v»-w A» J& - « ' 
 
 
 
 
 
 
THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF ILLINOIS 
 LIBRARY 
 
 820,3 
 ir4 
 
THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 LITERARY CRITICISM 
 
 ENGLISH AND AMERICAN AUTHORS 
 
 VOLUME IV 
 1785 - 1824 
 
 EDITED BY CHARLES WELLS MOULTON 
 
 ASSISTED BY A CORPS OF ABLE CONTRIBUTORS 
 
 / 
 
 THE MOULTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 BUFFALO NEW YORK 
 1902 
 
Copyrighted 1903 
 
 BY 
 
 THE MOULTON PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 
 E-SUMNER Company 
 ND Bookmakers 
 New York 
 
Iprofessor MilUam Zonc^ Ibarris, "liL. ®. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 POETS Al 
 He could songes make, and wel endite. 
 —Chaucer, Geoffrey, 1387-93? Can- 
 terbury Tales. 
 
 Having bene in all ages, and even 
 amongst the most barbarous, always of 
 singular accounpt and honour, and being 
 indede so worthy and commendable an arte ; 
 or rather no arte, but a divine gift and 
 heavenly instinct not to bee gotten by 
 laboure and learning, but adorned with 
 both ; and poured into the witte by a cer- 
 tain 'Evdov(riacrfx6<s and cellestial inspira- 
 tion— Spenser, Edmund, 1579, The Shep- 
 herd's Calendar, Argument, Oct 
 
 Nature never let forth the earth in so 
 rich tapistry, as divers Poets have done, 
 neither with pleasant rivers, fruitful trees, 
 sweet smelling flowers: nor whatsoever 
 els may make the too much loved earth 
 more lovely. Her world is brasen, the 
 Poets only deliver a golden. — Sidney, Sir 
 Philip, 1595, An Apologie for Poetrie. 
 I had rather be a kitten, and cry — mew, 
 Than one of these same metre ballad- 
 mongers ; 
 
 I had rather hear a brazen canstick turn'd, 
 Or a dry wheel grate on an axle-tree ; 
 And that would set my teeth nothing on 
 edge. 
 
 Nothing so much as mincing poetry ; 
 'Tis like the forc'd gait of a shuffling nag. 
 
 —Shakespeare, William, 1596-97, King 
 
 Henry IV., Part I, Act iii. Sc. i. 
 
 When Heav'n would strive to do the best it 
 can, 
 
 And puts an Angel's Spirit into a Man, 
 The utmost power in that great work doth 
 spend 
 
 When to the World a Poet it doth intend. 
 —Drayton, Michael, 1597, England's 
 Heroical Epistles. 
 
 It was ever thought to have some par- 
 ticipation of divineness, because it doth 
 raise and erect the mind, by submitting 
 the shews of things to the desires of the 
 mind.— Bacon, Francis Lord, 1605, Ad- 
 vancement of Learning, hk. ii. 
 
 ► POETRY 
 
 A verse may finde him who a sermon flies, 
 And turn delight into a sacrifice. 
 
 —Herbert, George, 1633, The Temple, 
 Church Porch. 
 
 Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower : 
 
 The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 
 The house of Pindarus, when temple and 
 tower 
 
 Went to the ground ; and the repeated air 
 Of sad Electra's poet had the power 
 
 To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 
 —Milton, John, 1642, When the Assault 
 was intended to the City. 
 For rhyme the rudder is of verses, 
 With which, like ships, they steer their 
 courses. 
 
 —Butler, Samuel, 1663, Hudibras. 
 . . . the fate of verses, always prized 
 With admiration, or as much despised; 
 Men will be less indulgent to their faults, 
 And patience have to cultivate their thoughts, 
 Poets lose half the praise they should have got, 
 Could it be Imown what they discreetly blot ; 
 Finding new words, that to the ravished ear 
 May like the language of the gods appear, 
 Such as, of old, wise bards employed, to make 
 Unpolished men their wild retreats forsake ; 
 Law-giving heroes, famed for taming brutes, 
 And raising cities, with their charming lutes ; 
 For rudest minds with harmony were caught. 
 And civil life was by the Muses taught. 
 —Waller, Edmund, 1670, Upon the Earl 
 of Roscommon's Translation of Horace "de 
 Arte Poetica." 
 
 Fame from science, not from fortune, draws. 
 So poetry, which is in Oxford made 
 An art, in London only is a trade. 
 There haughty dunces, whose unlearned pen 
 Could ne'er spell grammar, would be read- 
 ing men. 
 
 Such build their poems the Lucretian way ; 
 So many huddled atoms make a play ; 
 And if they hit in order by some chance. 
 They call that nature which is ignorance. 
 — Dryden, John, 1673, Prologue to the 
 University of Oxford. 
 True Poets are the Guardians of a State, 
 And, when they fail, portend approaching 
 Fate. 
 
 For that which Rome to conquest did inspire, 
 Was not the Vestal, but the Mases' fire. 
 —Roscommon, Earl of, 1684. An Essay 
 on Translated Verse. 
 
If he have a poetic vein, 'tis to me the 
 strangest thing in the world that the father 
 should desire or suffer it to be cherished 
 or improved. Methinks the parents should 
 labour to have it stifled and suppressed as 
 much as may be; and I know not what 
 
 ■ reason a father can have to wish his son a 
 poet, who does not desire to have him bid 
 defiance to all other callings and business ; 
 which is not yet the worst of the case ; 
 for if he proves a successful rhymer, and 
 gets once the reputation of a wit, I desire 
 it may be considered what company and 
 
 I places he is like to spend his time in, — 
 nay, and estate too. . . . Poetry and 
 gaming, which usually go together, are 
 alike in this too, that they seldom bring 
 any advantage but to those who have noth- 
 ing else to live on. . . . If therefore you 
 would not have your son the fiddle to every 
 jovial company, without whom the sparks 
 could not relish their wine nor know how 
 to pass an afternoon idly ; if you would not 
 have him to waste his time and estates to 
 divert others, and contemn the dirty acres 
 left him by his ancestors, — I do not think 
 you will much care he should be a poet, or 
 that his schoolmaster should enter him in 
 versifying. — Locke, John, 1693, Some 
 Thoughts concerning Education. 
 True ease in writing comes from art, not 
 chance, 
 
 As those move easiest who have learned to 
 dance. 
 
 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence, 
 The sound must seem an echo to the sense, 
 Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows, 
 \nd the smooth stream in smoother numbers 
 flows; 
 
 '.ut when loud surges lash the sounding 
 shore, 
 
 le hoarse rough verse should like the tor- 
 rent roar : 
 
 When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight 
 to throw, 
 
 The line too labors, and the words move slow : 
 : lot so, when swift Camilla scours the plain. 
 Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims 
 along the main. 
 
 —Pope, Alexander, 1711, Essay on 
 
 Criticism, pKii, v. 162-173. 
 True poets can depress and raise, 
 Are lords of infamy and praise ; 
 Tliey are not scurrilous in satire, 
 
 Nor will in panegyric flatter, 
 
 Unjustly poets we asperse ; 
 
 Truth shines the brighter clad in verse, 
 
 And all the fictions they pursue 
 
 Do but insinuate what is true. 
 
 — Swift, Jonathan, 1720, To Stella. 
 
 Rhymes are difficult things — they are 
 stubborn things, sir. — Fielding, Henry, 
 1751, Amelia. 
 
 The bard, nor think too lightly that I mean 
 Those little, piddling witlings, who o'erween 
 Of their small parts, the Murphys of the 
 stage. 
 
 The Masons and the Whiteheads of the age. 
 Who all in raptures their own works re- 
 hearse, 
 
 And drawl out measured prose, which they 
 call verse. 
 
 —Churchill, Charles, 1764, Independ- 
 ence. 
 
 The essence of poetry is invention ; such 
 invention as, by producing something un- 
 expected, surprises and delights. — John- 
 son, Samuel, 1779, Waller ^ Lives of the 
 Poets. 
 
 There is a pleasure in poetic pains. 
 
 Which only poets know. 
 — Cowper, William, 1785, The Task, bk. 
 ii, V. 285-286. 
 
 Not mine the soul that pants not after fame- 
 Ambitious of a poet's envied name, 
 I haunt the sacred fount, athirst to prove 
 The grateful influence of the stream I love. 
 — GiFFORD, William, 1791, The Baviad. 
 
 The poet must be alike polished by an 
 intercourse with the world as with the 
 studies of taste ; one to whom labour is 
 negligence, refinement a science, and art 
 a nature.— Disraeli, Isaac, 1796-1818, 
 Vers de Societe, Literary Character of Men 
 of Genius. 
 
 Call it not vain : — they do not err, 
 
 Who say that when the poet dies 
 
 Mute Nature mourns her worshipper 
 
 And celebrates his obsequies ; 
 
 Who say tall clilf and cavern lone 
 
 For the departed bard makes moan ; 
 
 That mountains weep in crystal rill ; 
 
 That flowers in tears of balm distil ; 
 
 Through liis loved groves that breezes sigh, 
 
 And oaks in deeper groan reply, 
 
 And rivers teach their rushing wave ' 
 
 To murmur dirges round his grave. 
 
 —Scott, Sir Walter, 1805, Lay of the 
 
 Last Minstrel, Canto v, St. i. 
 
Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belojig, 
 And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song. 
 — Keats, John, 1815, Epistle to George 
 Felton Mathews. 
 
 Poetry is the blossom and the fragrance 
 of all human knowledge, human thoughts, 
 human passions, emotions, language. — 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1817, Bio- 
 graphia Liter aria, ch. xv. 
 
 What must a Muse of strength, of force, of 
 fire, 
 
 In the true Poet's ample mmd inspire? 
 What must he feel, who can the soul express. 
 Of saint or hero? — he must be no less. 
 Nor less of evil minds he knows the pain, 
 But quickly lost the anguish and the stain ; 
 While with the wisest, happiest, purest, best, 
 His soul assimilates and loves to rest. 
 — Crabbe, George, 1819, Tales of the 
 Hall, bk. vi, note. 
 
 Poetry is found to have a few stronger 
 conceptions, by which it would affect or 
 overwhelm the mind,' than those in which 
 it presents the moving and speaking image 
 of the departed dead to the senses of the 
 living. — Webster, Daniel, 1820, Dis- 
 course Delivered at Plymouth on the 22nd 
 of December. 
 
 Poetry is not like reasoning, a power 
 to be exerted according to the determina- 
 tion of the will. A man cannot say, 
 will compose poetry." The greatest poet 
 even cannot say it ; for the mind in crea- 
 tion is as a fading coal, which some invisible 
 influence, like an inconstant wind, awakens 
 to transitory brightness; this power 
 arises from within, like the colour of 
 a flower which fades and changes as it is 
 developed, and the conscious portions of 
 our nature are unprophetic either of its 
 approach or its departure. . . . Poetry 
 is the record of the best and happiest 
 moments of the happiest and best minds. 
 We are aware of evanescent visitations of 
 thought and feeling, sometimes associated 
 with place or person, sometimes regard- 
 ing our own mind alone, and always arising 
 unf orseen and departing unbidden, but ele- 
 vating and delightful beyond all expression : 
 so that even in the desire and the regret 
 
 they leave, there cannot but be pleasure, 
 participating as it does in the nature of 
 its object. It is, as it were, the inter- 
 penetration of a diviner nature through 
 our own ; but its footsteps are- like those 
 of a wind over the sea, which the morning 
 calm erases, and whose traces remain only, 
 as on the wrinkled sand which paves it. — 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1821, A Defence 
 of Poetry. 
 
 Poetry produces an illusion on the eye 
 of the mind, as a magic lantern produces 
 an illusion on the eye of the body. And, 
 as a magic lantern acts best in a dark 
 room, poetry effects its purpose most com- 
 pletely in a dark age. As the light of 
 knowledge breaks in upon its exhibitions, 
 as the outlines of certainty become more 
 and more definite, and the shades of prob- 
 ability more and more distinct, the hues 
 and lineaments of the phantoms which it 
 calls up grow fainter and fainter. We 
 cannot unite the incompatible advantages 
 of reality and deception, the clear dis- 
 cernment of truth and the exquisite enjoy- 
 ment of fiction.— Mac AULA Y, Thomas 
 Babington, 1825, Milton, Edinburgh Re- 
 view ; Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 The poet, we cannot but think, can never 
 have far to seek for a subject : the ele- 
 ments of his art are in him and around 
 him on every hand ; for him the ideal world 
 is not remote from the actual, but under 
 it and within it ; nay, he is a poet, precisely 
 because he can discern it there. Wher- 
 ever there is a sky above him, and a world 
 around him, the poet is in his place, for 
 here too is man^s existence, with its defi- 
 nite longings and small acquirings; its 
 ever-thwarted, ever -renewed endeavors; 
 its unspeakable aspirations, its fears and 
 hopes that wander through eternity ; and 
 all the mystery of brightness and of gloom 
 that it was ever made of, in any age or 
 climate, since man first began to live. Is 
 there not the fifth act of a tragedy in 
 every death-bed, though it were a peasant's 
 and a bed of heath? And are wooings 
 
8 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 and weddings obsolete, that there can be 
 comedy no longer? Or are men suddenly 
 grown wise, that Laughter must no longer 
 shake his sides, but be cheated of his 
 farce? Man's life and nature is as it was, 
 and as it will ever be. But the poet must 
 have an eye to read these things, and a 
 heart to understand them, or they come 
 and pass away before him in vain. He is 
 a vateSy a seer ; a gift of vision that has 
 been given him. Has life no meanings 
 for him which another cannot equally 
 decipher ? Then he is no poet, and Delphi 
 itself will not make him one. — Carlyle, 
 Thomas, 1828, The Life of Robert Burns, 
 The poet in a golden clime was born, 
 
 With golden stars above ; 
 Dower' d with the hate of hate, the scorn of 
 scorn, 
 
 The love of love. 
 
 And bravely furnish 'd all abroad to fling 
 
 The winged shafts of truth, 
 To throng with stately blooms the breathing 
 spring, 
 
 Of hope and youth. 
 
 — TennysoNj Alfred Lord, 1830, The 
 Poet 
 
 The words 
 He utters in his solitude shall move 
 Men like a swift wind — that tho' dead and 
 gone, 
 
 New eyes shall glisten when his beauteous 
 dream 
 
 Of love come true in happier frames than his. 
 
 —Browning, Robert, 1833, Pauline. 
 
 Poetry is itself a thing of God ; 
 
 He made his prophets poets ; and the more 
 
 We feel of poesie do we become 
 
 Like God in love and power, — under-makers. 
 
 - Bailey, Philip James, 1839, Festus, 
 Proem. 
 
 . . . these were poets true, 
 
 Who did for Beauty as martyrs do 
 
 For Truth — the ends being scarcely two. 
 
 God's prophets of the Beautiful 
 
 These poets were; of iron rule, 
 
 Tlie rugged cilix, serge of wool. 
 
 —Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1844, 
 A Vision of Poets. 
 
 Poetry is the breath of beauty, flowing 
 around the spiritual world, as the winds 
 that wake up the flowers do about the 
 material.— Hunt, Leigh, 1844, Of States- 
 men Who have Written Verses; Men, 
 Women and Books. 
 
 Blessings be with them — ^and eternal praise, 
 Who gave us nobler loves, and nobler cares — 
 The Poets, who on earth have made us heirs 
 Of truth and pure delight by heavenly lays ! 
 
 —Wordsworth, William, 1846, Per- 
 sonal Talk. 
 
 All that is best in the great poets of all 
 countries is not what is national in them, 
 but what is universal. — Longfellow, 
 Henry Wads worth, 1849, Kavanagh, 
 ch. XX. 
 
 One more royal trait properly belongs 
 to the poet. I mean his cheerfulness, 
 without which no man can be a poet, — for 
 beauty is his aim. He loves virtue, not 
 for its obligation, but for. its grace; he 
 delights in the world, in man, in woman, 
 for the lovely light that sparkles from 
 them. Beauty, the spirit of joy and hilar- 
 ity, he sheds over the universe. — Emer- 
 son, Ralph Waldo, 1850, Shakespeare ; 
 or the Poet. 
 
 Poetry is 
 
 The grandest chariot wherein king-thoughts 
 ride; — 
 
 One who shall fervent grasp the sword of 
 song 
 
 As a stern swordsman grasps his keenest 
 blade, 
 
 To find the quickest passage to the heart. 
 
 — Smith, Alexander, 1852, A Life 
 
 Drama. 
 
 — Doth not song 
 To the whole world belong ! 
 Is it not given wherever tears can fall, 
 Wherever hearts can melt, or blushes glow, 
 Or mirth and sadness mingle as they flow, 
 A heritage to all? 
 
 —Craig-Knox, Isa, 1859, Ode on a Cen- 
 tenary of Burns. 
 
 We call those poets who are first to mark 
 Through earth's dull mist the coming of 
 
 the dawn, — 
 Who see in twilight's gloom the first pale 
 
 spark, 
 
 While others only note that day is gone. 
 
 — Holmes, Oliver W^endell, 1864, 
 Shakespeare Tercentennial Celebration, 
 April 23. 
 
 . . . there da-svneth a time to the Poet, 
 When the bitterness passes away, 
 
 With none but his God to know it, 
 He kneels in the dark to pray ; 
 
 And the prayer is turn'd into singing, 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 9 
 
 And the singing findeth a tongue, 
 And Art, with her cold liands chuging. 
 
 Comforts the soul she has stung. 
 Then the Poet, holding her to him, 
 
 Findeth his loss is his gain : 
 The sweet singing sadness thrills through 
 him, 
 
 Though nought of the glory remain ; 
 And the awful sound of the city. 
 
 And the terrible faces around, 
 Take a truer, tenderer pity. 
 
 And pass into sweetness and sound ; 
 The mystery deepens to thunder. 
 
 Strange vanish ings gleam from the cloud. 
 And the Poet, with pale lips asunder, 
 
 Stricken, and smitten, and bow'd, 
 Starteth at times from his wonder, 
 
 And sendeth his Soul up aloud ! 
 
 —Buchanan, Robert, 1864, London. 
 
 The earth is given 
 To us : we reign by virtue of a sense 
 Which lets us hear the rhythm of that old 
 verse, 
 
 The ring of that old tune whereto she spins. 
 Humanity is given to us : we reign 
 By virtue of a sense which lets us in 
 To know its troubles ere they have been told, 
 And take them home and lull them into rest 
 With mournful! est music. Time is given 
 to us, — 
 
 Time past, time future. Who, good sooth, 
 beside 
 
 Have seen it well, have walked this empty 
 world 
 
 When she went steaming, and from pulpy 
 hills 
 
 Have marked the spurting of their flamy 
 crowns? 
 
 — INGELOW, Jean, 1867, Gladys and Her 
 Island. 
 
 Verse-makers' talk! fit for a world of rhymes 
 Where facts are feigned to tickle idle ears, 
 Where good and evil play at tournament. 
 And end in amity, — a world of lies, — 
 A carnival of words where every year 
 Stale falsehoods serve fresh men. 
 —Eliot, George, 1868, The Spanish 
 Gypsyy bk. i. 
 
 The busy shuttle comes and goes 
 Across the rhymes, and deftly weaves 
 A tissue out of autumn leaves, 
 With here a thistle, there a rose. 
 
 — Aldrich, Thomas Bailey, 1874, The 
 Cloth of Gold. 
 
 We are the music makers, 
 
 And we are the dreamers of dreams. 
 Wandering by lone sea-breakers, 
 
 And sitting by desolate streams; — 
 World-losers and world-forsakers, 
 
 On whom the pale mo n gleams : 
 Yet we are the movers awi shakers 
 
 Of the world for ever, it seems. 
 With wonderful deathless ditties 
 We build up the world's great cities, 
 
 And out of a fabulous story 
 
 We fashion an empire's glory : 
 One man with a dream, at pleasure, 
 
 Shall go forth and conquer a crown ; 
 And three with a new song's measure 
 
 Can trample a kingdom down, 
 
 — O'Shaughnessy, Arthur, 1874, Ode, 
 Music and Moonlight. 
 
 There are few delights in any life so 
 high and rare as the subtle and strong de- 
 light of sovereign art and poetry ; there 
 are none more pure and more sublime. To 
 have read the greatest works of any great 
 poet, to have beheld or heard the greatest 
 works of any great painter or musician, is 
 a possession added to the best things of 
 ■life. — Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 
 1875, Victor Hugo, Essays and Studies. 
 
 All days are birthdays in the life, 
 
 The blessed life that poets live, 
 Songs keep their own sweet festivals. 
 
 And are the gifts they come to give. 
 The only triumph over Time, 
 
 That Time permits, is his who sings ; 
 The poet Time himself defies 
 
 By secret help of Time's own wings. 
 
 — Jackson, Helen Hunt, 1879, To 0, 
 W. Holmes on his 10th Birthday. 
 
 A Poem consists of all the purest and 
 most beautiful elements in the " oet's 
 nature, crystallised into the aptest and 
 most exquisite language, and adorned with 
 all the outer embellishment of musical 
 cadence or dainty rhyme. Hence it pre- 
 sents us with the highest and noblest prod- 
 uct of the aesthetic faculty, embracing 
 as it does in their ideal forms the separate 
 beauties of all its sister arts. Whatever 
 loveliness in face or feature, in hill or 
 stream or ocean, the painter can place 
 before us on his breathing canvas, that 
 loveliness the poet can body forth in his 
 verse, with the superadded touches of his 
 vivid imagination. Whatever glorious 
 floods of sound the singer can pour out 
 from his ever-welling fountain of liquid 
 treble and thundering bass, that glory the 
 poet can reproduce for us in his graphic 
 delineation of all things seen or heard. 
 
Even more than this the poet can do. For 
 while painting can only portray for us the 
 forms and colours of the human face or of 
 external nature, with at best some preg- 
 nant suggestion of the passions and emo- 
 tions at work within it — while music can 
 I only play upon our inner cords by dim hints 
 I and half-comprehended touches, *' telling 
 I us of things we have not seen, of things we 
 shall not see" — the supreme art of all can 
 utter in clear and definite language every 
 feeling, external or internal, which makes 
 up the sum of human life. — Allen, Grant, 
 1879, A Fragment from Keats, The Gentle- 
 man^s Magazine, vol 244, p, 676. 
 He is a poet strong and true 
 Who loves wild thyme and honey-dew ; 
 And like a brown bee works and sings. 
 With morning freshness on his wings, 
 And a gold burden on his thighs, — 
 The pollen -dust of centuries! 
 —Thompson, Maurice, 1883, Wild Honey. 
 
 I sometimes doubt 
 f they have not indeed the better part — 
 ?hese poets, who get drunk with sun, and 
 
 , weep 
 
 secause the night or a woman's face is fair. 
 -Levy, Amy, 1884, A Minor Poet. 
 
 Ihe comes like the husht beauty of the night, 
 But sees too deep for laughter ; 
 !er touch is a vibration and a light 
 F^pm worlds before and after. 
 - / xRKHAM, Charles Edwin, 1889, 
 rize Quatrain, Magazine of Poetry, vol. 
 p. 488. 
 
 1, we who know thee know we know thee 
 not, 
 
 Thou Soul of Beauty, thou Essential Grace ! 
 it undeterr'd by baffled speech and thought, 
 The heart stakes all upon thy hidden face. 
 Bates, Katharine Lee, 1889, Prize 
 latrain, Magazine of Poetry, vol. 1, p. 488. 
 
 . . the great gods of Song, in clear 
 
 white light, 
 le radiance of their godhead, calmly dwell 
 id with immutable cold starlike gaze 
 m both the upper and the under world, 
 it revolves, themselves serenely fixed, 
 eir bias is the bias of the sphere, 
 at turns all ways, but turns away from 
 
 none, 
 
 ve to return to it. They have no feud 
 ith gods or men, the living or the dead, 
 e past or present, and their words complete 
 'e's incompleteness with a healing note, 
 r they are not more sensitive than strong, 
 
 More wise than tender ; understanding all. 
 At peace with all, at peace with life and 
 death, 
 
 And love that gives a meaning unto life 
 And takes from death the meaning and the 
 sting : 
 
 At peace with hate, and every opposite. 
 —Austin, Alfred, 1889, A Dialogue at 
 Fiesole. 
 
 We name thee not the Angel of the Tomb : 
 
 O'er that, vain -glory fleets, waning wrath : 
 God's light alone dispels the churchyard's 
 gloom : 
 
 Yet whisperings hast thou with God's 
 Daughter, Faith. 
 
 -De Vere, Aubrey Thomas, 1889, Prize 
 
 Quatrain, Magazine of Poetry, vol. 1, 
 
 p. 490. 
 
 God placed a solid rock man's path across, 
 And bade him climb ; but that it might 
 not be 
 
 Too rough, He wrapped it o'er with tender 
 moss: 
 
 The rock was Truth, the moss was Poetry. 
 — Ingliss, Bert, 1889, Prize Quatrain, 
 Magazine of Poetry, vol. 1, p. 488. 
 
 The poet dies as dies the barren mind, 
 It is in death his deathless days begin. 
 
 To him of what avail? But he has willed 
 His wealth to every dweller on the soil. 
 
 That so shall ages drifting by be filled 
 With lustrous reminiscence of his toil. 
 
 Through him man's spirit quits its baser 
 pleasures, 
 
 Beholding Nature's world as now his own, 
 Astonished at his newly-gotten treasures, — 
 
 Into his lap the wealth of ages thrown ! 
 — Hake, Thomas Gordon, 1890, The New 
 Day, Sonnet xxxi. 
 
 He walks w^ith God upon the hills ! 
 
 And sees, each morn, the world arise 
 
 New-bathed in light of Paradise. 
 He hears the laughter of her rills, 
 
 Her melodies of many voices, 
 
 And greets her while her heart rejoices. 
 She, to his spirit undefiled, 
 Makes answer as a little child ; 
 
 Unveiled before his eyes she stands. 
 
 And gives her secrets to his hands. 
 — COOLBRITH, Ina D., 1891, The Poet. 
 Poets must ever be their own best listeners. 
 
 No word from man to men 
 
 Shall sound the same again ; 
 Something is lost through all interpreters. 
 
 Never for finest thought 
 
 Can crystal words be wrought 
 That to the crowd afar 
 Shall show it — mo" a than a telescope a star. 
 —Spencer, Ca- l, 1891, Half Heard. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Adams, Samuel, ....... 1722—1803 
 
 Ames, Fisher, 1758—1808 
 
 Amory, Thomas, 16917-1788 
 
 Anstey, Christopher, 1724—1805 
 
 Austen, Jane, 1775—1817 
 
 Page.. 
 
 440 
 527 
 47 
 479 
 612 
 
 Personal, 612 
 
 Pride and Prejudice, . 614 
 Sense and Sensibility, 6lfe 
 
 Northanger Abbey, . . . 616 
 
 Mansfield Park, 616 
 
 Emma, 617 
 
 Persuasion, 618 
 
 General, 618 
 
 Bage, Robert, 1728- 
 
 ■1801 418 
 
 Barlow, Joel 1754—1812 573 
 
 Beattie, James, 1735—1803 428 
 
 Personal, 428 The Minstrel, 431 General, 433 
 
 Essay on Truth, ... 430 
 
 Black, Joseph, 1728—1799 344 
 
 Blacklock, Thomas, 1721—1791 129 
 
 Blair, Hugh, 1718—1800 403 
 
 Blamire, Susanna, 1747—1794 204 
 
 Bloomfield, Robert, 1766—1823 723 
 
 BoswELL, James, 1740—1795 209 
 
 i-BROWN, Charles Brockden, . . . . 1771—1810 552 
 
 Brown, Thomas, 1778—1820 657 
 
 Bruce, James, ........ 1730—1794 205 
 
 Burke, Edmund, , 1729—1797 ........ 287 
 
 Personal, 288 
 
 Speeches and Oratory, 294 
 
 Vindication of Natural 
 
 Society, 297 
 
 The Sublime and Beautiful, 298 
 
 1799 
 
 Reflections on the Rev- 
 olution in France, 298 
 
 General, 
 
 301 
 
 Burnett, James, 1714 
 
 BuRNEY, Charles, 1726—1814 
 Burns, Robert 1759—1796 
 
 Personal 221 
 
 Jean, 236 
 
 Highland Mary, ... 238 
 
 Cl^rinda 240 
 
 Mrs. Dunlop, 241 
 
 The Holy Fair, 242 
 
 Cotter' s Saturday Night, . 243 
 
 Tam O'Shanter, 244 
 
 The Jolly Beggars, . 
 Holy Willie's Prayer, 
 Letters, 
 
 346 
 587" 
 221' 
 
 246 
 246 
 247 
 
 General, 247 
 
 Byron '^.orge Gordon Lord, 
 
 P , 732 
 
 Lac : n, . . . . 743 
 
 Hour. ness, . . 747 
 
 English " and 
 
 Scotch . Ts, . 747 
 
 Carter, Eliz^. . . 
 
 Chapone, Hestl , o 
 Colman, George t)f^ 
 
 1788—1824 731 
 
 Childe Harold, 
 
 Prisoner of Chillon, 
 Manfred, .... 
 
 748 
 
 Don Juan, . . . 
 
 . . 751 
 
 749 
 
 Marino Faliero, . 
 
 . . 753 
 
 749 
 
 
 
 750 
 
 Letters?, .... 
 
 . . 755 
 
 750 
 
 
 . . 755 
 
 1";:'— 1806 ........ 491 
 
 !72T -1801 417 
 
 1732—1794 ~200 
 
12 
 
 CowPER, William, 
 
 Personal, . . . 
 
 Lady Austen, . . 
 Olney Hymns, 
 
 John Gilpin, . . 
 
 371 
 
 376 
 377 
 377 
 
 CONTENTS 
 . . . . 1731—1800 
 
 The Task 378 
 
 Homer 381 
 
 On the Receipt of My Mother'9 
 Picture, .382 
 
 Page. 
 
 370 
 
 Sonnets, 
 Letters, 
 General, 
 
 383 
 384 
 
 Cumberland, Richard, 1732—1811 
 
 Dalrymple, Sir David, 1726—1792 
 
 Darwin, Erasmus, 1731—1802 
 
 Personal, 420 Zoonomia, 423 
 
 The Botanic Garden, . 421 
 
 Day, Thomas, 1748—1789 
 
 DiBDiN, Charles, 1745—1814 
 
 Drake, Joseph Rodman, ..... 1795—1820 
 
 DwiGHT, Timothy, . 1752—1817 
 
 Erskine, Thomas, 1750—1823 
 
 Farmer, Richard, 1735—1797 
 
 Ferguson, Adam, 1723—1816 
 
 Fox, Charles James, 1749—1806 
 
 Francis, Sir Philip, 1740—1818 
 
 Franklin, Benjamin, 1706—1790 
 
 General 424 
 
 Personal 80^ 
 
 The Hutchinson Letters 94 
 
 Poor Richard's Almanac, 
 Autobiography, . . . 
 
 General, 
 
 558 
 145 
 420 
 
 49 
 585 
 659 
 625 
 728 
 340 
 609 
 498 
 637 
 
 79 
 
 172 
 
 Letters and Miscella- 
 neous Works, . . 198 
 General 195 
 
 General, 
 
 -167 
 
 Gibbon, Edward, 1737--1794 
 
 "^rsoiJ^l, 173 Decline and Fall of the Roman 
 
 Mademoiselle Curchod, 178 Empire 179 
 
 Autobiography 191 
 
 Glover, Richard, 1712—1785 
 
 Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft, . . 1759 — 1797 
 
 Grahame, James, 1765—1811 
 
 Hailes, Lord, 1726—1792 
 
 Hamilton, Alexander, 1757—1804 
 
 Personal, . . , . . 456 The Federalist 466 
 
 Statesman, 462 
 
 .Hawkins, Sir John, f 1719—1789 
 
 Hayley, William, 1745—1820 
 
 Henry, Patrick, 1736—1799 
 
 Henry, Robert, 1718—1790 
 
 HoLCROFT, Thomas, ...... 1745—1809 
 
 Home, John, 1722—1808 
 
 Hopkins, Samuel, ....... 1721—1803 
 
 Hopkinson, Francis. 1737—1791 
 
 Horne, George, 1730-1792 . . , 143 
 
 Horne, John, 1736—1812 569 
 
 /Iorner, Francis, 1778—1817 628 
 
 Hoksley, Samuel, 1733—1806 . , , 494 
 
 Hunter, John, 1728—1793 . ..... 164 
 
 HuKl),' Richard, 1720—1808 . 516 
 
 17 
 326 
 566 
 145 
 456 
 
 50 
 651 
 349 
 106 
 544 
 512 
 437 
 131 
 
CONTENTS 13 
 
 1726—1797 . 337 
 
 1753—1821 686 
 
 1704—1787 30 
 
 17197-1800? . ' . . . . . . . 413 
 
 1746—1794 
 
 1795—1821 
 
 Lamia, 671 
 
 Eve of St. Agnes 671, 
 
 Hyperion, 672 
 
 197 
 
 638 
 662 
 
 Odes, 673 
 
 Sonnets, 674 
 
 General 674 
 
 1720—1804 . . • 469 
 
 HuTTON, James; . . 
 Lnchbald, Mrs. Elizabeth 
 Jenyns, Soame, . . 
 Johnstone, Charles, 
 Jones, Sir William, 
 Junius, .... 
 Keats, John, . . 
 
 Personal, .... 
 Fanny Brawne, . . 
 Love Letters^ , . . 
 Endymion, . , . . . 
 
 Lennox, Charlotte, 
 
 Lewis, Matthew Gregory, .... 1775—1818 631 
 
 Livingston, William, 1723—1790 108 
 
 Logan. John, 1748—1788 43 
 
 LOWTH, Robert, 1710—1787 28 
 
 Macaulay, Catherine (nee Graham), 1731—1791 133 
 
 Macklin, Charles, 1699?-1797 342 
 
 Macknight, James, 1721—1800 ........ 407 
 
 Macpherson, James, 1736—1796 270 
 
 Personal, 270 Poems of Ossian, .... 272 General 281 
 
 Malone, Edmond, 1741—1812 577 
 
 Mansfield, Lord 1705—1793 169 
 
 Mason, William, 1724—1797 
 
 Maturin, Charles Robert, . . . . 1782—1824 
 
 MiCKLE, William Julius, 1735—1788 
 
 Monboddo, Lord, 1714—1799 
 
 Montagu, Elizabeth, ...... 1720—1800 
 
 .Moore, John, 1729—1802 
 
 Murphy, Arthur, . 1730—1805 
 
 Murray, William, 1705—1793 
 
 Orford, Earl of, 1717—1797 
 
 Orme, Robert, 1728—1801 
 
 Paine, Thomas, 1737—1809 
 
 Personal, . . 
 Common Sense, 
 
 530 
 535 
 
 The American Crisis. 
 The Rights of Man, . 
 
 536 
 
 Age of Reason, ... 637 
 General S39 
 
 Paley, William, 1743—1805 
 
 Personal 471 Horse Paulinse, 473 
 
 Principles of Moral and Evidences of Christianity, . 473 
 
 Political Philosophy, 472 
 
 Park, Mungo, 
 
 Percy, Thomas, 
 
 Pindar, Peter, ...... 
 
 Piozzi, Hester Lynch^ . . 
 Pitt, William, . - . o . 
 
 323 
 766 
 40 
 346 
 398 
 426 
 481 
 169 
 309 
 414 
 529 
 
 470 
 
 Natural Theology, . . 474 
 General, 475 
 
 1771—1806? 483 
 
 1729—1811 562 
 
 1738—1819 647 
 
 1740—1821 . 68db 
 
 1759—1806 507 
 
CONTENTS 
 .... 1759—1808 
 
 General 524 
 
 Price, Richard, 1723—1791 
 
 Priestley, Joseph, 1733—1804 
 
 445 Scientific Work 449 
 
 PoRsoN, Richard, . . 
 
 Personal 520 
 
 Page. 
 
 520 
 
 135 
 444 
 
 Personal, 
 
 General, 
 
 461 
 
 Pye, Henry James, 
 
 1745- 
 
 Radcliffe, Ann Ward, 1764— 
 
 Reeve, Clara, 1729 
 
 Reid, Tijomas, 1710 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, . . . . . 1723 
 
 Ricardo, David, 1772 
 
 RiTSON, Joseph . 1752— 
 
 Robertson, William, 1721 
 
 1813 
 1823 
 1807 
 1796 
 -1792 
 1823 
 1803 
 1793 
 
 580 
 717 
 511 
 282 
 137 
 725 
 435 
 154 
 
 Personal, 154 
 
 The Situation of the 
 World at the time of 
 Christ's Appearance, 156 
 
 History of Scotland, 
 Charles v., . . . . 
 History of America, 
 
 156 History of India, . . 161 
 
 158 General, 161 
 
 160 
 
 Robinson, Mary, 1758—1800 
 
 RoMiLLY, Sir Samuel, 1757—1818 
 
 Rumford, Count, 1753—1814 
 
 Seward, Anna, 1747—1809 
 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1792—1822 
 
 Personal, 681 
 
 Necessity of Atheism, 69J 
 Queen Mab, . . . . 69< 
 Alastor, 699 
 
 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley 
 
 Personal 594 The Duenna 6C 
 
 Speeches 599 School for Scandal, . . . . 6C 
 
 The Rivals 601 
 
 Sheridan, Thomas, 1719—1788 
 
 Smith, Adam, 1723—1790 
 
 Personal . 53 The Theory of Moral 
 
 . 411 
 
 . 634 
 . 589 
 541 
 . 689 
 
 The Revolt of Islam, 
 Julian and Maddalo, 
 Prometheus Unbound, 
 
 . . 1751- 
 
 700 The Cenci, 
 
 701 Adonais, . 
 701 General, . 
 
 703 
 704 
 704 
 
 1816 593 
 
 . . 602 The Critic 605 
 
 . . 603 General, 606 
 
 46 
 53 
 
 Sentiments, . . . 
 
 Smith, Charlotte, 1749—1806 
 
 Steevens, George, 1736—1800 
 
 Stevenson, John Hall, 1718—1785 
 
 Stuart, Gilbert, 1742—1786 
 
 Tannahill, Robert, 1774—1810 
 
 Thompson, Sir Benjamin, 1753—1814 
 
 Thrale, Mrs. Hester Lynch, . . . 1740—1821 
 
 TiGHE, Mary, 1772- -1810 
 
 Tooke, John Horne, ...... 1736—1812 
 
 Tucker, Josiah, 1712—1799 
 
 Tyrwh^tt, Thomas, ...... 1730—1786 
 
 Wakefield, Gilbert, . o . . . . 1756—1801 
 
 The Wealth of Nations, 61 
 58 General 70 
 
 496 
 408 
 24 
 27 
 547 
 589 
 (384 
 550 
 569 
 ci69 
 24 
 415 
 
Walpole, Horace, 
 
 Personal, . . 
 Strawberry Hill, 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 1717—1797 
 
 310 . Royal and Noble Authors, 316 
 814 Castle of Otranto, .... 316 
 The Mysterious Mother, . . 318 
 
 Letters, 318 
 
 General, 321 
 
 15 
 
 Pagh. 
 
 309 
 
 71 
 
 76 
 
 595 
 
 Warton, Thomas, ....... 1728—1790 
 
 Personal, .... 72 History of English Poetry. . 72 General, .... 
 
 Warton, Joseph, 1722—1800 
 
 Washington, George, 1732—1799 353 
 
 Personal, 353 Farewell Address 366 General 367 
 
 Wesley, Charles, 1707—1788 34 
 
 Personal, 84 Hymns, 35 
 
 Wesley, John, 1703—1791 
 
 Personal, 110 As a Preacher, 120 
 
 Marriage 118 Wesleyism, 122 
 
 White, Gilbert, 1720—1793 
 
 White, Henry Kirke, 1785—1806 
 
 Whitehead, AVilliam, 1715—1785 
 
 Wilkes, John, 1727—1797 
 
 Wilson, Alexander, 1766—1813 
 
 WoLCOT, John, . . ... ... 1738—1819 
 
 Wolfe, Charles, 1791—1823 
 
 WOLLSTONECRAFT, Mary, 1759—1797 
 
 Young,* Arthur, . 1741—1820 
 
 General, 
 
 General, 
 
 126 
 
 110 
 
 147 
 487 
 21 
 332 
 581 
 647 
 722 
 326 
 654 
 
blNUKAVUNUi. 
 
 Page. 
 
 Austen, Jane, , . . . . 613 
 
 After an Original Family Portrait. ^ 
 
 Barlow, Joel, » . . . . 553 
 
 Engraving by A. B, Durand, Fainting by Robert Fulton. 
 
 Beattie, James, 421 
 
 Drawing by T. Uwins, Engraving by W. Bromley, Original Picture by Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Brown, Charles Brockden, 553 
 
 Engraving by I. B. Forrest, from a Miniature by William Dunlap in 1806. 
 
 Burke, Edmund, 137 
 
 From a Painting by Alonzo Chappel, Original by Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Burns, Robert, .221 
 
 From a Painting by Alonzo Chappel, Original by Nasmyth. 
 
 Byron, Lord, " . 731 
 
 From a Painting by Alojizo Chappel, after a Painting by Thomas Phillips. 
 
 CowPER, William, 221 
 
 Engraving by S. Freeman 
 
 Cumberland, Richard, . 323 
 
 Engraving by Scriven, from a Painting by Clover. 
 
 Darwin, Erasmus, 421 
 
 Engraving by H, Meyer, from a Bronze Bust in possession of the Darwiih Family. 
 
 Fox, Charles James, 499 
 
 From an Engraving published by A. FuUarton Cu. 
 
 Franklin, Benjamin, 79 
 
 From Original Painting by Alonzo Chappel. 
 
 Gibbon, Edward, 173 
 
 Painting by Alonzo Chappel, after Original Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Godwin, Mary Wollstonecraft, . . , 613 
 
 From a Woodburytype after a Painting by Opie. 
 
 Hamilton, Alexander, 457 
 
 From Original Painting by Wiemar. 
 
 Keats, John, 663 
 
 Engraving by G. J. Anderton, Original Painting by J. Severn. 
 
 Lewis, Matthew Gregory, 663 
 
 From an Engraving published by Henry Colburn in 18S9. 
 
 Malone, Edmond, 457 
 
 Engraving by J. C. Armytage, from a Painting by Bartolozzi, after a Picture by Reynolds. 
 
 Mason, William, 323 
 
 |, Engraving by R. Cooper, from Original by Sir Joshua Reynolds at Pembroke Hall, Cambridge. 
 
 5PALEY, William, . . . . , 471 
 
 1 From Original Engraving in stipple. 
 
 Pitt, William, v . . 499 
 
 ! Engraving by H. Meyer, Original Picture by J. Hoppner, Ji. A. 
 
 Porson, Richard, 647 
 
 Engraving by H. Adlard, Painting by J. Hoppner, R. A, 
 
 Priestley, Joseph, 471 
 
 Engraving by C. Cook. 
 
 'Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 731 
 
 j Portrait by Miss Cur ran. 
 
 Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, . .... . 309 
 
 Engraving by R. Hicks, Original Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Reynolds, Sir Joshua, , . 137 
 
 I From a Painting by Himself. 
 
 Robertson, William, „ . 173 
 
 Engraving by T. A. Dean, Painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Walpole, Horace 309 
 
 Engraving by J. Sartain, Painting by Eckardt. 
 
 Washington, George, . , 79 
 
 From the Original Painting by Stuart in the Boston Athenaeum. 
 
 -^LEY, Charles, 35 
 
 ''ngraving by Dick, from an Original Painting in the possession of the Family. 
 
 John, . 35 
 
 'ing by J. Cochran, from a scarce print published in nitS. 
 
 ''N, l647 
 
 v C. Heath, Painting by J. R. Synifh 
 
The 
 
 Library of Literary Criticism 
 
 of 
 
 English and American Authors 
 
 VOLUME IV. 
 
 Richard G-lover 
 
 1712-1785 
 
 Born at London, 1712: Died there, Nov. 25, 1785. An English -Poet. He was 
 
 the son of a Hamburg merchant, and entered into business with his father. His chief 
 work, an epic poem, ''Leonidas," appeared in 1737. He enlarged it and republished 
 it in 1770, and it has been translated into French and German. Its success was 
 partly due to its usefulness to the opponents of Walpole. He also published London, 
 etc." (1739), ^'Boadicea" (atragedy, 1753), ''Medea" (1761), and ''The Athenaid," 
 an epic in 30 books, published in 1787 by his daughter.— Smith, Benjamin E., ed., 
 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia of Names, p. 443. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The greatest coxcomb and the greatest 
 oaf that ever met in blank verse or prose. 
 —Walpole, Horace, 1742, To Sir Hor- 
 ace Mann, March 3 ; Letters, ed. Cunning- 
 ham, vol. I, p. 136. 
 
 We spent the evening with Miss Hamil- 
 ton ; who, I fancy, will have another name 
 by the time you get this letter. I was 
 much amused with hearing old Leonidas 
 Glover sing his own fine ballad of 
 "Hosier's Ghost," which was very affect- 
 ing. He is past eighty. Mr. Walpole 
 coming in just afterward, I told him how 
 highly I had been pleased. He begged 
 me to entreat for a repetition of it. I 
 suppose you recollect that it was the satire 
 conveyed in this little ballad upon the con- 
 duct of Sir Robert Walpole's ministry, 
 which is thought to have been a remote 
 cause of his resignation. It was a very 
 curious circumstance to see his son listen- 
 ing to the recital of it with so much com- 
 placency. Such is the effect of the lapse 
 of time. I have rarely heard a more curi- 
 ous instance of the absence of mind pro- 
 duced by poetic enthusiasm, than that 
 which occurred when the author of 
 "Leonidas" made one of a party of literati 
 
 2C 
 
 assembled at the house of Mr. Gilbert 
 W^est, at Wickham. Lord Lyttleton, on 
 opening his window one morning, per- 
 ceived Glover pacing to and fro with a 
 whip in his hand, by the side of a fine bed 
 of tulips just ready to blow, and which 
 were the peculiar care of the lady of the 
 mansion, who worshiped Flora with as 
 much ardour as Glover did the Muses. 
 His mind was at that instant teeming with 
 the birth of some little ballad, when Lord 
 Lyttleton, to his astonishment and dismay, 
 perceived him applying his whip with great 
 vehemence to the stalks of the unfortu- 
 nate tulips; all of which, before there 
 was time to awaken him from his revery, 
 he had completely levelled with the 
 ground: And when the devastation he 
 had committed was afterward pointed out 
 to him, he was so perfectly unconscious 
 of the proceeding that he could with diffi- 
 culty be made to believe it. — More, Han- 
 nah, 1785, Letter to her Sister, June 16 ; 
 Memoirs, ed. Roberts, vol. I, p. 229. 
 
 At the age of twenty-five he published 
 nine books of his "Leonidas." The poem 
 was immediately taken up with ardour by 
 Lord Cobham, to whom it was inscribed, 
 and by all the readers of verse, and leaders 
 
18 
 
 RICHARD GLOVER, 
 
 of politics, who professed the strongest 
 attachment to liberty. It ran rapidly 
 through three editions, and was publicly 
 extolled by the pen of Fielding, and by 
 the lips of Chatham. Even Swift in one 
 of his letters from Ireland, drily inquires 
 of Pope, ''who is this Mr. Glover, who writ 
 ^Leonidas/ which is reprinting here, and 
 hath great vogue?" Overrated as '*Leon- 
 idas" might be. Glover stands acquitted 
 of all attempts or artifice to promote its 
 popularity by false means. He betrayed 
 no irritation in the disputes which were 
 raised about its merit ; and his personal 
 character appears as respectable in the 
 ebb as in the flow of his poetical reputa- 
 tion.— Campbell, Thomas, 1819, Speci- 
 mens of the British Poets, 
 
 LEONIDAS 
 
 . 1737 
 
 Some contemporary writers, calling 
 themselves critics, preferred '''Leonidas" 
 in its day to Paradise Lost;" because it 
 had smoother versification, and fewer hard 
 words of learning. The re-action of pop- 
 ular opinion, against a work that has been 
 once over-rated, is apt to depress it beneath 
 its just estimation. It is due to ""Leon- 
 idas" to say, that its narrative, descrip- 
 tions, and imagery, have a general and 
 chaste congruity with the Grecism of its 
 subject. It is far, indeed, from being a 
 vivid or arresting picture of antiquity; 
 but it has an air of classical taste and 
 propriety in its design ; and it sometimes 
 places the religion and manners of Greece 
 in a pleasing and impressive light. . . . 
 The undeniable fault of the entire poem is, 
 that it wants impetuosity of progress, and 
 that its characters are without warm and 
 interesting individuality. What a great 
 genius might have made of the subject, it 
 may be difficult to pronounce by supposi- 
 tion ; for it is the very character of gen- 
 ius to produce effects which cannot be 
 calculated. But imposing as the names 
 of Leonidas and Thermopylae may appear, 
 the subject which they formed for an epic 
 poem was such, that we cannot wonder at 
 its baffling the powers of Glover. — Camp- 
 bell, Thomas, 1819, Specimens of the 
 British Poets. 
 
 We are not without our literary talk 
 either. It did not extend far, but as far 
 as it went, it was good. It was bottomed 
 well ; had good grounds to go upon. In 
 the cottage was a room, which tradition 
 
 authenticated to have been the same in 
 which Glover, in his occasional retire- 
 ments, had penned the greater part of his 
 "Leonidas." This circumstance was 
 nightly quoted, though none of the pres- 
 ent inmates, that I could discover, ap- 
 peared ever to have met with the poem in 
 question. But that was ijo matter. 
 Glover had written there, and the anec- 
 dote was pressed into the account of the 
 family importance. It diffused a learned 
 air through the apartment. — ■ Lamb, 
 Charles, 1824, Captain Jackson, Essays 
 of Elia. 
 
 Glover's "Leonidas," though only party 
 spirit could have extolled it as a work of 
 genius, obtained no inconsiderable sale, 
 and a reputation which flourished for half 
 a century. It has a place now in the two 
 great general collections, and deserves to 
 hold it. The author has the merit of hav- 
 ing departed from bad models, rejected 
 all false ornaments and tricks of style, 
 and trusted to the dignity of his subject. 
 And though the poem is cold and bald, 
 stately rather than strong in its best 
 parts, and in general rather stiff than 
 stately, there is in its very nakedness a 
 sort of Spartan severity that commands 
 respect. — Southey, Robert, 1835, Life 
 of Cowper, vol. ii, ch. xn. 
 
 Nor probably was Glover's blank verse 
 epic of ''Leonidas" which appeared so early 
 as 1737, much read when he himself passed 
 away from among men, in the year 1785, 
 at the age of seventy-four, although it 
 had had a short day of extraordinary pop- 
 ularity, and is a performance of consider- 
 able rhetorical merit. — Craik, George 
 L., 1861, A Compendious History of Eng- 
 lish Literature and of the English Lan- 
 guage, vol. n, p. 287. 
 
 It is not altogether deficient in poetical 
 merit, but as an epic it is a decided 
 failure.— Baldwin, James, 1882, English 
 Literature and Literary Criticism, Poetry, 
 p. 287. 
 
 Power is visible in this epic, which dis- 
 plays also a large amount of knowledge, 
 but the salt of genius is wanting, and the 
 poem, despite many estimable qualities, is 
 now forgotten. — Dennis, John, 1894, 
 The Age of Pope, p. 244. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The ''Athenaid," which could not be 
 included in Anderson's collection, is 
 
RICHARD GLOVER 
 
 19 
 
 contained in this. It ought always to ac- 
 company the ''Leonidas." Mr. Chalmers 
 censures it because, he says, the events of 
 history are so closely followed as to give 
 the whole the air of a poetical chronicle. 
 To this opinion we may oppose the fact of 
 having ourselves repeatedly perused it in 
 early youth, for the interest which the 
 story continually excited. Glover endeav- 
 oured to imitate the ancients, but wanted 
 strength to support the severe style which 
 he had chosen. He has, however, many 
 and great merits, this especially among 
 others, that instead of treading in the 
 sheep-track wherein the writers of mod- 
 ern epics, till his time, servum pecus, had 
 gone one after the other, he framed the 
 stories of both his poems according to 
 their subject, without reference to any 
 model, or any rule but that of propriety 
 and good sense. — Southey, Robert, 1814, 
 Chalmers's English Poets, Quarterly Re- 
 view, vol. 11, p. 498. 
 
 Believe me, I walked with an impres- 
 sion of awe on my spirits, as W and 
 
 myself accompanied Mr. Klopstock to the 
 house of his brother, the poet, which 
 stands about a quarter of a mile from the 
 city gate. ... He then talked of 
 Milton and Glover, and thought Glover's 
 
 blank verse superior to Milton's. W 
 
 and myself expressed our surprise ; and 
 my friend gave his definition and notion 
 of harmonious verse, that it consisted 
 (the English iambic blank verse above all) 
 in the apt arrangement of pauses and 
 cadences, and the sweep of whole para- 
 graphs, 
 
 **with many a winding bout 
 
 Of linked sweetness long drawn out," 
 and not even in the flow, much less in the 
 prominence or antithetic vigor, or single 
 lines, which were indeed injurious to the 
 total effect, except where they were in- 
 troduced for some specific purpose. 
 Klopstock assented, and said that he meant 
 to confine Glover's superiority to single 
 lines.— Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1817, 
 Satyrane's Letters, Biographia Literaria. 
 
 His Epic Poem rather disappointed the 
 world. The critic showed it to be replete 
 with poetic excellence, and the patriot 
 bosom glowed at the very name of Leon- 
 idas ; yet it faded away as deficient in its 
 interest, and too narrow in its plan. 
 What has been said tauntingly of the 
 French, may be more liberally and not 
 
 less justly put: — Les modernes rCont pas 
 la tete epique. Mr. Glover wrote three 
 tragedies, two of which were upon the 
 subject of Medea and Jason; the other 
 had for its heroine, Boadicea. Mrs. Yates 
 was fond of Glover's cold declamation, and 
 frequently displayed herself in the char- 
 acter of Medea. Glover, like Mason, 
 loved and preferred the classic model, and 
 would not see the incompatibility of the 
 Greek chorus with the modern stage. — 
 Bo ADEN, James, 1825, Memoirs ojthe Lije 
 of John Philip Kemble, vol. i, p. 303. 
 
 The Greek plays differ so much from 
 those we are accustomed to, that it is ex- 
 tremely difficult to adapt them to the 
 taste of a modern audience — Glover has 
 succeeded much better than anybody else 
 — the character of Medea is, on the whole, 
 drawn in a masterly manner — but Glover 
 has softened the violence of her temper 
 rather too much — the thought of making 
 her kill her children in a temporary fit of 
 phrenzy is a very happy one — the scenes 
 in which Medea is not concerned have 
 little to recommend them. — Genest, P., 
 1832, Some Account of the English Stage 
 from the Restoration in 1660 to 1830, 
 vol. V, p. 123. 
 
 The elegant but cold Epics of Glover. 
 — Spalding, William, 1852-82, A His- 
 tory of English Literature, p. 356. 
 
 He published two elaborate poems in 
 blank verse, ''Leonidas" and the *'Athe- 
 naid" — the former bearing reference to 
 the memorable defence of Thermopylse, 
 and the latter continuing the war between 
 the Greeks and Persians. The length of 
 these poems, their want of sustained in- 
 terest, and lesser peculiarities not suited 
 to the existing poetical taste, render them 
 next to unknown in the present day. But 
 there is smoothness and even vigour, a 
 calm moral dignity and patriotic elevation 
 in ''Leonidas," which might even yet find 
 admirers. Thomson is said to have ex- 
 claimed, when he heard of the work of 
 Glover: ''He write an epic poem, who 
 never saw a mountain!" . . . His 
 chief honour is that of having been an 
 eloquent and patriotic city merchant, at 
 the same time that he was eminent as a 
 scholar and man of letters. — Cham- 
 bers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopcedia of Eng- 
 lish Literature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 Glover was a man of considerable pow- 
 ers, but he was stronger on the side of 
 
20 
 
 RICHARD GLOVER 
 
 politics and practical life than in the field 
 of literature. In his poems the rhetoric 
 of party warfare is more conspicuous than 
 the inspiration of genius. His best- 
 known poem, "Leonidas," was based it is 
 true on his reading of Herodotus and 
 Plutarch; but in reality it is the utter- 
 ance of one who wished to stir his fellow- 
 citizens to an anti-Walpole ''patriotic" 
 policy. So far as the form is concerned 
 it may be called a blank-verse echo of 
 Pope's version of Homer, the influence of 
 which may continually be traced; and 
 under the inspiration of this model Glover 
 expands a few simple chapters of his au- 
 thority Herodotus into the dimensions of 
 an epic by inventing various characters, 
 love-affairs, and thrilling episodes. Camp- 
 bell remarks that the want of "impetuos- 
 ity of progress" is the chief fault in the 
 poem. It does not seem clear that this 
 censure is just. The action moves on 
 swiftly enough, and is sufficiently varied 
 by epoch-making or decorative incidents. 
 The personages introduced are not in- 
 active, or long-winded; they have only 
 the damning fault of being dull. The 
 reader does not much care what they do, 
 nor what becomes of them. A sort of 
 glossy rhetoric is the general characteris- 
 tic of the poem, which accordingly is not 
 without striking passages, but the lack of 
 human interest mars the total effect. 
 . . . Of the "Athenaid," a sequel to 
 "Leonidas," with its thirty books, it is 
 enough to say that it is simply unreada- 
 ble. It appears to be a florid reproduc- 
 tion, with new incidents and scenery, of 
 the story of Grseco-Persian war, from 
 Thermopylae to Plat^a. The opposition 
 to Sir Robert Walpole found in Glover an 
 enthusiastic ally. One of his chief objects 
 in writing "London" is said to have been 
 to exasperate the public mind against 
 Spain, a power to which Walpole was held 
 to have truckled. In the same year, after 
 the news came of Vernon's success at 
 Porto Bello, Glover wrote the spirited bal- 
 lad of "Hosier's Ghost," rather perhaps 
 with the design of damaging Walpole than 
 exalting Vernon. The political aim inter- 
 ests us no more ; but the music and swing 
 of the verse, — perhaps also the naval cast 
 of the imagery and the diction, — will keep 
 this ballad popular with Englishmen for 
 many a year to come. — Arnold, Thomas, 
 1880, English PoetSy ed. Ward, vol. ill. 
 
 Narrative poetry in the eighteenth cen- 
 tury was of the slenderest dimensions and 
 the most modest temper. Poems of de- 
 scription and sentiment seemed to leave 
 no place for poems of action and passion. 
 . . . That estimable London merchant, 
 Glover, had indeed written an heroic poem 
 containing the correct number of Books ; 
 its subject was a lofty one ; the sentiments 
 were generous, the language dignified; 
 and inasmuch as Leonidas was a patriot 
 and a Whig, true Whigs and patriots 
 bought and praised the poem. But Glov- 
 er's poetry lacks the informing breath of 
 life. His second poem," The Athenaid," 
 appeared after his death, and its thirty 
 books fell plumb into the water of obliv- 
 ion. It looked as if the narrative poem d 
 longue haleine was dead in English litera- 
 ture. — DowDEN, Edward, 1880, Southey 
 (English Men of Letters), p. 51. 
 
 Another and more ambitious Thomson- 
 ian. ... A politician whom indignation 
 against Walpole hurried into copious blank 
 verse. There must be few men now alive 
 who can boast a more than fragmentary 
 acquaintance with the epics of Glover. 
 "Leonidas" (in nine books, afterwards en- 
 larged), 1737, begins his poetical career, 
 and "The Athenaid" (positively in thirty 
 books), 1788, closed it. Glover is only 
 remembered by his extremely spirited bal- 
 lad of "Admiral Hosier's Ghost," which, 
 however, he might have improved by 
 shortening to five syllables the last line 
 of each octet. — GossE, Edmund, 1888, 
 A History of Eighteenth Century Litera- 
 ture, p. 228. 
 
 His ponderous "Athenaid," an epic 
 poem in thirty books, was published in 
 1787 by his daughter, Mrs. Halsey. It is 
 much longer and so far worse than "Leon- 
 idas," but no one has been able to read 
 either ■ for a century. . . . The 
 "Memoirs" are of little value, though 
 they contribute something to our knowl- 
 edge of the political intrigues of the 
 time. — Stephen, Leslie, 1890, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography, vol. xxil, p. 7. 
 
 There is one poem of Glover's, — "Lon- 
 don, or the Progress of Commerce," — 
 that illustrates the fashionable poetical 
 style of the Queen Anne time— the preva- 
 lent idea as to how Nature was to be 
 dressed to advantage. As a London mer- 
 chant. Glover no doubt felt his heart swell 
 within him as he looked at the bustle of 
 
GLO VER— WHITEHEAD 
 
 21 
 
 many nations on the London wharves, and 
 saw ships from many distant regions 
 crowding up the Thames. How did he 
 give expression to this exaltation of mind ? , 
 He could not present the coarse and vul- 
 gar details of trade to a fine Queen Anne 
 gentleman ; he asks his reader to look at 
 them through a fine allegorical veil, trans- 
 ports us to the regions of mythology, and 
 gives a long narrative of a love affair be- 
 tween the sea-god Neptune and the nymph 
 named Phoenice, the guardian spirit of 
 
 the Phoenicians. The beautiful nymph 
 Commerce was the offspring of this Union. 
 This is the poet's way of relating the pro- 
 saic fact that the Phoenicians were the 
 first great traders by sea ; and the events 
 in the subsequent history of Commerce are 
 given as incidents in the life of the nymph 
 Commerce, from her cradle and nursery 
 till the time when she fixed her abode in 
 Great Britain.— Minto, William, 1894, 
 The Literature of the Georgian Era, ed. 
 Knight, p. 89. 
 
 William Whitehead 
 
 1715-1785 
 
 William Whitehead, 1715-1785. Born, at Cambridge, Feb., 1715. Early edu- 
 cation at Winchester School, July, 1728 to Sept., 1735. Matric. Clare Hall, Cam- 
 bridge, as Sizar, 1735; B. A., 1739; Fellow, 1742-46; M. A., 1743. Appointed 
 tutor to son of Lord Jersey, 1745 ; travelled on Continent with him, June, 1754, to 
 Sept., 1756. Was an inmate of Lord Jersey's household till 1769. Play, ''The 
 Roman Father," produced at Drury Lane, 24 Feb., 1750; "Creusa," Drurv Lane, 
 20 April, 1754; ''The School for Lovers," Drury Lane, 1762; "A Trip to Scotland," 
 Drury Lane, 1770. Contrib. to "The World," 1753. Registrar of Order of Bath, 
 1755. Poet-Laureate, 1757. Died, in London, 14 April, 1785. Buried in South 
 Audley Street Chapel. Works: "On the Danger of Writing in Verse, "1741; 
 Epistle of Anne Boleyn to Henry VHL, 1743; "Essay on Ridicule," 1743; "On 
 Nobility," 1744 ;" Atys and Adrastus, " 1744; "The Roman Father," 1750; "A Hymn 
 to the Nymph of Bristol Spring," 1751 ; "Creusa," 1754; "Poems on Several Occa- 
 sions," 1754; "Elegies," 1757; "Verses to the People of England," 1758; "A 
 Charge to the Poets," 1762; "The School for Lovers," 1762 (adapted from the 
 French of Le Bovier de Fontenelle) ; "A Trip to Scotland" (anon.), 1770; "Plays 
 and Poems" (2 vols.), 1774; " Variety" (anon.), 1776; "The Goat's Beard" (anon.), 
 1777.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 299. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The following fact is true 
 From nobler names, and great in each degree, 
 The pension'd laurel had devolv'd to me, 
 To me, ye bards; and what you'll scarce 
 
 conceive, 
 Or, at the best, unwillingly believe, 
 Howe'er unworthily I wear the crown, 
 Unask'd it came, and from a hand unknown. 
 
 —Whitehead, William, 1762, A Charge 
 to the Poets. 
 
 In the same year [1762] the rabid 
 satire of Churchill sorely smote his repu- 
 tation. Poor Whitehead made no reply. 
 Those who, with Mason, consider his 
 silence as the effect of a pacific disposi- 
 tion, and not of imbecility, will esteem 
 him the more for his forebearance, and 
 will apply it to the maxim, Rarum est 
 eloquenter loqui varias eloquenter tacere. 
 Among his unpublished MSS. there were 
 even found verses expressing a compliment 
 to Churchill's talents. There is some- 
 thing, no doubt, very amiable in a good 
 
 and candid man taking the trouble to 
 cement rhymes upon the genius of a 
 blackguard, who had abused him ; but the 
 effect of all this candor upon his own gen- 
 eration reminds us hovv' much more im- 
 portant it is, for a man's own advantage, 
 that he should be formidable than harm- 
 less. His candour could not prevent his 
 poetical character from being completely 
 killed by Churchill. Justly, some will 
 say ; he was too stupid to resist his adver- 
 sary. I have a different opinion, both as 
 to the justice of his fate, and the cause 
 of his abstaining from retaliation. He 
 certainly wrote too many insipid things ; 
 but a tolerable selection might be made 
 from his works, that would discover his 
 talents to be no legitimate object of con- 
 tempt ; and there is not a trait of arro- 
 gance or vanity in any one of his compo- 
 sitions, that deserved to be publicly humil- 
 iated. He was not a satirist; but he 
 wanted rather the gall than the ingenuity 
 
22 
 
 WILLIAM WHITEHEAD 
 
 that is requisite for the character. If his 
 heart had been full of spleen, he was not 
 so wholly destitute of humour as not to 
 have been able to deal some hard blows at 
 Churchill, whose private character was a 
 broad mark, and even whose writings had 
 many vapid parts that were easily assail- 
 able. Had Whitehead done so, the world 
 would probably have liked him the better 
 for his pugnacity. As it was, his name 
 sunk into such a by-word of contempt, 
 that Garrick would not admit his ''Trip 
 to Scotland" on the stage, unless its au- 
 thor was concealed. He also found it 
 convenient to publish his pleasing tale, 
 entitled ''Variety," anonymously. The 
 public applauded both his farce and his 
 poem, because it was not known that they 
 were Whitehead's. — Campbell, Thomas, 
 1819, Specimens of the British Poets. 
 
 He died April 14, 1785, at the age of 
 seventy, and was buried in South Audley 
 Street chapel. 
 
 An Epitaph on W. Whitehead, Esq. 
 Intended for His Monument in Westmin- 
 ster Abbey. 
 "Beneath this stone a Poet Laureat lies, 
 Nor great, nor good, nor foolish, nor yet 
 wise; 
 
 Not meanly humble, nor yet swell 'd with 
 pride. 
 
 He simply liv'd — and just as simply died: 
 Each year his Muse produced a Birth Day 
 Ode, 
 
 Compos'd with flattery in the usual mode : 
 For this, and but for this, to George's praise, 
 The Bard was pension'd, and receiv'd the 
 Bays." 
 
 — Hamilton, Walter, 1879, The Poets 
 Laureate of England, p. 189. 
 
 The boy showed his good sense by not 
 being ashamed to win an education at the 
 expense of his pride. Entering Cam- 
 bridge as a sizar, he graduated with hon- 
 ours and was elected a fellow of his col- 
 lege. He then became tutor to the son of 
 the Earl of Jersey. He travelled with 
 him, and then settled down with him in 
 his quiet, beautiful home, where many 
 happy years were passed. Whitehead had 
 leisure for literary studies, and he enjoyed 
 not only the friendship and confidence of 
 his employers, but formed many close con- 
 nections with the nobility who treated him 
 with respect and deference. Whitehead 
 became very popular among his friends, 
 winning their regard, and keeping it, too. 
 His manners were not only polished, but 
 
 were the outward expression of a sincere 
 and kind heart. Though fond of society, 
 he indulged in no dissipation. He visited 
 the theatres frequently, and this finally 
 led him to try his hand at dramatic writ- 
 ing, and his success was greater than 
 he had himself anticipated. — Howland, 
 Frances Louise (Kenyon West), 1895, 
 The Laureates of England, p. 108. 
 
 GENERAL 
 Come, Method, come in all thy pride, 
 Dullness and Whitehead by thy side ; 
 Dullness and Method still are one, 
 And Whitehead is their darling son. 
 
 But he, who in the Laureate chair, 
 By grace, not merit, planted there, 
 In awkward pomp is seen to sit, 
 And by his patent proves his wit. 
 
 • » 
 
 But he — who measures, as he goes, 
 A mongrel kind of tinkling prose , 
 And is too frugal to dispense , 
 At once, both poetry and sense ; 
 Who, from amidst his slumbering guards, 
 Deals out a cliarge to subject bards, 
 Where couplets after couplets creep 
 Propitious to the reign of sleep ; 
 Yet every word imprints an awe. 
 And all his dictates pass for law 
 With beaus, who simper all around. 
 And belles, who die in every sound. 
 
 —Churchill, Charles, 1762, The Ghost, 
 bk. iii. 
 
 Mr. Whitehead has just published a 
 pretty poem called Variety," in which 
 there is humour and ingenuity, but not 
 more poetry than is necessary for a Lau- 
 reate; however, the plan is one, and is 
 well wound up. — Walpole, Horace, 
 1776, To Rev. William Mason, Feb. 18; 
 Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. vi, p. 310. 
 
 Will. Whitehead bad the reign commence 
 
 Of Birth -Day Odes and Common-Sense : 
 And there his eiforts rested : 
 
 True Poetry, by Genius fir'd, 
 
 Billy's cold bosom ne'er inspir'd; 
 For Bill was chicken-breasted. 
 — Colman, George, 1786, The Laureat, 
 An Ode, April 11. 
 
 He will be most advantageously known 
 to posterity as a dramatic writer; his 
 
 Roman Father" and ''Creusa," trage- 
 dies, and his "School for Lovers" a com- 
 edy, possessing considerable merit. — 
 Drake, Nathan, 1810, Essays, Illustra- 
 tive of the Rambler, Adventurer, and Idler, 
 vol. II, p. 294. 
 
 A play [*'Creusa"] which, though sel- 
 dom read, and never acted, is by no means 
 
WILLIAM WHITEHEAD 
 
 23 
 
 destitute of dramatic feeling and concep- 
 tion. . . . The piece contains some 
 strong situations; its language is unaf- 
 fected ; and it fixes the attention (if I may 
 judge from my own experience) from the 
 first to the last scene. The pure and holy 
 character of the young Ilyssus is brought 
 out, I have no hesitation to say, more in- 
 terestingly than in Euripides, by the dis- 
 play of his reverential gratitude to the 
 queen, upon the first tenderness which she 
 shows him, and by the agony of his ingen- 
 uous spirit, on beholding it withdrawn. 
 And, though Creusa's character is not un- 
 spotted, she draws our sympathy to some 
 of the deepest conceivable agonies of 
 human nature. I by no means wish to 
 deny that the tragedy has many defects, 
 or to speak of it as a great production, 
 but it does not deserve to be consigned to 
 oblivion. — Campbell, Thomas, 1819, 
 Specimens of the British Poets. 
 
 The most accomplished tuft-hunter of 
 his time. . . . The writings of 
 Whitehead, Cambridge, Coventry, and 
 Lord Bath are forgotten. — Macaulay, 
 Thomas Babington, 1833, Walpole's Let- 
 ters to Sir Horace Mann, Critical and 
 Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 He was the author of several successful 
 plays— ''The Roman Father," "Creusa," 
 and "The School for Lovers;" and of 
 miscellaneous poems, that have scarce any 
 individualizing characteristics, but are in 
 the manner of writers of the time of 
 Queen Anne. On his return from travel- 
 ling with noble pupils he published an 
 *'Ode to the Tiber" and six "Elegiac 
 Epistles,'' which were applauded at first, 
 and in course of time neglected ; the usual 
 fate of poems produced by Talent apart 
 from Genius ; the Junonian offspring of a 
 female parent alone. This "Ode to the 
 Tiber" is an excellent specimen of such 
 poetry as may be written by a clever man, 
 on command, having everything that is to 
 be desired, except a soul of its own; it 
 reads like a first-rate school exercise, or 
 such an exercise as might be produced in 
 an adult School of Poetry. — Coleridge, 
 Sara, 1847, ed. Coleridge^ s Biographia 
 Literaria, Appendix. 
 
 An elegant poet and a nervous writer. 
 —Mills, Abraham, 1851, The Literature 
 and the Literary Men of Great Britain 
 and Ireland, vol. ii, p. 333. 
 
 He wrote the usual official poems, which 
 
 had the negative merit of being consid- 
 ered superior to those of his predecessor ; 
 and he was engaged in the composition of 
 a birthday ode when he died. . . . 
 Whitehead was more successful as a dram- 
 atist than as a poet. ... As Lau- 
 reate, Whitehead did not escape the usual 
 fate of being lampooned by the envious 
 wits, and small poets of his day. — Hamil- 
 ton, Walter, 1879, The Poets Laureate 
 of England, pp. ISA, 185, 186. 
 
 His poetry is for the most part tame 
 and conventional enough; yet here and 
 there he emerges from the ruck of Geor- 
 gian poetasters and becomes noticeable. 
 "Variety, a Tale for Married People," 
 which is too long for quotation, is an ex- 
 cellent story in verse — with a moral, of 
 course, as a conte should have — told in a 
 light and flowing style not unworthy of 
 Gay.— Ward, Thomas Humphry, 1880, 
 English Poets, vol. iii, p. 337. 
 
 He was always fond of the theatre, and 
 his first effort was a little farce which was 
 never published, but which tempted him 
 to compose heavy tragedies which were. 
 Of these tragedies it would be absurd to 
 speak ; they never enjoyed any popularity, 
 either on the stage or in the closet. He 
 owed his appointment — which he did not 
 obtain till Gray had refused it — entirely 
 to his noble friends. — Birrell, Augus- 
 tine, 1894, Essays about Men, Women 
 and Books, p. 164. 
 
 Sprung from the ranks, he had the good 
 fortune to secure the favour of the great, 
 until he became tutor to Lord Jersey. 
 Whitehead's knowledge of books was con- 
 siderable, and he became a man of cul- 
 tured taste. Though he possessed little 
 originality of thought, he had a musical 
 ear, and found it comparatively easy to 
 produce poetry of a certain order. He 
 even indulged in wTiting dramas; but 
 Macaulay, in his time, said his works were 
 forgotten. He himself confessed that his 
 verses would not bear criticism, and apol- 
 ogized for them by remarking that his 
 muse would not be "obliged by sack and 
 pension." The fact is he was a metre- 
 making machine. — Wright, J. C, 1896, 
 The Poets Laureate, p. 28. 
 
 Whitehead was no poet. He simply 
 reflected in a turbid fashion what more 
 original men were saying. His tolerably 
 full statement of the romantic attitude 
 
24 
 
 WHITEHEAD—STEVENSON— TYR WHITT 
 
 towards nature, with his subsequent asser- 
 tion of the triumphant good sense of Clas- 
 sicism is, therefore, valuable testimony to 
 the two-fold spirit of the age. — Rey- 
 nolds, Myra, 1896, The Treatment of 
 Nature in English Poetry, p. 130. 
 
 At Cambridge, Whitehead had published 
 his first more important poetic efforts, 
 which showed him to have deliberately 
 formed his style as a writer of verse upon 
 Pope, at a time when English poetical 
 
 literature was at last on the very point of 
 widening its range as to both form and 
 subjects. His epistle ''On the Danger of 
 writing in Verse'' (1741) is elegant in 
 versification and diction, and modest in 
 tone — two merits which are rarely absent 
 in Whitehead. ... In form White- 
 head's versatility was remarkable. — 
 Ward, Adolphus William, 1900, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography^ vol. LXi, 
 p. 107. 
 
 John Hall Stevenson 
 
 1718-1785 
 
 Originally John Hall, was born in Durham, England, in 1718. Was admitted as a 
 fellow-commoner of Jesus College, Cambridge, in 1735, but left the university without 
 a degree about 1738. He owes his chief fame to his connection with Sterne. He 
 published a number of literary and political pamphlets of a rather coarse nature dur- 
 ing his lifetime, and his collected works were issued in three volumes in 1795. His 
 most important single work is ''Crazy Tales," which was reprinted privately in 1854. 
 — MouLTON, Charles Wells, 1902. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Hall-Stevenson's sole aim in life was, 
 he repeatedly declared, to amuse himself. 
 He had no liking for field sports, and 
 divided his energies at Skelton between 
 literature and hospitality. He collected 
 a library, largely consisting of facetiae, 
 and wrote with fatal fluency verse in imi- 
 tation chiefly of La Fontaine, whose 
 "Contes" attracted him by their obscen- 
 ity. At the same time he gathered round 
 him a crew of kindred spirits, drawn 
 chiefly from the squirearchy and clergy of 
 Yorkshire, whom he formed into "a club of 
 demoniacks. ' ' The members met under his 
 roof at Skelton several times a year, and 
 indulged by night in heavy drinking and 
 obscene jesting. . . . Their orgies 
 seem to have been pale reflections of those 
 practised by Wilkes and his friends at 
 Medmenham. . . . Hall-Stevenson's 
 relations with Sterne give his career its 
 only genuine interest. Sterne introduces 
 him into both "Tristram Shandy" and the 
 "Sentimental Journey" under the name of 
 Eugenius. He represented him as a 
 prudent counsellor, and gratefully ac- 
 knowledged the readiness with which 
 
 Hall-Stevenson often put his purse at a 
 friend's service. Hall-Stevenson returned 
 the compliment by flattering references to 
 Sterne as "Cousin Shandy," and often 
 signed himself " Anthony Shandy. " — Lee, 
 Sidney, 1898, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. Liv, p. 239. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I have met with no account of this 
 writer's life, nor have I been very anxious 
 to seek for it, as a volume of poems, 
 which bears his name, is disgraced by ob- 
 scenity.— Campbell, Thomas, 1819, Spec- 
 imens of the British Poets. 
 
 Author of the witty and indecent collec- 
 tion entitled ' ' Crazy Tales, ' ' where there 
 is a very humorous description of his 
 ancient residence, under the name of 
 Crazy Castle. —Scott, Sir Walter, 1821, 
 Laurence Sterne. 
 
 The clever but licentious productions of 
 John Hall Stevenson.— Moore, Thomas, 
 1825, Memoirs of the Life of Sheridan. 
 
 We see nothing clever even in John Hall 
 Stevenson himself.— Croker, John Wil- 
 son, 1826, Memoirs of Sheridan, Quarterly 
 Review, vol. 33, p. 565. 
 
 Thomas Tyrwhitt 
 
 1730-1786 
 
 Born, in London, 1730. Educated at Eton. Matriculated Queen's College, Oxford, ^ 
 9 May 1747; B. A., 1750. Fellow of Merton College, 1755; M. A., 1756. Called 
 to Bar at Middle Temple, 1755. Under-Secretary, War Dept., 1756. Clerk of House 
 
THOMAS TYRWHITT 
 
 25 
 
 of Commons, 1762-68. Curator of British Museum, 1784. F. R. S., F. S. A. Died, 
 15 Aug., 1786. Works: ''Epistle of Florio at Oxford" (anon.), 1749; **Trans- 
 lations in Verse," 1752; "Observations and Conjectures on some Passaj^es of Shakes- 
 peare" (anon.), 1766; "Dissertatio de Babrio" (anon.), 1776. Posthumous: "Con- 
 jectursB in Strabonem" [1783] ; "Conjecturse in Ji]schylum, Euripidem et Aristophanem," 
 1822. He edited: "Proceedings and Debates in the House of Commons, 1620-21" 
 (2 vols.), 1766; H. Elsynge's "The Manner of holding Parliaments in England," 1768 ; 
 "Fragmenta duo Plutarchi," 1773; Chaucer's "Canterbury Tales," 1775-78; "Row- 
 ley'sPoems," 1777; "Aristotelis De Poetica liber, " 1794.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 
 1897, .4 Dictionary of English Authors. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 He was an honour to his age and coun- 
 try, not more for his extensive erudition, 
 his fine genius, and deep and solid judg- 
 ment, than for the candour, elegance, and 
 probity of his manners, his unassuming 
 modesty and simplicity of character, and 
 distinguished virtues. — Percy, Thomas, 
 1786, Nichols's Illustrations of Liter ature^ 
 voL vni, p. 222. 
 
 The life of the greater editor of Chau- 
 cer is hardly better known than that of 
 Chaucer himself. He was born at London 
 in 1730 ; he was educated at Eton and at 
 Merton College, Oxford ; he became mas- 
 ter of arts in 1756 ; he filled one or two 
 political positions ; he wrote a few trea- 
 tises, and edited two or three works; he 
 was made curator of the British Museum, 
 and while holding that ofiice died in Wel- 
 beck Street, Cavendish Square, on the 
 fifteenth of August, 1786. This barren 
 record contains nearly all the facts that 
 can be easily gathered in reference to one 
 of the m.ost accomplished and successful 
 students of our literature. . . . One of 
 the greatest scholars England has ever 
 produced.— LouNSBURY, Thomas R.,1892, 
 Studies in Chaucer, vol. I, p. 301. 
 
 Charles Burney, D. D., ranked Tyrwhitt 
 among the greatest critics of the last 
 century. Glowing tributes were paid to 
 him by Wyttenbach in his life of Ruhnken 
 (p. 71), by Kraft in the "Epistolse 
 Selectee" (p. 313), by Schweighauser in 
 his edition of Polybius (i. p. xxvi of pref- 
 ace), by Kidd in the "Opuscula Ruhnken- 
 iana" (p. viii, and in pp. Ixiii-lxx is 
 a list of his works), and by Bishop Cople- 
 ston in the "Reply to the Calumnies of 
 the 'Edinburgh Review ' " (2nd edit. 1810). 
 Mathias thought that his learning and 
 sagacity were often misapplied ("Pursuits 
 of Literature," 7th edit, pp., 88 and 96). 
 —Courtney, W. P., 1899, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. Lvn, p. 446. 
 
 EDITION OF CHAUCER 
 1775-78 
 
 I am obliged to you for your intelligence 
 concerning the late edition of Chaucer. I 
 find it true in all particulars. Your 
 alarm however for my property, as you 
 call it, is groundless. As I have not en- 
 tered my book at Stationers-Hall, I have, 
 it seems, no legal property in it. But if I 
 had, would you advise me to go to law for 
 a property unattended by any profit ? A 
 certain philosopher, when his gouty shoes 
 were stolen, only wished that they might 
 fit the thief as well as they fitted himself ; 
 and for my own part I shall be contented, 
 if my book shall prove just as lucrative to 
 Mr. Bell, as it has been to me. — Tyr- 
 whitt, Thomas, 1783, Letter, June 12; 
 Gentleman's Magazine, vol. 53, p. 461. 
 
 Tyrwhitt, a scholar as well as an anti- 
 quary, was an expert philologer : His 
 extensive reading in the lore of our ver- 
 nacular literature and our national antiq- 
 uities promptly supplied what could not 
 have entered into his more classical studies ; 
 and his sagacity seems to have decided on 
 the various readings of all the manuscripts 
 by piercing into the core of the poet's 
 thoughts. — Disraeli, Isaac, 1841, Chau- 
 cer, Amenities of Literature. 
 
 It is truly to be lamented that a text of 
 Chaucer so utterly corrupt as that of Tyr- 
 whitt should continue to be reprinted. 
 Tyrwhitt fell into the error of attempting 
 to make up the text of an author, when he 
 was totally ignorant of the grammatical 
 construction of his language, and equally 
 incompetent to appreciate the compara- 
 tive value of the manuscripts. The con- 
 sequence is that there is not perhaps a 
 single line in Tyrwhitt' s edition of the 
 "Canterbury Tales" which Chaucer could 
 possibly have written. The very v;orst 
 manuscript in existence contains a better 
 text, because it was at least grammatic- 
 ally correct for the time in which it was 
 
26 
 
 THOMAS TYRWHITT 
 
 written, whereas in Tyrwhitt all grammar 
 is set at defiance. — Wright, Thomas, 
 1844, Anecdote Literaria, 
 
 It has been said with much force that 
 Tyrwhitt, whose services to the study of 
 Chaucer remain uneclipsed by those of any 
 other scholar, would have composed a 
 quite different biography of the poet, had 
 he not been confounded by the formerly 
 (and here and there still) accepted date 
 of Chaucer's birth, the year 1328.— Ward, 
 Adolphus William, 1880, Chaucer (Eng- 
 lish Men of Letters), p. 2. 
 
 Tyrwhitt's edition of the ''Canterbury 
 Tales" — the only work of Chaucer he ever 
 edited — appeared in four volumes in 
 March, 1775. A fifth volume, containing 
 a glossary to all of the poet's writings, 
 followed in 1778. In the preparation of 
 this work Tyrwhitt collated twenty-six 
 manuscripts, to five of which he attached a 
 special value. His duty was not done per- 
 functorily. No more thorough and con- 
 scientious editing had ever before been 
 applied to the elucidation of a great Eng- 
 lish classic. He neglected nothing that 
 lay in his power to perfect it. Wherever 
 he failed it was not from lack of insight 
 or industry, but from the general diffu- 
 sion of ignorance about the English lan- 
 guage that then prevailed, and from the 
 influence of which he could by no possibil- 
 ity be wholly free. On the other hand, 
 he was in many respects extraordinarily 
 well fitted for the task he assumed, both 
 by mental equipment and special acquire- 
 ment. His acquaintance with the authors 
 of the Middle Ages, who constituted no 
 small share of Chaucer's reading, was far 
 greater than that of any one who has 
 since endeavored to illustrate the poet's 
 writings; at least what he did alone in 
 this one matter has much surpassed the 
 combined labors of all who have since fol- 
 lowed in his footsteps, valuable as have 
 been the services of some. Many of the 
 most loudly vaunted modern discoveries 
 were anticipated a century ago by this quiet 
 scholar. They have usually escaped atten- 
 tion because they were packed away in 
 few sentences, and relegated to a position 
 in some obscure note. A modern investi- 
 gator would have made out of some of 
 them a pamphlet or a volume. In so 
 doing he would often have been fully jus- 
 tified by the value of what he had brought 
 to light. ... He had by nature that 
 
 judicial cast of mind which rendered it 
 impossible for him to frame assumptions 
 of his own or adopt those of others under 
 the impression either that they were 
 fact or were evidence of fact, The 
 sanest of English poets had the good for- 
 tune to meet with the sanest of editors. 
 Tyrwhitt was animated by but one desire, 
 that of ascertaining the truth ; not what he 
 would like to have the truth, nor what he 
 had argued himself into believing be- 
 fore hand was the truth. He was never 
 led astray by captivating conjectures. 
 . . . In all doubtful matters, indeed, 
 he was wholly free from that confidence 
 of conviction and positiveness of assertion 
 to which easy omniscience is so generously 
 addicted.— LouNSBURY, Thomas R., 1892, 
 Studies in Chaucer , vol. I, pp. 301, 304. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I have often wondered, how so deeply 
 learned a scholar as Mr. Tyrwhitt ever 
 suffered himself to be enrolled with these 
 note-makers on Shakspeare. — Mathias, 
 Thomas James, 1794-98, The Pursuits of 
 Literature, Eighth ed., p. 89, note. 
 
 Certain it is, that no such attempt has 
 been made since, except in the single and 
 minute, but very successful instance of 
 Aristotle's Poetics, which was produced by 
 an auxiliary volunteer, residing in the 
 metropolis, engaged in business, and never 
 secluded from the avocations of society. 
 By not enjoying the leisure, perhaps, he 
 never contracted the indolence or apathy 
 of a monk, but preserved his activity even 
 by the distraction of his faculties. His 
 name stands in the title-page plain Thomas 
 Tyrwhitt— without any decorative adjunct 
 or title of degree — though it would have 
 done honour to the proudest, which the 
 most exalted seat of learning could 
 bestow. — CoPLESTON, Edward, 1810, A 
 Reply to the Calumnies of the Edinburgh 
 Review Against Oxford, p. 34. 
 
 One of the most eminent of modern 
 critics.— Allibone, S. Austin, 1871, A 
 Critical Dictionary of English Literature, 
 vol. Ill, p. 2493. 
 
 Tyrwhitt is the only writer among 
 those that handled the subject [ed. Chat- 
 terton] who had a real critical knowledge 
 of the language of the fourteenth and fif- 
 teenth centuries, and who, in fact, had on 
 that account a real claim to be heard. — 
 Skeat, W. W., 1871, Chatterton's Poems, 
 vol. II, p. ix. 
 
27 
 
 Gilbert Stuart 
 
 1742-1786 
 
 Historian and reviewer, born at Edinburgh in 1742. He was educated at the gram- 
 mar school and University of Edinburgh. His principal works are ''A View of Society 
 in Europe" (1778), ''Observations on the Public Law and Constitutional History of 
 Scotland" (1779), ''History of the Establishment of the Reformation in Scotland" (1780), 
 *'The History of Scotland from the Establishment of the Reformation till the Death 
 of Queen Mary" (1782). He died, Aug. 13, 1786.— Moulton, Charles Wells, 1902. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 It is my constant fate tobedissappointed 
 in every thing I attempt : 1 do not think 
 I ever had a wish that was gratified, and 
 never dreaded an event that did not come. 
 . . . I mortally detest and abhor this 
 place [Edinburgh] and everybody in it. 
 ... A curse on the country, and all the 
 men, women, and children of it. . . . The 
 publication is too good for the country. — 
 Stuart, Gilbert, 1774, Letter, June 17. 
 
 Henry and his history long survived 
 Stuart and his critiques ; and Robertson, 
 Blair, and Kaimes, with others he assailed, 
 have all taken their due ranks in public 
 esteem. What niche does Stuart occupy ? 
 His historical works possess the show, 
 without the solidity, of research; hardy 
 paradoxes, and an artificial style of mo- 
 mentary brilliancy, are none of the last- 
 ing materials of history. This shadow of 
 *' Montesquieu, " for he conceived him only 
 to be his fit rival, derived the last consola- 
 tions of life from an obscure corner of a 
 Burton ale-house — there, in rival pota- 
 tions, with two or three other disappointed 
 authors, they regaled themselves on ale 
 they could not always pay for, and recorded 
 their own literary celebrity, which had 
 never taken place. Some time before his 
 death, his asperity was almost softened 
 by melancholy; with a broken spirit, he 
 reviewed himself ; a victim to that un- 
 righteous ambition which sought to build 
 up its greatness with the ruins of his fel- 
 low-countrymen ; prematurely wasting tal- 
 ents which might have been directed to 
 literary eminence. And Gilbert Stuart 
 died as he had lived, a victim to intem- 
 perance, physical and moral ! — Disraeli, 
 Isaac, 1812-13, Literary Hatred, Calam- 
 ities of Authors. 
 
 Stuart was known, while engaged on his 
 historical treatises, to have confined him- 
 self to his library for several weeks, 
 scarcely ever leaving his house for air and 
 exercise. But these periods of intense 
 labour were always followed by bouts of 
 
 dissipation lasting for equal periods of 
 time. When in England he often spent 
 whole nights in company with his boon 
 companions at the Peacock in Gray's Inn 
 Lane. These habits destroyed a strong 
 constitution. ... A writer of great 
 talent and learning his excesses and want 
 of principle ruined his career. — Court- 
 ney, W. P., 1898, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. LV, p. 84. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Here the author has made a great, and 
 indeed a splendid, effort to eclipse the 
 reputation of Robertson, whom he both 
 envied and hated. As the one historian 
 considered Mary guilty of some of the 
 foulest crimes laid to her charge, it was 
 almost an obvious consequence that the 
 other should represent her as innocent. — 
 Irving, David, 1827-42, Encyclopcedia 
 Britannica, Seventh ed., vol. XX. 
 
 A very able ["Antiquity of British 
 Constitution,"] though somewhat impetu- 
 ous inquirer into the earlier parts of our 
 history. — Smyth, William, 1840, Lec- 
 tures on Modern History, Lecture v. 
 
 He also published in 1779, 1780, and 
 1782, three works: one on the ''Consti- 
 tutional History of Scotland," being an 
 attack on Dr. Robertson's first book ; an- 
 other on the " History of the Reformation 
 in Scotland," and the third on the ''His- 
 tory of Queen Mary," being also an elab- 
 orate attack upon the Principal. The 
 ability and the learning of these works, and 
 their lively and even engaging style, has 
 not saved them from the oblivion to which 
 they were justly consigned by the manifest 
 indications prevailing throughout them 
 all, of splenetic temper, of personal malig- 
 nity, and of a constant disturbance of the 
 judgment by these vile, unworthy passions. 
 — Brougham, Henry Lord, 1845-6, Lives 
 of Men of Letters of the Time of George HI. 
 
 All displaying both research and acute- 
 ness, but the two last-mentioned [' ' History 
 of the Establishment of the Reformation 
 
28 
 
 STUART— LOWTH 
 
 in Scotland'* and his "History of Scot- 
 land from the establishment of the Ref- 
 ormation till the death of Queen Mary"], 
 deformed by the author's violent personal 
 animosity against Robertson, for the 
 
 purpose of confuting certain of whose 
 statements or views, they were mainly 
 written. — Craik, George L., 1861, A Com- 
 pendious History of English Literature and 
 of the English Language, vol. il, p. 359. 
 
 Robert Lowth 
 
 1710-1787 
 
 Robert Lowth (1710-87), born at Winchester, was educated there and at New Col- 
 lege, Oxford. In 1741 he became professor of Poetry, in 1750 Archdeacon of Win- 
 chester, in 1753 rector of East Woodhay, in 1755 a prebendary of Durham and rector 
 of Sedgefield, in 1765 F. R. S., in 1766 Bishop of St. Davids and of Oxford, and in 
 1777 of London. He published De Sacra Poesi Hebrceorum (1753), a Life of William 
 of Wykeham, and a new translation of Isaiah. He was one of the first to treat the 
 Bible poetry as literature. — Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's Biographical 
 Dictionary, p. 605. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 For myself, on the contrary, it is well 
 if I can acquit myself of the burden of 
 being responsible for the great advantages 
 which I enjoyed. For, my lord, I was 
 educated in the University of Oxford ; I 
 enjoyed all the advantages, both public 
 and private, which that famous seat of 
 learning so largely affords. I spent many 
 happy years in that illustrious society, in 
 a well-regulated course of useful disci- 
 pline and studies, and in the agreeable 
 and improving commerce of gentlemen 
 and scholars ; in a society where emula- 
 tion without envy, ambition without jeal- 
 ousy, contention without animosity, in- 
 cited industry and awakened genius; 
 where a liberal pursuit of knowledge, and 
 a generous freedom of thought, was raised, 
 encouraged, and put forward by example, 
 by commendation, and by authority. I 
 breathed the same atmosphere that the 
 Hookers, the Chillingworths, and the 
 Lockes had breathed before. . . . 
 And do you reproach me with my educa- 
 tion in this place, and this most respecta- 
 ble body, which I shall always esteem my 
 greatest advantage and my highest honour ? 
 — Lowth, Robert, 1765, Letter to War- 
 burton. 
 
 Lowth is said to have been well and 
 stoutly built, with a florid countenance 
 and animated expression. His conversa- 
 tion was easy and refined, and his manners 
 were courtly. Of a sympathetic disposi- 
 tion, he was more inclined to melancholy 
 than mirth. His temper was hasty but 
 kept under control. His taste was fine, 
 and he was an industrious student. He 
 was an accomplished and elegant scholar, 
 
 well versed in Hebrew, and with a keen 
 appreciation of the poetic beauty of the 
 Old Testament scriptures. Hebrew was, 
 he believed, the language spoken in Para- 
 dise; he studied it critically, and his 
 knowledge of it gained him a European 
 reputation. He wrote both Latin and 
 English verse with some success. In con- 
 troversy he was a dangerous antagonist, 
 with great power of polished sarcasm 
 which he employed against his opponents 
 personally, as well as against their argu- 
 ments.— Hunt, William, 1893, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography, vol. xxxiv, 
 p. 215. 
 
 DE SACRA POESI HEBR^ORUM 
 
 1753 
 
 Bishop Lowth prepared the way for a 
 more accurate knowledge of this impor- 
 tant part of divine revelation [the Pro- 
 phetical Books] by his admirable ''Prelec- 
 tions," and by his amended translations 
 of the prophecies of Isaiah. — Williams, 
 Edward, 1800, The Christian Preacher. 
 
 It is an elegant and interesting book, 
 though somewhat calculated to lead the 
 mind to admire the poetical beauties of 
 Scripture rather than their spiritual tend- 
 ency and design. It is not distinguished 
 so much for its philological criticisms as 
 for the felicity of its illustrations. . . . 
 Lowth was himself a poet, and deeply 
 versant in the poetry of the Hebrews, as 
 well as in the poetical writers of Greece 
 and Rome. — Orme, William, 1824, Bibli- 
 otheca Biblica. 
 
 Before the appearance of his volume, 
 scarcely any thing had been accomplished 
 in the whole wide range of sacred litera- 
 ture which it occupies. . . . Lowth 
 
ROBERT LOWTH 
 
 29 
 
 was fortunate indeed in being the first 
 adventurer to investigate a region so de- 
 lightful. ... He has displayed in the ex- 
 ecution of his task much sound judgment 
 and research. All the notes he has selected 
 are of sterling value ; and those which are 
 the results of his own investigations ex- 
 hibit originality and learning. — Cheever, 
 George Barrell, 1830, LowthJs Hebrew 
 Poetry y North American Review, vol, 31, 
 pp. 366, 367, 375. 
 
 If you have not read Bishop Lowth's 
 ^'Prselections on Hebrew Poetry," let me 
 commend its perusal to you. It opened 
 to me, some years ago, quite a new view 
 of the beauties of the prophetical and 
 poetical part of the Old Testament. — 
 Webster, Daniel, 1844, Letter to Mrs. 
 Paige, March 27 ; Private Correspondence, 
 vol. II, p. 186. 
 
 In the year 1753 the Clarendon Press 
 at Oxford brought out, in a splendid 
 quarto with all the honours of typography, 
 the series of Lectures which Lowth had 
 delivered during his ten years' occupancy 
 of the chair of poetry in that University. 
 It was not the externals only of the vol- 
 ume of which the University was proud. 
 It w^as no less remarkable for its matter. 
 It was the first sign of the awakening of 
 Oxford from that torpor under which two 
 generations had now lain, under the be- 
 sotting influence of Jacobite and high- 
 church politics. The Lectures ''De Sacra 
 Poesi HebraBorum'" seemed to combine 
 the polish of a past generation, long gone, 
 with the learning of a new period to come. 
 The lore of Michaelis was here dressed 
 not in Latin as classical as, and more vig- 
 orous than, that of Addison. Kocher has 
 indeed shown that Lowth's Hebrew skill 
 was not equal to his pretensions ; and Parr 
 has pointed out that the professor was 
 capable of writing poterit after ut. Still 
 the effect of the Lectures was great. 
 The Jacobite University had at last pro- 
 duced a work which might vie in solidity 
 with anything that proceeded from Han- 
 overian Gottingen, and with the finished 
 style of which Gottingen had nothing 
 to compare. The "classic elegance of 
 Lowth" became a standard phrase, and 
 continued to be so till into the present 
 century ; and German Hebraists occupied 
 themselves in refuting the temerity of his 
 numerous emendations of the Hebrew text. 
 — Pattison, Mark, 1863-89, Life of 
 
 Bishop Warhurton, Essays, ed. Nettleship, 
 vol. II, p. 135. 
 
 Lowth's lectures on the Sacred Poetry 
 of the Hebrews (1753) encouraged the 
 study of the Old Testament from the 
 purely literary point of view, and opened 
 up anew all the grandeur and imagery of 
 Hebrew poetry. The critical side of his 
 work helped also in forming true ideas on 
 the nature of poetry. His chapter on 
 "Poetic Imagery from the Objects of 
 Nature" must have been especially sug- 
 gestive in those days. — Phelps, William 
 Lyon, 1893, The Beginnings of the Eng- 
 lish Romantic Movement, p. 172. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 A sublime and admirably-executed ver- 
 sion ["Isaiah"]. — Horne, Thomas Hart- 
 well, 1818-39, A Manual of Biblical 
 Bibliography. 
 
 No former translator ["Isaiah"] has ex- 
 pressed the meaning and spirit of the 
 evangelical prophet so felicitously as 
 Lowth. . . . Lowth is, perhaps, too 
 partial to conjectural criticism, and the 
 version is too highly wrought for common 
 use; but it is a valuable specimen of 
 sacred criticism, and indispensable to the 
 interpretation of Isaiah. — Orme, Wil- 
 liam, 1824, Bibliotheca Biblica. 
 
 The reflections are sparing ["Life of 
 William of Wykeham"] and the style is 
 languid. Even in antiquarian lore there 
 is a dearth of intelligence ; but the sub- 
 ject was not suited to the taste, habits, 
 and learning, of Lowth. — Dibdin, Thomas 
 Frognall, 1824, The Library Companion, 
 p. 523. 
 
 He gave to England the first regular 
 grammar of his native tongue [ ?]. We 
 are somewhat surprised that Murray's 
 grammar, which is but an enlarged copy 
 of Lowth's, should so generally have oc- 
 cupied its place ; and that, too, with little 
 acknowledgment to the individual, from 
 whom were derived its plan and most of 
 its materials. Although Lowth's treatise 
 was written so early as the year 1758, 
 yet we doubt whether there is at the pres- 
 ent day a single work of equal excellence 
 in the same compass.— Cheever, George 
 Barrell, 1830, Lowth's Hebrew Poetry, 
 North American Review, vol. 31, p. 377. 
 
 The writings by which Bishop Lowth is 
 most known are, "A Short Introduction 
 to English Grammar," for many years a 
 
30 
 
 LOWTH—JENYNS 
 
 text-book in the schools and colleges in 
 England and in this country; his Trans- 
 lation of the Prophet Isaiah, " with a large 
 body of valuable notes ; and his ''Lectures 
 on the Poetry of the Hebrews." The lat- 
 ter is a work which unites a depth of 
 learning to a discriminating criticism and 
 a refined taste, in a very unusual degree ; 
 and while it is of inestimable value to the 
 professed Biblical student, it affords 
 equal pleasure and instruction to the gen- 
 eral reader. — Cleveland, Charles D., 
 1848, A Compendium of English Litera- 
 ture, p. 673. 
 
 In polished dexterity of argument, 
 tinged, and not more than tinged, with the 
 raillery of one who knows exactly what is 
 due both to himself and his antagonists, 
 this short piece has perhaps never been 
 
 surpassed in literary warfare. At that 
 period of paper ruffianism, when the cour- 
 tesies of legitimate warfare were unprac- 
 tised and unknown, such moderate lan- 
 guage, combined with such superiority of 
 demeanour, was wholly new. Even the 
 mere English composition of the "Letter" 
 was an event which opened a new 
 era in writing, and made the public 
 wonder that it could ever have admired 
 the lame sentences and clumsy English 
 of War bur ton and his followers. — Pat- 
 TisoN, Mark, 1863-89, Life of Bishop 
 Warburton, Essays, ed. Nettleship, vol. ii, 
 p. 139. 
 
 Although an excellent critic of poetry, 
 had no creative gift. — Phelps, William 
 Lyon, 1893, The Beginnings of the Eng- 
 lish Romantic Movement, p. 72. 
 
 Soame Jenyns 
 
 1704-1787 
 
 Born at London, Jan. 1, 1704: Died there, Dec. 18, 1787. An English miscel- 
 laneous writer. In 1722 he entered St. John's College, Cambridge, leaving without a 
 degree in 1725. He published anonymously ''The Art of Dancing: a poem" (1727) 
 and a collection of poems (1752). He was returned to Parliament in 1742. In 1757 
 he published a ''Free Enquiry into the Nature and Origin of Evil," and in 1765 "The 
 Objections to the Taxation of our American Colonies by the Legislature of Great 
 Britain briefly considered." His "View of the Internal Evidence^ of the Christian 
 Religion" was published in 1776. — Smith, Benjamin E., ed., 1894-97, The Century 
 Cyclopedia of Names, p. 544. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Here lies a little ugly nauseous elf, 
 Who judging only from its wretched self, 
 Feebly attempted, petulant and vain, 
 The "Origin of Evil" to explain. 
 A mighty Genius at this elf displeas'd, 
 With a strong critick grasp the urchin 
 squeez'd. 
 
 For thirty years its coward spleen it kept. 
 Till in the dust the mighty Genius slept ; 
 Then stunk and fretted in expiring snuff, 
 And blink 'd at Johnson with its last poor 
 puff. 
 
 — Bos WELL, James, 1778 ? Epitaph Pre- 
 pared for a Creature not quite Dead Yet. 
 
 Mr. Soame Jenyns, who died a few days 
 ago, had (as Mr. Wm. Gerard Hamilton, 
 who sat for six years at the Board of 
 Trade with him, informed me) no notion 
 of ratiocination, no rectitude of mind; 
 nor could he be made without much labour 
 to comprehend an argument. If how- 
 ever there was anything weak, or defect- 
 ive, or ridiculous in what another said, he 
 always laid hold of it and played upon it 
 
 with success. He looked at everything 
 with a view to pleasantry alone. This 
 being his grand object, and he being no 
 reasoner, his best friends were at a loss 
 to know whether his book upon Christian- 
 ity was serious or ironical. He twice en- 
 deavoured to speak in the House of Com- 
 mons, and every one was prepared with a 
 half-grin before he uttered a word ; but he 
 failed miserably. He had a most inhar- 
 monious voice, and a laugh scarcely 
 human. He laughed all his life at patri- 
 otism and public spirit ; and supposed all 
 oppression of the people by those in power 
 was merely imaginary. — Malone, Ed- 
 mond, 1787, Maloniana, ed. Prior, p. 375. 
 
 He was a man of great mildness, gen- 
 tleness, and sweetness of temper, which 
 he manifested to all with whom he had 
 concerns, either in the business of life or 
 its social intercourse. His earnest de- 
 sire, so far as possible, was never to offend 
 any person ; and he made such allowances 
 for those whose disposition differed from 
 
SOAME JENYNS 
 
 31 
 
 his own, that he was rarely offended with 
 others. He was strict in the performance 
 of religious duties in public, and a con- 
 stant practiser of them in private. His 
 conversation among his equals was most 
 amiable and engaging; for he possessed 
 a well informed mind, accompanied by an 
 uncommon vein of the most lively, spirited, 
 and genuine wit, which always flowed 
 copiously, but was ever tempered by the 
 most perfect kindness. To his inferiors 
 he was most kind and courteous, not only 
 in his expressions and behaviour, but in 
 assisting them in all their wants and dis- 
 tresses, ever considering his poor neigh- 
 bours in the country as part of his own 
 family ; and that he might give them his 
 care and protection, he spent his summers 
 on his estate, saying, can do more 
 good in my own parish at that time than 
 in any other situation. It is also no 
 ordinary or misplaced eulogium which we 
 read in the obituary of that parish: — ■ 
 *'Decr. 18, 1787, Soame Jenyns, Esq., in 
 the eighty-third year of his age, one of 
 the most amiable of men and one of the 
 truest Christians, in whom was united one 
 of the finest understandings to one of the 
 best hearts." — Cole, Charles Nelson, 
 1790, ed., The Works of Soame JenynSy 
 Life. 
 
 He was the man who bore his part in 
 all societies with the most even temper 
 and undisturbed hilarity of all the good 
 companions, whom I ever knew. He came 
 into your house at the very moment you 
 had put upon your card ; he dressed him- 
 self to do your party honour in all the 
 colours of the jay; his lace indeed had 
 long since lost its lustre, but his coat had 
 faithfully retained its cut since the days 
 when gentlemen wore embroidered vel- 
 vets with short sleeves, boot cuffs, and 
 buckram shirts. As nature had cast him 
 in the exact mould of an ill-made pair 
 of stiff stays, he followed her so close in 
 the fashion of his coat, that it was 
 doubted if he did not wear them. Be- 
 cause he had a protuberant wen just 
 under his poll, he wore a wig that did not 
 cover above half his head. His eyes were 
 protruded like the eyes of the lobster, 
 who wears them at the end of his feelers, 
 and yet there was room between one of 
 these and his nose for another wen, that 
 added nothing to his beauty ; yet I heard 
 this good man very innocently remark. 
 
 when Gibbon published his history, that 
 he wondered any body so ugly could write 
 a book. Such was the exterior of a man, 
 who was the charm of the circle, and gave 
 a zest to every company he came into ; 
 his pleasantry was of a sort peculiar to 
 himself; it harmonised with everything; 
 it was like the bread to our dinner ; you 
 did not perhaps make it the whole, or 
 principal part, of your meal, but it was an 
 admirable and wholesome auxiliary to 
 your other viands. Soame Jenyns told 
 you no long stories, engrossed not much of 
 your attention, and was not angry with 
 those that did ; his thoughts were origi- 
 nal, and were apt to have a very whimsical 
 affinity to the paradox in them : he wrote 
 verses upon dancing, and prose upon the 
 origin of evil, yet he was a very indiffer- 
 ent metaphysician, and a worse dancer; 
 ill-nature and personality, with the single 
 exception of his lines upon Johnson, I 
 never heard fall from his lips; those 
 lines I have forgotten, though I believe I 
 was the first person to whom he recited 
 them; they were very bad, but he had 
 been told that Johnson ridiculed his meta- 
 physics, and some of us had just then been 
 making extemporary epitaphs upon each 
 other. — Cumberland, Richard, 1806, 
 Memoirs Written by Himself vol. I, p. 336. 
 
 His appearance, dress, manner, and 
 conversation, were very eccentric, and 
 those of his wife, who generally accom- 
 panied him on his visits, were no less so. 
 The lady here alluded to was his second 
 wife, who entertained so exalted an idea 
 of her husband's accuracy and propriety 
 of conversation, that she acquired the 
 habit of always repeating the last sentence 
 of any thing he said. Thus when the 
 gentleman observed, we had a disagreea- 
 ble journey to town, the roads were bad, 
 we were sadly jolted, the lady would im- 
 mediately repeat the observation *'Yes, 
 as Mr. Jenyns says, we were sadly jolted. " 
 — Beloe, William, 1817, The Sexagena- 
 rian, vol. II, p. 214. 
 
 Soame Jenyns appears to have been an 
 amiable country gentleman, rather bigoted 
 in his political tendencies, but not without 
 acuteness and elegance of style. He 
 could write pretty verses after the model 
 of Prior; that he ''gave his days and 
 nights to the study of Addison" was in- 
 ferred from two or three papers contrib- 
 uted to the ''World" ; and he is said to 
 
32 
 
 SOAME JENYNS 
 
 have been the charm of every social circle 
 which he entered. —Stephen, Leslie, 
 1876, History of English Thought in the 
 Eighteenth Century, vol. i, p. 385. 
 
 Soame Jenyns once expressed a wonder 
 that anybody so ugly as Gibbon could 
 write a book ; the real marvel would have 
 been if that monumental work, the ''De- 
 cline and Fall," had been produced by a 
 handsome man. The remark was still 
 stranger, coming, as it did, from one who 
 was himself a writer of books, and of good 
 books too, although he was disfigured by 
 an immense wen under his head, and had 
 eyes protruding like a lobster's, yet allow- 
 ing room for another wen between them 
 and his nose.— Mathews, William, 1887, 
 Men, Places and Things, p. 242. 
 
 Here lies poor Jenyns, whose good taste and 
 wit 
 
 In Johnson emphasized the "cough and spit," 
 Held cheap the sweetness of that monarch 
 mind, 
 
 And found delight in mocking at the rind ; 
 Rude was the Doctor, yet in kindly wise ; 
 In Jenyns, sooth, the case is otherwise, 
 For he, whom Jenyns rudely called a ' 'brute" 
 Is all that makes important this dispute ; 
 Well had it been for Jenyns, if his art 
 Supplied such lack of manners with such 
 heart ! 
 
 — Mahany, Rowland B., 1891, On Soame 
 Jenyns, Life, Apr. 30. 
 
 INTERNAL EVIDENCE OF THE 
 CHRISTIAN RELIGION 
 
 1776 
 
 Soame Jenyns has published a con- 
 firmation of the Christian Religion from 
 internal evidence. Pray was not his 
 Origin of Evil a little heterodox ? I have 
 dipped a little into this new piece, and 
 thought I saw something like irony, but 
 to be sure I am wrong, for the Ecclesias- 
 tical Court are quite satisfied. — Walpole, 
 Horace, 1776, To Rev. William Mason, 
 May 4 ; Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. vi, 
 p. 335. 
 
 Dr. Mayo having asked Johnson's opin- 
 ion of Soame Jenyns's" View of the Inter- 
 nal Evidence of the Christian Religion," 
 — Johnson: ''I think it a pretty book; 
 not very theological, indeed; and there 
 seems to be an affectation of ease and 
 carelessness, as if it were not suitable to 
 his character to be very serious about the 
 matter." — Johnson, Samuel, 1778, Life 
 by Boswell, ed. Hill, vol. ill., p. 327. 
 
 A work of very considerable shrewdness 
 and ingenuity, in which many striking 
 views of Christianity are adduced in sup- 
 port of its heavenly origin. — Orme, Wil- 
 liam, 1824, Bibliotheca Biblica. 
 
 The last and best work of Mr. Jenyns, 
 was the dissertation on "the Internal 
 Evidence of the Christian Religion. ' ' The 
 literary history of this work is not with- 
 out interest. Originally impressed with 
 deep convictions of the truth of Christian- 
 ity, its author allowed himself to be se- 
 duced into doubts, and finally settled in 
 Deism. Renewed inquiry re-established 
 his mind in a rational faith. He subse- 
 quently endeavored to arrange in this 
 treatise the arguments and considerations 
 which had most weight in his case. Im- 
 mediately on its first appearance, it be- 
 came popular with all parties, and yet 
 every party in religion and literature ex- 
 pressed the most decided dissatisfaction 
 with some particular portion of the argu- 
 ment, or some special view of the author. 
 Such has continued to be its reception up 
 to the present hour. As a whole, it is 
 admitted to be the best treatise, in its 
 particular range, yet given to the world, 
 but in some respect — differing according 
 to the source whence the censure comes — 
 the disapproval of its individual doctrines 
 and reasonings is almost universal. We 
 have hinted that the circumstances of the 
 author may be pleaded as offering at 
 once an apology and a distinction in favour 
 of his work. They go far also to ac- 
 count for this mixed estimate of its 
 merits. With a more experienced theol- 
 ogy, he would have conducted his argu- 
 ment more technically, and without the 
 reckless admissions which offend divines; 
 but, at the same time, he might thus have 
 rendered his treatise less popular with 
 ordinary readers. Let the man of the 
 world, again, who turns away from the 
 evangelical seriousness, and scriptural 
 earnestness of other parts, remember, 
 that these are the sentiments of one who, 
 amid the gay literature and selfish business 
 of the world, thus felt, and thus recom- 
 mends the power of Christianity. — Memes, 
 John S., 1849, ed., Christian Literature: 
 Evidences, Prefatory Memoirs, p. 18. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I have read the little wicked book about 
 Evil, that settled Mr. Dodsley's conscience 
 in that point, and find nothing in it but 
 
SOAME JENYNS 
 
 33 
 
 absurdity.— Gray, Thomas, 1757, Letter 
 to Rev, William Mason, April 23 ; Works^ 
 ed. Gosse, vol. ii, p. 310. 
 When specious sophists with presumption 
 scan 
 
 The source of evil hidden still from man ; 
 Revive Arabian tales, ami vainly hope 
 To rival St. John, and his scholar Pope: 
 Though metaphysicks spread the gloom of 
 night, 
 
 By reason's star he guides our aching sight; 
 The bounds of knowledge marks, and points 
 the way 
 
 To pathless wastes, were wilder'd sages 
 stray ; 
 
 Where, like a farthing link-boy, Jenyns 
 stands. 
 
 And the dim torch drops from his feeble 
 hands. 
 
 — CouRTENAY, JoHN, 1786, A Poetical 
 Review of the Literary and Moral Charac- 
 ter of the Late S. Johnson. 
 
 His poetry does not rise above medioc- 
 rity : indeed, it scarcely deserves the name ; 
 but the style of his prose is smooth and 
 lucid, his turns of thought are neat and 
 unexpected ; and when he sports in irony, 
 in which he apparently delights to indulge, 
 he is uncommonly playful and airy. . . . 
 Jenyns has evidently a predilection for 
 paradoxical opinions ; and why, he might 
 reasonably urge in his defence, should a 
 man address the Public, who has nothing 
 new to offer to it?— Green, Thomas, 
 1779-1810, Diary of a Lover of Literature. 
 
 In a literary point of view he obtained 
 a considerable degree of temporary celeb- 
 rity, occasioned principally by the bold 
 and paradoxical nature of his disquisi- 
 tions. ... To any distinguished 
 rank as a poet he has no claim ; it may 
 be said, however, that his versification is 
 smooth, and sometimes elegant, though 
 deficient in vigour ; and that several of 
 his smaller productions effervesce with 
 humour and well chosen satire. As a 
 writer in prose, he is entitled to more es- 
 timation, whether his matter or manner 
 be considered.— Drake, Nathan, 1810, 
 Essays, Illustrative of the Rambler ^ Adven- 
 turery and Idler, vol. n, p. 286. 
 
 His poems were published collectively in 
 the volumes of Dodsley, and whoever 
 pleases, may judge of their value. But 
 they excited no great interest when orig- 
 inally written ; they excite less at the 
 present period, and will probably glide 
 down the stream of time, till, with the 
 
 3 c 
 
 n\ob of gentlemen who write with ease, 
 they sink into the waters of oblivion. — 
 Beloe, William, 1817, The Sexagenarian, 
 vol. II, p. 215. 
 
 We venture to assert, that there are 
 few books in the language, of the same 
 size as the little volume before us, con- 
 taining more acute and ingenious reason- 
 ing, abounding in more lively illustration 
 or more elegant and polished composition. 
 . . . To those who do not possess this 
 little volume we fearlessly recommend 
 them to procure it, and unhesitatingly 
 promise them a rich, though small, store 
 of instruction and entertainment. . . . 
 The first Essay, on the chain of universal 
 being, is chiefly remarkable for the com- 
 plete and elegant manner in which this 
 mysterious connection is shewn to exist. 
 The reasoning in it is of that sort which 
 carries conviction, by the method of stat- 
 ing and setting forth the bearings of the 
 question. It may, perhaps, be not unfitly 
 called the reasoning of development, 
 which requires nothing more than an un- 
 veiling or disclosing of the hidden link of 
 circumstances, and not an invention of 
 arguments, but a mere opening of the 
 eyes to the nature of things. — Southern, 
 H., 1820, Soame Jenyns' s Disquisitions, 
 Retrospective Review, vol. 2, pp. 291, 292. 
 
 Read the works of Soame Jenyns and of 
 Locke. Would not both of these men, for 
 instance, while they retained their integ- 
 rity, have been seen always on the oppo- 
 site sides of any question that could affect 
 the constitution and government of a free 
 country.— Smyth, William, 1840, Lec- 
 tures on Modern History, Lecture xxiv. 
 
 Some divines' rejoiced that Jenyns had 
 discarded his early scepticism and em- 
 braced orthodoxy ; others questioned his 
 sincerity and disliked his ingenious para- 
 doxes. . . . Jenyns's prose style was re- 
 garded by his contemporaries as a model of 
 ease and elegance. It was highly com- 
 mended by Burke, and Boswell allowed that 
 "Jenyns was possessed of lively talents 
 . . . and could very happily play with a 
 light subject." His metaphysical specu- 
 lations were not profound, and his political 
 views were short-sighted; but he wrote 
 some agreeable essays (though Charles 
 Lamb entered his works on the list of 
 ''books which are no books"). — Bullen, 
 A. H., 1892, Dictionary of Nationol Biog- 
 raphy, vol. XXIX, p. 333. 
 
34 
 
 Charles Wesley 
 
 1707-1788 
 
 Born at Epworth, Lines., 29 Dec, 1707. At Westminster School, 1716-26. 
 Matric. Ch. Ch., Oxford, 13 June, 1726; B. A., 1730; M. A., 1733. One of found- 
 ers of Methodist" Society at Oxford, 1730. Ordained Deacon and Priest, 1735. 
 To Georgia, as Sec. to Gen. Oglethorpe, 1735. Returned to England, 1736. Active 
 life as religious missionary in England, 1736-56. Married Sarah Gwynne, 8 April, 
 1749. Lived in Bristol, 1749-71 ; in London, 1771-88. Died, in London, 29 March, 
 1788. Buried in Marylebone Parish Churchyard. Works : His publications consist 
 almost entirely of hymns ; for the most part written with his brother John, and pub- 
 lished anonymously, between 1744 and 1782. His ''Hymns and Sacred Poems" 
 (2 vols.) were pubd. in 1729; his ''Sermons" (posthumously) in 1816; his "Journal" 
 (2 vols.) in 1849. Life: by J. Telford, 1886.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A 
 Dictionary of English A uthors^ p. 296. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 We find and present Charles Wesley 
 to be a person of ill-fame, a vagabond, 
 and a common disturber of his Majesty's 
 peace, and we pray that he may be trans- 
 ported ! — Report of Grand Jury of Cork, 
 Ireland, 1749. 
 
 Persuaded two or three young scholars 
 to accompany me, and to observe the 
 method of study prescribed by the statutes 
 of the university. This gained me the 
 harmless nickname of Methodist. — Wes- 
 ley, Charles, 1785, Letter to Thomas 
 Bradbury Chandler, Apr. 28. 
 
 Mr. Wesley was of a warm and lively 
 disposition; of great frankness and integ- 
 rity, and generous and steady in his friend- 
 ships. His love of simplicity, and utter 
 abhorrence of hypocrisy, and even of 
 affectation in the professors of religion, 
 made him sometimes appear severe on 
 those who assumed a consequence, on ac- 
 count of their experience, or, were pert 
 and forward in talking of themselves and 
 others. These persons were sure of meet- 
 ing with a reproof from him, which some, 
 perhaps, might call precipitate and im- 
 prudent, though it was evidently founded 
 on a knowledge of the human heart. In 
 conversation he was pleasing, instructive, 
 and cheerful; and his observations were 
 often seasoned with wit and humor. His 
 religion was genuine and unaffected. As 
 a minister, he was familiarly acquainted 
 with every part of divinity ; and his mind 
 was furnished with an uncommon knowl- 
 edge of the Scriptures. His discourses 
 from the pulpit were not dry and system- 
 atic, but flowed from the present views 
 and feelings of his own mind. He had a 
 remarkable talent of expressing the most 
 important truths with simplicity and 
 
 energy ; and his discourses were sometimes 
 truly apostolic, forcing conviction on the 
 hearers in spite of the most determined 
 opposition. As a husband, a father, and 
 a friend, his character was amiable. Mrs. 
 Wesley brought him five children, of 
 whom two sons and a daughter are still 
 living. The sons discovered a taste for 
 music, and a fine musical ear, at an early 
 period of infancy, which excited general 
 amazement; and are now justly admired 
 by the best judges for their talents in 
 that pleasing art.— Whitehead, John, 
 1793, Life of the Rev. Charles Wesley, vol. 
 L, p. 227. 
 
 The character of Mr. Charles Wesley 
 has been beautifully drawn by one of his 
 daughters, in a letter to a friend. In 
 speaking of some remarks made by a cer- 
 tain author in reference to her deceased 
 father, she says: "Mr. Moore seems to 
 think that my father preferred rest to 
 going about doing good. He had a rising 
 family, and considered it his duty to con- 
 fine his labors to Bristol and London, 
 where he labored most sedulously in min- 
 isterial affairs, and judged that it was in- 
 cumbent upon him to watch over the youth 
 of his sons, especially in a profession which 
 nature so strongly pointed out, but which 
 was peculiarly dangerous. He always 
 said his brother was formed to lead, and 
 he to follow. No one ever rejoiced more 
 in another's superiority, or was more will- 
 ing to confess it. Mr. Moore's statement 
 of his absence of mind in his younger 
 days is probably correct, as he was born 
 impetuous, and ardent, and sincere. But 
 what a change must have taken place 
 when we were born ! For his exactness 
 in his accounts, in his manuscripts, in his 
 bureau, &c., equalled my uncle's. Not 
 
LIBRARY 
 
 OF THt 
 
 UNIVERSITY afllU^^CHS, 
 
CHARLES WESLEY 
 
 hugruvinj^ by Dick, from an ()iijj:iihU 
 
 Painting in the Possession of the Family. 
 
CHARLES WESLEY 
 
 35 
 
 in his dress indeed ; for my mother said, 
 if she did not watch over him, he might 
 have put on an old for a new coat, and 
 marched out. Such was his power of ab- 
 straction, that he could read and compose 
 with his children in the room, and visitors 
 talking around him. He was nearly forty 
 when he married, and had eight children, 
 of whom we were the youngest. So kind 
 and amiable a character in domestic life 
 can scarcely be imagined. The tender- 
 ness he showed in every weakness, and 
 the sympathy in every pain, would fill 
 sheets to describe. But I am not writing 
 his eulogy ; only I must add, with so warm 
 a temper, he never was heard to speak an 
 angry word to a servant, or known to 
 strike a child in anger, — and he knew no 
 guile!"— GoRRiE, P. Douglass, 1853, The 
 Lives of Eminent Methodist Ministers, p. 47. 
 
 In studying their biographies, one can- 
 not well avoid the conclusion that though 
 Charles was less aggressive than his 
 brother, and though his fame, in part on 
 this account, has been wholly overshad- 
 owed by that of the latter, his was the 
 steadier and better rounded character of 
 the two ; and that to him their common suc- 
 cess as religious leaders is largely due. 
 Charles was the forerunner in the move- 
 ment at Oxford, and again, though only by a 
 few days, in his conversion " ; and above 
 all, Charles was the hymn-writer of Method- 
 ism, and the influence of the service of 
 song upon the Methodist movement it is 
 almost im possible to exaggerate. Charles 
 Wesley, it is said, wrote more than six 
 thousand hymns ; and though in this vast 
 flux of words he sometimes— nay, often — 
 "ran to emptins," there are among his 
 sacred songs some which appeal to people 
 of every faith, and promise to live as long 
 as Divine service is continued. The 
 strong musical bias in his blood is shown 
 in the fact that his son Samuel played on 
 the organ at three, and composed an ora- 
 torio at eight.— Potts, William, 1897, 
 Library of the World's Best Literature, ed. 
 Warner, vol. xxvii, p. 15791. 
 
 Tender and sensitive, his family affec- 
 tions were strong ; his warmth of temper 
 never led him into angry heats; to his 
 brother he looked up with a loving rever- 
 ence, undisturbed by their differences. In 
 defensive repartee he was as ready, 
 though not so pungent, as his brother. 
 He had no faculty for government. 
 
 Though he had plenty of courage, he was 
 swayed by conflicting feelings, with the 
 result that his half-measures conveyed an 
 impression of timidity. — Gordon, Alex- 
 ander, 1899, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol, LX, p. 300. 
 
 HYMNS 
 
 I do not at all desire to discourage your 
 publication. But when you tell me you 
 write, not for the critic, but for the Chris- 
 tian, it occurs to my mind that you might 
 as well write for both ; or in such a manner 
 that the critic may, by your writing, be 
 moved to turn Christian, rather than the 
 Christian turn critic. I should be wanting, 
 I fear, in speaking freely and friendly 
 upon this matter, if I did not give it as 
 my humble opinion that, before you pub- 
 lish, you might lay before some experi- 
 enced Christian critics the design which 
 you are upon. But I speak this with all 
 submission. It is very likely that, in 
 these matters, I may want a spur more 
 than you want a bridle. — Byrom, John, 
 1738, Letter to Charles Wesley, March 3. 
 
 In these Hymns there is no doggerel, 
 no botches, nothing put in to patch up 
 the rhyme, no feeble expletives. Here is 
 nothing turgid or bombast on the one 
 hand, or low and creeping on the other. 
 Here are no cant expressions, no words 
 without meaning. Here are (allow me to 
 say) but the purity, the strength, and the 
 elegance of the English language, and at 
 the same time the utmost simplicity and 
 plainness, suited to every capacity. — 
 Wesley, John, 1779, ed.. Collection of 
 Hymns, Preface, Oct. 20. 
 
 I write this, my dear Mary, in a situa- 
 tion that would make your soul freeze 
 with horror ; it is on the last projecting 
 point of rock of the ''Land's End," up- 
 wards of two hundred feet perpendicular 
 above the sea, which is raging and roaring 
 most tremendously, threatening destruc- 
 tion to myself and the narrow point of rock 
 on which I am now sitting. On my right 
 hand is the Bristol Channel, and before 
 me the vast Atlantic Ocean. There is 
 not one inch of land, from the place on 
 which my feet rest, to the vast American 
 continent! This is the place, though 
 probably not so far advanced on the tre- 
 mendous cliff, where Charles Wesley com- 
 posed those fine lines, — 
 
 '"Lo! on a narrow neck of land, 
 Twixt two unbounded seas I stand," et-c. 
 
36 
 
 CHARLES WESLEY 
 
 The point of rock itself is about three 
 feet broad at its termination, and the 
 fearless adventurer will here place his 
 foot, in order to be able to say that he 
 has been on the uttermost inch of land in 
 the British empire westward ; and on this 
 spot the foot of your husband now rests, 
 while he writes the following words in the 
 same hymn : 
 
 ''O God! my inmost soul convert, 
 And deeply on my thoughtful heart 
 
 Eternal things impress ; 
 Give me to feel their solemn weight, 
 And tremble on the brink of fate, 
 And wake to righteousness." 
 
 —Clarke, Adam, 1819, Letter to his 
 Wife, Oct. nth. 
 
 Next to Dr. Watts, as a hymn-writer, un- 
 doubtedly stands the Rev. Charles Wes- 
 ley. He was probably the author of a 
 greater number of compositions of this 
 kind, with less variety of matter or man- 
 ner, than any other man of genius that 
 can be named. — Montgomery, James, 
 1825, The Christian Psalmist, Introduc- 
 tion. 
 
 It is as a writer of devotional poetry, 
 that Mr. Charles Wesley will be perma- 
 nently remembered, and that hiss name 
 will live in the annals of the Church. In 
 the composition of hymns adapted to 
 Christian worship, he certainly has no 
 equal in the English language, and is per- 
 haps superior to every other uninspired 
 man that ever lived. It does not appear, 
 that any person beside himself, in any 
 section of the universal Church, has either 
 v^ritten so many hymns, or hymns of such 
 surpassing excellence. . . . During 
 the last fifty years few Collections of 
 Hymns, designed for the use of evangelical 
 congregations, whether belonging to the 
 Established Church, or to the Dissenting 
 bodies, have been made, without a consider- 
 able number of his compositions, which are 
 admired in proportion as the people are 
 spiritually-minded. His hymns are, there- 
 fore, extensively used in secret devotion, 
 in family-worship, and in public religious 
 assemblies. Every Sabbath day, myriads 
 of voices are lifted up, and utter, in the 
 hallowed strains which he has supplied, 
 the feelings of penitence, of faith, of 
 grateful love, and joyous hope, with 
 which the Holy Ghost, the Lord and Giver 
 of life, has inspired them ; and are thus 
 in a course of training for the more per- 
 fect worship of heaven. ... As long as 
 
 the language in which they are written is 
 understood, and enlightened piety is cher- 
 ished, the hymns of this venerable man 
 will be used as a handmaid to devotion. 
 —Jackson, Thomas, 1841, Life of Charles 
 Wesley. 
 
 Charles and John Wesley seemed to ful- 
 fill toward their great family of disciples 
 the offices commonly assigned to Woman 
 and Man. Charles had a narrower, tamer, 
 less reasoning mind, but great sweet- 
 ness, tenderness, facility and lyric flow. 
 "When successful in effecting the spirit- 
 ual good of the most abject, his feelings 
 rose to rapture." Soft pity fired his 
 heart, and none seemed so near to him as 
 the felon and the malefactor, because for 
 none else was so much to be done. His 
 habitual flow of sacred verse was like 
 the course of a full fed stream. — Ossoli, 
 Margaret Fuller, 1850 ?-59, Papers on 
 Literature and Art, ed. Fuller, p. 350. 
 
 No hymn-writer is more intellectual: 
 none puts more doctrine, thought, solid 
 mental pabulum, into his poems. And 
 certainly none is more awakening and edi- 
 fying ; few others, in fact, approach him 
 in native moral earnestness, force, fire; 
 and none possesses a higher, purer, more 
 consistent, uniform, and positive spirit- 
 uality. How and why then does it hap- 
 pen, all this .being so, that his writings 
 are not more largely known, honored, and 
 used ? ... It has been considered a 
 difficult point to decide which is entitled 
 to stand first among hymn-writers, Charles 
 Wesley or Dr. Watts. The difficulty lies 
 simply here, that Dr. Watts was merely a 
 hymn-writer, and could and did, most nat- 
 urally, put all his powers within the 
 proper limits of a song suited to public 
 worship. The only question to ask rela- 
 tive to anything of his is, is it good 
 enough? Whereas twenty reasons may 
 unfit Wesley's poems for that use. If a 
 piece of the Doctor's is unfit to sing, it is 
 probably unfit to read: not so with the 
 other ; for Wesley was a poet in a larger 
 sense. Their relative claims as poets will 
 soon be settled, by the good taste of com- 
 petent judges, whenever Wesley's poetry 
 becomes sufficiently known. Dr. Watts's 
 confession that his rival's ''Wrestling 
 Jacob" was worth all his own effusions, 
 proves nothing but the modesty and gen- 
 erosity of the speaker; but there are 
 other grounds for believing that Wesley 
 
CHARLES WESLEY 
 
 37 
 
 excelled him in originality, variety, in- 
 tensity, and elevation. Dr. Watts has 
 been appreciated within the church at 
 large ; Charles Wesley has not. Let him 
 not be judged further than as he is known. 
 It is an easy task to compare our poet 
 with the other more eminent hymnists. 
 Doddridge and Steele are diluted repro- 
 ductions of Dr. Watts. Montgomery, a 
 professed and lifelong poet, is inferior to 
 Wesley in all the qualities mentioned 
 above, and in no respect above him in 
 propriety, harmony, and grace of style. 
 Heber, the most elegant and mellifluous 
 of sacred poets, is not more polished and 
 fluent than his Methodist predecessor; 
 nor has he anything of his solidity, 
 strength, and fire. Cowper is the greatest 
 name in the hymn books; but Cowper's 
 best poems, which are very few, are but 
 equal, not superior, to Wesley's best, 
 which are very many. Toplady approaches 
 most nearly to the Methodist poet; but 
 Toplady borrowed his inspiration from 
 Wesley, and reproduced his style ; and it 
 is the Calvinist's highest praise that his 
 finest pieces are undistinguishable from 
 those of his Arminian neighbor. No 
 other names in British sacred lyric poetry 
 can be mentioned with that of Charles 
 Wesley; and when it is remembered that 
 all these counted their poems by dozens or 
 hundreds, while he by thousands ; and that 
 his thousands were in power, in elegance, 
 in devotional and literary value above 
 their few, we call him, yet more confi- 
 dently, great among poets, and prince of 
 English hymnists. — Bird, Frederic M., 
 1864, Charles Wesley and Methodist 
 Hymns, The Bihliotheca Sacra, vol. 21, 
 pp. 311, 317. 
 
