agriculture, and his lectures were published in 1818, under the title of ‘Elements of Agricultural Chemistry.’ His lecture ‘On Some _ Chemical Agents of Electricity’ is considered one of the most valu. -able contributions ever made to chemical science. Dr. Paris, the biographer of Davy, observes that, ‘since the account given by New ton of his first discoveries in optics, it may be questioned whether so happy and successful an instance of philosophical induction has ever _ been afforded as that by which Davy discovered the composition of ~ the fixed alkalis.’ In 1812 he published ‘ Elements of Chemical Phil “osophy.’ About 1815 he entered on the investigation of fire-dan~p, a tS = R52 CYCLOPAEDIA OF _ . [ro 1876, which is the cause of explosions in mines. The result was his in- vention of the safety-lamp, for which he was rewarded with a baror- etcy by the prince regent in 1818, and the coal-owners of the north of England presented him with a service of plate worth £2000. In 1820 Davy was elected President of the Royal Society, in the room of Sir Joseph Banks, deceased. It is mortifying to think that this great man, captivated by the flatteries of the fashionable world, and having married (1812) a rich — Scottish lady, Mrs. Apreece, lost. much of the winning simplicity of — his early manner, and of his pure devoticn to science. In 1826 Sir Humphry had a paralytic attack, and went abroad for the recovery - of his health. He composed an interesting little volume, ‘Salmonia, — or Days of Fly-fishing,’ 1828; and he wrote also ‘Consolations in — Travel, or the last Days of a Philosopher,’ which appeared after his ~ death. He died at Geneva on the 29th May 1829, and the Genevese government honoured him with a public funeral. a The posthumous volume of ‘Consolations’ contains some finely _ written speculations on moral and ethical questions, with descrip- — tions of Italian scenery. The work is in the form of dialogues be- — tween a liberal and accomplished Roman Catholic and an English patrician, poetical and discursive, whose views on religion entered — the verge of scepticism. The former he calls Ambrosio; the latter ; Onuphrio. Another interlocutor is named Philalethes. We subjoin part of their dialogues, : The Future State of Human Beings. AmBR0S10. Revelation has not disclosed to us the nature of this state, but only fixed its certainty. Weare sure from geological facts, as wellas from sacred history, that man is a recent animal on the globe, and that this glohe has undergone one cousiderable revolution, since the creation, by water; and we are taught that it is to undergo another, by fire, preparatory toa new and glorified state of existence of | man; but this is all we are permitted to know, and as th’s state is to be entirely _ different from the present one of misery and probation, any knowledge respecting it — would be useless, and indeed almost impossible. ‘ J ~ PaiuaLeTues. My genius has placed the more exalted spiritual natures in ley ga worlds, and this last fiery revolution may be produced by the appulse of a comet. AmB. Human fancy may imagine a thousand ways in which it may be produced; — but on such notions it is absurd to dwell. I will not allow your genins the sl ghtest. approach to inspiration, and I can admit no verisimility in a reverie which is fixed on a founda ion you now allow to be so weak.. But see, the twilight is beginning to appear in the orient. sky, and there are some dark clouds on the hovizon opposite to the crater of Vesuvius, the lower edges of which transmit a bright light, shewing the sun is already risen in the country beneath them. I would say that they may serve as unimaze of the hopes of immortality derived from revelation ; for we are sure from. the light reflected in those clouds that the lands below us are in the brishtest sunsalue, but we are entirely ignorant of the surface and the scenery; so, by revela- tion, the light of an imperishable and glorious world is disclosed to us: but it is in SE and its objects cannot be seen by mortal eye or imaged by mortal imagina- | ion. . gs pavy.]? . ENGLISH LITERATURE. 258 €rowned with palins and amaranths, and that they are described as perpetually hymn- ing axd praising God. AMB, ‘This 1s evidently only metaphorical; music is the sensual pleasure which approaches nearest to an intellectual one, and probably may represent the delight resulting from the perception of the harmony of things and of truth seen in God. The palm as 4n evergreen tree, and the amaranth a perdurable flower, are emblems of immortality. If Iam allowed to give a metaphorical allusion to the future state of the blest, J] shonld image it by the orange-grove in that sheltered glen, on which the sun is now beginning to shine, and of which the trees are at the same time loaded with sweet golden fruit and balmy silver flowers. Such objects may well portray a State in which hope and fruition become one eternal feeling. Indestructibility of Mind. The doctrine of the materialists was always, even in my youth, a cold, heavy, du’ls and insupportable doctrine to me, and necessarily tending to atheism. When TI had heard, with disgust, in the dissecting rooms, the plan of the physiologist, of the gradual accretion of matter, and its becoming endowed with irritability, ripening into Sensibility, and acquiring such organs as were necessary by its own inherent forces, and at last issuing into intellectual existence, a walk into the gre n fields or woods, by the banks of rivers, brought back my feelings from nature to God. Isaw in all the powers of matter the instruments of the Deity. ‘The sunbeams, the breath of the zephyr. awakening animation in forms prepared by divine intelligence to receive it, the insensate seed, the slumbering eggs which were to be vivified, appeared, like the new-born animal, works of a divine mind; I saw love as the creative principle in the material world, and this love only asa divine attribute. ‘Then my own mind I felt connected with new sensations and indefinite hopes—a thirst for immortality ; the great names of other ages audof distant uations appeared to me to be still living around me, and even in the fancied movements of the heroic and the great, I saw, as it were, the decrees of the indestructibility of mind. These feelings, though gen- erally considered as poetical, yet, I think. offer a sound philosophical argument in “favour of the immortality of the soul. In all the habits and instincts of young ani- mals, their feelings and movements, may be traced an intimate relation to their im- proved perfect state; their sports have always affinities to their modes of hunting or catching their food: and young birds, even in the nests. stew marks of foudness which. when their frames are developed. become signs of actions necessary to the reproduction and preservation of the species. The desire of glory, of honour, of immortal fame, and ot constant knowledge. so usual in young persons of _well-con- stituted minds, cannot.'I think. be other than symptoms of the infinite and progres- sive nature of the intellect—hopes which, as they cannot be gratified kere, belong toa frame of mind suited to a nobler state of existence. Religion, whether natural or revealed, has always the same beneficial influence on the mind. In youth. in health and prosperity, it awakens feelings of gratitude and sublime love, and putifies nt the same time that it exalts. But it isin misfortun», in sickness, in age. that its effects are most truly and beneficially felt; when submis- sion in faith and humble trust in the divine will, from duties become pleasures. un- decaying sources of consolation. Then. it creates powers which were believed to be extinct; and gives a freshness to the mind. which was supposed to kave passed -away for ever, but which is now renovated as an immortal hope. Then it is the Pharos, guiding the wave-tossed mariner to his home—as the caln and beautiful still basins or fiords. surrounded by tranquil groves and pastoral meadows, to the - Norwegian pilot escaping from a heavy storm in tha North Sea—or as the green and dewy spot. eushirg with fonntains, to the exhausted and thirsty traveller in the midst of the desert. Its influence ontlives a!l earthly enjoyments, and becomes stronver as the organs decay and the frame dissolves. It appears as that evening- star of light in the horizon of life. which. we are sure, is to become, In anofher sea- son. a moerning-star; and it throws its radiance through the gloom and shadow of death. SIR JOHN HERSCHEL, The more popular treatises of this eminent astronomer—the ‘ Pre- liminary Discourse on Natural Philosophy,’ 1880, and ‘ Treatise on 254 CYCLOPAEDIA OF- - [To 1876. Astronomy,’ 1833, have been widely circulated. Sir John subse- quently collected a series of ‘Essays which appeared in the Edin- burgh and Quarterly Reviews, with Addresses and other Pieces,’ 1857. Protoundly versed in almost every branch of physics, Sir John Her- schel occasionally sported with the Muses, but in the garb of the an- cients—in hexamet:r and pentameter verses. The following stanzas are at least equal to Southey’s hexameters, and the first was made in a dream in 1841, and written down immediately on waking: Throw thyself on thy God, nor mock him with feeble denial; Sure of his love, and oh! sure of his mercy at last, . ; Bitter and deep though the draught, yet shun not the cup of thy trial, But in its healing effect, smile at its bitterness past. Pray for that holier cup while sweet with bitter lies blending, r ae ; i Tears in the cheerful eye, smiles on the sozrowing cheek, Death expiring in life, when the long-drawn struggle is ending 3 Triumph and joy to the strong, strength to the weary and weak. The abstruse studies and triumphs of Sir John Herschel—his work on the Differential Calculus, his Catalogues of Stars and Nebule, and his Treatises on Sound and Light are well known; but perhaps the most striking instance of his pure devotion to science was his expedi- tion to the Cape of Good Hope, and his sojourn there for four years, solely at his own expense, with the view of examining under the ye AN = Se oo Cae ~~ a Ss =" most favourable circumstances the southern hemisphere. This com- - pleted a telescopic survey of the whole surface of the visible heavens, ‘commenced by Sir William Herschel above seventy years ago, as- sisted by his sister Caroline and his brother Alexander, and continued by him almost down to the close of a very long life.* Sir William *<«Herschei. a musician residing at Bath, though a native of Hanover, which he had left in early youth, devoted his leisure to the construction and improvement of reflecting telescopes, with which he continued ardently to survey the heavens. His zeal and assiduity had already drawn the notice of astronomers, when he announced to Dr. Maskelyne, that, on the night of the 18th March, 1781, he observed a shifting star. which, from its smallness, he judged to be a comet. though it was distinguished neither by a nebulosity nora tail. The motion of the star, however. was so slow as to require distant observations to ascertain its path. The president Saron, an expert and obliging calculator, was the first who conceived it to be a planet, having in- ferred, from the few observations communicated to him, that it described a circle with a radius 0f about twelve times the mean distance of the earth from the sun. Lexell removed all doubt, and before the close of the year, he computed the ele- ments of the new planet with considerable accuracy, making the great axis of its - orbit nineteen times greater than that of the earth, and the period of its revolution eighty-four years. Herschel proposed, out of gratitude to his royal patron (George TIT.). to call the planet he had found by the barbarous appellation of Georgium Sidus; bnt the classical name of Uranus. which Bode afterwards applied. is almost universally adopted. Animated by this happy omen, he prosecuted his astronomical observations with unwearied zeal and ardour, and continued, during the remainder of a long life, to enrich science with a succession of splendid discoveries.’—SIR Joun Lesutre. Herschel’s discoveries were chicfly made by means of his forty-feet reflector, to construct which funds were advanced by the king. An Irish nobleman, six-feet speculum has been to resolve many nebulz into stars. EE eee . ‘ 4 Li 3 Pt , ™ HERSCHEL] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 255 died in 1822, aged eighty-four. In 1876 was published a ‘Memoir of Caroline Herschel,’ the sister of Sir William and aunt of Sir John, who died in 1848, aged ninety-seven years and ten months. The author of this memoir, Mrs. John Herschel, says of Caroline: ‘She stood beside her brother, William Herschel, sharing his labours, help- ing his life. In the days when he gave up a lucrative career that he might devote himself to astronomy, it was owing to her thrift and _ care thit he was not harassed by the rambling vexations of money matters. She had been his-helper and assistant in the days when he was a leading musician; she became his helper and assistant when he gave himself up to astronomy. By sheer force of will and devoted affection, she learned enough of mathematics and of methods of calculation, which to those unlearned seem myste. ries, to be able to commit to writing the results of his researches She became his assistant in the workshop; she helped him to griud and polish his mirrors; she stood beside his telescope in the nights uf mid-winter, to write down his observations when the very ink was _ frozen in the bottle. She kept him alive by her care; thinking nothing of herself, she lived for him. She loved him, and believed in him, and helped him with all her heart and with all her strength.’ This devoted lady discovered eight come!s! The survey of the heavens begun by Sir William Herschel was resumed in 1825 by his son, Sir John, who published the results in 1847. On his return from the Cape, the successful astronomer was honoured with a ba-. ronetcy, the university of Oxford conferred upon him the degree of ~ D.C.L:, and the Astronomical Society—of which he was president— voted him a testimonial for his work on the Southern Hemi-phere. Besides the works to which we have referred, Sir John Herschel pub- lished ‘ Outlines of Astronomy,’ 1849, of which a fifth edition, cor- rected to the existing state of astronomical science, was published in _ 1858; and he edited ‘ A Manual of Scientific Inquiry,’ 1849, prepared by authority of the Admiralty for the use of the navy. Sir John Herschel was born at Slough, near Windsor, in 1792, and studied at St. John’s Colleve, Cambridge, where he took his Bache- _lor’s Degree in 1813, coming out as Senior Wrangler. and Smith’s Prizeman. His first work was a ‘Collection of Example: of the Ap- plication of the Calculus to Finite Differences,’ 1813. He contrib: uted various papers to the ‘Edinburgh Philosophical Journal’ and the Royal Society of Edinburgh (1819=24), and he was employed for eight years in re-examining the nebule and cluster of stars discovered by his father. The result was published in the ‘ Piilosophical Trans- -actions’ for 1832; the nebule were about 2300 in number, and of these 525 were discovered by Sir John himself. He also discovered between three and four thousand double stars. Sir John received from William IV. the Hanoverian Guelpvhic order of knighthood, and Queen Victoria in 1838 conferred upon him a baronetcy. He N 256 . CYCLOPAEDIA OF — * [ro 1876, was literally covered with honorary distinctions from learned socic- ties and foreign academies. From 1850 till 1855 he held the office of Master of the Mint, which he was forced to resign from ill-health. - On the 11th of May 1871, this most illustrious of European men of Po science died at his seat, Collingwood, near Hawkhurst, Kent. aged seventy-nine. Tendency and Effect of Philosophical Studies. Nothing can be mor2 unfounded than the objection which has been taken, 77 limine, by persons, well meaning perhaps, certainly narrow minded, against the study of natural philosophy—that it fosters in its cultivators an undue and over- weening self-conceit, leads them to doubt of the immortality of the soul. and te scoff at revealed religion. Its natural effect, we may confidently assert, on every well-constituted mind, is, and must be, the direct contrary. No doubt, the testimony of natural reason, on whatever exercised, must of necessity stop short of those truths which is the object of revelation to make known; but while it places the ex- istence and principal attributes of a Deity on-such grounds as to render doubt absurd and atheism ridiculous, it unquestionably opposes no natural or necessary obstacle to further progress: on. the contrary, by cherishing as a vital principle ap unbounded spirit of inquiry and ardency of expectation, it unfetters the mind from prejudices of every kind, and leaves it open and free to every impression of a higher nature which it is susceptible of receiving, guarding only against enthusiasm aud eelf-deception by a habit of strict investigation, but encouraging, rather than sup- pressing, everything that can offer a prospect or a hope beyond the present obscure and unsatisfactory state. The character of the true philosopher is to hope all things not unreasonable... He who has seen obscurities which appeared impenetrable in physical and mathematical science suddenly dispelled, and the most barren and unpromising fields of inquiry converted, as if by inspiration, into rich and inex- haustible springs of knowledge and power, or a simple change of our point of view, or by merely bringing them to bear on some principle which it never occurred before to try, will surely be the very last to acquiesce in any dispiriting prospects of either the present or the future destinies of mankind ; while on the other hand, the bound- less views of intellectual and moral, as well as material relations which open on him on all hands in the course of these pursuits, the knowledge of the trivial place he occupies in the scale of creation, and the sense continually pressed upon him of his own weakness and incapacity to suspend or modify the slightest movement of the vast machinery he sees in action around him, must effectually convince him that pe of pretension, no less than confidence of hope, is what best becomes his character... . The question ‘ cui bono’—to what practical end and advantage do your researches" } p g tend 2?—is one which the speculative philosopher who loves knowledge for its own sake, and enjoys, as a rational being should enjoy, ihe mere contemplation of harmo- nious and mutually dependent truths. can seldom hear without a sense of humilias tion. H? feels that there is a lofty and disinterested pleasure in his speculations which ought toexempt them from such questioning; communicating as they do to his own mind the purest happiness (after the exercise of the benevolent and moral feelings) of which hnman nature is susceptible, and tending to the injury of no one, he might surely allege this as a sufficient and direct reply to those who. having themselves little capacity, and less relish for intellectual pursuits, are constantly re- peating upon him this inquiry. Se A Taste for Reading. Tf I were to pray for a taste which should stand me in stead under every variety of circumstances, and be a source of happiness and cheerfulness to me throngh life, and a shield against its ills. however things might ¢o amiss, and the world frown upon me, it would be a taste for reading. I speak of it. of conrse. only as a worldly advantage, and not in the slightest degree as superseding or derogating from the higher office, and surer and stronver panoply of religious princip’es, but as a taste . an instrument, and a mode of pleasurable gratification. Give a man this taste, and ; : «J i | ; = x SOMERVILLE.} ENGLISH LITERATURE. 257 the means of gratifying it, and you can hardly fail of making a happy man, unless, indeed, you put into his hands a most perverse selection of books. You place him in contact with the best society in every period of history—with the wisest, the wittiest —with the tenderest, the bravest, and the purest Characters that have adorned hu- manity. You make him a denizen of all nations—a contemporary of all aves. The world has been created for him. It is hardly possible but the character should takea higher and better tone from the constant habit of associating in thought with a class of thinkers. to say the least of it, above the average of humanity. It is morally im- possible but that the mann«-rs should take a tinge of good breeding and civilisation from having constantly before one’s eyes the way in which the best-bred and best- informed have talked and couducted themselves iu their intercourse with each other. There is » gentle but perfecily irresistible coercion in a habit of reading well directed, over the whole tenor of a man’s character and conduct, which is not the less effectual because it works insensibly, and because it is really the last thing he dreams of. It cannot, in short, be better summed up than in the words of the Latin poet : Emollit mores, nec sinit esse fercs, ¢ civilises the conduct of men, and stfers them not to remain barbarous. MRS. MARY SOMERVILLE. Another distinguished astronomer, a worthy contemporary of Daroline Herschel, was MAry SOMERVILLE, who died at Naples, November 28, 1872, aged ninety-two. She had attained to the high- est proficiency and honours in physical science, was a member of various learned societi«s at home and abroad, had received the ap- probation of Laplace, Humboldt, Playfair, Herschel, and other emi- nent contemporaries, and at the age of ninety-two was engaged in solving mathematical problems! Mrs. Somerville was born in the manse or parsonage of Jedburgh; her father, Sir William George Fairfax, Vice-admiral of the Red, was Lord Duncan’s captain at the battle of Camperdown in 1797. His daughter Mary was educated at -aschool in Musselburgh, and before she was fourteen, it was siid, she had studied Euclid, and Bonnycastle’s and Euler’s Algebra, but concealed as much as possible her acquirements.. In 1804 she was . ° .@ . : . Se ’ married to her cousin, Captain Samuel Greig, son of Admiral Greig, who served many years in the Russian navy, and died Governor of Cronstadt.. Captain Grieg died two years after their union. In 1812 his widow married another cousin, Dr. William Somerville. son of the minister of Jedburgh, author of two.historical works— __ the histories of the Revolution and of the reign of Queen Anne—and of memoirs of his own ‘Life and Time.’ The venerable minister (1741-1813) records, with pride, that Miss Fairfax had been born and nursed in his house, her father being at that time abroad on public service; that she long resided in his family, and was occasionally his scholar, being remarkable for her ardent thirst of knowledge and her assiduous application to study. Dr. William Somerville, the son, at- tained the rank of Inspector of the Army Medical Board, and Physi- cian to the Royal Hospital at Chelsea. He took great pains to foster the intellectual pursuits of his wife, and lived to witness her success and celebrity, dying at Florence in 1860, at the great age of ninety- one. Mrs. Somerville first attracted notice by experiments on the “ magnetic influence of the violet rays of the solar spectrum. Lord Brougham then solicited her to prepare for the Society for Diffusion of Useful Knowledge, a popular summary of the ‘ Mécanique Céleste ~ of Laplace. She complied, and her manuscript:being submitted to Sir John Herschel, he said he was delighted with it—that it was a book for posterity, but quite above the class for which Lord Brough- ham's course was intended. | Mrs. Somerville herself modestly said of it: ‘I simply translated Laplace’s work from algebra into common language.’ However, she consented to publish it as an independent work, under the title of ‘The Mechanism of the Heavens,’ 1831, and it at once fixed her reputation as one of the ablest cultivators of physical science. ‘The Royal Society admitted her a member, and commissioned a bust of her, which was executed by Chantrey, and. placed in the hall of the Society in Somerset House. It is said that Mrs. Somerville, meeting one day with Laplace, in Paris, the great geometer said: ‘There have been only three women who have undev- stood me—yourself, Caroline H:rschel, and a Mrs. Greig, of whom I have never been able to learn anything.’ ~ Y the modest little woman. ‘So, then, there are only two of you !’ exclaimed the philosopher. The learned Frenchman did not live to see Mrs. Somerville’s version of his great work, as he died in 1827. In 1834 Mrs. Somerville published ‘The Connection of the Physicah Sciences,’ a work which affords a condensed view of the phenomena of the universe, and has enjoyed great popularity; it isnow in the ninth edition. Her next work was her ‘ Physical Geography,’ published in 1848. This work was chiefly written in Rome, and while resident there, Mrs. Somerville met with a little adventure which she thus de- scribes in her ‘ Personal Recollections:’ Scene in the Campagna. I had very great delight in the Campagna of Rome; the finerange of Apennines bounding the plain, over which the fleeting shadows of the passing clouds fell. ever changing and always beautiful, whether viewed in the early morniny, or in the glory of the setting sun. I was never tired of admiring: and whenever I drove out. pre- ferred a country drive to the more fashionable Villa Borghese. One day Somerville and T and our daughters went to drive towards the Tavolato, on the road to Albano. We got out of the carriage and went intoa field, tempted by the wild-flowers. On one side of this field ran the aqueduct; cn the other, a deep and wide ditch full of water. Thad gone towards the aqueduct, leaving the others in the field. All at once, we heard aloud shouting, when an enormous drove of the beautiful Campagna gray cat- tle, with their wide-spreading horns, came rushing wildly between us, with their heads down and their tails erect, driven by men with long spears, mounted on little spirited horses at full gallop. It was so sudden and so rapid, that only after it was —over did we perceive the danger we had run. As there was no possible escape, there was nothing for it but standing still, which Somerville and my girls had presence of mind to do, and the drove dividing, rushed like a whir!wind to the right and left of them. The danger was not so much of being gored, as of being run over by the ex- cited and terrified animals, and round the walls of Rome places of refuge are pro- videc for those who may be passing when the cattle are driven. Near where this occurred there is a house with the inscription. ‘Casa Dei Spirit ;? but I do not think the Italians believe in either ghosts or witches; their chief supers stition seems to be the ‘Jettature’ or evil eye, which they, have inherited from the 258 -CYCLOPEDIA OF | [ro 1876, ‘Iwas Mrs. Greig,’ said. ss SOMERVILLE. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. z 259 the early Romans, and, I believe, Etruscans. They consider it a bad omen to meet -a monk or priest on first going out in the morning. My daughters were engaged to ride with a large party, and the meet was at our house. A Koman, who happened to go out first, saw a friar, and rushed in again laughing, and waited till he was out of sight. Soon after they set off, this gentleman was thrown from his horse and ducked in a pool; so-the Jettature was fulfilled. But my daughters thought his bad seat On horseback enough to account for his fall without the evil eye. After an interval of eleven years from the publication of her ‘Physical Geography,’ Mrs. Somerville came forward with two more volumes, ‘On Molecular and Microscopic Science.’ She continued her scientific studies and inquiries; and in January 1872, a gentleman who had visited her, wrote: ‘She is stiil full of vigour, and working away at her mathematical researches, being particularly occupied just now with the theory of quaternions, a branch of transcendent mathematics which very few, if any, persons of Mrs. Somerville’s age and sex have ever had the wish or power to study.’ For many years the deceased resided with her family at Florence, and there she was as assiduous in the cultivation of her flower-garden and of music as she was of her mathematics. Her circumstances were easy though not opulent, and Sir Robert Peel—the most attentive of all - prime-ministers since the days of Halifax to literary and scientific cluims—had in 1835 placed her on the pension list for £800 per an- num. She had three children, a son (who died in 1865) and two daughters. To an American gentleman who visited her, she said: ‘I speak Italian, but no one could ever take me for other than a Scotch woman.’ Her love of science had been to her an inexhaustible source of interest and gratification; ‘and I have no doubt,’ she said, ‘but we shail know more of the heavenly bodies in another state of exist- ence’—in that eternal city ‘which hath no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it, for the glory of God doth enlighten it, and the Lamb is the light, thereof.’ In her old age Mrs. Somerville had amused herself by writing out reminiscences of her early struggles and difficulties in the acquire- ment of knowledge, and of her subseauent. studies and life. These were published in 1873 by her daughter, Martha Somerville, under the title of ‘ Personal Recollections from Early Life to Old Age, of _ Mary Somerville, with Selections from her Correspondence.’ PROFESSOR J. D. FORBES. JAMES Davip Forsss is chiefly known for his theory of glacial motion, which appears to have been independent of that of Rendu, and also for his observations as to the plastic or viscous theories of glaciers. His claims have been disputed, but the general opinion seems tobe that the palm of originality, or at least priority of an- nouncement, belongs to the Scottish professor. Mr.. Forbes was born at Colinton, near Edinburgh, in 1809, son of Sir William Forbes, an eminent banker and citizen of Edinburgh ; his mother, Williamina 260 | _CYCLOPADIA OF ——_—_— [ro 3876. Belches, heiress of a gentleman of the old stock of Invermay, after- werds Sir John Stuert of Fettercairn. This lady was the object of Sir Walter Scott’s early and lasting attachment. Visiting at St. An- drews thirty years later in his life, he says : ‘1 remember the name _I had once carved in Runic characters beside the castle gate, and asked why it should still agitate my heart.’ Lady Forbes had then been long dead. In 1883, Mr. Forbes was appointed Professor of Natural Philosophy in the university of Aberdeen, which he held - until 1859, when he became Principal of St. Andrews University. He died December 31, 1868. His principal works are—‘ Travels though the Alps and Savoy,’ 1843; ‘Norway and its Glaciers,’ 18538 ; ‘The Tour of Mont Blanc and Monte Rosa,’ 1855; and ‘Oc- casional Papers on the Theory of Glaciers,’ 1859. He wrote also numerous papers in the scientific journals. DR. WHEWELL. WILLIAM WHEWELL was a native of Lancaster, born May 24, 1794. Hewas of humble parentage, and his father, a joiner, intended him to follow his own. trade; but he was’ early distinguished for ability, and after passing with honour through the grammar-school at Lancaster, he was placed at Heversham School, in order to be qualified for an exhibition at Trinity College, Cambridge, connected with that seminary. He entered Trinity College in 1812, became a Fellow in 1817, took his degree of M.A. in 1819, and the same year published his first work, a ‘Treatise on Mechanics.’ He was or- dained priest in 1826. For four years, from 1828 to 1832, he was Professor of Mineralogy; from 1838 to 1855, he was Professor of Moral Theology or Casuistical Divinity; and from 1841 till his death, he was Master of Trinity College. ‘Lthese accumulated university ‘ honours sufficiently indicate the high estimation in which Dr. Whe- well’s talents and services were held. In the Cambridge Philosophi- cal Society, the Royal Society, and British Association for the Advance- ment of Science, he was no less distinguished; while his scientific and philosophic works gave him a Europeanfame. After contributing various articles to reviews, Dr. Whewell in 1833 published his Bridge- water Treatise on ‘Astronomy and General Physics considered with reference to Natural Theology ’"—an able work, learned and eloquent, which has passed through seven editions. His next and his greatest work was his ‘ History of. the Inductive Sciences,’ three volumes, 1837; which was followed in 1840 by ‘The Philosophy of the Inductive Sciences.’ Passing over various mathematical publications, Wwe may notice, as indicating the versatility of Dr. Whewell’s talents, that in the year 1847 he published ‘Verse Translations from the German,’ ‘ English Hexameter Translations,’ and ‘Sermons’ preached. in Trinity College Chapel. In 1853 he issued anonymously, ‘Of the Plurality of Worlds: an - f a bea ~ WHEWELL.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 261 _ Essay’ There was a common belief in the doctrine of the plurality of worlds, which was supported by Dr Chalmergin his ‘ Astronom. ical Discourses.’ Whewell in his Essay (which is one of the clever. est of his works), opposed the popular belief, maintaini-g that the earth alone among stars and planets is the abode of intellectual, moral, and religious creatures, Sir David Brewster and others op: posed this theory. Dr. Whewell said the views he had committed to paper had been long in his mind, and the convictions they involved had-gradually grown deeper. His friend, Sir James Stephen, thougnt the plurality of worlds was a doctrine which supplied consolation and comfort to a mind oppressed with the aspect of the sin and misery of the earth. But Whewell replied: ‘'l'o me the effect would be the con- trary JI should have no consolation or comfort in thinking that out earth is selected as the especial abode of sin; and the consolation which revealed religion offers for this sin and misery is, not that there are other worlds in the stars sinless and happy, but that on the earth an atonement and reconcilintion were effected. This doctrine gives a peculiar place to the earth in theology. It is, or has been, in a pe- culiar manner the scene of God’s agency and presence. This was the view on which I worked.’ In opposition to Dean Mansel, who held that a true knowledge of God is impossible for man, Dr. Whewell said: ‘If we cannot know anything about God, revelation isin vain. We cannot have anything revealed to us, if we have no power of seeing what is revealed. It is of no use to take away the veil, when we are blind. If, in consequence vf our defect of sight, we cannot see God at all by the sun of nature, we cannot see Him by the light- ning of Sinai, nor by the fire of Mount Carmel, nor by the star in the East, nor by the rising sun of the Resurrection. If we cannot know God, to what purpose is it that the Scriptures, Old and New, constantly exhort usto know Him, and represent to us the knowledge of Him asthe great purpose of man’s life, and the sole ground of his eternal hopes?’ Num:rous works connected with moral philosophy were from time to. time published by Whewell—as ‘ Elements of Morality,’ 1845; ‘Lectures on Systematic Morality,’ 1846; ‘ Lectures on the History of Moral Philosophy in England,’ 1852; ‘Platonic Dialogues for Eng- lish Readers,’ 1859-1861, &c. Various scientific memoirs, sermons, and miscellaneous pieces in prose and verse were thrown ‘off by the indefatigable Master ‘of Trinity, and perhaps as Sir John Herschel said, ‘2 more wonderful variety and amount of knowledge in almost every department of human inquiry was never accumulated by any man.’ The death of Dr. Whewell was acccidental. He was thrown from his horse on the 24th of February, and died on the 6th of March 1866. An account of the writings, with selections from the correspondence of Dr. Whewell, was lately published by I. Tod- hunter, M.A., &. 262 CYCLOPEDIA‘OF ~—_ [ro 1876,- Wonders of the Universe. The Book of Job comes down to us -freighted apparently with no smail portion of the knowledye of that early age; speaking to us not merely ot flocks and herds, of wine and oil, of writings and judgments; but telling us also of ores and metals drawn from the recesses of the mountains—of genis and jewels of many names and from various countrics; of constellations and their risings, and seasons, and influ- ences. And above all, it comes tinged with a deep and contemple*ive spirit of ob- servation of the wonders of the animate and inanimate creation, ‘The rain and the dev, the ice and the hoar-frost, the lightning and the tempest, are noted as contain- - ing mysteries past men’s finding out. Our awe and admiration are demanded for the care that provides for the lion and the ostrich after their natures; for the spirit that jnforms with fire and vigour the war-horse and the eagle; for the power ihut guides the huge behemoth and leviathan. ... ; Not only these connections and transitions, but the copiousness with which proper- ties. as to us it seems, merely ornamental, are diffused through the creation, may well excite our wonder. — Almost all have felt, as it were, a perplexity chastened by the ense of beauty, when they have thought of the myriads of fair and gorgeous objects that exist and perish without any eye to witne:s their glories—the flowers that are - born to blish unseen in the wilderness—the gems, so wondrously fashioned, that stud the untrodden caverns—the living things with adornments of yet richer work- mauship that, solitary and unknown, glitter and die. Nor is science without food for such feelings. At every step she discloses things and Jaivs preenant with unobtrus- ive splendonr. She has unravelled tiie web of light in which all things are involyed, and has found its texture even more wonderful and exquisite than she could have thoaght. This she has done in our own days—and these admirable properties the sunbeams had borne about with them since light was created. contented as it were, with their unseen glories. What, then. shall we say? ‘hese forms, these appear- ances of pervading beauty, though we know not their end and meaning, still touch all thoughtful minds with a sense of hidden delight, a still and grateful admiration. - J hey come over our meditations like strains and snatches of a sweet and distant fymphony—sweet indeed, but to us distant and broken. and overpowered by the din of more earthly perceptions—canght but at intervals—eluding our attempts to learn itasa whole, but ever and anon returning on our ears, and elevating our thoughts of the fabric of this world. We might, indeed, well believe that this harmony breathes not for us alone—that it has nearer listeners—more delighted auditors. But even in usit raises no unworthy thoughts—even in us it impresses a conviction, indestructible by harsher voices, that far beyond’all that we can know and conceive, the universe is — full of symmetry and order and beauty and life. final Destiny of the Universe. : Let us not deceive ourselves. Indcfinite duration and gradnal decay are not th destiny of this universe. It will not find its termination only in the imperceptible crumbling of its materials, or clogging of its wheels. It steals not calmly and — slowly to its end. Noages of long und deepening twilight shall gradually bring the last setting of the sun—no mountains sinking under the decrepitude of years, or weary rivers ceasing to rejoice in the:r courses, shall prepare men for the abolition of y this ear. bh. No placid ewthanasia shall silently lead on the dissolution of the natural — world. But the trumpet shall sound—the struggle shall come—this goodly frame of things shall be rent and crushed by the mighty arm of its Omnipotent Maker. It shall expire in the throes and agonies of some sudden and fierce convulsion; and the same hand which plucked the elements from the dark and troubled slumbers of - their chaos, shall cast them into their tomb, pushing them aside, that they may ng longer stand between His face and the creatures whom he shall come to judge. BABBAGE—AIRY—-HIND—NICHOL. CHARLES BABBAGE (1792-1871) is popularly celebrated for his calculating-machine. But he was author of about eighty volumes, including his valuable work on the ‘Economy of Mannfactures and eS eee Bee ee We ET ep i . 7 : Eee : ; a ~ ve | 3 : fe . => - .BARBAGE.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 263 $ ~ : _ Machinery,’ 1833—a volume that has been translated into most foreign languages. Mr. Babbage’s most original work is one entitled _ *A Ninth Bridgewater Treatise,’ a most ingenious attempt to bring ~ mathematics into the range of sciences which afford proof of Divine design in the constitution of the world. Mr. Babbage was a native . of Devonshire, and after attending the grammar-school at Totnes, was entered at Cambridge, and took his Bachelor’s degree from Peterhouse College in 1814. It is said that Mr. Babbage spent some thousands in perfecting his calculating-machine. It was presented, together with drawings illustrative of its operation, to King’s Col- lege, London. For eleven years (1828-89) Mr. Babbage held the appointment of Lucasian Professor of Mathematics at Camtridge. The Astronomer-royal, Sir GrorGE BrppELL Arry (born at _ Alnwick in 1801), has done valuable service by his lectures on ex- perimental. philosophy, and his published Observations. He is au- thor of the treatise on Gravitation in the ‘Penny Cyclopedia,’ and of various lectures and communications in scientific journals. From the universities of Oxford, Cambridge, and Edinburgh he has re- ceived the honorary degrees of D.C.L. and LL.D., and in 1871 he was nominated a Companion (civil) of the Bath. Mr. Joun Russe_t Hinp, Foreign Secretary of the Royal Astro- ~ nomicai Society, and Superintendent of the ‘ Nautical Almanac,’ has discovered ten small planets, for which the Astronomical Society _ awarded him their gold medal, and a pension of £200 a year has been - granted to him by royal warrant. Any new discovery or observation is chronicled by Mr. Hind in the ‘Times’ newspaper, and his brief notesare always welcome. Mr. Hind isa native of Nottingham, born in 1823. He is author of various astronomical treatises and contribu- _ tions to scientfic’journals. _ Jonn Prineiet Nicnor (1804-1859) did much to popularise astrono- _ way by various works at once ingenious and eloquent—as ‘ Views of _ the Architecture of the Heavens,’ 1837; ‘Contemplations on the Solar - System,’ 1844; ‘Thoughts on the System of the World,’ 1848; ‘The - Planet Neptune, an Exposition and History,’ 1848; ‘The Stellar Uni- | B £ _— wa? Form” wee F.C Se eee Te ER ET Ne PE eS Re _ verse,’ 1848; ‘The ‘Planetary System,’ 1850. Mr. Nichol was a na- - tive of Brechin, Forfarshire. He was educated at King’s College, ~ Aberdeen, was sometime Rector of Montrose Academy, and in 1886 ~ was appointed Professor of Practical Astronomy in Glasgow, The _ professor’s son, Joun. Nicuon, B.A, Oxon., is Rezius Professor of _ English Language and Literature in the university of Glasgow. He - js author of ‘ Hannibal,’ an historical drama, 1873, and other works, evincing literary and critical talent of a superior description. ADAMS—GRANT—PROCTOR—LOCKYER. - The discoverer of the planet Neptune, Mr. Jonn Covcn ApAms _ (born in 1816), is an instance of persevering original genius. He was 4 intended by his father, a farmer near Bodmin, in Cornwall, to follow 264 + S-CYCLOPBDEACOF 2 = 7 [ro 1874, the paternal occupation, but was constantly absorbed in mathemati- cal studies. He entered. St. John’s College, became senior wrangler in 1848, was soon after elected to a Fellowship, and became one of the mathematical tutors of his college. In 1844 he sent to the Green- wich Observatory a paper on the subject of the discovery whence he derives his chief fame, Certain irregularities‘in the pianet Uranus being unaccounted for, Mr. Adams conceived that they might be occasioned by an undiscovered planet beyond it. He made experi- ments for this purpose; and at the same time a French astronomer, “M. Le Verrier, had arrived at the same result, assigning the place of the disturbing planet to within one degree of that given by Mr. Adams. The honour was thus divided, but both were independent discoverers. In 1858 Mr. Adams was appointed Lowndean Professor of Astronomy, Cambridge. A ‘History of Physical Astronomy,’ 1852, by RoBERT GRANT, is a work of great research and completeness, bringing the history of as- tronomical progress down to 1852. In conjunction with Admiral Smyth, Mr. Grant has translated Arago’s ‘ Popular Astronomy,’ and he was conjoined with the Rev. B. Powell in translating Arago’s ‘Eminent Men,’ 1857. Mr. Grant isanative of Grantown, [nverness- shire, born in 1814. In 1859, on the death of Professor Nichol, Mr. Grant was appointed to the chair of Practical Astronomy in the uni- versity of Glasgow. Two of our younger men of science, happily engaged in popular- ising astronomy, are Ricnuarp A. Proctor and JosepH NoRMAN Lockyer. The former (late scholar of St. John’s College, Cam- bridge, and King’s College, London) is author of ‘Saturn and its System,’ 1865; ‘The Expanse of Heaven’ (a series of essays on the — wonders of the firmament), ‘ Light Scienee for Leisure Hours,’ ‘Our Place among Infinities,’ 1875; ‘Science Byways,’ 1876; and a great number of other occasional short astronomical treatises. Mr. Lock- yer (born at Rugby in 1836)-was in 1870 appointed Secretary of the — Royal Commission on Scientific Instruction; and the same year he ~ was chief of the English Government Eclipse Expedition to Sicily. In the following year he was elected Rede Lecturer to the university of Cambridge. Mr. Lockyer is author of ‘Elementary Lessons in Astronomy,’ and of various interesting papers in the literary jour- ~ nals. He is editor of ‘ Nature,’.a weekly scientific periodical. BADEN POWELL—PRICHARD. The Rev. BADEN Powe tt (1796-1860), for some time Savilian Pro- fessor of Geometry, Oxford, was author of a ‘ History of Natural Philosophy,’ 1842; a series of three ‘ Essays on the Spirit of the In- ~ ductive Philosophy, the Unity of Worlds, and the Philosophy of Creation,’ 1855; a work entitled ‘The Order of Nature,’ 1859; and an essay ‘On the Study and Evidences of Christianity,’ 1860—a trea- — { 3 - ‘\ a, J _ powELL.} ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. ; 255 - tise which formed a part of the volume entitled ‘Essays and Re- views.’ In some of these treatises, he discusses matters on the border. land betweea religion and science, and his opinions on miracles. ex- cited considerable controversy. ‘ Researches into the Physical History of Mankind,’ by Dr. Jamus ©. PRICHARD (1785-1248), a work in five volumes, 1636-47, and ‘The Natural History of Man,’ one volume, 1843, open up a subject of interest and importance. Dr. Prichard’s investigations tend to con- firm the belief. that ‘man is one in species, and to render it highly probable that all the varieties of this species are derived from one pair and a single locality on the earth.’ He conceives that the negro must be considered the primitive type of the human race—an idea that contrasts curiously with Milton’s poetical conception of Adam, his ‘fair large front,’ and ‘ eye sublime,’ and ‘ hyacinthine locks,’ and of Eve with her unadorned golden tresses.’ Dr. Prichard rests his theory on the following grounds: (1), That in inferior species of animals any variations of colour are chiefly from dark to lighter, and this generally as an effect of domesticity and cultivation; (2). That we have instan- ces of light varicties, as of the Albino among negrces, but never any: thing like the negro among Europeans; (3). That the dark races are better fitted by their organisation for the wild or natural state of life; and (4). That the nations or tribes lowest in the scale of actual civili- sation have all kindred with the negro race. Of course, this con- _ elasion must be conjectural: there is no possibility of arriving at any certainty on the subject. SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON, ETC. _ This eminent metaphysician sustained for some years the fame of the teottish colleges for the study of the human mind. He wasa native of Glasgow, born March 8, 1788, son of Dr. William Hamilton, Professor of Anatomy and Botany. He was of an old Presbyterian stock, the Hamiltons of Preston. ——s&[ro. 1876 though not the sole, recommendation of jury trial (in cases not political) ; of free and popular local and municipal institutions; of the conduct of industrial and philan- thropic enterprises by voluntary associations. ‘hese are not questions of liberty, and are connected with that subject only by remote tendencies; but they are questions of develeme-t. It belongs to. a different occasion from ey, a ee eS, Ds ~ay é the present to dwell on. these chings as parts of national education; as — being, in truth, the peculiar traaing of a citizen, the practical part of the pclitical education of a free people, taking them out of the narrow circle of personal and family selfishness, and accustoming them to the comprehension of joint interests, the management of joint concerns—habituating them to act from public or semi-public motives, and gu.de their conduct. by aims which unite instead of isolating them from one another. Without these habits and powers, a free con- stitution can neither be worked ucz preserved ; as is exemplified by the too often transitory nature of political freedom in countries where it does not rest upon a suf- ficient basis of local liberties. The r1anagement of purely Jocal business by the local- ities, and of the great enterprises of indusiry by the union of those who voluntarily supply the pecuniary means, is further recommended by all the advantages which have been set furth in this Essay as belonging to individuality of development, and | diversity of modes of action. Government operations tend to be everywhere alike. With individuals and voluntary assc : [vo 1876. - 3 exist, after the manner oflife known to us, though the germs of life — may have been present. ‘Then followed ages in which the earth’s glowing crust was drenched by showers of muriatic, nitric, and sui- — phuric acid, not only intensely hot, but fiercely burning through their chemical activity. Only after periods infinite to our concep. tions could life such as we know it, or even in the remotest degree like what is known to us, have begun to exist upon the earth.’ Jupiter he considers to be in this burning state.~ We see that his _ whole surface is enwrapped in ctoud-layers of enormous depth, and — undergoing changes which imply an intense activity, or in other — words, an intense heat throughout his whole mass. He is.as yet far from the life-bearing state of planetary existence; ages must elapse — before life can be possible. Mars, on the other hand, is ata later stage — of its existence, far on its way towards the same state of decrepitude — as the moon.* Of course, no certainty can be attained as to the sup- — posed plurality of worlds. We have only ‘ thoughts that wander — through eternity.’ - More popular than any of Sir David Brewster's writings was the in- — strument named the kaleidoscope, invented by Brewster in the year Z 1816. ‘This beautiful little toy, with its marvellous witcheries of — light and colour, spread over Europe and America with a furor — which is now scarcely credible. Although he took outa patent, yet, — as it often has happened in this country, the invention was quickly — pirated.’{ Sir David received the honour of knighthood in 1831. He — continued his studies and experiments, with scarcely a day’s interrup- — tion, until his eighty-sixth year. A few days before his death Sir — James Simpson, the eminent physician, expressed a hope that he might yet rally. ‘Why, Sir James, should you hope that?’ he said, — with much animation. ‘The machine has worked for above eighty years, and it is worn out. Life has ben very bright to me, and now there is the brightness beyond.’ He di d February 10, 1867, and was _ interred in the cathedral burying-ground at Melrvuse. ae Bacon and Newton. | | In the economy of her distributions, nature is seldom thus lavish of her intelleors | tual gifts. The inspired genius which creates is rarely conferred alone with the — matured judgment which combines, and yet without the exertion of both, the fabric © of human wisdom could never have been reared. Though a ray from heaven kindled the vestal fire, yet a humble priesthood was required to keep alive the flame. : The method of investigating truth by observation and experiment. so successfully pursued in the Principia, has been ascribed by some modern writers of creat eelebe rity to Lord Bacon; and Sir Isaac Newton is represented as having owed all his dis- coveries to the application of the principles of that distinguished writer. One of the greatest admirers of Lord Bacon has gone so far as to characterise him asa man whe has had no rival in the times which are past, snd as likely to have none in those which are tocome. Ina eulogy so overstrained as this, we feel that the langeuare of panes gyric has passed into that of idolatry; and we are desirous of weighing tho fore of a ares: i i _ * Science Rypows (London. 1873), an interesting volumo of esays on scientific sub © jects popularly treated. 5 . } t The Home Life of Sir David Brewster, by his daughter. Mrs. Gordon, 1869. -* if 4 e ee A i 2 * : — > 2 ae ‘PROCTOR.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 277 arguments which tend to depose Newton from the high-priesthood of nature, and to unsettle the proud destinies of Copernicus, Galileo, aud Kepler. That Bacon was aman of powerful genius, and endowed with varied and pro- found talent—the most skilful logician, the most nervons and cloquent writer of the age which he adorned—are points which have been established by universat suffrage. The study of ancient systems had early impressed him with the conviction that ex- periment and observation were the only sure guides in physical inquiries ; and, ignor- ant though he was of the methods, the principles, and the details of the mathemati- cal sciences, his ambition prompted him to aim at the construction of an artificial system by which the laws of nature might be investigated, and which might direct the inquiries of philosophers in every future age. The necessity of experimental re- search, and of advancing gradually from the study of facts to the determination of their cause, though the groundwork of Bacon’s method, is a doctrine which was not only inculcated but successfully followed by preceding philosophers. In a letter -from ‘Tycho Brahé to Kepler, this industrious astronomer urges his pupil ‘ to lay a solid foundation for his views by actnal observation, and then by ascending from these to strive to reach the causes of things ;’ and it was no dou:t under the influence of this advice that Kepler submitted his wildest fancies to the test of observation, and was conducted to his most splendid discoveries. The reasonings of Copernicus. who pre- ceded Bacon by morethan a century, were all founded upon the most legitimate in- duction. Dr. Gilbert had exhibited in his treatise on the magnet the most perfect speci- men of physical research. Leonardo da Vinci had described in the clearest manner the proper method of pailosophical investigation ; and the whole scientific career of Galileo was one continued example of the most sagacious application of observation and ex- periment to the discovery of general laws. ‘The names of Paracelstis, Van Helmont and Cardan have been ranged in opposition to this constellation of great names, and while it is admitted that even they had thrown off the yoke of the schools, and bad succeeded in experimental research, their credulity and their pretensions have been adduced as a proof that to the ‘ bulk of philosophers’ the method of induction was ~ rnkuown. ‘ihe fault of this argument consists in the conclusion being infinitely more general than the fact. The errors of these men were not founded on their ignorance, but on their presumption. They wanted the patience of philosophy and not her methods. An excess of vanity, a waywardness of fancy, and an insatiable _ appetite for that species of passing faine which is derived from eccentricity of opin- - ion, moulded the reasonings and disfigured the writings of these ingenious men; and it can scarcely admit of a doubt, that had they lived in the present age, their philo- sophical character would have received the same impress from the pculiarity of their tempers and dispositions. This is an experiment. however, which cannot now be made; but the history of modern science supplies the defect, and the experience of every man furnishes a proof thatin the present age there are many philosophers of elevated talents and inventive genius who are as impatient of experimental research as Paracelsus, as fanciful as Cardan, and as presumptuous as Van Helmont. Haying thus shewn that the distinguished philosophers who flourished before Bacon were perfect masters both of the princip'es and practice of inductive research, it becomes interesting to inquire whether or not the philosophers who snecceeded him acknowledged any obligation to his system, or derived the slightest advaniage from his precepts. If Bacon constructed a method to which modern science owes its existence, we shall find its cultivators grateful for the gift, and offering the richest incense at the shrine of a benefactor whose generors labours conducted them to ’ jmmortality. No such testimonies, however, are to be found. Nearly two hundred -ycears have gone by, teeming with the richest fruits of human genins, and no grate- ful disciple has appeared to vindicate the rights of the alleged legislator of science. Even Newton, who was born and educated after the publication of the ‘ Novum Organon.’ never mentions the name of Bacon or his system,and the amiable and indefatigable Boyle treated him with the same disrespectful silence. When we sare _ told therefore, that Newton owed all his discoveries to the method of Bacon, nothing more can be meant than that he proceeded in that path of observation and experi- ment which had been so warmly recommended in the ‘ Novum Organon;’ but itought to have been added, that the same method was practised by his predecessors—that Newton possessed no secret that was not used by Galileo and Copernicus—and that he would have enriched science with the same splendid discoveries if the name and the writings of Bacon had never beer heard of. : Be —_ “ . 2 . x FESS POE SR 278 ; _CYCLOPADIA OF ~ <= * fro 1876. Lord Macaulay’s epitaph on an English Jacobite (see ante), was much admired by Sir David Brewster, but he was d ssatisfied with the want of Christian resignation expressed in it, and he wrote the Yollowing imitation—not much inferior to Macaulay: Epitaph on «a Scotch Jacobite. To Scotland’s king I knelt in homage true, My heart—my all I gave—my sword I drew; For him I trod Culloden’s bloody plain, And lost the name of father’monygat its slain. Chased from my hearth I reached a foreign shore, My native mountains to behold no more— No more to listen to T'weed’s silver stream— No more among its glades to love and dream, Save when in sleep the restless spirit roams Where Melrose crumbles, and where Gala foams To that bright fane where pligbhted vows were paid, Or that dark aisle where all I loved was laid; And yet methought I ’ve heard neath Terni’s walls, - The fevered pulse of Foyers* wilder falls, On seen in Tiber’s wave my Leader flow, And heard the southern breeze from Eildon blow. Childless and widowed on Albano’s shore, I roamed an exile till life’s dream was o’er— ~ Till God, whose trials blessed my wayward lot, Gave me the rest—the early grave—I sought: Shewed me, o’er death’s dark vale, the strifeless shore With wife, and child, and king, to part no more, O patriot wanderer, mark this ivied stone, Learn from its story what may be thine own: he Should tyrants chase thee from thy hills of blue, And sever all the ties to nature true, The broken heart may heal in life’s last hour When hope shall still its throbs, and faith exert her power. MICHAEL FARADAY. In electricity and magnetism valuable discoveries were made by Micuarn, Farapay (1791-1867) a native of Newington, in Surrey, — the son of a poor blacksmith, who could only give his son the bare rudiments of education. He was apprenticed to a bookbinder, and early began to make experiments in chemistry and electricity, He had attended Sir Humphry Dayy’s lectures, and taken notes which he transmitted to Sir Humphry, desiring his assistance to ‘ escape from trade and enter into the service of science.’ Through Davy’s - exertions he was appointed chemical assistant in the Royal Institu- tion in 1813. In 1824 he was admitted a member of the Royal Soci- ety. In 1831, the first series of his ‘Experimental Researches in Electricity ’ was read before the Royal Society—a work which was continued to 1856, and afterwards published separately in four vol- umes. For mony years he gave lectures at the Royal Institution, - which were highly popular from the happy simplicity of his style and his successful illustrations. His publications on physical sci-— ence are numercus, _In 1&35 a pension was. conferred on Faraday. At first, it is said. Lord Melbourne, then premier, denounced all oT > \ as bees oe, Le a a een ee ee ey = > Ma. to i = x wae a ~J “y - — 4 " a > ~ " FARADAY. } ENGLISH LITERATURE. 279 such scientific pensions as humbug, upon which Faraday wrote to him: ‘I could not, with satisfaction to myself, accept at your lord- ship’s hands that which, though it has the form of approbation, is of the character which vour lordship so pithily applied to it.’ Lord Melbourne explained, and the pension was granted. ~ Faraday was a simple, gentle, cheerful man of genius, of strong re- ligious feeling* and unassuming manners, His ‘ Life and Letters,’ by Dr. Bence Jones, two volumes, 1869, and ‘ Faraday as a Discoverer,’ by Mr. Tyndall, are interesting works. The latter considers Fara- day to have been the greatest experimental philosopher the world has ever seen, and he describes his principal discoveries under four dis- tinct heads or groups—magno-electric induction, the chemical pheno- mena of the current, the magnetisation of light (‘ which,’ says Tyndall, ‘I should liken to the Weisshorn among mountains—high, beautiful, and alwne’), and diamagnetism. Faraday used to say that it required twenty years of work to make @ man in physical science; the previ- ous period being one of ¢nfancy. When lecturing before a private society on the element chlorine, Faraday, as Professor Tyndall tells us, thus expressed himself with reference to the question of utility: ‘Before leaving this subject I will point out the history of this sub- stance, as an answer to those who are in the habit of saying to every new fact, ‘‘ What is its use?” Dr. Franklin says to such, ‘‘ What is the use of an infant?” The answer of the experimentalist is, ‘‘ En- deuvour to make it useful.”’ ~ From ‘ Chemical History of a Candle.’ -_- What is all this process going on within us which we cannot do without, eithe. day or night, which is so provided for by the Author of all things, that He has ar ranged that it shall be independent of all will? If we restrain our respiration, as we can to a certain extent, we should destroy ourselves. When we are asleep, the organs of respiration. and the parts that are associated with them, still go on with their action, so necessary is this process of respiration to us, this contact of air with the lungs. I must tell you in the briefest possible manner, what this process is. We consume food: the food goes through that strange set of vessels and organs within us, aud is brought intuy various parts of the system, into the digestive parts especially; and alternately the portion which is so changed is carried through our lungs hy one set of vessels, while the air that we inhale and exhale is drawn into and thrown ont of the Jungs by another set of vessels, so that the air and the food come close together, separated only by an. exceedingly thin. surface: the air *can thus act upon the blood by this process, producing precisely the same results in kind a: we have seen in the case of the candle. ‘The candle combines with parts of the air, forming carbonic acid, and evolves heat; so in the lungs there is this curious, wonderful change taking place. The air entering. combines with the carbon (not carbon in a free state, but, as in this case. placed ready for action at the moment), and makes caronic acid, and is so thrown out into the atmosphere, and thus this -. singular result takes place: we may thus look upon the food as fuel. Let me take that piece of sugar, which will serve my purpose. It is a compound of carbon, hy- * He wasof asmall scct called Sandemaninns. who endeavour to keep up the simple - forms and unworldliness of the primitive Christians, with cortain views concerning saving faith and charity, " . = 280 CYCLOPADIA OF © fro 1876, drogen, and oxygen, similar to a candle, as containing the same: elements, though notin the same proportion; the proportions in sugar being asshewninthistable: . Oooh wey eerie Ae Pare ity, weeps @2 . FLY OTO SOM: Se rekon ed oft bearee a > Caters nana 11) 99 ORV POT Fiatie Ss ceatbtce e aes sietole ois ee attains 8S This is, indeed, a very curious thing, which you can well remember, for the oxygen and hydrogen arein exactly the proportions which form water, so that Suvar may be said to be compounded of 72 parts of carbon and 99 parts of water; and it is the car- bon in the sugar that combines with the oxygen carried in by the uir in the process of resyiration, so making us like candles ; producing these actions, warmth, and far more wonderful results besides, for the sustenance of the system, hy a most beauti- ful and simple process. ‘l’o make this still more striking, I will take a little sugar ; or to hasten the experiment I will use some syrup, which contains about three- fourths of sugar and a little water. If I put a little oil of vitriol on it, it takes away the water, and leaves the carbon in a black mass. (The Lecturer mixed the two _to- gether.) You see how the carbon is coming out, and before long we shall havea —— solid mass of charcoal, all of which has come ont of sugar. Sugar, as you know, is food, and here we have absolutely a solid lamp of carbon where you would not have expected it. Andif I make arrangements so as to oxidise the carbon of sugar, we - shall have a much more striking result. Here is sugar, and I have here an oxidiser— a quicker one than the atmosphere; and so we shall oxidise this fuel by a process different from respiration in its form, though not different in its kind. It isthe com- bustion of the carbon by the contact of oxygen which the body has supplied to it. If I set this into action at once. you will see combustion produced... Just what occurs in my Jungs—taking in oxygen from another source, namely, the atmosphere—takes place here by a more rapid process. ” You will be astonished when I tell you what this enrious play of carbon amonnts to. A candle will burn some four, five, six, or seven hours. What, then, must be the daily amount of carbon going up into the air in the way of carbonic acid! What a quantity of carbon must go from each of ns in respiration! What a won- — derful change of carbon must take place under these circumstances of combustion or respiration! A man in twenty-four hours converts a8 much as seven ounces of carbon into carbonic acid; a milch cow will convert seventy ounces, and a horse seventy-nine ounces, solely by the act of respiration. That is. the horse in twenty- four hours burns seventy-nine ounces of charcoal, or carbon, in his organs of respi- ration. to supply his natural warmth in that time. All the warm-blooded animals get their warmth in this way, by the conversion of carbon. not in a free state. but in a state of combination. And what an extraordinary notion this gives us of the alterations: going on in our atmosphere. As much as five million pounds, or 48 tons, of carbonic acid is formed by respiration in London alone in twenty-four hours. And where does all this go? Up into the air. If the carbon had been like » the lead which I shewed you, or the iron which. in burning, produces a solid sub- — stance, what would happen 2? Combustion could not go on. As charcoal burnsit becomes a vapour. and passes off into the atmosphere, which is the great vehicle, € the great carrier for conveying it away to other places. _Then what becomes of it? Wonderful is it to find that the change produced by respiration. which seems so injurious to us (for we cannot breathe air twice over), is the very life and support of plants and vegetables that grow upon the surface of the earth. It is the same also under the surface, in the great bodies of water; for fishes and other animals respire upon the same principle, though not exactly by contact with the open air. » AUGUSTUS DE MORGAN. This distinguished mathematician and teacher (1806-1871) was born at Madura, in Southern India, son of Colonel de Morgan of the Madras army. He was educated at Trinity College, Cambridge, — and studied for the bar, but in 1828 was appointed Professor of Mathe- matics in the University of London. Professor de Morgan contributed largely to the ‘Penny Cyclopedia,’ ‘Notes and Queries,’ ‘Athe- — ee Se ene, ee ee, 6 me rer sie 4 de ee Rea nS Eel ree. HE ; = a aie SRR v¢ nF 7 Te ¥ — 4 ° Bb anny °. Z mt 4 = 2 ae ~ \? - bi ¥ " : s 4 4 “pe MorcAn.]) © ENGLISH LITERATURE. __ egy ‘ - neum, &c. Among his works are—‘ Elements of Arithmetic,’ 1830: _ ‘Hlements of Algebra,’ 1835; * Elements of Trigonometry,’ 1837: _.‘ Hssay on Pr.babilities,’ 1838; ‘Formal Logic,’ 1847; &c. In 1858 _ Professor de Morgan contributed to ‘ Notes and Queries’ some clever and amusing strictures on Swift’s ‘ Gulliver’s ‘Travels,’ an extract -from which we subjoin: Dean Swift and the Mathematicians. ‘ Swift’s satire is of course directed at the mathematicians of his own day. His . first atiack upon them is contained in the deseription of the flappers, by which the absorbed philosophers were recalled to common life when it was necessary. Now _ there is no proof that, in Swift’s time or in any time, the mathematician, however capable of withdrawing his thoughts while actually engaged m study, was apt to wan- der into mathematics while employed in other business. No such thing is recorded eyeti of Newton. 2 man of uncommon power of concentration. The truth I believe to be, that the power of bringing the whole*man to bear on one subject which is fos- tered by mathematical study, is a power which can be, and is, brought into action on‘ any other subject ; so that a person used to mathematical thought is deep in the con- cern of the moment, totus in ti/o, more than another person; that is, less likely to wander from the matter in hand. * Swift’s technical knowledge is of a poor kind. According to him, beef and mut- -ton were served up in the shapes of equilateral triangles, rhomvoids, and cycloids. This beats the waiter who could cover Vauxhall Gardens with a ham. These plane figures have no thickness: and I defy al! your readers to produce a mathematician who would be content with mutton of two dimensions. As to the bread, which ap- peared in cones, cylinders, and parallelograms, the mathematicians wonld take the cones and cylinders for themselves, 2nd leave the parallelograms for Swift. 3 _ The tailor takes Gulliver’s altitude by a quadrant, then measures all the dimen- » _sions of his body by rule and compass, and brings home the clothes all out of shape, by mistaking a figure i: the calculation. Now, first, Swift imzgines that the altitude taken by a quadrant isa dength, whereas it is an angle. It is awkward satire to re- esent the mathematician as using the quadrant to determine an accessible distance. - Vext, what mathematician would use calculation when he had all his results om paper, obtained by rule and compass? Had Swift lived in our day, he would have made the tailor measure the length of Gulliver’s little finger, and then set up the whole body by calculation, just as Cuvier.or Owen would set up some therium or -- sduvrus with no datum except the end of a toe. Is not Professor de Morgan somewhat hypercritical? When Swift _ used. those mathematical terms, we may believe he did so in mere sportiveness, and that he did not, in the shapes of his beef and mut- -ton, ignorantly exclude substance. _ When he says there was a shoulder of mutton cut into an equilateral triangle, 1t seems to us that the whole fun ]:y in the choice of that figure. He meansa pyramid, each face of which is an equilateral triangle. There is, or used to be, in the confectioners’ shops a certain comfit known as a triangular puff, which the children would care little for if 1t had no substance! So when the satirist talks of cutting a piece of beef into a rhomboid, it is inito a rhomboidal form, as we have rhomboidal ‘erystals, rhomboidal leaves in plants, and so on: the meat 18 nos _anbihilated, into whatever surface figure you cut it, The story of - the tailor who took Gulliver’s measure by a quadrant, refers, we be- lieve, to a blunder made by Sir Isaac Newton’s printer, who, by carelessly adding a cipher to the astronomer’s computation of the ~ ELL.V.8—10 a et «x _ me et - ba y= i ae 259 ‘CYCLOPADIA OF ~~ _ [ro 1876, - distanee between the sun and the-earth, had increased it to an enormous aiount, DR. ALEXANDER BAIN. : Treatises on ‘The Senses and the Intellect,’ 1855; ‘The Emotions and the Will,’ 1859; ‘ Mental and Moral Science,’ 1868; and ‘ Logic, © Deductive and Inductive,’ have been published by Dr. Baty, Pro- fessor of Logic in the unversity of Aberdeen. ‘These are able works, and Professor Bain has written various text-books on astronomy, electricity, meteorology, grammar, &c. The professor is a native of Aberdeen, born in 1818; in 1845-he was appointed to the Professor- ship of Natural Philosophy in the Andersonian University, Glasgow. In the latest work of Dr. Bain’s we have seen, ‘Mind and Body: Theories on their Relation,’ 1878, he gives an account of the various theories of the soul, and the general laws of alliance of mind and body. ‘The arguments for the two substances have, we believe, now en- tirely lost their validity: they are no longer compatible with ascer- © tained science and clear thinking. The one substance with two sets of properties, two sides, the physical and the mental—a doudle-faced unty—would appear to comply with ail the exigencies of the case. We are to deal with this, as in the language of the Athanasian creed, not confounding the persons, nor dividing the substance. The mind is destined to be a double study—to conjoin the mental philosopher with the physical philosopher; and the momentary glimpse of Aris- totle is at last converted into a clear and steady vision.’ -~ ROBERT STEPHENSON. ‘This eminent engineer, son of George Stephenson 5 Willington, December 16, 1803. He was edsicatee partie ite ie versity of Edinburgh, and early displayed a decided inclination for mechanics and science. He laboured successfully to bring the rail- way locomotive to its present perfection. To his genius and perse- verance, aided by the practical knowledge of Mr. (afterwards Sir William Fairbairn), we also owe the principle of the tubular bridge. characterised as ‘ the greatest discovery in construction in our day.’ At the Menai Strait, two spaces of four hundred and sixty feet in width are spanned by these iron tubes. The hieh-level bridge over the Tyne’at Newcastle, the viaduct (supposed to be the largest in the world) over the Tweed valley at Berwick, and the Victoria tubular bridge over the St. Lawrence, near Montreal, are among the most celebrated of Mr. Stephenson’s works. He was also largely engaged in foreign railways. Like his father, he declined the honour of knighthood. Mr. Stephenson was author of a work ‘On the Loco- motive Steam-engine,’ and another ‘On the Atmospheric Railway System.’ He died October 12, 1859, and was buried in Westminster Abbey. It is worth noting, that as Lardner predicted that no steam- ot ie ha STEPHENSON. ( ENGLISH LITERATURE. R38 vessel could cross the Atlantic, Stephenson considered that the Suez Canal was an impossibility. ‘I have surveyed the line; | have trav- elled the whole distance on foot; and I declare there is no fall be- tween the two seas. A canal is impugsible; the thing would be only a ditch!’ SIR WILLIAM FAIRBAIRN. Some valuable works on the use of iron and engineering operations have been published by Sir WiLLIAM Farrpairn, Bart. Among these are ‘ Millsand Mill-work;’ ‘Iron, its History and Manufacture; ’ ‘Application of Iron to Building Purposes;’ ‘lron Ship-building;’ &ec. Sir William was a native of Kelso, Roxburghshire, born in 1739. He was long established in Manchester, and engaged in various pub- lic works. In the construction of the tubular bridge across the Menai Strait, he was of great service to the engineer, Mr. Robert Stephenson, and has drawn up ‘ Useful Information for Engineers,’ as to the strength of iron, iron ship-building, the collapse of tubes, &c. Thiseminent engineer was chiefly self-taught. He died August 18, 1874. SIR CHARLES WHEATSTONE. In the application of electricity to the arts, CHARLES WHEATSTONE —born at Gloucester in 1802 has been highly distinguished. The idea of the electric telegraph had been propounded in the last century, but it was not practically realised until the year 1837. The three independent inventors are Mr. Morse of the United States, M. Steinheil of Munich, and Mr. Wheatstone. Of these, the last has shown the greatest perseverance and skill in overcoming difficulties. To Wheatstone we also owe the invention of the stereoscope—that beautiful accompaniment to art and nature. Professor Forbes says: ‘Although Mr. Wheatstone’s paper was published in the ‘ Philosophi- cal Transactions’ for 1838, and the stereoscope became at that time known to men of science, it by no means attracted for a good many years the attention which it deserves. It is only since it received a convenient alteration of form—due, I believe, to Sir David Brewster —by the substitution of lenses for mirrors, that it has become the popu- lar instrument which we now sec it, but it isnot more suggestive than it always was of the wonderful adaptations of the sense of sight.” The electric telegraph, however, is the great source of Wheatstone’s fame; and the late President of the Royal Society, the Marquis of Northampton, on presenting him with the Society’s medal in 1840, said the honour had-been conferred ‘for the science and ingenuity by which Professor Wheatstone had measured electrical velocity, and by which he had also turned his acquaintance with galvanism to the most important practical purposes.’ His services to science were further acknowledged by Her Majesty conferring upon him the honour of knighthood (1868), and the university of Edinburgh awarding him the honorary degree of LL.D, i? ~ p See = ; oa wg ee a PS pee 2 Se we ete ey . < ; s - eg ne ee ae Re ree Jeans ~ j 3 “pl IES -. = Se : = < = og = =< > - or a ie 5 5 z : > 4 284. ae CYCLOP AUDIALOT 3 aes [To 1876. ~ “a 3 “3 — DR. BUCKLAND—SIR. CHARLES LYELL, ETC. ok a : Geology has had a host of discoverers and illustrators. Oneof- — the earliest of English geologists was Mr. WiLLIAM Sirs, who — published his ‘Tabular View oi the British Strata’ in 1790, and con- structed a geo. »gical map of England in 1815... He had explored the whole country on foot. The first of the prize-medals of the Geolog- ical Society was awarded to that gentleman in 18381, ‘in considera- tion,’ as stated, ‘of his being a great original discoverer in English geology, and especially for his having been the first in this country to discover ang to teach the identification of strata, and to determine their succession by means of their imbedded fossils.’ * The Rev. Dr. Buck LanpD (1784-1856), by his ‘ Vindicise Geo- logicee,’ 1820, and ‘ Reliquiz Diluvianee,’ 18238, and by various con- tributions to the Geological Society, awakened public interest to the claims of thic science, although he advocated the old hypothesis of the universality of the deluge, which he abandoned in his ‘ Bridge- water ‘Ireatisc’ of 1836. His ‘Geology and Mineralogy’ was re- “printed in 1858, with additions by Professors Owen and Phillips, and a memoir of the author by his son, Mr. Francis T. Buckland. ‘The indomitable energy of Buckland, in pursuing his researches and - collecting specimens of organic remains, is brought out fully in this memoir, with an account of his exertions to procure the endowment of a Readership in Geology at Oxford, which he accomplished in 1819. His invaluable museum he bequeathed to the university. It may be noted, also, that the glacial theory, illustrated by Agassiz and Professor James Forbes, was first promulgated by Dr. Buck-- land, who travelled over the north of England and the wilds of Scot- land for proofs of glacial action. Sir Robert Peel rewarded the labours of this ardent man of science by procuring his appointment to the ‘deanery of Westminster. In its now revised and improved form, with additional plates of organic remains, Buckland’s ‘ Geol- ogy and Mineralogy’ is the best general work on this interesting- study. Previous to its first publication, Mr., afterwards Sim ~ CHARLES LyELL, had published ‘ Principles of Geology, being - an Attempt to Explain the former Changes of the Earth’s Sur- face by a Reference to Causes now in operation, two volumes, 1830-32. Additions and corrections have been made from time to \ A - eT eee ee ee Te eC ae ee we ee Oe * This, however. had been clearly indicated more than a century before by the mathematician and natural philosopher, Dr. RoBERT HooKE (1635-1703 ) In alec= ture dated 1488, and published in Hooke’s posthumous works. there occurs this strik- ing prophetic passage; ‘ However trivial a thing a rotten shell may appear to some, yet these monuments of nature are more certain tokens of antiquity than coims OF medals. since the best of those may be counterfeited or made by artand design; - + « and though it must be granted that it is very difficult to read them—the records of naturs—and to raise a chronology out.of them. and to state the intervals of time wherein such or such catastrophe and mutations have happened, yet it is not impos- sible. See Lyell’s. Prine7ples. vol. i.. in which the history of geological science 18 traced. Also Conybeare’s Outiines of the Geo ogy of England and Wales. ih Scale tad = LYELL. | ENGLISH LITERATURE. |. 285 time, and the eighth edition of the ‘Principles,’ entirely revised, 1850, is a very complete and interesting work. But though introducing recent facts, Sir Charles still adhered to his original theory, that the forces now operating upon and beneath the earth’s surface, are the same both in kind and degree with those which, at remote epochs, have worked out geological revolutions ; or, in other words, that we may dispense with sudden, violent, and general catastrophes, and regard the ancient and present fluctuations of the inorganic world ag belonging to one continuous and uniform series of events. In 1838 Sir Charles published his ‘ Llements of Geology,’ since en- larged to two volumes. He is author also of ‘Travels in North America, with Geological Observations on the United States, Cana- da, and Nova Scotia,’ two volumes, 1845; and ‘Second Visit to the United States of America im 1845,’ two volumes, 1849. These are’ agreeable as well as instructive volumes, for Sir Charles was an ac- -complished literary artist, without betraying art in his composition. -This eminent geologist was a niativeof the county of Forfar, born - November 14, 1797, son of a Scottish. landed proprietor of the same name. He was created a baronetin 1864; and received the honorary degree of D.C.L. from the University of Oxford. His great work, *The Principles of Geology,’ first elevated geology to the dignity of a science, and his latest important work on the ‘ Antiquity of Man,’ 1863, has also had great influence on the thought and speculation of the present generation. Sir Charles died 22d January 1875, and was interred in Westminster Abbey. Geology Compared to History. We often discover with surprise, on looking back into the chronicles of nations, how the fortune of some battle has influenced the fate of millions of our contempo- rarics, when it has lone’ been forgotten. by the mass of the population. With this remote event, we may find inseparably connected the geographical boundaries of a gr at state, the language now spoken by the inhabitants, their peculiar manners, Jaws, and religious opinions. But far more astonishing and unexpected are the con- _nections brought to light, when we carry back our researches into the history of nature. The form of a coast, the configuration of the interior 6f a country, the ex- istence and extent of lakes, valleys, and mountains can often be traced tothe former prevalence of earthquakes and volcanoes in regions which have long been undis- turbed. ‘To these remote convulsions, the present fertility of some districts, the sterile character of others, the elevation of land above the sea, the climate, and various peculiarities, may be distinctly referred. On the other hand, many distinguishing features of the surface may often be ascribed to the operation, at a remote era, of slow :n1 tranquil causes—to the gradual deposition of sediment in a lake or in the ocean, or to the prolific increase of testacea and corals, To select arother example; we find in certain localities subterranean deposits of - coal, consisting of vezetable matter formerly drifted into seas and lakes. These seas and iakes have sinee been filled up: ihe lands whereon the forests grew have disap- appeared or changed their form; the rivers and currents which flosted the vegetable masses can no Jonger be traced; avd the plants belonged to species which for ages have pissed away from the surface of our planet. Yet the commercial prosperity and numerical strength of a wafion may now be mainly dependent ou the local dis- tribution of fuel determined by that ancient state of things. Geology is intimately related to almost all the physical sciences, as history is to ~ the moral. A historian should, if },oasible, be at once profoundly acquainted with ethics, politics, jurisprudence, the military art, theology ; in aword, with all branches 286 CYCLOPEDIA OF of knowledge by which any insight into human affairs, or into the moral and intel- lectual nature of man, can be obtained. — It would be no less desirable that a geologist should be well versed in chemistry, natural philosophy, mineralogy, zoology, compur-— ative anatomy, botany ; in short, in every science relating to organic aud inorganic nature. With these accomplishments, the historian and geologist would rarely fail to draw correct philosophical! conclusions from the various monuments transmit:ed to them of former occurrences. They would know to what combination of causes analogous effects were referrible, and they would often be enabled to supply, by in- ference, information concerning many events unrecorded in the defective archives of former ages. But as such exteusive acquisitions are scarcely withinthereachef any individual, it is necessary that men who have devoted their lives to different depart- ments should unite their efforts; and as the historian receives assistance from the anti- quary, and from those who have cultivated different branches of moral and political scieuce, so the geologist should avail himself of the aid of many naturalists, and par- ticularly of those who have studied the fossil remains of lost species of animals and plants. ; The analogy, however, of the monuments consulted in geology, and those avyaila- ble in history, extends no further than to one class of historical monuments—those which may be said to be undesignedly commemorative of former events. The ca- noes, for example, and stone hatchets found in our peat-bogs, afford an insight into the rude arts and manners of the earliest inhabitants of our island ; the buried coin fixes the date of the reign of some Roman emperor; the ancient encampment indi- cates the districts once occupied by invading armies, and the former method of con- structing military defences; the Egyptian mummies throw light on the art of em- balming, the rites of sepulture, or the average stature of the human race in ancient Egypt. This class of memorials yields to no other in authenticity, but it constitutes a small part only of the resources on which the historian relies, whereas in geology it forms the only kind of evidence which is at our command. For this reason we must not expect to obtain a full and connected account of any series of events beyond the reach of history. But the testimony of geological monuments, if frequently im- perfect, possesses at least the advantage of being free from all suspicion of misrep- resentation. We may be deceived in the inferences which we draw, in the same man-= ner as we often mistake the nature and import of phenomena observed in the daily course of nature, but our liability to err is confined to the interpretation, and, if this be correct, our information is certain. ’ The Great Earthquake of Lisbon in 1755. In no part of the voleanic region of Southern Europe has so tremendous an earth- quake-occurred in modern times as that which began on the Ist of November 1755 at Lisbon. 2% The tusks of the mammoth are so well preserved in the frozen drift of Siberia, that they have long been couected in great numbers for the purposes of commerce. j » E LIoTsoN.y) © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 295 In the account of the mammoth’s bones and teeth of Siberia, published more than a century ago in the ‘ Philosophical ‘Transactions,’ tusks are cited which weighed two hundred pounds each, and ‘are used as ivory, to make combs, boxes, and such other things; being but a little more brittle, and easily turning yellow by weather or heat.’ From that time to the present there has been no intermission in the supply ~ of ivory furnished a by the extinct elephants of a former world. DR. CARPENTER—DR. ELLIOTSON. In physiology, Dr. WinutaM BensaMIn CARPENTER has. also earned distinction. His chief works are—‘ Principles of General and Comparative Physiology;’ ‘ Principles of Human Physiology; ‘Vegetable Physiology and Botany;’ ‘ Zoology, and Instinct’ in “Animals; > “Popular Cyclopedia of Natural Science,’ seven volumes; ‘Mechanical Philosophy;’ ‘On the Microscope;’ &e. These works were produced between 1839 and 1854, and most of them have gone through several editions. Mr. Morrell, in his ‘History 0 of Modern Philosophy,’ has said that Dr. Carpenter’ Ss works ‘ manifest some of the best qualities both of the thinker and the observer.’ The father of the physiologist, Dr. LANT CARPENTER (1780-1840), was a well- known Unitarian minister, and writer on education and theology. Dr. JOHN. ELLIOTSON, a London physician, in 1840 published ‘ Hu- man Physiology,’ and afterwards attracted attention by lectures on phrenology and mesmerism. He procured the establishment of a mesmeric hospital, and set up a periodical, * The Zoist,’ in support of his physiological opinions. Mr. Thackeray dedicates his novel of ‘Pendennis’ to Dr. Elliotson, in acknowledgment of his medical skill, ‘ great goodness, and kindness,’ for which the physician would take no other fee but thanks. This kind physician died in 1858, aged eighty. HUGH MILLER. Asa eoptnat illustrator of geology, no author approaches HucH MILuER, the self-taught man of science and genius. He was a na- tive of Cromarty, born October 10, 1802. He was of a race of sea- faring men well to do in the world, who owned coasting-vessels, and buiit houses in the town of Cromarty. One of them had done a little in the way of bucanecring on the Spanish main. Most of them per- ished at sea, including Hugh’s father, who was lost in a storm in 1807. By the aid of two maternal uncles, Hugh received the com- mon education of a Scottish country-schcol, and was put apprentice, _by his own desire, to’a stone-mason. His sensations and geological ~ discoveries while toiling in the Cromarty quarries are beautifully told in the opening chapters of his work on the Old Red Sandstone. A life of toil, however, in such a sphere as this has its temptations, and the drinking usages of the masons were at that time carried to some excess. ~ Hugh Jearned to regard the ardent spirits of the dram- shop as high luxuries; they gave lightness and energy to both body and mind, ‘Usquebaugh,” he says, ‘was simply happiness doled 206 _ 2 C¥CLOPAIDIA‘OF - © 2 fro 1896, ‘out by the glass and sold by the gill.’ Soon, however, his better genius prevailed. ; . ; The Turning-point in Hugh Miller's Life. In-laying down the foundation-stone of one of the larger houses built this year by Uncle David and his partner, the workmen had a royal ‘founding pint,’ and two whole glasses of the whisky came to my share. ENGLISH LITERATURE. 