 In Charles Wesley's verses we trace the 
 influence of his careful classical training, 
 though this is less manifest than we might 
 have expected. . . . Neither Wesley 
 nor Watts has left any one great poem. 
 Wesley will, perhaps, be judged to have 
 best maintained his claim to the name of 
 poet, but the question of which is the bet- 
 ter hymn-writer must still, we think, be 
 leftundecided. Even the greatest admirers 
 of Charles Wesley admit that Watts excels 
 him in the sweeter flow of his numbers, 
 and in those of his hymns which are de- 
 signed to administer comfort to the 
 afiiicted. — Miller, Josiah, 1866-69, Sing- 
 ers and Songs of the Church, pp. 187, 188. 
 
 I do not say that many of these songs 
 possess much literary merit, but many of 
 them are real lyrics ; they have that essen- 
 tial element, song, in them. The follow- 
 ing, Wrestling Jacob",] however, is a 
 very fine poem. That certain expressions 
 in it may not seem oft*ensive,it is necessary 
 to keep the allegory of Jacob and the Angel 
 in full view — even better in view, per- 
 haps, than the writer does himself. — 
 Macdonald, George, 1868, England's 
 Antiphon, p. 297. 
 
 We love and honor Charles Wesley, not 
 only as a hymn writer, but as a man and 
 a preacher. He has made the church and 
 the world forever his debtor. It is doubt- 
 ful indeed whether the Methodist church 
 could have been established, it certainly 
 could not have grown and flourished as it 
 has without his hymns. The author of 
 Jesus, lover of my soul," ''0, for a 
 thousand tongues to sing," ''A charge to 
 keep I have, " and others of this character, 
 need have no fear of being eclipsed ; nor 
 should his friends and admirers betray any 
 want of confidence in the justness of the 
 claims they make in his behalf, by being 
 over-sensitive at honors paid at another 
 shrine.— Robinson, R. T., 1868, Dr. 
 Watts's Hymns, Hours at Home, vol. 7, 
 p. 519. 
 
 Charles Wesley, with higher poetical 
 gifts than his brother, produced several 
 of the finest hymns known to the language. 
 His ''Jesus, lover of my soul," has no 
 equal in modern, perhaps in ancient, sa- 
 cred song ; and the poet has expressed in 
 tuneful numbers the last aspiration of all 
 undoubting faith. — Lawrence, Eugene, 
 1872, John Wesley and his Times, Har- 
 per's Magazine, vol. 45, p. 119. 
 
 Charles Wesley, a Christ-Church stu- 
 dent, came to add sweetness to this sud- 
 den and startling light. He was the 
 "sweet singer" of the movement. His 
 hymns expressed the fiery conviction of its 
 converts in lines so chaste and beautiful 
 that its more extravagant features disap- 
 peared. The wild throes of hysteric en- 
 thusiasm passed into a passion for hymn- 
 singing, and a new musical impulse was 
 aroused in the people which gradu- 
 ally changed the face of public devotion 
 throughout England. — Green, John Rich- 
 ard, 1874, A Short History of the English 
 People, p. 708. 
 
 What John Wesley said of Charles 
 
38 
 
 CHARLES WESLEY 
 
 Wesley's Hymns on the Nativity might 
 well have been extended to many dozens. 
 ''Omit one or two of them and I will 
 thank you. They are namby-pambical." 
 But Charles nevertheless had within him 
 a poetic fervour, perhaps a scholar-like 
 polish, which his brother wanted. These 
 gifts showed themselves in the closer 
 tenacity with which he clung to the Church 
 of his fathers, and also gave to his hymns a 
 literary character which redeems many of 
 them from the pedestrian and argumenta- 
 tive style which disfigures so large a part 
 of his own and his brother's poems. Sec- 
 ondly, there is a redeeming quality in the 
 subjects themselves round which hymns 
 have clustered: although it is true that 
 polemics and over-strained metaphors and 
 sounding words are dangerous pitfalls, yet 
 when a genuine religious soul strikes on 
 one of the greater themes of religion, 
 either touching the simpler emotions of 
 the human heart or the more unquestion- 
 able doctrines of Christianity, is struck a 
 spark which not unfrequently rises into 
 true and lasting poetry. — Stanley, Ar- 
 thur Penrhyn, 1880, English Poets, ed. 
 Ward, vol. iii, p. 258. 
 
 It is as a hymn writer that the name of 
 Charles Wesley will live, and live for long. 
 It is said that he composed altogether 
 above six. thousand hymns. He was 
 writing and publishing them almost to the 
 day of his death. They are of all kinds, 
 and for all occasions. He contributed 
 the great majority of the hymns in the 
 Wesleyan Collection. From the year 1741 
 onwards, he published very many volumes 
 of hymns. Some are of remarkable ex- 
 cellence, and are justly popular with nearly 
 all bodies of Christians. It is said that 
 some were written on cards, as he rode 
 on horseback. At times, he would hasten 
 home, and rush for pen and ink, that he 
 might put down the words which were 
 burning within him. — Prescott, J. E., 
 1883, Christian Hymns and Hymn Writers, 
 p. 122. 
 
 Among our English hymnists, the Wes- 
 leys — Charles and John — shine as twin 
 stars, and stars also of the first magni- 
 tude. . . . Charles composed the 
 multitude of beautiful hymns that bear 
 the name of Wesley. He at least equalled 
 Watts, in the average excellence of his 
 hymns ; in these respects, he stands fore- 
 most among the priesthood of Christian 
 
 minstrelsy.— Saunders, Frederick, 1885, 
 Eveni7igs with the Sacred Poets, pp. 309, 
 310. 
 
 It was Charles who sang the doctrines 
 of the Methodists into the hearts of believ- 
 ers — and his evangelical fervor is such 
 that he has made all Christendom his par- 
 ish in a grander sense even than his ad- 
 ministrative brother, John. — Duffield, 
 Samuel Willoughby, 1886, English 
 Hymns, p. 350. 
 
 '*Jesu, Lover of my Soul." This is 
 Charles Wesley's* masterpiece. *'I would 
 rather have written this hymn," says 
 Henry Ward Beecher, "than to have the 
 fame of all the kings that ever sat on the 
 earth. . . . That hymn will go on 
 singing until the last trump brings forth 
 the angel-band ; and then, I think, it will 
 mount up on some lip to the very presence 
 of God." . . . Round this hymn are 
 gathering the delightful traditions which 
 convert the driest facts into fascinating 
 fairy tales. There is no end to the stories 
 which good Methodists will tell you as 
 to how this hymn has helped poor mortals 
 in the hour and article of death. Ship- 
 wrecked captains read it before they perish 
 in the deep. A mother and child lashed 
 upon a spar float down the Channel, the 
 poor woman lifts her feeble voice singing 
 this hymn, and she is rescued. Passen- 
 gers on board a steamer in the heart of 
 a thunderstorm allay panic and prepare 
 for death amid blinding sheets of flame 
 and bursts of thunder by raising the 
 familiar tune. Dr. Lyman Beecher dies 
 listening to the first two lines as they 
 were read to him by his wife. It is, they 
 say, the finest heart hymn in the English 
 language. As befits a poem so freely in- 
 crusted with traditions, it has a suitable 
 legendary origin. It is said that ' ' Charles 
 Wesley was sitting at his desk when a 
 bird pursued by a hawk flew into the open 
 window. The baffled hawk did not dare 
 to follow, and the poet took his pen and 
 wrote this immortal song."— Stead, Wil- 
 liam T., 1897, Hymns That Have Helped, 
 pp. 151, 153. 
 
 Whatever subject disturbed the public 
 mind, his prolific muse took up, and a 
 hymn or a poem was the result. , In 1749 
 a collection of hymns and sacred poems in 
 two volumes was published, with the 
 name of Charles Wesley alone as the au- 
 thor. Many thousand singing marvelously 
 
CHARLES WESLEY 
 
 39 
 
 fervent descriptions of religious experi- 
 ence in every stage from conviction to the 
 highest attainments of Christian life — the 
 whole sustained by a framework of doc- 
 trine rigorously clear and logical in defini- 
 tion, expressed in vigorous English— pro- 
 duced an effect hardly second to that of 
 the preaching. It was alike instructive 
 and inspiring, afforded the materials for 
 maintaining services in the absence of 
 preachers, and attracted many to the 
 meetings who would never have been 
 drawn to hear any minister, however re- 
 nowned. — Buckley, James M., 1898, 
 A History of Methodism in the United 
 States, vol. I, p. 105. 
 
 Among the many services rendered by 
 Charles Wesley to the cause of religion, 
 his work as a hymn-writer stands pre- 
 eminent. Exercising an hereditary gift, 
 he had early written verses both in Latin 
 and English, but the opening of the vein 
 of his spiritual genius was a consequence 
 of the inward crisis of Whit-Sunday, 
 1738. Two days later his hymn upon his 
 conversion was written. He doubted at 
 first whether he had done right in even 
 showing it to a friend. The first collec- 
 tion of hymns issued by John Wesley 
 (1737) contains nothing by Charles. 
 From 1739 to 1746, the brothers issued 
 eight collections in their joint names. 
 Some difficulty has been felt in assigning 
 to each his respective compositions. To 
 John are usually given all translations 
 from German originals, as it is doubtful 
 whether Charles could read that language ; 
 and if this is not conclusive (as the origi- 
 nals might have been interpreted for him), 
 a strong argument may be found in his 
 constant inability to write on subjects 
 proposed to him, and not spontaneously 
 suggested by his own mind. All original 
 hymns, not expressly claimed by John in 
 his journals and other writings, are usu- 
 ally given to Charles. But it must be re- 
 membered that these were edited by John, 
 who adapted his brother's pieces for pub- 
 lic use, both by omission and by combi- 
 nation. Charles Wesley's untouched work 
 is to be seen in publications issued in his 
 sole name, and in posthumous prints from 
 his manuscript. — Gordon, Alexander, 
 1899, Dictionary of National Biography , 
 vol. LX, p. 301. 
 
 The poet of the movement, the sweet 
 singer'' of Methodism, was, there is no 
 
 gainsaying, Charles Wesley. John might 
 be— he was — a competent translator, a 
 correct and elegant verse-writer. But 
 Charles was more ; he had flaming in him 
 something of the true poetic fire. Him- 
 self familiar with the varied phases of 
 Methodist experience he could describe 
 with equal truth and equal sympathy the 
 feelings of a weeping sinner and a rejoic- 
 ing saint ; and all the intermediate emo- 
 tions were to him as A, B, C. Methodism, 
 John Wesley defined as religion of the 
 heart. Charles gave to the Methodist 
 people a transfused and transfigured the- 
 ology, theology rememberable as verse. 
 Not didactic verse, though didaxis was in 
 it, but verse that was passionate — per- 
 haps too passionate. . . . If another 
 criticism may be permitted, it is that 
 many of Charles Wesley's hymns are bet- 
 ter adapted for private devotional study 
 than for public worship. They are con- 
 cerned with the fears and the failings, 
 the hopes and the aspirations of the indi- 
 vidual. No doubt, congregations are 
 made up of individuals, but the individuals 
 that make up congregations are not Wes- 
 leys, and it is undesirable that they should 
 be asked to express, as / or me, what they 
 probably do not feel and may not sympa- 
 thise with.— Snell, F. J., 1900, Wesley 
 and Methodism, pp. 224, 228. 
 
 GENERAL 
 As a hymnist, this author is widely 
 famous, though either beyond or beneath 
 his merit, according to sectarian accidents 
 of creed and name; but as a poet, he is 
 scarce heard of or suspected; for the 
 critical world is yet but half-persuaded 
 that a hymn can be poetry. To rem- 
 edy this injustice, which lies alike on the 
 fame of him departed, and on the living 
 that are robbed of many a gem of sacred 
 song, is in some degree attempted in this 
 book : for it is believed that, whatever 
 eccentricities of temper, habit, or opinion 
 may have marred the Methodist preacher's 
 verses, there is in them the genuine fire, 
 and that in such portion as has been be- 
 stowed on few that used the English 
 tongue. . . . We should take the 
 Methodist poet, as it is attempted to 
 present him here : fairly, yet at his best ; 
 with appreciation, but discriminating; 
 not allowing sympathy and admiration to 
 run into blind worship, nor difference of 
 creed to hide from us his merits and his 
 
40 
 
 WESLEY— MICKLE 
 
 uses. There does not exist in America or can acknowledge tfeose obligations best 
 
 England that Christian Church, sect, or by increasing them — Bird, Frederic M., 
 
 man, that can afford to forget his 1866, Charles Wesley seen in his Finer 
 
 obligations to Charles Wesley ; and we and Less Familiar Poems, pp. ill, vi. 
 
 William Julius Mickle 
 
 1735-1788 
 
 Born in Langholm manse, and educated at Edinburgh High School, failed as a 
 brewer, and turned author in London. In 1765 he published a poem, ''The Concu- 
 bine" (or ''Syr Martyn"), and in 1771-75 his version rather than translation of the 
 "Lusiad" of Camoens. In 1779 he went to Lisbon as secretary to Commodore John- 
 stone, but his last years were spent in London. His ballad of "Cumnor Hall" (which 
 suggested "Kenilworth" to Scott) is poor stuff, but "There's nae luck about the 
 house" is assured of immortality. See Life by Sim prefixed to Mickle's Poems (1806). 
 — Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary^ p, 655. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Mickle was a man of genius, who had 
 ventured upon the chance of living by his 
 literary labours, — an experiment always 
 perilous, generally injurious, and often 
 fatal, in the worst acceptation of the 
 word. Mickle, however, did not overrate 
 the powers which he was conscious of pos- 
 sessing, and knew that he could rely upon 
 himself for their due exertion; and he 
 had sufficient worldly prudence to look 
 out for a subject which was likely to ob- 
 tain notice and patronage. That he was 
 actuated by this motive in fixing upon the 
 Lusiad, appears evidently by the manner 
 in which his translation is executed, and 
 the matter with which it is accompanied. 
 In saying this, no reproach is intended to 
 a man whom we admire and respect; 
 whose memory is without a spot, and 
 whose name will live among the English 
 poets. — SouTHEY, Robert, 1822, Life and 
 Writings @f Camoens, Quarterly Review, 
 vol. 27, p. 29. 
 
 THE MARINER'S WIFE 
 
 Mickle assisted in Evans's "Collection 
 of Old Ballads"— in which "Cumnor Hall" 
 and other pieces of his first appeared ; and 
 though in this style of composition he did 
 not copy the direct simplicity and un- 
 sophisticated ardour of the real old bal- 
 lads, he had much of their tenderness and 
 pathos. A still stronger proof of this is 
 afforded by a Scottish song, "The Mari- 
 ner's Wife, " but better known as "There's 
 nae Luck about the House," which was 
 claimed by a poor school-mistress, named 
 Jean Adams, who died in the town's Hos- 
 pital, Glasgow, in 1765. It is probable 
 that Jean Adams had written some song 
 
 with the same burthen ("There's nae 
 luck about the house"), but the popular 
 lyric referred to seems to have been the 
 composition of Mickle. An imperfect, 
 altered, and corrected copy was found 
 among his manuscripts after his death ; and 
 his widow being applied to, confirmed the 
 external evidence in his favour, by an ex- 
 press declaration that her husband had 
 said the song was his own, and that he 
 had explained to her the Scottish words. 
 It is the fairest flower in his poetical 
 chaplet. The delineation of humble matri- 
 monial happiness and affection which the 
 song presents, is almost unequalled. — 
 Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopcedia of 
 English Literature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 Mickle's ballad of "Cumnor Hall," 
 which suggested to Scott the groundwork 
 of his romance of "Kenilworth," is a 
 tame production compared with the charm- 
 ing little poem of "The Mariner's Wife, " 
 in regard to which doubt has been ex- 
 pressed whether Mickle was really its au- 
 thor. It first appeared as a broad-sheet, 
 sold in the streets of Edinburgh. Mickle 
 did not include it in an edition of his 
 poems, published by himself; but Allan 
 Cunningham claims it for him on the 
 ground that a copy of the poem, with 
 alterations marking the text as in process 
 of formation, was found among Mickle's 
 papers, and in his handwriting; also, that 
 his widow declared that he said the song 
 was his. Beattie added a stanza, which 
 mars its flow, and is omitted in our ver- 
 sion. The poem was claimed by Jean 
 Adams, a poor school-mistress, who died 
 in 1765. Chambers thinks that it must, 
 on the whole, be credited to Mickle. 
 
WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE 
 
 41 
 
 Dean Trench does not feel at liberty to 
 disturb the ascription of this exquisite 
 domestic lyric" to Mickle. Burns, not 
 too strongly, characterized it as ''one of 
 the most beautiful songs in the Scotch or 
 any other language."— Sargent, Epes, 
 1880-81, Harper's Cyclopcedia of British 
 and American Poetry, p. 217. 
 
 To Mickle has been attributed the Scot- 
 tish song "There's na'e luck about the 
 hoose," which of itself is sufficient to es- 
 tablish a poetical reputation. Internal 
 evidence is rather against the likelihood of 
 his authorship and in favour of that of 
 Jean Adams (1710-1765), but there is no 
 definite external evidence, and the doubt 
 on the subject cannot be resolved. — 
 Bayne, Thomas, 1894, Dictionary of Na- 
 tional Biography, vol. xxxvii, p. 337. 
 
 One cannot be quite sure that Mickle 
 wrote this delightful poem, but I like to 
 believe he did, rather than to keep his 
 name out of the collection altogether, for 
 to my knowledge he has achieved nothing 
 else to come near it. — Crawfurd, Os- 
 wald, 1896, ed., Lyrical Verse from 
 Elizabeth to Victoria, p. 432, note, 
 
 LUSIAD 
 
 1*775 
 
 Nor let the critic, if he finds the mean- 
 ing of Camoens in some instances altered, 
 imagine that he has found a blunder. It 
 was not to gratify the dull few, whose 
 greatest pleasure in reading a translation 
 is to see what the author exactly says, — 
 it was to give a poem that might live 
 in the English language, — which was 
 the ambition of the translator. — Mickle, 
 William Julius, 1775, Note to the Lusiad. 
 
 A man of genius, and of great poetical 
 powers. He translated the "Lusiad" of 
 Camoens in a free paraphrastick manner, 
 but with the spirit of an original poet. 
 I never could account for the neglect 
 of so very poetical a work. — Mathias, 
 Thomas James, 1794-98, The Pursuits of 
 Literature, Eighth ed., p. 55. 
 
 No poet perhaps has ever been so 
 greatly indebted to a Translator as Cam- 
 oens, whose "Lusiad," in the very elegant 
 and spirited version of Mr. Mickle, has 
 perfectly the air of an English original ; 
 its defects are concealed or mitigated, 
 while its beauties catch double lustre from 
 the British dress. — Drake, Nathan, 
 1798-1820, Literary Hours, vol. ii, No. 29, 
 p. 122. 
 
 Mickle's version of the Lusiad offers 
 an affecting instance of the melancholy 
 fears which often accompany the progress 
 of works of magnitude, undertaken by 
 men of genius. Five years he had buried 
 himself in a farmhouse, devoted to the 
 solitary labour ; and he closes his preface 
 with the fragment of a poem, whose stan- 
 zas have perpetuated all the tremblings 
 and the emotions, whose unhappy influ- 
 ence the author had experienced through 
 the long work. Thus pathetically he ad- 
 dresses the Muse : — 
 
 — Well thy meed repays thy worthless toil ; 
 Upon thy houseless head pale want descends 
 In bitter shower; and taunting scorn still 
 rends 
 
 And wakes thee trembling from thy golden 
 dream : 
 
 In vetchy bed, or loathly dungeon ends 
 Thy idled lif e— 
 
 And when, at length, the great and anx- 
 ious labour was completed, the author 
 was still more unhappy than under the 
 former influence of his foreboding terrors. 
 The work is dedicated to the Duke of 
 Buccleugh. Whether his Grace had been 
 prejudiced against the poetical labour by 
 Adam Smith, who had as little compre- 
 hension of the nature of poetry as becomes 
 a political economist, or from whatever 
 cause, after possessing it for six weeks 
 the Duke had never condescended to open 
 the volume. — Disraeli, Isaac, 1812-13, 
 The Miseries of Successful Authors, Calam- 
 ities of Authors. 
 
 The translation of the ''Lusiad" is that 
 by which he is best known. In this, as 
 in his original poems, the expression is 
 sometimes very faulty; but he is never 
 flat or insipid. In the numbers, there is 
 much sweetness and freedom : and though 
 they have somewhat of the masculine 
 melody of Dryden, yet they have some- 
 thing also that is peculiarly his own. He 
 has in a few instances enriched the lan- 
 guage of poetry by combinations unbor- 
 rowed from any of his predecessors. It 
 is doubtful whether as much can be said 
 for Pope's translation of Homer. — Cary, 
 Henry Francis, 1821-24-45, Lives of the 
 English Poets, p. 285. 
 
 In the execution of his task, treated 
 Camoens with as little ceremony as the 
 French used towards the Italian pictures 
 which they re-painted in the Louvre ; but 
 with this difference, that the original was 
 not destroyed by the process, and that he 
 
42 
 
 WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE 
 
 undertook nothing more than he was well 
 qualified to perform. Some things he kept 
 out of sight, others he softened, others 
 he elevated and enriched. Wherever he 
 thought any thing could be inserted with 
 advantage, he inserted it. — Southey, 
 Robert, 1822, Life and Writings of Cam- 
 oens; Quarterly Review, vol. 27, p. 31. 
 
 The ''Lusiad" is best known in England 
 by the translation of Mickle, who has been 
 thought to have done something more 
 than justice to his author, both by the 
 unmeasured eulogies he bestows upon him, 
 and by the more substantial service of ex- 
 celling the original in his unfaithful delin- 
 eation. The style of Mickle is certainly 
 more poetical, according to our standard, 
 than that of Camoens ; that is, more fig- 
 urative and emphatic : but it seems to me 
 replenished with common-place phrases, 
 and is wanting in the facility and sweet- 
 ness of the original ; in which it is well 
 known that he has interpolated a great 
 deal without a pretence. — Hallam,Henry, 
 1837-39, Introduction to the Literature of 
 Europe, pt. ii, ch. v, par. 42. 
 
 That poem, in Mickle's translation, is 
 as little like the work of Camoens as 
 Pope's *'Iliad" is like the ^'Iliad'' of 
 Homer. Mickle has made it declamatory 
 where Camoens is simple, and all the rapid- 
 ity of the narrative is lost in the diffuse 
 verses of the translator. — Bryant, Wil- 
 liam Cullen, 1869, Orations and Ad- 
 dresses, p. 185. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Mickle^s story of Syr Martyn is the most 
 pleasing of his original pieces. The ob- 
 ject of the narrative is to exhibit the de- 
 grading effects of concubinage, in the his- 
 tory of an amiable man, who is reduced 
 to despondency and sottishness, under the 
 domination of a beldam and a slattern. 
 The defect of the moral is, that the same 
 evils might have happened to Syr Martyn 
 in a state of matrimony. The simplicity 
 of the tale is also, unhappily, overlaid by 
 a weight of allegory and of obsolete 
 phraseology, which it has not importance 
 to sustain. Such a style, applied to the 
 history of a man and his housekeeper, is 
 like building a diminutive dwelling in all 
 the pomp of Gothic architecture. — Camp- 
 bell, Thomas, 1819, Specimens of the 
 British Poets. 
 
 Mickle was a man of strong natural 
 
 powers, which he had not always properly 
 under controul. When he is satisfied to 
 describe with little apparent effort what 
 he has himself felt or conceived, as in his 
 ballads and songs, he is at times eminently 
 happy. He has generally erred on the 
 side of the too much, rather than of the too 
 little. His defect is not so much want of 
 genius as of taste. His thoughts were 
 forcible and vivid ; but the words in which 
 he has clothed them, are sometimes ill- 
 chosen, and sometimes awkardly disposed. 
 He degenerates occasionally into mere 
 turgidness and verbosity. . . . When 
 his stanza forced him to lop off his vain 
 superfluity of words, that the sense might 
 be brought within a narrow compass, he 
 succeeded better. — Cary, Henry Fran- 
 cis, 1821-24-45, Lives of the English 
 Poets, pp. 281, 282. 
 
 A schoolfellow, who was now, like him- 
 self, a writer's apprentice, recollects the 
 eagerness with which he thus made him- 
 self master of Evans's Ballads, shortly 
 after their publication; and another of 
 them, already often referred to, remem- 
 bers, in particular, his rapture with 
 Mickle's ''Cumnor Hall," which first ap- 
 peared in that collection. After the 
 labours of the day were over," says Mr. 
 Irving, "we often walked in the Meadows" 
 — (a large field intersected by formal 
 alleys of old trees, adjoining George's 
 Square) — ''especially in the moonlight 
 nights ; and he seemed never weary of re- 
 peating the first stanza." ... I 
 have thought it worth while to preserve 
 these reminiscences of his companions at 
 the time, though he has himself stated 
 the circumstance in his Preface to ''Kenil- 
 worth. " There is a period in youth, ' ' he 
 there says, ''when the mere power of num- 
 bers has a more strong effect on ear and 
 imagination than in after life. At this 
 season of immature taste, the author was 
 greatly delighted with the poems of Mickle 
 and Langhorne. The first stanza of 
 'Cumnor Hall' especially had a peculiar 
 enchantment for his youthful ear — the 
 force of which is not yet (1829) entirely 
 spent." Thus that favourite elegy, after 
 having dwelt on his memory and imagina- 
 tion for forty years, suggested the sub- 
 ject of one of his noblest romances. — 
 LocKHART, John Gibson, 1836, Life of 
 Sir Walter Scott, ch. v. 
 
 Mickle would have excelled in the 
 
MICKLE—LOGAN 
 
 43 
 
 Scottish dialect, and in portraying Scottish 
 life, had he known his own strength, and 
 trusted to the impulses of his heart, in- 
 stead of his ambition.— Wilson, James 
 Grant, 1876, The Poets and Poetry of 
 Scotland, vol. I, p. 250. 
 
 Mickle had not power to produce any 
 long and sustained work, though he could, 
 on the rare occasions when he designed to 
 be simple and natural, write a few grace- 
 ful and pleasing verses. His odes of the 
 Pindaric type have gone the way of nearly 
 
 all such odes. Some of his songs have 
 fared and have deserved to fare no better. 
 If indeed we could credit him with that 
 exquisite one, ''There's nae luck about 
 the house," it must be admitted that he 
 for once rose high; but if there is any 
 force in internal evidence, scepticism on 
 that point is justified. He has nothing 
 else approaching it in merit, nothing at 
 all resembling it in style. — Walker, 
 Hugh, 1893, Three Centuries of Scottish 
 Literature^ vol, li, p. 119. 
 
 John Logan 
 
 1748-1788 
 
 John Logan, 1748-1788, a native of Fala, county of Edinburgh, minister of South 
 Leith, 1773, displeased his parishoners by writing for the stage and by his intemper- 
 ance, and removed to London in 1786, where he became a writer for the ''English 
 Review." It is asserted that he reformed his habits before his death. 1. "Michael 
 Bruce's Poems," 1770. Several pieces in this collection are by Logan and others, 
 and some of Bruce's are omitted. ... 2. "Elements of the Philosophy of His- 
 tory," Part I, 1781. 3. "Essay on the Manners of Asia," 1781. 4. "Poems," 
 1781-82. 5. "Runnimede; a Tragedy," 1783. Founded on the history of Magna 
 Charta. 6. "Review of the Principal Charges against Warren Hastings, " 1788. 7. 
 "A View of Ancient History," &c., 1788. 8. "Sermons," 1790-91. Logan wasa 
 contributor to, and a reviser of, the Psalmody of the Church of Scotland, of which the 
 collection of translations and paraphrases was first published in 1781. — Allibone, 
 S. Austin, 1854-58, A Critical Dictionary of English Literature, vol. i, p. 1122. 
 
 PERSONAL From one of his executors, Mr. Donald 
 
 Mr. Logan, a clergyman of uncommon Grant, who wrote the life prefixed to his 
 learning, taste, and ingenuity, but who poems, I heard of the state of his numer- 
 
 cannot easily submit to the puritanical 
 spirit of this country, quits his charge 
 and proposes to settle in London, where 
 he will probably exercise what may be 
 called the trade of a man of letters. He 
 has published a few poems, of which sev- 
 eral have great merit, and which are prob- 
 ably not unknown to you. He has like- 
 wise published a tragedy, which I cannot 
 say I admire in the least. He has another 
 in manuscript, founded and almost trans- 
 lated from a French drama, which is much 
 better. But the best of all his works 
 which I have seen are some lectures upon 
 universal history, which were read here 
 some years ago, but which, notwithstand- 
 ing they were approved and even admired 
 by some of the best and most impartial 
 judges, were run down by the prevalence 
 of a hostile literary faction, to the lead- 
 ers of which he had imprudently given 
 some personal olfence. Give me leave 
 to recommend him most earnestly to your 
 countenance and protection. — Smith, 
 Adam, 1785, Letter to Andrew Strahan. 
 
 ousMSS. ; the scattered, yet warm embers 
 of the unhappy bard. Several tragedies, 
 and one on Mary Queen of Scots, abound- 
 ing with all that domestic tenderness and 
 poetic sensibility which formed the soft 
 and natural feature of his muse ; these, 
 with minor poems, thirty lectures on the 
 Roman History, and portions of a period- 
 ical paper, were the wrecks of genius ! He 
 resided here, little known out of a very 
 private circle, and perished in his fortieth 
 year, not of penury, but of a broken heart. 
 Such noble and well-founded expectations 
 of fortune and fame, all the plans of lit- 
 erary ambition overturned: His genius, 
 with all its delicacy, its spirit, and its ele- 
 gance, became a prey to that melancholy 
 which constituted so large a portion of 
 it. — Disraeli, Isaac, 1812-13, Literary 
 Scotchmen, Calamities of Authors. 
 
 His connection with the stage was 
 deemed improper in a clergyman. His 
 literary pursuits interfered with his pas- 
 toral diligence ; and, what was worse, he 
 was constitutionally subject to fits of 
 
44 
 
 JOHN LOGAN 
 
 depression, from which he took refuge in 
 inebriety. Whatever his irregularities 
 were (for they have been differently 
 described), he was obliged to compound 
 for them, by resigning his flock, and 
 retiring upon a small annuity. He came 
 to London, where his principal literary 
 employments were, furnishing articles for 
 the English Review, and writing in vin- 
 dication of Warren Hastings. He died at 
 the age of forty, at his lodgings, in Marl- 
 borough-street. His Sermons, which were 
 published two years after his death, have 
 obtained considerable popularity. — Camp- 
 bell, Thomas, 1819, Specimens of the 
 British Poets. 
 
 In the course of my literary researches 
 I have been brought pretty near to Logan, 
 by his own letters, by letters of contem- 
 poraries, by anecdotes, and other data, 
 and know not that a more false life has 
 ever been lived — the worst of all falsity, 
 moreover, seeing it is a serving the devil 
 while wearing Christ's livery. It may be 
 needful, some day, to reveal all, though 
 personally I should prefer silence, save 
 only where Bruce 's claims come in for 
 defence. ^Grosart, Alexander B. , 1865, 
 ed., Works of Michael Bruce^ p. 108, note. 
 
 Whatever may have been the amount of 
 Logan's weaknesses or errors, they were 
 of a kind, and in a degree, not unusual in 
 the history of the sons of genius. Admit- 
 ting that he was the victim of intemper- 
 ance, even to a greater extent than what 
 traditional stories of the usual cast have 
 portrayed him, and admitting the lowering 
 moral tendency of such a condition, yet to 
 make it the ground of a charge of dishon- 
 ourable conduct is not the part of an un- 
 biased judge. We have already, in the 
 life of his fellow-student Michael Bruce, 
 referred to the charges brought against 
 Logan's character; and the kind of pro- 
 ceeding which we have condemned is un- 
 sparingly used to give — what we must 
 admit to have been a most unfortunate 
 and serious error of judgment on his part 
 — a dishonourable character. But like 
 most intemperate charges, it overreaches 
 itself; for there is no evidence of Logan's 
 having contracted those habits for years 
 after his being entrusted with Bruce's 
 manuscripts. ... To deprive Logan 
 of the credit of what he himself claimed 
 as his own, on such evidence as has been 
 produced on behalf of Bruce, would be 
 
 yielding to clamour that which only can 
 be given up on the most convincing proofs 
 of Logan's fraud.— Ross, J., 1884, The 
 Book of Scottish Poems, pp. 586, 588. 
 
 Logan was one of the most popular 
 preachers of the time ; his historical pro- 
 ductions evince wide knowledge, compre- 
 hensive views, and a philosophic mind; 
 his poetical versions of scripture are sin- 
 gularly felicitious, and the ''Ode to the 
 Cuckoo" was pronounced by Edmund 
 Burke "the most beautiful lyric in our 
 language. ' ' In his better days he won the 
 friendship and esteem of some of the most 
 eminent clergymen of the time, and when 
 he disappointed their hopes they made 
 allowance for the temperament he had 
 inherited.— Sprott, G. W., 1893, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, vol. xxxiv, 
 p. 85. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 This elegant philosopher has impressed 
 on all his works the seal of genius ; and 
 his posthumous compositions became even 
 popular; he who had with difficulty 
 escaped excommunication by Presbyters, 
 left the world after his death two volumes 
 of sermons, which breathe all that piety, 
 morality, and eloquence admire. His un- 
 revised lectures, published under the name 
 of a person, one Rutherford, who had pur- 
 chased the MS., were given to the world 
 in ''A View of Ancient History." But 
 one highly-finished composition he had 
 himself published; it is a philosophical 
 review of Despotism : Had the name of 
 Gibbon been affixed to the title-page, its 
 authenticity had not been suspected. — 
 Disraeli, Isaac, 1812-13, Literary 
 Scotchmen, Calamities of Authors. 
 
 Sweet rang the harp to Logan's hand. 
 
 — Hogg, James, 1813, The Queen's Wake, 
 Conclusion. 
 
 A tithe of Logan's talents would make 
 ten Lord Woodhouselees.— Southey, Rob- 
 ert, 1814, Chalmers's English Poets, 
 Quarterly Review, vol. 11, p. 501. 
 
 He has left little behind him ; but that 
 little (excepting the hymn taken from the 
 Bible) is his own. It is purely the off- 
 spring of soft affections, tuning his verse 
 to a correspondent softness. Neither the 
 thoughts nor the expressions are borrowed 
 from others ; or prompted by study and 
 reflection. But in saying this, all is said. 
 He has none of the higher faculties of the 
 poet. His only gem is the **Ode to the 
 
JOHN LOGAN 
 
 45 
 
 Cuckoo," which procured him the honour 
 of a visit from Burke. . . . His ser- 
 mons are more poetical than his poems. — 
 Gary, Henry Francis, 1823, Notices of 
 Miscellaneous English Poets; Memoir, ed. 
 Gary, vol ii, pp. 293, 294. 
 
 His sermons are smooth and pleasing 
 in composition, but never very forcible or 
 striking. The same merits mark his 
 verse, and the same limitations. It is 
 sweet, but cloying. His mind was ele- 
 gant, not powerful. Effeminacy of taste 
 is perceptible in his work generally, and 
 especially in the melodramatic tragedy of 
 ''Kunnamede." But even if the ''Ode" 
 is not his, he deserves a niche in memory 
 as the author of the fine song, "The Braes 
 of Yarrow," which, although it owes 
 much to the older and more exquisite 
 *' Willie drowned in Yarrow," has like- 
 wise high merits of its own. — Walker, 
 Hugh, 1893, Three Genturies of Scottish 
 Literature, vol. ii, p. 121. 
 
 One of the visits Burke paid in Edin- 
 burgh was to a charming poet, to whom 
 fortune has been singularly unkind, not 
 only treating him cruelly when alive, but 
 instead of granting the usual posthumous 
 reparation, treating him more cruelly 
 after his death. I mean John Logan, the 
 author of the "Ode to the Cuckoo, " which 
 Burke thought the most beautiful lyric in 
 the language. Logan was at the moment 
 in the thick of his troubles. He had 
 written a tragedy called "Runnymede," 
 which, though accepted by the manage- 
 ment of Covent Garden, was prohibited by 
 the Lord Chamberlain, who scented cur- 
 rent politics in the bold speeches of the 
 Barons of King John, but is was event- 
 ually produced in the Edinburgh theatre in 
 1783. Its production immediately in- 
 volved the author, as one of the ministers 
 of Leith, in difficulties with his parishion- 
 ers and the ecclesiastical courts similar 
 to those which John Home had encountered 
 twenty years before, and the trouble ended 
 in Logan resigning his charge in Decem- 
 ber, 1786, on a pension of £40 a year. 
 . . . The lectures which Smith praises 
 so highly were published in 1779, and are 
 interesting as one of the first adventures 
 in what was afterwards known as the phi- 
 losophy of history. But his memory rests 
 now on his poems, which Smith thought 
 less of, and especially on his "Ode to the 
 Cuckoo," which he has been accused so 
 
 often of stealing from his deceased friend, 
 Michael Bruce, but to which his title has 
 at last been put beyond all doubt by Mr. 
 Small's publication of a letter, written to 
 Principal Baird in 1791, by Dr. Itobertson 
 of Dalmeny, who acted as joint editor with 
 him of their common friend Bruce's poems. 
 — Rae, John, 1895, Life of Adam Smith, 
 pp. 396, 397. 
 
 Logan's tragedy of "Runnimede," like 
 most of his authentic poetry, is lacking in 
 force. His two volumes of "Sermons," 
 however, were recommended by Sir Walter 
 Scott, and are still read. Certainly by 
 far his finest poem is "The Braes of Yar- 
 row," though one verse, "She sought 
 him east," &c., is borrowed from the 
 ancient ballad of "Willie drowned in 
 Yarrow." — Eyre-Todd, George, 1896, 
 Scottish Poetry of the Eighteenth Gentury, 
 vol. II, p. 93. 
 
 "The Cuckoo," a poem well worth the 
 sharp controversy waged over it by the 
 respective friends of the two authors. 
 There is nothing else in this period that 
 rings so fresh and clear as this little ode. 
 One stanza may be quoted to illustrate its 
 beauty, its sim.plicity, and naturalness. 
 . . . Logan's other poems, though he 
 has nothing equal to the cuckoo song in 
 spontaneity and exquisite simplicity, are 
 yet of real value. His "Braes of Yar- 
 row" is an efl^ective presentation of the 
 ancient, sorrow-laden Yarrow motif. As 
 is fitting in a ballad, the touches of 
 description are of the briefest sort, but 
 the forest, the bonny braes, and the sound- 
 ing stream, are felt through all the plaint- 
 ive story. "Ossian's Hymn to the Sun" 
 is a poetical paraphrase of the famous 
 apostrophe in "Balclutha." It has some 
 fine lines, but is inferior in strength to 
 the original. — Reynolds, Myra, 1896, 
 The Treatment of Nature in English Poetry, 
 pp. 144, 145. 
 
 Another bird, the Cuckoo, acted up to 
 its reputation by inspiring a good, though 
 not consummate, copy of verses, which has 
 been challenged by the champions of Bruce 
 and Logan for both those writers. In such 
 a quarrel, especially as the authorship is 
 of infinitesimal importance, no wise man 
 takes a side. Bruce died young, and cer- 
 tainly wrote some pleasing verse ; Logan, 
 his friend, literary executor, and (as one 
 theory holds) supplanter, died in early 
 middle age, and seems to have had rather 
 
46 
 
 LOGAN— SHERIDAN 
 
 more talent than conduct. But all the on, the vague poetic inspiration which 
 
 poets of the paragraph must rest their was to take definite form in Burns. — ■ 
 
 main claim to historic interest on the fact Saintsbury, George, 1898, A Short His- 
 
 that they exemplify, and that they handed tory of English Literature, p. 594. 
 
 Thomas Sheridan 
 
 1719-1788 
 
 Born in 1721, at Quilca, in Ireland, and was educated at Westminster School, and 
 at Trinity College, Dublin. In 1742 he went upon the stage, and gained much celeb- 
 rity as a tragedian, both in his native country and in England. He became manager 
 of the Dublin company ; but being ruined by the opposition of a rival theatre and by 
 riots in his own, he relinquished the profession, commenced as a lecturer on elocution, 
 and for a time was very successful. During the ministry of Lord Bute, he obtained 
 a pension of £200. He subsequently became manager of Drury Lane Theatre ; but 
 some disputes taking place, he retired, and resumed his attention to oratory. His 
 principal works are his ''Dictionary of the English Language, " and a "Life of Swift." 
 Died, 1788. — Gates, William L. R., ed , 1867, A Dictionary of General Biography, 
 p. 1026. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 His action's always strong, but sometimes 
 such 
 
 That Candour must declare he acts too much. 
 Why must impatience fall three paces back? 
 Why paces three return to the attack? 
 Why is the right leg, too, forbid to stir 
 Unless in motion semicircular? 
 Why must the hero with the nailor vie, 
 And hurl the close -clenched fist at nose or 
 eye? 
 
 In royal John, with Philip angry grown, 
 I thought he would have knocked poor 
 
 Davies down. 
 Inhuman tyrant! was it not a shame, 
 To fright a king so harmless and so tame? 
 But, spite of all defects, his glories rise ; 
 And art, by judgment form'd, with nature 
 
 vies. 
 
 Behold him sound the depths ox HuherVs soul. 
 Whilst in his own contending passions roll ; 
 View the whole scene, with critic judgment 
 scan. 
 
 And then deny him merit if you can, • 
 Where he falls short, 'tis Nature's fault 
 alone ; 
 
 Where he succeeds, the merit's all his own. 
 
 —Churchill, Charles, 1761-63, The 
 Rosciad. 
 
 A pension of two hundred pounds a 
 year had been given to Sheridan. Johnson, 
 who, as has been already mentioned, 
 thought slightingly of Sheridan's art, upon 
 hearing that he was also pensioned, ex- 
 claimed: "What! have they given him 
 a pension? Then it is time for me to 
 give up mine!" . . . Johnson com- 
 plained that a man who disliked him re- 
 peated his sarcasm to Mr. Sheridan, with- 
 out telling him what followed, which was 
 that after a pause he added : ''However, 
 
 I am glad that Mr. Sheridan has a pension, 
 for he is a very good man." Sheridan 
 could never forgive this hasty, contempt- 
 uous expression. It rankled in his mind ; 
 and though I informed him of all that 
 Johnson said, and that he would be very 
 glad to meet him amicably, he positively 
 declined repeated offers which 1 made, 
 and once went off abruptly from a house 
 where he and I were engaged to dine, 
 because he was told that Dr. Johnson was 
 to be there. . . . This rupture with 
 Sheridan deprived Johnson of one of his 
 most agreeable resources for amusement 
 in his lonely evenings, for Sheridan's well 
 informed, animated and bustling mind 
 never suffered conversation to stagnate, 
 and Mrs. Sheridan was a most agreeable 
 companion to an intellectual man. — Bos- 
 well, James, 1791-93, Life of Johnson, ed. 
 Hill, vol. L, pp. 446, 448, 450. 
 
 His appearance on the boards of Smock 
 Alley Theatre on the 29 January, 1743, in 
 the character of Richard ///., caused consid- 
 erable sensation in the town. He was in 
 the twenty-third year of his age; his 
 appearance was handsome, his voice mel- 
 low and expressive, and his debut was a 
 decided success. He next played Othello, 
 Hamlet, Cato and Brutus, and his acting 
 gained so rapidly on the town that he be- 
 came the rage; his name was on all men's 
 lips.— MoLLOY, J. Fitzgerald, 1884, The 
 Life and Adventures of Peg Woffington, 
 vol. I, ch. 9. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan kept a tight hand over his 
 children. He was a strict disciplinarian, 
 and he managed his household as sternly 
 
SHERIDAN— AMOR Y 
 
 47 
 
 as he did a theatre. He exacted unques- 
 tioning obedience from those dependent 
 upon him, while he toolc great offence if 
 his superiors required submission from 
 him. He ''poured lava," as he said, 
 upon those who had offended him. He was 
 very methodical and precise in all his ways. 
 He had morning prayers regularly, and on 
 Sunday evenings he either commented on 
 the sermon of the day or expounded a pas- 
 sage in the Bible. He was fond of Dr. John- 
 son's ' ' Ramblers, ' ' and his daughters were 
 often wearied and disheartened with the 
 task of reading them aloud, because he was 
 exacting with regard to enunciation and 
 cadence, and careful in correcting what he 
 
 deemed their faults of speech. — Rae, W. 
 Fraser, 1896, Sheridan, A Biography, vol, 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 ''Unpretending mediocrity is good, and 
 genius is glorious ; but the weak flavor of 
 genius in a person essentially common is 
 detestable, ' ' so the Autocrat of the Break- 
 fast-Table tells us ; and although Thomas 
 Sheridan cannot fairly be called a person 
 essentially common, yet it is not to be 
 denied that he had but a weak flavor of 
 genius. — Matthews, Brander, 1886, Ac- 
 tors and Actresses of Great Britain and 
 the United States, eds. Matthews and Hut- 
 ton, vol. I, p. 165. 
 
 Thomas Amory 
 
 1691?-1788 
 
 Thomas Amory (c. 1691-1788), an eccentric author of Irish descent, who was liv- 
 ing in Westminster about 1757, seldom stirred out till dark, and was doubtless some- 
 what insane. His chief works are: "Lives of Several Ladies of Great Britain: A 
 History of Antiquities, Productions of Nature," &c. (1755); and the "Life of John 
 Buncle" (1756-66)— an odd combination of autobiography, fantastic descriptions of 
 scenery, deistical theology, and sentimental rhapsody. — Patrick and Groome, eds., 
 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p. 27. 
 
 PERSONAL ^j^e romance of biography is. Thomas 
 
 If the writings of Thomas Amory were Amory's life must have been a streak of 
 
 at times suggestive of a disturbed brain, 
 the singular habits of his life supported 
 that impression. For, although he had 
 the appearance, manners, honourable con- 
 duct of a gentleman, he led a most se- 
 cluded and bat-like existence, shunning all 
 company, and never stirring abroad until 
 the fall of the evening, when he would 
 wander in the streets in abstract medita- 
 tion, possessed of nothing in common with 
 those who surged around him. . . . 
 A notev/orthy feature in Amory's case is 
 that, although he led a life apart from the 
 human family generally, he was not a 
 morose man, nor in any degree a misan- 
 thrope; on the contrary, as far as his 
 writings reveal his true character, he was 
 keenly alive to the pleasures of society, 
 love, and friendship. He intensely en- 
 joyed the beauties of nature, and was not 
 in the least indifferent to what are termed 
 the goo3 gifts of Providence ; he was full 
 of sympathy and kindly feeling for others, 
 goodwill to man being an essential article 
 of his creed.— Bailey, John Burn, 1888, 
 Modern Methuselahs, pp. 196, 197. 
 
 If this is not a person of whom we 
 would like to know more, 1 know not what 
 
 crimson on the grey surface of the eight- 
 eenth century. It is really a misfortune 
 that the red is almost all washed off. — 
 Gosse, Edmund, 1891, Gossip in a Library, 
 p. 218. 
 
 LIFE OF JOHN BUNCLE 
 
 1756-66 
 
 John Buncle is the English Rabelais. . . . 
 The soul of Francis Rabelais passed into 
 John Amory, the author of the "Life 
 and Adventures of John Buncle." Both 
 were physicians, and enemies of too much 
 gravity. Their great business was to 
 enjoy life. Rabelais indulges his spirit 
 of sensuality in wine, in dried meat- 
 tongues, in Bologna sausages, in botorgas. 
 John Buncle shows the same symptoms of 
 inordinate satisfaction in tea and bread- 
 and-butter. While Rabelais roared with 
 Friar John and the monks, John Buncle 
 gossiped with the ladies. — Hazlitt, Wil- 
 liam, 1817, Round Table, No. xiv. 
 
 The "Life of John Buncle, Esq. ; con- 
 taining various Observations and Reflec- 
 tions made in several parts of the World, 
 and many Extraordinary Relations," is a 
 book unlike any other in the language, 
 perhaps in the world ; and the introduction 
 
48 
 
 THOMAS AMORY 
 
 of passages from it into the present vol- 
 ume must be considered as being, like 
 itself, an exception to rules ; for it will 
 resemble rather a notice in a review, than 
 our selections in general. John's Life is 
 not a classic; it contains no passage 
 which is a general favourite ; no extract 
 could be made from it of any length, to 
 which readers of good taste would not find 
 objections. Yet there is so curious an 
 interest in all its absurdities ; its jumble 
 of the gayest and gravest considerations 
 is so founded in the actual state of things ; 
 it draws now and then such excellent por- 
 traits of life; and above all, its animal 
 spirits are at once so excessive and so 
 real, that we defy the best readers not to 
 be entertained with it, and having had 
 one or two specimens, not to desire more. 
 Buncle would say, that there is "cut and 
 come again" in him, like one of his lunch- 
 eons of cold beef and a foaming tankard. 
 — Hunt, Leigh, 1849, A Book for a Cor- 
 ner, p. 137. 
 
 In the ''Life of John Buncle" and his 
 seven wives, Amory discusses the subject 
 of earthquakes, phlogiston, then a popu- 
 lar theme, fluxions, the Asthanasian 
 Creed,, and muscular motion. The whole 
 is such a farrago as Burton or Rabelais 
 might have collected, with something 
 of the odd thoughts and quaint humour 
 that distinguish those writers. One object 
 of both books is to illustrate the truth and 
 the influence of Unitarian principles of 
 religion. The ladies he visits and the 
 ladies he won are all represented as 
 models of beauty and intelligence, who 
 largely owe their high qualities to their 
 religious faith. — Angus, Joseph, 1865, 
 The Handbook of English Literature, p. 472. 
 
 A great part of the work is devoted to 
 the theological disquisition, showing con- 
 siderable reading, in defence of ''Christian 
 deism." Much of his love-making and 
 religious discussion takes place in the 
 north of England, and there is some inter- 
 est in his references to the beauty of the 
 lake scenery. His impassable crags, fath- 
 omless lakes, and secluded valleys, con- 
 taining imaginary convents of unitarian 
 monks and nuns, suggest the light-headed 
 ramblings of delirium. Amory was clearly 
 disordered in his intellect, though a writer 
 in the "Retrospective Review" is scan- 
 dalised at the imputation and admires him 
 without qualification. — Stephen, Leslie, 
 
 1885, Dictionary of National Biography, 
 vol. I, p. 365. 
 
 Hazlitt has said that "the soul of Rab- 
 elais passed into John Amory." His 
 name was Thomas, not John, and there is 
 very little that is Rabelaisian in his spirit. 
 One sees what Hazlitt meant — the volu- 
 ble and diffuse learning, the desultory 
 thread of narration, the mixture of reli- 
 gion and animalism. But the resemblance 
 is very superficial, and the parallel too 
 complimentary to Amory. It is difficult 
 to think of the soul of Rabelais in connec- 
 tion with a pedantic and uxorious Unita- 
 rian. To lovers of odd books, "John 
 Buncle" will always have a genuine attrac- 
 tion. Its learning would have dazzled 
 Dr. Primrose, and is put on in glittering 
 spars and shells, like the ornaments of 
 the many grottoes that it describes. It 
 is diversified by descriptions of natural 
 scenery, which are often exceedingly 
 felicitous and original, and it is quickened 
 by the human warmth and flush of the 
 love passages, which, with all their 
 quaintness, are extremely human. It is 
 essentially a "healthy" book, as Charles 
 Lamb, with such a startling result, assured 
 the Scotchman. . . . The style of 
 the book is very careless and irregular, 
 but rises in its best pages to an admirable 
 picturesqueness.— GossE, Edmund, 1891, 
 Gossip in a Library, pp. 225, 226. 
 
 The book, which is entirely sui generis, 
 fascinated Hazlitt, and has been reprinted, 
 but never widely read. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1898, A Short History of English 
 Literature, p. 610. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 His works may be said to be unknown 
 to the general reader ; they are familiar 
 to those only who delight to wander in the 
 bye-paths of literature, and to seek out 
 the peculiarities and follies of authors. 
 Amory' s claims are sufficient, however, 
 to entitle him to a little nook in this gal- 
 lery of those who have a higher right to 
 be remembered than the mere fact of ex- 
 traordinary tenure of life confers. As 
 he attained to his ninety-seventh year, 
 and gave to the world several volumes 
 marked by some literary ability, original- 
 ity of thought, extensive knowledge of 
 theology, and close observation of nature, 
 he has the double qualification demanded 
 of those whose lives are here sketched. — 
 Bailey, J. B., 1888, Modern Methuselahs. 
 
49 
 
 Thomas Day 
 
 1748-1789 
 
 Born, in London, 22 June, 1748. Succeeded to family estate of Bear Hill, Berk- 
 shire, July, 1749. Mother removed with him to Stoke Newington ; soon afterwards 
 married again, and settled at Bear Hill, 1755. At school at Stoke Newington, and at 
 Charterhouse, 1755-63- Matriculated Corpus Christi College, Oxford, 1 June, 1764 ; 
 left, without degree, 1766. Admitted to Middle Temple, 12 Feb., 1765 ; called to Bar, 
 14 May, 1775 ; never practised. After disappointments in love, endeavoured to train 
 two orphan girls on his own principles, in order that he might marry one of them. 
 Scheme failed. Visit to France. On return, after other love disappointments, set- 
 tled in London ; engaged in literary work, with occasional travelling. Married Esther 
 Milnes, 7 Aug., 1778; spent the winter in Hampstead. Bought house at Abridge, 
 Essex, 1779. Removed to Anningsley, Surrey, 1781. Life of great seclusion and 
 asceticism. Killed by accident on horseback, 28 Sept., 1789. Buried at War grave. 
 Works: "The Dying Negro" (anon., with J. Bicknell), 1773; ''Ode for the New 
 Year" (anon.), 1776; The Devoted Legions," 1776; ''The Desolation of America" 
 (anon.); 1777; *' Two Speeches," 1780; " Reflexions on the Present State of England," 
 1782 (2nd edn. same year) ; "Letters of Marius," 1784; "Fragments of Original Let- 
 ters on the Slavery of Negroes," 1784; "Dialogue between a Justice of the Peace and 
 a Farmer," 1785; "Four Tracts," 1785; "Letter to Arthur Young," 1788; "History 
 of Little Jack," 1788; "History of Sandford and Merton"(anon.), voL i., 1783; vol. 
 ii., 1787; vol. iii., 1789. Life: by J. Keir, 1791; by Blackmau, 1862.— Sharp, R. 
 Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 75. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 In memory of Thomas Day, Esq., who 
 died the 2Sth September, 1789, aged 41, 
 after having promoted by the energy of his 
 writings and encouraged by the uniformity 
 of his example the unremitted exercise of 
 every public and private virtue. 
 Beyond the rage of time or fortune's power, 
 Remain, cold stone, remain and mark the 
 hour 
 
 When all the noblest gifts which Heaven e'er 
 gave 
 
 Were centred in a dark untimely grave. 
 Oh, taught on Reason's boldest wings to rise 
 And catch each glimmering of the opening 
 skies, 
 
 Oh, gentle bosom! Oh, unsullied mind! 
 Oh, friend to truth, to virtue and mankind, 
 Thy dear remains we trust to this sad shrine, 
 Secure to feel no second loss like thine. 
 
 — Inscription on Tomb, 1789. 
 
 Edgeworth calls Day the "most virtu- 
 ous human being" he had ever known. 
 His friend and biographer Keir speaks 
 with equal warmth. His amusing eccen- 
 tricities were indeed only the symptoms 
 of a real nobility of character, too deeply 
 in earnest to submit to the ordinary com- 
 promises of society.— Stephen, Leslie, 
 1888, Dictionary of National Biography, 
 vol. XIV, p. 241. 
 
 Mr. Keir tells us that Day was tall, 
 strong, erect, and of a manly deportment, 
 deeply marked with small-pox ; voice clear, 
 expressive, and fit for public elocution. 
 
 Mrs. Ritchie says: "He was tall and 
 stooped in the shoulders, full made but 
 not corpulent, and in his meditations and 
 melancholy airs a degree of awkardness 
 and dignity were blended." He talked 
 like a book and always thought in the 
 same full dress style, which must have 
 rendered his society rather oppressive, 
 and even Mr. Keir confesses that in con- 
 versation he entered into the subject 
 more deeply and fully than was agreeable 
 to the fashionable tone of the day. The 
 picture of him by Wright, of Derby, 
 shows him as a man with a heavy jaw, 
 dark and abundant hair — in the original, 
 the lightning is depicted as passing 
 through it— nor does it seem that he paid 
 that attention to his personal appearance 
 that would be expected of a society author 
 in these days. Mr. Edgeworth says of 
 him, that at the very commencement of 
 their acquaintance, when the Days were 
 living at Bear Hill, in Berkshire, "His 
 appearance was not prepossessing! He 
 seldom combed his raven locks, though 
 he was remarkably fond of washing in a 
 stream. "—LocKWOOD, M., 1897, Thomas 
 Day, The Nineteenth Century, vol. 42, 
 p. 76. 
 
 SANDFORD AND MERTON 
 
 1783-89 
 
 Altogether "Sandford and Merton" 
 affected me the wrong way ; and for the 
 
50 
 
 DAY— HAWKINS 
 
 first time my soul revolted from the pre- 
 tentious virtues of honest poverty. It is 
 to the malign influence of that tale that I 
 owe my sneaking preference for the drones 
 and butterflies' of earth. I do not now 
 believe that men are born equal ; I do not 
 love universal suffrage ; I mistrust all 
 popular agitators, all intrusive legislation, 
 all philanthropic fads, all friends of the 
 people and benefactors of their race. I 
 cannot even sympathize with the noble 
 theory that every man and woman should 
 do their share of the world's work; 
 I would gladly shirk my own if I could. 
 And this lamentable, unworthy view of 
 life and its responsibilities is due to the 
 subtle poison instilled into my youthful, 
 mind by the too strenuous counter-teach- 
 ing of ''Sandford and Merton." — Rep- 
 PLiER, Agnes, 1891, Books that have Hin- 
 dered MCf Points of View, p. 69. 
 
 GENERAL 
 Utility rather than display of talent 
 was the motive of his writing. — Keir, J., 
 1791, Life of Thomas Day. 
 
 He is one of our best composers in that 
 style of antithetic and declamatory coup- 
 lets which we learned from the French. 
 The resolute enemy of political bondage, 
 he put on without reluctance the closest 
 shackles of the poet. Disdaining to 
 
 torture his looks in conformity with the 
 reigning fashion, he curled up his verses so 
 as to adapt them to most arbitrary modes. 
 The difference between the stiff couplet 
 measure, as it is formed on the French 
 model, and that looser disposition of it, 
 which was practised by our elder writers, 
 and which we have lately seen restored, 
 reminds one of the comparison which the 
 historian makes between the Macedonian 
 armies and the Roman. *'In each the sol- 
 dier was stationary, preserving his ranks ; 
 the phalanx of the former was immovable, 
 and of but one kind; the Roman force 
 more distinct, consisting of several parts ; 
 and easily disposable for the purposes 
 either of separation or of junction." Of 
 his three poems in this style, ''The Dying 
 Negro," "The Devoted Legions," and "The 
 Desolation of America," the second C'The 
 Devoted Legions") is the best. It is a 
 satire against our national degeneracy and 
 the supposed avarice which made us en- 
 gage in the American war, conveyed 
 under a description of the Parthian expe- 
 dition setting out under Crassus, and the 
 prophecy of its ruin. There was some- 
 thing novel in the design, and it is exe- 
 cuted with extraordinary vigour. — Gary, 
 Henry Francis, 1823, Notices of Miscel- 
 laneous English Poets ; Memoir, ed. Gary, 
 vol. II, p. 294. 
 
 Sir John Hawkins 
 
 1719-1789. 
 
 Born, in London, 30 March, 1719. Articled to an attorney. Contrib. to "Gentle- 
 man's Mag.," from 1739. Mem. of Madrigal Soc, 1741 (?). Perhaps contrib. anony- 
 mously to "Universal Spectator, "' 1747. Mem. of Academy of Ancient Music. 
 Married Sidney Storer, 1753. Gave up business as attorney, 1769. J. P. for Middle- 
 sex, 1761; Chairman of Quarter Sessions, 19 Sept., 1765. Knighted, 23 Oct., 1772. 
 Died, in Westminster, 21 May, 1789; buried in cloisters of Westminster Abbey. 
 Works : ' ' Observations on the State of the Highways, ' ' 1763 ; ' ' The Principles and 
 Power of Harmony " (anon.), 1771 ; "The General History of the Science and Practice 
 of Music " (5 vols.), 1776; "Dissertation on the Armorial Ensigns of the County of 
 Middlesex," 1780; "The Life of SamuelJohnson," 1787. Posthumous: Contribution 
 to ''Poetical Miscellanies " (anon.), 1790. Eeedited: Walton's " Compleat Angler, " 
 1760; Johnson's Works, 1787-89. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of 
 English Authors, p. 127. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 "Why really I believe him to be an 
 honest man at the bottom ; but to be sure 
 he is penurious, and he is mean , and it must 
 be owned he has a degree of brutality, 
 and a tendency to savageness, that cannot 
 easily be defended."— Johnson, Samuel, 
 1778, Mm£. D'Arblay's Diary, vol. i. 
 
 The fiddling Knight. — WoLCOT , John 
 (Peter Pindar), 1787, a Poetical and Con- 
 gratulatory Epistle to James Boswell, Esq. 
 
 I met Dr. Percy, Bishop of Dromore, at 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds'. . . . The bishop 
 concurred with every other person I have 
 heard speak of Hawkins, in saying that he 
 was a most detestable fellow. He was the 
 
SIR JOHN HAWKINS 
 
 51 
 
 son of a carpenter, and set out in life in 
 the very lowest line of the law. Dyer 
 knew him w^ell at one time, and the bishop 
 heard him give a character of Hawkins 
 once that painted him in the blackest 
 colours ; though Dyer was by no means apt 
 to deal in such portraits. Dyer said he 
 was a man of the most mischievous, un- 
 charitable, and malignant disposition, and 
 that he knew instances of his setting a 
 husband against a wife, and a brother 
 against a brother; fomenting their ani- 
 mosity by anonymous letters. . . . Sir 
 Joshua observed that Hawkins, though he 
 assumed great outward sanctity, was not 
 only mean and groveling in disposition but 
 absolutely dishonest. After the death of 
 Dr. Johnson, he as one of his executors 
 laid hold of his watch and several trinkets, 
 coins, etc., which he said he should take 
 to himself for his trouble — a pretty 
 liberal construction of the rule of law, 
 that an executor may satisfy his own de- 
 mands in the first instance. Sir Joshua 
 and Sir Wm. Scott, the other executors, 
 remonstrated against this, and with great 
 difficulty compelled him to give up the 
 watch, which Dr. Johnson's servant, Fran- 
 cis Barber, now has ; but the coins and old 
 pieces of money they could never get. — 
 Maloxe, Edmond, 1791, Maloniana. ed, 
 PHor, 2)p. 424, 425, 426. 
 
 Sir John Hawkins was originally bred a 
 lawyer, in which profession he did not 
 succeed. Having married a gentlewoman 
 who by her brother's death proved a con- 
 siderable fortune he bought a house at 
 Twickenham, intending to give himself up 
 to his studies and music, of which he was 
 very fond. He now commenced a justice 
 of peace ; and being a very honest, moral 
 man, but of no brightness, and very obsti- 
 nate and contentious, he grew hated by 
 the lower class and very troublesome to 
 the gentry, with whom he went to law 
 both on public and private causes ; at the 
 same time collecting materials indefati- 
 gabiy for a ''History of Music."— Wal- 
 POLE, Horace, 1797 (?), Memoirs of the 
 Reign of King George III., vol. I, p. 421. 
 
 ''And Sir John Hawkins," exclaimed 
 Uncle Timothy, with unwonted asperity, 
 
 whose ideas of virtue never rose above 
 a decent exterior and regular hours ! call- 
 ing the author of the ' Traveller ' an idiot ! 
 It shakes the sides of splenetic disdain to 
 hear this Grub Street chronicler of fiddling 
 
 and fly-fishing libelling the beautiful intel- 
 lect of Oliver Goldsmith!" — Daniel, 
 George, 1842-81, Merrie England in the 
 Olden Time, p. 233. 
 
 He had been an attorney for many 
 years, affecting literary tastes, and dab- 
 bling in music at the Madrigal Club ; but, 
 four years before the present, so large a 
 fortune had fallen to him in right of his 
 wife, that he withdrew from the law, and 
 lived and judged with severe propriety as 
 a Middlesex magistrate. Within two 
 years he will be elected chairman of the ses- 
 sions ; after seven years more, will be made 
 a knight ; and, in four years after that will 
 deliver himself of five quarto volumes of 
 a history of music, in the slow and laborious 
 conception of which he is already pain- 
 fully engaged. Altogether, his exist- 
 ence was a kind of pompous, parsimonious, 
 insignificant drawl, cleverly ridiculed by 
 one of the wits in an absurd epitaph: 
 "Here lies Sir John Hawkins, Without 
 his shoes and stauckins." To him be- 
 longed the original merit, in that age of 
 penal barbarity and perpetual executions, 
 of lamenting that in no less that fourteen 
 cases it was still possible to cheat the 
 gallows. Another of his favorite themes 
 was the improvidence of v/hat he called 
 sentimental writers, at the head of whom 
 he placed the author of ''Tom Jones;" a 
 book which he charged with having ' ' cor- 
 rupted the rising generation, ' ' and sapped 
 "the foundation of that morality which 
 it is the duty of parents and all public 
 instructors to inculcate in the minds of 
 young people." This was his common 
 style of talk. He would speak contempt- 
 uously of Hogarth as a man who knew 
 nothing out of Covent-garden. Richard- 
 son, Fielding, Smollett, and Sterne, he 
 looked upon as "stuff; " and for the last 
 three, as men "whose necessities and abil- 
 ities were nearly commensurate, ' ' he had 
 a special contempt. — Forster, John, 1848, 
 The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith, 
 vol. I, p. 312. 
 
 Hawkins was as mean and parsimonious 
 as he was pompous and conceited. He 
 forebore to partake of the suppers at the 
 club, and begged therefore to be excused 
 from paying his share of the reckoning. — 
 Irving, Washington, 1849, Oliver Gold- 
 smith, p. 164. 
 
 Hawkins was a man of coarse fibre, ab- 
 surdly proud of "my coach," rough to 
 
52 
 
 SIR JOHN HA WKINS 
 
 inferiors, and humble to men like Walpole, 
 but not without solid good qualities. — 
 Stephen, Leslie, 1891, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. xxv, p. 221. 
 
 HISTORY OF MUSIC 
 
 1776 
 
 I have been three days at Strawberry, 
 and have not seen a creature but Sir John 
 Hawkins's five volumes, the two last of 
 which, thumping as they are, I literally 
 did read in two days. They are old books 
 to all intents and purposes, very old books ; 
 and what is new, is like old books, too, 
 that is, full of minute facts that delight 
 antiquaries. ... My friend. Sir 
 John, is a matter-of-fact man, and does 
 now and then stoop very low in quest of 
 game. Then he is so exceedingly religious 
 and grave as to abhor mirth, except it is 
 printed in the old black letter, and then 
 he calls the most vulgar ballad pleasant 
 and full of humour. He thinks nothing 
 can be sublime but an anthem, and 
 Handel's choruses heaven upon earth. 
 However, he writes with great modera- 
 tion, temper and good sense, and the book 
 is a very valuable one. I have begged his 
 Austerity to relax in one point, for he 
 ranks comedy with farce and pantomime. 
 Now I hold a perfect comedy to be the 
 perfection of human composition, and be- 
 lieve firmly that fifty Iliads and .Eneids 
 could be written sooner than such a char- 
 acter as Falstalf's.— Walpole, Horace, 
 1776, To the Countess of Ossory, Dec. 3 ; 
 Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. vi, p. 395. 
 
 In which, however, there is much orig- 
 inal and valuable information, as in all his 
 other works, so unjustly censured in my 
 opinion. Sir John's principal fault was 
 digression from his subject; but if you 
 excuse that, you are well repaid by 
 the information you receive. — Mathias, 
 Thomas James, 1794-98, The Pursuits of 
 Literature, Eighth ed., p. 98. 
 
 Contemporary judgment awarded the 
 palm of superiority to Burney and neg- 
 lected Hawkins. Evidence of the feeling 
 is found in a catch which was formerly 
 better known than it is now : — 
 
 " Have you Sir John Hawkins' History? 
 
 Some folks thing it quite a mystery. 
 
 Musick fill'd his wondrous brain. 
 
 How d'ye like him? Is it plain? 
 
 Both I've read and must agree, 
 
 That Burney 's history pleases me." 
 
 Which in performance is made to sound : — 
 
 " Sir John Hawkins! 
 
 Burn his history ! 
 
 How d'ye like him? 
 
 Burn his history ! 
 
 Burney 's history pleases me," 
 Posterity, however, has reversed the 
 decision of the wits; Hawkins' ''His- 
 tory" has been re-printed, but Burney' s 
 never reached a second edition. The 
 truth lies between the extremes. Burney, 
 possessed of far greater musical knowl- 
 edge than Hawkins, better judgment, and 
 a better style, frequently wrote about 
 things which he had not suflftciently exam- 
 ined; Hawkins, on the other hand, more 
 industrious and painstaking than Burney, 
 was deficient in technical skill, and often 
 inaccurate. — Husk, William H., 1879, A 
 Dictionary of Music and Musicians, ed. 
 Grove, vol. i, p. 699. 
 
 Hawkins, though a worse writer than 
 Burney, was a more painstaking antiquary, 
 and his book has therefore a more perma- 
 nent value for students of musical history. 
 — Stephen, Leslie, 1891, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. xxv, p. 221. 
 
 LIFE OF SAMUEL JOHNSON 
 
 1787 
 
 Mr. Urban: — Have you read that di- 
 vine book, the ' ' Life of Samuel Johnson, 
 LL.D., by Sir John Hawkins, Knt.?" 
 Have you done anything but read it since 
 it was first published? For my own part. 
 I scruple not to declare that I could not 
 rest till I had read it quite through, notes, 
 digressions, index and all ; then I could 
 not rest till I had gone over it a second 
 time. I begin to think that increase of 
 appetite grows by what it is fed on ; for 
 I have been reading it ever since. I am 
 now in the midst of the sixteenth perusal ; 
 and still I discover new beauties. I can think 
 of nothing else ; I can talk of nothing else. 
 In short, my mind is become tumid, and longs 
 to be delivered of those many and great con- 
 ceptions with which it has laboured since I 
 have been through a course of this most 
 perfect exemplar of biography. The com- 
 pass of learning, the extent and accuracy 
 of information, the judicious criticism, the 
 moral reflections, the various opinions, 
 legal and political, to say nothing of that 
 excess of candour and charity that breathe 
 throughout the work, make together such 
 a collection of sweets that the sense aches 
 at them. To crown all, the language is 
 
HAWKINS— SMITH 
 
 53 
 
 refined to a degree of immaculate purity, 
 and displays the whole force of turgid elo- 
 quence. . . . 
 
 Read Hawkins once, and you can read no 
 more, 
 
 For all books else appear so mean, so poor, 
 Johnson's a dunce ; but still persists to read, 
 And Hawkins will be all the books you need. 
 — PORSON, Richard, 1787, Letters to the 
 Gentleman's Magazine. 
 
 He has thrown a heap of rubbish of his 
 own over poor Johnson, which would have 
 smothered any less gigantic genius — Edge- 
 worth, Maria, 1809, Letters, vol. i, p.lQl. 
 
 Sir John Hawkins, whose **Life of 
 Samuel Johnson, LL.D.," 1787, comes 
 next in importance to Mrs. Piozzi's ''An- 
 ecdotes, ' ' has suffered considerably ; and 
 his book, which immediately after John- 
 son's death was advertised as forthcom- 
 ing," is, to use the words of a recent 
 writer, "spoken of with contempt by 
 many who have never taken the trouble to 
 do more than turn over its leaves." That 
 the author seems to have been extremely 
 unpopular can scarcely be denied. —Dob- 
 son, Austin, 1898, BosweWs Predecessors 
 and Editors, Miscellanies, p. 116. 
 
 Adam Smith 
 
 1723-1790 
 
 He was the son of Adam Smith (lawyer and Customs' comptroller at Kirkcaldy), and 
 Margaret Douglas of Strathendry ; and he was born probably at the beginning of June, 
 1728. He was a student at Glasgow University from 1737 to 1740, and at Ealliol Col- 
 lege, Oxford (as Snell Exhibitioner) from 1740 to 1747. After a year and a half at 
 Kirkcaldy he came to Edinburgh and lectured on belles lettres (1748-50). In 1751 he 
 was made Professor of Logic at Glasgow University, and in 1752 Professor of Moral 
 Philosophy. In 1759 he published his ''Theory of Moral Sentiments." In 1764 he 
 was persuaded by Charles Townshend to go abroad with the young Buccleuch to Tou- 
 louse, Geneva, and Paris, resigning his chair of Moral Philosophy. He was back in 
 London in -1766 and at Kirkcaldy in 1767, devoting himself to his ''Inquiry Into the 
 Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations," which appeared in 1776, just before the 
 death of Hume. In 1778 he became a Commissioner of Customs in Edinburgh. In 
 1787 he w^as chosen Rector of his old University, and on 17th July, 1790, he died at 
 his residence, Panmure House, Canongate. He is buried in Canongate Churchyard. 
 His last years were saddened by the loss of his mother and his cousin (Miss Jane 
 Douglas), the former of whom died in 1784, and the latter in 1788. — BoNAR, James, 
 1894, A Catalogue of the Library of Adam Smith, Introduction, p. ix. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Adam Smith, though perhaps only second 
 to David in learning and ingenuity, was 
 far inferior to him in conversational tal- 
 ents. In that of public speaking they 
 were equal— David never tried it, and I 
 never heard Adam but once, which was at 
 the first meeting of the Select Society, 
 when he opened up the design of the meet- 
 ing. His voice was harsh and enunci- 
 ation thick, approaching to stammer- 
 ing. His conversation was not collo- 
 quial, but like lecturing, in which I have 
 been told he was not deficient, espe- 
 cially w^hen he grew warm. He was the 
 most absent man in company that I ever 
 saw, moving his lips, and talking to him- 
 self, and smiling, in the midst of large 
 companies. If you awaked him from his 
 reverie, and made him attend to the sub- 
 ject of conversation, he immediately 
 began a harangue, and never stopped till 
 
 he told you all he knew about it, with 
 the utmost philosophical ingenuity. He 
 knew nothing of characters, and yet was 
 ready to draw them on the slightest invi- 
 tation. But when you checked him or 
 doubted, he retracted with the utmost 
 ease, and contradicted all he had been say- 
 ing. His journey abroad with the Duke of 
 Buccleuch cured him in part of these 
 foibles; but still he appeared very unfit 
 for the intercourse of the wwld as a trav- 
 elling tutor. But the Duke was a charac- 
 ter, both in point of heart and understand- 
 ing, to surmount all disadvantages — he 
 could learn nothing ill from a philosopher 
 of the utmost probity and benevolence. If 
 he [Smith] had been more a man of address 
 and of the world, he might perhaps have 
 given a ply to the Duke's fime mind, which 
 was much better when left to its own 
 energy. Charles Townshend had chosen 
 Smith, not for his fitness for the pm'pose, 
 
54 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 but for his own glory in having: sent an 
 eminent Scottish philosopher to travel 
 with the Duke. — Carlyle, Alexander, 
 1753-56-1860, Autobiography, p. 226. 
 
 Sir, I was once in company with Smith, 
 and we did not take to each other ; but had 
 I known that he loved rhyme so much as 
 you tell me he does I should have hugged 
 him. — Johnson, Samuel, 1763, Life by 
 Baswell, ed. Hill, vol. i, p. 495. 
 
 Poor Smith ! We must soon lose him, 
 and the moment in which he departs will 
 give a heart-pang to thousands. ' Mr. 
 Smith's spirits are flat, and I am afraid 
 the exertions he sometimes makes to 
 please his friends do him no good. His 
 intellect as well as his senses are clear 
 and distinct. He wishes to be cheerful, 
 but nature is omnipotent. His body is 
 extremely emaciated, and his stomach 
 cannot admit of sufl[icient nourishment; 
 but, like a man, he is perfectly patient 
 and resigned. — Smellie, W., 1790, Letter 
 to Patrick Clason, Memoirs of Smellie, ed. 
 Kerr, vol. i, p. 295. 
 
 I have been surprised, and I own a little 
 indignant, to observe how little impression 
 his death has made here. Scarce any 
 notice has been taken of it, while for 
 above a year together, after the death of 
 Dr. Johnson, nothing was to be heard of 
 but panegyrics of him. Lives, Letters, 
 and Anecdotes, and even at this moment 
 there are two more lives of him about to 
 start into existence. Indeed one ought not, 
 perhaps, to be very much surprised that 
 the public does not do justice to the works 
 of A. Smith, since he did not do justice to 
 them himself, but always considered his 
 " Theory of Moral Sentiments " as a much 
 superior work to his ''Wealth of Na- 
 tions." — Romilly, Sir Samuel, 1790, 
 Letter to M. Dumont, Aug. 20; Memoirs, 
 vol. I, p. 404. 
 
 There was no situation in which the 
 abilities of Mr. Smith appeared to greater 
 advantage than as a professor. In deliv- 
 ering his lectures he trusted almost 
 entirely to extemporary elocution. His 
 manner, though not graceful, was plain 
 and unaffected, and as he seemed to be 
 always interested in his subject, he never 
 failed to interest his hearers. Each dis- 
 course consisted commonly of several 
 distinct propositions, which he succes- 
 sively endeavoured to prove and illustrate. 
 These propositions, when announced in 
 
 general terms, had, from their extent, not 
 unfrequently something of the air of a 
 paradox. In his attempts to explain them, 
 he often appeared, at first, not to be suf- 
 ficiently possessed of the subject, and 
 spoke with some hesitation. As he ad- 
 vanced, however, the matter seemed to 
 crowd upon him, his manner became 
 warm and animated, and his expression 
 easy and fluent. On points susceptible of 
 controversy you could easily discern, that 
 he secretlv conceived an opposition to his 
 opinions, and that he was led upon this 
 account to support them with greater 
 energy and vehemence. By the fulness 
 and variety of his illustrations the subject 
 gradually swelled in his hands and acquired 
 a dimension which, without a tedious 
 repetition of the same views, was calcu- 
 lated to seize the attention of his audience, 
 and to afford them pleasure, as well as in- 
 struction, in following the same object, 
 through all the diversity of shades and 
 aspects in which it was presented, and 
 afterwards in tracing it backwards to 
 that original proposition or general truth, 
 from which this beautiful train of specula- 
 lation had proceeded. — Millar, John, 
 c 1793, Letter, Stewart's Works, vol. vii, 
 p. 10. 
 
 Of the intellectual gifts and attainments 
 by which he was so eminently distinguished ; 
 — of the originality and comprehensive- 
 ness of his views ; the extent, the variety, 
 and the correctness of his information ; 
 the inexhaustible fertility of his invention ; 
 and the ornaments which his rich and 
 beautiful imagination had borrowed from 
 classical culture ; — he has left behind him 
 lasting monuments. To his private worth 
 the most certain of all testimonies may be 
 found in that confidence, respect, and at- 
 tachment, which followed him through all 
 the various relations of life. The serenity 
 and gaiety he enjoyed, under the pressure 
 of his growing infirmities, and the warm 
 interest he felt to the last, in everything 
 connected with the welfare of his friends, 
 will be long remembered by a small circle, 
 with whom, as long as his strength per- 
 mitted, he regularly spent an evening in 
 the week; and to whom the recollection 
 of his worth still forms a pleasing, though 
 melancholy bond of union. The more 
 delicate and characteristical features of 
 his mind, it is perhaps impossible to trace. 
 That there were many peculiarities, both 
 
ADAM SMITH 
 
 55 
 
 in his manners, and in his intellectual 
 habits, was manifest to the most super- 
 ficial observer ; but although, to those who 
 knew him, these peculiarities detracted 
 nothing from the respect which his abili- 
 ties commanded ; and although, to his in- 
 timate friends, they added an inexpressi- 
 ble charm to his conversation, while they 
 displayed, in the most interesting light, 
 the artless simplicity of his heart ; yet it 
 would require a very skillful pencil to 
 present them to the public eye. He was cer- 
 tainly not fitted for the general commerce 
 of the world, or for the business of active 
 life. The comprehensive speculations 
 with which he had been occupied from his 
 youth, and the variety of materials which 
 his own invention continually supplied to 
 his thoughts, rendered him habitually inat- 
 tentive to familiar objects, and to common 
 occurrences ; and he frequently exhibited 
 instances of absence, which have scarcely 
 been surpassed by the fancy of La Bruyere. 
 Even in company, he was apt to be in- 
 grossed with his studies ; and appeared, at 
 times, by the motion of his lips, as well as 
 by his looks and gestures, to be in the 
 fervor of composition. I have often, how- 
 ever, been struck, at the distance of 
 years, with his accurate memory of the 
 most trifling particulars ; and am incliiiied 
 to believe, from this and some other cir- 
 cumstances, that he possessed a povver, 
 not perhaps uncommon among absent men, 
 of recollecting, in consequence of subse- 
 quent efforts of reflection, many occur- 
 rences which, at the time when they hap- 
 pened, did not seem to have sensibly 
 attracted his notice. ... In his ex- 
 ternal form and appearance, there was 
 nothing uncommon. When perfectly at 
 ease, and when warmed with conversation, 
 his gestures were animated, and not un- 
 graceful ; and, in the society of those he 
 loved, his features were often brightened 
 with a smile of inexpressible benignity. 
 In the company of strangers, his tendency 
 to absence, and perhaps still more his 
 consciousness of this tendency, rendered 
 his manner somewhat embarrassed, an 
 effect which was probably not a little 
 heightened by those speculative ideas of 
 propriety, which his recluse habits tended 
 at once to perfect in his conception, and to 
 diminish his power of realizing. He never 
 sat for his picture ; but the medallion of 
 Tassie conveys an exact idea of his profile, 
 
 and of the general expression of his coun- 
 tenance. — Stewart, Dugald, 1793, Ac- 
 count of the Life and Writings of Adam 
 Smith. 
 
 Those persons who have ever had the 
 pleasure to be in his company may recol- 
 lect that even in his common conversation 
 the order and method he pursued, without 
 the smallest degree of formality or stiff- 
 ness, were beautiful and gave a sort of 
 pleasure to all who listened to him. — 
 Playfair, William, 1805, Life of Adam 
 Smith. 
 
 At the age of twenty-nine, he filled the 
 chair of Moral Philosophy in the Univer- 
 sity of Glasgow ; a place for which he was 
 admirably suited by his power of commu- 
 nication as well as by the habits of his 
 mind, as he spoke with great fluency 
 when once engaged in his subject, and 
 was listened to with the enthusiasm which 
 his ability, accompanied by a popular 
 manner, might be expected to inspire. It 
 is much to be regretted, that his lectures 
 were destroyed by his own hand before he 
 died. The course of Natural Theology 
 was one which would have great interest 
 for readers of the present day ; and such 
 was the variety of suggestions always 
 flowing from his active and fertile mind, 
 that every part must have contained much 
 to interest and instruct mankind. — Pea- 
 body, William B. 0., 1846-50, Men of 
 Letters and Science, Art. ii. Literary Re- 
 mains, ed. Peabody, p. 262. 
 
 When a young man [in 1789], I went to 
 Edinburgh, carrying letters of introduc- 
 tion (from Dr. Kippis, Dr. Price, &c.,) 
 to Adam Smith, Robertson, and others. 
 When I first saw Smith, he was at break- 
 fast, eating strawberries ; and he descanted 
 on the superior flavour of those gro^^^l in 
 Scotland. I found him very kind and 
 communicative. He ^vas (what Robertson 
 was not) a man who had seen a great deal 
 of the world. Once, in the course of con- 
 versation, I happened to remark of some 
 writer, that ^ ' he was rather superficial, — 
 a Voltaire." ''Sir," cried Smith, strik- 
 ing the table with his hand, "there has 
 been but o?ie Voltaire ! " — Rogers, Sam- 
 uel, 1855? Table Talk. 
 
 In person he was a grave, preoccupied- 
 looking man, of a stout middle size, ^^ith 
 large features and large grey eyes, absent- 
 minded in company, often incontinently 
 talking to himself, and keeping up his 
 
56 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 rather poor constitution by strict regular- 
 ity and temperance. He was warm and 
 affectionate in disposition, exceedingly 
 unreserved, with simple frankness express- 
 ing the thoughts of the moment, and with 
 ready candour retracting his opinion if he 
 found that he had spoken without just 
 grounds. His intellectual proceedings 
 were calm, patient and regular ; he mas- 
 tered a subject slowly and circumspectly, 
 and carried his principles with steady 
 tenacity through multitudes of details that 
 would have checked many men of greater 
 mental vigour unendowed with the same 
 invincible persistence. — Minto, William, 
 1872-80, Manual of English Prose Litera- 
 ture, p. 476. 
 
 In 1778 he was appointed, at the request 
 of the Duke of Buccleuch, one of the com- 
 missioners of his majesty's customs in 
 Scotland, and removed to Edinburgh, tak- 
 ing his mother with him; it is scarcely 
 necessary to mention that he continued all 
 his life a bachelor. Here he spent the 
 last twelve years of his life. Henceforth 
 he became an object of curiosity to all 
 people of literary culture ; and his person 
 was scrutinized, as he walked the streets, 
 by the curious, and his peculiar habits 
 reported. Many a youth, studying in 
 Edinburgh, was proud to relate in after 
 years that he had seen him — a fine gentle- 
 man of the old school, a little above the 
 ordinary size, with a manly countenance 
 lighted by large gray eyes, wearing a cap, 
 a long, wide great-coat, breeches, and 
 shoebuckles. — McCosH, James, 1874, The 
 Scottish Philosophy, p. 166. 
 
 Adam Smith, who taught the nations 
 economy, could not manage the economy 
 of his own house. Choked with books and 
 absorbed in abstractions, he was feeble and 
 inefficient in active life — incapable of act- 
 ing on his own conclusions. — Mathews, 
 William, 1887, Men, Places and Things, 
 p. 134. 
 
 There is much, besides the contents of 
 his published works, to draw to Adam 
 Smith the attention of those who are 
 attracted by individual power. Scotchmen 
 have long been reputed strong in philo- 
 sophic doctrine, and he was a Scot of 
 Scots. But, though Scotland is now re- 
 nowned for her philosophy, that renown is 
 not of immemorial origin; it was not 
 till the last century was well advanced 
 that she began to add great speculative 
 
 thinkers to her great preachers. Adam 
 Smith, consequently, stands nearly at the 
 opening of the greatest of the intellectual 
 eras of Scotland ; and yet by none of the 
 great Scotch names, which men have 
 learned since his day, has his name been 
 eclipsed. The charm about the man con- 
 sists, for those who do not regard him 
 with the special interest of the political 
 economist, in his literary method, which 
 exhibits his personality and makes his 
 works thoroughly his own, rather than in 
 any facts about his eminency among 
 Scotchmen. You bring away from your 
 reading of Adam Smith a distinct and 
 attractive impression of the man himself, 
 such as you can get from the writings of 
 no other author in the same field, and 
 such as makes you wish to know still 
 more of him. . . . Unhappily, we 
 know very little of Adam Smith as a man, 
 and it may be deplored, without injustice 
 to a respected name, that we owe that 
 little to Dugald Stewart. — Wilson, Wood- 
 row, 1888, An Old Master, The New 
 Princeton Review, vol. vi, pp. 211, 212. 
 
 A common misconception regarding 
 Smith is that he was as helpless as a child 
 in matters of business. One of his Edin- 
 burgh neighbors remarked of him to Rob- 
 ert Chambers that it was strange a man 
 who wrote so well on exchange and barter 
 was obliged to get a friend to buy his 
 horse corn for him. This idea of his help- 
 lessness in the petty transactions of life 
 arose from observing his occasional fits of 
 absence and his habitual simplicity of 
 character, but his simplicity, nobody de- 
 nies, was accompanied by exceptional 
 acuteness and practical sagacity, and his 
 fits of absence seem to have been neither 
 so frequent or prolonged as they are com- 
 monly represented. Samuel Rogers spent 
 most of a week with him in Edinburgh the 
 year before his death, and did not remark 
 his absence of mind all the time. Anyhow, 
 during his thirteen years' residence at 
 Glasgow College, Smith seems to have 
 had more to do with the business of the 
 College, petty or important, than any 
 other professor, and his brethren in the 
 Senate of that University cannot have 
 seen in him any marked failing or inca- 
 pacity for ordinary business. They threw 
 on his shoulders an ample share of the 
 committee and general routine work of the 
 place, and set him to audit accounts, or 
 
ADAM SMITH 
 
 57 
 
 inspect the drains in the College Court , or 
 see the holly hedge in the College garden 
 uprooted, or to examine the encroach- 
 ments on the College lands on the Molen- 
 dinar Burn, without any fear of his for- 
 getting his business on the way. They 
 entrusted him for years with the post of 
 College Quaestor or Treasurer, in which 
 inattention or the want of sound business 
 habits might inflict injury even on their 
 pecuniary interests. They made him one 
 of the two curators of the College cham- 
 bers, the forty lodgings provided for stu- 
 dents inside the College gates. And when 
 there was any matter of business that was 
 a little troublesome or delicate to negoti- 
 ate, they seem generally to have chosen 
 Smith for their chief spokesman or repre- 
 sentative. — Rae, John, 1895, Life of Adam 
 Smith, p. 66. 
 
 In Edinburgh, where better things might 
 have been expected, the public interest, 
 or rather apathy, was reflected in two 
 meagre paragraphs of his death in the 
 newspapers. Lord Cockburn has left it on 
 record that in his day all that seemed to be 
 known of the founder of the science of 
 Political Economy was that he had been 
 Commissioner of Customs and had written 
 a sensible book. . . . When Adam 
 Smith's personality is carefully analysed 
 the reason of the public apathy at the time 
 of his death becomes obvious. A solitary 
 thinker, out of touch with the theological 
 sympathies of his countrymen, and indiffer- 
 ent to the prevailing parochialism, Smith 
 w^as an intellectual alien. A sensitive 
 plant, he shrank from uncongenial influ- 
 ences by which he was surrounded. In 
 the public mind his friend Hume bulked 
 considerably, but that was not because he 
 was more in touch with Scottish sympa- 
 thies than Smith, but because of his 
 greater intellectual aggressiveness. On 
 the all-absorbing theme of human destiny 
 Smith was silent ; consequently he lived in 
 a state of mental isolation. In this atti- 
 tude he was confirmed by his temperament, 
 which was not favourable to social expan- 
 sion. . . . At this distance we can 
 readily detect the limitations of the 
 Smithsonian type of mind. Within its 
 limitations, however, the genius of Smith 
 was a potent influence, and had far-reach- 
 ing issues. In the sphere of international 
 economics his place is with the innnortals. 
 If his personality lacked the dramatic 
 
 element, it was eminently harmonious. In 
 the midst of his intellectual absorption he 
 kept the fountains of his heart ever open. 
 Adam Smith was no dry-as-dust speculator 
 on mundane aff'airs ; his emotional interest 
 in humanity was intense. To outsiders 
 he might seem cold and reserved, but 
 those who knew him intimately record that 
 he was not only a great thinker but a 
 good man. — MacphersOxN, Hector C, 
 1899, Adam Smith (Famous Scots Series), 
 pp. 135, 139, 141. 
 
 With all drawbacks, Adam Smith must 
 be counted not only one of the greatest 
 influences, but also one of the most char- 
 acteristic figures of the age. He was a 
 man of simple life, wrapt in abstract 
 thought, a stranger to all the baser ambi- 
 tions of ordinary life, yet devoting himself, 
 with singular tenacity of purpose, and 
 with singular boldness, to work out a 
 theory which had a profound effect upon 
 the most practical side of human life. In 
 another age than his, the recluse student, 
 who struck his contemporaries as one 
 utterly lacking even ordinary discernment 
 of character, would have hung back in 
 timidity from propounding views which 
 were to be effectual only by moulding the 
 action of men. His artlessness, his 
 modesty, his occasional wayward eccen- 
 tricity of view, which appeared to his 
 intimates as almost childish, gave addi- 
 tional interest to the concentrated perse- 
 verance with which he w^orked out his 
 system. His ordinary conversation con- 
 sisted of long philosophical harangues, 
 varied by fits of silence and reverie, and 
 by the utterance of paradoxical opinions 
 which he was ready to retract upon a show 
 of opposition.— Craik, Sir Henry, 1901, 
 A Century of Scottish History, vol. ii, p. 201. 
 
 His figure was one of the most familiar 
 in the High Street — dressed in a light- 
 coloured coat, in cocked hat or broad- 
 brimmed beaver, white silk stockings, and 
 silver-buckled shoes, a bamboo cane held 
 over his shoulder, as a soldier carries his 
 musket, with one hand, while the other 
 might hold a bunch of flowers from 
 his garden. Thus he walked, with eyes 
 gazing vacantly, and lips moving as if in 
 inaudible converse, a placid smile occa- 
 sionally wreathing his countenance, his 
 body swaying, as an acquaintance describes 
 it, ''vermicularly, as if at every step he 
 meant to alter his direction or to turn 
 
58 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 back." No wonder the Musselburgh fish- 
 wife, as she watched the punctiliously- 
 attired, vacant-eyed, amiable man pass 
 along the street, mistook him for a 
 demented but harmless old gentleman, and 
 sighed to her sister vender of haddocks, 
 "Hech ! and he is weel put on tae ! " His 
 very unpracticalness in little affairs of 
 life only endeared him the more to 
 friends, who were comforted at feeling 
 they were at least in some things superior 
 to a genius. In political matters he was, 
 like most of his Scots brethren, on the 
 side of liberalism ; in religion he did not 
 pronounce his opinions, and his friends 
 did not question him, though they knew 
 his convictions were deep. — Graham, 
 Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish Men of Letters 
 in the Eighteenth Century, p. 169. 
 
 THE THEORY OF MORAL 
 SENTIMENTS 
 
 1759 
 
 I give you thanks for the agreeable 
 present of your Theory. Wedderburn and I 
 made presents of our copies to such of our 
 acquaintances as we thought good judges, 
 and proper to spread the reputation of 
 the book. I sent one ^to the Duke of 
 Argyle, to Lord Lyttleton, Horace Wal- 
 pole, Soame Jenyns, and Burke, an Irish 
 gentleman, who wrote lately a very pretty 
 treatise on the Sublime. Millar desired 
 my permission to send one in your name 
 to Dr. Warburton. I have delayed writing 
 to you till I could tell you something of 
 the success of the book, and could prog- 
 nosticate with some probability, whether 
 it should be finally damned to oblivion, or 
 should be registered in the temple of im- 
 mortality. Though it has been published 
 only a few weeks, I think there appear 
 already such strong symptoms, that I can 
 almost venture to foretell its fate. . . . 
 Three Bishops called yesterday at Millar's 
 shop in order to buy copies, and to ask 
 questions about the author. The Bishop 
 of Peterborough said he had passed the 
 evening in a company where he heard it 
 extolled above all books in the world. 
 The Duke of Argyle is more decisive than 
 he used to be in favor. I suppose he 
 either considers it as an exotic, or thinks 
 the author will be serviceable to him in 
 the Glasgow elections. Lord Lyttleton 
 says, that Robertson and Smith and Bower 
 are the glories of English literature. 
 Oswald protests he does not know whether 
 
 he has reaped more instruction or enter- 
 tainment from it. But you may easily 
 judge what reliance can be put on his 
 judgment, who has been engaged all his 
 life in public business, and who never sees 
 any faults in his friends. Millar exults 
 and brags that two-thirds of the edition 
 are already sold, and that he is now sure 
 of success. You see what a son of the 
 earth that is, to value books only by the 
 profit they bring him. In that view, I 
 believe it may prove a very good book. 
 Charles Townshend, who passes for the 
 cleverest fellow in England, is so taken 
 with the performance, that he said to 
 Oswald he would put the Duke of Buc- 
 cleugh under the author's care, and 
 would make it worth his while to accept 
 of that charge. — Hume, David, 1759, 
 Letter to Adam Smith, April 12. 
 
 The author seeks for the foundation of 
 the just, the fit, the proper, the decent, 
 in our most common and most allowed 
 passions, and making approbation and dis- 
 approbation the tests of virtue and vice, 
 and showing that these are founded on 
 sympathy, he raises from this simple truth 
 one of the most beautiful fabrics of 
 moral theory that has perhaps ever ap- 
 peared. The illustrations are numerous 
 and happy, and show the author to be a 
 man of uncommon observation. His 
 language is easy and spirited, and puts 
 things before you in the fullest light ; it 
 is rather painting than writing. — BuRKE, 
 Edmund, 1776, Annual Register. 
 
 The system to which I allude, is that 
 which is delivered by Dr. Smith, in his 
 "Theory of Moral Sentiments," — a work, 
 unquestionably of the first rank, in a 
 science which I cannot but regard as to 
 man the most interesting of sciences. 
 Profound in thought, it exhibits, even 
 when it is most profound, an example of 
 the graces with which a sage imagination 
 knows how to adorn the simple and 
 majestic form of science ; that it is severe 
 and cold, only to those who are themselves 
 cold and severe, — as in those very graces, 
 it exhibits in like manner, an example of 
 the reciprocal embellishment which im- 
 agination receives from the sober dignity 
 of truth. In its minor details and illus- 
 trations, indeed, it may be considered as 
 presenting a model of philosophic beauty, 
 of which all must acknowledge the power, 
 who are not disqualified by their very 
 
ADAM SMITH 
 
 59 
 
 nature for the admiration and enjoyment of 
 intellectual excellence, — so dull of under- 
 standing, as to shrink with a painful con- 
 sciousness of incapacity at the very 
 appearance of refined analysis — or so dull 
 and cold of heart, as to feel no charm in 
 the delightful varieties of an eloquence, 
 that in the illustration and embellish- 
 ment of the noblest truths seems itself to 
 live and harmonize with those noble sen- 
 timents which it adorns. It is chiefly in 
 its minor analyses, however, that I con- 
 ceive the excellence of this admirable 
 work to consist. Its leading doctrine I 
 am far from admitting. Indeed it seems 
 to me as manifestly false, as the greater 
 number of its secondary and minute delin- 
 eations appear to me faithful, to the fine 
 lights and faint and flying shades, of that 
 moral nature which they represent. — 
 Brown, Thomas, 1820, Lectures on the 
 Philosophy of the Human Mind, Lecture 
 Ixxx. 
 
 The ''Theory of Moral Sentiments," 
 although it be not the work by which 
 Dr. Smith is best known, and for which 
 he is most renowned, is yet a perform- 
 ance of the highest merit. The system 
 has not, indeed, been approved by the 
 philosophical world, and it seems liable to 
 insuperable objections when considered 
 even with an ordinary degree of attention, 
 objections which never could have escaped 
 the acuteness of its author but for the 
 veil po easily drawn over an inquirer's 
 eyes when directed to the weak points of 
 his own supposed discovery. 
 There are whole compartments of the work 
 which are of inestimable value, without 
 any regard to the theory, and independent 
 of those portions more connected with it, 
 of which we have admitted the value. 
 Thus the copious and accurate and lumi- 
 nous account of the other systems of 
 morals, forming the seventh part, which 
 occupies a fourth of the book, would have 
 been a valuable work detached from the 
 rest. . . . The admirable felicity, 
 and the inexhaustible variety of the illus- 
 trations in which the book everywhere 
 abounds, sheds a new and strong light 
 upon all the most important principles of 
 human nature ; and affords an explanation 
 of many things which are wholly inde- 
 pendent of any theory whatever, and 
 which deserves to be known and under- 
 stood, whatever theory may obtain our 
 
 assent. The beauty of the illustrations, 
 and the eloquence of the diction, are 
 indeed a great merit of this work. — 
 Brougham, Henry Lord, 1846-55, Lives 
 of Philosophers of the Time of George HL, 
 pp. 197, 200, 201. 
 
 In a history of Scotch philosophy it 
 would become us to notice the ''Theory of 
 Moral Sentiments" of Hume's illustrious 
 friend, Adam Smith. Even in such a 
 history, a notice of them would be rather 
 due to the fame which their author has 
 earned in another direction, than to any 
 influence which has proceeded from his 
 "Ethics." — Maurice, Frederick Deni- 
 SON, 1862, Moral and Metaphysical Philos- 
 ophy, vol. II, p. 578. 
 
 In Smith's "Essay," the purely scien- 
 tific enquiry is overlaid by practical and 
 hortatory dissertations, and by eloquent 
 delineations of character and of beau-ideals 
 of virtuous conduct. His style being thus 
 pitched to the popular key, he never 
 pushes home a metaphysical analysis, so 
 that even his favourite theme. Sympathy, 
 is not philosophically sifted to the bot- 
 tom.— Bain, Alexander, 1868, Moral 
 Science, p. 219. 
 
 His "Theory of Moral Sentiments " has 
 commonly been a favorite with students, 
 because of the eloquence of its language, 
 modelled after the best philosophic writers 
 of ancient Rome and modern France, and 
 of the fertility of his resources in con- 
 firming his positions from his varied ob- 
 servation and reading. But his theory 
 has gained the assent of few, and has 
 often been prescribed by professors as a 
 subject on which to exercise the critical 
 acumen of their pupils. Adam Smith is 
 always a discursive writer, and in the 
 work now before us he wanders like a 
 river amidst luxuriant banks, and it is 
 not easy to define his course. — McCosH, 
 James, 1874, The Scottish Philosophy, p. 
 168. 
 
 Was his most important contribution to 
 Ethical Philosophy, and is characterized 
 by consummate ingenuity in its analyses 
 of ethical phenomena, and by the affluence 
 of its interesting illustrations, and the 
 elegance of its somewhat elaborate diction. 
 The theory of Smith is an offshoot of the 
 theory of Hume. — Porter, Noah, 1874, 
 Philosophy in Great Britain and American, 
 Ueherweg History of Philosophy, vol. ii, p, 
 393. 
 
60 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 Smith's ingenious and discursive intel- 
 lect pours itself out in streams of diffuse 
 eloquence, often brilliant with felicitous 
 illustrations, and quick flashes of histor- 
 ical insight, and yet wide rather than 
 deep, rather dextrous in new combinations 
 than penetrating the essence of the sub- 
 ject, and, therefore, apt to disappoint 
 us by a certain superficiality and flimsi- 
 ness. Smith's ingenuity in tracing the 
 working of the mechanism of human 
 nature is so marked and so delightful to 
 himself that he almost forgets to enquire 
 into the primary forces which set it in 
 action. He describes the mutual action 
 and reaction of the passions with more 
 fidelity than the passions themselves. 
 Smith, in fact, is a thorough representa- 
 tive of that optimistic Deism which we 
 have seen illustrated by Shaftesbury and 
 Hutcheson. . . . The name of Adam 
 Smith should be mentioned with high 
 respect ; but I think that the respect is 
 due chiefly to his economical labours. It 
 may be fully admitted that he shows 
 great ingenuity, and great fertility of 
 illustration, and that he calls mention to 
 a fact which must be taken into account 
 by the moralist. But it is impossible to 
 resist the impression, whilst we read his 
 fluent rhetoric, and observe his easy ac- 
 ceptance of theological principles already 
 exposed by his master Hume, that we 
 are not listening to a thinker really 
 grappling with a difficult problem, so 
 much as to an ambitious professor who 
 has found an excellent opportunity for 
 displaying his command of language, and 
 making brilliant lectures. The whole 
 tone savours of that complacent optimism 
 of the time which retained theological 
 phrases to round a paragraph, and to save 
 the trouble of genuine thought. Smith's 
 main proposition was hardly original, 
 though he has worked it out in detail, and 
 it is rather calculated to lead us dex- 
 terously round difficult questions than 
 to supply us with a genuine answer. — 
 Stephen, Leslie, 1876, History of English 
 Thought in the Eighteenth Century, vol. ii, 
 pp. 70, 77. 
 
 Soon became popular, as one of the 
 most interesting and attractive books in 
 the circle of ethical literature. . . . 
 Analytically, his treatise is not re- 
 markable; its merits rather lie in the 
 practical and hortatory discourse, in the 
 
 eloquent criticisms of character, and the 
 fine illustrations, of virtuous conduct with 
 which it abounds, and are presented in a 
 naturally copious, easy, flowing, and fas- 
 cinating style. The chief blemish of his 
 style is an excess of language — a running 
 into redundance. — Mackintosh, John, 
 1878-96, The History of Civilisation in 
 Scotland, vol. iv, pp. 45, 46. 
 
 Critics who have rejected the ''Theory" 
 as a whole, have been uniformly loud in 
 their praises of its minor details and 
 illustrations. Brown, for instance, who 
 has been the most successful perhaps of 
 all the adverse critics of the ''Theory," 
 speaks of it as presenting in these 
 respects "a model of philosophic beauty." 
 Jouffroy, too, allows that the book is one 
 of the most useful in moral science, be- 
 cause Adam Smith, "deceived as he un- 
 doubtedly was as to the principle of 
 morality," brought to light and analyzed 
 so many of the facts of human nature. 
 Dugald Stewart and Mackintosh both say 
 much the same thing; so that it is evi- 
 dent no account of Adam Smith's work 
 can be complete which omits from consid- 
 eration all the collateral inquiries he 
 pursues or all the illustrations he draws, 
 either from history or from his imagina- 
 tion. — Farrer, J. A., 1881, Adam Smith 
 {English Philosophers), p. 17. 
 
 If precariously based, is a model of in- 
 genious system-making. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1886, Specimens of English Prose 
 Style, p. 216. * 
 
 The essays are finely written, full of 
 subtle analysis and truthful illustration. 
 The book is least significant, however, as 
 philosophy ; because it lacks any profound 
 examination of the foundation upon which 
 the author's views rest. — Ely, Richard 
 T., 1897, Library of the World's Best Lit- 
 erature, ed. Warner, vol. xxiii, p, 13521. 
 
 Adam Smith was one of the least meta- 
 physical persons that ever wrote, but in 
 some respects he anticipated a theory 
 which some people would regard as meta- 
 physical in the highest degree, that of the 
 "social self," and it is a social self which 
 enables us to effect not only an imaginary 
 change of situation with the persons chiefly 
 concerned, but a complete identification 
 of our own person and character with 
 that of another person. Yet he does not 
 ignore the influence of common interest, 
 and, if sympathy with the motives of the 
 
ADAM SMITH 
 
 61 
 
 agent is the source of our idea of pro- 
 priety, sympathy with the gratitude of the 
 person acted on is the source of our idea 
 of merit; but the latter sympathy does 
 not arise unless there be, first, propriety 
 in the motives of the agent. He is thus 
 enabled to recognize the undeniable ele- 
 ment of utility in moral institutions, to 
 which the selfish school had confined its 
 view, and also to preserve those other 
 elements which distinguish moral approval 
 from the approval which we bestow on a 
 well-contrived machine. His deliverance 
 of moral approbation from the dead level 
 imposed on it by the selfish and benevolent 
 schools alike, and his restoration of variety 
 and elasticity to that function, would 
 alone be a considerable achievement. His 
 theory of sympathy is rather a preserva- 
 tive than a solvent. His system, how- 
 ever, is a ''closed system, " and he refused 
 to recognize the existence of any question 
 which necessarily leads beyond it, and, 
 however useful for practical purposes, as 
 a theory of the moral criterion it is insuf- 
 ficient.— Selby-Bigge, L. A., 1897, ed., 
 British Moralists, Introduction,vol. i. p. Ixi. 
 
 As a literary production it holds a high 
 place, but its philosophic value is slight. 
 — Macpherson, Hector C, 1899, Adam 
 Smith (Famous Scots Series), p. 38. 
 
 THE WEALTH OF NATIONS 
 
 1776 
 
 The life which I led at Glasgow was a 
 pleasurable, dissipated life in comparison 
 to that which I lead here at present. I 
 have begun to write a book, in order to 
 pass away the time.— Smith, Adam, 1764, 
 Letter to David Hume, Geneva, July 5. 
 
 Huge! Belle! Dear Mr. Smith: I am 
 much pleased with your performance, and 
 the perusal of it has taken me from a state 
 of great anxiety. It was a work of so 
 much expectation, by yourself, by your 
 friends, and by the public, that I trembled 
 for its appearance ; but am now much re- 
 lieved. Not but that the reading of it 
 necessarily requires so much attention, 
 and the public is disposed to give so little, 
 that 1 shall still doubt for some time of 
 its being at first very popular. But it has 
 depth and solidity and acuteness, and is so 
 much illustrated by curious facts, that it 
 must at last take the public attention. It 
 is probably much improved by your last 
 abode in London. If you were here at my 
 
 fire-side, I should dispute some of your 
 principles. . . . But these, and a 
 hundred other points, are fit only to be 
 discussed in conversation. I hope it will 
 be soon ; for I am in a very bad state of 
 health, and cannot afford a long delay. — 
 —Hume, David, 1776, Letter to Adam 
 Smith, April 1. 
 
 But there is still another cause, even 
 more satisfactory than these, because it is 
 of a still more extensive and permanent 
 nature; that constant accumulation of 
 capital, that continual tendency to in- 
 crease, the operation of which is univer- 
 sally seen in jsl greater or less proportion, 
 whenever it is not obstructed by some 
 public calamity, or by some mistaken or 
 mischievous policy, but which must be 
 conspicuous and rapid indeed in any coun- 
 try which has once arrived at an advanced 
 state of commercial prosperity. Simple 
 and obvious as this principle is, and felt 
 and observed as it must have been in a 
 greater or less degree, even from the 
 earliest periods, I doubt whether it has 
 ever been fully developed and sufficiently 
 explained, but in the writings of an author 
 of our times, now, unfortunately, no more 
 (I mean the author of a celebrated treatise 
 on the wealth of nations), whose extensive 
 knowledge of detail and philosophical re- 
 search will, I believe, furnish the best 
 solution to every question connected with 
 the history of commerce or with the sys- 
 tems of political economy. — Pitt, Wil- 
 liam, 1792, Debate in House of Commons, 
 Feb. 17. 
 
 Did not Adam Smith judge amiss, in his 
 premature attempt to form a sort of sys- 
 tem upon the wealth of nations, instead 
 of presenting his valuable speculations to 
 the world under the form of separate dis- 
 sertations ? As a system, his work is evi- 
 dently imperfect ; and yet it has so much 
 the air of a system, and a reader becomes 
 so fond of every analogy and arrangement, 
 by which a specious appearance of system 
 is made out, that we are apt to adopt 
 erroneous opinions, because they figure in 
 the same fabric with approved and impor- 
 tant truths. That illustrious philosopher 
 might therefore have contributed more 
 powerfully to the progress of political 
 science, had he developed his opinions in 
 detached essays ; nor would he have less 
 consulted the real interests of his reputa- 
 tion, which indeed may have been more 
 
 I 
 
62 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 brilliant at first, by his appearance as the 
 author of a comprehensive theory, but 
 will ultimately be measured by what he 
 shall be found to have actually contrib- 
 uted to the treasures of valuable knowl- 
 edge. — Horner, Francis, 1800, Journal 
 Dec. 1 ; Memoirs, ed. Horner, p. 126. 
 
 It is only a promiscuous assemblage of 
 the soundest principles of political econ- 
 omy, supported by the clearest illustra- 
 tions and ingenious statistical speculations, 
 blended with instructive reflections ; it is 
 not a complete treatise on either science, 
 but an ill-digested mass of enlightened 
 views and accurate information. — Say, 
 Jean-Baptiste, 1803-21, A Treatise on 
 Political Economy, Introduction. 
 
 The writer in combating received opin- 
 ions, has found it necessary to advert 
 more particularly to those passages in the 
 writings of Adam Smith from which he 
 sees reason to differ ; but he hopes it will 
 not, on that account, be suspected that he 
 does not, in common with all those who 
 acknowledge the importance of the science 
 of Political Economy, participate in the 
 admiration which the profound work of 
 this celebrated author so justly excites. 
 — RiCARDO, David, 1817, Principles of 
 Political Economy and Taxation, Preface. 
 
 The fact that the distinct statement of 
 several of the most important of these 
 principles, and that traces of them all, 
 may be found in the works of previous 
 writers, does not detract in any, or but 
 in a very inconsiderable degree, from the 
 real merits of Dr. Smith. In adopting the 
 discoveries of others, he has made them 
 his own; he has demonstrated the truth 
 of principles on which his predecessors 
 had, in most cases, stumbled by chance ; 
 has separated them from the errors by 
 which they were encumbered, traced their 
 remote consequences, and pointed out their 
 limitations ; has shewn their practical im- 
 portance and real value, their mutual 
 dependence and relation ; and has reduced 
 them into a consistent, harmonious, and 
 beautiful system. — McCulloch, John 
 Ramsay, 1825-30, Principles of Political 
 Economy, p. 58. 
 
 The great defect of Adam Smith, and 
 of our economists in general, is the want 
 of definitions. — Whately, Richard, 1826, 
 Elements of Logic. 
 
 Dr. Franklin once told Dr. Logan that 
 
 the celebrated Adam Smith when writing 
 his "Wealth of Nations" was in the habit 
 of bringing chapter after chapter as he 
 composed it to himself. Dr. Price, and 
 others of the literati ; then patiently hear 
 their observations and profit by their dis- 
 cussions and criticisms, sometimes sub- 
 mitting to write whole chapters anew, 
 and even to reverse some of his proposi- 
 tions. — Watson, John Fanning, 1830- 
 68, Annals of Philadelphia, vol. i. 
 
 The great name of Adam Smith rests 
 upon the ''Inquiry into the Nature and 
 Causes of the Wealth of Nations;" per- 
 haps the only book which produced an im- 
 mediate, general, and irrevocable change 
 in some of the most important parts of 
 the legislation of all civilized states. 
 The works of Grotius, of Locke, and of 
 Montesquieu, which bear a resemblance 
 to it in character and had no inconsidera- 
 ble analogy to it in the extent of their 
 popular influence, were productive only of 
 a general amendment, — not so conspic- 
 uous in particular instances as discover- 
 able, after a time, in the improved condi- 
 tion of human affairs. The work of Smith, 
 as it touched those matters which may 
 be numbered, and measured and weighed, 
 bore more visible and palpable fruit. In a 
 few years it began to alter laws and trea- 
 ties ; and has made its way through the con- 
 vulsions of revolution and conquest to a due 
 ascendant over the minds of men, with far 
 less than the average of those obstruc- 
 tions of prejudice and clamour, which ordi- 
 narily choke the channel through which 
 truth flows into practice. The most emi- 
 nent of those who have since cultivated 
 and improved the science will be the fore- 
 most to address their immortal master, 
 Tenebris tautis tam clarum extollere lumen 
 Qui primus potuisti, inlustrans commoda 
 
 vitae 
 Te sequor! 
 
 —Mackintosh, Sir James, 1830, Dis- 
 sertation on the Progress of Ethical Phi- 
 losophy. 
 
 It is not less agreeable in form than it 
 is valuable in substance ; and, instead of 
 being — as is supposed by some who have 
 not read it— dry and repulsive, is undoubt- 
 edly, to every reader of mature taste and 
 liberal accomplishments, one of the most 
 interesting as well as instructive books 
 which he can take up. — Everett, Alex- 
 ander H., 1831, Phillips's Manual oj 
 
ADAM SMITH 
 
 63 
 
 Political Economy f North American Review, 
 vol. 32, p. 216. 
 
 Far superior to Arthur Young — superior 
 as the researches of a Newton are above, 
 though supporting and supported by, the 
 observations of an Astronomical Table — 
 stands the name of Adam Smith. . . . 
 To say of the ''Wealth of Nations" that 
 it has faults and errors is only to say, in 
 other words, that it is the work of man. 
 But not merely did Adam Smith found 
 the science of Political Economy; we 
 might almost say of him that he completed 
 it, leaving, at least as some have thought, 
 to his successors, not so much any new 
 discoveries to make, or any further prin- 
 ciples to prove, but far rather conjectures 
 to hazard and consequences to pursue. — 
 Stanhope, Philip Henry (Lord Mahon), 
 1836-54, History of England from the 
 Peace of Utrecht to the Peace of Versailles, 
 pp. 335, 336. 
 
 The great work of A. Smith is not an 
 elementary book, — very far from it; and 
 your best chance of understanding it is 
 to read of each chapter as much as you 
 can, then go to the next chapter, and so 
 on ; and when you have got to the end of 
 the book, begin the book again ; and you 
 will at length comprehend the whole suffi- 
 ciently for any general purpose. I have 
 lately seen a treatise by Mr. Boileau, 
 which 1 hoped I might recommend to you 
 on this occasion ; but I do not think that 
 it will be found either more simple or more 
 intelligible, than A. Smith's original work, 
 from which it is avowedly borrowed. — 
 Smyth, William, 1840, Lectures on Modern 
 History, Lecture xxx. 
 
 In the sense of a comprehensive aggre- 
 gate, gathering into the unity of one edi- 
 fice the total architecture of Political 
 Economy, there are even at this day but 
 few systems besides the ''Wealth of 
 Nations," — none which approaches it in 
 philosophic beauty. — DeQuincey,Thomas, 
 1842-90, Ricardo and Adam Smith, Works, 
 ed. Masson, vol. ix, p. 116. 
 
 The "Wealth of Nations" combines 
 both the sound and enlightened views 
 which had distinguished the detached 
 pieces of the French and Italian Econo- 
 mists, and above all, of Mr. Hume, with 
 the great merit of embracing the whole 
 subject, thus bringing the general scope 
 of the principles into view, illustrating all 
 
 the parts of the inquiry by their combined 
 relations, and confirming their soundness 
 in each instance by their application to 
 the others. The copiousness of the illus- 
 trations keeps pace with the closeness of 
 the reasoning ; and wherever the received 
 prejudices of lawgivers are to be over- 
 come, or popular errors to be encoun- 
 tered, the arguments, and the facts, and 
 the explanations are judiciously given 
 with extraordinary fullness, the author 
 wisely disregarding all imputations of 
 prolixity or repetition, in pursuit of the 
 great end of making himself understood 
 and gaining the victory over error. The 
 chapter on the Mercantile System is an 
 example of this ; but the errors of that 
 widely-prevailing theory and its deeply 
 rooted prejudices are also encountered 
 occasionally in almost every other part of 
 the work. It is a lesser, but a very im- 
 portant merit that the style of the writing 
 is truly admirable. There is not a book 
 of better English to be anywhere found. 
 The language is simple, clear, often 
 homely like the illustrations, not seldom 
 idiomatic, always perfectly adapted to the 
 subject handled. Besides its other per- 
 fections, it is one of the most entertain- 
 ing of books. There is no laying it down 
 after you begin to read. You are drawn 
 on from page to page by the strong cur- 
 rent of the arguments, the manly sense of 
 the remarks, the fullness and force of the 
 illustrations, the thickly-strewed and hap- 
 pily-selected facts. Nor can it ever 
 escape observation, that the facts, far 
 from being a mere bede-roll of details 
 unconnected with principle and with each 
 other, derive all their interest from form- 
 ing parts of a whole, and reflecting the 
 general views which they are intended to 
 exemplify or to support. — Brougham, 
 Henry Lord, 1846-55, Lives of Philoso- 
 phers of the Time of George HL p. 263. 
 
 Twenty years have elapsed since Mack- 
 intosh pronounced this opinion ; and dur- 
 ing these twenty years, the influence of 
 Adam Smith's science of political economy 
 has been even more conspicuous and direct 
 than it was during the period of which he 
 spoke. It has shaped the polity of nations ; 
 its principles are embodied on almost every 
 page of commercial law; it has guided 
 the most important applications of na- 
 tional industry ; it has done more than all 
 other causes united to put a stop to the 
 
64 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 practice of international war. Though its 
 doctrines have been somewhat modified, and 
 large additions have been made to it, it is 
 still, in the main, what we have called it, 
 Adam Smith's science. His successors 
 have built mainly upon the foundations 
 which he laid, and the structure has risen 
 in general conformity with the plan which 
 he sketched out. Among all the moral 
 sciences, there is no other which bears 
 the name of its founder so distinctly en- 
 graven upon its front, or which retains so 
 large a proportion of the doctrines that 
 he first promulgated. — Bo WEN, Francis, 
 1851, Phillips on Protection and Free 
 Tradey North American Review, vol. 72, 
 p. 398. 
 
 Adam Smith is the distinguished man, 
 by common consent, referred to as the 
 Father of that School which has long 
 claimed pre-eminence in Political Econ- 
 omy. Whatever ground there may be for 
 ascribing to him this paternity, it is very 
 safe to say, that were he to revisit the 
 world, he would find it difficult to recog- 
 nise his ofi^spring. We prefer giving all 
 the honor of this fatherhood to J. B. Say, 
 who, though he may have taken his inspira- 
 tion from Adam Smith, was certainly the 
 first to give the doctrines of Political 
 Economy a shape and degree of consist- 
 ency sufficient to form the rallying points 
 of a School. Regarded as a treatise upon 
 industry, wealth, and trade, and the other 
 subjects to which it refers, and consider- 
 ing the time at which it appeared, the 
 ''Wealth of Nations" must be admitted 
 to be one of the most successful works of 
 modern times. It has, beyond question, 
 been the chief stimulus to the extraordi- 
 nary discussions which have since ensued 
 upon the subjects of which it treats. Its 
 leading ideas made a great impression, and 
 have since been the subjects of intermi- 
 nable discussion; but the "Wealth of 
 Nations, " though often referred to, is sel- 
 dom studied.— CoLWELL, Stephen, 1856, 
 ed., Lisfs National System of Political 
 Economy, p. xxvii. 
 
 Looking at its ultimate results, is prob- 
 ably the most important book that has ever 
 been written, and is certainly the most 
 valuable contribution ever made by a single 
 man towards establishing the principles 
 on which government should be based. 
 . . . Well may it be said of Adam Smith, 
 and said too without fear of contradiction, 
 
 that this solitary Scotchman has, by the 
 publication of one single work, contrib- 
 uted more toward the happiness of men, 
 than has been effected by the united abil- 
 ities of all the statesmen and legislators 
 of whom history has preserved an authen- 
 tic account. — Buckle, Henry Thomas, 
 1857, History of Civilisation in England, 
 vol. I. ch. IV. 
 
 The great text-book in political econ- 
 omy, "The Wealth of Nations." In 
 every page of that work its readers found 
 themselves presented with the evidence of 
 the superior advantages of commerce 
 over trade ; and of the absolute necessity 
 of commerce at home if they would have 
 it abroad. ... In every page of that 
 great work they found evidence that if 
 they would prosper they could do so on 
 one condition only, — that condition which 
 requires that the consumer and the pro- 
 ducer take their places "by each other's 
 side, and thus approximate as nearly as 
 possible the prices of raw materials and 
 manufactured commodities. ... Dr. 
 Smith was not always right, but he was 
 very generally so. Modern political econ- 
 omy, as has before been said, has very 
 generally rejected him when he was right, 
 or has so used him as to cause him to 
 stand responsible for the correctness of 
 views, that, had he been alive, he would 
 indignantly have denounced as utterly 
 erroneous. — Carey, Henry C, 1858, 
 Principles of Social Science, vol. ii, pp. 
 108, 109, 127, note. 
 
 When Adam Smith first stated the truth 
 that one nation does not gain by the pov- 
 erty of another, but that all are gainers 
 by the prosperity of all, no one suspected 
 that a sagacious despot of great power 
 [Napoleon III.] would on this very year 
 pronounce the great truth on his imperial 
 throne to the assembled deputies of his 
 nation. — Lieber, Francis, 1860, Speech 
 on the Hayes Arctic Expedition, New York, 
 March 22. 
 
 It is even at the present day important 
 to direct careful attention to an erroneous 
 conception of wealth, which was univer- 
 sal until the appearance of Adam Smith's 
 great work, in 1775.— Fawcett, Henry, 
 1863-88, Manual of Political Economy, p. 8. 
 
 A glance at the index of the "Wealth 
 of Nations" will suffice to show that its 
 author possessed just that kind of knowl- 
 edge of the American Colonies which 
 
ADAM SMITH 
 
 65 
 
 fVanklin was of all men the best fitted to 
 impart. The allusion to the Colonies may 
 be counted by hundreds ; illustrations from 
 their condition and growth occur in nearly 
 every chapter. We may go further and 
 say that the American Colonies constitute 
 the experimental evidence of the essential 
 truth of the book, without which many of 
 its leading positions had been little more 
 than theory. — Parton, James, 1864, Life 
 and Times of Benjamin Franklin, vol. i, 
 p. 537. 
 
 That which Adam Smith got from the 
 French economists was the habit of ana- 
 lytical research, exercised upon econom- 
 ical phenomena. I do not say that polit- 
 ical economy began with him, but I can 
 assert that its method does. His teach- 
 ers argued from a priori, or what they 
 believed to be a priori, principles, and 
 examined the facts by these principles. 
 Smith applied an inductive method to his 
 facts, and, as far as possible, verified his 
 hypotheses by observation. Hence his 
 work is full of illustrations, is copious in 
 examples, whenever illustration or exam- 
 ple could be obtained. And just as suc- 
 ceeding economists have used his method, 
 and in so far as they have gone to history 
 and statistics, so they have been able to 
 correct Smith ; for in his day, history was 
 uncritical, statistics were imperfect and 
 inexact. But in so far as they have de- 
 parted from his method, and suffered 
 themselves to evolve the science from 
 their own theories, they have, even the 
 ablest among them, fallen into notorious 
 fallacies.— Rogers, James E. Thorold, 
 1869, Historical Gleanings, p. 119. 
 
 If books are to be measured by the effect 
 which they have produced on the fortunes 
 of mankind, the ''Wealth of Nations'* 
 must rank among the greatest of books. — 
 Green, John Richard, 1874, A Short 
 History of the English People, p. 755. 
 
 We may, however, admit that no more 
 important book than the ''Wealth of 
 Nations" was published in Great Britain 
 during the last half of the eighteenth 
 century. Few writers have ever done for 
 any study what Smith did for Political 
 Economy. If he did not found a science, 
 he brought a great body of theory into 
 close relation with facts, and may be said 
 to have first brought about a union between 
 abstract reasoners and practical states- 
 men. To marry science to practice is the 
 
 5C 
 
 great problem of politics; and from the 
 appearance of the "Wealth of Nations'"' 
 the main outlines and the chief methods 
 of one important branch of political 
 science were distinctly marked out. Much 
 had been done, and much still remained to 
 do; but Smith took the significant step 
 and is rightly regarded as the intellectual 
 ancestor of a race of theorists, whose 
 influence, though not uniformly beneficial, 
 has at least been of great importance 
 towards constituting the still rudimentary 
 science of sociology. — Stephen, Leslie, 
 1876, History of English Thought in the 
 Eighteenth Century, vol. ii, p- 316. 
 
 It is just a hundred years since "An In- 
 quiry into the Nature and Causes of the 
 Wealth of Nations," appeared from the 
 pen, not of a statesman, a banker, or a 
 merchant, but of a Scottish professor of 
 Ethics, of the somewhat ubiquitous name 
 of Smith. It can hardly be said to have 
 been an attractive subject; in all polite 
 societies, its topics — labor, capital, wages, 
 profits, rent and taxation — would have 
 been voted dry, if mentioned at all ; and 
 even able editors of the day, who, of 
 course, knew everything, save their own 
 ignorance, must have despised its long 
 disquisitions on real and nominal prices 
 and the mercantile system. The prevalent 
 conceptions of the wealth of nations at 
 that day were of the resources of a prince, 
 to raise armies, equip fleets, subsidize 
 allies, pension poets, and build ostenta- 
 tious monuments. As to useful labor as 
 wealth, as to free labor as the chief glory 
 of nations and the source of their power, 
 it was a thing still undreamed. Yet the 
 book which argued in this strain, soon 
 made its way into men's minds : it pene- 
 trated the cabinets as well as the count- 
 ing houses ; it created a school ; it grev/ 
 in fame with the revolving seasons, until 
 now, in this great land, which had then 
 just sprung into distinct national exist- 
 ence, it is held in honor among our best 
 centennial memories. — Godwin, Parke, 
 1876, The Adam Smith Centennial, Ad- 
 dress. 
 
 It is interesting and pertinent to this 
 year and to this occasion to call attention 
 to the circumstance, not generally known, 
 that months before the Declaration of 
 i\merican Independence, Adam Smith was 
 led by his reasoning and investigations to 
 advocate the peaceful abandonment, on 
 
66 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 grounds of purely economic advantage to 
 the mother country, of the American col- 
 onies ; and while pointing out, during the 
 very first year of the war, the great im- 
 probability of conquering the Americans by 
 force, predicted that the new trans- 
 Atlantic States would ultimately form one 
 of the greatest and most powerful em- 
 pires that ever existed. And if to-day we 
 fail to make good this prediction, it will 
 be more than from any other one cause, be- 
 cause as a nation, we neglect and despise 
 the economic laws developed in the 
 Wealth of Nations;'^ under and through 
 the influence and intelligent application of 
 which, the maximum of abundance and the 
 highest intellectual, moral and religious 
 development are capable of attainment 
 by our countrymen. — Wells, David A., 
 1876, The Adam Smith Centennial, Ad- 
 dress. 
 
 By nature, Smith was wholly unfitted to 
 conduct a scientific discussion of any kind. 
 He was a dreamer, not a reasoner. He 
 evolved, to use a cant phrase, his systems 
 from his own consciousness. He knew 
 nothing of affairs, and could learn nothing 
 from others. In his antipathy to mer- 
 chants, or in a freak of passion, he lost 
 sight of his principles altogether. . . 
 . It is not strange that a person so 
 wholly wanting in practical sense should 
 be equally wanting in the perception 
 of principles, in method, and in origi- 
 nality. He borrowed his ideas of money 
 very largely from Law; following him, 
 like Hume, where he was wrong, and 
 rejecting him where he was right. In 
 urging the advantages of freedom of trade, 
 he was fully anticipated by Hume, whose 
 political discourses," says Stewart, ''were 
 of greater use to him than any other works 
 which had appeared prior to his lectures. 
 Had neither of them lived, the whole 
 question of Free-Trade and Protection 
 would have been precisely where it is to- 
 day. . . . When the ignorance of 
 Smith upon the subject upon which he 
 wrote, his want of scientific method, the 
 groundlessness of his assumptions and 
 conclusions, especially in reference to 
 money, are considered, the influence he 
 has exerted over succeeding generations 
 is well fitted to excite astonishment. — 
 Poor, Henry V., 1877, Money and Its 
 LawSy pp. 168, 169. 
 
 Adam Smith may be said to have 
 
 changed the whole theory of government,' 
 and in this way to have contributed more 
 than any other person to the great revo- 
 lutions of the nineteenth century. — Wal- 
 POLE, Spencer, 1878, A History of Eng- 
 land from the Conclusion of the Great War 
 in 1815, vol. I, p. 327. 
 
 Had the great Scotchman taken this as 
 the initial point of his reasoning, and con- 
 tinued to regard the produce of labor as 
 the natural wages of labor, and the land- 
 lord and master but as sharers, his con- 
 clusions would have been very different, 
 and political economy to-day would not 
 embrace such a mass of contradictions 
 and absurdities ; but instead of following 
 the truth obvious in the simple modes of 
 production as a clue through the perplex- 
 ities of the more complicated forms, he 
 momentarily recognizes it, only to imme- 
 diately abandon it, and stating that **in 
 every part of Europe twenty workmen 
 serve under a master for one that is inde- 
 pendent, " he re-commences the inquiry 
 from a point of view in which the master 
 is considered as providing from his capi- 
 tal the wages of his workmen. . . . 
 Now, such men have not been led into 
 such confusion of thought without a cause. 
 If they, one after another, have followed 
 Dr. Adam Smith, as boys play ''follow my 
 leader," jumping where he jumped, and 
 falling where he fell, it has been that 
 there was a fence where he jumped and 
 a hole where he fell. — George, Henry, 
 1879, Progress and Poverty, pp. 45, 142. 
 
 Although it at first attracted no great 
 attention and had little political influence 
 for at least a generation after its appear- 
 ance, it has ultimately proved one of the 
 most important events in the economical, 
 and indeed in the intellectual, history of 
 modern Europe. . . . Adam Smith 
 showed by an exhaustive examination that 
 the liberty of commerce which England 
 allowed to her colonies, though greatly 
 and variously restricted, was at least 
 more extensive than that which any other 
 nation conceded to its dependencies, and 
 that it was suflScient to give them a large 
 and increasing measure of prosperity. — 
 Lecky, William Edward Hartpole, 
 1882, A History of England in the Eight- 
 eenth Century, vol. iii, ch. xii, p. 423. 
 
 The epoch-making ' ' Wealth of Nations. ' ' 
 — SiDGWiCK, Henry, 1883, The Princi- 
 ples of Political Economy, p. 15. 
 
ADAM SMITH 
 
 67 
 
 Is undoubtedly the Bible of political 
 economy.— Saintsbury, George, 1886, 
 Specimens of English Prose Style, p. 216. 
 
 The "Wealth of Nations" is, without 
 doubt, the greatest existing book on that 
 department of knowledge, the only attempt 
 to replace and so antiquate it— that of 
 John Stuart Mill— having, notwithstand- 
 ing its partial usefulness, on the whole 
 decidedly failed. Buckle, however, goes 
 too far when he pronounces it ''the most 
 important book ever written, just as he 
 similarly exceeds due measure when he 
 makes its author superior as a philosopher 
 to Hume. Mackintosh more justly said of 
 it that it stands on a level with the treatise 
 ''De Jure Belli et Pacis," the ''Essay on 
 the Human Understanding," and the 
 "Spirit of Laws," in the respect that 
 these four works are severally the most 
 conspicuous landmarks in the progress 
 of the sciences with which they deal. 
 And, when he added that the "Wealth of 
 Nations" was "perhaps the only book 
 which produced an immediate, general, 
 and irrevocable change in some of the most 
 important parts of the legislation of all 
 civilized states," he scarcely spoke too 
 strongly if we understand him as refer- 
 ring to its influence as an agent of demoli- 
 tion. It certainly operated powerfully 
 through the harmony of its critical side 
 with the tendencies of the half -century 
 which followed its publication to the as- 
 sertion of personal freedom and "natural 
 rights."— Ingram, J. K., 1887, Encyclo- 
 pcedia Britannica, vol. xxii. 
 
 Not only have we here a full disquisition 
 on the comparative claims of Free-trade 
 and Reciprocity ; State regulation and 
 unlimited competition ; the importance of 
 liberating industry, and the marvellous 
 results of a division of labour ; the sources 
 of wealth in nature and the secret springs 
 of human action, stimulating its produc- 
 tion and determining distribution ; but we 
 have here, also, sage remarks on the decay 
 of foreign trade and the causes of com- 
 mercial depression, on the advantages of 
 colonial enterprize, and an extension of 
 Imperial possessions from an economic 
 point of view; we have allusions to the 
 co-existence of progress and poverty when 
 the "age of industry" had scarcely com- 
 menced, and remarks on depopulation of 
 the country districts and over- crowding 
 of the towns ; on landlordism and peasant 
 
 proprietorship ; on education and Church 
 Establishment; on the just principles of 
 taxation and local government— all sub- 
 jects which at this present moment are 
 occupying the public mind, and on which 
 Adam Smith's views throw interesting 
 and instructive side lights, whilst on such 
 topics as the functions of capital, and the 
 relationship of rent, profit, and wages, 
 his authority, though questioned by some, 
 cannot be ignored by any in the settle- 
 ment of the long-standing controversy 
 between capital and labour. — Kaufmann, 
 M., 1887, Adam Smith and his Foreign 
 Critics f The Scottish Review, vol. 10, p. 
 388. 
 
 Adam Smith's book, as will be readily 
 seen, was based upon the manufacture- 
 industry which had as yet not been sup- 
 planted by the great machine-industry of 
 modern times. It is important to bear 
 this in mind in considering many of the 
 views advanced in the work. Those who 
 followed in his footsteps had necessarily 
 to take into account the great industrial 
 revolution which supervened but a few 
 years after his death. The more imme- 
 diate result of his teaching and the one 
 which has maintained itself until the 
 present day was the complete overthrow, 
 in this country at least, of the doctrine of 
 protection, and the establishment of free- 
 trade as the basis of orthodox middle-class 
 economics on their practical side. — Bax, 
 Ernest Belport, 1887, ed., The Wealth 
 of Nations, Introduction, vol. I, p. xxxiii. 
 
 To the practical politician and social 
 reformer, Adam Smith ought to be a hero, 
 no less than he is to the economist. To 
 both he appears in the light of one of the 
 greatest vanquishers of error on record, 
 the literary Napoleon of his generation. 
 No man in modern times has said more 
 with so much effect within the compass of 
 one book. Yet it is not probable that 
 any competent person could now be found to 
 repeat without hesitation the assertion, 
 made more than once by Buckle in his 
 "History of Civilization," that "The 
 Wealth of Nations" is the most important 
 book ever written. As we become re- 
 moved by an ever-increasing distance 
 from the prejudices and opinions which 
 Adam Smith once for all shattered, their 
 magnitude and importance appear to grow 
 smaller. — Haldane, R. B., 1887, Lfe of 
 Adam Smith (Great Writers), p. 12. 
 
68 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 Adam Smith left the love of wealth in 
 human minds, not rebuked but enlight- 
 ened. Little more than a century has 
 elapsed, yet mankind have made greater 
 progress toward humane and mutually ad- 
 vantageous international relations in that 
 time than during all the other centuries 
 of human history.— Walker, Francis A., 
 1888, Political Economy, p. 2. 
 
 The chief merit of the Wealth of 
 Nations," and that which enables it 
 still to hold its place at the head of the 
 politico-economic literature of the world, 
 is not any very great originality in detail, 
 but an extraordinary grasp of all parts of 
 the subject, and a marvellous ability in 
 illustrating theoretical propositions by 
 apt instances from practical life. Adam 
 Smith is usually spoken of as the first 
 prophet of Free Trade. — GossE, Edmund, 
 1888, A History of Eighteenth Century 
 Literature, p. 306. 
 
 One of the most remarkable books 
 which bear a Scotchman's name — and that 
 is saying much for it, - and for him. — 
 HuTTON, Lawrence, 1891, Literary Land- 
 marks of Edinburgh, p. 26. 
 
 "Adam Smith on Wealth of Nations," 
 
 Love is lost in calculations. 
 
 Bees whose bags are full of money 
 
 Do not gather love for honey ; 
 Business, enter if you dare ! 
 What is gold to golden hair ! 
 
 — Sladen, Douglas, cl893, Confessio 
 Amantis, Amator: Amata: Mater. 
 
 In reality I owe far more to Adam 
 Smith than to Mill. The great defect of 
 Mill's work is the want of historical 
 knowledge, whilst a large part of the 
 "Wealth of Nations" is history of the 
 highest order. I have availed myself of 
 the authority of the older master to in- 
 clude a much greater amount of history 
 than is usual in a statement of principles. 
 — Nicholson, J. Shield, 1893, Principles 
 of Political Economy, Preface, p. vi. 
 
 It is not too much to say that Franklin's 
 influence on economic education is illus- 
 trative of his whole educational doctrine. 
 He gave to Adam Smith apt illustrations 
 of the utility of the ideas of the ''Wealth 
 of Nations." So great had been the 
 changes in America due to its develop- 
 ment that the illustrations in the "Wealth 
 of Nations" which bear particularly upon 
 the American colonies are now hardly 
 estimated at their original value ; it should 
 
 be remembered that this book, which 
 Buckle calls "the most important book 
 ever written," and "the most valuable 
 contribution ever made by a single man 
 toward establishing the principles on 
 which governments should be based," was 
 the first work by an European scholar 
 which made use of the American colonies 
 as apt illustrations of its doctrines and 
 pointed to those colonies as the country 
 where the new political economy should 
 develop in all its strength. Had Franklin 
 done nothing else in the world but con- 
 tribute these illustrations to Adam Smith's 
 book, he would have had a high place 
 among the great educators of mankind. 
 As the first book on the economy basis of 
 modern government in America, the 
 "Wealth of Nations" should be classed 
 with the "Federalist," De Tocqueville's 
 "Democracy in America," and Bryce's 
 ' ' American Commonwealth. ' ' — Thorpe, 
 Francis Newton, 1893, Benjamin Frank- 
 lin and the University of Pennsylvania, 
 p. 100. 
 
 The nature of his subject demanded 
 clearness more than elegance; and the 
 "Wealth of Nations" is always clear, 
 often homely, even at times ungrammat- 
 ical. ... He will not keep up his 
 dignity at the cost of the smallest obscu- 
 rity ; and, like Socrates, he takes his illus- 
 trations rather from the courtyard than 
 the court. . . . His examples are 
 almost always from actual life and history ; 
 he is fanciful only in his similes. . . . 
 He is a hard hitter, and a good hater, 
 though his heaviest strokes are levelled 
 at bad laws and false doctrines, and his 
 hatred is usually kept for classes, not in- 
 dividuals. — BoNAR, James, 1895, English 
 Prose, ed. Craik, vol. iv, p. 318. 
 
 The value of the book can hardly be 
 exaggerated. It consists largely in its 
 practicality. He was writing, not for 
 students only, but for statesmen and finan- 
 ciers and business men. . . . His book 
 is full of acute practical suggestions. 
 No wonder Pulteney said, in 1797, it is 
 converting this generation and will con- 
 quer the next. What also aided it was 
 the arrangement and plan of the book, so 
 informal and unpedantic ; its combination 
 of deductive and inductive method, so well 
 fitted to be the source of an historical as 
 well as of an abstract school of economics ; 
 the broad view it takes of human life, so 
 
ADAM SMITH 
 
 69 
 
 contrasted with **the economic man" of 
 some later writers. It is remarkable that 
 while his great aim was the demolition of 
 abuses, he should have succeeded also in 
 constructing so much that has proved per- 
 manent ; and that, practical writer as he 
 v;as, the one thing of supreme importance 
 in him should be his contribution to the 
 theory of his subject; for it has been 
 noted that it was he who first showed how 
 
 value" measures human motive — that 
 is, how much of human activity is meas- 
 urable, and, therefore, open to science. 
 Much of his influence was due to the exact 
 date at which his book appeared — early 
 enough to administer the coup de grace to 
 the old system of obstruction and to 
 champion the cause of land and of labour, 
 but not too soon to ride on the advancing 
 wave of a new industrial epoch. — Smith, 
 A. L., 1895, Social England, ed. Traill, 
 vol. 5, p. 335. 
 
 A good book to read in these times, or 
 in any times. He may indeed say rash 
 things about 'Hhat crafty animal called a 
 Politician," and the mean rapacity of 
 capitalists ; but he is full of sympathy for 
 the poor; and for those who labor ; and is 
 everywhere large in his thought and 
 healthy and generous. I am glad to pay 
 this tribute, though only in a note. — 
 Mitchell, Donald G., 1895, English 
 Lands Letters and Kings, Queen Anne and 
 the Georges, p. 148, note. 
 
 By a course of masterly reasoning, far 
 superior to that of Condillac, he demon- 
 strated that in commerce both sides gain ; 
 and, therefore, that nations in multiplying 
 their commercial relations, multiply their 
 profits, and multiply their wealth; and 
 that, as a necessary consequence, the 
 labour of artisans, manufactures and com- 
 merce, all enrich a nation, and, therefore, 
 that those who engage in them are pro- 
 ductive labourers. Perhaps it may seem 
 that the doctrine is so plain that it needs 
 no proof ; but that is far from being the 
 case. At the time Smith proved it, it 
 was a perfect paradox, contrary to the 
 universal opinion of centuries. Even if 
 Adam Smith had never done anything else 
 for Economics than this, he would have 
 been entitled to immortal glory. Smith's 
 doctrine is now the very corner-stone of 
 Economics, and made a complete change 
 in public opinion, and in international 
 policy, which has forever removed a 
 
 perennial source of war from the world. 
 —MACLEOD, Henry Dunning, 1896, The 
 History of Economics, p. 75. 
 
 It was not by mere chance that the 
 Declaration of Independence and the 
 ''Wealth of Nations" were published at 
 so nearly the same time. Each involved 
 the recognition of the same principle in 
 different fields of human activity. In 
 modern politics we have seen that society 
 is better governed by allowing individuals, 
 as far as possible to govern themselves. 
 In modern economics we have seen that 
 society is made richer by allowing individ- 
 uals, as far as possible, freedom to get 
 rich in their own ways. Each of these 
 principles has its limits ; but each marks 
 an immeasurable advance in politics and 
 in economics, over the system of police 
 government which had preceded it. — Had- 
 LEY, Arthur Twining, 1896, Economics, 
 p. 13. 
 
 To speak of Adam Smith as the author 
 of ''The Wealth of Nations" brings before 
 us at once his chief claim to a place 
 among the immortals in literature. The 
 significance of this work is so overwhelm.- 
 ing that it casts into a dark shadow all 
 that he wrote in addition to this master- 
 piece. His other writings are chiefly val- 
 ued in so far as they may throw additional 
 light upon the doctrines of this one book. 
 Few books in the world's history have ex- 
 erted a greater influence on the course of 
 human affairs ; and on account of this one 
 work, Adam Smith's name is familiar to all 
 well-educated persons in every civilized 
 land. . . . All the economists before the 
 time of Adam Smith must be regarded as 
 his predecessors ; all the economists who 
 have lived since Adam Smith have carried 
 on his work : and his position in econom- 
 ics is therefore somewhat like that of 
 Darwin in natural science. There are 
 many schools among modern economists, 
 but their work all stands in some relation 
 to that large work of this "old master." 
 —Ely, Richard T., 1897, Library of the 
 World's Best Literature, ed. Warner, vol. 
 xxiii, pp. 13519, 13523. 
 
 Too often the blood of the martyred 
 thinker has been the seed of civilisation. 
 To this general experience Adam Smith 
 was a notable exception. As the founder 
 of Political Economy, the systematiser 
 and expounder of those economic ideas 
 which lie at the root of civilisation, Adam 
 
70 
 
 ADAM SMITH 
 
 Smith escaped alike the violent opposition 
 and the contemptuous indifference of his 
 contemporaries ; he had the good fortune 
 to reap in his lifetime the reward of his 
 greatness. Upon his brow ere he died 
 was placed the wreath of immortality. 
 When Adam Smith began to meditate upon 
 economic problems the world was wedded 
 to the great delusion of Protection. 
 What could a solitary thinker do single- 
 handed to overthrow a system which for 
 centuries held the foremost intellects of 
 the world in thraldom ? Only an intellec- 
 tual Don Quixote could hope by philosophic 
 tilting to destroy a world-wide delusion. 
 And yet the modest, retiring philosopher 
 of Kirkcaldy, from his obscure study, sent 
 forth ideas which, by moulding afresh the 
 minds of statesmen, have changed the 
 economic history of the world. In view of 
 the grandeur of his work and the far-reach- 
 ing nature of his influence, it is surely 
 meet that in Scotland's temple of fame 
 a niche should be found for her illustrious 
 son, Adam Smith. . . . The remark- 
 able features of Adam Smith's work was, 
 that long before political emancipation 
 was conceded, the Governments of the day, 
 under the influence of the ''Wealth of 
 Nations," made concessions which paved 
 the way for Free Trade. Pitt, whose 
 economic ideas were somewhat advanced, 
 made a sympathetic reference to the 
 "Wealth of Nations" in the House of 
 Commons in 1792, and his successors did 
 much to purify the tariff on Smithian 
 principles. By Cobden and Gladstone the 
 ideas of the "Wealth of Nations" were 
 still further translated into practical life 
 in the direction of complete Free Trade. 
 Under the guidance of the idea of Free- 
 dom which dominates that book, Liberal- 
 ism set itself to the work of emancipation 
 in all departments of the national life. A 
 reformed commercial policy in the direc- 
 tion of Free Trade, a reformed foreign 
 policy in the direction of national inde- 
 pendence, a reformed legal code in the 
 direction of equality before the law and 
 freedom from feudal restraints, a reformed 
 ecclesiastical policy in the direction of 
 freedom from religious tests — these, and 
 numerous emancipatory movements, were 
 inspired by the idea of natural liberty, 
 which, on the economic side, came from 
 Adam Smith, and on the political side from 
 the principles of the Revolution of 1688 
 
 as formulated by John Locke. — Mac- 
 PHERSON, Hector C., 1899, Adam Smith 
 {Famous Scots Series), pp. 9, 66. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Smith, who called into existence a new 
 science, fraught with the dearest inter- 
 ests of humanity, and unfolded many of 
 its principles in a single lifetime. — Ali- 
 son, Sir Archibald, 1833-42, History 
 of Europe During the French Revolution, 
 vol. XIV, p. 3. 
 
 The greatest man his county has ever 
 produced. — Buckle, Henry Thomas, 
 1862-66, History of Civilization in Eng- 
 land, vol. Ill, p. 338, note. 
 
 One consideration to be carried in mind 
 in the interpretation of the "Wealth of 
 Nations," is that its author's system of 
 philosophy ought to be studied as a whole ; 
 his economic system was part of a com- 
 plete system of social, or, as he called 
 it, moral philosophy. Mr. Buckle, who on 
 other points has much misconceived 
 the "Wealth of Nations," properly says 
 of it, and the "Theory of Moral Senti- 
 ments," that the two must be taken to- 
 gether and considered as one, both form- 
 ing parts of the scheme embraced in his 
 course of moral philosophy at Glasgow— a 
 course which, it is important to observe, 
 began with Natural Theology, and in- 
 cluded, along with Ethics and Political 
 Economy, the Philosophy of Law. Again, 
 as his social philosophy should be consid- 
 ered as a whole, so the whole should be 
 considered in connection with the philo- 
 sophical systems, or methods, of investi- 
 gation of his time. — Leslie, T. E. Cliffe, 
 1870, The Political Economy of Adam 
 Smith, Fortnightly Review, vol. 14, p. 550. 
 
 He created the Science of Political 
 Economy, and started the theory and 
 practice of Free Trade. — Brooke, Stop- 
 ford, 1876, English Literature (Primer), 
 p. 136. 
 
 Adam Smith, the first (alas! perhaps 
 the last) real economist, did not devote 
 his life to polishing up a theory of rent. 
 Astronomy, society, education, govern- 
 ment, morals, psychology, language, art, 
 were in turns the subject of his study, and 
 in all he was master; they all moved him 
 alike, as part of man's work on earth. 
 He never would have founded Political 
 Economy if he had been merely an econo- 
 mist. — Harrison, Frederic, 1883, The 
 
SMITH— WARTON 
 
 71 
 
 Choice of Books and Other Literary Pieces^ 
 p. 373. 
 
 The breadth and comprehensiveness of 
 treatment characteristic of the utterances 
 of such a teacher are inseparable attri- 
 butes of his manner of thought. He has 
 the artist's eye. For him things stand 
 in picturesque relations ; their great out- 
 lines fit into each other ; the touch of his 
 treatment is necessarily broad and strong. 
 The same informing influence of artistic 
 conception and combination gives to his 
 style its luminous and yet transparent 
 qualities. His sentences cannot retain the 
 stiff joints of logic ; it would be death to 
 them to wear the chains of formal state- 
 ment ; they must take leave to deck them- 
 selves with eloquence. — Wilson, Wood- 
 row, 1888, An Old Master, The New 
 Princeton Review, vol. 6, p. 220. 
 
 It is needless, for these general and 
 other reasons, to speak in detail of Smith's 
 exposition of justice. Enough has been 
 said about it and about the "Lectures" in 
 general to show how far Adam Smith was 
 from being a dogmatist, an exponent of 
 some one uncritical and uncriticised view 
 of human economic or social activity. 
 The man had a complete ''social philoso- 
 phy," if we are obliged to put matters in 
 this way, and these "Lectures" establish 
 the fact that the "Wealth of Nations" 
 was written as illustrative of merely one 
 phase of human activity — not the ultimate 
 and only phase. And the originality of 
 Adam Smith's genius is more apparent 
 after their perusal and after consideration 
 
 of the facts and considerations they make 
 apparent. What he learned in France 
 was not enough to make him wholly recast 
 what he had evolved as the natural result 
 of the workings of his own independent, 
 and great, original mind along the lines 
 laid down for him largely by his British 
 predecessors.— Caldwell, William, 1897, 
 Smithes Lectures on Justice, etc., Journal 
 of Political Economy, vol. 5, p. 257. 
 
 There can in any case be no doubt that 
 Smith was a sincere theist, and that he 
 especially lays great stress upon the doc- 
 trine of final causes. It is probably as 
 clear that he was not an orthodox believer. 
 His characteristic shrinking from "clam- 
 our" explains his reticence as to deviations 
 from accepted opinions. But his warm 
 admiration for Hume, Voltaire, and Rous- 
 seau, was scarcely compatible with com- 
 plete disapproval of their religious doc- 
 trines ; and not to express such disapproval, 
 had he felt it, would have been cowardly 
 rather than reticent. He no doubt shared 
 the rationalism of most contemporary phi- 
 losophers, though in the sense of optimis- 
 tic deism. Smith argues, in the "Wealth 
 of Nations," that society is so constituted 
 that each man promotes the interests of all 
 by attending to his own interests, and in 
 the "Moral Sentiments," that sympathy 
 induces us to approve such conduct as 
 tends to this result. In both cases a be- 
 lief in the argument from design is clearly 
 implied. — Stephen, Leslie, 1898, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, vol. Liii, 
 p. 8. 
 
 Thomas Warton 
 
 1728-1790 
 
 Born, at Basingstoke, 1728. Matric. Trin. Coll., Oxford, 16 March, 1744; B. A., 
 1747; M. A., 1750; Fellow, 1751 ; Professor of Poetry, 1756-66; B. D., 7 Dec, 1767. 
 Rector of Kiddington, 1771. F. S. A., 1771. Camden Prof, of Ancient Hist., Oxford, 
 1785-90. Poet Laureate, 1785-90. Died, at Oxford, 21 May 1790. Buried in Trin. 
 Coll. Chapel. Works: "The Pleasures of Melancholy" (anon.), 1747; "Poems on 
 several Occasions," 1747; "The Triumph of Isis," (anon.), 1749; "A Description 
 of . . . Winchester" (anon.), 1750; "Newmarket," 1751; "Ode for Music," 
 1751; "Observations on the Faerie Queene," 1754; "A Companion to the Guide, 
 and a Guide to the Companion" (anon.), 1760; "Life ... of Ralph Bathurst" 
 (2 vols.), 1761; "Life of Sir Thomas Pope, " 1772 ; "The History of English Poetry" 
 (4 vols.), 1774-81; "Poems," 1777; "Enquiry into the authenticity of the poems 
 attributed to Thomas Rowley," 1782; "Specimen of a History of Oxfordshire" (priv. 
 ptd.), 1782; "Verses on Sir Joshua Reynolds'' Painted Window at New College" 
 (anon.), 1782. He edited: "The Union," 1753; "Inscriptionum Romanorum Metric- 
 arum Delectus," 1758; "The Oxford Sausage," 1764; C. Cephalas' "Anthologiae 
 
72 
 
 THOMAS WARTON 
 
 Gr^ecas," 1766; Theocritus' Works, 1770; Milton's 'Toems upon Several Occasions," 
 1785. Collected Works: "Poetical Works," ed. by R. Mant, with memoir (2 vols.), 
 1802. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 294. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The grestest clod I ever saw, and so vul- 
 gar a figure with his clunch wig that I 
 took him for a shoemaker at first. — BuR- 
 NEY, Charlotte Ann, 1783, Journal, ed. 
 Ellis, Jan. 14, p. 301. 
 
 His disposition, with some appearance 
 of indolence, was retired and studious, 
 and he fortunately acquired such prefer- 
 ments as enabled him to pursue his natural 
 bent, and rove unmolested among the 
 treasures of learning which his alma mater 
 contains in such profusion. ... He 
 had less polish in his manner than his 
 brother, Dr. Joseph, but the conversation 
 of the tw© together was a rich banquet. — 
 Chalmers, Alexander, 1808-23, The 
 British Essayists, Preface to the Idler. 
 
 His person was short and thick, though 
 in the earlier part of his life he had been 
 thought handsome. His face, latterly, 
 became somewhat rubicund, and his utter- 
 ance so confused, that Johnson compared 
 it to the gobbling of a turkey. The por- 
 trait of him by Reynolds, besides the re- 
 semblance of the features, is particularly 
 characterized by the manner in which the 
 hand is drawn, so as to give it a great air 
 of truth. He was negligent in his dress ; 
 and so little studious of appearances, that 
 having despatched his labours, while others 
 were yet in bed, he might have been 
 found, at the usual hours of study, loitering 
 on the banks of his beloved Cherwell, or 
 in the streets, following the drum and 
 fife, a sound which was known to have 
 irresistible attraction for his ears, — a 
 spectator at the military parade, or even 
 one amongst a crowd at a public execution. 
 — Cary, ' Henry Francis, 1821-24-45, 
 Lives of the English Poets, p. 158. 
 
 There are few characters on which I 
 look with so much complacent interest as 
 Warton's. His temper was so sunshiny 
 and benevolent ; his manners were so sim- 
 ple ; his erudition was so classical and 
 various; his learning was so illuminated 
 by fancy ; his love of the country was so 
 unaffected; his images were so pictur- 
 esque; his knowledge of feudal and chival- 
 rous manners was so minute, curious and 
 lively ; his absence of all worldly ambition 
 and show was so attractive ; his humour 
 
 was so good-natured and innocent; his 
 unaffected love of literature was so en- 
 couraging and exemplary — that 1 gaze 
 upon his memory with untired satisfaction. 
 What life can be more innocent, or more 
 full of enjoyment, than a life spent among 
 books, under the control of taste and judg- 
 ment ! I do not think that Warton was of 
 the highest order of genius; he had not 
 enough of warmth and invention ; nor 
 dare I say that he was the more happy for 
 this want. But still what pure pleasure 
 must have been continually experienced by 
 him who could write the "Ode on Leaving 
 Wynslade !"— Brydges, Sir Samuel Eger- 
 TON, 1834, Autobiography, vol. ii, p. 194. 
 
 HISTORY OF ENGLISH POETRY 
 
 1774-81 
 
 I am extremely pleased with T. War- 
 ton's new edition of his Observations, and 
 have let him know as much by Balguy. I 
 am glad he is in earnest with his project 
 of the History of English Poetry ; he will 
 do it well.— Warburton, William, 1762, 
 Letters from a Late Eminent Prelate, Nov. 
 30, p. 338. 
 
 To develope the dawnings of genius, and 
 to pursue the progress of our national 
 poetry, from a rude origin and obscure 
 beginnings to its perfection in a polished 
 age must prove interesting, instructive, 
 and be productive of entertainment and 
 utility. . . . The object being to 
 faithfully record the features of the time, 
 and preserve the picturesque representa- 
 tions of manners. ... I have chose 
 to note but the history of our poetry in a 
 chronological series, and often to deviate 
 into incidental digressions to notice the 
 contemporaneous poetry of other nations. 
 . . . My performance exhibits without 
 transportation the gradual improvement of 
 our poetry to the time that it uniformly 
 represents the progression of our lan- 
 guage. In the earlier sections of the 
 work are numerous citations extracted 
 from ancient MSS. never before printed, 
 and which may illustrate the darker 
 periods of the history of our poetry. — 
 Warton, Thomas, 1774-81, The History 
 of English Poetry, Preface, p. v. 
 
 Well, I have read Mr. Warton's book; 
 and shall I tell you what I think of it? 
 
THOMAS WARTON 
 
 73 
 
 I never saw so many entertaining? particu- 
 lars crowded together with so little enter- 
 tainment and vivacity. The facts are 
 overwhelmed by one another, as Johnson's 
 sense is by words: they are all equally 
 strong. Mr. Warton has amassed all the 
 parts and learning of four centuries, and 
 all the impression that remains is, that 
 those four ages had no parts or learning 
 at all. There is not a gleam of poetry in 
 their compositions between the Scalds and 
 Chaucer. ... I have dipped into Mr. 
 Warton's second volume, which seems 
 more unentertaining than the former. 
 . . . Ihave very near finished Warton, but, 
 antiquary as I am, it was a tough achieve- 
 ment. He has dipped into an in«redible 
 ocean of dry and obsolete authors of the 
 dark ages, and has brought up more rub- 
 bish than riches; but the latter chapters, 
 especially on the progress and revival of 
 the theatre, are more entertaining ; how- 
 ever, it is very fatiguing to wade through 
 the muddy poetry of three or four centu- 
 ries that had never a poet. — Walpole, 
 Horace, 1774-78, Letters to Rev. W. Cole 
 and Rev. W. Mason ; Letters, ed. Cunning- 
 ham, vols. VI, p, 72, VII, pp, 50, 54. 
 
 The progress of romance, and the state 
 of learning, in the middle ages, are illus- 
 trated by Mr. Thomas Warton, with the 
 taste of a poet, and the minute diligence 
 of an antiquarian.— Gibbon, Edward, 
 1776-78, Decline and Fall of the Roman 
 Empire, ch. xxxviii, note. 
 
 His diligence is indefatigable, and his 
 learning stupendous ; but I believe every 
 reader, except a mere antiquary, will re- 
 gret that, instead of a regular progressive 
 history, he did not adopt the form of a 
 critical dissertation, interspersed with an- 
 ecdotes. His taste, which is frequently 
 buried under piles of cumbrous erudition, 
 would have had a freer scope. — Green, 
 Thomas, 1779-1810, Diary of a Lover of 
 Literature. 
 
 In this latter author's (Warton) an- 
 tiquarian mud we are already above knee- 
 deep, and we must on as fast as we are 
 able. ... 1 trust that posterity (if 
 posterity deserves it) will be blessed with 
 some future anecdotist like one I could 
 name . . . that will select out of 
 those three quartos. Anecdotes of English 
 Poetry, in two or three small octavos, 
 about the size, for instance, of the "Royal 
 and Noble Authors"; and should this be 
 
 the case, our Oxonian will not have writ- 
 ten in vain.— Mason, Rev. William, 
 1781, to Horace Walpole, March 20 ; Wal- 
 pole's Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. vill, 
 p. 18, note. 
 
 An immense treasury of materials. — 
 Godwin, William, 1803, Life of Chaucer. 
 
 The late Mr. Warton, with a poetical 
 enthusiasm which converted toil into pleas- 
 ure, and gilded, to himself and his readers, 
 the dreary subjects of antiquarian lore^ 
 and with a capacity of labour apparently 
 inconsistent with his more brilliant pow- 
 ers, has produced a work of great size, 
 and, partially speaking, of great interest, 
 from the perusal of which we rise, our 
 faficy delighted with beautiful imagery, 
 and with the happy analysis of ancient 
 tale and song, but certainly with very 
 vague ideas of the history of English 
 poetry. The error seems to lie in a total 
 neglect of plan and system ; for, delighted 
 with every interesting topic which oc- 
 curred, the historical poet perused it 
 to its utmost verge, without considering 
 that these digressions, however beautiful 
 and interesting in themselves, abstracted 
 alike his own attention, and that of the 
 reader, from the professed purpose of his 
 book. Accordingly, Warton's ''History 
 of English Poetry" has remained, and 
 will always remain, an immense common- 
 place book of memoirs to serve for such an 
 history. No antiquary can open it, with- 
 out drawing information from a mine 
 which, though dark, is inexhaustible in 
 its treasures ; nor will he who reads 
 merely for amusement ever shut it for 
 lack of attaining his end ; while both may 
 probably regret the desultory excursions 
 of an author, Avho wanted only system, 
 and a more rigid attention to minute ac- 
 curacy, to have perfected the great task 
 he has left incomplete. — Scott, Sir Wal- 
 ter, 1804, Critical and Miscellaneous Es- 
 says, vol. I, p. 11. 
 
 Compared with this, how different was 
 Menander's case ! Careless himself about 
 examining and quoting authorities with 
 punctilious accuracy, and trusting too fre- 
 quently to the ipsedixits of good friends 
 — with a quick discernment — a sparkling 
 fancy — great store of classical knowledge, 
 and a never ceasing play of colloquial wit, 
 he moved right onwards in his manly 
 course; the delight of the gay, and the 
 admiration of the learned. — Dibdin, 
 
74 
 
 THOMAS WARTON 
 
 Thomas Frognall, 1811, Bibliomania, or 
 Book Madness. 
 
 He loved poetry dearly — and he wrote 
 its history well ; that book being a mine. 
 — Wilson, John, 1831, An Hour's Talk 
 about Poetry, Blackwood's Magazine, vol. 
 30, p. 483. 
 
 We have nothing historical as to our 
 own poetry but the prolix volumes of 
 Warton. They have obtained, in my 
 opinion, full as much credit as they deserve: 
 without depreciating a book in which so 
 much may be found, and which has been 
 so great a favourite with the literary part 
 of the public, it may be observed that its 
 errors as to fact, especially in names and 
 dates, are extraordinarily frequent, and 
 that the criticism, in points of taste, is 
 not of a very superior kind. — Hallam, 
 Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Lit- 
 erature of Europe, Preface. 
 
 It is pretty clear, from his observation 
 upon the rhimes, and also from his notice 
 of the contents, that Warton never read 
 the poem ["Hule and Nightengale"]. He 
 seems, indeed, but seldom to have opened a 
 MS. ; and when he gives an extract, or ven- 
 tures a criticism, both extract and crit- 
 icism will generally be found in the Cata- 
 logue.— Guest, Edwin, 1838, A History of 
 English Rhythms, vol. ii, p. 135, note. 
 
 The work has so much both of antiquarian 
 learning, of poetical taste, and of spirited 
 writing, that it is not only an indispensa- 
 ble and valuable authority, but in many 
 parts an interesting book to the mere ama- 
 teur. Not without many errors, and pre- 
 senting a still larger number of deficien- 
 cies, it has yet little chance of being ever 
 entirely superseded. — Spalding, W^il- 
 LiAM, 1852-82, A History of English 
 Literature, p. 350. 
 
 A very curious and valuable work. It 
 has had the reputation of a classic ever 
 since its first publication, in 1774. — 
 Adams, Charles Kendall, 1882, A Man- 
 ual of Historical Literature, p. 501. 
 
 His work, indeed, is one which it will 
 perhaps be always necessary to consult 
 for its facts, its references, and its infer- 
 ences ; and though in many points it needs 
 to be corrected, a long time will certainly 
 elapse before it will be superseded. All 
 this can be said, and be said truly. But 
 while the substantial merits of the chap- 
 ters on Chaucer need not be denied, they 
 
 are very far from being perfectly satis- 
 factory. They were marked in particular 
 by the defects which invariably character- 
 ized the writings of both the Wartons. 
 In certain ways these two scholars were 
 the most irritating of commentators and 
 literary critics. Their object was never 
 so much to illustrate their author as to 
 illustrate themselves. Instances of this 
 disposition occur constantly in those sec- 
 tions of the ''History of English Poetry" 
 which treat of Chaucer. Warton is con- 
 stantly wandering away from his legiti- 
 mate subject to furnish information about 
 matters that concerned very remotely, if 
 •at all, the business in hand. Much of the 
 material he collected is introduced not to 
 throw light upon the question under con- 
 sideration, but to parade his knowledge. 
 Still, it is the spirit that pervades the 
 work which is especially objectionable. 
 About it lingered the apologetic air of the 
 eighteenth century, which talked as if it 
 had something of a contempt for itself 
 for taking interest in an age when neither 
 language nor poetry had reached the 
 supreme elegance by which both were 
 then distinguished. Warton's words make 
 upon the mind the impression that he ad- 
 mired Chaucer greatly, and was ashamed 
 of himself for having been caught in the 
 act. Whenever he abandons convention- 
 ally accepted ground, we recognize at 
 once the timid utterance of the man who 
 feels called upon to put in a plea in ex- 
 tenuation of the appreciation he has man- 
 ifested.— Lounsbury, Thomas R., 1891, 
 Studies in Chaucer, vol. iii, p. 246. 
 
 Warton's work may be looked upon as 
 a kind of classic fragment, the incomplete- 
 ness of which has been emphasised by the 
 glosses and alterations of three genera- 
 tions of commentators. . . . Had 
 Warton chosen to follow the course con- 
 templated by Pope and Gray, few men 
 would have been better qualified to bring 
 the undertaking to a successful issue. 
 His reading was wide, his scholarship 
 sound, his taste fine and discriminating ; 
 and though he had no pretensions to be 
 called a great poet, his verse is at least 
 marked by genuine poetic sensibility. 
 Unfortunately he set about his work in 
 the spirit of an antiquary, and in the 
 patience, the industry, and the accuracy, 
 required for this branch of knowledge, he 
 was inferior to men who could not 
 
THOMAS WARTON 
 
 75 
 
 compare with him in capacity as a literary 
 critic— COURTHOPE, W. J., 1895, A His- 
 tory of English Poetry, vol. i, pp. xi, xii. 
 
 His cumbrous and amorphous learning, 
 too vast to be exact, and too tenacious to 
 be discriminating, might seem likely to 
 submit its vigorous independence to any 
 environment, however strong. But yet, 
 as a fact, the work that Warton achieved 
 would not have been possible to him had 
 he lived in any previous age. His learn- 
 ing would have run into abstruse divaga- 
 tions, where pedantry and fancy would 
 have overwhelmed all sense of proportion. 
 To such abberations he was by nature 
 only too prone. But the scientific sense 
 of his age revealed to him just the ques- 
 tions in literary history which called for 
 solution. He saw, by anticipation, some 
 of the fruits which the ,comparative 
 method might be made to yield ; and, as 
 a consequence, although he essayed a task 
 too large for any man, and achieved what 
 is doubtless an ill-arranged and ill-pro- 
 portioned fragment, yet he left the im- 
 press of his independent thought and of 
 his vigorous grasp upon our literature, 
 and traced the lines upon which its history 
 must be written.— Craik, Henry, 1895, 
 ed., English Prose, Introduction, vol. iv, p.S. 
 
 Warton's "History of English Poetry'^ 
 marks, and to some extent helped to pro- 
 duce an immense change for the better in 
 the study of English literature; and he 
 deserved the contemptuous remarks of 
 some later critics as little as he did the 
 savage attacks of the half -lunatic Ritson. 
 But he was rather indolent; his knowl- 
 edge, though wide, was very desultory 
 and full of scraps and gaps; and, like 
 others in his century, he was much too 
 fond of hypothesis without hypostasis, of 
 supposition without substance. — Saints- 
 bury, George, 1897, The Flourishing of 
 Romance and the Rise of Allegory, p. 139. 
 
 But Warton's learning was wide, if not 
 exact; and it was not dry learning, but 
 quickened by the spirit of a genuine man 
 of letters. Therefore, in spite of its 
 obsoleteness in matters of fact, his history 
 remains readable, as a body of descriptive 
 criticism, or a continuous literary essay. 
 The best way to read it is to read it as it 
 was written — in the original edition — dis- 
 regarding the apparatus of notes, which 
 modern scholars have accumulated about 
 it, but remembering that it is no longer an 
 
 authority and probably needs correcting 
 on every page. Read thus, it is a thor- 
 oughly delightful book, "a classic in its 
 way," as Lowell has said. — Beers, Henry 
 A., 1898, A History of English Romanti- 
 cism in the Eighteenth Century, p. 205. 
 
 At the outset, Warton's great under- 
 taking was cautiously received. In so 
 massive a collection of facts and dates, 
 errors were inevitable. Warton's ar- 
 rangement of his material was not flaw- 
 less. Digressions were very numerous. 
 His translation of old French and English 
 was often faulty. In 1782 Ritson at- 
 tacked him on the last score with a good 
 deal of bitterness, and Warton, while con- 
 temptuously refusing to notice the cen- 
 sures of the "black-letter dog," was con- 
 scious that much of the attack was justi- 
 fied. Horace Walpole found the work 
 unentertaining, and Mason echoed that 
 opinion. Subsequently Sir Walter Scott, 
 impressed by its deficiencies of plan, 
 viewed it as "an immense commonplace 
 book of memoirs to serve for" a his- 
 tory ; and Hallam deprecated enthusiastic 
 eulogy. On the other hand. Gibbon de- 
 scribed it as illustrating "the taste of a 
 poet and the minute diligence of an anti- 
 quarian, " while Christopher North wrote 
 appreciatively of the volumes as "a mine." 
 But, however critics have differed in the 
 past, the whole work is now seen to be 
 impregnated by an intellectual vigor which 
 reconciles the educated reader to almost 
 all its irregularities and defects. Even 
 the mediseval expert of the present day, 
 who finds that much of Warton's informa- 
 tion is superannuated and that many of the 
 generalisations have been disproved by 
 later discoveries, realises that nowhere 
 else has he at his command so well fur- 
 nished an armoury of facts and dates about 
 obscure writers; while for the student 
 of sixteenth century literature, Warton's 
 results have been at many points devel- 
 oped, but have not as a whole been super- 
 seded. His style is unaffected and invari- 
 ably clear. He never forgot that he was 
 the historian and not the critic of the lit- 
 erature of which he treated. He handled 
 with due precision the bibliographical side 
 of his subject, and extended equal thor- 
 oughness of investigation to every variety 
 of literary effort. No literary history 
 discloses more comprehensive learning in 
 classical and foreign literature, as well as 
 
76 
 
 THOMAS WAR TON 
 
 in that of Great Britain.— Lee, Sidney, 
 1899, Dictionary of National Biography , 
 vol. Lix, p. 434. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 You have shewn to all, who shall here- 
 after attempt the study of our ancient 
 authours, ["Observations on the Faerie 
 Queene"] the way to success ; by directing 
 them to the perusal of the books which 
 those authours had read. — Johnson, Sam- 
 uel, 1754, Letter to Warton, July 16; 
 Life by Boswell, ed. Hill, vol. i, p. 314. 
 
 This is a very splendid edition; [ed. 
 Theocritus] and, after a careful perusal, 
 I can pronounce it as correct as splen- 
 did. Every lover of Greek literature is 
 under great obligations to the very learned 
 and ingenious Mr. Warton for this mag- 
 nificent edition of Theocritus, and for 
 several other immortal productions. 
 Everybody allows the Preface to be a 
 beautiful and interesting composition. — 
 Harwood, Edward, 1775-90, A View of 
 the Classics. 
 
 One of the most beautiful [*'Ode on 
 Spring"] and original descriptive poems 
 in our language, and strongly shews the 
 force of poetical imitation in -rendering 
 objects that have no beauty in themselves 
 highly beautiful in description. I sup- 
 pose there are few scenes less pleasing 
 and picturesque in themselves than the 
 view from Catherine Hill, near Winches- 
 ter, over the bare adjacent downs, and on 
 the Itchin at its feet, formed into a navi- 
 gable canal, and creeping through a wide 
 valley of flat water-meadow, intersected 
 often at right angles by straight narrow 
 water-courses. But hear the poet, and 
 observe how the scene appears in the pic- 
 ture he has given of it, without changing 
 the features of the original. — Pye, 
 Henry James, 1788, Commentary on 
 Aristotle's Poetic. 
 
 Nor, amid the choir 
 Of pealing minstrelsy, was thy own lyre, 
 Warton, unheard ; — as Fancy pour'd the song. 
 The measur'd music flow'd along, 
 Till all the heart and all the sense 
 Felt her divinest influence. . . . 
 — Beattie, James, 1790, Monody on the 
 Death of Dr. Warton. 
 
 He was a genuine poet, in its strictest 
 sense. I remember some years ago, when 
 it was the fashion to deny him genius: 
 but I am utterly at a loss to guess what 
 
 meaning those, who denied genius to 
 T. Warton, could affix to the word. — 
 Brydges, Sir Samuel Egerton, 1800, 
 Phillips's Theatrum Poetarum Anglican- 
 orum, p. Ixi, note. 
 
 In one department he is not only un- 
 equalled, but original and unprecedented : 
 I mean in applying to modern poetry the 
 embellishment of Gothic manners and 
 Gothic arts; the tournaments and festi- 
 vals, the poetry, music, painting, and archi- 
 tecture of ''elder days." Nor can I here 
 refrain from repeating, that, though en- 
 gaged in the service, his talents were 
 never prostituted to the undue praise of 
 royalty ; nor from adding as a topic of in- 
 cidental applau&e, that, though he wan- 
 ders in the mazes of fancy, he may always 
 be resorted to as supplying at least an 
 harmless amusement ; and that with Mil- 
 ton and Gray, whom he resembled in vari- 
 ous other points, he shares also this moral 
 commendation, that his laurels, like theirs, 
 are untainted by impurity, and that he has 
 uniformly written (to use the words of 
 another unsullied bard) 
 Verse that a Virgin without blush may read. 
 — Mant, Richard, 1802, Poetical Works 
 of Thomas Warton, Life, vol. I, p. clxi. 
 
 The poems of Thomas Warton are re- 
 plete with a sublimity, and richness of 
 imagery, which seldom fail to enchant: 
 every line presents new beauties of idea, 
 aided by all the magic of animated diction. 
 From the inexhaustible stores of figurative 
 language, majesty, and sublimity, which 
 the ancient English poets afford, he has 
 culled some of the richest and sweetest 
 flowers. But, unfortunately, in thus mak- 
 ing the use of the beauties of other writ- 
 ers, he has been too unsparing; for the 
 greatest number of his ideas and nervous 
 epithets cannot, strictly speaking, be 
 called his own; therefore, however we 
 may be charmed by the grandeur of his 
 images, or the felicity of his expression, 
 we must still bear in our recollection, 
 that we cannot v/ith justice bestow upon 
 him the highest eulogium of genius — that 
 of originality.— White, Henry Kirke, 
 1806-13, Remains, ed. Southey, vol. ii, 
 p. 207. 
 
 This beautifully romantic poem [''Pleas- 
 ures of Melancholy"], though executed at a 
 period so early in life, betrays almost 
 immediately the tract of reading, and the 
 school of poetry, to which its author had. 
 
THOMAS WARTON 
 
 77 
 
 even then, sedulously addicted himself. 
 Every page suggests to us the disciple of 
 Spenser and Milton, yet without servile 
 imitation; for, though the language and 
 style of imagery whisper whence they 
 were drawn, many of the pictures in this 
 poem are so bold and highly coloured, 
 as justly to claim no small share of origi- 
 nality. ... On the genius of War- 
 ton, as a Poet, an adequate value has not 
 yet been placed ; for in consequence of a 
 sedulous imitation of the diction of our 
 elder bards, especially of Spenser and Mil- 
 ton, originality of conception has been 
 very unjustly denied him. To his brother 
 Joseph, with whom he has been commonly 
 ranked, he is greatly superior, both in 
 vigour and fertility of imagination, 
 though, perhaps, less svs^eet and polished 
 in his versification. In the rhymed penta- 
 meter, indeed, and in blank verse, in 
 point of versification, to Dryden, Pope, 
 and Milton; but in the eight-syllable 
 metre, to which he was particularly par- 
 tial, he has exhibited, almost uniformly, 
 great harmony and sweetness. The mix- 
 ture of trochaics of seven syllables, and 
 iambics of eight, which has been objected 
 to him as a fault, in this species of verse, 
 I am so far from considering as a defect, 
 that, as in Milton and Gray, 1 esteem it 
 productive of much beauty and much in- 
 teresting variety.— Drake, Nathan,1810, 
 Essays, Illustrative of the Rambler, Adven- 
 turer, and Idler, vol. ii, pp. 169, 174. 
 
 In the best of Warton's there is a stiff- 
 ness, which too often gives them the ap- 
 pearance of imitations from the Greek. — 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1817, Bio- 
 graphia Literaria, ch. i. 
 
 Warton was a poet and a scholar, studi- 
 ous with ease, learned without affectation. 
 He had a happiness which some have been 
 prouder of than he, who deserved it less — 
 he was a poet-laureat. 
 "And that green wreath which decks the 
 
 bard when dead, 
 That laurel garland, crown'd his living head." 
 But he bore his honours meekly, and per- 
 formed his half-yearly task regularly. I 
 should not have mentioned him for this 
 distinction alone (the highest which a poet 
 can receive from the state), but for an- 
 other circumstance ; I mean his being the 
 author of some of the finest sonnets in 
 the language — at least so they appear to 
 me; and as this species of composition 
 
 has the necessary advantage of being 
 short (though it is sometimes both 
 "tedious and brief"), I will here repeat 
 two or three of them, as treating pleasing 
 subjects in a pleasing and philosophical 
 way. — Hazlitt, William, 1818, Lectures 
 on the English Poets, Lecture vi. 
 
 Every Englishman who values the liter- 
 ature of his country, must feel himself 
 obliged to Warton as a poetical antiquary. 
 Asapoet,he is ranked by hisbrother Joseph 
 in the school of Spenser and Milton ; but 
 this classification can only be admitted 
 with a full understanding of the immense 
 distance between him and his great mas- 
 ters. He had, indeed, ''spelt the fabled 
 rhyme;" he abounds in allusions to the 
 romantic subjects of Spenser, and he is a 
 sedulous imitator of the rich lyrical man- 
 ner of Milton : but of the tenderness and 
 peculiar harmony of Spenser he has caught 
 nothing; and in his resemblance to Mil- 
 ton, he is the heir of his phraseology 
 more than of his spirit. His imitation of 
 manner, however, is not confined to Mil- 
 ton. . . . If we judge of him by the 
 character of the majority of his pieces, I 
 believe that fifty out of sixty of them are 
 such, that we should not be anxious to 
 give them a second perusal. From that 
 proportion of his works, I conceive that an 
 unprejudiced reader would pronounce him 
 a florid, unafl^ecting describer, whose 
 images are plentifully scattered, but 
 without selection of relief. To confine 
 our view, however, to some seven or 
 eight of his happier pieces, we shall find, 
 in these, a considerable degree of graphic 
 power, of fancy, and animation. His 
 ''Verses to Sir Joshua Reynolds" are 
 splendid and spirited. There is also a 
 softness and sweetness in his ode entitled 
 "The Hamlet," which is the more wel- 
 come, for being rare in his productions ; 
 and his "Crusade," and "Grave of 
 Arthur," have a genuine air of martial 
 and minstrel enthusiasm. . . . The 
 spirit of chivalry, he may indeed be said 
 to have revived in the poetry of modern 
 times. His memory was richly stored 
 with all the materials for description that 
 can be got from books : and he seems not 
 to have been without an original enthusi- 
 asm for those objects which excite strong 
 associations of regard and wonder. 
 Whether he would have looked with inter- 
 est on a shepherds' cottage, if he had not 
 
78 
 
 THOMAS WARTON 
 
 found it described by Virgil or Theocritus, 
 may be fairly doubted; but objects of 
 terror, splendour and magnificence, are 
 evidently congenial to his fancy. — Camp- 
 bell, Thomas, 1819, Specimens of the 
 British Poets. 
 
 His style in prose, though marked by a 
 character of magnificence, is at times 
 stiff and encumbered. He is too fond of 
 alliteration in prose as well as in verse ; 
 and the cadence of his sentences is too 
 evidently laboured.— Gary, Henry Fran- 
 cis, 1821-24-45, Lives of the English 
 Poets, p. 162. 
 
 Tom Warton was one of the finest fel- 
 lows that ever breathed — and the gods had 
 made him poetical, but not a poet. — Wil- 
 son, John, 1831, An Hour's Talk about 
 Poetry, Blackwood's MagazinCy vol. 30, 
 p. 483. 
 
 Thomas Warton, although not one of 
 our greatest, is still a most respectable 
 literary name. He was an elegant scholar, 
 if not a Bentley ; a refined and genial critic, 
 if not a Johnson ; a tender and true poet, 
 if not a Milton. If we may substitute 
 comparison for contrast, he may be called, 
 as a poet, a diffuser Gray, or even a 
 weaker and less versatile Scott. . . . 
 Altogether, looking at his poems in the 
 light of effusions poured out in the inter- 
 vals of laborious research and critical dis- 
 cussion, they are worthy of all accepta- 
 tion ; and we feel justified in binding the 
 Poetical Works of Warton in the same 
 volume with those of Goldsmith and Gol- 
 lins. They are certainly three among the 
 truest and most refined of our minor poets. 
 — GiLPiLLAN, George, 1854, The Poetical 
 Works of Goldsmith, Collins and T. War- 
 ton, pp. 152, 154. 
 
 That robust scholar and genial poet. — ■ 
 Lowell, James Russell, 1858-64-90, 
 Library of Old Authors; Prose Works^ 
 Riverside ed., vol. I, p. 320. 
 
 Some of them express real feelings with 
 an elegance so scholarly, so simple, and 
 so full of faith, that no universalist in the 
 love of poetry who has once read them 
 chooses to part with them. — Hunt, Leigh, 
 1859 ?-67, An Essay on the Sonnet, ed. 
 Lee. 
 
 The scholia [Ed. Theocritus] are not 
 conveniently disposed for the purpose of 
 reference ; and, in the opinion of Harles, 
 as well as Brunck, the editor has not to the 
 
 full extent availed himself of all the valu- 
 able materials that were within his reach. 
 — Irving, David, 1860, Life of Warton, 
 Encyclopcedia Britannica, Eighth ed. 
 
 Warton's numerous sonnets cover a 
 wide range; but are particularly note- 
 worthy for the increased attention they 
 give to natural objects, and for the tran- 
 sition in the application of the sonnet to 
 poetical subjects of a descriptive kind which 
 this increase denotes. Instead of being 
 confined, as the sonnet had been very gen- 
 erally, to amatory, elegiac, or complimen- 
 tary subjects, or to the sublimation of 
 some abstract sentiment or idea, his son- 
 nets largely celebrate historical or famil- 
 iar scenes and places, chosen by him for 
 the picturesqueness of their environments, 
 or for the interesting associations that 
 were clustered around them. Many of the 
 local descriptions in these brief poems are 
 very attractive; and, indeed, there is 
 scarcely one of his sonnets, whatever their 
 theme, but will reward us by the grace- 
 fulness and delicacy of its sentiments, 
 and the correctness of its diction and 
 structure. It is true they make no great 
 pretensions, but the level plain on which 
 they travel reveals so many inviting bits 
 of retired loveliness, and affords so many 
 charming glimpses of quiet beauty, that 
 we wonder his poems are so little known 
 and prized. Probably, however, the neg- 
 lect into which they have fallen is due to 
 an excess of correctness of finish and an 
 over-refinement of taste, which impart to 
 them an air of stiffness and effeminacy 
 that a closer inspection would measur- 
 ably dissipate. To my mind, the tran- 
 scripts of English sights and scenes in 
 Warton' s sonnets are extremely pleasing, 
 and will bear close scrutiny. — Deshler, 
 Charles D., 1879, Afternoons with the 
 Poets, p. 178. 
 
 Thomas Warton is in his poetry chiefly 
 imitative, as was natural in so laborious a 
 student of our early poetical literature. 
 The edition of his poems which was pub- 
 lished by his admirer and his brother's 
 devoted pupil, Richard Marit, offers a 
 curious example of a poet ''killed with 
 kindness;" for the apparatus of parallel 
 passages from Spenser, Shakespeare, Mil- 
 ton, and others, is enough to ruin any lit- 
 tle claim to originality which might have 
 been put forward for him. . . . There 
 are reasons why his genial figure should 
 
WARTON— FRANKLIN 
 
 79 
 
 not be altogether excluded from a repre- 
 sentative English anthology. It has often 
 been said that his ''History of English 
 Poetry. ' ' with Percy's ' ' Reliques, ' ' turned 
 the course of our letters into a fresh 
 channel ; but what is more noticeable here 
 is that his own poetry — or much of it, for 
 he is not always free from the taint of 
 psuedo-classicalism — instinctively deals 
 with materials like those on which the 
 older writers had drawn. In reaction 
 against the didactic and critical temper 
 of the earlier half of his century, he is a 
 student of nature; he is even an enthu- 
 siast," in Whitehead's sense. — Ward, 
 Thomas Humphry, 1880, English Poets, 
 vol. ni, p. 382. 
 
 Warton's style has no very special char- 
 acteristics, and he does not conform to any 
 marked convention in the structure of his 
 sentences. But it is at all times forcible, 
 clear, and free from pedantry ; and he un- 
 questionably added something to the re- 
 courses of English prose, in being the first 
 to treat literary questions from the his- 
 torical point of view. — ^Craik, Henry, 
 1895, English Prose, vol iv, p. 331. 
 
 Of all the laureates, with the exception 
 of Rowe, Warton suffered the least from 
 satirical attacks. His unmistakable claim 
 to greatness seemed to impress the small 
 buzzing gnats that usually swarmed about 
 the poets of the day. Warton's first offi- 
 cial ode was composed in haste and was 
 not at all equal to the poetry he has been 
 writing for many years, and it excited 
 more or less ridicule ; but after that, his 
 official work was done with such genuine 
 power that even the famous Wolcot, who 
 under the name of P.eter Pindar, produced 
 such biting, brilliant, and unmerciful sat- 
 ires, contented himself with a few harm- 
 less thrusts. Warton was too great a poet 
 and too amiable a man to treat such at- 
 tacks with anything but composure and 
 dignity. — Howland, Frances Louise 
 (Ken YON West), 1895, The Laureates of 
 England, p. 124. 
 
 Fourth-rate men like the two Wartons. 
 
 —Brooke, Stopford A., 1896, English 
 Literature, p. 220. 
 
 His books furnish ample evidence of that 
 extraordinary industry in the discovery 
 and examination of manuscript authorities 
 which characterizes the antiquaries of the 
 period; and though the accuracy of his 
 learning was severely impugned by Pdtson 
 in 1782, in the anonymous Observations 
 on the History of English Poetry, in a 
 Familiar Letter to the Author," yet the 
 majority of the mistakes acridly corrected 
 in the pamphlet are far from inexcusable 
 in a work compiled from notes taken under 
 all sorts of difficulties, and Ritson's attack 
 was considered merely malignant. War- 
 ton's notebooks and papers, a box full of 
 which is in the library of Trinity College, 
 though often elaborate, are generally very 
 slovenly and illegible, and the want of 
 method which they display would suffi- 
 ciently account for many errata. But 
 while one is bound to make every allowance 
 for accidental mistakes and immaterial in- 
 accuracies, the interests of historical truth 
 demand that one should expose without 
 hesitation misstatements which appear to 
 be intentional ; and, unpleasant as the task 
 is, it is a duty to call public attention to 
 some facts which must seriously impair the 
 confidence so long reposed in the trust- 
 worthiness of Warton's historical work. — 
 Blakiston, Herbert E. D., 1896, Thomas 
 Warton and Machyn's Diary, English His- 
 torical Review, vol. 11, p. 282. 
 
 He had also an appreciation of wild 
 nature, as we see from the descriptions in 
 ''The Grave of King Arthur." Warton's 
 work is of interest because of the many 
 attractive details scattered through his 
 poems, but there is little unity of effect. 
 The general impression is that he saw 
 nature first through Milton's eyes, and 
 that when he afterwards made many 
 charming discoveries for himself he tried 
 to express them in the II Penseroso 
 manner. — Reynolds, Myra, 1896, The 
 Treatment of Nature in English Poetry, 
 p. 128. 
 
 Benjamin Franklin 
 
 1706-1799. 
 
 Born at Boston, Mass., Jan. 17, 1706: Died at Philadelphia, April 17, 1790. A 
 celebrated American philosopher, statesman, diplomatist, and author. He learned the 
 printer's trade in the office of his elder brother James, and in 1729 established 
 himself at Philadelphia as editor and proprietor of the ''Pennsylvania Gazette." 
 
80 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 He founded the Philadelphia library in 1731; began the publication of *Toor 
 Richard's Almanac" in 1732; was appointed clerk of the Pennsylvania assembly 
 in 1736 ; became postmaster of Philadelphia in 1737 ; founded the American Philo- 
 sophical Society and the University of Pennsylvania in 1743 and in 1752 demonstrated 
 by experiments made with a kite during a thunderstorm that lightning is a discharge 
 of electricity, a discovery for which he was awarded the Copley medal by the Royal 
 Society in 1753. He was deputy postmaster-general for the British colonies in America 
 1753-74. In 1754, at a convention of the New England colonies with New York, 
 Pennsylvania, and Maryland, held at Albany, he proposed a plan, known as the "Albany 
 Plan," which contemplated the formation of a self-sustaining government for all the 
 colonies, and which, although adopted by the convention, failed of support in the 
 colonies. He acted as colonial agent for Pennsylvania in England 1757-62 and 1764-75 ; 
 was elected to the second Continental Congress in 1775 ; and in 1776 was a member 
 of the committee of five chosen by Congress to draw up a declaration of indepe«idence. 
 He arrived at Paris, Dec. 21, 1776, as ambassador to the court of France ; and in con- 
 junction with Arthur Lee and Silas Deane concluded a treaty with France, Feb. 6, 1778, 
 by which France recognized the independence of America. In 1782, on the advent of 
 Lord Rockingham's ministry tt) power, he began a correspondence with Lord Shelburne, 
 secretary of state for home and colonies, which led to negotiations for peace ; and in 
 conjunction with Jay and Adams concluded with England the treaty of Paris, Sept, 3, 
 1788. He returned to America in 1785 ; was president of Pennsylvania 1785-88 ; and 
 was a delegate to the constitutional convention in 1787. He left an autobiography, 
 which was edited by John Bigelow in 1868. His works have been edited by Jared 
 Sparks (10 vols., 1836-40) and John Bigelow (10 vols., 1887-1888).— Smith, Benja- 
 min E., 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia of Names, p. 408. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The Body 
 Of 
 
 Benjamin Franklin, 
 Printer, 
 (Like the cover of an old book. 
 Its contents torn out, 
 And stript of its lettering and gilding). 
 Lies here, food for worms. 
 Yet the work itself shall not be lost, 
 For it will, as he believed, appear once more, 
 In a new 
 And more beautiful edition, 
 Corrected and amended 
 By 
 
 The Author. 
 
 —Franklin, Benjamin, 1726? Proposed 
 Epitaph. 
 
 There was a circumstance that I shall 
 never forget, which passed in one of our 
 conversations. Dr. Wight and I had seen 
 Dr. Franklin at Edinburgh, as I have 
 formerly related ; we mentioned this phi- 
 losopher to Mr. Allen with the respect we 
 thought due, and he answered, "Yes, all 
 you have said of him is true, and I could 
 add more in his praise ; but though I have 
 now got the better of him, he has cost me 
 more trouble since he came to reside 
 in our State than all mankind besides; 
 and I can assure you that he is a man so 
 turbulent, and such a plotter, as to be able 
 to embroil the three kingdoms, if he 
 
 has an opportunity. ' ' Franklin was after 
 this for several weeks in Edinburgh, with 
 David Hume, but I did not see him, having 
 been from home on some jaunt. In 1769 
 or '70 I met him at an invited dinner in 
 London, at John Stuart's, the Provost's 
 son, I think it was, where he was silent and 
 inconversible, but this was after he has 
 been refused the office of Postmaster- 
 General of America, and had got a severe 
 dressing from Wedderburn, then Solicitor 
 or Attorney-General. — Carlyle, Alex- 
 ander, 1763-1860, Autobiography, p. 353. 
 
 An Epitaph &c. | To the much esteem'd 
 Memory of i B . . . F . . . Esq.,LL.D. 1 
 . . . i Possessed of many lucrative | 
 Offices 1 Procured to him by the Interest 
 of Men i Whom he infamously treated | 
 And receiving enormous sums | from the 
 Province | For Services i He never per- 
 formed I After betraying it to Party and 
 Contention | He lived, as to the Appear- 
 ance of Wealth | In moderate circum- 
 stances; I His principal Estate, seeming 
 to consist I In his Hand Maid Barbara | A 
 most valuable Slave | The Foster Mother | 
 of his last offspring | Who did his dirty 
 Work I And in two Angelic Females | 
 Whom Barbara also served | As Kitchen 
 Wench and Gold Finder | But alas the 
 Loss! I Providence for wise tho' secret 
 ends I Lately deprived him of his Mother 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 81 
 
 I of Excellency | His Fortune was not 
 however impaired ] For he piously with- 
 held from her I Manes | The pitiful stipend 
 of Ten pounds per Annum | On which he 
 had cruelly suffered her | To starve | Then 
 stole her to the Grave in Silence i Without 
 a Pall, the covering due to her dignity ! 
 Without a tomb or even ! A Monumental 
 Inscription.— Williamson, Hugh, 1764, 
 What is Sauce for the Goose is also Sauce 
 for the Gander. 
 
 There is a general union among the 
 colonies, which no artifices of a mininstry 
 will be able to break. Dr. Franklin is a 
 very popular character in every part of 
 America. He will be received, and carried 
 in triumph to his house, when he arrives 
 amongst us. It is to be hoped he will not 
 consent to hold any more offices under 
 government. No step but this can pre- 
 vent his being handed down to posterity 
 among the first and greatest characters 
 in the world. — Rush, Benjamin, 1774, 
 Letter to Arthur Lee, May 4. 
 
 A man who makes a figure in the learned 
 world. — Kames, Henry Home Lord, 1774, 
 Sketches of the History of Man, vol. iii, v. 
 435. 
 
 After dinner we went to the Academy 
 of Sciences, and heard M. d'Alembert, as 
 perpetual secretary, pronounce eulogies 
 on several of their members, lately 
 deceased. Voltaire and Franklin were 
 both present, and there presently arose a 
 general cry that M. Voltaire and M. 
 Franklin should be introduced to each 
 other. This was done, and they bowed 
 and spoke to each other. This was no 
 satisfaction; there must be something 
 more. Neither of our philosophers seemed 
 to divine what was wished or expected ; 
 they, however, took each other by the 
 hand. But this was not enough; the 
 clamor continued, until the explanations 
 came out. "II faut s' embrasser, a la 
 Frangoise." The two aged actors upon 
 this great theatre of philosophy and 
 frivolity then embraced each other, by 
 hugging one another in their arms, and 
 kissing each other's cheeks, and then the 
 tumult subsided. And the cry immedi- 
 ately spread through the whole kingdom, 
 and, I suppose, over all Europe— ''Qu' il 
 etait charmant de voir embrasser Solon et 
 Sophocle Adams, John, 1778, Diary, 
 Paris, Apr. 29. 
 
 Mr. Fragonard, the king's painter at 
 
 6C 
 
 Paris, has lately displayed the utmost 
 efforts of his genius in an elegant picture 
 dedicated to the genius of Franklin. Mr. 
 Franklin is represented in it opposing 
 with one hand the segis of Minerva to the 
 thunderbolt, which he first knew how to 
 fix by his conductors, and with the other 
 commanding the god of war to fight 
 against avarice and tyranny whilst Amer- 
 ica, nobly reclining upon him, and holding 
 in her hand the fasces, a true emblem of 
 the union of the American States, looks 
 down with tranquility on her defeated 
 enemies. The painter, in this picture, 
 most beautifully expressed the idea of the 
 Latin verse, which has been so justly ap- 
 plied to Mr. Franklin : 
 Eripuit coelo fulmen sceptmmque tyrannis. 
 (He snatched the thunderbolt from heaven 
 and the scepter from the hands of tyrants). 
 —Gazette of Amiens, 1779, on the Paint- 
 ing of Franklin. 
 
 In a gallery of paintings in the Louvre, 
 I was much gratified in perceiving the 
 portrait of Franklin, near those of the 
 king and queen, placed there as a mark of 
 distinguished respect, and, as was under- 
 stood, in conformity with royal directions. 
 Few foreigners have been presented to the 
 court of St. Cloud who have acquired so 
 much popularity as Dr. Franklin. I have 
 seen the populace attend his carriage, in 
 the manner they followed the king's. 
 His venerable figure, the ease of his man- 
 ners, formed in an intercourse of fifty 
 years with the world, his benevolent 
 countenance, and his fame as a philosopher, 
 all tended to excite love, and to command 
 influence and respect. He had attained, 
 by the exercise of these qualities, a power- 
 ful interest in the feelings of the beauti- 
 ful queen of France. She held at that 
 time a powerful political influence. The 
 exercise of that influence, adroitly directed 
 by Franklin, tended to produce the 
 acknowledgment of our independence, and 
 the subsequent efficient measures pur- 
 sued by France in its support. — Watson, 
 Elkanah, 1779, Memoirs, p. 106. 
 What diff 'rence then can virtue claim 
 
 From vice, if it oblivious lie? 
 While I can sing your spotless name, 
 
 Your worthy deeds shall never die. 
 Nor shall oblivion's livid power 
 
 Your patriotic toils conceal : 
 Alike in good, or adverse hour, 
 
 A patron of the common -weal. 
 Forever faitliful and sincere, 
 
82 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 Your hands from gilded baits are free: 
 The public villain stands in fear 
 
 You should perpetual counsel be. 
 The knave possest of shining pelf, 
 
 Can never sway your honest choice : 
 For justice, emblem of yourself. 
 
 Exalts above the rabble's voice. 
 —Parke, John, 1781, To Lollius. 
 
 Of all the celebrated persons whom in 
 my life I have chanced to see. Dr. Frank- 
 lin, both from his appearance and his 
 conversation, seemed to me the most 
 remarkable. His venerable patriarchal 
 appearance, the simplicity of his manner 
 and language, and the novelty of his 
 observations, at least the novelty of them 
 at that time to me, impressed me with an 
 opinion of him as of one of the most ex- 
 traordinary men that ever existed. — Rom- 
 ill Y, Sir Samuel, 1783, Journal, Life by 
 his Sons, vol. I, p. 69. 
 
 A new town in the state of Massa- 
 chusetts having done me the honor of 
 naming itself after me, and proposing 
 to build a steeple to their meeting-house, 
 if I would give them a bell, I have advised 
 the sparing themselves the expense of a 
 steeple for the present, and that they 
 would accept of books instead of a bell, 
 sense being preferable to sound. These 
 are therefore intended as a commencement 
 of a little parochial library for the use of 
 a society of intelligent, respectable farm- 
 ers, such as our country people generally 
 consists of. — Franklin, Benjamin, 1785, 
 Letter to Richard Price. 
 
 Dear Sir : Amid the public gratulation 
 on your safe return to America, after a 
 long absence, and the many eminent 
 services you had rendered it — for which 
 as a benefited person I feel the obligation 
 — permit an individual to join the public 
 voice in expressing his sense of them ; and 
 to assure you, that as no one entertains 
 more respect for your character, so none 
 can salute you with more sincerity or with 
 greater pleasure than I do on this occa- 
 sion. I am — dear sir, Your most obt. 
 and most Hble. Servt. — Washington, 
 George, 1785, Letter to Benjamin Frank- 
 lin, Sep. 25. 
 
 Dr. Franklin lives in Market street. 
 His house stands up a court, at some dis- 
 tance from the street. We found him in 
 his garden, sitting upon a grass-plot, 
 under a very large mulberry tree, with 
 several other gentlemen and tw 3e 
 
 ladies.. When Mr. Gerry introduced me, 
 he rose from his chair, took me by the 
 hand, expressed his joy at seeing me, 
 welcomed me to the city, and begged me 
 to seat myself close to him. His voice 
 was low, but his countenance open, frank, 
 and pleasing. . . He seemed exceed- 
 ingly fond, through the course of the visit, 
 of dwelling on philosophical subjects and 
 particularly that of Natural History ; while 
 the other gentlemen were swallowed up 
 with politics. This was a favorable cir- 
 cumstance for me ; for almost the whole of 
 his conversation was addressed to me, and 
 I was highly delighted with the extensive 
 knowledge he appeared to have of every 
 subject, the brightness of his memory, and 
 clearness and vivacity of all his mental 
 faculties, notwithstanding his age. His 
 manners are perfectly easy, and every- 
 thing about him seems to diffuse an unre- 
 strained freedom and happiness. He has 
 an incessant vein of humor, accompanied 
 with an uncommon vivacity, which seems 
 as natural and involuntary as his breath- 
 ing. — Cutler, Manasseh, 1787, Journal, 
 July 13 ; Sparks^ Life of Franklin, vol. i, 
 pp. 520, 523. 
 
 Be it remembered 
 In honor of the Philadelphia Youth, 
 (then chiefly artificers) 
 that in MDCOXXXL, 
 they cheerfully, 
 at the instances of Benjamin Franklin, 
 one of their number, 
 instituted the Philadelphia Library, 
 which, though small at first, 
 is become highly valuable and extensively 
 useful 
 
 and which the walls of this edifice 
 are now destined to contain and preserve, 
 the first stone of whose foundation 
 
 was here placed, 
 the thirty-first day of August, 1789. 
 
 —Corner Stone, Philadelphia Library, 
 1789. 
 
 About sixteen days before his death he 
 was seized with a feverish indisposition, 
 without any particular symptoms attend- 
 ing it, till the third or fourth day, when 
 he complained of a pain in the left breast, 
 which increased till it became extremely 
 acute, attended with a cough and laborious 
 breathing. During this state when the 
 severity of his pains drew forth a groan of 
 complaint, he would observe— that he was 
 afraid he did not bear them as he ought — 
 acknowledged his grateful sense of the 
 many blessings he had received from that 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 83 
 
 Supreme Being, who had raised him from 
 small and low beginnings to such high rank 
 and considerationamongmen — and made no 
 doubt but his present afflictions were 
 kindly intended to wean him from a world, 
 in which he was no longer fit to act the 
 part assigned him. In this frame of body 
 and mind he continued till five days before 
 his death, when his pain and difficulty of 
 breathing entirely left him, and his family 
 were flattering themselves with the hopes 
 of his recovery, when an imposthumation, 
 (abscess) which had formed itself in his 
 lungs suddenly burst, and discharged a 
 great quantity of matter, which he con- 
 tinued to throw up while he had sufficient 
 strength to do it ; but, as that failed, the 
 organs of respiration became gradually 
 oppressed — a calm lethargic state suc- 
 ceeded—and, on the 17th of April, 1790, 
 about eleven o'clock at night, he quietly 
 expired, closing a long and useful life of 
 eighty-four years and three months. — 
 Jones, Dr. John, 1790, Account of the 
 Illness and Death of Dr. Franklin. 
 
 Mr. Speaker : As we have been informed, 
 not only through the channel of the news- 
 papers, but by a more direct communica- 
 tion, of the decease of an illustrious charac- 
 ter, whose native genius has rendered 
 distinguished services to the cause of 
 science and of mankind in general ; and 
 whose patriotic exertions have contributed 
 in a high degree to the independence and 
 prosperity of this country in particular ; 
 the occasion seems to call upon us to pay 
 some tribute to his memory expressive of 
 the tender veneration his country feels for 
 such distinguished merit. I therefore 
 move the following resolution: ''The 
 House being informed of the decease of 
 Benjamin Franklin, a citizen whose native 
 genius was not more an ornament to human 
 nature than his various exertions of it 
 have been precious to science, to freedom, 
 and to his country, do resolve, as a mark 
 of the veneration due to his memory, 
 that the members wear the customary 
 badge of mourning for one month." — 
 Madison, James, 1790, Resolution of Con- 
 gress, April 22. 
 
 Franklin is dead ! The genius that freed 
 America and poured a flood of light over 
 Europe has returned to the bosom of the 
 Divinity; The sage \vhom two worlds 
 claim as their own, the man for whom 
 the history of science and the history of 
 
 empires contend with each other, held, 
 without doubt, a high rank in the human 
 race. Too long have political cabinets 
 taken formal note of the death of those 
 who were great only in their funeral 
 panegyrics. Too long has the etiquette 
 of courts prescribed hypocritical mourn- 
 ing. Nations should wear mourning only 
 for their benefactors. The representa- 
 tives of nations should recommend to their 
 homage none but the heroes of humanity. 
 The Congress has ordained, throughout 
 the United States, a mourning of one 
 month for the death of Franklin, and at 
 this moment America is paying this tribute 
 of veneration and gratitude to one of the 
 fathers of her Constitution. Would it 
 not become us, gentlemen, to join in this 
 religious act, to bear a part in this homage, 
 rendered, in the face of the world, both to 
 the rights of man and to the philosopher 
 who has most contributed to extend their 
 sway over the whole earth? Antiquity 
 would have raised altars to this mighty 
 genius, who, to the advantage of mankind, 
 compassing in his mind the heavens and 
 earth, was able to restrain alike thunder- 
 bolts and tyrants. Europe, enlightened 
 and free, owes at least a token of remem- 
 brance and regret to one of the greatest 
 men who has ever been engaged in the 
 service of philosophy and liberty. I pro- 
 pose that it be decreed that the National 
 Assembly, during three days shall wear 
 mourning for Benjamin Franklin. — Mira- 
 
 BEAU, HONORE GABRIEL RlQUETI COMTE 
 
 DE, 1790, Speech Before the National Legis- 
 lature of France, June 11. 
 
 As soon as his country was so well 
 established that she had no need of seek- 
 ing for partisans, his life became more 
 retired and peaceable. In his retreat at 
 Passy, there formed around him a circle, 
 not large, of a few friends ; and their com- 
 pany, with simple pursuits, occupied the 
 close of a noble life. The course of it 
 was broken by a painful illness, however, 
 and from this moment his mind turned 
 toward his own country. He left France, 
 giving her, as the reward of her service, 
 a great example, and lessons which could 
 not long remain without profit. He sailed 
 from an English port, to which he was 
 accompanied by M. Le Veillard, who, while 
 he lived at Passy, had lavished all the 
 cares of filial tenderness upon him, and 
 wished to postpone to th'e last moment 
 
84 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 what was to be an eternal separation. 
 Franklin only stopped on the shores of 
 England. He was so generous that he 
 spared his humiliated enemies the spec- 
 tacle of his glory. The French were his 
 friends; the English were relatives, — ■ 
 whose faults one is glad to forget, — with 
 regard to whom we still respect the bonds 
 of nature, though they have broken them 
 by their injustice. — Condorcet, Marie 
 Jean Marquis de, 1790, Address before 
 the French Academy, Nov. 13. 
 
 On Wednesday, King the American 
 minister, Eliot, Montagu, and Henry 
 Thornton dined with me, Rational day. . . 
 Franklin seems, from King, not to be in 
 good estimation in America. Thought a 
 dishonest, tricking, hypocritical charac- 
 ter ; a free-thinker really, yet pretending 
 to believe in the authority of Scripture. 
 — Wilberforce, William, 1796, Table 
 Talk, Life by his Sons, vol. ii, p. 179. 
 
 This self-taught American is the most 
 rational, perhaps, of all philosophers. He 
 never loses sight of common sense in any of 
 his speculations. . . . No individual, per- 
 haps, ever possessed a juster understand- 
 ing, or was so seldom obstructed in the 
 use of it by indolence, enthusiasm, or 
 authority. Dr. Franklin received no 
 regular education; and he spent the 
 greater part of his life in a society where 
 there was no relish and no encouragement 
 for literature. On an ordinary mind, 
 these circumstances would have produced 
 their usual effects, of repressing all sorts 
 of intellectural ambition or activity, and 
 perpetuating a generation of incurious 
 mechanics ; but to an understanding like 
 Franklin's, we cannot help consider- 
 ing them as peculiarly propitious, and 
 imagine that we can trace back to them 
 distinctly almost all the peculiarities of 
 his intellectual character. — Jeffrey, 
 Francis Lord, 1806, The Works of Dr. 
 Franklin, Edinburgh Review, vol. 8, p. 328. 
 
 His reputation was more universal than 
 that of Leibnitz or Newton, Frederick or 
 Voltaire, and his character more beloved 
 and esteemed than any or all of them. . . 
 His name was familiar to government and 
 people, to kings and courtiers, nobility, 
 clergy and philosophers, as well as ple- 
 beians, to such a degree that there was 
 scarcely a peasant or a citizen, a valet de 
 chambre: a coachman or footman, a lady^s 
 chambermaid or a scullion in the kitchen 
 
 who was not familiar with it, and who did 
 not consider him as a friend to human 
 kind. . . Nothing, perhaps, that ever 
 occurred upon the earth was so well calcu- 
 lated to give any man an extensive and 
 universal celebrity as the discovery of the 
 efficacy of iron points and the invention of 
 lightning-rods. The idea was one of the 
 most sublime that ever entered a human 
 imagination, that a mortal should disarm 
 the clouds of heaven, and almost snatch 
 from his hand the sceptre and the rod." 
 The ancients would have enrolled him with 
 Bacchus and Ceres, Hercules and Minerva. 
 His Paratonneres erected their heads in all 
 parts of the world, on temples and palaces 
 no less than on cottages of peasants and 
 the habitations of ordinary citizens. 
 These visible objects reminded all men of 
 the name and character of their inventor ; 
 and, in the course of time, have not only 
 tranquilized the minds ; and dissipated the 
 fears of the tender sex and their timorous 
 children, but have almost annihilated that 
 panic terror and superstitious horror 
 which was once almost universal in violent 
 storms of thunder and lightning. — Adams, 
 John, 1811, Works, vol. i. Appendix, pp. 
 660, 661. 
 
 An independence of thought, a constant 
 and direct reference to utility, a conse- 
 quent abstinence from whatever is merely 
 curious and ornamental, or even remotely 
 useful, a talent for ingeniously betraying 
 vice and prejudice into an admission of 
 reason, and for exhibiting their sophisms 
 in that state of undisguised absurdity in 
 which they are ludicrous, and with a 
 singular power of striking illustration 
 from homely objects, would justify us in 
 calling Franklin The American Socrates. 
 —Mackintosh, Sir James, 1812, Life by 
 Mackintosh, vol. ii, p. 203. 
 
 Benjamin Franklyn, who, by bringing a 
 spark from heaven, fulfilled the prophecies 
 he pretended to disbelieve ; Franklyn, who 
 wrote a profane addition to the Book of 
 Genesis, who hissed on the colonies against 
 their parent country, who taught men to 
 despise their Sovereign and insult their 
 Redeemer ; who did all the mischief in his 
 power while living, and at last died, I think, 
 in America ; was beside all the rest, a 
 plagiarist, as it appears ; and the curious 
 epitaph made on himself, and as we long 
 believed, by himself, was, 1 am informed, 
 borrowed without acknowledgment, from 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 85 
 
 one, upon Jacob Tonson, to whom it was 
 more appropriate, comparing himself to 
 an old book, eaten by worms ; which on 
 some future day, however, should be new 
 edited, after undergoing revisal and cor- 
 rection by the Author. —Fiozzi, Hester 
 Lynch, 1815, Notes on Wraxall, Autobi- 
 ography. 
 
 As to the charge of subservience to 
 France, . . . two years of my own 
 service with him at Paris, daily visits, and 
 the most friendly and confidential conver- 
 sations, convinced me it had not a shadow 
 of foundation. He possessed the confi- 
 dence of that government in the highest 
 degree, insomuch that it may truly be 
 said, that they were more under his influ- 
 ence than he under theirs. The fact is, 
 that his temper was so amiable and con- 
 ciliatory, his conduct so rational, never 
 urging impossibilities, or even things un- 
 reasonably inconvenient to them, in short 
 so moderate and attentive to their dif- 
 ficulties as well as our own, that what his 
 enemies called subserviency I saw was 
 only that reasonable disposition which, 
 sensible that advantages are not all to be 
 on one side, yielding what is just and 
 liberal, is the more certain of obtaining 
 liberality and justice. Mutual confidence 
 produces of course mutual influence, and 
 this was all which subsisted between Dr. 
 Franklin and the government of France. 
 — Jefferson, Thomas, 1818, Letter to 
 Robert Walsh, Dec, 4. 
 
 Franklin enjoyed, during the greater 
 part of his life, a healthy constitution, and 
 excelled in exercises of strength and 
 activity. In stature he was above the 
 middle size ; manly, athletic and well pro- 
 portioned. His countenance, as it is rep- 
 resented in his portrait, is distinguished 
 by an air of serenity and satisfaction, 
 the natural consequence of a vigorous 
 temperament, of strength of mind, and 
 conscious integrity. It is also marked, in 
 visible characters, by deep thought and 
 inflexible resolution. Very rarely shall 
 we see a combination of features, of more 
 agreeable harmony ; an aspect in which 
 the human passions are more happily 
 blended or more favourably modified, to 
 command authority, to conciliate esteem, 
 or to excite love and veneration. His col- 
 loquial accomplishments are mentioned 
 by those who knew him, in terms of 
 the highest praise. — Sanderson, John, 
 
 1820-28, Biorjrapny of the Signers to the 
 Declaration of Independence, vol. ill, p. 132. 
 
 Our Franklin happily passes his time, 
 in pleasing sobriety, with the illustrious 
 sages and philosophers of all nations and 
 ages. Though uniformly cheerful, he sel- 
 dom or never laughs; and, with all the 
 engaging simplicity of a child, he pours 
 forth the matured and comprehensive wis- 
 dom of experience. Uniting the essence 
 of wit, quickness of thought and facility 
 of combination, with that brevity Vv'hich is 
 its appropriate garb, he charms without 
 effort and teaches without appearing the 
 master. It is delightful to see him in 
 simple dress and simple language, like one 
 of the primitive instructors of mankind, 
 condensing some fine moral in the compass 
 of a single sentence, or illustrating some 
 glorious precept by a happy allegory that 
 embodies, and gives life and being to the 
 truth. The weight of wisdom and be- 
 nignity united with good temper and 
 unaffected manners, was never more strik- 
 ingly exemplified than in the influence of 
 this immortal Printer upon the country to 
 which he was a benefactor, and the age to 
 which he was an ornament. — Paulding, 
 James K., 1821, National Intelligencer, 
 Jan. 20; Literary Life, ed. Paulding, 
 p. 155. 
 
 Dr. Franklin appeared at court in the 
 costume of an American cultivator ; his hair 
 plainly brushed, without powder. His 
 round hat and plain coat of brown cloth 
 contrasted strongly with the powdered 
 coiffures and the bespangled and em- 
 broidered coats of the perfumed courtiers 
 of Versailles. His simple and novel, yet 
 dignified appearance charmed the ladies 
 of the court, and many were the fetes given 
 him, not only for his fame as a philosopher, 
 but in acknowledgment of his patriotic 
 virtues, which led him to enroll himself 
 among the noble supporters of the cause 
 of liberty. I assisted at one of these 
 entertainments, where the most beautiful 
 from among three hundred ladies was 
 designated to place a crown of laurel on 
 the gray head, and to salute with a kiss 
 each cheek of the American philosopher. 
 — Campan, Jeanne Louise Henriette, 
 1823, Memoirs of Marie Antoinette. 
 
 His qualities were those of a sterling 
 practical Englishman ; he directed his 
 whole attention to the real and substantial 
 objects of life, and therefore at a later 
 
86 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 period in France he laughed at the senti- 
 mentality, ideality and enthusiasm of the 
 French in favour of the freedom which he 
 announced, and even at the manner in 
 which he himself was idolized ; but he was 
 prudently silent, and availed himself of the 
 Parisian mode for the promotion of his 
 objects. He had now been for thirty years 
 renowned in America as the founder of a 
 printing establishment, the originator of 
 widely circulated newspapers and journals, 
 as a popular writer and moralist ; and in 
 Europe for fifteen years as a natural 
 philosopher, an acute observer and dis- 
 coverer of some of the grand phaenomena 
 of the physical world. He had become 
 strictly moral as soon as he renounced the 
 sins of his youth, and was no longer 
 straitened or weighted down by the pres- 
 sure of poverty ; he hov/ever knew the ways 
 of men too well to feel himself always 
 bound to walk on the narrow path, or to 
 renounce the course of crooked policy 
 when the attainment of an important 
 object invited him to pursue it, provided 
 he was not required to commit any flagrant 
 violations of propriety. — Schlosser, 
 Friedrich Christoph, 1823, History of 
 the Eighteenth Century y tr. Davison, vol. 
 V, p. 60. 
 
 The incorruptible integrity, sagacious 
 intellect, and philosophic spirit of Frank- 
 lin. — Alison, Sir Archibald, 1833-42, 
 History of Europe During the French Revo- 
 lution, vol. XIV, p. 2. 
 
 No man in Paris, was more d la mode, 
 more sought after than was Dr. Franklin. 
 The crowd used to run after him in the 
 walks and in the public resorts; hats, 
 canes, snuff-boxes, everything was d la 
 Franklin. Men and women considered it 
 a piece of good fortune to be invited to a 
 dinner at which this celebrated man was 
 to be present.— Lebrun, Madame Vigee, 
 1835, Memoirs, vol. I, p. 251. 
 
 Sage Franklin next arose in cheerful mien, 
 And smil'd, unruffled, o'er the solemn scene ; 
 High on his locks of age, a wreath was 
 brac'd, 
 
 Palm of all arts that e'er a mortal grac'd; 
 Beneath him lay the sceptre kings had borne, 
 And crowns and laurels from their temples 
 torn. 
 
 — Weems, Mason L., 1835, Title Page to 
 Life of Franklin. 
 
 One of the most remarkable men cer- 
 tainly, of our times, as a politician, or of 
 any age, as a philosopher, was Franklin ; 
 
 who also stands alone in combining 
 together these two characters, the great- 
 est that man can sustain, and in this, that 
 having borne the first part in enlarging 
 science, by one of the greatest discoveries 
 ever made, he bore the second part in 
 founding one of the greatest empires in 
 the world. ... In domestic life he 
 was faultless, and in the intercourse of 
 society, delightful. There was a constant 
 good humour and a playful wit, easy and 
 of high relish, without any ambition to 
 shine, the natural fruit of his lively fancy, 
 his solid, natural good sense, and his 
 cheerful temper, that gave his conversa- 
 tion an unspeakable charm, and alike suited 
 every circle, from the humblest to the 
 most elevated. With all his strong opin- 
 ions, so often solemnly declared, so imper- 
 ishably recorded in his deeds, he retained 
 a tolerance for those who differed with 
 him, which could not be surpassed in men 
 whose principles hang so loosely about 
 them as to be taken up for a convenient 
 cloak, and laid down when found to impede 
 their progress. In his family he was 
 everything that worth, warm affections, 
 and sound prudence could contribute, to 
 make a man both useful and amiable, 
 respected and beloved. In religion, he 
 would by many be reckoned a latitudi- 
 narian ; yet it is certain that his mind was 
 imbued with a deep sense of the Divine 
 perfections, a constant impression of our 
 accountable nature, and a lively hope of 
 future enjoyment.— Brougham, Henry 
 Lord, 1839, Statesmen of the Time of 
 George III. 
 
 With placid tranquility, Benjamin 
 Franklin looked quietly and deeply into the 
 secrets of nature. His clear understand- 
 ing was never perverted by passion, or 
 corrupted by the pride of theory. The 
 son of a rigid Calvanist, the grandson of 
 a tolerant Quaker, he had from boyhood 
 been familiar not only with theological 
 subtilities, but with a catholic respect for 
 freedom of mind. Skeptical of tradition 
 as the basis of faith, he respected reason, 
 rather than authority ; and, after a 
 momentary lapse into fatalism, escaping 
 from the mazes of fixed decrees and free 
 will, he gained, with increasing years, an 
 increasing trust in the overruling provi- 
 dence of God. Adhering to none *'of all 
 the religions" in the colonies, he yet 
 devoutly, though without form, adhered 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 87 
 
 to religion. But though famous as dis- 
 putant, and having a natural aptitude for 
 metaphysics, he obeyed the tendency of 
 his age, and sought by observation to win 
 an insight into the mysteries of being. . . 
 Never professing enthusiasm, never mak- 
 ing a parade of sentiment, his practical 
 wisdom was sometimes mistaken for the 
 offspring of selfish prudence ; yet his hope 
 was steadfast, like that hope which rests 
 on the Rock of Ages, and his conduct was 
 as unerring as though the light that led 
 him was a light from heaven. He ever 
 anticipated action by theories of self- 
 sacrificing virtue ; and yet, in the moments 
 of intense activity, he, from the highest 
 abodes of ideal truth, brought down and 
 applied to the affairs of life the sublimest 
 principles of goodness, as noiselessly and 
 unostentatiously as became the man who, 
 v;ith a kite and hempen string, drev/ the 
 lightning from the skies. — Bancroft, 
 George, 1844, History of the United 
 States, vol. ill, p. 378. 
 
 Franklin was the greatest diplomatist 
 of the eighteenth century. He never 
 spoke a word too soon ; he never spoke a 
 word too late ; he never spoke a word too 
 much ; he never failed to speak the right 
 word at the right season. — Bancroft, 
 George, 1852, iYew; York Historical Society 
 Lecture, Dec. 9. 
 
 The historic image of Benjamin Frank- 
 lin, does not so vividly impress the mind 
 as the grander, more colossal figures 
 which, instinct with the glory of brilliant 
 genius, star-stud the vista of the dim past 
 — but its paler, less dazzling light, is— 
 we may be permitted to repeat — a more 
 hopeful and cheering one to the masses of 
 mankind, for it shines upon a path to 
 eminence which it requires no seraph's 
 wing, — no transcendant mental power — 
 to over sweep or climb, — nothing but the 
 qualities, prudently but courageously exer- 
 cised, which he himself possessed, — a clear 
 intellect, — firm purpose, — self-denial, — 
 energetic labour, — and perhaps the moral 
 of his life is all the more pertinent and 
 instructive, inasmuch that he stumbled 
 heavily upon the threshold of his career, 
 and recovered himself unaided save by God 
 and his own brave honesty of will. — Rus- 
 sell, William, 1853, Extraordinary Men, 
 p. 102. 
 
 To-morrow we are to inaugurate Green- 
 ough's Franklin with a tremendous 
 
 procession — which I look at solely from a 
 Mabelian point of view. Did I say solely? 
 Well, let it stand. But I may just mention 
 that the American Academy comes in 
 before the governor, and Charles perhaps 
 can tell you who some of the fellows are. 
 It is thought that they will find carriages 
 provided for them. That under these 
 circumstances I should find composure to 
 write to you is a curious biological (1 
 believe that's the word now) fact. There 
 are to be two addresses and an oration. 
 Only think how interesting! And we 
 shall find out that Franklin was born in 
 Boston, and invented being struck with 
 lightning and printing and the Franklin 
 medal, and that he had to move to Phila- 
 delphia because great men were so plenty 
 in Boston that he had no chance, and that 
 he revenged himself on his native town by 
 saddling it with the Franklin stove, and 
 that he discovered the almanac, and that 
 a penny saved is a penny lost, or something 
 of the kind. So we put him up a statue. 
 / mean to invent something — in order to 
 encourage sculptors. — Lowell, James 
 Russell, 1856, Letters, ed. Norton, vol. i, 
 p. 271. 
 
 Go forth then, Benjamin Franklin, 
 printer, to thy great calling ; master, not 
 of arts, but of the art of arts ; graduate, 
 not of academic halls, but of the three 
 great faculties of temperance, industry, 
 and generous ambition. There is a con- 
 flict before thee long and sharp, but the 
 press has taught thy hands to war and thy 
 fingers to fight ; the victory is certain, the 
 reward is glorious. Seas of trouble shall 
 stretch before thee, but they shall roll up 
 their crystal walls on thy right hand and 
 on thy left, and thou shall pass through 
 on dry ground. Events of unexampled 
 magnitude for thee and thy country attend 
 thy career ; great wars are to be fought ; 
 oppressive rulers set at defiance ; arduous 
 negotiations conducted; alliances con- 
 tracted abroad, confederacies entered into 
 at home, constitutions framed, and 
 governments administered ; — and in all 
 these vast concerns thou, even thou, 
 Benjamin Franklin, printer, shalt bear 
 a responsible and even a leading part, 
 with the sages, the patriots, and the mon- 
 archs of Europe, with the most honoured 
 and trusted of thy own counntry, with 
 Adams, with Jefferson, with Jay, with 
 Laurens, and above all, with Washington. 
 
88 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 Boston now sends thee forth a penniless 
 fugitive; Philadelphia receives thee a 
 homeless adventurer ; but ere thou shalt 
 taste of death, America, Europe, shall be 
 too narrow for thy fame ; and in times to 
 come, the friendly strife of the city of thy 
 birth and the city of thy adoption shall 
 be which best, which most, shall do honor 
 to thy memory.— Everett, Edward, 
 1859, Franklin the Boston Boy, Orations 
 and Speeches, vol. iv, p. 128. - 
 
 Well, Sir, this part of the town, I think, 
 should have an interest for people from 
 your side of the water, for it has associa- 
 tions connected with a certain countryman 
 of yours named Benjamin Franklin. When 
 he was toiling as a journeyman printer in 
 the metropolis, more than a century ago, 
 he was accustomed to stroll upon the Sun- 
 day afternoon along the banks of Father 
 Thames, and this end of this Cheyne Row 
 was usually his goal. One day, as he 
 walked discoursing with a friend, he de- 
 clared himself able to swim from here to 
 London Bridge, distant about five miles. 
 His friend offered a wager that it was im- 
 possible ; and he, upon the instant strip- 
 ping, plunged boldly in, and started for 
 his mark, while his friend, bearing the 
 clothes, strode down the bank ; and a 
 great multitude of spectators, growing 
 ever greater as he proceeded, followed to 
 see the feat. He, with brave stroke and 
 lusty sinew buffeting the tide, gained the 
 bridge and the wager. Whereupon, amidst 
 great acclamations, the people suggested 
 that he should start a swimming school. 
 But God had other work for him to do : 
 for in later years he was to teach the 
 people of your continent how, by Frugality 
 and Labor, and Patience and Courage, any 
 man might buffet the waves of Fortune, 
 and swim straight on to prosperity and 
 success. And that was the swimming- 
 school which he was to establish. — Car- 
 LYLE, Thomas, 1860 ? Conversation with Dr. 
 Milburn ; Guernsey's Life of Carlyle, p. 17. 
 
 Dr. Sprague, of Albany, who has col- 
 lected a great number of autographs, 
 made application, some time since, to a 
 certain gentleman for that of Dr. Franklin. 
 *'0h, you have one already, " said the 
 person referred to. * ' No matter, ' ' replied 
 the determined collector. ''I want it for 
 exchange. One Benny Franklin in Europe 
 is worth two kings ! " — Norton, John N., 
 1861, Life of Doctor Franklin, p. 177, note. 
 
 Of the men whom the world currently 
 terms Self-Made — that is, who severally 
 fought their life-battles without the aid 
 of inherited wealth, or family honors, 
 or educational advantages, perhaps our 
 American Franklin stands highest in the 
 civilized world's regard. ... I think I 
 adequately appreciate the greatness of 
 Washington, yet I must place Franklin 
 above him as the consummate type and 
 flowering of human nature under the skies 
 of colonial America. Not that Washing- 
 ton was born to competence and all need- 
 ful facilities for instruction, so that he 
 began responsible life on vantage ground 
 that Franklin toiled twenty arduous, pre- 
 cious years to reach ; I can not feel that 
 this fact has undue weight with me. I 
 realize that there are elements of dignity, 
 of grandeur, in the character of Washing- 
 ton for which that of Franklin affords no 
 parallel. But when I contemplate the 
 immense variety and versatility of Frank- 
 lin's services to his country and to man- 
 kind; when I think of him as a writer 
 whose first effusions commanded attention 
 in his early boyhood ; as a monitor and 
 teacher of his fellow journeymen in a 
 London printing office ; as almost from the 
 outset a prosperous and influential editor 
 when journalism had never before been a 
 source of power ; as taking his place 
 naturally at the head of the postal service 
 in America, and of the earliest attempts 
 to form a practical confederation of the 
 colonies ; when I see him, never an enthu- 
 siast, and now nearly three-score-and-ten, 
 renouncing office, hazarding fame, fortune, 
 everything, to struggle for the independ- 
 ence of his country, he having most to lose 
 by failure of any American, his only son a 
 bitter Loyalist, he cheerfully and repeat- 
 edly braving the dangers of an ocean 
 swarming with enemes, to render his 
 country the service as ambassador which 
 no other man could perform, and finally, 
 when more than eighty years old, crown- 
 ing a life of duty and honor by helping to 
 frame that immortal Constitution which 
 made us one nation forever, I cannot place 
 Franklin second to any other American. 
 He could not have done the work of 
 Washington— no other man could; but 
 then he did so many admirable things 
 which Washington had too sound a judg- 
 ment even to attempt. And, great as 
 Washington was, he ?\ras not great enough 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 89 
 
 to write and print after he had achieved 
 power and world-wide fame, a frank, 
 ingenuous confession of his youthful fol- 
 lies and sins for the instruction and ad- 
 monition of others. Many a man can 
 look calmly down the throats of roaring 
 cannon who lacks the courage and true 
 philanthropy essential to those called to 
 render this service to mankind. — Gree- 
 ley, Horace, 1862, Self-Made Men. 
 
 Men have lived who were more mag- 
 nificently endowed than Franklin. Men 
 have lived whose lives were more splendid 
 and heroic than his. If the inhabitants of 
 the earth were required to select, to rep- 
 resent them in some celestial congress 
 composed of the various orders of intel- 
 ligent beings, a specimen of the human 
 race, and we should send a Shakespeare, 
 the celestials would say, He is one of us ; 
 or a Napoleon, the. fallen angels might 
 claim him. But if we desired to select a 
 man who could present in his own charac- 
 ter the largest amount of human worth 
 with the least of human frailty, and in his 
 own lot on earth the largest amount of 
 enjoyment with the least of suffering ; one 
 whose character was estimable without 
 being too exceptionally good, and his lot 
 happy without being too generally unat- 
 tainable ; one who could bear in his letter 
 of credence, with the greatest truth. This 
 is a Man, and his lije on earth was such as 
 good men may live, I know not who, of the 
 renowned of all ages, we could more 
 fitly choose to represent us in that high 
 court of the universe, than Benjamin 
 Franklin, printer, of Philadelphia. — Par- 
 ton, James, 1864, Life and Times of Ben- 
 jamin Franklin, vol. ii, p. 655. 
 
 No one began lower than the poor ap- 
 prentice of Boston ; no one raised himself 
 higher, by his own energy, than did the 
 inventor of the lightning-rod ; no one has 
 rendered more splendid services to his 
 country than the diplomatist who signed 
 the peace of 1783 and secured the inde- 
 pendence of the United States. — Labou- 
 LAYE, Edouard, 1866, Memoir of Franklin. 
 
 The ideal American, as he has been 
 painted for us of late, is a man who has 
 shaken off the yoke of definite creeds, 
 while retaining their moral essence, and 
 finds the highest sanctions needed for the 
 conduct of human life in experience tem- 
 pered by common sense. Franklin is 
 'generally supposed to have reached this 
 
 ideal by anticipation, and there is a half- 
 truth in the supposition. But whoever 
 will study this great master of practical 
 life in the picture here painted by himself, 
 will acknowledge that it is only super- 
 ficially true, and that if he never lifts us 
 above the earth or beyond the domain of 
 experience and common-sense, he retained 
 himself a strong hold on the invisible 
 which underlies it, and would have been 
 the first to acknowledge that it was this 
 which enabled him to control the accidents 
 of birth, education, and position, and to 
 earn the eternal gratitude and reverence 
 of the great nation over whose birth he 
 watched so wisely and whose character he 
 did so much to form. — Hughes, Thomas, 
 1879, Benjamin Franklin, The Contem- 
 porary Review, vol. 35, p. 594. 
 
 The Declaration did its work ; the rep- 
 resentative of America in Paris was doing 
 his. Edmund Burke was right when, in a 
 letter to a friend, he remarked that Frank- 
 lin's presence in France was in itself a 
 triumph for the Colonies. The man who 
 it was said had "snatched the thunderbolt 
 from heaven and the sceptre from tyrants' ' 
 received such men as Turgot, who had 
 resigned his portfolio, and Yergennes who 
 was still in power; naturalists, such as 
 Buffon ; nobles, such as La Rochefoucauld ; 
 philosophers, such as D'Alembert and 
 Helvetius ; physicians, such as Cabanis and 
 Vicq d'Azyr; men of letters, such as 
 Rynal, Morellet, and Mably ; jurists, such 
 as Malesherbes, the admirer of a country 
 that sent a tallow-chandler's son as its 
 envoy to a court. All these Franklin 
 charmed and captivated by a power so 
 subtle and magnetic as to be well-nigh 
 indefinable. The people read with admira- 
 tion the ' ' Science du Bonhomme Richard. ' ' 
 At Paris they called it with praise "a very 
 little book treating great subjects. ' ' Many 
 purchased and read a thin volume which 
 then appeared and which contained the 
 American Colonies' Constitution. Num- 
 bers called on Franklin at his house and 
 discussed public affairs with him. Those 
 who came, those who discussed, those who 
 read were equally ardent for the American 
 struggle. — Rosenthal, Lewis, 1882, 
 America and France, p. 32. 
 
 To say that his life is the most interest- 
 ing, the most uniformly successful, yet 
 lived by any American, is bold. But it is 
 nevertheless, strictly true. Not the least 
 
90 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 of the many glories of our country is the 
 long list of men who, friendless, half- 
 educated, poor, have, by the sheer force of 
 their own abilities, raised themselves from 
 the humblest beginnings to places of 
 eminence and command. Many of these 
 have surpassed him. Some have specu- 
 lated more deeply on finance, have been 
 more successful as philanthropists, have 
 made greater discoveries in physics, have 
 written books more commonly read than 
 his. Yet not one of them has attained to 
 greatness in so many ways, or has made so 
 lasting an impression on his countrymen. 
 His face is as well known as the face 
 of Washington, and, save that of Wash- 
 ington, is the only one of his time 
 that is now instantly recognized by the 
 great mass of his countrymen. His 
 maxims are in every man's mouth. His 
 name is, all over the country, bestowed 
 on counties and towns, on streets, on 
 societies, on corporations. — McMaster, 
 John Bach, 1887. Benjamin Franklin as 
 a Man of Letters (American Men of Let- 
 ters), p. 281. 
 
 To this day Franklin is cordially remem- 
 bered in France. Nor can any one well 
 study the history of the years of his life, 
 which proved so important to his country, 
 without constant reference to the archives 
 of that other country which he loved next 
 to his own. — Hale, Edward Everett, 
 AND Hale, Jr., Edward Everett, 1888, 
 Franklin in France, pt. ii, p. 416. 
 
 One cannot rise from a perusal of these 
 documents without entertaining a higher 
 regard for Benjamin Franklin as a man of 
 feeling. He is generally considered to 
 have been one in whom excess of intel- 
 lectual activity and Yankee shrewdness 
 overbalanced the exercise of his emotional 
 nature. That he is capable of warm and 
 enduring friendship, however, becomes at 
 once apparent in these genial letters, 
 written by the American printer to his 
 brother printer across the seas.— Benja- 
 min, S. G. W., 1888, Unpublished Letters 
 of Franklin to Strahan, Atlantic Monthly, 
 vol. 61, p. 21. 
 
 He was sanguine by nature, by resolu- 
 tion, and by policy ; and his way of allur- 
 ing good fortune was to welcome it in 
 advance. — Morse, Jr., John T., 1889, 
 Benjamin Franklin (American Statesmen) , 
 p. 264. 
 
 The Frenchman's American is Benjamin 
 
 Franklin. It was so when they first began 
 to know him, when he went in and out 
 among them a living man, and it is so to- 
 day, when an even century has closed 
 around his simple tomb. There is some- 
 thing grand in the personality of this man 
 who was able to inspire such deep admira- 
 tion and such sinister hatred by the same 
 act. Benjamin Franklin was, without 
 doubt, a strong man— a man of strong and 
 positive character, whose friends and 
 enemies were equally strong in their feel- 
 ings of like and dislike. The men who 
 were ranged as his enemies have been 
 relegated to a second place on the page of 
 history, while those who were his friends 
 stand out boldly in the front rank of the 
 notable characters of the past. If we 
 were asked to say what was the charac- 
 teristic in Franklin that made him an idol 
 among the French nation, we should answer 
 his versatility. He was the adroit diplo- 
 mat and the simple bourgeois, the learned 
 philosopher and scientist, and the gay bon 
 vivant and bonhomme. He could write a 
 dispatch or an epigram with equal facility, 
 and he could control the electric fluid and 
 a smoky chimney with equal success. He 
 at turns could be the chivalric courtier or 
 the simple representative of the infant 
 republic, and whatever he did or whatever 
 pose he assumed he was the same peerless 
 Franklin : and now that he has been at rest 
 these hundred years he stands forth on the 
 page of history as the first American — 
 not even second to Washington himself. — 
 Hart, Charles Henry, 1890, Franklin 
 in Allegory, The Century, vol. 19, p. 197. 
 
 While Thomas Jelferson, with that 
 breadth of statesmanship which charac- 
 terized all of his labors, kept unceasingly 
 before his view the importance of popular 
 education to reinforce and make effective 
 the operations of the principle of local 
 self-government, on the other hand, Dr. 
 Franklin, himself a noteworthy example of 
 a self-educated man, kept in view the im- 
 portance of education as the foundation of 
 thrift and social development. These two 
 men seem to have furnished more than any 
 other two men the guiding principles which 
 have prevailed in our civilization, political 
 and social. . . . Benjamin Franklin stands 
 somewhat in contrast to Jefferson in the 
 fact that he looks more to the social wel- 
 fare than to the political funccion of the 
 people. His most pronounced idea is that 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 91 
 
 of thrift. He wishes to have it impressed 
 on each man or woman or child that in- 
 dustry and economy are prime sources of 
 power. But he is in agreement with 
 Thomas Jefferson as to the importance of 
 an elementary education to prepare the 
 citizen for intelligent application of the 
 lessons of industry and thrift. — Harris, 
 William T., 1893, Benjamin Franklin 
 and The University of Pennsylvania^ ed. 
 Thorpe, Introduction, pp. 1, 2. 
 
 The difficulty of a study of Franklin is 
 intensified by the fact that he was the 
 most-sided man that ever appeared in our 
 history, if not, indeed, in history at all. 
 To be comprehended we must know him, 
 not only as a diplomatist, but as the fore- 
 most scientist in the world; a most re- 
 markable financier and business manager ; 
 an author whose work has a fixed place 
 among the higher classics ; a philosopher 
 who found rank with Voltaire and 
 Leibnitz; as Kant expressed it, ''the 
 Prometheus of modern days." John 
 Adams, whose jealousy was irrepressible, 
 wrote from Paris that Franklin's reputa- 
 tion was "more universal than that of 
 Newton. " Nor do we find our task minified 
 by the fact that Franklin was a man as 
 simple as he was great, as childlike as he 
 was philosophic. Like Lincoln, he loved 
 a joke, but, unlike Lincoln, he put his jokes 
 into state papers. It has been hinted that 
 for this reason no great historic document 
 of the period was intrusted to his pen. 
 His economy was not only political, it was 
 domestic; and in' 'Poor Richard" popular 
 estimation cannot easily recognize the 
 controlling mind of the v/orld's affairs and 
 the builder of democracy. He wrote 
 alamnacs instead of constitutions. He 
 was as marked for his toleration in theol- 
 ogy as for his democracy in statecraft. 
 In both he was clearsighted and even pro- 
 phetic, far beyond his age. — Powell, E. 
 P., 1893, A Study of Benjamin Franklin, 
 The Arena, vol. 8, p. 477. 
 
 Those persons who knew Franklin, the 
 inventor, only as the genius to whom we 
 owe the lightning rod, will be amazed at the 
 range of his activity. For half a century 
 his mind seems to have been on the alert 
 concerning the why and wherefore of every 
 phenomenon for which the explanation 
 was not apparent. Nothing in nature 
 failed to interest him. Had he lived in an 
 era of patents he might have rivalled 
 
 Edison in the number of his patentable 
 devices, and had he chosen to make money 
 for such devices, his gains would certainly 
 have been fabulous. As a matter of fact, 
 Franklin never applied for a patent, though 
 frequently urged to do so, and he made no 
 money by his inventions. . . . The com- 
 plete list of inventions, devices, and im- 
 provements of which Franklin was the 
 originator, or a leading spirit and con- 
 tributor, is so long a one that a dozen 
 pages would not suffice for it. — Hubert, 
 Jr., Philip G., 1893, Inventors, pp. 9, 10. 
 
 A characteristic as well as a memorable 
 product of colonial civilization at this 
 epoch was Benjamin Franklin, by birth and 
 education a New Englander, by adoption a 
 Pennsylvanian. He cannot be said to 
 have been an offspring of the theocracy, 
 inasmuch as he was a latitudinarian in 
 religion and had a natural son. But he 
 was an offspring of New England Puri- 
 tanism grown mellow. His commercial 
 shrewdness, his practical inventiveness, 
 his fundamental integrity, his public spirit, 
 his passion for improvement, were native 
 to his community in the phase which it 
 had now reached, no less than were his 
 "Poor Richard" philosophy of life and the 
 absence in him of anything spiritual or 
 romantic. He it was who in his boyhood 
 had suggested to his father that much 
 time might be saved by saying grace at 
 once over a whole barrel of red herrings. 
 He leads up the mighty army of Ameri- 
 can inventors. At the same time though 
 no revolutionist by nature he was the 
 destined harbinger of the Revolution. He 
 had been the first projector of a general 
 union of the colonies. His figure marks 
 the transition to the revolutionary and 
 national period which is now opening from 
 that of the Puritan commonwealth. — 
 Smith, Goldwin, 1893, The United States, 
 An Outline of Political History, 1492- 
 1871, p. 62. 
 
 Humor, indeed, he had so abundantly 
 that it was almost a failing. Like Abra- 
 ham Lincoln, another typical American, 
 he never shrank from a jest. Like 
 Lincoln, he knew the world well and 
 accepted it for what it was, and made the 
 best of it, expecting no more. But 
 Franklin lacked the spirituality, the faith 
 in the ideal, which was at the core of 
 Lincoln's character. And here was Frank- 
 lin's limitation : what lay outside of the 
 
92 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 bounds of common sense he did not see — 
 probably he did not greatly care to see ; 
 but common sense he had in a most 
 uncommon degree. One of his chief 
 characteristics was curiosity — in the 
 wholesome meaning of that abused word. 
 He never rested till he knew the why and 
 wherefore of all that aroused his atten- 
 tion. — Matthews, Brander, 1896, An 
 Introduction to the Study of American 
 Literature, p. 36. 
 
 One of the first men to exhibit this 
 American spirit with an unmistakable 
 touch of greatness and distinction >vas 
 Benjamin Franklin. It was characteristic 
 of America that this self-made man should 
 become a philosopher, a founder of philo- 
 sophical societies, an authoritative man of 
 science ; that his philosophy of life should 
 be so homely and so practical in its 
 maxims, and uttered with so shrewd a wit ; 
 that one region should be his birthplace 
 and another his home; that he should 
 favor effective political union among the 
 colonies from the first, and should play a 
 sage and active part in the establishment of 
 national independence and the planning of 
 a national organization ; and that he should 
 represent his countrymen in diplomacy 
 abroad. They could have had no spokes- 
 man who represented more sides of their 
 character. Franklin was a sort of multiple 
 American. He was versatile without 
 lacking solidity ; he was a practical states- 
 man without ceasing to be a sagacious 
 philosopher. He came of the people, and 
 was democratic ; but he had raised himself 
 out of the general mass of unnamed men, 
 and so stood for the democratic law, not of 
 equality, but of self-selection in endeavor. 
 One can feel sure that Franklin would 
 have succeeded in any part of the national 
 life that it might have fallen to his lot to 
 take part in. He will stand the final and 
 characteristic test of Americanism: he 
 would unquestionably have made a suc- 
 cessful frontiersman, capable at once of 
 wielding the axe and of administering 
 justice from the fallen trunk. — Wilson, 
 WooDROW, 1896, Mere Literature, p. 200. 
 
 He was the Abou ben Adhem of his 
 times. If service is the test of love, few 
 men have loved their fellows better than 
 did this unsentimental, unspiritual homely 
 old body, American's patron saint of com- 
 mon sense. — Bates, Katharine Lee, 
 1897, American Literature p. 58. 
 
 In the long and angry disputes of the 
 American Revolution, the part taken in 
 them by Franklin was very much like that 
 which Socrates might have taken had he 
 been born in Boston in the early part of 
 the eighteenth century, had he been for 
 many years a printer and a politician in 
 Philadelphia, and had he filled at London 
 and Paris the diplomatic stations that were 
 filled by Franklin. Indeed, the likeness 
 between Franklin and Socrates was more 
 than superficial ; for, besides the plebeian 
 origin of both and some trace of plebeian 
 manners which clung to both, and the 
 strain of animal coarseness from which 
 neither was ever entirely purified, they 
 both had an amazing insight into human 
 nature in all its grades and phases, they 
 were both indifferent to literary fame, 
 they were both humorists, they both ap- 
 plied their great intellectual gifts in a 
 disciplinary but genial way to the improve- 
 ment of their fellow-men, and in dealing 
 controversially with the opinions of others 
 they both understood and practised the 
 strategy of coolness, playfulness, an un- 
 assuming manner, moderation of state- 
 ment, the logical parallel, and irony. — 
 Tyler, Moses Coit, 1897, The Literary 
 History of the American Revolution,nQS- 
 1783, vol, II, p, 371. 
 
 There are, I conceive, two chief reasons 
 why the name of Franklin is so constantly 
 on our lips and his memory so impressed 
 upon our hearts — why, in other words, he 
 really lives for us instead of being a mere 
 fossil in the strata of history. One is that 
 as an embodiment of practical learning, 
 shrewd mother wit, honesty, and patriot- 
 ism he is a typical and in many respects 
 unapproachable product of true Ameri- 
 canism. The other is that he is the most 
 complete representative of his century 
 that any nation can point to. With re- 
 gard to the typical character of his Ameri- 
 canism few cavils will be raised, but with 
 regard to the claim that he best represents 
 the eighteenth century there will probably 
 be not a little dissension. Washington, 
 Dr. Johnson, Frederick the Great, and 
 Voltaire might each and all be put in 
 competition with the sage who snatched 
 the lightning from heaven and the sceptre 
 from tyrants, and would have many sup- 
 porters. But in none of these does the 
 age of prose and reason seem to find such 
 adequate and complete expression as 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 93 
 
 in Franklin. Washington is beyond his 
 own or any century. Dr. Johnson does 
 not sufficiently represent the age on its 
 'rational side ; Frederick is too extreme a 
 combination of daring and sublime serious- 
 ness of purpose and petty affectation; 
 while Voltaire is at once too intense and 
 not radical enough, and is, after all, too 
 entirely a man of letters. Franklin, on 
 the other hand, thoroughly represents his 
 age in its practicality, in its devotion to 
 science, in its intellectual curiosity, in its 
 humanitarianism,in its lack of spirituality, 
 in its calm self-content — in short, in its 
 exaltation of prose and reason over poetry 
 and faith.— Trent, W. P., 1897, The 
 Makers of the Uniorij McClure^s Magazine, 
 vol. 8, p. 273. 
 
 Franklin was now well in the way of 
 prosperity, aged twenty-four, with a little 
 printing business; plans plus, and ambi- 
 tions to spare. He had had his little fling in 
 life, and had done various things of which 
 he was ashamed; and the foolish things 
 that Deborah had done were no worse than 
 those of which he had been guilty. So 
 he called on her, and they talked it over 
 and made honest confessions that are good 
 for the soul. The potter disappeared— no 
 one knew where — some said he was dead, 
 but Benjamin and Deborah did not wear 
 mourning. They took rumor ' s word for it, 
 and thanked God, and went to a church and 
 were married. Deborah brought to the 
 firm a very small dowry; and Benjamin 
 contributed a bright baby boy, aged two 
 years, captured no one knows just where. 
 This boy was William Franklin, who grew 
 up into a very excellent man, and the 
 worst that can be said of him is, that he 
 became Governor of New Jersey. He 
 loved and respected his father, and called 
 Deborah mother, and loved her very much. 
 And she was worthy of all love and ever 
 treated him with tenderness and gentlest 
 considerate care. Possibly a blot on the 
 'scutcheon may, in the working of God's 
 providence, not always be a dire misfor- 
 tune, for it sometimes has the effect of 
 binding broken hearts as nothing else can, 
 a citatrice toughens the fibre. Deborah 
 had not much education, but she had good, 
 sturdy common sense, which is better if 
 you are forced to make choice. She set 
 herself to help her husband in every way 
 possible and so far as I know, never sighed 
 for one of those things you call '*a 
 
 career." She even worked in the print- 
 ing office, folding, stitching, and doing up 
 bundles. Long years afterward, when 
 Franklin was Ambassador of the American 
 Colonies in France, he told with pride that 
 the clothes he wore were spun, woven, 
 cut out, and made into garments all by his 
 wife's own hands. Frankllin's love for 
 Deborah was very steadfast. Together 
 they became rich and respected, won world- 
 wide fame, and honors came that way such 
 as no American before or since has ever 
 received.— Hubbard, Elbert, 1898, Little 
 Journeys to the Homes of American States- 
 men, p. 58. 
 
 Franklin was a rather large man, and 
 is supposed to have been about five feet 
 ten inches in height. In his youth he was 
 stout, and in old age corpulent and heavy, 
 with rounded shoulders. The portraits of 
 him reveal a very vigorous-looking man, 
 with a thick upper arm and a figure 
 which, even in old age, was full and 
 rounded. In fact, this rounded contour is 
 his most striking characteristic . . . 
 Franklin's figure was a series of harmo- 
 nious curves, which make pictures of him 
 always pleasing. These curves extended 
 over his head and even to the lines of his 
 face, softening the expression, slightly 
 veiling the iron resolution, and entirely 
 consistent with the wide sympathies, 
 varied powers, infinite shrewdness, and 
 vast experience which we know he pos- 
 sessed.— Fisher, Sydney George, 1899, 
 The True Benjamin Franklin, p. 17. 
 
 Benjamin Franklin is considered all 
 over the world a polyhistor of the fore- 
 most rank. Nothing escaped his atten- 
 tion. However, it was not merely of a 
 receptive kind. Like Leonardo da Vinci, 
 our ''patriot and sage," as he was called 
 in eulogies, never received without giving. 
 Whoever went through John Bigelow's 
 edition of Franklin's complete works 
 knows that he suggested inventions and 
 improvements, not only in electricity, 
 printing, flying machines — the latter in 
 the modern sense, not of fast stage 
 coaches, as in the terminology of the 
 eighteenth century — optics, chemistry, 
 submarine boats, but also in very many 
 other directions. Strangely enough, the 
 invention of the musical glasses, or har- 
 monica, which since more than a hundred 
 and thirty years has been attributed to 
 Franklin, was not his invention. He only 
 
94 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 suggested some important improvements. 
 . . . Benjamin Franklin possessed a 
 keen interest for music and a certain 
 knowledge of its literature. But so far, 
 with exception of his traditional inven- 
 tion of the musical glasses, he did not 
 surpass the many other lovers of music in 
 colonial America. ... He can justly 
 be classified among the most critical and 
 boldest writers on musical declamation of 
 that period. Very few critics and pro- 
 fessional musicians had or have equally 
 independent esthetical reasoning powers, 
 and certainly the contemporaneous artists, 
 when ''talking shop" with Franklin, 
 have haughtily sneered at the ideas of the 
 musical greenhorn from the American 
 prairies and backwoods. — Sonneck, 0. 
 G., 1900, Benjamin Franklin's Relation 
 to Music, Music, vol. 19, p-p. 1, 7, 11. 
 
 He acted at one time as a commander 
 of troops, yet cannot be called a soldier ; he 
 was a great statesman, yet not among the 
 greatest ; he made famous discoveries in 
 science, yet was scarcely a professional 
 scientist; he was lauded as a philosopher, 
 yet barely outstepped the region of com- 
 mon sense ; he wrote ever as a moralist, 
 yet in some respects lived a free life ; he 
 is one of the few great American authors, 
 yet never published a book; he was a 
 shrewd economist, yet left at his death 
 only a moderate fortune ; he accomplished 
 much as a philanthropist, yet never sac- 
 rificed his own weal. Above all and in 
 all things he was a man, able to cope with 
 every chance of life and wring profit out 
 of it ; he had perhaps the alertest mind of 
 any man of that alert century. In his 
 shrewdness, versatility, self-reliance, wit, 
 as also in his lack of the deeper reverence 
 and imagination, he, I think, more than 
 any other man who has yet lived, repre- 
 sents the full American character. — More, 
 Paul Elmer, 1900, Benjamin Franklin 
 (Riverside Biographical Series), p. 1. 
 
 THE HUTCHINSON LETTERS 
 
 Sir, — Finding that two gentlemen have 
 been unfortunately engaged in a duel 
 about a transaction and its circumstances 
 of which both of them are totally ignorant 
 and innocent, I think it incumlDent upon 
 me to declare (for the prevention of 
 further mischief, as far as such a declar- 
 ation may contribute to prevent it) that I 
 alone am the person who obtained and 
 
 transmitted to Boston the letters in ques- 
 tion. Mr. Whately could not communi- 
 cate them, because they were never in his 
 possession ; and for the same reason they 
 could not be taken from him by Mr. 
 Temple. They were not of the nature 
 of private letters between friends. They 
 were written by public officers to persons 
 in public stations on public affairs, and 
 intended to procure public measures ; they 
 were therefore handed to other public 
 persons, who might be influenced by them 
 to produce those measures. Their tend- 
 ency was to incense the mother country 
 against her colonies, and, by the steps rec- 
 ommended, to widen the breach which they 
 effected. The chief caution expressed 
 with regard to privacy was, to keep their 
 contents from the colony agents, who, the 
 writers apprehended, might return them, 
 or copies of them, to America. That 
 apprehension was, it seems, well founded, 
 for the first agent who laid his hands on 
 them thought it his duty to transmit them 
 to his constituents. — Franklin, Benja- 
 min, 1773, To the Printer of the ''Public 
 Advertiser,'^ Dec. 25. 
 
 I hope, my lords, you will mark and 
 brand the man, for the honour of this 
 country, of Europe, and of mankind. 
 Private correspondence has hitherto been 
 held sacred in times of the greatest party 
 rage, not only in politics, but in religion. 
 The betrayer of it has forfeited all the 
 respect of the good, and of his own asso- 
 ciates. Into what companies will the fab- 
 ricator of this iniquity hereafter go with an 
 unembarassed face, or with any semblance 
 of the honest intrepidity of virtue ? Men 
 will watch him with a jealous eye — they 
 will hide their papers from him, and lock 
 up their escritoires. Having hitherto as- 
 pired after fame by his writings, he will 
 henceforth esteem it a libel to be called a 
 man of letters — ''homo trium liter arum." 
 But he not only took away these papers 
 from one brother, ^ — he kept himself con- 
 cealed till he nearly occasioned the mur- 
 der of another. It is impossible to read 
 his account, expressive of the coolest and 
 most deliberate malice, without horror. 
 Amidst these tragical events, of one per- 
 son nearly murdered — of another answer- 
 able for the issue — of a worthy governor 
 hurt in the dearest interests — the fate of 
 America in suspense — here is a man who, 
 with the utmost insensibility or remorse, 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 95 
 
 stands up and avows himself the author of 
 all. I can compare him only to Zanga in 
 Dr. Young's Revenge — 
 
 "Kuow, then, 'twas I. 
 
 I forged the letter— I disposed the picture — 
 I hated, I despised— aud I destroy!" 
 I ask, my Lords, whether the revengeful 
 temper attributed by poetic fiction only 
 to the bloody-minded African, is not sur- 
 passed by the coolness and apathy of the 
 wily New Englander ? — Wedderburn, 
 Alexander (Lord Loughborough), 1774, 
 Speech before the Committee of the Privy 
 Council, Jan. 29. 
 
 The character of the inquiry, and the 
 dignity of the tribunal to whose investi- 
 gation it was submitted, were not duly 
 considered. Ministers, taught by expe- 
 rience, ought to have known the degrada- 
 tion which they must inevitably incur 
 when they elevated an individual into the 
 rank of a personal opponent. . . . Dr. 
 Franklin, who had recently completed his 
 sixty-seventh year, who was known and 
 honoured in the most eminent philosophical 
 and literary societies in Europe, sat with 
 his grey, unadorned locks, a hearer of one 
 of the severest invectives that ever pro- 
 ceeded from the tongue of man, and an 
 observer of a boisterous and obstreperous 
 merriment and exultation, which added 
 nothing to the dignity of his judges. He 
 had sufficient self-command to suppress all 
 display of feeling ; but the transactions of 
 the day sunk deeply into his mind, and 
 produced an unextinguishable rancour 
 against this country, which coloured all 
 the acts of his subsequent life, and occa- 
 sioned extensive and ever memorable con- 
 sequences. — Adolphus, John, 1802, His- 
 tory of England During the Reign of George 
 III, vol. n, pp. 46, 47. 
 
 The conduct of Franklin in the affair 
 of the letters was unworthy a man of 
 honour and a gentleman. — Massey, Wil- 
 liam, 1855, A History of England during 
 the reign of George III, vol. ii, p. 145. 
 
 As we review the whole story of the 
 transaction of this day, in cool blood, we 
 can hardly understand how it occurred; 
 and there are those on the other side of 
 the ocean, if not on our own side, who 
 fail to perceive how it could have been 
 justified, as it was, by so many of our 
 calmest, wisest, and most conscientious 
 patriots. For, certainly, the men who were 
 intrusted with the letters were second 
 
 to none in Massachusetts for integrity 
 and principle. Chauncy and Cooper, as 
 we all know, were Doctors of Divinity, 
 who could hardly have been invited to take 
 part in an unworthy act. Doctor AVin- 
 throp — very remotely connected with my- 
 self, and of whom I may therefore speak 
 without delicacy — was the foremost man 
 of science at Harvard University, a mem- 
 ber, too, of the Royal Society, and a gen- 
 tleman of the highest character. And 
 Bowdoin, who stands first on the list, 
 would have been singled out among all the 
 patriots of that period as a man of the 
 greatest moderation, of inflexible princi- 
 ple, and of the nicest sense of honor. 
 Yet Bowdoin, in a letter to Franklin of 
 Sept. 6, 1774, calls the sending of the 
 letters ''that most meritorious act;" 
 and I am not aware of any other view 
 of the affair having been expressed, 
 at the time it occurred, by him, or by 
 any other of our Revolutionary Fathers. 
 — "WiNTHROP, Robert C.,1878, The Hutch- 
 inson Letters, Addresses and Speeches, vol. 
 IV, p. 3. 
 
 It must be confessed that the question 
 whether Franklin should have sent these 
 letters to be seen by the leading men of 
 Massachusetts involves points of some 
 delicacy. The very elaborateness and 
 vehemence of the exculpations put forth 
 by American writers indicate a lurking 
 feeling that the opposite side is at least 
 plausible. I add my opinion decidedly 
 upon Franklin's side, though I certainly 
 see force in the contrary view. Yet be- 
 fore one feels fully satisfied he would wish 
 to know from whom these letters came to 
 Franklin's hands, the information then 
 given him concerning them, and the au- 
 thority which the giver might be supposed 
 to have over them, in a word, all the at- 
 tendant and qualifying circumstances and 
 conversation upon which presumptions 
 might have been properly founded by 
 Franklin. Upon these essential matters 
 there is absolutely no evidence. Franklin 
 was bound to secrecy concerning them, at 
 whatever cost to himself. But it is evi- 
 dent that Franklin never for an instant 
 entertained the slightest doubt of the en- 
 tire propriety of his action, and even in 
 his own cause he was wont to be a fair- 
 minded judge. —Morse, Jr. , John T. , 1889, 
 Benjamin Franklin (American Statesmen), 
 p. 182, note. 
 
96 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 POOR RICHARD'S ALMANAC 
 
 1733. 
 
 Courteous Reader : — I might attempt 
 in this place to gain thy favor by declar- 
 ing that 1 write Almanacs with no other 
 view than that of the public good, but in 
 this I should not be sincere. . . . The 
 plain truth of the matter is, I am exces- 
 sive poor, and my wife, good woman, is, 
 1 tell her, excessive proud: she cannot 
 bear, she says to sit spinning in her shift 
 of tow, while I do nothing but gaze at the 
 stars ; and has threatened more than once 
 to burn all my books and rattling traps 
 (as she calls my instruments) if I do not 
 make some profitable use of them for the 
 good of my family. The printer has 
 offered me some considerable share of the 
 profits, and I have thus begun to comply 
 with my dame's desire. — Saunders, Dr. 
 Richard, 1733, Poor Richard's Almanac. 
 
 While in this weary state of suspense, 
 a prey to impatience, anxiety, and morti- 
 fication, Jones happened one day to be 
 looking over an old number of Franklin's 
 Pennsylvania Almanac, when his attention 
 was struck with the saying of Poor Rich- 
 ard : "If you v/ould have your business 
 done, go; if not, send." It immediately 
 occurred to him, that the delay of his own 
 business was in no slight degree owing 
 to his having so long remained at a dis- 
 tance, sending letters to court, instead of 
 going to attend to it in person. He set 
 out forthwith for the capital, and made 
 such good speed in his errand, that, ere 
 many days had elapsed, he received from 
 the reluctant M. de Sartine, the following 
 conclusive letter, dated at Versailles, on 
 the 4th of February, 1779. . . . 
 Feeling that his final success in obtaining 
 a command had been owing to his having 
 adopted the good advice which he had met 
 with in Dr. Franklin's Almanac, and out 
 of compliment to the sage, for whom his 
 veneration was so unbounded, Paul Jones 
 had asked leave, as appears by M. Sartine's 
 letter, to give the ship of which the com- 
 mand was now conferred upon him, the 
 name of the Bon Homme Richard, the 
 Poor Richard: a name v/hich his heroism 
 was destined to render as enduring as his 
 own.— Mackenzie, Alexander Slidell, 
 1841, The Life of Paul JoneSy vol. i, pp. 
 133, 136. 
 
 ''But, pray, dear father, tell us what 
 made him so famous, " said George. ''I 
 
 have seen his portrait a great many times. 
 There is a wooden bust of him in one of 
 our streets; and marble ones, I suppose 
 in some other places. And towns, and ships 
 of war, and steamboats, and banks, and 
 academies, and children, are often named 
 after Franklin. Why should he have 
 grown so very famous ?" " Your question 
 is a reasonable one, George," answered 
 his father. doubt whether Franklin's 
 philosophical discoveries, important as 
 they were, or even his vast political ser- 
 vices, would have given him all the fame 
 which he acquired. It appears to me that 
 Toor Richard's Almanac' did more than 
 anything else towards making him famil- 
 iarly known to the public. As the writer 
 of those proverbs which Poor Richard was 
 supposed to utter. Franklin became the 
 counsellor and household friend of almost 
 every family in America. Thus it was 
 the humblest of all his labors that has 
 done the most for his fame." — Haw- 
 thorne, Nathaniel, 1842, Biographical 
 Stories, Works, Riverside ed., vol. xii, 
 p. 202. 
 