207 “ alluded to are often ready to part with money if it does not directly ‘interfere with their immediate gratification, and have an impulsive ~ generosity of sentiment. But ‘ noble virrues* require prudence, self- control; regard for the feelings of ofhers, and steady intellectual cul- ture; and these cannot long co-exist with folly and sensuality. One wnust overpower the other—as in the forest the oak and the brush- wood rise together, and either the tree or the parasite soon asserts the superiority. Returning ta the north, Hugh Miller ventured on the publication of a volume of ‘ Poems, written in the Leisure Hours of a Journeyman Mason,’ 1829. The pieces occasionally rise above me- diocrity, and are always informed with fine feeling; bu! there is much more real poetry in his prose works. He next wrote some letters on the ‘Herring Fishing,’ descriptive of the fisher’s life at sea, and they shew his happy observant faculty, and his fine English. He had heen a diligent student of the best English authors, and was criti- eally exact and nice in his choice of language. . Mr. Miller was now too conspicuous to be much longer employed in hewing jambs or lin- tels, or even cutting inscriptions on tombstones, in which (like Telford the engineer in his early days) he greatly excelled. He carried on his a as studies and researches on the coast-lines of the Moray irth. The Antiquiiy of the Globe. T found that the caves hollowed by the surf, when the sea had stocd from fifteen to five-and-twenty feet above its present level, or, as I should perhaps say, when the land had stood that much lower, were deeper, on the average, by about one-third, than those caves of the present coast-line that are stijl in the course of being hol- lowed by the waves. And yet the waves have been breaking against the present coast-line during the whole of the historic period. The ancient wall of Antoninus, which stretched between the Firths of Forth and Clyde. was built at its terminations with reference to the existing levels; and ere Cesar lunded in Britain, St. Michael's Mount was connected with the. mainland as now, by a narrow neck of beach. Jaid bare by the ebb, across which, according to Diodorus Siculus, the Cornish miners » used to drive at low-water their carts laden with tin. If the sea has stood for two _ thousand six hundred years against the present coast-line—and no geologist would fix his estimate of the term lower—then must it have stood against the old line, ere it could have excavated caves one-third deeper than the modern ones, three thousand nine hundred years ; and both sums united more than exhaust the Hebrew chrouol- egy. Yet what a mere beginning of geologic history does not the epoch of the old coast-line form! Itis but a starting-point from the recent period. Nota single shell seems to have become extinct during the last Six thousand years. i The ancient deposits of the lias, with their mollusca, belemnites, ammonites, and nautili, had by this time overrun the province of the muses, and a momenclature very different from poetical diction had to be studied. ‘Theological controversy also broke in; and as Miller was always stout on the score of polemics, and withal sufficiently pugnacious, he mingled freely in local church disputes, the forerunners of a national ecclesiastical struggle, in which he was also to take a prominent part. The Reform Bill gave fresh scope for activity, and Miller was zealous on the popular side. He was elected a member of the town-council of Cromarty, and attended at Ss . et - SRA, — 298 CYCLOPADIA OF _ [ro 1876 | least one meeting, at which, he says, the only serious piece of busi. ; ness was the councillors clubbing pennies apiece in order to defray,/ © in the utter lack of town funds, the expense of a ninepenny postage, Perhaps Miller’s. interest in burgh politics was a little cooled at this time by a new influence that began to gain ground upon him. When working in the churchyard, chiselling his ‘In Memoriam,’ he used to have occasional visitors, and among them several accomplished intellectual ladies, whom he also met occasionally at tea-parties, and conducted through the wild scenes and fossiliferous treasures of the romantic burn of Eathie. Meditations upon the tombs led to love among the rocks, and geology itself had no discoveries or deposits hard enough to shut out the new and tender formation. Miller was overpowered, and circumstances ultimately sanctioned his union __ with the youngest, the fairest, and most accomplished of his lady- Visitors. He next became accountant in a banking establishment in Cro- marty, and in 1834 he published ‘Scenes and Legends in the North — of Scotland, or the Traditional History of Cromarty’—a work re, markable for the variety of its traditional lore, and the elegance of its style. Fifteen years a stone-mason, and about six years a bank- accountant, Miller’s next move was into that position for which he~ was best adapted, and in which he spent the remainder of his life. ~ The ecclesiastical party in Scotland then known as the ‘ Non-Intru- | sionists’ (new the Free Church), projected a newspaper to advocate ~ their views; all Mr. Miller’s feelings and predilections ran in the same direction; he had sufficiently evinced his literary talents and his zeal — in the cause—especially by two able pamphlets on the subject; and — accordingly, in 1840, he entered upon his duties as editor of ‘The Witness,’ a twice-a-week paper. We well remember his farewell din- — ner at Cromarty—the complacent smiles of old Uncle Sandy, proud of his nephew—the lively earnestness of the minister, Mr. Stewart, — varied by inextinguishable peals of laughter, for which he was famous—-and Hugh Miller’s grave speech, brimful of geology and of choice figurative expression—and the cordial affectionate feeling with ~ which the friends of his youth and manhood bade ‘God-speed’ to — their townsman and historian. Life has few things better than such a meeting even to a spectator, and what must it have been to the prime actor in the little drama? The scene’ was about to be shifted — —new characters introduced, new machinery, new duties, and a — Wier theatre of action. Opinions, thoughts, and language, gathered — and fashioned in obscurity, were now to be submitted to the public — glare, and tested by severe standards. But early trials, discipline, and study had braced and elevated the mind—a mind naturally copi- ous, vigorous, and buoyant; and Hugh Miller had been taught what — he now set about teaching others, that ‘life itself is a school, and na- —— ture always a fresh study, and that the man who keeps his eyesand PRR Abst : * “ ar a Ng _ . * : MILLER.) _- ENGLISH LITERATURE. SEN oa ae his mind open, will always find fitting, though it may be hard schoolmasters, to speed him on his life-long education.’ - Darimg the remaining fifteen years cf his life, besides contributing _jargeiy to his paper, Mr. Miller wrote his work on ‘The Old Red Sandstone,’ 1841, part of which appeared originally in ‘ Chambers’s Journar,’ and part in the ‘ Witness;’ his ‘ First. Impressions of Eng- land and its People,’ 1847; ‘ Footprints of the Creator, or the Astero- lepis of Stromness,’ 1850; ‘My Schools and Schoolmasters,’ an auto- biography, 1854; and ‘‘The ‘Testimony of the Rocks,’ a work com- pleted, but aot published till after his death. Two other posthu- - mous works have since appeared—’ The Cruise of the Betsey, ora Summer Ranible among the Fossiliferous Deposits of the Hebrides,’ 1858; and ‘Sketch-Book of Popular Geology, being a Series of Lec- tures delivered before the Philosophical lnstitution of Edinburgh,’ with an introduction by Mrs. Miller, giving a résumé of the progress of geological science Within the previous two years, published in March 1859. The death of Mr. Miller took place on the 24th of December 1856. He had overtasked his brain, and for some time suffered from visiou3s and delusions combined with paroxysms of acute physical pain. In one of those moments of disordered reason, awaking from a hidevus dream, he shot himself in the heart, and must instantly have expired—a sad and awful termination to a life of noble exertion and nigh hopes ! Mr, Miller’s first geolovical work, the treatise on ‘The Old Red Sand- stone,’ is perhaps the most valuable. On that field he was a dis- -coverer, adding to our knowledge of organic remains various members of a great family of fishes existing only in a deposit of the highest -antiquity. One of these bears now the name of Prerichthys Mil- leri?. He illustrated also the less known floras of Scotland—those of the Old Red Sandstone and the Oolite, giving figured illustraticns of the most peculiar. But the great distinguishing merit of Miller is his power of vivid description, which throws a sort of splendour over the fossil remains, and gives life and beauty to the geolog'cal landscape. His enthusiasm and word-painting were irresistible. He was in geology what Carlyle is in history, both possessing the power of genius to vivily the past and stir at once the heart and the imagi- nation. In his ‘Footprints of the Creator,’ Miller combated the de- velopment theory. In his last work, ‘The Testimony of the Rocks,’ 1857, he goes at great length into the. question of the antiquity @ the globe, endeavouring to reconcile it with the Mosaic account of the creation. Astronomers do not attempt any such reconciliation, and the geologists can never attain to certainty. Miller once believed with Buckland and Chalmers that the six days of the Mosaic narra- tive were simply natural.days of twenty-four hours each, but he was compelled by further study to believe that the days of creation were ‘not natural but prophetic days—unmeasured eras of time stretching a dee - b —_ —.* _i. Cr. a i we OW ete tt my Pe iy | + = ee A Sn ae Ee ae Ne Pe: - Ta an a en th os . J “* ee a “B00e: ¥ 39s US Sey CLOP DIA ORG ~ Si [ro 1876.-|/ - far back into the bygone eternity. The revelation to Moses he sup-; — oses to have been optical—a series of visions seen in a recess of the’ lidian desert, and described by the prophet in language fitted to the ideas of his times. ‘The hypothesis of the Mosaic vision is old—as old as the time of Whiston, who propounded it a century and a half since; butin Miller’s hands the vision becomes a splendid piece of ~ sacred poetry. a The Mosaic Vision of Creation. Be x . Such a description of the creative vision of- Moses as the one given by Milton of — that vision of.the future which he represents as conjured up before Adam bythe archangel, would be a task rather for the scientific poet than for the mere practical geologist or sober theologian. Lets suppose that it took place far from me2n, in an untrodden recess of the Midean desert, ere yet the vision of the burning bush bad ~ been vouchsafed ; and that, asin the vision of St. John in Patmos, voices .were — mingled with scenes, and the ear as certuinly addressed as the eye. A ‘great dark. ~ ness’ first falls upon the prophet, like that which in an earlier age fell upon Abraham, but without the ‘ horror ;’ and as the Divine Spirit moves on the face of the wildly —— troubled waters, as a visible aurora enveloped by the pitchy cloud, the great doctrine — is orally enunciated, that ‘in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth.’ Unreckoned ages, condensed in the vision into a few brief moments,-pass away ; the creative voice is again heard, ‘ Let there be light,’ and straightway agray diffused light spr.ngs up in the east, and, casting its sickly gleam over a clord-limited ex- ~~ pause of steaming vaporous sea, journeys through the heavens towards the west. — One heavy, sunless day is nade the representative of myriads; the faint light waxes fainter—it sinks beneath the dim undefined horizon; the first scene of the drama F closes u:on the seer; and he sits awhile on his hill-top in darkness, solitary butnot — > r é 4 + sad, in what seems to be a calm and starless night. ‘The light agai brightens—it is day ; and over an expanse of ocean without visi- b'e bound the horizon has become wider and sharper of outline than before. There-— is life in that great sea—invertebrate, mayhap also ichthyic, life; but, fromthe com=- ~ parative distance of the point of view occupied by the prophet, only the slow roll of — its waves can be discerned, as they rise and fallin long undulations before a gentle ~~ gale; aud what most strongly impresses the eye is the change which has taken place in -the atmospheric scencry. That lower stratum of the heavens occupied in thepreviors ~ vision by seething steam, or gray, smoke-like fog, is clear and transparent; and only in an upper region, where the previously invisibie vapour of the tepid sea has thick- — ened in the cold, do the clouds appear. But there, in the higher strata of the atmos- 4 phere, they lie, thick and manifold—an upper sea of great waves, Separated froin, — those beneath by the transparent firmament, and, like them too, impelled mm rolling — masses by the wind. A mighty advance- has taken place in creations but its most — conspicuous optical sign is the existence of a transparent atmosphere—of a firma- ~ ment stretched out over the earth. that separates the waters above from the waters q below. But darkness descends for the third time upon the seer, forthe evening | and the morning have completed the second day. a | Yet again.the light rises under a canopy of cloud ; but the scene has changed, 7 and there is no longer an unbroken expanse of sea. The white surf breaks, at the distant horizon, on an insulated reef, formed mayhap by the Silurian orOld Red ~ coral zoophytes ages before, during the bygone yesterday; and brats in long lines of ~~ foam. nvarer at hand. against the low, winding shore, the seaward barrier of a widely spread country. -For at the Divine command the land bas arisen from the deep-—not _ inconspicnously and in scattered islets, as at an earlier time, but in extensive though ‘flat and marshy continents, little raised over the sea-level ; and a yet further fiat has covered them with the great carboniferous flora, The scene is one of mighty forests . .of cone-bearing trees—of palms, and tree-ferns, and gigantic club-mosses. on the- opener slopes. and of great reeds clustering by the sides of quiet Jakes and dark rol- _ ling rivers. There is deep gloom in the recesses of the thicker woods, and low thick + mists creep along the dank marsh or sluggish stream. But there is a general light- enjng of the sky overhead; us the day de¢lines, a redder’ flush than had hitherto — - =) se et SF >: ee ~ 2 ‘ Sen AE aca ie Loe er: S “MILLER. | an =~. ENGLISH. LITERATURE. 201 “lighted up the prospect falls athwart fern-covered bank and long withdrawing glade. And while the fourth evening has fallen on the prophet, he becomes sensible, as it ‘Wears on, and the fourth dawn appronches, that yet another change has taken place. ‘he Creator has spoken, and the stars look out from openings of deep unclouded “biue; and as day rises, and the planet of morning pales in the east, the broken -cloudlets are transmited from b:onze into gold, and anon the gold becomes fire, and at Jength the glorious sun arises out of the sea, aud enters on his course rejoicing. It “js a brilliant-day; the waves, of a deeper and softer blue than before, dance and sparkle in the light; the earth with little else to attract the gaze, has assumed a garb of brighter green ; and as the stn declines amid even richer glories than those which * had encircled his rising, the moon appears full-orbed in the east—to the human eye ' the second great luminary of the heavens—and climbs slowly to the zenith as night advances, shedding its mild radiance on Jand and sea. - Again the day breaks; the prospect consists, as before, of land and ocean. There are great pine-woods, reed-covered swamps, wide plains, winding rivers, and broad Jakes; an‘ a bright sun_shines over all. But the landscape derives its interest and ~ novelty from a feature nnmarked before. Gigantic birds stalk along the sands, or wade far into the water in quest of their ichthyic food ; while birds of lesser size float upon the lakes, or scream discordant in hovering flocks, thick as insects in the cali of a summer evening, over the narrower seas ; or brighten with the sunlit gleam of their wings the thick woods. And ocean hasits monsters: great tanninim tem- _ pest the deep, as they heave their huge bulk over the surface, to inhale the life-sus- taining air; and out of their nos{rils goeth smoke, as out of a ‘seething pot or cal- ~dron.’? Monstrous creatures, armed in massive scales, haunt the rivers, or scour the - fiat rank meadows; earth, air, and water are charged with animal life: and the sun _ sets on a busy scene, in which unerring instinct pursues unremittingly its few simple -ends—the support and preservation of the individual, the propagation of the species, - andthe protection and maintenance of the young. _ , Again the night descends. for the fifth day has closed; and morning breaks on the sixth and last day of creation. Cattle and beasts of the field graze on the plains; ‘the thick-skinned rhinoceros wallows in the marshes; the squat hippopotamus rus- _tles among the reeds, or plunges sullenly into the river; great herds of elephants seek their food amid the young herbage of the woods; while animals of fiercer nature—the lion, the leopard, and the bear—harbour in deep caves till the evening, or lie in wait for their prey amid tangled thickets, or beneath some broken bank. At length, as the day wanes and the shadows lengthen, man, the responsible lord of creation, formed in God’s own image, isintroduced uvon the scene, and the work of creation ceases for ever upon the earth. The night falls once more upon the prospect, and _ tnere dawns yet another morrow—the morrow of God’s rest—that Divine Sabbath in which thereis no more creative labour, and which, ‘blessed and sanctified’ beyond ve the days that had gone before, has as its special object the moral elevation and final redemption of man. Andover i¢ no evening is represented in the reco1d as falling, for its special work is not yet complete. Such seems to have been the sub- _lime panorama of creation exhibited in visions of old to Bed The shepherd who first taught the chosen seed, = In the beginning low the heavens and earth i Rose out of chaos ; and, rightly understood, I know not a single scientific truth that militates against even the ininutest or least prominent of its details. The subject of the Noachian deluge is discussed at length, Miller holding with Stillingfleet, Poole, and modern authorities, that the de- luge was partial as to the earth, but universal as to the human race. “There was no novelty in this portion of his argument, and he some. times misconstrucs the opinions of those he opposes, His earnestness -and fertility of illustration enchain the reader’s attention, but a repe- -rusal only the more convinces us that Mr. Miller’s great power lay in . 302 | EYCLOPADIA OF description—not in grappling with the difficulties of speculative phil” osophy. We giveafew more specimens of his exquisite composition: The Fossil Pine-tree. : But let us trace the history of a single pine-tree of the Oolite, as indicated by its petrified remains. This gnarled and twisted trunk once anchored its roots amid the crannies of a precipice of dark-gray sandstone, that rose over some nameless stream of the Oolite, In what is now the north of Scotland. The rock, which, notwithstand-. ing its dingy co our, was a deposit of the Lower Old Red Sandstone, formed a member: of the fish-beds of that system—beds that were charged then, as now, with numer= ous fossils, as strange and obsolete in the creation of the Oolite as in the creation which at present exists. It was a firm, indestructible stone, covered by a thin, bar- ren soil; and the twisted rootlets of the pine, rejected and thrown backwards from its more solid planes, had to penetrate into its narrow fissures for a straightened aud meagre subsistence. The tree grew but slowly: in considerably more than half a century it had attained to a diameter of little more than ten inches a foot over the soil; and its bent and twisted form gave evidence of the life of hardship to which it was exposed. It was. in truth, a picturesque rag of a tree, that for the first few feet twisted itself round like an overborne wrestler struggling to escape from under his enemy. and then struck ont at an abrupt angle. and stretched itself like a bent arny over the stream. It must have resembled, on its bald eminence, that pine-tree of w later time described by Scott, that high above ‘ash and oak’ a Cast anchor in the rifted rock, : And o’er the giddy chasm hung His shattered trunk. and frequent flung, Where seemed the cliffs to meet on high, a His bonghs athwart the narrowed sky. The seasons passed over it: every opening spring gave its fringe of tenderev green to its spiky foliage, and every returning autumn sayy it shed its cones into tha stream below. Many a delicate fern sprang up and decayed around its gnarled and _ fantastic root, single-leaved and simple of form, like the Scolopendria of our caverns” and rock recesses, or fretted into many aslim pinnate leaflet, like the minute maidea-— hair or the graceful lady-fern. Flying reptiles have perched amid its boughs; the light-winged dragon-fly has darted ov wings of gauze through the openings of its” lesser twigs; the torioise and the lizard have hybernated during the chills of winter amid the hollows of its roots; for many years it formed one of the minor features in a wild picturesque scene, on which human eye never looked; and at length, touched by decay, its upper branches began to wither and bleach white in the winda of heaven; whon shaken by a sudden hurricane that came roaring adown the ravine, the mass of rock in which it had been anchored at once gave way, and, bearing fast jammed among its roots a fragment of the mass which we still find there, and from which we read a portion of its story, it was precipitated into the foaming torrent, — Dancing on the eddies, or lingering amid the pools, or shooting, arrow-like, adown — the rapids, it at length finds its way to the sea; and after sailing over beds of massive coral—the ponderous Isastrea and more delicate Thamnastrea—and after dis- turbing the Enaliosaur and Belemnite in their deep green haunts, it sinks, saturated with water. into a bed of arenaceous mud, to make its appearance, after long ages, in the world of man—a marble mummy of the old Oolite forest—and to be curiously | interrogated regarding its character and history. The National Intellect of England and Scotland. There is an order of English mind to which Scotland has not attained: our first men stand in the second rank, not a foot-breadth behind the foremost of Ergland’s second-rank men; but there is a front rank of British intellect in which there stands no Scotchman. [ike that class of the mighty men of David, to which Abishai and Benaiah belonged—great captains, who went down into pits in the time of snow and slew lions, or ‘who lifted up the spear against three hundred men at once, and pre= vailed’—they attained not, with all their greatness, to the might of the first class, ¥cotland hes produced no Stak peare; Burns and Sir Walter Scott united would fall ax < 5s - eo Buffon, on comparing the flowers, fruit. and vegetables which were then cultivated with some excellent drawings made a hundred and fifty years previously, was sirack with surprise at te great improvement which bad been effected; and-remarks that these ancient flowers and vegetables would now be reneoket not only by a florist, but by a village gardener. Since the time of Buffon the work of improvement hag steadity and rapidly gone on. Every florist who compares our present flowers with those ficured in books published not long since, is astonished at the change: A well= known amateur. in speaking of the varicties of Pelargonium raised by Mr. Garth: only twenty-two years before. remarks: “¢What a rage they excited; surely we had attained perfection, it was said, and now not one of the flowers of those d: ys will looked at. But none the less is the debt of gratitude which we owe to those who saw what was to be done, and did it,’ Mr. Paul, the well-known horticulturist, in w Reece ers sat pARwIN.|]. ~*~ ENGLISH LITERATURE. 2° B08 ing of the same flower, says Ike remembers, when young, being delighted with the ortraits in Sweet’e work ; ‘but what are they in point or beauty compared with the elargoniums of this day? Here, again, nature did not advance by leaps; the im- proveincnt was gracduai, and if we had neglected those very gradual adviuces. we must have foregove the present grand results.’ How well this practical horticultur- ist appreciates and illustrates the gradual and accumulative force of selection! The dahlia has advanced in beauty in like manner; the line of improvement being guided _- by fashion, and by the successive modifications which the flower slowly underwent. ~ A steady and gradual change has been noticed in many other flowers: thus, an old ~~ florist, after describing the leading varieties of the pink which were grown in 1813, -- adds, * the pinks of those days would now be scarcely grown as border-flowers.’ ‘The - improvement of so many flowers, and the number of the varieties which have been * .ruised, is all the more striking when we hear (from Prescott’s * History of Mexico ’) . that the earliest known flower-garden in Europe, namely, at Padua, dates ouly from the year 1545. - THOMAS HENRY HUXLEY. In love of science, as well as in similarity of opinions and pur- — suits, Prormssor Huxiry resembles his friend Mr. Darwin. Having studied medicine in his twenty-first year he obtained the appointment of assistant surgeon tc H.M.8. Rattlesnake during the surveying ~ cruise in the South Pacifie and Torres Straits. During the three _ years of the survey, Mr. Huxley studied the numerous marine anl- - mals which were collected from time to time, and sent home notes of his observatious, which were published in the ‘ Philosophical Trans- actions’ under the title of ‘On the Anatomy and Affinities of the _ Family of the Meduse.’ Further contributions to the same work “were published, and were so highly ajpreciated that in 1801 Mr, - Huxley was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and next year re- —evived‘one of the. two royal medals of the Society. He had now ~ taken his place as one of the most distinguished naturalists and com- _ parative anatomists of the ave, and in 1854 he was appoint: d succes- sor to Edward Forbes as Professor of Natural History in the Royal School of Mines. His scientific publications have earned for him _-fame and honours both at home and abread. The most notable of these works are—‘ Observations on Glaciers,’ written jointly with _ Mr, Tyndall, 1857; ‘On the Theory of the Vertebrate Skull,’ 1858; -.*The Oceanic Hydrozoa,’ 1858; ‘Man's Place in Nature,’ 1863; ‘Lectures on Comparative Anatomy,’ 1864; ‘Lessons In Elementary _ Physiology,’ 1866; ‘Classification of Animals,’ 1869; ‘Lay Sermons, Addresses and Reviews,’ 1870; &c. The contributions of Mr. Huxley “to scientific journals and associations are much too numerous for us to mention here, Some of his lectures on:the ‘Phenomena of Organic Nature,’ delivered .to working-men at the museum of Pract ical Geol- oy, have been published in a separate form, and widely circulated. Mr. Huxley is a bold and fearless thinker and inquirer. ‘Men of science,’ he says, ‘do not pledge themselves to creeds; they are bound by articles of no sort; there is not a single belicf that it 1s not a ~ _bounden duty with them to hold with a light hand, and to part with it cheerfully the moment it is veally proved to be contrary to any fact, great or small.” ‘The vroof, nowever, must be irresistible, and nm e is: ed te St a ene a ee 810 . 2, CYCLOP.EDIAOF- 2 [v0 1876, on this point we may quote another observation made by Mr. = Huxley: , oe Caution to Philosophie Inquirers. 2) The growth of physical science is now so prodigiously rapid, that those who are — actively engaged in- keeping up with the present, have mach ado to find time to look 2 at the past, and even grow into the habit of neglecting it. But natural as this result muy be. it is none tke less detrimental. ‘he intellect loses, for there is assuredly no ~ more effectual method of clearing up one’s own mind on any subject than bytalk- — ing it over, 'so to speak, with men of real power and grasp who have considered it — 4 from a totally different point of view. The parallax of time helps us to the true — conception, as the parallax of space helps us to that of a star. And the mora] ~ nature loses no less. It is well to turn aside from the fretful stir of the present, — and to dwell with gratitude and respect upon the services of those mighty men of ~ old who have gone down to the grave with their weapons of war, but who, while — they yet lived, won splendid victories over ignorance. Professor Huxley is a native of Ealing in Middlesex, born in 1825. ~ He studied medicine in the Medical School of Charing-Cross Hospital, — and in 1846 entered the medical service of the royal navy. He ~ is now Professor of Anatomy in the Royal College of Surgeons, and — Fullerian Proféssor of Physiology in the Royal Institution. Heisa — Vice-president of the Zoological and the Geological Societies, &e. ye | The Odjectors to Scientifie Inquiry. There are in the world a number of extremely worthy, well-meaning persons, — whose judgments and opinions are entitled to the utmost respect on account of their — sincerity, who are of opinion that vital phenomena, and especially all questions re- lating to the origin of vital phenomena, are questions quite apart from the ordinary — run of inquiry, and are, by their very nature, placed ont of our reach. They say — that all these phenomena originated miraculously, or in some way totally different — from the ordinary course of nature, and that therefore they conceive it to be futile, not to Say presumptuous, to attempt to inquire into them. To such sincere and earnest persons I would only say. that a question of this kind is not to be shelved upon theoretic or speculative grounds. You may remember the — story of the Sophist who demonstrated to Diogenes in the most complete and satis- factory manner, that he could not walk; that. in fact, all motion was an impossi- — bility ; and that Diogenes refuted him by simpiy getting up and walking round his — tub. So, in the same way, the man of science replies to objections of this kind, by ~ simply getting up and walking onward, and shewing what science has done and is ~ doing—by pointing to the immense mass of facts which have been ascertained and — systematised under the forms of the great doctrines of Morphology. of Development, — of Distribution, and the like. He sees an enormous mass of facts and Jaws relating — to organic beings, which stand on-the same good sound foundation as every other — naturallaw. With this mass of facts and laws before us, therefore, seeing that, as far as organic matters have hitherto been accessible and studied, they have shewn — themselves capable of yielding to scientific investigation, we may accept thisasa — proof that order and law reign there as well as in the rest of nature. The man of — science says nothing to objectors of this sort, but supposes that we can and shall — walk toa knowledge of organic nature, in the sameway that we have walked toa — knowledge of the laws and prine’ples of the morganic world. . ’ But there are objectors who say the same from ignorance and ill-will. To such J would reply that the objection comes ill from them, and that the real presumpfion— I may alinost say, the real blasphemy—in this matter, is in the attempt to limit that — inquiry into the causes of phenomena, which is the source of all human blessings, — and from which has sprung ell human prosperity and progress; for, after all, we can — accomplish comparatively little; the limited range of our own faculties bounds us on” every side—the field of our powers of observation is small enough, and he who — ~ MUXLEY.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 811 endeavours to narrow thesphere of our inquiries is only pursuing a course that is likely to produce the greatest harm to his fellow-men. ... _ All human inquiry must stop somewhere; all our knowledge and all our investiga- tion cannot take us beyond the limits set’ hy the finite and restricted characte: of our facuities, or destroy the endless unknown, which accompanies. like its shadow, the endiess procession of phenomena. So far as I can venture to offer an opi.ion on ‘such a matter, the purpose of our being in existence, the highest object that human beings can set before themselves is not the pursuit of any such chimera as the an- nihilation of the unknown; but it is simply the unwearied endeavour to remove its ’ boundary a little further from our little sphere of action. The Power of Speech. ; What is it that constitutes and makes man what he is? What is it but his power of language—that language giving him the mears of recording his experience— making every generation somewhut wiser than its predecessor—more in accordance with the established order of the universe? What isit but this power of speech, of re- cording experience, which enables men to be men—looking before and after, and, in some dim sense, understanding the working of this wondrous universe—and which distinguishes man from the whole of the brute world? I say that this functional difference is vast, unfathomable, and truly infinite in its consequences. FRIEDRICH MAXIMILIAN MULLER. We may supplement Mr. Huxley’s eloquent sentence by observa- tions from Professor Max Miller on the same subject: Language the Barrier between Brute and Man. We see that the lowest of savages—men whose language is said to be no better _than the clucking of hens, or the twittering of birds. and who have been declared in * many respects lower than even animals, possess this one specific characteristic, that if you take one of their babies, and bring it up in England, it will learn to speak as weil as any English baby, while no amount of education will elicit any attempts at language from the highest animals, whether biped or quadruped. This disposition cannot have been formed by detinite nervous structures, congenitally framed, for we _-are told by the best sgriologists that both father and mother clucked like hens. ‘his fact, ey unless disproved by experiment, remains, whatever the explanation may be... . . Language is the one great barrier between the brute and man. Man speaks, and - no brute has ever uttered a word. Language is something more palpable than a fold of the brain or an angle of the’skull. Itadmits of no cavilling, and no process of natural selection will ever distil significant words out of the notes of birds or the cries of beasts. No scholar, so faras I know, has ever controverted any of these statements. But when evolutionism became, as it fully deserved, the absorbing inter- est of all students of nature; when it was supposed that, if a moneres could develop into a man, bew-wow and pooh-pooh might weil have developed by imperceptible de- ‘ ne into Greek and Latin, I thought it was time to state the case for the science of _ language—a statement of facts, shewing that the results of the science of language did not at present tally with the results of evolutionism, that words could no longer be derived directly fror imitative and interjectional sounds, that between theae sounds and the first beginnings of language, inthe technical sense of the word, a barrier had been discovered. represented by what we call roots. and that. as far as we _ know, no attempt, not even the faintest, has ever been made by any animal. except man, to approsch or to cross that barrier. I went one step further. J shewed that ~ roots were with men the embodiments of general concepts, and that the only way in which man realised general concepts, was by means of those roots, and words de- rived from roots. ... . That there is in us an animal—ay, a bestial nature--has never been denied: to ’ deny it would take away the very foundation of psycholoey and ethics. We cannot be reminded too often that all the materials of our kfiowledge we share with ani- mals; that, like them, we begin with seusuous impressions, and then, like ourselves, 313 - CYCLOPADIA OF and like ourselves only, proceed to the general, the ideal, andthe ‘atceralt Wet 5 cannot be re; ninded too often that in mauy thines we are like the beasts of the field; ~ + but that like ourselves, and like oursel ives only, we can rise superior to our hestial- seif, and strive atter what is unselfish. good, and Godlike. ‘the wing by which we> soar above the seusuous, was called by wise inen of old the ogos ; ihe wi ine which © lifts us above the sensnal, was called by g:od inerrof old the daimonion. Li Tus take ~ continual care, especially within the precincts of the temple of science, lest by abus- — ing the gift of speech, or doing violence to the voice of conscience, we soil the two — wings of our soul, aud fall back, thr ough our own fault, to the dreaded level of the — gorilla. FRIEDRICH MAXIMILIAN Mij_iER (usually contracted to F. Max Miller) is, as his name imports, a native of Germany, born at Dessau ~ in 1823. He studied at Leipsic, and was early distinguished for his” ; proficiency.in Sanscrit. He repaired to Berlin and to Paris for the - prosecution of his philological aPacies, and especially to collate MSS. relative to his ‘ Rig-Veda-Sanhita,’ or Sacred Hymns of the Brahmans. For the same purpose, he examined the MSS. in the Bodleian Libra- — ry at Oxford and in the Indian House. His great work was pub- lished at the expense of the East’ India Company. He took up hig residence at Oxford, where he gave lectures on comparative philolo- gy, was made a member of Christ Church and M.A. in 1851, Pro- fessor of Modern Languages, curator in the Bodleian Library, Fellow of Ali Souls, &c. He was made one of the eight foreign members of — the Institute of France, and has’ received the honorary degree of— LL.D. from both the universities of Cambridge and Edinburgh. “Few foreigners have been so honoured in England, or so familiar with its language and literature and institutions. As an oriental — scholar, Pr ofessor Miiller has no superior in England or in Germany. — His ‘Rig -Veda’ extends to six quarto volumes, and he has published — - Hand-books for the study of Sanscrit, a Sanscrit-English Dictionary and Grammar, &c. His ‘ Lectures on the Science of Language,’ two volumes, are now (1876) i in their eighth edition; his ‘Introduction to — the Science of Religion’ (four lectures delivered at the Royal Institu- — tion), with ‘Essays on Mythology,’ ‘On the Stratification of Lan- guage,’ “On Missions’ (a lecture delivered in Westminster Abbey in — 1873), and ‘Chips from a German Workshop,’ are all well known — and appreciated in this country. The ‘Chips’ form four volumes, — the latest being published in 1875; they range over various subjects, but are chiefly on the Professor’s favourite science of langusge, and ~ are written in a style clear, forcible, and often picturesque. The — following is a short extract from ‘Lectures on the Science of Language:;’ " ” : : i ee NE a ee Pe se Spread of the Latin Language. There is a pectliar charm in watching the various changes of form and meaning | in words passing down from the Ganges ‘or the Tiber into the great ocean of modern” speech, In the e'gath century v.c. the Latin dialect was confined to a small territory. It was but.one dialect out of many that were spoken all over Italy, But it gr ew—it — became the language of Rome and of the Romans, it absorbed all the other “dialects of Italy, the Uinbrian, the Osean. the Etruscan. the Celtic, and became by Becpe the language of Central Italy. of Southern and Northern Italy. From thence it eer OR = TYNDALL, ] - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 318 _ Spread to Gaul, to Spain, to Germany, to Dacia on the Danube. It became the lan- guage of law and government in the civilised portions of Northern Asia, and it was carried through the heralds of Christianity to the most distant parts of the globe. it supplanted in its victoriousx-progress the ancient vernaculars of Gaul, Spain, and - Portugal, and it struck deep roots in parts of Switzerland and Walachia. When it came in contact withthe more vigorous idioms of the Teutonic tribes, though it could not /Supplant or annihilate them, it left on their surface a thick layer of foreign words, and it thus supplied the greater portion in the dictionary of nearly ali the civilised nations of the world. Words which were first used by Italian shepherds are now used by the statesmen of England, the pocts of France, the philosophers of Germany ; and the faint echo of their pastoral conversation may be heard in the senate of _Washington, in the cathedral of Calcutta, and in the settlements of New Zealand. I shall trace the career of a few of those early Roman words, in order to shew how words may change, and how they aljapt themselves to the changing wants of each “generation. I begin with the royal word Palace. A palace now is the abode of a royal family. But if we look at the history of the name we are soon carried back to the shepherds of the-Seven Hills. There, on the Tiber, one of the Seven Hills was - called the Colis Palatinus, and the hill was called Palatinus, trom Pales, a pastoral deity, whose festival was celebrated every year on the 21st. of April as the birthday of Rome. It was to commemorate the day on which Romulus, the wolf-child, was Supposed to have drawn the first furrow on the foot of that hill, and thus to have laid the foundation of the most ancient fart of Rome, the Roma Quadrata. On this “hill, the Collis Palatinus, stood in later times the houses of Cicero and of his neighbour and enemy Catiline, Augustus built his mansion on the saine hill, and his example was followed by Tiberius and Nero. Under Nero all private houses had to be pulled down on the Collis Platinus, in order to make roof for the emperor’s residence, the Domus Aurea, as it was called, the Golden House. This house of Nero’s was hence- forth called the Palatium, and it became the type of all the palaces of the kings and emperors of Europe... . _ , Another modern word, the English court, the French cour, the Ttalian corte, carries us back to the same locality and to the same distant past. It was on the hill of La- tium that cohors or cors was first used in the sense of a hurd/le, an inclosure, a cattle- - yard, The cohortes or divisions of the Roman ariny were called by the same name ; so many soldiers constituted a pen ora court... . - Thus cors, cortis, from meaning a pen, a cattle-yard, became in medieval Latin _eurtis, and was used like the German Hof of the farms and castles built by Roman Settlers in the provinces of the empire. These farms became the centres of villages and towns, and in the modern names of Vraucourt, Graincourt, Leincourt, Magni- court, Aubignicourt, the older names of Varicurtis, Grani curtis, Leonii curtis, Manii curtis, Albini curtis, have been discovered. Lastiy, from meaning a fortified place, cwrtts rose to the dignity of a royal resi- dence, and became synonymous with palace. The two names having started from the same place, met again at the end of their long career. e PROFESSOR TYNDALL. ~~’ "Fhe Professor of Natural Philosophy in the Royal Institution has “had a very active and checkered career. _ JOHN TYNDALL, a native of freland, was born about the year 1820, and was employed for some years on the Ordnance Survey. ‘While stationed at Cork, be worked at mapping in the same room with a very-able man, Mr. Lawrence Ivers. Noticing the work and conduct of Tyndall, Mr. Ivers asked him how he employed his leisure time. ‘‘ You have five hours a day at your own disposal,” he said, ‘‘ and these ought to be devoted to systematic study.” Next morning Tyndall was at his books before five o’clock, and for twelve years afterwards he never - swerved from the practice.”"* He was next engaged in railway work, “Shs * Supplement to Znglish Cyclopedia (Biography), =) Eel:Vi8—11 $14. CYCLOPADIA OF fro ees then paactee abroad, first under Protect Bunsen at Marburgin _~ Hesse Cassel, and afterwards at Berlin in the laboratory of Professor x Magnus. In 1852 he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Society, and in 1853 he was unanimously appo:nted to the Professorship of Natu. —~ rai Philosophy. In 3856, in company with Professor Huxley, he visited Switzerland, and the result was a series of papers by the two ~ ; friends on the structure and motion of glaciers. Other journeys and investigations were undertaken by Professor Tyndall, and described in his work on the ‘Glaciers of the Alps,’ 1860. He has since pub- lished ‘ Mountaineering,’ 1851; ‘A Vacation Tour,’ 1862; ‘Heat Con- © sidered as a Mode of Motion,’ 1863: ‘On Radiation,’ 1855; ‘Sound, a Course of Eight Lectures,’ 1867; ‘Faraday as.a Discoverer,’ 1868; ‘Natural Philosophy i in Easy Lessons,’ 1869; ‘ Essays on the Imagi- _ nation in Science,’ 1870; ‘ Fragments of Science for Unscientific Peo- pie 1871; ‘Hours of Exercise in the Alps,’ 1871;.&c, Professor d yndall is an enthusiastic climber and admirer of Alpine scenery, — ‘a remarkable example,’ it has been said, ‘of combined cerebral and~ muscular activity.’ He has done much to popularise science as a lecturer at tne Royal Institution, besides being distinguished for ori- ginal research. Like Mr. Huxley, he has stood forward as an advo- = cate for free and unrestricted research into all the recesses of mind- 4 and matter; but has indignantly repudiated the creed of atheism which had been lightly attributed to him. i. Freedom of Inquiry. It is not to the point to say that the views of Lucretius and Bruno, of Darwin and Spencer, may be wrong. Here I should agree with you, deeming it indeed certain that these views will under go. modification. But the point is , that, whether right or wrong, we claiin the right TO discuss them. For science, however, no exclusive claim. is here made ; you are not urged to erect it into an idol. The inexorable advance of man’s understanding in the path of knowledge, and those unquenchable claims of his. moral and emotion ial nature which the understanding cun never satisfy. are here equally set forth. She worid embraces not only a Newton, but_a Shakspeare—not only a Boyle, but a Raphael—not only a Kant, bata Beethoven—not only a Darwin, -— but a Carlyle. Not in cach of these, but in all, is human nature whole. They are » not opposed, but supplementary—not mutnally ‘exclusive, but reconcilable. And if, unsat'sfied with them all, the. human mind, with the yearning of a pilgrim for his” distant home, will still turn to the mystery from which it has emerved, seeking so to fashion it as to give unicy to thought and faith; so long as this is done, not only — without intolerance or bigotry of any kind. but with the en! lightened recognition that _ ultimate fixity of conception is here unattainable, and that each succeeding age must | be held free to fashion the mystery in accordance with its own needs—then}cas!ing aside all the restrictions of materialism, I would affirm this to be a field for ‘he no- blest exercise of what, in contrast with the knowing faculties, may be ealled the crea= tive facuities of man. Here, however, I touch a theme too great for me to handle, but which will assuredly be handled by the loftiest minds when you and J, like streaks — of morning cloud, shail have melted into the infinite azure of the past. This extract is from Professor Tyndall’s address delivered at Bele . fast in 1874. From the same address we give another passage : ~ c ™ r, > - - “TYNDALL. } ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 815, Advance tn Science since the Days of Bishop Butler. Bishop Butler accepted with unwavering trust the chronology of the Old Testa- ment. describing it as‘ confirmed by thé natural and civil bistory of the world. col- lected from common historians, from the stite of the earth, and from the Jate inven- tions of arts and sciences.’ These words mark progress ; und they must seem some- whet hoary to the bishop’s successors of to-day. Itis hardly necessary to inform you that since his time the domain of the natnralist has been immensely extended— the whole science of geology, with its sstounding revelations regarding the life of the ancient earth, having been created. The rigidity of old conceptions has been re- jaxed, the public mind being rendered gradually tolerant of the idea that not for six thonsand. nor for sixty thousand, nor for six thousand thousand, but for sons em- bracing untold millions of years, this earth has been the theatre of life and death. The riddle of the rocks has been read by the geologist and paleontologist, froin sub- cambrian depths to the deposits thickening over the.sea-bottoms of to-day. And upon the leaves of that stone-book are, as you know, stamped the characters, plainer and surer than those formed by the ink of history, which carry the mind back into abysses of past time, compared with which the periods which Satisfied Bishop Butler cease to have a visual angle. The lode of discovery once struck, those petrified forms in which life was at one time active increased to multitudes, and demanded classification. They were grouped in genera, species, and varieties, according to the degree of similarity subsisting be- tween them. ‘Thus confusion was avoided, each object being found in the pigeon- hole appropriated to it and to its fellows of similar morphological or physiological char- - acter. The general fact soon became evident that none but the simplest forms of life ' lie lowest down, that as we climb higher among the super-imposed strata more per- fect forms appear. The change, however, from form to form was not continuous, but by steps—some smali, some great. * A section,’ says Mr. Huxley, ‘a hundred feet thick will exhibit at different heights a dozen species of ammonite, none of which passes beyond its particular zone of limestone, or clay, into the zone below it, or into that above it.’ In the presence of such facts, it was not possible to avoid the ques- tion : Have these forms, shewing, though in broken stages, and with many irregu- larities, this unmistakable general advance, been subjected to no continuous law of growth or variation 2 as HERBERT SPENCER. Another enthusiastic votary of biology and kindred studies, and an exponent of the theory of evolution, is Mr. HERBERT SPENCER, a native of Derby, born in 1820. Mr. Spencer began life as an engineer, then assisted some time at the periodical press, and contributed to the reviews, &c. His principal works are—‘ Principles.of Psychology,’ 1855; ‘Essays, Scientific, Political, and Speculative,’ 1858-63; ‘ Prin- ciples of Biology,’ 1864; ‘Descriptive Sociology, or Groups of Socio- Jogical Facts,’ 1874; &c. PROFESSOR GHIKIE. . ARCHIBALD GEIKIE, born in Edinburgh in 1835, is author of several geological works, and was associated with Sir Roderick Mur- _ chison in investigating the geological structure of the Scottish High- lands, preparing a memoir of that district, and drawing up a new - geological map of Scotland (1861). He was director of the Survey of ’ Scotland, and when a chair of mineralogy and geology was founded in the university of Edinburgh in 1870, Mr. Geikie was appointed profes- ‘sor. In 1872 the university of St. Andrews conferred upon him the de- _greeof LL.D. The works of Dr. Geikie are—‘ The Story of a Boulder, 1858 ; ‘Life of Professor Edward Forbes’ (conjointly with the late \ philology. Dr. Morris adds an introduction with notes, tables of are drawn. _ divisions of Celtic speech, the Gadhelic or the Cymric, they belonged, or whether a < ~ “ : - fro 1876. gic S CYCLOPADIA OF Dr. Ghoree Wilson), 1861 ; ‘ Phenomena of the Glacial Drift of Scot- 2 land,’ 1863; ‘The Scenery of Scotland viewed in connection with its. — Physical Geology,’ 1860 ; and various articles in reviews and scien- tific journals. = ee. ad ae GEIKIE, a brother of the above, has written a large and val- — uable work, ‘The Great Ice Age and its Relation to the Antiquity of _ Man.’ a sf 44 Wintiam Dwicut Wurrney, Professor of Sanscrit and Instructor in Modern Languages in Yale College, was born at Northampton, Massachusetts, in 1827. He has written various works, including J ‘Twelve Lectures on Language and the Study of Language,’ 1867. Of these lectures, the first seven have, with the consent of the author ~ and publisher, been reprinted by the Rev. Dr. Morris, as a sound and scientific introduction to a more advanced course of comparative 2 . s a PROFESSOR WHITNEY. — , B,. declension, and an index, rendering the volume very useful for stu-_ — dents. Professor Whitney 1s a well-known Sanscrit scholar, but in — these lectures he has chosen English as the language from which the — most telling of his examples and explanations of linguistic changes | Celtic Branch of the Indo-European Languages. So completely were the Gaulish dialects of Northern Italy, France, and Spain _ wiped out by the Latin, so few traces of them are left-to us, either in the Jatar idioms of the Latin or in “fragments of writings, inscriptions, and coins. that it is- — still a matter of doubt and question among Celtic scholars to which of the known ~ they did not constitute a third division co-ordinate with them. Aside from the ex- ceedingly scanty and obscure Gallic epigraphical monuments, and the few single words preserved in classic authors, the earliest records both of Irish and Welsh — speech are glosses, or interlinear and marginal versions and comments written by — Celtic scholars upon manuscripts which they were studying. in old times when ~ Wales and Treland, especially the Jatter, were centres of a lively literary and Christian activity. Of these glosses, the Irish are by far the most abundant, and afford a tolerably distinct idea of what the language was at about the end of the ~ eighth century. There is also_an independent literary work, a Life of St. Patrick, which is supposed to belong to the beginning of the ninth century. The — other principal Gadhelic dialect, the Scotch Gaelic, presents us a few songs that claim to be of the sixteenth century. The Ossianic poems, which excited such at- ~ tention a hundred years ago, and whose genuineness and value have been the sub-= © ject of so lively discussion, are probably built upon only a narrow foundation of — real Gaelic tradition. : a In the Cymric division, the Welsh glosses are the oldest monuments of definite — date. Though hardly, if at all, less ancient than the Irish, coming down from — somewhere between the eighth and the tenth centuries, they are very much more — scanty in amount, hardly sufficient to do more than disprove the supposed antiquity of the earliest monuments of the language that possess a proper literary character. — For long centuries past the Welsh bards have sung in spirit-stirring strains the ~ glories and the woes of their race; and itis claimed that during much more thana thousand years, or ever since the sixth century. the era of Saxon invasion and con-— quest, some of theirsongs have been handed down from generation to generation, — by a careful and uninterrupted ‘tradition, and the claim is probably well founded 3 ouly, itis also pretty certain that as they have been handed down, they have been — hy Maal Ss 2 ee een Se StS a ee $F pee > 4 XS Se - WHITNEY.} = © ENGLISH LITERATURE. 817 modernised in diction, so that, in their present form, they represent to us the Welsh language of a time not much preceding the date of the oldest manuscripts, or of the tweifti: to the fourteenth centuries. ‘the later Welsh literature, as well as the Trish, is abundant in quantity. ‘The Cornish, also, has a tolerably copious literature —of not far from the same age; its earliest monument, a Latin-Cornish vocabulary, may be as old. as tue twelfth century. The language of Brittany, the Armorican— which is so closely allied with the two last mentioned, that it caunot well be regarded asa remnant and representative of the Celtic dialects of Gaul, but must rather be- long to colonists or fugitives from Britain—is recorded in one or two brief works going back to the fourteenth century or even farther. DR. JOHN WILLIAM DRAPER, The distinguished Professor of Chemistry in the university of New York, in 1875 published a ‘ History of the Conflict between Religion and Science,’ commencing with the Greek conquest of Persia, and _ the subsequent division of Alexander’s empire, which resulted in the _ establishment of the Macedonian dynasiy in Egypt. This was suc- ceeded by the erection of the Museum as aschool of knowledge at Alexandria, then the intellectual metropolis of the wold. Dr, Draper traces the influence of the Museum and the development of science. The philosophy was of the stoical Pantheistic type. ‘Though there is a Supreme Power,’ said the ethical teachers, ‘there ~ isno Supreme Being; there is an invisible principle, but not a per- sonal God, to whom it would be not so much blasphemy as absurdity to impute the form, the sentiments, the passions of man.’ ‘The soul of man was supposed to be re-absorbed into the universal soul; and as the tired labourer looks forward to the insensibility of sleep, so the philosopher, weary of the world, anticipated the tranquillity of - extinction... Dr. Draper next proceeds to describe the rise of Chris- tianity, end to ‘give a history of the conflict between religion and science from that time to the present day.’ But the work should more correctly be termed a history of the conflict between science and the Roman Catholic Church. The Greek Church, he says, has met the .advance of knowledge with welcome; the Protestant --Churches have been mostly averse to constraint, and their oppo- - sition has seldom passed beyond the exciting of theological odium. ‘In speaking of Christianity,’ says Dr. Draper, ‘reference is gen- erally made to the Roman Church, partly because its demands are - the most pretentious, and partly because it has sought to enforce those demands by the civil power.’ Now to this it may be objected that the conflict of a church with science, and that church a political or state organisation, is not a battle between science and religion, _ The maintenance of its own power was the object of the Papacy, and with perfect impartiality it persecuted alike its religious oppo- nents and the scientific discoverer. It would be as reasonable to - charge upon science all the absurdities of alchemy and astrology as _ to discredit religion with all the follies of its professed followers. In his History, Dr. Draper gives an account of the rise of Moham- _medanism and the conquests of the Arabs, who carried with them 318 CYCLOPADIA OF © - fro. 1876, into Europe a taste for philosophy and science. In the tenth cen- tury, the Caliph Hakem II. had made Andalusia a sort of terrestrial paradise, where Christians, Mussulmans, and Jews mixed together without restraint. . ~ Luxuries of the Spanish Oaliphs. The Spanish caliphs had surrounded themselves with all the luxuries of oriental — life. ‘They had magniiicent palaces, enchanting gardens, seraglios filled with beauti- ful women. Europe at the present day does not offer more taste, more refinement, more elegance, than might have been seen at the epoch of which we are speaking, in the capitals of the Spanish Arabs. Their streets were lighted and solidly paved. ‘Their houses were-frescoed and carpeted; they were warmed in winter by furnaces, and cooled in sumer with perfume air brought by underground pipes from flower- beds. ‘hey had baths and libraries and dining-halls, fountains of quicksilver and water. City and country were full of convivial.ty, and of dancing to the lute and mundolin. Instead of the drunken and gluttonous wassail oreies of their Northern neighbours, the feasts of the Saraceus were marked by sobriety. Wine was pro-~ hibited. ‘Lhe enchanting moonlight evenings of Andalusia were spent by the Moors — in sequestered fairy-like gurdens, or in orange groves, listening to the romances oF the story-teller, or engaged in philosophical discourse ; consoling themselves for the disy ppointments cf this Jife by such reflections as that. if virtue were rewarded in this world, we should be without expectations in the life to come; and reeonciling them= selves to their daily toil by the expectation that rest will be found after death—a rest never to be succeeded by labour. Dr. Draper is stated to have been born near Liverpoolin 1811. He graduated at the university of Pennsylvania in 1886, and in 1889 was _ appointed Professor of Chemistry in the university of New York. - His ‘Human Physiology, Statical and Dynamical,’ is considered one of the best of our physiological treatises. He has also written on the ‘Organisation of Plants,’ 1844; a ‘ History of the Intellectual Devel- opment of Europe,’ 1864; and text-books on chemistry and natural ~ history. ,.) GEORGE SMITH. Mr. Grorce Smrrn (1840-1876), a gentleman honourably associ- ~ ated with the pregress of Assyrian discovery, was of humble origin. Tn his fifteenth year he was apprenticed to a bank-note engraver, but_— his leisure hours were devoted to the study of oriental antiquities; and on the recommendation of Sir Henry Rawlinson, he was en- — gaged in the British Museum (1857). A contemporary account says: ~ ‘Several years of arduous and successful study were fruitful of im- ~ portant results; but it was in 1872 that Mr. Smith had the good for- ~ tune to make what in this connection may be reckoned as his culmi- ~ nating discovery—that, namely, of the tablets containing the Chaldean ~ account of the deluge, the first fragment discovered containing about - half the account which was afterwards supplemented asthe result of ar- — duous ard ingenious research, in the course of which Mr. Smith ascer-— tained that the deluge tablet was, in fact,the eleventh of a series of — twelve viving the history of an unknown hero named Izdubar.’ Mr Smith left London on his last mission of discovery at the beginning of — the present year (1876), but died at Aleppo on the 19th August. ‘His career has been short, but no one can doubt its brilliancy; and he ° Ber te eee: . = | “Ss a ~~ f- he é 4 * SOUTHGATE.] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 319. 5 was endeared to the large number of friends whom his geniality at- tracted and attached for the singular modesty and equilibrium which characterised him even in the most trying moments of homage and ovation.’ Mr. Smith’s chief publication is h s* Chaidean Account of Ge: esis,’ containing the description of the creation, the fall of man, the deluge, the tower of Babel, the times of the patriarchs and Nim- -rod; Babylonian fables and legends of the gods, from the cuneiform ‘inscriptions. eho TRAVELLERS. Every season adds to our library of foreign travels and adventures, Dr. Edward Clarke saw and described more of the East, as Byron said, than any of his predecessors, but a numerous tribe of followers has succeeded. ‘Travels in the East,’ by the Rev. Horario Soutu- GATE, 1840, describe the traveller’s route through Greece, Turkey, -Armeni:, Kurdistan, Persia, and Mesopotamia, and give a good ac count of the Mohammedan religion and its rites and ceremonies, The following is acorrection of a vulgar error: Religious Status of Women in the Mohammedan System. The place which the Mohammedan system assigns to woman in the other world has often been wrovgfully represented. -It is not trne, as has sometimes been re- ported, that Mohammedan teachers deny her admission to the felicities of Paradise. ‘Nhe doctrine of the Koran is, most plainly, that her destiny is to be determined in _ like manner with that of every accountable being; and according to the judgment passed upon heris her reward, although nothing definite is said of the place which she is to Occupy in Paradise. Mohammed speaks repeatedly of * believing women,’ commends them. and promises them the recompense which their good deeds deserve. - ‘The regulations of the Sunneh are in accordance with the precepts of the Koran. So far is woman from being regarded in these institutions asa creature without & | soul, that special allusion is frequently made to ber. and particular directions given for her religious conduct. Respecting her observance of Ramazan, her ablutions, and many other matters, her duty is taught with a minuteness that borders on inde- corous precision. She repeats the creed in dying. and, like other Mussulmans, says: *Tn this faith Ihave lived in this faith I die, and in this faith I hope to rise again.’ She is required to do everything of religious obligation equa‘ly with men. ‘The com- mand to perform the pilgrimage to Mecca extends to her. In my journeys I often “met with women on their way tothe Holy City. ‘They may even undertake this journey without the consent ot their husbands, whose authority in rel: gious matters extends Only to those acts of devotion which are not obligatory. Women are not, indeed, allowed to be present in the mosques at the time of pub- lie prayers: but the reason is not that they are regarded, like pagan females, as un- susceptible of religions sentiments. but because the meeting of the two sexes in a sacred place is supposed to be unfavourable to devotion. This, however, is an ori- ental, not a Mohammed:n prejadice. The custom is nearly the same among the - Christians-as among the Mussulmans. In the Greek churches the females are sepa “rated from the males. snd concealed behind a lattice; and something of the same kiud I have observed among the Christians of Mesopotamia. ‘Six Years’ Residence in Algiers,’ by Mrs. Broucuton, published in 1839, is an interesting domestic chronicle. The authoress was Oper = ‘ t 820 -< CYCLOPADIA OF ~ fro 1876, daughter to Mr. Blanckley, the British consul-general at Algiers; and the work is composed of a journal kept by Mrs. Blanckley, with re- " miniscences by her daughter, Mrs. Broughton. The vivacity, minute description, and kindly fceling everywhere apparent in this book render it highly attractive. ‘ Discoveries in the Interior of Africa,’ by SrR JAMES ALEXANDER, two volumes, 1838, describe a journey from Cape ‘Town, of about four thousand miles, and occupying above a year, towards the tracts of country inhabited by the Damaras, a nation of which-very little was known, and generally the country to the north of the Orange River, on the west coast. ‘The author’s personal adventures are in-_ teresting, and it appears that the aborigines are a kind and friendly tribe of people, with whom Sir James Alexander thinks that an ex- tended intercourse may be maintained for the mutual benefit of the colonists and the natives. ie aie ‘A Journal written during an Excursion in Asia Minor in 1838, by CHARLES FELLOWS, is valuable from the author’s discoveries in Pani- phylia. Mr. Fellows has also written a second work, ‘ Ancient Ly-— cia, an Account of Discoveries made during a Second Excursion to- Asia Minor in 1840.’ Lieut. J. R. WELLSTED, author of ‘ Travels in Arabia, the Peninsula of Sinai, and along the Shores of the Red Sea,’ 1888; and Lorp Linpsay, in his ‘ Letters on Egypt, Edom, and the Holy Land,’ 1838, supply some additional details. ‘The scene of the encampment of the Israelites, after crossing the Red Sea, is thus de- scribed by Lord Lindsay: aie 373 The Red Sea, The bright sea suddenly burst on us, a sail in the distance, and the blue mountains — of Africa beyond it—a lovely vista. But when we had fairly issued into the plain on the sea-shore, beautiful indeed, most beautiful was the view—the whole African coast, from Gebel Ataka to Gebel Krarreb, lay before us, washed by the Red Sea—a vast amphitheatre of mountains, except the space where the waters were lost in dis-_ tance between the Asiatic and Libyan promontories. It was the stillest hour of day ; the sun shone brightly, descending to ‘his palace in the occident;’ the tide was~ coming in with its peaceful pensive murmurs, wave after wave. It was in this plain, broad, and perfectly smooth from the mountains to the sea, that the children of Israel encamped after leaving Elim. What a glorious scene it must then have presented t and how nobly those rocks, now so silent, must have re-echoed the Song of Moses ~ and its ever-returning chorus—‘ Sing ye to the Lord, for he hath triumphed gloriously ; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea !’ The Ear, or CaRruisLE, in 1854, published an interesting, unpre-> tending volume, entitled ‘A Diary in Turkish and Greek Waters.’ His lordship is also author of a lecture on Pope, and of a paraphrase in verse, ‘The Second Vision of Daniel,’ 1858. ~~ ; As a guide and pleasant companion over another Eastern route, we | may note the ‘Overland Journey to the North of India from Eng- land, by Lirutrnanr ARTHUR ConoLLy, two volumes, 1854. | Lieutenant Conolly’s journey was through Russia, Persia, and Afghanistan. Miss Emma Roperts, in the following year, gave @- | | ' aa aie é ; MRS. POSTANS.] ENGLISH LITERATURE, 821 - lively and entertaining series of ‘ Scenes and Characteristics of Hin- » dustan, with Sketches of Anglo-Indian Society.’ This lady went out - again to India in 1839, and was engaged to conduct a Bombay news- _ paper; but she died in 1840. . Her ‘ Notes of an- Overland Journey through France and Egypt to Bombay’ were published after her death. Another lady, Mrs. Posrans, ‘published (1839) ‘Cutch, or Random Sketches taken during a Residence in one of the Northern _ Provinces of Western India.’ The authoress resided some years in the province of Cutch, and gives a minute account of the feudal - government and customs, the religious sects and superstitions of the people. The aristocratic distinctions of caste are rigidly preserved, and the chiefs are haughty, debauched, and cruel. 2 Sacrifice of a Hindu Widow.—From Mrs. Postans’s ‘Cutch, or Random nae Sketches,’ &e. _. News of the widow’s intentions having spread, a great concourse of people of ' both sexes, the women clad in their gala costumes, assembied round the pyre. In a _ Short time after their arrival the fated victim appeared, accompanied by the Brah- _ mins, her relatives, and the body of the deceased. The spectators showered chap- _ lets of mogree on her head, and greeted her appearance with laudatory exclamatious at her constancy and virtue. The women especially pressed forward to touch her 'garments—an act which is considered meritorious, and highly desirable for absolu- _ tion and protection from the ‘ evil eye.’ : _ . The widow was a remarkably handsome woman, apparently about thirty, and ~most superbly attired. Her manner was marked by great apathy to all around her, and by a complete indifference to the preparations which for the first time met her eye. From this circumstance an impression was given that she might be under the _ influence of opium ; and in conformity with the declared intention of the European - Officers present to interfere should any coercive measures be adopted by the Brah- ‘mins or relatives, two medical officers were requested to give their opinion on the “subject. They both agreed that she was quite free from any influence calculated to induce torpor or. intoxicatio _— Captain Burnes then addressed the woman, desiring to know whether the act she Pras about to perform were voluntary or enforced, and assuring her that, should she entertain the slightest reluctance to the fulfilment of her vow, he, on the part of the _ British government. would guarantee the protection of her life and property. Her sanswer was calm, heroic, and constant to her purpose: ‘Idie of my own free-will ; give me back my husband. and I will consent to live: if Idie not with him, the souls of seven husbands will condemn me!’.. . - : ‘ Ere the renewal of the horrid ceremonies of death were permitted, again the voice of mercy, of expostulation, and even of entreaty was heard; but the trial was vain, “and the cool and collected manner with which the woman still declared her determi- “nation unalterable, chilled and startled the most courageous. Physical pangs eyi- dently excited no fears in her; her singular creed, the customs of her countr ys and cher sense of conjugal duty, excluded from her mind the natural emotions of per sonal “dread; and never did martyr to a true cause go to the stake with more constancy and firmness, than did this delicate and gentle woman prepare to become the victim of a eliberate sacrifice to the demoniacal tenets of her heathen creed. Accompanied y the officiating Brahmin, the widow walked seven times around the pyre, pepeats ing the usua! mantras or prayers, strewing rice and coories on the ground, and sprink- ing water from her hand over the by-standers, who believe this to be efficacious a ates disease and in expiating Committed sins. She then removed her jewe a and presented them to her relations, saying a few words to each with a calm fon mile of encouragement and hope. The Brahmin then presented her with a lighte orch, ing which—- | - aa LOS a ee ee eee ae Nee Pg Bre 828 CYCLOPADIA OF afro Teahe, Fresh as a flower just blowh,, . — * And warm with life, her youthful! paises play_-ng. she stepped through the fatal door, and sat within the pile. ‘The body or her hus-_ band. wrapped in rich kinkaab, was then carried seven times round the»pile, and finally laid across her knees. ‘Thorns and grass were piled over the door; and.ugain it was insisted that free space sbould be left, us it was hoped the poor victim might yet relent, and rush from her fiery prisun to the protection so freely offered. ‘tie coinmand was readily obeyed; the strength of a child would have sufficed to burst~ the frail barrier which confined her, and a breathless pause succeeded; bat the wo- man's constancy was faithful to the last. Nota sigh broke the deathike silence of the crowd. until a slight simoke, curling from the sumiit of the pyre, and then a tongue of flame darting with bright and lightning-like rapidity into the clear blue sky, told us that the sacrifice was completed. fearlessly had this courageous woman fired the pile. and not a groan had betrayed to us the moment when her spirit fled. At sight of the flame a fiendish shout of exu.tation rent the air; the tom-toms sounded, ther yeople clapped their hands with delight as the evidence of their murderous work - baat on their view, whilst the English spectators of this sad scene withdrew, bearing deep comp:ssion in their hearts, to philosophise as best they might on a custom £0 fraught with horror. so incompatible with reason, and so revolting to huiuan sympa- thy. The pile continued to burn for three hours; but, from its form, it is supposed that almost immediate suffocation must have terminated the sufferings of the un-— happy victim. i Steno. ‘First Impressions and Studies from Nature.in Hindustan,’ by LIEUTENANT THomas Bacon, two volumes, !887, is a more lively but. carelessly written work, with good sketches of scenery, build ings, pageants, &«. The Hon. Mounrstuartr ELPHINSTONE (1778-_ 1859), in 1842, gave an account of the kingdom of Cabul, and its de-- pendencies in Persia, Tartary, and India; and ‘A Narrative of Various Journeys in Beloochistan, Afghanistan, and the Punjaub,” by CHaries Masson, describes with considerable animation the- author's residence in those countries, the native chiefs, and personal” adventures with the various tribes from 1826 to 1838. Mr. C. R.- ° os . . -\» 2 Baynes, a gentleman in the Madras civil service, published in 1843 ‘Notes and Reflections during a Ramble in the East, an Overland Journey to India,’ &c. His remarks are just and spirited, and his — anecdotes and descriptions lively and entertaining. Remark by an’ Arab Chief. An Arab chieftain, one of the most powerful of the princes of the desert, had come to behold for the first time a steam-ship. _Much attentionavas paid to him, and every facility afforded for his inspection of every part of the vessel. What im- pression the sight made on him it was impossible to judge. No indications of sur. prise escaped him; every muscle preserved its wonted calmness of expression; and ary hin he merely observed, ‘It is weil; but you have not brought a man to life yet. 4 Legend of the Mosque of the Bloody Baptism at Cairo. : Sultan Hassan, wishing to see the world. and Jay aside for a time the anxieti and cares of royalty. committed the charge of his kingdom to his favourite minister and taking with him a large amount of treasure in money and jewels, visited several foreign countries in the character of a wealthy inerchant. Pleased with his tour,and becoming interested in the ocenpation he had assumed as a disguise. he was absen much longer than he originally intended. and in the-course of a few vears creatly in- creased his already large stock of wealth. His protracted absence, however, prov: a temptation too strong for the virtue of the viceroy, who, gradually forming for hi ge, 4 —_ 5 a ye ~ is = 4 F ; = " -BOWRING. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. "BRB: self a party among the leading men of the country, at length communicated to the com- mon people the intelligence that Sultan Hassan was no more, aud quiet!y seated him- self on the vacant throne. Sultan Hassan returning shortly afterwards from his pilgri- mage, and, fortunately for himself, still in disguise, learned, as he approached his capi- tal, the news of his own death and the usurpation of his minister. Finding. on further inquiry, the party of the usurper to be too strong to render an immediate disclosure rudent, he preserved his incognito, and scon became known in Cairo as the wealth=- lest of her merchants ; nor did it excite any surprise when he announced his pions in- tention of devoting a portion of bis gains to the erection of a spacious mosque. The work proceeded rapidiy under the spur of the great merchaut’s gold, and. on its com- retion, he solicited the honour of the sultan’s presence at the ceremony of naming it. Anticipating the gratification of hearing his own name bes.owed upon it. ihe usurper accepted the invitation, and at the appointed hour the building was filled-by him and his most attached adherents. The ceremonies had duly proceeded to the time when it became necessary to give the name. ‘The chief, Moolah, turuing to the _ Supposed merchant, inquired what should beitsname. ‘ Call it,’ he replied, * th » Mosque of Sultan Hassan,” Ali started at the mention of this name; and the questioner, as though not believing he could have heard aright, or to afford an opportunity of ‘cor- recting what might be a mistake, repeated his demand. ‘ Call it,’ ugain cried he, ‘the mosque of-me, Sultan Hassan !’ and throwing off his disguise, the legitimate sultan * stood revealed before his traitorous servant. He had no time for reflection : simulia- neousy with the discovery, numerous trap-doors, leading to extensive vaults, which had been prepared for the purpose, were flung open, and a multitude of armed men issuing from them, terminated at onee the reign and life of the usurper. His fo'lowers were mingled in the slaughter, and Sultan Hassan was once more in possession of the throne of his fathers. Str Jon Bowrine published an entertaining and instructive ac- - count of ‘The Kingdom and People of Siam,’ two volumes, 1807, State and Ceremonial of the Siamese. - _ April 16. 1855.—How can I describe the barbaric grandeur, the parade, the show, - the glitter, the real magnificence, the profuse decorations of to-day’s royal audience! We went, as usual. in the state barges: mine bad scarlet and gold curtains, the others had none. Parkes sent them back, and they all returned with the needful appendages: he understands the art of managing Orientals marvellously well. ~ When we landed, chairs were brought, and multitudes of guards escorted us. ~ From the moment we entered the precincts of the palace, an unbroken line of sol- diery, dressed in a great variety of costumes, and bearing every species of weapon —many singularly grotesque and rnde—spears. shields, swords, bucklers, battle-axes, bows. quivers, in every forrn, and nniforms of every colour and shape, fantastical, farcical. fierce, and amnsing; the rudest forms of ancient warfare. mingled with sepoy-dressed regulars—ancient European court costumes amidst the lightand golden garments, and sometimes the nakedness above the waist of nobles of the highest dis- tinction. Iwas carried in a gaudy gilded chair, with a scarlet umbrella over me, borne by eight bearers, with a crowd of attendants. My suite followed me in Jess decorated seats; but crowds of men, women. and children p'essed around ns, who were beaten away with canes b¥ the police. We psssed through rows of caparisoned ‘ponies and elephants mounted for war. The ruder troops of the wilder countries - were broken by small bodies of soldiers dressed in European style, who * pre- sented arms,’ and bad fifes and drums: but ‘much of the music was of tom-toms ~and Siamese instruments. We were all conducted to a building to await the royal suinmons, where coffee and cigars were brought in. and gold and silver vessels, con- ‘taining pure water, covered the table. at the head of which I was placed, The spit- toon at my feet was of silver, inlaid with gold. and about fourteen inches in diameter. Soon a messenger came, and we proceeded on foot to the hall of reception. Soft and exceedingly pleasing music welcomed our arrival, and at it thundered forth a loud peal as we a proached the grand hall of audience. On entering the hall, we found it crowded with nobles. all prostrate, 2nd with their faces bent to the ground. L- walked forward through the centre of the hall to a cushion provided for me in a line "with the very highest nobles not of roy: blood; the prime-minister and his brother - 924 x ae CYCLOPADIA: OF - [ro 1876, were close to me’on my right hand. The king came in and seated himself on an — e evated and gorgeous throne like the curtained box of a theatre. He was clad in golden garments, his crown at his side; but he wore on his head a‘cap decorated _ with large diamonds, and enormous diamond rings.were on his fingers. At my left, — nearer the throne, were the king’s brothers and his sons; @t the right, the princes of _ the blood, the Somdetches, and the higher nobles. ‘lhe nobility crowded the hall, all on their knees; and on the entrance of the king, his throne, being raised about ten feet from the floor, they all bent their foreheads to the ground, and we sat down as gracefully as we could, while the prostiations were repeated again and again. China has received a flood of new illustration, and the intercourse which has recently been opened up with that immense and mysterious empire will still further augment the amount of our knowledge. Mr. . JoHN Francis Davis, late chief superintendent in China, has pub- lished - two interesting works: ‘Sketches of China, partly during an Tnland Journey of Four Months between Pekin, Nankin, and Can- ~ ton; and ‘The Chinese, a General Description of the Empire of China and its Inhabitants.’ The latter work was published in 1836, - but has since been enlirged, and the history of British intercourse brought down to the events which produced the dissolution of 1857. — Mr. Davis resided twenty years at Canton, is -perfect in the peculiar — language of China, and has certainly seen more of its inhabitants than any other English author. ‘The Journal of Three Voyages along the Coast of China,’ in 1831, 1852, and 1833, by Mr. GurzLarr, a German, is also a valuable work. The contraband trade in opium ~ formed a memorable era in the history of Chinese commerce. It was carried on toa great €xtent with the Hong merchants; but in -18384, — after the monopoly of the East India Company had been abolished, our government appointed Lord Napier to proceed to Canton as spe- ~ cial superintendent, to adjust all disputed questions among the mer- ~ chants, and to form regulations with the provincial authorities. The Chinese, always jealous of foreigners, and looking upon mercantile employments as degrading, insulted our superintendent; hostilities took place, and the trade was suspended. Lord Napier took his de- parture amidst circumstances of insult and confusion, and died on the 11th of October, 1884. The functions of superintendent devolved — on Mr. Davis. ‘The Chinese, emboldened by the pacific temper — ament of our government, proceeded at length to the utmost extent; ~ -_ and not satisfied with imprisoning and threatening the lives of the ~ whole foreign community, laid also violent hands on the British re- presentative himself, claiming, as the purchase of his freedom, the. delivery of the whole of the opium then in the Chinese waters—pro- — perty to the amount of upwards of two millions sterling. After a close imprisonment of two months’ duration, during which period — our countrymen were deprived of many of the necessaries of life, — and exposed repeatedly, as in a pillory, to the gaze and abuse of the — mob, no resource was left but to yield to the bold demands of the Chinese, relying with confidence on their nation for support and re- — dress: nor did they rely in vain; for immediately the accounts of the — cours Se ie en oie St oie Se SIMS ES he RN Fae -BINGHAN.] © ENGLISH LITERATURE. ~ 825 — ~ageression reached London, preparations commenced for the Chinese expedition.’* After two years of irregular warfare, a treaty of ‘peace and friendship between the two empires was s gned on board _ Her Majesty’s ship Cornwallis on the 29th of August 1842. This ex- ~ pedition gave rise to various publications. Lorp JocELYN wrote a “lively and interesting narrative, entitled ‘Six Months with the Chi- ~ nese Expedition;’ and ComMANDER J. Exiror Brnenam, R.N., a - *Narrative of the Expedition to China... ‘Two Years in China,’ by ~ D-Macrumrson, M.D., relates the events of the campaign from its ~ formation in April 1840 to the triaty of peace in 1842. ‘Doings in China,’ by LrzurENANT ALEXANDER MURRAY, illustrates the social “habits of the Chinese. ‘The Last Year in China, to the Peace of “Nankin,’ by a Field Officer, consists of extracts from letters written ‘to the author’s private friends. ‘The Closing Events of the Cam- ~paign in China,’ by Caprarn G. G. Locu, R.N., is one of the best ~ _)ooks which the expedition called forth. Chinese Ladies’ Feet.— From Commander Bingham’s ‘Narrative.’ During our stay we made constant trips to the swrounding islands. in one of which—at Tea Island—we had a good opportunity of minutely examining the far- famed little female feet. I had been purchasing a pretty little pair of satin shoes, for about balf a dollar, at one of the Chinese farmers’ houses, where we were sur- rounded by several men, women, and children. By signs we expressed a wish to see the pied mignon of a really good-looking woman of the party. Our signs were _ quickly understood, but, probably from her being a matron, it was not considered _ quite comme il faut for her to comply with our desire, as she would not consent to ~ shew us her foot; but a very pretty interesting girl, of about sixteen, was placed on ~a stool forthe purpose of g atifying our curiosity. At first she was very bashful, _ and appeared not to like exposing her Cinderella-like slipper, but the shine of a new a aud very bright “loopee’ soon overcame her delicacy, when she commenced un- - winding the upper bandage which passes round the leg, and over a tongue that ~comes up from the heel. The shoe was then removed and the second bandage taken off, which did duty for a stocking; the turns round the toes and ankles being very tight, and keeping all in place. On the vaked foot being exposed to view, we were agreeably surprised by finding it delicately white and clean, for - ~we fully expected to have found it otherwise, from the known habits of ‘most. of the Chinese. The leg from the knee downwards was much wasted 3 .the foot a as if broken up at the instep. while the four small toes were bent flat and pressed down under the foot, the great toe only being allowed to retain its na- - tural position. By the breaking of the instep a high arch is formed between the heel and the toe, enabling the individual fo step with them on an even surface; in this re- spect macerially differing from the Canton and Macao ladies, for with them the in- - step is not interfere: with, but a very high heel is substituted, thus bringing the point of the great toe to the gronnd. When our Canton compradore was shewn a Chusau shoe, the exclamation was: ‘ He-yaw!. how can walkee so fashion?’ nor -would he be convinced that such was the case. The toes, doubled under the foot I have been describing, could only be moved by the hand sufficiently to shew that they were not actually grown into the foot. I have often been astonished at seeing how _well the women contrived to walk on their tiny pedestals. Their gait is not unlikethe ‘little mincing walk of the French ladies; they were constantly to be seen going about without the aid of any stick, and I have often seen them at Macao contending against a fresh breeze with a tolerably good-sized umbrella spread. 'The little chil- dren, as they scrambled away before us, balanced themselves with their arms ex- - tended, and remind:d one much of au old hen between walking and flying. All the ‘4 . Soy * McPherson’s Zico Yearsin China, 826 , - CYCLOPADIA OF fro 1876. bd > women I saw about Chusan had small feet, It is a general characteristic of true Chi- nese desccnt; and there cannot be a greater mistake than to suppose that it is con- — fined to the higher orders, though it maybe true titat they take more pains to com- press the foot to the simallest possible dimensions than the lower Classes do. High 4 a and low, rich and poor, all more or less follow the custom; and when you see a large | or natural-sized foot, you may depend upon it the possessor is not of trne Chinese biood, but is either of“latar extraction, or belongs to the tmbes that live and have their being on the waters. ‘Lhe Tutar ladies, however, ire falling into this Chinese habit of distortion, us the accompanying edict ot the emperor/proy. sz ‘Kor know, goou peo- ple, you must not dress as you ike in-China. You must follow the customs und. haoits of your ancestors, und wear your winter and summer clothing us the emperor or one of the six boards shull direct.’ 1f this were the custom in England, how pene- ficial it would be to our pockets, and detrimental to the tailors and milliners. Let us n0w see what tue emperor says about little feet, on finding they were couimeg into vogue anong the undeformed danghters of the Mantchows. Not oniy does he attack the little fect, but the large Chinese sleeves which were creeping imto fashion at court. ‘Therefore, to check these misdemeanors, the usual Chimese remedy was resorted to, anda flaming edict launched, d nouncing them; threatening the * heads of the fami- lies with d-gradation and punishinent if they did not put astep to such gross ilegali- ties,’ ai.d his cel stial majesty further goes on and tells the fair ones. that by persisting in their vuigar iabits. they will debar themselves from the possibility of being sc lected as ladies of bonour for the inner palace at the approaciing presentation !’ How far this had the desired effect I ca:not say. When toe children begin to grow they suf- fer excruciating pain, but as they advance in years, their vanity is played upon by being assured that they would be exceedingly ugly with large feet. ‘hus they are persuaded to put up with what they consider-a necessary evil; but the children are remarkably patient under pain. A poor little child, about five years old, was brought , to our surgeon, having been most dreadfully scalded, part of its dress adhering to _ the skin. During the painful operation of removing the linen, it only now aud then said, ‘ie-yaw, he-yaw ?” ; Mr. Rosert Fortune, a botanist, was nearly nine years resident in China, employed on three separate missions by the Horticultural Society of London to collect specimens. In 1847 he published ‘ Tiree Years’ Wanderings in China ; in 1851, his ‘Two Visits to the Tea Countries of. China ;’ and in 1857, ‘A Residence among the Chinese, Inland, on the Coast, and at Sea.’ These works of Mr. Fortune are extremely valuable as affording information relative to the social — hahits-ot the Chinese, as well as the natural products of the country. — A French missionary, M. Huc, has also added fresh details in his work, ‘L’Empire Chinois,’ 1854, of which an English version has — had ggseat success in this country. In describing his personal adven- tures, the French ecclesiastic is supposed to have indulged in the pro- - verbial license of travellers ; but his account of Chinese customs is — said to be exact. Chinese Thieves.-From Fortunes ‘Restdence among the Chinese.’ About two in the morning T was awakened by aloud vell from one of my serv- ants, und Isnspected at once that we had had a visit from thieves. for I had freque™tly : heard the same sound before. Like the cry one hears at sea when a man has fallen Overboard. this alarm can never be mistaken when once it has been heard. Before I had time to inquire what was wrong. one of my servants and two of the hoatmen plunged into the canal and pursued the thieves. Thinking that we had only Tost — some cooking utensils. or things of little valne that might have been lying outside the boat, I gave myself no uneasiness about the matter. and felt much inclined to zo to sleep again. But my servant, who returned almost immediately. awoke me most. effectually, ‘T fear,’ said he, opening my door, ‘ the thieves havo been inale the boat, \ fi \ 142 = ig yee te eT ees Oe m, rs Foie E ‘ 4 : 3 F o 7? “ + Lg ORTUNE.} ENGLISH LITERATURE, “B27 Se me ce an eR and have taken away some of your property.’ ‘ Impossible,’ said I; * they cannot have~ > been here.’ ‘But look,’ he replied; ‘a portion of the side of your boat under the a Seay has peen lifted out.’ ‘lurning to the place indicated by my servant. 