 Some of the best fun Franklin ever 
 wrote, occurs in the prefaces to 'Toor 
 Richard.". . . "Poor Richard," at this 
 day, would be reckoned an indecent pro- 
 duction. All great humorists were more 
 or less indecent before Charles Dickens ; 
 i. e., they used certain words which are 
 now never pronounced by polite persons, 
 and are never printed by respectable 
 printers ; and they referred freely to cer- 
 tain subjects which are familiar to every 
 living creature, but which, it is now 
 agreed among civilized beings, shall not 
 be topics of conversation. In this re- 
 spect, "Poor Richard" was no worse, and 
 not much better, than other colonial peri- 
 odicals, some of which contained things 
 incredibly obscene; as much so as the 
 broadest passages of Sterne, Smollett, 
 Fielding, and Defoe.— Parton, James, 
 1864, Life and Times of Benjamin Frank- 
 lin, vol. I, pp. 228, 234. 
 
 The almanac went year after year, for 
 a quarter of a century, into the house of 
 nearly every shopkeeper, planter, and 
 farmer in the American provinces. Its 
 wit and humor, its practical tone, its 
 shrewd maxims, its worldly honesty, its 
 morality of common sense, its useful in- 
 formation, all chimed well with the 
 national character. It formulated in 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 97 
 
 homely phrase and with droll illustration 
 what the colonists more vaj2;uely knew, 
 felt, and believed upon a thousand points 
 of life and conduct. In so doing it greatly 
 trained and invigorated the natural 
 mental traits of the people. "Poor Rich- 
 ard" was the revered and popular school- 
 master of a young nation during its period 
 of tutelage. His teachings are among the 
 powerful forces which have gone to shap- 
 ing the habits of Americans. His terse 
 and picturesque bits of the wisdom and 
 the virtue of this world are familiar in 
 our mouths today ; they moulded our 
 great-grandparents and their children; 
 they have informed our popular traditions ; 
 they still influence our actions, guide our 
 ways of thinking, and establish our points 
 of view, with the constant control of ac- 
 quired habits which we little suspect.* If 
 we were accustomed still to read the litera- 
 ture of the almanac, we should be charmed 
 with its humor. The world has not yet 
 grown away from it, nor ever will. Ad- 
 dison and Steele had more polish but 
 vastly less humor than Franklin. "Poor 
 Richard" has found eternal life by pass- 
 ing into the daily speech of the people, 
 while the "Spectator" is fast being 
 crowded out of the hands of all save 
 scholars in literature.— Morse, Jr., John 
 T., 1889, Benjamin Franklin {American 
 Statesmen), p. 22. 
 
 "Poor Richard's Almanac" was so 
 much the best that it soon took. the place 
 of all others, and its wise maxims were in 
 people's mouths nearly as often as Bible 
 verses. Indeed, I have heard people quote 
 Franklin's proverbs as Solomon's, though 
 they are generally very different. These 
 homely sayings had a wonderful effect on 
 the New England colonists: they helped 
 to make them sharp, business-like, active, 
 cautious, hard-working, saving. Frank- 
 lin was the first well-known type and the 
 best type of the true "Yankee." — Wat- 
 kins, Mildred Cabell, 1894, American 
 Literature, p, 20. 
 
 Franklin's Almanack, his crowning work 
 in the sphere of journalism, published 
 under the pseudonym of Richard Saunders, 
 — better known since as Poor Richard, 
 — is still one of the marvels of mod- 
 ern literature. Under one or another of 
 many titles the contents of this publica- 
 tion, exclusive of its calendars, have been 
 translated into every tongue having any 
 
 7C 
 
 pretensions to a literature ; and have had 
 more readers, probably, than any other 
 publication in the English or indeed in any 
 other language, with the single exception 
 of the Bible. It was the first issue from 
 an American press that found a popular 
 welcome in foreign lands, and it still en- 
 joys the special distinction of being the 
 only almanac ever published that owed 
 its extraordinary popularity entirely to its 
 literary merit. What adds to the surprise 
 with which we contemplate the fame and 
 fortunes of this unpretentious publication, 
 is the fact that its reputation was estab- 
 lished by its first number, and when its 
 author was only twenty-six years of age. 
 For a period of twenty-six years, and un- 
 til Franklin ceased to edit it, this annual 
 was looked forward to by a larger portion 
 of the colonial population and with more 
 impatience than now awaits a President's 
 annual message to Congress. — Bigelow, 
 John, 1897, Library of the World's Best 
 Literature, ed. Warner, vol. x, p. 5926. 
 
 And thus for a quarter of a century or 
 more Poor Richard preached his little line- 
 long sermons, year after year; sermons 
 from very old texts, many of them — waifs 
 of common knowledge or tradition — Bib- 
 lical many of them and as old as Solomon, 
 but given a new twang by quaint or sharp 
 wording, which set them upon new and 
 wider flight. Let us not speak reproach- 
 fully of the stealing; 'tis a good sort of 
 stealing, like Chaucer's in his "Canter- 
 bury Tales;" whoever can put new force 
 and new beauty into an old truth by his 
 method of re-stating it, is doing good 
 work — doing indeed what most of the 
 good sermonizers are bent upon. No mat- 
 ter what old metal you may use, if you 
 can put enough of your own powder be- 
 hind it 'twill reach the mark. — Mitchell, 
 Donald G., 1897, American Lands and 
 Letters, The Mayflower to Rip-Van- Winkle, 
 p. 107. 
 
 It was in "Poor Richard," indeed, that 
 we see Franklin in his most striking light 
 as a philosopher of the people — a hard- 
 headed, practical thinker, an epigrammatic 
 moralist, and an exploiter or adapter of 
 adages, almost any one of which might 
 have made him famous. For Mr. Saun- 
 ders had a terse way of telling plain 
 truths, and while his sayings were not, for 
 the most part, exactly original, nearly 
 every one of them, even v\'hen a more 
 
98 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 modern setting to an ancient saw, bore 
 the hall-mark of Franklin's genius for apt 
 expression.— Robins, Edward, 1898, Ben- 
 jamin Franklin {American Men of Energy), 
 p. 44. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY 
 
 From the poverty and obscurity in which 
 I was born, and in which 1 passed my earli- 
 est years, I have raised myself to a state 
 of affluence and some degree of celebrity 
 in the world. As constant good fortune 
 has accompanied me even to an advanced 
 period of life, my posterity will perhaps 
 be desirous of learning the means which 
 I employed, and which, thanks to Provi- 
 dence, so well succeeded with me. They 
 may also deem them fit to be imitated, 
 should any of them find themselves in 
 similar circumstances. This good for- 
 tune, when I reflect on it, which is fre- 
 quently the case, has induced me some- 
 times to say, that if it were left to my 
 choice, I should have no objection to go 
 over the same life from its beginning to 
 the end: requesting only the advantage 
 authors have, of correcting in a second 
 edition the faults of the first. So would 
 1 also wish to change some incidents of it 
 for others more favourable. Notwith- 
 standing, if this condition was denied, I 
 should still accept the offer of recom- 
 mencing the same life. But as this repe- 
 tition is not to be expected, that which 
 resembles most living one's life over 
 again, seems to be to recall all the circum- 
 stances of it ; and, to render this remem- 
 brance more durable, to record them in 
 writing. In thus employing myself I 
 shall yield to the inclination so natural 
 to old men, of talking of themselves and 
 their own actions ; and I shall indulge it 
 without being tiresome to those who, from 
 respect to my age, might conceive them- 
 selves obliged to listen to me, since they 
 will be always free to read me or not. 
 —Franklin, Benjamin, 1771, Memoirs 
 Written by Himself. 
 
 There is a simplicity in this book which 
 charms us in the same way with the 
 humorous touches of nature in the ''Vicar 
 of Wakefield. ' ' Franklin's Boston brother 
 in the printing-office, — irascible, jealous, 
 and mortified on the return of the suc- 
 cessful adventurer, who is playing off his 
 prosperity before the workmen, is an 
 artist's picture of life, drawn in a few 
 conclusive touches. So, too, is Keimer 
 
 as happily hit off as any personage in Gil 
 Bias, particularly in that incident at the 
 break-up of Franklin's system of vegeta- 
 ble diet, which he had adopted ; he invites 
 his journeymen and two women friends to 
 dine with him, providing a roast pig for 
 the occasion, which being prematurely 
 served up, is devoured by the enthusiast, 
 before the company arrives ; in that effect- 
 ive sketch, in a paragraph of the Phila- 
 delphia City Croaker, whose ghost still 
 walks every city in the world, mocking 
 prosperity of every degree, — *'a person 
 of note, an elderly man, with a wise look 
 and a very grave manner of speaking." — 
 DuYCKiNCK, Evert A., and George L., 
 1855-65-75, C^/cZcjocEc^m of American Liter- 
 ature, ed. Simons, vol. i, p. 117. 
 
 Of this fragment of ''Autobiography" 
 I have sometimes been imprudent enough 
 to say, that it is the only piece of writing 
 yet produced on the continent of America 
 which is likely to be generally known 
 two centuries hence. — Parton, James, 
 1864, Life and Times of Benjamin Frank- 
 lin, vol. I, Preface, p. 6. 
 
 It is now eighty years since the death 
 of Dr. Franklin, and during this time his 
 "Autobiography" has been more exten- 
 sively read in this country than any other 
 historical work. It was, perhaps, the earli- 
 est American book that acquired and sus- 
 tained a great popularity. — Greene, Sam- 
 uel A., 1871, The Story of a Famous Book, 
 Atlantic Monthly, vol. 27, p. 207. 
 
 Wherever he lived he was the inevita- 
 ble centre of a system of influences always 
 important and constantly enlarging ; and 
 dying, he perpetuated it by an autobiogra- 
 phy which to this day not only remains 
 one of the most widely read and readable 
 books in our language, but has had the 
 distinction of enriching the literature of 
 nearly every other. No man has ever 
 lived whose life has been more universally 
 studied by his countrymen or is more 
 familiar to them.— BiGELOW, John, 1879, 
 Franklin, A Sketch. 
 
 A greater Autobiography than Edward 
 Gibbon's is our own Benjamin Franklin's. 
 Franklin had exactly the genius and 
 temperament of an autobiographer. He 
 loved and admired himself ; but he was so 
 bent upon analysis and measurement that 
 he could not let even himself pass without 
 discrimination. The style is like Defoe. 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 99 
 
 Indeed we are pleased to find that he 
 placed great value both on Defoe and Bun- 
 yan, whose stories are told so like his own. 
 He watches his own life as he watched one 
 of his own philosophical experiments. 
 He flies his existence as he flew his kite, 
 and tells the world about it all just as a 
 thoughtful boy might tell his mother what 
 he had been doing — sure of her kindly in- 
 terest in him. The world is like a mother 
 to Ben Franklin always : so domestic and 
 familiar is his thought of her. He who 
 has read this book has always' afterward 
 the boy-man who wrote it clear and dis- 
 tinct among the men he knows. — Brooks, 
 Phillips, 1880-94, Biography, Essays and 
 Addresses, p. 441. 
 
 But to Benjamin Franklin's Autobiog- 
 raphy" I feel that I owe more than to any 
 other book, and the greatest literary 
 treasure I own is an old edition of this 
 work, in two tiny volumes, printed in 
 London in 1799. I picked it up at a book 
 sale some years ago for fifty cents. It is 
 a very rare edition, I believe, and is not 
 to be found in the Stevens collection of 
 Franklin's works, now in the possession 
 of our government. — Gilder, Jeannette 
 h.,lSSS, Books That Have Helped Me, p. 72. 
 
 The style of this work is inimitable ; it 
 is as simple, direct, and idiomatic as Bun- 
 yan's; it is a style which no rhetorician 
 can assist us to attain, and which the least 
 touch of the learned critic would spoil. 
 —Underwood, Francis H., 1893, The 
 Builders of American Literature, First 
 Series, p. 46. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I am very sorry that you intend soon to 
 leave our hemisphere. America has sent 
 us many good things, — gold, silver, sugar, 
 tobacco, indigo, and so forth; but you 
 are the first philosopher, and indeed the 
 first great man of letters, for whom we 
 are beholden to her. — Hume, David, 1762, 
 Letter to Franklin, May 10. 
 
 One of the first philosophers, one of the 
 most eminent literary characters, as well 
 as one of the most important in the polit- 
 ical world, that the present age can boast 
 of.— CowPER, William, 1782, Letter to 
 the Rev. William Unwin, May 27, Works, 
 vol. II, p. 426. 
 
 The peculiar charm of his Avritings, and 
 his great merit also in action, consisted 
 in the clearness with which he saw his 
 
 object, — and the bold and steady pursuit 
 of it, by the surest and the shortest road. 
 He never suffered himself, in conduct, to 
 be turned aside by the seductions of inter- 
 est or vanity, or to be scared by hesitation 
 and fear, or to be misled by the arts of 
 his adversaries. Neither did he, in discus- 
 sion, ever go out of his way in search 
 of ornament, or stop short from dread of 
 the consequences. He never could be 
 caught, in short, acting absurdly, or writ- 
 ing nonsensically: — at all times, and in 
 every thing he undertook, the vigour of an 
 understanding, at once original and prac- 
 tical, was distinctly perceivable. But it 
 must not be supposed that his writings 
 are devoid of ornament or amusement. 
 The latter especially abounds in almost all 
 he ever composed ; only nothing is sacri- 
 ficed to them. On the contrary, they 
 come most naturally into their places ; and 
 they uniformly help on the purpose in 
 hand, of which neither writer nor reader 
 ever loses sight for an instant. Thus, his 
 style has all the vigour and even concise- 
 ness of Swift, without any of his harsh- 
 ness. It is in no degree more flowery, 
 yet both elegant and lively. The wit, or 
 rather humour, which prevails in his 
 works, varies with the subject. Some- 
 times he is bitter and sarcastic ; oftener 
 gay, and even droll ; reminding us, in this 
 respect, far more frequently of Addison 
 than of Swift, as might be naturally ex- 
 pected from his admirable temper, or the 
 happy turn of his imagination. . . . 
 There is nothing more delightful than the 
 constancy with which those amiable feel- 
 ings, those sound 'principles, those truly 
 profound views of human affairs, make their 
 appearance at every opportunity^ whether 
 the immediate subject be speculative or 
 practical — of a political, or of a general, 
 description. . . . We have said little 
 respecting his language, which is pure, 
 and English. A few, and but a few, for- 
 eign expressions may be traced, and these 
 French, rather than American ; as, for in- 
 stance, influential. Indeed, we cannot 
 reckon him more as an American than an 
 European. . — Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 
 1817, Franklin's Correspondence, Edin- 
 burgh Review, vol. 28, pp. 276, 277. 
 
 Taken all together, this collection of 
 letters would, we think, in the absence of 
 all other documents and representations, 
 afford suflicient means for a competent 
 
100 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 estimate of the writer. The character 
 displayed by them is an unusual combina- 
 tion of elements. The main substance of 
 the intellectual part of it is a superlative 
 good sense, evinced and acting in all the 
 modes of that high endowment ; such as 
 an intuitively prompt and perfect, and 
 steadily continuing appprehension ; a sagac- 
 ity which with admirable ease strikes 
 through all superficial and delusive ap- 
 pearances of things to the essence and 
 the true relations ; a faculty of reasoning 
 in a manner marvelously simple, direct, 
 and decisive ; a power of reducing a sub- 
 ject or question to its plainest principles ; 
 an unaffected daring to meet whatever is 
 to be opposed, in an explicit, direct man- 
 ner, and in the point of its main strength ; 
 a facility for applying familiar truths and 
 self-evident propositions, for resolving 
 the most uncommon difficulties; and a 
 happy adroitness of illustration, by par- 
 allel cases, supposed or real, the real ones 
 being copiously supplied by a large and 
 most observant acquaintance with the 
 world. It is obvious how much this same 
 accurate observation of the world would 
 contribute to that power of interpreting 
 the involuntary indications of character, 
 and of detecting motives and designs in 
 all sorts of persons he had to deal with, 
 and to that foresight of consequences in 
 all practical concerns, in which he was 
 probably never surpassed. — Foster, John, 
 1818, Benjamin Frankliriy Critical Essays, 
 ed. Ryland, vol. ii, p. 413. 
 
 Though after the first conception of an 
 electrical charge as a disturbance of equi- 
 librium, there was nothing in the develop- 
 ment or details of Franklin's views which 
 deserved to win for them any peculiar 
 authority, his reputation, and his skill as 
 a writer, gave a considerable influence to 
 his opinions. Indeed, for a time he was 
 considered, over a large part of Europe, 
 as the creator of the science, and the 
 terms, Franklinism, Franklinist, Frank- 
 linian system, occur in almost every page 
 of continental publications on the subject. 
 Yet the electrical phenomena to the knowl- 
 edge of which Franklin added least, those 
 of induction, were those by which the 
 progress of the theory was most promoted. 
 — Whewell, William, 1837, History of 
 the Inductive Sciences, vol. ii, p. 202. 
 
 Few writers have been so regardless of 
 literary reputation as Franklin. Scarcely 
 
 any of his compositions were published 
 under his own eye ; many of them were 
 not written for the press ; and the fame 
 of authorship appears rarely to have been 
 among the motives by which he was in- 
 duced to employ his pen. It is true, that, 
 in early life and afterwards, he cultivated 
 with uncommon assiduity the art of writ- 
 ing, till he attained a mastery over the 
 language, which has raised his name to 
 the first rank in English literature. Yet 
 it was his primary object, not so much to 
 become distinguished by this accomplish- 
 ment ; as to acquire the power of acting 
 on the minds of others, and of communi- 
 cating, in the most attractive and effec- 
 tual manner, such discoveries as he might 
 make, and his schemes for the general 
 improvement, the moral culture, the com- 
 fort, the happiness of mankind. He sel- 
 dom affixed his name to any of his writ- 
 ings. They were mostly designed for a 
 particular purpose; and, when they had 
 answered the end for which they were 
 intended, he seems to have given himself 
 little concern about their future destiny. 
 —Sparks, Jared, 1840, ed., Works of 
 Benjamin Franklin, Preface, vol. I, p. v. 
 
 The beginner of this literature, amiable 
 and subtle scholar of Defoe and Addison, 
 was Benjamin Franklin. He announced 
 the advent of a milder and more indulgent 
 civilization. Addison's apologue and deli- 
 cacy ; the popular, plain-speaking of Defoe 
 and Bunyan, were softened and melted 
 into a pleasant composition, which char- 
 acterized the first essays of colonial liter- 
 ature, essays remarkable for the sobriety 
 of their tone, and the absence of high 
 color. Imagination, magnificent and dan- 
 gerous gift, is not found in the works of 
 Franklin, nor do any of his contemporaries 
 or friends possess it. — Chasles, Phila- 
 RETE, 1852, Anglo-American Literature 
 and Manners, p. 3. 
 
 If ever the doctrine of saving has at- 
 tained a sort of homely poetry of expres- 
 sion, by dint of contentment and liveli- 
 ness, it is in Franklin that we must seek 
 for it. An inner warmth of sentiment 
 animates his prudence ; a ray of sunshine 
 illumines and enlivens his honesty. . . . 
 Franklin's correspondence in these years 
 is most agreeable and soothing reading ; 
 the perfect balance, the precision, the 
 absence of all evil passion and of all heat, 
 the good use to which he puts even his 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 101 
 
 enemies, an affectionate sentiment which 
 mingles with a correct appreciation of 
 things, and which banishes dryness, an 
 elevated sentiment whenever necessary, a 
 certain lightsome air diffused over the 
 w^hole, compose a real treasure of morality 
 and wisdom. Compared with the Corre- 
 spondence of Voltaire, that of Franklin 
 gives rise to many reflections ; everything 
 there is wholesome, upright, and animated 
 as it were with a lively and constant se- 
 renity. Franklin possessed gay, clear, and 
 brilliant good sense ; he called bad tem- 
 per the uncleanliness of the mind. — Sainte- 
 Beuve, C. a., 1852, English Portraits, 
 pp. 63, 104. 
 
 He wrote no elaborate histories, or 
 learned treatises, or stately tomes. Short 
 essays or tracts, thrown off at a heat to 
 answer an immediate end, — letters to his 
 associates in science or politics, — letters 
 to his family and friends, — these make up 
 the great bulk of his literary productions ; 
 and under the admirable editorship of Mr. 
 Sparks, nine noble volumes do they fill, 
 — abounding in evidences of a wisdom, 
 sagacity, ingenuity, diligence, freshness 
 of thought, fullness of information, com- 
 prehensiveness of reach, and devotedness 
 of purpose, such as are rarely to be found 
 associated in any single man. — WiN- 
 THROP, Robert C.,1S56, Address at the In- 
 auguration of the Franklin Statue at Boston. 
 
 The' pervading trait of Franklin's char- 
 acter was allegiance to the practical. 
 Few devotees of knowledge have so con- 
 sistently manifested this instinct, the more 
 remarkable because united to speculative 
 tendencies which quickened his intelli- 
 gence and occupied his leisure to the very 
 close of his existence. For the intangi- 
 ble aims of the metaphysician, the vaga- 
 ries of the imaginative, the "airy bubble 
 reputation, " he exhibited no concern ; but 
 the application of truth to the facts of 
 nature and of life, the discovery of mate- 
 rial laws and their conversion to human 
 welfare, the actual influence of morals, 
 economy, politics, and education, upon 
 civil society and individual development, 
 were problems upon which he never failed 
 to think, read, talk, write, and experi- 
 ment.— Tuckerman, Henry T., 1857, 
 Essays, Biographical and Critical, p. 456. 
 
 Wrote several miscellaneous papers, 
 scientific and political, which have doubt- 
 less had no small influence in forming 
 
 American style. . . . His writings 
 are remarkable for simplicity, terseness, 
 and force. Both the language and the 
 illustrations fit the meaning with emphatic 
 closeness. He affects no graces of style : 
 a hard-headed, practical man, he seeks to 
 convey his meaning as briefly and as em- 
 phatically as possible. — Minto, William, 
 1872-80, A Manual of English Prose Liter- 
 ature, p. 434. 
 
 The venerable Nestor of three genera- 
 tions ; born in the old puritan time, with 
 the shades of the past hanging about his 
 home; traversing the military period of 
 two wars, from Wolfe to Washington, 
 from Quebec to Yorktown ; privileged to 
 partake of the new era of laws and legis- 
 lation — the old sage, full of years and 
 honors, has now at length finished his 
 work. He has inaugurated a new period 
 in philosophy ; he has heralded new prin- 
 ciples in politics, he has shown his country- 
 men how to think and write; he has em- 
 balmed the wisdom of his life in immor- 
 tal compositions; he has blessed two 
 great cities with associations of pleasure 
 and profit clustering about his name ; he 
 has becom.e the property of the nation and 
 the world ; there is nothing further but 
 retirement and death. — Duyckixck, 
 Evert A., 1873, Portrait Gallery of Emi- 
 nent Men and Women, vol. i, p. 203. 
 
 Franklin is not often spoken of as a 
 witty man, but his wit was as remarkable 
 as his statesmanship. I think that he 
 would have had as much wit as Swift or 
 as \ oltaire if he had but cultivated this 
 talent. Only his clear, practical good 
 sense predominated, and he never showed 
 himself in the capacity of a humorist save 
 when some practical purpose was to be 
 affected by it.— Bryant, William Cul- 
 len, 1874, Franklin as Poet, Prose Writ- 
 ings, ed. Godwin, vol. ii, p. 330. 
 
 Our humorous writers, with a few ex- 
 ceptions, are not strictly national. Even 
 Franklin, our first, best humorist, stifled 
 his humor in the Addisonian style. His 
 was too earnest a character to make 
 the humorous trait very prominent; but 
 his sly, shining threads of observation, 
 intertwisted into the strong strand of his 
 practical sense, have had their effect on 
 the older men of this generation. — Cox, 
 S. S., 1875, American Humor, Harpefs 
 Magazine, vol. 50, p. 699. 
 
 In whom the acuteness of the philosopher 
 
102 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 was curiously blended with the cunning 
 of the trader. — Stephen, Leslie, 1876, 
 History of English Thought in the Eight- 
 ^eenth Century, vol. ii, p. 299. 
 
 Of Franklin then it must be said, that 
 he not only did not advance the growth of 
 economic science, but that he seems not 
 even to have mastered it as it was already 
 developed ; and little more can be said for 
 any of our public men or writers during 
 the period of Franklin's activity. — Dun- 
 bar, Charles F., 1876, Economic Science 
 in America, 1776-1876, North American 
 Review, vol. 122, p. 130. 
 
 He employed his admirable style, his 
 lucid thought, in defending before the 
 world the rights of man. Calmness was 
 the chief trait of his intellect ; his politi- 
 cal pieces have a weight and clearness 
 that few others have attained ; the fierce 
 but clouded reasoning of Junius, the rude 
 splendor of Johnson, the thoughtful ver- 
 biage of Burke, grow feeble and over- 
 strained when placed by the side of one of 
 Franklin's irrefutable arguments. His was 
 the voice of humanity, the opening of an 
 age of reason. — Lawrence, Eugene, 1880, 
 A Primer of American Literature, p. 32. 
 
 I intended in these pages to limit my 
 remarks to Franklin's scientific position, 
 but that would be to represent very inade- 
 quately the whole life of this great man. 
 Let us remember that his electrical re- 
 searches, on which his scientific celebrity 
 must mainly depend, occupied at the most 
 only seven or eight years, and then were 
 abandoned because of the pressure of 
 political affairs. Not by his scientific life, 
 but by his political, will Franklin be 
 judged of by his countrymen. In that 
 his true grandeur is seen. He conducted 
 the foreign affairs that gave independence 
 to America. No other American could 
 have stood in his place, and have done 
 what he did. Very true, his scientific 
 reputation gave him position before the 
 eyes of the French court, and added force 
 to his urgent entreaties for money and an 
 army and a fleet to aid his struggling 
 countrymen. No one can rise from a 
 perusal of his political writings, from the 
 time of the Albany Commission to the 
 close of his eventful life, without recog- 
 nizing his great intellectual ability, his 
 political foresight. To meet the trained 
 statesmen of England, to conduct success- 
 fully to a close negotiations which were 
 
 the most important in which they could 
 engage, since the partition, the disruption, 
 of the British Empire was involved, de- 
 manded a clear head, a piercing eye, and 
 a calm judgment. The result he accom- 
 plished was of far more importance to 
 mankind than any philosophical experi- 
 ment he ever made — a vast continent 
 dedicated to human freedom.' Contem- 
 plated from this point of view, Franklin 
 appears as one of the greatest men of his 
 generation. His electrical discoveries, 
 brilliant as they were, were only embellish- 
 ments of his life. — Draper, John Wil- 
 liam, 1880, Franklin^ s Place in the Science 
 of the Last Century, Harper's Magazine, 
 vol. 61, p. 275. 
 
 Franklin is, indeed, one of the very 
 small class of men who can be said to have 
 added something of real value to the art 
 of living. Very few writers have left so 
 many profound and original observations 
 on the causes of success in life, and on 
 the best means of cultivating the intellect 
 and the character. To extract from sur- 
 rounding circumstances the largest possi- 
 ble amount of comfort and rational enjoy- 
 ment, was the ideal he placed before him- 
 self and others, and he brought to its at- 
 tainment one of the shrewdest and most 
 inventive of human intellects, one of the 
 calmest and best balanced of human char- 
 acters. — Lecky, William Edward Hart- 
 pole, 1882, A History of England in the 
 Eighteenth Century, voL iii, p. 407. 
 
 Edwards would doubtless have consid- 
 ered Franklin a child of wrath, but Fran- 
 cis Bacon would have hailed him as one 
 of that band of explorers, who, by serving 
 Nature, will in the end master her mys- 
 teries, and use their knowledge for the 
 service of man. Indeed, the cheerful, 
 hopeful spirit which runs through Frank- 
 lin's writings, even when he was tried 
 by obstacles which might have tasked 
 the proverbial patience of Job, is not one 
 of the least of his claims upon the con- 
 sideration of those who rightfully glory 
 in having such a genius for their country- 
 men. The spirit which breathes through 
 Franklin's life and works is that which 
 has inspired every pioneer of our Western 
 wastes, every poor farmer who has tried 
 to make both ends meet by the exercise 
 of rigid economy, every inventor who 
 has attempted to serve men by making 
 machines do half the drudgery of their 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 103 
 
 work, every statesman who has striven 
 to introduce large principles into our 
 somewhat confused and contradictory 
 legislation, every American diplomatist 
 who has upheld the character of his coun- 
 try abroad by sagacity in managing men, 
 as well as by integrity in the main pur- 
 pose of his mission, and every honest man 
 who has desired to diminish the evil there 
 is in the world, and to increase every pos- 
 sible good that is conformable to good 
 sense. Franklin is doubtless our Mr. 
 Worldly Wiseman, but his worldly wisdom 
 ever points to the Christian's prayer that 
 God's will shall be done on earth as it is 
 done in heaven. — Whipple, Edwin Percy, 
 
 1886, American Literature and Other 
 Papers, ed. Whittier, p. 8. 
 
 The truth about Franklin as a miscel- 
 laneous writer — a truth which any one 
 may verify by a day's reading in his col- 
 lected works — is that most of his produc- 
 tions, while respectable, of wide range, 
 well-written, sensible, and telling, are not 
 of the highest rank, and that, measured 
 by the tests of English literature between 
 1725 and 1775, they are commonplace. 
 From the several editions of his works but 
 three things stand out because of inher- 
 ent literary merit : his " Autobiography, ' ' 
 his highly important papers on electricity, 
 and the maxims in *Toor Richard's Alma- 
 nac" — the last being chief and sufficient 
 in themselves to perpetuate his fame as 
 a writer. — Richardson, Charles F., 
 
 1887, American Literature, 1607-1885, 
 vol. I, p. 159. 
 
 Franklin was admirably equipped as a 
 popular teacher. Long study of the best 
 models of English prose, aided by his fine 
 literary sense, gave him a style unsur- 
 passed for clearness and directness ; while 
 his rich vein of humor, his command of 
 satire, of anecdote, and of terse, senten- 
 tious phrase, enabled him to convey large 
 truths in such portable and attractive 
 forms, that his teachings soon spread far 
 and wide, and fixed themselves in the 
 memory and speech of men. But here, 
 as in all cases, that which gave most 
 weight to his teachings were the charac- 
 ter and the life of the teacher. He made 
 the newspaper press a power for good, as 
 it had never been before ; and he set the 
 example, and adhered to it throughout his 
 editorial career, of preserving the columns 
 of his paper free from all libelling and 
 
 personal abuse, and all purveying to the 
 prurient taste of a section of the commu- 
 nity.— Pepper, William, 1887, An Ad- 
 dress on Benjamin Franklin, p. 8. 
 
 The place to be allotted Franklin 
 among American men of Letters is hard to 
 determine. He founded no school of lit- 
 erature. He gave no impetus to letters. 
 He put his name to no great work of his- 
 tory, of poetry, of fiction. Till after his 
 day, no such thing as American literature 
 existed. To place him, with respect to 
 Irving, Bryant, ('ooper, Prescott, and the 
 host of great men that came after him, 
 is impossible. There is no common ground 
 of comparison. Unlike them, he never 
 wrote for literary fame. Had he cared 
 for such fame, he would not have permit- 
 ted friends and strangers to gather and 
 edit his writings during his lifetime ; he 
 would not have suffered death to over- 
 take him when the Autobiography was but 
 half done ; he would not have made it an 
 invariable rule to never send anything to 
 the press over his own name. His place is 
 among that giant race of pamphleteers 
 and essayists most of whom went before, 
 but a few of whom came immediately 
 after, the war for independence. And 
 among them he is easily first. Their 
 merit lies in what they said : the merit 
 of Franklin lies not only in what he said, 
 but in the way in which he said it. . . . 
 No other writer has left so many just and 
 original observations on success in life. 
 No other writer has pointed out so clearly 
 the way to obtain the greatest amount of 
 comfort out of life. What Solomon did 
 for the spiritual man that did Franklin for 
 the earthlyman. The Book of Proverbs is 
 a collection of receipts for laying up treas- 
 ures in heaven. ' ' Poor Richard' ' is a col- 
 lection of receipts for laying up treasures 
 on earth. — McMaster, John Bach, 1887, 
 Benjamin Franklin as a Man of Letters 
 {American Men of Letters), pp. 272, 277. 
 
 By far the most eminent of the early 
 American writers was Benjamin Franklin. 
 . . . Franklin's style is notoriously 
 graceful and charming, but he is almost 
 the only American writer before the Inde- 
 pendence who can be named with the 
 recognised masters of eighteenth-century 
 English. — Gosse, Edmund, 1888, .4 History 
 of Eighteenth Century Literature, p. 398. 
 
 Franklin is perhaps the real starting- 
 point of American literature. As he was 
 
104 
 
 BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 the first American scientific discoverer 
 of renown, the first American diplomatist, 
 the founder of the first public library and 
 the first permanent philosophical society 
 in this country, so he was the first writer 
 in the field of general literature. His 
 writings are full of acute thought on prac- 
 tical themes, and suited to the genius of 
 a busy people engrossed with their out- 
 ward affairs. — Eggleston, Edward, 1888- 
 92, The Household History of the United 
 States and its People, p. 373. 
 
 He could so marry words to things as 
 to make them seem one; he expressed 
 positive thoughts and emotions, without 
 ornament or amplification ; his style was 
 the true reflection of his intellectual and 
 moral stature. He was, it is true, the 
 first American to cultivate the art of lit- 
 erary phrasing ; but this was an instinct 
 of his temperament, which loved pith, 
 point, clearness and homely symbolism. 
 . . . Humor was another of Franklin's 
 literary gifts, and literary, in his case, 
 because it was first personal. It was not 
 the thin, smirking artifice which is re- 
 garded as humor by some of our contem- 
 porary writers, and which is as carefully 
 studied as a new dialect or a recondite 
 title ; it was the native, ineradicable qual- 
 ity of the man, the natural armor of his 
 strength, his worldly wisdom, his kindly 
 human sympathy and his shrewd Yankee 
 insight. Many a portentous predicament 
 had he faced in his day, but he was never 
 for a moment scared out of his humor. 
 It forms the predominating flavor of his 
 writings, which are almost always in ear- 
 nest, but seldom quite solemn ; the demure 
 twinkle of the eye is there, though the 
 hasty or the foolish miss it. It was some- 
 times a trifle broad for modern taste, but 
 it is of itself enough to preserve his 
 productions from oblivion. — Hawthorne, 
 Julian, and Lemmon, Leonard, 1891, 
 American Literature, pp. 16, 17. 
 
 He had a gift for putting much prudence 
 into few words. His low ideals and the 
 self-complacence which appear in his auto- 
 biography do him little credit, but as a 
 counselor in matters of expediency he was 
 much needed by his excitable, extrava- 
 gant, and often over-sanguine country- 
 men.— IVIabie, Hamilton W., 1892, The 
 Memorial Story of America, p. 586. 
 
 It is the tradition of his life that has 
 survived rather than any wide knowledge 
 
 of what he wrote. No figure in our his- 
 tory is more generally remembered, nor 
 any more deservedly ; for whatever his 
 merits on a moral scale, the man was in 
 his life first, last, and always an Ameri- 
 can. Shrewd common-sense never had a 
 more palpable incarnation ; nor that pecul- 
 iar, ever-present, not needlessly obtru- 
 sive personal independence which so gen- 
 erally makes a native Yankee, wherever 
 he goes, a troublesome match for 
 people who assume to be his betters. 
 Himself, then, we remember first ; and if 
 we are suddenly asked what he was besides 
 being himself, our impulse would be in 
 conveniently general terms to answer that 
 he was a statesman and a philosopher. — 
 Wendell, Barrett, 1893, Stelligeri and 
 Other Essays Concerning America, p. 123. 
 
 Either we must be willing to give a 
 place in economic science to Franklin, or 
 we must deny the same privilege to all 
 writers on economic matters who preceded 
 Adam Smith. It is true that Franklin 
 was largely a man of expedients, if by 
 that we mean that he was interested in 
 that truth which could be immediately 
 applied for the good of mankind. But we 
 maintain also that Franklin was a man 
 who understood thoroughly the working 
 of certain economic principles. No one 
 else saw more clearly than he did the in- 
 jurious effect of the many trade restric- 
 tions prevalent in the civilized world in 
 his day. In that ''great reaction of the 
 eighteenth century against artificial con- 
 ditions of life," in that movement of 
 liberty, industrial as well as political, 
 we claim that Franklin was one of the 
 first as well as one of the leading fac- 
 tors. And it must be admitted that on 
 the subject of population he did not always 
 indulge in the "crudest speculations as to 
 the operation of causes in any degree re- 
 mote." No one knew better than he did 
 the causes both of the increase of popu- 
 lation and of the adjustment of people 
 among the nations of the earth. — Wet- 
 zel, W. A., 1895, Benjamin Franklin as 
 an Economist, p. 54. 
 
 We might be led to believe at first 
 thought that the extraordinary repute 
 into which he rose was relative, and that 
 the world's appreciation of him, and par- 
 ticularly the feeling of his own country- 
 men, was exaggerated by the surprise 
 that the colonies, then so young and 
 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN 
 
 105 
 
 primitive, should have produced so able 
 and versatile a man. But this would be an 
 incorrect view. Franklin's fame was a 
 tribute to his real eminence. The more 
 his life and achievements are studied the 
 more clearly does it appear that Franklin's 
 greatness was of the whole world and 
 would have been as prominent in any age ; 
 and that in any group of leaders of prog- 
 ress, from whatever time or nation they 
 might be selected, he would find his place 
 near the head. — Youmans, William Jay, 
 
 1896, ed., Pioneers of Science in Amer- 
 ica, p. 1. 
 
 The Doric simplicity of his style ; his 
 incomparable facility of condensing a 
 great principle into an apologue or an 
 anecdote, many of which, as he applied 
 them, have become the folk-lore of all 
 nations : his habitual moderation of state- 
 ment, his aversion to exaggeration, his 
 inflexible logic, and his perfect truthful- 
 ness, — made him one of the most persua- 
 sive men of his time, and his writings a 
 model which no one can study without 
 profit. A judicious selection from Frank- 
 lin's wTitings should constitute a part of 
 the curriculum of every college and high 
 school that aspires to cultivate in its 
 pupils a pure style and correct literary 
 taste.— BiGELOW, John, 1897, Library of 
 the World's Best Literature, vol. x, p. 5933. 
 
 He was one of the best American prose 
 writers of the century. — Morris,Charles, 
 
 1897, A History of the United States of 
 America, p. 176. 
 
 Undoubtedly, his best work in letters 
 was done after the year 1764, and thence 
 forward down to the very year of his 
 death ; for, to a degree not only unusual 
 but almost without parallel in literary his- 
 tory, his mind grew more and more viva- 
 cious with his advancing years, his heart 
 more genial, his inventiveness more 
 sprightly, his humor more gay, his style 
 brighter, keener, more deft, more delight- 
 ful. Yet even in these earlier writings 
 of his. Franklin is always Franklin. . . . 
 It is only by a continuous reading of 
 the entire body of Franklin's Revolution- 
 ary writings, from grave to gay, from 
 lively to severe, that any one can know 
 how brilliant was his wisdom, or how wise 
 was his brilliance, or how humane and 
 gentle and helpful were both. No one 
 who, by such a reading, procures for him- 
 self such a pleasure and such a benefit. 
 
 will be likely to miss the point of Sydney 
 Smith's playful menace to his daughter, 
 — '4 will disinherit you, if you do not 
 admire everything written by Franklin." 
 —Tyler, Moses Coit, 1897, The Literary 
 History of the American Revolution, 1763- 
 1783, vol II, pp. 365, 381. 
 
 The peculiar dryness especially charac- 
 teristic of Yankee drollery is better illus- 
 trated from Franklin's shrewd proverbs 
 than from Irving's spontaneous and spark- 
 ling descriptions. — Bates, Katharine 
 Lee, 1897, American Literature, p. 285. 
 
 Franklin's individualism ultimately 
 found political application in the essential 
 doctrines of that great party of which 
 Jefferson is commonly called the founder. 
 His influence for this reason has been, and 
 to this day is, confounded with that of 
 Jefferson and Voltaire. It differed from 
 theirs in being more conservative. Its 
 conservatism consisted in its sanity. His 
 conception of government was one based 
 on experience and ''adapted to such a 
 country as ours." — Thorpe, Francis 
 Newton, 1898, A Constitutional History 
 of the American People, 1776-1850, vol. 
 I, p. 42. 
 
 Franklin was indeed read, and exercised 
 a good deal of influence, especially in his 
 own city ; and Franklin was a writer of no 
 small literary abilities. Still, his popular- 
 ity was due largely to his labors in behalf 
 of his country, his interest in scientific 
 matters, and the common-sense practical- 
 ity of his maxims, which appealed to the 
 shrewd commercial instincts of his coun- 
 trymen.— Cairns, William B., 1898, On 
 the Development of American Literature 
 from 1815 to 1833, p. 24. 
 
 Jonathan Edwards and Benjamin Frank- 
 lin are like enormous trees (say a pine and 
 an oak), which may be seen from a great 
 distance dominating the scrubby, homel5% 
 second growth of our provincial litera- 
 ture. They make an ill-assorted pair, — 
 the cheery man of the world and the in- 
 tense man of God — but they owe their 
 preeminence to the same quality. Frank- 
 lin, it is true, is remarkable for his unfail- 
 ing common sense, a quality of which Ed- 
 wards had not very much, his keenest 
 sense being rather uncommon. But it 
 was not his common sense, but the cause 
 of his common sense, namely, his faculty 
 of realization, that made Franklin emi- 
 nent. This faculty is rare among men, 
 
106 
 
 FRANKLIN— HENR Y 
 
 but it was possessed by Franklin to a 
 great degree. His perceptions of his 
 surroundings — material, intellectual, per- 
 sonal, social, political— had power to 
 affect his mind and action. He took real 
 account of his circumstances. — Hale, 
 Edward Everett, Jr., 1898, American 
 Prose, ed. Carpenter, p. 13. 
 
 Almost every event of his life has been 
 distorted until, from the great and ac- 
 complished man he really was, he has been 
 magnified into an impossible prodigy. 
 Almost everything he wrote about in 
 science has been put down as a discovery. 
 His wonderful ability in expressing him- 
 self has assisted in this ; for if ten men 
 wrote on a subject and Franklin was one 
 of them, his statement is the one most 
 likely to be preserved, because the others, 
 being inferior in language, are soon for- 
 gotten and lost. Every scrap of paper 
 he wrote upon is now considered a pre- 
 cious relic and a great deal of it is printed, 
 so that statements which were but mem- 
 oranda or merely his way of formulating 
 other men's knowledge for his own con- 
 venience or for the sake of writing a 
 pleasant letter to a friend, are given un- 
 due importance. Indeed, when we read 
 one of these letters or memoranda it is so 
 clearly and beautifully expressed and put 
 in such a captivating form that, as the 
 editor craftily forbears to comment on it, 
 we instinctively conclude that it must 
 have been a gift of new knowledge to 
 mankind. — ^Fisher, Sydney George, 1899, 
 The True Benjamin Franklin, Preface, p. 7. 
 
 To judge Franklin from the literary 
 standpoint is neither easy nor quite fair. 
 It is not to be denied that as a philoso- 
 pher, as a statesman, and as a friend, he 
 
 owed much of his success to his ability as a 
 writer. His letters charmed all, and 
 made his correspondence eagerly sought. 
 His political arguments were the joy of his 
 party and the dread of his opponents. 
 His scientific discoveries were explained 
 in language at once so simple and so clear 
 that plow-boy and exquisite could follow 
 his thought or his experiment to its con- 
 clusion. Yet he was never a literary man 
 in the true and common meaning of the 
 term. Omitting his uncompleted autobi- 
 ography and his scientific writings, there 
 is hardly a line of his pen which was not 
 privately or anonymously written, to exert 
 a transient influence, fill an empty column, 
 or please a friend. The larger part of 
 his work was not only done in haste, but 
 never revised or even proof-read. Yet 
 this self-educated bov and busy, practical 
 man gave to American literature the most 
 popular autobiography ever written, a 
 series of political and social satires that 
 can bear comparison with those of the 
 greatest satirists, a private correspond- 
 ence as readable as Walpole's or Chester- 
 field's ; and the collection of Poor Rich- 
 ard's epigrams has been oftener printed 
 and translated than any other production 
 of an American pen. — ^Ford, Paul Lei- 
 cester, 1899, TJie Many-Sided Franklin. 
 
 Franklin was the best letter-writer of 
 his day in America. In comparison with 
 Washington's uniform epistolary style. 
 Franklin's is striking for its flexibility — 
 dignified in weighty matters, in familiar 
 letters, playful as a kitten, frequently 
 witty and fanciful, pleasing always by 
 clearness, naturalness and ease. — Bron- 
 SON, Walter C, 1900, A Short History 
 of American Literature, p. 56. 
 
 Robert Henry 
 
 1718-1790 
 
 Robert Henry, the author of the "History of Great Britain written on a new plan,'' 
 was the son of a farmer, and was born in the parish of St. Ninians, near Stirling, 
 18th February 1718. He received his early education at the school of his native 
 parish, and at the grammar school of Stirling, and after completing a course of study 
 at Edinburgh University became master of the grammar school of Annan. In 1746. 
 he was licensed to preach by the Annan presbytery, shortly after which he was chosen 
 minister of a Presbyterian congregation at Carlisle, where he remained until 1760, 
 when he was removed to a similar charge at Berwick-on-Tweed. It was during his 
 stay at Berwick that the idea of his ''History" first occurred to him, but the dearth 
 of books and the difficulty of consulting original authorities compelled him to postpone 
 the execution of his design till his removal to Edinburgh, as minister of New Greyfriars, 
 in 1768. The first volume of his ''History" appeared in ^771, and the others followed 
 
ROBERT HENRY 
 
 107 
 
 at irregular intervals until 1785, when the fifth was published, brin^inj^ down the 
 narrative to the Tudor dynasty. The work was virulently assailed by Gilbert »Stuart, 
 but the attack was overdone, and although it for a time hindered the sale, the injury 
 effected was only temporary. For the volumes published in his lifetime Henry real- 
 ized as much as £3300, and through the influence of Lord Mansfield he was in 1781 
 rewarded with a pension of £100 a year from George 111. In 1784 he received the 
 degree of D. D. from the university of Edinburgh. He died in 1790 before his tenth 
 volume was quite ready for the press. Four years after his death it was published 
 under the care of Malcolm Laing, who supplied the entire chapters v. and vii., and 
 added an index. — Baynes, Thomas Spencer, eri., 1880, Encyclopcedia Britannica, vol. xi. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 To-morrow morning Henry sets off for 
 London, with immense hopes of selling 
 his history. I wish he had delayed till 
 our last review of him had reached your 
 city. But I really suppose that he has 
 little probability of getting any gratuity. 
 The trade are too sharp to give precious 
 gold for perfect nonsense. I wish sin- 
 cerely that I could enter Holborn the 
 same hour with him. He should have a 
 repeated fire to combat with. I entreat 
 that you may be so kind as to let him feel 
 some of your thunder. I shall never for- 
 get the favour. If Whitaker is in Lon- 
 don, he could give a blow. Patterson 
 will give him a knock. Strike by all 
 means. The wretch will tremble, grow 
 pale, and return with a consciousness of 
 his debility. I entreat I may hear from 
 you a day or two after you have seen him. 
 He will complain grievously of me to 
 Strahan and Rose. I shall send you a 
 paper about him — an advertisement from 
 Parnassus, in the manner of Boccalini. — 
 Stuart, Gilbert, 1774, Letter, March 21, 
 Disraeli's Calamities of Authors. 
 
 To proceed with our Literary Conspir- 
 acy, which was conducted by Stuart with 
 a pertinacity of invention perhaps not to 
 be paralleled in literary history. That the 
 peace of mind of such an industrious au- 
 thor as Dr. Henry was for a considerable 
 time destroyed ; that the sale of a work 
 on which Henry had expended much of his 
 fortune and his life was stopped ; and that, 
 when covered with obloquy and ridicule, 
 in despair he left Edinburgh for London, 
 still encountering the same hostility ; that 
 all this was the work of the same hand 
 perhaps was never even known to its 
 victim. The multiplied forms of this 
 Proteus of the Malevoli were still but one 
 devil ; fire or water, or a bull or a lion ; 
 still it was the same Proteus, the same 
 Stuart.— Disraeli, Isaac, 1812-13, Lit- 
 erary Hatred, Calamities of Authors. 
 
 Dr. Henry was one of those character- 
 istic Moderates of the old school who 
 were genial in society, humorous at table, 
 and deplorably dry — and deliciously con- 
 scious of being dry — in the pulpit. He 
 belonged to that class of ministers who, 
 according to Lord Robertson, of facetious 
 memory, *'are better in bottle than in 
 wood."— Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, 
 Scottish Men of Letters in the EighteMh 
 Century, p. 429. 
 
 HISTORY OF GREAT BRITAIN 
 
 1771-90 
 
 He neither furnishes entertainment nor 
 instruction. Diffuse, vulgar, andungram- 
 matical, he strips history of all her orna- 
 ments. As an antiquary, he wants ac- 
 curacy and knowledge ; and, as an his- 
 torian, he is destitute of fire, taste, and 
 sentiment. His work is a gazette, in 
 which we find actions and events without 
 their causes, and in which v;e meet with 
 the names, without the characters, of per- 
 sonages. He has amassed all the refuse 
 and lumber of the times he would record. 
 . . . The mind of his reader is affected 
 with no agreeable emotions ; it is awak- 
 ened only to disgust and fatigue. — Stu- 
 art, Gilbert, 1773, Edinburgh Review 
 and Magazine, vol. i, pp. 266, 270. 
 
 His historical narratives are as full as 
 those remote times seem to demand, and, 
 at the same time, his inquiries of the anti- 
 quarian kind omit nothing which can be 
 an object of doubt or curiosity. The one 
 as well as the other is delineated with 
 great perspicuity, and no less propriety, 
 which are the true ornaments of this kind 
 of writing ; all superfluous embellishments 
 are avoided; and the reader will hardly 
 find in our language any performance that 
 unites together so perfectly the two great 
 points of entertainment and instruction. 
 — Hume, David, 1773, Review of Henry s 
 History. 
 
 Dr. Johnson. — have heard Henry's 
 
108 
 
 HENR Y— LIVINGSTON 
 
 * History of Britain' well spoken of: I 
 am told it is carried on in separate 
 divisions, as the civil, the military, the 
 religious history : I wish much to have 
 one branch well done, and that is the 
 history of manners of common life." 
 Dr. Robertson. — ''Henry should have 
 applied his attention to that alone, which 
 is enough for any man ; and he might have 
 found a great deal scattered in various 
 books, had he read solely with that view. 
 Henry erred in not selling his first volume 
 at a moderate price to the booskellers, 
 that they might have pushed him on till 
 he had got reputation." — Boswell, 
 James, 1791-93, Life of Johnson, ed. Hill, 
 vol. Ill, p. 379. 
 
 The work of Dr. Henry is an ornament 
 and an honour to his country. — DiB- 
 DiN, Thomas Frognall, 1809, The Bib- 
 liomania ; or Book Madness. 
 
 Those parts of Henry's history which 
 profess to trace the progress of govern- 
 ment are still more jejune than the rest 
 of his volumes.— Hallam, Henry, 1818, 
 View of the State of Europe During the 
 Middle Ages, Preface. 
 
 Much of this sort of information [re- 
 specting the early constitutional history 
 of England], and of every other historical 
 information, may be found in the "His- 
 tory" of Dr. Henry; but the same facts, 
 when collected and printed in a modern 
 dress, properly arranged, and to be read 
 without difficulty, as they are in the work 
 of Dr. Henry, no longer excite the same 
 reflection nor obtain the same possession 
 of the memory which they do when seen 
 in something like their native garb, in 
 their proper place, and in all the sim- 
 plicity, singularity, and quaintness which 
 belong to them.— Smyth, William, 1840, 
 Lectures on Modern History. 
 
 Considerable merit in the execution, 
 and complete originality in the plan, of 
 his history. — Cockburn, Henry Thomas 
 Lord, 1854? Memorials of his Times, 
 ch. I. 
 
 To this great work Henry devoted the 
 anxious labour of nearly thirty years ; and 
 he has certainly accumulated a vast store 
 of useful information. But to write phil- 
 osophically and entertainingly upon so 
 many heterogeneous subjects exceeds 
 man's might. Even when the scope is far 
 less ambitious, the charm of style pos- 
 sessed by a Hume, a Robertson, a Macau- 
 lay, a Prescott, or a Bancroft, can alone 
 interest the desultory reader in histor- 
 ical details. For all practical purposes, 
 Henry's history has been superseded by 
 the noble work published by Charles 
 Knight.— Allibone, S. Austin, 1854-58, 
 A Critical Dictionary of English Litera- 
 ture, vol. I, p. 825. 
 
 A work valuable for the numerous facts 
 it contains illustrative of manners and 
 the state of society, which are not to be 
 found in any of our previous general his- 
 torians, but chiefly meritorious as having 
 been our first English history compiled 
 upon that plan. — Craik, George L., 
 1861, A Compendious History of English 
 Literature and of the English Language, 
 vol. II, p. 359. 
 
 For this history, Henry received the 
 sum of 3200Z. from the booksellers, and 
 from the Crown a pension of 100/. a year 
 — a reward not due to his style or even to 
 the accuracy of the research, but to the 
 growing interest among all classes in the 
 domestic life of our ancestors and in the 
 condition of the people. Henry was the 
 first to direct attention to these themes. 
 His idea has been carried out with a large 
 amount of corrected and additional infor- 
 mation in the popular history of England 
 by Charles Knight.— Angus, Joseph, 
 1865, The Handbook of English Literature, 
 p. 573. 
 
 As a popular and comprehensive history 
 it has much merit, but it lacks original 
 research ; while its style and method de- 
 tracts from its literary value. — Hender- 
 son, T. F., 1891, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. xxvi, p. 127. 
 
 William Livingston 
 
 1723-1790 
 
 An eminent statesman who was governor of New Jersey, 1776-90. ''Philosophic 
 Solitude," a poem; ''Review of the Military Operations in North America," 1757; 
 "Digest of the Laws of New York."— Adams, Oscar Fay, 1897, A Dictionary of 
 American Authors, p. 232. 
 
WILLIAM LIVINGSTON 
 
 109 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Livingston appears to have had but 
 little vanity, either as a private or public 
 man. His real learning and the quaint 
 style of the day, sometimes give his vv^rit- 
 ings an air of formality, which might be 
 mistaken for pedantry ; but on a close 
 examination, his character bears few, if 
 any traces of affectation. His conversa- 
 tion was entirely free of egotism. As 
 governor, he despised, and altogether 
 threw off the state, which his predeces- 
 sors under the crown had assumed, and 
 thus early adapted himself to the rapidly 
 changing tastes of the people. Nor does 
 this appear to have sprung so much from 
 necessity as inclination. He was plain 
 and indifferent, almost to slovenliness, in 
 his dress. ... In his family, Liv- 
 ingston was a fond husband, and a gener- 
 ous father, ready at all times to make 
 every sacrifice which the welfare of his 
 children demanded; while at the same 
 time it is not to be denied that a temper, 
 originally irritable, and rendered more so 
 by the difficulties and responsibility of his 
 situation, was sometimes less restrained 
 in his domestic circle, than where it was 
 checked by the presence of strangers. 
 An extreme sensitiveness to noise; an 
 occasional unwillingness to converse when 
 not excited by society ; and a sensibility 
 more quickly manifested with regard to 
 trifling vexations than serious evils, some- 
 times threw a gloom over the fireside of 
 Liberty Hall. ... He was consider- 
 ably above the middle stature, and in 
 early life, so very thin as to receive from 
 some female wit of NeW-York, perhaps in 
 allusion to his satirical disposition, the 
 nickname of the ''whipping-post." In 
 later years he acquired a more dignified 
 corpulency. Speaking of himself, in the 
 language of one of his opponents in the 
 American Whig (1768), he says, ''The 
 Whig is a long-nosed, long-chinned, ugly- 
 looking fellow." . . . Of his schol- 
 arship, it may be said that it was dis- 
 tinguished in days when scholarship was 
 more common. Greek he abandoned early 
 in life, but of the Latin he retained a famil- 
 iar knowledge ; the French and Dutch he 
 read with great facility, writing them both 
 with considerable ease, though without 
 elegance. With the literature of his own 
 language, he was intimately acquainted. 
 In polemical divinity, a study now fallen 
 
 into considerable disrepute, he was also 
 well read. His religious taste and read- 
 ings tinge most of his literary produc- 
 tions, which often borrow point and elo- 
 quence from the rich treasure-house of 
 scriptural allusions and quotations. His 
 skill in literature was not confined to the 
 closet or his own gratification ; we have 
 seen it rendering more effective his exer- 
 tions directed to Holland ; and in his own 
 country, he was active in supplying the 
 want of instruction in the different States, 
 to do which he was more than once re- 
 quested ; while at the same time as trustee 
 ex-officio of Princeton and Rutgers Colleges, 
 he exercised a supervision over the literary 
 interests of New Jersey. — Sedgwick, 
 Theodore, 1833, A Memoir of the Life of 
 William Livingston, pp. 443, 445, 446, 447. 
 
 In person he was, in middle life, tall 
 and spare, later slightly corpulent; in 
 dress, careless, almost slovenly, but his 
 biographer informs us that he was a cap- 
 ital fisherman and wrote a bad hand, two 
 unerring marks of a gentleman. He was 
 an excellent Latin scholar, read and wrote 
 French and Dutch with ease, and was 
 thoroughly acquainted with English liter- 
 ature. . . . Among the m.en of this 
 historic period, no one affords a more in- 
 teresting study than this staunch, origi- 
 nal and devoted friend of the liberties and 
 rights of man.— Stevens, John Austin, 
 1878, William Livingston, Magazine of 
 American History, vol. 2, pp. 487, 488. 
 
 At the head of the New Jersey delega- 
 tion stood her famous war governor, Wil- 
 liam Livingston, who had reached his sixty- 
 fifth year. He had been an eminent mem- 
 ber of the New York bar as early as 1752, 
 and was one of the most caustic and for- 
 cible essayists in the country; he was 
 also one of the few poets of his time. It 
 was next to impossible for him to make a 
 speech that was not seasoned with dry 
 humor and stinging satire. He was prob- 
 ably the best classical scholar in the as- 
 semblage. He had through a long career 
 of active public and political service ac- 
 quitted himself with honor. — Lamb, Mar- 
 tha J., 1885, The Framers of the Constitu- 
 tion, Magazine of American History, i"o/.13, 
 p. 338. 
 
 PHILOSOPHIC SOLITUDE 
 
 1747 
 
 This poem is obviously the effort of a 
 rhyming apprentice, still in bondage to 
 
110 
 
 LIVINSTON— WESLEY 
 
 the methods of his master, Alexander 
 Pope; yet he catches the knack of his 
 master, with a cleverness proving the 
 possibility of original work, on his own 
 account, by and by. It illustrates, like- 
 wise, a trait of human nature, that this 
 young lawyer and politician, having given 
 himself to a practical career in the thick 
 of the world's affairs, and one made 
 tumultuous by his own aggressive spirit, 
 should have begun it by depicting, in en- 
 thusiastic verse, his preference for a life 
 of absolute retirement and serene medita- 
 tion. . . , He would have books for 
 his most intimate friends. . . . The 
 voluptuous languors of this poem, report 
 a quality in the author that did not 
 
 control him; and henceforward, through 
 nearly half a century, his real life was a 
 battle for stern and great ideas. — Tyler, 
 Moses Coit, 1878, A History of American 
 Literature, 1676-1765, vol. ii, pp. 218, 220. 
 
 A poem on ''Philosophic Solitude" 
 which reproduces the trick of Pope's an- 
 titheses and climaxes with the imagery of 
 the * 'Rape of the Lock," and the didactic 
 morality of the "Imitations from Horace" 
 and the "Moral Essays."— Beers, Henry 
 A., 1887, An Outline Sketch of American 
 Literature, p. 66. 
 
 Written in the conventional eighteenth- 
 century manner, but is smooth and pretty. 
 — Bronson, Walter C, 1900, A Short 
 History of American Literature, p. 40. 
 
 John Wesley 
 
 1703-1791 
 
 1703, June 17, John Wesley born. 1707 (end of), Charles Wesley born. 1709, 
 Fire at Epworth rectory. 1714, John Wesley goes to the Charterhouse. George 
 Whitefield born. 1716-17, December 2 — end of January, Epworth ghost. 1720, 
 John Wesley goes up to Christchurch, Oxford. 1725, September 19, Ordained deacon. 
 1726, March 17, Elected Fellow of Lincoln College, Oxford. Charles Wesley goes up 
 to Chirstchurch, Oxford, from Westminster School. 1727-29, August, 1727, Novem- 
 ber, 1729, Curate to his father at Wroote, Epworth. 1728, September 22, Ordained 
 priest. 1729, John Wesley becomes "Father of the Holy Club." 1732, Whitefield 
 servitor at Pembroke College. 1733 (circa), John Wesley makes William Law's 
 acquaintance. 1735, April 25, the Rev. Samuel Wesley, John's father, died. 
 Charles Wesley ordained. October 14, John and Charles Wesley sail from Gravesend 
 for Georgia. 1736, Charles Wesley returns. 1738, February 1, John returns to 
 England, landing at Deal. George Whitefield leaves for Georgia. Wesley's conver- 
 sion and visit to the Moravians at Herrnhut. Whitefield returns from Georgia. 
 
 1739, February 17, Whitefield begins field preaching. Wesley begins field preaching. 
 Whitefield returns to Georgia. May 12, Stone of first Methodist meeting-house laid. 
 
 1740, Wesley's breach with the Moravians. 1740-48, Wesley separates from White- 
 field on predestination. Breach with Calvinists. 1740-90, Period of Wesley's itiner- 
 ant preaching. 1741-45, Opposition and violence of mobs and magistrates to itiner- 
 ant preaching. 1742, July, Susannah Wesley, John's mother, dies. 1744, June 25, 
 First Methodist Conference. 1748, Whitefield returns from Georgia. 1751, John 
 Wesley marries Mrs.Vazeille. 1768, Regular Methodist society formed in New York, 
 U. S. 1770, Whitefield dies at Newburyport, Mass. 1777, April 1, Foundation 
 stone of City Road Chapel laid. 1784, Legal settlement of Conference elfected. 
 September 2, Wesley ordains Dr. Coke a bishop, and so founds Methodist Episcopal 
 Church. 1788, March 29, Charles Wesley died. 1791, March 2, John Wesley died. 
 — Banfield, Frank, 1900, John Wesley, p. xiii. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Dear Son, — I came hither to-day be- 
 cause I cannot be at rest till I make you 
 easier. I could not possibly manufacture 
 any money for you here sooner than next 
 Saturday. On Monday 1 design to wait 
 on Dr. Morley, and will try to prevail 
 with your brother to return you £8, with 
 interest. I will assist you in the charges 
 
 for ordination, though I am just now strug- 
 gling for life. This £8 you may depend 
 on the next week, or the week after. 
 Your affectionate father. --Wesley, Sam- 
 uel, 1725, Letter to John Wesley, Sept. 1. 
 
 In the evening I went to a house in 
 Alder sgate Street (London), where one 
 was reading Luther's preface to the Epis- 
 tle to the Romans. About a quarter 
 
JOHN WESLEY 
 
 111 
 
 before nine, while he was describing the 
 change which God works in the heart 
 through faith in Christ, I felt my heart 
 strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in 
 Christ, Christ alone, for salvation ; and 
 an assurance was given me that he had 
 taken away my sins, even vniiie, and saved 
 me from the law of sin and death. J. began 
 to pray with all my might for those who 
 had, in a more especial manner, despite- 
 fuUy used me, and persecuted me. I then 
 testified openly to all there, what I now 
 first felt in my heart.— Wesley, John, 
 1738, Journal, May 24. 
 
 The regard I have always had for you 
 and your brother, is still as great as ever; 
 and I trust we shall give this and future 
 ages an example of true Christian love 
 abiding, notwithstanding difference in 
 judgment. Why our lord has permitted 
 us to diflier as to some points of doctrine, 
 will be discovered at the last day. I 
 have had the pleasure of reading the con- 
 tinuance of your Appeal ; and pray, that 
 God would prosper every labour of your 
 pen andlip.— Whitefield, George, 1746, 
 Letter to John Wesley. 
 
 Here lieth the Body 
 of 
 
 JOHN WESLEY, 
 A Brand plucked out of the burning f 
 Who died of a Consumption in the Fifty-first 
 Year of his Age, 
 not leaving, after his Debts are paid, 
 Ten Pounds behind him : 
 Praying 
 
 God be merciful to me, an unprofitable 
 Servant ! 
 
 He ordered, that this, if any, inscription 
 should be placed on his tombstone. 
 — Wesley, John, 1753, Proposed Epitaph. 
 
 I was once a kind of oracle with Mr. 
 Wesley. I never suspected anything bad 
 of him, or ever discovered any kind or 
 degree of falseness or hypocrisy in him. 
 But during all the time of his intimacy 
 with me, I judged him to be much under 
 the power of his own spirit, which seemed 
 to have the predominance in every good 
 thing or way that his zeal carried him to. 
 It was owing to his unwillingness or ina- 
 bility to give up his own spirit that he was 
 forced into that false and rash censure 
 which he published in print against the 
 mystics : — as enemies to good works, and 
 even tending to atheism. A censure so 
 false, and regardless of right and wrong, 
 as hardly anything can exceed it ; which 
 
 is to be found in a preface of his to a 
 book of hymns. — Law, William, 1756, 
 Works, vol. IX, p. 123. 
 
 A lean, elderly man, fresh colored, his 
 hair smoothly combed, but with a soupcon 
 of curls at the ends. Wondrous clean, but 
 as evidently an actor as Garrick. — ^Wal- 
 pole, Horace, 1766, To John Chute, Oct. 
 10 ; Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. v, p. 16. 
 
 By only erasing about half-a-dozen lines 
 from the whole, I might defy the shrewd- 
 est of his readers to discover whether the 
 lying apostle of the Foundery. be a Jew, a 
 papist, a pagan, or a Turk. ... As 
 unprincipled as a rook, and as silly as a 
 jackdaw, first pilfering his neighbour's 
 plumage, and then going proudly forth, 
 displaying his borrowed tail to the eyes 
 of a laughing world. . . . Persons 
 that are toad eaters to Mr. John Wesley 
 stand in need of very wide throats, and 
 that which he wishes them to swallow is 
 enough to choke an elephant. . . . 
 Wesley is a crafty slanderer, an unfeeling 
 reviler, a liar of the most gigantic magni- 
 tude, a Solomon in a cassock, a wretch, a 
 disappointed Orlando Furioso, a miscreant 
 apostate, whose perfection consists in his 
 perfect hatred of all goodness and good 
 men. — Hill, Rowland, 1777, Imposture 
 Detected, and the Dead Vindicated ; in a 
 Letter to a Friend : containing some gentle 
 Strictures on the false and libellous Ha- 
 rangue, lately delivered by Mr. John Wes- 
 ley, upon his laying the first stone of his 
 new Dissenting meeting-house, near the City 
 Road. 
 
 He said, *'John Wesley's conversation 
 is good, but he is never at leisure. He 
 is always obliged to go at a certain hour. 
 This is very disagreeable to a man who 
 loved to fold his legs and have out his 
 talk, as I do." — Johnson, Samuel, 177^, 
 Life by Boswell, ed. Hill, vol. iii, p. 261. 
 
 Very lately I had an opportunity, for 
 some days together, of observing Mr. 
 Wesley with attention. I endeavoured to 
 consider him, not so much with the eye of 
 a friend, as with the impartiality of a 
 philosopher; and I must declare, every 
 hour I spent in his company afforded me 
 fresh reasons for esteem and veneration. 
 So fine an old man I never saw ! The 
 happiness of his mind beamed forth in his 
 countenance : every look showed how fully 
 he enjoyed 
 
 The gay remembrance of a life well spent. 
 
112 
 
 JOHN V/ESLEY 
 
 Wherever he went he diffused a portion 
 of his own felicity. Easy and affable in 
 his demeanour, he accommodated himself 
 to every sort of company ; and showed 
 how happily the most finished courtesy 
 may be blended with the most perfect 
 piety. In his conversation, we might be 
 at a loss whether to admire most his fine 
 classical taste, his extensive knowledge of 
 men and things, or his overflowing good- 
 ness of heart. While the grave and seri- 
 ous were charmed with his wisdom, his 
 sportive sallies of innocent mirth delighted 
 even the young and thoughtless; and both 
 saw in his uninterrupted cheerfulness the 
 excellency of true religion. No cynical 
 remarks on the levity of youth embittered 
 his discourses. No applausive retrospect 
 to past times marked his present discon- 
 tent. In him even old age appeared de- 
 lightful, like an evening without a cloud ; 
 and it was impossible to observe him with- 
 out wishing fervently, *'May my latter end 
 be like his!'' — Knox, Alexander, 1789, 
 Letter. 
 
 Sacred to the Memory 
 (f)f tae QRet). So3n ^^esfeg, (m. 
 
 SOMETIME FELLOW OF LINCOLN COLLEGE, 
 OXFORD ; 
 
 A Man in Learning and sincere Piety 
 Scarcely inferior to any ; 
 In Zeal, Ministerial Labours, and extensive 
 Usefulness, 
 Superior, perhaps, to all Men, 
 Since the days of St. Paul. 
 Regardless of fatigue, personal Danger, and 
 Disgrace, 
 
 He went out into the highways and hedges 
 Calling Sinners to Repentance. 
 And Publishing the Gospel of Peace. 
 He was the Founder of the Methodist 
 Societies, 
 And the chief Promoter and Patron 
 Of the Plan of Itinerant preaching, 
 Wliich he extended through Great Britain 
 and Ireland, 
 The West Indies, and America, 
 With unexampled Success. 
 He was born the 17th of June, 1703; 
 And died the 2d of March, 1791, 
 In sure and certain hope of Eternal Life, 
 Through the Atonement and Mediation of a 
 Crucified Saviour. 
 He was sixty-five Years in the Ministry, 
 
 And fifty-two an Itinerant Preacher : 
 He lived to see, in these Kingdoms only. 
 About three hundred Itinerant, 
 And one thousand Local Preachers, 
 Raised up from the midst of his own People ; 
 And eighty thousand Persons in the Socie- 
 ties under his care. 
 
 His Name will be ever had in grateful 
 Remembrance 
 By all who rejoice in the universal Spread 
 Of the Gospel of Christ. 
 Soli Deo Gloria. 
 
 —Inscription on Tablet, City Road 
 Chapel. 
 
 His face for an old man was one of the 
 finest I have seen A clear, smooth fore- 
 head, an aquiline nose, an eye the bright- 
 est and most piercing that can be con- 
 ceived, and a freshness of complexion 
 scarcely ever to be found at his years and 
 impressive of the most perfect health, 
 conspire to render him a venerable and 
 interesting figure. ... A narrow 
 plaited stock, a coat with a small upright 
 collar, no buckles at his knees, no silk or 
 velvet in any part of his apparel, and a 
 head as white as snow, gave an idea of 
 something primitive and apostolical ; while 
 an air of neatness and cleanliness was dif- 
 fused over his whole person. . . . 
 In social life Mr. Wesley was lively and 
 conversible, and of exquisite companion- 
 able talents. He had been much accus- 
 tomed to society, was well acquainted 
 with the rules of good .breeding ; and in 
 general perfectly attentive and polite. 
 The abstraction of a scholar did not ap- 
 pear in his behaviour. He spoke a good 
 deal in company ; and as he had seen much 
 of the world, and in the course of his 
 travels through every corner of the nation 
 had acquired an infinite fund of anecdote 
 and observation, he was not sparing in his 
 communications, and the manner in which 
 he related them was no inconsiderable 
 addition to the entertainment they 
 aiforded. His manner in private life was 
 the reverse of cynical or forbidding. It 
 was sprightly and pleasant to the last 
 degree, and presented a beautiful contrast 
 to the austere deportment of many of his 
 preachers and people, who seemed to have 
 ranked laughter among the mortal sins. 
 It was impossible to be long in his com- 
 pany without partaking his hilarity. 
 Neither infirmities of age nor the ap- 
 proach of death had any apparent influence 
 on his manners. His cheerfulness con- 
 tinued to the last, and was as conspicuous 
 at fourscore as at one-and-twenty. — 
 Hampson, John, 1791, Memoirs of the 
 Late Rev. John Wesley. 
 
 His indefatigable zeal in the dis- 
 charge of his duty has been long wit- 
 nessed by the world ; but, as mankind are 
 
JOHN WESLEY 
 
 113 
 
 not always inclined to put a generous con- 
 struction on the exertions of singular tal- 
 ents, his motives were imputed to the love 
 of popularity, ambition, and lucre. It now 
 appears that he was actuated by a disin- 
 terested regard to the immortal interests 
 of mankind. He laboured, and studied, 
 and preached, and wrote, to propagate 
 what he believed to be the gospel of Christ. 
 The intervals of these engagements were 
 employed in governing and regulating the 
 concerns of his numerous societies ; assist- 
 ing the necessities, solving the difficulties, 
 and soothing the afflictions of his hearers. 
 He observed so rigid a temperance, and 
 allowed himself so little repose, that he 
 seemed to be above the infirmities of na- 
 ture, and to act independent of the earthly 
 tenement he occupied. The recital of 
 the occurrences of every day of his life 
 would be the greatest encomium. Had 
 he loved wealth, he might have accumu- 
 lated it without bounds. Had he been 
 fond of power, his influence would have 
 been worth courting by any party. I do 
 not say he was without ambition ; he had 
 that which Christianity need not blush at, 
 and which virtue is proud to confess. I 
 do not mean that which is gratified by 
 splendour and large possessions ; but that 
 which commands the hearts and affections, 
 the homage and gratitude of thousands. 
 For him they felt sentiments of venera- 
 tion, only inferior to those which they 
 paid to Heaven: to him they looked as 
 their father, their benefactor, their guide 
 to glory, and immortality : for him they 
 fell prostrate before God, with prayers 
 and tears, to spare his doom, and pro- 
 long his stay. Such a recompense as this 
 is sufficient to repay the toils of the long- 
 est life. Short of this, greatness is con- 
 temptible impotence. Before this, lofty 
 prelates bow, and princes hide their dis- 
 tinguished heads. — Woodfall, William, 
 1791, Diary, June 17. 
 
 Mr. Wesley had most exquisite talents 
 to make himself agreeable in company, 
 and having been much accustomed to 
 society the rules of good breeding were 
 habitual to him. . . . ' He never trav- 
 elled alone ; and the person who attended 
 him had the charge of his letters and 
 papers, which, of course, lay open to his 
 inspection. The preachers, likewise, who 
 were occasionally with him, had access to 
 his letters and papers, especially if he 
 
 8C 
 
 had confidence in their sincerity and zeal 
 in religion, which it was not very difficult 
 to obtain. It was easy for these persons 
 to see the motive that influenced him, 
 and the end he had in view in every action 
 of his life, however remote from public 
 observation; and he took no pains to 
 conceal them, but seemed rather to court 
 the discovery. — Whitehead, John, 1793- 
 96, Life of the Rev. John Wesley, Sometime 
 Fellow of Lincoln College, Oxford. 
 
 Oh I have seen (nor hope perhaps in vain, 
 Ere life go down, to see such sights again) 
 A veteran warrior in the Christian field, 
 Who never saw the sword he could not wield ; 
 Grave without dulness, learned without 
 pride, 
 
 Exact, yet not precise, though meek, keen- 
 eyed; 
 
 A man that would have foil'd at their own 
 play 
 
 A dozen would-bes of the modern day. 
 Who, when occasion justified its use. 
 Had wit as bright as ready to produce. 
 Could fetch from records of an earlier age, 
 Or from philosophy's enlighten 'd page, 
 His rich materials, and regale your ear 
 With strains it was a privilege to hear ; 
 Yet above all his luxury supreme, 
 And his chief glory was the gospel theme ; 
 There he was copious as old Greece or Rome, 
 His happy eloquence seem'd there at home. 
 Ambitious not to shine or to excel, 
 But to treat justly what he loved so well. 
 — CowPER, William, c1798, Conversation, 
 
 During his last illness he said : "Let me 
 be buried in nothing but what is woollen; 
 and let my corpse be carried in my 
 coffin into the chapel." ... In his 
 will he directed that six poor men should 
 have 20 shillings each for carrying his 
 body to the grave; ''for I particularly 
 desire," said he, "that there may be 
 no hearse, no coach, no escutcheon, no 
 pomp, except the tears of them that love 
 me, and are following me to Abraham's 
 bosom." . . . AVesley's body lay in 
 the chapel in a kind of state becoming the 
 person, dressed in his clerical habit, with 
 gown, cassock, and band, the old clerical 
 cap on his head, a Bible in one hand, and 
 a white handkerchief in the other. . . . 
 The crowds who flocked to see him were 
 so great that it was thought prudent, for 
 fear of accident, to accelerate the funeral, 
 and perform it between five and six in 
 the morning. The intelligence, however, 
 could not be kept entirely secret, and 
 several hundred persons attended at that 
 
114 
 
 JOHN WESLEY 
 
 unusual hour. — Southey, Robert, 1820, 
 The Life of Wesley and the Rise and Prog- 
 ress of Methodism. 
 
 In dress, he was a pattern of neatness 
 and simplicity. A narrow plaited stock, 
 a coat with a small upright collar, no 
 buckles at his knees, no silk or velvet in 
 any part of his apparel, and his thin silver 
 locks gave to his whole person an air of 
 something primitive and apostolic. The 
 same neatness and simplicity was manifest 
 in every circumstance of his life. In his 
 chamber and study, during his winter 
 months of residence in London I never 
 observed that a book was misplaced, or 
 even a scrap of paper left unheeded. He 
 could enjoy every convenience of life; 
 and yet, he acted in the smallest things 
 like a man who was not to continue an 
 hour in one place. He seemed at home in 
 every place, settled, satisfied, and happy : 
 and yet was ready every hour to take a 
 journey of a thousand miles. His con- 
 versation was always pleasing, and fre- 
 quently interesting and instructive in the 
 highest degree. By reading, traveling, 
 and continual observation, he had acquired 
 a fund of knowledge, which he dispensed 
 with a propriety and perspicuity that has 
 been rarely equalled. The Greek and 
 Latin classics were as familiar to him as 
 the most common English authors; and 
 also many of the best French writers. 
 Yet though so richly furnished, we believe 
 those of the most improved taste have 
 never observed in him the affectation of 
 learning. He joined in every kind of 
 discourse that was innocent. — Moore, 
 Henry, 1824, The Life of the Rev. John 
 Wesley, vol. ii, p. 358. 
 
 He is spoken of as credulous, as hoping 
 good of men naturally, and able to hope 
 it again from those that had deceived him. 
 This last is weakness unless allied with 
 wise decision and force, generosity when 
 it is thus tempered. To the character of 
 John Wesley it imparted a persuasive 
 nobleness, and hallowed his earnestness 
 with mercy. He had in a striking degree 
 another of those balances between oppo- 
 site forces which mark the great man. 
 He kept himself open to new inspirations, 
 was bold in apprehending and quick in car- 
 rying them out. Yet with a resolve once 
 taken he showed a steadiness of purpose 
 beyond what the timid scholars of tradi- 
 tion can conceive. — OssoLi, Margaret 
 
 Fuller, 1850 ?-59, Papers on Literature 
 and Art, ed. Fuller, p. 350. 
 
 As I was walking home one day from 
 my father's bank, I observed a great 
 crowd of people streaming into a chapel 
 in the City Road. I followed them ; and 
 saw laid out upon a table the dead body 
 of a clergyman in full canonicals. It was 
 the corpse of John Wesley ; and the crowd 
 moved slowly and silently round and round 
 the table to take a last look at that most 
 venerable man. — Rogers, Samuel, 1855? 
 TaUe-Talk, p. 120. 
 
 Taking him altogether, Wesley is a man 
 sui generis. He stands alone ; he has had no 
 successor ; no one like him went before ; 
 no contemporary was a coequal. There 
 was a wholeness about the man, such as 
 is rarely seen. His physique, his genius, 
 his wit, his penetration, his judgment, his 
 memory, his beneficence, his religion, his 
 diligence, his conversation, his courteous- 
 ness, his manners, and his dress, — made 
 him as perfect as we ever expect man to 
 be on this side heaven. — Tyerman, L., 
 1866, The Life and Times of the Rev. John 
 Wesley, vol. iii, p. 660. 
 
 It was indeed evident to the most cur- 
 sory reader that the ''enthusiasm" 
 charged against him was that inner well- 
 spring of power without which he could 
 never have accomplished his great work ; 
 and that the"'love of authority" is that 
 quality which is actually necessary to a 
 great leader of men. That W^esley was 
 too apt to credit all that people told him 
 may be true ; himself sincere by nature, 
 he gave too much credit for sincerity to 
 all others. His nature, although calm 
 and tranquil, was of the believing rather 
 than of the doubting order ; and this can- 
 not be better illustrated than by the fact 
 that while discussing some modern mira- 
 cles, stated to have been wrought at the 
 tomb of a French Abbe, he remarked that 
 to doubt would be to unsettle all founda- 
 tions based on human testimony. So 
 slight defects as these could detract little 
 from the intellectual and the moral stature 
 of one of the very ablest and best men 
 of modern times. — Urlin, R. Denny, 
 1869, John Wesley's Place in Church His- 
 tory, p. 136. 
 
 Wesley, when a young man, was distin- 
 guished for his long flowing hair, which 
 he wore to save the expense of a periwig, 
 that he might give the money to the poor. 
 
JOHN WESLEY 
 
 115 
 
 —Forsyth, William, 1871, The Novels 
 and Novelists of the Eighteenth Century y 
 p. 67. 
 
 Wesley was a scholar, an Oxford stu- 
 dent, and he believed in the devil ; he 
 attributes to him sickness, nightmare, 
 storms, earthquakes. His family heard 
 supernatural noises ; his father had been 
 thrice pushed by a ghost ; he himself saw 
 the hand of God in the commonest events 
 of life. One day at Birmingham, over- 
 taken by a hailstorm, he felt that he re- 
 ceived this warning, because at table he 
 had not sufficiently exhorted the people 
 who dined with him ; when he had to de- 
 termine on anything, he looked out by 
 chance for a text of Scripture, in order 
 to decide. ... He lived the life of 
 an apostle, giving away all that he earned, 
 travelling and preaching all the year, and 
 every year, till the age of eighty-eight ; 
 it has been reckoned that he gave away 
 thirty thousand pounds, travelled about a 
 hundred thousand miles, and preached 
 forty thousand sermons. — Taine, H. A., 
 1871, History of English Literature, tr. 
 Van Laun^ vol. ii, bk. iii, ch. iii, p. 58. 
 
 In power as a preacher he stood next 
 to Whitefield; as a hymn -writer he stood 
 second to his brother Charles. But while 
 combining in some degree the excellences 
 of either, he possessed qualitites in which 
 both were utterly deficient ; an indefatiga- 
 ble industry, a cool judgment, a command 
 over others, a faculty of organization, a 
 singular union of patience and moderation 
 with an imperious ambition, which marked 
 him as a ruler of men. He had, besides, 
 a learning and skill in writing which no 
 other of the Methodists possessed ; he was 
 older than any of his colleagues at the 
 start of the movement, and he outlived 
 them all. His life, indeed, from 1703 to 
 1791, almost covers the century, and the 
 Methodist body had passed through every 
 phase of its history before -he sank into 
 the grave at the age of eighty-eight. It 
 would have been impossible for Wesley to 
 have wielded the power he did, had he not 
 shared the follies and extravagance as 
 well as the enthusiasm of his disciples. 
 Throughout his life his asceticism was 
 that of a monk. At times he lived on 
 bread only, and often slept on the bare 
 boards. He lived in a world of wonders 
 and divine interpositions. It was a mir- 
 acle if the rain stopped and allowed him 
 
 to set forward on a journey. It was a 
 judgment of Heaven if a hailstorm burst 
 over a town which had been deaf to his 
 preaching. One day, he tells us, when 
 he was tired and his horse fell lame, **I 
 thought — can not God heal either man or 
 beast by any means or without any ? Im- 
 mediately my headache ceased and my 
 horse's lameness in the same instant." 
 With a still more childish fanaticism he 
 guided his conduct, whether in ordinary 
 events or in the great crises of his life, by 
 drawing lots or watching the particular 
 texts at which his Bible opened. But with 
 all this extravagance and superstition, 
 Wesley's mind was essentially practical, 
 orderly, and conservative. No man ever 
 stood at the head of a great revolution 
 whose temper was so anti-revolutionary. 
 —Green, John Richard, 1874, A Short 
 History of the English People, p. 709. 
 
 He belonged to an unbroken ancestral 
 succession of English gentlemen, of whom 
 at least his three immediate predecessors 
 were scholars and divines. ... No 
 fibre of hereditary connection between 
 himself and the artisan classes, or the 
 peasantry of England, can be traced in all 
 his long pedigree ; and yet this was the 
 man whose words were to take hold of 
 colliers and weavers, of tinners and istone- 
 masons, and hardhanded workers gener- 
 ally, as no man's words had done before 
 for centuries, if ever, or have done since. 
 — RiGG, James Harrison, 1875, The Liv- 
 ing Wesley. 
 
 He was a man who had made religion 
 the single aim and object of his life, who 
 was prepared to encounter for it every 
 form of danger, discomfort, and obloquy ; 
 who devoted exclusively to it an energy 
 of will and power of intellect that in 
 worldly professions might have raised him 
 to the highest positions of honour and 
 wealth. Of his sincerity, of his self- 
 renunciation, of his deep and fervent 
 piety, of his almost boundless activity, 
 there can be no question. Yet with all 
 these qualities he was not an amiable 
 man. He was hard, punctilious, domi- 
 neering, and in a certain sense even selfish. 
 — Lecky, William Edward Hartpole, 
 1878, History of England in the Eighteenth 
 Century, vol. ii, p. 602. 
 
 There must be many a field in Great 
 Britain thick-sown with stones which 
 have been thrown at John Wesley and his 
 
116 
 
 JOHN WESLEY 
 
 proto-Methodists. Traveling from four 
 to five thousand miles every year, and 
 preaching from two to four times nearly 
 every day to audiences of thousands; 
 often disturbed by mobs of men more 
 savage than wild beasts ; keeping an eye 
 on all his preachers, and receiving their 
 reports ; starting a publishing house, and 
 carrying it on, that his people everywhere 
 might have wholesome intellectual fare 
 within their scanty means; taking no 
 money but just what would suffice for his 
 bare expenses ; stopping for no storms or 
 floods, fires or frosts ; reading and study- 
 ing on horseback, and answering innumer- 
 able assaults through the press, from 
 bishops, archbishops, and ecclesiastical 
 foes of all ranks ; compiling grammars in 
 Greek, and Hebrew, and French, and 
 Latin, for his students ; editing, writing, 
 translating, or abridging not less than 
 two hundred difl^erent publications ; eager 
 only, in it all, to save men and to extend 
 the kingdom of God. Half a million souls 
 were to be numbered as his adherents at 
 the close of that fifty years ; and outside 
 of this, a vast multitude that no man can 
 number, morally and spiritually benefited 
 by his movement. He is, I think, the 
 finest illustrationof consecrated, unselfish, 
 wholehearted devotion, for fifty solid 
 years of this world's dark history, that 
 the Church of Christ has ever offered to 
 the vision of men, perhaps to that of the 
 angels. — Herrick, S. E., 1884, Some 
 Heretics of Yesterday, p. 313. 
 
 The illustrious personage now known in 
 history under the modest title of the 
 Rev. John Wesley, without any of the 
 more ambitious affixes or prefaces of the 
 present day, would have been reverenced 
 as a great man in any age or country. 
 . . . Wesley was always a very con- 
 scientious man. He was ambitious, also, 
 but not for place. His ambition was 
 for work, for enterprise, for doing some- 
 thing useful, — something which could 
 not, or would not, be done by any other 
 person. The very fact that nobody else 
 would undertake a good thing was to him 
 its best recommendation. The more 
 strange, unusual, difficult, the scheme for 
 doing good, the more his adventurous 
 spirit was likely to be devoted to it. To 
 such a mind, the regular, common-place, 
 monotonous glory of living at his ease, as 
 the acknowledged primate of the British 
 
 world, would have presented no attrac- 
 tions. He preferred some impossible job, 
 some Herculean labour, something to do 
 where the most resolute would scarcely 
 dare to go ; and it is equally certain that 
 his keen, sensitive, commanding conscious- 
 ness, his imperial characteristic, pushed 
 him in the same direction. — Tepft, Ben- 
 jamin F., 1885, Evolution and Chris- 
 tianity, pp. 266, 268. 
 
 A life which was all but commensurate- 
 with the eighteenth century, and which 
 was certainly the busiest, and in some re- 
 spects the most important life in that 
 century — a life about which the most 
 divers views have been taken, and in 
 which the interest, so far from having 
 slackened through lapse of time, is as 
 keen if not keener than ever it was. — 
 Overton, J. H., 1891, John Wesley (Eng- 
 lish Leaders of Religion), p. v. 
 
 Between the founder of the Society of 
 Jesus and the creator of Wesleyan Meth- 
 odism there is a parallel much closer than 
 many good Methodists care to admit. 
 Loyola was a Spaniard and a soldier. 
 Wesley an Englishman and a parson, but 
 after allowing for that initial difference 
 there is much resemblance between the 
 man who saved the Papacy in the sixteenth 
 century and the man who saved Protes- 
 tantism in the eighteenth. Loyola is, no 
 doubt, a much more picturesque and a 
 more heroic figure. The brilliant cavalier 
 whose leg was smashed by a cannon ball 
 at the siege of Pampeluna, set about the 
 task of rallying the forces of Catholic 
 Christendom in a manner more worthy of 
 a countryman of the Cid and of Cervantes 
 than did the trim little ^man who w^as 
 reared in EpWDrth parsonage. But both 
 had the same central idea at heart, both 
 were inflamed with a passion for souls, 
 and both sought to save souls by organiz- 
 ing a Religious Order. The English 
 Church in those days, being a distinctly 
 non-spiritual and Erastian institution, 
 drove out the man whose labors might 
 have reared an invulnerable rampart for 
 Anglicanism throughout the world. The 
 Roman church being wiser in its day and 
 generation, has garrisoned its outposts 
 with the followers of Loyola. The story 
 is old and trite, but those who care to 
 pursue the subject will find the parallel 
 between Loyola and Wesley and Gen. Booth 
 much closer than fervent Protestants 
 
JOHN WESLEY 
 
 117 
 
 generally recognize. — ^Stead, William T., 
 1891, St. John of England, Review of Re- 
 views, vol. 3, p. 250. 
 
 Although the world and the Church 
 have learned to be comparatively generous 
 to Wesley now that a hundred years have 
 sped away, and though the roar of con- 
 temporary scandal has long since ceased, 
 I doubt whether even now he is at all ade- 
 quately appreciated. I doubt whether 
 many are aware of the extent to which to 
 this day the impulse to every great work 
 of philanthropy and social reformation has 
 been due to his energy and insight. . . . 
 The bust placed in Westminster Abbey to 
 the memory of John Wesley, more than 
 twenty years ago, was a very tardy recog- 
 nition of the vast debt of gratitude which 
 England ow^es to him. It stands hard by 
 the cenotaph of that other illustrious 
 Nonconformist, Isaac Watts, and gives 
 the beautiful presentment of the aged 
 face of the evangelist and the fine fea- 
 tures of Charles, his poet-brother. In the 
 solemn aisle thousands of visitors to our 
 great Temple of Silence and Reconciliation 
 may read three of his great sayings — one, 
 so full of holy energy, "I look on all the 
 world as my parish;" another, so full of 
 bright and holy confidence, *'God buries 
 his workmen, but continues his work;" 
 the third, when, on his death-bed, uplift- 
 ing victoriously his feeble and emaciated 
 arm, he said: ''The best of all is, God 
 is with us. " ' ' Yes !' ' he exclaimed again, 
 in a tone of victorious rapture,'' the best 
 of all is, God is with us." — Farrar, F. 
 W., 1896, The Prophets of the Christian 
 Faith, pp. 139, 144. 
 
 In 1899, when the map of England 
 looks like a gridiron of railways, none but 
 the sturdiest of pedestrians, the most de- 
 termined of cyclists can retrace the steps 
 of Wesley and his horse and stand by the 
 rocks and the natural ampitheatres in 
 Cornwall and Northumberland, in Lanca- 
 shire and Berkshire, where he preached 
 his gospel to the heathen. Exertion so 
 prolonged, enthusiasm so sustained, argues 
 a remarkable man, while the organization 
 he created, the system he founded, the 
 view of life he promulgated, is still a 
 great fact among us. No other name 
 than Wesley's lies embalmed as his does. 
 Yet he is not a popular figure. Our 
 standard historians have dismissed him 
 curtly. The fact is, Wesley puts your 
 
 ordinary historian out of conceit with 
 himself. How much easier to weave into 
 your page the gossip of Horace Walpole, 
 to enliven it with a heartless jest of 
 George Selwyn's, to make it blush with 
 sad stories of the extravagance of Fox, 
 to embroider it with the rhetoric of P.urke, 
 to humanize it with the talk of Johnson, 
 to discuss the rise and fall of administra- 
 tions, the growth and decay of the consti- 
 tution, than to follow John Wesley into the 
 streets of Bristol, or on to the bleak 
 moors near Burslem, when he met, face 
 to face in all their violence, all their 
 ignorance, and all their generosity, the 
 living men, women, and children who 
 made up the nation. — Birrell, Augus- 
 tine, 1899, John Wesley, Scrihnefs Maga- 
 zine, vol. 26, p. 756. 
 
 No new facts about John Wesley are 
 likely to be brought to light. He left 
 abundant materials for his biographers , 
 in his journals, and his volumes of ser- 
 mons are sufficiently exhaustive and clear 
 as to the substance of his religious opin- 
 ions. One of Wesley's great merits was 
 his lucidity in thought, speech, and style, 
 so that he is not a man whose obscurity in 
 expression might generate mistakes about 
 him. Moreover, he admitted the world 
 into the secrets of the inner motions of 
 his soul and mind as far as he was able. 
 In a word, there is no new thing, in the 
 literal sense, to be learned about Wesley. 
 . . . Wesley was a man of limitations, 
 but without those limitations of mind and 
 character he would not have accomplished 
 the work he did. To dominate the seri- 
 ous middle-class intelligence of the eight- 
 eenth century, he was admirably adapted. 
 The proof of his adaptation is in his 
 achievement. He was, I take it, in a 
 specially manifest way, an instrument of 
 Providence ; and this is further shown by 
 the fact that so many of the earnest men 
 who have been prominent in the great 
 religious revival of the nineteenth century 
 are the lineal descendants of those who in 
 the eighteenth were identified with the • 
 general Methodist movement. Wesley 
 helped materially in the gradual lifting 
 of Anglo-Saxondom out of the Paganism 
 in which it was wallowing part of the 
 way on the road back towards a perfect 
 Christianity. He is plainly a man of 
 whom every educated person should have 
 some knowledge; and I hope I have 
 
118 
 
 JOHN WESLEY 
 
 succeeded in telling his story, in compara- 
 tively few words, fairly, squarely, and 
 readably. — Banfield, Frank, 1900, John 
 Wesley, pp. vii, x. 
 
 Wesley was a glorious being. His zeal 
 was matchless; and he accomplished, by 
 prodigies of mental and physical effort, a 
 vast and necessary work. The physic 
 may have been nasty, — those fits, espe- 
 cially, — but Methodism arrested national 
 decay and infused new life into Christian- 
 ity. In the political sphere, though Wes- 
 ley's direct intervention was not happily 
 conceived, it is in every way probable 
 that the influence of that high Tory over 
 the masses did much to prevent an Eng- 
 lish analogue of the French Revolution by 
 absorbing into the ranks of Methodism 
 those who would naturally have been its 
 leaders. The emancipation of the slaves, 
 and, after that, other emancipations were 
 the reflexion and the fruit of that inward 
 emanciaption of which Wesley was the 
 preacher. The Evangelical movement, 
 and the Oxford movement, in the Church 
 of England, were both founded on the 
 principle that religion was something 
 other, something higher, than an aspect 
 of civil life. This principle, which in the 
 eighteenth century had been fairly lost, 
 Wesley and his companions were bold 
 enough to reassert. For this all English- 
 speaking men, irrespective of creed, have 
 cause to be thankful. To take a single 
 illustration — may we not trace the aboli- 
 tion of the duel in England to Wesley's 
 influence ? In every other European coun- 
 try the obligations of honour prescribe 
 this reckless mode of settling certain 
 disputes. Why is England exempt ? The 
 episode of the fashionable tailor is not an 
 adequate explanation. The true reason 
 is that the English conscience, as remod- 
 elled by Wesley, will not tolerate the 
 making of widows and orphans on a friv- 
 olous pretext. However, Wesley was not 
 precisely a saint. He was too active, too 
 full of fight, to merit that description. 
 But he was, pre-eminently a man. — Snell, 
 F. J., 1900, Wesley and Methodism, p. 242. 
 
 In his eighty -fifth year he acknowledges 
 that he is not so agile as formerly, that 
 he has occasional twinges of rheumatism 
 and suffers slight dimness of sight, his 
 other senses remaining unimpaired. 
 "However, blessed be God," he says, *'I 
 do not slack from my labour, and can 
 
 preach and write still." From being one 
 of the worst hated he became one of the 
 best loved men in the Kingdom. At 
 Cork, where he had been mobbed and 
 burned in effigy, he was met by a cor- 
 tege of mounted horsemen. At Falmouth, 
 where he had been taken prisoner by an 
 immense mob, "roaring like lions," high 
 and low lined the street from one end of 
 the town to the other, "out of love and 
 kindness, gaping and staring as if the 
 king were going by." At Burslem the 
 people gathered so early in the morning 
 that he began to preach at half-past four. 
 At Newgate he preached to forty-seven 
 men under sentence of death, "the clink 
 of whose chains was very awful." He 
 now ceased recording his receipts and ex- 
 penditures in his account-book. His last 
 entry is a remarkable one : ' ' For upwards 
 of eighty years I have kept my accounts 
 exactly ; I will not attempt it any longer, 
 being satisfied with the continual convic- 
 tion that I save all I can, and give all I 
 can — that is, all I have. " It is estimated 
 that he gave away over thirty thousand 
 pounds which he had earned with his pen. 
 His was a serene and sunny old age which 
 mellowed as the years passed by. His 
 early asceticism had long disappeared. 
 One of his pious helpers complained that 
 by Wesley's witty proverbs he was tempted 
 to levity. To a blustering fellow who 
 attempted to throw him down, saying, 
 "Sir, I never make way for a fool," Wes- 
 ley replied "I always do," and politely 
 stepped aside.— WiTHROW, W. H., 1901, 
 The Wesleys and the New PortraitSy The 
 Outlook, vol 69, p, 318. 
 
 MARRIAGE 
 
 February 19. — Rev. Mr. John Wesley, 
 to Mrs. Vazel, of Threadneedle Street, a 
 widow lady of large fortune. — London 
 Magazine, 1751, Marriages. 
 
 The connection was unfortunate. 
 There never was a more preposterous 
 union. It is pretty certain that no loves 
 lighted their torches on this occasion ; and 
 it is as much to be presumed, that neither 
 did Plutus preside at the solemnity. Mrs. 
 Wesley's property was too inconsiderable 
 to warrant the supposition that it was a 
 match of interest. Besides, had she been 
 ever so rich, it was nothing to him ; for 
 every shilling of her fortune remained at 
 her own disposal ; and neither the years, 
 nor the temper of the parties, could give 
 
JOHN WESLEY 
 
 119 
 
 any reason to suppose them violently 
 enamoured. That this lady accepted his 
 proposals, seems much less surprising 
 than that he should have made them. It 
 is probable, his situation at the head of a 
 sect, and the authority it conferred, was 
 not without its charms in the eyes of an 
 ambitious female. But we much wonder, 
 that Mr. Wesley should have appeared so 
 little acquainted with himself and with 
 human nature. He certainly did not 
 possess the conjugal virtues. He had no 
 taste for the tranquility of domestic re- 
 tirement : while his situation, as an itin- 
 erant, left him little leisure for those 
 attentions which are absolutely necessary' 
 to the comfort of married life. — Hamp- 
 SON, John, 1791, Life of John Wesley y 
 vol. II, p. 124. 
 
 Mr. Wesley's constant habit of travel- 
 ing. . . . the number of persons who 
 came to visit him wherever he was, and 
 his extensive correspondence with the 
 members of the society were circumstances 
 unfavourable to that social intercourse, 
 mutual openness and confidence, which 
 form the basis of happiness in the married 
 state. These circumstances, indeed, would 
 not have been so very unfavourable, had 
 he married a woman who could have en- 
 tered into his views, and have accommo- 
 dated herself to his situation. But this 
 was not the case. Had he searched the 
 whole kingdom on purpose he would hardly 
 have found a woman more unsuitable in 
 these respects, than she whom he married. 
 —Whitehead, John, 1793-96, The Life 
 of the Rev. John Wesley y Some Time Fellow 
 of Lincoln College, Oxford. 
 
 She seemed truly pious, and was very 
 agreeable in her person and manners. 
 She conformed to every company, whether 
 of the rich or the poor ; and she had 
 a remarkable facility and propriety in 
 addressing them concerning their true in- 
 terests.— Moore, Henry, 1824, The Life 
 of Rev. John Wesley, vol. ii, p. 144. 
 
 Neither in understanding nor in educa- 
 tion was she worthy of the eminent man 
 to whom she was united ; and her temper 
 was intolerably bad. During the lifetime 
 of her first husband, she appears to have 
 enjoyed every indulgence; and, judging 
 from some of his letters to her, which 
 have been preserved, he paid an entire 
 deference to her will. Her habits and 
 spirit were ill adapted to the privations 
 
 and inconveniences which were incident to 
 her new mode of life, as the traveling 
 companion of Mr. John Wesley. — Jack- 
 son, Thomas, 1841, Life of Charles Wesley. 
 
 His wife traveled with him for some 
 time, but soon very naturally grew dissat- 
 isfied with a life so restless and so incom- 
 patible with the taste and convenience of 
 her sex. Unwilling to travel herself, she 
 became equally dissatisfied with her hus- 
 band's habitual absence. Her discontent 
 took at last the form of a monomaniacal 
 jealousy. During twenty years she per- 
 secuted him with unfounded suspicions 
 and intolerable annoyances, and it is 
 among the most admirable proofs of the 
 genuine greatness of his character that 
 his public career never wavered, never 
 lost one jot of its energy or success, dur- 
 ing this protracted domestic wretched- 
 ness. She repeatedly deserted him, but 
 returned at his own earnest instance. She 
 opened, interpolated, and then exposed to 
 his enemies his correspondence, and some- 
 times traveled a hundred miles to see, 
 from a window, who accompanied him in 
 his carriage. At last, taking with her 
 portions of his journals and papers, which 
 she never restored, she left him with the 
 assurance that she would never return. 
 His allusion to the fact in his journal is 
 characteristically laconic. He knew not, 
 he says, the immediate cause of her deter- 
 mination, and adds, ''Non earn reliqui, 
 non iimissi, non revocabo'' — I did not for- 
 sake her, I did not dismiss her, I will not 
 recall her. She lived about ten years 
 after leaving him. Her tombstone com- 
 memorated her virtues as a parent and a 
 friend, but not as a wife. — Stevens, 
 Abel, 1866, The Women of Methodism, 
 p. 128. 
 
 His marriage was ill advised as well as 
 ill assorted. On both sides, it was, to a 
 culpable extent, hasty, and was contractej 
 without proper and sufficient thought. 
 Young people entering into hurried mar- 
 riages deserve and incur censure ; and if 
 so, what shall be said of Wesley and his 
 wife? They married in haste and had 
 leisure to repent. Their act was, in a high 
 degree, an act of folly; and, properly 
 enough, to the end of life, both of them 
 were made to sufl^er a serious penalty. It 
 is far from pleasant to pursue the subject ; 
 but, perhaps it is needful. In a world of 
 danger like this, we must look at beacons 
 
120 
 
 JOHN WESLEY 
 
 as well as beauties.— Tyerman, L., 1869, 
 The Life and Times of the Rev. John Wes- 
 ley, vol. II, p. 106. 
 
 Her first marriage had been full of hap- 
 piness from the simple cause that it was 
 a union of two loving, sympathetic hearts, 
 whereas there is abundant evidence to 
 show that her subsequent wedding was 
 the outcome of motives which, under the 
 circumstances and peculiar conditions in 
 which they both lived, could hardly have 
 resulted otherwise than it did. . . . 
 Absorbed by the work he had in hand, he 
 failed to offer to his second love those 
 demonstrations of affection to which she 
 had been accustomed, and which alone 
 make matrimony desirable. She, on the 
 other hand, a highly-educated and sensi- 
 tive lady, endowed with a considerable 
 fortune, accustomed, as she had been, to 
 the most devoted attentions of an affec- 
 tionate husband, feeling the neglect of his 
 successor (whether that neglect was un- 
 avoidable or not), and witnessing the 
 honor and warm expressions of friendship 
 lavished upon him by his admirers of both 
 sexes, often riding with him in the car- 
 riage purchased with her money while she 
 was left alone, could hardly fail to feel 
 neglected by him who had vowed to ''love 
 and comfort, to honor and keep her in 
 sickness and in health." One does not 
 wonder that marriage under such circum- 
 stances should turn out unhappily. What 
 I wish to point out to your readers is that 
 the fault was not solely on tjie side of the 
 lady, as has been and still is, I fear, the 
 fashion to affirm in this case — at any rate, 
 the letter which you have published does 
 not evidence much of that "softness" 
 which Mr. Wesley says is the only influence 
 by which "Love can be won." I am not 
 aware that man's greatness tends to de- 
 velop marital affection. Perhaps John 
 Wesley was too great a man to cultivate 
 such insignificant qualifications! There 
 can be no doubt that the marriage turned 
 out unfortunately ; in fact, it was an in- 
 stance of "marrying in haste and repent- 
 ing at leisure." Further, there is much 
 better ground for believing that Mr. Wes- 
 ley's estrangement from his brother 
 Charles was due rather to the intended 
 marriage with his first love than his con- 
 summated union with Mrs. Vazeille. — 
 Stocks, Edward Vazeille, 1885, To the 
 Editor of the London Evening Mail. 
 
 No doubt it was not an easy thing to 
 be the wife of such a tireless enthusiast 
 as John Wesley, especially when he was 
 a second husband, when the marriage was 
 barren of children. But no apology can 
 excuse and no stretch of charity can con- 
 done the conduct of Mrs. Wesley. She 
 was emphatically unworthy of the supreme 
 position to which she was called. — Stead, 
 William T., 1891, St. John of England, 
 Review of Reviews, vol. 3, p. 257. 
 
 From the time of this wedding John 
 Wesley seems to have experienced a kind 
 of unrest. He had been used to take a 
 severely ascetic view of marriage. At 
 twenty-seven, he tells us, he held it unlaw- 
 ful for a priest to marry ; and, at a later 
 period, he could not disassociate a sus- 
 picion of impurity from the marriage bed. 
 Whether he was still affected by this pre- 
 judice when he was wooing Miss Sophy, 
 or thought it better to take her, impurity 
 and all, rather than go without her agree- 
 able society, is an enigma, and a difficult 
 one. Anyhow, at forty-six, he had van- 
 quished this scruple, and to wed or not to 
 wed had come to be a question, not of 
 lawfulness, but of expediency. By ex- 
 pediency must not be understood worldly 
 prudence. Wesley, disregarding scriptural 
 advice, hardly ever sat down to count 
 the cost. But he saw no reason why he 
 should not do as other men, and it was 
 reasonable to conclude that he would 
 make a much better husband, father, cit- 
 izen, and friend than the vast majority of 
 those who assumed marital responsibili- 
 ties from worldly or carnal motives. 
 Tyerman maintains that, if the woman he 
 married had been worthy of him, he would 
 have been one of the most loving husbands 
 that ever lived. Perhaps so. No doubt 
 he was, in his awkward way, affectionate. 
 But sentiment, though too much dispar- 
 aged by professional match-makers, is no 
 adequate basis for marriage. To do him 
 justice, Wesley never supposed that it 
 was, but other considerations presented 
 themselves when he w^as morally or actu- 
 ally committed to a choice recommended 
 by sentiment alone. — Snell, F. J., 1900, 
 Wesley and Methodism, p. 188. 
 
 AS A PREACHER 
 
 My health advances faster than my 
 amusement. However, I have been at one 
 opera, Mr. Wesley's. They have boys 
 and girls with charming voices, that sing 
 
JOHN WESLEY 
 
 121 
 
 hymns, in parts, to Scotch ballad tunes; 
 but indeed so long, that one would think 
 they were already in eternity, and knew 
 how much time they had before them. 
 The chapel is very neat, with true Gothic 
 windows ; (yet I am not converted) ; but I 
 was glad to see that luxury is creeping in 
 upon them before persecution. . . . 
 He spoke his sermon, but so fast, and with 
 so little accent, that I am sure he has 
 often uttered it, for it was like a lesson. 
 There were parts and eloquence in it ; but 
 towards the end he exalted his voice, and 
 acted very ugly enthusiasm. . . . Ex- 
 cept a few from curiosity, and some honor- 
 able women, the congregation was very 
 mean. — Walpole, Horace, 1766, To John 
 Chute, Oct. 10; Letters, ed. Cunningham, 
 vol. V, p. 16. 
 
 I felt great satisfaction last week in 
 hearing that veteran in the service of 
 God, the Rev. John Wesley. At another 
 time, and not knowing the man, I should 
 almost have ridiculed his figure. Far 
 from it now. I looked upon him with 
 a respect bordering upon enthusiasm. 
 After the people had sung one verse of 
 a hymn, he arose and said : ''It gives me 
 a great pleasure to find that you have not 
 lost your singing ; neither men nor women. 
 You have not forgotten a single note. 
 And I hope, by the assistance of God, 
 which enables you to sing well, you may 
 do all other things well." A universal 
 ''Amen" followed. At the end of every 
 head or division of his discourse, he fin- 
 ished by a kind of prayer, a momentary 
 wish as it were, not consisting of more 
 than three or four words, which was 
 always followed by a universal buzz. His 
 discourse was short. The text I could 
 not hear. After the last prayer, he rose 
 up and addressed the people on liberality of 
 sentiment, and spoke much against refus- 
 ing to join with any congregation on ac- 
 count of difference in opinion. — Robin- 
 son, Henry Crabb, 1790, Letter, Oct. 18 ; 
 Diary, Reminiscences and Correspondence, 
 vol. I. p. 20. 
 
 The travels of Mr. Wesley in the work 
 of the ministry, for fifty years together, 
 are I apprehend without precedent. Dur- 
 ing this period he traveled about four 
 thousand five hundred miles every year, 
 one year with another. ... It had 
 been impossible for him to perform this 
 almost incredible degree of labor without 
 
 great punctuality and care in the manage- 
 ment of his time. He had stated hours 
 for every purpose, and his only relaxation 
 was a change of employment. . . . 
 For fifty-two years or upward, he gener- 
 ally delivered two, frequently three or 
 four, sermons in a day. Hut calculating 
 at two sermons a day, and allowing as a 
 writer of his life has done, fifty annually 
 for extraordinary occasions, the whole 
 number of sermons he preached during 
 this period will be forty thousand five 
 hundred and sixty. To these may be 
 added an infinite number of exhortations 
 to the societies after preaching, and in 
 other occasional meetings, at which he 
 assisted. — Whitehead, John, 1793-96, 
 Life of the Rev. John Wesley, Some Time 
 Fellow of Lincoln College, Oxford. 
 
 Wesley you alone can touch ; but will 
 you not have the hive about you ? When 
 I was about twelve years old, I heard him 
 preach more than once, standing on a 
 chair, in Kelso churchyard. He was a 
 most venerable figure, but his sermons 
 were vastly too colloquial for the taste of 
 Saunders. He told many excellent stories. 
 —Scott, Sir Walter, 1815, Letter to 
 Robert Southey, April 4 ; Life by Lockhart. 
 
 Wesley's own temperament was rather 
 cold, and he had probably from that cold 
 and calm nature, and the great self-con- 
 trol and presence of mind which he pos- 
 sessed, the power to awe, subdue, and 
 thrill an audience. While Whitefield on 
 many occasions preached dissolved in tears, 
 and so moved vast numbers, the strong 
 and determined will of Wesley was almost 
 electrical in its influence and even fright- 
 ful in its effects on the assemblages he 
 preached before. Frequently, when he 
 had concluded his discourse, the whole of 
 his congregation appeared to be riveted 
 to the ground, and not a person moved till 
 he had retired. — Ellis, G. A., 1871, John 
 Wesley, Atlantic Monthly, vol. 27, p. 330. 
 
 Wesley was not a pictorial or dramatic 
 preacher like his great preaching contem- 
 porary, Whitefield; but whereas White- 
 field, powerful preacher as he was, was 
 yet more popular than powerful ; Wesley, 
 popular preacher as he was, was yet more 
 powerful, in comparison with his fellows, 
 than he was popular.— Rigg, James Har- 
 rison, 1875, The Living Wesley. 
 
 He always preached in gown and cas- 
 sock. He lacked the pathetic tone and 
 
122 
 
 JOHN WESLEY 
 
 the dramatic delivery of Whitefield. He 
 had an essentially calm and logical mind. 
 His speech, like Cobden's, was conspicu- 
 ously ''unadorned." He preached the 
 Gospel with the least possible admixture 
 of individual colouring. His very lan- 
 guage was unusually Biblical, and he con- 
 stantly used the ipsissima verba of Scrip- 
 ture. On the other hand, he had a sweet 
 and penetrating voice, which could be 
 distinctly heard at a measured distance of 
 one hundred and forty yards. He had an 
 ample command of the plainest, purest, 
 and most powerful English. Beneath his 
 calm exterior slept a very volcano of de- 
 votion to God and love to man. And his 
 appeal was always directly and unmistak- 
 ably to the human conscience. — Hughes, 
 Hugh Price, 1891, John Wesley, The 
 Nineteenth Century, vol. 29, p. 486. 
 
 When the storm passed over, the *'Sym- 
 monds" cast anchor in the Savannah 
 River, near Coxpur Island, and one or 
 two days aftewards the voyagers reached 
 the town in safety, on February 5, 1736. 
 On the seventh of March following John 
 Wesley preached the first Methodist ser- 
 mon every preached on this continent, not 
 far from the site of the present Christ 
 Church, Savannah, of which he subse- 
 quently was the third rector. It was ad- 
 dressed to a mixed assemblage. His con- 
 gregation hardly exceeded four hundred 
 persons, including children and adults, 
 reenforced, however, by one hundred or 
 more of the neighboring Indians. Wes- 
 ley was then in the prime of his stalwart 
 manhood. He was not robust in his phy- 
 sique, but shapely in his figure, measuring 
 five feet ten inches in stature, and with a 
 Roman physiognomy and a bearing not 
 unbefitting a Roman Senator. He was, at 
 this time, about thirty-four years old, 
 and as he stood before his strange con- 
 gregation he was an impressive figure. 
 He discussed in a most eloquent manner 
 the principles of Christian charity as ar- 
 gued by Saint Paul in the thirteenth 
 chapter of First Corinthians. Dr. Nunes, 
 a Spanish physician and a Jew, was an in- 
 terested listener to the sermon. He was 
 frequently known in after life to say that 
 this chapter of Saint Paul's as expounded 
 by Mr. Wesley, deserved to be written in 
 letters of gold.— Scott, W. J., 1897, 
 When John Wesley Preached in Georgia, 
 The Ladies^ Home Journal, vol. 14, June. 
 
 Wesley's fame as a preacher was some- 
 what obscured by the extraordinary power 
 of Whitefield, whose dramatic eloquence 
 attracted all classes. Yet the severity 
 and overwhelming religious power of 
 Wesley was such that men who would 
 not submit to the claims of God as ex- 
 pounded by him did not dare ta hear him. 
 He attracted even larger congregations 
 than Whitefield, and produced a more 
 powerful and permanent impression. . . . 
 No preacher since the days when Paul 
 reasoned of righteousness, temperance, 
 and judgment to come, equaled him, on 
 extraordinary occasions, in moral power, 
 of which many instances are given by 
 Southey. — Buckley, James M., 1897, A 
 History of Methodism in the United States, 
 vol. I, p. 329. 
 
 WESLEYISM 
 My brothers are now become so notori- 
 ous, that the world will be curious to 
 know when and where they were born, 
 what schools bred at, what colleges of in 
 Oxford, and when matriculated, what de- 
 grees they took, and where, when, and by 
 whom ordained. I wish they may spare 
 so much time as to vouchsafe a little of 
 their story. For my own part, I had 
 much rather have them picking straws 
 within the walls, than preaching in the 
 area of Moorfields. It was with exceed- 
 ing concern and grief, I heard you had 
 countenanced a spreading delusion, so far 
 as to be one of Jack's congregation. Is 
 it not enough that I am bereft of both my 
 brothers, but must my mother follow too ? 
 I earnestly beseech the Almighty to pre- 
 serve you from joining a schism at the 
 close of your life, as you were unfortu- 
 nately engaged in one at the beginning of 
 it. It will cost you many a protest, 
 should you retain your integrity, as I hope 
 to God you will. They boast of you al- 
 ready as a disciple. They design separa- 
 tion. They are aready forbidden all the 
 pulpits in London ; and to preach in that 
 diocese is actual schism. In all likelihood, 
 it will come to the same all over England, 
 if the bishops have courage enough. They 
 leave off the liturgy in the fields; and 
 though Mr. Whitefield expresses his value 
 for it, he never once read it to his tatter- 
 demalions on a common. Their societies 
 are sufficient to dissolve all other socie- 
 ties but their own. ... As I told 
 Jack, I am not afraid the Church should 
 
r 
 
 JOHN WESLEY 
 
 128 
 
 excommunicate him (discipline is at too 
 low an ebb), but, that he should excom- 
 municate the Church. It is pretty near 
 ii;.— Wesley, Samuel, 1739, Letter to 
 Susannah Wesley. 
 
 A man of great views, great energy, 
 and great virtues. That he awakened a 
 zealous spidt, not only in his own commu- 
 nity, but in a Church which needed some- 
 thing to quicken it, is acknowledged by 
 the members of that Church itself ; that 
 he encouraged enthusiasm and extrava- 
 gance, lent a ready ear to false and im- 
 possible relations, and spread superstition 
 as well as piety, would hardly be denied 
 by the candid and judicious among his own 
 people. In its immediate effects the 
 powerful principle of religion, which he 
 and his preachers diffused, has reclaimed 
 many from a course of sin, has supported 
 many in poverty, sickness, and affliction, 
 and has imparted to many a triumphant 
 joy in death. — Southey, Robert, 1820, 
 The Life of Wesley and the Rise and Prog- 
 ress of Methodism, p. 589. 
 
 Wesley's object was to revive the spirit 
 of religion in the Church of England. To 
 this he thought himself called ; for this 
 he commenced and continued his labours. 
 — Watson, Richard, 1820, Observations 
 of Southey' s Life of Wesley, p. 125. 
 
 My present theme is Southey's **Life of 
 Wesley" — a theme much more copious, 
 and one which interests me a good deal. 
 How I shall succeed in it I do not yet 
 know ; it is no easy matter to give Wes- 
 ley his due praise, at the same time that 
 I am to distinguish all that was blamable 
 in his conduct and doctrines ; and it is a 
 very difficult matter indeed to write on 
 such a subject at all without offending 
 one or both of the two fiercest and fool- 
 ishest parties that ever divided a Church — 
 the High Churchmen and the Evangelicals. 
 — Heber, Reginald, 1820, Letter to R. 
 J. Wilmot Horton, May 26 ; Bishop Heber, 
 ed. Smith, p. 98. 
 
 Metastasio: Strange stories are re- 
 ported of one Wesley, who is permitted 
 by the authorities to preach in the open 
 fields. 
 
 Alfieri. Were not those whom you 
 most venerate permitted by the Pagan 
 authorities to preach both in the fields 
 and in the cities? Wesley gave out no 
 new Commandments: he opened before 
 
 the eyes of the assembled thousands the 
 small volume which contains them, and 
 cried aloud, "Read! Readr I know an 
 Italian who would have spoken to them 
 words of far different import in their own 
 vernacular, and have said, ''If you dare to 
 read, go and be damned.'' I am not highly 
 fanatical, but I do bear veneration toward 
 this saintly man, commanding by meekness 
 and humility. He found the members of 
 the Anglican Church putrescent, as Luther 
 found the Papal ; he used no' knife of cau- 
 tery.— Landor, Walter Savage, 1828, 
 Alfieri and Metastasio, Imaginary Con- 
 versations, Third Series, vol. v, p. 132. 
 
 The first of theological statesman. — 
 Buckle, Henry Thomas, 1857, History 
 of Civilization in England, vol. I, p. 421. 
 
 No wonder that the clergy were corrupt 
 and indifferent amid this indifference and 
 corruption. No wonder that skeptics 
 multiplied and morals degenerated, so far 
 as they depended on the influence of such 
 a king. No wonder that Whitfield cried 
 out in the wilderness, — that Wesley quit- 
 ted the insulted temple to pray on the 
 hill-side. I look with reverence on those 
 men at that time. Which is the sublimer 
 spectacle, — the good John Wesley, sur- 
 rounded by his congregation of miners at 
 the pit's mouth, or the queen's chaplains 
 mumbling through their morning office in 
 their ante-room, under the picture of her 
 great Venus, with the door opened into 
 the adjoining chamber, where the queen 
 is dressing, talking scandal to Lord Her- 
 vey, or uttering sneers at Lady Suffolk, 
 who is kneeling with the basin at her mis- 
 tress's side ? — Thackeray, William 
 Makepeace, 1861, The Four Georges. 
 
 Wesley died at the head of a thoroughly 
 organized host of 550 itinerant preachers, 
 and 140,000 members of his societies, in 
 the United Kingdom, British North Amer- 
 ica, in the United States, and West Indies. 
 —Stevens, Abel, 1861, History of Meth- 
 odism, vol. III. 
 
 Wesley, nursed in the most exclusive 
 church principles, kindled the flame of his 
 piety by the devout reading of mystic 
 books, when our university was marked 
 by the half-heartedness of the time ; and 
 afterwards, when instructed by the Pie- 
 tists of Germany, devoted a long life to 
 wander over the country, despised, ill- 
 treated, but still untired; teaching with 
 indefatigable energy the faith which he 
 
124 
 
 JOHN WESLEY 
 
 loved, and introducing those irregular 
 agencies of usefulness which are now so 
 largely adopted even in the church. He 
 too was an accomplished scholar, and pos- 
 sessed great gifts of administration ; but 
 whatever good he effected, in kindling the 
 spiritual Christianity which checked the 
 spread of infidelity, was not so much by 
 argument as by stating the omnipotent 
 doctrine of the Cross, Christ set forth as 
 the propitiation for sin through faith in 
 his blood. — Farrar, Adam Storey, 1862, 
 A Critical History of Free Thought^ Lec- 
 ture iv, J). 161. 
 
 John Wesley, the founder of Methodism, 
 with all his eccentricities and puerilities, 
 was a man in whom there was much that 
 was great and noble. He cannot, indeed, 
 be ranked with some of those apostles of 
 Christianity whose single object was to do 
 good. He loved excitement, power, and 
 praise. He allowed himself to think that 
 he was the constant subject of miraculous 
 interpositions, and that when his horse 
 fell lame, or his head ached, a special in- 
 terposition was wrought in his favour. 
 He believed that people could be converted 
 in dreams, or by visions to their waking 
 senses, and that erring and fallible mor- 
 tals could attain sinless perfection in this 
 life. He seemed to suppose himself to 
 have the power of healing diseases by 
 faith and prayer; and though St. Paul 
 w^as obliged to see Epaphroditus ''sick 
 nigh unto death," yet that the health of 
 his friends was a matter he could boldly 
 claim of God. He allowed himself to fall 
 into the foolish and reprehensible practice 
 of divination and sortilege, and to enter- 
 tain the absurd notion that every sort of 
 diversion was sinful. He was inconsistent 
 in his teaching, holding at one time that 
 men were justified by faith, ''including 
 no good work;" and at another, that "re- 
 pentance and works meet for repentance" 
 must go before faith. But though incon- 
 sistencies may be found in his teaching, 
 and littlenesses and follies in his conduct, 
 yet Wesley was essentially an honest man, 
 who laboured almost beyond example for 
 the good of his fellow-creatures. For 
 fifty years he continued his unabating, 
 ungrudging toil, and the results were 
 enormous. At his death, the members of 
 his flock in England exceeded 71,000, in 
 America 48,000, and he had 500 traveling 
 preachers under his control. — Perry, 
 
 George G., 1864, The History of the 
 Church of England, vol. iii, p. 457. 
 
 There are probably few names familiar 
 to all Englishmen which have gathered 
 round them associations so misleading as 
 those which surround John Wesley. For 
 those who take their impressions from 
 hearsay, it is no more than a symbol for 
 the religion of the illiterate. Others, to 
 whom it is familiar through cursory men- 
 tions in the literature of the day, recall, 
 on hearing a name coupled with Richelieu 
 by Lord Macaulay, and with Luther by 
 Mr. Buckle, vague notions of able eccle- 
 siastical origination and controversial zeal. 
 Neither view (if the following delineation 
 be correct) can be accepted without large 
 modification. Wesley reached the age of 
 thirty-six without any exclusive devotion 
 to the religious teaching of a particular 
 class; his organizing power, great as it 
 was, does not exhibit his character on its 
 strongest side, while his advocacy of par- 
 ticular doctrines brings forward his weak- 
 est. Perhaps the founder of a sect is 
 especially liable to misconception. The 
 true representatives of a reformer are 
 never those who call themselves by his 
 name : what is remarkable in him is that 
 he breaks through conventional barriers, 
 what is remarkable in them is that they 
 take the beaten track ; and it is necessary, 
 in order to understand him, to connect 
 him with his cotemporaries rather than 
 with his followers. — Wedgwood, Julia, 
 1870, John Wesley, p. 1. 
 
 He was not exactly a man of genius or a 
 great writer ; and in his younger days he 
 would have seemed chiefly remarkable to 
 the common observer for a certain degree 
 of eccentricity and want of sense. Even 
 good men would have remarked of him 
 that he was always pushing his opinion to 
 extremes. And his opinions were chang- 
 ing, for in the course of life he seems to 
 have passed almost from one pole of the- 
 ology to the other. Yet this was the man 
 who has a greater present influence on 
 the religion of the Christian world than 
 any apostle or saint or prophet since the 
 Reformation, perhaps it may be said with 
 truth since St. Paul himself. — Jowett, 
 Benjamin, 1881, Sermons Biographical 
 and Miscellaneous, ed. Fremantle, p. 112. 
 
 It is remarkable that Wesleyanism has 
 found so little favour in its founder's own 
 family. With the exception of some of 
 
JOHN WESLEY 
 
 125 
 
 their sisters, who became connected with 
 the Society, John and Charles stood alone 
 during their lifetime, so far as their rel- 
 atives were concerned, and the majority 
 of those who have since borne their name 
 have adhered staunchly to the Church of 
 England. This is as John himself would 
 have had it, for he was no Separatist, 
 though he could not stop the movement of 
 which he was the mainspring ; nor did he 
 wish to do so, but he did not see that 
 it would necessarily lead to secession. 
 Blood, however, will tell, and a vast 
 amount of talent and energy are still 
 manifested in all the descendants of the 
 Epworth family. Impetuous and quick- 
 witted, and, perhaps, not overmuch given 
 to take thought for the morrow, they 
 must all be up and doing, and in these 
 characteristics they vindicate their lin- 
 eage, and the vigour of that original 
 strain which is still so far from being 
 worn out. — Clarke, Eliza, 1886, Susanna 
 Wesley {Eminent Women Series), p. 238. 
 
 His wise catholicity and broad and lib- 
 eral sympathies are exemplified in the ad- 
 miration which, at a time when the name 
 excited detestation and disgust, Wesley 
 expressed for Ignatius Loyola. Yet Wes- 
 ley may, in some respects, be called the 
 Loyola of the eighteenth century. . . . 
 Like Loyola, Wesley was inflamed by an 
 ardent zeal for religion ; like him again 
 he saw keenly the evils of the time and 
 framed a remedy that could never be a 
 panecea. His systematic mind was gifted 
 with a peculiar power of giving permanent 
 form to the excitement or enthusiasm of 
 the moment. He began his career with 
 no other project than that of raising up 
 "a, holy people;" but as his work grew 
 beneath his hand, his intellect proved 
 comprehensive enough to conceive a 
 gigantic plan, and yet sufficiently minute 
 to grasp the smallest details. And his 
 organizing capacity was not greater than 
 his administrative power. The structure 
 of his Society was admirable, and his 
 management of the machine in all the 
 earlier years of his life showed a happy 
 union of tact, firmness, and flexibility. 
 He was not a dogmatic theologian, and he 
 took no pleasure in philosophical specula- 
 tion. — Prothero, R. E., 1891, John 
 Wesley, Good Words, vol 32, p. 195. 
 
 Of that work, it has been well said, Meth- 
 odism itself is one the of least significant 
 
 results. True, at his death in 1791, 
 his followers were counted by the thou- 
 sand, and to-day are counted by the mil- 
 lion. But even they were the least result 
 of the Methodist revival. For its effects 
 were felt far and wide in other directions. 
 The Church of England awoke once more 
 from its apathy and sloth, and its clergy 
 roused themselves from lifelessness and 
 contempt to a practical religious energy 
 of which we still feel the force. And in 
 the nation at large appeared a new moral 
 enthusiasm which, rigid and pedantic 
 though it often seemed, was still healthy 
 in social tone, and whose power was seen 
 in the partial disappearance of the open 
 profligacy which disgraced the early 
 Georgian era. Philanthropy, and social 
 reform generally, received a fresh stimu- 
 lus among the mass of the nation, a stim- 
 ulus whose effects were afterwards seen in 
 an amelioration of our penal code, more 
 humanity in our prison life, and a feeling 
 of indignation against negro slavery. 
 Wesley helped also, we believe, very 
 largely the growth of the national con- 
 sciousness of the English people, by giv- 
 ing men something more to think about 
 than their own individual aims and their 
 own individual life. Especially was this 
 the case among the poorer people, and it 
 is curious to note how many leaders of the 
 working classes have sprung from the 
 ranks of Methodism.— Gibbins, H. de B., 
 1892, English Social Reformers, p. 92. 
 
 If Whitefield was the most persuasive 
 and eloquent preacher of the early Meth- 
 odists, John Wesley was incomparably the 
 greatest man. He w^as a trained scholar, 
 as well as an efl^ective preacher, and he 
 was an organizer, in this respect on a 
 level with the most renowned leaders of 
 the mediaeval monastic orders. — Fisher, 
 George Park, 1896, History of Christian 
 Doctrine, p. 390. 
 
 He came to see that the Spirit of God 
 was not merely in the Bible, but in the 
 souls of living men, giving light and life 
 to the men of the eighteenth century as 
 to those of the first. If this was fanati- 
 cism, it was fanaticism that for more than 
 fifty years bore the strain of one of the 
 most strenuous and perfectly organised 
 lives ever lived. — Brown, J., 1896, Social 
 England, ed. Traill, vol. v, p. 237. 
 
 The Oxford methodists were assiduous 
 in study (in 1731 John and Charles Wesley 
 
126 
 
 JOHN WESLEY 
 
 began a lifelong practice of conversing 
 with each other in Latin) ; every night 
 they met for consultation before supper ; 
 they relieved the poor, and looked after 
 the clothing and training of school chil- 
 dren ; they daily visited the prisoners in 
 the castle, read prayers there on Wednes- 
 days and Fridays, preached there on Sun- 
 days, and administered the communion 
 once a month. Their religion was formed 
 on the prayer-book ; next to the bible in 
 point of doctrine they valued the books of 
 homilies. Nor did they deny themselves 
 recreation ; it would be unjust to charge 
 ' their temper as morbid ; their philanthropy 
 kept them in touch with real life ; Wes- 
 ley's strong sense, his cheerfulness (he 
 did not disdain a game of cards, as his 
 private accounts show), and his knowledge 
 of human nature, gave a manly tone to 
 their zeal. The marked divergence of 
 their subsequent careers, while showing 
 reaction in some cases from an ideal over- 
 strained, proves also that the discipline of 
 strictness was not ruinous to the inde- 
 pendence of individual minds. Wesley 
 himself was little of an ascetic; to be 
 methodical and exact was with him an es- 
 sential part of happiness. He rose at four 
 to cure himself of lying awake at night. 
 At five, morning and evening, he spent an 
 hour in private prayer. His diary and 
 accounts were kept with constant pre- 
 cision. One day a week he allowed for 
 friendly correspondence. — Gordon, Alex- 
 ander, 1899, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. LX, p. 304. 
 
 Few men have more genuine claims to 
 greatness than John Wesley, a many sided 
 man, but in all things the reformer. That 
 really was his great work, although usu- 
 ally he is thought of only as the leader of 
 an evangelistic movement, the preacher 
 and crusader who founded the Methodist 
 church. As a preacher, a critic, a teacher, 
 and an organizer, Wesley was truly re- 
 markable. Measured by what he accom- 
 plished, he was colossal. He was true to 
 his own ideals, and his capacity for work 
 is not to be measured by ordinary stand- 
 ards. Wesley earned two hundred thou- 
 sand dollars by his writings, which is the 
 smallest part of what he did in his long 
 life. He gave avv^ay every penny of this. 
 Spurgeon said of him: *'When John 
 Wesley died he left behind him two silver 
 spoons in London, two in Bristol, a teapot, 
 
 and the great Methodist church. " This 
 church, with its seven million members- 
 nine tenths of them in America — and its 
 mission work extending throughout the 
 world, is the magnificent monument of the 
 great man who founded it. — Johnson, J. 
 Wesley, 1900, The Last of the Great Re- 
 formers, Munsey's Magazine, vol, 23, p. Ibl, 
 GENERAL 
 
 He never wrote merely to please, or to 
 get money. His object constantly was, to 
 inform the understanding, and mend the 
 heart: to discourage vice, and promote 
 virtue. He never published anything with 
 a view to promote a party-spirit. A great 
 degree of candor and liberality runs 
 through all his publications ; and in mat- 
 ters of mere speculation, he endeavored to 
 show the necessity of christian love, and 
 mutual forbearance among those who differ 
 in opinion. In his controversies, he com- 
 bated opinions, not men. And this he 
 did, in general, with great moderation. 
 He maintained, that even right opinions, 
 make but a small part of religion : that, a 
 man may hold the truth in unrighteous- 
 ness, and therefore perish with the greater 
 condemnation. But, a man whose heart, 
 from a living faith in Christ operating as 
 a practical principle, is influenced to the 
 love of God and man, and whose life is 
 correspondent to it, cannot err danger- 
 ously, though he may hold some erroneous 
 opinions. And he thought, that we ought 
 to contend for this christian temper and 
 practice, much more earnestly, than for 
 any speculative notions, not essentially 
 necessary to obtain them. This made 
 him earnest to contend for practical truth ; 
 and had a happy influence on all his writ- 
 ings. . . . Mr. Wesley's treatise on 
 ''Original Sin," is, perhaps, the most 
 labored performance that he published. 
 He knew, and respected the abilities and 
 character of Dr. Taylor, his opponent. 
 He bestowed much time and attention in 
 a careful investigation of the subject; 
 but avoided entering into minute metaphys- 
 ical disquisitions. He knew that nothing 
 could be aflirmed in this way of reasoning, 
 however true, but what another might 
 deny with some degree of plausibility. 
 His treatise therefore is, an animated de- 
 fence of the orthodox doctrine, in a 
 deduction from the actual state of moral- 
 ity in all ages, and under every kind of 
 restraint from evil that has been imposed 
 
JOHN WESLEY 
 
 127 
 
 on mankind; or, as he expresses it, "from 
 Scripture, reason, and experience." — 
 Whitehead, John, 1793-96, The Life of 
 the Rev. John Wesley, Some Time Fellow 
 of Lincoln College, Oxford. 
 
 As a logician he piqued himself, as we 
 have seen, on his skill ; and it must be 
 allowed that his writings in general are 
 distinguished by a remarkable force, 
 acuteness, and vivacity of conception and 
 expression. Yet, it is also remarkable 
 that the doctrines which he most anxiously 
 insisted on through life, w^ere not only 
 incapable of being moulded into any con- 
 sistent system, but were, many of them, 
 in direct opposition to each other. His 
 tenet of assurance was decidedly Calvinis- 
 tic; and one which could not, without 
 great violence to common sense, be sep- 
 arated from the notion of absolute elec- 
 tion. His doctrine of Christian perfection 
 had as direct a tendency to make men 
 Mystics or Antinomians ; for what can be 
 the use of ordinances to him who needs 
 no further grace ; and what is law to him 
 who cannot sin? Yet Wesley was too 
 good a logician to be a Calvinist ; he was 
 too pure and holy to fall into the Antino- 
 mian errors, and he had too cool a head 
 to remain long a Mystic. How strange 
 that he did not perceive that his eclectic 
 divinity could not stand by itself, and 
 that if he went thus far he must go 
 farther ! Nor is it easy to apprehend how 
 his powerful mind, while it honestly 
 lamented the disorders and vices, the 
 pride, envy, and slander which prevailed 
 in his societies, should not have perceived 
 that the details of his discipline were of 
 themselves calculated to generate such a 
 spirit, and to undo, in a great measure, in 
 the minds of his followers, the good which 
 his preaching and example had produced 
 in them. — Heber, Reginald, 1820, 
 Southey's Life of Wesley, Quarterly Re- 
 view, vol. 24, p. 53. 
 
 Mr. Wesley was a voluminous writer; 
 and as he was one of the great instru- 
 ments in reviving the spirit of religion in 
 these lands, so he led the way in those 
 praiseworthy attempts which have been 
 made to diffuse useful information of 
 every kind, and to smooth the path of 
 knowledge to the middle and lower ranks 
 of society.— Watson, Richard, 1831, 
 The Life of the Rev. John Wesley. 
 
 Wesley ['Mournal"], you will find 
 
 pleasant to dip into, I think: of course, 
 there is much sameness ; and I think you 
 will allow some absurdity among so much 
 wise and good. — P^itzgerald, Edward, 
 1868, Letters, vol. I, j). 317. 
 
 Whether men like Methodist doctrine 
 or not, I think they must honestly concede 
 that the old Fellow of Lincoln was a 
 scholar and a sensible man. The world, 
 which always sneers at evangelical relig- 
 ion, may please itself by saying that the 
 men who shook England a hundred years 
 ago were weak-minded, hot-headed enthu- 
 siasts, and unlearned and ignorant men. 
 The Jews said the same of the apostles in 
 early days. But the world cannot get 
 over facts. The founder of Methodism 
 was a man of no mean reputation in Ox- 
 ford, and his writings show him to have 
 been a well-read, logical-minded, and in- 
 telligent man.— Ryle, J. C, 1869, Tke 
 Christian Leaders of the Last Century, 
 p. 104. 
 
 His own poetical powers were consid- 
 erable ; his verses are sometimes melodi- 
 ous, and often vigorous; but far above 
 the trammels of art is their bold and 
 grand sincerity. Music and poetry were 
 to him only the means of expressing the 
 joys and triumphs of faith. — Lawrence, 
 Eugene, 1872, John Wesley and His 
 Times, Harper's Magazine, vol. 45, p. 119. 
 
 When one looks at his travelling, he 
 may well wonder how Wesley found time 
 to write ; when one looks at his writings, 
 the marvel is how he found time to do 
 anything else. — Guernsey, Alfred H., 
 1874, John Wesley, Galaxy, vol. 17, p. 212. 
 
 Wesley's was a singular blending of 
 strength and weakness. His strength lies 
 almost entirely in the sphere of practice. 
 He shows remarkable literary power ; but 
 we feel that his writings are means to a 
 direct practical end, rather than valuable 
 in themselves, either in form or sub- 
 stance. It would be difficult to find any 
 letters more direct, forcible, and pithy in 
 expression. He goes straight to the mark 
 without one superfluous flourish. He 
 writes as a man confined within the nar- 
 rowest limits of time and space, whose 
 thoughts are so well in hand that he can 
 say everything needful within those limits. 
 The compression gives emphasis and never 
 causes confusion. The letters, in other 
 words, are the work of one who for more 
 
128 
 
 JOHN WESLEY 
 
 than half a century was accustomed to 
 turn to account every minute of his eight- 
 een working hours. — Stephen, Leslie, 
 1876, Histo7'y of English Thought in the 
 Eighteenth Century, vol. ii, p. 409. 
 
 The poetical works of John and Charles 
 Wesley extend through ten volumes, edited 
 lately with scrupulous care by Dr. 
 G. Osborn. Such a demand as he thus 
 imposed on his own poetical pow.ers was 
 too extensive even for a great poet to 
 have met; but in his case the difficulty 
 was aggravated partly by the nature of 
 the subject, partly by his own deficiencies. 
 . . . Nevertheless there are two sources 
 of inspiration from which hymn-writers 
 in general and John Wesley in particular 
 have derived a fire which makes it impos- 
 sible to overlook the claims of the Wes- 
 leyan hymnology to be ranked as part of 
 our national literature. First, however 
 prosaic might be the soul of John Wesley 
 himself, he had sufficient appreciation of 
 the grandeur of the gift in others to ap- 
 propriate it in some degree for his pur- 
 poses. Such are some beautiful pas- 
 sages adopted or adapted from Gambold 
 the Moravian and from George Herbert. 
 — Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn,1880, Eng- 
 lish Poets, ed. Ward, vol. m, pp. 255, 258. 
 
 As a poet, John Wesley, though correct 
 and classical, does not compare with his 
 brother Charles. While in college, he in- 
 dulged in versification as a recreation, but 
 confined himself almost exclusively to 
 translations from other languages. — Hat- 
 field, Edwin F., 1884, The Poets of the 
 Church, p. 663. 
 
 The very last thing of which John Wes- 
 ley was ambitious was literary fame. In 
 nothing does the intensely practical char- 
 acter of his mind come out more strongly 
 than in his writings. Whether it is long 
 treatise or short tract, whether it is prose 
 or poetry, whether it is original composi- 
 tion or the reprinting or abridging of the 
 works of others, whether it is a simple 
 school-book or one on controversial divin- 
 ity, whether it is a sermon or a commen- 
 tary or a journal, it is all the same ; he 
 has always some immediate practical end 
 in view ; and in almost every case we can 
 trace the reason of his writing what he 
 did write in the particular circumstances 
 which were at that particular time before 
 him. ... It would, of course, be 
 absurd to contend that anything which 
 
 John Wesley wrote is of the same calibre 
 as the great works of his contemporaries, 
 such as Butler or Waterland; but if we 
 are content to ignore his writings as 
 obsolete works out of which all the virtue 
 is gone, we are ignoring a very vivid and 
 complete picture of the times, as well as 
 a very life-like portrait of one of the most 
 interesting and influential men of those 
 times. So that merely from the historical, 
 to say nothing of the religious, point 
 of view, it would be a great mistake to 
 be satisfied with regarding Wesley as he 
 appears when filtered through the mind of 
 any critic or biographer, however able, 
 without contemplating him as he appears 
 in his own pages. — Overton, J. H., 1891, 
 John Wesley (English Leaders of Religion), 
 pp. 169, 170. 
 
 His mind was not without something of 
 the mysticism that dominated Law; it 
 has a strain of melancholy which does not 
 lessen our interest, and he presents the 
 rare spectacle of a scholar who dreaded 
 lest his own scholarship might interfere 
 with the popular work which was the 
 supreme aim of his life. There was a 
 certain Puritanism in the conscious sim- 
 plicity of his style ; but he could not 
 divorce himself altogether from that lit- 
 erary sympathy that linked him to his age, 
 and that made him the friend of one with 
 whom he stands in many respects so much 
 in contrast as Johnson. — Craik, Henry, 
 1895, ed., English Prose, Introduction, vol. 
 IV, p. 5. 
 
 There is a peculiar interest attached to 
 this hymn. ("Thou Hidden Love of God"). 
 John Wesley is said to have translated it 
 in Savannah, in the United States, where 
 he suffered much and was grievously tor- 
 mented by his ill-starred passion for a 
 certain Miss Sophy. It was with special 
 reference to the continually obtruding 
 thoughts of this Miss Sophy that the Rev. 
 John composed the verse **Is there a 
 thing beneath the sun?" It seems to have 
 been efficacious, and the lovelorn poet 
 came home to meet a worse fate at the 
 hands of her whom, for his Karma, he 
 was allowed to make Mrs. Wesley. The 
 Hymn has helped thousands who never 
 knew of Wesley and his ill-fated loves to 
 acts of consecration and self-sacrifice from 
 which they would otherwise have shrunk. 
 —Stead, W. T., 1897, Hymns that Have 
 Helped, p. 191. 
 
WESLEY— BLA CKLOCK 
 
 129 
 
 Where the reader of the journal will be 
 shocked is when his attention is called to 
 the public side of the country — to the 
 state of the jails — to Newgate, to Beth- 
 lehem, to the criminal code — to the bru- 
 tality of so many of the judges, and the 
 harshness of the magistrates, to the 
 supineness of the bishops, to the ex- 
 tinction in high places of the mission- 
 ary spirit. ... No man lived nearer 
 the centre than John Wesley. Neither 
 Clive nor Pitt, neither Mansfield nor John- 
 son. You cannot cut him out of our 
 national life. No single figure influenced 
 
 so many minds, no single voice touched 
 so many hearts. No other man did such a 
 life's work for England. As a writer he 
 has not achieved distinction, he was no 
 Athanasius, no Augustine, he was ever a 
 preacher and an organizer, a laborer in 
 the service of humanity; but happily for 
 us his journals remain, and from them 
 we can learn better than from anywhere 
 else whxit manner of man he was, and the 
 character of the times during which he 
 lived and moved and had his being. — BiR- 
 RELL, Augustine, 1899, John Wesley, 
 Scribnefs Magazine, vol. 26, p. 761. 
 
 Thomas Blacklock 
 
 1721-1791 
 
 Thomas Blacklock, D. D., the blind poet, was born of humble parentage at Annan, 
 and lost his sight through small-pox before he was six months old. Educated at 
 Edinburgh, he was minister of Kirkcudbright (1762-64), and then took pupils to board 
 with him in Edinburgh till his death. It was a letter of his that arrested Burns on 
 the eve of his departure for the West Indies. The first volume of his own poor poems 
 appeared in 1746; and a collected edition in 1793. — Patrick and GroOxME, erfs., 
 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p. 102. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 He soon appeared what I have ever 
 since found him, a very elegant Genius, 
 of a most affectionate grateful disposi- 
 tion, a modest backward temper, accom- 
 panied with that delicate Pride, which so 
 naturally attends Virtue in Distress. His 
 great Moderation and Frugality, along 
 with the Generosity of a few persons, par- 
 ticularly Dr. Stevenson and Provost Alex- 
 ander, had hitherto enabled him to sub- 
 sist. All his good qualities are dimin- 
 ished, or rather perhaps embellished by a 
 great want of Knowledge of the World. — ■ 
 Hume, David, 1754, Letter to Joseph 
 Spence, Oct. 15; Spence's Anecdotes, ed. 
 Singer, p. 851. 
 
 He never could dictate till he stood up ; 
 and as his blindness made walking about 
 without assistance inconvenient or danger- 
 ous to him, he fell insensibly into a vibra- 
 tory sort of motion with his body, which 
 increased as he warmed with his subject 
 and was pleased with the conception of 
 his mind.— Spence, Joseph, 1754, Life of 
 Blacklock. 
 
 Doctor Blacklock belonged to a set of 
 critics, for whose applause I had not dared 
 Burns, Robert, 1786, Letters. 
 
 All those who ever acted as his aman- 
 uenses agree in this rapidity and ardour 
 
 90 
 
 of composition which Mr. Jameson as- 
 cribes to him. — Mackenzie, Henry, 1793, 
 Life of Thomas Blacklock. 
 
 Through the genial society of Edin- 
 burgh, with its vigorous speaking and 
 drinking, its stalwart race of men of let- 
 ters, law, and fashion, flits the somewhat 
 pathetic figure of the gentle and helpless 
 Dr. Blacklock. He was to be seen led 
 along the crowded High Street, every 
 one making way respectfully for the blind 
 man, and led carefully up the slippery 
 staircases, whose dirt and darkness could 
 not vex his sight, though the odours 
 might afflict his acuter sense of smell. 
 In the best company he was welcomed, 
 and all forgot the plainness of that pock- 
 pitted face in the amiable expression that 
 gave it charm. In the Meadows friends 
 would find him in the forenoon, leaning on 
 the arm of Robert Heron, the discarded 
 assistant to Dr. Blair — a versatile liter- 
 ary hack, a threadbare taper, who, after 
 an evening's debauch on a meagre supply 
 of potatoes and green peas, with large 
 potations of whiskey, had risen from his 
 garret bed to take his venerated friend 
 out for a stroll. Blacklock's reputation 
 was considerable for genius and for fine 
 literary judgment. To-day we must deny 
 him genius, but may allow him taste. 
 
130 
 
 THOMAS BLACKLOCK 
 
 . . . To everybody Blacklock endeared 
 himself; for he was a very good man, 
 though a very poor poet. Young men he 
 drew from obscurity, educated, and started 
 in life, who never forgot the unhumorous, 
 guileless man, who knew nothing of the 
 world except its goodness. With a tem- 
 per which nothing could ruffle, he worked 
 with his boarders over Greek and Latin, 
 and entered into all their entertainments 
 with childlike pleasure, while the keen- 
 est pleasure of his boarders was to do 
 kindly services for him. In his placid 
 home there would meet at breakfast or in 
 the evening all who had any pretence to 
 wit and culture. There were heard the 
 chatter of Mrs. Cockburn, the lively 
 tongue of the Duchess of Gordon, with 
 the voices of Adam Ferguson, Lord Mon- 
 boddo, Dr. Robertson, as they sat at tea ; 
 while the boarders handed scones and 
 cookies to the company, and listened 
 eagerly as great men and bright women 
 discussed and jested, making the little 
 room noisy with their talk and merry with 
 their laughter. — Graham, Henry Grey, 
 1901, Scottish Men of Letters in the Eight- 
 eenth Century, pp. 139, 145, 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The 104th Psalm is esteemed one of the 
 most sublime in the whole book, [A New 
 Version of the Psalms of David]. . . . 
 There have not been less than forty differ- 
 ent Versions, and Paraphrases of this 
 Psalm, by poets of very considerable 
 eminence, who seem to have vied with 
 one another for the superiority. Of all 
 these attempts, if we may trust our own 
 judgment, none have succeeded so happily 
 as Mr. Blacklock, a young gentleman now 
 resident at Dumfries in Scotland. This 
 Paraphrase is the more extraordinary, as 
 the author of it has been blind from his 
 cradle, and now labours under that calam- 
 ity ; it carries in it such elevated strains 
 of poetry, such picturesque descriptions, 
 and such a mellifluent flow of numbers, 
 that we are persuaded the reader cannot 
 be displeased at finding it inserted here. 
 —Gibber, Theophilus, 1753, Lives of 
 the Poets, vol. iv, p. 63. 
 
 Few men blessed with the most perfect 
 sight can describe visual objects with 
 more spirit and justness than this blind 
 man.— Burke, Edmund, 1757, A Phil- 
 osophical Enquiry into the Origin of our 
 Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful. 
 
 He [Dr. Johnson] talked of Mr. Black- 
 lock's poetry, so far as it was descriptive 
 of visible objects; and observed that, *'as 
 its authour had the misfortune to be blind, 
 we may be absolutely sure that such pas- 
 sages are combinations of what he has re- 
 membered of the works of other writers 
 who could see. That foolish fellow, Spence, 
 has laboured to explain philosophically 
 how Blacklock may have done, by means 
 of his own faculties, what it is impossi- 
 ble he should do. The solution, as I have 
 given it, is plain. Suppose, I know a man 
 to be so lame that he is absolutely in- 
 capable to move himself, and I find him in a 
 different room from that in which I left 
 him ; shall I puzzle myself with idle con- 
 jectures, that perhaps his nerves have by 
 some unknown change all at once become 
 effective ? No, Sir, it is clear how he got 
 into a different room : he was carried.'" — 
 Johnson, Samuel, 1763, Life by Boswell, 
 ed. Hill, vol. I, p. 539. 
 
 As an author, under disadvantages 
 which seem unsurmountable to nature, 
 Blacklock has eminently distinguished 
 himself. Though blind from his infancy, 
 the impulse of curiosity and the vigorous 
 exertion of his talents conducted him 
 to uncommon knowledge. He acquired 
 tongues and arts by the ear, in many of 
 which he excelled. There was no science 
 with which he was not acquainted ; he was 
 familiar with the learned languages, and 
 he knew with accuracy those of modern 
 Europe that are the most cultivated. 
 Among philosophers he has attained a 
 conspicuous rank. . . . As a poet, 
 though not of the highest rank, he is en- 
 titled to a rank not inferior to Addison, 
 Parnell, and Shenstone.— Anderson, Rob- 
 ert, 1799, The Works of the British Poets, 
 vol. XI. 
 
 His verses are extraordinary for a man 
 blind from his infancy; but Mr. Henry 
 Mackenzie, in his elegant biographical ac- 
 count of him, has certainly over-rated his 
 genius ; and when Mr. Spence, of Oxford, 
 submitted Blacklock's descriptive powers 
 as a problem for metaphysicians to resolve, 
 he attributed to his writings a degree of 
 descriptive strength which they do not 
 possess. Denina carried exaggeration to 
 the utmost when he declared that Black- 
 lock would seem a fable to posterity, as 
 he had been a prodigy to his contempo- 
 raries. It is no doubt curious that his 
 
BLACKLOCK—HOPKINSON 
 
 1.31 
 
 memory should have retained so many 
 forms of expression for things which he 
 had never seen ; but those who have con- 
 versed with intelligent persons who have 
 been blind from their infancy, must have 
 often remarked in them a familiarity of 
 language respecting the objects of vision 
 which, though not easy to be accounted 
 for, will be found sufficiently common to 
 make the rhymes of Blacklock appear far 
 short of marvelous. Blacklock on more 
 than one occasion, betrays something like 
 marks of blindness. — Campbell, Thomas, 
 1819, Specimens of the British Poets. 
 
 The series of conjectures by which Mr. 
 Spence has endeavoured to account for 
 this poet's capability of producing ani- 
 mated descriptions of external nature, 
 can scarcely be regarded as altogether 
 satisfactory ; when such a faculty is dis- 
 played by a poet blind from his infancy, 
 it is chiefly to be referred to his accurate 
 recollection of the descriptive language 
 employed by other poets ; but what notions 
 he himself attaches to words expressive 
 of the visible qualities of objects, it might 
 be extremely difficult for a blind poet to 
 explain.— Irving, David, 1861, The His- 
 tory of Scotish Poetry, ed. Carlyle, p. 189. 
 
 We read all concerning him with strong 
 interest except his poetry, for this is gener- 
 ally tame, languid, and commonplace. — 
 Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopcedia of 
 English Literature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 In the short memoir which we have of 
 him, written by Mackenzie, there are a 
 great many special quotations made, and 
 lines selected, to show that, notwithstand- 
 ing his blindness, he was capable of de- 
 scribing nature. This, of course, must 
 have been simply in imitation of the lavish 
 colours, the purple evenings and rosy 
 mornings of the poets: but there is a 
 pathetic correctness in his enumeration of 
 the yellow crocuses and purple hyacinths, 
 which touches the heart. — Oliphaxt, 
 Margaret 0. W., 1882, Literary History 
 of England in the End of the Eighteenth 
 Century and Beginning of the Nineteenth 
 Century, vol. i, p. 149. 
 
 Blacklock's poems are mere echoes of 
 the poetical language of his time, and 
 show little more than a facility for string- 
 ing together rhymes. He would, we are 
 told, dictate thirty or forty verses as fast 
 as they could be written down. Whilst do- 
 ing so he acquired a trick of nervous vibra- 
 tion of his body which became habitual. 
 By Hume's advice Blacklock abandoned a 
 project of lecturing on oratory, and studied 
 divinity. — Stephen, Leslie, 1886, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography, vol. v, p. 128. 
 
 He has in truth little claim to remem- 
 brance except such as can be founded 
 upon a pathetic story and an amiable and 
 virtuous character. — Walker, Hugh, 
 1893, Three Centuries of Scottish Litera- 
 ture, vol. II, p. 101. 
 
 Francis Hopkinson 
 
 1737-1791 
 
 Few pens of the day effected more than Hopkinson's in educating the American 
 people for political independence. The brevity, wit, and vivacity of his pieces gave 
 them portai3ility, currency, and popular favour. Of this class — the most important 
 — of his writings we may specify "The Pretty Story," 1774; ''The Prophecy," 1776; 
 "The Political Catechism," 1777. But the collector of American History (a large 
 class these collectors have now become!) must secure for his shelves, if he can, 
 (which is more tjjan doubtful), "The Miscellaneous Essays and Occasional Writings 
 of Francis Hopkinson," Philadelphia, pub. by Dobson, 1792, 3 vol. 8vo. — Alli- 
 BONE, S. Austin, 1854-58, A Critical Dictionary of English Literature, vol. i, p. 886. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 At this shop I met Mr. Francis Hopkinson, 
 late a mandamus councillor of New Jersey, 
 now a member of the Continental Con- 
 gress, who, it seems, is a native of Phila- 
 delphia, . . . was liberally educated, 
 and is a painter and a poet. I have a 
 curiosity to penetrate a little deeper into 
 the bosom of this curious gentleman, and 
 
 may possibly give you some more particu- 
 lars concerning him. He is one of your 
 pretty, little, curious, ingenious men. 
 His head is not bigger than a large apple, 
 less than our friend Pemberton, or Doctor 
 Simon Tufts. I have not met with any- 
 thing in natural history more amusing 
 and entertaining than his personal appear- 
 ance, — yet he is genteel and well bred, 
 
132 
 
 THOMAS HOPKINSON 
 
 and is very social.— Adams, John, 1776, 
 Letters Addressed to His Wife, August. 
 
 Sir: — I have the pleasure to inclose to 
 you a commission as judge of the United 
 States for the District of Pennsylvania, 
 to which office I have nominated, and, by 
 and with the advice and consent of the 
 Senate, have appointed you. In my nom- 
 ination of Persons to fill offices in the 
 Judicial Department, I have been guided 
 by the importance of the object — con- 
 sidering it as of the first magnitude, and 
 as the Pillar upon which our political 
 fabric must rest. I have endeavoured to 
 bring into the high offices of its adminis- 
 tration such characters as will give sta- 
 bility and dignity to our National Govern- 
 ment, — and I persuade myself they will 
 discover a due desire to promote the hap- 
 piness of our Country by a ready accept- 
 ance of their several appointments. The 
 laws which have passed, relative to your 
 office, accompany the commission. I am, 
 Sir, with very great esteem. Your most 
 obedient Servant.— Washington, George, 
 1789, Letter to Francis Hopkinson, Sept. 30. 
 
 He was the author of several fugitive 
 pieces, which were very popular in their 
 day. His well known ballad, called "The 
 Battle of the Kegs," gives evidence of a 
 rich and exhaustless fund of humor, and 
 will probably last the wear of centuries. 
 He excelled in music, and had some 
 knowledge of painting. His library was 
 extensive, and his stock of knowledge 
 constantly accumulating. In stature, 
 Mr. Hopkinson was below the common 
 size. His countenance was animated, his 
 speech fluent ; and motions were unusually 
 rapid. Few men were kinder in their dis- 
 positions, or more benevolent in their 
 lives. — Lincoln, Robert W., 1833, Lives 
 of the Presidents of the United States with 
 Biographical Notices of the Signers of the 
 Declaration of Independence, p. 383. 
 
 Even in these days, Francis Hopkinson 
 would have been regarded as a man of 
 quite unusual cultivation, having in real- 
 ity many solid as well as shining accom- 
 plishments. He was a distinguished prac- 
 titioner of the law; he became an emi- 
 nent judge ; he was a statesman trained 
 by much study and experience ; he was a 
 mathematician, a chemist, a physicist, a 
 mechanician, an inventor, a musician and 
 a composer of music, a man of literary 
 knowledge and practice, a writer of airy 
 
 and dainty songs, a clever artist with 
 pencil and brush, and a humorist of un- 
 mistakable power. For us Americans, 
 the name of Francis Hopkinson lives — if 
 indeed it does live — chiefly on account of 
 its presence in the august roll-call of the 
 signers of the Declaration of Independ- 
 ence ; and through all the strenuous years 
 which preceded and followed that great 
 avowal, this man served the cause therein 
 set forth, not only as a patriot of austere 
 principle, as a statesman of genuine 
 sagacity, as a citizen of high civic cour- 
 age, but as a wit and a satirist, — the edge 
 of his sarcasm cutting into the enemy as 
 keenly as any sword, and the ruddy glow 
 of his mirth kindling good cheer over all 
 the land on many a grim day when good 
 cheer was a hard thing to be had on his 
 side of the fight. — Tyler, Moses Coit, 
 1897, The Literary History of the Ameri- 
 can Revolution, 1763-1783, vol. i, p. 163. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 A poet, a wit, a patriot, a chemist, a 
 mathematician, and a judge of the admi- 
 rality ; his character was composed of a 
 happy union of qualities and endowments 
 commonly supposed to be discordant ; 
 and, with the humour of Swift and Rabe- 
 lais, he was always found on the side of 
 virtue and social order. — Wharton, 
 Thomas I., 1825, Notes on the Provincial 
 Literature of Pennsylvania. 
 
 Great as Judge Hopkinson's reputation 
 was as an advocate while at the bar, and 
 distinguished as he was for learning, 
 judgment, and integrity when upon the 
 bench, he was, perhaps, more celebrated 
 as a man of letters, of general knowledge, 
 of fine taste, but, above all, for his then 
 unrivaled powers of wit and satire. Dr. 
 Rush, after speaking of his varied attain- 
 ments, says : — ''But his forte was humour 
 and satire, in both of which he was not 
 surpassed by Lucian, Swift, or Rabelais. 
 These extraordinary powers were conse- 
 crated to the advancement of the inter- 
 ests of patriotism, virtue, and science." 
 This praise may be too strong ; and yet we 
 hardly know where to find papers of more 
 exquisite humour than among the writings 
 of Francis Hopkinson. His paper on the 
 ''Ambiguity of the English Language," 
 to show the ridiculous mistakes that often 
 occur from words of similar sounds, used 
 the one for the other: on "White-Wash- 
 ing" oij "A Typographical Method of 
 
HOPKINSON—MA CA ULA Y 
 
 133 
 
 Conducting a Quarrel," which made 
 friends of two fierce newspaper combat- 
 ants; ''The New Roof," an allegory in 
 favor of the Federal Constitution; the 
 ''Specimen of a Collegiate Examination," 
 to turn certain branches, and the modes 
 of studying them, into ridicule ; and "The 
 Battle of the Kegs," are all pieces which, 
 while they are fully equal to any of 
 Swift's writings for wit, have nothing at 
 all in them of Swift's vulgarity. — Cleve- 
 land, Charles D., 1859, A Compendium 
 of American Literature, p. 60. 
 
 His pen was not distinguished for depth, 
 but there was a genuine humor in his pro- 
 ductions, which made him widely popular. 
 A majority of his poetical effusions were 
 of an ephemeral nature, and were forgot- 
 ten, in a degree, with the occasion which 
 called them forth ; yet a few have been 
 preserved, among which may be men- 
 tioned "The Battle of the Kegs," a bal- 
 lad, or sort of epic, of inimitable humor. 
 — LossiNG, Benson J., 1870, Lives of the 
 Signers of the Declaration of American In- 
 dependence, p. 86, note. 
 
 All through the war Hopkinson's fer- 
 tile brain was busy devising arguments in 
 prose and verse to strengthen and cheer 
 the hearts of his countrymen, and by the 
 able discharge of his duties in the admin- 
 istration of naval affairs and as treasurer 
 of loans he rendered special service to the 
 good cause.— Hildeburn, Charles R., 
 1878, Francis Hopkinson, The Pennsylvania 
 Magazine, vol. n, p. 320. 
 
 Francis Hopkinson was another of the 
 writers who served the popular cause by 
 
 seizing every occasion to make the British 
 pretensions to rule ridiculous as well as 
 hateful. His "Battle of the Kegs" prob- 
 ably laughed a thousand men into the 
 Republican ranks. — Whipple, Edwlx 
 Percy, 1886, American Literature and 
 Other Papers, ed. Whittier, p. 28. 
 
 Hopkinson has some title to rank as 
 one of the earliest American humorists. 
 Without the keen wit of "McFingal" some 
 of his "Miscellaneous Essays and Occa- 
 sional Writings" published in 1792. have 
 more geniality and heartiness than Trum- 
 bull's satire. His "Letter on White- 
 washing" is a bit of domestic humor that 
 foretokens the Danbury News man, and 
 his "Modern Learning," 1784, a burlesque 
 on college examinations, in which a salt- 
 box is described from the point of view 
 of metaphysics, logic, natural philosophy, 
 mathematics, anatomy, surgery and chem- 
 istry, long kept its place in school readers 
 and other collections. — Beers, Henry 
 A., 1887, An Outline Sketch of American 
 Literature, p. 74. 
 
 The ballad was immensely popular; 
 perhaps more so than any ballad of Rev- 
 olutionary times ; and 1 can well remem- 
 ber how (after the first quarter of this 
 century had passed) patriotic schoolboys 
 used to love to reel off, in brilliant reci- 
 tation, that story of the trick of the Yan- 
 kees upon the obtuse Britishers. But 
 Hopkinson wrote much better things ; he 
 was master of a quiet satire and of a dry 
 humor. — Mitchell, DOxXALD G., 1897, 
 American Lands and Letters, The May- 
 flower to Rip-Van-Winkle, p. 121. 
 
 Catherine Macaulay 
 
 (Nee Graham) 
 
 1731-1791 
 
 Mrs. Catherine Macaulay, 1733-1791, was a writer of some notoriety. She wrote 
 on historical, moral, and political subjects, and was an avowed republican. She was 
 so much of a partisan that her historical writings are regarded as of doubtful credit. 
 She wrote "A History of England from the Accession of James II. to that of the 
 Brunswick Line," 8 vols., 4to; "A History of England from the Revolution to the 
 Present Time," only one volume finished; "Moral Truth," 8vo. ; "Letters on Edu- 
 cation," 4to. ; several political pamphlets. — Hart, John S., 1872, A Manual of Eng- 
 lish Literature, p. 343. 
 
 PERSONAL town, a great republican. One day when 
 
 I would behave to a nobleman as I I was at her house, I put on a very grave 
 
 should expect he would behave to me, countenance, and said to her, "Madam, I 
 
 were I a nobleman and he Sam. Johnson, am now become a convert to your way of 
 
 Sir, there is one Mrs. Macaulay in this thinking. I am convinced that all mankind 
 
134 
 
 CATHERINE MACAULAY 
 
 are upon an equal footing; and to give 
 you an unquestionable proof. Madam, 
 that I am in earnest, here is a very sen- 
 sible, civil, well-behaved fellow-citizen, 
 your footman; I desire that he may be 
 allowed to sit down and dine with us." I 
 thus, Sir, shewed her the absurdity of the 
 leveling doctrine. She has never liked me 
 since. — Johnson, Samuel, 1763, Life by 
 Boswell, ed. Hill, vol. i, p. 518. 
 
 Was much pleased with her good sense 
 and liberal turn of mind.— Quincy, Jr., 
 JosiAH, 1774, Memoirs, p. 243. 
 
 HISTORY OF ENGLAND 
 
 To Mrs. Macaulay I did give a letter, 
 but am ashamed of it, as she ought to be 
 of her foolish and absurd "Summary," 
 which is a wretched compilation from 
 magazines, full of gross mistakes, and 
 confounding all characters, leveling all 
 for no end or purpose, but to support so 
 silly an hypothesis, as that no king can be 
 a good king, because he is a king. She 
 defends James II. for the nonsensical 
 pleasure of abusing King William, and 
 has no more idea of general merit than 
 Sir John Dalrymple. In short, whom 
 does she approve but herself and her idol- 
 ater — that dirty disappointed hunter of 
 a mitre. Dr. Wilson, and Alderman Heath- 
 cote, a paltry worthless Jacobite, whom 
 I remember, and her own grandfather 
 Sawbridge, who, she has been told, was a 
 mighty worthy man though dipped in the 
 infamous job of the South Sea? In short 
 I ran through the book, had forgotten it, 
 and only recollect it now to answer your 
 question.— Walpole, Horace, 1778, To 
 Rev. William Mason, March 16 ; Letters, 
 ed. Cunningham, vol. vii, p. 42. 
 
 The very word respect brings Mrs. 
 Macaulay to my remembrance. The 
 woman of the greatest abilities, undoubt- 
 edly, that this country has ever produced. 
 — And yet this woman has been suffered 
 to die without sufficient respect being 
 paid to her memory. Posterity, however, 
 will be more just; and remember that 
 Catherine Macaulay was an example of 
 intellectual acquirements supposed to be 
 incompatible with the weakness of her 
 sex. In her style of writing, indeed, no 
 sex appears, for it is like the sense it con- 
 veys, strong and clear. I will not call 
 her's a masculine understanding, because 
 1 admit not of such an arrogant assump- 
 
 tion of reason ; but I contend that it was 
 a sound one, and that her judgment, the 
 matured fruit of profound thinking, was a 
 proof that a woman can acquire judgment, 
 in the full extent of the word. Possess- 
 ing more penetration than sagacity, more 
 understanding than fancy, she writes with 
 sober energy and argumentative close- 
 ness ; yet sympathy and benevolence give 
 an interest to her sentiments, and that 
 vital heat to arguments, which forces the 
 reader to weigh them. — Wollstonecraft, 
 Mary (nee Godwin), 1792, A Vindication 
 of the Rights of Woman, p. 235. 
 
 Combining Roman admiration with Eng- 
 lish faction, she violated truth in her 
 English characters, and exaggerated ro- 
 mance in her Roman. — Disraeli, Isaac, 
 1795, On the Literary Character. 
 
 Strafford's Letters . . . furnished 
 materials to Harris and Macaulay; but 
 the first is little read at present, and the 
 second not at all. — Hallam, Henry, 
 1827-46, The Constitutional History of 
 England. 
 
 When any doubt is entertained of the 
 character of Charles, Mrs. Macaulay may 
 be referred to ; and a charge against him, 
 if it can possibly be made out, will as- 
 suredly be found, and supported with all 
 the references that the most animated dil- 
 igence can supply.— Smyth, William, 
 1840, Lectures on Modern History, Lec- 
 ture xvi. 
 
 Catherine, though now forgotten by an 
 ungrateful public, made quite as much 
 noise in her day as Thomas does in ours. 
 — Croker, J. Wilson, 1849, Mr. Macau- 
 lay^ s History of England, Quarterly Review, 
 vol 84, p. 561. 
 
 Mrs. Macaulay, as an historian, is 
 placed by Horace Walpole, very nearly 
 on a level with Robertson, and far beyond 
 the partial and unreliable Hume. She 
 was certainly a woman of remarkable in- 
 telligence ; enthusiastic, well read, labori- 
 ous, and sincere in her passion for free- 
 dom. In her own age she found many 
 admirers. . . . Her numerous works 
 show the ardor with which she pursued 
 her literary labors. She wrote a History 
 of England from the reign of James I. to 
 the Accession, in which she supports her 
 liberal views by a violent attack upon the 
 Stuarts. With no delicacy of taste or 
 novelty of manner, this work could only 
 
MA CA ULA Y— PRICE 
 
 135 
 
 have gained reputation as a severe and 
 unreliable partisan history. It is evi- 
 dently, however, the production of a per- 
 son of considerable reflection, of great 
 ardor and sincerity, and of a warm and 
 enthusiastic temperament. Mrs. Macau- 
 lay's mind seemed to turn resolutely 
 towards politics, as if assured that there 
 was its natural bent. ... In all 
 these writings Mrs. Macaulay showed 
 
 unusual ability, without ever rising to the 
 excellence of a fine writer. And the name 
 of the author is hardly remembered, ex- 
 cept among historical inquirers. — Law- 
 rence, Eugene, 1855, The Lives of the 
 British Historians, vol. ii, pp. 280, 281. 
 
 The ablest writer of the New Radical 
 School.— Lecky, William Edward Hart- 
 pole, 1882, A History of England in the 
 Eighteenth Century^ vol. ill, p. 224. 
 
 Richard Price 
 
 1723-1791 
 
 Richard Price (1723-91) carries forward the intellectualist tradition in morals. Of 
 the earlier English moralists, he most resembles Cudworth. He was an intimate 
 friend of Priestley ; but in a correspondence between them, published in 1778, Price 
 appears as the champion of , free-will and of the unity and immateriality of the human 
 soul. Among his friends was Franklin, to whom he addressed some observations on 
 statistical questions published in the "Philosophical Transactions," 1769. His Ap- 
 peal to the People on the Subject of the National Debt" (1771) is supposed to have 
 influenced Pitt in re-establishing the sinking fund created by Walpole in 1716 
 and abolished in 1733. In his ethical treatise entitled "Review of the Principal 
 Questions in Morals" (1757), he maintains against Hutcheson that ideas of right and 
 wrong are perceived by the reason, or understanding, and not by a "sense." — Whit- 
 taker, T., 1896, Social England, vol. v, p. 245. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 The Corporation of London — then, as in 
 so many parts of its previous history, a 
 really popular body, representative of the 
 best Liberal feeling of the time — pre- 
 sented him with the freedom of the city 
 in a gold box, in "testimony of their ap- 
 probation of his principles and of the high 
 sense they entertained of the excellence 
 of his observations on the justice and 
 policy of the war with America." Fame 
 brought its inconveniences together with 
 its pleasures. Anonymous letters were 
 sent threatening his life, and he was 
 obliged to decline correspondence with 
 Dr. Franklin on the ground that he had 
 become so marked and obnoxious that 
 prudence required him to be extremely 
 cautious. The populace, however, loved 
 and reverenced the courageous advocate 
 of popular rights. As he rode in the 
 streets of London, on his old white horse 
 blind in one eye, clothed, as Rogers re- 
 membered him, "in a great coat and black 
 spatter dashes," Rogers says that, like 
 Demosthenes, he was often diverted by 
 hearing the carmen and orange-women 
 say, "There goes Dr. Price!" "Make 
 way for Dr. Price !" The seriousness and 
 gentle mildness of his character surprised 
 
 those who only knew him from his works. 
 When the Duchess of Bedford met him, at 
 her own request, at Shelburne House, his 
 quiet aspect and unassuming manners 
 caused her great astonishment. "I ex- 
 pected to meet a Colossus," she after- 
 wards said, "with an eye like Mars, to 
 threaten and command." Gibbon is re- 
 ported to have expressed similar surprise 
 when he met him in Mr. CadelPs shop. 
 The services he had rendered to freedom 
 were acknowledged in France and the 
 United States, and in most unexpected 
 quarters at home. Congress passed a 
 resolution inviting him to become a citi- 
 zen of the United States, and to assist 
 them in the regulation of their finances. 
 In later years Turgot corresponded with 
 him, Pitt repeatedly consulted him on 
 great questions of national finance, and a 
 speech of his in proposing the toast of 
 union between England and France was 
 read twice in the National Assembly, the 
 members standing. He was one day at 
 the Bar of the House of Lords, when the 
 Duke of Cumberland came up and told him 
 he had read his "Essay on Civil Liberty" 
 till he was blind. "It is remarkable," 
 replied Lord Ashburton, who was stand- 
 ing near, "that your royal highness 
 
136 
 
 RICHARD PRICE 
 
 should have been blinded by a book which 
 has opened the eyes of all mankind.'' — 
 Clayden, p. W., 1887, The Early Life of 
 Samuel Rogers, p. 30. 
 
 If a man could be judged by his friends, 
 Price's deserts would be high. He was 
 intimate with Benjamin Franklin and John 
 Howard ; he corresponded with Hume and 
 Turgot. He was visited by Lyttelton, 
 Shelbourne, and Mrs. Montague. The 
 now nearly-forgotten Mrs. Chapone has 
 written high praise of him in the char- 
 acter of *'Simplicius" ("Miscellanies," 
 Essay I.); Simplicius is modest, learned 
 and candid. Nevertheless he has not left 
 a name worthy to be called great in our 
 literature. He was a man of vigorous, 
 independent judgment, who did good pub- 
 lic service in his generation. He stimu- 
 lated discussion on philosophical, theo- 
 logical, and political questions, and showed 
 taste and sobriety in dealing with oppo- 
 nents. He had the moral courage to ad- 
 vocate unpopular causes. — Bonar, James, 
 1895, English Prose, ed. Craik, vol. iv, p. 293. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 He investigated with acuteness and abil- 
 ity many important questions relative to 
 morals, and controverted the doctrine of 
 a Moral Sense, as irreconcilable with the 
 unalterable character of fundamental 
 moral conceptions, which, as well as those 
 of Substance and Cause, he maintained to 
 be eternal and original principles of the 
 intellect itself, independent of the Divine 
 Will. He has admirably illustrated the 
 dilTerences existing between Morality and 
 Sensation, Virtue and Happiness; at the 
 same time that he points out the intimate 
 connection existing between the two last. 
 — Tennemann, William Gottleib, 1812- 
 52, A Manual of the History of Philosophy^ 
 tr. Johnson, ed. Morrell, p. 376. 
 
 Dr. Price was not a Socinian, but an 
 Arian; he wrote professedly in confuta- 
 tion of Socinianism ; and though I disap- 
 prove of his religious principles, I feel no 
 hesitation in affirming, in spite of the 
 frantic and unprincipled abuse of Burke, 
 that a more ardent and enlightened friend 
 of his country never lived than that ven- 
 erable patriarch of freedom. — Hall, 
 Robert, 1822, Reply to the Review of the 
 Apology for the Freedom of the Press. 
 
 If in England you only look at London in 
 the eighteenth century, you will doubtless 
 there see little else than sensualism. 
 
 But even at London, you would find, by 
 the side of Priestley, Price, that ardent 
 friend of liberty, that ingenious and pro- 
 found economist, who renewed and bril- 
 liantly sustained the Platonic idealism of 
 Cudworth. I know that Price is an iso- 
 lated phenomenon at London; but the 
 whole Scotch school is more or less spir- 
 itualistic. — Cousin, Victor, 1828-29, His- 
 tory of Modern Philosophy, tr. Wight. 
 
 Almost the only writer of this [the 
 rationalistic] school whose works are 
 likely to form a part of our standard phi- 
 losophy, is Dr. Richard Price. ... In his 
 controversy with Priestley, particularly, 
 he showed how strongly he viewed the phil- 
 osophical aberration of the age, and how 
 earnestly he desired to place moral and 
 metaphysical truth upon its deeper and 
 truer foundation. — Morell, J. D., 1846, 
 Speculative Philosophy in the Nineteenth 
 Century. 
 
 His style displays in no eminent degree 
 either of the cardinal virtues of a philo- 
 sophical work ; he is not remarkably per- 
 spicuous, and he is far from being remark- 
 ably precise. His numerous political and 
 economical pamphlets are written with 
 considerable energy, ''not unfitly typified 
 by the unusual muscular and nervous 
 activity of his slender person." — Minto, 
 William, 1872-80, Manual of English 
 Prose Literature, p. 473. 
 
 It is comparatively plausible to say 
 that the intellect is the sole agent in 
 framing the criterion. His language 
 upon this subject may sometimes remind 
 us of Kant's ''Categorical Imperative;" 
 and he seems to have been blundering 
 round the same truths or errors from 
 which the great German elaborated a 
 moral theory far more ingenious, though 
 involving the same fundamental fallacy. — 
 Stephen, Leslie, 1876, History of English 
 Thought in the Eighteenth Century, vol. ii, 
 p. 12. 
 
 A veteran who had nearly reached his 
 sixtieth year when our period commences, 
 chiefly belongs to literature as an antag- 
 onist of Burke, as does Priestley, whose 
 writing was very extensive, but who was 
 as much more a "natural philosopher" 
 than a man of letters as Price was much 
 less a man of letters than a moralist and 
 a statistician. — Saintsbury, George, 
 1896, A History of Nineteenth Century 
 Literature, p. 26. 
 
OF THfc 
 
 UNIVERSITY of iUmO\Sv 
 
PlilCE— REYNOLDS 
 
 137 
 
 Price's reputation at the present time 
 rests mainly upon the position which he oc- 
 cupies in the history of moral philosophy. 
 His ethical theories are mostly contained 
 in Review of the Principal Questions 
 in Morals," of which the first edition was 
 published in 1757, and the third, express- 
 ing ''the author's latest and maturest 
 thoughts," in 1787. . . . The Eng- 
 lish moralist with whom Price has most 
 affinity is Cudworth. The main point of 
 difference is that, while Cudworth regards 
 the ideas of right and wrong as vorjfxara 
 or modifications of the intellect itself, 
 existing first in germ, and afterwards 
 
 developed by circumstances. Price seems 
 rather to regard them as acquired from 
 the contemplation of actions, though ac- 
 quired necessarily, immediately, and intui- 
 tively. The interest of his position, how- 
 ever, in the history of moral philosophy, 
 turns mainly on the many points of re- 
 semblance, both in fundamental ideas and 
 in modes of expression, which exist be- 
 tween his writings and those of Kant, 
 whose ethical works are posterior to those 
 of Price by nearly thirty years. — T.F. (The 
 Reverend President of Corpus Christi 
 College Oxford), 1896, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. XLVi, p. 336. 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 
 1723-1792 
 
 Born at Plympton Earl, Devonshire, July 16, 1723: Died at London, Feb. 23, 
 1792. A celebrated English portrait-painter. He was educated by his father, a 
 schoolmaster and clergyman. In Oct., 1741, he went to London and studied under 
 Thomas Hudson. In 1746 he established himself as a portrait-painter in London. 
 By invitation of his friend. Commodore (afterward Admiral) Keppel," he sailed for 
 Italy on the Centurion, arriving in Rome at the close of 1749. Owing to a cold which 
 he took there, he became deaf and never recovered his hearing. After two years in 
 Rome he visited Parma, Florence, Venice, and other Italian cities. He returned to 
 London in 1752, and was intimately associated with Johnson, Burke, Goldsmith, Gar- 
 rick, and others. The "Literary Club" was established at his suggestion in 1764. 
 In 1768 The Royal Academy was founded, with Reynolds as its first president. His 
 annual addresses form its well-known "Discourses." In 1784, on the death of Allan 
 Ramsay, he was made painter to the king. Reynolds wrote three essays in the "Idler" 
 (1759-60). His most famous works are his portraits of Johnson, Garrick, Sterne, 
 Goldsmith, the little Lady Penelope Boothby, Mrs. Siddons as the "Tragic Muse," the 
 "Infant Hercules," the "Strawberry Girl," "Garrick between Tragedy and Comedy," 
 etc. — Smith, Benjamin E., ed., 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia ^ Names, p. 852. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Of Reynolds all good should be said, and no 
 harm ; 
 
 Though the heart is too frigid, the pencil too 
 warm ; 
 
 Yet each fault from his converse we still 
 
 must disclaim, 
 As his temper 'tis peaceful, and pure as his 
 
 fame. 
 
 Nothing in it o'erflows, nothing ever is 
 w^anting, 
 
 It nor chills like his kindness, nor glows like 
 
 his painting. 
 When Jolmson by strength overpowers our 
 
 mind, 
 
 When Montagu dazzles, and Burke strikes 
 us blind ; 
 
 To Reynolds well pleased for relief we must 
 run, 
 
 Rejoice in his shadow, and shrink from the 
 sun. 
 
 — Piozzi, Hester Lynch, 1773? The 
 Streatham Portraits, Autobiography, ed. 
 Hayward, p. 254. 
 
 Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my 
 mind, 
 
 He has not left a wiser or better behind ; 
 His pencil was striking, resistless and grand; 
 His manners were gentle, complying, and 
 bland ; 
 
 Still bom to improve us in every part, 
 His pencil our faces, his manners our heart: 
 To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steer- 
 ing, 
 
 When they judg'd without skill, he was still 
 
 hard of hearing ; 
 When they talk'd of their Raphaels, Corre- 
 
 gios, and stuff, 
 He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff. 
 
 —Goldsmith, Oliver, 1174, The Retali- 
 ation. 
 
 I heard yesterday of your late disorder, 
 and should think ill of myself if I had 
 heard of it without alarm. I heard like- 
 wise of your recovery, which I sincerely 
 wish to be complete and permanent. 
 Your country has been in danger of 
 
138 
 
 SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS 
 
 losing one of its brightest ornaments, and 
 I of losing one of my oldest and kindest 
 friends ; but I hope you will still live long, 
 for the honour of the nation: and that 
 more enjoyment of your elegance, your 
 intelligence, and your benevolence is still 
 reserved for, dear Sir, your most affec- 
 tionate, &c.— Johnson, Samuel, 1782, 
 Letter to Sir Joshua Reynolds, Nov. 14. 
 
 His native humility, modesty, and can- 
 dour never forsook him, even on surprise 
 or provocation ; nor was the least degree 
 of arrogance or assumption visible to the 
 most scrutinizing eye in any part of his 
 conduct or discourse. His talents of 
 every kind, powerful from nature, and 
 not meanly cultivated by letters, his social 
 virtues in all the relations and all the 
 habitudes of life, rendered him the cen- 
 tre of a very great and unparalleled vari- 
 ety of agreeable societies, which will be 
 dissipated by his death. He had too 
 much merit not to excite some jealousy, 
 too much innocence to provoke any en- 
 mity. ... Sir Joshua Reynolds was 
 on very many accounts one of the most 
 memorable men of his time. ... He 
 was the first Englishman who added the 
 praise of the elegant arts to the other 
 glories of his country. In taste, in 
 grace, in facility, in happy invention, and 
 in the richness and harmony of colouring, 
 he was equal to the great masters of the 
 renowned ages. In portrait he went 
 beyond them ; for he communicated to 
 that description of the art in which Eng- 
 lish artists are the most engaged, a vari- 
 ety, a fancy, and a dignity derived from 
 the higher branches, which even those 
 who professed them in a superior manner 
 did not always preserve when they delin- 
 eated individual nature. His portraits 
 remind the spectator of the invention of 
 history and of the amenity of landscape. 
 In painting portraits, he appeared not to 
 be raised upon that platform, but to de- 
 scend to it from a higher sphere. . . . 
 Pew individuals have proved themselves 
 so capable of illustrating the theory of 
 the science they professed, by their prac- 
 tice and their discourses. . . . To be 
 such a painter, he was a profound and 
 penetrating philosopher. . . . The 
 loss of no man of his time can be felt 
 with more sincere, general, and unmixed 
 sorrow. — Burke, Edmund, 1791, London 
 Gentleman^ s Magazine, vol. I, p. 190. 
 
 Poor Sir Joshua ! How good — how 
 kind — how truly amiable and respectable ! 
 The best of men — whose talents, though 
 an honour to his country, were the least 
 of his qualifications ! — Charlemont,Lord, 
 1792, Letter to Edmond Malone, March 
 1 ; Malone's Life by Prior, p. 189. 
 
 I became first acquainted with him in 
 1778, and for these twelve years past we 
 have lived in the greatest intimacy. . . . 
 He was blessed with such complacency 
 and equality of temper, was so easy, so 
 uniformly cheerful, so willing to please 
 and be pleased, so fond of the company 
 of literary men, so well read in mankind, 
 so curious an observer of character, and 
 so replete with various knowledge and 
 entertaining anecdotes, that not to have 
 loved as well as admired him would have 
 shown great want of taste and sensibility. 
 He had long enjoyed such constant health, 
 looked so young, and was so active, that 
 I thought, though he was sixty-nine years 
 old, he was as likely to live eight or ten 
 years longer as any of his younger friends. 
 . . . I cannot help thinking that we 
 should not have lost this most amiable 
 man for some years, had there not been 
 want of exertion, combined with some 
 want of skill in his physicians. . . . 
 On his body being opened, his liver which 
 ought to have weighed about five pounds, 
 had attained the great weight of eleven 
 pounds. It was also somewhat scirrhus. 
 The optic nerve of the left eye was quite 
 shrunk, and more flimsy than it ought to 
 have been. The other, which he was so 
 apprehensive of losing, was not affected. 
 In his brain was found more water than 
 is usual in men of his age. — Malone, 
 Edmond, 1792, Life by Prior, pp. 190, 
 191, 192. 
 
 He had none of those eccentric bursts 
 of action, those fiery impetuosities, which 
 are supposed by the vulgar to characterize 
 genius, and which frequently are found to 
 accompany a secondary rank of talent, 
 but are never conjoined with the first. His 
 incessant industry was never wearied into 
 despondency by miscarriage, nor elated 
 into negligence by success. All nature 
 and all art combined to form his academy. 
 . . . In conversation he preserved an 
 equable flow of spirits, which had rendered 
 him at all times a most desirable com- 
 panion, — ever ready to be amused, and 
 to contribute to the amusement of others. 
 
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS 
 
 139 
 
 He practised the minute elegancies, and, 
 though latterly a deft companion, was 
 never troublesome.— Northcote, James, 
 1813, Memoirs of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 In his stature, Sir Joshua Reynolds was 
 rather under the middle size. He was in 
 height nearly five feet six inches, of a 
 florid complexion, roundish, blunt fea- 
 tures, and a lively, pleasing aspect; not 
 corpulent, though somewhat inclined to 
 it, but extremely active. With manners 
 highly polished and agreeable, he pos- 
 sessed an uncommon flow of spirits, but 
 always under the strictest regulation, 
 which rendered him, at all times, a most 
 pleasing and desirable companion. Such 
 was the undeviating propriety of his de- 
 portment, that wherever he appeared, he 
 invariably, by his example, gave a tone of 
 decorum to the society. With a carriage 
 the most unassuming, he always com- 
 manded that personal respect which was 
 shown him on all occasions. No man was 
 more fitted for the seat of authority. 
 When acting in a public capacity, he 
 united dignity with ease ; in private society 
 he was ever ready to be amused, and to 
 contribute to the amusement of others; 
 and was always attentive to receive infor- 
 mation on every subject that presented 
 itself ; and by the aid of an ear-trumpet 
 he was enabled to partake of the conver- 
 sation of his friends with great facility 
 and convenience. — Farington, Joseph, 
 1819, Memoirs of Sir Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds had no real or 
 affected peculiarities, which distinguished 
 him from the plain English gentleman: 
 He was subject to no fits of hysteric en- 
 thusiasm, asserted no undue pretensions, 
 and thought nothing beneath his consid- 
 eration which the rank that he held in 
 society appeared to require at his hands. 
 The history of his life will afford but lit- 
 tle scope to those who look for romance 
 as inseparable from genius, and think it 
 unbecoming, in men of lofty minds, to 
 climb to fame by a path which might be 
 trodden by others. — Beechey, Henry 
 William, 1835-55, The Literary Works of 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds, Memoir, vol. i, p. 32. 
 
 The good-humour of Reynolds was a 
 different thing from that of Hogarth. It 
 had no antagonism about it. Ill-humour 
 with any other part of the world had 
 nothing to do with it. It was gracious 
 and diffused ; singling out some, it might 
 
 be, for special warmth, but smiling blandly 
 upon all. He was eminently the gentle- 
 man of his time ; and if there is a hidden 
 charm in his portraits, it is that. His 
 own nature pervades them, and shines out 
 from them still. — Forster, John, 1848- 
 71, The Life and Times of Oliver Gold- 
 smith, vol. I, p. 306. 
 
 I am afraid Sir Joshua, though a bach- 
 elor, is not very particular about his 
 studio being kept neat; for I observe, 
 evidently left from yesterday's campaign, 
 a great ring of brown dust, which I believe 
 to be the Famous Hardham's 37, the snuff 
 from 37, Fleet Street, that Garrick uses 
 and puffs. There it is all round the easel, 
 dropped in lavish slovenliness — a trail of 
 it marking the artist's walk between the 
 easel and the throne. It is rather a 
 weakness of Sir Joshua's, and, in fact, he 
 sometimes sets his wits and beauties 
 sneezing, so that they lose their expres- 
 sion and spoil their attitudes. The six 
 sitters of to-day will not like it. I know 
 he, Sir Joshewa, is so bland and courteous, 
 they will not like to say anything, remem- 
 bering the story at Blenheim, of how he 
 refused to let the servant the duchess 
 sent sweep up the snuff till he had fin- 
 ished painting, observing that his picture 
 would suffer more injury by the dust than 
 the carpet could possibly do with the snuff. 
 — Thornrury, Walter, 1860, British 
 Artists from Hogarth to Turner, vol. I, 
 p. 199. 
 
 I declare, I think, of all the polite men 
 of the age, Joshua Reynolds was the finest 
 gentleman. — Thackeray, William Make- 
 peace, 1861, Geoi^ge HI, The Four Georges. 
 
 Sir Joshua, in Miss Burney's "Diary," 
 appears bland, amiable, sensible, unaf- 
 fected, and essentially kindly. In this 
 the ''Diary" is borne out by all the reliable 
 contemporary evidence to character. The 
 conception of him as a cold, calculating, 
 politic, selfish being, a smoulderer instead 
 of a blazer, is a figment of later biographers 
 and critics. Its best foundation is an oc- 
 casional splenetic remark of Northcote's, 
 made when he was old, ailing, and queru- 
 lous, but contradicted by the general tenor 
 of Northcote's own account of the painter 
 he reverenced, and whom he was always 
 holding up as a pattern to young men. — 
 Leslie, Charles Robert, and Taylor, 
 Tom, 1865, Life and Times of Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, vol. ii, p. 205. 
 
140 
 
 SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS 
 
 It was while studying Raphael's frescos 
 in the Vatican that Reynolds caught the 
 cold which resulted in his deafness ; and 
 thereafter the ear-trumpet of Sir Joshua 
 was as characteristic a part of himself as 
 was the wooden leg a part of the redoubt- 
 able Governor Peter Stuyvesant. He 
 even painted his own portrait with his 
 trumpet held to his ear; though, when 
 about the same time he painted Dr. John- 
 son holding a book very close to his eyes, 
 the great man did not relish this vivid 
 evidence of his extreme near-sighted- 
 ness, but said to Boswell : ''Sir, he may 
 paint himself as deaf as he chooses, but I 
 will not go down to posterity as 'Blinking 
 Sam.'" — Keppel, Frederick, 1894, Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds, Scrihnefs Magazine, vol. 
 15, p. 98. 
 
 His personal life is indicative of the 
 spirit that influenced his art. There was 
 nothing erratic, venturesome, or impul- 
 sive about either. It is difficult to believe 
 that the man at any time, either in life or 
 in art, possessed such things as fire, pas- 
 sion, romance. He was too calm for 
 either love or hatred, too conservative 
 for brilliancy, too philosophical for enthu- 
 siasm. In art he placed less reliance 
 upon inspiration than upon intelligent 
 knowledge, believed the gospel of genius 
 to be work, and thought originality a new 
 way of saying old truths. Such ideas as 
 these form the chief counts in his dis- 
 courses to the students of the Royal 
 Academy.— Van Dyke, John C, 1897, 
 Old English Masters, The Century, vol, 54, 
 p. 817. 
 
 The beauty of his disposition and the 
 nobility of his character were equal to his 
 talents. Without any physical advan- 
 tages — for he was neither tall nor hand- 
 some, and had the great social drawback 
 of deafness — he secured without seeking, 
 and maintained without effort, a position 
 in society which is almost unrivalled. 
 Treating all men on the plain level of com- 
 mon human nature and unactuated by any 
 prejudice, he mixed, as by natural charter, 
 with all classes. His principal passports 
 were kindliness, sincerity, and tolerance ; 
 but these were aided by a ready sympa- 
 thy, of a well-informed mind, gentle man- 
 ners, and invariable tact and common- 
 sense. The charm of his presence and 
 conversation was all the more irresistible 
 because it was unforced and unfeigned. 
 
 He was a born diplomatist, and avoided 
 friction by natural instinct ; a philosopher 
 who early learnt and consistently acted 
 on the principle not to concern himself 
 about matters of small importance. — 
 Monkhouse, Cosmo, 1896, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. XLViii, p. 66. 
 
 ART 
 
 One of the most interesting exhibitions 
 of this season is of Sir Joshua Reynolds' 
 pictures, which have been sent from all 
 parts of the kingdom by the owners, and 
 which are remarkable, not only for the 
 genius of the master, but as a gallery of 
 all the beauties, wits, and heroes of the 
 last sixty years, who have almost all been 
 painted by Sir Joshua. — Mackintosh, Sir 
 James, 1813, Letters to his Daughters, 
 May 11 ; Life, ed. Mackintosh, vol. ii, ch. iv. 
 
 Having emptiness for breadth, plaster- 
 ing for surface, and portrait individuality 
 for general nature. Reynold's tone is 
 too much toned. Raffaele is pure and in- 
 artificial in comparison. Reynolds is a 
 man of strong feeling, labouring to speak 
 in a language he does not know, and giv- 
 ing a hint of his idea by a dazzling combi- 
 nation of images — Raffaele a master of 
 polished diction who conveys in exquisite 
 phraseology certain perceptions of truth. 
 . . . It may take its place triumph- 
 • antly by any borreggio on earth. It is 
 very lovely. The whole series are un- 
 equaled by an English master. — Haydon, 
 Benjamin Robert, 1821, On the Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds Sale. 
 
 If I was to compare him with Vandyke 
 and Titian, I should say that Vandyke's 
 portraits are like pictures (very perfect 
 ones no doubt). Sir Joshua's like the re- 
 flection in a looking-glass, and Titian's 
 like the real people. There is an atmos- 
 phere of light and shade about Sir 
 Joshua's which neither of the others have 
 in the same degree, together with a vague- 
 ness that gives them a visionary and ro- 
 mantic character, and makes them seem 
 like dreams or vivid recollections of per- 
 sons we have seen. I never could mis- 
 take Vandyke's for anything but pictures, 
 and I go up to them as such ; when I see 
 a fine Sir Joshua, I can neither suppose it 
 to be a mere picture nor a man, and I al- 
 most involuntarily turn back to ascertain 
 if it is not some one behind me reflected 
 in the glass; when I see a Titian I am 
 riveted to it, and I can no more take my 
 
SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS 
 
 141 
 
 eye off from it than if it were the very 
 individual in the room. — Northcote, 
 James, 1826-27, Conversations, ed. Haz- 
 litU V> 257. 
 
 The influence of Reynolds on the taste 
 and elegance of the island was great, and 
 will be lasting. The grace and ease of 
 his compositions were a lesson for the liv- 
 ing to study, while the simplicity of his 
 dresses admonished the giddy and the gay 
 against the hideousness of fashion. He 
 sought to restore nature in the looks of 
 his sitters, and he waged a thirty years' 
 war against the fopperies of dress. His 
 works diffused a love of elegance, and 
 united with poetry in softening the asper- 
 ities of nature, in extending our views, 
 and in connecting us with the spirits of 
 the time. His cold stateliness of charac- 
 ter, and his honourable pride of art, gave 
 dignity to his profession : the rich and 
 the far-descended were pleased to be 
 painted by a gentleman as well as a gen- 
 ius. — Cunningham, Allan, 1830-33, The 
 Lives of the Most Eminent British Painters 
 and Sculptors, vol. i, p. 279. 
 
 The colouring of Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 in his best works combines the highest 
 qualities of Correggio and Titian with the 
 brilliancy and luxuriance of the Dutch 
 and the Flemish schools, deprived of their 
 tumidities. The common error that his 
 colours all fail, ought by this time to be 
 entirely effaced. It is too true that this 
 is the case with the colouring of many 
 pictures painted by him during a short 
 period of his life ; he thought that he had 
 discovered a mode of rendering colouring 
 more vivid, and employed it without duly 
 considering the chemical qualities of his 
 materials. But he was soon made ac- 
 quainted with the mistake he had com- 
 mitted, reassumed his durable system 
 with increased beauty and vigour, and 
 continued to employ it till the termina- 
 tion of his valuable labours. — Phillips, 
 Thomas, 1833, Lectoes on Painting, p. 372. 
 
 That the portraits of Reynolds were the 
 best of all likenesses 1 have no manner 
 of doubt. I know several of his pictures 
 of children, the originals of whom I have 
 seen in middle and old age, and in every 
 instance I could discover much likeness. 
 —Leslie, Charles, 1855, Hand-Book for 
 Young Painters. 
 
 But there is likewise a window, lament- 
 able to look at, which was painted by Sir 
 
 Joshua Reynolds, and exhibits strikingly 
 the difference between the work of a man 
 who performed it merely as a matter of 
 taste and business, and what was done 
 religiously and with the whole heart ; at 
 least, it shows that the artists and public 
 of the last age had no sympathy with 
 Gothic art. In the chancel of this church 
 there are more painted windows, which 
 I take to be modern, too, though they are 
 in much better taste, and have an infin- 
 itely better effect, than Sir Joshua"s. — 
 Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 1856, Oxford^ 
 English Note Books, Aug. 31. 
 
 Considered as a painter of individuality 
 in the human form and mind, I think him 
 even as it is, the prince of portrait paint- 
 ers. Titian paints nobler pictures and 
 Vandyck has nobler subjects, but neither 
 of them enter so subtly as Joshua did*into 
 the minor varieties of human heart and 
 temper.— Ruskin, John, 1859, The Two 
 Paths, Lecture, ii. 
 
 With Reynolds the assurance of the 
 master never bordered on impertinence. 
 He was searching always and to the end, 
 and even those melancholy experiments 
 with pigments and colours which have 
 served to hasten the ruin of many of his 
 pictures, are but the outward sign of a 
 higher intellectual curiosity which is of the 
 very essence of his genius. To the close 
 of his long career his painting preserved 
 the interesting characteristics that in the 
 work of other men belong only to the 
 season of youth and progress : he is little 
 of a mannerist, because he has none of 
 the settled confidence of style which be- 
 gets mannerism : with each new subject 
 he is moved to new effort and experiment : 
 and though the measure of his success is 
 not always the same, even his failures 
 are not the failures of audacity or self- 
 assurance. — Carr, J. CoMYNS, 1884, Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds, English Illustrated Maga- 
 zine, vol. I, p. 342. 
 
 The individual portrait was the portrait 
 of Sir Joshua. In him the gift of paint- 
 ing men and women was supreme. Not 
 only did he paint them in their habit as 
 they lived, but with such masterly sug- 
 gestion of character as was practically 
 unknown amongst the men of his genera- 
 tion. ... A singularly calm and genial 
 temper was joined to an astonishing alert- 
 ness of observation, and these gifts were 
 trained by constant and varied practice. 
 
142 
 
 SIR JOSHUA REYNOLDS 
 
 Always on the watch for the turn of the 
 head, the uplifting of the hand, the bend- 
 ing or stiffness of the figure, he never 
 seems to have failed to recognise the 
 really differential note of character. And 
 he indicated these things with extraordi- 
 nary subtlety. In particular, he divined 
 the character of children with unfailing 
 accuracy and sympathy. As has been 
 very perfectly said, Reynolds has the 
 secret of all the characteristic graces of 
 women and children. — Hughes, R., 1896, 
 Social England, ed. Traill, vol. v, p. 283. 
 
 The name of Sir Joshua Reynolds holds 
 a place of honor among the world's great 
 portrait painters. To appreciate fully 
 his originative power one must understand 
 the disadvantages under which he worked. 
 His technical training was of the meagrest 
 kindy. and all his life he was hampered by 
 ignorance of anatomy. But on the other 
 hand he combined all those peculiar qual- 
 ities of the artist without which no 
 amount of technical skill can produce 
 great portrait work. He had, in the first 
 place, that indefinable quality of taste, 
 which means so much in portraiture. His 
 was an unerring instinct for poise, dra- 
 pery, color, and composition. Each of his 
 figures seems to assume naturally an at- 
 titude of perfect grace ; the draperies fall 
 of their own accord in beautiful lines. 
 Reynolds knew, too, the secret of impart- 
 ing an air of distinction to his sitters. 
 The meanest subject was elevated by his 
 art to a position of dignity. His magic 
 touch made every child charming, every 
 woman graceful, and every man dignified. 
 Finally, he possessed in no small degree, 
 though curiously enough entirely dis- 
 claiming the quality, the gift of present- 
 ing the essential personality of the sitter, 
 that which a critic has called the power 
 of * 'realizing an individuality." This is 
 seen most clearly in his portraits of men, 
 and naturally in the portraits of the men 
 he knew best, as Johnson. — Hurll, Es- 
 TELLE M., 1900, Sir Joshua Reynolds, p. 7. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I cannot think that the theory here [in 
 his Discourses"] laid down is clear and 
 satisfactory, that it is consistent with 
 itself, that it accounts for the various 
 excellences of art from a few simple prin- 
 ciples, or that the method which Sir 
 Joshua has pursued in treating the sub- 
 ject is, as he himself expresses it, ''a 
 
 plain and honest method." It is, I fear, 
 more calculated to baffle and perplex the 
 student in his progress, than to give him 
 clear lights as to the object he should 
 have in view, or to furnish him with 
 strong motives of emulation to attain it. 
 — Hazlitt, William, 1824-43-44, Criti- 
 cism on Art, Second Series, p. 84. 
 
 Then, as to Sir Joshua's writings, their 
 spirit is all in delightful keeping with his 
 pictures. One of the few painters he 
 — such as Leonardo Da Vinci, Michael 
 Angelo, and so on — our own Barry, Opie, 
 Filseli, and so on — who could express by 
 the pen the principles which guide the 
 pencil. 'Tis the only work on art which, 
 to men not artistis, is entirely intelligible. 
 — Wilson, John, 1829, Noctes Amhrosi- 
 ance, April. 
 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds, who has the good 
 fortune to be remembered alike by his 
 pencil and his pen, and whose discourses 
 still remain the most sensible and judi- 
 cious work on the principles of painting, 
 in our language. — Hillard, George 
 Stillman,1853, Six Months in Raly, p. 78. 
 
 A word as to his style. There is a 
 clearness and perspicuity about it which 
 enables us at once to perceive the drift of 
 his remarks ; he does not conceal himself in 
 a dense mass of verbiage, nor does he write 
 ambiguously, hinting at this and suggest- 
 ing that, but arrow-like goes straight to 
 his point. Withal, there is no baldness ; 
 every sentence is carefully constructed, and 
 there are everywhere marks of the labor 
 limce ; perhaps here and there it savours 
 somewhat too much of elaboration. Still, 
 it is a very graceful style ; just what we 
 should expect from a cultured, well-tem- 
 pered mind, — scholarly without pedantry, 
 easy without vulgarity. — Pulling, F. S., 
 1880, Sir Joshua Reynolds, p. 100. 
 
 The earliest art-criticisms of any value 
 published in this country were contained 
 in the annual and biennial "Discourses" 
 which Sir Joshua Reynolds, F. R. A., de- 
 livered from January 1759 to his retire- 
 ment in December 1790. They were issued 
 year by year, and collected after his death. 
 . . . It was, doubtless, through his life- 
 long companionship with Johnson, Burke, 
 and Goldsmith that Reynolds learned to 
 write in the English language only a little 
 less brilliantly than they. —GossE, Edmund, 
 1888, A History of Eighteenth Century 
 Literature, pp. 308, 309. 
 
RE YNOLDS—HORNE 
 
 143 
 
 Nothing is more remarkable in the great 
 career of our master than the genuine lit- 
 erary ability which he developed by de- 
 grees, side by side with, yet quite inde- 
 pendently of, his artistic capacity. And 
 we must wonder the more when we re- 
 member that he received not more than 
 the education of the average school -boy 
 of his time, and in the course of his well- 
 filled and practically uninterrupted career 
 was unable to supplement early deficien- 
 cies by any sustained course of reading or 
 study. — Phillips, Claude, 1894, Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds, p. 389. 
 
 The personal charm and strength of 
 character, which doubtless assisted the 
 universal recognition of his genius, may 
 account in part for the great influence of 
 his writings. His style, though somewhat 
 formal, was graceful, simple, and urbane. 
 He had been trained in the classical school 
 of Dr. Johnson, who qualified him to 
 think justly," but fortunately his admira- 
 tion of the master did not tempt him to 
 forget, in composition, the true principles 
 of imitation which he expounded in 
 the ''Discourses."— Johnson, Reginald 
 Brimley, 1895, English Prose, ed. Craik, 
 vol. IV, p. 301. 
 
 The fame of Sir Joshua's Discourses is 
 at first sight a little difficult to understand. 
 For a hundred years it has been the fash- 
 ion to treat them as models of literature 
 and monuments of critical profundity. 
 Their style has been thought so much too 
 good for their putative author, that the 
 great shades of Burke and Johnson have 
 been descried at Sir Joshua's elbow, con- 
 trolling his expression and even suggest- 
 ing his ideas. Again, their reasoning on 
 the foundations of art has been so far ac- 
 cepted by those who ought to know, that 
 
 they have been put, as a text-book, into 
 the hands of some twenty generations of 
 students. And yet Sir Joshua's style isgood 
 only through its sincerity ; and his teach- 
 ing sound only if meant to be superficial. 
 . . . To us who have the advantage 
 of a distant perspective, it seems extraor- 
 dinary that any one should ascribe the emi- 
 nently human, but somewhat invertebrate 
 periods of Sir Joshua first to Johnson and 
 afterwards to Burke. As a writer Rey- 
 nolds was, of course, an amateur. He had 
 never been drilled in the use of language, 
 or compelled to notice how the practised 
 writer avoids those involutions and cacoph- 
 onies which spring from the unguarded 
 expression of complex ideas. He piles 
 relative on relative and participle on par- 
 ticiple, until his sentences become so long 
 drawn out that we have to read them 
 twice to grasp their meaning. As inter- 
 preted by a good speaker, they would, no 
 doubt, be clear enough. Vocal modula- 
 tions would bring out the sense. But 
 Reynolds, we are told, had a very bad de- 
 livery, and so it is not surprising that his 
 colleagues paid him the compliment of a 
 request to print his sermons ! . . . In 
 reading Sir Joshua, we feel that he is in- 
 side his subject, groping his way out. 
 His guesses are often unhappy, and lead 
 him to conclusions w^hich are little else 
 than absurd. But there he is, neverthe- 
 less, inside, and doing his best to under- 
 stand his milieu, and to get a right con- 
 ception of the w^hole matter. His methods 
 of expression are imperfect, and leave us 
 with the idea that his conceptions are too 
 complicated to be rendered in such words as 
 he can command. — Armstrong, Sir Wal- 
 TER,ldOO, Sir Joshua Reynolds First Presi- 
 dent of the Royal Academy, pp. 175, 177, 179. 
 
 G-eorge Home 
 
 1730-1792 
 
 George Home was born (November 1, 1730) at Otham, near Maidstone, in Kent. 
 At the age of 13, he was sent to school at Maidstone ; and at 15, entered University 
 College, Oxford. He graduated B. A. in 1749, was afterwards elected a fellow of 
 Magdalen College, graduated M. A. in 1752, became B. D. in 1759, and D. D. in 
 1764, and in 1768 was appointed principal of Magdalen. Pious, of thoughtful disposi- 
 tion ; contented in mind, and devoted to learning ; Dr. Horne resided year after year 
 in his college, happy in his family circle, and devoting himself, chiefly, to the study 
 of Hebrew and sacred literature, and engaging in Biblical works, especially the prep- 
 aration of his ''Commentary on the Book of Psalms," which he had commenced in 
 1758. It appeared in two volumes, in 1776, and has been frequently reprinted. Its 
 value is thought, by some, to be lessened, through the influence the author allowed to 
 
144 
 
 GEORGE HORNE 
 
 be exercised over him, in its preparation, by those erroneous philological and philo- 
 sophical principles of Hutchinson, which have long since been exploded. In the year 
 of the publication of this work, he was appointed Vice-Chancellor of his University ; 
 in 1781, Dean of Canterbury; and, in 1791, Bishop of Norwich. But he did not long 
 enjoy his episcopal honour. He died January 17, 1792, in his sixty-second year. — 
 Miller, Josiah, 1866-69, Singers and Songs of the Church, p. 250. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Bishop Home, whose literary feelings 
 were of the most delicate and lively kind, 
 has beautifully recorded them in his prog- 
 ress through a favourite and lengthened 
 work — his "Commentary on the Psalms." 
 He alludes to himself in the third person ; 
 yet who but the self-painter could have 
 caught those delicious emotions which are 
 so evanescent in the deep occupation of 
 pleasant studies ?— Disraeli, Isaac, 1796- 
 1818, Enthusiasm of Genius, The Literary 
 Character. 
 
 Like many earnest men of the day. 
 Home fell under the imputation of meth- 
 odism. He adopted the views of John 
 Hutchinson (1674 — 1737), and wrote his 
 defence, although he disagreed with his 
 fanciful interpretations of Hebrew etymol- 
 ogy. Hutchinsonianism had some points 
 in common with methodism, notably its 
 intense appreciation of holy scripture, and 
 its insistence upon spiritual religion. 
 But Home was distinctly what would now 
 be called a high churchman, and he pub- 
 licly protested from the university pulpit 
 against those who took their theology 
 from the Tabernacle and the Foundry 
 (Whitefield's and Wesley's headquarters) 
 instead of from the great divines of the 
 church. Nevertheless, apart from his 
 position as a Hutchinsonian, Horne per- 
 sonally showed a sympathy with the meth- 
 odists. He strongly disapproved of the 
 expulsion of the six methodist students 
 from St. Edmund Hall, Oxford. He would 
 not have John Wesley, "an ordained min- 
 ister of the Church of England," forbid- 
 den to preach in his diocese, and John 
 Wesley thoroughly appreciated Home's 
 action. — Overton, J. H., 1891, Dictionary 
 of National Biography, vol. xxvii, p. 356. 
 
 COMMENTARY ON THE PSALMS 
 
 1771 
 
 A delightful amplification of the music 
 of Zion, wherein every phrase is spirit- 
 ualized, every prophetic and recondite 
 meaning pointed out. — Grant, Johnson, 
 1811-25, A Summary of the History of the 
 English Church. 
 
 It is a truly evangelical and i^ost valua- 
 ble work, generally commended and ad- 
 mired for the vein of spirituality and 
 devotion which runs through it, as well as 
 for the elegant taste displayed in the illus- 
 tration of difficult passages. The author ' s 
 design is to illustrate the historical sense 
 of the Psalms as they relate to King 
 David and the people of Israel ; and to 
 point out their application to the Messiah, 
 to the Church, and to individuals as mem- 
 bers of the Church. — Lowndes, William 
 Thomas, 1839, British Librarian. 
 
 His ''Commentary on the Psalms" is his 
 capital performance, and the one by which 
 he will be known so long as piety and ele- 
 gant learning are loved in England. It 
 is altogether a beautiful work. The pref- 
 ace is a masterpiece of composition and 
 good sense. The exposition implies more 
 learning and research than it displays; 
 and the views of Christian doctrine con- 
 tained in it are generally very correct. 
 Perhaps he carries his applications to the 
 Messiah and his Church occasionally 
 rather far ; but this is less hurtful than 
 the opposite extreme, which has more 
 generally been adopted. — Orme, William, 
 1824, Bibliotheca Biblica. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Mr. Warburton has seen a thing against 
 the Newtonian philosophy in favour of 
 Hutchinson by one Horne, of Oxford, and 
 thinks it would be a good employment for 
 some Cambridge Soph to answer it. — 
 HuRD, Richard, 1753, Letter to Rev. Mr, 
 Balguy, Memoirs, ed. Kilvert, p. 48. 
 
 This writer seems to have had as much 
 devotion and regard for the grand prin- 
 ciples of Christianity as command respect ; 
 but few evangelical preachers, notwith- 
 standing, would like to take him for a 
 pattern.— Williams, Edward, 1800, The 
 Christian Preacher. 
 
 Bishop Home's views of preaching, not 
 always (alas ! such is our common infirm- 
 ity !) fully illustrated by his own sermons, 
 are instructive. . . . His sermons are 
 polished, and have many beautiful and 
 
HORNE—DALR YMPLE 
 
 145 
 
 excellent thoughts ; but they are wanting 
 in the full declaration of justification by 
 faith, and therefore meet not adequately 
 the distresses of an awakened conscience. 
 . . . His sermons are devotional and 
 elegant. He and others of his school 
 have brought some important truths be- 
 fore men who would not have listened to 
 those writing more in the spirit of the 
 Reformers. — Bickersteth, Edward, 1844, 
 The Christian Student. 
 
 George Home was very soon described 
 as ''without exception the best preacher in 
 England, ' ' a judgment which his sermons 
 
 which remain to us go far to justify. 
 By these and his other writings, especially 
 his devotional work on the Psalms, Home 
 may be regarded as the founder of the 
 Scriptural school, which towards the end 
 of the century received so great a devel- 
 opment. . . . The praise of attempt- 
 ing to overthrow this lifeless and unedify- 
 ing treatment of Scripture is due to 
 Home, and the great success which his 
 truly Christian writings obtained, was of 
 the highest service to the cause of religion. 
 — Perry, George G., 1864, The History of 
 the Church of England, vol. iii, py. 382,383. 
 
 Sir David Dalrymple 
 
 Lord Hailes 
 1726-1792 
 
 Sir David Dalrymple, Lord Hailes, historical antiquary, born at Edinburgh, 28th 
 October 1726, was the great grandson of the first Lord Stair. He was called to the 
 Scottish bar in 1748, and in 1766 became a judge of the Court of Session as Lord 
 Hailes, in 1776 a justiciary lord. At his country-seat of New Hailes, near Edin- 
 burgh, he gave his leisure to uninterrupted literary activity. He died 29 November 
 1792. Among his books are "A Discourse on the Gowrie Conspiracy" (1757); 
 "Memorials relating to the Reigns of James L and Charles I." (1762-66); and 
 "Annals of Scotland, 1057-1371" (1776-79). He wrote besides on legal antiquities 
 and ancient church history, edited old Scotch poems, &c. — Patrick and Groome, 
 eds.y 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p. 450. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The indefatigable Sir David is translat- 
 ing Minutius Felix, and writing notes. 
 Of the last, I have a large farrago in my 
 hands, and am to keep them, I suppose, 
 till his Arch-Critic arrives. This Sir 
 David is a good, well-intentioned man, 
 has learning and sense, but is withal im- 
 moderately vain; which I conclude, not 
 from his writings so much (for then how 
 should another friend of yours escape ?) 
 but from his teasing his friends so immod- 
 erately with his MSS. However, with all 
 his imperfections upon his head, give me 
 a writer — an animal that is now become a 
 rara avis, and much to be stared at, even 
 in our learned universities. — Hurd, Rich- 
 ard, 1780, Letter to Dr. Balguy, Dec. 14, 
 Memoirs, ed. Kilvert, p. 140. 
 
 He was called to the bar at Edinburgh, 
 February 23d, 1748, and was much admired 
 for the elegant propriety of the Cases he 
 drew. Though he had not attained to the 
 highest rank as a practising lawyer, his 
 character for sound knowledge and prob- 
 ity in the profession was so great that he 
 was appointed one of the Judges of the 
 
 IOC 
 
 Court of Session, in the room of Lord 
 Nesbit, March 6th, 1766, and in May, 
 1776, one of the Lord Commissioners of 
 Justiciary, in the room of Lord Coalston, 
 who resigned. He died on the 29th of 
 November.— Savage, James, 1808, The 
 Librarian, vol. I, p. 85. 
 
 As an oral pleader he was not success- 
 ful. A defect in articulation prevented 
 him from speaking fluently, and he was 
 naturally an impartial critic rather than 
 a jealous advocate. Much of the business 
 of litigation in Scotland at this time was 
 conducted, however, by writing pleadings, 
 and he gained a solid reputation as a 
 learned and accurate lawyer. There is no 
 better specimen of such pleadings than the 
 case for the Countess of Southerland in 
 her claim for the peerage in the House of 
 the Lords, which was drawn by Hailes as 
 her guardian after he became judge. It 
 won the cause, and is still appealed to by 
 peerage lawyers for the demonstration of 
 the descent of the older Scottish titles 
 to and through females. . . . The 
 solemnity of his manner in administering 
 oaths and pronouncing sentences specially 
 
146 
 
 SIR DAVID DALRYMPLE 
 
 struck his contemporaries. As a judge in 
 the civil court he was admired for dili- 
 gence and patience, keeping under re- 
 straint his power of sarcasm. In knowl- 
 edge of the history of law he was sur- 
 passed by none of his brethren, though 
 among them were Elchies, Kaimes, and 
 Monboddo.— Mackay, .Eneas, 1888, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, vol. xiii, 
 pp. 403, 404. 
 
 An estimable man was this scholar ; but 
 a little less self-consciousness would have 
 improved his lordship, who kept aloof 
 from the genial society of Edinburgh lest 
 it might impair his flawless dignity. Dis- 
 tant in manner, he was seldom met with 
 even in the company of Ferguson and Blair 
 and Adam Smith, for such friendly com- 
 radeship would jar on his prim punctil- 
 iousness, and vex his due regard for what 
 was "becoming." — Graham, Henry Grey, 
 1901, Scottish Men of Letters in the Eight- 
 eenth Century, p. 201. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 ''Lord Hailes's 'Annals of Scotland' 
 have not that painted form which is the 
 taste of this age ; but it is a book which 
 will always sell, it has such a stability of 
 dates, such a certainty of facts, and such 
 a punctuality of citation. I never before 
 read Scotch history with certainty." — ■ 
 Johnson, Samuel, 1776, Life by Boswell, 
 ed. Hilly vol. ni, p. 67. 
 
 His "Annals of Scotland" is a masterly 
 performance; in which, and in some de- 
 tached pieces of historical research, he 
 was the first to elucidate properly the early 
 part of the history of our country, and it 
 is only to be regretted that he has not 
 brought his work down to a later period, 
 as it stops at a time when the history was 
 becoming more and more interesting, and 
 his materials more copious. "The Case 
 of the Sutherland-peerage, ' ' although orig- 
 inally a law-paper, written professionally 
 when he was at the bar, at the time when 
 the title of the young Countess, to the 
 honours of her ancestors, was called in 
 question, is one of the most profound dis- 
 quisitions on the ancient peerages of Scot- 
 land anywhere to be met with. — Forbes, 
 Sir William, 1806-7, An Account of the 
 Life and Writings of James Beattie, vol. 
 II, p. 10, note. 
 
 The erudition of Lord Hailes was not of 
 a dry and scholastic nature : he felt the 
 
 beauties of the composition of the an- 
 cients ; he entered with taste and discern- 
 ment into the merits of the Latin poet», 
 and that peculiar vein of delicate and in- 
 genious thought which characterizes the 
 Greek epigrammatists ; and a few speci- 
 mens which he has left of his own compo- 
 sition in that style, evince the hand of a 
 master. . . . Lord Hailes was a man 
 of wit, and possessed a strong feeling of 
 the absurd and ridiculous in human con- 
 duct and character, which gave a keen 
 edge of irony both to his conversation and 
 writings. To his praise, however, it must 
 be added, that that irony, if not always 
 untinctured with prejudice, was never 
 prompted by malignity, and was generally 
 exerted in the cause of virtue and good 
 morals. How much he excelled in paint- 
 ing the lighter weaknesses and absurdities 
 of mankind, may be seen from the papers 
 of his composition in the World and the 
 Mirror. His private character was every- 
 thing that is praiseworthy and respectable. 
 In a word, he was an honour to the station 
 which he filled, and to the age in which 
 he lived.— Tytler, Alexander Fraser, 
 1806-14, Memoirs of the Life and Writ- 
 ings of Henry Home of Karnes, vol. i, pp. 
 251, 252, note. 
 
 These works by Lord Hailes ["Remains 
 of Christian Antiquity"] are among the 
 most elegant specimens of translation, and 
 discover a profound acquaintance with the 
 most minute circumstances of early Chris- 
 tian antiquity. ... He was one of 
 the most formidable antagonists of Gibbon. 
 His "Inquiry into the Secondary Causes" 
 is a most triumphant exposure of the 
 sophistry and misrepresentations of that 
 artful writer. The preceding works are 
 now become scarce; but I know not a 
 higher treat which can be enjoyed by a 
 cultivated and curious mind than that 
 which they afford.— Orme, William, 1824, 
 Bihliotheca Biblica. 
 
 The "Annals" of Hailes, written with 
 the accuracy of a judge, which far ex- 
 ceeds the accuracy of the historian, has 
 been the text-book of all subsequent writ- 
 ers on the period of Scottish history it 
 covers. The earlier Celtic sources had 
 not in his time been explored, except by 
 Father Innes, and were imperfectly under- 
 stood. Nor could he have carried on his 
 work much further without encountering 
 political and religious controversies. He 
 
DALR YMPLE— WHITE 
 
 147 
 
 was thus enabled to maintain throughout 
 his whole work a conspicuous impartiality. 
 — Mack AY, ^Eneas, 1888, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. xiii, p. 405. 
 
 Many a venerable [in his ''Annals"] 
 story and cherished tradition were demol- 
 ished or banished to mythland. Hitherto 
 the field had been the preserve of uncon- 
 scionable pedants like Ruddiman, who 
 warred with party animosity, and in tem- 
 per as atrocious as their style, over 
 charters and ''claims" and pedigrees. Now 
 this "restorer of Scottish History," as Sir 
 Walter Scott has called him, fifted re- 
 search into the domain of history. The 
 "Annals" are dry, deplorably dry ; but in- 
 valuable still for facts— a quarry in which 
 
 later writers have dug for material out of 
 which to build more artistic works. In 
 the fine library at New Hailes the judge 
 was busy editing and compiling; compos- 
 ing careful pieces of elegance for the 
 World ; translating Church Fathers, with 
 erudite disquisitions dedicated to Anglican 
 bishops; writing a learned answer to Gib- 
 bon's famous Fourteenth Chapter of his 
 "Decline and Fall," with a learning and 
 ability which are more than respectable. 
 The fastidious accuracy of mind which 
 spoiled Hailes as a lawyer and made him 
 tedious as a judge suited him well as an 
 antiquary.— Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, 
 Scottish Men of Letters in the Eighteenth 
 Century, p. 201. 
 
 Gilbert White 
 
 1720-1793 
 * 
 
 Born, at Selborne, Hants, 18 July, 1720. Early education at a school at Basing- 
 stoke. Matric. Oriel Coll., Oxford, 17 Dec, 1739; B. A., 1743; Fellow Oriel Coll., 
 1744-93; M. A., 1746; Proctor, 1752-53. Ordained Deacon, 1747 ;' Priest, 1749. 
 Curate at Swarraton, 1747-51 ; at Selborne, 1751-52 ; at Durley, 1753-55. Returned 
 to Selborne, 1755. Vicar of Moreton-Pinknev, Northamptonshire (sinecure), 
 1757-93. Curate at Faringdon, 1762-84; at Selborne, 1784. Died, at Selborne, 
 26 June, 1793. Works: "The Natural History and Antiquities of Selborne" (anon.), 
 1789. Posthumous: "A Naturalist's Calendar," 1795; "Extracts from the unpub- 
 lished MSS. of Mr. White," in the second series of E. Jesse's "Gleanings in Natural 
 History," 1834. Collected Works : in 2 vols., ed. by J. Aikin, 1802.— Sharp, R. 
 Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 299. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Your work, upon the whole, will immor- 
 talize your place of abode as well as your- 
 self.— MuLSO, John, 1776, Letter to Gil- 
 bert White, July 16 ; Life and Letters, ed. 
 Holt-White, vol. i, p. 324. 
 
 And lastly to close all I do desire that 
 I may be buried in the churchyard belong- 
 ing to the parish Church of Selborne afore- 
 said in as plain and private a way as pos- 
 sible without any pall bearers or parade 
 and that six honest day labouring men 
 respect being had to such as have bred up 
 large families may bear me to my grave 
 to whom I appoint the sum of ten shillings 
 each for their trouble. — White, Gilbert, 
 1793, Will. 
 
 IN THE FIFTH GRAVE FROM THIS WALL ARE 
 BURIED THE REMAINS OF 
 
 THE REV. GILBERT WHITE, M. A., 
 
 FIFTY YEARS FELLOW OF ORIEL COLLEGE, 
 
 IN OXFORD, 
 AND HISTORIAN OF THIS HIS NATIVE PARISH. 
 HE WAS ELDEST SON OF JOHN WHITE, 
 
 ESQUIRE, BARRISTER-AT-LAW, 
 AND ANNE, HIS WIFE, ONLY CHILD OF 
 THOMAS HOLT, RECTOR OF STREATHAM, 
 
 IN SURREY, 
 WHICH SAID JOHN W^HITE WAS THE ONLY 
 SON OF GILBERT WHITE, 
 FORMERLY VICAR OF THIS PARISH. 
 HE WAS KIND AND BENEFICIENT TO HIS 
 RELATIONS, 
 BENEVOLENT TO THE POOR, 
 AND DESERVEDLY RESPECTED BY ALL HIS 
 FRIENDS AND NEIGHBOURS. 
 HE WAS BORN JULY 18tH, 1720, 0. S., 
 AND DIED JUNE 26tH, 1793. 
 NEC BONO QUICQUAM MALI EVENIRE POTEST, 
 NEC VIVO, NEC MORTUO. 
 
 —Inscription on Monument, Selborne 
 Churchyard. 
 
 He was widely known as a philosopher, 
 in the highest sense of the word, but he 
 was so known only to the world without. 
 His own village could not understand him, 
 and little did its inhabitants suppose that 
 their insignificant little Selborne should 
 
148 
 
 GILBERT WHITE 
 
 become a world-known name by means of 
 him, whose peaceful life was spent in re- 
 tirement, and whose only eulogy, from a 
 surviving fellow-parishioner, was, '*That 
 he was a still, quiet body, and there wasn't 
 a bit of harm in him, there wasn't indeed." 
 —Wood, J. G., 1853, ed., The Natural 
 History of Selborne, Biography, p. vii. 
 
 There are few, perhaps, who have so 
 extensively and so pleasantly occupied the 
 mind of contemporaries and of posterity, 
 and yet have left such scanty materials 
 for a biography of corresponding interest, 
 as the estimable and accomplished author 
 of the "Natural History and Antiquities 
 of Selborne."— Bell, Thomas, 1877, ed., 
 The Natural History of Selborne. 
 
 Most men must have marvelled at White's 
 always remaining a bachelor in spite of 
 being endowed with exceptionally domes- 
 tic tastes. And perhaps some have sur- 
 mised that a disappointment in love had 
 caused his single life. We learn from Mr. 
 Bell that this was the case. White had 
 in early life been attached to no less a 
 person than Mrs. Chapone. . . . Her 
 maiden name was Hester Mulso. She pre- 
 ferred a barrister to our naturalist ; and 
 although she was left a widow ten months 
 after marriage, and continued to corre- 
 spond with White on the most friendly 
 terms, they never married. It is amusing 
 to see White's anger at any calumny on her 
 fair fame after fourteen years of widow- 
 hood. ... A sensitive nature like 
 White's, capable of strong attachment and 
 yet somewhat diffident as becomes a re- 
 cluse and scholar, seldom gets the better 
 of such a love-sorrow. — W ATKINS, M. G., 
 1879, White of Selborne, Frasefs Magazine, 
 vol 99, p. 338. 
 
 To visit Selborne had been sweet 
 
 No matter what the rest might be ; 
 But some good genius led my feet 
 
 Thither in such fit company, 
 As trebled all its charms for me. 
 With them to seek his headstone grey, 
 
 The lover true of birds and trees, 
 Added strange sunshine to the day. 
 
 My eye a scene familiar sees. 
 And Home! is whispered by the breeze. 
 My English blood its right reclaims ; 
 
 In vain the sea its barrier rears ; 
 Our pride is fed by England's fame. 
 
 Ours is her glorious length of years ; 
 Ours, too, her triumphs and her tears. 
 
 — Lowell, James Russell, 1880, On 
 Gilbert White. 
 
 Ghosts of great men in London town 
 
 Confuse the brains of such as dream, 
 But here betwixt this hanging down 
 And this great moorland, waste and brown ^ 
 
 One only reigns supreme. 
 In Wolmer Forest, old and wide, 
 
 Along each sandy pine-girt glade 
 And lonesome heather-bordered ride, 
 A gentle presence haunts your side, 
 
 A gracious reverend shade. 
 And as you pass by Blackmoor grim, 
 
 And stand at gaze on Temple height, 
 Methinks the fancy grows less dim : 
 Methinks you really talk with him 
 
 Who once was Gilbert White. 
 
 We know it all ! Familiar, too, 
 
 Seems this quaint hamlet 'neath the steeps — 
 House, "Pleystor," church, and churchyard 
 yew, 
 
 And the plain headstone, hid from view. 
 
 Where their historian sleeps. 
 — Plarr, Victor, 1893, In the Country 
 of Gilbert White, The Speaker, June 17. 
 
 Our country has changed; old institu- 
 tions have passed away; the railway 
 and electric telegraph have transformed 
 society. Yet in Selborne, whatever change 
 there may be, is almost imperceptible. 
 We are told that White preached a favour- 
 ite sermon of his no less than fifty times, 
 and that his text bore on the duty of love 
 to man. Were he with us again he would 
 be gratified to find that the passage of 
 time had left unchanged the natural objects 
 he so dearly loved; that the general as- 
 pect of his beloved village, as affected by 
 the hand of man, was as he knew it ; and 
 that any changes in social and domestic 
 life were such as are based on the duty of 
 loving others and trying to improve the 
 condition of mankind. — Palmer, H. P., 
 1896, Selborne and Gilbert White, Temple 
 Bar, vol 109, p. 117. 
 
 At the top of the Plestor, in cheerful 
 proximity to the living, lies the ancient 
 church-yard about the quaint Norman 
 church where Gilbert White addressed his 
 ordinary parishioners, in distinction from 
 those winged and singing ones, the four- 
 footed ones, and those even who modestly 
 crawled, who all filled up his calm life. 
 The church is a good deal renovated, of 
 necessity; but, with Norman traditions, 
 it is not quite at its ease in the presence 
 of nineteenth-century pews and a nine- 
 teenth-century organ. Human beings, 
 however, are pretty much the same, and 
 the little boys ar(^ m t ched out just before 
 
GILBERT WHITE 
 
 149 
 
 the sermon with the same subdued yet 
 hilarious clatter as in the days when those 
 were Wv'mg and young who now lie in the 
 church-yard under the moss-grown head- 
 stones from which the centuries have 
 softly wiped out the dates. Even the five 
 bell -ropes hanging under the belfry of the 
 church are pulled as they were centuries 
 ago; for as soon as the vicar has pro- 
 nounced the benediction, five Selborne 
 men grasp the ropes and pull with a will, 
 and the chimes ring into the peaceful land- 
 scape. Beside the weather-beaten church- 
 tower stands the venerable tenant of the 
 cemetery, a yew-tree so old that it is re- 
 spectfully mentioned in the Domesday 
 Book. Tradition gives it twelve hundred 
 years ; and amazingly young and vigorous 
 it looks, and its mighty branches make a 
 grateful shade on a summer's day ; and, 
 sitting on the bench about its gnarled 
 trunk, somehow one feels that to lie under 
 a lichen-grown stone, with the summer 
 sun beating the waving grass on the gentle 
 slope towards the Lythe, within the sound 
 of a bird singing joyously in the old chest- 
 nut-tree and the passing patter of a child's 
 little feet, might not be the saddest of 
 fates. On the north side of the church 
 lie,s Gilbert White under a moss-grown 
 head-stone, the long grass swaying lightly, 
 just as he would have wished, with no 
 futile word to praise him. Some one has 
 suggested a nice new monument for the 
 old naturalist — think of it ! So far, thank 
 Heaven! his grave has mercifully been 
 spared that fatal honor. — Lane, Mrs. 
 John, 1899, The Home of Gilbert White of 
 Selborne^ Lippincotfs Magazine, vol. 64, 
 p. 593. 
 
 On the 26th an express messenger was 
 sent to Salisbury for Dr. John White. He 
 posted to Selborne at once, but can hardly 
 have found his uncle alive ; since on the 
 latter day the White family lost its amia- 
 ble head; Selborne a highly respected 
 neighbour; and the world a singularly 
 observant and original naturalist. What 
 is the happy life ? It is a true, if trite, 
 saying that few men attain their ideal of 
 a career in life; or, having attained it, 
 realise that it is the ideal career. But 
 the man who lay dead at Selborne, fasci- 
 nated from boyhood by the study of Na- 
 ture, had longed for life and leisure in 
 his wild, woodland, native country — not 
 from any merely indolent wish to shirk the 
 
 responsibilities of life, to cope with which 
 he was by character and attainments amply 
 equipped — of him it may be truly said 
 that he had realised his ideal, and as much 
 as any man had lived a happy life. — 
 Holt-White, Kashleigh, 1901, The Life 
 and Letters of Gilbert White of Selborne, 
 vol. 11, p. 271. 
 
 THE NATURAL HISTORY AND AN- 
 TIQUITIES OF SELBORNE 
 1781) 
 
 The I Natural History | and | Antiqui- 
 ties I of I Selborne, | in the | County of 
 Southampton : | with | Engravings, and an 
 Appendix. London : | printed by T. Bens- 
 ley ; I for B. White and Son, at Horace's 
 Head, Fleet Street. | M. DCC, LXXXIX. 
 — Title Page to First Edition. 
 
 If this author should be thought by any 
 to have been too minute in his researches, 
 be it remembered that his studies have 
 been in the great book of nature. It 
 must be confessed, that the economy of 
 the several kinds of crickets, and the dis- 
 tinction between the stock-dove and the 
 ring-dove, are humble pursuits, and will 
 be esteemed trivial by many ; perhaps by 
 some to be objects of ridicule. However, 
 before we condemn any pursuits which 
 contribute so much to health by calling us 
 abroad, let us consider how the studious 
 have employed themselves in their closets. 
 In a former century, the minds of the 
 learned were engaged in determining 
 whether the name of the Roman poet should 
 be spelt V ergilius or Virgilius ; and the 
 number of letters in the name of Shakes- 
 pear still remains a matter of much solic- 
 itude and criticism. Nor can we but 
 think that the conjectures about the mi- 
 gration of Hirundines are fully as inter- 
 esting as the Chattertonian controversy. — 
 Wpiite, Thomas, 1789, Gentleman's Mag- 
 azine. 
 
 One of the most delightful books in the 
 English language ! — Knight, Charles, 
 1847-48, Half-Hours with the best Authors. 
 
 No lover of the country or of country- 
 things can pass him by without cordial 
 recognition and genial praise. There is 
 not so much of incident or of adventure in 
 his little book as would suffice to pepper 
 the romances of one issue of a weekly 
 paper in our day. The literary mecha- 
 nicians would find in him no artful contriv- 
 ance of parts and no rhetorical jangle of 
 
150 
 
 GILBERT WHITE 
 
 language. It is only good Parson White, 
 who, wandering about the fields and the 
 brook-sides of Selborne, scrutinizes with 
 rare clearness and patience a thousand 
 miracles of God's providence, in trees, in 
 flowers, in stones, in birds, — and jots 
 down the story of his scrutiny with such 
 simplicity, such reverent trust in His 
 power and goodness, such loving fondness 
 for almost every created thing, that the 
 reading of it charms like Walton's story 
 of the fishes. We Americans, indeed, do 
 not altogether recognize his chaffinches 
 and his titlarks ; his daws and his fern-owl 
 are strange to us ; and his robin-redbreast, 
 though undoubtedly the same which in 
 our nursery-days flitted around the dead 
 Children in the Wood" . . . Not- 
 withstanding, however, the dissimilarity 
 of species, the studies of this old natural- 
 ist are directed with a nice particularity, 
 and are colored with an unaffected homeli- 
 ness, which are very charming; and I 
 never hear the first whisk of a swallow's 
 wing in summer but I feel an inclination 
 to take down the booklet of the good old 
 Parson, drop into my library-chair, and 
 follow up at my leisure all the gyrations 
 and flutterings and incubations of all the 
 hirundines of Selborne. Every country- 
 liver should own the book, and be taught 
 from it — nicety of observation. — Mitch- 
 ell, Donald G., 1864, Wet Days at 
 Edgewood, pp. 262, 263. 
 
 One of the most delightful books in my 
 father's library was White's "Natural His- 
 tory of Selborne. ' ' For me it has rather 
 gained in charm with years. 1 used to 
 read it without knowing the secret of the 
 pleasure I found in it, but as I grow older 
 I begin to detect some of the simple ex- 
 pedients of this natural magic. Open the 
 book where you will, it takes you out of 
 doors. In our broiling July weather one 
 can walk out with this genially garrulous 
 Fellow of Oriel and find refreshment in- 
 stead of fatigue. You have no trouble in 
 keeping abreast of him as he ambles along 
 on his hobby-horse, now pointing to a 
 pretty view, now stopping to watch the 
 motions of a bird or an insect, or to bag 
 a specimen for the Honourable Daines 
 Barrington or Mr. Pennant. In simplicity 
 of taste and natural refinement he reminds 
 one of Walton ; in tenderness toward what 
 he would have called the brute creation, 
 of Cowper. I do not know whether his 
 
 descriptions of scenery are good or not, 
 but they have made me familiar with his 
 neighborhood. Since I first read him, 
 I have w^alked over some of his favorite 
 haunts, but I still see them through his 
 eyes rather than by any recollection of 
 actual and personal vision. The book has 
 also the delightfulness of absolute leisure. 
 Mr. White seems never to have had any 
 harder work to do than to study the habits 
 of his feathered fellow-townsfolk, or to 
 watch the ripening of his peaches on the 
 wall. No doubt he looked after the souls 
 of his parishioners with official and even 
 friendly interest, but, I cannot help sus- 
 pecting, with a less personal so-licitude. 
 — ^Lowell, James Russell, 1869-90, My 
 Garden Acquaintance, Prose Works, River- 
 side ed., vol. Ill, p. 192. 
 
 The work of the Selborne naturalist be- 
 longs to the class of books that one must 
 discover for himself : their quality is not 
 patent ; he that runs may not read them. 
 Like certain fruits they leave a lingering 
 flavor in the mouth that is much better 
 than the first taste promised. In some 
 congenial mood or lucky moment you find 
 them out. . . . There was no other 
 book of any merit like it for nearly a hun- 
 dred years. It contains a great deal of 
 good natural history and acute observa- 
 tions upon various rural subjects, put up 
 in a cheap and portable form. The con- 
 temporary works of Pennant are volumi- 
 nous and costly, — heavy sailing-craft that 
 come to port only in the great libraries, 
 while this is a nimble light-draught vessel 
 that has found a harbor on nearly every 
 man's book-shelf. Hence we say that 
 while it is not one of the great books, it 
 is one of the very real books, one of the 
 very live books, and has met and supplied 
 a tangible want in the English reading 
 world. It does not appeal to a large class 
 of readers, and yet no library is complete 
 without it. It is valuable as a storehouse 
 of facts, it is valuable as a treatise on the 
 art of observing things, and it is valuable 
 for its sweetness and charm of style. 
 — Burroughs, John, 1889, Gilbert White's 
 Book, Indoor Studies, pp. 162, 164. 
 
 White's book has taken possession of 
 the English mind as securely as the 
 Complete Angler," or even as ''Robin- 
 son Crusoe." At the distance of a century 
 one may well ask why this is so, and what 
 has given the book its enduring quality. 
 
GILBERT WHITE 
 
 151 
 
 . . . He was White of Selborne, 
 not White of Oxford. If natural history 
 has lost anything by his want of adven- 
 ture, it has after all gained more; for 
 the unique value of his book is mainly 
 due to the persistence with which he 
 followed his own instinct, and to the 
 complete ease and isolation in which his 
 acute mind worked at home. . . . 
 Though his records are confined to his own 
 district, White's conception of the work 
 of the naturalist was as broad and rational 
 as that of Aristotle. He took mankind 
 into his view, and nothing escaped him 
 that was worth recording of the economy, 
 the superstitions, the language, of the 
 people who lived around him. — Fowler, 
 W. Warde, 1893, Gilbert White of Sel- 
 borne, Macmillan's Magazine, vol. 68, pp. 
 183, 184, 187. 
 
 To the majority of those who do not 
 know him personally, a perusal of the vol- 
 ume, it is not improbable, would prove 
 somewhat of a disappointment. For de- 
 spite the praise it has received and justly 
 merits, it is a book unlikely to please the 
 average reader, — the less so if he is not 
 an ardent orinthologist or zoologist. 
 Embracing mineralogy, zoology, meteorol- 
 ogy, orinthology, etomology, and botany, 
 with constant reference to aetiology, it 
 may be termed a cyclopaedia of English 
 natural history, presented in epistolary 
 form. ... Strictly speaking, Gil- 
 bert White was not a poet or an idyllist, 
 but rather an observer and investigator, 
 with a strong trend toward science in its 
 less arid and technical forms. And yet 
 he possesses an unquestionable charm of 
 his own, apart from that of a mere scien- 
 tific recorder, — if the reader be but sym- 
 pathetic and responsive to the spell. . . . 
 Yet although he may not be termed an 
 idyllist, his book deserves to be classed 
 among country idyls, if only for its reflex 
 character in having fostered a closer ac- 
 quaintanceship with outward Nature, — a 
 work that has paved the way to Jesse, 
 Kingsley, Thoreau, Jefferies, Burroughs, 
 and Gibson, and the choir that has hailed 
 the sun upon the upland lawn. It has 
 taught when and how to observe, and 
 made us more responsive to a life that 
 enters into intimate relationship with our 
 own. It is as such that White deserves 
 lasting recognition, apart from his valua- 
 ble labours as a naturalist during his own 
 
 generation. . . . Re-reading ''Sel- 
 borne," one comes to appreciate it the 
 more, and to perceive in the letters of 
 the learned Hampshire parson those qual- 
 ities that one must ever cherish in fond 
 regard. Its fresh and simple style, its 
 modest, unassuming grace cling to and 
 permeate its leaves like the fragrance of 
 the ferny lanes and shade of the beech- 
 woods it leads to. To remember it is to 
 enter a region of rest and quietude, with 
 nothing more important than to watch the 
 churn-owl's flight and hearken to the 
 cricket's cry. And if read in the right 
 mood, it will, after all, seem eminently 
 deserving of being classed among rustic 
 idyllia, and returned to the library shelves 
 to be enshrined with Theocritus and ''The 
 Georgics."— Ellwanger, George H., 
 1895, Idyllists of the Country-Side, pp. 
 48, 52, 54, 80. 
 
 His seeing eye and gentle heart are 
 imaged in his fresh and happy style. — 
 Brooke, Stopford A., 1896, English 
 Literature, p. 200. 
 
 That White's "Selborne" is the only 
 work on natural history which has attained 
 the rank of an English classic is admitted 
 by general acclamation, as well as by 
 competent critics, and numerous have 
 been the attempts to discover the secret 
 of its ever-growing reputation. Scarcely 
 two of them agree, and no explanation 
 whatever offered of the charm which in- 
 vests it can be accepted as in itself satis- 
 factory. If we grant what is partially 
 true, and that it was the first book of its 
 kind to appear in this country, and there- 
 fore had no rivals to encounter before its 
 reputation was established, we find that 
 alone insufficient to account for the way 
 in which it is still welcomed by thousands 
 of readers, to many of whom — and this 
 especially applies to its American admir- 
 ers—scarcely a plant or an animal men- 
 tioned in it is familiar, or even known 
 but by name. White was a prince among 
 observers, nearly always observing the 
 right thing in the right way, and placing 
 before us in a few words the living being 
 he observed. Of the hundreds of state- 
 ments recorded by White, the number 
 which are undoubtedly mistaken may be 
 counted almost on the fingers of one 
 hand. ... In addition White was 
 "a scholar and a gentleman," and a phi- 
 losopher of no mean depth. But it seems 
 
152 
 
 GILBERT WHITE 
 
 as though the combination of all these 
 qualities would not necessarily give him 
 the unquestioned superiority over all other 
 writers in the same field. The secret of 
 the charm must be sought elsewhere ; but 
 it has been sought in vain. Some have 
 ascribed it to his way of identifying him- 
 self in feeling with the animal kingdom, 
 though to this sympathy there were nota- 
 ble exceptions. Some, like Lowell, set 
 down the "natural magic" of White to 
 the fact that, "open the book where you 
 wall, it takes you out of doors," but the 
 same is to be said of other writers who 
 yet remain comparatively undistinguished. 
 White's style, a certain stiffness charac- 
 teristic of the period being admitted, is 
 eminently unaffected, even when he is "di- 
 dactic, " as he more than once apologises 
 for becoming, and the same simplicity is 
 observable in his letters to members of 
 his family, which could never have been 
 penned with the view of publication, and 
 have never been retouched. Then, too, 
 there is the complete absence of self- 
 importance or self-consciousness. The 
 observation or the remark stands on its 
 own merit, and gains nothing because he 
 happens to be the maker of it, except it 
 be in the tinge of humour that often deli- 
 cately pervades it. The beauties of the 
 work, apart from the way in which they 
 directly appeal to naturalists, as they did 
 to Darwin, grow upon the reader who is 
 not a naturalist, as Lowell testifies, and 
 the more they are studied the more they 
 seem to detect analysis. — Newton, Al- 
 fred, 1900, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. LXI, J). 45. 
 
 I have pondered a hundred times on the 
 wonderful fact that the world should take 
 such a heart-felt interest in the work of 
 a retiring and modest eighteenth-century 
 clergyman ! . . . Apart from West- 
 minster Abbey, Windsor Castle, and other 
 places of historical interest in the British 
 Islands, there is probably no place, save 
 Stratford-on-Avon, to which the pilgrims 
 of the Anglo-Saxon race render more re- 
 spectful tribute than to the lowly head- 
 stone which marks the grave of Gilbert 
 White of Selborne. The occupant of that 
 simple grass-grown grave would probably 
 have been the most astonished of all 
 people in the world could he have realized 
 that his celebrity as an Englishman would 
 have come near to equalling that of 
 
 Shakespeare ; ar there exists at the 
 present date a,' ich affection, among 
 naturalists at Ibaot, for the sayings and 
 doings of Gilbert White as is felt for the 
 records of Shakespeare and his time. — 
 Sharpe, R. Bowdler, 1901, ed., The Nat- 
 ural History and Antiquities of Selborne. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 A I Naturalist's Calendar, | with | Ob- 
 servations in various branches | of | 
 Natural History; | extracted from the 
 papers | of the late | Rev. Gilbert White, 
 M. A. I of Selborne, Hampshire, | Senior 
 Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. | Never 
 before published. | London : | printed for 
 B. and J. White, Horace's Head, | Fleet 
 Street. | 1795.— Title Page to First 
 Edition. 
 
 His Diaries were kept with unremitting 
 diligence ; and in his annual migrations to 
 Oriel College, and other places, his man 
 Thomas, who seems to have been well 
 qualified for the office, recorded the 
 weather journal. The state of the ther- 
 mometer, barometer, and the variations 
 of the wind are noted as well as the quan- 
 tity of rain which fell. We have daily 
 accounts of the weather, whether hot or 
 cold, sunny or cloudy : we have, also in- 
 formation of the first tree in leaf, and 
 even of the appearance of the first fungi, 
 and of the plants first in blossom. We 
 are told when mosses vegetate, and when 
 insects first appear and disappear. There 
 are also remarks with regard to fish and 
 other animals ; with miscellaneous obser- 
 vations and memoranda on various sub- 
 jects. For instance, we are told that on 
 the 21st of June, house-martins, which 
 had laid their eggs in an old nest, had 
 hatched them, and that when this is the 
 case they get the start of those that build 
 new ones by ten days or a fortnight. He 
 speaks with some degree of triumph to 
 having ricked his meadow hay in delicate 
 order, and that Thomas had seen a pole- 
 cat run across his garden. He records 
 the circumstance of boys playing at taw 
 on the Plestor ; and that he had set Gun- 
 nery, one of his bantam hens, on nine of 
 her own eggs. He complains that dogs 
 come in to his garden at night and eat his 
 goose-berries, and gives a useful hint to 
 farmers and others, when he says that 
 rooks and crows destroy an immense num- 
 ber of chaffers, and that were it not for 
 these birds the chaffers would destroy 
 
GILBERT WHITE 
 
 153 
 
 everything. . . . Insignificant as 
 these little details may appear, they were 
 not thought to be so by a man whose 
 mind was evidently stored with considera- 
 ble learning, who possessed a cultivated 
 and elegant taste for what is beautiful in 
 nature, and who has left behind him one 
 of the most delightful works in the Eng- 
 lish language, — a work which will be read 
 as long as that language lasts, and which 
 is equally remarkable for its extreme ac- 
 curacy, its pleasing style, and the agreea- 
 ble and varied information it contains. — 
 Jesse, Edward, 1849, ed.. The Natural 
 History of Selborne, Biography, pp. xv, xvii. 
 
 He had a wide range of knowledge, he was 
 the master of a good Latin style, and he 
 knew the literature of his country well, hav- 
 ing an extensive acquaintance with it, and 
 a keen perception of its spirit. It is very 
 pleasant when the old naturalist stops to 
 point a reflection with a line from the 
 Latin or the British poets. — Nadel, E. 
 S., 1877, White of Selborne, Scrihnefs 
 Monthly, vol. xiii, p. 506. 
 
 Who that lives in this busy, noisy age 
 has not envied the lot of Gilbert White, 
 watching with keen, quiet eyes the little 
 world of Selborne for more than fifty un- 
 eventful years? To a mind so tranquil 
 and a spirit so serene the comings and 
 goings of the old domesticated turtle in 
 the garden were more important than the 
 debates in Parliament. The pulse of the 
 world beat slowly in the secluded hamlet, 
 and the roar of change and revolution, 
 beyond the Channel were only faintly 
 echoed across the peaceful hills. The 
 methodical observer had as much leisure 
 as Nature herself, and could wait patiently 
 on the moods of the seasons for those 
 confidences which he always invited, but 
 which he never forced ; and there grew 
 up a somewhat platonic but very loyal 
 friendship between him and the beautiful 
 rural world about him. How many days 
 of happy observation were his, and with 
 what a sense of leisure his discoveries 
 were set down in English as devoid of 
 artifice or strain or the fever of haste as 
 the calm movements of the seasons regis- 
 tered there ! There was room for enjoy- 
 ment in a life so quietly ordered ; time 
 for meditation and for getting acquainted 
 with one's self. — Mabie, Hamilton 
 Wright, 1894, My Study Fire, Second 
 Series, p. 23. 
 
 White may be regarded as the founder 
 of a new branch of English literature, and 
 few of those who have followed him have 
 had so much to tell, or have succeeded in 
 conveying so much in so short a space. 
 In the narration of the features of events 
 so as to give a clear idea of the details, 
 as well as of the whole, White, in the 
 natural world, shows skill comparable to 
 that of Cowper in the description of his 
 domestic circle and its incidents. The 
 letters of White are less numerous and 
 briefer than those of Cowper, and of 
 somewhat less literary power, but they 
 have the same kind of merit, and while 
 making clear what the writer saw, uncon- 
 sciously furnish a portrait of his own 
 mind.— Moore, Norman, 1895, English 
 Prose, ed. Craik, vol. iv, p. 247. 
 
 Gilbert White strikes us at first only 
 by his homeliness and simplicity, by his 
 lucid and unpretentious narrative, by the 
 sincerity and piety of his unwearied study 
 of nature. But in truth the scholar 
 never forgets his books. The simplicity 
 is the effect of the highest art ; his nar- 
 rative impresses us because it is arranged 
 with the skill of a trained thinker, who 
 never allows his induction to be slovenly 
 or inexact, who knows exactly how to 
 buttress a theory with an unassuming an- 
 ecdote, and who can bring a scientific 
 reminiscence, or a recondite classification, 
 into the midst of the homely story of some 
 everyday incident.— Craik, Henry, 1895, 
 English Prose, Introduction, vol. iv, p. 8. 
 
 Books he shall read in hill and tree ; 
 The flowers his weather shall portend. 
 
 The birds his moralists shall be, 
 And everything his friend. 
 — COURTHOPE, W. J., 1900, Gilbert While. 
 
 Not an aspect or a mood of Nature 
 passed him unnoted, and each, marked 
 by a feature of importance, was stamped 
 with minute particularity upon his reten- 
 tive memory. There was an incessant 
 gathering of incessant facts which had 
 not before been reported for the benefit 
 of science at large. The gentle curate 
 had no means of measuring the value of 
 his investigations. He was following the 
 bent of his inclinations in single-hearted- 
 ness and purity of aim. Love set him on 
 to the work, and the honesty of his mind 
 kept him true to the performance of it. — 
 Hubbard, Sara A., 1901, Gilbert White 
 ofSelhorne, The Dial, vol. 30, p. 304. 
 
154 
 
 William Robertson 
 
 1721-1793 
 
 Born, at Borthwick, Midlothian, 19 Sept., 1721. Early education at Borthwick par- 
 ish school and at Dalkeith Grammar School. To Edinburgh Univ., 1733. Licensed 
 by Presbytery as preacher, June, 1741. Minister of Gladsmuir, 1743. Served in 
 volunteers against Pretender's army, 1745. Mem. of General Assembly, 1746. Mar- 
 ried Mary Nisbet, 1751. Part ed. of "Edinburgh Rev.," 1755. Visit to London, 
 1758. Minister of Lady Tester's Chapel, Edinburgh, June 1758 to April 1761. 
 Created D. D., Edinburgh, 1758. Chaplain of Stiring Castle, 1759. Minister of Old 
 Greyfriars, Edinburgh, April, 176L Chaplain to the King, Aug. 1761. Principal 
 of Edinburgh Univ., 1762-92. Moderator of General Assembly, 1763-80. Mem. of 
 Royal Acad, of History, Madrid, Aug. 1777. Mem. of Acad, of Science, Padua, 178L 
 Mem. of Imperial Acad., St. Petersburg, 1783. Historiographer for Scotland, 6 Aug. 
 1783. Died at Grange House, near Edinburgh, 11 June, 1793. Works: "The 
 Situation of the World at the time of Christ's Appearance," 1755; "History of Scot- 
 land" (2 vols.), 1759; "History of the Reign of the Emperor Charles V." (3 vols.), 
 1769; "History of America" (2 vols.), 1777 ; "Historical Disquisition concerning the 
 Knowledge which the Ancients had of India," 1791. Collected Works: in 12 vols., 
 ed. by Dugald Stewart, with memoir, 1817; in 11 vols., ed. by R. A. Davenport, with 
 memoir, 1824.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 2A0. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 His speeches in church courts were ad- 
 mired by those whom they did not con- 
 vince, and acquired and preserved him an 
 influence over a majority in them, which 
 none before him enjoyed: though his 
 measures were sometimes new, and 
 warmly, and with great strength of argu- 
 ment opposed, both from the press, and in 
 the general assembly. To this influence 
 many causes contributed : his firm adher- 
 ence to the general principles of church 
 policy, which he early adopted ; his sagac- 
 ity in forming plans; his steadiness in 
 executing them ; his quick discernment of 
 whatever might hinder or promote his 
 designs; his boldness in encountering 
 difliculties; his presence of mind in im- 
 proving every occasional advantage ; the 
 address with which, when he saw it nec- 
 essary, he could make an honorable re- 
 treat ; and his skill in stating a vote, and 
 seizing the favorable moment for ending 
 a debate, and urging a decision. He 
 guided and governed others, without 
 seeming to assume any superiority over 
 them. . . . Deliberate in forming 
 his judgment, but, when formed, not 
 easily moved to renounce it, he sometimes 
 viewed the altered plans of others with 
 too suspicious an eye. Hence, there were 
 able and worthy men, of whom he ex- 
 pressed himself less favorably, and whose 
 latter appearances in church judicatories, 
 he censured as inconsistent with princi- 
 ples which they had formerly professed ; 
 
 while they maintained, that the system of 
 managing church affairs was changed, not 
 their opinions or conduct. Still, how- 
 ever, keen and determined opposition to 
 his schemes of ecclesiastical policy, 
 neither extinguished his esteem, nor for- 
 feited his friendly offices, when he saw 
 opposition carried on without rancor, and 
 when he believed that it originated from 
 conscience and principle, not from per- 
 sonal animosity, or envy, or ambition. — 
 Erskine, John, 1793, Funeral Sermon, 
 Discourses, p. 271. 
 
 He delighted in good-natured, charac- 
 teristical anecdotes of his acquaintance, 
 and added powerfully to their effect by 
 his own enjoyment in relating them. He 
 was, in a remarkable degree, susceptible 
 of the ludicrous ; but, on no occasion did 
 he forget the dignity of his character, or 
 the decorum of his profession ; nor did he 
 even lose sight of that classical taste 
 which adorned his compositions. His turn 
 of expression was correct and pure ; some- 
 times, perhaps, inclining more than is ex- 
 pected in the carelessness of a social hour, 
 to formal and artificial periods; but it 
 was stamped with his own manner no less 
 than his premediated style : it was always 
 the language of a superior and a cultivated 
 mind, and it embellished every subject on 
 which he spoke. In the company of 
 strangers, he increased his exertions to 
 amuse and to inform ; and the splendid 
 variety of his conversation was commonly 
 the chief circumstance on which they 
 
WILLIAM ROBERTSON. 
 
 155 
 
 dwelt in enumerating his talents ; and yet, 
 I must acknowledge, for my own part, 
 that, much as I always admired his powers 
 when they were thus called forth, I en- 
 joyed his society less, than when I saw him 
 in the circle of his intimates, or in the 
 bosom of his family. ... In point 
 of stature Dr. Robertson was rather above 
 the middle size ; and his form though it 
 did not convey the idea of much activity, 
 announced vigor of body and a healthful 
 constitution. His features were regular 
 and manly; and his eye spoke at once 
 good sense and good humor. He appeared 
 to greatest advantage in his complete 
 clerical dress ; and was more remarkable 
 for gravity and dignity in discharging the 
 functions of his public stations, than for 
 ease or grace in private society. — Stew- 
 art, DuGALD, 1796-1801, Account of the 
 Life and Writings of William Robertson. 
 
 The history of the author is the history 
 of the individual, excepting as regards 
 his private life and his personal habits: 
 these were in the most perfect degree 
 dignified and pure. Without anything of 
 harshness or fanaticism, he was rationally 
 pious and blamelessly moral. His con- 
 duct, both as a christian minister, as a 
 member of society, as a relation, and as 
 a friend, was wholly without a stain. His 
 affections were warm ; they were ever 
 under control, and therefore equal and 
 steady. . . . His conversation was 
 cheerfiil, and it was varied. Vast in- 
 formation, copious anecdote, perfect ap- 
 positeness of illustration, — narration or 
 description wholly free from pedantry or 
 stiffness, but as felicitous and as striking 
 as might be expected from such a master, 
 — great liveliness, and often wit, and often 
 humour, with a full disposition to enjoy 
 the merriment of the hour, but the most 
 scrupulous absence of every thing like 
 coarseness of any description, — these 
 formed the staples of his talk. . . . 
 His very decided opinions on all subjects 
 of public interest, civil and religious, 
 never interrupted his friendly and famil- 
 iar intercourse with those who held dif- 
 ferent principles. . . . His manner 
 was not graceful in little matters, though 
 his demeanour was dignified on the whole. 
 — Brougham, Henry Lord, 1845-6, Lives 
 of Men of Letters of the Time of George III. 
 
 Dr. Robertson was a Christian in char- 
 acter, and therefore a gentleman in his 
 
 manners ; he did not think himself bound 
 to treat an unbeliever, who never insulted 
 his faith, as a profane and graceless 
 enemy of man. Though he was firm, or 
 perhaps we should say because he was firm, 
 in his own conviction, he could look upon 
 one whose opinions were different without 
 the least feeling of hatred and revenge ; 
 in which respects he had the advantage of 
 some over-zealous Christians, both in the 
 peace and happiness of his own temper, 
 and in the influence he exerted to bring 
 unbelieving wanderers home. — Peabody, 
 W. B. 0., 1845, Brougham's Lives of Men 
 of Letters and Science, North American 
 Review, vol. 61, p. 405. 
 
 Principal Robertson and his family were 
 very intimate with the family of my 
 father. ... He was a pleasant- 
 looking old man; with an eye of great 
 vivacity and intelligence, a large, pro- 
 jecting chin, a small hearing-trumpet 
 fastened by a black ribbon to a button- 
 hole of his coat, and a rather large wig, 
 powdered and curled. He struck us boys, 
 even from the side-table, as being evi- 
 dently fond of a good dinner, at which he 
 sat with his chin near his plate, intent 
 upon the real business of the occasion. 
 This appearance, however, must have been 
 produced partly by his deafness ; because, 
 when his eye told him that there was 
 something interesting, it was delightful 
 to observe the animation with which he 
 instantly applied his trumpet, when, hav- 
 ing caught the scent, he followed it up, 
 and was the leader of the pack. — Cock- 
 burn, Henry Lord, 1854-56, Memorials 
 of his Time, ch. i 
 
 On 26 May 1763 he was elected mod- 
 erator of the general assembly, the ad- 
 ministration of which he continued to 
 direct with a firm hand for upwards of 
 sixteen years. As a manager of the 
 business of the general assembly, he ac- 
 quired an influence greater than any mod- 
 erator since Andrew Melville. By him 
 were laid the foundations of that sys- 
 tem of polity — the independence of the 
 church as opposed to a fluctuating depend- 
 ence upon the supposed views of the gov- 
 ernment of the day, the exaction of obedi- 
 ence by the inferior judicatories, and the 
 enforcement of the law of patronage, ex- 
 cept in flagrant cases of erroneous doctrine 
 or immoral conduct — by means of which 
 peace and unity were preserved in the 
 
156 
 
 WILLIAM ROBERTSON 
 
 Scottish church until a new principle was 
 established by the assembly of 1834. 
 Despite a zealous and able opposition, 
 Robertson's statemanship, skill as a de- 
 bater, and high character gave him para- 
 mount influence over "the moderates," and 
 rendered his power over all parties irre- 
 sistible. ... In Robertson's as in 
 Gibbons domestic life, pomposity was but 
 skin deep. ... He was very fond of 
 claret.— Seccombe, Thomas, 1896, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, vol. XLVIII, 
 pp. 427, 429. 
 