1 could , although it was quite dark, that there was a large hole in the side of the boat ~. not more than three feet from where my head had been lying. At my right hand, god Just under the window, the trunk used to staud in which Iwas in the habit of eeping my papers, money, and other valuables. On the first suspicion that I was ~ the vic im, I stretched ont my hand in the dark to feel if this was safe. Instead of at, > nd hand ape on the top of the trunk, as it had been accustomed to do, it went OWE Ry floor of ihe boat, and I then knew for the first time that the trunk was goue. Atthe same moment, my servant, Tung-a, came in with a candle. and con- firmed what I had just made out in the dark. he thieves had done their work. well—the boat was empty. My money, amounting to more than onehundred Shanghae dollars, my accounts, and other papers—all. all were gone. ‘The rascals had not even > left me the c.othes I had thrown off when I went to bed. But there was no time to lose ; and in order to make every effort. to catch the thieves, or at least get back a portion of my property, I jumped into the canal, and made for the bank. ‘The tide had now _ risen, and instead of finding only about two feet of water—the depth when we went to bed—I now sank up to the neck, and found the stream very rapid. A few strokes with my arms soon brought me into shallow water and to the shore. Here I found the boatmen rushing about in a frantic manner, examining with a lantern the bushes and indigo vats on the banksof the caval, but all they had found was afew Manilla cheroots which the thieves had dropped apparently in their hurry. A watchman with his lantern and two or three stragglers. hearing the noise we made, came up and inquired what was wrong; but when asked whether they had seen anything of the thieves, shook their heads, and professed the most profonnd ignorance. ‘he night was pitch dark, everything was perfectly still. and, with tbe exception of the few stragglers already mentioned, the whole town seemed sunk in deep slecp. We were therefore perfectly helpless and could do nothing further. I reiurned in no comfortable frame of mind to my boat. Dripping wiih wet, I lay down on my couch without any inclinaticn to sleep. It was a serious business for me to lose so much _ money. but that part of the matter gave me the least uneasiness. The loss of my \ 2 — oa - nese. But it is chiefly in their habits of life that they assume to be so much our accounts, journals, drawings, and numerous memoranda I had been making during three years of travel, wh ch it was impossible for any one to replace, was of far greater importance. ltried to reason philosophically upon the matter; to persuade myself that as the thing could not be helped now, it was no tse being vexed with it; that in afew yearsit would not signify much either to myself or any one else whether I had been robbed or not; but all this fine reasoning would not do. What the Chinese Think of the Euroz-7ms.—From Hue’s ‘L’ Empire Chinois.’ a are disposed to think the inhabitants of the the Chinese who visit Canton and Macao re- turn the compliment. hey exhanst their caustic and mocking vein upon the ap- pearance of the Western devils, express unutterab’e astonishment at the sight of their scanty garments. their close-fitting pantaloons, their prodigious round hats in the shane of a chimney, their shirt-collars. which appear devised to saw the cars, and which so gracefully surround their grotesque faces with the long nose and blue eyes, without beard or moustache, but which display in compens:tion on each jaw a havdfui of red and frizzled hair. They are puzz'ed, above all, br the shape of the dress-coat. They endeavour, without success. 10 account. for that strange habili- ment. which they cal! a half-garment. because if is impossible to make it meet on the chest, and hecanse the tails which hang down behind are entirely wanting in front. Thev admire the exquisite and refined taste of wearing at the back large buttons How much more beautiful do like coins without having anything to button to them. they think themselves, with their obliaue. narrow black eyes. high check-bones, bose the shape of 2 chestnut. and shaven head adorned witha magnificent tail which reaches to the heels! Add to this graceful and clegant type a conical bat covered with red frin re, an ample tunic with large sleeves, black satin boots, with white soles of an -enormons thickness. and it is beyond dispnte that a European can never rival a Chi- The Enropeans who go to Chin Celestial Empire odd and ridiculous ; . ~ re ’ 7 - ee * tear Re ee es Soyer ima oe er aa x ~ r ‘ou Cea ~ 328 ~ CYCLOPHDIA OF ~ fro 1876. ghee ~ eo superiors. When they see Europeans spending several hours in gymnastic prome< 4 nades, they ask if it is not a more civilised mode of passing leisure time to sit qui- — etly drinking tea and smoking a pipe, or else to go at once to bed. The notiou of ~~ spending the larger portion of the night at balls and parties has never occurred to — “them. All the Chinese, even among the upper ranks, begin to sleep in time to be | able to rise with the sun, At the hours in which there is the greatest stir and tumult al in the principal cities of Europe, those of China enjoy the most profound repose. - Every one has gone home to his family, all the shops are shut, the boatmen, the mountebanks, the public readers have finished their labours, and there are no signs of activity except among the theatres for the working-classes, who have no leisure but at night to enjoy the sight of a play. ; . The hostilities—1857-58—ending in a treaty with China, have led =~ to various publications respecting the Celestial Empire, the most co- é pious and generally ‘nteresting being ‘China,’ or the Times’ spe- cial correspondence from China, by Mr. GEORGE WINGROVE CooKE (1814-1865), author of a ‘Life of Bolingbroke,’ ‘The State of Par- ties,” &c. We give a few extracts from Mr. Ccoke’s lively and ~— graphic narrative: gy The Chinese Lowiguage. : See et! In a country where che roses have no fragrance, and the women wear no petti. coats ; where the labourer has no Sabbath, and the magistrate no sense of honour ; where the roads bear no vehicles, and the ships no keels; where old men fly kites; where the needle points south, and the sign of being puzzled is to scratch the an- tipodes of your head; where the place of honour is on your left hand, and theseat, j of intellect isin the stomach; where to take off your hat is an insolent gesture, and to wear white garments is to put yourself in mourning—we ought not to be aston- ished to find a literature without an alphabet, and a language without a grammar, and we must not be startled to find that this Chinese language is the most intricate, cumbrous, unwieldy vehicle of thought that ever obtained among any people. ye oe The Execution-ground of Canton. ee Threading our way, under the guidance of some experienced friend, we come to a carpenter’s shop, fronting the entrance to a small potter’s field. It is not a rood in area, of an irregular shape, resembling most an oblong. -A row of cottages open into it on one side; there is a wall on the other. The ground is covered with half- 2 haked pottery ; there are two wooden crosses formed of unbarked wood, standing in an angle, with a shred of rotting rope hanging from one of them. There is noth- — ing to fix the attention in this small inclosure, except that you stumble against a human skull now and then as you walk along it. This is the Aceldama, the field of blood, the execution-ground of Canton. The upper part of that carpenter’s shop is the place where nearly all the European residents have, at the price of a dollar each, 2a witnessed the wholesale massacres of which Eurcpe has heard with a hesitating scepticism. It was within this yard that that monster Yeh has withm two years destroyed the lives of seventy thousand fellow-beings ! These crosses arethe instrn- ~ ments to which those victims were tied who were condemned to the special torture q of being sliced to death. Upon one of these the wife of a rebel genezal was stretched, and by Yeh’s order her flesh was cut from her body. After the battle at — ~ Whampoa the rebel leader escaped, but his wife fell into the hands of Yeh; thiswas - how he treated his prisoner. Her breasts were first cut off, then her forehead was slashed and the skin torn down over the face, then the fleshy parts of the body 4% were sliced away. There are Englishinen yet alive who saw this done, but at what — part of the butchery sensation ceased and death came to this poor innocent woman none can tell. The fragment of rope which now hangs to one of the crosses was used to bind a8 woman who was cut up for murdering her husband. The sickening details of the massacres perpetrated on this spot have been related .to me by those who have seen them, and who take shame to themselves while — < 2 } - ‘ Srhe x cooxe.J- ~_ ENGLISH LITERATURE.. 829° they confess_that, after witnessing one execution by cutting on the cross, the rapidity and dexterity with which the mere beheading was done deprived the execu= tion of a hundred men of half its horror. The-criminals were brought down in gangs, if they could walk, or brought down in chairs and shot ont into the yard, ° Lhe executioners then arranged them in rows, giving them a blow behind which forced out the head and neck. and laid them convenient for the blow.’ Uhen came the: warrant of death. Itis a banner. As soon as it waved in sight, without verbal order given, the work began. There was a rapid succession of dull crunching sounds—choup, chop, chop, chop! No second blow was ever dealt, for the dexterous mutsiayers are educated to their work. Until they can with their heavy swords slice a great bulbous vegetable as thin as we slice a cucumber, they are not eligible for their office. Three seconds a head suffice. In one minute five executioners clear off one hundred lives. It takes rather longer for the assistants to cram the _ bodies into rough coffins, especially as you might see them cramming two into one ~ shell that they might embezzlethe spare wooden box. The heads were carried off in boxes; the saturated earth was of value as manure. The Horrors of the Canton Prison. A Chinese jail is a group of small yards inclosed by no general outer wail, except in one instance. Around this yard are dens like the dens in which we confine wild beasts. ‘he bars are not of iron, but of double rows of very thick bamboo, so close together that the interior is too dark to be readily seex into from without. The ordi- nary prisoners are allowed to remain in the yard during the day. Their ankles are fettered together by heavy rings of iron and a short chain, and they generally also wear similar fetters on their wrists, The low-roofed dens are so easily climbed, that when the prisoners are Jet out into the yard, the jailers must trust to their fetters alone forsecurity. The places all stank like the monkey-house of a menagerie. We were examining one of the yards of the second prison, and Lord Elgin, wh® is -seldom absent when any work is doing, was one of the spectators. As it was broad daylight, the dens were supposed to be empty. Some one thought he heard alow _- moan in one of them, and advanced to the bars tc jisten. He recoiled as if a blast from a furnace had rushed out upon him. Never were human senses assailed by a more horrible stream of pestilenee. The jailers were ordered to open that place, and refusing, as a Chinaman always at first refuses, were given over to the rough hand- ling of the soldiers, who vere told to make them. No sooner were hands laid upon the jailers than the stifled moan became a wail, and the wail became a concourse of jJow, weakly muttered groans. So scon asthe double doors could be opened, several of us went into the place. The thick stench could only be endured for a moment, but the spectacle was not one to look long at. A corpse lay at the bottom of the den, the breasts, the only fleshy parts, gnawed and eaten away by rats. Around it and upon it was a festering mass of humanity still alive. The mandarin jailer, who seemed to wonder what all the excitement was about, was compelled to have the poor creatures drawn’ forth, and no man who saw that sight will ever forget it. They were skeletons, not men. You could only believe that there was blood in thei: bodies by seeing it clotted upon their undressed wounds. As _ they were borne out. one after the other, and laid upon the pavement of the yard, each seemed more horrible than the last. They were too far gone to shriek, although the agony must have been great, the heavy irons pressing upon their raw, lank shins a as the jailers Ingged them not too tenderly along. They had been beaten into this state, perhaps long ago, by the heavy bamboo, and had been thrown into this den to rot. Their crime was that they had attempted to escape. Hideous and loathsome, however, a8 wasthe sicht of their fon! wounds, their filthy rags, and their emaciated bodies, it was not so distressing as the indescribable expression of their eyes; the horror of that look of fierce agony fixed us like a fascination. As the dislocated wretches writhed upon the ground. tears rolled down the cheeks of the soldiers of the escort, who stood in rank near them. A gigantic French sergeant, who had the jittle mandarin in custody. gesticulated with his bayonet so fiercely, that we were afraid he would kill him. We did not then know that the single word which the oor creatures were trying to utter was ‘ hunger,’ or that dreadful starting of the eye- all was the look of famine. Some of them had been without food for four days. Yater they had, for there is a well in the yard, and’ their fellow-prisoners had sup- a 880 i? CYCLOPADIA O = ORO 186 J t * . ‘ . eS a 3 piied them; but cries for food were answered only by the bamboo. Alas! it was not till . the next mcrving thatywe found this out, for although we took some away, we left others there that night. Since the comm: ncement of this year, fifteen men have ever be able to tell this to the Euglish people?’ I believe that no description could _ lead the imagination to a full couception of what we saw in that Canton prison. I have not attempted to do more than dot au faint outline of the truih; and when I p° yer when compared with the scene upon my mewory. ‘died in that cell. Soine of those who were standing by me asked: How will you - have read what I have written, I feel how feebie and forceless is the image upon — This was the worst of the dens we opened, but there were many-others which~ f ll but few degrees below it in their horrors. There was not one of the six thou- sand prisoners we saw whose appearance befgre any assemblage of Englishmen woukl vot. have aroused cries of indignation. “ It was not until our second day’s search that we were able to discover the prison in which Enropeans had been con- fined. Threats and a night in the guard-house at last forced the discovery from the mandarin, or jail-inspector, in our custody. It is called the Koon Khan, is in the _ eastern part of the city, aud is distinguishable from the others only that it is sur- rounded by a high brick-wall. Nearly the whole of our second day was passed in this place. It has only one yard, and in this the prisoners are not allowed to come. There is a joss-house ut one end of the court; for, of course, the Chinese mix up their religion with their tyranny. ‘lhe finest sentiments, such as *'the misery of _ to-day may be the happ-ness of to-morrow!’ ‘Confess your crimes, and thank the riagistrate who purges vou ofthem!’ * May we share in the mercy of the emperor are carved in faded golden characters over every den Of ever: prison. Opening from this yard are four rooms, each containing four dens. ‘The hardest and most malig- nant face I ever saw is that of the chief jailer of this prison. ‘The prisoners could — not be brought to look upon him, and when he was present could not be induced to saythat he was a jailer at all, or that they had ever seen him before. But when-he was removed they always reiterated their first story. ‘ ‘fhe other jailers only starve and ill-treat us, but that man eats our flesh.’ Many of the prisoners had been Inmates of the place for many years, and it appeared quite certain that, within a period dat- ing from the commencement of the present troubles, six Europeans—two Frenchmen and four Englishmen—had found their death in these drezdfuldens. Many different prisoucrs examined separately deposed to this fact, snd almost to the same details. | ‘The European victims were kept here for several months, hercing with the Chinese, cating of that same black mess of rice, which looks and smells like a bucket of grains cast forth from a brewery. When their time tame—probably the time necessary for a reply from Pekin—the jailer held their heads back while poison was poured down _ their throats. The piisoners recollected two who threw up the poison, and they were strangled. The result of the investigation was, that the jailers were roughly tandled by the British soldiers in sight of the prisoners, and the lieutenant-governor _ taken into custody to give an account of his conduct. Russia has been visited by various Englishmen. Amongst the books thus produced, is ‘Recollections of a Tour in the North of Europe,’ 1888, by the Mareuts or LoNDONDERRY (1778—1t54), whose rank and political character were the means of introducing nt him-io many-circles closed to other tourists. He was the admirer ~ and champion of the Emperor Nicholas, and Miss Martineau has said that one who knew the marquis well, remarked on finishing his — book of travel, that “his heaven was paved with malachite.’ The — marquis was also author of ‘A Steam Voyage to Constantinople by the Rhine and the Danube in 1840-41, and to Portugal and Spain in © 1839,’ two volumes, 1842. Mr. Jonn Barrow is the author, besides — works on Ireland and on Iceland, of ‘Excursions in the North of Europe, through parts of Russia, Finland, &c.,’ 1884, He is invari- 4 bly found to be a cheerful and intelligent companion, without at s a q ™ wes = Ds / Xs a, oe _ Ls he z gy v 0 ee ‘ .“~s a: Ph tea _ = ~ P= a “venaries.) + ENGLISH LITERATURE. _ 88t ~ “tempting to be very profound or elaborate on any subject.* ‘Do- mestic Scemes in kiussia,’ by the Rev. Mr. VENABLEs, 1839, is an unpretending but highly interesting view of the interior life of the country. Mr. Venables was married to a Russian lady, and he went to pass a winter with her relations, when he had an opportunity of seeing the daily life and social habits of the people. We give a few descriptive sentences. Russian Peasants’ Houses. These houses are in general extremely warm and substantial ; they are built, for the most part, of unsquared !ogs of deal, laid one wpon another, aud tirmly secured at the corners where the ends of the timbers cross, und are hoiluwed out so as to re- ceive and hold one another; they are also fastened together by wooden pius and - uprights in the interior. ‘he four corners are suported.upon large stones or roots of tree-. so that there is a current of air under the floor to preserve the timber from damp; in the winter, earth is piled up all round to exclude the cold; the interstices between the logs are stuffed with moss and clay, so that no air can enter. ‘The win- dows are very small, and are frequently cut out of the wooden wall after it is finished. In the centre of the house is a stove culled a peech [pechka], which heats the cottage to an almost unbearable degree ; the warmth, however, which a Russian peasant loves to’enjoy within doors, is proportioned to the cold which he is required to sup- port without; his-bed is the top of his peech ; and when he enters his house in the winter pierced with cold. he throws off his shecpskin coat, stretches himself on his stove, and is thoroughly warmed in a few miuutes. Employments of the People. The riches of the Russian gentlemen lie in the labour of his serfs, which it is his _ &tudy to turn to good account; and he is the more urged to this, since the law which compels the peasant to work for him, requires him to maintain the peasant; if the latter is found begging. the former is liable to a fine. He is therefore a master who must always keep a certain number of workmen, whether they are useful to him or not; and as every kind of agricultural and outdoor employment is at a stand-still during the winter, he naturally turns to the establishment of a manufactory.as a means of employing his peasants and as a source of profit to himself. In some cases the manuf ictory is at work only during the winter, and the people are employed in the summer in agriculture; though, beyond what is necessary for home consumption, this is but an unprofitable trade in most parts of this empire, from the badness of eed the paucity and distance of markets, and the consequent difficulty in selling produce. *This author is a son of Sir John ‘Barrow (1764-1848). the distinguished traveller, -and assistant seeretary of the Admiralty for upwards of forty years. Besides his 7'runets in China (antic). Six John wrote a Voyade to_ Cochin China, to which is aunexed an account of the Booshuana nation; also, Zravels into the Interior of Southern Africa, and various nautical memoirs. ; = : bs 3 P : 7 ~ 2 =X j = 332 . Tw ee YCLORAEDIAT@r 3 [To 1876. ‘Excursions in the Interior of Russia,> by RoBERT BREMNER, two volumes, 1839, is a narrative of a short visit to Russia during the au- tumn of 1836. The same author published ‘ Excursions’ in Den- mark, Norway, and Sweden,’ two volumes, 1840. Before parting from Russia, it may be observed that no English book upon that ~ country exceeds in interest ‘A Residence on the Shores of the Baltic, described in a Series of Letters,’ 1841, being more particularly an ac- count of the Esthonians, whose simple character and habits afford a charming picture. This delightful book was understood to. be from the pen of a lady, Miss Rigby, afterwards Lady Eastlake, author of — ‘ Livonian Tales,’ 1846. B Se , Of Norway and Sweden we have accounts by Mr. Samurn LAIne, — of Papdale, Orkney, a younger brother of the author of the History — of Scotland during the seventeenth century. This gentleman did not - begin to publish till a mature period of life, his first work being a “Residence in Norway’ in 1834-36, and the second, a ‘ Tour in Swe- den in 1888,’ both of which abound in valuable statistical facts and — well-digested information. Mr. Laing resided for two years in dif- terent parts of Norway, and concluded that the Norwegians were the , happiest people in Europe. Their landed property is so.extensively diffused in small estates, that out of a population of a million there are about 41,656 proprietors. There is no law of primogeniture, yet the estates are not subdivided into minute possessions, but average from forty to sixty acres of arable land, with adjoining natural wood and pasturage. Agricultural Peasantry of Norway. — The Bonder, or agricultural peasantry (says Mr. Laing), each the proprietor of his own farm, occupy the country from the shore side to the hill foot, and up every valley or glen as far as corn can grow. ‘This class is the kernel of the nation. ~ They are in general fine athletic men, as their properties are not so Jarge as to ex- empt them from work, but large enough to afford them and their household abun- dance, und even superfluity of the best food. They farm not to raise produce for gale, so much as to grow everything they eat. drink, and wear in their families. They build their own houses, make their own chairs, tables, ploughs, carts, harness, iron- work, basket-work, and wood-work ; in short, except window-glass, cast-iron ware, and pottery, everything about their houses and furniture is of theirown fabrication, — There is not probably in Europe so great a population in*so happy a condition as these Norwegian yeomanry. hailed with peculiar satisfaction, as affording information respecting ~ 4 brave mountainous tribe who long warred with Russia to preserve their national independence. ‘They appear to bea simple people, with feudal laws and customs, never intermarrying with any race except ~ their own. Further information was afforded of the habits of the Cir- ~ cassians by the ‘ Journal of a Residence in Circassia’ during the years 1837, 1838, and 1839, by Mr. J. 8S. Bety. This gentleman resided in - > 834 ee - CYCLOPAIDIA OF [ro 1876. Cireassia in the character of agent or envoy from England, which, however, was partly assumed. He acted also as physician, and seems generally to have been received wi h kindness and confid: nce, . The population, according to Mr. Bell, is divided into fraternities, like the tithings or hundreds in England during the time -of the Saxons. Criminal offences are punished by fines levied on the fra- ternity, that for homicide being two hundred oxen. ‘The guerrilla warfare which the Circassians carried on against Russia, marked A oie 7. die tae ae their indomitable spirit and love of country, but it, of course, re-~ tarded their civilisation. ‘A Winter in the Azores, and a Summer at the Baths of the Fur- nas,’ by JesepH BuLLAR, M.D., and Joun Bunuar of Lincoln’s Inn, two volumes, 1841, furnish some light agreeable notices of the islands of the Azores, under the dominion of Portugal, from which they are - distant about 800 miles. This archipelago contains about 250,000 inhabitants. St. Michael’s is the largest town, and there is a considera- ble trade in oranges’ betwixt it and England. About 120,000 large and small chests of oranges were shipped for England in 1839, and 515 boxes of lemons. These particulars will serve to introduce a passage respecting The Cultivation of the Orange, and Gathering the Fruit. March 26.—Accompanied Senhor B town. Many of the trees in one garden were a hundred years old, still bearing plen- tifully a highly prized thin-skinned orange, full of juice and free from pips. The thinness of the rind of a St. Michael’s orange, and its freedom from pips, depend on the age of the tree. The young trees, when 1n full vigour, bear fruit with a thick pulpy rind aud an abundance of seeds; but as the vigour of the plant declines, the peel becomes thinner, and the seeds gradually diminish in number, until they disap- pear altogether. hus, the oranges that we esteem the most are the produce of bar- ren trees, and those which we consider the least palatable come from plants in full vigour. 7 , Our friend was increasing the number of his trees by layers. These usually take root at the end of two years. They are then cut off from the parent stem, and are “vigorous young trees four feet high. ‘be process of raising from seed is seldom, if ever, adopied in the Azores, on account of.the very slow growth of the trees so o raised. Such plants, however, are far less liable to the inroads of a worm which at- tacks the roots of the trees raised from layers, and frequently proves very destructive to them. ‘the seed or *pip’ of the acid orange, which we call Seville, with the sweeter kind grafted upon it, is said to produce fruit of the finest flavour. In one small garden eight trees were pointed out which had borne for two successive years a crop of oranges which was sold for thirty pounds. .. . The treatment of orange-trees in Fayal differs from that in St. Michael’s, where, after they are planted out, they are allowed to grow as they please. In this orange garden the branches, by means of strings and pegs fixed in the ground, were strained away from the centre into the shape of acnup, or of the ribs of, an open umbrella turned upside down.- This allows the sun te penetrate, exposes the branches to a free cizculation of air, and is said to be of use in ripening the fruit. Certain it is that oranges are exported from Fayal several weeks earlier than they are from St. ‘ to several of his orange-gardens in the Michael’s; and as this cannet be attributed to greater warmth of climate, it may pos-__ sibly be owing to the plan of spreading the trees to the sun. ‘The same precamons are taken here as in St. Michael’s to shield them from the winds ; high walls are buiit round all the gardens, and the trees themselves are planted among rows of fayas. firs, and camphor-trees. If it were not fot these precautions, the oranges would be biown - z0wn ia such numbers as to interfere with or swallow up the profits of the gardens; fh BUEDAR.| > °° - ENGLISH LITERATURE, ~~ 835 - ~ » none of the windfalls or ‘ground fruit,’ as the merchants here ca!l them, being ex- ported to Wugtand. Suddenly we came upon merry groups of men and boys all bisily engaged in _ packing oranges, in a square aud open plot of ground. 1 hey were gathered round a ~ goodly pile of the fresh fruit, siiting on heaps or the dry calyx-leaves of tie Indian corn. in which each or nye is wrapped before it is placed in the boxes Near these ' circles of laughing Azoreans, who sat at their work and kept up a continual cross- fire of rapid r partee us. they quickly filled the orange-cases, were a party of children, whose business it was to prepare the husks for the m_n, who used thom in packing, These youngsters, who were playing at their work like the children of a larger growth that sat by their side. were with much difficulty kept in order by an elderly man, who shook his head and a long stick whenever they flagged or idled. ... A quantity of the leave: being heaped together near the-puckers, the operation began. A child handed'to a workman wiio squatted by the heap of fruit a prepared husk; this was rapidly snatched from the child, wrapped round the orange by an in- termediate workman passed*by the feeder to the next, who, sitting with the chest be- - tween his legs. placed it in the orange-box with amazing rapidity, took a second, and ‘a third. and a fourth as fa-t as his hands could move and the feeders could supply him, until at length the chest was filled to overflowing, and was ready to be nailed up. ‘t'wo men then handed it to the carpenter, who bent over the orange-chest sey- eral thin boards. secured them with the willow-band, pressed it- with his naked foot as he sawed off the rigged ends of the boards, and finally despatched it. to the ass which stood ready for lading. ‘Two chests,were slung across iis back by means of cords crossed in a figure of eight; both were well secured by straps under his belly ; the driver took his goad, pricked his beast, and uttering the never-ending cry ‘ Sack-~ aaio,’ trudged off to the town. ‘ , ‘The orange-trees in this garden cover the sides of a glen or ravine, like that of the Dargie, but somewhat less st-ep; they are of some age, and lave lost the stiff clumpy fori of the younger trees. Some idea of the rich beauty of the scene may be formed by imag ning the trees of the Dargle to be magnificent shrubs loaded with orange fruit, and mixed with lofty arbutuses— ’ Groves whose rich fruit, burnished with golden rind, Hung amiable, and of delicious taste. In one part scores of children were scattered among the branches, gathering fruit into smail baskets, hallooing. Janghing. practically joking, and finally emptying their _ gatherings into the larger baskets underneath the trees, which. when filed, were slowly .orne away to the packing-piace, and bowled out upon the great heap. Many large orange-trees on the steep sides of the glen lay on the ground uprooted, either from their load of frrit, the high winds, or the weight of the boys, four. five, and even six of whom will climb the branches at the same time; and as the soil is very light, and the roots are superficial—and the fall of a tree perhaps not uvamusing— down the treescome. They are allowed to lie where they fall; and those which had evidently fall n many years ago were still alive, and bearing good crops. The oranges are not ripe until March or April, nor are they eaten generally by the people here until that time—the boys, however, that picked them are marked exceptions. The youn children of Villafranca are now almost universally of a yellow tint, as if saturated wita orange juice. ‘Travels in New Zealand,’ by Earnest DrerreNBAcn, M.D., late naturalist to the New Zealand Company, 1843, is a valuable history of an interesting country, destined apparently to transmit the Eng- lish language, arts, and civilisation. Mr. Dieff-nbach gives a minute account of the language of New Zealand, of which he compiled a grammar and dictionary. He conceives the native population of ew Zealand to be fit to receive the benefits of civilisation, and to amalgamate with the Briti-h colonists. -Mr. AntrHony TROLLOPH’s ‘ Travels*in Australia and New Zea- Pe a: « *, at wea. . ~~ To , —_e, _~ oe Ces ie ee oe Bale aa” rs ig ‘ es < et son a ae 336 | CYCLOPEDIA OF - [ro 1876, land,’ 1878, supply recent and minute information. ‘The vast im- provements of late years—the formation of railroads and general. progress in New Zealand—have been extraordinary. Of the squatters — -and free settlers, Mr. ‘Trollope says: . The first night we stayed at a squatter’s house, and I soon learned that the battle between the squatter and the free-selecter, of which I had heard so much in the Australian colonies, was being waged with the same internecine fury in New Zealand. ‘Indeed the New Zealand bitterness almost exceeded that of New South Wales—though I did not hear the complaint, so common in New South Wales, that the free-selecters were all cattle-stealers. he complaint made here was that the government, in dealing with the land, had continually favoured the free-selecter at the expense of the squatter—who having been the pioneer in taking up the Jand, deserved all good things from the country of his adoption. The squatter’s claim is in the main correct. He has deserved good things, and has generally got them. In all these colonies—in New Zealand as well as New South Wales and Victoria—the squatter is the aristocrat of the country. In wealth. position, and general influence he stands first. There are no doubt points as to which the squatters have been un- justly used—matters as to which the legislature have endeavoured to clip their wings at the expense of réal justice. But they have been too strong for the legislature, have driven coaches and horses through colonial acts of parliament, haye answered injustice by illegal proceeding, and have as a rule held their own and perhaps some- thing more. I soon found that in thisrespect the condition of New Zealand was very similar to that of the Australian colonies. The gentleman who accompanied us was the government land-commissioner of the province, and, as regarded private life, was hand and glove with our host; but the difference of their position gave me an opportunity of hearing the land question discussed as it regarded that province. I perceived that the New Zealand squatter regarded himself as a thrice-shorn lamb but was looked upon by anti-squatters as a very wolf. 2 Of the Maoris he takes a less romantie or sympathetic view than some writers: They are certainly more highly gifted than other savage nations I have seen. They are as superior in intelligence aud courage to the Australian aboriginal as they are jn outward appearance. They are more pliable and nearer akin in their manners to civilised mankind than are the American Indians. They are more manly, more courteous, and also more sagacious than the African negro. One can understand the hope and the ambition of the first great old missionaries who had dealings with them. But contact with Europeans does not improve them. At the touch of the higher race they are poisoned and melt away. There is scope for poetry in their past history. There is room for philanthropy as to tzeir present condition. Butin regard to their future—thereis hardly a place for hope. ae ‘ Life in Mexico, during a Residence of Two Years in that Country,’ by MapamMr CALDERON DE LA Barca, an English lady, is full of -sketches of domestic life, related with spirit and acuteness. In no other work are we presented with such agreeable glimpses of Mexican life and manners. ‘Letters on Paraguay, and ‘Letters on South ‘ America,’ by J. P’ and W. P. Ropertson, are the works of two — brothers who resided twenty-five years in South America, The ‘Narrative of the Voyages of H.M.S, Adventure and Beagle, 1839, by Caprarns Kine and Firzroy, and C. DARWIN, Esq., naturalist of the Beagle, detail the various incidents which occurred during their examination of the southern shores of South America, and during the Beagle’s circumnavigation of the globe. ‘The ~ account of the Patagonians in this work, and that of the natives of Al —-CoMBE.} _ ENGLISH LITERATURE. re. ‘Tierra del Fuego, are both novel and interesting, while the details ‘supplied by Mr. Darwin possess a permanent value (see ante). - * Noteson the United States during a Phrenological Visit in 1839- 40,’ have been published by Mr. GEorGE Come, in three volumes. Though attaching what is apt to appear an undue importance to his _ views of phrenology, Mr. Combe was a sensible traveller. He paid particular attention to schools and all benevolent institutions, which _ he has described with care and minuteness. Among the matter-of- ~. fact details and sober disquisitions in this work, we meet with the ‘following romantic story. The author had visited the lunatic asylum at Bloomingdale, where he learned this realisation of Cymon and Iphi- -genia—tiner even than the version of Dryden! An American Cymon and Iphigenia. In the course of conversation, a case was mentioned to me as having occurred in the experience of a highly respectable physician, and which was so fully authentica- ted, that I entertain no doubt ofits truth. The physician alluded to had a patient, a young man, who was almost idiotic from the suppression of all his faculties. He never spoke, and never moved voluntarily, but sat habitually with his hauds shading his eyes. The physician sent him to walk as a remedial measure. In the neighbour- hood, a beautiful young girl of sixteen lived with her parents, and used to see the young man in his walks, and speak kindly to him. For some time he took no notice of her ; but after meeting her for several months, he began to look for her, and to feel dis- appointed if she did not appear. He becameso much interested, that he directed his steps voluntarily to her father’s cottagé, and gave her bouquets of flowers. By de- grees he conversed with her through the window. His mental faculties were roused 5 the dawn of convalescence appeared. The girl was virtuous, intelligent, and lovely, and encouraged his visits when she was told that she was benefiting his mental health. She asked him if he could read and write? He answered. No. She wrote ‘some lines to hii to induce him to learn. This had the desired effect. He applied himself to study, and soon wrote good and sensible letters to her. He recovered his reason. She was married to a young man from the neighbouring*city. Great fears were entertained that this event would undo the good which she had accomplished. The young patient sustained a. severe shock, but his mind did notsink under it. He acquiesced in the propriety of her choice, continued to improve, and at last was re- stored’ to his family cured. Shehad a child, and was soon after brought to the same hospital perfectly insane. The young man heard of this event, and was exceedingly anxious tosee her; but an interview was denied to him, both on her account and his “own. Shedied. He continued well, and became an active member of society... What a beautiful romance might be founded on this narrative. ‘America, Historical, Statistical, and Descriptive,’ by J. S. Buckrne- HAM, is a vast collection of facts and details, few of them novel or striking, but apparently written with truth and candour. ‘The work fatigues from the multiplicity of its small statements, and the want _ of general views or animated description. _In 1842 the author pub- lished two additional volumes, describing his tour in the slave-states. These are more interesting, because the ground is less hackneyed, and Mr. Buckingham felt strongly, as a benevolent and humane man, on the subject of slavery. Mr. Buckingham was an extensive traveller and writer. He published narratives of journeys in Pales- “tine, Assyria, Media, and Persia, and of various continental tours. _ He tried a number of literary schemes, establishing the ‘Oriental ) ’ Py So GSE see F ‘ 7 > » ~ ‘ qe ese ne eae Be SS CYCLOPDIA OF lecturer.. He had published two volumes of an autobiography, when he di: d somewhat suddenly in 1855, aged sixty-nine. 23 Amorg other works on America we may mention the ‘ Western World, by ALEXANDER MAckKAy, three yolumes, 1849, a very com- . plete and able book up to the date of its publications ‘Loings asthey ~~ are in America,’ by Dr. WitLiam CHAmMBERs; and ‘Life and Lib-. erty in America,’ by Dr. CHARLES Mackay. ‘A visit to Ami rica,’ as Dr. Chambers has said, ‘is usually one of the early aspirations of the more impressionable youth of England. The stirring storiestold of Columbus, Sebastian Cabot, Raleigh, and Captain John Smith; ~~ the history of the Pilgrim Fathers fleeing from persecution; the de- ~~ scription of Penn’s transactions with the Indians; the narratives of the gallan’ achievemants of Wolfe and Washington, and the lament. able humiliations of Burgoyne and Cornwaliis; the exciting autobi- ography of the Philadelphian printer, who, from toiling at the press, | rose to be the companion of kings—all have their due effect on the | imagination.’ The facilities afforded by steam boat communication —_ also render a visit to America a matter of easy and pleasant accom- =~ plishment, and the United States are every season traversed by hosts» of British tourists—men of science, art, and literature, and pleasure seekers, while the international commerce and trading is proportion ally extended. . Two remarkable works on Spain have been published by Mr. ~ GrorGE Borrow, late agent of the British and Foreign Bible So. — ciety. The first of these, in two volumes, 1841, isentitled ‘ Zincali, or an Account of the Gipsies in Spain.’. Mr. Borrow calculates that there are about forty thousand gipsies in Spain, of which about one- third are to be found in Anda‘usia, The caste, he says, has dimin- ished of late years. The author’s adventures with this singular peo- ple are curioysly compounded of the ludicrous and romantic, and ~~ are related in the most vivid and dramatic manner. Mr. Borrow’s second work is named ‘ The Bible in Spain; or the. Journeys, Ad- | — ventures, and Imprisonments of an Englishman in an attempt to cir- culate the Scriptures in the Peninsula,’ 1844. There are many things in the book which, as the author acknowledges, have little connec- tion with religion or religious enterprise. It is indeed-a series of jer-~- sonal adventures, varied and interesting, with sketches of character, and romantic incidents drawn with more power and vivacity than is possessed by most novelists. Cah f Impressions of the City of Madrid.—Irom Borrow’s™' Bible in Spain.’ I have visited most of the principal capitals of the world. bnt upon the wiole none hag ever so jnterested me as this city of Madrid, in which I now found mys: lf. I will not dwell upon its streets, its edifices. its public squares, its fountains, thongh some of these are remarkable enough: but Petersburgh has finer streets, Paris and Edin- burgh more stately edifices, London far nobler squares, while Shiraz can boast of 2 BORROW.) | - Gipsy, the Priest,’ 1851; ‘Romany Rye,’ a sequel to ‘ Lavengro; ‘ - ri “ — : . ENGLISH LITERATURE. 889 whe eal oan SE more costly fountains, though not cooler waters. But the population’ Within a qiud wail. scarce:y one ieague and a half in cirenit, are contained twa hardred thou- “sand human beings, certainly forming the most extraordinary vital mass to be found - in the entire wortd; and be it aiways remembered that this ass is strictiy Spanish, The population of Constantinople is extraordinary enough, but to forni it twety nations have contribuied—G-eeks, Armenians, Persians, Poles, Jews, the latter, by- the-bye, of Spanish origin, and spexkiny umongst themselves the old Spanish Jan- * _ guage; but the huge population of Madrid, with the excepiicn of a sprinkling of for- eigners, chiefly French tailors, glove-makers, aud perruquiers, is strictly Spanish, though a considerable portion are not natives of the piace. Here are no colonies of Germans as at St, Petersburgh; no inglish factories as at Lisbon: no multitudes of insolent Yankees lounging through the streets, as at the Havannah. with an air which seems to say, * Lhe land is our own whenever we choose to take it;? buta _ population which, however strange and wild, sid composed of various elements, is Spanish, and will remain so as long as the city itself shall exist. Hail, ye aguadores ot Asturia! who, in your dress of coarse duffel and leathern skuil-caps, are seen seated in hundreds by the fountain-sides. rpon your empty water-casks, or stagger- ing with them filled to the topmost stezies cf lofty hguses. Hail, ye caleseros of Valencia! who, lolling lazily against yoar vehicles, rasp tobacco for your paper cigars Whilst waiting for a fare. Hail to you, beggars of La Mancha! men and women, who, wrapped in coarse blankets, demand charity indifferently at the gute of the palace or the prison. Hail to you, valets from the mountains, mayordomos and secretaries from Biscay aud Guipnscoa, toreros from Andalusia, riposteros from Galicia, shopkeepers from Uatalonin! Hail to ye, Castilians, Estremenians, and Aragonese, of whatever calling! And, lastly, genuine sons of the capital, rabble of Madrid, ye twenty theusand manolos, whose terr.ble knives, on the second morning of May, worked such grim havoc amongst the legions of Murat! And the higher orders—the ladies and gentlemen, the cavaliers and sefioraz; shall I pass them by in silence? The truth is, T have little to say about them; I mingled but little in their society, and what I saw of them by no means tended to exalt them in my imagination. Iam not one of those who. wherever they go, make it a con- stant practice to disparage the higher orders, and to exa?: the populace at their ex- pense. There are many capitals in which the high aristocracy, the lords and ladies, the sons and daughters of nobility. constitute the most remarkable and the most interesting part of the population. This is the case at Vienna. and more especially at London. Who ¢an rivul the English aristocrat in lofty stature, in dignified bearing, in strength of hand. and valour of heart? Who rides a nobler horse?) Who has a firmer seat? And who more lovely than his wife, or sister. or diughter? But with respect i0 the Spanish aristocracy, I believe the less that is suid of them on the points te which I haye just alluded the better. I confess, however, that I know little about them. Le Sage has described them as they were nvarly two centuries ago. His de- scription is anything but captivating, and I do not think that they have improved since the period of the immortal Frenchman. I wou!d sooner talk of the lower class, not only of Madrid, but of all Spain. ‘The Spaniard of the Jower class has much more interest for me, whether manolo, labourer, or muleteer. He is not a common being; he is an extraordinary man. He has not, it is trne, the am/‘ability and gene- rosity of the Russian mujik, who will give his only rouble rather than the stranger shall want; por his placid courage. which renders him insensitle to fear, and at the command of his czar sends him singing to certain death. There is more hardness and less self-devotion in the disposition of the Spaniard: he possesses, however, a spirit of proud independence, which it is impossible but to admire. Mr. Borrow has since published ‘Lavengro—the Scholar, the and ‘ Wild Wales, its People, Language and Scenery,’ 1870. These works are inferior in interest to his former publications, but are still ‘remarkable books, Mr. Borrow is a native of Norfolk, born at East Dereham in 1803. cad - 340 ~ 3. ~ 4 a 5 a course of excavations at the same spot. The generosity of Sir Strat- _ ford Canning—now Lord Stratford de Redclifte—supplied funds for ~ the expedition. In October 1845, Mr. Layard reached Mosul, and commenced operations at Nimroud, about eighteen miles lower down the ‘Tigris. Hedescended the river on a raft. Appearance of Nimroud. . Tt was evening as we approached the spot. The spring rains had clothed the F . mound with the richest verdure. ane the fertile meadows which stretched around it © were covered with flower: of every hue. Amidst this luxuriant vegetation were partly concealed a few fragments of bricks. pottery. and alabaster. upon which might be traced the well-defined wedges of the cuneiform character. Did not these remains mark the nature of.the ruin, it might have been confounded with a natural eminence.