 Dr. Robertson lived till he became 
 Principal in a house at the head of the 
 Cowgate, now the most squalid of Edin- 
 burgh squalid districts. There he kept 
 boarders, like most city ministers and pro- 
 fessors in those impecunious days, for 
 English noblemen were in the habit of 
 sending their sons to Edinburgh for the 
 efficient and sedate college training they 
 could not get at Oxford or Cambridge. 
 In society he was prominent, as befitted 
 his position of importance. Courteous 
 and pleasing, with his bland and intelli- 
 gent face and keen eyes, his presence gave 
 an air of propriety to any company, as he 
 sat in his well-fitting garments, his prim 
 clerical bands, his legs crossed, displaying 
 the neatest of silver-buckled shoes. His 
 talk, agreeable but rather too instructive, 
 came forth in strong Scots tongue, with 
 a fluency which at times was too flowing 
 for those who wished to speak as well as 
 he. Friends rather resented his propen- 
 sity, which increased with years, to lead 
 the talk, and they murmured that when- 
 ever the cloth was removed after dinner 
 and the wine appeared on the shining 
 mahogany, the doctor would settle him- 
 self with deliberation in his chair, intro- 
 duce some topic, and discourse thereon 
 till general talk ceased. He would take 
 the opinions and thoughts that his friends 
 uttered yesterday and present them in 
 elegant paraphrase — "the greatest pla- 
 giary in conversation that I ever knew," 
 says "Jupiter" Carlyle. His admiring 
 biographer, Dugald Stewart, hints deli- 
 cately at such colloquial defects, speak- 
 ing of "his formal and artificial periods, 
 the language of a strong and superior 
 mind, which embellished every subject." 
 —Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish 
 Men of Letters in the Eighteenth Century, 
 p. 92.' 
 
 THE SITUATION OF THE WORLD AT 
 THE TIME OF CHRIST'S 
 APPEARANCE 
 
 1755 
 
 This sermon, the only one he ever pub- 
 lished, has been long ranked, in both 
 parts of the Island, among the best models 
 of pulpit eloquence in our language. It 
 has undergone five editions , and is well 
 known, in some parts of the continent, in 
 the German translation of Mr. Ebeling. — 
 Stewart, Dugald, 1796-1801, Account 
 of the Life and Writings of William Rob- 
 ertson. 
 
 This view of the question may derive 
 confirmation, or at least illustration, from 
 comparing Gibbon's two chapters with 
 Dr. Robertson's "Sermon on the state of 
 the world at the time of the appearance 
 of Christ." The sound and rational ob- 
 servations of the reverend historian on 
 certain facilities afforded to the diffusion- 
 of the gospel by the previous state of the 
 public mind, and of public affairs, in the 
 hands of Gibbon, or of any other author 
 more disposed to sneer than to argue can- 
 didly on such subjects, would admit of a 
 perversion nearly similar to that given to 
 the accidental causes which he has enu- 
 merated; while several of Gibbon's nat- 
 ural causes, changing the offensive lan- 
 guage in which they are conveyed, might 
 fairly have been expounded, as perfectly 
 true and efficient, from any pulpit. — 
 Mackintosh, Sir James, 1805, Journal, 
 April 25 ; Life, ed. Mackintosh, vol. i, ch. 
 V, note. 
 
 The subject of the sermon is one pecul- 
 iarly suited to his habits of inquiry. 
 . . . The merits of this piece, as a 
 sermon, are very great ; and it is admira- 
 ble as an historical composition, in that 
 department which Voltaire first extended 
 to all the records of past times. It was 
 written and published before the appear- 
 ance of the *'Essai sur les Moeurs," 
 though as has been already said, detached 
 portions of that work had appeared in a 
 Paris periodical work.— Brougham,Henry 
 Lord, 1845-6, Lives of Men of Letters of 
 the Time of George III. 
 
 HISTORY OF SCOTLAND 
 
 1759 
 
 David Hume so far indulged my patience 
 as to allow me to carry to the country 
 during the holidays the loose sheets which 
 he happened to have by him. In that 
 
WILLIAM ROBERTSON 
 
 157 
 
 condition I read it quite through with the 
 greatest satisfaction, and in much less 
 time than I ever employed on any portion 
 of history of the same length. . . . 
 Your work will certainly be ranked in the 
 highest historical class ; and, for my own 
 part, I think it, besides, a composition of 
 uncommon genius and eloquence. — Elliot, 
 Gilbert, 1759, Letter to Dr. Robertson, 
 Jan. 20th. 
 
 I have not heard of one who does not 
 praise it warmly. . . . Must fatigue 
 your ears, as much as ours are in this 
 place [London] by endless and repeated 
 and noisy praises of the "History of Scot- 
 land." . . . Mallet told me that 
 Lord Mansfield is at a loss whether he 
 shall most esteem the matter or the style. 
 Elliot told me, that being in company 
 with George Grenville, that gentleman was 
 speaking loud in the same key. . . . 
 Lord Lyttelton seems to think that since 
 the time of St. Paul there scarce has been 
 a better writer than Dr. Robertson. Mr. 
 Walpole triumphs in the success of his 
 favourites the Scotch. — Hume, David, 
 1759, Letter to Robertson. 
 
 Having finished the first volume, and 
 made a little progress in the second, I 
 cannot stay till I have finished the latter 
 to tell you how exceedingly I admire the 
 work. ... In short. Sir, I don't 
 know where or what history is written 
 with more excellences; and when I say 
 this, you may be sure I do not forget your 
 impartiality. — Walpole, Horace, 1759, 
 To Dr. Robertson; Letters, ed. Cunning- 
 ham, vol. Ill, p. 202. 
 
 Upon my word, 1 was never more enter- 
 tained in all my life ; and, though I read 
 it aloud to a friend and Mrs. Garrick, I 
 finished the three first books at two sit- 
 tings. I could not help writing to Millar 
 and congratulating him upon this great 
 acquisition to his literary treasures. — 
 Garrick, David, 1759, Letter to Dr. 
 Robertson. 
 
 I have received and read with great 
 pleasure the new ''History of Scotland," 
 and will not wait for the judgment of the 
 public to pronounce it a very excellent 
 work. From the author's apparent love 
 of civil and religious liberty, I suppose, 
 that were it not for fear of offence (which 
 every wise man in his situation would fear 
 to give) he would have spoken with much 
 
 more freedom of the hierarchical princi- 
 ples of the infant church of Scotland. — 
 Warburton, William, 1759, Letter to 
 Mr. Millar. 
 
 I am very proud of being instrumental 
 in contributing to the translation [by 
 J. B. Suard], of the valuable work you are 
 going to publish. The excellent work you 
 have published already is a sure sign of 
 th e reception your ' ' History of Charles V. ' ' 
 will meet with in the continent. — D'HoL- 
 BACH, Baron, 1768, Letter to Dr. Robert- 
 son, May 30. 
 
 The fourteenth edition of your ''Scot- 
 land" will be published in the course of 
 the winter, during which it is our inten- 
 tion to advertise all your works strongly 
 in all the papers. And we have the satis- 
 faction of informing you that, if w^e may 
 judge by the sale of your writings, your 
 literary reputation is daily increasing. — 
 Strahan, Andrew, 1792, To Dr. Robert- 
 son, Nov. 19. 
 
 I think the merit of Robertson consists 
 in a certain even and well-supported tenour 
 of good sense and elegance. There is a 
 formality and demureness in his manner, 
 his elegance has a primness, and his dig- 
 nity a stiffness, which remind one of the 
 politeness of an old maid of quality stand- 
 ing on all her punctilios of propriety and 
 prudery. These peculiarities are most 
 conspicuous in his introductory book. As 
 we advance, his singular power of inter- 
 esting narrative prevails over every defect. 
 His reflections are not uncommon; his 
 views of character and society imply only 
 sound sense. . . . During the trial 
 of Dustergool, my mind was full of Mary, 
 Queen of Scots, in whose history I had just 
 read, for the thousandth time, efforts 
 more successful than those of the Arme- 
 nian Mary, by a vicious and beautiful wife, 
 to murder a bad husband. As soon as 
 Mary gets into England, Robertson is 
 tempted, by the interest of his story, 
 into constant partiality to her. Her abil- 
 ities are exaggerated to make her story 
 more romantic : she w^as a weak girl of 
 elegant accomplishments. — Mackintosh, 
 Sir James, 1811, Journal, July 13 and 
 16, Life, vol. II, ch. ii. 
 
 His "History of Scotland" is doubtless, 
 by far, the most popular history extant. 
 — DiBDiN, Thomas Frognall, 1824, The 
 Library Companion, note, p. 271. 
 
158 
 
 WILLIAM ROBERTSON 
 
 The History of Scotland," the only one 
 of his works which approaches the per- 
 fect plan of a history, is the best of his 
 productions, the most interesting, and the 
 most naturally written. Although he 
 asserts that he was ten years engaged on 
 it, the size of the work would hardly 
 seem to require so much labor. It hardly 
 exceeds nine hundred pages octavo, and 
 in order to swell it to two volumes he was 
 obliged to add, afterwards, by a few 
 months' labor, a large body of notes. He 
 was always fond of referring to many 
 authorities, and was careful in his re- 
 searches; yet he seldom discovered any 
 new facts and does little more than relate 
 gracefully the more interesting portions 
 of a well-known narrative. — Lawrence, 
 Eugene, 1855, The Lives of the British 
 Historians, vol. I, p. 360. 
 
 In the following year, the reading pub- 
 lic — especially the literary men of Lon- 
 don — were electrified by the appearance 
 of "A History of Scotland" from this un- 
 known minister's pen. Dealing with the 
 reigns of Mary Stuart and her son, down 
 to the accession of the latter to the Eng- 
 lish throne, he described, in pure, pathetic, 
 and dignified language, the sorrows of that 
 wretched Scotchwoman with a French soul, 
 who saw so little of Holyrood and so much 
 of English jails. He stands midway be- 
 tween those who believe her to have been a 
 beautiful martyr, and those who brand her 
 as a beautiful criminal. Agreeing with all 
 writers as to the great loveliness of this 
 beheaded Scottish queen, he considers 
 that the intensity and long continuance of 
 the sorrows, darkening over her whole 
 life until the bloody catastrophe of Foth- 
 eringay, have blinded us to her faults, and 
 that we therefore approve of our tears, 
 as if they were shed for a person who had 
 attained much nearer to pure virtue." — 
 Collier, William Francis, 1861, A His- 
 tory of English Literature, p. 330. 
 
 Notwithstanding the immense mate- 
 rials which have been brought to light 
 since the time of Robertson, his ''History 
 of Scotland" is still vauable; because he 
 possessed a grasp of mind which enabled 
 him to embrace general views, that escape 
 ordinary compilers, however industrious 
 they may be. — Buckle, Henry Thomas, 
 1862-66, History of Civilization in Eng- 
 land, vol. Ill, ch. I, note. 
 
 Hume criticised some peculiarities of 
 
 Robertson's vocabulary. But, after all 
 deductions, the purity of Robertson's 
 English cannot be seriously impugned. 
 He modelled his style upon Swift, after 
 exhaustively studying that of Livy and 
 Tactius. By way of practice in the writ- 
 ing of English he had, long before the 
 appearance of his ''History," prepared 
 a translation of Marcus Aurelius, the 
 manuscript of which belonged to Lord 
 Brougham. Later and more exhaustive 
 methods of research have deprived Robert- 
 son's "History" of most of its historical 
 value. But its sobriety, fairness, and liter- 
 ary character give it a permanent interest 
 to a student of the evolution of historical 
 composition. — Seccombe, Thomas, 1896, 
 Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 
 XLvni, p. 426. 
 
 CHARLES V. 
 
 1769 
 
 I got yesterday from Strahan about 
 thirty sheets of your history to be sent 
 over to Suard. ... To say only that 
 they are very well written is by far too 
 faint an expression, and much inferior to 
 the sentiments I feel : they are composed 
 with nobleness, with dignity, with ele- 
 gance, and with judgment to which there 
 are few equals. They even excel, and, I 
 think, in a sensible degree, your "History 
 of Scotland." I propose to myself great 
 pleasure in being the only man in England 
 during some months who will be in the 
 situation of doing you justice, after 
 which you may certainly expect that my 
 voice will be drowned in that of the pub- 
 lic— Hume, David, 1769, Letter to Dr, 
 Robertson. 
 
 I think that the historian of Mary, 
 Queen of Scots, cannot fail to do justice 
 to any great subject. ... Go on, 
 dear sir, to enrich the English language 
 with more traits of modern history. — 
 Lyttelton, Lord, 1769, Letter to Dr. 
 Robertson. 
 
 Robertson is your Livy; his "Charles 
 V." is written with truth. — Voltaire, 
 Franqois Marie Arouet, 1778? Martin 
 Sherlock's Letters from an English Traveller. 
 
 Finished the 1st vol. of Robertson's 
 "Charles the Fifth," obeying the refer- 
 ences to proofs and illustrations. I am 
 confounded at the immense researches 
 which furnished material for this prelim- 
 inary volume. — Green, Thomas, 1779- 
 1810, Diary of a Lover of Literature. 
 
WILLIAM ROBERTSON 
 
 159 
 
 Robertson, if he had applied to Mon- 
 sieur Gerard of Brussels, keeper of the 
 archives, and many other persons in the 
 Austrian Netherlands, might have pro- 
 cured documents and information which 
 would have rendered the "History of 
 Italy" something more than a bare splen- 
 did relation of facts already known to 
 every common historical reader. — Thick- 
 NESSE, Philip, 1792? Journey through the 
 Austrian Netherlands, vol. ill, p. 53. 
 
 In no part of Dr. Robertson's works has 
 he displayed more remarkably than in 
 this introductory volume, his patience in 
 research ; his penetration and good sense 
 in selecting his information ; or that com- 
 prehension of mind, which, without being 
 misled by system, can combine with dis- 
 tinctness and taste the dry and scattered 
 details of ancient monuments. In truth, 
 this dissertation, under the unassuming 
 title of an Introduction to the "History 
 of Charles V." may be regarded as an in- 
 troduction to the History of Modern 
 Europe. It is invaluable, in this respect, 
 to the historical student ; and it suggests, 
 in every page, matter of speculation to 
 the politician and the philosopher. — 
 Stewart, Dugald, 1796-1801, Account 
 of the Life and Writings of William Rob- 
 ertson. 
 
 The subject of private warfare is treated 
 so exactly and perspicuously by Robert- 
 son, that I should only waste the reader's 
 * time by dwelling so long upon it as its 
 extent and importance would otherwise 
 demand. Few leading passages in the 
 monuments of the middle ages, relative 
 to this subject, have escaped the penetra- 
 ting eye of that historian ; and they are 
 arranged so well as to form a compre- 
 hensive treatise in small compass. — Hal- 
 lam, Henry, 1818-48, View of the State 
 of Europe During the Middle Ages, ch. ii, 
 pt. II, note. 
 
 Robertson's State of Europe in his 
 ''Charles the Fifth" is another of my 
 great favourites ; it contains an epitome 
 of information. Such works . . . are 
 the railroads to learning. — Byron, Lord, 
 1823-34, Countess of Blessington's Conver- 
 sations with Byron. 
 
 Robertson received four thousand and 
 five hundred pounds for the "History of 
 Charles V. ;" and it is no disrespect to 
 the memory of Robertson to say that the 
 
 " History of Charles V." is both a less val- 
 uable and a less amusing book than the 
 "Lives of the Poets." — Macaulay, 
 Thomas Babington, 1843, Samuel John- 
 son, Critical and Historical Essays. 
 
 The first volume of his "Charles V." 
 may justly be regarded as the greatest 
 step which the human mind had yet made 
 in the philosophy of history. Extending 
 his views beyond the admirable survey 
 which Montesquieu had given of the rise 
 and decline of the Roman Empire, he 
 aimed at giving a view of the progress of 
 society in modern times. — Alison, Sir 
 Archibald, 1844, Guizot, Blackwood's 
 Magazine, vol. 56, p. 790. 
 
 For the "History of Charles V." Rob- 
 ertson received £4500, then supposed to 
 be the largest sum ever paid for the copy- 
 right of asingle work.— Curwen, Henry, 
 1873, A History of Booksellers, p. 66. 
 
 *'A View of the Progress of Society in 
 Europe, from the Subversion of the Roman 
 Empire to the Beginning of the Sixteenth 
 Century." 8vo., Edinburgh, 1818. This 
 volume is properly an introduction to the 
 author's "History of the Reign of the 
 Emperor Charles V.," and is usually to 
 be found in the various editions of that 
 work. This was perhaps the first really 
 philosophical view of the Middle Ages 
 ever written. In calmness of judgment, 
 in breadth of scholarship, and in compre- 
 hensiveness of treatment it still has no 
 superior among the shorter treatises on 
 the Middle Ages. . . . The "proofs 
 and illustrations" form nearly half of the 
 whole volume, and are not the least im- 
 portant and interesting portion of the 
 work. They abound in facts of the ut- 
 most interest and importance. It is diffi- 
 cult to discriminate against any portion 
 of this excellent piece of historical writ- 
 ing; but the first and the third section 
 will be found by most students more in- 
 teresting, if not more valuable than the 
 third. — Adams, Charles Kendall, 1882, 
 A Manual of Historical Literature, pp. 
 156, 157. 
 
 In 1769 he issued the three volumes of 
 his "History of the Reign of Charles V.," 
 one of the best paid pieces of literary 
 labour ever undertaken by a human pen, 
 and this was followed by several historical 
 works of minor importance. Robertson 
 was not more impressed than Hume 
 with the necessity of close, independent, 
 
160 
 
 WILLIAM ROBERTSON 
 
 and impartial research, but he was no less 
 graceful in style, and he diffused over his 
 best work an even milder radiance of phil- 
 osophic reflection. Hume and Robertson 
 are strangely alike as historians. Neither 
 descends the hill to survey the country at 
 his feet, but each has exceedingly long 
 sight, and the power of taking wide and 
 harmonious Pisgah-views from his self- 
 adopted eminence. Robertson, however, 
 is certainly superior to Hume in his skill 
 in making general estimates of history. 
 It is not the least of Robertson's claims 
 to our consideration that the opening 
 chapters of his ''Charles V." had the 
 effect of awakening a historic sense in 
 the childhood of Carlyle, supplying him 
 with ''new worlds of knowledge, vistas in 
 all directions." — Gosse, Edmund, 1888, 
 A History of Eighteenth Century Litera- 
 ture, p. 304. 
 
 His "History of the Emperor Charles 
 V.'Ms written with a general sagacity of 
 truth which is hardly affected by several 
 faulty details. — Robertson, J. Logie, 
 1894, A History of English Literature, 
 p. 239. 
 
 HISTORY OF AMERICA 
 
 1777 
 
 I could not go through your work at 
 one breath at that time, though I have 
 done it since. I am now enabled to thank 
 you, not only for the honor you have 
 done me, but for the great satisfaction, 
 and the infinite variety and compass of 
 instruction I have received from your in- 
 comparable work. Everything has been 
 done which was so naturally to be ex- 
 pected from the author of the "History 
 of Scotland," and of the age of Charles 
 V. I believe few books have done more 
 than this, towards clearing up dark points, 
 correcting errors, and removing preju- 
 dices. You have too the rare secret of 
 rekindling an interest on subjects that 
 had so often been treated, and in which 
 every thing which could feed a vital flame 
 appeared to have been consumed. I am 
 sure I read many parts of your history 
 with that fresh concern and anxiety 
 which attend those who are not previously 
 apprised of the event. You liave besides, 
 thrown quite a new light on the present 
 state of the Spanish provinces, and fur- 
 nished both materials and hints for a 
 rational theory of what may be expected 
 from them in future. The part which I 
 
 read with the greatest pleasure is, the 
 discussion on the manners and character 
 of the inhabitants of that New World. 1 
 have always thought with you that we 
 possess at this time very great advan- 
 tages towards the knowledge of human 
 nature. We need no longer go to history 
 to trace it in all stages and periods. — 
 Burke, Edmund, 1777, Letter to Dr. 
 Robertson. 
 
 I have seen enough to convince me that 
 the present publication will support, and, 
 if possible, extend the fame of the author ; 
 that the materials are collected with care, 
 and arranged with skill ; that the progress 
 of discovery is displayed with learning and 
 perspicuity ; that the dangers, the achieve- 
 ments, and the views [ ?] of the Spanish 
 adventurers, are related with a temperate 
 spirit ; and that the most original, per- 
 haps the most curious portion of human 
 manners is at length rescued from the 
 hands of sophists and declaimers. — Gib- 
 bon, Edward, 1777, Letter to Robertson, 
 July 14. 
 
 After all, however, the principal charm 
 of this, as well as of his other histories, 
 arises from the graphical effect of his 
 narrative, wherever his subject affords 
 him materials for an interesting picture. 
 What force and beauty of painting in his 
 circumstantial details of the new voyage 
 of Columbus; of the first aspect of the 
 new Continent; and of the interviews of 
 the natives with the Spanish adventurers ! 
 With what animation and fire does he fol- 
 low the steps of Cortes through the vary- 
 ing fortunes of his vast and hazardous 
 career ; yielding, it must be owned, some- 
 what too much to the influence of the pas- 
 sions which his hero felt ; but bestowing, 
 at the same time, the warm tribute of 
 admiration and sympathy on the virtues 
 and fate of those whom he subdued ! The 
 arts, the institutions, and the manners of 
 Europe and of America; but above all, 
 the splendid characters of Cortes and of 
 Guatimozin, enable him, in this part of 
 his work, to add to its other attractions 
 that of the finest contrasts which occur 
 in history. — Stewart, Dugald, 1796- 
 1801, Account of the Life and Writings of 
 William Robertson. 
 
 Robertson. ... in what he calls 
 his "History of America," is guilty of 
 such omissions and consequent misrepre- 
 sentations as to make it certain that he 
 
WILLIAM ROBERTSON 
 
 IGl 
 
 had not read some of the most important 
 documents to which he refers, or that he 
 didnotchuse to notice the facts which are 
 to be found there, because they were not 
 in conformity to his own preconceived 
 opinions. . . . The reputation of this 
 author must rest upon his History of 
 Scotland." ... if that can support 
 it. His other works are grievously de- 
 ficient.— Southey, Robert, 1810, History 
 of Brazil, vol. i, p. 639. 
 
 Robertson's ''History of America," ad- 
 mirable for the sagacity with which it has 
 been compiled; but too much abridged 
 in the part relating to the Toltecks and 
 Aztecks. -Humboldt, Friedrich Heinrich 
 Alexander, 1814-34, Researches in Amer- 
 ica, vol. II, p. 248. 
 
 Robertson's ''History of America," 
 published in 1777, is entirely unequal to 
 the claims it makes. Simancas was closed 
 to him, and the admirable collection at 
 the Lonja of Seville was not yet imagined, 
 so that he had not the materials needful 
 for his task ; besides which, his plan was 
 not only too vast, but, in its separate 
 parts, was ill proportioned and ill adjusted. 
 — DuYCKiNCK, Evert A., and George L., 
 1855-75, Cyclopcedia of American Litera- 
 ture, ed. Simons, vol. i, p. 977. 
 
 After receiving the warm approbation 
 of the Royal Academy of History at 
 Madrid, was about to be translated into 
 Spanish, when the Government, not wish- 
 ing their American administration to be 
 brought under discussion, interfered with a 
 prohibition.-— Arnold, Thomas, 1862-87, 
 A Manual of English Literature, p. 285. 
 
 The "History of America" is accurate 
 but dull. He has none of the qualifica- 
 tions of an excellent historian. He keeps 
 up the dignity of history, and never 
 descends from his stilts. His style is 
 sonorous, dignified, and sometimes very 
 eloquent.— Emery, Fred Parker, 1891, 
 Notes on English Literature, p. 74. 
 
 His "History of America" must always 
 remain a classic. — Robertson, J. Logie, 
 1894, A History of English Literature, 
 p. 239. 
 
 Its vivid descriptions and philosophical 
 disquisitions on aboriginal society capti- 
 vated the literary world, while the out- 
 break of the American war lent the book 
 pertinent public interest and rendered it 
 
 more popular than either of its predeces- 
 sors. Keats, who read it with enthu- 
 siasm many years after, owed to it the 
 suggestion of his famous simile of 
 "Cortez and his men." — Seccombe, 
 Thomas, 1896, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. XLViii, p. 428. 
 
 HISTORY OF INDIA 
 1791 
 
 Dr. Robertson's book amused me pretty 
 well, madam, though very defective from 
 the hiatuses in his materials. It is a 
 genealogy with more than half the middle 
 descents wanting ; and thence his ingen- 
 ious hypothesis of Western invaders im- 
 porting civilization from the East is not 
 ascertained. Can one be sure a peer is 
 descended from a very ancient peer of 
 the same name, though he cannot prove 
 who a dozen of his grandfathers were ? — 
 Walpole, Horace, 1791, To the Countess 
 of Ossory, Nov. 23 ; Letters, ed. Cunning- 
 ham, vol. IX, p. 361. 
 
 Nothing can be more unjust than the 
 notion that this work is so incorrect, 
 or grounded on information so imperfect, 
 as to have been superseded by more 
 full and accurate books since published. 
 It is, from its accuracy, its knowledge 
 of the ancient writings, its judicious 
 reasoning and remarks, as well as its 
 admirable composition, quite worthy of a 
 place by the author's former and more 
 celebrated writings; and it proves his 
 great faculties to have continued in their 
 entire vigour to the latest period of his 
 life.— Brougham, Henry Lord, 1845-6, 
 Lives of Men of Letters of the Time of 
 George III. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Boswell. "Will you not admit the 
 superiority of Robertson, in whose 'His- 
 tory' we find such penetration — such 
 painting?" Johnson. "Sir, you must 
 consider how that penetration and that 
 painting are employed. It is not history, 
 it is imagination. He who describes what 
 he never saw, draws from fancy. Robert- 
 son paints minds as Sir Joshua paints 
 faces in a history-piece : he imagines an 
 heroic countenance. You must look upon 
 Robertson's work as romance, and try it 
 by that standard. History it is not. Be- 
 sides, Sir, it is the great excellence of a 
 writer to put into his book as much as his 
 book will hold. Goldsmith has done this 
 in his "History." Now Robertson might 
 
162 
 
 WILLIAM ROBERTSON 
 
 have put twice as much into his book. 
 Robertson is like a man who has packed 
 gold in wool: the w^ool takes up more 
 room than the gold. No, Sir ; I always 
 thought Robertson would be crushed by 
 his own weight, — would be buried under 
 his own ornaments. Goldsmith tells you 
 shortly all you want to know : Robertson 
 detains you a great deal too long. No 
 man will read Robertson's cumbrous de- 
 tail a second time; but Goldsmith's plain 
 narrative will please again and again. I 
 would say to Robertson what an old tutor 
 of a college said to one of his pupils: 
 'Read over your compositions, and when- 
 ever you meet with a passage which you 
 think is particularly fine, strike it out.' 
 — Johnson, Samuel, 1773, Life by Bos- 
 well, ed. Hill, vol. ii, p. 272. 
 
 A disciple of the old school of slander — 
 a liar — and one for whom bedlam is no 
 bedlam.— Whitaker, John, 1787, Mary 
 Queen of Scots Vindicated. 
 
 Dr. Robertson shone when he wrote the 
 History of his own country, with which 
 he was -acquainted. All his other works 
 are collections tacked together for the 
 purpose ; but as he has not the genius, 
 penetration, sagacity, and art of Mr. Gib- 
 bon, he cannot melt his materials together, 
 and make them elucidate and even im- 
 prove and produce new discoveries; in 
 short, he cannot, like Mr. Gibbon, make 
 an original picture with some bits of 
 Mosaic. — Walpole, Horace, 1791, To 
 the Countess of Ossory, Nov. 23; Letters, 
 ed. Cunningham, vol. ix, p. 361. 
 
 The perfect composition, the nervous 
 language, the well-tuned periods of Dr. 
 Robertson, inflamed me to the ambitious 
 hope that I might one day tread in his 
 footsteps : the calm philosophy, the care- 
 less inimitable beauties of his friend and 
 rival, often forced me to close the volume 
 with a mixed sensation of delight and 
 despair.— Gibbon, Edward, 1793, Auto- 
 biography. 
 
 None of Dr. Robertson's periods with 
 three members. — Lamb, Charles, 1800, 
 Letters, -ed. Ainger, March 1, vol. i, p. 115. 
 
 The histories of Robertson abound in 
 the finest descriptions, the most pleasing 
 delineations of character, the most digni- 
 fied and judicious mixture of reflections; 
 and more especially they are distinguished 
 by a style of narration at once manly. 
 
 copious, and easy. But all these descrip- 
 tions, delineations, reflections, and even 
 this narrative itself, are too general for 
 practical use and application. The poli- 
 tician and political oeconomist will search 
 these writings in vain for the accurate 
 details of fact which they have a right to 
 expect from one who investigates the sub- 
 jects of particular men and nations. 
 . . . In plain terms. Dr. Robertson 
 appears to have studied grace and dignity 
 more than usefulness. He has chosen 
 those features of every figure which he 
 could best paint, rather than those which 
 were most worthy of the pencil. . . . 
 The charms of Robertson's style, and the 
 full flow of his narration, which is always 
 suflliciently minute for ordinary readers, 
 will render his works immortal in the 
 hands of the bulk of mankind. But the 
 scientific reader requires something more 
 than periods which fill his ear, and gen- 
 eral statements which gratify by amusing ; 
 he even requires more than a general text- 
 book, — a happy arrangement of intricate 
 subjects, which may enable him to pursue 
 them in their details. . . . When we 
 repair to the works of Robertson for the 
 purpose of finding facts, we are instantly 
 carried away by the stream of his narra- 
 tive, and forget the purpose of our errand 
 to the fountain. As soon as we can stop 
 ourselves, we discover that our search has 
 been vain, and that we must apply to those 
 sources from which he drew and culled 
 his supplies. — Brown, Thomas, 1803, 
 Stewart's Account of Dr. Robertson, Edin- 
 burgh Review, vol. 2, pp. 240, 241. 
 
 Robertson's style is most attractive: 
 his language select, and, though ornate, 
 yet lucid and unaffected. His weak side 
 is that which has regard to research and 
 import, certainly the most important 
 of all historic qualities. It is now uni- 
 versally admitted, even in England, that 
 he is unreliable, superficial, and often full 
 of errors as to facts: yet his style is 
 wont to be held up as a pattern, owing, 
 probably, to the degeneracy of taste. But 
 even his style is, in my opinion, too ver- 
 bose and antithetical.— ScHLEGEL, Fred- 
 erick, 1815-59, Lectures on the History 
 of Literature, Lecture xiv. 
 
 Do you like Robertson ? I used to find 
 in him a shrewd, a systematic, but not a 
 great understanding; and no more heart 
 than in my boot. He was a kind of deist 
 
WILLIAM ROBERTSON 
 
 163 
 
 in the guise of a Calvinistic priest ; a por- 
 tentous combination. — Carlyle, Thomas, 
 1824, Early Letters, ed. Norton, p. 307. 
 
 Robertson, who first threw over the 
 maze of human events the light of philo- 
 sophic genius, and the spirit of enlight- 
 ened reflection.— Alison, Sir Archibald, 
 1833-42, History of Europe During The 
 French Revolution, vol. xiv, p. 3. 
 
 Yet there was a power of arrangement 
 in Robertson : no one knew better where 
 to begin a story and where to stop. This 
 was the greatest quality in him, that and 
 a soft sleek style. On the whole, he was 
 merely a politician, open to the common 
 objection to all the three, that total want 
 of belief ; and worse in Robertson, a min- 
 ister of the Gospel, preaching, or pretend- 
 ing to preach. — Carlyle, Thomas, 1838, 
 Lectures on the History of Literature, 
 p. 185. 
 
 In Adam Smith's day all poetical criti- 
 cism not contained in Dr. Blair's Lectures 
 or Lord Kames's Elements would have 
 been hooted out of reasonable society; 
 now those books themselves, and the 
 school which they represent, have sunk 
 into the lowest estimation. Robertson 
 and Hume would of course have been 
 Smith's standards of historical writing; 
 now the world can listen with great com- 
 placency to Charles Lamb's assertion that 
 their books have the same title to the 
 character of histories as the chess-boards 
 which we see inscribed in gilt letters with 
 the same honourable name. — Maurice, 
 Frederick Denison, 1839, Lectures on 
 National Education, p. 115. 
 
 The pages of Dr. Robertson have not 
 the unwearied splendour of Gibbon, nor 
 the sudden flashes of sagacity which so 
 charm us in the historical writings of 
 Hume; but Robertson is always an his- 
 torian, with all the important merits 
 which belong to the character. — Smyth, 
 William, 1840, Lectures on Modern His- 
 tory, Lecture xxi. 
 
 The public has been hitherto indebted 
 for its knowledge of the reign of Charles 
 the Fifth to Robertson, — a writer who, 
 combining a truly philosophical spirit with 
 an acute perception of character, is rec- 
 ommended, moreover, by a classic ele- 
 gance of style which has justly given him 
 a pre-eminence among the historians of 
 the Great Emperor. — ^Prescott, William 
 
 HiCKLiNG, 1855-58, The History of the 
 Reign of Philip II. 
 
 Robertson, admirable for gravity and 
 shrewd sense.— Morison, James Cotter, 
 1878, Gibbon {English Men of Letters), p. 102. 
 
 He was the Macaulay of his times. His 
 successive works were as eagerly antici- 
 pated, and kindled the same enthusiasm. 
 The fame he reaped in the field of letters 
 added weight to his position as a leader 
 in the Church. He reflected the honours 
 he won on the Church he served. As an 
 author of high merit he was brought into 
 contact with, and honoured by the inti- 
 macy of men of light and leading ; states- 
 men, ministers, men of letters, and dig- 
 nitaries of the Church, were counted 
 amongst his friends. The highest person- 
 age of the realm interested himself in his 
 persuits, and proposals from that quarter 
 were made to him of the most flattering 
 kind. Since the days of the Reformation 
 he was the first minister of the Church 
 who in the field of letters won for himself 
 a European fame. He elevated the 
 Church from a position of comparative 
 obscurity, lifted her into the presence of 
 foremost men of the world, and won for 
 her history their consideration and 
 esteem.— Robertson, Frederick Lock- 
 hart, 1883, *S'^. Giles' Lectures, Third 
 Series, Scottish Divines, p. 223. 
 
 Robertson's style is essentially a made 
 one. . . . Taken at his best, in nar- 
 rative, Robertson is admirable. His prose 
 flows easily, carrying the reader along by 
 the studied but concealed art by which 
 one sentence is made to seem the neces- 
 sary sequel to its predecessor. The gen- 
 eral style is, indeed, too smooth for mod- 
 ern taste. As Robertson never allowed 
 himself to pass a certain limit of fervency 
 in his sermons, through fear of being 
 dubbed "Highflyer," so he always wrote, 
 so to speak, with the drag on. His facts 
 are skilfully marshalled in their proper 
 sequence; his tone is kept exceptionally 
 low. . . . The best quality of Rob- 
 ertson's style is its easy motion. He con- 
 stantly strives after grace and dignity. 
 The balanced phrase, the period, the tau- 
 tological adjective are perpetually em- 
 ployed. — Wallace, William, 1895, Eng- 
 lish Prose, ed. Craik, vol. iv, p. 276. 
 
 His style is, in the merely correct, but 
 not merely jejune, kind, singularly good ; 
 his conception of history, though not 
 
164 
 
 ROBER TSON— HUNTER 
 
 answering to that of more modern times, 
 and tinged with the idiosyncrasies of his 
 age, is philosophical and shrewd; and 
 above all, he had, what modern historians, 
 with all their pretensions and all their 
 equipment, have too often lacked, a 
 thorough sense of rhetorical fitness in the 
 good, not the empty, sense, and could 
 make his histories definite works of art 
 and definite logical presentments of a 
 view. Nor was he by any means careless 
 of research according to his own standard, 
 which was already a severer one than 
 that of Hume. — Saintsbury, George, 
 
 1898, A Short History of English Litera- 
 ture, p. 624. 
 
 Posterity, we fear, has confirmed John- 
 son's verdict, and the history which 
 pleased the polite readers of last century, 
 and appeared to them as even more correct 
 and dignified than that of Gibbon, is not 
 likely to come again into vogue. But 
 none the less he performed a work and 
 achieved a fame which added immensely 
 to the influence of his Church, and en- 
 hanced the position of her clergy. — Craik, 
 Sir Henry, 1901, A Century of Scottish 
 History, vol. I, p. 405. 
 
 John Hunter 
 
 1728-1793 
 
 Physiologist and surgeon ; born at Long Calderwood, Glasgow, Scotland, July 14, 
 1728 ; youngest of ten children of whom one was the afterward celebrated William 
 Hunter. John received very imperfect instruction at school ; was apprenticed to a 
 cabinetmaker; went in 1748 to study anatomy with his brother; studied at Oxford 
 1753-54 ; became a surgical pupil at St. Bartholomew's 1751, and St. George's 1754 ; 
 studied surgery under Cheselden and Pott ; lectured upon anatomy 1754-59 ; attained 
 great knowledge of human and comparative anatomy ; served in France and Portugal 
 as staff-surgeon 1761-63; began to practice surgery in London 1763; was made 
 F. R. S. 1767, in consequence of the publication of important papers containing new 
 discoveries in pathology andphysiology ; became surgeon to St. George's Hospital 
 1768; surgeon extraordinafyto the king 1776; surgeon -general of the forces and 
 inspector-general o(^ hospitals 1790 ... He was an anatomist of marvelous knowl- 
 edge, and OB^ of th^ fathers of zoological science. He was author of "Natural History 
 of the Hiiman Teetli" (1771-78) ; On ''Venereal Disease" (1786) ; Observations on 
 Certahj^'arts of the Animal Economy" (1786); ''On the Blood, Inflammation, and 
 Gun^ot Wounds" (1794). He was the collector of the great Hunterian Museum, chiefly 
 of^athological and anatomical specimens, purchased by the British Government and 
 Resented to the Royal College of Surgeons. Died in London, Oct. 16, 1793. — Adams, 
 Charles Kendall, ed., 1897, Johnson's Universal Eneydopcedia, vol. iv, p, 415. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 JOHN HUNTER, ESQ., F. R. S., 
 Surgeon-General to the Army, and 
 Inspector-General of Hospitals ; 
 Surgeon to St. George's Hospital ; 
 Surgeon-Extraordinary to the King ; 
 &c., &c., &c., 
 
 DIED OCTOBER 16th, 1793, 
 On the same day, and perhaps hour, 
 that the unfortunate Marie Antoinette 
 Queen of France was beheaded in 
 Paris. 
 
 — Clift, William, 1793, Account-Book. 
 
 It was a truly interesting thing to hear 
 Dr. Jenner, in the evening of his days, 
 descanting from all the fervour of youth- 
 ful friendship and attachment, on the com- 
 manding and engaging peculiarities of 
 Mr. Hunter's mind. He generally called 
 him the **dear man," and when he 
 
 described the honesty and warmth of his 
 heart, and his never-ceasing energy in 
 the pursuit of knowledge, it was impos- 
 sible not to be animated by the recital. — 
 Baron, John, 1827, Life of Edward Jenner, 
 p. 10. 
 
 He was fond of company and mixed 
 much in the society of young men of his 
 own standing, and joined in that sort of 
 dissipation which men at his age, and freed 
 from restraint, are but too apt to indulge 
 in. Nor was he always very nice in the 
 choice of his associates, but sometimes 
 sought entertainment in the coarse, broad 
 humour to be found amid the lower ranks 
 of society. He was employed by his 
 brother to cater for the dissecting-room, 
 in the course of which employment 
 he became a great favorite with that 
 
JOHN HUNTER 
 
 165 
 
 certainly not too respectable class of per- 
 sons the resurrection-men and one of the 
 amusements in which he took special 
 pleasure, was to mingle with the gods in 
 the shilling gallery, for the purpose of 
 assisting to damn the productions of un- 
 happy authors, an office in which he is 
 said to have displayed peculiar tact and 
 vigour.— Ottley, Drewry, 1835, Life of 
 John Hunter y ed. Palmer. 
 
 "O Lord, how manifold are thy works." 
 Beneath 
 are deposited the remains 
 of 
 
 JOHN HUNTER, 
 Born at Long Calderwood, Lanarkshire,N.B., 
 
 on the 13th of February, 1728, 
 Died in London on the 16th of October, 1793 
 
 His remains were removed 
 from the Church of St. Martin-in- the -Fields 
 
 to this Abbey on the 28th of March, 1859. 
 — Inscription on Tablet, Westminster 
 Abbey, 1859. 
 
 John Hunter's coffin was, I knew, 
 among this mass of coffins in No. 3 vault 
 somewhere. It was my self-imposed task 
 to find it ; and the only way to do this was 
 to inspect each coffin as it was brought 
 out on its way to the catacombs outside 
 the church. I therefore stationed myself 
 at the door of the vault, and examined by 
 the light of the lamp hung on to the 
 door-post, every coffin as it came sliding 
 down the plank, occasionally climbing on 
 to the top of them, and looking about 
 among them with my policeman's bull's- 
 eye lamp to see if I could find the much- 
 wished-for name of John Hunter inscribed 
 on any of the brass coffin-plates. We 
 worked away at this vault No. 3 for eight 
 days, when, the Hunterian oration being 
 so near, Mr. Burstall decided to go on 
 moving the coffins at another part of the 
 vault. . . . We worked on in No. 3 
 vault for seven days more, and, as may. 
 be imagined, I got very nervous towards 
 the last, especially as I found the engraved 
 brass coffin-plates loosened from the tops 
 of the older coffins, and was very fearful 
 that John Hunter's coffin-plate might also 
 have got loose. . . . The total num- 
 ber of coffins in No. 3 vault w^as over two 
 hundred. The total number of coffins re- 
 moved was three thousand two hundred 
 and sixty. This will give some idea of 
 the task that had to be undertaken. If 
 one of these coffins, therefore was not 
 John Hunter's, our labours would have 
 
 been in vain. The workmen stood at the 
 head and foot of the uppermost coffin of 
 the three, and slowly moved it away that 
 I might see the name upon that immedi- 
 ately below it. As it moved slowly off 1 
 discerned first the letter J and the 0, and 
 at last the whole word "John." My 
 anxiety was now at its height, and I quickly 
 running to one end, Mr. Burstall at the 
 other, moved the coffin away. At last I 
 got it completely off, and to my intense 
 delight read upon the brass-plate the fol- 
 lowing inscription : 
 
 John Hunter 
 Esq., 
 Died 16th Octr., 
 1793, 
 Age 64 Years. 
 
 Though I had worked hard to gain the 
 object I desired, I was not sorry that I 
 had taken the entire responsibility, as 
 well as the carrying out of the task, upon 
 myself ; for from my discovery arose two 
 important events, viz. : — 1. The reinter- 
 ment of John Hunter in Westminster 
 Abbey. 2. And then out of this the 
 erection of a marble statue to his memory 
 in the Museum, at the College of Sur- 
 geons. — BucKLAND, Frank, 1866, Dis- 
 covery of the Remains of John Hunter in 
 St. Martin's Church, Leisure Hour, vol, 
 lb, pp.566, 567. 
 
 He allowed himself four hours' sleep by 
 night, and a short nap after dinner. He 
 rose early to his dissections, experiments, 
 and preparation-making, and was so 
 busied for a couple hours, or more, prior 
 to commencing the routine work of the 
 day by the reception of his patients at 
 half-past eight. His evenings were de- 
 voted to recording the thoughts and ex- 
 panding the brief notes of the day. The 
 social obligations which Hunter's high 
 position involved were mainly fulfilled, 
 and admirably by his accomplished wife, 
 whose words are w^edded to the music of 
 the immortal canzonets of Haydn, the 
 great composer of the period. The four- 
 windowed drawing-room which still looks 
 upon the renovated square was crowded 
 weekly by the beauty, rank and fashion of 
 the season. My father-in-law described 
 to me the scene he often stayed to witness 
 with sleep-laden eyes, when the master 
 could no longer dictate, and issued from 
 his study on the ground floor to seek his 
 
166 
 
 JOHN HUNTER 
 
 much needed repose, on one of Mrs. Hun- 
 ter's reception nights. With difficulty 
 stemming the social stream on the stair- 
 case he would stop to give a kindly greeting 
 to the beauty of the year, had a smart reply 
 to the passing joke of the man of fashion, 
 or a more serious to the question of an 
 administrator, all hurrying away to some 
 later gathering westward, while the weary 
 philosopher sought to lay his head upon 
 the pillow. — Owen, Richard, 1874, Hun- 
 tefs Scientific Character and Works, Lei- 
 cester Square by Tom Taylor, p. 429. 
 
 In person Hunter was of middle height, 
 vigorous, and robust, with high shoulders 
 and rather short neck. His features 
 were strongly marked, with prominent 
 eyebrows, pyramidal forehead, and eyes 
 of light blue or gray. His hair in youth 
 was a reddish yellow, and in later years 
 white. . . . Hunter often rose at 
 five or six to dissect, breakfasted at nine, 
 saw patients till twelve, and visited his 
 hospital and outdoor patients till four. 
 He was most punctual and orderly in his 
 visits, leaving a duplicate of his visiting- 
 book at home, so that he could be found 
 at any time. He dined at four. For 
 many years he drank no wine, and sat but 
 a short time at table, except when he had 
 company. He slept for an hour after din- 
 ner, then read or prepared his lectures, 
 made experiments, and dictated the results 
 of his dissections. He was often left at 
 midnight with his lamp freshly trimmed, 
 still at work. He wrote his first thoughts 
 and memorandums on odd scraps of paper. 
 These were copied and arranged, and 
 formed many folio volumes of manuscript. 
 Hunter would often have his manuscripts 
 rewritten many times, making during the 
 process endless corrections and transposi- 
 tions. In manners Hunter was impatient, 
 blunt, and unceremonious, often rude and 
 overbearing, but he was candid and unre- 
 served to a fault. He read comparatively 
 little, and could never adequately expound 
 the information already accessible on any 
 subject. Most of what he knew he had 
 acquired himself, and he attached perhaps 
 undue importance to personal investiga- 
 tion. Few men have ever done so much 
 with so little book-learning. His detach- 
 ment from books, combined with his pa- 
 tient search for facts, gave him a vital 
 grip of subjects most needing to be stud- 
 ied in the concrete. His opinions were 
 
 always in process of improvement, and he 
 never clung to former opinions through 
 conservatism. — Bettany, G. T., 1891, 
 Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 
 XXVIII, ^. 290. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 His experiments, if they be true, carry 
 with them no manner of information : — if 
 they be true, no effect for the benefit of 
 man can possibly be derived from them. — 
 Foot, Jesse, 1794, Life of Hunter, p. 116. 
 
 The moral sense has often been found 
 too weak to temper the malignancy of lit- 
 erary jealousy, and has impelled some 
 men of genius to an incredible excess. A 
 memorable example offers in the history 
 of the two brothers. Dr. William and John 
 Hunter, both great characters fitted to 
 be rivals ; but Nature, it was imagined in 
 the tenderness of blood, had placed a bar 
 to rivalry. John, without any determined 
 pursuit in his youth, was received by his 
 brother at the height of his celebrity ; the 
 doctor initiated him into his school ; they 
 performed their experiments together ; 
 and William Hunter was the first to an- 
 nounce to the world the great genius of 
 his brother. After this close connexion 
 in all their studies and discoveries. Dr. 
 William Hunter published his magnificent 
 work — the proud favorite of his heart, the 
 assertor of his fame. Was it credible that 
 the genius of the celebrated anatomist, 
 which had been nursed under the wing of 
 his brother, should turn on that wing to 
 clip it ? John Hunter put in his claim to 
 the chief discovery; it was answered 
 by his brother. The Royal Society, to 
 whom they appealed, concealed the docu- 
 ments of this unnatural feud. The blow 
 was felt, and the jealousy of literary 
 honour forever separated the brothers — 
 the brothers of genius. — ^DiSRAELi, Isaac, 
 1796-1839, Jealousy of Authors, The Liter- 
 ary Character. 
 
 He appears to me as a new character in 
 our profession; and, briefly to express 
 his peculiar merit, I may call him the first 
 and great physionosologist, or expositor 
 of the nature of disease. — Abernethy, 
 John, 1819, Hunterian Oration, p. 29. 
 
 I had the happiness of hearing the first 
 course of lectures which John Hunter de- 
 livered. I had been at that time for some 
 years in the profession, and was tolerably 
 well acquainted with the opinions held by 
 the surgeons most distinguished for their 
 
JOHN HUNTER 
 
 167 
 
 talents, then residing in the metropolis ; 
 but having heard Mr. Hunter's lectures 
 on the subject of disease, 1 found them so 
 far superior to everything I had conceived 
 or heard before, that there seemed no 
 comparison between the great mind of the 
 man who delivered them and all the indi- 
 viduals, whether ancient or modern, who 
 had gone before him. — Cline, Henry, 
 1824, Hunterian Oration. 
 
 Those who have traced the progress of 
 modern surgery to its true source, will 
 not fail to have discerned, in the princi- 
 ples which Hunter established, the germs 
 of almost all the improvements which 
 have been since introduced. — Palmer, 
 James F., 1835, ed. Huntefs Works ^ vol. 
 I, p. vii. 
 
 The majority of Hunter's contempora- 
 ries considered his pursuits to have little 
 connexion with practice, charged him 
 with attending to physiology more than 
 surgery, and looked on him as little bet- 
 ter than an innovator and an enthusiast. 
 — Ottley, Drewry, 1835, Life of Hunter^ 
 Works of Hunter, ed. Palmer, p. 126. 
 
 With many ideas to tell, and most of 
 them new, had a difficulty of expressing 
 himself. With more need than any man 
 before him for additional facilities in this 
 way, he had a restricted vocabulary: 
 again, in making use of it, his- style was 
 seldom easy, often obscure; so that 
 things which, when thoroughly under- 
 stood, had no feature more striking than 
 their simplicity, were often made to ap- 
 pear difficult, and by many readers, no 
 doubt, had often been left unexamined. — 
 Macilwain, George, 1853, Memoirs of 
 John Abernethy, p. 364. 
 
 I have now only one more name to add 
 to this splendid catalogue of the great 
 Scotchmen of the eighteenth century. 
 But it is the name of a man, who, for 
 comprehensive and original genius, comes 
 immediately after Adam Smith, and must 
 be placed far above any other philosopher 
 whom Scotland has produced. I mean, of 
 course, John Hunter, whose only fault 
 was, an occasional obscurity, not merely 
 of language, but also of thought. In this 
 respect, and, perhaps, in this alone, Adam 
 Smith had the advantage ; for his mind 
 was so flexible, and moved so freely, that 
 even the vastest designs were unable 
 to oppress it. With Hunter, on the 
 
 contrary, it sometimes seemed as if the un- 
 derstanding was troubled by the grandeur 
 of his own conceptions, and doubted what 
 path it ought to take. He hesitated ; the 
 utterance of his intellect was indistinct. 
 Still, his powers were so extraordinary, 
 that, among the great masters of organic 
 science, he belongs, 1 apprehend, to the 
 same rank as Aristotle, Harvey, and 
 Bichat, and is somewhat superior either 
 to Haller or Cuvier. As to this classifi- 
 cation, men will differ, according to their 
 different ideas of the nature of science, 
 and, above all, according to the extent to 
 which they appreciate the importance of 
 philosophic method. It is from this lat- 
 ter point of view that I have, at present, 
 to consider the character of John Hunter ; 
 and, in tracing the movements of his most 
 remarkable mind, we shall find, that, in 
 it, deduction and induction were more in- 
 timately united than in any other Scotch 
 intellect, either of the seventeenth or 
 eighteenth century. The causes of this 
 unusual combination, I will now endeavour 
 to ascertain.— Buckle, Henry Thomas, 
 1862-66, History of Civilization in Eng- 
 land, vol. Ill, ch. V. 
 
 In 1776, Hunter delivered his first 
 course of surgical lectures at St. George's. 
 The sense of his deficiencies as a spvker 
 led him to read his lectures. He seldoso 
 looked up from his book ; and his written 
 style was not happy. His doctrines were 
 new, and their obscurity and difficulty was 
 little relieved by his exposition. He used 
 to compare the preparation of a lecture 
 to a tradesman's taking stock. His sole 
 object was truth. He was pitiless in de- 
 molishing fallacies or exposing errors, even 
 his own. — Taylor, Tom, 1874, Leicester 
 Square, its Associations and its Worthies, 
 p. 396. 
 
 All intelligent readers of biography are 
 more or less familiar with the labors and 
 writings of John Hunter, his marvellous 
 genius, and his vast contributions to 
 science. In the medical profession his 
 name is, and always will be, a household 
 word throughout the civilized world ; it is 
 spoken with respect and reverence in 
 every college amphitheatre, and is deeply 
 ingraved on the mind of every student of 
 surgery. . . . With the exceptions 
 of Hippocrates, the father of medicine, 
 John Hunter is the grandest figure in the 
 history of our profession. ... He 
 
168 
 
 JOHN HUNTER 
 
 was not only a great surgeon, a wise phy- 
 sician and a great anatomist and physiol- 
 ogist, human and comparative, but above 
 all, he was a philosopher whose mental 
 grasp embraced the whole range of 
 nature's works, from the most humble 
 structure to the most complex and the 
 most lofty. He was emphatically the 
 Newton of the medical profession, and 
 what Pope said of that great philosopher 
 may, by pharaphrase, be said with equal 
 force and truth of Hunter : 
 "Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night; 
 God said 'Let Hunter be,' andalHvas light." 
 Hunter is peerless in the history of British 
 surgery ; and after the lapse of nearly a 
 century the profession turns to his mem- 
 ory with increased reverence for his 
 transcendent genius, his matchless ability, 
 and his unequalled services. To say that 
 he was simply the founder of scientific 
 surgery would fall far short of his great 
 deserts ; to do him full justice we must add 
 that he was the father also of scientific 
 zoology and of comparative physiology. — 
 Gross, S. D., 1881, John Hunter and his 
 Pupils, pp. 9, 10. 
 
 Medical science owes much to John Hun- 
 ter, who by his researches in animal and 
 vegetable Physiology, made a vast num- 
 ber of discoveries, which, considered 
 singly, are curious, but which, collect- 
 ively, constitute an invaluable body of 
 new truths. His museum, at the time of 
 his death, contained upwards of ten 
 thousand preparations illustrative of the 
 phenomena of nature. His great object 
 was to show that nature is a vast and 
 united whole, that nothing is irregular, 
 that nothing is perturbed, that in every 
 change there is order, that all things are 
 done according to never-failing law. — 
 Welsh, Alfred H., 1883, Development 
 of English Literature and Language, vol. 
 II, p. 187. 
 
 The genius of one man — John Hunter — 
 created English pathology, and took it at 
 once almost to the highest position, for 
 he fortified it with clinical, anatomical, 
 and experimental observations which are 
 unasailable when they are combined. 
 John Hunter was in some respects even 
 more remarkable than William, his elder 
 brother. He possessed greater singleness 
 of purpose, and therefore greater concen- 
 tration, greater depth of knowledge, 
 greater determination, and that minute 
 
 attention to detail associated with the 
 power of generalisation which only co- 
 exist in the highest intellects. — Power, 
 D'Arcy, 1896, Social England, ed. Traill, 
 vol. V, p. 423. 
 
 It is impossible to include in one view 
 the multitudinous forms of Hunter's work ; 
 you cannot see the wood for the trees. 
 He was anatomist, biologist, naturalist, 
 physician, surgeon, and pathologist, all at 
 once, and all in the highest. Nor is it 
 possible to reproduce the lights and 
 shadows of that aspect of his life which 
 was not turned toward science. . . . 
 He is like Vesalius; he made his name 
 immortal by the labour of his own hands 
 outside the sphere of surgery. Apart 
 from all his hospital and private practice, 
 and all his writing and lecturing, the ac- 
 tual manual work that he accomplished in 
 dissections and post-mortem examinations 
 is past all telling. Twelve years before he 
 died, at Captain Donellan's trial, he was 
 asked, "You have been long in the habit 
 of dissecting human subjects ; I presume 
 you have dissected more than any man in 
 Europe?" and he answered, have dis- 
 sected some thousands during these thirty- 
 three years." His dissections of animals 
 must also be reckoned in thousands. Lit- 
 erary work was uncongenial to him, and 
 against the grain ; he took no pleasure in 
 style and no pains over spelling, submitted 
 his writings to the corrections of his 
 friends, adopted at their suggestion Greek 
 words, and that most foolish phrase 
 ''materia vitge diffusa." But in anatomy 
 and experiment he had the strength and 
 patience of ten ; and Clift often saw him, 
 in his old age, standing like a statue for 
 hours over some delicate bit of dissection. 
 The whole output of his working life is 
 fourfold — literary, surgical, anatomical, 
 physiological and experimental; but the 
 multiplication together of these factors 
 does not give the whole result of his work. 
 He brought surgery into closer touch with 
 science. Contrast him with Ambroise 
 Pare, a surgeon in some ways like him, 
 shrewd, observant, ahead of his age ; the 
 achievements of Pare, side by side with 
 those of Hunter, are like child's play in 
 comparison with the serious affairs of 
 men ; Pare advanced the art of surgery, 
 but Hunter taught the science of it. — 
 Paget, Stephen, 1897, John Hunter 
 (Masters of Medicine), pp. 220, 233. 
 
169 
 
 William Murray 
 
 Lord Mansfield 
 1705-1793 
 
 William Murray, Earl of Mansfield, lord-chief-justice of the king's bench, was the 
 fourth son of Andrew, viscount Stormont, and was born at Perth, Mar. 2, 1705. He 
 studied at Christ-church, Oxford, took the degree of M. A. in 1730, and was called 
 to the bar in 1731. He soon acquired an extensive practice — mainly, it would seem, 
 on account of his facility and force as a speaker, for neither then nor at any subse- 
 quent period of his career was he reckoned a very erudite lawyer — and was often 
 employed on appeal cases before the house of lords. In 1743 he w^as appointed by 
 the ministry solicitor-general, entered the house of commons as member for Borough- 
 bridge, and at once took a high position. In 1746 he acted, ex officio, as counsel against 
 the rebel lords, Lovat, Balmerino and Kilmarnock ; was appointed king's attorney in 
 1754 ; and at this time stood so high that, had not the keenness of his ambition been 
 mitigated by a well-founded distrust of his fitness for leading the house, he might have 
 aspired to the highest political honors. He became chief-justice of the king's bench 
 in 1756, and entered the House of Lords under the title of baron Mansfield of Mans- 
 field in the county of Nottingham. Still his political role has little interest for pos- 
 terity. As his opinions were not those of the popular side, he was exposed to much 
 abuse and party hatred. Junius, among others, bitterly attacked him ; and during the 
 Gordon riots of 1780, his house, with all his valuable books and manuscripts, was 
 burned. He declined, with much dignity, indemnification by parliament. In 1776 
 Murray was made earl of Mansfield. He worked hard as a judge till 1788, when age and 
 ill-health forced him to resign. He died Mar. 20, 1793, in the 89th year of his age. 
 — Peck, Harry Thurston, ed., 1898, The International Cyelopcedia, vol. ix, p. 454. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 To number five direct your doves, 
 There spread round Murray all your bloom- 
 ing loves ; 
 
 Noble and young, who strikes the heart 
 With every sprightly, every decent part ; 
 Equal the injured to defend. 
 To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend ; 
 He, with a hundred arts refined, 
 Shall stretch thy conquests over half «the 
 kind : 
 
 To him each rival shall submit, 
 
 Make but his riches equal to his wit. 
 
 — Pope, Alexander, 1738, Imitation of 
 
 Horace's Ode to Venus. 
 
 Your fate depends upon your success 
 there as a speaker ; and, take my word for 
 it, that success turns much more upon Man- 
 ner than Matter. Mr. Pitt, and Mr. Murray 
 the Solicitor-General, are, beyond compari- 
 son, the best speakers. Why ? Only be- 
 cause they are the best orators. They 
 alone can inflame or quiet the House; 
 they alone are attended to in that numer- 
 ous and noisy assembly, that you might 
 hear a pin fall while either of them is 
 speaking. Is it that their matter is bet- 
 ter, or their arguments stronger, than 
 other people's? Does the House expect 
 extraordinary information from them? 
 Not in the least ; but the House expects 
 pleasure from them, and therefore attends ; 
 
 finds it, and therefore approves. — Stan- 
 hope, Philip Dormer (Earl Chester- 
 field), 1751, Letters to his Son, Feb. 11th. 
 
 In all debates of consequence Murray, 
 the attorney general, had greatly the ad- 
 vantage over Pitt in point of argument ; 
 and, abuse only excepted, was not much 
 his inferior in any part of oratory. — 
 Waldegrave, Lord, 1755, Memoirs, p. 53. 
 
 As a speaker in the House of Lords, 
 where was his competitor ? The grace of 
 his action, and the fire and vivacity of 
 his looks, are still present to imagination ; 
 and the harmony of his voice yet vibrates 
 in the ear of those who have been accus- 
 tomed to listen to him. His Lordship 
 possessed the strongest powers of discrim- 
 ination; his language was elegant and 
 perspicuous, arranged with the happiest 
 method, and applied with the utmost ex- 
 tent of human ingenuity; his images 
 were often bold, and always just ; but the 
 character of his eloquence is that of being 
 flowing, perspicuous, convincing, and 
 affecting. — Burton, Edmund, 1763, Char- 
 acter Deduced from Classical Remains. 
 
 This gentleman had raised himself to 
 great eminence at the bar by the most 
 keen, intuitive spirit of apprehension, 
 that seemed to seize every object at first 
 
170 
 
 WILLIAM MURRAY 
 
 glance ; an innate sagacity, that saved the 
 trouble of intense application ; and an ir- 
 resistible stream of eloquence, that flowed 
 pure and classical, strong and copious, 
 reflecting in the most conspicuous point 
 of view the subject over which it rolled, 
 and sweeping before it all the slime of 
 formal hesitation and all the intangling 
 weeds of chicanery. — Smollet, Tobias 
 George, 1763-65, History of England, 
 Reign of George 11. 
 
 Our language has no term of reproach, 
 the mind has no idea of detestation, which 
 has not already been applied to you, and 
 exhausted. Ample justice has been done 
 by abler pens than mine to the separate 
 merits of your life and character. Let 
 it be my humble office to collect the scat- 
 tered sweets until their united virtue tor- 
 tures the sense. . . . Yet you con- 
 tinue to support an Administration which 
 you know is universally odious, and which 
 on some occasions you yourself speak 
 of with contempt. You would fain be 
 thought to take no share in government, 
 while, in reality, you are the mainspring 
 of the machine. Here, too, we trace the 
 little, prudential policy of a Scotchman. 
 Instead of acting that open, generous part, 
 which becomes your rank and station, you 
 meanly skulk into the closet and give your 
 Sovereign such advice as you have not 
 spirit to avow or defend. You secretly 
 engross the power while you decline the 
 title of minister; and though you dare 
 not be Chancellor, you know how to secure 
 the emoluments of the office. Are the 
 seals to be forever in commission, that you 
 may enjoy five thousands pounds a year. 
 — Junius, 1770, Letter to Lord Mansfield, 
 Nov. 14. 
 
 At Lady Colvill's, to whom I am proud 
 to introduce any stranger of eminence, 
 that he may see what dignity and grace is 
 to be found in Scotland, an officer ob- 
 served, that he had heard Lord Mansfield 
 was not a great English lawyer. John- 
 son. **Why, Sir, supposing Lord Mans- 
 field not to have the splendid talents 
 which he possesses, he must be a great 
 English lawyer, from having been so long 
 at the bar, and having passed through so 
 many of the great oflices of the law. Sir, 
 you may as well maintain that a carrier, 
 who has driven a packhorse between Edin- 
 burgh and Berwick for thirty years, does 
 not know the road, as Lord Mansfield 
 
 does not know the law of England." — 
 BoswELL, James, 1785, The Journal of a 
 Tour of the Hebrides with Samuel Johnson, 
 Nov. 11-20, ed. Hill, vol. v, p. 450. 
 
 I cannot recollect the time, when, sit- 
 ting at the table with Lord Mansfield, I 
 ever failed to remark that happy and en- 
 gaging art, which he possessed, of putting 
 the company present in good humour with 
 themselves ; 1 am convinced they naturally 
 liked him the more for his seeming to-like 
 them so well : this has not been the gen- 
 eral property of all the witty, great, and 
 learned men ; whom I have looked up to in 
 my course of life. . . . Lord Mans- 
 field would lend his ear most condescend- 
 ingly to his company, and cheer the least 
 attempt at humour with the prompt pay- 
 ment of a species of laugh, which cost 
 his muscles no exertion, but was merely 
 a subscription that he readily threw in 
 towards the general hilarity of the table. 
 He would take his share in the small talk 
 of the ladies with all imaginable affability ; 
 he was in fact, like most men, not in the 
 least degree displeased at being incensed 
 by their flattery.— Cumberland, Richard, 
 1806, Memoirs Written by Himself, vol. ii, 
 pp. 344, 346. 
 
 In private Lord Mansfield appears to 
 have been much and justly beloved. His 
 moral character was blameless. In his 
 friendships he was warm and constant ; in 
 his charities judicious and discriminating, 
 not bestowing small sums to relieve him- 
 self from present importunities, but assist- 
 ing in a more substantial manner those 
 who were capable of benefiting by such 
 kindness. In society and especially at his 
 own table, he was remarkable for the live- 
 liness and intelligence of his conversation, 
 in which, however, he never indulged to 
 the exclusion of others. One of his most 
 distinguishing characteristics was the 
 decorum and propriety that pervaded not 
 only his actions but his manners, his per- 
 sonal appearance and even his domestic 
 establishment, in every department of 
 which good sense and good taste were seen 
 conjoined. Lord Mansfield's features were 
 regular and expressive, and his presence 
 graceful and dignified. — RoscoE, Henry, 
 1830, Eminent British Lawyers, p. 224. 
 
 In closeness of argument, in happiness 
 of illustration, in copiousness and grace 
 of diction, the oratory of Murray was un- 
 surpassed ; and, indeed, in all the qualities 
 
WILLIAM MURRA Y 
 
 171 
 
 which conspire to form an able debater, 
 he is allowed to have been Pitt's superior. 
 When measures were attacked, no one was 
 better capable of defending them ; when 
 reasoning was the weapon employed, none 
 handled it with such effect ; but against 
 declamatory invective his very tempera- 
 ment incapacitated him from contending 
 with so much advantage. He was like an 
 accomplished fencer, invulnerable to the 
 thrusts of a small sword, but not equally 
 able to ward off the downright stroke of 
 a bludgeon. — Welsby, W. N., 1846, Lives 
 of Eminent Judges of the Seventeenth and 
 Eighteenth Centuries, p. 392. 
 
 Even the learned on the continent of 
 Europe, who had hitherto looked upon 
 English lawyers as very contracted in 
 their views of jurisprudence, and had 
 never regarded the decisions of our courts 
 as settling any international question, 
 acknowledged that a great jurist had at 
 last been raised up among us, and they 
 placed his bust by the side of Grotius and 
 D'Aguesseau. In his own lifetime, and after 
 he had only a few years worn his ermine, 
 he acquired the designation by which he 
 was afterwards known, and by which he 
 will be called when, five hundred years 
 hence, his tomb is shown in Westminster 
 Abbey— that of ''THE GREAT LORD 
 MANSFIELD. . . . Lord Mansfield 
 must, I think, be considered the most 
 prominent legal character, and the bright- 
 est ornament to the profession of the law, 
 that appeared in England during the last 
 century.— Campbell, John Lord, 1849, 
 Lives of the Chief Justices of England, vol. 
 II, pp. 397, 562. 
 
 At the bar his mere statement of a 
 case, by its extreme lucidity, was sup- 
 posed to be worth the argument of any 
 other man. As a statesman his fame is 
 tarnished by his blind adhesion to the 
 policy of coercing America, nor is his 
 name associated with any statute of first- 
 rate importance. Macaulay terms him, 
 however, "the father of modern toryism, 
 of toryism modified to suit an order of 
 things in which the House of Commons is 
 the most powerful body in the state.'' 
 As a judge, by his perfect impartiality, 
 inexhaustible patience, and the strength 
 and acumen of his understanding, he ranks 
 among the greatest who have ever admin- 
 istered justice. Such was his ascendency 
 over his colleagues, that during the first 
 
 twelve years of his tenure of office they 
 invariably, though by no means insignifi- 
 cant lawyers, concurred in his judgment., 
 — RiGG, J. M., 1894, TJictionary of Na- 
 tional Biography, vol. xxxix, p. 414. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 He excelled in the statement of a case. 
 One of the first orators of the present 
 age said of it ''that it was of itself worth 
 the argument of any other man."— But- 
 ler, Charles, 1804, Horoe Juridicce Sub- 
 secivce. 
 
 The Reports of Burrow, Cowper, and 
 Douglass contain the substance of Lord 
 Mansfield's judicial decisions; and they 
 are among the most interesting reports in 
 the English law. . . . We should 
 have known but very little of the great 
 mind and varied accomplishments of Lord 
 Mansfield if we had not been possessed of 
 the faithful reports of his decisions. It is 
 there that his title of the character of 
 "founder of the Commercial Law of Eng- 
 land" is verified. — Kent, James, 1826- 
 54, Commentaries, vol. I. 
 
 If we possess hardly any remains of Lord 
 Mansfield's speeches at the bar or in par- 
 liament, we have considerable materials 
 from which to form an estimate of his 
 judicial eloquence. The Reports of Sir 
 James Burrows are carefully corrected, to 
 all appearance; probably by the learned 
 Judges themselves. Many of the judg- 
 ments of the Chief Justice are truly ad- 
 mirable in substance, as well as composi- 
 tion ; and upon some of the greater ques- 
 tions, his oratory rises to the full height 
 of the occasion. It would be dif!icult to 
 overrate the merit of the celebrated ad- 
 dress to the public, then in a state of ex- 
 citement almost unparalleled, with which 
 he closed his judgment upon the applica- 
 tion to reverse Wilkes's outlawry. Great 
 elegance of composition, force of diction, 
 just and strong but natural expression of 
 personal feelings, a commanding attitude 
 of defiance to lawless threats, but so as- 
 sumed and so tempered with the dignity 
 which v;as natural to the man, and which 
 here as on all other occasions, he sustained 
 throughout, all render this on^ of the 
 most striking productions on record. — 
 Brougham, Henry Lord, 1839-43, His- 
 torical Sketches of Statesmen who Flour- 
 ished in the Time of George III. 
 
 Though, besides the three judges whom 
 
172 
 
 MURRAY— GIBBON 
 
 he found on the bench of his court, there 
 were no less than eight who took their 
 places afterwards as his colleagues, it is 
 a strong evidence of the soundness of his 
 law that during the thirty-two years of 
 his presidency there were only two cases 
 in which the whole bench were not unani- 
 mous : and, what is still more extraordi- 
 nary, two only of his judgments were re- 
 versed on appeal : but some of them were 
 not entirely approved by the legal com- 
 munity. The system on which he acted 
 was censured as introducing too much of 
 the Roman law into our jurisprudence; 
 and he was charged with overstepping the 
 boundary between equity and law, and of 
 allowing the principles of the former to 
 operate too strongly in his legal decisions. 
 How far these criticisms were justified 
 still remains a question : but recent leg- 
 islation proves how little his system de- 
 served censure. —Foss, Edward, 1864, 
 The Judges of England, vol. viii, p. 343. 
 
 Lord Mansfield's chief intellectual merit 
 as a judge is, that in a great measure, he 
 created the law which he pronounced. 
 He made the commercial law of England. 
 To him we owe the settled form and prin- 
 ciples of the law of negotiable paper and 
 insurance. He was accused by some of his 
 
 contemporaries of confounding equitable 
 with legal principles in his administr^ation, 
 and certainly he did brush away the arti- 
 ficial and trivial notions of old time with 
 an unsparing hand. But he cast the legal 
 future of England in a grand horoscope. 
 He judged rightly of the necessities of a 
 more modern state of society, and of the 
 rapidly growing grandeur of his country's 
 commerce. He built for the future as well 
 as the then present, and we in our day 
 have not out-grown or distanced his wise 
 provisions. Only two of his decisons 
 were reversed during his tenure of judicial 
 office, and his authority is higher to-day than 
 it was then. So truly was he the creator 
 of the law of bills that it is almost laugh- 
 able to read of his laying down for the 
 first time principles which are now as cer- 
 tain and familiar "as those which guide 
 the planets in their orbits." He also 
 adorned the law of evidence to an unprec- 
 edented extent : as one has said of him, 
 ''he found it brick, belayed it of marble." 
 He pronounced against the legality of em- 
 ploying "puffers" at an action. He ex- 
 ploded the dogma of escheat in case of 
 wrecks, where no living thing comes 
 ashore. — Browne, Irving, 1878, Short 
 Studies of Great Lawyers, p. 17. 
 
 Edward Gibbon 
 
 1737-1794 
 
 Born, at Putney, 27 April, 1737. To school in Putney ; afterwards at school at 
 Kingston-on-Thames, Jan. 1746 to 1748 (?). At Westminster School, Jan. 1748 to 
 1750. To Bath for health 1750. To school at Esher, Jan., 1752. At Magdalen 
 Coll., Oxford, 3 April, 1752 to June 1753. To Lausanne, as pupil of M. Pavillard, 
 June 1753. Returned to England, Aug. 1758. Held commission in Hampshire 
 militia, 12 June 1759 to 1770. In Paris, 28 Jan. to 9 May 1763 ; at Lausanne, May 
 1763 to April 1764; in Italy, April, 1764 to May, 1765. Returned to England; lived 
 with father at Buriton. After father's death settled in London, 1772. Prof, of 
 Ancient History at Royal Academy, 1774. M. P. for Liskeard, 11 Oct. 1774 to Sept. 
 1780. Lord Commissioner of Trade and Plantations, 1779. M. P. for Lymington, 
 June 1781 to March 1784. Settled at Lausanne, Sept. 1783. Visit to England, 
 1788 and 1793. Died, in London, 16 Jan. 1794. Buried at Fletching, Sussex. 
 Works: *'Essai sur I'etude de la Litterature" (in French, 1761 Eng. trans., 1764); 
 ''Memoires Litteraires de la Grande-Bretagne" (with Deyverdun), 2 vols., 1767-68; 
 ''Critical Observations on the Sixth Book of the ^neid" (anon.), 1770; ''History of 
 the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" (6 vols.), 1776-88 (2nd and 3rd edns. 
 in same period). Posthumous:. "An Historical View of Christianity" (with Boling- 
 broke, Voltaire, and others), 1806; "Antiquities of the House of Brunswick," ed. 
 by Lord Sheffield, 1814; "Memoirs," ed. by Lord Sheffield, 1827; "Life" (autobiog.), 
 ed. by H. H. Milman, 1839; "The Autobiographies of Edward Gibbon," ed. J. Mur- 
 ray, 1896; "Private Letters," ed. by R. E. Prothero, 1896. Collected Works: "Mis- 
 cellaneous Works," in 2 vols., 1796; in 5 vols. 1814.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 
 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 111. 
 
OF THt 
 
 UNIVERSITY (^ILLINOIS. 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 173 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 They have had great doings here at the 
 christening of Mr. Gibbon's son. . . . 
 Our landlady says that his lady had no 
 fortune, but was a young lady of good 
 family and reputation, and that old Mr. 
 Gibbon led her to church and back again. 
 — Byrom, John, 1737, Diary, May 15. 
 
 Gibbon is an ugly, affected, disgusting 
 fellow, and poisons our literary club to 
 me. — BoswELL, James, 1779, Letter to 
 Temple, May 8. 
 
 Fat and ill-constructed, Mr. Gibbon has 
 cheeks of such prodigious chubbiness, 
 that they envelope his nose so completely, 
 as to render it, in profile, absolutely in- 
 visible. His look and manner are placidly 
 mild, but rather effeminate; his voice, — • 
 for he was speaking to Sir Joshua at a lit- 
 tle distance, — is gentle, but of studied 
 precision of accent. Yet, with these 
 Brobdignatious cheeks, his neat little feet 
 are of a miniature description ; and with 
 these, as soon as I turned around, he has- 
 tily described a quaint sort of circle, 
 with small quick steps, and a dapper gait, 
 as if to mark the alacrity of his approach, 
 and then, stopping short when full face to 
 me, he made so singularly profound a bow, 
 that — though hardly able to keep my 
 gravity — I felt myself blush deeply at its 
 undue, but palpably intended obsequious- 
 ness. — D'Arblay, Madame (Fanny Bur- 
 ney), 1782, Letter to Samuel Crisp, Mem- 
 oirs of Dr. Burney, p. 170. 
 
 Mr. Gibbon, the historian, is so exceed- 
 ingly indolent that he never even pares his 
 nails. His servant, while Gibbon is read- 
 ing, takes up one of his hands, and when 
 he has performed the operation lays it 
 down and then manages the other — the 
 patient in the meanwhile scarcely knowing 
 what is going on, and quietly pursuing his 
 studies. The picture of him painted by 
 Sir. J. Reynolds, and the prints made from 
 it, are as like the original as it is possible 
 to be. When he was introduced to a blind 
 French lady, the servant happening to 
 stretch out her mistress's hand to lay hold 
 of the historian's cheek, she thought, 
 upon feeling its rounded contour, that 
 some trick was being played upon her with 
 the sitting part of a child, and exclaimed, 
 ' ' Fidonc !" — Malone, Edmond, 1787, 
 Maloniana, ed. Prior, p^ 382. 
 
 The publication of Gibbon's Memoirs" 
 
 conveyed to the world a faithful picture 
 of the most fervid industry ; it is in youth, 
 the foundations of such a sublime edifice 
 as his history must be laid. The world 
 can now trace how this Colossus of erudi- 
 tion, day by day, and year by year, pre- 
 pared himself for some vast work. . . . 
 Of all our popular writers the most expe- 
 rienced reader was Gibbon. — Disraeli, 
 Isaac, 1791-1824, Literary Composition, 
 Curiosities of Literature. 
 
 Went to the library of Mr. Gibbon ; it still 
 remains here, though bought seven years 
 ago by Mr. Beckford, of Fonthill, for 950/. 
 It consists of nearly 10,000 volumes, and, 
 as far as I could judge by a cursory and 
 (from its present situation) a very incon- 
 venient examination of it, it is, of all the 
 libraries I ever saw, that of which I should 
 most covet the possession — that which 
 seems exactly everything that any gentle- 
 man or gentlewoman fond of letters could 
 wish. Although it is in no particular 
 walk of literature a perfect collection, in 
 the classical part perhaps less than any 
 other, and in the Greek less than in the 
 Latin classics, still there are good edi- 
 tions of all the best authors in both lan- 
 guages. The books, though neither mag- 
 nificent in their editions nor in their bind- 
 ings, are all in good condition, all clean, 
 all such as one wishes to read, and could 
 have no scruple in using. They are under 
 the care of Mr. Scott, a physician of this 
 place, who made the bargain for Mr. Beck- 
 ford with Gibbon's heirs in England, and 
 are placed in tw^o small and inconvenient 
 rooms hired for the purpose, and filled 
 with rows of shelves so near as scarcely 
 to admit of looking at the books on the 
 back side of them. Mr. Beckford, when 
 last here in 179 — , packed up about 2,500 
 vols, of what he considered as the choic- 
 est of them, in two cases, which he then 
 proposed sending to England directly, but 
 which still remain in their cases with the 
 others. — Berry, Mary, 1803, Lausanne, 
 July 6 ; Journal, ed. Lewis, p. 260. 
 
 I enclose you a sprig of Gibbon's acacia 
 and some rose-leaves from his garden, 
 which, with part of his house, I have just 
 seen. You v/ill find honourable mention, 
 in his Life, made of this acacia, when he 
 walked out on the night of concluding his 
 history. The garden and summer-house, 
 where he composed, are neglected, and the 
 last utterly decayed ; but they still show 
 
174 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 it as his "cabinet," and seem perfectly 
 aware of his memory. — Byron, Lord, 
 1816, Letter to John Murray, June 27. 
 
 I invited the four military gentlemen, 
 our committee, and six other persons the 
 best qualified I could meet with, among 
 whom were my father. Lord Carmarthen, 
 and Mr. Gibbon, the historian, who was 
 then at the zenith of his fame, and who 
 certainly was not at all backward in avail- 
 ing himself of the deference universally 
 shown to him, by taking both the lead, 
 and a very ample share of the conversa- 
 tion, in whatever company he might hon- 
 our with his presence. His conversation 
 was not, indeed, what Dr. Johnson would 
 have called talk. There was no interchange 
 of ideas, for no one had a chance of reply- 
 ing, so fugitive, so variable, was his mode 
 of discoursing, which consisted of points, 
 anecdotes, and epigrammatic thrusts, all 
 more or less to the purpose, and all pleas- 
 antly said with a French air and manner 
 which gave them great piquancy, but which 
 were withal so desultory and unconnected 
 that, though each separately were ex- 
 tremely amusing, the attention of his au- 
 ditors sometimes flagged before his own 
 resources were exhausted. — BuRGES, Sir 
 James Bland, 1824? Letters and Corre- 
 spondence, p. 54. 
 
 On the day I first sat down with John- 
 son, in his rusty brown, and his black 
 worsteads, Gibbon was placed opposite to 
 me in a suit of flower'd velvet, with a bag 
 and sword. . . . The costume was 
 not extraordinary at this time (a little 
 overcharged, perhaps, if his person be con- 
 sidered), when almost every gentleman 
 came to dinner in full dress. . . . 
 Each had his measured phraseology ; and 
 Johnson's famous parallel, between Dryden 
 and Pope, might be loosely parodied, in 
 reference to himself and Gibbon. John- 
 son's style was grand, and Gibbon's ele- 
 gant ; the stateliness of the former was 
 sometimes pedantick, and the polish of 
 the latter was occasionally finical. John- 
 son march' d to kettle-drums and trumpets ; 
 Gibbon moved to flutes and hautboys; 
 Johnson hew'd passages through the Alps, 
 while Gibbon levell'd walks through parks 
 and gardens. Maul'd as I had been by 
 Johnson, Gibbon pour'd balm upon my 
 bruises, by condescending, once or twice, 
 in the course of the evening, to talk with 
 me; the great historian was light and 
 
 playful, suiting his matter to the capacity 
 of the boy; — but it was done more sua 
 (sic) ; still his mannerism prevail'd ; — still 
 he tapp'd his snuff-box, — still he smirk'd, 
 and smiled ; and rounded his periods with 
 the same air of good-breeding, as if he 
 were conversing with men. — His mouth, 
 mellifluous as Plato's, was a Tound hole, 
 nearly in the centre of his visage. — Col- 
 man, George (The Younger), 1830, Ran- 
 dom Records, p. 121. 
 
 The author of the great and superb 
 History of the Roman Empire" was 
 scarcely four feet seven to eight inches in 
 height ; the huge trunk of his body, with 
 a belly like Silenus, was set upon the kind 
 of slender legs called drumsticks ; his feet, 
 so much turned in that the point of the right 
 one could often touch the point of the 
 left, were long and broad enough to serve 
 as a pedestal to a statue of five feet six 
 inches. In the middle of his face, not 
 larger than one's fist, the root of his nose 
 receded into the skull more deeply than 
 the nose of a Calmuck, and his very bright 
 but very small eyes were lost in the same 
 depths. His voice, which had only sharp 
 notes, could only reach the heart by split- 
 ting the ears. If Jean-Jacques Rousseau 
 had met Gibbon in the Province of Vaud, 
 it is probable that he would have made of 
 him a companion portrait to his funny one 
 of the Chief Justice. M. Suard, who cared 
 little to look at, and still less to produce, 
 caricatures, often drew Gibbon, and 
 always as Madam Brown. — Garat, M., 
 1820, Dominique Joseph, Memoirs, vol. ii. 
 
 Gibbon has remarked, that his history is 
 much the better for his having been an 
 officer in the militia and a member of the 
 House of Commons. The remark is most 
 just. We have not the smallest doubt 
 that his campaign, though he never saw 
 an enemy, and his parliamentary attend- 
 ance, though he never made a speech, 
 were of far more use to him than years of 
 retirement and study would have been. 
 If the time that he spent on parade and at 
 mess in Hamshire, or on the Treasury- 
 bench and at Brookes's during the storms 
 which overthrew Lord North and Lord 
 Shelburne had been passed in the Bodleian 
 Library, he might have avoided some inac- 
 curacies ; he might have enriched his notes 
 with a greater number of references ; but 
 he never would have produced so lively a 
 picture of the court, the camp, and the 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 175 
 
 senate-house.— Macaulay, Thomas Bab- 
 INGTON, 1834, Mackintosh's History, Edin- 
 burgh Review ; Critical and Miscellaneous 
 Essays. 
 
 Southey, like Gibbon, was a miscella- 
 neous scholar; he, like Gibbon, of vast 
 historical research ; he, like Gibbon, sig- 
 nally industrious, and patient, and elab- 
 orate in collecting the materials for his 
 historical works. Like Gibbon, he had 
 dedicated a life of competent ease, in a 
 pecuniary sense, to literature; like Gib- 
 bon he had gathered to the shores of a 
 beautiful lake, remote from great capitals, 
 a large, or, at least sufficient library (in 
 each case I believe, the library ranged, as 
 to numerical amount, between seven and 
 ten thousand) ; and, like Gibbon, he was 
 the most accomplished litterateur amongst 
 the erudite scholars of his time, and the 
 most of an erudite scholar amongst the ac- 
 complished litterateurs. After all these 
 points of agreement known, it remains as a 
 pure advantage on the side of Southey — a 
 mere lucro ponatur — that he was a poet ; 
 and by all men's confession, a respectable 
 poet, brilliant in his descriptive powers, 
 and fascinating in his narration, however 
 much he might want of 
 
 "The vision and the faculty divine." 
 It is remarkable amongst the series of 
 parallelisms that have been or might be 
 pursued between two men, that both had 
 the honour of retreating from a parlia- 
 mentary life. — De Quincey, Thomas, 
 1839, The Lake Poets; Southey, Words- 
 worthy and Coleridge; Works, ed. Masson, 
 vol. n, p. 338. 
 
 Thus converted firstly to the Romish 
 communion at Oxford in June, 1753, at 
 the age of sixteen years and two months, 
 he renounced it at Lausanne in December 
 1754. at the age of seventeen years and 
 eight months. This was precisely, within 
 a few years, what Bayle had done • in his 
 youth. In Gibbon's case everything was 
 performed in his head and within the lists 
 of dialectics ; one argument had carried it 
 off. He could say, for his own satisfac- 
 tion, that he owed both the one change 
 and the other to his reading and his soli- 
 tary meditation alone. Later, when he 
 flattered himself with being wholly impar- 
 tial and indifferent concerning beliefs, it 
 is allowable to suppose that, even with- 
 out avowing it, he cherished a secret and 
 cold spite against religious thought, as if 
 
 it had been an adversary which had one 
 day struck him in the absence of his 
 armour and had wounded him.— Saixte- 
 Beuve, C. a., 1853, English Portraits, 
 p. 124. 
 
 Respecting Dr. Franklin's journey from 
 Nantes to Paris, Cobbett has preserved 
 from the old newspapers, an anecdote of 
 some point, and not too improbable for 
 belief. I know not whether there is any 
 truth in it. The story is, that at one of 
 the inns at which he slept on the road, he 
 was informed that Gibbon (the first vol- 
 ume of whose History had been published 
 in the spring of that year) was also stop- 
 ping. ''Franklin sent his compliments, 
 requesting the pleasure of spending the 
 evening with Mr. Gibbon. In answer he 
 received a card, importing that, notwith- 
 standing Mr. Gibbon's regard for the 
 character of Dr. Franklin, as a man and a 
 philosopher, he could not reconcile it with 
 his duty to his king, to have any conver- 
 sation with a revolted subject ! Franklin 
 in reply wrote a note, declaring, that 
 'though Mr. Gibbon's principles had com- 
 pelled him to withhold the pleasure of his 
 conversation. Dr. Franklin had still such 
 a respect for the character of Mr. Gibbon, 
 as a gentleman and a historian, that when, 
 in the course of his writing the history of 
 the decline and fall of empires, the decline 
 and fall of the British Empire should 
 come to be his subject, as he expects 
 it soon would. Dr. Franklin would be happy 
 to furnish him with ample materials which 
 were in his possession.'" — Parton, James, 
 1864, Life and Times of Benjamin Frank- 
 lin, vol. II, p. 209. 
 
 Gibbon's political career is the side of 
 his history from which a friendly biogra- 
 pher would most readily turn away. Not 
 that it was exceptionally ignoble or self- 
 seeking if tried by the standard of the 
 time, but it was altogether comimonplace 
 and unworthy of him. The fact that he 
 never even once opened his mouth in the 
 House is not in itself blameworthy, though 
 disappointing in a man of his power. It 
 was indeed laudable enough if he had 
 nothing to say. But why had he nothing 
 to say ? His excuse is timidity and want 
 of readiness. We may reasonably assume 
 that the cause lay deeper. With his men- 
 tal vigour he would soon have overcome 
 such obstacles if he had really wished and 
 tried to overcome them. The fact is that 
 
176 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 he never tried because he never wished. 
 It is a singular thing to say of such a man, 
 but nevertheless true, that he had no taste 
 or capacity whatever for politics. — Mori- 
 son, James Cotter, 1878, Gibbon, (English 
 Men of Letters), p. 77. 
 
 The face and figure of Gibbon are famil- 
 iar to us from the profile usually found at 
 the beginning of his collected works. 
 The testimony of foreigners as well as of 
 Englishmen, both sufficiently prove its ac- 
 curacy. To corroborate it farther, there 
 is the well-known story of the blind French 
 old lady, and Charles Fox's coarse lines, 
 neither of which testimonies could be well 
 produced here. This great man was a 
 lover — a lover when he was old as well as 
 when he was young. The style of his let- 
 ters was rather pedantic and like a page 
 of his history, and the result proved that 
 he was not what is called a successful 
 lover. — Fitzgerald, Percy, 1883, Kings 
 and Queens of an Hour, vol. i, p. 340. 
 
 To an Englishman at Lausanne, Gibbon 
 is still the prime subject of local interest. 
 . . . We were favoured with a sight 
 of the portraits : one of the usual Kit-cat 
 in pastels — Lausanne then containing sun- 
 dry famous pastellistes — a cameo-bust on 
 wedge wood (much idealized), snadsLn aqua- 
 relle of ''The Historian" (hideous exceed- 
 ingly), sitting before the facade of his 
 house at Lausanne, afterwards removed to 
 make way for the Hotel Gibbon. This, 
 by the way, is a fraud, boasting that its 
 garden contains the identical chestnut 
 tree under which the last lines of a twenty- 
 years' work were written. Unfortu- 
 nately, the oft-quoted passage describing 
 that event assigns it to "a summer- 
 house in my garden," near a berceau, 
 or covered walk of acacias; all of which 
 have long disappeared to make way for 
 the Rue du Midi. Upon the strength of 
 this being "Gibbon Castle," we are some- 
 what overcharged and underfed. — Bur- 
 ton, Sir Richard F., 1889, Letters, Life by 
 His Wife, vol ii, p. 371. 
 
 One of the relics which will attract most 
 public attention, lent us by General Mere- 
 dith Read, is Gibbon's Bible, which is said 
 always to have lain in his bedroom at 
 Lausanne. Undoubtedly his attitute to 
 Christianity is the feature in his great 
 work which has done most to dimish its 
 influence, and all educated men, to what- 
 ever school they belong, would now admit 
 
 with his masterly biographer, Mr. Cotter 
 Morison, that this is a most serious blem- 
 ish. It is, however, only fair to remem- 
 ber that Christianity, as it presented 
 itself to Gibbon's mind, was something 
 very different from what we are accus- 
 tomed to associate with the name. — Duff, 
 Sir M. E. Grant, 1894, Proceedings of the 
 Gibbon Commemoration, Nov. 15, p. 15. 
 
 During these hundred years the repu- 
 tation of the historian has been continually 
 growing larger and more firm ; his limita- 
 tions and his errors have been so amply 
 acknowledged that they have ceased to 
 arouse the controversy and the odium 
 which they naturally invited in former gen- 
 erations ; and the civilised world, making 
 full allowance for differences of party and 
 of creed, has agreed to honour the histo- 
 rian for his grand success, and no longer 
 to censure that wherein he failed. But 
 hardly any Englishman, with a world-wide 
 fame, has received so little of public hon- 
 our, or has fallen so completely out of 
 the eye of the world as a personality. 
 Our National Portrait Gallery contains not 
 a single likeness of any kind ; there is no 
 record of him in any public institution, 
 no tablet, inscription, bust, or monument ; 
 his name figures in no public place ; and 
 the house which he inhabited in London 
 bears no mark of its most illustrious in- 
 mate. Though masses of his original 
 manuscripts exist, our British Museum 
 contains nothing of them but a single let- 
 ter; his memoirs, his diaries, his notes, 
 his letters, in his own beautiful writing, 
 are extant in perfect condition. But 
 they are all in private hands, and for 
 some generations they have never been 
 examined or collated by any student or 
 scholar. . . . Much less will any one 
 claim for Edward Gibbon the character of 
 a hero, the name of a great man, the spirit 
 of a martyr or leader of men. No one 
 will ever call him ultimus Romanorum, or 
 the thunder-god ; no one pretends that he 
 is one of the great souls who inspire their 
 age. We do not set him on any moral 
 pinnacle, either as man or as teacher; 
 nor do we rank him with the master spirits 
 who form the conscience of generations. 
 Without unwisely exaggerating his intel- 
 lectual forces, without weakly closing our 
 eyes upon his moral shortcomings, we can 
 do full justice to the magnificent literary 
 art, to the lovable nature, the indomitable 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 111 
 
 industry, the noble equanimity of the 
 man. We come, then, to-day, neither to 
 praise nor to criticise ; we offer round his 
 tomb no idle encomium, nor do we pre- 
 sume to weigh his ashes in our critical 
 scales. We come to meditate again over 
 all that recalls the charm and sweet socia- 
 bility of a warm and generous friend ; to 
 study with rekindled zest the cherished 
 remnants which friendship has preserved 
 of one of the greatest masters of his- 
 torical research that has ever adorned the 
 literature of Europe. . . . Edward 
 Gibbon had his worries like other men — 
 worries hardly ever the consequence of 
 any error of his own — but how little of 
 repining or of irritation does he display ! 
 He was bitterly and unjustly attacked ; but 
 how little is there of controversy; and 
 even in his replies to Priestley and to 
 Davies his language is measured, dignified, 
 and calm. No one pretends that Edward 
 Gibbon had any trace in his nature of 
 passionate impulse or of spiritual nobility. 
 His warmest affection is cast into a Cice- 
 ronian mould ; and his imperturbable good 
 sense always remains his dominant note. 
 Gibbon was neither a Burke nor a Shelley, 
 still less was he a Rousseau or a Carlyle. 
 He was a delightful companion, a hearty 
 friend, an indomitable student, and an in- 
 fallible master of that equanimity which 
 stamps such men as Hume, Adam Smith, 
 and Turgot. It is the mitis sapientia 
 Lceli which breathes through every line of 
 these elaborate letters. — Harrison, Fred- 
 eric, 1894, Gibbon CommemorationyNov.lb. 
 
 There is usually a tendency to under- 
 rate Gibbon's military experiences. . . . 
 He was evidently an officer of more than 
 ordinary intelligence, and possessed some 
 military aptitude. He v/ent beyond the 
 requirements of an infantry captain by 
 closely studying the language and science 
 of tactics; indeed all that pertained to 
 the serious side of soldiering he studied 
 with a perseverance which might have 
 been expected of a man that wrote his 
 memoirs nine times before he was satis- 
 fied. While acquiring personal experi- 
 ence he was studying the campaigns oif _aJl 
 the great masters of the art of war, in 
 exactly the manner which Napoleon half 
 a century later laid down as the only 
 means of becoming a great captain. — 
 HoLDEN, R., 1895, Gibbon as a Soldier, 
 Macmillan's Magazine, vol. 71, p. 38. 
 
 12 o 
 
 He was one of those happiest of mor- 
 tals who do not need the preponderance 
 from without, "for whose guidance Wil- 
 helm Meister longed ; for him the prepon- 
 derance within spoke clear enough. The 
 call to be a scholar was in him from the 
 first, the special call to history came later. 
 Both were promptly, strenuously, un- 
 wearyingly obeyed ; and to that cheerful 
 and long-sustained obedience the historian 
 owed one of the happiest of lives, and we 
 owe the greatest work of history in a mod- 
 ern language. — Bailey, J. C., 1897, The 
 Man Gibbon, Fortnightly Review, vol. 67, 
 p. 455. 
 
 Gibbon's service in Parliament covered 
 the period of the American Revolution, 
 and during the latter part of the time he 
 was a member of the Board of Trade. 
 The complete correspondence of these 
 years sets his political career in a much 
 better light than did the selections pub- 
 lished by Lord Shefl[ield. We find that 
 Gibbon made a serious attempt to inform 
 himself on the American question, and 
 that he really appreciated the importance 
 of the crisis. Mr. Cotter Morison, relying 
 on the fragmentary letters, has depicted 
 Gibbon's parliamentary career much too 
 unfavourably. — Bourne, Edward Gay- 
 lord, 1897, American Historical Review, 
 vol. 2, p. 728. 
 
 He was a little slow, a little pompous, 
 a little affected and pedantic. In the 
 general type of his mind and character 
 he bore much more resemblance to Hume, 
 Adam Smith, or Reynolds, than to John- 
 son or Burke. A reserved scholar, who 
 was rather proud of being a man of the 
 world ; a confirmed bachelor, much wedded 
 to his comforts though caring nothing 
 for luxury, he was eminently moderate in 
 his ambitions, and there was not a trace 
 of passion or enthusiasm in his nature. 
 Such a man was not likely to inspire any 
 strong devotion. But his temper was most 
 kindly, equable, and contented ; he was a 
 steady friend, and he appears to have been 
 always liked and honored in the cultivated 
 and uncontentious society in which he de- 
 lighted. His life was not a great one, but 
 it was in all essentials blameless and happy. 
 He found the work which was most con- 
 genial to him. He pursued it with admira- 
 ble industry and with brilliant success, 
 and he left behind him a book which is not 
 likely to be forgotten while the English 
 
178 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 language endures.— Lecky, William Ed- 
 ward Hartpole, 1897, Library of the 
 World's Best Literature, ed. Warner, vol, 
 XI, p. 6278 
 
 MADEMOISELLE CURCHOD 
 
 The cooling-off of Mr. Gibbon has made 
 me think meanly of him. 1 have been 
 going over his book, and he seems to me 
 to be straining at esprit. He is not the 
 man for me ; nor can I think that he will 
 be the one for Mademoiselle Curchod. 
 Any one who does not know her value is 
 not worthy of her; but a man who has 
 come to that knowledge and then with- 
 draws himself, is only worthy of contempt. 
 . . . I would sooner a thousand times 
 that he left her poor and free among you 
 than that he brought her rich and miser- 
 able away to England. — Rousseau, Jean 
 Jacques, 1763, Letter to Moulton. 
 
 I should be ashamed if the warm season 
 of youth had passed away without any 
 sense of friendship or love; and in the 
 choice of their objects I may applaud the 
 discernment of my head or heart. . . . 
 The beauty of Mademoiselle Curchod, the 
 daughter of a country clergyman, was 
 adorned with science and virtue : she lis- 
 tened to the tenderness which she had in- 
 spired ; but the romantic hopes of youth 
 and passion were crushed, on my return, 
 by the prejudice or prudence of an Eng- 
 lish parent. I sighed as a lover, I obeyed 
 as a son ; my wound was insensibly healed 
 by time, absence, and the habits of a new 
 life; and my cure was accelerated by a 
 faithful report of the tranquility and 
 cheerfulness of the Lady herself. Her 
 equal behaviour under the tryals of indi- 
 gence and prosperity has displayed the 
 firmness of her character. A citizen of 
 Geneva, a rich banker of Paris, made him- 
 self happy by rewarding her merit; the 
 genius of her husband has raised him to a 
 perilous eminence; and Madame Necker 
 now divides and alleviates the cares of the 
 first minister of the finances of France. — 
 Gibbon, Edward, c1789, Autobiography, 
 Memoir C, ed. Murray, p. 238. 
 
 The letter in which Gibbon communi- 
 cated to Mademoiselle Curchod the oppo- 
 sition of his father to their marriage still 
 exists in manuscript. The first pages are 
 tender and melancholy, as might be ex- 
 pected from an unhappy lover ; the latter 
 becomes by degrees calm and reasonable, 
 
 and the letter concludes with these words : 
 — Cest pourquoi, Mademoiselle, fai Vhon- 
 neur d'etre votre tres humble et tres obeis- 
 sant serviteur, Edward Gibbon. He truly 
 loved Mademoiselle Curchod; but every 
 one loves according to his character, and 
 that of Gibbon was incapable of a despair- 
 ing passion. — Suard, M., 1828, Life. 
 
 His love affair — his first and only one — 
 was transient enough. . . . She was, as 
 Gibbon declares (and we know it on better 
 testimony than a lover's eyes), beautiful, 
 intelligent, and accomplished. Her charms, 
 however, do not seem to have made any 
 indelible impression on our young student, 
 whose sensibility, to the truth, was never 
 very profound. On his father's expres- 
 sing his disapprobation, he surrendered 
 the object of his affection with as little 
 resistance as he had surrendered his 
 Romanism. — Rogers, Henry, 1857, En- 
 cyclopcedia Britannica, Eighth edition. 
 
 That the passion which she inspired in 
 him was tender, pure, and fitted to raise 
 to a higher level a nature which in some 
 respects was much in need of such eleva- 
 tion will be doubted by none but the hope- 
 lessly cynical ; and probably there are few 
 readers who can persue the paragraph in 
 which Gibbon "approaches the delicate 
 subject of his ealry love, " without discern- 
 ing in it a pathos much deeper than that 
 of which the writer was himself aware. — 
 Black, J. Sutherland, 1879, Encyclo- 
 pcedia Britannica, Ninth edition. 
 
 It becomes a kind of ''Ring and the 
 Book," but a Gibbonian ''Ring and the 
 Book" — every voice is the voice of Gib- 
 bon, and as we turn the pages we always 
 see the same short fat figure explaining 
 and pronouncing, and hear no echoes from 
 the market-place, or the law-courts. 
 When the historian treats of his early 
 love affair, it is especially entertaining to 
 have his feelings described in many ways 
 and at different periods of his life. Gib- 
 bon's love-story, told by himself, has al- 
 ways interested and amused his fellows — it 
 is a literary curiosity — a perennial joke — 
 but even here we might welcome another 
 point of view. In the original collection 
 edited by Gibbon's friend, several letters 
 from his correspondents were inserted— 
 all worth reading in their way. But far 
 the most interesting were a number of 
 letters written by Mme. Necker to her 
 former lover. They extend over a long 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 179 
 
 stretch of time, and bear witness to an 
 extraordinary loyal and faithful tender- 
 ness on her part. Some of the love for 
 him, which Gibbon has disregarded, seems 
 to have always remained in the bottom of 
 her heart, and while she learned to realize 
 that his genius lay in friendship and not 
 in courtship, she adapted herself to his 
 temperament and gave him to the last day 
 of his life an unswerving affection. — 
 Lyttelton, Edith, 1897, The Sequel to 
 Gibbon's Love-Story, National Review, vol, 
 29, p. 904. 
 
 The tone in which Gibbon generally re- 
 fers to love affairs in his history is not 
 altogether edifying, and hardly implies 
 that his passion had purified or ennobled 
 his mind. — Stephen, Leslie, ISdS, Studies 
 of a Biographer, vol. I, p. 169. 
 
 DECLINE AND FALL OF THE ROMAN 
 EMPIRE 
 
 1776-88 
 
 You have, unexpectedly, given the world 
 a classic history. The fame it must ac- 
 quire will tend every day to acquit this 
 panegyric of flattery. — Walpole, Horace, 
 1776, To Edward Gibbon, Feb. U; Letters, 
 ed. Cunningham, vol. vi, p. 308. 
 
 As I ran through your volume of His- 
 tory with great avidity and impatience, 
 I cannot forbear discovering somewhat of 
 the same impatience in returning you 
 thanks for your agreeable present, and 
 expressing the satisfaction which the per- 
 formance has given me. Whether I con- 
 sider the dignity of your style, the depth 
 of your matter, or the extensiveness of 
 your learning, I must regard the work as 
 equally the object of esteem, and I own 
 that, if I had not previously had the hap- 
 piness of your personal acquaintance, such 
 a performance from an Englishman in our 
 age would have given me some surprize. 
 — Hume, David, 1776, Letter to Edward 
 Gibbon, March 18. 
 
 Gibbon I detect a frequent poacher in 
 the Philosophical Essays'' of Boling- 
 broke: as in his representation of the 
 unsocial character of the Jewish religion ; 
 and in his insinuation of the suspicions 
 cast by succeeding miracles, acknowledged 
 to be false, on prior ones contended to be 
 true. Indeed it seems not unlikely that 
 he caught the first hint of his theological 
 chapters from this work.— Green,Thomas, 
 1779-1810, Diary of a Lover of Literature. 
 
 Another d— mn'd thick, square book! 
 Always s<:ribble, scribble, scribble! eh! 
 Mr. Gibbon?— Gloucester, Duke of?, 
 1781, On Presentation of the Second Vol- 
 ume of the Decline and Fall. 
 
 I can recollect no historical work from 
 which I ever received so much instruction, 
 and when I consider in what a barren field 
 you had to glean and pick up materials I 
 am truly astonished at the connected and 
 interesting story you have formed. — 
 Robertson, William, 1781, Letter to Ed- 
 ward Gibbon, May 12. 
 
 You will be diverted to hear that Mr. 
 Gibbon has quarrelled with me. He lent 
 me his second volume in the middle of 
 November. I returned it with a most 
 civil panegyric. He came for more in- 
 cense ; I gave it, but alas ! with too much 
 sincerity; I added, "Mr. Gibbon, I am 
 sorry you should have pitched on so dis- 
 gusting a subject as the Constantino- 
 politan History. There is so much of the 
 Arians and Eunomians, and semi-Pela- 
 gians ; and there is such a strange con- 
 trast between Roman and Gothic manners, 
 and so little harmony between a Consul 
 Sabinus and a Ricimer, Duke of the Pal- 
 ace, that though you have written the 
 story as well as it could be written, I fear 
 few will have patience to read it." He 
 coloured : all his round features squeezed 
 themselves into sharp angles ; he screwed 
 up his button-mouth, and rapping his 
 snuff-box, said, '*It had never been put 
 together before" — so well, he meant to 
 add — but gulped it. He meant so well 
 certainly, for Tillemont, whom he quotes 
 in every page, has done the very thing. 
 Well, from that hour to this, I have 
 never seen him, though he used to call 
 once or twice a week; nor has he sent 
 me the third volume, as he promised. 
 I well knew his vanity, even about his 
 ridiculous face and person, but thought he 
 had too much sense to avow it so palpably. 
 —Walpole, Horace, 1781, To Rev. Wil- 
 liam Mason, Jan. 27 ; Letters, ed. Cunnig- 
 ham, vol. vii, p. 505. 
 
 If there be any certain method of dis- 
 covering a man's real object, yours has 
 been to discredit Christianity in fact, 
 while in words you represent yourself as 
 a friend to it ; a conduct which I scruple 
 not to call highly unworthy and mean; 
 an insult on the common sense of the 
 Christian world. — Priestley, Joseph, 
 
180 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 1782, A Letter to Edward Gibbon on the 
 Decline and Fall. 
 
 I now feel as if a mountain was removed 
 from my breast ; as far as I can judge, 
 the public unanimously applauds my com- 
 pliment to Lord North, and does not ap- 
 pear dissatisfied with the conclusion of 
 my work, I look back with amazement on 
 the road which I have travelled, but which 
 I should never have entered had I been 
 previously apprized of its length. — Gib- 
 bon, Edward, 1788, Private Letter Sy vol. 
 II, p. 170. 
 
 I cannot express to you the pleasure it 
 gives me to find, that, by the universal as- 
 sent of every man of taste and learning 
 whom 1 either know or correspond with, 
 it sets you at the very head of the whole 
 literary tribe at present existing in 
 Europe. — Smith, Adam, 1788, Letter to 
 Edward Gibbon, Dec. 10. 
 
 You desire to know my opinion of Mr. 
 Gibbon. I can say very little about him, 
 for such is the affectation of his style, 
 that I could never get through the half of 
 one of his volumes. If anybody would 
 translate him into good classical English, 
 (such, I mean, as Addison, Swift, Lord 
 Lyttelton, &c., wrote), I should read him 
 with eagerness ; for I know there must be 
 much curious matter in his work. His 
 cavils against religion, have, I think, been 
 all confuted ; he does not seem to under- 
 stand that part of his subject : indeed I 
 have never yet met with a man, or with 
 an author, who both understood Christian- 
 ity, and disbelieved it. — Beattie, James, 
 1788, Letter to Duchess of Gordon, Novem- 
 ber 20th ; Works, ed. Forbes, vol. ill, p. 56. 
 
 It is a most wonderful mass of informa- 
 tion, not only on history, but almost on 
 all the ingredients of history, as war, 
 government, commerce, coin, and what 
 not. If it has a fault, it is in embracing 
 too much, and consequently in not detail- 
 ing enough, and in striding backwards and 
 forwards from one set of princes to an- 
 other, and from one subject to another ; 
 so that, without much historic knowledge, 
 and without much memory, and much 
 method in one's memory, it is almost im- 
 possible not to be sometimes bewildered : 
 nay, his own impatience to tell what he 
 knows, makes the author, though com- 
 monly so explicit, not perfectly clear in 
 his expressions. The last chapter of the 
 fourth volume, I own, made me recoil, 
 
 and I could scarcely push through it. So 
 far from being Catholic or heretic, I 
 wished Mr. Gibbon had never heard of 
 Monophysites, Nestorians, or any such 
 fools ! But the sixth volume made ample 
 amends; Mahomet and the Popes were 
 gentlemen and good company. I abomi- 
 nate fractions of theology and refor- 
 mation. — Walpole, Horace, 1788, To 
 Thomas Barrett, June 5 ; Letters, ed. Cun- 
 ningham, vol. IX, p. 126. 
 
 His reflections are often just and pro- 
 found. He pleads eloquently for the 
 rights of mankind, and the duty of tolera- 
 tion ; nor does his humanity ever slumber 
 unless when women are ravished, or the 
 Christians persecuted. ... He often 
 makes, when he cannot readily find, an 
 occasion to insult our religion, which he 
 hates so cordially that he might seem to 
 revenge some personal insult. Such is 
 his eagerness in the cause, that he stoops 
 to the most despicable pun, or to the 
 most awkward perversion of language, 
 for the pleasure of turning the Scriptures 
 into ribaldry, or of calling Jesus an im- 
 postor. — PoRSON, Richard, 1790, Letters 
 to Archdeacon Travis, Preface. 
 
 I am at a loss how to describe the suc- 
 cess of the work without betraying the 
 vanity of the writer. The first impres- 
 sion was exhausted in a few days ; a sec- 
 ond and third edition were scarcely ade- 
 quate to the demand ; and the bookseller's 
 property was twice invaded by the 
 pyrates of Dublin. My book was on every 
 table, and almost on every toilette; the 
 historian was crowned by the taste or 
 fashion of the day ; nor was the general 
 voice disturbed by the barking of any pro- 
 fane critic. ... It was on the day, 
 or rather, night of the 27th of June, 
 1787, between the hours of eleven and 
 twelve, that I wrote the last lines of the 
 last page, in a summerhouse in my gar- 
 den. After laying down my pen, I took 
 several turns in a berceau, or covered 
 walk of acacias, which commands a pros- 
 pect of the country, the Lake, and the 
 mountains. The air was temperate, the 
 sky was serene, the silver orb of the 
 moon was reflected from the waters, and 
 all nature was silent. I will not dissem- 
 ble the first emotions of joy on the recov- 
 ery of my freedom, and perhaps the es- 
 tablishment of my fame. But my pride 
 was soon humbled, and a sober melancholy 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 181 
 
 was spread over my mind, by the idea that 
 I had taken an everlasting leave of an old 
 and agreeable companion, and that, what- 
 soever might be the future date of my 
 history, the life of the historian must be 
 short and precarious. — Gibbon, Edward, 
 1793, Autobiography, Memoir E., ed. Mur- 
 ray, pp. 311, 333. 
 
 The work of Gibbon excites my utmost 
 admiration ; not so much by the immense 
 learning and industry which it displays, 
 as by the commanding intellect, the keen 
 sagacity, apparent in almost every page. 
 The admiration of his ability extends even 
 to his manner of showing his hatred to 
 Christianity, which is exquisitely subtle 
 and acute, and adapted to do very great 
 mischief, even where there is not the 
 smallest avowal of hostility. It is to be 
 deplored that a great part of the early 
 history of the Christian Church was ex- 
 actly such as a man like him could have 
 wished.— Foster, John, 1805, Letters, 
 ed. Ryland, vol. i, p. 262. 
 
 The author of the ''History of the De- 
 cline," &c., appears to have possessed a 
 considerable share of sense, ingenuity, 
 and knowledge of his subject, together 
 with great industry. But these qualities 
 or talents are disgraced, — by a false taste 
 of composition, which prompts him contin- 
 ually to employ a verbose, inflated style, 
 in order to obtain the praise of force and 
 energy, — by a perpetual affectation of wit, 
 irony, and satire, altogether unsuited to 
 the historic character, — and, what is 
 worse, by a freethinking, licentious spirit, 
 which spares neither morals nor religion, 
 and must make every honest man regard 
 him as a bad citizen and pernicious writer. 
 All these miscarriages may be traced up 
 to one common source, an excessive vanity. 
 — HuRD, Richard, 1808? Commonplace 
 Book, ed. Kilvert, p. 250. 
 
 The uncommon sum Gibbon received for 
 copyright, though it excited the astonish- 
 ment of the philosopher himself, was for 
 the continued labour of a whole life, and 
 probably the library he had purchased for 
 his work equalled at least in cost the prod- 
 uce of his pen; the tools cost the work- 
 man as much as he obtained for his 
 work. Six thousand pounds gained on 
 these terms will keep an author indigent. 
 —Disraeli, Isaac, 1812-13, Laborious 
 Authors, Calamities of Authors. 
 
 Gibbon is a writer full of thoughts ; his 
 
 language is in general powerful and ex- 
 quisite, but it has, to a great excess, the 
 faults of elaborateness, pompousness, and 
 monotony. His style is full of Latin and 
 French words and phrases. . . . The 
 work of Gibbon, however instructive and 
 fascinating it may be, is nevertheless at 
 bottom an offensive one, on account of his 
 deficiency in feeling, and his propensity 
 to the infidel opinions and impious mock- 
 eries of Voltaire. These are things ex- 
 tremely unworthy of a historian, and in 
 the periodic and somewhat cumbrous style 
 of Gibbon they appear set off to far less 
 advantage than in the light and airy com- 
 positions of his master. He never seems 
 to be naturally a wit, but impresses us 
 with the idea that he would very fain be 
 one if he could.— Schlegel, Frederick, 
 1815-59, Lectures on the History of Liter- 
 ature. 
 
 But the high estimation in which Mr. 
 Gibbon's outline is held on the continent, 
 where the Roman Law has for so many 
 centuries been thoroughly studied, and 
 elaborately written on, will be regarded 
 as strong evidence of its high merit. — 
 Hoffman, David, 1817, A Course of 
 Legal Study. 
 
 A work of immense research and splen- 
 did execution. . . . Alternately de- 
 lighted and offended by the gorgeous col- 
 ouring with which his fancy invests the 
 rude and scanty materials of his narrative ; 
 sometimes fatigued by the learning of his 
 notes, occasionally amused by their liveli- 
 ness, frequently disgusted by their obscen- 
 ity, and admiring or deploring the bitter- 
 ness of his skilful irony — I toiled through 
 his massy tomes with exemplary patience. 
 His style is exuberant, sonorous, and epi- 
 grammatic to a degree that is often dis- 
 pleasing. He yields to Hume in ele- 
 gance and distinctness — to Robertson in 
 talents for general disquisition — but he 
 excels them both in a species of brief and 
 shrewd remark for which he seems to 
 have taken Tacitus as a model, more 
 than any other that I know of. — Carlyle, 
 Thomas, ISIS, Early Letters, ed. Norton, 
 pp. 68, 69. 
 
 Arrived at Bury before tea. My 
 brother and sister were going to hear an 
 astronomical lecture. I stayed alone and 
 read a chapter in Gibbon on the early 
 history of the Germans. Having previ- 
 ously read the first two lectures of 
 
182 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 Schlegel, I had the pleasure of compari- 
 son, and I found much in Gibbon that I 
 had thought original in Schlegel. — Rob- 
 inson, Henry Crabb, 1820, Diary, ed. 
 Sadler, vol. i, p. 430. . 
 
 Gibbon was not, like Hume, a self-think- 
 ing, deep-fathoming man, who searched 
 into the nature of things, existence and 
 thought, but was in these respects like 
 the French, or like the Scotchman 
 Brougham, who has also attained this 
 Franco-Gene vese capacity, of quickly mak- 
 ing other people's thoughts and investi- 
 gations his own, and propounding them 
 in an admirable manner. Like the great 
 French writers, he can take a quick and 
 comprehensive view of various depart- 
 ments of knowledge, and we can therefore 
 learn most readily through his instrumen- 
 tality the results of the learned labours 
 of the great collectors of materials upon 
 the theology, philosophy, and jurispru- 
 dence of the times of declining antiquity, 
 and of the rising middle ages. Because 
 his eloquence and his great skill in repre- 
 sentation give a charm and splendour to 
 the thoughts which he wishes to dissem- 
 inate, he has the full right of all men who 
 are great in politics and literature to 
 claim, that nobody should ask, whether he 
 was really in earnest, or how his language 
 and his conduct harmonized.— Schlosser, 
 Friedrich Christoph, 1823-64, History 
 of the Eighteenth Century, tr. Davison, 
 vol. II, p. 85. 
 
 I have had occasion, during my labors, 
 to consult the writings of philosophers, 
 who have treated on the finances of the 
 Roman Empire; of scholars, who have 
 investigated the chronology; of theolo- 
 gians, who have searched the depths of 
 ecclesiastical history ; of writers on law, 
 who have studied with care the Roman 
 jurisprudence; of Orientalists, who have 
 occupied themselves with the Arabians and 
 the Koran; of modern historians, who 
 have entered upon extensive researches 
 touching the crusades and their influence ; 
 each of these writers has remarked and 
 pointed out, in the ''History of the De- 
 cline and Fall of the Roman Empire," 
 some negligences, some false or imperfect 
 views, some omissions, which it is impos- 
 sible not to suppose voluntary ; they have 
 rectified some facts, combated with ad- 
 vantage some assertions; but in general 
 they have taken the researches and the 
 
 ideas of Gibbon, as points of departure, 
 or as proofs of the researches or of the 
 new opinions which they have advanced. — ■ 
 GuizoT, Franqois Pierre Guillaume, 
 1828, ed. Gibbon's Works, Preface. 
 
 There is no writer who exhibits more 
 distinctly the full development of the prin- 
 ciples of modern history, with all its vir- 
 tues and defects, than Gibbon. . . . 
 Gibbon was a more vivacious draughtsman 
 than most writers of his school. He was, 
 moreover, deeply versed in geography, 
 chronology, antiquities, verbal criticism — 
 in short, in all the sciences in any way 
 subsidiary to his art. The extent of his 
 subject permitted him to indulge in those 
 elaborate disquisitions so congenial to the 
 spirit of modern history on the most 
 momentous and interesting topics, while 
 his early studies enabled him to embellish 
 the drier details of his narrative with the 
 charms of a liberal and elegant scholarship. 
 What, then, was wanting to this accom- 
 plished writer ? Good faith. His defects 
 were precisely of the class of which we 
 have before been speaking, and his most 
 elaborate efforts exhibit too often the 
 perversion of learning and ingenuity to 
 the vindication of preconceived hypothe- 
 ses. He cannot, indeed, be convicted of 
 ignorance or literal inaccuracy, as he has 
 triumphantly proved in his discomfiture of 
 the unfortunate Davis. But his disingen- 
 uous mode of conducting the argument 
 leads precisely to the same unfair result. 
 Thus, in his celebrated chapters on the 
 "Progress of Christianity,'' which he tells 
 us were ''reduced by three successive re- 
 visals from a bulky volume to their pres- 
 ent size," he has often slurred over in the 
 text such particulars as might reflect most 
 credit on the character of the religion, or 
 shuflSed them into a note at the bottom of 
 the page, while all that admits of a doubt- 
 ful complexion in its early propagation is 
 ostentatiously blazoned, and set in con- 
 trast to the most amiable features of 
 paganism. At the same time, by a style 
 of innuendo that conveys "more than 
 meets the ear," he has contrived, with 
 lago-like duplicity, to breathe a taint of 
 suspicion on the purity which he dares 
 not openly assail— Prescott, William 
 HiCKLiNG, 1829, Irving's Conquest of 
 Granada, Biographical and Critical Mis- 
 cellanies, pp. 102, 103. 
 
 Gibbon, the architect of a bridge over 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 183 
 
 the dark gulf which separates ancient 
 from modern times, whose vivid genius 
 has tinged with brilliant colours the great- 
 est historical work in existence. — Alison, 
 Sir Archibald, 1833-42, History of 
 Europe During the French Revolution, 
 vol. XIV, p. 3. 
 
 Gibbon's style is detestable, but his 
 style is not the worst thing about him. 
 His history has proved an effectual bar 
 to all real familiarity with the temper and 
 habits of imperial Rome. Few persons 
 read the original authorities, even those 
 which are classical ; and certainly no dis- 
 tinct knowledge of the actual state of the 
 empire can be obtained from Gibbon's 
 rhetorical sketches. He takes notice of 
 nothing but what may produce an effect ; 
 he skips on from eminence to eminence, 
 without ever taking you through the val- 
 leys between: in fact, his work is little 
 else but a disguised collection of all the 
 splendid anecdotes which he could find in 
 any book concerning any persons or 
 nations from the Antonines to the capture 
 of Constantinople. When I read a chap- 
 ter in Gibbon I seem to be looking through 
 a luminous haze or fog : — figures come and 
 go, I know not how or why, all larger 
 than life, or distorted or discoloured; 
 nothing is real, vivid, true ; all is scen- 
 ical, and as it were, exhibited by candle- 
 light. And then to call it a History of 
 the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire ! 
 Was there ever a greater misnomer? I 
 protest I do not remember a single philo- 
 sophical attempt made throughout the 
 work to fathom the ultimate causes of the 
 decline or fall of that empire. How mis- 
 erably deficient is the narrative of the im- 
 portant reign of Justinian ! And that poor 
 scepticism, which Gibbon mistook for 
 Socratic philosophy, has led him to mis- 
 state and mistake the character and influ- 
 ence of Christianity in a way which even 
 an avowed infidel or atheist would not and 
 could not have done. Gibbon was a man 
 .of immense reading; but he had no phi- 
 losophy ; and he never fully understood 
 the principle upon which the best of the 
 old historians wrote. He attempted to 
 imitate their artificial construction of the 
 whole work — their dramatic ordonnance 
 of the parts — without seeing that their 
 histories were intended more as docu- 
 ments illustrative of the truths of polit- 
 ical philosophy than as mere chronicles of 
 
 events.— Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 
 1833, Table Talk, Aug. 15, ed. Ashe, p. 245. 
 
 We have ourselves followed the track 
 of Gibbon through many parts of his 
 work ; we have read his authorities with 
 constant reference to his pages, and we 
 must pronounce our deliberate judgment 
 in terms of the highest admiration of his 
 general accuracy. Many of his seeming 
 errors are almost inevitable from the 
 close condensation of his matter. From 
 the immense range of his history it was 
 sometimes necessary to compress into a 
 single sentence, a whole vague and diffuse 
 page of a Byzantine chronicler. Perhaps 
 something of importance may thus escape, 
 and his expressions may not quite contain 
 the whole substance of the quotation. 
 His limits, at times, compel him to sketch ; 
 where that is the case, it is not fair to 
 expect the full details of the picture. At 
 times he can only deal with important re- 
 sults; and in his account of a war, it 
 sometimes requires great attention to dis- 
 cover that the events, which seem to be 
 comprehended in a single campaign, oc- 
 cupy several years. But this admirable 
 skill in selecting and giving prominence 
 to the points which are of real weight and 
 importance — this distribution of light and 
 shade — though perhaps it may occasionally 
 betray him into vague and imperfect state- 
 ments, is one of the highest excellencies 
 of Gibbon's historic manner. It is the 
 more striking, when we pass from the 
 works of his chief authorities, where, 
 after labouring through long, minute and 
 wearisome descriptions of the accessary 
 and subordinate circumstances, a single 
 unmarked and undistinguished sentence, 
 which we may overlook from the inatten- 
 tion of fatigue, contains the great moral 
 and political result. — Milman, Henry 
 Hart, 1834, Guizofs Edition of Gibbon, 
 Quarterly Review, vol. 50, p. 290. 
 
 Perhaps the most masterly and elabo- 
 rate account of the Civil Law which is 
 extant is to be found in the forty-fourth 
 chapter of Gibbon's ''Decline and Fall of 
 the Roman Empire." Lord Mansfield 
 characterised it as ''beautiful and spir- 
 ited." — Warren, Samuel, 1835, Law 
 Studies. 
 
 Another very celebrated historian, we 
 mean Gibbon — not a man of mere science 
 and analysis, like Hume, but with some 
 (though not the truest or profoundest) 
 
184 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 artistic feeling of the picturesque, and 
 from whom, therefore, rather more might 
 have been expected — has with much pains 
 succeeded in producing a tolerably 
 graphic picture of here and there a bat- 
 tle, a tumult, or an insurrection; his book 
 is full of movement and costume, .and 
 would make a series of very pretty ballets 
 at the Opera house, and the ballets would 
 give us fully as distinct an idea of the 
 Roman empire, and how it declined and 
 fell, as the book does. If we want that, 
 we must look for it anywhere but in Gib- 
 bon. One touch of M. Guizot removes 
 a portion of the veil which hid from us 
 the recesses of private life under the 
 Roman empire, lets in a ray of light which 
 penetrates as far even as the domestic 
 hearth of a subject of Rome, and shews us 
 the Government at work making that des- 
 olate ; but no similar gleam of light from 
 Gibbon's mind ever reaches the subject ; 
 human life, in the times he wrote about, 
 is not what he concerned himself with. — 
 Mill, John Stuart, 1837, The French 
 Revolution, Early Essays, ed. Gibbs, p. 276. 
 
 A greater historian than Robertson, but 
 not so great as Hume. With all his 
 swagger and bombast, no man ever gave 
 a more futile account of human things 
 than he has done of the decline and fall 
 of the Roman Empire ; assigning no pro- 
 found cause for these phenomena, nothing 
 but diseased nerves, and all sorts of miser- 
 able motives, to the actors in them. — 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 1838, Lectures on the 
 History of Literature, p. 185. 
 
 The great work of Gibbon is indispen- 
 sable to the student of history. The lit- 
 erature of Europe offers no substitute for 
 ''The Decline and Fall of the Roman Em- 
 pire." It has obtained undisputed pos- 
 session, as rightful occupant, of the vast 
 period which it comprehends. However, 
 some subjects which it embraces may 
 have undergone more complete investiga- 
 tion, on the general view of the whole 
 period, this history is the sole undisputed 
 authority to which all defer, and from 
 which few appeal to the original writers, 
 or to more modern compilers. The in- 
 herent interest of the subject ; the inex- 
 haustible labor employed upon it; the 
 immense condensation of matter ; the 
 luminous arrangement ; the general accu- 
 racy; the style, which, however monoto- 
 nous from its uniform stateliness, and 
 
 sometimes wearisome from its elaborate 
 art, is throughout vigorous, animated, 
 often picturesque, always commands at- 
 tention, always conveys its meaning with 
 emphatic energy, describes with singular 
 breadth and fidelity, and generalizes with 
 unrivalled felicity of expression ; all these 
 high qualifications have secured, and seem 
 likely to secure, its permanent place in 
 historic literature. — Milman,Henry Hart, 
 1838-39, ed., The History of the Decline 
 and Fall of the Roman Empire, Preface, 
 
 I read a good deal of Gibbon. He is 
 grossly partial to the pagan persecutors ; 
 quite offensively so. His opinion of the 
 Christian fathers is very little removed 
 from mine ; but his excuses for the tyr- 
 anny of their oppressoi s give to his book 
 the character which Person describes. 
 He writes like a man who had received 
 some personal injury from Christianity, 
 and wished to be revenged on it and all its 
 professors. — Macaulay, Thomas Bab- 
 INGTON, 1838, Diary, Dec. 22; Life and 
 Letters, ed. Trevelyan, vol. i, p. 26. 
 
 He had three hobbies which he rode to 
 the death (stuffed puppets as they were), 
 and which he kept in condition by the con- 
 tinual sacrifice of all that is valuable in 
 language. These hobbies were Dignity — 
 Modulation — Laconism. Dignity is all 
 very well; and history demands it for 
 its general tone ; but the being everlast- 
 ingly on stilts is not only troublesome 
 and awkward, but dangerous. He who 
 falls en homme ordinaire — from the mere 
 slipping of his feet — is usually an ob- 
 ject of sympathy; but all men tumble 
 now and then, and this H;umbling from 
 high sticks is sure to provoke laughter. 
 His modulation, however, is always ridicu- 
 lous ; for it is so uniform, so continuous, 
 and so jauntily kept up, that we almost 
 fancy the writer waltzing to his words. 
 With him, to speak lucidly was a far less 
 merit than to speak smoothly and curtly. 
 There is a way in which, through the 
 nature of language itself, we may often, 
 save a few words by talking backwards ; 
 and this is, therefore, a favorite practice 
 with Gibbon.— PoE, Edgar Allan, 1839- 
 49, Marginalia, Works, ed. Woodberry, vol. 
 Yii, p. 338. 
 
 If his work be not always history, it is 
 often something more than history, and 
 above it : it is philosophy, it is theology, 
 it is wit and eloquence, it is criticism the 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 185 
 
 most masterly upon every subject with 
 which literature can be connected. If 
 the style be so constantly elevated as to 
 be often obscure, to be often monotonous, 
 to be sometimes even ludicrously dispro- 
 portioned to the subject ; it must at the 
 same time be allowed, that whenever an 
 opportunity presents itself, it is the strik- 
 ing and adequate representation of com- 
 prehensive thought and weighty remark. 
 It may be necessary no doubt to warn the 
 student against the imitation of a mode 
 of writing so little easy and natural. 
 But the very necessity of the caution 
 implies the attraction that is to be re- 
 sisted ; and it must be confessed that the 
 chapters of the ''Decline and Fall" are 
 replete with paragraphs of such melody 
 and grandeur as would be the fittest to 
 convey to a youth of genius the full charm 
 of literary composition; and such as, 
 when once heard, however unattainable to 
 the immaturity of his own mind, he would 
 alone consent to admire, or sigh to emu- 
 late. . . . When such is the work, 
 it is placed beyond the justice or the in-, 
 justice of criticism; the Christian may 
 have, but too often, very just reason to 
 complain, the moralist to reprove, the 
 man of taste to censure, — even the histor- 
 ical inquirer may be fatigued and irri- 
 tated by the unseasonable and obscure 
 splendour through which he is to discover 
 the objects of his research. But the 
 whole is, notwithstanding, such an assem- 
 blage of merits so various, so interesting, 
 and so rare, that the "History of the De- 
 cline and Fall" must always be considered 
 as one of the most extraordinary monu- 
 ments that has appeared of the literary 
 powers of a single mind, and its fame can 
 perish only with the civilization of the 
 world.— Smyth, William, 1840, Lectures 
 on Modern History, vol. i. 
 
 The great merit of Gibbon is his extraor- 
 dinary industry, and the general fidelity 
 of his statements, as attested by the con- 
 stant references which he makes to his 
 numerous and varied authorities — refer- 
 ences which enable the *'most faithful of 
 historians" to ascertain clearly their ac- 
 curacy, that is, the truth -^f his narrative. 
 This is the very first virtue of the histor- 
 ical character ; and that merit, therefore, 
 is fully possessed by Gibbon. In it he is 
 the worthy rival of Robertson, and in it 
 he forms a remarkable contrast to Hume. 
 
 The next great merit of Gibbon is the 
 judgment with which he weighs conflict- 
 ing authorities and the freedom with 
 which he rejects improbable relations. 
 His sagacity is remarkable; and his at- 
 tention seems ever awake. . . . The 
 third excellence of his work is its 
 varied learning, distributed in the vast 
 body of notes which accompany the text, 
 and which contain no small portion of 
 a critical abstract, serving for a cata- 
 logue raisonne, of the works referred to 
 in the page. ... It must, lastly, 
 be allowed, that the narrative is as lucid 
 as the confused nature of the subject will 
 admit; and that, whatever defects may 
 be ascribed to it, there is nothing tiring 
 or monotonous, nothing to prevent the 
 reader's attention from being kept ever 
 awake. When the nature of the subject 
 is considered, perhaps there may some 
 doubt arise, if the ciiaster style of Livy, 
 of Robertson, or even of Hume, could 
 have rendered this story as attractive as 
 Gibbon's manner, singularly free from all 
 approach to monotony, though often de- 
 viating widely from simplicity and nature. 
 — Brougham, Henry Lord, 1845-6, Lives 
 of Men of Letters of the Time of George IIL 
 
 Every intelligent reader felt that only 
 a most uncommon sagacity could have 
 seen through the confusion of the chaotic 
 variety of his materials, estimating their 
 claims and merits, and their often obscure 
 relations with each other. So far from 
 complaining of any want of clearness in 
 the narrative, the wonder is, that he 
 should ever have been able to subdue them 
 into tolerable harmony and order. He 
 seems never to have been weary of search- 
 ing into the endless range of subjects 
 presented, balancing authorities and deter- 
 mining their accuracy with a precision and 
 faithfulness which few will venture to im- 
 peach. — Peabody, William B. 0., 1846- 
 49, Men of Letters and Science, Article IL, 
 Literary Remains, ed. Peabody, p. 280. 
 