    > is a iy 4 >i? ES . ’ < . 5 oe 380 CYCLOPAEDIA OFM =24 | (eevee ae é a Y hog 2a “. PAGE. PAGE, og Belford Regis, by Mary. R. Mitford, Biology, Principles of, by H. Spen- Pe Me aE EPA ES Sry as ESR, ag ry Cer) Villt <2 in5 1d ee eee Be eee Belind: vs sparkling Eyes and Wit, Brrcu, Dr. THomas..as historian, iv, | from ‘ The Shamrock,’ iv......... ‘198 305.3 as antiqnary, Ive... acs cede 405° - = BELL, JOHN, traveller, vii..........- 15 | BIRKENHEAD, SIR JOHN, journalist, Peak BELL, J.S., traveller, viii. Re SE HOD: 1) Pee POA eo ae 33-2 BELL. Sir CHARLES; the Hand, as Birks of Invermay, by Mallet, Wo 33:55 evincing design, Vili.......5...0... 155 | BisHop, SAMUEL, poet, iv... si eadawe DEED a BELLENDEN, JouN, translator of BuAck, WILLIAM, novelist, vii...... 335- 4 Boece-and’ Livy. i. 22s ess eee oe 143 | Bl: ick-eved Susan, by D. Jerrold, Vii. 193 - BeLzoni, JOHN BaPrist, Eastern Black-eyed Susan, song by Gay, iii.. 220 - F. traveller ; extracts, vil BENNOCH, FRANCIS, song-writer, vii 182 BENOIT DE ST. MavR, i Benoni, Dr., by Malcolm cae ee ee ee ee ee et ee oe er ee BENSON, CHR., theologian, vi. Se Adele BENTHAM, JEREMY, LAS, "View norte ts ‘ BENTLEY, ~ DR. RICHARD, classical scholar, Beowulf, Lay of, Anglo-Saxon poem, BERESRORD: REY. JAMES, vi BERKELEY, BIsHOopP, metaphysician, OXtPACh, iS, js sie vee pi hee ee BERNERS, LORD, historian, i........ Bertram, ‘by C. R. Maturin, Scene from, vi Beth Gélert ; a ballad, by the Hon. Wim. Spencer, v «gre ee ets cee Pegars Betrothed Pair, from Cr abbe, v Bye sel Bible Class. by G. MacDonald, vii... Bible, History of the English, by Dr. Madies VAL. a, tetanic wgs Paes ae le Bible in Spain, by George Borrow } 5 ORIPACH. Vill. HAs a tecieeee aes Bible, Wycliffe’s, 1. 5h Tyndale’s, i i. 135; Coverdale’s, i. 136; Matthew’s, -i, 186;- Cranmer’s, 1. 1363 author- ized translation, fi. 837; Douay Bi- ble, ii. 888; Kennicot’s Hebrew Bi- ble, iv. 326; D’Oyley and Mant’s annotated edition, vi. 3:25 Clarke’s Commentary, vi. 807; Brown’s Dictionary, vi. 310; Brown’s S-1f- ANLErPTewNS Vis Hast iss or ote eee i ter hOErap ate Dictionary, oe Biers oy. Isaac, dramatist, iv. BICKERSTEPH, Rey. Eb., haolowngs Will Biglow-Papers, the, by J. R. Lowell, Mls Laake d Sa ORCe ae See oe ee 1 BINGHAM, COMMANDER J. Evuiort, a 107 eC i ic ce car) traveller extract, Willensatsas ores 25 Biographia Britannica Literaria, by TV ElPhiy Valles. ater eeine oak ae 51 Biographical Dictionaries, 2 ee) 290 Biographical History of England, a i. Granger, iv........:, 306. 307 | Borrow, GEORGE, traveller, Vili... 383 BLACKIE, JOHN eka poet and translator, vii. Re fae BLACKLOCK, DR THOMAS, specimens ; as Traveller, ex- (ULE EN? 1S rier ao oh 323 Boysn, ABEL, miscellaneous writer, Hoss Hon. RoBERT, philosopher ; PEATE O LS ls ae so otis so ohne arplan oie ah 301 Bracebridge Hall, by Washington Irving ; extracts, Wctatshe rive Bide ito ots 359 ee eS: M. ELIZABETH, noyelist, er ee one) se \. yale eee ole, GN Sas See 10 erie o’ Gleniffer, by Tannahill, vi..~ 10 . Braes of Yarrow, by Hamilton, iv. ; 200 Braid Claith, by Fergusson, iv....... 213 ‘BRAMSTON, REY. JAMES, poet, iii... 17 Bray, Mrs. ANNA ELiza, novelist, Sn 0" ie oo Sa rales ae ae One 2 ‘BREMNER, ROBERT, Traveller, viii.. 332 Breton, NicHouas, poet, i......... 209 BrewsTER, Sik Davin, ~ scientific writer; extracts, vili......... 273 = Pude's Tragedy, by T. L. Beddoes, Bridgewater Treatises, the, vili..... 188 ‘Brigham Young, by Sir C. W. Dilke, (Lvs Ss Se Sei SE eae ree 345 - Bristow Tragedy, by Chatterton, iv. ‘8 Britannia’s Pastorals, by William PRIMI AN Sale lek «lo. ggrrsse wieie eels elcid 241 - British Constitution, Dissertation on, ‘t- by Dr; Gilbert Stuart, iv........... Bi “British ROTTGICAAV tic. opera o> 5305s no 406 _-British Empire, History of, by George i 260 Brodie, vi asi anit, History of, ee James ee ee . te - ENGLISH LITERATURE. 381 ~ ee PAGE, British Poets, Specimens of, by, CA TIOe Uc Wished Gera once Realy aie aes Broad Grins, by Colman; extracts, 50—58 BROCKEDON, W.., traveller, vii...... BROvIE, GEORGE, vi. z Broken Heart, Scene from the, i Brome, RICHARD, dramatist, i...... BRONTE, CHARLOTTE, novelist, vii. Bronté, Charlotte, Life of, by Mrs, Gaskell; extracts, vii......5...... BROOKE, Arthur, poet, hs Anata ate Jeaeohe BROOKE, CHARLOTTE, novelist, iv.. BROOKE, HENRY, as dramatist, iv., DLlc BS DOVCUR yal Vslow es 03 dee dad es BROOKE, ORD ed sate ths tact Oe BROOKE, REV. STOPFORD A., theolo- logian ’and critic, vili.......-...... Brooks, CHARLES SHIRLEY, dramat- IS ANG sCGHOT, FVIbsee bcs on. coke yee BROOME, WILLIAM, minor poet, iii.. BRouGH, ROBERT B., dramatist, vii. 272 28T 152 . 283 283 233 142 198 197 201 3TT 71 14 Niacend Arete . abused tl aici ois oy nO BROUGHTON, MRs., traveller, viii.... 319 Brown, C. BROCKDEN, novelist, vi.. 146 Brown, DR. JOHN, misc. writer, iv.. 394 309 Brown, Dr. Joun, of Edinburgh, 310 ROUGH Aas HENRY, LORD; exiracts, Se ee a ea bell, viii ie eee antilidd Sek Ren See BrouGHrTon, Lory (J C. “Hobhouse), Classic traveller, viit/......... Riney, DY P Samuel Phillips, = Do Sp Ee ng 3 , ee) iil Caller Herrin’, by Baroness Nuirne, vi. ore v*eee eee eer ere em ee ewe Cambrian System, by Prof. Sedg- WICK; “ile. .teee aes CAMDEN, WILLIAM, antiquary, ii....— CAMERON, Ligut. V._L., . traveller, vili ee Cameronian’s Dream, the, vi.......,. Camoens, the poems of, translated by Viscount Strangford, Vii ee jes Camp BELL, DR. GEORGE, philoso- 4 pher, iv ee ee ee ry ere eee pee 0 1g Sates Sie eae Cr eer ec eee 33- er ic Scholar, viii. ed CAMPBELL, LoRD ‘JOHN, biographer, 2 viii . eee te Caw s eb Coe wwedacsees oe o> CAMPBELL, MR., missionary and —~ — La traveller, *Vil..&%. Ucnent oe eels Gente oo pp sale aoe 66 = SS, fat 6 a ool) .< ie, SOS .. 346 =5 CAMPBELL, Dr. JouN, historian. iv. ae +s CAMPBELL, J. F., traveller and Celt- hee ne 5 "4 ra AY a ZG INDEX. | _ PAGE. CAMPBELL, THomas, as poet, v. 218 ; MSLNISTORIAN. sVi ea th ee hws t eee Canadian Boat Song, by Moore, v... 205 CANDLISH, DR, R. 8. theologian, ‘viii 161 CANNING, GEORGE, as poet, v.;....: 49 Canterbury, Memorials of, by Stan- ley, viii Canterbury Tales, the, by Chaucer ; Cue bie cE Rag Shp ere eee yale pea a : Canterbury Tales, the, by S. and H. ee a? HCO Meme MUMCL ARVIN Se Mere ee Sa 108 Canton Prisons, from Cooke, viii... 329 ANUTHOOT CNUT lo... lee ee Car Travelling in Ireland, by Thack- Pay Vile ta eat se tase oA eee. 259 Caractacus, by Mason; extracts, iv. JIE i Red Ae aS tit CISA at ee 18 Careless Content, by Byrom, iv...... 52 Careless Husband, by Cibber, iji..... 271 CaRnEew, Lapy ELIZABETH, li....... 83 Carew, THOMAS, poct ; extracts, ii. 89 CAREY, HENRY, dramatist, iv....... 228 CARLETON, WILLIAM, novelist, vi... 236 CARLISLE, EARL OF, traveller. Vili... 320 CAREYLN, ORCI. AS Vil oo. Ace 397 CARLYLE, THomas, historian and satirist: extracts, vii.......... 389—297 Carnatic, Destruction of the, iv...... 383 CARNE, JOHN, Eastern traveller, vii.. 24 CARPENTER, Dr. LANT, theologian, viii 2 CARPENTER, Dr. W. B., physiolo- gist, vili 2°5 ~ CARR, SiR JOHN, tourist, Wit sy swale 386 CARRINGTON, NOEL THOMAS, poet, v 382 CartE, THomaAs, historian, iv.. - 288 CaRTER, Mrs. ELIZABETH, transla- Ce i ee) ee 192 CaRTWRIGHT, W., poet; extracts, ii 102 Cary, REV. HENRY FRANCIS, poet.y v 383 Castara, by William Habington, ii.. - ¢8 Castaway, the, by Cowper, v........ 10 Ca-ti’s eam Parlauti,’ trans . by tas BUR sere ec iae s/s he's ictarsley sco a's 887 Castle of Ti Wolenes by Thomson, ili 2°4 es of Otranto, by Hor. Walpole, ENGLISH LITERATURE. 288 | Celtic Languages, divisions of, isemee aR ete oh a Wee ol! ee awe 2 Castle Spectre, by M. G. Lewis, v 230 Cato, by Joseph Addison, iii........ 139 Caudle Lectures, vil=2.. 2.2... 6.0 e600 194 Cauler Water; by Fergusson, ihre 214 Caution to Philosophie Inquirers, tae = Professor Huxley. vili............. -Cave’s Gentleman’s Magazine, iv. ae CAVENDISH, GEORGE, biographer, i.12) CAXTON, WILLIAM, printer, i....... 1138 Cecilia, by Frances Burney, vi...... 87 ~ Celt, Roman, and Saxon, jal vili. 51 ~ Celtic, by Professor Whitney, viii. _ 316 Celtic and Roman Antiquities, by ; toby Ne ittakeer, iV. e022... +n; OT | 383 PAGE. Celtic Folk-lore, Collection of, viii... 348 per Celtic Scotland, by Wm. F. Skene, VEL BGR E eee rg ot 8 rb Cenci, the, by Shelley ; extract, v... 276 CENTLIVRE, Mrs. 8., dramatist, iii.. 271 Ceylon, Wanderings’ Hy WELLS? «a es 358 Chaldean account of Genesis, vili... 319 CHALKHILL, JOHN, poet; extracts, ‘i 100 CHALMERS, ae vi CHALMERS, . ‘Dr.. THOS. ; MET feted heath kage’ cape ce onite 311—319 CHALMERS, GEORGE, antiquary, vi.. 252 Chameleon, by George Buchanan, ii 59 CHAMBERLAYNE, W., poet; extracts eae e ers cae Pre a talaterw de, extracts, DLR ae Pere eos Wee Foe PIS fan 143 CHAMBERS, Dr. RoBERT, miscella- NEOUS AWLILCT A VILLsee wag Neale aigiee. Be 04 Chambers, Dr. R., Memoir of, viii.. 94 CHAMBERS, Dr. WILLIAM, miscella- MICOUSHWTLSET, VAIL 1. yscio toe ous Oye s 94 Chambers’s Biographical Dictionary of Eminent Scotsmen, vi.......-.. 90 Chambers’s Encyclopaedia, Vilkgeens 33 Ct ne ia s (Ephraim), Cyclopedia, EGE Se FS eR eA eM Sag baw iste 29a ike 406 Gainer Bal Ournal, wut. 2's id 3a 36 Chameleon, the. by Merrick, iv...... 86 CHAMIER, CAPTAIN, novelist, vii.... 207 Chancellors, Lives of the, by Lord Camp bells. wilt. 2 Seiees oop ee ee ae 70 Changes, by Lord Lytton, vii:.. . 144 CHANNING, DR. WILLIAM ELLERY, theologian; extracts, vili.......... 106 CHAPMAN, GEORGE, dramatist, i. 3 0 CHAPONE, MRs. HESTER, hor let- TELS Si Voss wa ky ols Se eos +90 Charge of the Light Brigade, viii. 3T Charles I., Memoirs of the Court of, VIALS bn heh ieee CRE Gee en ete DRA 22 Charles II., escape of, aiter the Bat- tle of Worcester, from Clarendon's ‘‘ History,” ii. 826: Character of, from Burnet’s “ History of his own TTA GS wd had cup sigan ede ivi oe a ate lsat 338 Charles V., Epicurean Habits of Em- peror, by Sir-W. S. Maxwell, viii.. 56 Charles V., History of, by Robertson; extracts. iv. 300 Charles Edw ara Stuart, py Ear! Stan- hope, Vili OY ly ee ee Re ae Charles.O’Malley, by C. ne Lever, vii. 278 CHARLETON, DR. WALTER, ili...... 125 Charlotte Corday, from Carlyle, vii.. 399 Charmer, the, edited by J, Yair, iv. 199 Chartism, by Carlyle, VSM Sc icv Skee 893 guase. tac, bv Wii lis um Somervile, ili 399 weer, Chastelard, by A. C. Swinburne, vii. 159 Chateau of eH Garaye, bY Miss Mu- lock, vii. . 318 eer eae eueee ere - Fe erre 884 PAGE, Onin, & BHARL OF, WILLIAM Pitt, his letters to his nephew, iv. .. 373 Chatham, Character of, by Grattan, iv. 376; Last Appearance and Death of, IV ae Tie eal ee. oe 375 CHATTERTON, THOMAS, iv.... . 94 ‘CHAUCER. GEOFFREY. poct,extracts,i 23 Chaucer, dates of events of his lif fe, by Mr. Furnivall, i. 36 ; viii.. OTL Chaucer, the only likeness of, foie; 60 CHEKEsSIRid OWN, B52 22s ew teste, 137 Chemical History of a Candle, by WAarAGaw, Nal Scie eee ops asad tee 279 Cherry and the plae, the, ic iis whe 246 Chess, Game of, by Caxton, i. ee f113 Chess-board, the, by Lord Lytton, vii 144 CHESTERFIELD, HARL OF, iv........ 89 Chesterfield’s Letters, vili........... 14 CHETTLE, HENRY, dramatist, 1 292 CHETWYND, Hon. MRs., novelist, vii 341 Chevy Chasey ncs65 00s Aa CA 104. Childe Harold, passages from, v..... 25T Children Asleep, by Matthew Arnold, Wier. Sas OR eee 156 Children of Great Men, viii... ...... 61 CHILLINGWORTH, WILLIAM; ex- TUACTS Mies shiek ca tes ae eR 351 China, ‘Sketches of, by Davis, viii. 324; by Gutzlaff, viii. 324; by Lord Jocelyn, viii. 325; by Bingham, viii 325; by Macpherson, viii. 3255; by Murray, viii. 325; by Loch, Viii. 825; by Fortune, viii. 326 ; by Cooke, Wilbs.3 Citizen of the World; extracts, 1V son 2838 City Madam, by J asper Mayne, ii... 239 City Madam, by Massinger; extracel 312-55 ie Mouse and Country Mouse, e: pi cee diy Sab cabla me Selreceh le ee ae eee 13T—149 City of the Plague; extracts; v... .. 3 aa City, the, its Sins and Sorrows, by BER Guthrie, VHP = 163 ees Civilisation; rie W. mane vill. 226 Clan Albyn, by Mrs. Johnstone, vi.. 211 — CLAPPERTON, CAPTAIN, traveller, at or a CLARE, JOHN; poet, V..........-.0e- CLARENDON, EARL OF, ieeince Hypg, historian ; extracts, ii..... 31h Clarendon, Ear] of, Memoir of, vi.... 227- ~ Clarissa Harlowe, by. Richar dson, iv. 245 CLARKE, Dr. ADAM, theologian, vi.. 307 — CLARKE, DR. EpwaRD ‘Danie, ean traveller; extract, vii..... Sear lon the 4 CLARKE, Dr. SAMUEL, theologian, iii 298 ae s Commentary on the Bible, 80 r= ee nr 7 eee on ee ee ee a oe ee Gieaiaee SAMUEL LANGHORNE, (nom-de-plume, ‘‘ Mark Twain ”, 5 miscellaneous writer ; extracts, vill 242 BE CLEVELAND, JOHN, poet ; extracts, i ii 99 288 Clive; Lord; dike Gf, vist ames, eeu ig Clond, the, by Shelley, v Cp Re ERAS 21T CLoven, Ar. H.,poet; specimens, vii aah “y Clyde, the, by John W ilson, iv...... es CoBBETT, WILLIAM, political writer, oe ‘6! 2 @eeeeere eee ae CocKBURN, HENRY, _ Memorials of e his; Time * extract; -Vill-wacmen ss Gan Ol eS CocKBURN, ‘MRs., poet, TV She. eee 210° Ccelebs, hy Mrs. Hannah More, vi... 384 - Celum Britannicum, by Carew, ti... 89 ~~ CoFFEY, C. Dramatist, iv.....-.... 233) sam OOLERIDGE, HARTLEY, DERWENT, a and SARA, poets; extracts, vil. 39 CoLeRipGr. SAMUEL ee “as” va poet, v. 146 ; as dramatist, vi...... 62g Colin and Lucy, ballad by ‘Tiekell, iii 223- Colin Clout, by Skelton; extract, i.. 65 Coliseum, the, by Forsyth, With Ce Behe! Collegians, the, by Gerald Griffin, Vi 245” COLLIER, JOHN PAYNE, editor, viii. 374. aN“ COLLINS, JOHN, Song-writer, V...... 299 COLLINS, ago novelist, Wilts: er: . ~ ENGLISH LITERATURE _ INDEX. ] 885 - A PAGE. oe ese, WILLIAM, poet; «xtracts, Constable’s Miscellany, vii.......... oo tl RA pee ee Contemplation, by Rev. R. Gifford, iv re T Goris, WILLIAM WILKIE, Fi. .nw82. Coutent, Hymn to, by Barbauld, v.. 67 COLMAN, GEORGE, dramatist, iv..... 223 Contention ‘of Ajax and Ulysses, by ~ CouMAN, GEoRGE, the Younger, - RE eTy ae A AR a ea 388 OUALMAT LS RVG lie £ ee res es gos x £NDEX. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 389 FF PAGE, PAGE. _Extor, GEORGE, novelist ; extracts, . English Garden, by Mason ; extract, “TLL ee aera eee SHA ek hic ake! fal rc praelerSirer Ge Sr aoe ame Reg endhh ~ ELIZABETH, QUEEN, verses by, i. 388; Letters, i 402 Ce i ee ee ey EviesMeERE, EAR of, translator, v. 388 _ ELuroT, Miss JANE, poet, iv _ ELiicortt, Dr. CHAS. JoHN, theolo- gian ;. extract, viii ee oe ee ee ey ELuioT, StR GILBERT, song-writeriv 207 _. ELuiotson, Dr. Joun, physiologist, NER fe rete SS A hv ies S.gd se oye 35 E.uor, EBENEZER, poet ; extracts, Ve OS ee 374 Pride. ENR Y/ Vil... adept sees os 27 = Eur, Mrs., novelist, vii........... 292 _ Ewuis, Sir "HENRY, ’antiquary and (SONNE 2 UT SIS ph RR: a ae ele eae er rR _ELuwoop, THomas, misc. writer, jii 83 Eloisa and’ Abelard, by Pope; ex- $racts iii... .. Bpesigipeis Gc oie eas « 85 _ ELputnstone, Hon, MountsTuART traveller, viii AS Tee ences ee 322 Exyort,-Str THOMAS, prose writer, i, 125 _ Embargo, the, vii 84 Emerson, RALPH WALDO, miscella- _._ neous writer; extracts, viii... ... - 226 _Einigrants in the Bermudas, by An- drew Marvell, dic. .: sic esc. eee cee 181 eens. nd the Will, by~ Prof. Renitie Vllle . deine sols bea Sat aes © 82 a Semen Brit., history of, vii. Be: __ Encyclopedia, French, iv..... bien , 408 _ Encyclopedia of Antiquities, Widths: 27 ~ Encyclopedias, vii...........-...-.. 33 “Endeavonrs after the Christian Life, by Martineau ; extracts, viii ...... 160 ‘Endyinion, by Keats; extract, Vi... 285 Engiand, Hi- -tury of, by Guthrie. iv. SD by Mrs. Macaulay, iv. 390 ; by "Sharon Turner, vi. 252; by ~ Lingard, vi. 258; by Macaulay, Vil. 376 ; by Stanhope, Vili. 10; by Keightley, viii. 14; by Froude, viii. 24; by ‘Gardiner, viii. 30; by “Stubbs; viii. 41; by Massey, viii. F 43; Pictorial History of; viii. 233 es * by 'WLN. Molesworth, Viii........ 72 . “Brciand and Wales, Antiquities of, * edited by Francis Grose, vi... 348 England under Seven Administra tions, by A. Fonblanque, viii . 23% dents Helicon, a miscellany, i... 200 sac hesys Past and Present, by . BUCME MIN Sciam ptig tds crab ve ithe se 126 English Country Gentleman, by PP RCORH We Vile ae dacacn vn oie s'ere so « +'- 263 ~ English Country Gentleman of 1688, : by- Macaulay, vii...............- 33 _. English Country Sunday, by Miss Pe ACR ELAVG Valielsis ls seis ego's cls eared 338 ¥- Hinglich Fen-gipsies, by Crabbe, v... 109 English Humorists of the Eighteenth Century, VAL. ate Pe alr bneh ® Pep ase aie? 59 English in Italy and France, vi...... 234 English Lake Country, vii... ........ 294) English Landscape, by BK Bb. Brown- TOS, yids thee eee ee eet, a 129 English AGN OU CO ok ets ab seals eee a English Lang. and Lit., by Craik, viii 23 English Liberty, by Cowper, Mies Beties 22 English Manufactures in the Interior of South Africa, from Livingstone, MID iisi, c Sae et tak tacete se. eset ees Cais 363 English Mercurie, the, ii............ 65 English National Unity, by ‘Stubbs, Wag OME Tronics oe) « Wanel@nn o ateraies shoe 40 English People, History of, by J. R. Green ; CRECACES, VIELE Ae, since acon 41 English Poets, by W. Minto, viii. 99, 249° English Prose Lit., by Minto, viii... 99 English Rector and Rectory, vii..... 321 BESS Shyness, by M. Edgeworth, Reger We abit a Paiste in ahr Sciete ta 155 Rugiish 4 rees, by Mrs. H. B. Stowe, Fe iri SECO OE i eee 297 Binipins of Life, by Greg; extract, ARIUS et cscs sti se Ok Poe earth ores oe 247 Enoch Arden, by Tennyson, Vile ocs) 123 Entail, the, by John Galt, vi........ 197 Eothen, by A. W. Kinglake, viil..... 32 Epictetus, trans. by Mrs. Carter, iv.. 192 Epicurus’s Morals, by Charleton, iil.. 127 Epigoniad, the, by WAPI IV outa aie 78 Epigram on Sleep, by Dr. J. Wol- HQ ig ate. tes gustan Skater erd che Shin: SANT disNehe tHe 58 Epistole Ho-Eliane, by Jas. How- CHESS Th Sipe Seip ge ae uke ES eae Aree ee 50 Epitaph on a Jacobite, by Lord Mac- aulay, vii. 70; by Sir D. Brewster, sit Re oe erie EO cae, ee Sr 78 Epitaph on Maginn, by Lockhart,vili 176 Epitaph on Mrs. Mason, partly writ- ten by Gray, viii Epithalamium, by Geo. Buchanan, i 256 Epithalamium, by Spenser ; extract, i 173 Erasmus, Life of, by Dr. John Jor- tin, iv ERciILDOUN, THOMAS OF, minstrel, i Ercildoun, Thomas of, the Romance and Prophesies of, edited by James A. H. Murray, viii Erechtheus, by A. C. Swinburne, vii. 164 Error, how to be combated, vi Be4 ERsKINE, EBENEZER and RALPH, iv 328 ERSKINE, REv. DR. JOHN, iv........ 330 ERSKINE, THOMAS, LoRD; extracts from his speeches, vi. . . 349 Esmond, by Thackeray ; “extract, ‘vii 259 Ausop, by R. Henryson,-i && Esquimaux, by Captain Parry, vii. 326 14 weer eres eee ese eereeseseeereeeeet seer ese ee 890 PAGE. Essay on Man, by Pope; extract, iii. 179 Essays by Abraham Cowl ey; ex- LEA CTA sll tre cna cad soe eee he een neces 70 Essays on Poetry, Music, &e., by Dr. Beattie; extracts, TVG cee Cero s-. 350 EssEx, EARL oF. prose writer, i..... 40° Estimates of Happiness, by Mrs. Inchpald, viet ares wae econ tes 120 ETHEREGE, SIR Guoner, tirama- Aist, Hvar cian cia cut ke me ee eens 266 VAT shane wep inte Wiel Deelas Graicta gi sare area rates 192° Ethiopia, Highlands of, viii.......... 345 Etonian, the, newspaper, vil. 46 5 viii 235 ETtTRicK SHEPHERD, the, vi........ 14 Eugene Aram, by Bulwer, vii........ 221 Euphues, the anatomy of Wit, by bylVSRGx UT ACh, ce ee avs . 404 Euphues and his England, by Lyly, i i 405 Euripides, Porsou’s, vi. ........5. 337 Europe, History of, by Sir A. Alison, 843 Europe, History of, by W. Russell.iv 308 Europe During the Middle. A ges, by Henry Hallam) extracts, vic...... 267 EvustTACcEk, JOHN CHETWODE, classic- MM traveller WVilss ols scktea . beeen 16 Eustace Conyers; extract, vil....... 208 Evadne, by R. L. "Sheil ; extract, Visas t4 Eve of St. Agnes; extract, Visor vias. 289 Evelina, by Frances Burney ; ex- ETECL SVU: Sonor then et gee Bole 8T EVELYN, JOHN, misc. writer; ex- tPACTH TIT Sac eae se es ae 108 Evening Hymn, by Trench, vii...... 62 Evening Primrose, by B. Barton. v.. 348 Evening Walk, the, by Wordsworth, Evergreen, the, ed. by Allan Ram- SUVuCLEL sata o's pie ake nce Pere oe Every Man in his Humour, i......... Every-day Book, Table Book, and Year Book, by William Home, viii 182 Excelsior, by Longfellow, vii........ 92 238 Exclusive London Life, by. Mrs. GOTEMVTE e Seong aecns Fees thie eee 212 excursion, the, by E. Elliott.’v...... 375 Excursion, the, by Wordsworth ; ex- ERACLST Vin Sin c.sscisee Fe ie ee See 129 Exile of Erin, by Thos. Cumpbell, v. 220 Exile’s s Song. by Robert Gilfillan, vi. 33 Expediency, by Archbishop Whate- AVON MILL an) ack SOc tae eae eee 117 EYRE, LIEUTENANT VINCENT, viii... 31 FABIAN, ROBERT, chronicler, i...... 114 Fabie of the Bees, by Mandeville, iii. 331 Fable of the Oak and the Briar, bys Spenser, 1 Fables, by Gay, iji.. eeeee | CYCLOPEDIA OF — Fables of the Holy Alliance, Thomas Brown (Thomas Moore),v 210 PAGE, - by. 5-95 Faery Queen, the; extracts, 1...+. rae ; XS Fair France. by Mulock ; extract, vii 318 Fair Penitent, the, by Rowe, iii...... 248 ai Fair Recluse, the, v......2..++--0% es DOT em Fair to See, by L: W. M. Lockhart, — mae Viiin.c..c/.9 528 th Va Oe ae e41 FAIRBAIRN, SIR WILLIAM, engineer — Vilk sins seer ek. Sao eee 2k3 Be: Pleats EDWARD, poet, i.......... 18% AS Fairy Mythology, by Keightley, viii; 15° ~ rae and Intellect, by Dr. Lyddon, ie 2 (3554 OP" Le aioe dag bee i F: aithgal Shepherdess, by Fletcher, 1. 329 “as FALCONER, WILLIAM. poet, iv......, 102.3 False Delicacy, comedy, by Kelly,iv 223 Family Library, the, vii........... ra ee Fainily Scene, a, by Austen, Vi....... 1s Fancy Fair, by Douglas Jerrold, vii.. 195 FANE, HOG, Vibes een anaes 31° FANSHAWE, Lapy A, H.—Her Me- Le m6irs* ji.) aes Tate eee -/ 128, Far from the Madding Crowd, by <3 Thomas Hardy; extracts, vii. 2329 73 FARADAY. MICHAEL, scientific wri- ter: extracts) ViliS ici esente cote cie Faraday, as a- Discoverer, by ie dall, viii. Faraday. Life and eer of, viii. pore, the, origin of. i Fardorougha, the Miser, Viator s ; Farewell, Life, by Thomas Hood, vii 49° Farewell to Ayrshire, by R. Gall, v. es Farmer, Dr. RICHARD, iv......... : ; Farmer's Boy, the ; extracts, v eri ya Farmer’s Caié! dar, by Ar. Tories vi 3886 © FARQUHAR, GEORGE, dramatist, ili. 266 rates Curiosity, by Lillo, scene ie "a ee ee ee ee ee) itor” Faust, translated by A. Haicvacds viii iy, 6. 8 Faust, translated by J. S. Blackie, vii 175 Faustus, Life and Death of, by Mar- - lowe, i 283 FAWKES. FRANCIS, poet and transla- —_ tOr; LV 2A apet pee ee ee 154 ; Fawn of Spring Vile, by Carleton, vi 238 Feats on the Fiord, viii ~ 200 «7 FELLOWS, CHARLES. traveller, viii... 320 FELTHAM, OWEN fete ee OT ay Fenelon, writings of, by Dr. Chan-_ 24 ning, Vili. ... span eters. Ser eee FENN, SIR JouN, historian, vi.....- FENTON, ELIJAH, minor poet, iii.. Shag and Isabella, by Prescott, eovecee error aesees ass (Fhe Oe <788 ee Berdinand Count Fathom, iyoe ue Hs Frerauson, Dr. ADAM, historian, iv. 402 FERGUSSON, ROBERT, poet, iv..... z x PAGE. FERRIER, PRoFEsSOR, metaphysi- CAME WI Mac lot soe v4 boss seats 269 FERRIER, SUSAN E.,. novelist, vi.... Festus, by Bailey; extract, vii...... _ Feudal System, Effects of, by Hal- { 267 WIM Atde Ts oS Som erie 2 wae one vet FIELD, NATHANIEL, dramatist, i. _ FIELDING, HENRY, as dramatist, iv. . 368 2295 as novelist, iv.............--- 254 FIELDING, SARAH, AVeowe counts ae SP. sod 202 Fig for Momus, by Lodge, vili....... 372 FILMER, Sir RoBERT,prose writer, ii _FINpDiaTER, DR. ANDREW, editor,vii 34 Fingal, by Macpherson, iv........... 87 FInuay, GEORGE, historian, vii .... 6 Fiunesburg, Battle heal each Perks ashe 4 - miakoriinn? 8 ‘Funeral, by Scott, vi. FITZBALL, EDWARD, dramatist, vii.. FLAVELL, JOHN, theologian, iii.:.-... ‘ . ForBEs, ARCHIBALD, historian, viii. ForDUN, Joun, chronicler, i........ Fireside the, by Nathaniel Cotton,v 6 Firmilian, by Professor Aytoun, vii.. 74 FISHER, JOHN, BisHOP, prose-wri- UG TANS Sos 6a eae ers eee 124 136 Fishing Village in Normandy, by Miss * Thackeray, Nii ood ek Teas . 340 201 Fitz-Boodle, Esq., George (Thacke- PEDVA) ATUL Me eee y's o a fale eye nsg'd w Sieve FITZPATRICK, Ricwarp, satirist, v. Five Hundreth Points of Good Hushandrie, by Thos. Tusser; ex- BTACIA EEN Rm. caw otha owl Siac ot 5 254 38 15 30 Fleece, the, by John Dyer, iii. 387 FLEMING, PROF. JOHN snaturalist, vili 304 FLETCHER, ANDREW, of Saltoun, iii. 3834 PEETCHER, MRSi, VIE foe Bg: ’ FLETCHER. PHINEAS and GILES, i.. 234 - Flitting of the Lyndsays, vi...-..... 209 Flodden, Battle of, by Sir W. Scott,v 245 Florence Macarthy ; 7 Oxtracth- Vises 167 Flower o’ Dunblane, the, vi......... 11 ee See ao in, by Dar- ee 8 ee a) MOU EVE Stic cee Bees hee Manin "911 NPM UN ona ts enn Chie asad Powe 0 case 0 211 Feedera, the, by T. Rymer and R. Sanderson, ii...... Sh EEAk 2 eee 345 FONBLANQUE, ALBANY, journalist, Reel er a ors pela ede en oe 2 Fool of Quality, by Brooke, iv...... . 283 Foote, SAMUEL, dramatist, WAALS 230 Footprints of the Creator, by Miller. ETM Erase Paya ae, te clip ctat, Sitials! We ote, wici'e, wee Forsss, Pror. J. D., scientific wri- ter, Vili 22. >. See i eteig sale etl 5 259 Forp, Joun, dramatist, i....:...... 375 Forp, RIcHARD, traveller, Wil .c02 B40 ENGLISH LITERATURE tee 391 PAGE. Foreign Memories, by Mrs. Oli- PRAM IVIL, boas Ways sy ee be 63 Forest Minstrel, by W. and M. How- ~ SUGNELE AT Yt a a Seat, ee eth tee oes 207 ForrEscug, Str JOHN, prose writer,i 110 Fortunatus; or, the Wishing-cap, i.. 353 FORTUNE, ’ ROBERT, botanist. ang travellers extract; vili...2.%... 925. 635 ForstER, JOHN, biographer, viii. 76 ForsyTH, JOSEPH, IL Ae sea). She ae, et 14 For8yTH, WILLIAM, Viii..t 32.5... 51 FosBRookE, Rev. T. D., antiquary, alee the Sia ie eNO pas stating Bee eine 887 Fossil Pine Tree, the, by Hugh Der VO st « bce oe sae ee owe tO 302 Fossils of the South Downs, Viii..... 287 Fostrer, DR. JAMES, theologian, iv.. 338 Foster, REV. JOBN, Vi...0. 22. ees 35 Four-Georges, by Thacker ray, Vil.... 262 Fourfold State, Boston’s, iii......... 32 Fox, CHARLES JAMES, politician, vi. 253 Fox, C. J., Memorials cf, viii....... 50 KOs GRORGHS Tis. Sse ee pte 4. Fox, Joan ; Book of Martyrs, i..... 392 Fox and Pitt, characters of, from BESTT ST ood Voc vt eet lee eee Lene 363 France, Lectures on, by elt tone vili 61 France, the South of, by A: B. Reach, WAL Se ook us aes aoe oe as Ne eS eed oe 294 FRANCILLON, R., novelist, vii. eal Francis I. and the Emperor Charles V., characters of, by Robertson, iv 305 FRANCIS, SIR PHILIP, iv..... 2.0... 362 Frankenstein, by Mrs. Shelley ; ex- PHAGE VE eee ese ees varee on are 169 FRANKLIN, BEN JAMIN, TV ke ateel B91 FRANKLIN. Sir JOHN, Arctic travel- Lape Vils: Oo CoAVNA ae Macon ce eg ean 350 FRASER, JAMES BAILLIE, a8 novel- ist,-vi; 221 3 as traveller, Vil..-.... °6 Fraser’s Mag azine commenced, Vili. 176 Frederick the Great, by Carlyle 5 ex- LTHET PVE ea oc ein as Nabe salamat 397 Freebooter Life, by Peacock, vi..... 244 ph de wae Epwarp A., historian, Pe eae SPE ORR Sa RD rm bates POLS 44 French Revolution, by Carlyle; ex- EPACTRSA olarak ead wil Pee saath owe ats 393. FRERE, JOHN HooKHAM, poet, v.... 218 Friar Bacon and Friar Bungay, i.... 279 Friar of Orders Gray, iv.....:..+226. 146 Friend, the, edited by Coleridge, v.. 15) Friends in Council, by Sir A. ‘Helps, Vib s sy reccie nas ieee wear e cram tetas 249 Friendship, DYtPOUONS ws. te peewee. 304 Froissart. translation of ; extracts, i.. 132 Frost at Midnight, by Coleridge. v... 164. FROUDE, JAMES ANTHONY, histo- TIN? CXtLAGUM SI VIII go's teem ces. ore os FRrowoy, RicHarp H., Tractarian, Wat yiil ee ee ee ee) ~~ 2s a PAGE! Fugitive Verses. by Joanna Baillic, v 366 FULLER, Dr. THomas, historian ; BXCVACTS) 1155 oo ck na viens he tea orste agen 361 Fuller, Thomas, Life of, vili......... 97 ~FULLERTON, LADY GEO., novelist,vii 285 Funeral Ceremony at Rome, vii..... 1s Fnuneral of the Great Duke, by Ten- WVSOD,WVllwc vas. > peateagtet ieee ee 121 Funeral of the Lovers in.‘ Rimini,’ v. 322 Funeral, the, play by Steele, Hi...... 272 Gaberlunzie Man, the, i.:..5:..2.05 €£51¢8 GaeliGsBards, 2 ones. csispino te eee 4 Gaelic Poetry, ¥ragments of, transla- ted by Macpherson, iv............ Gaffer Gray, by Thomas Holcroft, vi 101 GAIMAR, GEOPFREY, 1......¥..2 200. 10 GAIRDNER, J AMES, editor, vi......-. 264 GALL, RICHARD, song-writer, Viswcey 404 GALT. JOHN, nov: list, Vid ounces 192 Gambling in ’the Last Century, Vill... 44 GAMBOLD, JOHN, poet, iv........... Gamester, the, by, dward Moore,iv 17 Gammer Gurton’s Needle, by J. EST otis Oe fetes te nic ee eee 260 Gardener’s Daughter, the, by T NY SON 37 EXtrACct, Val. oa we ceweleetales +114 GARDINER. S, R., historian, viii.. 3) GARRICK. Davin, dramatist, iv..... + 229 Garrick, Death and Character Of; vi. 337 GARTH, SIR SAMUEL, poet, iii...... 203 GASCOIGNE, GEORGE, poet, i. ee Sas) GASKELL, Mrs., novelist ; extracts, WAL Ae Se os nw v'ne on aie ou oe Re Maen 286 GAUDEN, JOHN; theologian, ii.. 358 Gay, JOHN, poet, ot ee esate Scars £12 Gee) SypnEy Howarp, historian, Pee i ee ee ee ra Gebir, by W.S8. Landor; extract, v. 181 GEIKIE, ARCHIBALD, geologist, Vili, 315 GEIKIE, JAMES, geologist, Viii...... 316 GELL, Stir WILLIAM, traveller, vii... 14 Genevieve, by Coleridge; extract, Vv. ’ Gentle Shepherd, the; extracts, ili.. Gentleman’s Magazine, the, iv...... see aphical Grammar, by Guthrie, Ps eae a 6 SO EO ine 5-4 lal Bede ee © Ge ography, Modern, by Pinkerton.vi Geologist, Hint to, by Murchison,viii 290 Geology, Elementary, by Dr. E ALCOCK IS 2r5 wets os wis oa 288 Geology, Principles of; and ‘Ele- ments of, by Sir C. Lyell; ex- TEACHES a see aca. Set te args cee 285 Geology and Mineralogy, by Dr. Buckland, alt rcmemnce: Gea ata 284 Geology compared to History, by Sir WaAV CLL Villa Sis 3 ware Sc cketere acs Bets 285 George II., Memoirs of, by Lord Hervey ; ’ extract, iv. 290 ; by H. WHR DONG, “EVs os Se ae dg ety nee se eas a0 OF = c : ke AGE. : * George IV., Memoirs of the Court: af, <4 by the Duke of Buckingham, viii. 50 George Barnwell, by Lillo, iji........ 261° “Se Georgics, the, translated by Sotheby, : Venn cln ede 8 SOE See +. 20D 2 Se German Dramas, the, vi Mat eeaase « OS a German Poetry, a survey of, v....... 388 ~~ Germanic Races in Europe, Influence Loe of, by Rev. W. Stubbs, viii.....-.. ee Gertrude of Wyoming ; extracts, v.. 225, Mee. Giaour, the, by Lord Byron; extract,V O26": aang GIBEON, Epwarkb, historian, iv..... 308. Gibbon, Memoir of, by Lord Shef- __ ? field, svi. 2; 1: Fes tes pp ea Gee 219. = GIFFoRD, Rey. RICHARD, poet, ivi. “Ans ae GIFFORD, WILLIAM, poet, V.....--+- $95.0 saan Gift,. the, by Mrs. Augusta Web- =a ster, Viliccl..-~ .s Uy teea ee reas Balen “178 a GinBEeRT, Mrs. (Ann Taylor), v..... 353 Pp: GILBERT. W.S., dramatist, vii...... 201 == GIDAS; HIStOTION, Ic. cee rip ose aes 4 ia Gilderoy, a ballad, lithe toe Le8 te GILDON, CHARLES, minor poet, if... 192 GILFILLAN, Rev. GEoRGH; extracts, eth: WAL Seid ease vs sweat pee ee ee 215 5 GILFILLAN, ROBERT, song-writer, vi_ 53 is GILLIES, Dr. Joun, historian, vi-... 2°39 = “4 Gilpin, John, by Cowper, ii......... 25-4 Gitpin, Rey. WiLx1AM, naturalist, wu Vis k 8. scae bag cle cane eee eee Ginevra, from Rogers’s ‘Italy,’ v.... 118 24 Ginx’s Baby, by Edward J enkins, Vii 342 a Gipsies, from ‘ Tales’ by Crabbe, Ves 100Ssh =o GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS, historian, i 11 Glaciers of the Alps, by ‘Tyndall, ¥ vill 314 ~ Gladiator, the, by Lord Byron, v.... 251 GLADSTONE, Hon, W. H., vii........ 8 GLAPTHORNE, HENRY, dramatist, i. 368 x GLASscocK, CAPTAIN, novelist, vii.. £0T : GurIG, Rev. G. R., novelist and his- POTIAN, - Vile sie deve ae a eee ee - 303 GLEN, WILLIAM, song-writer, Wik eet ABN ie Glenarvon, by Lady C. Lamb, Vi..... 298 5 a Glencoe, Valley of, by Macaulay, vil Bee Ser Gloomy Winter’s Noo Awa’, vi...... 11 — Glossarium Archeologicum, Diener teas 25 GLOUCESTER, ROBERT OF, metrical eae chronicler;-1i cee 4. eee eee 15 8 GLOVER, RICHARD, as poet, ‘iv (wagien AAR ee Glow-worm, the, by Clare, v - 527 a Godin History, by Chevalier “Bun- SCN, ~ Vit. sok vse) ewes ee nen sie ee - 860 God’s Acre, by Longfellow, vii.....- 93 F Godiva, by Tennyson ; extract, vii.. 116_ GoDWIN, WILLIAM, as dramatist, vi. on = novelist, vi. 1383; as histo- Godwin, Life of, by C. Kegan Paul, ee WULL 2 s..'2 ae 06S tate cotenasnmy RO ietatleie area : Goethe, Life of, by G. H. Lewes, viii 61 “a Goethe at Weimar, by G. Ticknor,vii 3°4 ~ GOLDSMITH, OLIVER, as poet. iv. 127: _ _as essayist, iv. 238; as novelist, iv. 223 Goldsmith, Life of ; extract, viii ... 77 Gondibert, by Sir Win. Davenant, 11,123 Good Words, Fil = Se eee 166 Goons, Rev. WILLIAM, theologian, Vil fs a an ae ee . 134 Good-night, and Joy be wi’ Ye a, vi. 18 Goodwin Sands and Tenderden Stec- ple, by Bishop Latimer. i.......... 126 Gorboduc, or Ferrex and Porrex, i.. 26i Gordian Knot, the: extract, vii..... 199 GoRE, Mrs., novelist, vii.......... . 210 ~ Gosson, SrEPHEN, prose-writer, i... 405 -» Gotz von. Berlichingen, trans., viii... 62 a 4 4 y "GRANT, JAMES, Novelist, vii.....-... Goueu, RicHARD, “antiquary, Vig ge ~ GOWER, WOES POUL. sic s tea bie 5 ae GRAFTON, RICHARD, chronicler, ii.. 27 Graham of Claverhouse, Life of, viii. 52 GRAHAME, REy. JAMES, poet, iii. 90 GRAINGER. Dr. JAmEs, poct, iv. 84 Grammont, Memoires du Comte, i 342 Granby, by T..H. Lister ;. extract, vi 2:7 Grand Question Debated, the, by JOUUtHAN SWift. Ml... . 6 oat awe ne 123 Grandiloquent Writing. by Landor, v 187 Granger’s Biog. Hist. ‘of England, iv 307 GRANT, J. ey African traveller ; ex-. tract, vili es GRANT, Marra M., novelist, vii..... GRANT, Mrs. ANNE. poet; extracts,y Grant, RoBERT, astronomer, viii... Grasmere, by Gray, iv.....--....... Grasshopper and the Gricket, .V.....e : Grateful Servant. the, by Shirley, i.. é nia aa THOMAS COLLEY, novel- ee ee ee ee ee ee) eiitve of Anna, by Gifford, ti Graves of a Household, v........... seer eee _ Graves of the English Seamen in ia a < Polar Regions, by Osborn, viii. GRAY, DAVID, poet; specimens, vii. GRAY, THOMAS spoet ; extracts, iv.. Great Britain, His tory of, by Dr. Robert Henry, iv. 306; by Mac- rye PAVE OUT by gril Vili. 98; paler ae viii. Greece, Ancient Literature and Lap- pa of, by W. Mure, viii. 7; by Miller and Dr. Deacons Hoavts History of, by W. Mitford. vi. gate; by Slee, vi. 252; by Thirl- : -INDEX.} = —~ ENGLISH LITERATURE, 393 PAGE. PAGE. Going Out and Coming In, by Isa wall, viii. 1; by Finlay, viii. 7; by PERI ACTON, Vib cae sa orale Toews 172 Schmitz, Gin este ns Greece, History of the War of Inde- pendence in, by Keightley, viii. 74 Greece, Mythology ¢ of, by Keightley, viil. 5 GREEN, ‘JOHN “Re “historian : ; OxX- trac ts, Vide so. cateiany Sea eee eee me oe 41 GREEN, MATTHEW. poet; exiracts, iii 381 GREENE, ROBERT, dramatist, Testes es 216 Greenland, by Montgomery ; ex- LIOR OR ren. cath ome Ae ofan tte ae 310 Greenland Missionaries, by Cowper,v. 12 GREG, W. RATHBONE; extracts, Vili 247 Grenville }’ apersy thes vill... 2% 50 GRESWELL, REY. EDWARD; extracts, Syn ES Roe speseaens STE a) 119 GREVILLE, CHARLES C. F.; “extracts, URL Arent cts ated Regn ach. cob ater ae: aes 99 GRIFFIN, GERALD, novelist, vi...... 234 GRIMOALD, NICHOLAS, poet, if 72 Groat’s Worth of Wit. by Greene, i i.. 280 Grongar Hill, by John Dyer; ex- STG, IDE cb aaa Sta ark eons, bias rae dae 387 GrRosaRt, REy. ALEXANDER, editor, WA esate ease a te ee oe 2 a ee 375 GROSE, FRANCIS, antiquary, vi...... 3438 GROTE, GEORGE, historian ; extracts, MALE toe OES ee teartacraaee hoe aeeen ea 2 Grote, George, Memoir of, viii....... 4 Grub Street Journal, iv ............. 406 Gryll Grange, by Peacock ; extract,vi 246 Guardian, the, commenced, pb eae 139 Guesses at Truth, Vill. 22. aes sss 2 L 2a Guinea, Adventures of a, iv. ....... 280 Gull’s Hornbook, by Dekker, ii. 42 Gulliver’s Travels; extracts, hii. Bee of . 34d GURWOOD. Linu. -Cou.. historian, vi 276 T Gustavus Vasa, by Brooke, iv....... 21 GuTuriz, Rey. THomas, theolo- giun ;extracts, vili...... a's Oe sia 162 GUTHRIE. WILLIAM, historian, iv... 307 Gutzlaft's Chingy Vail-.5.. f<¢ toes ee wiee « 324 REITYOL WaT Wicks Wess cstc ew aaieee els ae 16 Hapineton,. W., poet; extracts, ii. 86 Habits and Instincts of Animals, by SSSI Lig to ate pact, gohan eee eiataca oat 158 Hafiz, a song of, by Sir W. Jones, v.. 5 Haidee, from Byron, View autortane 2 Haines. Lory, historian, iv......... Hajji Baba, by 9 Morier ; extract, vi 220 HakLuyt, RICHARD; Collection’ of WOVAMES Shy 3 a2 temca Metals phe mea F.5 31 Hauxz, Str MATTHEW; extracts, iii. 63 HALES. 2) OFLN; AIVITGs ERS a Nose tires 348 HALIBURTON, THOs. C., misc. wri- iad LOY AV ike tte ieee cnie aiis eos cieAl wraarope ae HALIFAX. MARQUIS OF, politician. ii 399 Hat, CAPTAIN BasIt, traveller, vii 28 Hau, EpwARD, chronicler, i....... 174 Fe half od ; 5 s Oe OT Piatt as a a Rie ~ Peat my - < > > ee i 394 CYCLOPADIA OF [GENERAL PAGE. PAGE. ~ HALL, JOSEPH, Brsnor : } specimens HAYLEY, WILLIAM, as poet, v. 28 ; ~ ia Of hIBDPOREy aks Lice gin ooops ne 461 as biographer, vil.....3.2... Lee fe 280. Hay, Mrs. S. C., novelist, vil... ... 214 | HAYWARD, ABRAHAM, essayist, vili, 235 ©.» Hau. Ruv. Ropert, theologian, vi. 302 | HaywarpD SiR JOHN, prose-writer,ii 27 . HALLAM, HENRY, historian, vic... 256 | Haziirt, WILLIAM, critic, Viv. . . 854 HALLECK, FITZGREENE, poet. vil.... 19 | HAziitT, W. Carew, editor, vill... 3:4 ~ Halleck, Life and Letters of, vii..... Halloa, My Fancy ; extract, ii-...... HALYBURTON, THOMAS, theologian, JED chy 'aca satan spin drain 1S Bie pee Wisse oar wle atalm alle Hame, Hame. Hame, vi HAMILTON, ELIZABETH, novelist, vi HAMILTON, SIR W.. pants Ba seats ee ey viii Hamilton, Sir W., Memoirs of, viii. HAMILTON, THOMAS, novelist, vi. HAMILTON, WiLLIAM, poet; ex- Uy Shh A ee te Pgh Pept ae Ps Hamlet, Character of. by Hazlitt, vi.. HAMMOND, JAMES, poet, iv HAMPDEN, DR. R. V.. theoiogian, Vili Hampden, Jobn, Memoirs OL pvt. Handlyng Synne, i ee ee ee ee a Hannah, “by Miss Mulock ; extract,vii & ae JAMES, novelist ; extracts, Hannibal, Character of, by Dr. Ar- nold, vii HARDWICK, CHARLES.theologian, Vili Harpy, THomaAs, novelist, vii...... Hardykuute, by Lady E. Wardlaw, iii HARE, AUGUSTUS C., Hare, Aucustus W.., theologian, viii HARE, JULIUS C.. theologian, vili. Hare with Many Friends, the, by OV TTLL Seeks apne chetiow a scacinke te ates HARLAN, J., historian. viii HARRINGTON, JAMES, prose writer, ii HARRINGTON, JOHN. poet, i HARRINGTON, Sin JOHN, poet, i.... HARRIS, JAMES, philologist, iv Harris, Masor W. C., “traveller, viil HARRIS, WILLIAM. biogr apher, iv... Harris, WILLtAM. chronicler, ii.... HARTE, FRANCIS BRET, as poet, vii. 479; as novelist; extracts, vii Hartleian Theory, the, iv eee PR. DAVID, psychologist, ee ee ee ee eee eee weeee ed vee ee © wae). © 6 sare, 6 66 6 0 ore) 6 oe Aavest by R. Bloomfield, v.:...... Hassan, the Camel- -driver, by Co!- WHET, Se aioe peices ee ME ee Hastings, Battle of, by Palgrave, vii eer the Dane; extract, i vill CC i ee ed viii eee Sees Ean Serer seee voaseceece ees Haypon, B. R., Autobiography of, il 26 Vil ws cceseve seetecsee orev eee oe Wills cot eee wae 1 265 . 268 . 212 oe 356 194 119 HEAD, Str GeorGE and Srr FRAN- cis Bond, travellers; extracts, viii 178 : Heads of the People, by Jerrold, vii. 193 = Heart of Midlothian ; extract, vi.... 189 ~ — Heat as a Mode of Motion, by 1 : Calvi. ei ous F. reateeees Pea a | Huser. Dr. REGINALD, poet, tak: 294-7 8 Hebrew Bible, by Dr. Kennicot, iv.. 326 Hebrew Race, the, by B. Disraeli, vii 237 HEDDERWICK, J., poet; extracts.vii 63 ~~ liedge-sciioolmaster, by Lady Mor- ia Pans Viol. Ls Pe eee see 167 a Heir of Redclyffe, by C. M. Yonge, VL) ys ee eee 292: es Helen, by Maria Edgeworth, vi.... ee j Helen of Kirkconnel, by J. Mayne,y vi 1 Helga, by Herbert ; extract, Visicncies i a HEwes, ‘Srr_ A.; essayist ; extracts, + Vilisdi cons ate ose Saas es 5239 | HeEMANS, Mrs., poet; extracts, Vows. 343° + Henrietta Temple, by B. Disraeli, iii 231 ~ bi Henry II., Reign of, by Lyttelton, iv 306 Henry VIIL, Reign of; by Herbert,ii- 316 ~~ Henry VIII.; Markets and Wages in the Reign of, by-Fronde, vili..:... 25 Henry VUI.. Portrait of, by Froude, esi Vill. 5 7 PS CRA as pee ee cab? a> Henry, Dr. ROBERT, historian, iv.. 306 © a HENRY, MATTHEW, commentator, iii. 31 HERAUD, JOHN ABRAMAM, poet, vii 42> HERBERT, GEORGE. poet; extract, ii ‘0 - HERBERT, HON. WILLIAM, poet, Vv; . HERBERT, LorpD EDWARD, histo- “ia Tan. 1.26 2.5 en ee, ee rE 315 - HERBERT, SIR THOMAS, mise. wri- ter, iii 5D Herd’s collection of Scotch SOpem, iv 199 © 0 00 = a ww ww 0 ts 0s 06s © 0 Oe Oe 6 9 6 Hermes, Harris’s; extract, TW ts oad Hermit, the. by Beattie, 1Vna sae 183 Hermit, the, by Parnell. Vine (208 — Hero and Leander, by Marlowe, i... 213 HERRICK, ROBERT, poet; extracts.ii 114: Herschel, Caroline, Memoir of, viii.. 255 HERSCHEL, SIR JOHN, astronomer 3 extracts; Vili 2.9 eee eee Pee a ist | Hervey, Lorn. historian, iv........ 289 HERVEY, REV. JAMES, iv..... mie 328 * HERVEY, T'HOMAS KIBBLE, fetes vii 60 Hesiod, translated by Cooke, iii. .... a Hester Kirten. by Mrs. Macquoid, vii 344 Hetty Sorrel, from ‘Adam Bede,’ vii 311 _ HEYLIN, PETER, historian; extracts, HEYWOOD, JOHN, i. Spethe ae ee HEYWoopD, ‘THOMAS, dramatist, he oo» 398 ig . se *~ a ‘ 1 rn = cs! ‘ _. “INDEX. ] ENGLISH LITERATURE. 395 PAGE. PAGE. Hidden Life, by George MacDonale ; Homes of England, by Mrs. He- COM AUTEN BO Gs fe eds =a UR EBON « 5 nie tcka CaN akin eae g tiem Seer 346 Hierarchy of Angels. by He -ywood, i. 38si | Hondreth Good Points of Husband- Hieronimo, by Thomas yds ae yet 271 rie, by Thomas Tusser, i.......... 75 a tains below Stairs, by T'own- HONE, WILLDAM, VIL. ce.5 Soa April bay beta OSS POO Sa Ne een ee 230 Honest Whore, the, by Dekker, i.... 353 : nigh Street of Edinburgh, the, by Honeymoon, by J. Tobin; extract, vi 8&3 sat APRS IPA ORWELL Vi F% oo. eect jee ot 13 ; Hoop, THOMAS, poet ; extracts, Vii.. 48 os Highlaia Girl, to a, by Wordsworth, Hoox, Dr. JAMES, novelist, vi...... 212 Sig SSR SSE. a ee ee 142 FES. THEODORE EDWARD, novel- Highland Host, the, by Cleland, ii... 237 DRGAV i dons bos ee naa ee ee, we A 224 ‘Highlander, the, by Mrs. Grant; ex- Hook, eeodciee Edward, Life and tract, Victen e ee pists + % Cita isinie.o' de ett Bini 71 Remains OLA Vilas deleiextae so kl te 224 Highways and Byways, Vi.......+-.. 226 | Hooke. Natu., Roman historian. ivy 288 Hitt, Aaron, minor poet, iii. 198; HOOKER, JOHN, chronicler, ii.. Re au dramatists ties. 62.0.5 .. +05 eee 272 | Hooker, RicHarp, prose writer, ii, Hills 0’ Gallewn’, thei. eos e ztet 34 | Hops, THOoMAas, novelist, vi......... 200 ND, JOHN RussELL, astronomer, Horace. Imitations of, by Pope, iii.. 179 £ aA rete ong OU aE eee or Peer $63 | Horace in London, Parodies by Jas. Hind. and Panther, ii. 205; extract, ii 211 and Horace Smith ; specimens, v.. 231 Hinps. Dr. SAMUEL, theologian, viii 119 Horee Hellenice, by Blackie ; ex- Hindu Widow, Sacrifice of a. viii.... 321 TRACE AVE soe be ccth se Rea 76 a fic Hindustan, History of, by Orme, iv.. 307 | Hore Pauline, by Paley, vi. 296; HisLop, J AMES, song-writer, Vil gine ce, SOS COX WAC VI carer ean a ek Sis ee a 291 ‘History, Outlines of, by T. Keight- Hore Subsecivee, by Dr John Brown, We rs oe Nam, ae aD we Ne 14 WMT Uracee ake cas, at a's Icdiaralett taut pci Wt slste atte 244 = = History. Universal,.the, iv..c........ 307 | HornE, Dr. GEORGE, theologian, iv. 326 Hirescock, Dr. Epwarp, geolo- Horne, Dr. 'THomas H., theologian, ; Regt Rites in Skit cnatal se Se y's dose Bled 288 Nig). perks 7am nig pee ratte Ray GEA & --- 300 t2 > “HOADLY, DR = dramatist, ive... . 6... 28 | Horne, Richarp HENRY, poet, vil.. 110 . . Hoapty, Dr. B, theologian, iii..... 302. | HorsLey. DR. SAMUEL. Vl..:..--... 297 _ .. HoBBEs, THOMAS, philosopher ; ex- Hours of Idleness, by Lord Byron, v, 253 SSIS RS | ORS CES a gee ee ee 282 | House of Fame, by Chaucer, i........ 28 ; Hosnouse, Joun Cam. traveller, v vir 14 | House of Sleep, from the “ Faery ' Hoge. James, poet ; extracts, vi. 14 QiBen iso: peste a oa torte ties ee 69 = Hoggarty Diamond, the, vii......... . 954 | House of the Seven Gables, vii...... 293 = -- Hoheulinden, by Thos. Campbell, v. 228 | Household of a Christian, Vill. ...>.+. 138 f HoLcrort, ge a dramatist, Household Words, edited by ‘Dick- : Vi, 59; as novelist, Viv.....-..-.6- . 106 CHAS WIL so. terse Soon void ge eras Seem 252 Holinshed’s Ohronivics. PE Lehto ds 29 | Houses and Furniture in the Middle Houuanp, -Dr., traveller, vii.......-. 14 Ages, from Hallam’s ** Europe,” vi 268 HoLLanpb, Lorp, biographer, vi..... 280 Pedra H., EARL OF SURREY, — HOLLAND. SIR RICHARD. mere seve” 84: POC, AR. 5S Godlee de re See ones 6 Holland-tide, by Gerald Griffin, vi... 285 | How ard, John, Life of, viii........... 73 . Holly Tree. the, by Southey, v...... 179 | Howse, Joun, theologian, iii........ 20 HoLMeEs, OLIVER WENDELL, poet HoweELL, JAS.,. misc. writer; ex- e PURMOLCSSSYVISt. Vil. 2... 54. ve cles ees 88 tPACtB yA A Radio ae oe tance oemte eka nar &O _ Holy and Profane States, by Fuller,ii 363 | Howrrt, W. and Mary; extracts; viii 207 - = “Holy Grail. by Tennyson, Vilistien ise 122, Howson, DEANS. Vill jorwce ce tet eee 136 Home, by Montgomery, v........... 314°] Huc, M., traveller; extract, vill..... 32° Home, JouNn, dramatist, iv.......... 221 Hudibras ; extracts, 1 Mek ete Stn a0 te Home among the Mountains, by Hugh Trevor, by 1, Holcroft, Vita LF 6 DIST Oke css Whar t Ns) es utes Sie 5 Hg 340 | HuauEs, JoHN, essayist, iii......... 283 Homely Similes. by Burke, iv.. ... 379 | Huanes, THomas, novelist, vii...... 221 Homer, translations of, by Hobbes, Hulsean Lectures, vili.......-----..- 137 ii. 282; by Pope, iii. 174; by Tick- Human Life, by 8. Rogers, v. 113; ell, iii. 221 ; by Southey, vy. 200 ; by ORUPACLON ce ete Sareea se ee vig Come WT ~ W. Cullent Bryant, vii. 85; by J. Human Understanding, by Hume, iv 339 iinet BIAGKIC, ‘Vil. :.g2o ose c+ 5 175 |‘Humanity of the Age, by Trollope. vii 326 Homeric Poems, Unity of, by W. Humble Pleasures, by R: Bloomfield,vy 1 2 aes Mere fas Waiess v.fvin< 4-6 Aa 7 | Hume, ALEXANDER, poet, i.......+. 7 es - * ~*\; SREY » 396 CYCLOPAZDIA OF _.- ~ . [GENERAL PAGE. PAGE. Hume, Davin, philosopher; ex- Immortality of the Soul, Opinion of ELAS y FV 5 5 BF aks « Cane ou Peepers 339 the Ancient Philosophers concern- Hume, David, Life of, by Burton, iv. ing, from Gibbon, iv........./.... 314 BOAT: VIR Sci Sea cSt staot S8 a wieieee tne In Memoriam, by Tennyson; ex Hume, DAvip, oF GODSCROFT, his- fract,-vit.c Sees eee oe eee 4119 =~ LOLPAN AVI ls vote Scissor ae ee eens 52 | In the Downhill of Life, v........... 500 Hume, Mary C., poet, vii........... 170 | Inca, the, his Visit to Pizarro, by Humming-bird, the, by Audubon, vi 357 Humphry Clinker, by Smollett, iv... 262 HUNNIS, WILLIAM, poet, i..... .... 72 Hunt, J. Letau, poet and essayist, v 319 HUNTER, MRs., poet; specimens, v. 68 Hunting on a Great Scale, by Living- BEONC: Wills. capes whee oe ea eae oe be 263 HUNTINGDON, HENRY OF, historian,i 11 ee i HurcuHinson, Lucy--her Memoirs, ili 127 HuxueEy, THomAs H., naturalist ; ex- TH CUSMNT ics fae s cela e pale Jie, ore Hydriotaphia, by Sir Thos. Browne, BBE Re a elytra 2 mss Hymn of the Hebrew Maid, from BOE VETINOG, View ost oui gathaele et ae bees 249 Hymn on Chamonni, by Coleridge, v 161 Hymn on the Nativity, by Milton, li. 153 Hymn to Pan. from ** Endymion,” v 290 Hymns for Infant Minds, by J, and AT LEAVIOMSM: «2 cis ns dope odes ieee Hyperion. by Keats ; "extract, v...... Hyperion, by Longfellow, vii........ 91 Hyppolitus and his Age, by Bunsen, WEL sais cro ae see alee oy Sen ae 35 I’d be a Butterfly, by Bayly, v....... 379 Idler, the. by Dr. S. Johnson, iv..... 237 Idylls of the King, by Tennyson; ex- UPA CTS VAL se ot oS th ee ee ee liad, translations of, by Chapman, i. 350; by Pope, iii. 175; by TicKell, lil. 221; by Macpherson, iv. 88; by Sotheby, v. 200: by W. Cullen Bry- 122 Sere cee reerecces 5 C on ke: © 4 \ ve) ror) ies) —_—_—_—$—<$—$—$<$_$—$—<——$——_ ———— LLL Inchbald, Mrs., life, irom C. Kegan- Paul’s “‘ Life_ of Godwin,”-villice ess sone ot doe Indestructibility of Mind,by Davy, MUP Gg eo os nce 541. oe te ee India, Diary im, by Russell, viii...... India,’ Five Years in, by H, G. Fane, India and Afghanistan, Memoirs of, by J *Harlany vill nike aces ome “y, Indicator; the. V. ts: .2c0 ee ee : Indifference of the World; by Thack- CTA YS Vil nce ib ere eee 263 Induction, the, by Lord Buckhurst, i 147 376 ‘Inductive Sciences, History of, by Whewell;: viii>.2) Says kre age 260 INGELOW, JEAN, poet; specimens,vii 171 Ineuts, H. D., traveller, vii........ i=) Ingoldsby Legends, the, vii.......... 204 INGULPH, historian, i.........2++ ee Inheritance, the, by S. E. ¥errier, vi. 213 INNES, Cosmo, historian, viii........ 48 innocents Abroad, by Mark Twain, tere EE file ee 242 Inquiry, Freedom of, by Tyndall, viii 314 Inquiry into the Human Mind, by Dr.gfhomas: Relays ope ee 348 Inquiry into the Relation of Cause and Effect, by Dr. IT. Brown, vi... 322. . Inspiration of Scripture, by Hinds,viii 12) ~ Instauration of the Sciences, ii...... 8 Intellectual Development of Europe, VIAL sxe vie eae Cer Be. See 317 Intellectual Powers, by Reid, iv..... 348 Interpretation of Scripture, the, by —~ Jowett, vili-.5. 2... Sai Siarwneeeeees eee 159 Intimations of Immortality, by / Wordsworth, ‘v.:..: Sieeeeewe eas « 135° Invocetion to Birds, by Procter, v... 351° Ton, by Talfourd ; scenes from, vii.. 185 ~ Jona, Reflections on Landing at, from JOHNSON; AV... kha ee eal aw ie ae freland, History of, by Dr. Warner, iv. 8307; by Dr. Leland, iv.......... 307 - Ireland, Past and Present, by J. W. Croker 3 extract, vili..:.. iv Nee 196 Ireland, Sketches of, by the Rev. ; Cesar Otway, vi..... SEROUS a ae 234. Treland, Tour through, by Inglis, vii. 30 IRELAND, SAMUEL, bookseller, vi... 335 10 — _ INDEX.J) ENGLISH LITERATURE, 397 sae = PAGE. PAGE, ~ TRELAND, WILLIAM Henry, (Shaks- J es FRANCIS, Critic 3 extracts, ere ON aN tces oon... Sets “SBO- I. VE Boas > sare Fuge cs B3 sieve ve be Ccuid devek 71 Trish Landlord ana Scotch Agent, oy J Bieiabadi Defence of, by Sale, viii.. 31 Rete, SHO SOW OFbO Vie nic ee ek a aces JENKINS. EDWARD, novelist, vii.... 342 - Trish Postilion, by M. Edgeworth, vi 164 Jenny dang the Weaver, by Sir A. ~~ Trish Sketch -boox, by Michael An- SE BOS W Clie Visa sice pete eek eo ta 12 gelo Titmarsh (T raised g Seke ENC cAC TIE. since tis iu elk woos «aw wie 255 _ Trish Songs, by Thomas Moore ; BNGciMiens, Vis icec sok on ames 207 - Trish Village, picture, by “Carleton, vi 239 Iron, its History and Manufacture, _ _ by Sir W. Fairbairn, viii.......... _ Irving, Rev. Ed., theologian, Life of, viii. 67; Sketch of, by Gilfillan, viii 216 Irvine, WASHINGTON, historian SAMI AIO VEMISES NL o.oo cicces evo e Sane 359 “Irving’s Lives ‘of the Scottish Poets, vi 29.) a Irvingites, BEGU OL. Villas ttc. 6 2 eels oe 68 Isabella, by Southerne ; scenes from, yl et Se ele he eee ee 44. Isle of Palms, by Professor Wilson, v 339 Italian, the, by Mrs. Radcliffe; ex- PATACE, Vie. neon ew Siew ee wees 13 rN i CUICLEM Sic DEW one Ay 3a 263 Ttalian aoe by Samuel Rogers, v... 120 Italy, Beckford’s ; extract, vii....... 5 oid Italy, by Dickens ; extract, VIN re ais a £61 Italy, by Lady Morean, vi. 166 ; vii. 16 3 Italy, by Samuel Rogers ; extracts, v 120 BeMteAY. OA SOLNCDS sy. Vinw,s- awe ss ow tie 200 Italy, Recollections of, by Macfar- ETS LTE. Ci cs tania Saisie ss igus o's os Wien sys _ Itinerarium Curiosum, by Stukeley, Thi on, SAA ea eee 45 Itinerary, the, by John Leland, i.... 129 MenEVEDAGE-¢-EXtTHets, i Vio ons 5 se e eo 184 _ Ivry, song. by T. B. Macaulay, vii. 72 - Jack Cade’s Insurrection, by Fabian.i 115 Jack Sheppard, by W. H. Ainsworth, Jago, REV. R1cHARD, poet. iv....... JAMES I., King of England (VI. of Scotland) ; ; as prose-writer, ii .... James I., Memoirs of the Court of,’ by Lucy Aikin, viii _ James I. of Scotland, as poet, i. ~ James Il.. History of the Reign ‘of, by Charles J. Fox, vi.-.. ........ JAMES, G. P. R., novelist, vii..... ar ONT _ JAMESON, ee misc. writer ; ex- ce (i CN 4 10 Dea ne ee 183 Jane Er, By Ch. Bronté; extracts, ae ia Vitale sin Sa po cee cte ss ‘7 SS Shore, by Rowe, scene from, iii 248 ' — Jealous Wife, the, by Colman, iv.... 223 _ Jeanie Deans and Queen Caroline, vi 189 . Jeanie Morrison, by W. Motherwell, Crewe smowmerrerereeereeroe oo Jenny’s Bawbee, by Sir A. Boswell, Nab! oA ee oe ie ae Rie ee ae oa JERROLD, Douatas. dramatist, vii.. 1£3 Jerrold, Douglas, Life of. vii 1 Jerusalem before the Siege, by Mil- MELDING Views Wee wcities EWS sienlesy tec p 356 Jew, the, play by Cumberland, vi.... 104 Jew of Malta, the, by Marlowe, ix 286 Jewish and Christian Churches, ‘by NEW INED FVIT ccc rch oe ob ie ws 0' 105 Jews, History of, by Milman, v. 356 ; VAD Noes eee ANE Pee owes Ae wee EE + 8s ove 16 JEWSBURY, GERALDINE, novelist, vii 293 Joun of Arc, by Southey ; extract, v 171 - Joan of Arc, by Thomas De Quin- COM, Wes, case vias ahigs types wat 195 JOCELYN. LORD, traveller, Viil....... 325 Jockey’s Intelligencer, the, Lig eee 134 John Bull, History of, by Arbuthnot; extracts, LED Gee o cre Pe Wena ae satay 359 John Gilpin, by Cowper, v.......--. 25 John Halifax, by Miss Mulock ; ex- tract, vii 8 JOHNSON, Dr. SAMUEL, as poet, iv. a ee ae a ee ey HAD. HOG SC pe W El te het 1 Viera tei aascld pip ob BY Johnson Samuel, LL.D., Life of, by ds AOS WEIS Vio re core esis sia siehin'e coe 278 Jounston, Dr, ARTHUR, Latin POC t places toe sows aes oGiste Lense 256 JOUNSTONE, CHARLES, noye! list, iva. 20 JOHNSTONE, MRs., vi. eon ere ey Oa Jolly Beggars. the. by Burns, v 394 JONES, Rey. R. ., political economist, hy ee te, La ieee pa oe 330 JONES, SiR WILLIAM, scholar and DOCESY see age ne yee een ele JONSON, BEN; extracts, 1. 319; AV ABKAs alike Ske aaa ws OI WE arte cate 322 JORTIN, DR. JOHN, theologian, iv.. 326 Joseph ‘Andrews, by rielding, iv... 255 Journey to the Western Isles, by Dr. Johnson, iv. 119; extract, iv.. 360 JOWETT, REv. B., theologian, viii... 158 | Judge and the Victim, from Mrs. Inchbald’s “* Nature and Art, i’ eer 81) Judith, Anglo-Saxon poem, 1 4 Julia ° Roubigné, by H. Macken- zie 284 J alian, Araceae: by Miss Mitford, vi. 241 Jumping Frog , the, by Mark Twain, VELL ois noe teste tee ne eee mire alexi 242 Junius and Sir Philip Francis; ex. tracts from Junius, iv............. 3 Jupiter, is it inhabited ? by Brews- ter, vili a ee ee ee ee | ee ee * | 398 : PAGE. Kaleidoscope invented by Brewster, WAM ARES esha ck yeas MEP Motos 274 Kames, Lory, philosopher, iv...... 349 Kate Kearney, song by Lady Mor- PANG Vw nn os te gsi oeaton Kale aioe a Semie 165 KAVANAGH. JULIA, novelist, vii...> 285 KAYE, Sir JoHN W.., historian, viii. sae Oe KEATS, AOHN; “DOCS Vn 50h pe es . 285 Keats. Life and Remains of, Vii. ee ats KEBLE, Rev. JOHN, as poet, v. 380 ; as theologian, Vili.......0......04. 101 KEIGHTLEY, THOMAS, historian, viii 14 KELLY, Hueu, dramatist, IVE eae tere 223 KEN, THOMAS, BISHOP, -hymn-wri- GELS V1; eile es er ee ee ee KENNEDY, R. i, historian, vili.... 31 KENNEDY, WALTER, poet,1......... 163 Kennedy’s, W., Voyage of the sf Prince. Albert; «Ville. — conGs oes 350 KeEnnicotT, Dr.—his Hebrew Bible,iv 326 KENT, CHARLES, poet, Vli.......-..% 145 KEPPEL, Hon. G., traveller, vii:..-. 24 KER, REY. JOHN, theol.; extracts,vili 173 ‘Keswick, Description of the Vale of, Ys Drs (BLOWN 5 Nios «ines fslaes-o nes 394 Khubla Khan, by Coleridge; .ex- STACK) Vseo erat s ek sents el nes te ee 155 Kickleburys. the, on the Rhine, vii.. 258 Kipp, Dr. JOHN, Vili... ........02- 158 Kilmeny, by Hoge; extracts, vi..... 17 King Cophetua and the Beggar Maid.i 104 KING, Dr. HENRY, poet 5 extracts, ii 78 Kine, Epwarp, antiquary, iv....... 45 KING, EDWARD, historian, vii.. . 35 King’s Own, the, by Marryat ; " ex- APR OCH VN te ra Cos core wee a eee 267 King's "Quhair, the, by James I,i... Ti KINGLAKE, ALEXANDER W., histo- TAN ex rACtS AVilhes sy ose eee 61 GSE, REv. CHARLES; extracts, Ree a aeace or DA Rae Si eee ye ee “2 6 einer REv. W., theologian, viii... 1 8 Kitten, the, by Jo. Baillie; extract, ‘vy 866 Kitto, Dr. JOHN. theologian, Vili. Knife-grinder, by Canning. Viewsoce > 4T KNIGHT, CHARLES. publisher, Vill. KnieHt, HENRY GALLY, poet, v. Knight’s Cyclopedia of Biogr aphy,vi 1 290 Knight’s Quarterly Magazine, Vill, ..° 235 KNOLLES, RicHs/ RD, historian, ii.. 21: KNOWLES, HERBERT, poet, v.......% ~ 800 KNOWLES, JAMES SHERIDAN, dram- atist, vi...... A re oe A LL) Knox, JOHN, divine, ii........--.«- 50 Knox, John, Life of, by Dr. M’Crie,vi 285 Knox, WILLIAM, poet, Y chay cv ehh BED Koran, translated by George Sale, iv £07 _Kotzeue’s plays, translated, vi .. .: 47 Krnitzner, or the German’s Tale, by eULICO, “Viste nents SE be als greeter 108 CYCLOPAIDIA OF , eT a M ae tir sew SARS eee » pds, ity Sear . “7 mes, , aT Are ee ¥ ; Z ee vi te Ss = a a at re ent is = tb” Ss 2 - f ; ~y a e + PAGE, Kuzzilbash, the, a Tale of Khorasan, by J. B. Fraser ; extracts, vi...... 222 © Kyp, THomAs, dramatist, phir See pees Lady Anne Bothwell’s Lament, ii.... 259 — Lady Audley’s Secret, by Miss Brad- | COD: Ve 5 stelees arontnwecNe pene 310 = een Lady Bell, by Saran Tytler, vii...... 841 Lady of the Lake, by Scott; extract,v 249 Lady’s Chamber in the 13th Century, ; by *Maturin, vie fooced ce eee eae (aie Lafayette, Life of, by _G. Ticknor, Vii 364 LAIDLAW, WILLIAM, song-writer, vi 35 LaInG, MaLcoum, historian, vi...... 262 — LAING, SAMUEL, travelier 5 extracts, Ja VHT cas eee Se ee ee ee ex- ae TEAC, desc Via op a ectea ee eater 123 mente Latin Lan euage, spread of the, by Ber M. Miiller, Vil YS oc At eee + 31 Latterday Pamphlets, by Carlyle, vii. 894° Laud, Character of, by Masson, vili.. 79 ~ LAUDER. SIR THOMAS Dick, novel-. pt ist and miscellaneous w ay. Lt ete | | ihe LAURENCE, DR., satirist, V.......... ag 4 ed ” “y J — INDEX.) - Le Bas, Rev. C. Wess, theologian, 30 th. Lewis, MatTrHew GREGORY, as poet, v. 229;.a8 dramatist, vi. él; as PUSS TR pote Dips I a a ee 139 ~ LEw1s, Sin GEORGE CoRNEWALL, _ miscellaneous writer. Vil.......... 403 TEYDEN. JOHN; Poet, V..+.2.------- 81. Liberal English Churchmen, by ‘Tul- LoL anit At Se eee ee al Liberty, by John Stuart Mill, viii 270 Lxecry, Witiram E. H., philoso- SR a eee ee ASO ia 6 Winx 's: ohare iy d.« al e.8 06 391 Lee, NATHANIEL, dramatist, ii..... 262 Lzs, Sopra and HARRIET, vi...... 103 LELAND, JOHN, antiquary,1.-...... 129 LELAND, JOHN. theologian. iv....... 338 ENGLISH. LITERATURE 399 Seb see ~ PAGE. Law, BisHop, theologian, EV gin o\e sae Life in the Sick-room, by Martinean, Law. REv. W., theologian, TVie eon ey NANT boc Payets o Nea Shela cists Win, swan OE G eo the Todd, or the Settler s, by Galt, Light of Nature Pursued, by Tucker, iS aiieta lb Wie nel li se Ae bw 0 0 ole. dco 8 ° , tay of the Last Minstrel; extracts, v. 243 MEI ols oy. cnn o's oe Swed s 11 Layarp, AUSTEN HEN RY, traveller, Lays of Ancient Rome; extracts, vii. Lays of the Scot. Cavaliers; extracts, vii ke ee a ee ee ee ee vi Leader, the, newspaper, ‘Vii Leaders of the Reformation, by Tul- loch, viii i ee ey pher, viii Ler. Houmez (Harriet Parr), novelist, i ee ey Lereu Ton, RoBERT, ARCHBISHOP, i ii 381 Leighton, Archbishop. character of, ii 336 Leland’s. Dr.. History of Ireland, iv. 308 LEMON. MARK, dramatist and editor, PLES e wis, s eiakelankis os 198 LENNOx. Mrs. Cu , misc. writer, iv.. 39) Be erer ere sete Leo X.. Life of. by W. Roscoe, vi... 261 Leonidas, by Glover; extract, iv.... 148 LesLi£E, CHARLES, theologian, iii. 70> LESLIE, JOHN. Bisuop, historian, li 59 ri Pa Sir JOHN, scientific writer, Peete ete yin. wats sews. sa wikin bb ye eX, 250 LEstm ance, Sir RoeEeR; extracts, TL Maes lod) rave vis, ajar << aves so 0 12170138 tiers, by Pope; exfracts, iii....... 351 Lever, OARLES JAMES, novelist,vii 278 Leviathan, the, by Hobbes, ii. 6 Lewes, G. H., novelist and biog. ili 59 Lewesdon Hill. by W. Crowe; extr.,V 59 Liberty and Necessity, by Hobbes, ii. 283 Library, the. by George Crabbe, v.... 97 Library of Entertaining Kuowledge, > Re cee Ba ey eer 36 Lippon, Rey. H. P., theologian, viii 155 Life, the Mystery of, by Gambold, iv 197 Life and Liberty in America, by (oe 55S a Sea aaa Life Drama, a, by Alex. Smith, vii... 338 97 | 13) Lights and Shadows of Irish Life. vi 210 Lights and Shadows of Scottish Life, by Professor Wilson ; extract, vi. 208 LILLo, WILLIAM, dramatist,dii....5 21 Hily, the, by Mreé.. Tighe, yo. }.: 2.8) 73 Limits of Government Interference, DY.0 se WM Willa corm aakeite wen ane 271 Linpsay, LorD, traveller, viii......: 320 Lindsays, Lives ‘Of the, “Viti «oo. F.2 52 Lines written in a lonely Burying Ground, by John Wilson, v....... 3 LINGARD, DR. JOHN, historian, vi... 258 Linne, the. Heir of, #2. 0.827.003.0755. 104. Linton, Mrs, ELIZ LYNN, novel- ABEVILe ote Here ta Pega oie a oa nk © Sete 299 Lister, THomas Henry, novelist,vi 227 Literary Advertisement, by Moore, v 206 Literature, Curiosities of, by Isaac D'Israeli, vi.......-.. 81 Literature of Europe, by H. ‘Hallam, aR PR pe EE BD, eae gel OA Sede a 269 Liracow, WILLIAM, travelier, ii .. 36 Lrrrie. THomaAs (Thos. Moore), v.. 204 Lives of Eminent Sea Seulp- tors, and Architects, by A. Cun- TWO AI Wl sog c eect connie vee nso hele 22 Lives of the Poets, by Dr. 8S. John- ROMS, BVacs sot aur ews ere See ee 119, 860 LIVINGSTONE, DaviD, traveller; ex- * ECAC VA ole pads atietect rite t sales 360 Livingstone, Last Journals of, viii... 368 Livingstone and Stanl:y, the Meeting of, We: Ditty laste sey cataaca aes 366 Livy, translated by John Bellenden ji 143 Luoyp, ROBERT? DOStMI ease eres. 103 Loon, Caprain G. G., traveller. viii. 325 Lochaber No More, by Allan Ram- BOW liline ph taiate a dealessuate deco Wri aces wil ae aoT 239 Lochiel’s Warning, by Campbell, v.. 221 Lochleven, poem, by Michael Bruce, ; TVR T arene DS hia Quake gery ie smite sion Saree. Bie 69 Lochnagar and Byron, by Gilfillan, VIEL setae tp eopeletsighe iano tain wibte pan ramunetss 2 LocxE, Joun, philosopher, iii. 32; OXEEA CLS, SDD yee at cgo re bene asi iene = oes 83 | Locker, FREDERIC, lyric writer; vii 174 LocKH Ant, JOHN Greson, as novel- ist, vi. 204; as bi osrapher, Vii =. 53 Lock# ant, LAWRENCE W. M. .» NOYV- PICs min 25 eg RDN: pole OB be apne Se 8 Locksley Hall, by Tennyson, iil... aes: LOCKYER, J. NoRMAN, astronomer, Wil libre de wg eke ceabeint lee Mit acare te kanes 274 Locomotive, on the, by Stephenson, WAL cs ore are ee erate o.o 7 oistais ttre Wyeteimre lS, « 282 LovGE. THOMAS, as poet, i. 2:0; as dramatist, 1....006, ee. Aporete velbe 0 MOS 400 LOGAN, JOHN, poet, IV.........-.+.- 162 Logan 'Braes, by John Mayne, vi. .. 4 Logic, A Systein of, by J. S. Mill, viii 270 Logis, by Professor PoaiT, Villa os ce 282 pow Elements of, by Dr. Whately, CeO Mee pmo oeecves COS s ice So ee wan sb Pontias and Mont Bianc, from Dr. Arnold's: Letters, Vill..’:. 2.22 as 0s e London Encyclopeedia, vii....... Pe Sect Ree: London Gazette, iii......-.0...- 2. see od. London in Autumn, by H. Luttrell, v 317 LONDONDERRY, MARQUIS OF, trav- CUED SsVIIE Se scons oe wee og tee otton ecare 380 LoneFELLow, H. W., poet; speci- WIONS. Vil, Jes cand soley pus caletne 7.6 Lord Gregory, ballads eee ae 58 Lorenzi de’ Medici. by Roscoe, vi.... 261 Lorna Doone, by Blackmore, vii.... 341 Lot of Thousands, by Mrs. Hunter, ‘y 70 Lotos-eaters, the, by ‘Tennyson, pas- ; a sage from, Wi Le ws jas eee os Stent Lousiad, the, by Dr. John Wolcot, v 51 Love, by COle?id@e, Vina kus et ae aay 163 Love, from Pollok’s “Course of ISON Pon Sate Sates o «ak sto Picton « Love, from Southey’s ** Thalaba,” v. Love, Hope, and Patience in Educa- tion, by Coleridge, v Love-4-la-Mode, by Macklin, iy. Love for Love, scenes from, ili oe Love in a Village, by Bickerstaff, iv.. 23 Love of Country, from the “Lay of the Last Minstrel,” v. Love’s Mistress, by Heywood,i... . 175 ee er ary LOVELACE, RICHARD, poet; extr, ii. 95° Loven, SAMUEL, poet and "novelist, Bs ARES ee Ney ree ie Lea Ohare 0 aes fete alte alee 280 _ Lover’s Melancholy, the, by Ford ; rd hats (oA Gen gl re re ein | ace 378 Lovers’ Vows, Kotzebue’s, translated by Mrs. Inchbald, vi....0.5....6.7 58 Toies of the Angels, the, by Moore,v 210 “Loves of the Plants, the, by Dr. E, DAEW IN (eR TPACi anv. sree sy ase. 31 Loves of the Poets, by Mrs. Jame- BOTS VU! gre wll Sip hae e eitins emen o hk 185, LOWE, JOHN, poet, IV 55.,..63..556 Waabe 208 Lowi, J.’ R., poet; extracts, vii.. 151 ~ Lowtn, Dr. WILLIAM, theologian,i iii 302 325 LowrTu, ROBERT, BISHOP, iv........ Luslaba Lakes, explored by Cam- GCPROIS VTLL rot ae react ootias A PE ae om 369 -Imcan’s' Pharsalia, translated by ES EE A OR eS Oe pet teed Ate 315 Lucasta, by Lovelace, ii. .c........0. 96 Lucian’s Dialogues, trans., ii........ 240 Luck of Roaring Camp, by Bret Harte, passage from, Vii........... 1¢9 Lucy's I'ittin’, by Wm. Laidlaw, vi.. 35 Luggie, the, by Davia Gray, Vii...... : 100 Lusiad, Camoen’s ; extract, i aeeee 187 CYCLOPADIA OF | Lute, Ode toa, Sir Thos. Wyatt, 1* 1) re PAcr. ~~ Luther, Martin, from_ Robertson’s sha «by story of Charles V.,’"ivz.. i... 300 Luther’s Satan, by Prof. Masson; viii 81 LUTTRELL, HENRY, poet ; extracts, V SLy oy Luxuries of the Spanish Caliphs, by ot Draper; Vili, a eeeae ne ee eee 318: : TRxUry; Effects of, by David Hume, Sa - a, 9 ob pr ey Sock NPR ee eae Aas at Be ivcihast by Milton ; extract, ii...... 169 Lyckpenny, the London, i ean Sy stee G2 +e LYDGATE, JOHN, poet, 1.:.-....5..0 61 eee LYELL. Sir CHARLES, geologist, viii 284 ~ “i Lying Valet, the, by Garrick, iv..... 23) ey LYLY, JoHN, as dramatist, i, 264; as = PrOSe .WYiher, Lb: Tote gee ee 403 pet Lyndhurst, Life of, by Campbell, viii 71 = Lynpsay, Sir Davin, poet, i, nm Seanditea rae 98 Se Lyndsay, Life of Sir David, vi..:.... 253 = Lyndsay, Sir David, editions of his Works by George Chalmers; by David. Laing, iis. ere seteee see 99 Lyon, CAPTAIN, traveller, Ab lege ier Mag a Lyrical Ballads, by A ordsworth, v.. 125 LYTE, REv. Henry FRANCIS, poet ; specimens; Vii... 10. ioc ses senereee LyTTLETON. GEORGE, LORD, poet $ : OXtracts;- lil: 2. Geshe ete aoa mae Lyttleton Fabrication, the, by ‘Wil- liam Combe; specimen of, vi..... ; Lyttleton. Lord. Memoir and Corres- pondence of, by R. Phillimore, iv.. LYTTON, Lorp E. R. (nom-de-plume Owen Meredith), poet, vii 340 MACARTNEY, Lorp. traveller, vii.... 1 Macaunay, Mrs, CATHERINE, iy... MACAULAY, THOMAS BABINGTON, as poet, vii. 65; as historian; ex- ~ Tracts; Vils-o.: vice eee ieee ae Macaulay, T. B., Life of, vil...... tei M’CarTHY, D. F., translator, Vil Aa ie M’CLURE, CAPTAIN R., Discoverer of the North-west-Passage, Vili.... 850 M’CRIE, DR. THOMAS, Vi.......... 52, coor M’Cuuuocn, J. Ramsay, economist, bee ee asta POU MacDonatxp, GEORGE, novelist ex- : tracts; Vilo stars .. B04 MACFARLAN® vil, Mac-Flecknoe, by Dryden ; extr., ji. 212° > MaAcKAY, ALEXANDER, traveller, viii 338 Mackay, Dr. CHARLES, as poet, vii. 1053 as traveller, vill...0... 0... 338 MACKENZIE, HENRY, novelist, iv... 283 MACKENZIE, SIR GEORGE, philoso- phet; extracts, Dee male ae eee 106 MACKINTOSH, Sir JAMES, as histo- rian; extracts, vi. 254; as theolo- gian, Vi....... eeceotreeeoeeereeeeseeee ee Pei se - i INDEX .] ENGLISH LITERATURE 401 7 = PAGE. PAGE. MACKLIN, CHARLES, dramatist, iv... 23) | Manners, Lorp Joun, poet, vii..... 105 MACLAGAN, ALEXANDER, poet, vii.. 180 | Manners and Customs of the An- MACLAREN, CHARLES, journalist and cient Egyptians, by Wilkinson, vii. 357 As peace Tn) Ee Sea ce sare ae 304 | Manners and Customs of the Modern ENNAN, MALCOLM, novelist, viii, ~47 Egyptians, by Lane, viii........... 2385 MacLeoD, REv. NORMAN; extrs.,viili 165 | MANNING, Miss ANNE, novelist, vii.. 300 MACNEILL, HECTOR, poet, Mis cdeniase Saye! Carta Rey. H. L., metaphysician, Pep ereON,. 10.5 M1)... ttaveller, — +] Vili 2 oon. 6 Seo oh ceca meee ce ye recs 269 SOM ee i leis ei pos en by zo niven bs 325 Mansfeld Park, by Jane Austen, vi.. 156 MACPHERSON, JAMES, poet and Mansie Wauch, by D. M. Moir, vii.. 53 MEP EPTABIE LOL AN ©. ds cie oar iiine Siri inidiosbie oR 87 | Mant, DR. RICHARD, theologian, vi 302 ~ Macquoin, Mrs. C. §., novelist, vii. 340.| ManTE.., Dr. G. A., . paleontologist ’ MADDEN, DR. R. R., traveller, vii. Qt VIRIAL ics ciate Sok ce Se eo ere 28T Madonna, Picture of, by Mrs. Jame- MARCET, MRs., political economist RGM@erb Ltn) 2 c2), seksi vsittiacte oes oe wae oa 184 Vlog saree et pis siege Pee eS ee Nee 329 Meeviad, the, by W. Gifford, v....... 42] Marco Bozzaris, vii .. ..........565 80 Maggie Lauder, by Francis Sempill, Mariam, by Lady Eliz. Carew, ii..... 83 “OE SRR Se SE eg ears 230.] Marie Antoinette, by Burke, iv...... 384 Maggie Lauder, by Tennant, vi...... 31 | Marinda Bruce, portrait of, by ’ MAGINN, WILLIAM, Vili..... Seige ze 175 SUINOLYS LVe5) wane cincn Peis «ss sie iesne 389 Mauony, Rey. Francis (Father Mariners of England, Ye, v........ sea Prout), magazine writer, vili .. .. 176 |MarK TwaIN (nom-de-plume of Maid Marian, by Peacock ; extr., vi. £45 Samuel Langhorne Clemens) Vili... ¥e Maid’s Lament, by W. 8. Landor, v. 182 | MARKHAM, C. R., traveller, vili..... é Maid’s Metamorphoses, by Lyly, i 265 | Marlborough, Duke of, Memoirs of, Maid’s Tragedy, by Beaumont and by Alison, Wiloestustioy eebin sae cake 346 MORE EE INS acutains ch Oa cee ee ss 339 MaR.Low#, CHRISTOPHER—his po- Maitland fea caer: BHC Silo pte sles 103 etry, i. 212; extracts from his plays,i a MAITUAND, S1R RicHARD, poet, i... #45 | Marmion; extracts, Weel ates om ane ee Malcolm, by George MacDonald ; eX- Marriage, by S. E. Ferrier: extr., vi 1g DE CERIAN Piliog ci dhacis fs 6 bia er ets wie em ain 06 | Marrow of Modern Divinity, Ti). 32 MALCOLM, SIR okN, traveller, vii. 25 | MARRYAT, CAPT., novelist ; extr.,vii 204 - MALLET, Davip, as poet, iv. 34 ; as Marryat, Life and Letters of, vii.... 207 PARMA Sty 1VLes Macwets os oe vs 2S) cece 217 | MARRYAT, FLORENCE, novelist, vii. 341 MaLMsBuRY, EARL oF, Diaries and Mars, DR. HERBERT, theologian, vi 301 Correspondence of, vili........... . 50] Marsu, Mrs. ANNE, novelist, vii..., 284 MALMSBURY, Wini1AM OF, i......... 10 | Marston, JOHN, as poet, i. 207 : as MALONE, EDMUND, Vi.............. SEG OLAMGtISt, Bade Moscst pee we 3 tates 362 Manory, Sin THomAs, poet, i..... . 112 | Marston, Ww ESTLAND, dramatist, vii 201 Matty, DR. EDWARD, theologian, Mantin, M., traveller, ifi............ 335 Re Re ate nie tanr vce oa be = lola kce ao MARTIN, ‘THEODORE, ‘poet, nips ag epee 74 Mautuus, Rey. T. R., economist,vi 828 | Martin Chuzzlewit, vili....... S20 “es coi the, from Prof. R. Ow en, MARTINEAU, HARRIET; extracts, vili 198 Phe: Vy DE RE StS Een err, 294 MARTINEAU, Rervy. JAMES, theolo- afi, Antiquity of, by Lyell, viii..... 285 PIA? BxUACUS: VOU 5. < oce ceo tse et 160 Man, his Frame, - his Duty, and his Martins of Cro’ Martin; extract, vii. 279 © Expectations, by Dr. Hartley, iv.. 344 | Martinus Scriblerus, Mice 355 ‘Man of Feeling. by Henry Macken- Martyrdom of St. Paul, “by” ‘Cony- Bee PIO ROR UCACTS IY: ocine sc weve nce tcy o'9d 984 ORT ORS V IIT < & <. Sterzte Sat cccaett oesale alton aiae 130 Man of the World, by Henry Mack~- Martyrs, Fox’s Book of. 1. etces. 392 TE VACA ST) RS ai ne ee ce 984 | MARVELL, ANDREW, poet ; ag li. 179 Man of the World, by Macklin, i iv... 230 | Mary Barton; extract, vii. Price oo MANDEVILLE, BERNARD DE} ex- Mary in Heaven, by Burns, Wa ots 403 ER ORS ety cis terego.2. gees ts bdivieic od sat 80 | Mary Morison, by Burns, ili......... 402 MANDEVILLE, Sir JOBN, traveller ;- Mary of Castle-Cary, by H. Mac- CAGh EY GC ES Oe Sas ig a ae sore. 64 oF Sas AER ph Sk eu Pe a 3 _- Manfred, by Lord Byron; extr., v... 263 | Mary, Queen of Scots, by Tytler, iv.. 306 Mankind, Physical History of, by J. Mary. Queen of Scots, Character of, C. Pricha» a RULE chass atet~ bei ecl o's) s ape 2€5 by ‘Robertson, 1¥..\. wuletws 300 Maney, DE La Riviere, MRs., Mary, Queen of Scots, Death of, - ee ea WISTS Ter scares cue . 383! from Froude’s History, viii...... reat Memorials of his Time, by Lord Cockburn ; extract, viil........ cen” 19k Dairy, ‘Vill Toto aes 8 Oe oe + 30) 263 Miuman, Rev. H. Hart, as poet, v. 355; as theologian, Viii............ > 7 N Cpt eae nes a $i a ate f a & - i aes , t 402 CYCLOPADIA OF [GENERAL PAGE. PAGE. Mary’s Dream, by John Lowe, iv..., 209 | Memorie of the Someryiles, ooted by f Mask, the Memorable, j.........4... 333... Sir Walter-Scott, vill,..2.i..2...2. / Masks, Court, of the 1th Cent.. i... 331 | Memories, by Mrs. H. B. Stowe; Mason, W1LLIAM, as poet, iv. 152; ECX{LACt VIL Pec sos sete aie eens 297 hee Qs GPAaMAtst;1Viis 0 Jom: ake se aged 218 | Men of Genius, by Carlyle, vii...... 390 3 MassEy, GERALD, poet, Vil......... 99 | Men of Genius Resolute Workers, by . Massey, W., historian; extract, viii 43 | G.. Hs ewes, ‘vities so. cae wees ta e MASSINGER, PHILIP, dramatist, i.... 369 | MENNES or MENNIS; Sir Jomn, ii... 92 i MAsson, CHARLES, traveller, vili.... 322 | Menu, Ordinances of, translated by 7 Masson, Davin, biog.; extracts viii. 79 Sir William Jones, il.....-....25, Mathematical Lear ning, Usefulness Mercurius Politicus, edited by March- of, by Arbuthnot; extract, ili..... 362 mont Needham, ili... 3). 2Sse 133 Mathematics, on, by Sir W Hamil- MEREDITH, OWEN, nom-de-plume of LOHM VU eo: Soyo Sete Ceo eee 267 Lord:Lyttony vil; ofce ieee ates 143 ~ Marner, Miss, novelist, vii..... .... 30 | MertvaLe, Rey. CHARLES, histo- ~ ae MatuEws, HENRY, traveller, Vilscs ae LO TIAN, “Vil. > stented nt cate ene .. 403 wi Marurias, THOMAS JAMES, poet, v.. 50 | Mermaid, the, by Leyden: extract,v. 85 2 pees by the ayes of Norman- MERRICK, JAMES, poet, iv.........: 86. : LY CSV letarcia he oo oe he km odes otra yer 227 Mesogonus, by ‘ Thos. Rychardes,’ i. 259 s Matter ana Spirit, by Dr. J. Priest- Messiah, the, by Pope, iin. ws ies . 182 REV SIV Se ee cloe's ckabcteeet ce cveauilerers 354 | METEYARD, E1iza, biographer, viii. m)l Matthew of Paris, 16 -.2..s.s se asans 11} Methinks it is good to,be here, v.... 300 Matthew of Westminister,i......... 11] Method, Treatise on, by Coleridge ; ¥ Mattiiews (Dibies Lo oak seen ste ote eee 137 extract; Vici. ... She Daan 165 Ps MATURIN, REV. CHARLES ROBERT, Metrical Romances, Origin of, i...>. 14 ~~ dramatist, vi. 72; as novelist, vi... 172 | Mexico, Conquest of, by Prescott, vil 347. Maud; by Tennyson, vii......2...... 121 | Mexico, Life in, by "Mine. Calderon, MauvuRic#, Rev. J. FRED. DENISON, Viiv Scone he cnet eats Gee eee «ev eves B86 WCOLO RIAN, VL to a Pew olan ie ee ene 133 | Mexico, Storming of, by Prescott, vii 348 : MAXWELL, W. HAMILTON, novelist, MIcHAEL ANGELO TirmMARsH(Thack- fas UBL. aie Salen oat psa rr Swan ears DE Neate 304.) efay), Vil-o. oe). ceees snes - 6 sabe vs eS May, Str T. Erskine. historian, viii 42 | Michaelis’s Introduction to the New ry . May, Tuomas, historian, ii... ..... 314 Testament; edited by Marsh, vi... 301. : May Morning at Ravenna, by Leigh MICKLE, WILLIAM J ULIUS, poet, iv. a 2 AUT Vise asters chante oie tt eintace Me aap 222 | Microcosm, the. periodical, v.......: Ps". May-eve, by John Cunningham, IV... 155 Microcosmography, by Harle ex- ess MAYNE, JASPER, dramatist, istic sas - 939 tract, 128 oe lee ee eee 5 i2”) MAYNE, JOHN, poet, Vi........--- 00 4 Microcosmns, the, by Nabbes, i wea be OOD “Gi Mechanics, Treatise on, by Whe- | Microsmus, by Peter Heylin, iii...... 65° r Weld, VIEL t.e o aeetens ere capers 260 | Middlemarch, ae George Eliot, vii... 313 mse Mechanism of the Heavens, by Mrs. MIDDLETON, DR. CoNYERS, as biog- a Mary Somerville, viii —.......... 258 rapher, iv. 289; as theologian, iv... 325 Medals, Essay on, by Pinkerton, vi.. 263 | MippLETON, 'T’ HOMAS, dramatist, i.. 859 ‘o Medals of Creation, by Mantell, vill. £83 Midnight Scene in Rome, from By- .. Meditations, Hervey’ ByVal 328 TODS Vin. cog 2nps eee eae tama . 253 ie Melmoth the Wanderer, by Maturin, MILL, JAMES, as “historian, vi. O77 ; : -: WL Eee Sees a eee tibet y he a eh aN nae Somes 173 as psychologist, vi. 3243 as polit- fe MELMOTH, WiLLIAM (nom-de-plume ical economist, vi.>.......% 3.9 a HitZOSDOlNe)s lV ese n ea eee nk 393 Miers JOHN STUART, ‘es : s Melrose Abbey. by Scott, v.......... 244 |) VT Se Se ee ee ee .s O0: ex # cs MELVIL, SiR JAMES, his Memoirs ; Mill, Jobe Stear 272 V9 BXUPROLS, Msn t an oe Pee ners 56 Mill on the Floss; extract, vii... San 214 4 MBLVILL, Rev. HENRY, theologian ; MILLER, HueH, ceologist: extrs..viii 295 re ex (ractaasl 24 ee ers ee . 122 | Miller, Hugh, ‘Life of. by Peter aS. eee Andrew, Life of, by WCrie, Bayne; also in ‘Golden Lives,’ » i wa nate eis UA Vodice Pea - phe SENSO by Henry | A. Page, vili.... 2.3.2.4, 303 ry) 1! eee HERMAN, traveller, vili,. 221 | MiituER, T'HOoMAS, misc. writer, viii. 182 Memorials of a Quiet Hifegevil stan: 125 | Mills and Mill-w ork, by Sir W. Fair- Sf ore ca ba A S INDEX. ] PAGE. -'MILyzs, RICHARD MONCETON, LORD HOUGHTON, poet; extracts, vii.... 77 MILTON, JOHN, as poet, ii. 153 ; as BVT Wl. i cs ke sic cle cee 273 Milton, from Landor, v.............. 187 Milton, Life of, by Keightley, viii. 16; by Prof. Masson, SOIR galcfeinih ccs ; Mind, Indestructibility of, by: Sir H. Davy, TEA Gq ahe een eee ER 253 Mind ators Matter, by Ker, Willd sins bie 174 Mind and Body; the Theories on their Relation, by Frof. Bain, viii. Minerva Press Novels, vi............ _ Minister’s Wooing, tie, by Mrs. HOWE S) OXUMICUSS Viles.co. cts se ccecs 299 Munot, LAWRENCE, i....-........... 18 Minstrel, the, by Beattie; extracts, iv 178 Minstrel, the Aged, by Sir W Scott,v 243 - Minstrelsy, Ancient and Modern, by < * Mirrour for Magistrates, the, i ENMOLDEEWON, Vic nace: Sot eteace ‘Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, v. 237 Minto, Wix.i4m, biographer and critic, viii 99, 249 WIFACIG PlAVS yd oss oni nee ne cares BAYS Miracles, on, by Dr. G. Campbell, iv. 347 Mirandola, by Bryan Wal.er Procter, (Barry, Cornwall) ; scene from, v 3495 vi Ce ee ee ey Pe ae a oe eC et ee 147 Misfortunes of Barney Boas a Vi. 238 eeseeee ~ Miss in her Teens, by Garrick, EV nec 2a Missionary Hymn, Dy Heber Vs. -= os 296 Mircouen.. THomAs, translator, v... 389 MITFORD, Mary RvUssELL, novelist, Be Se See a Oe . 241 Mitrorp, WILLIAM, historian, vi... 248 -Mitherless Bairn, the, by Thom, vii.. 178 Modern Painters, by Ruskin; ex- PRU S Lk VIN s crn vies's. asdc 5» «= see ee EMreuasurnied: Appearance and Char- acter of, by Gibbon, iv Morr, D. 'M. (Delta) ; specimens, vii 58 Molecular and Microscopic Science, by Mrs. Somerville, vill. : MoLeswortH, W.N., historian, viii 72 Mouachism, British, by Fosbrooke, er eda racine Ow te oleic com aic.e oie 388 er ey ‘Monarchy, on, from CON Yr, Ween’ Mouastery, the, WP ta: PAC esate 181 Monsoppo, LORD, iv.........---..- 403 Monk, the, by M. G. Lewis, v. 233 ; SOIT a pa cg ea 131 * Monmouth, Execution of, by Macau- WEREVEE Get ceee yous, ene aNe oar 8. = 2% . 380 MONMOUTH, GEOFFREY OF, i....... 10 MontTacu, CHARLES, poet, iii. 137 Montagu, Mrs., misc. writer, iv. 390 - Montaigne’s Essays, trans. by Cot- (COD, Heese eee eee reese ene eeene eens 191 ENGLISH LITERATURE 408 PAGE. Montalembert, Memoir of, viii...... 67 MoNnTGOMERY, ALEXANDER, poet, i. 245 MoNTGOMERY, JAMES, poet, V...... 30T MontTeomEry, Rev. R., poet; ex- LE AGU AN Ne, clo oic Da ieee Me eae eee 312 Monthly REVIEW, AVicen bo ceene tees - 406 Montrose, ee of, from Clar-' CNG S-HIstOrys iit cese oss s cs ences 325 Montrose, Marquis of, Memoirs of, shite eh Pee te a a pera teens f 52 Montrose. Marquis of, Verses by, ii.. 235 Moonlight Scene at Séa, by Moore, v 205 Moorcrort, W., Eastern traveller, Ville cn! ctcasnty Aepioss Soe aie Suet ams ae age 26 Moore, Dr. JOHN, novelist, vi...... 113 Moorek, EDWARD ; his fables, iv.... 17 Moore, Sir John, Burial of, v .. 297 as poet, v. 208 ; Pe Moore, T'HOMAS, as historian, vi 6 | Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy, 133 by Maurice, vili Moral fg Political Philosophy, by Paley, v 2 Moral Philécophy, Outlines ot by wee les e Peet e+ oaseen i i ce | Dugald Stewart, Vi.......-+++..-6. 320 Moral Plays, 1s ee ot eae ks 2538 Morals, European, fistory Of) Dyes BOCK Re MIRE Ss sc sc usettes de sotto len oh 30 eee the Principles of, by Hume, Moun. Dr. Henry, theologian ; ex- tracts, Ws Sen toon ete prs Li tisak ar = one 312 More, Mrs. HANNAH, misc., writer, : VL aie pate tro labs! cesctenne nad sregiieiwiareitie cuales 3 More, Mrs. Hannah, Life of, vi...... 335 More, Sir Tuomas, historian,i... 118 More Worlds than One, Vili.......... 274 MorGAn, AUGUSTUS DE, mathema- LiCtAir < EXIT ACtS,. Vill ts ees sees 280 Morgan, Lapy (Sydney Owenson) as novelist, vi. 165; as traveller,vii 16 MoRIER, JAMES, novelist, vi.... 218 Morey, HEenry, Pror., piog., viii. 99 MORLEY, JOHN, Di ographer, Me sss 98 MoRLEY, THE COUNTESS OF, Vi...... 229 Morris, WILLIAM, poet, vil........ 167 Morton. THOMAS, dramatist, lic e.t. 3S Mosaic Vision of Creation, by Hugh Miller. viii Moses, Divine Legation of ; extr., iv 322 Moses Concealed on the Nile, by Dr. EK. Darwin, v Moss. REy. 1, -» poet, iv MoTHERWELL, WM., song-writer, vi. MovLey, JOHN LOTHROP, hist., vii.. 366 Morpeux. PETER A., translator, iii. 132 MOULTRIE. REV. JOHN, poet, vil. 54 Mountain Bard, the, by Hogg, vi. 15 Mountain Children, by M Howitt, viii 210 Mountain Daisy, to a, by Burns, v... 399 Mupiz, Rowert, misc. writer, vi... 388 er er a) . ee ee ee 404 ® PAGE. MurIRHEAD, J. P., biog.; extrs., vili. 82 _ MULLER, FRIEDRICH M., philologist, ae 1 ; Wal coligis bo acces an tae actegen cee MULLER, K. O., historian, vili....:. 9 MuLock, D.M., novelist ; extrs., vii 317 Mummy, Address to GHEIGY...to ce eee 337 Munpay, ANTHONY, dramatist, i... 192 Munimenta Antiqua, by Ed. King, i iv 405. Munster Tales, by G. Griffin, vi..... 235 MURCHISON, SIR R. L., geologist, vili 288 Murchison, Sir Roderick L., Life of, by Geikie ; extracts, vili.......... 290 Murder as one of the Fine Arts, by De-Quincey ; extracts, Vill......... 195 Mure, WILLIAM, historian; ex- tracts, VU ys. hac Se eieg Ae eae 7 Murpny, ARTHUR, dramatist, iv. MuRRAY, Lizut. ALEx., traveller, VAL vo cpibis Actos Rea © egnle tana pee a 325 Mnsie’s2Duel, Strada’s, 1). owe nc occas 108 Mustapha, tragedy, by Mallet, iv.... 217 My ain Fireside, by E. Haiilton, vi. 164 My Brother’s Grave, by Moultrie, vil 55 My Circular Notes, by J. F. Camp- OLS “WATS (53g -cane 2 hse ater ite ee eC | My Novel, by Bulwer, vii... ........ 227 My only Jo and Dearie O, by Gall, v 405 My Schools and Schoolmasters, Vis. 499 My Sheep I neglected, I broke my Sheep-hook, by Sir G. Elliot, iv... 207 My ‘Time, O ye Muses, was happi ly spent, by Byrom, iv.........:-.... My eg of Nature, by Dr. Liddon, ee ee a | Vilin ic sri arn eree bike Manin nees aie erp ae Enotes NABBES, THOMAS, dramatist, i...... Nabob, the, by Susanna Blamire, v. NAIRNE, BARONESS, song-W riter, vi. 6 NapiER, MARK, biogr apher, Vili. 52 NAPIER, Sir Charles, Life of, vi..... 271 NAPIER, Sin_W. F. P., historian ; extract, vi bain Sy ase Paaves ciouetie seke ce om ee 4 BE eo: pie Arse OA, Meagan Gh Napiers, the. by H. Martineau, viii.. Napoleon at St. Helena, vili......... Napoleon Bonaparte, Life of, by Sir W.. Scott, vi.285; Character of, by De Channine, villsycc ow seaeiee 108 Narratives from Criminal Trials in Scofland. by J. H. Burton, viii.... 47 Nasu. C., historian, vili............. 31 Nasu, ‘'HOMAS, dramatist,i........ 274 Natural History of Enthusiasm, viii. 156 Watural Selection, First Conception of the Theory of, by Charles Dar- Wi Vlllcise bp beicttens ee joXhy acento ete dials 806 aa CYCLOPADIA OF : baa > NR Rac 2) - [onsenan ‘ - _ PAGE. Natural Theology, by Paley, vi......- 295 > Nature, Love of, by Cowper, v..%... 21 ~ Nature, scientific periodical, viii... » 264 Nature and ‘Art, by Mrs: Inchbald ; EXTracts Vie. sce cent ee Sees 120 ~ Nautical Almanac, vilis.2..0....... 1208 tae NEAVES, Lorp, song-writer, vil..... 1733 ar page MARCHMONT, journalist, & ng wate bee Ge gis Wares S en ee 133 ~ eit Servitude, by H. Mackenzie,iy 784 Negro Slavery, by Dr. Channing, viii 106 Neison, Life of, by Southey; piss bet vi 281 — Nemesis of Faith, by Froude, viii. 24. NENNIUsS, historian, 1. soe one tenes ee oe Netley Abbey. by Gray, 1Vowitieea coe by Mera New America, by W. H. Dixon; ex= tract; Viilsi2 23 See sR eohed Sou, 1a New Path Guide; extracts, iv....... 189. 4 New England and New York, Tray- oes els in, by Dr. T. Dwight, wi Res inger 302 New W: ay to pay Old Debts, Se eas Ee eC New Zealand, T Tarelst in, by Didtien oot Bach, evil -:. . sea eee eee ee aes 335i NEW CASTLE, “MARGARET, DucuEss * gs OF, DOCL 11 sss a5 nee eee 201 Newcomes, the ; extract, vil. ...2...._ 260 — NEWMAN, Dr. J. H., Tractarian, viii 10% ~ NEWMAN, Francis W., theologian, Sy Vili. SUS ee ee da Th olgseareele meas LOR: Fes Newspapers, rhe (5s {ieee 1323.4 NEWTON, BisHop, theologian, iv.>., 3:6 NE NEWTON, £1R ISA Ac, nat, philos, aaah “43 es Ngami, Discovery of, by Living- re stONE; “Vill. Sieve be chee es pete S62 a NicHoL, PRoF. JON, mise. writer, Will. | caste anon ee eee 263. NicHou, ProF. J. P., astronomer, viil 2685 =) NICHOLAS DE GUILDFORD, poet, i... 12- Nicholas Nickleby, by Dickens, vii. | 246 % NicHOoLs, JOHN, biographer, vi...... 885, NicuHorson, -W., the ‘ calowat a. Poel? Vi, ce “Se bs saeeaees Se ee 267 SAY NICOLL, ROBERT, song-write r; ‘Vi. "O37 ie Nicouson, Dr. W., antiquary, iii... 307. é Niebuhr’s Ballad Theory, by Sir G. C. + S Lewis, Viiv oi. ses ae ee eee 402 >. Night, by Montgomery, v..*......... 312 Night, Sonnet on, by. Blanco White,v 169 Night in the Desert, by Southey, v.. 173 Night-piece, on Death, by Parnell, 1 iii 268 = Night-side of Nature. vil......-..... "253 Jen Night Thoughts, by Yeung; extr., iii a & Nightingale, Ode to, by Keats, v Nile, the Source of, from Speke, viii. re Nile Tributaries of Abyssinia, by _ Sir-S. Ws Baker; Vike 22. gee ee 358 Nimroud, Appearance of, by Lay- - — ald, Vill... . c:wou ie earns 342 - OES Cases of Conscience Resolved, a y Robert Sanderson, ii........... $58 - Ninevel, by Layard ; extracts viii... 342 se : ENGLISH LITERATURE. 408 Shepherd, by Sir W. Raleigh, 1 213 Ce ee are. = PAGE. PAGE. No Cross, ‘No Crown, re Penn ; ex- | Old Scottish Town (Poshied), descrip- ; jog Te Ae a ES ae oer eae ra 10: tion of, by W. Chambers, viii...... L) Noblest Delight. by, Mark Twain.viii 243 | OLpys, W ILLIAM, antiquary. iv..... 1T = Nocturnal Reverie, iii............... 229 | OLIPHANT, MRs., as novelist, vii. “Norman Conquest, by Freeman ; ex- S20erextracte Wil ws. 0c. ee ib ele hulle ae 2 eles ae at eag Santee! 44 | Oliver Twist, by Dickens; extract. vii 245 NorMAnBy, MARQUIS OF, novelist, vi 227 | OPrE, Mrs. AMELIA, as poet ; .ex- Normandy, History of, by Palgrave, tracts. v.67; as novelist, vi....... . 246 oS SORES agar tr Sa eS Sa 861} Optics, by Sir Isaac Newton, il. .ss2240 Norman-French, introduction of, i. 10 | Orange : its cultivation, by Buller, Vili 334 _ Norris, REv. JOHN, The aS eee eae 319 | Orcadian Sketches, by Vedder; ex- North and South, by Mrs. Gaskell, vii 28; NpP SACI. Vib Sects atric yen. ee 178 North Briton, edited by Wilkes, iy.. Oriental Eclogues ; extracts, viii. 20 North-west Pass sage Expeditions, Vili 3 "0 OMEUtAL CTA VIL > Shc oes eats eae | 387 Norton, THE Hon. Mrs., poet and Origin of Species, by C. Darwin ; ex- fem TOVElists GXtracts; Vil-.:...... .> 56 HEACEA Vi cag oe x Or icine oe ee Pes gs Norton, THOMas. dramatist, i..... 261 | Orion, an Epic Poem, vii.....2...... BR _ Norway, by Laing ;_extracts, vili..... 332 | Orlando Furioso, by Robt. Greene, i. 278 -. Norway. Sweden. and Denmark, by Orlando Furioso, trans, by Rose, v.. 387 _~ _ HD. Inglis (Derwent Conway), vii 29 | Orlando Innamorato, trans. by Rose, Nosce Teipsum, by Davies; extr., i.. 198 1 Pee eee 9 Oe eats Sta yet oe ane! Says =NOtes ANG Queries, Vill... 2.0. oo. ce 239 | Orme’s History of British India. iv. 307 _ Nothing Human ever Dies, by Rey. Ornuigin, 1)... eee, Lovee oie 10 J. Martineau, * th ees fo Ae 160 | Orconoko, by Southerne; scenes Novum Organum, by Lord Bacon, ii. 10 PROMS AL to. here ol ok, 943 Nubian Revenge, by Warburton, viii. 189 | Orphan, the. by Otway ; extract, ii.. 261 Nut-Brown Maid, tiie, Late os ces . 107 | Orphan Boy’s Tale, by Mrs. Opie, v.. 68 r _ Nyassa, discovery of, by Livingstone Orphan Child, from ‘Jane Eyre,’ vii. 2:8 cry Sag ee LR SE ES eee 385 | OsRORN, Lieut, S., traveller; ex- ae Nymph’s Reply to the Passionate tract, WR aoe sis coon s ge neetas 351 | oO Nancy, wilt thou go with me? iv. 146 ous, by Macpherson ; specimens, Oberon of Wieland, by Sotheby, v... 200-)) iv... cee eee OccLEVE, THOMAS, poet, i-......... 60 Oiterbnra: Battle of, by R. White,viii 51 Ocean, Apostrophe to the, by Byron, _ OTWAY, REv. CRSAR, novelist, vi... 234 gE ee Re Cakes 262 OrTway, THomas, dramatist ; ex- “Oceana, by J. Harrington. ii... ... PODS TACIS AV, fe ts So Pel ye cea 257 ~ —O’Connor’s Child, by Campbell, v.... 223 | OUDNEY, Dr.. Afiican traveller, vii. 6 Ode to Eton College, by Gray, iv. 5 | * Ouida’ (Lonise de Ja Ramé), novel- _ - Ode to Independence, by Smollett,iv 72 PBI MGY pt Say Sag ers Seale ee 310 - Ode to the Departing Year, by Cole- Our Village, by M. R. Mitford, vi. 241 x LES S28) ON ope 8 Sea ae a ey el ege 14) | Ouseney, Str WILLIAM. traveller, ‘vii 25 Odyssey, translated by Chapman, i, Outlines of Astronomy, by Herschel, 3.2; by Pope, 1. 1763 by pomeny, VHT eee Sete i ae ees aes 255 ~-y. 200; by W. Cullen Bryant, vii.. 835} OuTRAM, GEORGE, lyric writer, Vii.._ 179 Oh, no! we-never mention Him, v... 379 | OVERBURY, Sin ‘THOMAS, prose Oh. why left] my Hame? vi........ 8h WTTEOTA EH forced} 0 ores noe tasers gre enare Steet . 44 pa aa ‘@KEEFE. JOHN, dramatist, vi....... 84} OWEN, DR. Joun, theologian, ii. 28 — Old and Young Courttier, the, ded? 5.854 OWEN, PROF. RICHARD, naturalist ~ Old Bachelor, scenes from, ili....... 258 and anatomist ; extracts, vill. a Ath ~ — Old English Baron, by Clara Reeve,iv 281 Owen, Prof. R., Memoir of, viii...... 292 he Old English Munor-honse, vi ....... 123 epee SypnEyY (Lady Morgan), Spies MOL Familiar Faces, by Lamb, v..... LOSE PVG Ree aie ents Oe Cee Wace. nea 165 Old Kensington, by Miss Thackeray; Owl and the Nightingale, i........-. 12 MOR AMtG. VI ce wee oak sie Who ns ae oe 839 | OXENFORD, Mr., dramatist, VI} ce NOL ~~ Old Man’s Wish, the, by Dr. W. Oxford Gazette started, iti.........-. 134 yk Seg le eee eta tide wae Wists 234 | OZELL, JOHN, translator, Weave rates cee Old Mortality, vi.. ea Re ea Wy 4 -. Old Red ‘Sandstone, the, “by Miller, Pacific Ocean, Discovery of, by Vas- i RV oer ice. catdics YUL. Ene oce Caer, ee eee a ee 166_— PALGRAVE, W. G., traveller; ex- Petican Island, the, by Montgomery, aa CPACTAS NTL A ec cuivg ceo cae ee eee 348 V. ocrtiseses sage et eee B12 s Palissy the Potter, Life of, vili....... 99 | Pen Owen, by Dr. James Hook, vi... - 212792 PALMER, WILLIAM, Tractarian, viii. 101 Pencilings by the Way, by Willis, vii 88 2 Pamela, by Richardson ; extracts, iv 245 | Pendennis, by Thackeray, vii........ 25f Pandosto, by Robert Greene, i...... 2.7 | Peninsular War, by Hamilton, vi.... 212 Parables, Expos. of, by Greswell, viii 120 | Peninsular War, by Napier; extr., vi Pits tee Paracelsus, by Robert Brow ning, vii. PENN, WILLIAM ; extracts, iii-.... a B51 2 Fextentts Wilsaa\ acuta ace 140 | Penn, Willian, Life of, vili--i2sa.8 ACUBE Oe Paradise Lost, by Milton, ii. 170; ex- PENNANT, THOMAS, zoologist, iv. mae ao 37: teh Re | MR SRORY Raat pr ies on Eb eee 160 | Pennitess Pilgrimage ; extract, it... 680 "eg Paradise of Dainty Devices, a mis- Penny Cyclopedia, vii........-. yh. 550 COMANY SIN. . ae. toned. See as 73, 199.] Penny Magazine, vii...........-.7%. 36-5 PARDOE, JULIA, novelist, vil....s... 284 Pentateuch ang the Elohistic Péalms, ESS Paris in 1815. by Croly ; extracts, v. 360 the, by Bishop Brown, viii. 148, Parish Register, the, by Crabbe; ex- PrEpys, SAMUEL—his Diary, ‘ieee 115° - tracts, eee . 105 PERCEVAL, ARTHUR, Tractarian, viii 101 _ i oe « dhe setse tse? PARK, ANDREW, poet, Vii.......-+-- PARK, MUNGO, traveller; extrs., Vil. 4 PARKS, B. RAYNER, poet; speci- a eo pe) ERE PORE AT Bee . 170 ~PARNELL, THOMAS, poet. iji........ 207 Parr, DR. SAMUEL, theologian, vi.. PARRY, SIR EDWARD. traveller, vi.. 20 Parson, the Country, by G Herbert.ii 71 Passages from the Diary of a Late Physician, by Samuel Warren, vii. 239 Passages of a Working Life, vili.... 236 Passionate Pilgrim, the, i ee 212 Passionate Shepherd to ‘his Love, iz. 213 Past and Present, by Carlyle, vii.... 393 Paston Letters, the; specimens, vi.. 264 Pastoral Ballad, by Ww. Shenstone, iv 31 Patchwork, by Capt ain Basil Hall, vil’ 29 Patient Grissell, by Chéttle, i... 2... 294 - PATLOCK, RoBeRrn, novelist, iv,..... 248 PATIIORU, COVENTRY, poet, yii..... PATRICK, SYMON BisHopP, iii........ 805 PAULDING, J. KIRKE, misc. writer,vi 3 PAYN, JAMES, novelist. Vii.......5.. PAYNE, JOHN HOWARD, dramatist,vi_ 74 PAYNTER, WILLIAM> editor, i:..... 4 Peace, History of the, by H. Martin- Gs e VALI oie tiene ek ovis ae a oe aie one he 28 Pracock, THOMAS Lovy, novelist, vi 244 | Prroy, BisHop, poet, iv........ Peres C:- e oa Percy, by Mrs. Hannah More, vi.... 3 2 pike 36 aie eee 293: Pharonnida ; extract, ils: . ie aaesnee 1450 See Lucan’ er trans. by me ee ae ee ee Vili 5. V2 5 0a es oe 2 ae Phenomena of Organic Nato re, RY: Huxley, vill. 7. 05) deg oe eee as ‘ Phenomena of the Human Mind, Ane baie alysis of, by James Mill, vi........ 824 - bp et _ iNDEX.] > AGE - Mhitaster, by Beaudiont and Pletch- 337 Philip IL, History of, by Prescott,vii 348 ~ Philip Sparrow, by J ohn Skelton, i.. 64 PotD van Artevelde; scenes from, Cr 2 Ce ee ee | 2 SRY Se 2 ae ee 89 aries. AMBROSE, as poet, fii. 225 ; PS CMAMAtISt, Mi 5 oo. lose eee ” 972 PHILIPS, JOHN, poet; specimen, ii.. 225 PHILIPS, KATHERINE, poet, ii-..... 102 PHILLIPS, SAMUEL, novelist, vii. 290 Philosophy, Hist. of, by G. H. Lewes (ON SOS aa ae ee 6 Bs ree Moral and Political, by Pye) CXULACL, Vien isicie cw o.0's'v en 42 292 _- Philosophy of the Humen Mind, by Dugald Stewurt, Vi. 2.2... 26. e0en 32 Philosophy of ihe Human Mind, by RIP CTRCOW BSN be Bees! - 6) con's «¥en Philosophy of the Moral Feelings, by ir... Abercrombie; View... sce. 32 Phoebe Dawson, by Crabbe, ii....... 105 Phrenology, by G. Combe; extr., vi. 325 Physical Astronomy, History of, by LESH TA ie op Us JON SEE tea 264. Physical Geography, by Mrs. Mary MIOMNORGINGS Vile roc) Bcc neSaudeese 259 '. Physical Theory of Another Life, by + -isaac Taylor: extract, vill.....:.. 