 It is acknowledged that Gibbon wTote 
 with a preconceived, speculative object. 
 Cold design overlays every page. His 
 work is rather an elegant oration, pro- 
 nounced with sustained diction, than a liv- 
 ing picture of the past. The order into 
 which he reduced an immense quantity of 
 chaotic material is, perhaps, its most 
 striking charm. — Tuckerman, Henry T., 
 1849, Characteristics of Literature, p. 188, 
 
186 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 Fox used to say that Gibbon's history 
 was immortal, because nobody could do 
 without it ; nobody, without vast expense 
 of time and labour, could get elsewhere 
 the information which it contains. 1 
 think, and so Lord Grenville thought, that 
 the introductory chapters are the finest 
 part of that history : it was certainly more 
 difficult to write them than the rest of the 
 work. — Rogers, Samuel, 1855, ra6/e Talk. 
 
 There is no more solid book in the world 
 than Gibbon's history. Only consider the 
 chronology. It begins before the year 
 one and goes down to the year 1453, and 
 is a schedule or series of schedules of im- 
 portant events during that time. Scarcely 
 any fact deeply affecting European civili- 
 sation is wholly passed over, and the 
 great majority of facts are elaborately 
 recounted. Laws, dynasties, churches, 
 barbarians, appear and disappear. Every- 
 thing changes; the old world — the clas- 
 sical civilisation of form and definition — 
 passes away, a new world of free spirit 
 and inward growth emerges ; between the 
 two lies a mixed weltering interval of 
 trouble and confusion, when everybody 
 hates everybody, and the historical student 
 leads a life of skirmishes, is oppressed 
 with broils and feuds. All through this 
 long period Gibbon's history goes with 
 steady consistent pace; like a Roman 
 legion through a troubled country — hceret 
 pede pes; up hill and down hill, through 
 marsh and thicket, through Goth or Par- 
 thian — the firm defined array passes for- 
 ward—a type of order, and an emblem of 
 civilisation. Whatever may be the de- 
 fects of Gibbon's history, none can deny 
 him a proud precision and a style in 
 
 marching order Gibbon's 
 
 reflections connect the events; they are 
 not sermons between them. But, not- 
 withstanding, the manner of the "Decline 
 and Fall" is the last which should be rec- 
 ommended for strict imitation. It is not 
 a style in which you can tell the truth. 
 A monotonous writer is suited only to 
 monotonous matter. Truth is of vari- 
 ous kinds — grave, solemn, dignified, petty, 
 low, ordinary ; and an historian who has 
 to tell the truth must be able to tell what 
 is vulgar as well as what is great, what is 
 little as well as what is amazing. Gibbon 
 is at fault here. — Bagehot, Walter, 
 1856, Edward Gibbon, Literary Studies, 
 ed. Hutton, vol. ii, pp. 35, 36. 
 
 ''Gibbon's Decline and Fall" has now 
 been jealously scrutinized by two genera- 
 tions of eager and unscrupulous oppo- 
 nents ; and I am only expressing the gen- 
 eral opinions of competent judges when I 
 say that by each successive scrutiny it 
 has gained fresh reputation. Against his 
 celebrated fifteenth and sixteenth chap- 
 ters, all the devices of controversy have 
 been exhausted ; but the only result has 
 been, that while the fame of the historian 
 is untarnished, the attacks of his ene- 
 mies are falling into complete oblivion. 
 The work of Gibbon remains ; but who is 
 there who feels any interest in what was 
 written against him?— Buckle, Henry 
 Thomas, 1857, History of Civilization in 
 England, vol. I, p. 308, note. 
 
 Guizot and Milman have both subjected 
 the original authorities, consulted by Gib- 
 bon in his history of the Decline and Fall 
 of the Roman Empire, to the intensest 
 scrutiny, to see if the historian has per- 
 verted, falsified, or suppressed facts. 
 Their judgment is in favor of his honesty 
 and his conscientious research. Yet this 
 by no means proves that we can obtain 
 through his history the real truth of per- 
 sons and events. The whole immense 
 tract of history he traverses he has thor- 
 oughly Gibbonized. The qualities of his 
 character steal out in every paragraph; 
 the words are instinct with Gibbon's 
 nature ; though the facts may be obtained 
 from without, the relations in which they 
 are disposed are communicated from 
 within; and the human race for fifteen 
 centuries is made tributary to Gibbon's 
 thought, wears the colors and badges of 
 Gibbon's nature, is denied the possession 
 of any pure and exalted experiences 
 which Gibbon cannot verify by his own ; 
 and the reader, who is magnetized by the 
 historian's genius, rises from the perusal 
 of the vast work, informed of nothing as 
 it was in itself, iDut everything as it ap- 
 peared to Gibbon, and especially doubting 
 two things, — that there is any chastity in 
 women, or any divine truth in Christianity. 
 — Whipple, Edwin P., 1857, Character, 
 Character and Characteristic Men, p. 27. 
 
 The student must have perceived at 
 once that this unbeliever, however he 
 might adopt the cant of the philosophers, 
 was no mere philosophical historian in the 
 Hume and Voltaire sense of the word; 
 that he had devoted intense labour to his 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 187 
 
 task ; that he had succeeded in presenting 
 a picture of the past ages such as had not 
 been presented before. He might detect 
 many sophisms in the arguments of his 
 fifteenth and sixteenth chapters. But 
 what are all these arguments to the ac- 
 tual vision of the evils of human society 
 under the Christian dispensation? It is 
 these that give the special pleas for sec- 
 ondary causes their weight. It is these 
 that tempt to the notion that those sec- 
 ondary causes were many of them not 
 divine, but devilish. If that conviction 
 is traly followed out, Gibbon himself will 
 be the best of preachers. He will be the 
 brilliant and eloquent witness for a divine 
 power which has been at work in all ages 
 to counteract the devilish power ; which 
 has been stronger to support a righteous 
 kingdom on earth than all evil influences, 
 proceeding from those who call them- 
 selves divine ministers, have been to de- 
 stroy it. But if his reasoning and facts 
 aro merely brought face to face with 
 arguments, to prove that at a certain 
 moment there was launched into the world, 
 with miraculous sanctions, a religion the 
 outward displays of which, through subse- 
 quent ages, have been so mixed, — which 
 has apparently prompted so many evil 
 deeds — the result must be, in a multitude 
 of cases, a negative indifferent scepticism, 
 in not a few, a positive infidelity. — Mau- 
 rice, Frederick Denison, 1862, Moral 
 and Metaphysical Philosophy, vol. ii, p. 600. 
 
 He did not write expressly against 
 Christianity ; but the subject came across 
 his path in travelling over the vast space 
 of time which he embraced in his magni- 
 ficent "History of the Decline and Fall of 
 the Roman Empire." It is a subject of 
 regret to be compelled to direct hostile 
 remarks against one who has deserved so 
 well of the world. That work, though in 
 the pageantry of its style it in some sense 
 reflects the art and taste of the age in 
 which it was written, yet in its love of 
 solid information and deep research is the 
 noblest work of history in the English 
 tongue. Grand alike in its subject, its 
 composition, and its perspective, it has a 
 right to a place among the highest works 
 of human conception; and sustains the 
 relation to history which the works of 
 Michael Angelo bear to art. — Farrar, 
 Adam Storey, 1863, A Critical History 
 of Free Thought, p. 196. 
 
 Gibbon has planted laurels long to bloom 
 Above the ruins of sepulchral Rome. 
 He sang no dirge, but mused upon the land 
 Where Freedom took his solitary stand. 
 To him Thucydides and Livius bow, 
 And Superstition veils her wrinkled brow. 
 — Landor, Walter Savage, 1863, He- 
 roic Idyls, with Additional Poems y Works y 
 vol. VIII, p. 351. 
 
 The famous XVIth chapter of Gibbon's 
 Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire" 
 was assailed furiously, but in vain, each 
 assault exposing the weakness of the as- 
 sailants ; and it was only by adopting his 
 history, and editing it with judicious notes, 
 that the church silenced the enemy it 
 could not crush.— Frothingham, Octa- 
 vius Brooks, 1876, Transcendentalism in 
 New England, p. 185. 
 
 I have finished Gibbon, with a great 
 deduction from the high esteem I have 
 had of him ever since the old Kirkcaldy 
 days, when I first read the twelve volumes 
 of poor Irving' s copy in twelve consecu- 
 tive days. A man of endless reading and 
 research, but of a most disagreeable 
 style, and a great want of the highest 
 faculties (which indeed are very rare) of 
 what we could call a classical historian, 
 compared with Herodotus, for instance, 
 and his perfect clearness and simplicity 
 in every part. — Carlyle, Thomas, 1877? 
 Letters ; Life in London, ed. Froude, vol. 
 II, p. 395. 
 
 A man of genius ; not for what he has 
 done for history, but what he has done 
 for literature, in showing that no theme 
 is so huge but that art may proportion it 
 and adorn it till it charms, — the work 
 which lastingly charms being always and 
 alone the proof of genius. When one 
 turns from other histories to his mighty 
 achievement, one feels that it is really as 
 incomparable for its noble manner as for 
 the grandeur of the story it narrates. 
 That story assumes at his touch the majes- 
 tic forms, the lofty movement, of an epic ; 
 its advance is rhythmical ; in the strong 
 pulse of its antitheses is the fire, the life 
 of a poetic sense ; its music, rich and full, 
 has a martial vigor, its colors are the 
 blazons of shields and banners. — Howells, 
 WiLLiAxAi Dean, 1878, Edward Gibbon^ 
 Atlantic Monthly, vol. 41, p. 100. 
 
 It would be difficult to name any writer 
 in our language, especially among the few 
 who deserve to be compared with him, 
 
188 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 who is so un-English, not in a bad sense 
 of the word, as implying objectionable 
 qualities, but as wanting the clear insular 
 stamp and native flavour. If an intelli- 
 gent Chinese or Persian were to read his 
 book in a French translation, he would not 
 readily guess that it was written by an 
 Englishman. It really bears the imprint 
 of no nationality, and is emphatically 
 European. . . . An indefinable stamp 
 of weightiness is impressed on Gibbon's 
 writing; he has a baritone manliness 
 which banishes everything small, trivial, 
 or weak. When he is eloquent (and it 
 should be remembered to his credit that 
 he never affects eloquence, though he 
 occasionally affects dignity), he rises with- 
 out effort into real grandeur. On the 
 whole we may say that his manner, with 
 certain manifest faults, is not unworthy of 
 his matter, and the praise is great. — Mori- 
 son, James Cotter, 1878, Gibbon (Eng- 
 lish Men of Letters), pp. 26, 167. 
 
 Gibbon's ''Decline and Fall" leaves a 
 reader cold who cares only to quicken his 
 own inmost being by contact with what 
 is most precious in man's spiritual history ; 
 one chapter of Augustine's ' ' Confessions, ' ' 
 one sentence of the "Imitation" — each a 
 live coal from off the altar — will be of 
 more worth to such an one than all the 
 mass and laboured majesty of Gibbon. 
 But one who can gaze with a certain im- 
 personal regard on the spectacle of the 
 world will find the "Decline and Fall of 
 the Roman Empire," more than almost 
 any other single book, replenish and dilate 
 the mind.— DowDEN, Edward, 1880, 
 Southey {English Men of Letters), p. 20. 
 
 Though Gibbon's history was completed 
 nearly a century ago, its great impor- 
 tance has not declined, and it is probably 
 still entitled to be esteemed as the great- 
 est historical work ever written. . . . 
 The minuteness and comprehensiveness 
 of Gibbon's historical knowledge are 
 somewhat appalling to the scholarship of 
 the present day. ... So thorough 
 were his methods that the laborious inves- 
 tigations of German scholarship, the keen 
 criticisms of theological zeal, and the 
 steady researches of a century have 
 brought to light very few important errors 
 in the results of his labours. But it is not 
 merely the learning of the work, learned 
 as it is, that gives it character as a his- 
 tory. It is also that ingenious skill by 
 
 which the vast erudition, the boundless 
 range, the infinite variety, and the gor- 
 geous magnificence of the details are all 
 wrought together into a symmetrical 
 whole. Two objections to Gibbon's his- 
 tory have often been urged. The one is 
 to the stately magnificence of his style, 
 the other to his strong bias against Chris- 
 tianity. In both of these objections there 
 is considerable reason. The majestic 
 periods with which the author describes 
 even the least important events are a 
 source either of annoyance or of amuse- 
 ment to nearly every modern reader. The 
 other characteristic not only leads the 
 author to describe the origin and growth 
 of Christianity without sympathy, but it 
 throws a gloomy hue over the whole, and 
 gives to events as they pass before the 
 reader something of the melancholy pomp 
 of a funeral procession. But whatever 
 objections different minds may raise, either 
 to the unbending stateliness of his style 
 or to the stinging sarcasm of his spirits, 
 these peculiarities will prevent no gen- 
 uine scholar from studying the work and 
 profiting by it. — Adams, Charles Ken- 
 dall, 1882, A Manual of Historical Lit- 
 erature, -p. 138. 
 
 No Christian, therefore, but will rejoice 
 that, with its great faults on this side, a 
 history like that of Gibbon has been writ- 
 ten ; and Christianity needs too much to 
 have its infirmities, as a human product, 
 displayed for its own correction, to quar- 
 rel even with its severest censor who chal- 
 lenges historical evidence for his accusa- 
 tions. In particular allegations Gibbon 
 may have failed, but many of his charges 
 hit some weak point, where Christianity 
 is the better for the criticism ; and if his 
 general spirit be complained of, as, for 
 example, in his sympathy with Moham- 
 medanism rather than with so much higher 
 a faith, this teaches the Church of Christ 
 to remember its own corruption as the 
 precursor of its defeat, while there is no 
 more striking moral which Gibbon has un- 
 consciously helped to point than the divine 
 vitality, as since tested, of the one relig- 
 ion, while the other has been sinking into 
 senility and exhaustion. In this point 
 of view, or as a permanent measure of 
 the strength and enduring resource of 
 Christianity, the celebrated inquiry of 
 Gibbon as to Secondary Causes of the 
 success of Christianity has a special 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 189 
 
 interest.— Cairns, John, 1881, Unbelief 
 in the Eighteenth Century, p. 113. 
 
 If you want to know where the world 
 was, and how it fared with it during the 
 first ten centuries of our era, read Gibbon. 
 No other writer can do for you just what 
 he does. No one else has had the courage 
 to attempt his task over again. The 
 laborious student of history may go to the 
 many and obscure sources from which 
 Gibbon drew the materials for his great 
 work, and correct or supplement him here 
 and there, as Milman has done ; but the 
 general reader wants the completed struc- 
 ture, and not the mountain quarries from 
 which the blocks came ; and the complete 
 structure you get in Gibbon. To omit him 
 is to leave a gap in your knowledge of the 
 history of the world which nothing else 
 can fill. As Carlyle said to Emerson, he 
 "is the splendid bridge which connects 
 the old world with the new;" very artifi- 
 cial, but very real for all that, and very 
 helpful to any who have business that way. 
 The case may be even more strongly stated 
 than that. To read Gibbon is to be pres- 
 ent at the creation of the world — the 
 modern world. . . . Ruskin objects 
 to Gibbon's style as the "worst English 
 ever written by an educated Englishman. ' ' 
 It was the style of his age and country 
 brought to perfection, the stately curvi- 
 linear or orbicular style ; every sentence 
 makes a complete circle ; but it is always 
 a real thought, a real distinction that 
 sweeps through the circle. Modern style 
 is more linear, more direct and pictur- 
 esque ; and in the case of such a writer as 
 Ruskin, much more loose, discursive and 
 audacious. The highly artificial buckram' 
 style of the age of Gibbon has doubtless 
 had its day, but it gave us some noble lit- 
 erature, and is no more to be treated with 
 contempt than the age which produced it 
 is to be treated with contempt. — Bur- 
 roughs, John, 1886, Ruskin' s Judgment 
 of Gibbon and Darwin, The Critic, May 1. 
 
 Gibbon has a good deal to answer for. 
 You can find nearly every fact in him, but 
 he began by making the subject ridicu- 
 lous, by trotting out some absurd, and, if 
 possible, indecent anecdote, as if it were 
 a summary of the whole reign. It is that 
 chapter which gives the impression, and 
 those which follow never take it away. 
 I believe that Pipin was made patrician by 
 authority of Constantine Kopronymos, but 
 
 that Pope Stephen bamboozled them all 
 round. — Freeman, Edward A., 1888, 
 Letter to Goldwin Smith, April 25 ; Life 
 and Letters, ed. Stephens, vol. n, p. 380. 
 
 In accuracy, thoroughness, lucidity, and 
 comprehensive grasp of a vast subject, 
 the ' ' History' ' is unsurpassable. It is the 
 one English history which may be regarded 
 as definitive. The philosophy is of course 
 that of the age of Voltaire and implies a 
 deficient insight into the great social 
 forces. The style, though variously 
 judged, has at least the cardinal merit of 
 admirable clearness, and if pompous is 
 always animated. Whatever its short- 
 comings the book is artistically imposing 
 as well as historically unimpeachable as a 
 vast panorama of a great period. Gibbon's 
 fortunate choice of a subject enabled him 
 to write the one book in which the clear- 
 ness of his own age is combined with a 
 thoroughness of research which has made 
 it a standard for his successors. — Ste- 
 phen, Leslie, 1890, Dictionary of Na- 
 tional Biography, vol. xxi, p. 255. 
 
 It is no personal paradox, but the judg- 
 ment of all competent men, that the 
 "Decline and Fall" of Gibbon is the most 
 perfect historical composition that exists 
 in any language: at once scrupulously 
 faithful in its facts ; consummate in its lit- 
 erary art ; and comprehensive in analysis 
 of the forces affecting society over a 
 very long and crowded epoch. In eight 
 moderate volumes, of which every sen- 
 tence is compacted of learning and brim- 
 ful of thought, and yet every page is as 
 fascinating as romance, this great histo- 
 rian has condensed the history of the" civ- 
 ilised world over the vast period of four- 
 teen centuries — linking the ancient world 
 to the modern, the Eastern world to the 
 Western, and marshalling in one magnifi- 
 cent panorama the contrasts, the relations, 
 and the analogies of all. If Gibbon has 
 not the monumental simplicity of Thucy- 
 dides, or the profound insight of Tacitus, 
 he has performed a feat which neither has 
 attempted. "Survey mankind," says our 
 poet, "from China to Peru!" And our 
 historian surveys mankind from Britain to 
 Tartary, from the Sahara to Siberia, and 
 weaves for one-third of all recorded time 
 the epic of the human race. — Harrison, 
 Frederic, 1894, Some Great Books of 
 History, The Meaning of History, p. 101. 
 A great work then, and a great work 
 
190 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 now, measured by what standard we will. 
 To say that one approaches the accuracy 
 of Gibbon is to exhaust praise; to say 
 that one surpasses him in reach of learn- 
 ing is to deal in hyperbole. — Mitchell, 
 Donald G., 1895, English Lands Letters 
 and Kings, Queen Anne and the Georges, 
 p. 128. 
 
 Gibbon gave a new impetus to the study 
 of the history of Roman law through the 
 celebrated 44th chapter of his Decline 
 and Fall of the Roman Empire." It was 
 translated by Professor Hugo of Gottin- 
 gen and Professor Warnkonig of Liege, 
 and has been used as the text-book on 
 Civil Law in some of the foreign universi- 
 ties. . . . Herder, Savigny, and Niebuhr 
 stand all under the immediate influence of 
 Gibbon, and Lessing saw in him kindred 
 tendencies, though in a different direction. 
 — Merz, John Theodore, 1896, A His- 
 tory of European Thought in the Nineteenth 
 Century, vol. i, p. 169, note. 
 
 Gibbon was the first to write a complete 
 history on the largest scale, with a mag- 
 nificent sense of proportion, and with pro- 
 found original research ; tracing the com- 
 plex, stormy evolution of the modern 
 world out of the ancient, and the momen- 
 tous transitions from polytheism and slav- 
 ery to monotheism and free industry. It 
 is the history of civilization during thir- 
 teen centuries. The vast canvas is filled 
 without confusion, without apparent effort, 
 and without discord by one glowing, dis- 
 tinct, harmonious composition. He was 
 not a philosophic historian, nor did he 
 profess the profound insight of Thucy- 
 dides, of Tacitus, of Bacon, or of Hume, 
 into the springs of human action ; but he 
 was great in research, and his work re- 
 mains as the initial triumph of a great 
 historical method. Allowing for manifest 
 defects, arising from its ornate and elab- 
 orate style; from his perverse miscon- 
 ception of Christianity ; from his disbelief 
 in heroism, in popular enthusiasm, and in 
 self-devotion; and from his own epicu- 
 rean and aristocratic habit of mind, his 
 ''Decline and Fall" stands alone and un- 
 rivalled for breadth, knowledge, unity of 
 conception, and splendour of form. It 
 resembles the stately, solid, irresistible 
 march of a Roman Legion ; and is charac- 
 terized by Niebuhr as the greatest achieve- 
 ment of human thought and erudition in 
 the department of history. — Aubrey, 
 
 W. H. S., 1896, The Rise and Growth of the 
 English Nation, vol. ill, p. 254. 
 
 Permanently established its author in 
 that position of supremacy as a historian 
 of which each succeeding generation ren- 
 ders his tenure more secure. . . . 
 On the merits and demerits of his style 
 it cannot be pretended that the same con- 
 sensus of competent opinion prevails. It 
 has been reprehended by many who had 
 some right to criticise it, and by more 
 who had not. Coleridge, whose own prose 
 style, with all its eloquence, left much to 
 be desired, condemned it in terms so ex- 
 travagant as to discredit the critic rather 
 than the criticised ; but others, reviewing 
 it with less bias, and expressing them- 
 selves with more moderation, have man- 
 aged to draw up a pretty long list of ob- 
 jections to it. It has been pronounced 
 monotonous, inelastic, affected, pompous; 
 it has been called exotic in its spirit, and 
 un-English in its structure. The most 
 serious of these charges is, perhaps the 
 second.— Traill, Henry Duff, 1896, 
 Social England, vol. v, pp. 448, 449. 
 
 One who is, all things told and all things 
 allowed for, the greatest historian of 
 the world. — Saintsbury, George, 1896, 
 Social England, ed. Traill, vol. v, p. 268. 
 
 If we continue Gibbon in his fame, it 
 will be for love of his art, not for worship 
 of his scholarship. We some of us, now- 
 adays, know the period of which he wrote 
 better even than he did ; but which one of 
 us shall build so admirable a monument to 
 ourselves, as artists, out of what we know ? 
 The scholar finds his immortality in the 
 form he gives to his work. It is a hard 
 saying, but the truth of it is inexorable : 
 be an artist, or prepare for oblivion. — 
 Wilson, Woodrow, 1896, Mere Litera- 
 ture, p. 22.' 
 
 To Edward Gibbon, who timidly depre- 
 cated comparison with Robertson and 
 Hume, criticism is steadily awarding a 
 place higher and higher above them. He 
 is, indeed, one of the great writers of 
 the century, one of those who exemplify 
 in the finest way the signal merits of the 
 age in which he flourished. The book by 
 which he mainly survives, the vast ''De- 
 cline and Fall of the Roman Empire," be- 
 gan to appey in 1776, and was not com- 
 pleted until i788. It was at once discov- 
 ered by all who were competent to judge, 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 191 
 
 that here was a new thing introduced into 
 the literature of the world. — GossE, Ed- 
 mund, 1897, Short History of Modern 
 English Literature, p. 258. 
 
 Gibbon excels all other English histo- 
 rians in symmetry, proportion, perspect- 
 ive, and arrangement, which are also the 
 pre-eminent and characteristic merits of 
 the best French literature. We find in 
 his writing nothing of the great miscalcu- 
 lations of space that were made by such 
 writers as Macaulay and Buckle ; nothing 
 of the awkward repetitions, the confused 
 arrangement, the semi-detached and dis- 
 jointed episodes that mar the beauty of 
 many other histories of no small merit. 
 Vast and multifarious as are the subjects 
 which he has treated, his work is a great 
 whole, admirably woven in all its parts. 
 On the other hand, his foreign taste may 
 perhaps be seen in his neglect of the Saxon 
 element, which is the most vigorous and 
 homely element in English prose. Prob- 
 ably in no other English writer does the 
 Latin element so entirely predominate. 
 Gibbon never wrote an unmeaning and 
 very seldom an obscure sentence ; he could 
 always paint with sustained and stately 
 eloquence an illustrious character or a 
 splendid scene : but he was wholly want- 
 ing in the grace of simplicity, and a mo- 
 notony of glitter and of mannerism is the 
 great defect of his style. He possessed, 
 to a degree which even Tacitus and Bacon 
 had hardly surpassed, the supreme liter- 
 ary gift of condensation, and it gives an 
 admirable force and vividness to his nar- 
 rative ; but it is sometimes carried to ex- 
 cess. Not unfrequently it is attained 
 by an excessive allusiveness, and a v.ide 
 knowledge of the subject is needed to en- 
 able the reader to perceive the full im- 
 port and meaning conveyed or hinted at 
 by a mere turn of phrase. But though 
 his style is artificial and pedantic, and 
 greatly wanting in flexibility, it has a rare 
 power of clinging to the memory, and it 
 has profoundly influenced English prose. 
 — Lecky, William Edward Hartpole, 
 1897, Edward Gibbon, Library of the 
 World's best Literature, ed. Warner, vol. 
 XI, p. 6273. 
 
 The author's profits for the "Decline 
 and Fall of the Roman Empire," by Gib- 
 bon, are put down at £10,000.— An- 
 drews, William, 1898, The Earnings of 
 Authors, Literary Byways, p. 56. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY . 
 
 1790-1896 
 
 Papa has read us several parts of Mr. 
 Gibbon's Memoirs, written so exactly in 
 the style of his conversation that, while 
 we felt delighted at the beauty of the 
 thoughts and elegance of the language, we 
 could not help feeling a severe pang at 
 the idea we should never hear his instruct- 
 ive and amusing conversation any more. 
 — Holroyd, Maria Josepha, 1793, Girl- 
 hood, p. 273. 
 
 The most important part consists of 
 Memoirs of Mr. Gibbon's life and writings, 
 a work which he seems to have projected 
 with peculiar solicitude and attention, and 
 of which he left six different sketches, 
 all in his own hand-writing. One of these 
 sketches, the most diffuse and circum- 
 stantial, so far as it proceeds, ends at the 
 time when he quitted Oxford. Another 
 at the year 1764, when he travelled to 
 Italy. A third, at his father's death, in 
 1770. A fourth, which he continued to 
 a short time after his return to Lausanne 
 in 1788, appears in the form of Annals, 
 much less detailed than the others. The 
 two remaining sketches are still more im- 
 perfect. It is difficult to discover the 
 order in which these several pieces were 
 written, but there is reason to believe 
 that the most copious was the last. From 
 all these the following Memoirs have been 
 carefully selected, and put together. — 
 Sheffield, John Lord, 1795, ed., The 
 Miscellaneous Works of Edward Gibbon, 
 Introduction. 
 
 The private memoirs of Gibbon the his- 
 torian have just been published. In them 
 we are able to trace with considerable 
 accuracy the progress of his mind. W' hile 
 he was at college, he became reconciled 
 to the Roman Catholic faith. By this 
 circumstance he incurred his father's dis- 
 pleasure, who banished him to an obscure 
 situation in Switzerland, where he was 
 obliged to live upon a scanty provision, 
 and was far removed from all the cus- 
 tomary amusements of men of birth and 
 fortune. If this train of circumstances 
 had not taken place, would he ever have 
 been the historian of the ' ' Decline and Fall 
 of the Roman Empire ?" Yet how unusual 
 were his attainments in consequence of 
 these events, in learning, in acuteness of 
 research, and intuition of genius. — GOD- 
 AVIN, William, 1797, The Enquirer, p. 25. 
 
192 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 We are now "in the thick and bustle" 
 of living biographers; but let a tribute 
 of literary respect be paid to the recent 
 dead. The autobiography of Gibbon, at- 
 tached to his Posthumous Works edited 
 by Lord Sheffield, has been perhaps the 
 most popular production, of its kind, of 
 modern times. It is winning in an un- 
 usual degree. The periods flow with a 
 sort of liquid cadence. The facts are 
 beautifully brought together, and ingen- 
 iously argued upon ; and the life of a stu- 
 dious Recluse has something about it of 
 the air of a romantic Adventurer. This 
 is attributable to the charm — the polish — 
 the harmony of the style. But the auto- 
 biography of Gibbon is, in fact, the con- 
 summation of Art : and never were pages 
 more determinedly and more elaborately 
 written for the admiration of posterity. — 
 DiBDiN, Thomas Frognall, 1824, The 
 Library Companion, p. 529. 
 
 Read Gibbon's autobiography again ; it 
 rouses me like a bugle. — Alexander, 
 James W., 1825, Familiar Letters, May 
 28, vol. I, p. 78. 
 
 The most imposing of domestic narra- 
 tives, the model of dignified detail. — 
 Bagehot, Walter, 1856, Edward Gibbon, 
 Literary Studies, ed. Hutton, vol. ii, p. 53. 
 
 English literature is rich in autobiog- 
 raphy. It has, indeed, no tale so deep 
 and subtle as that which is told in the 
 "Confessions of St. Augustine." It has 
 no such complete and unreserved unbosom- 
 ing of a life as is given by the strange 
 Italian, Benvenuto Cellini, who is the 
 prince of unconcealment. But there is 
 hardly any self-told life in any language 
 which is more attractive than the autobi- 
 ography of Edward Gibbon, in which he 
 recounts the story of his own career in the 
 same stately, pure prose in which he nar- 
 rates the "Decline and Fall of Rome." 
 It must have needed a great faith in a 
 man's self to write those sonorous pages. 
 Two passages in them have passed into 
 the history of man. One is that in which 
 he describes how, in Rome, on the 15th 
 of October, 1764, as he sat musing amid 
 the ruins of the Capitol, while the bare- 
 footed friars were singing vespers in the 
 Temple of Jupiter, the idea of writing the 
 decline and fall of the city first started in 
 his mind. The other is the passage in 
 which the great historian records how, on 
 the night of the 27th of June, 1787, 
 
 between the hours of eleven and twelve, he 
 wrote the last lines of the last page in a 
 summer-house at Lausanne, and how then, 
 laying down his pen, he "took several turns 
 in a berceau, or covered walk of acacias, 
 which commanded a prospect of the coun- 
 try, the lake, and the mountains. " The 
 story is all very solemn and exalted. It 
 is full of the feeling that the begin- 
 ning and ending of a great literary work 
 is as great an achievement as the founda- 
 tion and completion of an empire — as 
 worthy of record and of honor ; and as we 
 read we feel so too. — Brooks, Phillips, 
 1880-94, Biography, Essays and Ad- 
 dresses, p. 440. 
 
 He had written a magnificent history of 
 the Roman Empire. It remained to write 
 the history of the historian. Accordingly 
 we have the autobiography. These two 
 immortal works act and react upon one 
 another ; the history sends us to the auto- 
 biography, and the autobiography returns 
 us to the history. ... He made six 
 different sketches of the autobiography. 
 It is a most studied performance, and may 
 be boldly pronounced perfect. — Birrell, 
 Augustine, 1892, Res Judicatce, p. 50. 
 
 Lord Sheffield executed his editorial 
 task with extreme judgment, singular in- 
 genuity, but remarkable freedom. . . . 
 Quite a third of the whole manuscript is 
 omitted, and many of the most piquant 
 passages that Gibbon ever wrote were 
 suppressed by the caution or the delicacy 
 of his editor and his family. The result 
 is a problem of singular literary interest. 
 A piece, most elaborately composed by 
 one of the greatest writers who ever used 
 our language, an autobiography often pro- 
 nounced to be the best we possess, is now 
 proved to be in no sense the simple work 
 of that illustrious pen, but to have been 
 dexterously pieced together out of seven 
 fragmentary sketches and adapted into a 
 single and coherent narrative. — Shef- 
 field, Earl OF, 1896, The Autobiographies 
 of Edward Gibbon, Introduction, p. ix. 
 
 It is one of the best specimens of self- 
 portraiture in the language, reflecting 
 with pellucid clearness both the life and 
 character, the merits and defects, of its 
 author.— Lecky, William Edward Hart- 
 pole, 1897, Library of the World's Best 
 Literature, ed. Warner, vol. xi, p. 6278. 
 
 All critics agree that Gibbon's autobi- 
 ography is a model in its way. — Stephen, 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 193 
 
 Leslie, 1998, Studies of a Biographer, 
 vol. I, p. 148. 
 
 Gibbon's miscellaneous work, both in 
 English and French, is not inconsiderable, 
 and it displays hispeculiar characteristics ; 
 but the only piece of distinct literary im- 
 portance is his ''Autobiography." This, 
 upon which he seems to have amused him- 
 self by spending much pains, was left un- 
 settled for press. Edited with singular 
 judgment and success under the care of 
 his intimate friend and literary executor 
 Lord Sheffield, it has been for three gen- 
 erations one of the favourite things of its 
 kind with all good judges, and is likely 
 to continue so in the textus receptus, for 
 which the fussy fidelity of modern literary 
 methods will probably try in vain to sub- 
 stitute a chaos of rough drafts. — Saints- 
 bury, George, 1898, A Short History of 
 English Literature, p. 626. 
 
 If, as Johnson said, there had been only 
 three books ''written by man that were 
 wished longer by their readers, ' ' the eight- 
 eenth 'century was not to draw to its close 
 without seeing a fourth added. With 
 ' ' Don Quixote, " " The Pilgrim's Progress' ' 
 and "Robinson Crusoe," the "Autobiog- 
 raphy of Edward Gibbon" was henceforth 
 to rank as "a work whose conclusion is 
 perceived with an eye of sorrow, such as 
 the traveller casts upon departing day." 
 It is indeed so short that it can be read 
 by the light of a single pair of candles ; 
 it is so interesting in its subject, and so 
 alluring in its turns of thought and its 
 style, that in a second and a third reading 
 it gives scarcely less pleasure than in the 
 first. Among the books in which men 
 have told the story of their own lives it 
 stands in the front rank. — Hill, George 
 BiRKBECK,1900,eJ. The Memoirs of the Life 
 of Edward Gibbon, Preface, p. v. 
 
 LETTERS AND MISCELLANEOUS 
 WORKS 
 1796-1897 
 
 I shall thus give more satisfaction, by 
 employing the language of Mr. Gibbon, 
 instead of my own; and the public will 
 see him in a new and admirable light, as 
 a writer of letters. By the insertion of 
 a few occasional sentences, I shall obviate 
 the disadvantages that are apt to arise 
 from an interrupted narration. A preju- 
 diced or a fastidious critic may condemn, 
 perhaps, some parts of the letters as 
 
 13 c 
 
 trivial ; but many readers, I flatter myself, 
 will be gratified by discovering, even in 
 these, my friend's affectionate feelings, 
 and his character in familiar life. His 
 letters in general bear a strong resem- 
 blance to the style and turn of his conver- 
 sation : the characteristics of which were 
 vivacity, elegance, and precision, with 
 knowledge astonishingly extensive and 
 correct. He never ceased to be instruct- 
 ive and entertaining ; and in general there 
 was a vein of pleasantry in his conversa- 
 tion which presented its becoming lan- 
 guid, even during a residence of many 
 months with a family in the country. It 
 has been supposed that he always arranged 
 what he intended to say, before he spoke ; 
 his quickness in conversation contradicts 
 this notion : but it is very true, that be- 
 fore he sat down to write a note or letter, 
 he completely arranged in his mind what 
 he meant to express. — Sheffield, John 
 Lord, 1795, ed.. The Autobiography of 
 Edward Gibbon, Illustrated from his Let- 
 ters with Occasional Notes and Narra- 
 tives. 
 
 On the style and spirit of Mr. Gibbon's 
 own letters it were vain to comment. 
 They rank in the first class of epistolary 
 composition, equally honourable to the 
 head and heart of the writer. Ease, vig- 
 our, spirit, and the very soul of friendship 
 pervade the whole. On the subject of 
 religion, they maintained a general 
 silence, which was obviously the effect of 
 indifference; and on another subject they 
 contain nothing that would put a V estal 
 to blush. On one or two occasions, how- 
 ever, enough is disclosed to shew, that 
 with the proofs of Revelation, Gibbon 
 rejected the probabilities of natural reli- 
 gion. Born with a constitution naturally 
 incredulous, he had refined it into a sys- 
 tematic rejection of almost everything 
 beyond the reach of the senses ; and this 
 state of the understanding, after the ex- 
 ample of his school, he dignified with the 
 name of Philosophy. — Whitaker, T. D., 
 1815, Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works, Quar- 
 terly Review, vol. 12, p. 384. 
 
 I have finished reading the first volume 
 of "Gibbon's Miscellaneous Works, "pub- 
 lished by Lord Sheffield. Of mere worldly 
 production, it is the most interesting that 
 I have read for many years, more espe- 
 cially Gibbon's own memoirs of himself. 
 I have been acquainted with Lord Sheffield 
 
194 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 above forty years, and more than once 
 met Gibbon at his house; and, if 1 re- 
 member rightly, the first time I was at 
 Sheffield Place, which, 1 think, was in 
 1770, being invited by him on my adver- 
 tising the intentions of the Eastern tour. 
 . . . But, alas ! the whole volume has 
 not one word of Christianity in it, though 
 many which mark the infidelity of the 
 whole gang. Lord Sheffield never had a 
 grain of religion, and his intimate con- 
 nections with Gibbon would alone account 
 for it.— Young, Arthur, 1816, Autobiog- 
 raphy, ed., Bethavi-EdwardSy pp. 468, 469. 
 
 His letters have the faults of his con- 
 versation ; they are not easy or natural ; 
 all is constrained, all for effect. No one 
 can suppose in reading them that a word 
 would have been changed, had the writer 
 known they were to be published the 
 morning after he dispatched them, and 
 had sent them to the printing-office in- 
 stead of the post-office. — Brougham, 
 Henry Lord, 1845-6, Lives of Men of 
 Letters of the Time of George III. 
 
 If the Memoirs give us Gibbon in the 
 full dress of a fine gentleman of letters, 
 the correspondence reveals to us the man 
 as he was known to his valet and his 
 housekeeper. The letters have the ease 
 and freshness of conversations with inti- 
 mate friends, and, considering the char- 
 acter of the century in which they were 
 written, they present one feature which 
 deserves special notice. Only one short 
 sentence has been omitted as too coarse 
 to be printed. With this solitary excep- 
 tion, the reader knows the worst as well 
 as the best of Gibbon, and there are 
 scarcely a dozen phrases, scattered over 
 800 pages, which will offend good taste or 
 good feeling.— Prothero, Rowland E., 
 1896, ed.y Private Letters of Edward Gib- 
 bon, Preface, vol. I, p. xii. 
 
 It is Gibbon's letters that will most in- 
 terest the reader. With very few excep- 
 tions, they were addressed to his father, 
 his stepmother, and his friend Lord Shef- 
 field. The character of the man shines 
 in them all. As a son he was constantly 
 dutiful, devoted, obedient, and sympa- 
 thetic— Halsey, Francis W., 1897, The 
 New Memoirs of Gibbon, The Book Buyer, 
 vol. 14, p. 178. 
 
 Gibbon's Letters may be said to derive 
 more interest from him than he derives 
 
 from them. They have not the audacious 
 fun and commanding force of Byron's, the 
 full-blooded eloquence of Burns's, the 
 manly simplicity of Cowper's, the pro- 
 found humour and pathos of Carlyle's. 
 They are without the radiant geniality of 
 Macaulay's. They do not touch the high 
 literary water-mark of Gray's. They ex- 
 press the mundane sentiments of an 
 earthly sage, in love, if the phrase may 
 be pardoned, with peace and wealth. The 
 secret of the charm which most of them 
 undoubtedly have is that they reveal the 
 inner homely side of the richest and most 
 massive intellect which the eighteenth 
 century produced. Gibbon was an inde- 
 fatigable student, and so far as he could 
 rise to enthusiasm, an enthusiastic admirer 
 of Cicero. Peahaps the rather monotonous 
 flow of the Ciceronian rhythm is too evident 
 in his prose.— Paul, Herbert, 1897, Gib- 
 bon's Life and Letters, The Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury, vol. 41, p. 304. 
 
 But now that we have the intimate re- 
 cords of his daily life from youth to death 
 in their original form, one wonders anew 
 how so gigantic a work as the Decline 
 and Fall" was ever completed in about 
 sixteen years amidst all the distractions 
 of country squires, London gaieties, Parlia- 
 mentary and official duties, interminable 
 worries about his family and property, 
 social scandals and importunate friends. 
 In all these six hundred letters there 
 is not very much about his studies and 
 his writings, but a great deal about 
 politics, society, and pecuniary cares. We 
 are left to imagine for ourselves when 
 the great scholar read, how he wrote, 
 and why he never seemed to exchange 
 a thought with any student of his own 
 calibre of learning. One would think 
 he was a man of fashion, a dilettante 
 man of the world, a wit, a bon vivant, 
 and a collector of high-life gossip. All 
 this makes the zest of his ''Letters," 
 which at times seem to recall to us the 
 charm of a Boswell or a Horace Walpole. 
 The world can now have all the fun, as 
 Maria Holroyd said. But it leaves us with 
 the puzzle even darker than before — how 
 did Gibbon, whose whole epoch of really 
 systematic study hardly lasted twenty-five 
 years, acquire so stupendous a body of 
 exact and curious learning? — Harrison, 
 Frederic, 1897, The New Memoirs of 
 Edward Gibbon, The Forum, vol. 22, p.lhl. 
 
EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 195 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I prefer your style, as an historian, to 
 that of the two most renowned writers of 
 history the present day has seen. That 
 you may not suspect me of having said 
 more than my real opinion will warrant, I 
 will tell you why. In your style I see no 
 affectation. In every line of theirs I see 
 nothing else. They disgust me always, 
 Robertson with his pomp and his strut, 
 and Gibbon with his finical and French 
 manners.— Co WPER, William, 1783, To 
 Rev. John Newton, July 27 ; Works, ed. 
 Southey, vol. ill, p. 33. 
 
 Though his style is in general correct 
 and elegant, he sometimes draws out the 
 thread of his verbosity finer than the 
 staple of his argument. ' ' In endeavouring 
 to avoid vulgar terms he too frequently 
 dignifies trifles, and clothes common 
 thoughts in a splendid dress that would 
 be rich enough for the noblest ideas. In 
 short we are too often reminded of that 
 great man, Mr. Prig, the auctioneer, 
 whose manner was so inimitably fine that 
 he had as much to say on a ribbon as on 
 a Raphael.— PoRSON, Richard, 1790, 
 Letters to Archdeacon Travis. 
 
 Heard of the death of Mr. Gibbon, the 
 calumniator of the despised Nazarene, the 
 derider of Christianity. Awful dispensa- 
 tion! He too was my acquaintance. 
 Lord, I bless Thee, considering how much 
 infidel acquaintance I have had, that my 
 soul never came into their secret ! How 
 many souls have his writings polluted ! 
 Lord preserve others from their contagion ! 
 —More, Hannah, 1794, Diary, Jan. 19. 
 
 None of the cursed Gibbonian fine writ- 
 ing, so fine and composite ! — Lamb, 
 Charles, 1800, Letters, ed. Ainger, March 
 1, vol. I, p. 115. 
 
 I hear Gibbon's artificial style still 
 commended by a few ; but it is his matter 
 which preserves him. — Brydges, Sir Sam- 
 uel Egerton, 1824, Recollections of For- 
 eign Travel, July 20, vol. i, p. 86. 
 
 His way of writing reminds one of 
 those persons who never dare look you 
 full in the face. — Whately, Richard, 
 1826, Elements of Logic, note. 
 
 There can be no gainsaying the sentence 
 of this great judge. To have your name 
 mentioned by Gibbon, is like having it 
 written on the dome of St. Peter's. Pil- 
 grims from all the world admire and 
 
 behold it.— Thackeray, William Make- 
 peace, 1853, The English Humourists of 
 the Eighteenth Century. 
 
 Gibbon, however excellent an authority 
 for facts, knew nothing about philosophy, 
 and cared less. — Kixgsley, Charles, 
 1854, Alexandria and her Schools. 
 
 Gibbon's literary ambition was never 
 pure. It was rather a longing for tempo- 
 rary distinction than a desire to become 
 of use to his age and his fellow men. He 
 sought fame rather as a means of personal 
 advantage than for any great and noble 
 purpose. Even his love for literature was 
 never that high and honorable passion 
 which filled all the nature of Hume, and 
 he seems now, abandoning the common 
 professions as unsuited to his habits, to 
 have betaken himself to his studies as a 
 means of self-aggrandizement, rather than 
 as the source of purest satisfaction. 
 . . . Gibbon had none of the quali- 
 ties of a good biographer. His style, 
 heavy and sonorous, was never suited to 
 convey the delicate painting of character, 
 or to unfold a simple tale of domestic life 
 and manners. . . . Gibbon is of all 
 the historians the most learned. His 
 rivals, Hume and Robertson, by whose 
 side he modestly refused to place himself, 
 sink into insignificance before the vast 
 range of his acquirements. But his learn- 
 ing is not his chief excellence ; his highest 
 was that he was suited exactly to his 
 theme. By nature, by the inclination of 
 his taste, by his fondness for learned dis- 
 quisition, by his clear method, by his 
 grand and powerful style, by his imagina- 
 tion rising with his subject, by his accu- 
 racy and honesty of research, by his un- 
 tiring labor, and above all by his single 
 and unfaltering devotion to one absorbing 
 theme, he was fitted above all men to be- 
 come the historian of the Decline and 
 Fall of the Roman Empire. ' ' On this field 
 he can never have a rival. There may, 
 perhaps, be written a history of England, 
 possessing greater research and purer 
 honesty, if not the simple and perfect 
 manner of Hume ; but we can hope for no 
 second ''History of the Decline and Fall 
 of Rome. ' ' The subject is fully occupied, 
 and like the Coliseum or the Pyramids, 
 Gibbon's vast work must stand alone for 
 ever.— Lawrence, Eugene, 1855, The 
 Lives of the British Historians, vol. ii, pp. 
 256, 262, 310. 
 
196 
 
 EDWARD GIBBON 
 
 These will bring him to Gibbon, who 
 will take him in charge and convey him 
 with abundant entertainment down — with 
 notice of all remarkable objects on the 
 way — through fourteen hundred years of 
 time. He cannot spare Gibbon, with his 
 vast reading, with such wit and continuity 
 of mind, that, though never profound, his 
 book is one of the conveniences of civiliza- 
 tion, like the new railroad from ocean to 
 ocean, — and I think, will be sure to 
 send the reader to his ''Memoirs of Him- 
 self," and the "Extracts from my Jour- 
 nal, ' ' and ' ' Abstracts from my Readings, ' ^ 
 which will spur the laziest scholar to emu- 
 lation of his prodigious performance. — 
 Emerson, Ralph Waldo, 1870-83, Books; 
 Works, Riverside ed., vol. vii, p. 195, 
 
 He possessed in the largest measure 
 the author's first great requisites — a full 
 command of words, and the power of strik- 
 ing out fresh combinations. His chief 
 mechanical peculiarities are an excessive 
 use of the abstract noun, and an unusually 
 abundant employment of descriptive and 
 suggestive epithets. This last peculiarity 
 is the main secret of what is often de- 
 scribed as the * ' pregnancy' ' of his style ; it 
 forms one of the principal arts of conden- 
 sation, brevity, compression. He conveys 
 incidentally, by a passing adjective, infor- 
 mation that Macaulay would have set 
 forth in a special sentence : from its form, 
 the expression seems to take for granted 
 that the reader is already acquainted with 
 the facts referred to, but substantially in 
 an allusive way it adds to the knowledge 
 of the most uninitiated.— MiNTO, Wil- 
 liam, 1872-80, Manual of English Prose 
 Literature, p. 480. 
 
 His English the worst ever written by 
 an educated Englishman. — Ruskin, John, 
 1886, Pail-Mall Magazine. 
 
 He is retrogressive in the matter of sen- 
 tence-length. Only 10 per cent, of his 
 sentences fall below the 15-mark. His 
 stately and sonorous periods have a har- 
 mony of their own, but it is not para- 
 graph harmony. His sentences have 
 much proportion, his paragraphs little. 
 We admire the comprehensive analysis of 
 the discourse into chapters and para- 
 graphs, but we do not quite feel that the 
 paragraph is an organism. It is a well- 
 defined cage in which the splendid sen- 
 tence is confined. His movement is not 
 rapid, but the sequence is in general sure. 
 
 Demonstratives are numerous. When an 
 introductory pronoun would be ambiguous 
 he adds a noun, seldom a repeated one, 
 but rather a synonym. Inversions, so fre- 
 quent in Burke, are infrequent here. 
 Conjunctions the author utterly despises, 
 depending on the sheer inertia of his roll- 
 ing sentences to carry the thought ahead. 
 No other writer examined shows so small 
 a list of sentence-connectives. The aban- 
 donment of them is Gibbon's only contri- 
 bution to the development ; and it may be 
 questioned if the contribution is a real or a 
 permanent one, depending as it does on 
 balance in the sentence. — Lewis, Edwin 
 Herbert, 1894, The History of the Eng- 
 lish Paragraph, p. 124. 
 
 Just in so far as Gibbon was not so 
 great a man as Johnson, does his style fall 
 below Johnson's level. The strain of 
 affectation, the undue elaboration, the 
 tone of artificial irony are always unduly 
 marked in that style. But the massive- 
 ness of Gibbon's intellect, the largeness 
 of his grasp, his unfailing sense of liter- 
 ary proportion, the fearless vigour of his 
 historical conception, — all these are too 
 great to be buried beneath the affectation. 
 He towers above all competitors as a giant 
 amongst the pigmies. — Craik, Henry, 
 1895, ed., English Prose, Introduction, vol. 
 IV, p. 10. 
 
 To those who insist upon extreme orna- 
 mentation, or extreme simplicity of style, 
 Gibbon's, of course, must be distasteful. 
 But to those who judge a thing by its 
 possession of its own excellences, and not 
 by its lack of the excellences of others, 
 it must always be the subject of an im- 
 mense admiration. In the first place it is 
 perfectly clear, and for all its stateliness 
 so little fatiguing to the reader that true 
 Gibbonians read it, by snatches or in long 
 draughts, as others read a newspaper or 
 a novel for mere pastime. Although full 
 of irony and epigram it is never un- 
 easily charged with either ; and the nar- 
 rative is never broken, the composition 
 never interrupted for the sake of a flour- 
 ish or a ''point." It may be thought by 
 some to abuse antithesis of sense and bal- 
 ance of cadence ; but I should say myself 
 that there is fully sufficient variety in the 
 sentences and in the paragraph arrange- 
 ment to prevent this. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1895, English Prose, ed. Craikf 
 vol. IV, p. 458. 
 
107 
 
 Sir William Jones 
 
 1746-1794. 
 
 Born, in Westminster, 28 Sept. 1746. At Harrow School, 1753-64. Matric, Univ. 
 ColL, Oxford, 15 March 1764; Scholar, 31 Oct. 1764; Fellow, 1766; B. A., 1768; 
 M. A., 1773. Private tutor to Lord Althorp, 1765-70. F. K. S., 1772. Mem. of 
 Literary Club, 1773. Called to Bar at Middle Temple, 1774. Commissioner of Bank- 
 ruptcy, 1776. Judge of High Court at Calcutta, 1783-94. Knighted, 19 March 1783. 
 Married Anna Maria Shipley, April 1783. Arrived at Calcutta, Dec. 1783. Founded 
 Bengal Asiatic Soc, Jan. 1784. Edited ''The Asiatic Miscellany," 1787. Wife 
 returned to Europe, owing to ill-health, Dec. 1793. He died, at Calcutta, 27 April 
 1794. Buried there. Works : ''Traite sur la Poesie Orientale, " 1770 ; ''Dissertation 
 sur la litterature Orientale," (anon.), ]771; "Grammar of the Persian Language," 
 1771; "Lettre a Monsieur a * * * du P. * * *" (anon.), 1771; "Poems, consisting 
 chiefly of translations from the Asiatick Languages" (anon.), 1772; "Poeseos Asiaticse 
 Commentariorum libri sex," 1774; "A Dialogue between a Country Farmer and a 
 Gentleman" (anon), 1778; "A Speech." 1780; "An Inquiry into the Legal Mode of 
 Suppressing Riots" (anon.), 1780; "An Essay on the Law of Bailments," 1781 ; "The 
 Muse Recalled," 1781; "An Ode in imitation of Alcseus" (anon.), (1782); "The 
 Principles of Government" (anon.), 1782; "A Letter to a Patriot Senator" (anon.), 
 1783; "On the Orthography of Asiatick Words, " 1784. "On the Gods of Greece, Italy 
 and India, " 1785 ; " On the Hindus, ' ' 1786 ; " On the Arabs, " 1787 ; "On the Tartars, ' ' 
 1788; "On the Persians," 1789; "On the Chinese," 1790; "On the Borderers, 
 Mountaineers and Islanders of Asia," 1791 ; "On the Origin and Families of Nations," 
 1792 ; "On Asiatick History, ' ' 1793 ; " On the Philosophy of the Asiaticks, ' ' 1794. He 
 translated: "Life of Nader Shah" (into French), 1770 (English version, 1773) ; "The 
 Moallakat," 1782; "The Mahom.edan Law of Succession, " 1782 ; "Sacontala," 1789; 
 "Al-Sirajiyyah, or Mahomedan Law of Inheritance," 1792; Manu's "Institutes," 1796. 
 Collected Works: "Works," ed. by A. M. Jones (6 vols.), 1799; two supplemental 
 vols. , 1801 ; " Poetical Works, ' ' 1810 ; ' ' Discourses, etc. , " 1821 . Life : ' ' Memoirs, ' ' 
 by Lord Teignmouth, 1804.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English 
 Authors, p. 151. 
 
 PERSONAL of character and abilities was extensive : 
 
 I knew him from the early age of eight he liberally rewarded those by whom he 
 or nine, and he was always an uncommon was served and assisted, and his dependents 
 boy. Great abilities, great particularity were treated by him as friends. Under 
 of thinking, fondness for writing verses this denomination, he has frequently men- 
 and plays of various kinds, and a degree tioned in his works the name of Bahman, 
 of integrity and manly courage, of which a native of Yezd, and follower of the 
 I remember many instances, distinguished doctrines of Zoroaster, whom he retained 
 him even at that period. I loved him and in his pay, and whose death he often ad- 
 revered him, and, though one or two years verted to with regret. Nor can I resist 
 older than he was, was always instructed the impulse which I feel to repeat an 
 by him from my earliest age. In a word, anecdote of what occurred after his 
 I can only say of this amiable and wonder- demise ; the pundits who were in the habit 
 ful man, that he had more virtues, and less of attending him, when I saw them at a 
 faults, than I ever yet saw in any human public durbar, a few days after that melan- 
 being ; and that the goodness of his head, choly event, could neither refrain their 
 admirable as it was, was exceeded by that tears for his loss, nor find terms to express 
 of his heart. I have never ceased to ad- their admiration at the wonderful progress 
 mire him from the moment I first saw him ; which he had made, in the sciences which 
 and my esteem for his great qualities, and they professed. — Teignmouth, Lord, 
 regret for his loss, will only end with my 1804, The Life of Sir William Jones, vol. 
 life. — Bennet, William (Bishop of ii, p. 306. 
 
 Asaph, November. associated, not only with the splendour of 
 
 His intercourse with the Indian natives a great reputation, but with almost all the 
 
198 
 
 SIR WILLIAM JONES 
 
 amiable and exemplary virtues; and the 
 gentler affections, which were a little 
 chilled by the aspect of his vast literary 
 attainments, are won sweetly back, and 
 rest with delight upon the view, which is 
 here exhibited, of the purity, the integrity, 
 and the mildness, of his private manners. 
 His life, indeed, seems, from his earli- 
 est youth, not only to have been undefiled 
 by those coarser blemishes of excess and 
 debauchery, which are generally excluded 
 by an addiction to letters, but to have been 
 distinguished for all that manly exertion, 
 and varied activity, which so rarely escapes 
 unimpaired from the langour of an aca- 
 demical retirement ; while it was adorned 
 by the polished manners and elegant ac- 
 complishments which are still more fre- 
 quently neglected by the man of business 
 and the scholar. The most remarkable 
 features in his character, indeed, seem to 
 have resulted from the union of this gentle- 
 ness and modesty of disposition, with a 
 very lofty conception of his own capability 
 and destination. Without ever appearing 
 to presume upon the force of his genius 
 or the vigour of his understanding, he seems 
 to have thought nothing beyond the reach 
 of his industry and perseverance. — Jef- 
 frey, Francis Lord, 1805, Lord Teign- 
 mouth's Life of Sir W. Jones, Edinburgh 
 Review, vol. 5, p. 329. 
 
 ^'Know him, sir exclaimed the friend 
 of his boyhood, Samuel Parr, — who, with 
 all his pompous affectation, had a warm 
 heart under his Roman mail, — * ' Know him, 
 sir ! Who did not know him ? Who did 
 not bend in devout respect at the variety 
 and depth of his learning, the integrity of 
 his principles, and the benevolence of his 
 heart?" — Barker, Edmund Henry, 1828- 
 29, Parriana, p, 322. 
 
 When I entered the Temple [1782], Sir 
 William Jones was in high fame as a 
 commentator and translator of Oriental 
 poetry, and as a classical scholar ; but the 
 lawyers, rightly or wrongly, held him in 
 little estimation for his skill in their own 
 profession ; nor was he considered then to 
 have the talents of an original writer. I 
 had not the good luck to be acquainted 
 with him, nor even to know his person. — ■ 
 — Brydges, Sir Samuel Egerton, 1834, 
 Autobiography, vol. I, p. 190. 
 
 His acquaintance with the history, 
 philosophy, laws, religion, science, and 
 manners of nations, was most extensive 
 
 and profound. As a linguist, he has 
 scarcely, if ever, been surpassed ; he had 
 made himself acquainted with no fewer 
 than twenty-eight different languages, and 
 was studying the grammars of several of 
 the Oriental dialects up to within a week 
 of his lamented death. In accordance 
 with a determination to which we have 
 already referred, he perfected himself in 
 Greek, Latin, Italian, French, Spanish, 
 Portuguese, Hebrew, Arabic, Persian, 
 Turkish, German and English; made him- 
 self master of Sanscrit, and less com- 
 pletely of Hindostanee and Bengalee, and 
 also of the dialects called the Tibetian, 
 the Pali, the Phalavi, and the Deri. The 
 other languages which he studied more or 
 less completely were the Chinese, Russian, 
 Runic, Syriac, Ethiopic, Coptic, Dutch, 
 Swedish, and Welsh. — Seymour, Charles 
 C. B., 1858, Self-Made Men, p. 477. 
 
 GENERAL 
 He too, whom Indus and the Ganges mourn, 
 The glory of their banks, from Isis torn, 
 In learning's strength is fled, in judgment's 
 prime, 
 
 In science temp'rate, various, and sublime; 
 To him familiar every legal doom. 
 The courts of Athens, or the halls of Rome, 
 Or Hindoo Yedas taught ; for him the Muse 
 Distill'd from every flow'r Hyblaean dews; 
 Firm, when exalted, in demeanour grave, 
 Mercy and truth were his, he lov'd to save. 
 His mind collected; at opinion's shock 
 Jones stood unmov'd, and from the Christian 
 rock, 
 
 Coelestial brightness beaming on his breast, 
 He saw the Star, and worshipp'd in the East. 
 — Mathias, Thomas James, 1794-98, The 
 Pursuits of Literature, Eighth ed., p. 424. 
 
 The death of this great man is an irrep- 
 arable loss to Christianity, to science, 
 and to literature. — Drake, Nathan, 
 1798-1820, Literary Hours, No. xxix, vol. 
 II, p. 122, note. 
 
 I close with a retrospect of the works 
 of Sir William Jones, who, by establishing 
 the affinity between the Indian language 
 and the Latin, Greek, German, and Persian, 
 first threw a light on this obscure study, 
 and consequently on the earliest popular 
 history which before his time was every- 
 where dark and confused. Yet he has 
 extended the affinity to some other in- 
 stances infinitely less important, tracing 
 back the exhaustless abundance of lan- 
 guage to three chief families — the Indian, 
 Arabic, and Tartar; and, finally, after 
 
SIR WILLIAM JONES 
 
 199 
 
 having himself so finely exhibited the total 
 difference of the Arabic and Indian lan- 
 guages, seeking, from a love of unity, to 
 derive all from one common source: I 
 have, therefore, been unable to adhere 
 closely in every particular to this excellent 
 and learned man, since his arguments 
 being directed to support an opposite 
 theory, would unquestionably militate 
 against my own opinions. — Schlegel, 
 Frederick von, 1808, On the Indian 
 Language, Literature and Philosophy^ tr. 
 Millington, p. 464. 
 
 The doctrine of bailments (which lies 
 at the foundation of the law of ship- 
 ments) was almost struck out at a single 
 heat by Lord Holt who had the good 
 sense to incorporate into the English 
 code that system which the text and the 
 commentaries of the civil law had already 
 built up on the continent of Europe. 
 What remained to give perfect symmetry 
 and connexion to all the parts of that 
 system, and to refer it to its principles, 
 has been accomplished in our times by the 
 incomparable essay of Sir William Jones, 
 a man, of whom it is difficult to say, which 
 is most worthy of admiration, the splen- 
 dour of his genius, the rareness and extent 
 of his acquirements, or the unspotted 
 purity of his life. Had he never written 
 any thing but his ' ' Essay on Bailments, ' ' 
 he would have left a name unrivalled 
 in the common law, for philosophical 
 accuracy, elegant learning, and finished 
 analysis. Even cold and cautious as is the 
 habit, if not the structure, of a profes- 
 sional mind, it is impossible to suppress 
 enthusiasm, when we contemplate such a 
 man. — Story, Joseph, 1817, Hoffman's 
 Course of Legal Study, North American 
 Review, vol. 6, p. 46. 
 
 In the course of a short life. Sir William 
 Jones acquired a degree of knowledge 
 which the ordinary faculties of men, if 
 they were blest with antediluvian lon- 
 gevity, could scarcely hope to surpass. 
 His learning threw light on the laws of 
 Greece and India, on the general literature 
 of Asia, and on the history of the family 
 of nations. He carried philosophy, elo- 
 quence, and philanthropy into his charac- 
 ter of a lawyer and a judge. Amid the 
 driest toils of erudition, he retained a 
 sensibility to the beauties of poetry, and 
 a talent for transfusing them into his own 
 language, which has seldom been united 
 
 with the same degree of industry. Had 
 he written nothing but the delightful ode 
 from Hafiz, 
 
 "Sweet maid, if thou wouldst charm my 
 sight," 
 
 it would alone testify the harmony of his 
 ear, and the elegance of his taste. When 
 he went abroad, it was not to enrich him- 
 self with the spoils of avarice or ambition ; 
 but to search, amid the ruins of Oriental 
 literature, for treasures which he would 
 not have exchanged 
 
 "For all Bokhara's gold, 
 Or all the gems of Samarcand." 
 It is, nevertheless, impossible to avoid 
 supposing, that the activity of his mind 
 spread itself in too many directions to be 
 always employed to the best advantage. 
 The impulse that carried him through so 
 many pursuits, has a look of something 
 restless, inordinate, and ostentatious. 
 Useful as he was, he would in all prob- 
 ability have been still more so, had his 
 powers been concentrated to fewer ob- 
 jects. His poetry is sometimes elegant ; 
 but altogether, it has too much of the florid 
 luxury of the East.— Campbell, Thomas, 
 1819, Specimens of the British Poets. 
 
 To the name of poet, as it implies the 
 possession of an inventive faculty. Sir 
 William Jones has but little pretension. 
 He borrows much ; and what he takes he 
 seldom makes better. Yet some portion 
 of sweetness and elegance must be allowed 
 him. In the hymns to the Hindu deities, 
 the imagery which is derived chiefly from 
 Eastern sources, is novel and attractive. 
 —Gary, Henry Francis, 1821-45, Lives 
 of English Poets, p. 384. 
 
 Need I dwell a moment on the recom- 
 mendation of the works of Sir William 
 Jones? . . . A scholar, a critic, philosopher, 
 lawyer, and poet, — where shall we find, in 
 the work of the same man, greater demon- 
 stration of pure and correct feelings, and 
 cultivated and classical taste, than in the 
 volumes here noticed and recommended ? 
 The piety of Sir William Jones was not 
 inferior to his learning. A thoroughly 
 good and.great-minded man, — his caution, 
 humility, and diffidence were equal to his 
 learning and multifarious attainments; 
 and there is a vigour and raciness in his 
 translations of Persian poetry which give 
 them the enchanting air of original pro- 
 ductions. — DiBDLN, Thomas Frognall, 
 1824, Library Companion, p. 413, note. 
 
200 
 
 JONES— COLMAN 
 
 The professional acquirements of Sir 
 William Jones were undoubtedly of a very 
 high order. He commenced the study of 
 the law at a later period of life than is 
 usual ; and he brought with him to the 
 task powers of mind polished to the finest 
 brilliancy by unremitting exercise, and 
 tempered and proved in a variety of pur- 
 suits. With these advantages, he applied 
 himself to the study of his profession as to 
 that of a science, resting upon principles, 
 and to be mastered, like other sciences, 
 by an exact and orderly method. His 
 ''Essay on the Law of Bailments" affords 
 an instance of the logical manner in which 
 his mind was accustomed to deal with 
 legal subjects; and it has been already 
 stated that he had treated several other 
 branches of the law upon the same model. 
 His acquaintance with legal writers was 
 doubtless very extensive ; and his admira- 
 ble memory enabled him to preserve the 
 greater portion of whatever he pursued. 
 As a judge his character stood stainless 
 and unreproached.— RoscoE, Henry, 1830, 
 Lives of Eminent British Lawyers, p. 327. 
 
 There are few authors to whom Oriental 
 literature is under more deep obligations 
 than to Sir William Jones; few who, 
 like him, have not merely pointed out 
 original and important sources of knowl- 
 edge, but contributed in no inconsidera- 
 ble degree to render them accessible. He 
 was equally remarkable for his ardour 
 and industry in philological pursuits, from 
 a very early period of his life, until its 
 premature and lamented close. — Wels- 
 FORD, Henry, 1845, On Origin and Ram- 
 ifications of the English Language. 
 
 The Admirable Crichton of his day. . . . 
 The' poetry of Sir William Jones is very 
 
 sonorous and imposing ; and in his happiest 
 efforts there is not wanting nobleness of 
 thought, or glow of passion, as well as 
 pomp of words. He cannot, however, be 
 called a poet of an original genius ; any 
 peculiarty, of inspiration that may seem to 
 distinguish some of his compositions is 
 for the most part only the Orientalism of 
 the subject, and of the figures and images. 
 He is a brilliant translator and imitator 
 rather than a poet in any higher sense. — 
 Craik, George L., 1861, A Compendious 
 History of English Literature, vol. ii. 
 
 Many Englishmen, notably Warren Hast- 
 ings, who had spent long years in India, 
 had become profoundly versed in the lan- 
 guages and literature of the country ; but 
 they were too much occupied with the 
 practical work of administration to em- 
 body their knowledge and researches in 
 literary and scientific form. Jones, on 
 the other hand, came to India with a mind 
 imbued not only with enthusiasm for 
 oriental studies, but with a wider knowl- 
 edge of classical and other literatures than 
 men sent to India in their early manhood 
 ordinarily possessed. Moreover, he could 
 express himself in writing with rapidity 
 and elegance. No subject was too abstruse 
 or too trifling for Jones to investigate. 
 Hindu chronology, music, and chess were 
 all studied and described by him. He 
 planned an exhaustive work on the botany 
 of India, and paid attention to the local 
 zoology. The famous asoka tree of Indian 
 mythology and poetry is known to botan- 
 ists as Jonesia asoka and was so named by 
 Dr. William Roxburgh (1759-1815) in 
 honor of Sir William Jones. — Stephens, 
 H. Morse, 1892, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. xxx, p. 175. 
 
 George Colman 
 
 The Elder 
 1732-1794. 
 
 Born, in Florence, March (or April?), 1732. At Westminster School, 1746-51. 
 To Ch. Ch., Oxford, 5 June 1751; B. A., 18 April 1755; M. A., 18 March 1758. 
 Contributed to **The Student," 1751; to Hawkesworth's ''The Adventurer," Sept. 
 1753; ed. *'The Connoisseur," with Bonnell Thornton, Jan. 1754 to Sept. 1756. 
 Called to Bar at Lincoln's Inn, 1755. On Oxford Circuit, 1759. Farce, 'Tolly Honey- 
 combe," produced atDrury Lane, 5 Dec. 1760; "The Jealous Wife" produced, 12 Feb. 
 1761. Started "St James's Chronicle," with Bonnell Thornton and Garrick, 1761. . . . 
 Purchased Covent Garden Theatre (with Powell, Harris, and Rutherford), and opened" 
 it, 14 Sept. 1767. Married Miss Ford, 1767 (?); she died, 29 March 1771. . . . Resigned 
 management, 26 May 1774, and retired to Bath. Contrib. a series of papers called "The 
 Gentleman" to "The London Packet," July to Dec. 1775. A version of Ben Jonson's 
 
GEORGE COLMAN 
 
 201 
 
 "Epicoene,'' produced at Drury Lane, 13 Jan. 1776; ''The Spleen,*' 7 March, 1776; 
 ''New Brooms," 21 Sept. 1776. Manager of Haymarket, 1777-85. . . . Pall-bearer at 
 Dr. Johnson's funeral, 20 Dec, 1784. Paralytic stroke, 1785. Mind gradually gave 
 wav. Died, in Paddington, 14 Aug. 1794. Buried in vaults of Kensington Church. 
 Works: 'Tolly Honeycombe" (anon.), 1760; "Ode to Obscurity" (anon.), 1760; 
 "The Jealous Wife," 1761; "Critical Reflections on the Old English Draraatick 
 Writers" (anon.), 1761; "The Clandestine Marriage" (with Garrick), 1761; "The 
 Musical Lady" (anon.), 1762; "The Deuce is in Him" (anon.), 1763; "Terrse Filius" 
 (4 nos., anon.), 1764; "The English Merchant," 1767; "T. Harris Dissected," 1768; 
 "True State of the Differences, etc., " 1768 (2nd edn. same year) ; "Occasional Prelude," 
 1768; "The Portrait, (anon.; date misprinted MCCCLXX.), 1770; "Man and Wife" 
 (anon.), 1770; "The Oxonian in Town" (anon.), 1769; "The Fairy Prince" (anon.), 
 1771 ; "The Man of Business," 1774; "The Spleen," 1776; "The Occasional Prelude," 
 1776; "New Brooms," 1776; "Dramatic Works," 1777; "A Fairy Tale" (adapted, 
 with Garrick, from "A Mid-summer Night's Dream"), 1777; "The Sheep-shearing" 
 (adapted from "Winter's Tale"), 1777; "The Manager in Distress," 1780; "Prose 
 on Several Occasions," 1787; "Tit for Tat" (anon.), 1788; "Ut Pictura Poesis," 
 1789. Posthumous : "Some Particulars of the Life of the late George Colman, written 
 by himself ' (ed. by R. Jackson), 1795 ; ' ' Miscellaneous Works, ' ' 1797. He translated : 
 Terence's "Comedies," 1765; Horace's "Art of Poetry," 1783; and edited: "Poems 
 by Eminent Ladies" (with Bonnell Thornton), 1755; Beaumont and Fletcher's 
 "Philaster," with alterations, 1763; "Comus," altered from Milton, 1772; Jonson's 
 "Epicoene," with alterations, 1776; Beaumont and Fletcher's "Dramatic Works," 
 1778; Foote's "Devil Upon Two Sticks," 1778; Foote's "Maid of Bath," 1788; 
 Foote's "The Nabob." 1778; Foote's "A Trip to Calais," 1778; Lillo's "Fatal 
 Curiosity, " with alterations, 1783. Life : In Peake's "Memoirs of the Colman Family," 
 1841.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 63. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 My Dear Sir.— I have this moment 
 taken a peep at the house, for the author 
 of Polly Hon. The pit and galleries are 
 crammed — the boxes full to the last rows 
 — and every thing as you and 1 could wish 
 for our friend. I am most happy about 
 it, and could not help communicating it to 
 one I so much love and esteem. Pray let 
 me see you at your arrival — the second 
 music — and time for me to put on my 
 fool's coat. Yours ever and most affec- 
 tionately.— Garrick, David, 1760, Letter 
 to Colman, Dec. 31. 
 
 And Colman too, that little sinner. 
 
 That essay weaver, drama spinner, 
 
 Too much the comic sock will use, 
 
 For 'tis the law must find him shoes; 
 
 And though he thinks on fame's wide ocean 
 
 He swims, and has a pretty notion, — 
 
 Inform him, Lloyd, for all his grin. 
 
 That Harry Fielding holds his chin. 
 
 —Colman, George, 1763, Cobbler of 
 Cripplegate's Letter to Robert Lloyd, A. M., 
 St. James's Magazine, April. 
 
 He is one of the best tempered (though 
 I believe very passionate) of men, lively, 
 agreeable, open-hearted, and clever. — 
 BuRNEY, Frances, 1771, Early Diary, ed. 
 Ellis, vol. I, p. 105. 
 
 I correspond again with Colman, and 
 upon the most friendly footing, and find 
 in his instance, and in some others, that an 
 intimate intercourse which has been only 
 casually suspended, not forfeited on either 
 side by outrage, is capable not only of 
 revival, but improvement. — Cowper, Wil- 
 liam, 1786, Letter to Joseph Hill, June 9 ; 
 Life by Hay ley, vol. i, p. 116. 
 
 They never admitted Colman as one of 
 the set ; Sir Joshua did not invite him to 
 dinner. If he had been in the room Gold- 
 smith would have flown out of it, as if a 
 dragon had been there. I remember 
 Garrick once saying, "D — n his dishclout 
 face ! His plays would never do, if it were 
 not for my patching them up and acting in 
 them." Another time he took a poem of 
 Colman' s and read it backwards to turn 
 it into ridicule. Yet some of his pieces 
 keep possession of the stage, so that there 
 must be something in them. — Northcote, 
 James, 1826-27, Conversations, ed. Haz- 
 litt, p. 402. 
 
 His case was simply this ; that he had 
 gout in his habit, which had been indicated 
 so slightly, that he neglected the hints to 
 take care of himself which nature had 
 mildly thrown out. Cold bathing is 
 
202 
 
 GEORGE COLMAN 
 
 perhaps one of the most dangerous luxu- 
 ries in which an elderly man can indulge, 
 when so formidable an enemy is lurking in 
 his constitution. The gout having been re- 
 pelled by repeated submersion in the sea, 
 not only paralyzed the body, but distem- 
 pered the brain, and Reason was subverted. ' 
 But, from the earliest sparks of his dis- 
 order at the end of 1785, till it blazed 
 forth unequivocally in June, 1789, an in- 
 terval of rather more than three years 
 and a half, and again from the last men- 
 tioned year to the time of his decease, tliere 
 was nothing of that ''second childish- 
 ness and mere oblivion," which his biog- 
 raphers have attached to his memory. 
 The assertion that his gradually increasing 
 derangement left him in "a state of idiot- 
 ism," is directly the reverse of fact. His 
 mind, instead of having grown progres- 
 sively vacant till it became a blank, was, in 
 the last stages of his malady, filled, like 
 a cabalistic book, with delusions, and 
 crowded with the wildest flights of morbid 
 fancy ; it was always active, always on the 
 stretch ; and, so far from his exhibiting 
 that moping fatuity which obscured the 
 last sad and silent days of Swift, it might 
 have been said of him, "how pregnant 
 sometimes his replies are! a happiness 
 which reason and sanity would not so 
 prosperously be delivered of." — Colman, 
 George (The Younger), 1830, Random 
 Records. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I believe his Odes sell no more than 
 mine did, for I saw a heap of them lie in 
 a bookseller's v;indow, who recommended 
 them to me as a very pretty thing. — 
 Gray, Thomas, 1760, Letter, July. 
 
 I have read Colman's "Ars Poetica;" 
 he is much too negligent a versifier, but 
 easy and elegant. — More, Hannah, 1783, 
 Letter to Her Sister, Memoirs, ed. Roberts, 
 vol. I, p. 165. 
 
 It is very much to the credit of that 
 excellent writer Mr. Colman, that, while 
 other dramatists were lost in the fashion 
 of sentiment, his comedies always present 
 the happiest medium of nature ; without 
 either affectation of sentiment, or affecta- 
 tion of wit. That the able translator of 
 Terence should yet have sufficient force of 
 mind to keep his own pieces clear of the 
 declamatory dullness of that ancient, is 
 certainly a matter deserving of much 
 applause. The "Jealous Wife," and the 
 
 "Clandestine Marriage," with others of 
 his numerous dramas, may be mentioned 
 as the most perfect models of comedy we 
 have: to all the other requisites of fine 
 comic writing they always addjust as much 
 sentiment and wit as does them good. 
 This happy medium is the most difficult to 
 hit all composition, and most declares the 
 hand of a master.— Pinkerton, John 
 (Robert Heron), 1785, Letters of Liter- 
 ature, p. 47. 
 
 This elegant simplicity of Terence has 
 met with an admirable vehicle in the well 
 chosen and familiar blank verse of Colman. 
 — Drake, Nathan, 1798-1820, Literary 
 Hours, No. XXIX, vol. n, p. 120. 
 
 This comedy, by Colman the elder, was 
 written in his youth; and, though he 
 brought upon the stage no less than 
 twenty-five dramas, including those he 
 altered from Shakspeare and other writers, 
 subsequent to this production, yet not one 
 of them was ever so well received by the 
 town, or appears to have deserved so well, 
 as "The Jealous Wife." To this obser- 
 vation, "The Clandestine Marriage," may 
 possibly be an exception; but, in that 
 work, Mr. Garrick was declared his joint 
 labourer. It therefore appears, that Mr. 
 Colman' s talents for dramatic writing 
 declined, rather than improved, by ex- 
 perience — ^or, at least, his ardour abated ; 
 and all works of imagination require, both 
 in conception and execution, a degree of 
 enthusiasm. . . . Mrs. Oakly is, in- 
 deed, so complete a character from life, 
 and so ably adapted to the stage by the 
 genius of the writer, that, performed by 
 an actress possessed of proper abilities 
 for the part, the play might be well sup- 
 ported, were the wit, humor, and repartee, 
 of every other character in the piece 
 annihilated.— Inchbald, Elizabeth, 1808, 
 ed., The Jealous Wife, The British Theatre, 
 vol. I. 
 
 In respect to the report of Garrick 
 having written the entire character of Lord 
 Ogleby, my father once told me that it 
 was not true ; that, as an instance to the 
 contrary, he (my father) wrote the whole 
 of Ogleby's first scene. He also informed 
 me that one of Garrick's greatest merits 
 in this work (and it is a very good one) 
 was planning the incidents in the last act ; 
 the alarm of the families, through the 
 means of Mrs. Heidelberg and Miss Ster- 
 ling, and bringing forward the various 
 
GEORGE COLMAN 
 
 203 
 
 characters from their beds to produce an 
 explanation, and the catastrophe. I re- 
 gret that when my father imparted this, 
 1 did not make further inquiry ; but I was 
 then ''a moonish youth," and troubled my 
 head little or nothing about the matter. 
 He always talked, however, of the play as 
 a joint production. ... It would be 
 strange if Garrick robbed, or were acces- 
 sory to his colleague's robbing his friend 
 Townley. In the two pieces, there may 
 be some coincidence, without theft; but 
 the ground work of "The Clandestine Mar- 
 riage" was professedly suggested by 
 Hogarth's prints. At the worst, there is 
 no great literary crime in catching hints, 
 if any were caught, from an apparently 
 stillborn farce, and improving upon them 
 in a play of lasting vitality. — Colman, 
 George ^(The Younger), 1820, On The 
 Clandestine Marriage. 
 
 His abilities as a dramatist were not 
 more the subject of praise, than his punc- 
 tuality as a manager, and his liberal en- 
 couragement to other writers for the 
 stage. From the lamentable condition 
 into which he had sunk, both mentally and 
 bodily, his death must have been considered 
 a happy release. A few hours before 
 he expired, he was sized with violent 
 spasms, and these were succeeded by mel- 
 ancholy stupor, in which he drew his last 
 breath. . . . These dramas have considera- 
 ble merit. In his petite pieces the plots are 
 simple, yet they contain strong character, 
 and aim at ridiculing fashionable and pre- 
 vailing follies. His comedies have the 
 same merit with the others, as to the pre- 
 servation of character. The estimation 
 in which the entertainments exhibited 
 under his direction were held by the 
 public, the reputation which the Hay- 
 market Theatre acquired, and the con- 
 tinual concourse of the fashionable world 
 during the height of summer, sufficiently 
 spoke the praises of Mr. Colman's manage- 
 ment. — Peake, Richard Brinsley, 1841, 
 Memoirs of the Colman Family^ vol. ii, 
 p. 220. 
 
 Among the respectable dramatists of 
 this period who exerted an influence in 
 leading the public taste away from the 
 witty and artificial schools of the Restora- 
 tion, the two Colmans deserve mention. — 
 COPPEE, Henry, 1872, English Literature, 
 p. 366. 
 
 In 1760 he produced a farcical piece in 
 
 one act, entitled "Polly Honeycombe," in 
 which the novel-reading propensities of 
 the young ladies of the age were good- 
 humouredly satirised. Honeycombe was 
 the pseudonym of the editor of the "Royal 
 Female Magazine," which was chiefly 
 made up of the silliest and most vapid 
 sentimental novels. The skit was a com- 
 plete success ; but the author, on account 
 of his relations with his uncle Bath, did 
 not consider it prudent to declare himself. 
 Early in the ensuing year he placed "The 
 Jealous Wife" in Garrick's hands; the 
 underplot and the characters of Russet, 
 Charles, Lord Trinket, and Lady Freelove 
 were borrowed from "Tom Jones," but 
 Mr. and Mrs. Oakley and the Major are 
 original creations. Probably the absurd 
 side of jealousy has never been more 
 felicitously ridiculed than in the best 
 scenes of this comedy ; but it appears to 
 have gone through much revision, pruning, 
 and condensation from the manager's pen 
 before it assumed its present shape. 
 Garrick himself played Oakley, but he 
 was not much at home in the part, and its 
 success on the first night, which during 
 the earlier part of the performance seemed 
 rather doubtful, was ascribed entirely to 
 Mrs. Pritchard's fine acting as the wife. 
 The comedy is still familiar to old play- 
 goers, and perhaps the two leading charac- 
 ters were never more admirably performed 
 than they were some few years ago at 
 Drury Lane by Phelps and Mrs. Hermann 
 Vezin.— Baker, H. Barton, 1881, George 
 Colman, Elder and Younger, Belgravia, 
 vol. 46, p. 189. 
 
 Colman was a man of tact, enterprise, 
 and taste; his plays are ingenious and 
 occasionally brilliant, and more than one 
 of them remains on the acting list. The 
 characters are as a rule well drawn, and 
 types of living eccentricity are w-ell hit 
 off.— Knight, Joseph, 1887, Dictionary 
 of National Biography, ed. Stephen, vol. 
 XI, p. 393. 
 
 It occurred to Garrick and to George 
 Colman that an entertaining drama might 
 be drawn up on the lines of Hogarth's 
 "Marriage a la Mode," and the result of 
 their joint labours was "The Clandestine 
 Marriage" (1766), a play now wholly neg- 
 lected, but worthy of revival as much on 
 the stage as in the study. — GossE, Edmund, 
 1888, A History of Eighteenth Century 
 Literature, p. 318. 
 
204 
 
 Susanna Blamire 
 
 1747-1794. 
 
 Miss Susanna Blamire was born at Cardew Hall, near Carlisle, and remained there 
 from the date of her birth (1747) till she was twenty years of age, when she accom- 
 panied her sister — who had married Colonel Graham of Duchray, Perthshire — to Scot- 
 land, and continued there some years. She became enamoured of Scottish music and 
 poetry, and thus qualified herself for writing such sweet lyrics as "The Nabob" and 
 ''What ails this heart o' mine?" On her return to Cumberland, she wrote several 
 pieces illustrative of Cumbrian manners. She died unmarried in 1794. Her poetical 
 pieces, some of which had been floating through the country in the form of popular 
 songs, were collected by Mr. Patrick Maxwell, and published in 1842. — Gilfillan, 
 George, 1860, ed. The Less-Known British Poets, vol. iii, p. 290. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Of graceful form, somewhat above the 
 middle size, and a countenance — though 
 slightly marked with the smallpox — 
 beaming with good nature. Her dark 
 eyes sparkled with animation, and won 
 every heart at the first introduction. — 
 Maxwell, Patrick, 1842, ed.. Poems of 
 Susanna Blamire, 
 
 Judging from her portrait, and from 
 descriptions which are extant of the per- 
 son of Sukey Blamire (whose sister Sarah 
 was one of the greatest beauties in 
 Cumberland), we gather that she was 
 slightly marked from small-pox, but not 
 so much as to disfigure her features or 
 mar her complexion. She had berry- 
 brown hair, of which she professed to be 
 very vain. She wore it thrown back from 
 her high forehead, and hanging down on 
 her shoulders in a long roll, formed of one 
 thick curl, disposed with studied negli- 
 gence somewhat in the style of the present 
 day. Her nose was large, and too pro- 
 nounce, but her mouth was very sweet in its 
 firmness, and her eyes and brows were fine. 
 She was tall and slender, with a shapely 
 neck, bust, and shoulders. Her dress (in 
 the portrait) is a marvel of simple ele- 
 gance. The body of the gown is cut square 
 and low, with a full white edging around 
 the bosom. A single rose is worn at one 
 side. — Tytler, Sarah and Watson, J. L., 
 1871, The Songstresses of Scotland, vol. i, 
 p. 243. 
 
 Susanna Blamire^s life was uneventful, 
 and there are scarcely any records of it 
 left. She lived in an obscure part of Eng- 
 land amongst her own relatives, and her 
 correspondence has not been preserved. 
 Her poems were fugitives pieces, some of 
 which appeared in magazines, but were 
 never signed by her name. They were not 
 collected till long after her death, when 
 
 her memory had 'almost faded away, and 
 personal details were vague. She is de- 
 scribed as of "graceful form, somewhat 
 above the middle size, and a countenance, 
 though slightly marked with the small- 
 pox, beaming with good nature ; her dark 
 eyes sparkled with animation. " Her coun- 
 try neighbours called her a "bonnie and 
 varra lish young lass." She lived among 
 the rustics, entered into their enjoyments, 
 and sympathized with their troubles. She 
 was fond of society, and was in great re- 
 quest at the "merrie-neets," or social 
 gatherings, where she mixed with every 
 class. A good farmer said sadly after her 
 death: "The merrie-neets won't be worth 
 going to since she is no more." The 
 genuine gaiety and sprightliness of her 
 disposition may be judged by the fact that 
 if she met a wandering musician on the 
 road she was known to dismount from her 
 pony, ask for the music of a jig, and dance, 
 till she was weary, on the grass. — Creigh- 
 TON, Mandell, 1886, Dictionary of Na- 
 tional Biography, vol. v, p. 191. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The characteristics of Miss Blamire's 
 poetry are considerable tenderness of feel- 
 ing, very gracefully expressed, and a 
 refined delicacy of imagination, which, 
 whilst it never thrills, always pleases. 
 Her poem called "The Nabob," which 
 describes the return of an Indian adven- 
 turer to the home of his youth, is a very 
 effecting and delightful production. Her 
 songs, though not without marks of elab- 
 oration, display great simplicity and force 
 of feeling.— RowTON, Frederic, 1848, 
 The Female Poets of Great Britain, p. 237. 
 
 Susanna Blamire reached by keen obser- 
 vation what Lady Nairne arrived at in- 
 stinctively. As a result which might be 
 looked for from the two processes. Lady 
 Nairne's studies of ploughmen, fish-wives. 
 
BLAMIRE— BRUCE 
 
 205 
 
 and gude-wives have more of the \diVgQ, 
 framework of common humanity, are more 
 delicate and idealised ; while Susanna 
 Blamire's are narrower, and more literal. 
 — Tytler, Sarah, and Watson, J. L., 
 1871, The Songstresses of Scotland, vol. i, 
 p. 238. 
 
 Susanna Blamire was a true poet, and 
 deserves more recognition than she has 
 yet received. Her sphere is somewhat nar- 
 row, but everything that she had written 
 is genuine and truthful. She has caught 
 the peculiar humour of the Cumbrian folk 
 with admirable truth, and depicts it faith- 
 fully so far as was consistent with her 
 own refinement. As a song-writer she 
 deserves to rank very high. She pre- 
 
 ferred to write songs in the Scottish 
 dialect, and three at least of her songs are 
 exquisite, ''What ails this heart o' mine?" 
 *'And ye shall walk in silk attire," and 
 "The Traveller's Return."— Creighton, 
 Mandell, 1886, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. v, p. 192. 
 
 She wrote a variety of pieces in Eng- 
 lish, but is chiefly remembered by her 
 Scottish songs. These were for long merely 
 handed about in manuscript, and it was 
 only in 1842 that they were collected 
 and published at Edinburgh, the author- 
 ess being designated on the title-page the 
 ''Muse of Cumberland."— Eyre-Todd, 
 George, 1896, Scottish Poetry of the Eigh- 
 teenth Century, vol. ii, p. 81. 
 
 James Bruce 
 
 1730-1794. 
 
 Born, at Kinnaird, Stirlingshire, 14 Dec. 1730. At Harrow School, 21 Jan. 
 1742, to 8 May 1746 ; then with tutor till April, 1747. Returned to Scotland, May 
 1747; to Edinburgh Univ., Nov. 1747, to study Law. Left Univ., owing to ill-health, 
 spring of 1748. To London, July 1753. Married Adriana Allan, 3 Feb. 1754. Took 
 share in her father's wine business. Wife died in Paris, 9 Oct. 1754. In Spain and 
 Portugal, Aug. to Dec. 1757; in France and Holland, 1758. Succeeded to family 
 estates on father's death, and returned to England, July 1758. Withdrew from wine 
 business, Aug. 1761. Appointed Consul-General at Algiers, Feb. 1762. In Italy, 
 July 1762, to March 1763; arrived at Algiers, 20 March 1763. Resigned Consul- 
 ship, Aug. 1765. Travelled in Barbary, Africa, Crete, Syria. To Egypt, July 1768. 
 To Abyssinia, Sept. 1769; reached Goudar, 14 Feb. 1770. Lived at court of King 
 of Abyssinia, with various expeditions of exploration, till Dec. 1771. Through Nubia 
 to Assouan ; reached there 29 Nov. 1772. Arrived at Marseilles, March 1773. Re- 
 turned to England, July 1774. To Scotland, Autumn of 1774. Married Mary Dundas, 
 20 May 1776; she died spring of 1785. Engaged in compiling his "Travels." Died 
 at Kinnaird, from an accident, 27 April 1794 ; buried in Larbert churchyard. Works : 
 "Travels to Discover the Source of the Nile" (5 vols), 1790.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 
 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 35. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 In this tomb are deposited the remains 
 of 
 
 James Bruce, Esq., of Kinnaird, 
 tvho died on the 27th of Ajwil, 1794, 
 in the 64th year of his age. 
 his life was spent in performing 
 useful and splendid actions, 
 he explored many distant regions, 
 he discovered the sources of the nile. 
 he traversed the deserts of nubia, 
 he was an affectionate husband, 
 
 an indulgent parent, 
 an ardent lover of his country, 
 by the unanimous voice of mankind 
 his name is enrolled icith those 
 who were conspicuous 
 for genius, for valour, and for virtue. 
 
 —Inscription on Tomb, 1794, Church- 
 yard of Larbert. 
 
 Bruce appears to have been seen once, 
 and once only, by our Sexagenarian, who 
 nevertheless expresses, in various parts of 
 his manuscript, a general confidence in 
 his veracity, and a great admiration of his 
 prowess and intrepidity. He lived inti- 
 mately with some of Bruce's most famil- 
 iar friends, and had frequent opportuni- 
 ties of ascertaining that many assertions 
 made by the traveller, like those of Hero- 
 dotus, were confirmed by subsequent ob- 
 servation and examination. But it was 
 Bruce's peculiar character, that if he dis- 
 cerned, or ever suspected any want of 
 confidence in his auditors, he disdained 
 all explanation, and could not be prevailed 
 upon to enter upon any further discus- 
 sion. . . . Though very partial, on the 
 
206 
 
 JAMES BRUCE 
 
 whole, to this most extraordinary man, 
 he was by no means blind to his errors, or 
 insensible of his inaccuracies. His con- 
 fidence in him was very materially, dimin- 
 ished latterly, from having discovered, 
 that Bruce, in all probability, never was 
 at the battle of Sebraxos, which he never- 
 theless describes with circumstantial 
 minuteness, and of which he has intro- 
 duced plans, drawn up with the precision 
 of- one well versed in military tactics. 
 There was also something remarkably mys- 
 terious and suspicious, as our friend 
 seemed to think, in the circumstance and 
 character of Luigi Balugani, who accom- 
 panied Bruce as a draughtsman. He owed 
 more to his talents than he was willing to 
 acknowledge, and the story of his death 
 is glossed over in a very unsatisfactory 
 manner. — Beloe, William, 1817, The 
 Sexagenarian, vol. ii, pp. 45, 48. 
 
 The last act of Bruce' s life was one of 
 gentleman-like, refined, and polite atten- 
 tion. A large party had dined at Kin- 
 naird, and while they were about to de- 
 part, Bruce was gaily talking to a young 
 lady in the drawing-room, when, suddenly 
 observing that her aged mother was pro- 
 ceeding to her carriage unattended, he 
 hurried from the drawing-room to the 
 great staircase. In this effort, the foot 
 which had safely carried him through all 
 his dangers happened to fail him ; he fell 
 down several of the steps — broke some of 
 his fingers — pitched on his head — and 
 never spoke again! . . . Thus per- 
 ished, in the sixty-fourth year of his age, 
 in the healthy winter of his life, in vigour 
 of mind and body, James Bruce of Kin- 
 naird, a Scotchman, who was religious, 
 loyal, honourable, brave, prudent, and en- 
 terprizing. He was too proud of his 
 ancestors, yet his posterity have reason 
 to be proud of him. His temper was 
 eager, hasty, and impetuous ; yet he him- 
 self selected for the employment of his 
 life enterprizes of danger in which haste, 
 eagerness, and impetuosity were con- 
 verted into the means of serving science 
 and his country. The eagerness with 
 which he toiled for the approbation of the 
 world, and the pain he suffered from its 
 cruelty and injustice, exclude him from 
 ranking among those great men, who, by 
 religion, or even by philosophy, may have 
 learnt to despise both; yet it must be 
 observed, that, had he possessed the 
 
 equanimity of mind, he would never have 
 undertaken the race which he won. — 
 Head, Sir F. B., 1830, The Life of Bruce 
 the African Traveller, p. 533. 
 
 The really honourable and superior 
 points of Bruce's character — such as his 
 energy and daring, his various knowledge 
 and acquirements, and his disinterested 
 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 a proud- 
 spirited man, and did not deign to reply 
 to pasquinades impeaching his veracity. 
 He survived his publication 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. — Chambers, Robert, 
 1876, Cyclopcedia of English Literature, 
 ed. Carruthers. 
 
 TRAVELS TO DISCOVER THE 
 SOURCE OF THE NILE 
 
 1790 
 
 I have only to add, that were it prob- 
 able, as in my decayed state of health it 
 is not, that I should live to see a second 
 edition of this work, all well-founded, judi- 
 cious remarks suggested should be grate- 
 fully and carefully attended to ; but I do 
 solemnly declare to the public in general, 
 that I never will refute or answer any 
 cavils, captious, or idle objections, such 
 as every new publication seems unavoid- 
 ably to give birth to, nor ever reply to 
 those witticisms and criticisms that appear 
 in newspapers and periodical writings. 
 What I have written 1 have written. My 
 readers have before them, in the present 
 volumes, all that I shall ever say, directly 
 or indirectly, upon the subject ; and I do, 
 without one moment^s anxiety, trust my 
 defence to an impartial, well-informed, 
 and judicious public. — Bruce, James, 
 1790, Travels to Discover the Source of the 
 Nile, Introduction, vol. i, p. Ixxv. 
 
 Everybody is looking into Bruce's 
 Travels. Part takes the attention, but 
 they are abominably abused. Banks ob- 
 jects to the Botany, Reynell to the Geog- 
 raphy, Cambridge to the History, The 
 Greeks to the Greek, &c., &c. ; yet the 
 work is to be found on every table. 
 Bruce printed the work, and sold 2,000 
 copies to Robertson for £6000. He sells 
 
JAMES BRUCE 
 
 207 
 
 to the booksellers at 4 guineas, and 
 they to their customers at 5 guineas. — 
 Sheffield, Lord, 1790, Letter to Gibbon, 
 Sept. 21, Private Letters, ed. Pr other o, vol. 
 II, p. 226. 
 
 O Bruce, I own, all candour, that I look 
 With envy, do^vnright envy, on the book ; 
 A book, like Psalmanazar's, formed to last, 
 That gives th' historic eye a sweet repast; 
 A book like Mandeville's, that yields delight, 
 And puts more probability to flight ; 
 A book that even Pontopidan would own ; 
 A book most humbly offered to the throne ; 
 A book, how happy, which the king of isles 
 Admires (says rumour), and received with 
 smiles ! 
 
 — WoLCOT, John (Peter Pindar), 1790? 
 A Complimentary Epistle to James Bruce, 
 Poetical Works. 
 
 It was the misfortune of that traveller 
 (Bruce) who is now no more, to have 
 known that his veracity had too often 
 captiously, and sometimes capriciously, 
 been called in question, owing, besides 
 the nature of his adventures, partly, I be- 
 lieve, to a certain manner in conversing 
 as well as in writing, which alienated 
 many w^ho were less than himself disposed 
 to take offence. He is now beyond the 
 reach of flattery or humiliation; and I 
 trust it will not be imputed merely to the 
 partiality of friendship, if, as a small but 
 just tribute to his memory, I repeat here 
 what I have often before asserted in occa- 
 sional conversation, that however I might 
 regret a constitutional irritability of tem- 
 per, so injurious to its owner, or however 
 I might wish to have seen him at times 
 condescend to explanations which I have 
 reason to think would have removed preju- 
 dices, I never, either in course of our ac- 
 quaintance, or in the perusal of his book, 
 found myself disposed to supect him of 
 any intentional deviation from the truth. 
 — Russel, Patrick, 1794, Natural His- 
 tory of Aleppo, by Alexander, 2nd ed., with 
 Notes. 
 
 Bruce sunk into his grave defrauded of 
 that just fame which his pride and vivac- 
 ity perhaps too keenly prized, at least for 
 his happiness, and which he authoritatively 
 exacted from an unwilling public. Morti- 
 fied and indignant at the reception of his 
 great labour by the cold-hearted scepti- 
 cism of little minds, and the maliciousness 
 of idling wits, he, whose fortitude had 
 toiled through a life of difficulty and dan- 
 ger, could not endure the laugh and scorn 
 
 of public opinion ; for Bruce there was a 
 simoon more dreadful than the Arabian, 
 and from which genius cannot hide its 
 head. Yet Bruce only met with the fate 
 which Marco Polo had before encountered ; 
 whose faithful narrative had been con- 
 demned by his contemporaries, and who 
 was long thrown aside among legendary 
 writers.— Disraeli, Isaac, 1796-1818, 
 Sensitiveness to Criticism, The Literary 
 Character. 
 
 Who has not heard of Bruce, — the 
 romantic, the intrepid, the indefatigable 
 Bruce? His 'Hale" was once suspected; 
 but suspicion has sunk into acquiescence 
 of its truth. ... A more enterpris- 
 ing, light, but lion-hearted traveller never 
 left his native hills for the accomplish- 
 ment of such purposes as those which 
 Bruce accomplished. — Dibdin, Thomas 
 Frognall, 1824, The Library Companion, 
 p. 445. 
 
 Frank and open in society, Bruce, in de- 
 scribing his adventures, generally related 
 those circumstances which he thought 
 were most likely to amuse people by 
 the contrast they afforded to the Euro- 
 pean fashions, customs, and follies of the 
 day. Conscious of his own integrity, and 
 not suspecting that in a civilized country 
 the statements of a man of honour would 
 be disbelieved, he did not think it neces- 
 sary gradually and cautiously to prepare 
 his hearers for a climate and scenery alto- 
 gether different from their own, but, as if 
 from a balloon, he at once landed them in 
 Abyssinia, and suddenly shewed them a 
 vivid picture to which he himself had been 
 long accustomed. They had asked for 
 novelty ; in complying with their request, 
 he gave them good measure, and told them 
 of people who wore rings in their lips in- 
 stead of their ears — who annointed them- 
 selves not with bear's grease or pomatum, 
 but with the blood of cows— who, instead 
 of playing tunes upon them, wore the en- 
 trails of animals as ornaments — and who, 
 instead of eating hot putrid meat, licked 
 their lips over bleeding living flesh. He 
 described debauchery dreadfully disgust- 
 ing, because it was so different from their 
 own. — He told them of men who hunted 
 each other — of mothers who had not seen 
 ten winters — and he described crowds of 
 human beings and huge animals retreat- 
 ing in terror before an army of little flies ! 
 In short, he told them the truth, the whole 
 
208 
 
 JAMES BRUCE 
 
 truth and nothing but the truth, but the 
 mind of man, like his stomach, can only 
 contain a certain quantity, and the dose 
 which Bruce gave tO his hearers was more 
 than they had power to retain. — Head, 
 Sir F. B., 1830, The Life of Bruce the 
 African Traveller, p. 511. 
 
 One of the most romantic and persevering 
 of our travellers. . . . The strangeness of 
 the author's adventures at the court at 
 Gondar, the somewhat inflated style of the 
 narrative, and the undisguised vanity of 
 the traveller, led to a disbelief of his state- 
 ments, and numerous lampoons and satires, 
 both in prose and verse, were directed 
 against him. . . . The style of Bruce is 
 prolix and inelegant, though occasionally 
 energetic. He seized upon the most promi- 
 nent points, and coloured them highly. 
 The general accuracy of his work has 
 been confirmed from different quarters. — 
 Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopcedia of 
 English Literature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 Bruce's character is depicted with in- 
 com.parable liveliness by himself. It is 
 that of a brave, magnanimous, and merci- 
 ful man, endowed with excellent abilities, 
 though not with first-rate intellectual 
 powers, but swayed to an undue degree by 
 self-esteem and the thirst for fame. The 
 exaggeration of these qualities, without 
 which even his enterprise would have 
 shrunk from his perils, made him uncan- 
 did to those whom he regarded as rivals, 
 and brought inputations, not wholly un- 
 deserved, upon his veracity. As regards 
 the bulk and general tenor of his narra- 
 tive, his truthfulness has been sufficiently 
 established; but vanity and the passion 
 for the picturesque led him to embellish 
 minor particulars, and perhaps in some 
 few instances to invent them. The cir- 
 cumstances under which his work was pro- 
 duced were highly unfavorable to strict 
 accuracy. Instead of addressing himself 
 to his task immediately upon his return, 
 with the incidents of his travels fresh in 
 his mind and his journals open before him, 
 Bruce delayed for twelve years, and then 
 dictated to an amanuensis, indolently 
 omitting to refer to the original journals, 
 and hence frequently making a lamentable 
 confusion of facts and dates, which only 
 came to light upon examination of his 
 original manuscripts. ' ' In the latter part 
 of his days," says his biographer, Murray, 
 '*he seems to have viewed the numerous 
 
 adventures of his active life as in a dream, 
 not in their natural state as to time and 
 place, but under the pleasing and arbi- 
 trary change of memory melting into 
 imagination." . . . His method of 
 composition, moreover, if unfavorable to 
 the strictly historical, was advantage- 
 ous to the other literary qualities of his 
 work. Fresh from the author's lips, the 
 tale comes with more vividness than if it 
 had been compiled from journals; and 
 scenes, characters, and situations are rep- 
 resented with more warmth and distinct- 
 ness. Bruce's character portraits are 
 masterly ; and although the long conver- 
 sations he records are evidently highly 
 idealised, the essential truth is probably 
 conveyed with as much precision as could 
 have been attained by a verbatim report. 
 Not the least of his gifts is an eminently 
 robust and racy humour. He will always 
 remain the poet, and his work the epic, 
 of American travel.— Garnett, Richard, 
 1886, Dictionary of National Biography, 
 vol. VII, p. 102.' 
 
 As to travel, it has rarely produced 
 books which may be called literature, but 
 the works of biographers and travellers 
 have brought together the materials of 
 literature. Bruce left for Africa in 
 1762, and in the next seventy years 
 Africa, Egypt, Italy, Greece, the Holy 
 Land, and the Arctic Regions were made 
 the common property of literary men. — 
 Brooke, Stopford A., 1896, English Lit- 
 erature, p. 209. 
 
 No traveller is more dear to the Scot- 
 tish geographer than James Bruce of Kin- 
 naird. It was owing to a perusal of his 
 travels in 1848 that I was induced to go 
 to Egypt ; there I met Outram, as I have 
 already narrated ; so that it is hardly too 
 much to say that Bruce laid the founda- 
 tion of whatever fortune has followed me 
 during my political career. . . . I 
 might prolong indefinitely an account of 
 the good work Bruce did in North Africa ; 
 but enough has been said to show what 
 great reason we have to be proud of our 
 distinguished countryman. If he had 
 never been to Abyssinia at all, his ex:plo- 
 rations in North Africa \yould have suf- 
 ficed to place him in the foremost rank of 
 travellers, artists, and archaeologists. — 
 Playfair, Sir R. Lambert, 1899, Remin- 
 iscences, Chambers's Journal, vol. 76, pp, 
 369, 372. 
 
209 
 
 James Boswell 
 
 1740-1795. 
 
 Born, at Auchinleck, 29 Oct. 1740. Educated by private tutor ; then at private 
 school in Edinburgh ; then at Edinburgh High School and Edinburgh Univ. To Glasgow 
 as Student of Civil Law, 8 Jan., 1759. To London, March 1760. In Edinburgh, 
 April, 1761 to Nov. 1762; then returned to London. Contrib. poems to Collections 
 of Original Poems by Mr. Blacklock," 1762. First met Johnson, 16 May 1763. In 
 Berlin, July 1764. To Italy, Dec. 1764. To Utrecht, to study Law, Aug. 1765. Tour 
 in Italy and Corsica. Returned to Scotland, Feb. 1766. Admitted Advocate, 26 July 
 1766. To London on publication of ''Account of Corsica," May 1768. Married 
 Margaret Montgomerie, 25 Nov. 1769. Contrib. to "London Magazine," J769-70, 
 1777-79. Frequent visits to Johnson, mostly in London, between 1772 and 1784. 
 Elected Member of Literary Club, 30 April 1773. Voyage to Hebrides with Johnson, 
 Aug. to Nov. 1773. Began to keep terms at Inner Temple, 1775. Auchinleck estate 
 entailed on him, 7 Aug. 1776. Father died, 30 Aug. 1782. Called to Bar, 1786. 
 Appointed Recorder of Carlisle, 1788. Took chambers in Temple, 1790. "Life of 
 Johnson" appeared, 16 May 1791. Appointed Secretary of Foreign Correspondence 
 to Royal Academy July, 1791. Died, in London, 19 May 1795. Buried at Auchinleck. 
 Works: "Ode to Tragedy" (anon.), 1761; "Elegy upon the Death of an amiable 
 Young Lady" (anon.), 1761; "The Cub at Newmarket" (anon.), 1762 ; "Correspondence 
 with Hon. A. Erskine," 1763 ; "Critical Strictures on Mallet's 'Elvira' " (with Erskine 
 and Dempster), 1763; "Speeches, Arguments and Determinations" in the Douglas 
 case (anon.), 1767; "Essence of the Douglas Cause" (anon.), 1767 ; "Dorando," 1767; 
 Prologue for the Opening of Edinburgh Theatre, 1767 ; "An Account of Corsica," 
 1768; "British Essays in favour of the Brave Corsicans, " 1769; "Decision in the 
 Cause of Hunter v. Donaldson," 1774; "A Letter to the People of Scotland on the 
 Present State of the Nation," 1783; "Ode by Samuel Johnson to Mrs. Thrale" (by 
 Boswell; anon.), 1784; "The Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides, " 1785 (2nd ed. same 
 year) ; "Letter to the People of Scotland on the alarming Attempt to infringe the 
 Articles of Union,^' 1786; "The Celebrated Letter from Samuel Johnson, LL. D., to 
 Phillip Dormer Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield," 1790; "Conversation between George 
 III. and Samuel Johnson," 1790; "No Abolition of Slavery" (probably suppressed), 
 1791; "Life of Johnson," 1791; (another edn., pirated, 1792; 2nd authorised edn., 
 1793); "Principal Corrections and Additions to First Edition," 1793. Posthumous: 
 "Letters to Rev. J. W. Temple," 1857; "Boswelliana : the Common-place Book of 
 J. Bosweli," published by Grampian Club, 1874.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, 
 A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 29. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I have just seen a very clever letter to 
 Mrs. Montagu, to disavow a jackanapes 
 who has lately made a noise here, one 
 Boswell, by anecdotes of Dr. Johnson. — 
 Walpole, Horace, 1786, To Sir Horace 
 Mann, March 16 ; Letters, ed. Cunning- 
 ham, vol. IX, p. 45. 
 
 I fancy Boswell, from some things I 
 heard of him, and it seems confirmed by 
 various passages in his ' ' Life of Johnson, ' ' 
 has a sort of rage for knowing all sorts 
 of public men, good, bad, and indiflierent, 
 all one if a man renders himself known he 
 likes to be acquainted with him. — Young, 
 Arthur, 1790, Autobiography, Oct. 24, 
 ed. Betham-Edwards, p. 191. 
 
 I loved the man ; he had great convivial 
 powers and an inexhaustible fund of good 
 14 c 
 
 humour in society ; no body could detail 
 the spirit of a conversation in the true 
 style and character of the parties more 
 happily than my friend James Boswell, 
 especially when his vivacity was excited,^ 
 and his heart exhilarated by the circula- 
 tion of the glass, and the grateful odour 
 of a well-broiled lobster. — Cumberland, 
 Richard, 1806, Memoirs Written by Him- 
 self, vol. II, p. 228. 
 
 Of those who were frequently at Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds's parties, Mr. Boswell 
 was very acceptable to him. He was a 
 man of excellent temper, and with much 
 gaiety of manner, possessed a shrewd un- 
 derstanding, and close observation of 
 character. He had a happy faculty of 
 dissipating that reserve, which too often 
 damps the pleasure of English society. 
 
210 
 
 JAMES BO SWELL 
 
 His good-nature and social feeling always 
 inclined him to endeavour to produce that 
 effect; which was so well known, that 
 when he appeared, he was hailed as the 
 harbinger of festivity. Sir Joshua was 
 never more happy than when, on such oc- 
 casions, Mr. Boswell was seated within 
 his hearing. The Royal Society gratified 
 Sir Joshua by electing Mr. Boswell their 
 Secretary of Foreign Correspondence; 
 which made him an Honorary Member of 
 that body.— Farrington, Joseph, 1819, 
 Memoirs of Sir Joshua Reynolds, p, 83. 
 
 With the usual ill hap of those who deal 
 in mauvaise plaisanterie, old Bozzy was of- 
 ten in the unpleasant situation of retreat- 
 ing from expressions, which could not be 
 defended. He was always labouring at 
 notoriety, and, having failed in attracting 
 it in his own person, he hooked his little 
 bark to them whom he thought most 
 likely to leave harbour, and so shine with 
 reflected light, like the rat that eat the 
 malt that lay in the house that Jack built. 
 — Scott, Sir Walter, 1829, Letter to 
 Mr. Croker, Jan. 30 ; The Croker Papers, 
 ed. Jennings, vol. ii, p. 32. 
 
 He united lively manners with indefat- 
 igable diligence, and the volatile curiosity 
 of a man about town with the drudging 
 patience of a chronicler. With .a very 
 good opinion of himself, he was quick in 
 discerning, and frank in applauding, the 
 excellencies of others. Though proud of 
 his own name and lineage, and ambitious of 
 the countenance of the great, he was yet so 
 cordial an admirer of merit, wherever found, 
 that much public ridicule, and something 
 like contempt, were excited by the modest 
 assurance with which he pressed his ac- 
 quaintance on all the notorieties of his 
 time, and by the ostentatious (but, in the 
 main, laudable) assiduity with which he 
 attended the exile Paoli and the low-born 
 Johnson! These v/ere amiable, and, for 
 us, fortunate inconsistencies. His con- 
 temporaries indeed, not without some colour 
 of reason, occasionally complained of him 
 as vain, inquisitive, troublesome, and giddy ; 
 but his vanity was inoflfensive — his curios- 
 ity was commonly directed towards lauda- 
 ble objects — when he meddled, he did so, 
 generally, from good-natured motives — ■ 
 and his giddiness was only an exuberant 
 gaiety, which never failed in the respect 
 and reverence due to literature, morals, 
 and religion; and posterity gratefully 
 
 .nowledges the taste, temper, and talents 
 h which he selected, enjoyed, and de- 
 .-_.ibed that polished and intellectual 
 society which still lives in his work, and 
 without his work had perished. — Croker, 
 John Wilson, 1831, ed. BoswelVs Life of 
 Johnson, Preface. 
 
 He was, if we are to give any credit to 
 his own account, or to the united testi- 
 mony of all who knew him, a man of the 
 meanest and feeblest intellect. Johnson 
 described him as a fellow who had missed 
 his only chance of immortality, by not 
 having been alive when the Dunciad was 
 written. Beauclerk used his name as a 
 proverbial expression for a bore. He 
 was the laughing-stock of the whole of 
 that brilliant society which has owed to 
 him the greater part of its fame. He 
 was always laying himself at the feet of 
 some eminent man, and begging to be spit 
 upon and trampled upon. . . . Servile 
 and impertinent — shallow and pedantic — 
 a bigot and a sot — bloated with family 
 pride, and eternally blustering about the 
 dignity of a born gentleman, yet stooping 
 to be a talebearer, an eavesdropper, a 
 common butt in the taverns of London — 
 so curious to know everybody who was 
 talked about, that, Tory and High Church- 
 man as he was, he manceuvered, we have 
 been told, for an introduction to Tom 
 Paine. ... All the caprices of his 
 temper, all the illusions of his vanity, all 
 the hypochondriac whimsies, all his cas- 
 tles in the air, he displayed with a cool 
 self-complacency, a perfect unconscious- 
 ness that he was making a fool of himself, 
 to which it is impossible to find a parallel 
 in the whole history of mankind. He 
 has used many people ill, but assuredly 
 he has used nobody so ill as himself. — 
 Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 1831, 
 BosweWs Life of Johnson, Edinburgh Re- 
 view ; Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 In that cocked nose, cocked partly in 
 triumph over his weaker fellow-creatures, 
 partly to snuff up the smell of coming 
 pleasure, and scent it from afar ; in those 
 bag-cheeks, hanging like half-filled wine- 
 skins, still able to contain more ; in that 
 coarsely-protruded shelf-mouth, that fat 
 dewlapped chin ; in all this, who sees not 
 sensuality, pretension, boisterous imbecil- 
 ity enough; much that could not have 
 been ornamental in the temper of a great 
 man's overfed great man (what the Scotch 
 
JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 211 
 
 name flunky), though it had been more 
 natural there? The under part of Bos- 
 well's face is of a low, almost brutish 
 character. — Carlyle, Thomas, 1832, 
 BosweWs Life of Johnson. 
 
 **Who is this Scotch cur at Johnson's 
 heels?" asked some one, amazed at the 
 sudden intimacy. ''He is not a cur," 
 answered Goldsmith ; ' ' You are too severe. 
 He is only a bur. Tom Davies flung him 
 at Johnson in sport, and he has the faculty 
 of sticking."— Prior, Sir James, 1836, 
 The Life of Oliver Goldsmith. 
 
 He [Carlyle] rescued poor Boswell from 
 the unmerited obloquy of an ungrateful 
 generation, and taught us to see some- 
 thing half-comically beautiful in the poor, 
 w^eak creature, with his pathetic instinct 
 of reverence for what was nobler, wiser, 
 and stronger than himself. — Lowell, 
 James Russell, 1866-90, Carlyle, Prose 
 Works, Riverside ed., vol. ii, p. 87. 
 
 Matching his vanity was his love for 
 wine and his admiration of the other sex. 
 This latter was a terrible failing, and 
 brings him fairly within our list of lovers. 
 Some years ago were published the Bos- 
 well-Temple letters, as to whose genuine- 
 ness there arose a controversy. As to 
 this point there can be no question now. 
 These were said to be found, under rather 
 suspicious circumstances, in a shop at 
 Boulogne, wrapping up articles. This con- 
 ventional shape of introduction for spuri- 
 ous papersmight excite reasonable doubts ; 
 but since their publication they have been 
 traced v/ith reasonable exactness from 
 hand to hand to France. In these we 
 have all his amatory raptures set out with 
 charming candour. He began when he 
 was only eighteen, and before he had 
 left Edinburgh he began his amatory 
 course, which corresponded not a little, 
 both in tone and finale, with that of Mr. 
 Sterne. — Fitzgerald, Percy, 1872, The 
 Loves of Famous Men, Belgravia, vol. 16, 
 p. 222. 
 
 Boswell' s tastes, however, were by no 
 means limited to sensual or frivolous en- 
 joyments. His appreciation of the bottle 
 was combined with an equally hearty sen- 
 sibility to more intellectual pleasures. 
 He had not a spark of philosophic or 
 poetic power, but within the ordinary 
 range of such topics as can be discussed 
 at a dinner-party, he had an abundant 
 
 share of liveliness and intelligence. His 
 palate was as keen for good talk as for 
 good wine. He was an admirable recip- 
 ient, if not an originator, of shrewd or 
 humorous remarks upon life and manners. 
 What in regard to sensual enjoyment was 
 mere gluttony, appeared in higher matters 
 as an insatiable curiosity. — Stephen, 
 Leslie, 1879, Samuel Johnson (English 
 Men of Letters), p. 84. 
 
 "Ambitious Thane," "The Bear-Leader," 
 "Bozzy," ''Corsica Boswell," "Curious 
 Scrapmonger, " "Dapper Jemmy," "A 
 Feather in the Scale," "Thou Jackall," 
 ' ' Lazarus, " " Will-o' -th'- Wisp. "—Frey, 
 Albert R., 1888, Sobriquets and Nick- 
 names, p. 381. 
 
 It is peevish to refuse credit to those 
 who do things admirably well, because 
 there is something incomprehensible in 
 their capacity. Those who think that 
 James Boswell was a vain and shallow 
 coxcomb of mediocre abilities, without 
 intellectual gifts of any eminence, are 
 confronted with the fact that this supposed 
 fool was the unaided author of two of the 
 most graphic and most readable works 
 which the eighteenth century has left us. 
 It is right that Boswell's claim to a high 
 independent place in literature should be 
 vindicated, and the fact is that, after 
 Burke and Goldsmith, he is by far the 
 most considerable of the literary compan- 
 ions of Johnson. That he has risen into 
 fame on the shoulders of that great man 
 is true, but the fact has been insisted 
 upon until his own genuine and peculiar 
 merits have been most unduly overlooked. 
 — GossE, Edmund, 1888, A History of 
 Eighteenth Century Literature, p. 358. 
 
 What a wonderful fellow was James 
 Boswell. — Locker-Lampson, Frederick, 
 1896, My Confidences, p. 307. 
 
 "Love," wrote Madame de Stael, "is 
 with man a thing apart, 'tis woman's 
 whole existence." This is not true at 
 least of Boswell, for his love affairs fill as 
 large a part in his life as in that of Benja- 
 min Constant. A most confused chapter 
 withal, and one that luckily was not known 
 to Macaulay, whose colours would other- 
 wise have been more brilliant. We find 
 Bozzy paying his addresses at one and the 
 same time to at least eight ladies, exclu- 
 sive as this is of sundry minor divinities 
 of a fleeting and more temporary nature 
 
212 
 
 JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 not calling here for allusion. — Leask, 
 W. Keith, 1897, James Boswell {Famous 
 Scots)y p. 76. 
 
 That this garrulous, vain, wine-bibbing 
 tattler should ally himself with the great 
 moralist, may be explained by his love of 
 notoriety and of notables; but that the 
 austere, intolerant veteran of letters 
 should like — indeed love such a companion, 
 is a curious problem. Yet, moralist 
 though he was, he liked, as he said, to 
 "frisk it'^ now and then, — he loved the 
 Honourable Tom Hervey, the rake, and 
 Topham Beauclerc, whose morals were far 
 to seek. Boswell, though not learned, 
 and needing his mentor's advice to "read 
 more and drink less," knew something of 
 his letters, knew much of the world, was 
 clever, entertaining, good-natured, and 
 loyal. . . . Meanwhile his wife, a 
 woman of sense and some wit, had much 
 to endure — her society neglected for 
 "good company, where he got tipsy, 
 with the usual sequels of fits of depression 
 and tearful sentiment. He reminds us of 
 Sir Richard Steele with his bibulous indul- 
 gence, and protestations of affection in 
 notelets to his much suffering spouse: 
 "I am, dear Prue, a little in drink, but all 
 the time your faithful husband, Richard 
 Steele. ' * All his characteristics remained 
 unchanged ; his alternate hypochondria 
 and joviality ; his moods of piety and his 
 lapses from it ; his superstitions ; his love 
 of excitement — especially for a hanging, 
 in which he was as keen a connoisseur as 
 George Selwyn himself . He was ready to 
 kneel down and join in the chaplain's pray- 
 ers in the prison cells with the convict 
 in profoundest devotion, and to see him 
 turned off at Tyburn with the greatest 
 gusto, — to witness fifteen men hanged at 
 once filled him with the keenest pleasure 
 and the finest moral reflections. Vain as 
 poor Goldsmith, whose pride in his plum- 
 coloured coat from Filbey's he laughed 
 at, he would rush in his Court dress from 
 a levee at St. James's to dazzle composi- 
 tors at the printing-offices with his mag- 
 nificence. Few figures were better known 
 in London artistic and literary society 
 than his — paunchy and puffy, with red face, 
 long, cocked nose, protuberant mouth and 
 chin, with mock solemnity of manner and 
 voice, with slow gait and slovenly dress — 
 the clothes being loose, the wig untidy, 
 the gestures restless so as to resemble his 
 
 great master, of whom he incessantly 
 spoke, and whose big manner and oddities 
 he mimicked with infinite drollery, making 
 listeners convulse with laughter at the 
 exquisite, but irreverent copy of his 
 "revered friend." — Graham, Henry 
 Grey, 1901, Scottish Men of Letters in the 
 Eighteenth Century, pp. 221, 223. 
 
 Of the kind of man Boswell was he him- 
 self has given us the most abundant evi- 
 dence. His pages are autobiographic in 
 their self-delineation. We see his extraor- 
 dinary want of tact; his amazing folly, 
 egotism, self-obtrusion, and excessive 
 freedom of manners; his want of self- 
 respect, amounting alinost to self -debase- 
 ment (he did not hestitate to liken himself 
 to a dog) ; his conceit, vanity, absurd 
 pomposity, and serene self-complacency. 
 He was easily enamored, and was no Mos- 
 lem when the wine was circulating; for 
 he frequently succumbed to the material 
 good things, and admits that he was un- 
 able to recollect the intellectual good 
 things that flowed around him. — Sillard, 
 P. A., 1901, The Prince of Biographers, 
 Atlantic Monthly, vol. 88, p. 214. 
 
 AN ACCOUNT OF CORSICA 
 
 1768 
 
 Jamie had taen a toot on a new horn. 
 —Boswell, Alexander, 1768, Father of 
 James Boswell. 
 
 Mr. Boswell's book I was going to rec- 
 ommend to you, when I received your 
 letter: it has pleased and moved me 
 strangely, all (I mean) that relates to 
 Paoli. He is a man born two thousand 
 years after his time ! The pamphlet 
 proves what I have always maintained, 
 that any fool may write a most valuable 
 book by chance, if he will only tell us 
 what he heard and saw with veracity. Of 
 Mr. Boswell's truth I have not the least 
 suspicion, because I am sure he could not 
 invent nothing of this kind. The true 
 title of this part of his work is, a Dia- 
 logue between a Green-Goose and a Hero. 
 — Gray, Thomas, 1768, Letter to Horace 
 Walpole, Feb. 25; Works, ed. Gosse, vol, 
 in, p. 310. 
 
 He came to my country, and he fetched 
 me some letter of recommending him; 
 but I was of the belief he might be an im- 
 postor, and I supposed in my minte he 
 was espy ; for I look away from him, and 
 in a moment I look to him again, and I 
 
JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 213 
 
 behold his tablets. Oh! he was to the 
 work of writing down all I say. Indeed 
 I w^as angry. But soon I discover he was 
 no impostor and no espy ; and I only find 
 J was myself the monster he had come to 
 discern. Oh ! he is a very good man ; I 
 love him indeed ; so cheerful, so gay, so 
 pleasant ! but at the first, oh ! I was in- 
 deed angry.— Paoli, Pascal, 1782, To 
 Miss Burney, Diary and Letters, Oct. 15, 
 vol. II, p. 155. 
 
 The personal part of which is far better 
 written than the hasty critic is wont to 
 acknowledge. — GossE, Edmund, 1888, 
 A History of Eighteenth Century Litera- 
 ture, p. 358. 
 
 Mrs. Barbauld regarded him as no ordi- 
 nary traveller, with 
 
 "Working thoughts which swelled the breast 
 Of generous Boswell, when with noble aim 
 And views beyond the narrow beaten track 
 By trivial fancy trod, he turned his course 
 From polished Gallia's soft delicious vales." 
 Such thoughts were perhaps really foreign 
 to that traveller, yet Dr. Hill assures us 
 that by every Corsican of education the 
 name of Boswell is known and honoured. 
 One curious circumstance is given. At 
 Pino, when Boswell fancying himself ''in 
 a publick house" or inn, had called for 
 things, the hostess had said una cosa 
 dopo un altra, signore, "one thing after 
 another, sir." This has lingered as a 
 memento of Bozzy in Corsica, and has 
 been found by Dr. Hill to be preserved 
 among the traditions in the Tomasi family. 
 Translations of the book in Italian, Dutch, 
 French, and German, spread abroad the 
 name of the traveller who, if like a 
 prophet without honour in his own country, 
 has not been without it elsewhere. — 
 Leask, W. Keith, 1897, James Boswell 
 (Famous Scots), p. 52. 
 
 JOURNAL OF A TOUR TO THE 
 HEBRIDES 
 
 1785 
 
 O Boswell, Bozzy, Bruce, whate'er thy name, 
 Thou mighty shark for anecdote and fame. 
 
 Triumphant, thou through Time's vast gulf 
 shalt sail, 
 
 The pilot of our literary whale. . , . 
 Thou, curious scrapmonger, shalt live in song. 
 When death has stilled the rattle of thy 
 tongue ; 
 
 Even future babes to lisp thy name shall 
 learn, 
 
 And Bozzy join with Wood and Tommy 
 Heam, 
 
 Who drove the spiders from much prose and 
 rhyme. 
 
 And snatched old stories from the jaws of 
 
 time. . . . 
 What tasteless mouth can gape, what eye 
 
 can close. 
 
 What head can nod, o'er thy enlivening 
 
 prose? . . 
 Yes ! whilst the Rambler shall a comet blaze. 
 And gild a world of darkness with his rays, 
 Thee, too, that world with wonderment, shall 
 
 hail, 
 
 A lively, bouncing cracker at his tail! 
 — WoLCOT, John (Peter Pindar), 1787, 
 A Poetical and Congratulatory Epistle to 
 James Boswell, Esq., on His Journal of a 
 Tour to the Hebrides, with the Celebrated 
 Doctor Johnson. 
 
 I return you many thanks for BoswelFs 
 Tour. I read it to Mrs. Unwin after sup- 
 per, and we find it amusing. There is 
 much trash in it, as there must always be 
 in every narrative that relates indiscrimi- 
 nately all that passed. But now and then 
 the Doctor speaks like an oracle, and that 
 makes amends for all. Sir John was a 
 coxcomb, and Boswell is not less a cox- 
 comb, though of another kind. — Cowper, 
 William, 1789, Letter to Samuel Rose, 
 June 5 ; Life, ed. Hayley, vol. i, p. 188. 
 
 In my "Tour," I was almost unbound- 
 edly open in my communications, and from 
 my eagerness to display the wonderful 
 fertility and readiness of Johnson's wit, 
 freely showed to the world its dexterity, 
 even when I was myself the object of it. 
 I trusted that I should be liberally under- 
 stood ; as knowing very well what I was 
 about, and by no means as simply uncon- 
 scious of the pointed effects of the satire. 
 I own, indeed, that I was arrogant enough 
 to suppose that the tenour of the rest of 
 the book would sufficiently guard me 
 against such a strange imputation. But it 
 seems I judged too well of the world; 
 for, though I could scarcely believe it, 
 I have been undoubtedly informed, that 
 many persons, especially in distant quar- 
 ters, not penetrating enough into John- 
 son's character, so as to understand his 
 mode of treating his friends, have ar- 
 raigned my judgment, instead of seeing 
 that I was sensible of all that they could 
 observe. It is related of the great Dr. 
 Clarke, that when, in one of his leisure 
 hours, he was unbending himself with a 
 few friends in the most playful and frol- 
 icsome manner, he observed Beau Nash 
 
214 
 
 JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 approaching; upon which he suddenly 
 stopped: — "My boys," said he, ''let ns 
 be grave; here comes a fool." The 
 world, my friend, I have found to be a 
 great fool as to that particular on which 
 it has become necessary to speak very 
 plainly. — Boswell, James, 1791, The 
 Life of Samuel Johnson, Dedication to Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds. 
 
 Never, I think, was so unimportant a 
 journey so known of men. Every smart 
 boy in every American school, knows now 
 what puddings he ate, and about the 
 cudgel that he carried, and the boiled 
 mutton that was set before him. The 
 bare mention of these things brings back 
 a relishy smack of the whole story of the 
 journey. Is it for the literary quality of 
 the book which describes it? Is it for 
 our interest in the great, nettlesome, 
 ponderous traveller ; or is it by reason of 
 a sneaking fondness we all have for the 
 perennial stream of Boswell 's gossip? I 
 cannot tell, for one : I do not puzzle with 
 the question; but I enjoy. — Mitchell, 
 Donald G., 1895, English Lands Letters 
 and Kings, Queen Anne and the Georges, 
 p. 137. 
 
 No better book of travels in Scotland 
 has ever been written than Boswell's 
 ''Journal of a Tour to the Hebrides." 
 The accuracy of his description, his eye 
 for scenes and dramatic effects, have all 
 been fully borne witness to by those who 
 have followed in their track, and the fact 
 of the book being day by day read by 
 Johnson, during its preparation, gives it 
 an additional value from the perfect 
 veracity of its contents— "as I have re- 
 solved that the very journal which Dr. 
 Johnson read shall be presented to the 
 publick, I will not expand the text in any 
 considerable degree". — Leask, W. Keith, 
 1897, James Boswell {Famous Scots), 
 p. 109. 
 
 LIFE OF JOHNSON 
 
 1791-93 
 
 Boswell tells me he is printing anecdotes 
 of Johnson, not his life, but, as he has 
 the vanity to call it, his pyramid. T be- 
 sought his tenderness for our virtuous and 
 most revered departed friend, and begged 
 he would mitigate some of his asperities. 
 He said, roughly, "He would not cut off 
 his claws, nor make a tiger a cat, to 
 please anybody." It will, 1 doubt not, 
 be a very amusing book, but I hope not 
 
 an indiscreet one ; he has great enthusi- 
 asm, and some fire. — More, Hannah, 
 1785, Letter, Memoirs, ed. Roberts. 
 
 Boswell's book will be curious, or at 
 least whimsical ; his hero, who can so long 
 detain the public curiosity, must be no 
 common animal.— Gibbon, Edward, 1791, 
 Letter to Cadell. 
 
 The labour and anxious attention with 
 which I have collected and arranged the 
 materials of which these volumes are com- 
 posed, will hardly be conceived by those 
 who read them with careless felicity. 
 The stretch of mind and prompt assiduity 
 by which so many conversations were pre- 
 served, I myself, at some distance of time, 
 contemplate with wonder ; and I must be 
 allowed to suggest that the nature of the 
 work in other respects, as it consists of 
 innumerable detached particulars, all 
 which, even the most minute, I have 
 spared no pains to ascertain with a scru- 
 pulous authenticity, has occasioned a de- 
 gree of trouble far beyond that of any 
 other species of composition. Were I to 
 detail the books which I have consulted, 
 and the inquiries which I have found it 
 necessary to make by various channels, I 
 should probably be thought ridiculously 
 ostentatious. Let me only observe, as a 
 specimen of my trouble, that 1 have some- 
 times been obliged to run half over Lon- 
 don, in order to fix a date correctly; 
 which, when I had accomplished I well 
 knew would obtain me no praise, though 
 a failure would have been to my discredit. 
 And after all, perhaps, hard as it may be, 
 I shall not be surprised if omissions or 
 mistakes be pointed out with invidious 
 severity. I have also been extremely 
 careful as to the exactness of my quota- 
 tions ; holding that there is a respect due 
 to the public, which should oblige every 
 author to attend to this, and never to pre- 
 sume to introduce them with, "I think I 
 have read," or, "If I remember right," 
 when the originals may be examined. — 
 Boswell, James, 1791, The Life of Sam- 
 uel Johnson, Advertisement. 
 