155 PIcKEN, ANDREW, novelist, Williaa 212 Pickwick Papers, the, by Dickens, vii 243 - Pic-nic Newspaper, the, v... ....... 330 Pictorial Histories cf the Russian ~- War.and Indian Revolt, viii....... 81 Pictorial History of England, edited i uy. Prof. Craik and C. - Macfarlane, eS A ey ee ee 23 ; eaves of Domestic Love by Camp- < bell py ashe 6 oles marO pie b1el bcs wis dc sow pte se 294. Pied Piper of iamelin, the, vii. 135 — Pierce Penniless, by ‘ihos. Nash, i O75 Piers the Ploughman, the Vision of.i 20 7 ae of Compostella, by Southey, ae als MM he Vie, oda ala lece gra welanws 176 - Pilgrinns and the Peas, by Wolcot, v. 53 Pilgrim’s Progress, the; extract, lii.. 25 Pindar, Odes of; trans. by West, iv.. 193 PINDAR, PETER (Dr. John W ole ot), BTS PORLTOUIE, Wo ps sso oF oine Pindaric Essays, by John Pomfret. ii. 298 oy ose ag. by Abraham Cowley, ae 2 ee ~-Paxxenton, Br OHN, geographer, Vi......-...- Fi ts slain ae 263 ~ Piozz1, Mrs.,(Mrs. Thrale), heap 125 - Piper of Kilbarchan, by Sempill, ii.. £36 * Prroarrn, ROBERT, jurist, viii...... 51 ' Pitt, character of, from ‘ Rolliad,’ y.. 88 Pit, Life ou by Lord Stanhope, viii. 14 no a ho @& ENGLISH LITERATURE. 407 PAGE, Pitt, Rey. CHRISTOPHER, poet, iv.. 191 Pirt, Witi1aM, EARL OF CHAT- BEAM OUT at tat edicis Spare seine win ea 372 Pizarro, Kotzebue’ ay vides srt hos sehen 47 Plague in London, by Defoe; ex- ELA TIE, ak O's na apc Aiea are MOR nee 326 Plain Dealer, by Wycherley; ex- BLOCUAIL de st ayrebe Ae s tinea tea NG 267 PLANCHE, MR., dramatist. vii. .. 201 Planet Jupiter, is it inhabited ? “by Sir D. Brewster. viji....2.....5.... Qi. Plato and the other Companions of Sokrates, by Grote, viii......... 5 Plato’s Dialogues, by Jowett, viii. . 159 Pleas for Ragged Schools, Vilbg tock 164 ae tes of Hope, the; extracts, Sets) a) ee eg ir oe Ce 219. 224 Heuston of Memory ; extract, v.... 114 Pleasures of the Imagination ; : "ex- RARER Set a le os 9 Daasead oe ea gd 40 Plurality of Worlds, by W hew ell, vili 260 Plutarch’s Lives, by Langhorne, iv.. 156 PococxkEs, the, Oriental “echo! ars, iii 4 Pos, EDGAR ALLAN, poet: extrs..vii 81 Poems 'escriptive of Rural Life, v.. 325 Poesie, Art of, by G. Puttenham, i.. 406 Poesie, Defence of, by Sir P. Sid- WEVA Tc olsck. Yee teen e ctw eeiaide 396 Poesy, Progress of, by Gray, 54. TF oetical Rhapsody, teseuree tie gs ee 222 Poetical Sketches, by Blake; ex- REGO, Moe aes WG leg Dh ks mala Mies cao ots aie 123 Poetry, History of English, by Thos. WH ABR, TV cs ict craceranre contain cos protele. ote 171 Poets, Lives of the, by Dr. Johnson, IW LLG EOXEPAOT, IVE Cis ete os oat 360 Political Economy, Elements of, by James Mill, vi. 3293 by J. R. M’Cullock, vi. 330; Principles of, by Ricardo, vi. 329; Mustrations of, by H. Mariineau. viii.......... 19 Political Register, Cobbett’s. vi...... 338 7 olitical State of Great Britain, a Miscellany edited by Abel Boyer, iv uh E G@LLOK, ROBERT, poet,-Vi oo ieesee ws 301 Polychronicon, Hit densi its Ue tee “56 Polyolbion, by Michael Dray tOIk yd 83 POMFRET, JOHN, poet, 1. ioe aagel tee Poor Gentleman, the, scenes from, vi 51 Poor Jack, by Charles Dibdin. v. 299 Poor Seay eg from Lamb’s Es- ie EERE epics tr ABO er BP Ee cta tes Dade wie Richard’s Almanac, by Frank- lin, iv 392 PorE, ALEXANDER, as poet, Iii. 1735 as prose-writer 5 extracts, iii Pope, Memoirs and Editions of, iii. 1 opr, DR. WALTER, song-writer, ii. 234 Pope ‘and Dryden; Parallel between, a ee ee ee 408 CYCLOPAHDIA OF = | - [eNERAL a8 PAGE, | : ‘ PAGE. a PUES: History of the, by A. Bower, | Promos and Cassandra, t.2........6. a ee ‘of aay . 80° | P ophecy, the, by Chatterton, iv....° 98 ~~ Bones: History of tlre. ‘by Ranke. vii. 3~5 | a ROUT, PaTHER (Rey. Mr. Mahony) ae Popular Antiquities, Brand’s, viii.... 370 maguzine writer, Vili.......... eon ee Popular Rhymes of Scotland, viii... 94 Provencal Linguape, ih. resets a 10 Popular Tales, by Maria Edgew orth, Proverbs, on, by Trench; Stet Witied 72 3 pM arte oo he etea pag OE Ont eels peat 159 | Provoked Wife, by Vaubragh, iti. 26° 265 2 Pagainion, by I’. R. Malthus, vi. 328 Population, Law of, by M..'T. Sad- Provost, the, by Galt; extract, vi. - 198 — PSALMANAZAR, GronrceE, grammiae | OT ORVIS ecsla Phe Sap beaten as 330 rian; IVs =... Seve se ee eee ~ 3 Population, Lectures on, by N. W. Psalms, the, translation of, by Da- SEnlOrsViest cas ce ss ok oe eters 330 vison, i, 222; paraphrase of, by Porson, RicwHaRp. miscellaneous George Buchanan, vi. 2565 com writer and translator, Vic.......3.. 873 plete version — of, ‘by Dr. ‘Arthur ge PoRTER, ANNA MARIA, novelist, vi. 147 Johnston, i. 257; Sandy’s metrical PORTER, JANE, novelist, vi.......... 148 version of, i. 234; Francis Rouse’s © PortTER, Sir R. Ker, traveller, vil.. 25 Version, Of, I. iA see ee “hae hs PorTEvs, Dr. BEILBY. theologian, vi 297 Pseudodoxia Hpidemica, til.. .c. tse Portrait, a, by Wordsworth, v-....-. 13¢ | Psyche, by Mrs. Tighe; extr.,v... 68,° ie Postal Reform—Anecdote of Coler- Psychology, by Spencer, viliz...... idge, by H. Martineau, Viii........ 205 | Psychozoia, by Dr. Heury More, ii. PosTANs, CAPTAINGI., “Will... > demcwe 3l | Pablic Advertiser, newspaper, Vos Postans, MRs., traveller, viii....... 82 | Public Intelligencer, the, iii.........7 POWELL, Rey. BADEN, scientific Punch, comic periodical, Vile ase WHER, Vill cices hye a> oaSpnat he oly sha 2-4 | PurcHAS. SAMUEL, compiler of = ~~ PRAED, WINTHROP M., Poth vii. 46 travels, 1ia.. 3: 6d. Sai ee eee 32 Prayer, by Montgomery, v Spe oes . 814 Purgatory of Suicides, vii.......... ~ OAs Sg Preceptor, the, of Robt. Dodsley, iv. 406 Purple Island, :theyic: vistas ee 234 Precipices of the Alps, by Ruskin, Pursuits of Literature, by Mathias, y 50- = SDES fb A aapa aie, get gecko tie path . 223 Pusry, Rev. Ep. B., Tractarian;viii 101 Bd Prehistoric Annals of Scotland, viii. 51] PUTTENHAM, GEORGE, 1....... coos AGB Pre-Raphaelites, origin of, vili ..... 223 Ot eae Prescort, -W.. H. historian ; ex- Quakers, the sect found-d, iii........ es ESET SVT sec foe oi cna rate oe ain ite at 347 QUARLES, FRANCIS, poet ; extrs., Th es Prescott, Memoir of. by Ticknor, vii. 34 | Quarterly Magaz-ne, Knight’s,. viii. Ody ho PRICE, Dr. Rickarp, theologian, iv 345 | Quarterly Review, thes wile seo eee St PRIcE, SIR UVEDALE, misc. writer, A sate Anne, History of her Reign, tae Ve Re a eh hc ceo ang OTe, Wg ae eee ee 45 VID aii 2 oe crawl oe sree 14 7a PRICHARD, Dr. James C., ethnolo- pales Elizabeth, Giiaraetar of, by epee DISH, “Vili. 35 estes Wg'o a alercins eset se eees) SOD ELUIne, ‘TV cs6 saps yet ee oa Pricke of Conscience, i.............. 20 | Queen Elizabeth, Memoirs of ‘the Se Pride and Prejudice; extract, vi.....153 Court of, by Lucy AIKins Vilisssa.5 Yo eee PRIDEAUS, Dr. H., theologi: in, iii.. 398 Queen Mab, by Shelley; extract, Vv 376° PRIES TLEY, Dr. JOSEPH, “hat. phi- Queen Marv’s Child-garden, vili.... 245 TOBODHOD, 1V oir aoa cuteniy ae Mpcemece ..»» 353 | Queens of England. by Dr Doran, vii 235 — Primrose, the, ‘by CLARG Wont em esrd 328 | Queens of England and Scotland, by ts Prince Consort, Life of, by Martin, Miss Strickland ; oxiagcts, Vil. 2-748 ae ae AE, ena gas Ser IRN, acs > 74 | Queen’s Wake; extract, Vii. 3apon Sunk Princess, the, by Tennyson, vii...... 118 | Quentin Durward, Vi...........06: -. 18toow Princess of Thule, the; extract, vii. 335 ay Principia, Newton’s, ice oe - 44] Rab and His Friends; extract, vili.. 245 me J PRINGLE, THOMAS, poet, V.......... 359 | Rabelais. trans, by Urquhart, fi ee, 181 E PRIOR, MATTHEW, poet, lii......... 149 | RADCLIFFE, Mrs. , Dovelist. vi...... 230 Proctor, ADELAINE A., poet ; ex- Raz, JOHN, Arctic traveller, viii, ... 35 oy (RAGE. Vike ck we ease cans 170 | Rage, THomas, poet, Vic. ee 108 PROCTER, B. W. ‘(Barry Cornw all), Ragged Schools, Guthrie’s Interest 2m as poet, v. 349: as dramatist, vi... 75} in, vill....... 6.5.0.5 ees cee eee ee PrRocToR, RICHARD A., astronomer, Rainy Day. a, by Longfellow, Vile. Pee A Be SES ARE. cok Cava Care oer 264 | RALEIGH, SIR WALTER, as poet, a Prometneus Unbound, by Shelley ; > 212; as historian, i i125 eaeee ae Me CXUACE, Vewns csuowsserenvesss¥eeet. 2h0 te ee een wipe = PAGE. -Bueigh, Sir Walter, Life of, vi. 288 e RAMAGH, Dr. C, Tart, translator, vii 177 > Rambler, POPPE RLTACL Ss sAV.~ ot ac vehi 234 =~ > RAMSAY, ALLAN, poet ; extracts, iii 232 7 “RAMSAY, REV. E- B.,. author of rae . Scottish Life and Char acter,’ viii. 91 a RANDOLPH, THOMAS, dramatist, x .. 368 RANDOLPH, THOMAS, poet; extrs.,i1i 232 ~s Rape of Lucrece, by Shakspe*ve,-i... 191 _ Rape of the Lock, by Pope; ex- RB DSS LL. A ial saat So. o.0 o's naies ss 08 17 = Raseelas, by Dr. Johnson, iv........ 358- S ey History of, by Leckie, PICS VED Fs a Gaile oes ae es as o's oe me SU ee Haren. the, by Edgar A, Poe, vii. 82 Peas AY, SOHN, DOCANISt, Ti... 0... eee » 806 .. Reacu, Aneus B., novelist, Vile 6120290 mote “oe History of, by Clarendon, lS SSSR Bren co Rea ao a 320 = Rebellion, History of, by Dr. R. pe eam HAMDETS, Ville .s os os os kn's gece vey e 94 _- Recruiting Officer, scenes from, iii.. 269 os READE, CHARLES, novelist, vii...... 301 READE, JOHN EDMUND, poet, vii.... 45 ~ Recluse, the, by Montgomery, v..... eal: » ™ Recollections of a Chaperon, vi. . 228 ~~ Reps, Leman, dramatist, vii........ 201 ' Rees, Dr, ABRAHAM, | eae Py ee ANG . Rees’s Cyclopedia, vii............0.. 33 =.= REEVE, CLARA, novelist. iv.'......... 281 a REEVES, Dr. Wé., biographer, vili.. TO Reflections on the Revolution, by 2 TLV ere TN ea Aa ic ai hy ae 384 - Reformation of Religion, History of, : ‘by Dr. Gilbert Stuart, iv., 307; by edge PAOWHDG NMG Wigs be wes habe Seed cde 65 _ . Reformation of the Church of Eng- ® land; wy burnet, lis 2.22025 5) 3s 335 ~ Reginald’ Dalton, by Lockhart ; ex- cs Memmearei@te 184 coos. ans sek pec ba es ee tes 207 Rehearsal, play by Dryden, ii....... 243 banc REID, CAPTAIN Mayne, novelist, vii 289 ~~ \ REIp, DR. THomas, phWosopher. iv. 348 — Rejected Addresses; extracts, v 315 as - Relapse, the, by Vanbrugh, iii... .. 264. ~- Religio Medici, by Sir T. Browne, iii 56 _ Religion and Science, by Draper, viii 317 oon and Theology, by Tulloch, seeee as ag comes Life; by Caird, a Vili. Coe eer e nee ne POH Bee eeeve Pa are ee ee a oe ae ee ee ee ee) Reliques of Irish Poetry, iv......... » 283 ~~ Reliquis Baxteriane, ili............. a Reminiscences of a Highland Parish, = Lby M. Macleod, viii................ 165 Reminiscences of Scottish Life and Character, by Dean Ramsay; ex- e+ ; tracts i ctrene 91 @eteeeerereorererrsaee — tis ENGLISH LITERATURE. 409 PAGE, Remorse, by Ooleridge » secue from, 5) So Ai ycae ry oa wed ates CE PE Se oe pe » 62 Representative, the, newspaper, viii. 175 Representative Men, by Emerson,viii 226 Repressor, the, by Bishop Pecock, itt Retaliation, by Goldsmith; extrs., iv. 144 Return from Parnassus, the, i SS Saas 367 Revenge, the, by Edward poate iv. 216 Review, the, edited by Defoe, iii... 272 Revolt of Islam, by Snelley, v....... 270 Revolution, History of by Sir J. Mac- WItOSN SY Vases ce took nee Revolution of 1688-9, from Macan- NAVE ND res Reed alo Pelee es 382 REYNOLDS, FREDERICK, dramatist, View Moe ese ein eee et aan 84. REYNOLDS, SIR JOSHUA, painter, iv. 387 Rhetoric, Philosophy of by Camp- TSE sa yr SMES he crete wy a ale 247 Rhetoric and Belles Letters, by Dr.- YEAS AY ot at ae So ae Sg 331 Rhetoric and Logic, System of, by Sir Thomas W ilson ; extract, las... 2158 Ricarpo, Davin, political econo- RAG Vl cas cast ow ic pe AY eax oa aearkle 829 RicuH, CLAUDIUS J., traveller, vil.... 24 Richard IfI., Character of, by More, i 223 RICHARDSON, Dr. ROBERT, traveller, Wile ae erate tee deen) cher anaes RICHARDSON, JOSEPH, satirist. v. 39 RICHARDSON, SAMUEL, novelist, iv. | 244 Jtichelieu, by G. P. R. James, “il. os pele RippeELx, Mrs., novelist, vii 301 Rig-Veda-Sanhita, trans. by FM. NM Gr Nalbas cote a ae ce esi anae 312 Rimini. by Leigh Hunt; extract, v.. 322 RItcuHi£, LEIrcu, novelist, vil...... 281 Ritson, JOSEPH, antiquary and CIC Vd Geos yee nies ans ae 342 Rival Queens, the, by N. Lee, ii .. . 262 Road to Ruin, hy Thos. Holcroft, vi. 60 Roast Pig, Origin of, from Lamb, v. 198 Robene and Makyne ; extracts, i.... 85 Robert Falconer: extfact, vii........ RoBERTS, EMMA, traveller, vill...... RoBertson, Dr. W., historian, iv. ROBERTSON, EK. Wn., historian, viii. RoBpertson, J. P. and W. P., trav- CHers SVT jn Rete site epee ou eagle ROBERTSON, Rey. F. W. , theologian; OXUPACT Sy Vilis eee etree ba axe eer aeioeis 140 Robertson, Rev. F. W., Life of, viii. 141 Robinson, Henry Crabb, Diary of, WALD A aie s SNe Rese cc a. cin eae See Robinson Crusoe, iii. 323; extract, jii 329 ROCHESTER, EARL OF, JOHN Wit- MOT, song-writer; extracts, ii..... 19T Rock and the Wee Picklé Tow, iv... 207 Rocks Ahead, by W. R. Greg, viii... 247 Roderick Te don by Smollet, iv.... 269 Rogers, HENRy, theologian, viii... 112 . a j oA ae = - : > ; TH esrb >a we A410 CYCLOPADIA OF = LeENeeet “ 2 i? ‘ PAGE. PAGE.) Rogers SAMUEL, poet, ¥. ... 112 | Saint’s ivertiniine haem by_ Baxter, -_ ‘ RocET, Dr. P. M., naturalist, ‘vill... 158 Hi Ss aA 16-2 ee SACKVILLE, THOMAS, as poet, Iocey ae a ty Parmge Roister Doister, by. Nicholas Udall, i 260 ROuLLE, RICHARD, i 20 ee) HGiads Che: Vee wascan oes sins Vee 38 Roman, the, by Sidney Dobell, vii... , 95 Roman. GENT MROSEs 1s cient ete 10 Roman dé Rou, by Wace, i..->..... 10 Roman Catholic Church, by Macau- lay, vii 3 Roman History, by Hooke, ive 283 5 Roman Republic, by Ferguson, iv. 402; Rome, History of, by “Ar- nold, vii. 354 ¢ by Sir G. C. Lewis, vii. 402; by Merivale, vil. 4133; by Schmitz, Willis + cs cee aoe 9 Roman Literature, History of, by BG DIUMOP, Vil oa se cerses aera eres 52 Romeus and Juliet, by ~Arthur ISVOORGS a oa ee eae ed ace 0 152 Rosalynde, by Thomas Lodge, i..... 210 Rosgciad, the, by Churchill, iv....... 110 Roscoz, WILLIAM, historian, vi.-... 261 Roscommon, EAR. oF, poet, ii...... 164 Rose, W., poet and translator, v.... 3 6 Ross, ALEXANDER, song-writer, iv...20T Ross, Capt. JouHN, Arctic traveller, WANS creed see ae, ee rete ath Sede Reon Eee 19 RossETrTi, CHRISTINA, poet, Vii....- 158 RossETti, DANTE GABRIEL, poet,vii 158 Rosy Hanah, by R. Bloomfield, v.. 77 Rovers, the, by Canning ; extract, v. AG FOV cer aie tecie ish vecee eos antares rte a OL Row, Jon, historian, ji..........6. 56 Rows. NicHoLas dramatist, iii..... 247 Royal Society vf London formed, ii. 268 Rule Britannin. 1+ 5) Rural Lifeof. England, | itt; extract. vili.... Ruskin, JOHN, art critic; extracts, land, hy W. How- Pe ee) 209 UTM ates ohce to hom: than Mees disse, La ent sm eearotese 228 RusseL, ALEXANDER, editor, viii... 304 Russet, DR. W., historian, iv..... 308 RussEui, LApy "RACHEL: extracts from her letters: Tih. .22%cor as Ses ote 129 RussELL, Lord JOHN, biographer, viii Russet, WILLIAM H., misc. wri- ters vill : Russia, Domestic Scenes in; tracts, Vill ex-=- eee eee ee reer eases seer eseee & viii Pe ee ee ee ee iii RyMER, THOMAS, historian, i TA Pa be-s sees wre wm ee COO eee owmeeei veers teees Sabbath, the, by Grahame ; extrs.,v 92 Sacred Poems, by H. Vaughan, ii... 134 ve deteseae MicHaEL T., economist, vi 330 oo) bo ‘ pe So Sap tans ee, ea a Baal a eed Saba, GEORGE AveusTUs, novell Vil. os oe he Nie tere ee Salamandrine, the, by Dr. GC. Mack- BY, AVN ty. cis eee eer ee ae SaLF, GrorGe, translator, LV orate ea SALE, Lapy F.. journalist, viii...... 31 ; SALE, Sir R. H., military bist., viii. 831-5 Sally in Our Alley, by Carey, iv:...5. 229 % Salmagundi, ng CE cy! welt a . $645 5h Sam Slick, by Haliburton; extrs., iii. 18)’ a Samor, by Milman ; extracts, V ‘te 357 £45 SANDERSON, BoBert, theologian, i ii, 858 = -->< SANDYs, GEORGE, traveller, transla- rae torand poet. .22.4.2 ‘a Scinde, Campaign in, by Kennedy,* Seinde, ‘Conquest of, by Sir W. Na- pier, vi Scipio, Character of, by ‘Dr. Arnold, ~ re iced Pee ee ee ee ry ScorEsBy, W ILLIAM, Arctic travel-. ler, *Vils\. ce 255. Dh eae seen ee ee ve Scotichronicon, by. Jobn Fordun, i Pes Scotland, Antiquities of, by Grose,vi Scotland, Church of, by Calderwood, li. 565 “by Row, ii. 56; by Spottis- Ww oode, Thee cr anceas Pa conto ha ote ein Scotland, History of, by Le slie, ii. 60; by Robertson, i Iv. d98 : by Dr. Gil- bert Stuart, iv. 307; by WwW. Guth- rie, iv. 307; by Malcolm ea Se vi. +62; by Pinkerton, vi. 263; by J. Hill Burton, viii. 46; by Cosmo Innes, viii. 48; by H. W. Robert- — son, Vili 2 oe coedewes® Soe! ; PAGE ~ Scotland’s Skaith; extracts, vi...... 1 Bee OLE MAP AZING AV ccs cos sees sev aces 406 x ‘Scorr, ALEXANDER, poet, i........% 244. 78 HOOUT, JOHNy POC. 1V..8s oe ce cee 59 a Scorr, MicHAEBL. novelist, vii.:.... 208 Scort, Sik WALTER, as poet, Vv. 236; ’ a noveiist, vi. 1743 as historian, Plea suse sD vis.e os str © 0.% 8) 0.8 018 0 Bie.e,¢ 0.6 a Seotsien Bankrupt Law, by Burton, vili Scottish Chiefs. by Jane Porter, vi. = Scottish Christian Instructor, vi.. - Scottish Language after the period of _the Revolution, by J. H. paens Scottish Minstrel, the Modern, vi. c 40 ~ < Scottish Poems, by Pinkerton, vi.. - 268 Scottish Poets. ii. 48, 76, 236; iii.... 231 Scottish Rebellion, Dy Walpole, iv, J 39F eet Rivers, by Sir T. D. Lauder, Scottish Songs and Bailads, maida cereus Collection, 1V. 24.0.0. $200 ecripture Help, by Bickersteth, viii, Scriptures, Introduction to the Study PGS AVE DT ct eR ELOUTIC, Vo ae.c cccose8 de . Scythians or Goths, Origin of, by a Pinkerton, vi : SEarncu, Epwarp, nom-de-plume so, OL Abraham “Tucker, iv:.. oe .ss.3.'. Search after Happiness, by H. More, ey } 15 extract, "her ae Me Mae eas ctaisiee Tees cla Wad 402, ee Ske Bie Rey. Apa, geologist, . viii » SEDLEY, Sir C., song-writer ; \ tracts, ii ex- i lc ed TEBE tetas thaw ahs Lis wa, Nas wah oe 269 = Salata FRANCIS, song-w ee iii. = SHMPILL, ROBERT, poet,.ji..:...-.. 236 SENIOR, N. W., polit. economist, vi. 339 Sense are: Sensibility, by Miss Aus- «> BRET VE Aes Nene tS eas 9 levels Shilo 6 156 Senses and the Intellect, by Bain, viii 282 _~ Sensitive Plant, the, by. Shelley, v 281 __. Sentimental Journey ; extracts. iv... 972 _-- Sepoy War, History of, by Kaye, viii 31 | ~ SEWARD, ANNA, poet, V..........06. 8T _ SEWELL, Ev1zaBeta M_, novelist,vii 293 ~- SHADWELL, THOMAS, dramatist, ii.. 266 Kise ‘SRAPTE SBURY, EaRu oF, philos., iii 308 ENGLISH LITERATURE. 411 PAGE. SHAKSPEARR, WILLIAM, as poet, i. 1915 as dramatist; extracts, i..... 297 Shakspear e, Essays on, by R. Farm- Eg A Neste sacoia pints setae aS hepie-e wig RE 891 Shakespeare Illustrations of, by F. OUR; NE a5 Fran wa tsi eee oon 888. Shakspeare, Life of, by Halliwell,viii 374 Shakspearian Forgeries, by W. H. PRCIRDG, 101 Fes caice a ies alee ake Shakspeare’s Plays, Chronology of, viii. 374; Notes and Emendations on, by Collier, 1 idee AE Meera eee Shakspeare’s Self-r etrospection,from H. Hallam, CIES a det AMEE 287 Vid patente ca kage trie Mick Macrae: pale PIM SHARP, RICHARD, essayist; extracts, RSL ReL ats pe. acn) Seca Re a oe oan neg 174 SHARPE, SAMUEL, historian, vii..... She Stoops to Conquer, scenes from, Bvt pea Tt SHEIL, RICHARD LALOR, dram., vi.. 74 SHELLEY, Mrs. (M. W. Godwin), AVOMGRISES VIL e's oe Cape die patel ole oes Cian es SHELLEY, PERCY ByssHE#, poet, Vv... SHENSTONE, WILLIAM, poet, iv..... 27 Shepherd’s Calendar, the, by Spen- SEPM dads Sars oh er Pes Oe s o Be Shepherd’s Hunting; ex. by Wither,ii 79 Shepherd’s Week, “the, by Gay; ex- CERCLA: ob cae Veen eg eee eo eae ote 3 SHERIDAN, Mrs. FRANCES, vi. SHERIDAN, Ricu. B., dr amatist, vi. 40 Sheridan, Life of, by Moore, vi y SHERLOCK, Dr. W 1LLIAM, theolo- STAN AD Sots od ibis Bay sss HS eee eee 470 Ship of Fools, by Alex. Barclay, i... 62 Shipwreck, the, by Falconer; exts.,iv 103 Shipwreck, the, from ‘ Don Juan,’ v. a SHIRLEY, JAMEs, dramatist, i....... Siam, by Sir J. Bowring; extr., viii. oa Siddons, Mrs., Life of, by Campbell, SIDNEY, ALGERNON, prose-writer, ii 50 SipNnry, Sir PHILIP, as poet, i. 156; AS POLS WHILETGELs ects s oncie oy e eeole pene Biddulph, by Mrs. Sheridan, ay SIGOURNEY. Mrs. L. H., post, vil..., 146 ‘Silent Woman, the, by Ben Jonson, = Siller Gun, by Mayne, vi Silurian System, by Murchison, Vili. 289 Simms, W. GILMORE, misc. writer, viii. 225 SIMoNnD, Lovis, traveller, vii........ 30 Simoon, the, from Palgrave, Viii..... 248 Simple Story, a, by Mrs. Inchbald, y. 58 Srwrpson, Srr J. Y., as antiquary, viii 96 SIMPSON, THOMAS, Arctic traveller, PGili stom Say coe Boot orale se ae ae Sir Andrew Wylie, by John Galt, vi. eT 194 eC Ce i Ce | Socrates, Condemnation and Death of, by Mitford, vi Soft’ Sawder and Human Natur, by Haliburton, viii 18 Soldier’s Home, by R. Bloomfield, v. Soldier’s Tear, the, by Bayly v Soldiering and Scrbbling. | by Forbes, viii Sotitude, by Grainger: extract, iv... een othe ne gue ante ere ms ee ee ee re ee Spring, Ode to, by Mrs. Barbauld, ii. 66 Se Spy, the, by J. Fenimore Cooper, vii. 202 Squire’s Pew, the, by Jane Taylor, v. 364 St. Colomba, Life of, by Dr. Reeves, St. Francis, Legend of, by Caxton, i. St. Leon, by W. Godwin: extr., Vi. St. Paul, Life and Epistles of, by +5 Conybeare aud Howson; extr., viil. St. Paul’s Cathedral, History of, viii. St: Paul’s Manual Labour, - Stan-=— ley Vill. w.0s:ds.< «1308. Shee eee ai ; tg 412 CYCLOPAEDIA OF : = PAGE. PAGE Sir Charles Grandison, by Richard- Solomon , by Matthew Prior; extract, ¥4E BONS Ve: vs eos emis cues Meare aan 246 TL 6 iy 5. ieee Aig nad Soe ee ee 149:-- Ss Sir Courtly Nice, by Crowne, ii...... 2°4 | SOMERVILE, WILLIAM, poet, iii..... 399-o Steg Sir Lancelot du Lake, iv.....,....... 112 SOMERVILLE, Mrs. MARY, scientific. ee Sir Lancelot Greaves, by Smollett, Iv 262 writer; Vill. s..... 149 | Spain, Handbook of, by Ford ; extr., : SmitH, GEORGE, Assyriologist, vili.. 31S vill. 6 34 ee SMITH, JAMES and Horace, Vintner 330 | Spain i in. 183), “by a D. ‘Inglis, vii. ee BO pe: SmituH, JAMzs, lyric writer, Vil...... 181 | SPALDING, PRoF., logician, viii. ..» 269 — — es SmMiTH, MRs. CHARLOTTE, as poet, vy. Spanish Literature, by Ticknor, vii... 364°. Us— AS NOVELS, Wd oes ciera orecees pete tiene 23 | Spectator, the, commenced, iii...... Q74 Soe Smiru, Rev. SIDNEY, miscellaneous SPEDDING, JAMES, biographer, vili.. 71 rer writers extracts, Wiss oss He sh bandt ies 365 | Speech, Power of, by Huxley, viii... 311 SmitH, WILLIAM, geoloigist, vill. 284 | SPEED, JOHN, historian, ii.......... 26 or SMOLLETT, TOBIAS GEORGE, as poet, SPEKE, JOHN HANNING, African ex- iv, 69; as novelist, iv. : . 262 plorer : -OXtTACTH). Willies Sayoeee teres ou Suyru, WILLIAM. historian, viii. 51 | Sperman, Sir HENRY, antiquary, ii. 25. SmMyTHE, Hon. Mr. (Lord. Strang- SPENCER, HERBERT, scientific writer, = <>> LOLA Ys“ POSb Vile i. !c6 Sate seem aan ee 105 Vili © ou, Se ae ee See eee 315 Snake, Adventure with the, by Water- SPENCER, THE Hon. W.R., poet, v. 315 LOU AVAL De ec oe eee Me ee coe 187 | SPENSER, EDMUND, poet, i.......... 157 - Snob, the, edited by Thackeray, vii.. 254 | Spirit of Hebrew Poetry, the, byes Social Intolerance, by J. S. Mill, viii. 270| — Isaac Taylor;-extract, vili....5.... 156 Society in America, by H. Martineau Spleen, the, by Mat. Green; extr., iii, 381 7 VAY ies ic esas Loge at meee mae ve SS 203 | Splendid Shilling, the, by Philips, ii. 226 Society and Solitude, by R. W. Emer- Sphynx, the, by Kinglake, viii....... iB2:> = SOMSEOKtPACES: VAll suiv'ges laws « aete orate 226 | SeoTiswoopn, JOHN, historian, ii... 63 0 = Socinian Controversy, by Wardlaw, SprRATT, DR. T., phil. and polit. _. e Ad etd ew De eccowle det aee es peseme 58 "|= writer, Ui; 2. hess ote eee ee 294 2 15 1 S St. Serf and Satan, by Wyntoun, i 53 _Staél, Mme, de, sketch by Simond,vii 32 “STANHOPE, Earu, historian, viii. 9 STANLEY, ARTHUR P., Dean ‘of Westminster, as historian, viii. 51 ; as biographer, villi. 53; as theolo- PARAL AWLP. Gah) Paes wes ct wes « sooo. 129 “STANLEY, HENRY M., African ex- proret. Vill. la.5-% 078 Beeson 4357905 ‘STANLEY, THOMAS, poet ; extracts,ii ~ Star of Bethlehem, by H. K. White,v ; Starling, the, by Sterne, iv...s...... 278 Statesman, the, by Taylor; extrs., vii 189 STAUNTON, Sir G.L., traveller, vii. 1; 27 ee oor, the, from Muirhead’s Pate: Ole W athe VAN ove vice wae v's 0 wee 84 Steel Glass, the, by Gascoigne, i - STEELE, Sir RICHARD, as dramatist, iii. 272; as essayist ; extracts, iil. STEVENS, GEORGE, misc. writer, iv.. STEPHEN, Sir JaMzs,; as historian, viii. 514 as biographer, viii... .... _ STEPHENS, J. L., Eastern traveller, . 273 391 STerHens, L., misc. writer, vili..... 249 Stephenson, Geo., Life of ; extr.; viii 88 - STEPHENSON, RoBerr, engineer, viii 282 _ — . Stereoscope, invented by Wheat- ie Bip avilisessocer mek? oils sn co peo 283 STERLING, JOHN, misc. writer; ex- SOLS \Valll eee aa keer na aa 233 STERNE, LAURENCE, novelist, iv. 270 STEWART, PROF. DUGALD, metaphy— BIEIAM ECR EBACES VAs oe on 0 oo Sea ws 319 STILL, JOHN, dramat 5 {51 RPG era oe ene STILLINGFLEET, Ep., theologian,. TY it STIRLING; HARL OF, poet, 1. ....0... 249 STIRLING-MAXWELL, Sir WILLIAM, OPO PADNOP, Ville px - opis sod eo eee 56 Powe, ¥ _ Stokers and Pokers, Highways aud Byways, by Sir F. Bonn Head, viii on : Sionen THOMAS, poet, i........-.5- — Story, WILLIAM WETMORE, poet MM OCUIPLON, Vile... tk a0 Stow, JoHN, chronicler, ii.......... 28 Stowe, HARRIET BEECHER, novel- es. Tig SOR URMOUR SV IL 2 6 fos. cle ete 296 - Strain at a Guat and swallow a Camel, by Trench, Vill... ..ace.. 0% 127. Pirate "adventures of a Phaeton, by eo Wm, -Black ; extract, Vil... ....5. 37 eee RORD, "Viscount, transiator, i et ae Siraw berry Hill, description of, by ~ “Horace Walpole, LOS Peers IO est 396 “« Stray Leaves from an Arctic J ournal, by Lieut. Osborn; extract, vili.... 351 ~ Srrerton, HEsBA, ‘novelist, vii..... 340 STRICKLAND, AGNES, hist.; extr.,vili StropE, Dr..WILL1aAM, poet; ex- RETIN Balla eis d's soe dec'ne cg ac'sesss 1.8 ENGLISH LITERATURE. PAGE, Sec Things Are, by Inchbald, “Views “Suspicious Husband, the, iv.... ... PAGE. STUART, DR. GILBERT, historian, iv 307 Stuart of Dunleath, by Mrs. Norton, VIL Sa aeets SEAN? bceaes aire ah EA TITERS STuBBS, REV. WiL11AM, historian ; ORtrACh VEL s tcc dese haw a gieca obe opts Student Life i in Germany, by B. Tay- LOB PULLS so we of igs tiwierb rifts spine. See Study and Evidences of Christianity, by Baden Powell, viii..::......50 264. STUKELEY, WILLIAM, antiquary, iv. 405 Snbjection of Women, by J. S. Mill, WI LABS oly cetera Ge cet cas are 272 a eee and Beautiful, the, by pia 58 SUCKLING, Sir Joun, poet; extracts, tReet tee oe yeah eeawse SULLIVAN, dramatist, vii...... eo 201 Summer in Skye, by Alex. Smith, Vilistiisie.c akg ues ptaet ies CA 98 Summer Morning , by J ohn Clare, iv. 328 Summer’s Last Will and Testament, by Nash, i 2T4 SUMNER, DE CHARLES, theologian, et ea) Wilh Bay ehctcbeles gets ore ete oe Po ee Susan Hopley, by Mrs. Crow ° vii... 282 Sutherland’s voyage of the “Lady Franklin ’ and the ‘ Sophia,’ Vilt.ces Swain, CHARLES, poet, Vllehi eck *. Sweden, Tour in, by S. Laing; extr., Swirt, JONATHAN, as poet; extracts, iii, 158 ; as misc. writer; extr., iii.. 336 ay te character of, by J. W. Croker, eh SC oweewnens Coc eresessaeaseesse oe tered Bee - sewers escseree Sp eaencevesbeoe vii Sw ift, Jonathsn. verses on the death of, by himself, Sil... 2... 2. .eses 166 SWINBURNE, ALGERNON CHARLES, poet; extracts, vii. Switzerland, by Louis Simond; extr., vii. MEG Ee PoSe San sign terre Hae ee vi.. Be lc Alce sect ae lame eae aa ee 252 Sword Chant of Thorstein Raudi, vi. 27 Sypney YENDYs (pseudonym i Sydney Dobel!), poet. vii......--+ £29 Sylva, by John Evelyn, iii......-.-+ 108 SYLVESTER, JosHuUA, poet and trans- LATOR Ss cee. 0s Sat oes aa de eae see Synonyms of the New Testament, tae by Wrench, Vill...--7,. atts ss 413 --219 - ss Al4 _ Terra, by John Evelyn, iii... “CYCLOPDIA OF PAGE. Syntax, Dr., his monk: in search of ae Picturesque, by. Wm. peers ee Table Ty raits, by Dr. “Doran, Will eos TAIT, PROFESSOR, scientific writer, VEL Saee aoe achat oda, siete a ae) eerie Tak your “Auld Cloak About Ses i Talavera, Battles of, by Croker, vill. Tale of a Tub, by Swift: extracts. iii. Tales of Fashionable Life, by Maria Edgeworth; extracts, vi... a Tales of my Landlord, vii.......:... Tales of the Hall, by George Crabbe; extracts, v Ee COF- Tales of the O’Hara Family, vi...... PO UES: TH. Noon, ae MEA pin aoe Lae Reenter vil miplecastig &-ocete, Sia enbiriaine, by Marlowe. i Tancred, by Disraeli; extract, vii... Tancred and Sicismunda, by "Thom- son ; extract, G3 ee Tanganyika, discovery of, by Burton, and: Speke, vili..-2os0..325. Ppossre’ TANNAHILL, ROBERT, song-writer, Veen ee Lame ok tent Task, the, by Cowper; extr ‘acts, V Pe Taste for Reading, by Herschel, viii. Tatler, the, commenced, iii .3..... Tayior, BAYARD, traveller and mis- cellaneous writer; extracts.. viil.... ee ee ed -Taytor, Isaac, Spee igs og : extrs., as TAYLOR, JANE and ANN, y. Te eee TAYLOR, JEREMY, theologian; ext. His XR idee a aS oe a:bipiete TAYLOR, JOHN, the Water Poet, ii... TAYLOR, ROBERT, dramatist, 1..... é TAYLOR, SIR HENRY, dramatist, vil. TAYLOR, Tom, dramatist, vil........ ~ TAYLOR, W., traveller, viii.......... TAYLOR, WILLIAM, translator, v. Tea-kettle, song of the, by A. Taylor, Tear, on a, by Samuel Rogers, v. cone Tears of Scotland, ‘the, by Smollett, TU st chs Ue hg Real Lee oe Tea-table Miscellany, iii..... irs See Veimora, by ] Macpherson, iv......... TEMPLE, Sik WiLLIAM misc. writer, Th ee eae agua Re: Sao Na pees Ten Thousand a Year, vii.....-.- eas TENISON, ARCHBISHOP, ili........3.. TENNANT, WM., poet, vi....... Ae: TENNYSON, ALFRED, poct; extracts, vii . eBens ce se acca coweasee ere | eereenae ~ ; PAGE. — ad Testimony of the Rocks, by Hugh Millér; extracts, viii..........0. THACKERAY, ANNE ISABELLA, Dovel- es aL } . ’ ‘hi = i Ist.) eXiracte,y Wilssee ae vee iven vee ele << THACKERAY, WM. MAKEPEACE, a eae novelist 3: extracts; ‘viiw 54.0. a. A aoe Thaddeus of Warsaw, by Jane Parte * Porter, vi. ioe} 1438S Ke Thalaba the Destroyer, v Hid Tuer erate ae > ‘hanatopsis, by W. C. Bryaut, vii... et Thanksgiving off Cape .Trafalgar, e; by James Grahame, v-...-.. Peyote ae ‘ Thealma and Cléarches, ii..........; 100° — © Theatre, the first Licensed, in Lon- + don, i.... va Pe whdlasigs nel See Theism, by Tulloch, wiht c%25 ene Yi "3 heodosius, by Nathaniel Lee. ii. 262 Theology Explained and Defended, by Dr. Ts Dwight, visw/. Ce ere i Thief and the Cordelier, the, by 2 Prior, iii. » 0 0 + SPRAT Se Ree ee THIRLWALL, ‘Dr. Connor, historian, VL ees Thirty-nine "Articles, ‘Exposition of, by Bishop Browne, vili....... THom, WmM., the ase ee eee a 147 i “Inverary “poet,” < "takes VEE yes VT Pe THOMAS THE RHYMER, 1. es ee ee THoms, W. JOHN, editor, Vili os VRee39 = YT HOMSON, Dr. Andrew, theologian, | 3 * Visids. «9s wee 7 spas Ay APOE aS THOMSON, JAMES, a8 poet ; extracts, — SR ok Tin hee ear ae es ee weer Fi) Careers eet eee ame et Tromson, W. ARCHB., theologian, pe 4 viil. ... 148 THORNBURY, WALTER, novelist and - 9 poet, Vil2-% tidy : THRALE, Mrs. (Mrs. Piozzi), HPSS “€ TVs F Saeak aie aees eee icy a 4: Three Fishers went Sailing, vii...... 268 Three Warnings, the, by J rs. Thrale, 4 Vice RO ee secacectes eee 196. Thrush’s Nest, ‘by Clare. V..cic-sea00 828) Thucydides, trans. by Hobbes, 1,335; S: Sr Cr i) by Dr: Afnold, Vii... 2.5.8 SVR EOoE THURLOW, EpwaRp, Lorp CHAN- CELLOR,-Orator }- CXtPaChyvinweas.t THURLOW, LORD EDWARD HOvVELL, » poet; extract: Vi4.0 giy ete se DOSS ee Thyestes tragedy by Jonn Crowne, . Pree Se ee ey ohh a prdicanss RICHARD, satirist, Vogt east eee cae TICKELL, THOMAS, poet, ii. oh fs ee TICKNOR. GEORGE, historian. Vii.... 364 ~~~ TigHE, Mrs. Mary, poet; extracts, ee: ay Bis Shs 'T1LLOTSON, JOHN, ‘ARCHBISHOP, pas- “ts sages from his Sermons, ii.,...... 4 Time’s Alteration, i. Timour or Tamerlane, Death and | - Character of, by Gibbon, iiii....... 318 _ sewer eee So é ms i= —_ AE etal OyRIL, dramatist, i.... mat e, antry, by Carleton; extract, vi.... 239 - . Translated Verse, "Essay on} ex- MESOIR AE ots. oo, .foos cen. .. 195 Traveller, the, by Goldsmith. Wises. 131 TREBECK, GEORGE. traveller, vii. 26 ~ -— ~ Rhyier, i — Triumphs / TROLLOPE, ANTHONY, “Tom Thumb, by Fielding, ING scene ae by- C. Maclaren, viii. .............. 04 -Tottel’s Miscellany, i jivesageeteeig co 66 365 ~ Traditions of Edinburgh, by Robert, _ ptagedy, Origimol, dy eeis oo". bees PAGE. “Tnpat, Dr. MATTHEW, theologian, ROMP! a elk cies odes biota dS kee s bass 30 “'TINDAL, NrcHoLas, translator and historian, TT ae crite ae Sete ener 308 Tintern Abbey, by Wordsworth, v.. 138 "Tis the Last Rose of Summer, v.... 212 _ Vithes, History of, by J. Selden, ii.. 269 Titles of Honour, by J. Selden, ii... 260 Titmarsh, Michael Angelo (T hacke- REN MEN Ss TOR 6. ial GOR (nb Pei EN OE vine 254 Tobacco, Farewell to, by C. Lamb, v 194 TOBIN, JOHN, dramatist, vi 83 Top, LIEUT-COL. JAS., traveller, Vis x QF To-day in Ireland, Tale by Crowe, vi 234 TOLAND, JOHN, sceptical writer, lii.. 308 Tom Bowling, by Charles Dibdin, v.. 299 Tom Brown’s School-days ; extr., vii 281 Tom Jones, by Fielding: extract, iv 259 30 TOOKE, JOHN Horne, philologist, iv 370 Topography of the Plain of Troy, 3 Seosees oar own and Country Mouse; extr.,i.. 8&6 dramatist,iv £30 103 TOWNLEY, REV. JAMES, Tractarian Party, the, vili..... Ae Tracts for the ‘Times, by members ' of the University of Oxford, viii... 103 Traditional Tales, by Cunningham, vi 22 RHA aa tetee W iktare. poste 'a/s curo.e nde a aise 261 - TRAIN, JOSEPH, misc. writer, vi 39 ¥raits and Stories of the Irish Peas- _Tremaine, by R. Plummer Ward, vi. 229 “TRENCH. RICHARD CHENEVIX, “ARCHBISHOP, as poet, vii. 62; as theolocian extracts, Vili. ..0e. 2... ~ Trevelyan. tale by Lady Daere, vi. QREVISA. JOHN DE. prose writer, i.. 56 ~ Trials of Margaret Lyndsay ; extr. vi 2°6 ’ Tribute to a Mother ov her Death, v. 28 Tristram Shandy, by Sterne 3 ex., iv. 274 Tristrem, Sir, a tale, by Thomas the ee ee ee ae ey Hayley, v 'Privia, or the Art of Walking the Streets of London, by Gay; ex., iii 213 Troilus and Cressida, by Chancer, i. 28 as novelist 5 ee ec 2 extracts,vii .. TROLLOPE, Mrs. FRANCEs, novelist, 212 _TROLLOFE, TH. AD., novelist, vii... 323 \ “ENGLISH LITERATURE, ns 415 PAGE. Troubadours, the, i........ Pie derth ele 'Frouveres,cthe; ss. ssa oe. cele hin creme 10 True Patriot’s Journal, .v .......... 4°6 TUBERVILLE. GEORGE, sues I ey 207 TUCKER, ABRAHAM Uy aie ier hat Edward Search), theologian, iv.... 853 TuLLocg, DR. JonNn, theologian, viii 170 Tullochgorum, by Skinner, iv....... 253 Turf shall be my Fragrant Shrine, Dy AL OORe Veins whose rar wee eee 218 Turkish and Greek Waters, a Diary in, by the Earl of Carlisle, viii .. Turks, History of the, by "Richard 820 Knolles,; extract, tive. .cekeccees TURNER, SHARON, historian, Wee: 252 'RUSSER.. ‘THOMAS; poet, a. 3... sen:. 74 “Iwas when the Seas were Roaring; Ballad by- Gay. lien: cus ae sae oes) 214. Tweedside, by “Crawford, iv....-...s 204 TYNDALE, WM., translator of the PSION S wos vis cae verso tes Pict seer: 134 TYNDALL, JOHN, PROP., physicist ; BRAT MCE Sy VIN vcore See he ae tos dager ore 313 Typee; a Peep at Polynesian Life, ~by H. Melville; extracts, vili...... 222 TYLER, Miss C. C. FRASER, novel- RSet Na tric vets rhc hre Gee cis hia etait 841 TYTLER, PATRICK FRASER, histo- rian and biographer, vi.... 270, 288 TYTLER, SARAH (Miss Keddie),nov- LISD SWELL ei ate a SHS Reg Sa Ee B41 TYTLER, WILLIAM, historian, iv ... 306 Una, Nicouas, dramatist, i.....- 259 Uganda, Etiquette at the Court of, Vig. fea aie Phe en Sate Pls Sines 354 Duele Tonrs. Cabin, Vill... sc. os. ses 296 Undertones, by Robert Buchanan, vii 114 Undesigned Coincidences, by Blunt, Vall ooetes Sk hep Shae eee oae «124 Dnited States. History_of. by W. "Cs Bryant and Sydney H. Gay, vii..,. 871 United States, History of the > Colont- sation, by Bancroft, vii. Ave ve B69 Universal History. the, i Wig tigaoay = ree . 30T Universe, Final Destiny of the, “by DroiWhewellf-vill >: oc. taats ss . 260 Unwin. Mrs., Address to (Mary), by Cow pers Va seis lage Ps aos tae Cake tonls 18 Unyanyembe, Life in, from Grant, VAAL Sacsaaren OT aro ON olen eeisl elec etna choad BST Uranus, planet, discovered by Sir W illiam Herschel, vill, set ene ees £53 UrQuu ant, SIR THOMAS, translator, io TD dicfsere Oe ee, ches, AG Blo aie in elo! ie lea ea UsHER, ames, theologian, ii.. . 346 Utopia, by Sir 'homas More, ee iee 121 ! Vacation Tour, a, ae Tyndall, viii... 314 ex- Prerppesorereprere Valerius, by J. G. Lockhart ; BEAGLES We srrinwreirs nlaion { wr. CYCLOPADIA OF - bf pe 4 A416 - Zor PAGE. i tc Sir Joun, dramatist, iii 264 Vanity Fair, by Thackeray, vii. 257 Vanity of Human Wishes; ext?. A “iv 120 “Variability, by Darwin, viii.......... 307 Vathek, by Beckford ; extracts, vi.. 99 Vandracour and J ulia, by W orda- AMET UE Vite actu an A cle ge eto alee othe bls 185 VAUGHAN, Dr. C. Joun, theologian, SAC nS Ss ae ee Re Sr ee cteer 150 VauGuHAN, Dr. RoBErr, theologian, WL its aac aks os ore ae ee A ean east - VAUGHAN, HENRY, poet; extrs., ii... 18 Vaux, THOMAS, LORD, poet, j.-..... {2 VEDDER, DAVID, song-writer. vii... 178 Vega, Lope Felix de, Life anid Writ- ings of, by Lord Holland, vi........ 280 Veiled Prophet of Khorassan,v...... 208 Velasquez and his Works, by Stir- linge-Maxwell; extract, vili........ 58 Venables’s Domestic mrenes in Rus- Bs MORUPACTSS ALL os 0's ee oh oa Sos ee . 831 Venice—Canaletti and Tur ner, by Mrs. JaMesOn, Vill. wie seen 185 ~ Venice, the Stones of, by J. Ruskin, FAM hes ck Ct Sea nts arate ree yee oe eee ew = 228 Venice Preserved ; scene from, ii. 258 Venus and Adonis, by Shakspeare,i.. 193 VERE, AUBREY THOMAS DE, poet,vii 62 VERE, EDWARD, EARL OF OXFORD, poet, greg SPe aad Bd Mc ore fo 199 VERE, S1R AUBREY DE, poet, vii. 62 y Vicar of Wakefield, by Goldsmith, i iv 130 Vicar of Wrexhill, the, by Mrs. MTOM OPCs Vals Saabs tos ictaige es eae nbs 213 Vicissitudes of Nations, by Finlay,vii 7 Victoria Nyanza, Discov ery of, by Captain Speke, viii ....1.....<4.. 353 Victory of Faith, by Hare, viii.. 125 Vida’s Art of Poeir Vv, trans. by ¢. RII E Geel Vic sey CN wats dare pluie wir aisles mecb ele 191 Views Afoot, by B. Taylor; extr.,viii 219 Village, the, by George Crabbe : ex- EPACTSAV see aise eran eee ” 400; 102 Vindication of Religious Opinions, by Doddridge, iv...... Se sea . 336 Vindicie Gallice. by Sir J. Mackin- tose: Extracts. Vit -csenn ac eee 54 Vigidemi: rium, by Bishop Hall, i... 2.6 Vireil, Caxton’s Account of, i. wi hls Virgil. translated by Dryden; ii. 207 . “py C. PAC EAW Stones ok) poms to eee 192 . > Virgin “Martyr, by. Massinger, Pace 869 Virginians, the, vii.... 5... weeeees. 262 Virginius, by 8. Knowles, scene ‘from, VU Sac cic tars p aut Pitan in eae RES 75 Vision, Be DY “DUIS Vy iy. fen tate oe 394 Visions in Verse, by Nat. Cotton, v 6 Voices of the Night, by Longfellow, WY ilccsrsrBiyt hats a Sctncive wets scat aids Brace nee 91 Volpone, or ihe Fox, by. Ben Jon- BONF.11 24 Wallace, Adventures of Sir William, ae by Blind Warrysiteee eee “80° => WALLER, EDMUND, pcet; extracts, i146 ~ he WALPOLE, HORACE. as ‘novelist, iv. ee 280; as misc. writer. extracts, iv... 305 -aha WwW alpole, Lord. Memoirs of, vi.2..<. 253. > ~ = Walpole, Sir Robert, Memoirs of, Vi, 8582 WALSH, WILLIAM, poet, jili...c0s.1s A9TS WALTON, IZAAK, Mee and biogra- “ig pher; extracts, Lil >. cies) dea OS yh Waly, waly, li... 5) Casuals et REWER ee D ae Oe en Wanderer, the, by Savage; ae V7) Cen Wanderer of Sw itzerland, the, by: « = = Montgomery, v...... Nand A0TK SS Wanderings and Essays, by “Water- Ee ton, vili vseniten 1862 Sane War, Miserics cf, by Rev W Crowe, y 59 Pe W ARBURTON, ELIOT, traveller, viii.. 188 WARBURTON, WILLIAM, BisHop, theologian ; extract, iv. :.7s..2....0822" ee a ed Warp, R. PLUMER, novelist, Views. 229 WARDLAW. DR. RALPH, theolo., viii 157 WARNER, WILLIAM, poet, Saye .e Lis. Warnings, the Three, by Mrs.~ . Phrale; iw Aes . hte abenel SI35 WARREN, SAMUEL, ‘novelist, vits 0. 2395-2 Warren Hastings, speech against, by RB: Sheridan ; extracts, Viv sem e48nu War-song upen the victory at Brun- . nenburg, by Hookham Frere, v... 217 WARTON, ‘THomAS and JOSEPH, po- ets; extracts, iv Washington, Eulogium on, by Dan- iel Webster. vii .. BT4’ Washington, Life of, by Bancroft vii 38 170. i a ee er es Wat Tyler, drama. by Southey, v. vane Watcaman, the, edited by Coleridge, Vreie'ds sre cas be Uwe Cie ame V6e = hee ~ 148" WATERLAND, DANIEL, theologian, iii 305 WATERTON, CHARLES, trav eller ; 7 Oss tract, viii 6 Watson, Dr. RrcHarpD, ‘theologian ’ vi. 29 Watson, WATSON, THOMAS, ape i Watson’s Collection of Ancient and Modern Scots Poems, iii Watt, James, Life of ; extracts, vill. ST ee ee es ee eee ene ae \ xX ENGLISH LITERATURE, 417 a PAGE “ PaQE. - . Warts, ALARIC ALEXANDER, poet, WHATELY, RICHARD, ARCHBISHOP, RV aik . OE Pic Sitp cee ce ckdeeeese 69 as political economist, vi, 329; as — Warts, Dr. Isaac—his ‘Hymns, iv. THSOIOSIANS Villactiee sss a ce b dedas 113 4 15; theological works, iv.......... 326 WHEATSTONE, Str CHARLEs, physi- Axe hh Watty and Meg, by A. Wilson, iii... 497 cist and electrician, viii............ 283 ~* Waverly. Novels characterized; vi.... 175 | When the Kye comes hame, vi...... 20 _- Weare Seven, by Wordsw orth, v. 13T | WHETSTONE, GEORGE, dramatist, i.. 262 . Me met—’twas in a Crowd, by Bay- WHEWELL, Dr. WILLIAM, scientific 5 VSM ea Seis icact bs Sua wistoie ania eee ie 379 PREICET VIE Cbs TRS cid. eo) wae Soe ee 260 a = Wealth. of Nations, by Smith ; ont Wacucors, BENJAMIN, theologian, ot PRRCHs-TV See ee ase ss ae ees Sir oe 45, 402 Pes Ce Ronee Aor as at eens aS 367 . WEBSTER, DANIEL, orator oa W hig and Tory in the Reign of Queen statesman; extracts from his Anne, by Har] Stanhope, viii...... 10 : speeches, RU as in os 372 | Whims and Oddities, by Hood, vii... 49 2 WEBSTER, Dr. ALEXANDER, theolo- WHISTLECRAFT, WM. and Rost. og a ae Cbd Coa a a AA arate rep) fictitious name assumed by Hook- =" EBSTER, JOHN, dramatist, i....... 3.5 ham Frere in a noted ‘jeu d’esprit; ” Wedgewood, Josiah, Life of, by v9.4 i) fo G] Raa PR Be Ve ee, hy oy SS 217 Eliza Meteyard, viii..........2.... 91} Wuiston, WILLIAM, theologian, iii. 366 _ ~ Wee Davie, by N. Macleod, viii. . 163 hey HENRY KIRKE, poet, extr., _ - Weimar, Picture of; by Lewes. Mr Rae oe a > Sole Re Oh ee RO oe &6 - — WELDON, SIR ANTHONY, historian, ii 348 Me bis Rey. GILBERT, of Selborne; oe Wellington, Duke of, by M olesworth, TIME TALISE «Vici at exe ds eee as 2 ME ONT Sets rie tihe 2 raps oo Mavely Said oe 72; Wurtz, REv. JOSEPH BLANCO, poet, a Wellington, Life of, by W.H . Max- BmiRACt EV scene SR ac eens 169 MIE REL itt, Se hie Soy s sate Ou smie'o eo i's 304 | WHITE, RoBert, historian, viii..... bl be Wellington’ s Despatches, by Lieut.- ee Devil, the, by John Webster, eee Ola GUTWVOGU, Vi sare. ae ous are ajar sole ZO be Lee dorivetgi ia eines fs oRE or dececs wink wl Sate 055 __ WELLSTED, Lrzut. J. R.,” traveller, Waiinseiei, GEORGE, theologian, 9 ON ES ES ean ee ee BAUER SIS MOE Backes phn age cd oo audowe «a Boke 32T Welsh Poems, Date of the, be Skene, Whitesela and the Bristol Colliers, SNE pS tle Oe ae eared isa eld by Mrs. Oliphant, viii....°........ 62 “Welsh Triads, i....... Se tes socetala a8 2 aaa WILLIAM, poet, extr., SVWrmsteED-UBONARD, minor poet, li-59S | Gv... e we cet cece ek eu ce ettes . 366 Werena my Heart Licht I wad dee, W. ITHLOCKE, BULSTRODE, histor., >. ~ song by Lady G. Baillie, TVs ease. ZUG MTT aA cock ls yrdhe Sil geese Ea dela uo > 382 * Werther, Sorrows of, SaaS te Wark Wi1aM Dwieut, philol- Seeman Oly Vill. 2c... 2. Pe ets 63 Glacist: Ville a <. tHe Seea ee ook . #16 ~ Wesley, John, Life of, by Southey ; . Wuirtier, JOHN GREENLEAF, poet PGRN aay ap ae GR pee ee 283 OXtTacts,-VILAk> canis poenewernet as . AST - Wes Ley, JouNn and CHARLES, theo- Wieland, novel by CG. B. Brown, vic. /4@ La ee a ener 827 |} Wicland’s Oberon, _ translated by West, Ginperr, poet, TV. oa cates 192 ba Sothehy, vi. sdarces acetate tas 200 ~~ ‘West RIcHARD. poet iv........... el OS] Uy: ILBERFOROE, SAMUEL, BIsHoP, “West Indian, the, comedy, vi......-. 104 Saji) he weedy naasaae ea ates fe 144 -. West Indics, the, by Montgomery, v. 3 8 | WiLBERFORCE, “WinitaM, religious _- ~ Western World, the, by Mackay , Vili. 338 WET, Vis wie eshte scape ies “ee ae oe » 298 Westminster Review, 8 6-2) Cafe RTA 36 Wilhelm Meister, trans. by Carlyle. as ao Ho, by Charles Kingsley, ee PE AN i ee Boat . 390 EO eine, SS. as Soe ae vce La aces 267 | WitKIz, DR. WILLIAM, poet, iv..... 7a Ese Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea, vi. 24 WILKINS. Dr. J., philosophical 3 “aber ELIZABETH, novelist, WibOT Lick Beni ottas uae eet vale «92 EAD Ee te hor ant kD ao ob ow alent ¢ . 311 | Wilkins, Peter, Life and Adventures : Whai ails this Heart o’ Mine? v....- 64 / of, by Robert Patlock ; extracts, ~.. Whatis Life? by John Clare, v..... BOT IY. anne Haba an tg mcseuwes Wet ate o 248 a a What is truly Pvasticht by Ruskin. WILKINSON, SIR JOHN GARDINER, ridin SEs. Ks: Sete e antiqtary. Viil. ...cu tes ecPeew ens 354 What will he do with it? “by Edward William and Margaret, by Mallett, iv. 39 | Lytton Bulwer, vii.........-.+. ..-. 227) William and the Werwolf, edited by Sir Frederick Madden, i.........+6% J oe % ee. ~ ag CYCLOPADIA OF [ouvert * ‘ AGE PAGE. Dy: BN ren a Conqueror, Death of, ie Wy ogue Alte: rs ae the eae as i. PEGHVAN | WALLS Sscisercsdioreien eiei ; bere Dr. RowLAND, theolo- Junius’s Letters, iv........s.e20s 362 vag ger onan CEs Sikes Or er aaae 139 | Words and Places, by Taylor, viii... 157” ay: ae Dr. R., Life of, by his tr Ne oneaee Dorothy—her Tour in” a gs: § W1dOW, Wilh. ini oso uiereie oe ewe oo. ica 140 | SCOMANG EVE Fis citmal-nies Rom eles > W ILLTAMS, H.W.., artist and traveller, Wonpswortt WILLIAM, poet; extr., ‘ i OXPPAOU VISA He we biel olarditetararhecs ale ORY pC See Pepe ire He So nor yi nin se pie A WinLtaMs, HELEN Marri, poet, v.. 3 8 Work orth, Memoirs of, nas ates 145 — os WILLIAMS, SIR CHARLES HANBURY, World, History of cee y 13 ee ees satirical poet, il epee PS ar SE rave pe 384 Raleigh; extracts, 1., y Dr. ony Wix.is, NATHANIEL PARKER, aie se Gillies, -vi-<. eo gta Tee Bes wat oe 4 ib fesse Mean cr fey Se ty ese Sipe SPURS, PRU a a gece t Wasi, Kai, joa dani, 1°] Wart, the, before the Mood, Ry 4, Se ae ae ee te Peeler Me, We Atos ed Bn, Wiuson, ARTHUR, historian, ii...... 343 vee gh igen re 3 eee iy a EONS ANTES sect arenes i ee at World, the, edited by Dr. Moore, iv. 17) ~~ Witson, Prov. JonN, (Christop er Worlds Hydrographical Descrip- — 8. porn) as poet, v, 339; as novelist, 90g | <_tion, he Davis, ii adele re i ee eee ee ee ee ee ar | . One: be Sir Tae. : : Witson, Txomas, rhetorician, i.... 138 eT tein ee ee ea 7 oa R WiLson, SELES MAE A gare Worlds, on the Plurality of, by Dr. ae Beavellety Valse: soit Count 88 OF, Whewell, Vill. )./%0-4 D.aeet ae ee 260 - eh at PRETO 9229 Worsaaz, J.J. A., archeologist, viii 51 — witteeteececesceserseerecses B29 | woe ei andthe, ii... - f Windsor Forest, by Pope, iii........ 175 wore of England, the, Ms Rouaoes ty, Winter Evening in the Country, by 19 WorTon, Sin HENRY, poet, i...--.- 289 ee Cowper, v al eRewiake ablansl . . » > & = * i rae “ =< y ee. ey } ba Fine eee ' “a r t ot i ‘as < ue ‘a a er ‘ 4 > “ = , 7 4 z 7 , $ ‘ . . - : 57 ~ > Oy AS > = > i IS 7 ~~ - ” o% i, * , > a Se ary TN HEY \ EON ake ey a er A i PR83.C41876 C GLISHL — ettttdtte0089887° | WITHBRATIN Aso so 7, />V.?7<8/ 1006 BR PRINTED IN U.S.A. 23.521-002