 Boswell has at last published his long- 
 promised "Life of Dr. Johnson," in two 
 volumes in quarto. I will give you an 
 account of it when I have gone through it. 
 I have already perceived, that in writing 
 the history of Hudioras, Ralpho has not 
 forgot himself — nor will others, I believe, 
 forget /lim/— Walpole, Horace, 1791, 
 
JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 215 
 
 To Miss Berry, May 19 ; Letters, ed. Cun- 
 ningham, vol. IX, p. 317. 
 
 Highly as this work is now estimated, 
 it will, lam confident, be still more valued 
 by posterity a century hence, when the 
 excellent and extraordinary man, whose 
 wit and wisdom are here recorded, shall 
 be viewed at a still greater distance; 
 and the instruction and entertainment 
 they afford will at once produce reveren- 
 tial gratitude, admiration, and delight. — 
 M ALONE, Edmond, 1804, ed. BoswelVs 
 Life of Johnson, Preface. 
 
 The circle of Mr. Bosweirs acquaint- 
 ance among the learned, the witty, and 
 indeed among men of all ranks and pro- 
 fessions, was extremely extensive, as his 
 talents were considerable, and his conviv- 
 ial powers made his company much in re- 
 quest. His warmth of heart towards his 
 friends, was very great; and I have known 
 few men who possessed a stronger sense 
 of piety, or more fervent devotion (tinc- 
 tured, no doubt, with some little share of 
 superstition which had, probably in some 
 degree, been fostered by his habits of in- 
 timacy with Dr. Johnson), perhaps not 
 always sufficient to regulate his imagina- 
 tion, or direct his conduct, yet still genuine, 
 and founded both in his understanding 
 and his heart. His ''Life" of that ex- 
 traordina:ry man, with all the faults with 
 which it has been charged, must be allowed 
 to be one of the most characteristic and 
 entertaining biographical works in the 
 English language. — Forbes, Sir William, 
 1806, Account of the Life and Writings of 
 James Beattie, vol. ii, p. 378, note. 
 
 His "Life of Samuel Johnson" exhibits 
 a striking likeness of a confident, over- 
 weening, dictatorial pedant, though of 
 parts and learning ; and of a weak, shal- 
 low, submissive admirer of such a charac- 
 ter, deriving a vanity from that very ad- 
 miration.— Hurd, Richard, 1808? Com- 
 monplace Book, ed. Kilvert, p. 254. 
 
 Boswell was probably an inferior man 
 to Spence ; — but he was a far better col- 
 lector of anecdotes, and the very prince, 
 indeed, of retail wits and philosophers; 
 so that, with all possible sense of the 
 value of what he has done, we sometimes 
 can hardly help wishing that he had lived 
 in the time of Pope, instead of our own. 
 — Hazlitt, William, 1820, Spence's Anec- 
 dotes, Edinburgh Review, vol. 33, p. 306. 
 
 Considering the eminent persons to 
 
 whom it relates, the quantity of miscel- 
 laneous information and entertaining gos- 
 sip which it brings together, may be 
 termed, without exception, the best par- 
 lour-window book that ever was written. 
 —Scott, Sir Walter, 1823, Samuel 
 Johnson. 
 
 I now approach, with a keen recollec- 
 tion of the pleasure which, in common 
 with every tolerably well-educated Eng- 
 lishman, I have felt, and shall continue to 
 my very latest hour to feel, in the perusal 
 of it the biography of Dr. Samuel John- 
 son, by James Boswell, his companion, his 
 chronicler, and his friend. This fascina- 
 ting, and I may add truly original, compo- 
 sition, is a work for all times. In read- 
 ing it, we see the man — 
 
 "Vir ipse. . . . 
 Sic oculos, sic ilk manus, sic ora ferebat.^* 
 We even hear his voice, and observe his 
 gesticulations. The growth of discontent 
 and the shout of triumph equally pervades 
 our ears. Walking, sitting, reading, 
 writing, talking, all is Johnsonian. Such 
 another piece of domestic painting, in 
 black and white, is, perhaps, no where to 
 be seen. We place Boswell's Johnson in 
 our libraries, as an enthusiast hangs up 
 his Gerard Dow in his cabinet — to be gazed 
 at again and again ; to feed upon, and to 
 devour. — Dibdin, Thomas Frognall, 1824, 
 Library Companion, p. 523. 
 
 Of above twenty years, therefore, that 
 their acquaintance lasted, periods equiv- 
 alent in the whole to about three-quarters 
 of a year only, fell under the personal 
 notice of Boswell. ... It appears 
 from the Life, that Mr. Boswell visited 
 England a dozen times during his acquaint- 
 ance with Dr. Johnson, and that the num- 
 ber of days on which they met were about 
 180, to which is to be added the time of 
 the Tour, during w^hich they met daily from 
 the 18th August, to the 22d November, 
 1773 ; in the whole about 276 days. The 
 number of pages in the separate editions 
 of the two works is 2528, of which 1320 
 are occupied by the history of these 276 
 days ; so that a little less than an hundredth 
 part of Dr. Johnson's life occupies above 
 one-half of Mr. Boswell's works. Every 
 one must regret that his personal inter- 
 course with his great friend was not more 
 frequent or more continued. — Croker, 
 John Wilson, 1831, ed. Boswell's Life of 
 Johnson, Preface. 
 
216 
 
 JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 *'The Life of Johnson" is assuredly a 
 great, a very great work. Homer is not 
 more decidedly the first of heroic poets, 
 Shakspeare is not more decidedly the 
 first of dramatists, Demosthenes is not 
 more decidedly the first of orators, than 
 Boswell is the first of biographers. He 
 has no second. He has distanced all his 
 competitors so decidedly, that it is not 
 worth while to place them. Eclipse is 
 first, and the rest nowhere. We are not 
 sure that there is in the whole history of 
 the human intellect so strange a phenom- 
 enon as this book. Many of the greatest 
 men that ever lived have written biogra- 
 phy. Boswell was one of the smallest 
 men that ever lived; and he has beaten 
 them all.— Macaulay, Thomas Babing- 
 TON, 1831, BosweWs Life of Johnson, Edin- 
 burgh Review, Critical and Miscellaneous 
 Essays. 
 
 Out of the fifteen millions that then 
 lived, and had bed and board in the Brit- 
 ish Islands, this man has provided us a 
 gresiteY pleasure than any other individual, 
 at whose cost we now enjoy ourselves; 
 perhaps has done us a greater service 
 than can be specially attributed to more 
 than two or three: yet, ungrateful that 
 we are, no written or spoken eulogy of 
 James Boswell anywhere exists ; his rec- 
 ompense as solid pudding (so far as copy- 
 right went) was not excessive ; and as for 
 the empty praise, it has altogether been 
 denied him. Men are unwiser than chil- 
 dren ; they do not know the hand that feeds 
 them. ... As for the Book itself, 
 questionless the universal favour enter- 
 tained for it is well merited. In worth 
 as a Book we have rated it beyond any 
 other product of the eighteenth century : 
 all Johnson's own Writings, laborious and 
 in their kind genuine above most, stand on 
 a quite inferior level to it; already, in- 
 deed, they are becoming obsolete for this 
 generation ; and for some future genera- 
 tion may be valuable chiefly as Prolegom- 
 ena and expository Scholia to this John- 
 soniad of Boswell. Which of us but re- 
 members, as one of the sunny spots in his 
 existence, the day when he opened these 
 airy volumes, fascinating him by a true 
 natural magic ! It was as if the curtains 
 of the Past were drawn aside, and we look 
 mysteriously into a kindred country, 
 where dwelt our Fathers; inexpressibly 
 dear to us, but which had seemed forever 
 
 hidden from our eyes. — Carlyle, Thomas, 
 1832, BosweWs Life of Johnson. 
 
 Do you know our English ''BoswelPs 
 Life of Johnson?" If not, read it. 
 There are not ten books of the eighteenth 
 century so valuable.— Carlylj:, Thomas, 
 1834, Letter to Eckermann, May 6 ; Cor- 
 respondence Between Goethe and Carlyle, 
 ed. Norton, Appendix, p. 342. 
 
 Really, the ambition of the man to illus- 
 trate his mental insignificance, by contin- 
 ually placing himself in juxtaposition with 
 the great lexicographer, has something 
 in it perfectly ludicrous. Never, since 
 the days of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, 
 has there been presented to the world a 
 more whimsically contrasted pair of as- 
 sociates than Johnson and Boswell. — Irv- 
 ing, Washington, 1845, Oliver Gold- 
 smith, p. 157. 
 
 Content not only to be called, by the 
 object of his veneration, a dunce, a para- 
 site, a coxcomb, an eavesdropper, and a 
 fool, but even faithfully to report what 
 he calls the "keen sarcastic wit," the 
 variety of degrading images," the 
 ''rudeness," and the ferocity, " of which 
 he was made the special object : bent all 
 the more firmly upon the one design which 
 seized and occupied the whole of such 
 faculties as he possessed, and living in 
 such a manner to achieve it as to have 
 made himself immortal as his hero. 
 ''You have but two topics, sir," exclaimed 
 Johnson; "yourself and me. I am sick 
 of both." Happily for us, nothing could 
 sicken Boswell of either ; and by one of 
 the most moderately wise men that ever 
 lived, the masterpiece of English biogra- 
 phy was written. — Forster, John, 1848- 
 54, The Life and Times of Oliver Goldsmith, 
 vol. II, p. 296. 
 
 The greatest work of the class which 
 exists in the world. The "Tour to the 
 Hebrides" had shown what was to be ex- 
 pected from a man who seems to have 
 been better fitted for his vocation than 
 anybody else who ever lived, and whose 
 name has supplied the English language 
 with a new word. Every year increases 
 the popularity of Boswell's marvellous 
 work. The world will some day do more 
 justice to his talents, which those who 
 cannot forgive his Toryism are far too 
 prone to run down ; for he possessed great 
 dramatic talent, great feeling for humour, 
 and a very keen perception of all the kinds 
 
JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 217 
 
 of colloquial excellence. With these men, 
 — and they are not a few, — nine-tenths 
 of whose affected contempt of him rests 
 on the mean foundation that they dislike 
 the very pardonable pride he took in his 
 ancient birth, who would condescend to 
 reason? But if any unprejudiced person 
 doubts the real talent required for doing 
 what Boswell did, let him make the ex- 
 periment by attempting to describe some- 
 body's conversation himself. Let him 
 not fancy that he is performing a trivial 
 or undignified task; for which of us, in 
 any station, can hope to render a tithe of 
 the service to the world that was con- 
 ferred on it by the Laird of Auchinleck ? 
 — Hannay, James, 1856-61, Table-Talk, 
 Essays from the Quarterly Review, p. 27. 
 
 Hard names have been freely applied to 
 what has unquestionably proved to be 
 disinterested attachment. Yet who has 
 contributed so much to our amusement? 
 Where shall we find in our own or any 
 other language one who has shown equal 
 talent and industry in recording so much 
 wit, wisdom, and acquaintance with life 
 for the instruction and amusement of 
 mankind? Such a book is not the pro- 
 duct of chance. He had no model to fol- 
 low ; but with that happiness of thought, 
 which if it does not imply genius certainly 
 falls little short of it, struck out one for 
 himself. As there has been but one John- 
 son, so there certainly is but one Boswell. 
 He stands alone in the plan and execution 
 of a work which has won the admiration 
 of every description of reader. — Prior, 
 Sir James, 1860, Life of Edmond Malone, 
 p. 124. 
 
 That altogether unvenerable yet pro- 
 foundly- verating Scottish gentleman, — 
 that queerest mixture of qualities, of 
 force and weakness, blindness and insight, 
 vanity and solid worth,— has written the 
 finest book of its kind which our nation 
 possesses. It is quite impossible to over- 
 state its worth. You lift it, and immedi- 
 ately the intervening years disappear, and 
 you are in the presence of the Doctor. 
 You are made free of the last century, as 
 you are free of the present. You double 
 your existence. The book is a letter of 
 introduction to a whole knot of departed 
 English worthies. In virtue of Boswell's 
 labours, we know Johnson— the central 
 man of his time — better than Burke 
 did, or Reynolds, — far better even than 
 
 Boswell did. We know how he expressed 
 himself, in what grooves his thoughts ran, 
 how he dressed, how he ate, drank, and 
 slept. Boswell's unconscious art is won- 
 derful, and so is the result attained. 
 This book has arrested, as never book did 
 before, time and decay. Bozzy is really 
 a wizzard : he makes the sun stand still. 
 Till his work is done, the future stands 
 respectfully aloof. — Smith, Alexander, 
 1863, Dreamthorp, p. 204. 
 
 Boswell's ''Life of Johnson" not only 
 holds an undisputed place among the clas- 
 sical achievements of English Literature, 
 but belongs to that group within the 
 classical groUp which may be distinguished 
 as consisting of works both well-reputed 
 and read, the other classics being well- 
 reputed and unopened. No one who has 
 this book is content to have it on his 
 shelves, a mere respectability in calf-gilt 
 — one of Charles Lamb's favourite aver- 
 sions, ''a book which no gentleman's 
 library should be without." If it is on 
 his shelves, it is often on his table. . . . 
 ''Boswell's Johnson" is for me a sort 
 of test-book : according to a man's judg- 
 ment of it, I am apt to form my judgment 
 of him. It may not always be a very 
 good test, but it is never a very bad one. 
 In spite, however, of its great reputation, 
 the book is less read now-a-days than its 
 admirers imagine ; and I have often been 
 surprised to find how many cultivated men 
 and women, who would assuredly be able 
 to do it full justice, were satisfied with 
 vague second-hand knowledge of it, simply 
 because they had allowed the idle trash of 
 the hour to come between them and it — 
 preferring to read what "every one" is 
 reading to-day, and no one will read to- 
 morrow. ... No one has ever re- 
 ported conversations with a skill compar- 
 able to that of Boswell — a skill which ap- 
 pears marvellous when compared with the 
 attempts of others ; and although there 
 may have been talkers as good as Johnson, 
 no man's reported talk has the variety 
 and force of his. . . . It is Boswell's 
 eternal merit to have deeply reverenced 
 the man whose littlenesses and asperities 
 he could keenly discern, and has coura- 
 geously depicted ; and his work stands 
 almost alone in Biography because he had 
 this vision and this courage. The image 
 of Johnson is not defaced by these revela- 
 tions, it only becomes more intelligible in 
 
218 
 
 JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 becoming more human. — Lewes, George 
 Henry, 1873, Life and Conversations of 
 Dr. Samuel Johnson^ ed. Main, Preface, 
 pp. vii, viii, x, xii. 
 
 Johnson entirely depends on Boswell's 
 life of him for his fame. The fond Bos- 
 well, with all his Scotch affection, and 
 Scotch strength of diligence, gathered the 
 gleanings from the fields, and picked up 
 the heads of grain, long after the reaper 
 had fulfilled his work. The pickings and 
 gatherings, so carefully preserved, have 
 fed many a hungry and empty mind since, 
 and enriched the gallery of English liter- 
 ature. — Pur yes, James, 1874, James 
 Boswell, Dublin Magazine, vol. 84, p. 704. 
 
 His singular gifts as an observer could 
 only escape notice from a careless or in- 
 experienced reader. Boswell has a little 
 of the true Shaksperian secret. He lets 
 his characters show themselves without ob- 
 truding unnecessary comment. He never 
 misses the point of a story, though he 
 does not ostentatiously call our atten- 
 tion to it. He gives just what is wanted 
 to indicate character, or to explain the 
 full meaning of a repartee. It is not till 
 we compare his reports with those of less 
 skilful hearers, that we can appreciate the 
 ( skill with which the essence of a conver- 
 ' sation is extracted, and the whole scene 
 indicated by a few telling touches. We 
 are tempted to fancy that we have heard 
 the very thing, and rashly infer that Bos- 
 well was simply the mechanical transmit- 
 ter of the good things uttered. Any one 
 who will try to put down the pith of a 
 brilliant conversation within the same 
 space, may soon satisfy himself of the ab- 
 surdity of such an hypothesis, and will 
 learn to appreciate Boswell's powers not 
 only of memory but artistic representation. 
 Such a feat implies not only admirable 
 quickness of appreciation, but a rare lit- 
 erary faculty. Boswell's accuracy is re- 
 markable ; but it is the least part of his 
 merit. — Stephen, Leslie, 1879, Samuel 
 Johnson {English Men of Letters), p. 91. 
 
 Johnson, Goldsmith, and all the rest of 
 them are only ghosts until the pertina- 
 cious young laird of Auchinleck comes on 
 the scene to give them color, and life, 
 and form.— Black, William, 1879, Gold- 
 smith (English Men of Letters), p. 41. 
 
 The most remarkable biography writ- 
 ten in the English language — or indeed, 
 in any language. . » . Filled with 
 
 admiration for the works and the character 
 of Dr. Johnson, and desiring to gratify 
 his own vanity and insatiable thirst for 
 notoriety, Boswell attached himself to 
 Johnson as a kind of a humble hanger-on 
 and satellite. He diligently cultivated 
 the acquaintance of the great literary 
 dictator, sought his society on every pos- 
 sible occasion, and took copious notes of 
 everything that he saw or heard. . . . 
 It was not until 1791 that he gave to the 
 world that wonderful collection of sketches 
 and anecdotes which compose his great 
 masterpiece of biography. — Baldwin, 
 James, 1883, English Literature and Lit- 
 erary Criticism, Prose, p. 96. 
 
 A paradox in himself, Boswell has been 
 a great cause of paradoxes. The virtue 
 of his incomparable "Life of Johnson," 
 though apparently parasitic, has been rec- 
 ognized by the best judges as original. 
 — Saintsbury, George, 1886, Specimens 
 of English Prose Style, p. 239. 
 
 With me the preparation of these vol- 
 umes has, indeed, been the work of many 
 years. Boswell's ''Life of Johnson" I 
 read for the first time in my boyhood, 
 when I was too young for it to lay any 
 hold on me. When I entered Pembroke 
 College, Oxford, though I loved to think 
 that Johnson had been there before me, 
 yet I . cannot call to mind that I ever 
 opened the pages of Boswell. . . . 
 Such was my love for the subject that 
 on one occasion, when I was called upon 
 to write a review that should fill two col- 
 umns of a weekly newspaper, I read a new 
 edition of the ''Life" from beginning to 
 end without, I believe, missing a single 
 line of the text or a single note. At 
 length, "towering in the confidence" of 
 one who as yet has but set his foot on the 
 threshold of some stately mansion in which 
 he hopes to find for himself a home, I was 
 rash enough more than twelve years ago 
 to offer myself as editor of a new edition 
 of Boswell's "Life of Johnson." Fortu- 
 nately for me another writer had been 
 already engaged by the publisher to whom \ 
 I applied, and my offer was civilly declined. 
 From that time on I never lost sight of 
 my purpose but when in the troubles of 
 life I well-nigh lost sight of every kind of 
 hope. Everything in my reading that 
 bore on my favourite author was carefully 
 noted, till at length I felt that the mate- 
 rials which I had gathered from all sides 
 
JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 219 
 
 were sufficient to shield me from a charge 
 of rashness if I now began to raise the 
 building. . . . I have now come to 
 the end of my long labours. ''There are 
 few things not purely evil," wrote John- 
 son, ''of which we can say without some 
 emotion of uneasiness, this is the last." 
 From this emotion I cannot feign that I 
 am free. My book has been my compan- 
 ion in many a sad and many a happy hour. 
 I take leave of it with a pang of regret, 
 but I am cheered by the hope that it may 
 take its place, if a lowly one, among the 
 works of men who have laboured patiently 
 but not unsuccessfully in the great and shin- 
 ing fields of English literature. — Hill, 
 George Birkbeck, 1887, ed. BoswelVs 
 Life of Johnson, Preface^ vol. I, pp. xi, 
 xiii, xxix. 
 
 The universal verdict of mankind has 
 placed this work among the five or six 
 most interesting and stimulating of the 
 world's books.— GossE, Edmund, 1888, 
 A History of Eighteenth Century Litera- 
 ture, p. 358. 
 
 Did he (Macaulay) recognise to the full 
 the fact of Boswell's pre-eminence as an 
 artist ? Was he really conscious that the 
 "Life*' is an admirable workof art aswell 
 as the most readable and companionable of 
 books? As, not content with committing 
 himself thus far, he goes on to prove that 
 Boswell was great because he was little ; 
 that he wrote a great book because he 
 was an ass, and that if he had not been 
 an ass his book would probably have been 
 at least a small one, incredulity on these 
 points becomes repectable. — Henley, 
 William Ernest, 1890, Views and Re- 
 views, p. 197. 
 
 How much the literary Jupiter owes to 
 his literary satellites, particularly to the 
 first one, it is not easy, at this distance 
 of time, to tell. But who reads his 
 "Journey to the Western Islands of Scot- 
 land" in these days? How often is his 
 ' ' Dictionary' ' consulted ? What influence 
 has his "Rambler" upon modern letters? 
 What sweet girl graduate or cultivated 
 Harvard "man" of to-day can quote a 
 line from ' ' The Vanity of Human Wishes, ' ' 
 or knows whether that production is in 
 prose or verse ? What would the world 
 have thought of Samuel Johnson at the 
 end of a hundred years if a silly little 
 Scottish laird had not made a hero of him, 
 to be worshipped as no literary man was 
 
 ever worshipped before or since, and if he 
 had not written a biography of him which 
 is the best in any language, and the model 
 for all others. — Hutton, Laurence, 1891, 
 Literary Landmarks of Edinburgh, p. 20. 
 
 Boswell, then, possessed in perfection 
 some essential qualifications for the biog- 
 rapher — discernment, discrimination, the 
 eye of an artist, a keen sense of literary 
 proportion. His way was made easy for 
 him by good humour, and an unbounded 
 love of society, and his vanity made him 
 impervious to any rebuflt, however crush- 
 ing. His keen sympathy enabled him to 
 penetrate the motives of men, and he had 
 enough of literary skill to convey the im- 
 pression of a character or of an incident 
 with dramatic reality. In spite of all his 
 weakness, his folly, his dissipation, and 
 the essential shallowness of his character, 
 he had earnestness of purpose enough to 
 force him to untiring perseverance in his 
 task. . . . Wonderful as it is that 
 a man so compact of folly and vanity, so 
 childish and so weak as Boswell, should 
 have produced a book which has enforced 
 the admiration of the world, yet we need 
 not explain that book as a literary miracle. 
 Its success is achieved by the usual 
 means — insight, sympathy, skill, and per- 
 severance ; and its author had served an 
 apprenticeship to his art before he began 
 his greatest work. — Craik, Henry, 1895, 
 English Prose, vol. IV, p. 479. 
 
 Boswell's book itself may now, in Par- 
 liamentary language, be taken for "read." 
 As Johnson said of Goldsmith's "Travel- 
 ler," "its merit is established, and in- 
 dividual praise or censure can neither 
 augment nor diminish it." 
 What is most distinctive in Boswell is 
 Boswell's method and Boswell's manner. 
 . . . This faculty of communicating 
 his impressions accurately to his reader 
 is Boswell's most conspicuous gift. Pres- 
 ent in his first book, it was more present 
 in his second, and when he began his great 
 biography it had reached its highest point. 
 So individual is his manner, so unique his 
 method of collecting and arranging his 
 information, that to disturb the native 
 character of his narrative by interpolat- 
 ing foreign material, must of necessity 
 impair its specific character and imperil 
 its personal note. — Dobson, Austin, 1898, 
 BoswelVs Predecessors and Editors^ Miscel- 
 lanies, pp. 110, 124, 125. 
 
220 
 
 JAMES BOSWELL 
 
 It is refreshing to turn to Boswell. 
 We shall confine ourselves to Boswell's 
 character, which has been little studied. 
 If the "Journal to Stella" is a diary of 
 two worlds, Boswell's ''Life" is an atmos- 
 phere of one — that of his hero. Yet 
 through this atmosphere his own person- 
 ality emerges clear and palpable. — Sichel, 
 W., 1899, Men who Have Kept A Diary, 
 Blackwood's Magazine, vol. 165, p. 80. 
 i It was through having his attention 
 almost always alert that he was enabled to 
 give us those vivid pictures which make his 
 book a veritable literary cinematograph ; 
 for in truth his pages may be said to live ; 
 with a few simple but subtle strokes the 
 living scene is dramatically brought before 
 us, and we can almost fancy that we hear 
 the loud voice of Johnson and the sonor- 
 ous tones of Burke, that we see the quaint 
 figure of Goldsmith and the sedate deport- 
 ment of Gibbon. — Sillard, P. A. , 1901, The 
 Prince of Biographers, Atlantic Monthly, 
 vol. 88, p. 214. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 That he was a coxcomb and a bore, 
 weak, vain, pushing, curious, garrulous, 
 was obvious to all who were acquainted 
 with him. That he could not reason, that 
 he had no wit, no humour, no eloquence, 
 is apparent from his writings. And yet 
 his writings are read beyond the Missis- 
 sippi, and under the Southern Cross, and 
 are likely to be read as long as the Eng- 
 lish exists, either as a living or as a dead 
 language.— Macaulay, Thomas Babing- 
 TON, 1843, Samuel Johnson, Critical and 
 Historical Essays. 
 
 With all the praise that is lavished 
 upon his biography, the author himself is 
 rather an underrated man. It is pretty 
 generally supposed that little intellectual 
 power was required for such a production 
 — that it is merely an aff'air of memory 
 and observation. Now such powers of mem- 
 ory and observation are certainly no com- 
 mon endowment. . . Macaulay, who 
 dilates upon theT?reanness of spirit shown 
 in the drawing out of Johnson's opinions, 
 gives no credit to the ingenuity. Boswell 
 was undoubtedly a man of much social 
 tact, possessing great general knowledge 
 of human nature, and a most penetrating 
 insight into the thoughts and intents of 
 his habitual companions. — Minto, Wil- 
 liam, 1872-80, Manual of English Prose 
 Literature, p. 481. 
 
 James Boswell has been treated with 
 the greatest injustice and ingratitude by 
 nearly all the literary men who have re- 
 corded their opinions concerning him and 
 his work. Sir Walter Scott alone, with 
 characteristic good sense, stands aloof 
 from the rest in his respectful treatment 
 of the distinguished biographer. He does 
 not, indeed, seem to be aware that Bos- 
 well requires defence, or that there is any 
 thing particular in a kindly and respectful 
 demeanour towards the author of John- 
 ' son's Life. He knows that Boswell, in 
 spite of his faults, was a high-spirited and 
 honourable gentleman, warm-hearted, and 
 of a most candid and open nature, a sunny 
 temper, and the most unusual and genuine 
 literary abilities. Accordingly, when Sir 
 Walter happens to allude to the Laird of 
 Auchinleck it is always in a friendly and 
 frequently admiring tone — a tone very 
 different from the brutal vituperation of 
 Macaulay or the superior compassion and 
 humane condescension of the great Herr 
 Teufelsdrock. James Boswell did not 
 deserve the hatred of the one or the 
 pity of the other. In standing contrast with 
 the resolute vituperation of the rhetori- 
 cian and the determined compassion of the 
 prophet, the honest student of English 
 literature will be always glad to encounter 
 the kindly, grateful, and admiring lan- 
 guage which flows so gracefully and nat- 
 urally from the pen of Sir Walter in deal- 
 ing with the character and the literary per- 
 formances of Boswell.— Clive, Arthur, 
 1874, Boswell and his Enemies, Gentle- 
 man's Magazine, n. s., vol. 13, p. 68. 
 
 The unique character of Boswell is im- 
 pressed upon all his works. The many 
 foibles which ruined his career are con- 
 spicuous but never offensive; the vanity 
 which makes him proud of his hypochondria 
 and his supposed madness is redeemed by 
 his touching confidence in the sympathy of 
 his fellows ; his absolute good-nature, his 
 hearty appreciation of the excellence of 
 his eminent contemporaries, though pushed 
 to absurdity, is equalled by the real vivacity 
 of his observations and the dramatic power 
 of his narrative. Macaulay' s graphic 
 description of his absurdities, and Car- 
 lyle's more penetrating appreciation of 
 his higher qualities, contain all that can 
 be said. — Stephen, Leslie, 1885, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, vol. V, 
 p. 437. 
 
V 
 
 OF THt . 
 
 UNIVERSITY o?ltU« ^^5- 
 
221 
 
 Robert Burns 
 
 1759-1796 
 
 January 25, 1759, Birth at Ayr, parish of Alloway. 1765, School at Alloway Mill; 
 with xMurdoch. 1766-1777, At Mount Oliphant, parish of Ayr (1766). 1768, Early 
 associations on the farm. Taught at home by his father. 1769, Books. Love and 
 song. Jenny Wilson. 1777-84, At Lochlea, parish of Tarbolton. 1778, School at 
 Kirkoswald. 1780, The Bachelor's Club. 1781, Flax-dressing at Irvine. 1782, Finds 
 Fergusson's Poems. 1783, A Freemason. February 1784, His father's death. 
 1784-1786, At Mossgiel, parish of Mauchline. 1785, Early friends: Gavin Hamil- 
 ton, Robert Aiken. Struggle with Auld Lichts. Poetic Springtide. E^Met^. 
 Satirical Poems. Descriptive Poems. Songs. August 1786, Kilmarnock ^tst) 
 edition of poems published. Literary friendships: Dr. Blacklock, Dugald Stewart, 
 Dr. Blair, Rev. Mr. Laurie, Mrs. Dunlop. Visits Katrine, meets Lord Daer and Mrs. 
 Stewart. November 1786, Visits Edinburgh. Among the celebrities. April 1787, 
 Second edition of poems. Travels in Scotland, May, Border Tour. June, Returns to 
 Mossgiel. First Highland Tour. Second Highland Tour. Third Highland Tour. 
 September, Returns to Edinburgh, Johnson's Museum. March 1788, Leaves Edin- 
 burgh. 1788-1791, At Ellisland. August 1788, Marries Jean Armour, At Friar's 
 Carse. 1790, Appointed Excise Officer. 1791-1796, At Dumfries. Bank Vennel. 
 Dumfries Volunteers. Thomson's Collection. 1792, Patriotic Songs. 1793, Visits 
 Galloway. 1794, Removes to Mill Hill Brae. Failing Health. July 21, 1796, Death. 
 — George, Andrew J., 1896, ed.y Select Poems of Robert Burns, p. 231. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 This kind of life — the cheerless gloom 
 of a hermit, with the unceasing moil of a 
 galley-slave, brought me to my sixteenth 
 year ; a little before which period I first 
 committed the sin of Rhyme. You know 
 our country custom of coupling a man and 
 woman together as partners in the labours 
 of harvest. In my fifteenth autumn my 
 partner was a bewitching creature, a year 
 younger than myself. My scarcity of 
 English denies me the power of doing her 
 justice in that language; but you know 
 the Scottish idiom — she was a bonnie 
 sweet, sonie lass. In short, she altogether, 
 unwittingly to herself, initiated me in that 
 delicious passion, which, in spite of acid 
 disappointment, gin-horse prudence, and 
 book-worm philosophy, I hold to be the 
 first of human joys, our dearest blessing 
 here below ! How she caught the conta- 
 gion, I cannot tell : you medical people 
 talk much of infection from breathing the 
 same air, the touch, &c. ; but I never ex- 
 pressly said I loved her, indeed, I did not 
 know myself why I liked so much to 
 loiter behind with her, when returning in 
 the evening from our labours ; why the 
 tones of her voice made my heart-strings 
 thrill like an /Eolian harp ; and particu- 
 larly my pulse beat such a furious ratan 
 when I looked and fingered over her 
 little hand to pick out the cruel nettle- 
 stings and thistles. Among her other 
 
 love-inspiring qualities, she sung sweetly; 
 and it was her favourite reel to which I at- 
 tempted giving an embodied vehicle in 
 rhyme. I was not so presumptuous as to 
 imagine that I could make verses like 
 printed ones, composed by men who had 
 Greek and Latin ; but my girl sung a song, 
 which was said to be composed by a small 
 country laird's son, on one of his father's 
 maids, with whom he was in love ! and I 
 saw no reason why I might not rhyme as 
 well as he; for, excepting that he could 
 smear sheep, and cast peats, his father 
 living in the moor-lands, he had no more 
 scholar-craft than myself. — Burns, Rob- 
 ert, 1787, Letter to Dr. Moore, Aug. 2 ; 
 Burns's Works, ed. Currie. 
 
 After all my boasted independence, 
 curst necessity compels me to implore you 
 for five pounds. A cruel scoundrel of a 
 haberdasher, to whom I owe an account, 
 taking it into his head that 1 am dying, 
 has commenced a process, and will infalli- 
 bly put me into jail. Do, for God's sake, 
 send me that sum, and that by return of 
 post. Forgive me this earnestness ; but 
 the horrors of a jail have made me half 
 distracted. I do not ask all this gratui- 
 tously; for, upon returning health, I 
 hereby promise and engage to furnish you 
 with five pounds' worth of the neatest 
 song-genius you have seen. I tried my 
 hand on Rothermurchie this morning. The 
 measure is so difficult, that it is impossible 
 
222 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 to infuse much genius into the lines; 
 they are on the other side. Forgive, for- 
 give me! — Burns, Robert, 1796, Letter 
 to George Thomson, July 12. 
 
 If others have climbed more successfully 
 to the heights of Parnassus, none certainly 
 out-shone Burns in the charms — the sor- 
 cery I would almost call it, of fascinating 
 conversation; the spontaneous eloquence 
 of social argument, or the unstudied poign- 
 ancy of brilliant repartee. His personal 
 endowments were perfectly correspondent 
 with the qualifications of his mind. His 
 form was manly ; his action energy itself ; 
 devoid, in a great measure, however, of 
 those graces, of that polish, acquired 
 only in the refinement of societies, where 
 in early life he had not the opportunity to 
 mix; but, where, such was the irresisti- 
 ble power of attraction that encircled 
 him, though his appearance and manners 
 were always peculiar, he never failed to 
 delight and to excel. His figure certainly 
 bore the authentic impress of his birth 
 and original station in life; it seemed 
 rather moulded by nature for the rough 
 exercises of agriculture, than the gentler 
 cultivation of the belles lettres. His fea- 
 tures were stamped with the hardy char- 
 acter of independence, and the firmness 
 of conscious, though not arrogant pre- 
 eminence. I believe no man was ever 
 gifted with a larger portion of the vivida 
 vis animi : the animated expressions of his 
 countenance were almost peculiar to him- 
 self. The rapid lightenings of his eye 
 were always the harbingers of some flash 
 of genius, whether they darted the fiery 
 glances of insulted and indignant superi- 
 ority, or beamed with the impassioned 
 sentiment of fervent and impetuous affec- 
 tions. His voice alone could improve 
 upon the magic of his eye ; sonorous, re- 
 plete with the finest modulations, it alter- 
 nately captivated the ear with the melody 
 of poetic numbers, the perspicuity of nerv- 
 ous reasoning, or the ardent sallies of en- 
 thusiastic patriotism. — Riddell, Maria, 
 1796, Letter to Dumfries Journal, Aug, 7, 
 Burns' s Works, ed. Curry. 
 
 My pupil, Robert Burns, was then be- 
 tween six and seven years of age; his 
 preceptor about eighteen. Robert, and 
 his younger brother, Gilbert, had been 
 grounded a little in English before they 
 were put under my care. They both made 
 a rapid progress in reading, and a tolerable 
 
 progress in writing. In reading, divid- 
 ing words into syllables by rule, spelling 
 without book, phrasing sentences, &c., 
 Robert and Gilbert were generally at the 
 upper end of the class, even when ranged 
 with boys by far their seniors. The books 
 most commonly used in the school were the 
 '^Spelling Book,'' the '*New Testament," 
 the ' ' Bible, " ' ' Masson's Collection of Prose 
 and Verse," and Fisher's English Gram- 
 mar." They committed to memory the 
 hymns, and other poems of that collection, 
 with uncommon facility. This facility was 
 partly owing to the method pursued by 
 their father and me in instructing them, 
 which was, to make them thoroughly ac- 
 quainted with the meaning of every word 
 in each sentence that was to be commit- 
 ted to memory. . . . Gilbert always 
 appeared to me to possess a more lively 
 imagination, and to be more of the wit, 
 than Robert. I attempted to teach them 
 a little church-music. Here they were 
 left far behind by all the rest of the 
 school. Robert's ear, in particular, was 
 remarkably dull, and his voice untunable. 
 It was long before I could get them to 
 distinguish one tune from another. Rob- 
 bert's countenance was generally grave, 
 and impressive of a serious, contempla- 
 tive, and thoughtful mind. Gilbert's face 
 said. Mirth, with thee I mean to live ; and 
 certainly, if any person who knew the two 
 boys, had been asked which of them was 
 the most likely to court the muses, he 
 would surely never have guessed that 
 Robert had a propensity of that kind. 
 —Murdoch, John, 1799, Letter to Joseph 
 Cooper Walker, Feb. 22, Burns's Works, 
 ed. Currie. 
 
 The first time I saw Robert Burns was 
 on the 23d of October, 1786, when he dined 
 at my house at Ayrshire, together with 
 our common friend Mr. John Mackenzie, 
 surgeon, in Mauchline, to whom I am in- 
 debted for the pleasure of his acquaintance 
 . . . . His manners were then, as they 
 continued ever afterwards, simple, manly, 
 and independent; strongly expressive of 
 conscious genius and worth ; but without 
 any thing that indicated forwardness, 
 arrogance, or vanity. He took his share 
 in conversation, but not more than belonged 
 to him ; and listened with apparent atten- 
 tion and deference, on subjects where his 
 want of education deprived him of the 
 means of information. If there had been 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 223 
 
 a little more of gentleness and accommo- 
 dation in his temper, he would, I think, 
 have been still more interesting; but he 
 had been accustomed to give law in the 
 circle of his ordinary acquaintance ; and 
 his dread of any thing approaching to 
 meanness or servility, rendered his man- 
 ner somewhat decided and hard. Nothing, 
 perhaps, was more remarkable among his 
 various attainments, than the fluency, and 
 precision, and originality of his language, 
 when he spoke in company ; more particu- 
 larly as he aimed at purity in his turn of 
 expression, and avoided more successfully 
 than most Scotchmen, the peculiarities of 
 Scottish phraseology. . . . The at- 
 tentions he received during his stay in 
 town from all ranks and descriptions of 
 persons, were such as would have turned 
 any head but his own. 1 cannot say that 
 I could perceive any unfavourable effect 
 which they left on his mind. He retained 
 the same simplicity of manners and ap- 
 pearance which had struck me so forcibly 
 when I first saw him in the country ; nor 
 did he seem to feel any additional self- 
 importance from the number and rank of 
 his new acquaintance. His dress was per- 
 fectly suited to his station, plain and un- 
 pretending, with a sufl[icient attention to 
 neatness. If I recollect right he always 
 wore boots; and, when on more than 
 usual ceremony, buck-skin breeches. 
 . . . All the faculties of Burns's mind 
 were, as far as I could judge, equally vig- 
 orous ; and his predilection for poetry was 
 rather the result of his own enthusiastic 
 and impassioned temper, than of a gen- 
 ius exclusively adapted to that species of 
 composition. From his conversation I 
 should have pronounced him to be fitted 
 to excel in whatever walk of ambition he 
 had chosen to exert his abilities. — Stew- 
 art, DuGALD, 1800, Letter to James Cur- 
 rie, Curriers Life of Burns. 
 
 Burns died in great poverty; but the 
 independence of his spirit, and the exem- 
 plary prudence of his wife, had preserved 
 him from debt. He had received from his 
 poems a clear profit of about nine hundred 
 pounds. Of this sum, the part expended 
 on his library (which was far from exten- 
 sive) and in the humble furniture of his 
 house, remained; and obligations were 
 found for two hundred pounds advanced by 
 him to the assistance of those to whom he 
 was united by the ties of blood, and still 
 
 more by those of esteem and affection. 
 When it is considered, that his expenses 
 in Edinburgh, and on his various journeys, 
 could not be inconsiderable ; that his agri- 
 cultural undertaking was unsuccessful ; 
 that his income, from the Excise was for 
 some time as low as fifty, and never rose 
 to above seventy pounds a year ; that his 
 family was large and his spirit was liberal 
 — no one will be surprised that his cir- 
 cumstances were so poor, or that, as his 
 health decayed, his proud and feeling heart 
 sunk under the secret consciousness of 
 indigence, and the apprehensions of abso- 
 lute want. Yet poverty never bent the 
 spirit of Burns to any pecuniary mean- 
 ness. Neither chicanery nor sordidness 
 ever appeared in his conduct. He carried 
 his disregard of money to blameable excess. 
 Even in the midst of distress he bore him- 
 self loftily to the world, and received with 
 a jealous reluctance every offer of friendly 
 assistance. . . . Burns, as has already 
 been mentioned, was nearly five feet ten 
 inches in height, and of a form that indi- 
 cated agility as well as strength. His 
 well-raised forehead, shaded with black 
 curling hair, indicated extensive capacity. 
 His eyes were large, dark, full of ardour 
 and intelligence. His face was well 
 formed ; and his countenance uncommonly 
 interesting and expressive. His mode of 
 dressing which was often slovenly, and a 
 certain fulness and bend in his shoulders, 
 characteristic of his original profession, 
 disguised in some degree the natural sym- 
 metry and elegance of his form. The ex- 
 ternal appearance of Burns w^as most 
 strikingly indicative of the character of 
 his mind.— CuRRiE, James, 1800, ed., 
 Works of Robert Burns, Life. 
 
 We turned again to Burns's house. Mrs. 
 Burns was gone to spend some time by 
 the seashore with her children. We spoke 
 to the servant-maid at the door, who in- 
 vited us forward, and we sate down in the 
 parlour. The walls were coloured witi] a 
 blue wash ; on one side of the fire was a 
 mahogany desk, opposite to the window a 
 clock, and over the desk, a print from 
 ^'Cotter's Saturday Night," which Burns 
 mentions in one of his letters having re- 
 ceived as a present. The house was cleanly 
 and neat in the inside, the stairs of stone, 
 scoured white, the kitchen on the right 
 side of the passage, the parlour on the 
 left. In the room above the parlour the 
 
224 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 poet died, and his son after him in the 
 same room. — Wordsworth, Dorothy, 
 Aug. 18, 1803, Journals. 
 
 Till he fixed his residence in Dumfries, 
 his irregularities, though by no means 
 unfrequent, had not become inveterately 
 habitual ; the temptations, however, to 
 which he was now exposed proved too 
 powerful for his better impressions ; after 
 various struggles against the stream of 
 dissipation which was gradually surround- 
 ing him, he at length suffered himself to 
 be rapidly carried alongfby its fatal cur- 
 rent. A large proportion of the more 
 genteel, or more idle inhabitants of Dum- 
 fries, consists of men connected with the 
 profession of law : and in some of these, 
 as well as in other inhabitants of the town 
 and its vicinity, Burns found associates 
 from whom it was not to be expected that 
 ,he should learn sobriety. The fame of his 
 literary character also exposedliim to the 
 company of every stranger who professed 
 a respect for poetry. As their interviews 
 commonly took place in taverns, his famil- 
 iarity with riotous excess was daily in- 
 creasing. In the midst of such distrac- 
 tions, it must have been impossible for him 
 to discharge the duties of his office with 
 that regularity which is almost indispen- 
 sable.— Irvine, David, 1810, The Lives of 
 the Scottish Poets. 
 
 I was not much struck with his first 
 appearance, as I had previously heard it 
 described. His person, though strong 
 and well knit, and much superior to what 
 might be expected in a plough^man, was 
 still rather coarse in its outline. His 
 stature, from want of setting up, appeared 
 to be only of the middle size, but was 
 rather above it. His motions were firm 
 and decided, and though without any pre- 
 tentions to grace, were at the same time 
 so free from clownish constraint, as to 
 show that he had not always been confined 
 to the society of his profession. His 
 countenance was not of that elegant cast, 
 which is most frequent among the upper 
 ranks, but it was manly and intelligent, 
 and marked by a thoughtful gravity which 
 shaded at times into sternness. In his 
 large dark eye the most striking index of 
 his genius resided. It was f all of mind ; 
 and would have been singularly expressive, 
 under the management of one who could 
 employ it with more art, for the purpose 
 of expression. . . » In conversation 
 
 he was powerful His conceptions and 
 expression were of corresponding vigour, 
 and on all subjects were as remote as 
 possible from common places. Though 
 somewhat authoritative, it was in a way 
 which gave little offence, and was readily 
 imputed to his inexperience in those modes 
 of smoothing dissent and softening asser- 
 tion, which are important characteristics 
 of polished manners. After breakfast I 
 requested him to communicate some of 
 his unpublished pieces, and he recited his 
 farewell song to the Banks of Ayr, in- 
 troducing it with a description of the 
 circumstances in which it was composed, 
 more striking than the poem itself. I 
 paid particular attention to his recitation, 
 which was plain, slow, articulate, and 
 forcible, but without any eloquence or art. 
 He did not always lay the emphasis with 
 propriety, nor did he humour the senti- 
 ment by the variations of his voice. He 
 was standing, during the time, with his 
 face towards the window, to which, and 
 not to his auditors, he directed his eye — 
 thus depriving himself of any additional 
 effect which the language of his composi- 
 tion might have borrowed from the lan- 
 guage of his countenance. — Walker, 
 JosiAH, 1811, Life of Burns. 
 
 No person can regret more than I do 
 the tendency of some of my Brother's writ- 
 ings to represent irregularity of conduct 
 as a consequecce of genius, and sobriety 
 the effect of dulness ; but surely more has 
 been said on tl\at subject than the fact 
 warrants : and it ought to be remembered 
 that the greatest part of his writings, 
 having that tendency, were not published 
 by himself, nor intended for publication. 
 But it may likewise be observed, and every 
 attentive reader of Burns's Works, must 
 have observed, that he frequently presents 
 a caricature of his feelings, and even of his 
 failings — a kind of mock-heroic account 
 of himself and his opinions, which he 
 never supposed could be taken literally. 
 I dare say it never entered into his head, 
 for instance, that when he was speaking 
 in that manner of Milton's Satan, any one 
 should gravely suppose that was the model 
 on which he wished to form his own char- 
 acter. Yet on such rants, which the 
 author evidently intends should be con- 
 sidered a mere play of imagination, joined 
 to some abstract reasoning of the critic, 
 many of the heavy accusations brought 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 225 
 
 against the Poet for bad taste and worse 
 morals, rest.— Burns, Gilbert, 1814, Let- 
 ter to Alexander Peterkin, Sep. 29 ; Life and 
 Works of Robert Burns, ed. Peterkin. 
 
 IN AETERNUM HONOREM 
 
 ROBERTI BURNS 
 
 POETARUM CALEDONIAE SUI AEVI LONGE 
 PRINCIPIS 
 
 CUJUS CARMINA EXIMIA PATRIO SERMONE 
 SCRIPTA 
 
 ANIMI MAGIS ARDENTIS VIQUE INGENII 
 QUAM ARTE VEL CULTU CONSPICUA 
 FACETIIS JUCUNDITATE LEPORE AFFLUENTIA 
 OMNIBUS LITTERARUM CULTORIBUS 
 
 SATIS NOTA 
 GIVES SUI NECNON PLERIQUE OMNES 
 MUSARUM AMANTISSIMI MEMORIAMQUE VIRI 
 ARTE POETICA TAM PRAECLARI FOVENTES 
 
 HOC MAUSOLEUM 
 
 SUPER RELIQUIAS POETAE MORTALES 
 EXTRUENDUM CURAVERE 
 PRIMUM HUJUS AEDIFICII LAPIDEM 
 GULIELMUS MILLER ARMIGER 
 REIPUBLICAE ARCHITECTONICAE APUD 
 SCOTOS 
 
 IN REGIONE AUSTRALI GURIO MAXIMUS 
 PROVINCIALIS 
 GEORGIO TERTIO REGNANTE 
 GEORGIO WALLIARUM PRINCIPE 
 SUMMAM IMPERII PRO PATRE TENENTE 
 JOSEPHO GASS ARMIGERO DUMFRISIAE 
 PRAEFECTO 
 THOMA F. HUNT LONDINENSI ARCHITECTO 
 POSUIT 
 
 nonis juniis anno lucis vmdcccxv 
 salutis humanae mdcccxv. 
 — Inscription on Tomb, 1815. 
 
 The truth is, that the convivial excesses 
 or other errors of Robert Burns, were 
 neither greater nor more numerous than 
 those which we every day see in the con- 
 duct of men who stand high in the esti- 
 mation of society ; — of some men, who, 
 like Burns, have, in their peculiar spheres, 
 conferred splendid gifts of genius on their 
 country, and whose names are breathed in 
 every voice, with pride and enthusiasm, as 
 the benefactors of society. Are their 
 errors officiously dragged from the tomb, 
 or emblazoned amidst the trophies of 
 victory without universal reprobation? 
 All we ask is the same measure of justice 
 and of mercy for Burns. — Peterkin, 
 Alexander, 1815, ed.. The Life and Works 
 of Robert Burns, vol. i, p. xlix. 
 
 One song of Burns's is of more worth 
 to you than all I could think for a whole 
 
 15 G 
 
 year in his native country. His misery is 
 a dead weight upon the nimbleness of 
 one's quill ; I tried to forget it — to drink 
 toddy without any care — to write a merry 
 sonnet — it won't do — he talked with 
 bitches, he drank with blackguards; he 
 was miserable. We can see horribly 
 clear, in the v;orks of such a man, his 
 whole life, as if we were God's spies. — 
 Keats, John, 1818, Letters. 
 
 He had a strong mind, and a strong 
 body, the fellow to it. He had a real 
 heart of flesh and blood beating in his 
 bosom — you can almost hear it throb. 
 Some one said, that if you had shaken 
 hands with him, his hand would have 
 burnt yours. The gods, indeed, "made 
 him poetical;" but nature had a hand in 
 him first. His heart was in the right 
 place. He did not ''create a soul under 
 the ribs of death," by tinkling siren 
 sounds, or by piling up centos of poetic 
 diction; but for the artificial flowers of 
 poetry, he plucked the mountain-daisy 
 under his feet ; and a field mouse, hurry- 
 ing from its ruined dwelling, could inspire 
 him with the sentiments of terror and 
 pity. He held the plough or the pen with 
 the same firm, manly grasp; nor did he 
 cut out poetry as we cut out watch-papers, 
 with finical dexterity, nor from the same 
 flimsy materials. Burns was not like 
 Shakspeare in the range of his genius; 
 but there is something of the same mag- 
 nanimity, directness, and unafl^ected char- 
 acter about him. He was not a sickly 
 sentimentalist, a namby-pamby poet, a 
 mincing metre ballad-monger, any more 
 than Shakspeare. He would as soon 
 hear "a brazen candlestick tuned, or a 
 dry wheel grate on the axletree." He 
 was as much of a man— not a twentieth 
 as much of a poet — as Shakspeare. With 
 but little of his imagination or inventive 
 power, he had the same life of mind : 
 within the narrow circle of personal 
 feeling or domestic incidents, the pulse 
 of his poetry flows as healthily and vigor- 
 ously. He had an eye to see ; a heart to 
 feel : — no more. — Hazlitt, W illiam, 1818, 
 Lectures on the English Poets, Lecture vii. 
 
 To-day our Burns's dinner. . . . Burns's 
 son was brought forward, and spoke 
 sensibly : very like the father to judge by 
 the engravings, and worthy of him in the 
 manly sentiments he expressed about poli- 
 tics ; too manly and free, poor fellow, for 
 
226 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 his advancement as a placeman. — Moore, 
 Thomas, 1819, Journal, June 5 ; Memoirs^ 
 ed. Russell, vol. ii, p. 322. 
 
 Dumfries was like a besieged place. 
 It was known that he was dying, and the 
 anxiety, not of the rich and the learned 
 only, but of the mechanics and peasants, 
 exceeded all belief. Wherever two or 
 three people stood together, their talk 
 was of Burns, and of him alone. They 
 spoke of his history — of his person — of 
 his works — of his family — of his fame— 
 and of his untimely and approaching fate, 
 with a warmth and an enthusiasm which 
 will ever endear Dumfries to my remem- 
 berance. All that he said or was saying — 
 the opinions of the physicians (and Maxwell 
 was a kind and a skillful one), were eagerly 
 caught up and reported from street to 
 street, and from house to house. . . . 
 His good humour was unruffled, and his 
 wit never forsook him. He looked to one 
 of his fellow volunteers with a smile, as 
 he stood by the bed-side with his eyes wet, 
 and said, ''John, don't let the awkward 
 squad fire over me." He repressed with 
 a smile the hopes of his friends, and told 
 them he had lived long enough. As his 
 life drew near a close, the eager, yet 
 decorous solicitude of his fellow-towns- 
 men, increased. It is the practice of the 
 young men of Dumfries to meet in the 
 streets during the hours of remission from 
 labour, and by these means I had an oppor- 
 tunity of witnessing the general solici- 
 tude of all ranks and of all ages. His 
 difference with them on some important 
 points were forgotten and forgiven ; they 
 thought only of his genius — of the delight 
 his compositions had diffused — and they 
 talked of him with the same awe as of 
 some departing spirit, whose voice was 
 to gladden them no more. ... I 
 went to see him laid out for the grave, 
 several elder people were with me. He 
 lay in a plain unadorned coffin, with a 
 linen sheet drawn over his face, and on 
 the bed, and around the body, herbs and 
 flowers were thickly strewn, according to 
 the usage of the country. He was wasted 
 somewhat by long illness ; but death had 
 not increased the swarthy hue of his face, 
 which was uncommonly dark and deeply 
 marked — his broad and open brow was 
 pale and serene, and around it his sable 
 hair lay in masses, slightly touched with 
 grey. The room where he lay was plain 
 
 and neat, and the simplicity of the poet's 
 humble dwelling pressed the presence of 
 death more closely on the heart than if 
 his bier had been embellished by vanity, 
 and covered with the blazonry of high 
 ancestry and rank. We stood and gazed 
 on him in silence for the space of several 
 minutes — we went, and others succeeded 
 us — not a whisper was heard. This was 
 several days after his death. . . . 
 The multitude who accompanied Burns to 
 the grave went step by step with the 
 chief mourners. They might amount to 
 ten or twelve thousand. Not a word was 
 heard. ... It was an impressive 
 and mournful sight to see men of all 
 ranks and persuasions and opinions ming- 
 ling as brothers, and stepping side by side 
 down the streets of Dumfries, with the 
 remains of him who had sung of their 
 loves and joys and domestic endearments, 
 with a truth and a tenderness which none 
 perhaps have since equalled. — Cunning- 
 ham, Allan, 1824, Robert Burns and 
 Lord Byron, London Magazine. 
 
 I was a lad of fifteen in 1786-7, when 
 he came first to Edinburgh, but had sense 
 and feeling enough to be much interested 
 in his poetry, and would have given the 
 world to know him ; but I had very little 
 acquaintance with any literary people, 
 and still less with the gentry of the west 
 country, the two sets that he most fre- 
 quented. Mr. Thomas Grierson was at 
 that time a clerk of my father's. He 
 knew Burns, and promised to ask him to 
 his lodgings to dinner, but had no oppor- 
 tunity to keep his word, otherwise I might 
 have seen more of this distinguished man. 
 . . . His person was strong and robust : 
 his manners rustic, not clownish ; a sort 
 of dignified plainness and simplicity 
 which received part of its effect perhaps 
 from one's knowledge of his extraordinary 
 talents. His features are represented in 
 Mr. Nasmyth's picture, but to me it con- 
 veys the idea that they are diminished as 
 if seen in perspective. I think his coun- 
 tenance was more massive than it looks in 
 any of the portraits. I would have taken 
 the poet, had I not known what he was, 
 for a very sagacious country farmer of 
 the old Scotch school — i. e. none of your 
 modern agriculturists, who keep labour- 
 ers for their drudgery, but the douce gude- 
 man who held his own plough. There 
 was a strong expression of sense and 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 227 
 
 shrewdness in all his lineaments ; the eye 
 alone, I think, indicated the poetical char- 
 acter and temperament. It was large, and 
 of a dark cast, and glowed (I say literally 
 glowed) when he spoke with feeling or in- 
 terest. I never saw such another eye in 
 a human head, though I have seen the 
 most distinguished men in my time. His 
 conversation expressed perfect self-confi- 
 dence, without the slightest presumption. 
 Among the men who were the most learned 
 of their time and country, he expressed 
 himself with perfect firmness, but without 
 the least intrusive forwardness ; and when 
 he differed in opinion, he did not hesitate 
 to express it firmly, yet at the same time 
 with modesty. 1 do not remember any part 
 of his conversation distinctly enough to 
 be quoted, nor did I ever see him again, 
 except in the street, where he did not 
 recognize me, as I could not expect he 
 should. He was much caressed in Edin- 
 burgh, but (considering what literary 
 emoluments have been since his day) the 
 efforts made for his relief were extremely 
 trifling. — Scott, Sir Walter, 1827, Let- 
 ter to Lockharty Memoirs by Lockhart, vol. 
 I, pp. 166, 167. 
 
 Burns, eager of temper, loud of tone, 
 and with declamation and sarcasm equally 
 at command, was, we may easily believe, 
 the most hated of human beings, because 
 the most dreaded, among the provincial 
 champions of the administration of which 
 he thought fit to disapprove. But that 
 he ever, in his most ardent moods, upheld 
 the principles of those whose applause of 
 the French Revolution was but the mask of 
 revolutionary designs at home, after these 
 principles had been really developed by 
 those that maintained them, and under- 
 stood by him, it may be safely denied. 
 There is not in all his correspondence, one 
 syllable to give countenance to such a 
 charge. . . . Here, then, as in most 
 other cases of similar controversy, the 
 fair and equitable conclusion would seem 
 to be, truth lies between." To what- 
 ever Burns's excesses amounted, they were, 
 it is obvious, and that frequently, the sub- 
 ject of rebuke and remonstrance even from 
 his own dearest friends— even from men 
 who had no sort of objection to potations 
 deep enough in all conscience. That such 
 reprimands, giving shape and form to the 
 thoughts that tortured his own bosom, 
 should have been received at times with 
 
 a strange mixture of remorse and indig- 
 nation, none that have considered the 
 nervous susceptibility and haughtiness of 
 Burns's character, can hear with surprise. 
 —Lockhart, John Gibson, 1828, Life of 
 Robert Burns, pp. 308, 341. 
 
 To the ill-starred Burns was given the 
 power of making man's life more vener- 
 able, but that of wisely guiding his own 
 was not given. ^Destiny — for so in -our 
 ignorance we must speak — his faults, the 
 faults of others, proved too hard for him ; 
 and that spirit, which might have soared, 
 could it but have walked, soon sank to The 
 dust, its^^lorious, faculties trodden under 
 foot in the blossom, and died, we may 
 almost say, without ever having lived. ^ 
 And so kind and warm a soul ; so full of 
 inborn riches, of love of all living and life- 
 less things ! ... He has a just self- 
 consciousness, v/hich too often degener- 
 ates into pride ; yet it is a noble pride, 
 for defence, not for offence, no cold, sus- 
 picious feeling, but a frank and social one. 
 The peasant poet bears himself, we might 
 say, like a king in exile : he is cast among 
 the low, and feels himself equal to the 
 highest ; yet he claims no rank that none 
 may be disputed to him. . . . And 
 this was he for whom the world found no 
 fitter business than quarreling with smug- 
 glers and vintners, computing excise dues 
 upon tallow, and gauging ale barrels! 
 In such toils was that mighty spirit sor- 
 rowfully wasted : and a hundred years may 
 pass on before another such is given us 
 to waste. . . . We had something 
 to say on the public moral character of 
 Burns, but this also we must forbear. 
 We are far from regarding him as guilty 
 before the world, as guiltier than the aver- 
 age; nay, from doubting that he is less 
 guilty than one of ten thousand. Tried 
 at a tribunal far more rigid than that 
 where the plebiscita of common civic repu- 
 tations are pronounced, he had seemed to 
 us even there less worthy of blame than 
 of pity and wonder.— Carlyle, Thomas, 
 1828, Essay on Burns. 
 
 In early life he laboured under a disor- 
 der of the stomach, accompanied by pal- 
 pitations of the heart, depression of the 
 spirits, and nervous pains in the head, the 
 nature of which he never appears to have 
 understood, but which evidently arose 
 from dyspepsia. These sufferings, be it 
 remembered, are complained of in his 
 
228 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 letters years before he had committed any 
 excess ; and so far from being the conse- 
 quence of intemperance, as they are gen- 
 erally considered to have been, the ex- 
 haustion they produced was probably the 
 cause which drove him in his moments of 
 hypochondria, to the excitement of the 
 bottle for a temporary palliation of his 
 symptoms. — Madden, R. R., 1833, In- 
 firmities of Genius, vol. I, p. 276. 
 
 The cranial bones were perfect in every 
 respect, if we except a little erosion of 
 their external table, and firmly held to- 
 gether by their sutures ; even the delicate 
 bones of the orbits, with the trifling ex- 
 ception of the OS unguis in the left, were 
 sound, and uninjured by death and the 
 grave. The superior maxillary bones still 
 retained the four most posterior teeth on 
 each side, including the dentes sapientiae, 
 and all without spot or blemish ; the in- 
 cisores, cuspidati, &c., had in all proba- 
 bility recently dropped from the jaw, for 
 the alveoli were but little decayed. The 
 bones of the face and palate were also 
 sound. Some small portions of black hair, 
 with a very few gray hairs intermixed, 
 were observed while detaching some ex- 
 traneous matter from the occiput. In- 
 deed, nothing could exceed the high state 
 of preservation in which we found the bones 
 of the cranium, or offer a fairer opportu- 
 nity of supplying what has so long been 
 desiderated by phrenologists — a correct 
 model of our immortal poet's head : and 
 in order to accomplish this in the most 
 accurate and satisfactory manner, every 
 particle of sand, or other foreign body, 
 was carefully washed off, and the plaster 
 of Paris applied with all the tact and ac- 
 curacy of an experienced artist. The cast 
 is admirably taken, and cannot fail to 
 prove highly interesting to phrenologists 
 and others. Having completed our inten- 
 tion, the skull, securely enclosed in a 
 leaden case, was again committed to the 
 earth, precisely where we found it. — 
 Blacklock, Dr. Archibald, 1834, Re- 
 port on the Cranium of Robert Burns. 
 
 I. DIMENSIONS OF THE SKULL. 
 
 Greatest circumference . . . inches 22}^ 
 From Occipital Spine to Individuality, 
 over the top of the head, ... 14 
 
 Ear to Ear vertically over the 
 
 top of the head, 13 
 
 Philoprogenitiveness to Individu- 
 ality (greatest length) ... 8 
 
 Concentrativeness to Comparison 7}4 
 
 Ear to Philoprogenitiveness, . 4% 
 
 Individuality, ..... 4^ 
 
 Benevolence, 5}4 
 
 Firmness, 5j4 
 
 Destructiveness to Destructive- 
 
 ness, 5% 
 
 Secretiveness to Secretiveness, . 5% 
 
 Cautioness to Cautioness, : . 5}i 
 
 Ideality to Ideality, .... 4% 
 
 Constructiveness to Constructive - 
 
 ness, 4j4 
 
 Mastoid Process to Mastoid Pro- 
 cess, 4^ 
 
 —Combe, George, 1834, Report on the 
 Cast of Burns' s Skull. 
 
 A £10 bank note, by way of subscrip- 
 tion for a few copies of an early edition 
 of his poems — this the outside that I could 
 ever see proof given of Burns having re- 
 ceived anything in the way of patronage ; 
 and doubtless this would have been gladly 
 returned, but from the dire necessity of 
 dissembling. Lord Glencairn is the 
 patron" for whom Burns appears to 
 have felt the most sincere respect. Yet 
 even he — did he give him more than a seat 
 at his dinner table ? Lord Buchan again, 
 whose liberalities are by this time pretty 
 well appreciated in Scotland, exhorts 
 Burns, in a tone of one preaching upon a 
 primary duty of life, to exemplar grati- 
 tude towards a person who had given him 
 absolutely nothing at all. The man has 
 not yet lived to whose happiness it was 
 more essential that he should live unen- 
 cumbered by the sense of obligation ; and, 
 on the other hand, the man has not lived 
 upon whose independence as professing 
 benefactors so many people practised, 
 or who found so many others ready to ratify 
 and give value to their pretences. Him, 
 whom beyond most men nature had created 
 with the necessity of conscious independ- 
 ence, all men beseiged with the assurance 
 that he was, must be, ought to be depend- 
 ent ; nay, that it was his primary duty to 
 be grateful for his dependence . . . 
 not merely that, with his genius, and with 
 the intellectual pretentions generally of 
 his family, he should have been called to 
 a life of early labour, and of labour un- 
 happily not prosperous, but also that he, 
 by accident about the proudest of human 
 spirits, should have been by accident sum- 
 moned, beyond all others, to eternal rec- 
 ognitions of some mysterious gratitude 
 which he owed to some mysterious 
 patrons little and great, whilst yet, of all 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 229 
 
 men, perhaps, he reaped the least obvious 
 or known benefit from any patronage that 
 has ever been put on record. — De Quincey, 
 Thomas, 1837, Literary Reminiscences^ 
 Collected Writings^ ed. Masson, vol. ii, 
 pp. 133, 134. 
 
 Altogether independently of his writ- 
 ings, the character of Burns, like that of 
 Johnson, was one of great massiveness 
 and power. There was a cast of true 
 tragic greatness about it. There was a 
 largeness in his heart, and a force in his 
 passions, that corresponded with the mass 
 of his intellect and the vigour of his gen- 
 ius. We receive just such an impression 
 from reading his life as we do from perus- 
 ing one of the greater tragedies of Shak- 
 speare. Like the Othellos or Macbeths 
 of the dramatist, — characters that fasten 
 upon the imagination and sink into the 
 memory from causes altogether uncon- 
 nected with either literary taste or moral 
 feeling, — we feel in him, perforce, an 
 interest which exists and grows alike inde- 
 pendently of the excesses into which his 
 passions betrayed him, or the trophies 
 which his genius enabled him to erect. 
 Burns was not merely a distinguished 
 poet, — he was a man on a large scale. — 
 Miller, Hugh, 1844, ' The Burns Festival 
 and Hero Worship, Essays, p. 148. 
 
 He married his Jean, and chose his farm 
 on the banks of the Nith, as Allan Cun- 
 ningham's father remarked to him at 
 the time, not with a farmer's, but a poet's 
 choice. But here, half farmer, half ex- 
 ciseman, poverty came rapidly upon him 
 once more ; in three years' time only he 
 quitted it, a man ruined in substance and 
 constitution, and went to depend on his 
 excise salary of £70 a year in the town 
 of Dumfries. I visited this farm in 
 August, 1845. . . . The farm, as I 
 have said, is a very pleasant one. Burns 
 is supposed to have chosen the particular 
 situation of his house not only for its fine 
 situation on the banks of the river, and 
 overlooking the vale and country round, 
 but on account of a beautiful spring 
 which gushes from the slope just below 
 the house. The ground-plan of his house 
 is very much like that of most Scotch 
 farms. The buildings form three sides of 
 a quadrangle. The house and buildings 
 are only one story high, white, and alto- 
 gether a genuine Scotch steading. The 
 house is on the lower side, next to the 
 
 river. Burns's bedroom has yet two beds 
 in it, of that sort of cupboard fashion, 
 with check curtains, which are so often 
 seen in Scotch farm-houses. The humble 
 rooms are much as they were in his time. 
 Near the house, and running parallel with 
 the river, is a good large garden which 
 he planted. The side of the farm-yard 
 opposite to the house is pleasantly planted 
 off with trees. The farm is just as it 
 was, about one hundred acres. By places 
 it exhibits that stony soil which made 
 Burns call it ''the riddlings of creation," 
 and say that when a ploughed field was 
 rolled it looked like a paved street ; but 
 still it carries good crops. Burns had it 
 for £50 a year, or ten shillings an acre. 
 I suppose the present tenant pays three 
 times the sum, and is proud of his bar- 
 gain. He observed that it was an ill 
 wind that blew nobody any profit. *'Mr. 
 Burns," said he, ''had the farm on lease 
 for ninety years, and had he not thrown 
 it up, I should not have been here now." 
 . . . The view from the house is very 
 charming. The river runs clear and fleet 
 below, broad as the Thames at Hampton 
 Court, or the Trent at Nottingham, and 
 its dark trees hang far along it over its 
 waters. Beyond the stream lie the broad, 
 rich meadows and house of Dalswinton, a 
 handsome mansion of red freestone aloft 
 amid its woods, and still beyond and higher 
 up the river rise still bolder hills. — 
 HowiTT, William, 1847, Homes and Haunts 
 of the Most Eminent British Poets, vol. I, 
 pp. 424, 428, 431. 
 
 Could he have remained always at the 
 plough, and worn always the mantle of 
 inspiration which fell on him there, and 
 enjoyed ever the lawful intoxication of 
 natural scenery and solitary thought, he 
 had been as happy as he was glorious. 
 But night came, and found him weary and 
 jaded in mind and body, thirsting for some 
 new excitement, and eager to pass (0 
 human nature! 0 hideous anti-climax!) 
 from an Elisha-like plough — to a penny- 
 wedding! There the lower part of his 
 nature found intense gratification and un- 
 restricted play. There the "blood of 
 John Barleycorn" furnished him with a 
 false and hollow semblance of the true 
 inspiration he had met in the solitary field, 
 or on "the side of a plantain, when the 
 wind was howling among the trees, and 
 raving over the plain." And there. 
 
230 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 through the misty light of the presiding 
 punch- bowl, he saw the most ordinary 
 specimens of female nature transformed 
 into angels ; and fancied that, like divini- 
 ties they should be adored. — Gilfillan, 
 George, 1856, ed., The Poetical Works of 
 Robert Burns, vol. i, p. xii. 
 
 Burns was a grand Man. I am not 
 going to praise him ; I leave that to Scot- 
 land and to you; supported, and sympa- 
 thised with, by the universal heart of 
 humanity. All this is so very well known 
 that it has almost degenerated into com- 
 mon-place. Miss Edgeworth once re- 
 marked to me that such or such a thing 
 "had been said till it was not believed!" 
 A splendid remark, as I thought at the 
 time but the fame of your Burns can sur- 
 vive it.— Hamilton, Sir William Rowan, 
 1859, Letter to John Nichol, Jan. 22 ; Life, 
 ed. Graves, vol. iii, p. 109. 
 
 Beholding his poor, mean dwelling and 
 its surroundings, and picturing his out- 
 ward life and earthly manifestations from 
 these, one does not so much wonder that 
 the people of that day should have failed 
 to recognize all that was admirable and 
 immortal in a disreputable, drunken, shab- 
 bily clothed, and shabbily housed man, 
 consorting with associates of damaged 
 character, and, as his only ostensible oc- 
 cupation, gauging the whiskey, which he 
 too often tasted. . . . For my part, 
 I chiefly wonder that his recognition 
 dawned so brightly while he was still liv- 
 ing. There must have been something 
 very grand in his immediate presence, 
 some strangely impressive characteristic 
 in his natural behavior, to have caused 
 him to seem like a demigod so soon. 
 . . . There is no writer whose life, as 
 a man, has so much to do with his fame, 
 and throws such a necessary light upon 
 whatever he has produced. — Hawthorne, 
 Nathaniel, 1863, Some of the Haunts of 
 Burns, Our Old Home. 
 
 Mighty is the hallowing of death to all, 
 — ^to him more than to most. As he lay 
 stretched, his dark locks already streaked 
 with unnatural gray, all unworthiness fell 
 away from him — every stain of passion 
 and debauch, every ignoble word, every 
 ebullition of scorn and pride — and left 
 pure nobleness. Farmer no longer, ex- 
 ciseman no longer, subject no longer to 
 criticism, to misrepresentation, to the 
 malevolence of mean natures and evil 
 
 tongues, he lay there the great poet of 
 his country, dead too early for himself 
 and for it. He had passed from the judg- 
 ments of Dumfries, and made his appeal 
 to Time.— Smith, Alexander, 1865, The 
 Poetical Works of Robert Burns, Life, 
 p. xxxvi. 
 
 In 1856 I spent an afternoon with Mrs. 
 Begg, the poet's sister. She said that 
 Robert took their father 'splace in conduct- 
 ing household worship, and that he in- 
 structed her in the Shorter Catechism. 
 ''He was a father to me," said Mrs. Begg, 
 ''and my knowedge of the Scriptures in 
 my youth I derived from his teachings." — 
 Rogers, Charles, 1871, A Century of 
 Scottish Life. 
 
 Another happy man, after all, seems 
 to be Allingham, for all his want of "suc- 
 cess." Nothing but the most absolute 
 calm and enjoyment of outside Nature 
 could account for so much gadding hither 
 and thither on the soles of his two feet. 
 Fancy carrying about grasses for hours 
 and days from the field where Burns 
 ploughed up a daisy ! Good God, if I found 
 the daisy itself there, I would sooner swal- 
 low it than be troubled to carry it twenty 
 yards. — Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 1871, 
 Letter to Scott, Letters and Memoir, ed. 
 Rossetti, vol. i, p. 418. 
 This is the cottage room as 'twas of old : 
 
 The window four small panes, and in the 
 wall 
 
 The box-bed, where the first daylight did 
 fall 
 
 Upon their new-born infant's narrow fold 
 And poor, when times were hard and winds 
 were cold, 
 
 As they were still with him. Lo ! now close by 
 Above Corinthian columns mounted high 
 The old Athenian Tripod shines in gold ! 
 The lumbering carriages of these dull years 
 Have passed away : their dust has ceased to 
 whirr 
 
 About the footsore : silent to our ears 
 Is that maelstrom of Scottish men ; this son 
 Of all that age we count the kingliest one : 
 Such is Time's justice, Time the harvester. 
 — Scott, William Bell, 1871, On Visit- 
 ing Burns^s Cottage and Monument, Auto- 
 biographical Notes of the Life of Scott, ed. 
 Minto, vol. 11, p. 164. 
 
 But, not frae Life's rough work was brought 
 
 For him, the least exemption : 
 At his ain task, he painfu' wrought, 
 He strugglit, sulf 'rit, felt, and thought, 
 Aschewin' name, and shrinkin' naught. 
 
 Till Death brought him redemption. 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 231 
 
 Nae thomless road through Life he sought, 
 
 Just where he was, he entered : 
 He dealt his blows, where ithers fought, 
 
 There where the battle centered ! 
 Frae early dawn, ahint the plew, 
 
 Until the sun was settin' : 
 The mornin' an' the 'enen dew 
 
 His fit right manly wettin'. 
 —Rankin, J. E., 1872-87, Ingleside 
 RhaimSf Verses in the Dialect of Burns, 
 p. 127. 
 
 The name of Robert Burns is a well- 
 understood signal for an overflow of all 
 sorts of commonplaces from the right- 
 minded critic. These commonplaces run 
 mainly in three channels : — ecstatic aston- 
 ishment at finding that a ploughman was 
 also a poet ; wringing of hands over the 
 admission that the ploughman and poet 
 was like- wise a drunkard, and a somewhat 
 miscellaneous lover ; and caustic severity 
 upon the lionizers and "admirers of na- 
 tive genius" who could find no employment 
 more appropriate than that of excise- 
 officer for the brightest and finest mind 
 of their country and generation. All 
 these commonplaces must stand confessed 
 as warranted by the facts: they are 
 truths, but they are also truisms. We 
 have heard them very often, and have 
 always sat in a meek acquiescence and 
 unfeigned concurrence. But the time 
 comes when they have been repeated fre- 
 quent enough to make the enlarging upon 
 them a weariness, and the profuse and 
 argumentative re-enforcement of them a 
 superfluity. — Rossetti, William Michael, 
 1878, Lives of Famous Poets, p. 189. 
 
 Here was a man, a son of toil, looking 
 out on the world from his cottage, on 
 society low and high, and on nature 
 homely or beautiful, with the clearest eye, 
 the most piercing insight, and the warm- 
 est heart; touching life at a hundred 
 points, seeing to the core all the sterling 
 worth, nor less the pretence and hollow- 
 ness of the men he met, the humour, the 
 drollery, the pathos, and the sorrow of 
 human existence ; and expressing what he 
 saw, not in the stock phrases of books, 
 but in his own vernacular, the language 
 of his fireside, with a directness, a force, 
 a vitality that tingled to the finger tips, 
 and forced the phrases of his peasant dia- 
 lect into literature, and made them for 
 ever classical. Large sympathy, gener- 
 ous enthusiasm, reckless abandonment, 
 fierce indignation, melting compassion, 
 
 rare flashes of moral insight, all are there. 
 Everywhere you see the strong intellect 
 made alive, and driven home to the mark, 
 by the fervid heart behind it. And if the 
 sight of the world's inequalities, and some 
 natural repining at his own obscure lot, 
 mingled from the beginning, as has been 
 said, "some bitterness of earthly spleen 
 and passion with the workings of his in- 
 spiration, and if these in the end ate deep 
 into the great heart they had long tor- 
 mented," who that has not known his ex- 
 perience may venture too strongly to con- 
 demn him?— Shairp, John Campbell, 
 1879, Robert Burns {English Men of Let- 
 ters), p. 190. 
 
 He was born poor, he lived poor, he 
 died poor, and he always felt his poverty 
 to be a curse. He was fully conscious of 
 himself and of his intellectual superiority. 
 He disdained and resented the condecension 
 of the great, and he defiantly asserted his 
 independence. I do not say that he might 
 not or ought not to have lived tranquilly 
 and happily as a poor man. Perhaps, as 
 Carlyle suggests, he should have divided 
 his hours between poetry and virtuous 
 industry. W^e only know that he did not. 
 Like an untamable eagle he dashed against 
 the bars he could not break, and his life 
 was a restless, stormy alternation of low 
 and lofty moods, of pure and exalted feel- 
 ing, of mad revel and impotent regret. 
 . . . Distracted by poetry and poverty 
 and passion, and brought to public shame, 
 he determined to leave the country, and 
 in 1786, when he was twenty-seven years 
 old. Burns published his poems by sub- 
 scription, to get the money to pay his 
 passage to America. Ah ! could that 
 poor, desperate ploughman of Mossgiel 
 have forseen the day, could he have 
 known that because of those poems — an 
 abiding part of literature, familiar to 
 every people, sung and repeated in Amer- 
 ican homes from sea to sea — his genius 
 would be honored and his name blessed, 
 and his statue raised with grateful pride 
 to keep his memory in America green for- 
 ever, perhaps the amazing vision might 
 have nerved him to make his life as noble 
 as his genius ; perhaps the full sunshine 
 of assured glory might have wrought upon 
 that great, generous, wilful soul to 
 "tak' a thought an' men'." 
 
 —Curtis, George William, 1880, Robert 
 Burns, an address Delivered at the Unveiling 
 
232 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 of the Statue of the Poet, in Central Park, 
 New York, October 2; Orations and Ad- 
 dresses, vol. Ill, pp. 309, 310. 
 
 He set out for Edinburgh on a pony he 
 had borrowed from a friend. The town 
 that winter was ''agog with the plough- 
 man poet." Robertson, Dugald Stewart, 
 Blair, "Duchess Gordon and all the gay 
 world, ' ' were of his acquaintance. Such 
 a revolution is not to be found in literary 
 history. He was now, it must be remem- 
 bered, twenty-seven years of age ; he had 
 fought since his early boyhood an obsti- 
 nate battle against poor soil, bad seed, 
 and inclement seasons, wading deep in 
 Ayrshire mosses, guiding the plough in 
 the furrow, wielding ''the thresher's 
 weary flingin'-tree and his education, 
 his diet, and his pleasures, had been those 
 of a Scotch countryman. Now he stepped 
 forth suddenly among the polite and 
 learned. We can see him as he then was, 
 in his boots and buckskins, his blue coat 
 and waistcoat striped with buff and blue, 
 like a farmer in his Sunday best ; the heavy 
 ploughman's figure firmly planted on its 
 burly legs; his face full of sense and 
 shrewdness, and with a somewhat melan- 
 choly air of thought, and his large dark 
 eye "literally glowing" as he spoke. "I 
 never saw such another eye in a human 
 head," says Walter Scott, "though I have 
 seen the most distinguished men of my 
 time." With men, whether they were 
 lords or omnipotent critics, his manner 
 was plain, dignified, and free from bash- 
 fulness or affectation. If he made a slip 
 he had the social courage to pass on and 
 refrain from explanation. — Stevenson, 
 Robert Louis, 1882, Some Aspects of 
 Robert Burns, Familiar Studies of Men and 
 Books, p. 62. 
 
 That night, at my lonely dinner in the 
 King's Arms, I had the Edinburgh papers. 
 There were in them three editorials headed 
 with quotations from Burns' s poems, and 
 an account of the sale in Edinburgh, that 
 week, of an autograph letter of his for 
 ninety-four pounds ! Does he think sadly, 
 even in heaven, how differently he might 
 have done by himself and by Earth, if 
 Earth had done for him then a tithe of 
 what it does now? Does he know it? 
 Does he care? And does he listen when, 
 in lands he never saw, great poets sing of 
 him in words simple and melodious as his 
 own?— Jackson, Helen Hunt, 1883, A 
 
 Burns Pilgrimage, The Century, vol. 26- 
 p. 761. 
 
 It was at a slightly earlier date than I 
 have been referring to that our first visit 
 to Scotland was paid. Our tour was lim- 
 ited as to extent, and was made without 
 any special purpose, except to describe and 
 report "the Burns Festival" held at Ayr 
 on the 6th of August, 1844. I had been 
 engaged by Mr. Herbert Ingram of the 
 Illustrated London News, to write the de- 
 scriptive article, which was to be illus- 
 trated by wood-engravings. 
 The Burns Festival! I do not think, 
 if we ransacked the annals of the world 
 from the earliest ages, they would furnish 
 the record of a ceremonial more truly 
 glorious. Was it a stretch of fancy to 
 believe the poet was present on that day, 
 to receive part of his reward? It was 
 not in "the Pavilion," when two thou- 
 sand guests drank in silence the toast, 
 "The memory of Robert Burns, " and with 
 cheers that shook the canvas of the tent, 
 the healths of his three sons, seated at 
 the side of the chairman, the Earl of 
 Eglinton, that the real business of the 
 day, was, so to speak, transacted. The 
 glory and the triumph were for the pro- 
 digious crowd of peasants and artisans 
 who passed slowly and in order before the 
 platform, where the family of the poet 
 had their seats, bowing or courtesying as 
 each passed on receiving in return a rec- 
 ognition the memory of which, no doubt, 
 all of them carried to their graves. It 
 was the cheers in Gaelic or "broad 
 Scotch," and the waving of Glengarry 
 bonnets, tartan shawls and shepherd 
 plaids, that made the triumph and glory 
 of that marvelous day, when one contin- 
 ually asked, "Was it only a man who had 
 written verses, who was of no account in 
 the world's estimation during his earth- 
 life, who was born in the hovel within ken, 
 lived in a continual struggle with poverty, 
 and, to say the least, died needy — was it 
 really to commemorate such a man that 
 these plaudits went up from a Scottish 
 field to a Scottish sky?"— Hall, S. C, 
 1883, Retrospect of a Long Life; from 1815 
 to 1883, pp. 467, 468. 
 
 I had come to Dumfries because it was 
 for some time the home of Robert Burns, 
 because here he had found his death-bed, 
 and here lay burled. I had been at Ayr, and 
 stood in the small cottage where the 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 233 
 
 baby-poet was tossed up and down, like an 
 ordinary child, by his thrifty, loving 
 mother, who little dreamed that this tiny, 
 nervous, weird-eyed creature was to make 
 her name remembered as long as mothers 
 exist. . . . *'Yon building across the 
 way" proved to be a hospital, — in fact, a 
 kind of more genteel poorhouse, — estab- 
 lished by some wealthy men of the town. 
 To this institution poor people were ad- 
 mitted, who by birth, talents, or other 
 cause, were considered too good for the 
 common work-house. And here 1 found 
 him,— a grandson of Robert Burns, a man 
 of the same given name, a man whose 
 father was of the same given name, and, 
 in truth, resembling wonderfully the best 
 pictures of the poet. ... He was a 
 stout, soldierly-looking old man, with a 
 considerable appearance of neatness peep- 
 ing out through all his poverty. His face 
 was cleanly shaven, except that he wore 
 closely trimmed side-whiskers: his eyes 
 were large and bright, and his manners 
 and language those of a gentleman. 
 Throughout the interview, he maintained 
 what might be called a nervous, restless 
 sort of dignity, although evidently feeling 
 the awkwardness of his position ; for few 
 really sensitive and proud, people like to 
 be exhibited as some distinguished person's 
 descendant, unless they themselves have 
 done something to add to the family re- 
 nown. ... I could almost fancy 
 that the poetic hero of my boy-days had 
 come back for an hour into this old town 
 of Dumfries, had met me in some rude inn, 
 and was modestly telling his own trials 
 and triumphs as those of another person. 
 But, at last, the old man came to speak 
 of the squalor and wretchedness that 
 marked the last months of the poet's life, 
 — a state of which his own must often 
 have reminded him. It was then that he 
 burst forth in a torrent of eloquence that 
 showed him to be possessed of some of 
 the talent, and much of the fire, of his 
 immortal ancestor. . . . As I parted 
 with this interesting acquaintance of an 
 hour, there came a pang of hopeless pity 
 for this poor man, who, with the warn- 
 ing before him of his grandfather's mis- 
 ery and early death, had all his days fol- 
 lowed the same broad, misery-seeking 
 road. — Carleton, Will, 1885, A Grand- 
 son of Robert Burns, Some Noted Princes, 
 Authors, and Statesmen of Our Time. 
 
 In fancy, as wi' dewy een, 
 
 I part the clouds aboon the scene 
 
 Where thou wast born, and peer atween, 
 
 I see nae spot 
 In a' the Hielands half sae green 
 
 And unf orgot ! 
 —Riley, James Whitcomb, 1888, To Rob- 
 ert Burns, Afterwhiles. 
 
 He was utterly incapable of anything 
 like baseness. No man could be more jeal- 
 ous of his honour ; no man had a greater 
 pride in being largely and loftily a man. 
 — Blackie, John Stuart, 1888, Life of 
 Robert Burns (Great Writers), p. 163. 
 
 "The Ayrshire Bard," "The Ayrshire 
 Ploughman," "The Ayrshire Poet," "The 
 Bard of Ayrshire," "The Glory and Re- 
 proach of Scotland, " " The Peasant Bard. ' ' 
 — Frey, Albert R., 1888, Sobriquets and 
 Nicknames, p. 385. 
 
 Burns was but a visitor, the lion of a 
 season and therefore we are not called 
 upon to associate with Edinburgh the 
 whole tragic story of his life. And yet 
 his appearance was one of the most re- 
 markable that had distinguished the 
 ancient town. ... All the accounts 
 we have of his appearance in Edinburgh 
 agree in this. He was neither abashed 
 nor embarrassed; no rustic presumption 
 or vulgarity, but quite as little any timid- 
 ity or awkwardness, was in the Ayrshire 
 ploughman. His shoulders a little bent 
 with the work to which he had been accus- 
 tomed, his dress like a countryman, a 
 rougher cloth perhaps, a pair of good 
 woollen stockings rig and fur, his mother's 
 knitting, instead of the silk which covered 
 limbs probably not half so robust — but 
 so far as manners went, nothing to apolo- 
 gise for or smile at. The accounts all 
 agree in this. If he never put himself 
 forward too much, he never withdrew 
 with any unworthy shyness from his mod- 
 est share in the conversation. Sometimes 
 he would be roused to eloquent speech, 
 and then the admiring ladies said he car- 
 ried them "off their feet" in the conta- 
 gion of his enthusiasm and emotion. But 
 this was a very strange phenomenon for 
 the Edinburgh professors and men of let- 
 ters to deal with : a novice who had not 
 come humbly to be taught, but one who 
 had come to take up his share of the in- 
 heritance, to sit down among the great, 
 as in his natural place. He was not per- 
 haps altogether unmoved by their insane 
 
234 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 advices to him, one of the greatest of 
 lyrical poets, a singer above all — ^to write 
 a tragedy, to give up the language he 
 knew and write his poetry in the high 
 English which, alas ! he uses in his letters. 
 Not unmoved, and seriously inclining to 
 a more lofty measure, he compounded ad- 
 dresses to Edinburgh : 
 
 "Edina, Scotia's darling seat!" 
 and other such intolerable effusions. — 
 Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1890, Royal 
 Edinburgh, pp, 476, 481. 
 
 Robert Burns was a great man and a 
 great poet, and the influence of his truly 
 tremendous satiric lyrical genius has been 
 one of the great factors in the disintegra- 
 tion of Scottish superstition. ... He 
 was a convivial creature, and his conviv- 
 iality was that of a fearless and liberal 
 nature, overflowing with love, and honest 
 as the day. But what was to some extent 
 a virtue in him has become to my mind, 
 a very curious vice in his disciples. The 
 fact is, Scotchmen seem to have granted 
 Burns his apotheosis chiefly on account 
 of its being an excuse for the consump- 
 tion of Whiskey. So they celebrate his 
 Birthday. So they fill their glasses, hic- 
 cup ' ' Auld Langsyne, ' ' and cry in chorus : 
 
 "Robin was a rovin' boy, 
 Rantin' rovin', rantin' rovin'; 
 
 Robin was a rovin' boy, 
 Rantin' rovin' Robin!" 
 
 The drunken squirearchy, whose progeni- 
 tors broke the poet's heart, and who, if 
 the poet were alive now, would break his 
 heart again, are full of enthusiasm for 
 his memory. Even some of the more lib- 
 eral-minded ministers of the Gospel join 
 in the acclaim. Farmers and shepherds, 
 factors and ploughmen, all come together 
 on the one great occasion to honour the 
 bard whom everybody can understand, 
 because his synonym is the Whiskey Bot- 
 tle. They weep over his woes; they 
 smack their lips over his satire; they 
 shriek at his denunciations and they mur- 
 mur his songs. Burns or Bacchus — it is 
 all one. The chief point is that, now or 
 never, there is an excuse for getting 
 ' ' reeling ripe" or ' ' mortal drunk. " It is 
 poetic, it is literary, it is — hiccup? — hon- 
 ouring the Muses. Any frenzy, however 
 maniacal, is justifiable under the circum- 
 stances. ' ' Glorious Robin !' ' Pledge him 
 again and again, pledge him and bless him ; 
 and when you can't pledge him upright. 
 
 pledge him prone, as you lie, with your 
 fellow Burns-worshippers, under the table. 
 — Buchanan, Robert, 1891, The Coming 
 Terror and Other Essays and Letters, p.Slb. 
 
 When it is remembered how much he 
 suffered, how much he vanquished, and 
 how much he accomplished, with what 
 misery his genius had to fight to loe born 
 and to live, the perseverance of his years 
 of apprenticeship, his intellectual exploits, 
 and, after all, his glory ; one cannot help 
 saying that what he did not succeed in, 
 or what he did not undertake, was as 
 nothing compared to what he achieved, 
 and he was a man who achieved much. 
 What remains to be said except that the 
 clay of which he was made was full of 
 diamonds, and that his life was one of 
 the bravest and proudest ever lived by 
 a poet ? — Angellier, Auguste, 1893, 
 Robert Burns. 
 
 Adequate length of days is indispensa- 
 ble to the production of any monumental 
 work. Milton spent nearly as much time 
 as was granted for the whole mortal 
 career of Burns in what he regarded as a 
 mere apprenticeship to the art of poetry. 
 It is indispensable too, opportunity should 
 be granted as well as time. Those Greek 
 philosophers, whose superb wisdom, dis- 
 credited for a while by the youthful self- 
 assurance of modern science, is again en- 
 forcing recognition, insist upon nothing 
 so much as the need of o-xoAt? to the noble 
 mind. In this respect Burns was still more 
 unfortunate than in the matter of time. 
 His thirty-seven years of life were shorter 
 for effective purposes of art than the nine- 
 and-twenty of Shelley, hardly longer than 
 five-and-twenty of Keats. The crushing 
 weight of circumstance becomes evident 
 when we contemplate his career from 
 his first introduction to the world till his 
 death. A period of ten years passed be- 
 tween the publication of the Kilmarnock 
 edition and the closing of the grave. For 
 the purposes of poetry they ought to have 
 been far more valuable than all the time 
 that went before. They did not prove so. 
 The cause must lie either in the man or 
 his environment. The man was not blame- 
 less ; but it was not he who was chiefly to 
 blame. Few probably who study Burns 
 will arrive at the conclusion that his was 
 one of those minds which bloom early and 
 fade early. A shrewd observer remarked 
 of his great countryman and successor, 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 235 
 
 Scott, that his sense was even more ex- 
 traordinary than his genius. Strange as 
 it may seem to many, the same assertion 
 may be made with only a little less truth 
 of Burns. He possessed a clear, penetrat- 
 ing, logical intellect, a sound and vigor- 
 ous judgment. Once and again in his 
 poems he delights the idealist with his 
 flashes of inspiration; but just as fre- 
 quently he captivates the man of common 
 sense, who finds his own sober views of 
 life expressed by the poet with infinitely 
 more of force and point than he could 
 give them. — Walker, Hugh, 1893, Three 
 Centuries of Scottish Literature, vol. II, 
 p. 147. 
 
 The picture [Nasmyth Portrait] has 
 been painted with a careful and a loving 
 hand. It renders the ripe contours of 
 cheek and chin, the fine arching of the 
 eyebrows, the rippling lines of the lips 
 and the exquisite dimples that end them ; 
 and it seems to catch not a little of what 
 must have been the normal look of the 
 poet's rich brown, widely-opened eyes, 
 which were so memorable a feature in 
 his face, and which, when an impassioned 
 moment arrived, actually ''glowed"— 
 ''I say literally glowed'' — as Sir Walter 
 Scott has so emphatically recorded. Yet 
 we feel here that the kindly painter has 
 a little softened down the actual man ; 
 we miss something of the rustic strength 
 that must have been visible in the peasant- 
 bard.— Gray, J. M., 1894, The Authen- 
 tic Portraits of Robert Burns, Magazine of 
 Art, vol. 17, p. 239. 
 
 In his family Burns was the watchful, 
 kindly, diligent father, — not to be spoken 
 of in the same day with the father who 
 neglects his household for himself, who 
 forgets their need, and loses their love ; 
 and the man who degrades him as an 
 habitual drunkard, unable to meet life's 
 daily duties, does not know what he is 
 speaking of.— Hale, Edward Everett, 
 1896, Address at the Burns Centennial, 
 Boston, July 21. 
 
 '*0n the fourth day," we are told, 
 *'when his attendant held a cordial to his 
 lips, he swallowed it eagerly, rose almost 
 wholly up, spread out his hands, sprang for- 
 ward nigh the whole length of the bed, fell 
 on his face and expired. ' ' I suppose there 
 are many who can read the account with 
 composure. They are more fortunate 
 than I. There is nothing much more 
 
 melancholy in all biography. The brilliant 
 poet, the delight of all society, from the 
 highest to the lowest, sits brooding in 
 silence over the drama of his spent life; 
 the early innocent home, the plough and 
 the savour of fresh turned earth, the 
 silent communion with nature and his own 
 heart, the brief hour of splendour, the 
 dark hour of neglect, the mad struggle 
 for forgetfulness, the bitterness of van- 
 ished homage, the gnawing doubt of fame, 
 the distressful future of his wife and 
 children — and endless witch-dance of 
 thought without clew or remedy, all per- 
 plexing, all soon to end while he is yet 
 young, as men reckon youth ; though 
 none know so well as he that his youth is 
 gone, his race is run, his message is deliv- 
 ered. — Rosebery, Archibald Philip 
 Primrose Lord, 1896, Address at Dum- 
 fries July 21. 
 
 • At least 50,000 people celebrated the 
 centenary of Robert Burns's death, at 
 Dumfries, on Tuesday. In the morning a 
 long procession, accompanied by bands, 
 filed through the streets, and hundreds of 
 persons visited the poet's grave, on which 
 wreaths were laid, many being sent by 
 Scottish societies in the most distant parts 
 of the world. At two o'clock within the 
 Drill Hall a conversazione, attended by 
 4,000 persons was held. . . . Burns 
 has become the patron saint of Dumfries, 
 and he had borne aloft the banner of the 
 essential equality of man. At St. Michael's 
 Church-yard, wreaths presented by 130 
 Burns and other societies were handed 
 to Lord Rosebery, who placed them on 
 the poet's tomb. The first wreath laid on 
 the tomb was that of Lord Rosebery, 
 consisting of arum lilies and eucharis. 
 The most modest wreath, and yet, proba- 
 bly, the most interesting, was that from 
 the Glasgow Mauchline Society. It con- 
 sisted of holly and gowans, the latter 
 grown on the field at Mossgiel, celebrated 
 by Burns in his poem "To a Mountain 
 Daisy. ' ' The wreath was made up by the 
 granddaughters of Burns, the daughters 
 of Col. James Glencairn Burns. — Anon, 
 1896, Publisher's Circular, July 25. 
 
 The farm of Mossgiel is situated in the 
 parish of Mauchline, from the town of 
 which name it is about a mile distant. 
 Whatever it may have been in the poet's 
 time, it strikes the visitor in these days 
 as a most desirable home. ... Its 
 
236 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 walls have been considerably raised since 
 it was Burns's home, and the roof of thatch 
 has given place to one of slates. When 
 Hawthorne visited it in 1857, and forced 
 his way inside in the absence of the fam- 
 ily, he found it remarkable for nothing so 
 much as its dirt and dunghill odour. 
 There is neither dirt nor odour to-day. 
 The good wife of the present occupant of 
 Mossgiel, Mr. Wyllie, keeps her house 
 spotlessly clean notwithstanding the de- 
 mands made upon her time by innumerable 
 inquisitive visitors. On the parlour table 
 lies the copious visitors' book, and in the 
 same room hang the manuscript of ''The 
 Lass o' Ballochmyle," and the letter in 
 which Burns asked Miss Alexander's per- 
 mission to publish the song. At the back 
 of the house lies the field where Burns 
 turned down the daisy, and the soil 
 ''seems to have been consecrated to 
 daisies by the song which he bestowed on 
 that first immortal one." Over the 
 hedge, there is the other field where the 
 poet's ploughshare tore up the mouse's 
 nest.— Shelley, Henry C., 1897, The 
 Ayrshire Homes and Haunts of Burns, pp. 
 28, 30. 
 
 During his own lifetime Thomson suf- 
 fered keenly from the charge that he had 
 taken an unfair advantage of Burns, in 
 accepting so much from the poet without 
 making him any substantial pecuniary 
 return. The charge still hangs about 
 Thomson's name in a vague sort of way, for 
 in affairs of this kind the dog who has once 
 acquired a bad repute is likely to retain 
 it. The unfortunate editor, as he puts it 
 himself was assailed, "first anonymously, 
 and afterwards, to my great surprise, by 
 some writers who might have been ex- 
 pected to possess sufficient judgment to 
 see the matter in its true light." He 
 defended himself, in the words of one of 
 his calumniators, "about once every seven 
 years;" but it is not until the appearance 
 of Professor Wilson's onslaught in the 
 "Land of Burns" (1838) that his corre- 
 spondence begins to show the full extent 
 of his suffering under the lash. . . . 
 The truth is that Burns declined to write 
 deliberately for money. He would — in a 
 patriotic undertaking of this kind at any 
 rate — write for love, or not write at all. 
 If his poems brought him a profit — well, 
 they were not written with that profit 
 directly in view; the pecuniary return 
 
 was, as it were, but an accident, not affect- 
 ing in any way the inception of the work. 
 This was practically his view of the mat- 
 ter as expressed to Thomson. It appears 
 that he expressed the same view also to 
 others. — Hadden, J. Cuthbert, 1898, 
 George Thomson the Friend of Burns, pp. 
 139, 145. 
 
 Home life was poor in the little tw^o- 
 roomed cottage, and toil hard on the farm, 
 on which the family did all the work. 
 Robert and Gilbert, as each reached the 
 age of thirteen, would weed the furrows 
 and thresh the corn ; at fifteen they would 
 act as ploughman and shearers, working 
 from daybreak till late evening, when they 
 were ready to go weary to their chaff 
 beds. The fare, like the home life, was 
 mean and monotonous — sowans and kail 
 and milk, with little variations at the 
 meals; no meat appearing on the board 
 except when a cow or sheep died of old 
 age or infirmity. . . . While engaged 
 on the farm, which did not pay much, and 
 composing poems, which paid still less, he 
 had time for his favourite wooing, which 
 paid worst of all. His relations with the 
 "sex" were many and migratory. He was 
 no sooner off with the old love than he was 
 on with the new, and even for that he often 
 did not wait. In his tastes he was not fas- 
 tidious as to the position, quality, or even 
 looks of his entrancer. "He had always 
 a particular jealousy of people who were 
 richer than himself, or had more conse- 
 quence, " says his brother Gilbert. "His 
 love therefore seldom settled on per- 
 sons of this description. ' ' A buxom barn- 
 door beauty, a servant girl was enough, 
 although she was as devoid of romance as 
 of stockings. He must be the superior. 
 A "fine woman," especially among his 
 humble acquaintance, he could not resist ; 
 and seldom could she resist the masterful 
 wooer, with his winning ways, his bewitch- 
 ing talk, his eyes that "glowed like coals 
 of fire. "—Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, 
 Scottish Men of Letters in the Eighteenth 
 Century, pp. 383, 394. 
 
 JEAN 
 
 Poor ill-advised ungrateful Armour 
 came home on Friday last. You have 
 heard of all the particulars of that affair, 
 and a black affair it is. What she thinks 
 of her conduct now, I don't know; one 
 thing I do know, she has made me com- 
 pletely miserable. Never man loved, or 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 287 
 
 rather adored, a woman, more than I did 
 her ; and to confess a truth between you 
 and me, I do still love her to distraction 
 after all, although I won't tell her so if I 
 were to see her, which 1 don't want to do. 
 My poor, dear, unfortunate Jean, how 
 happy I have been in thy arms ! It is not 
 the losing her that made me so unhappy, 
 but for her sake I feel most severely ; I 
 forsee she is on the road to — I am afraid 
 — eternal ruin. Alay Almighty God for- 
 give her ingratitude and perjury to me, 
 as I from my soul forgive her; and 
 may His grace be with her and bless 
 her in all her future life! I can have 
 no nearer idea of the place of eternal 
 punishment than what I have felt in my 
 own heart on her account. I have tried 
 often to forget her. I have run into all 
 kinds of dissipation and riots, mason 
 meetings, drinking matches, and other 
 mischief, to drive her out of my head, but 
 all in vain. And now for a grand cure : 
 the ship is on her way home that is to take 
 me out to Jamaica; then farewell, dear 
 old Scotland ; and farewell, dear, ungrate- 
 ful Jean, for never, never, will I see you 
 more. — Burns, Robert, 1786, Letter to 
 David Brice. 
 
 Compared Robert Burns, with Jean 
 Armour, his alleged spouse. They both 
 acknowledged their irregular marriage, 
 and their sorrow for that irregularity, and 
 desiring that the Session will take such 
 steps as may seem to them proper, in 
 order to the solemn confirmation of the 
 said marriage. The Session, taking this 
 aifair under their consideration, agree 
 that they both be rebuked for this acknowl- 
 edged irregularity, and that they be sol- 
 emnly engaged to adhere faithfully to one 
 another as man and wife all the days of 
 their life. In regard the Session have a 
 title in law to some fine for behoof of the 
 poor, they agree to refer to Mr. Burns his 
 own generosity. The above sentence was 
 accordingly executed, and the Session ab- 
 solved the said parties from any scandal 
 on this account. — Auld, William (Mod- 
 erator), 1788, Mauchline Kirk-Session 
 Books, Aug. 5. 
 
 She still survives to hear her name, her 
 early love, and her youthful charms, 
 warbled in the songs of her native land. 
 He, on whom she bestowed her beauty and 
 her maiden truth, dying, has left to her 
 the mantle of his fame. What though 
 
 she be now a grandmother? to the fancy, 
 she can never grow old, or die. We can 
 never bring her before our thoughts but 
 as the lovely, graceful country girl, 
 * ' lightly tripping among the wild flowers, ' ' 
 and v/arbling, "Of a' the airs the win' 
 can blaw," — and this, 0 women, is what 
 genius can do for you ! Wherever the ad- 
 venturous spirit of her countrymen trans- 
 port them, from the spicy groves of India 
 to the wild banks of the Mississippi, the 
 name of Bonnie Jean is heard, bringing 
 back to the wanderer sweet visions of 
 home, and of days of *'Auld lang Syne." 
 —Jameson, Anna Brownell, 1829, The 
 Loves of the Poets, vol. ii, p. 195. 
 
 Mrs. Burns through the liberality of 
 her children, spent her latter years in 
 comparative aflluence, yet ' ' never changed, 
 nor wished to change her place." In 
 March 1843, at the age of sixty-eight, she 
 closed her respectable life in the same 
 room in which her husband had breathed 
 his last thirty-eight years before. — Cham- 
 bers, Robert, 1851-52, The Life and 
 Works of Robert Burns. 
 
 Patrick said she was *'a decent, weel- 
 doin' lass," full of sprightliness and fun. 
 She was a good-looking brunette, or as 
 Patrick's father (a shoemaker, next door 
 to her father's, in the Cowgate) used to 
 say, ''Jean, you're a ticht jaud, but a dun 
 one !' ' a compliment which she always took 
 in good part, with her usual bright laugh 
 or smile, accompanied by a smart retort. 
 Willie also described her as "ticht i' the 
 legs" — most expressive Scotch, meaning 
 at once, handsome, sprightly, and well- 
 knit, from the idea of being firmly bound. 
 The poet himself uses the same word re- 
 garding her ; and regarding no less a per- 
 sonage than the Muse, Coila, w^hen she 
 appeared to him in "the spence" at Moss- 
 giel, portraying her as 
 
 "A tight outlandish hizzie braw; " 
 and continuing the picture thus — 
 
 "Down flowed her robe, a tartan sheen. 
 
 Till half a leg was scriniply seen ; 
 
 And such a leg ! my bonny Jean 
 Could only peer it ; 
 
 Sae straught, sae taper, tight and clean, 
 Nane else cam' near it." 
 — Jolly, William, 1881, Robert Burns 
 at Mossgiel ; With Reminiscences of the 
 Poet by His Herd-Boy, p. 63. 
 
 It may be questionable whether any mar- 
 riage could have tamed Burns ; but it is 
 
238 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 at least certain that there was no hope 
 for him in the marriage he contracted. 
 He did right, but then he had done wrong 
 before ; it was, as I said, one of those re- 
 lations in life which it seems equally 
 wrong to break or to perpetuate. He 
 neither loved nor respected his wife. 
 **God knows," he writes, ''my choice was 
 as random as blind man's buff." He 
 consoles himself by the thought that he 
 has acted kindly to her; that she ''has 
 the most sacred enthusiasm of attach- 
 ment to him ;" that she has a good figure ; 
 that she has a ''wood-note wild," "her voice 
 rising with ease to B natural," no less. 
 The effect on the reader is one of unmin- 
 gled pity for both parties concerned. This 
 was not the wife who (in his own words) 
 could "enter into his favourite studies or 
 relish his favourite authors;" this was 
 not even a wife, after the affair of the 
 marriage lines, in whom a husband could 
 joy to place his trust. Let her manage 
 a farm with sense, let her voice rise to 
 B natural all day long, she would still be 
 a peasant to her lettered lord, and an 
 object of pity rather than of equal affec- 
 tion. She could now be faithful, she could 
 now be forgiving, she could now begener-- 
 ous even to a pathetic and touching de- 
 gree ; but coming from one who was un- 
 loved, and who had scarce shown herself 
 worthy of the sentiment, these were all 
 virtues thrown away, which could neither 
 change her husband's heart nor effect the 
 inherent destiny of their relation. From 
 the outset, it was a marriage that had no 
 root in nature ; and we find him, ere long, 
 lyrically regretting Highland Mary, re- 
 newing correspondence with Clarinda in 
 the warmest language, on doubtful terms 
 with Mrs. Riddel, and on terms unfortu- 
 nately beyond any question with Anne 
 Park. — Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1882, 
 Familiar Studies of Men and Books, p. 72. 
 
 Her condition being discovered, Burns, 
 after some strong revulsions of feeling 
 against — not Jean, I hope, but — the estate 
 of marriage, gave her what he presently had 
 every reason to call "an unlucky paper," 
 recognising her as his wife ; and, had 
 things been allowed to drift in the usual 
 way, the world had lacked an unforgotten 
 scandal and a great deal of silly writing. 
 — Henley, William Ernest, 1897, Life, 
 Genius, Achievement, The Poetry of Rob- 
 ert Burns, vol. iv, p. 280. 
 
 HIGHLAND MARY 
 
 He loved Mary Campbell, his "Highland 
 Mary," with as pure a passion as ever 
 possessed a young poet's heart; nor is 
 there so sweet and sad a passage recorded 
 in the life of any other one of all the sons 
 of song. Many such partings there have 
 been between us poor beings— blind at all 
 times, and often blindest in our bliss — but 
 all gone to oblivion. But that hour can 
 never die — that scene will live forever. 
 Immortal the two shadows standing there, 
 holding together the Bible— a little rivu- 
 let flowing between — in which, as in con- 
 secrated water, they have dipt their 
 hands, water not purer than, at that 
 moment, their united hearts. There are 
 few of his songs more beautiful, and none 
 more impassioned. — Wilson, John, 1844, 
 The Genius and Character of Burns, p, 15. 
 
 0 loved by him whom Scotland loves, 
 Long loved, and honoured duly 
 
 By all who love the bard who sang 
 
 So sweetly and so truly ! 
 In cultured dales his song prevails ; 
 
 Thrills o'er the eagle's aery — 
 Has any caught that strain, nor sighed 
 
 For Burns 's "Highland Mary? " 
 
 1 wandered on from hill to hill, 
 
 I feared nor wind nor weather. 
 For Burns beside me trode the raoor, 
 
 Beside me pressed the heather. 
 I read his verse : his life— alas ! 
 
 O'er that dark shades extended: — 
 With thee at last, and him in thee. 
 
 My thoughts their wanderings ended. 
 His golden hours of youth were thine ; 
 
 Those hours whose flight is fleetest. 
 Of all his songs to thee he gave 
 
 The freshest and the sweetest. 
 Ere ripe the fruit one branch he brake, 
 
 All rich with bloom and blossom ; 
 And shook its dews, its incense shook, 
 
 Above thy brow and bosom. 
 -De Vere, Aubrey, 1847, To Burns's 
 Highland Mary. 
 
 All the world has heard of Highland 
 Mary — in life a maid-servant in the family 
 of Mr. Hamilton, after death to be re- 
 membered wit^i Dante's Beatrice and 
 Petrarch's Laura. How Burns and Mary 
 became acquainted we have little means of 
 knowing — indeed the whole relationship is 
 somewhat obscure — but Burns loved her 
 as he loved no other woman, and her 
 memory is preserved in the finest expres- 
 sion of his love and grief. Strangely 
 enough, it seems to have been in the fierce 
 rupture between himself and Jean that 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 239 
 
 this white flower of love sprang up, sud- 
 den in its growth, brief in its passion and 
 beauty. It was arranged that the lovers 
 should become man and wife, and that 
 Mary should return to her friends to pre- 
 pare for her wedding. Before her depar- 
 ture there was a farewell scene. ''On 
 the second Sunday of May," Burns writes 
 to Mr. Thomson, after an historical fash- 
 ion which has something touching in it, 
 "in a sequestered spot on the banks of 
 the Ayr the interview took place." The 
 lovers met and plighted solemn troth. 
 According to popular statement, they 
 stood on either side of a brook, they 
 dipped their hands in the water, exchanged 
 Bibles — and parted. Mary died at Green- 
 ock, and was buried in a dingy church- 
 yard hemmed by narrow streets— be- 
 clanged now by innumerable hammers, 
 and within a stone's throw of passing 
 steamers. Information of her death was 
 brought to Burns at Mossgiel ; he went to 
 the window to read the letter, and the 
 family noticed that on a sudden his face 
 changed. He went out without speaking ; 
 they respected his grief and were silent. 
 On the whole matter Burns remained sing- 
 ularly reticent; but years after, from a 
 sudden geysir of impassioned song, we 
 learn that through all that time she had 
 never been forgotten. — Smith, Alexan- 
 der, 1865, The Poetical Works of Robert 
 Burns, Life, p. xiii. 
 
 There is no stronger proof of the tran- 
 scending power of the genius of Burns 
 than is found in the fact that, by a bare 
 half dozen of his stanzas, an humble dairy 
 servant — else unheard of outside her par- 
 ish and forgotten at her death — is immor- 
 talized as a peeress of Petrarch's Laura 
 and Dante's Beatrice, and has been for a 
 century loved and mourned of all the 
 world. . . . How little is known of 
 Highland Mary, the most famous heroine 
 of modern song, is shown by the brief, 
 incoherent, and often contradictory allu- 
 sions to her which the biographies of the 
 ploughman-poet contain. . . . She 
 first saw the light in 1764, at Ardrossan, 
 on the coast, fifteen miles northward from 
 the ''auld town of Ayr." Her parentage 
 w^as of the humblest, her father being a 
 sailor before the mast, and the poor 
 dwelling which sheltered her was in no 
 way superior to the meanest of those we 
 find to-day on the narrow streets of her 
 
 village. ... He told a lady that he 
 first saw Mary while walking in the woods 
 of Coilsfield, and first spoke with her at a 
 rustic merry-making, and, ''having the 
 luck to win her regards from other suit- 
 ors," they speedily became intimate. 
 . . . The bard's niece, Miss Begg, of 
 Bridgeside, told the writer that she often 
 heard Burns' s mother describe Mary as 
 she saw her at Hamilton's: she had a 
 bonnie face, a complexion of unusual fair- 
 ness, soft blue eyes, a profusion of shin- 
 ing hair which fell to her knees, a petite 
 figure which made her seem younger than 
 her twenty summers, a bright smile, and 
 pleasing manners, which won the old lady's 
 heart. ... All who have written of 
 her have noticed her beauty, her good 
 sense, her modesty and self-respect. 
 . . . Poor Mary is laid in the burial- 
 plot of her uncle in the west kirk-yard of 
 Greenock, near Crawford Street ; our pil- 
 grimage in Burnsland may fitly end at her 
 grave. A pathway, beaten by the feet of 
 many reverent visitors, leads us to the 
 spot. It is so pathetically diiferent from 
 the scenes she loved in life,^ — the heather- 
 clad slopes of her Highland home, the 
 seclusion of the wooded braes where she 
 loitered with her poet-lover. Scant foli- 
 age is about her; few birds sing above 
 her here. She lies by the wall ; narrow 
 streets hem in the enclosure ; the air is 
 sullied by smoke from factories and from 
 steamers passing within a stone's-throw on 
 the busy Clyde; the clanging of many 
 hammers and the discordant din of 
 machinery and traffic invade the place and 
 sound in our ears as we muse above the 
 ashes of the gentle lassie. For half a 
 century her grave was unmarked and 
 neglected; then, by subscription, a mon- 
 ument of marble, twelve feet in height, 
 and of graceful proportions, was raised. 
 It bears a sculptured medallion represent- 
 ing Burns and Mary, with clasped hands, 
 plighting their troth. Beneath is the 
 simple inscription read oft by eyes dim 
 with tears : 
 
 Erected over the Grave of 
 Highland Mary 
 
 1842; 
 
 "My Mary, dear departed sliade, 
 Where is thy place of blissful rest?" 
 —Wolfe, Theodore F., 1895, A Literary 
 Pilgrimage, pp. 194, 195, 196, 197, 205. 
 
 There is probably no name in Scottish 
 literature that has so affectingly touched 
 
240 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 the hearts of her fellow-countrymen as 
 that of Mary Canripbell. Though born of 
 an obscure family, brought up in circum- 
 stances little fitted to attract attention, 
 and credited with no achievement that in- 
 vests heroism with permanent or even 
 transient distinction, this Highland girl 
 is now a brilliant star in the galaxy of 
 Fame, and has become an object of un- 
 mingled and growing admiration. The 
 lustre of Mary's name, like that of other 
 stars, whether fixed or planetary, borrows 
 its fascination from a luminary brighter 
 and greater than itself. The very obscu- 
 rity of her origin and early condition 
 sets off by constrast the halo that now 
 encircles her memory. Moralists have 
 noted and extolled her virtues, critics 
 have lovingly dropped their satiric shafts 
 when commenting on the few but roman- 
 tic appearances she made on the stage of 
 Time, and poets of several generations, 
 and of almost all countries, have exhausted 
 their poetical resources in their efforts to 
 express their conceptions of her worth, but 
 all their contributions towards the sum of 
 her praise have taken their force and com- 
 plexion from the picture which inspired 
 genius has given of her to the world. The 
 interest created by the association of the 
 heroine's career with that of the gifted 
 lover who has procured for her the honour 
 of poetical immortality, is not, it is pleas- 
 ant to know, confined to the little country 
 that gave her birth. In England , Ireland, 
 America, and the Colonies, and even in 
 countries that have less in common with 
 Great Britain, Mary's worth, ill-starred 
 career, and premature death, have found 
 admirers and mourners as cordial and sin- 
 cere as any that Caledonia has produced. 
 — MuNRO, Archibald, 1896, Burns and 
 Highland Mary. 
 
 Little that is positive is known of Mary 
 Campbell except that she once possessed a 
 copy of the Scriptures (now very piously 
 preserved at Ayr), and that she is a sub- 
 ject of a fantasy, in bronze, at Dunoon. — 
 Henley, William Ernest, 1897, Life, 
 Genius, Achievement, The Poetry of Rob- 
 ert Burns, vol. iv, pp. 285. 
 
 By all means let us reject the Mary 
 Campbell tradition, immolate the Bible at 
 Ayr, melt down the fantasy in bronze" at 
 Dunoon, make building material of the 
 monument at Greenock, reduce all get-at- 
 able Highland Mary literature to pulp, 
 
 and for ever more let the story stand as 
 Burns left it. — Lockhart, Robert M., 
 1898, Mr. Henley and Highland Mary, 
 The Westminster Review, vol. 149, p. 336. 
 
 CLARINDA 
 
 Mrs. M'Lehose originally refused Mr. 
 Syme (who collected for Dr. Currie) per- 
 mission to publish the Letters, and de- 
 clined, as has been already stated, various 
 similar applications in her latter years. 
 But the present editor is of opinion, that 
 the time is now come for their publication, 
 and that an authentic edition of the Cor- 
 respondence will have the effect of remov- 
 ing prejudice, will do honour to the mem- 
 ory of his respected relative, and interest 
 the public, by giving them a new chapter 
 in the life of our immortal poet. This 
 interest, too, is increased by the consid- 
 eration that these letters are probably the 
 last original composition of his which will 
 ever be made public. — M'Lehose, Wil- 
 liam C, 1843, ed., The Correspondence 
 between Burns and Clarinda, Preface, p. ix. 
 
 She called herself "high-spirited," which 
 meant ''unyielding ;" she mingled romance 
 and strong Calvinistic principles, an al- 
 most incompatible mixture ; she was light, 
 vain; a "foolish woman," listening to the 
 rhapsodies of the Ayrshire ploughman 
 when she ought to have been thinking of 
 her children ; and her quiet discussion of 
 certain matters relating to her admirer 
 shows her to have been eminently coarse. 
 She also, as one of her family says, ''cul- 
 tivated the Muses." All these elements, 
 combined as it were in one dish, make up 
 a doubtful sort of salad. — Fitzgerald, 
 Percy, 1870, The Loves of Famous Men, 
 Belgravia, vol. 12, p. 425. 
 
 It was at this time Burns met Clarinda 
 once more. She was about to sail for the 
 West Indies, in search of the husband who 
 had forsaken her; the interview was a 
 brief and hurried one, and no account of 
 it remains, except some letters, and a few- 
 lyrics which he addressed to her. One of 
 these is distinguished as one of the most 
 impassioned effusions which Burns ever 
 poured forth. It contains that one con- 
 summate stanza in which Scott, Byron, 
 and many more, saw concentrated, "the 
 essence of a thousand love-tales." 
 Had we never loved so kindly, 
 Had we never loved so blindly ; 
 Never met, or never parted, 
 We had ne'er been broken-hearted. 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 241 
 
 Mrs. Burns is said to have been a marvel 
 of long-suffering and forgiveness, for the 
 way in which she bore the wrongs her 
 husband inflicted upon her by his unfaith- 
 fulness. There is no doubt that Burns 
 also tasted self-reproach and 
 "Self -con tempt, bitterer to drink than 
 blood." 
 
 —Price, Charlotte A., 1895, Famous 
 Poets, Belgravia, vol. 87, p. 273. 
 
 Poor Clarinda ! Well for her peace of 
 mind that the poet was leaving her ; well 
 for Burns, also, that he was leaving Cla- 
 rinda and Edinburgh. Only one thing re- 
 mained for both to do, and it had been wise, 
 to burn their letters. Would that Cla- 
 rinda had been as much alive to her own 
 good name, and the poet's fair fame, as 
 Peggy Chalmers, who did not preserve 
 her letters from Burns! — Setoun, Ga- 
 briel, 1896, Robert Burns {Famous Scots 
 Series), p. 109. 
 
 So in the beginning of December he 
 falls in with Mrs. M'Lehose ; he instantly 
 proposes to cultivate her friendship with 
 the enthusiasm of religion ' and the two 
 are languishing in Arcady in the twinkling 
 of a cupid's wing. She was a handsome, 
 womanly creature ''of a somewhat volup- 
 tuous style of beauty:" a style the Bard 
 appreciated — lively but devout, extremely 
 sentimental yet inexorably dutiful: a 
 grass widow with children — nine times in 
 ten a lasting safeguard — and the strictest 
 notions of propriety— a good enough de- 
 fence for a time ; but young (she was the 
 Bard's own age), clever, "of a poetical 
 fabric of mind," and all the rest. . . . 
 In the prime-of life, deserted, sentimental, 
 a tangle of simple instincts and as simple 
 pieties, she had the natural woman's de- 
 sire for a lover and the religious woman's 
 resolve to keep that lover's passion 
 within bounds. . . . She was plainly an 
 excellent creature, bent on keeping her- 
 self honest and her lover straight ; and it 
 is impossible to read her letters to Syl- 
 vander without a respect, a certain admira- 
 tion even, which have never been awak- 
 ened yet by the study of Sylvander's let- 
 ters to her. From Sylvander's point of 
 view, as M'Lehose was still alive, and an 
 open intrigue with a married woman would 
 have been ruin, only one inference is pos- 
 sible : that he longed for the shepherd's 
 hour to strike for the chimes' sake only ; 
 so that, when he thought of his future, as 
 
 16 c 
 
 he must have done anxiously and often, he 
 cannot ever have thought of it as Clarin- 
 da's, even though in a moment of peculiar 
 exaltation he swore to keep single till that 
 wretch, the wicked husband died.— Hen- 
 ley, William Ernest, 1897, Life, Genius, 
 Achievement, The Poetry of Robert Burns, 
 vol. IV, pp. 304, 305, 306. 
 
 MRS. DUNLOP 
 
 Madam, — I have written you so often 
 without recg. any answer, that I would 
 not trouble you again but for the circum- 
 stances in which I am. An illness which 
 has long hung about me in all probability 
 will speedily send me beyond that bourne 
 whence no traveller returns. Your friend- 
 ship with which for so many years you 
 honored me was a friendship dearest to 
 my soul. Your conversation and especially 
 your correspondence were at once highly 
 entertaining and instructive. With what 
 pleasure did I use to break up the seal ! The 
 remembrance yet adds one pulse more to 
 my poor palpitating heart ! — Farewell ! ! ! 
 — Burns, Robert, 1796, Last Letter to 
 Mrs. Dunlop. 
 
 The friendship of Mrs. Dunlop was of 
 particular value to Burns. This lady, 
 daughter and sole heiress to Sir Thomas 
 Wallace of Craige, and lineal descendant 
 of the illustrious Wallace, the first of 
 Scottish warriors, possesses the qualities 
 of mind suited to her high lineage. Pre- 
 serving, in the decline of life, the gener- 
 ous affections of youth ; her admiration of 
 the poet was soon accompanied by a sin- 
 cere friendship for the man ; which pur- 
 sued him in after life through good and 
 evil report; in poverty, in sickness, and 
 in sorrow ; and which is continued to his 
 infant family, now deprived of their 
 parent.— CuRRiE, James, 1800, ed., Works 
 of Robert Burns, Life. 
 
 He appears from first to last to have 
 stood somewhat in awe of this excellent 
 lady, and to have been no less sensible of 
 her sound judgment and strict sense of 
 propriety, than of her steady and generous 
 partiality. — Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 
 1809, Reliques of Burns, Edinburgh Re- 
 view, vol. 13, p. 256. 
 
 His letters to Mrs. Dunlop form a very 
 large proportion of all his subsequent cor- 
 respondence, and, addressed as they were 
 to a person, whose sex, age, rank, and 
 benevolence, inspired at once profound 
 
242 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 respect and a graceful confidence, will 
 ever remain the most pleasing of all the 
 materials of our poet's biography. — Lock- 
 hart, John Gibson, 1828, Life of Robert 
 Burns, p. 122. 
 
 The real basis of the friendship was 
 their common warmth and generosity of 
 soul. Mrs. Dunlop's interest in the poet 
 was not purely, or even primarily, intel- 
 lectual. She was not what would be 
 called a literary lady. She was by no 
 means a pedant. She was simply a woman 
 of good birth and good breeding; old 
 enough and wise enough to have drawn 
 profit from the experiences of life ; fond 
 of books and sincerely religious ; endowed 
 with good judgment and good sense, with 
 quick womanly sympathy and inextinguish- 
 able youthfulness of heart. Being what 
 she was, she won the poet's confidence 
 and sincere affection, and drew out all his 
 finer feelings. His letters to her are not 
 indeed free from that artificiality which 
 characterised the epistolary style of his 
 day, and marred all his correspondence; 
 but they are less disfigured by it than those 
 addressed to some of his patrons, or to 
 his unknown literary correspondents — to 
 say nothing of the effusions to * ' Clarinda. ' ' 
 — Roberts, L. M., 1895, The Burns and 
 Dunlop Correspondence,Fortnightly Review, 
 vol. 64, p. 663. 
 
 The Lochryan MSS., now published for 
 the first time, were in all probability never 
 seen by Currie. Manifestly none of them 
 has ever been handled by either editor 
 or printer. They are all in a state of 
 beautiful preservation, and include at least 
 as fine specimens of the poet's handwrit- 
 ing as any that have seen the light in the 
 original or reproduction. . . . Mrs. 
 Dunlop kept the Lochryan MSS. at Dun- 
 lop till her death, when she left the estate 
 of Lochryan and the MSS. to her grandson. 
 General Sir John Wallace, from whom the 
 documents descended to his son and heir, 
 the next possessor of Lochryan, who left 
 them by will to his youngest brother the 
 present Colonel F. J. Wallace, from whom 
 they were recently acquired by Mr. Adam. 
 They have thus been continuously in the 
 hands of the Dunlop- Wallace family dur- 
 ing the past century. Colonel Wallace 
 states to the best of his knowledge that 
 they have been kept in a box in the safe- 
 room at Lochryan for the last fifty years. 
 The interweaving of this new material with 
 
 the old makes the Correspondence of 
 Burns and Mrs. Dunlop almost unique in 
 its completeness. A careful search after 
 possible lacunae has discovered no more 
 than four places where it can be definitely 
 stated that the letter of Burns is missing, 
 and of the gross sum of Mrs. Dunlop's it 
 appears that Burns had lost or destroyed 
 only nine — a circumstance which must 
 have wiped out the memory of the many 
 proofs the lady had received that he did 
 not always read her communications with 
 the most respectful care, and at the same 
 time must have deepened the remorse she 
 felt for her neglect of the poet during the 
 last eighteen months of his life.— Wal- 
 lace, William, 1898, Robert Burns and 
 Mrs. Dunlop, Preface, vol. I, pp. vi, vii. 
 
 A curious figure, this Mrs. Dunlop, of 
 Dunlop, and most out of line with one's 
 notion of a Scotch gentlewoman ! To be a 
 lady of sensibility was her ideal. To go 
 to posterity as the social and, forsooth, the 
 literary mentor of her gifted neighbor 
 was her ambition. Her religion was of the 
 Genevan type — not Jean Calvin's, but 
 Jean Jacques Rousseau's. The religion 
 of the heart, she called it, and had she 
 not been a Sexagenarian and forever occu- 
 pied with the births of grandchildren, 
 there is no telling where it Avould have 
 landed her. In comparison with her solic- 
 itude for Burns, the cares of a patriarchal 
 household sat light upon her, and with pen 
 in hand she could say, ''as to forming 
 schemes, it is a kind of castle-building 
 that I cannot resign, as it pleases myself 
 and does little harm to anything else." 
 Scolding, questioning, teasing, advising, 
 and spoiling Burns like a grandmother, 
 she is yet irrepressibly youthful. With 
 all her intellectual fire, and with all her 
 provincial awkwardness, it is impossible 
 not to admire her buoyancy, freshness, 
 and hero-worship. She comes near pos- 
 sessing charm, and is almost a romantic 
 figure. — Harper, George McLean, 1898, 
 Burns in his Correspondence, The Book 
 Buyer, vol. 17, p. 20. 
 
 THE HOLY FAIR 
 
 In Burns's time this poem was much rel- 
 ished by the moderate clergy, and Dr. 
 Blair condescended to suggest the change 
 of a word in order to render its satire 
 more pointed. In these days of better 
 taste, a regret will be generally felt 
 that Burns should have been tempted or 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 243 
 
 provoked into such subjects. This is, how- 
 ever, a general belief in Ayrshire that 
 the ''Holy Fair" was attended with a good 
 effect, for since its appearance, the custom 
 of resorting to the ''occasion" in neighbour- 
 ing parishes for the sake 6t holiday mak- 
 ing has been much abated, and a great in- 
 crease of decorous observance has taken 
 place. — Chambers, Robert, 1851-52, 
 The Life and Works of Robert Burns, vol. 
 I, p, 270. 
 
 As a matter of fact, in the history of 
 Scottish literature and religion, this cari- 
 cature of the Holiest, as some might be 
 inclined to call it, did no harm, but rather 
 good ; for the caricature lay undoubtedly 
 to no small extent in the real facts of the 
 case, not in the mere treatment of the 
 poet. Harm to Burns it certainly did do ; 
 for it tended to raise a wall of partition 
 between him and the reverential sentiment 
 of the country, which stands in the way 
 of his acceptance with not a few of the 
 most worthy of his countrymen even at 
 the present hour. Harm to the people it 
 could not do ; for so far as it was over- 
 charged, the roots of the popular piety 
 had stuck too deep to be shaken by a rude 
 hand ; and so far as it was true, the re- 
 proof has been so effective that not a 
 shadow of the abuse remains. Had it not 
 been for the polemical relation in which 
 he found himself to the zealous party in 
 the Church, and for the glaring nature of 
 the abuse of sacred ceremonies that forced 
 itself on his observation, I feel certain 
 that Burns was the last man in the world 
 to have wantonly held so sacred a rite up 
 to public ridicule.— Blackie, John Stu- 
 art, 1888, Life of Robert Burns (Great 
 Writers), p. 51. 
 
 Of all the series of satires, however, 
 **The Holy Fair" is the most remarkable. 
 It is in a sense a summing up of all the 
 others that preceded it. The picture it 
 gives of the mixed and motley multitude 
 fairing in the church-yard at Mauchline, 
 with a relay of ministerial mountebanks 
 catering for their excitement, is true to 
 the life. It is begging the question to 
 deplore that Burns was provoked to such 
 an attack. The scene was provocation 
 sufficient to any right-thinking man who 
 associated the name of religion with all 
 that was good and beautiful and . true. 
 Such a state of things demanded reforma- 
 tion. The church-yard — that holy ground 
 
 on which the church was built and sancti- 
 fied by the dust of pious and saintly men 
 — cried aloud against the desecration to 
 which it was subjected, and Burns, who 
 alone had the power to purify it from such 
 profanities, would have been untrue to 
 himself and a traitor to the religion of 
 his country had he merely shrugged his 
 shoulders and allowed things to go on as 
 they were going. — Setoun, Gabriel, 1896, 
 Robert Burns (Famous Scots Series), p. 51. 
 
 The "Holy Fair," that "joyful solem- 
 nity" in which the scandals attending the 
 open-air communions are painted with 
 vivid power and merciless veracity. In 
 these satires there is not saeva indignatio 
 at evils he hated, but wild humour over 
 scandals he laughed at. In them he was 
 merely voicing the feelings of the educated 
 classes, and echoing the teaching of the 
 moderate clergy in two-thirds of the Low- 
 land pulpits of Scotland. To say that 
 Burns, by his drastic lines, broke down 
 the despotism of the Church, overthrew 
 the spirit of Puritanism, and dispelled re- 
 ligious gloom in the country, is to speak 
 in ignorance of the real part he played. 
 That work had been begun effectively by 
 others before him, and was to be carried 
 on by others who never felt his influ- 
 ence. — Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, Scot- 
 tish Men of Letters in the Eighteenth 
 Century, p. 392. 
 
 COTTER'S SATURDAY NIGHT 
 I intended writing you last night, but 
 happening to lift the "Cotter's Saturday 
 Night," it was impossible for me to close 
 the book without reading it, tho' for the 
 five hundred time. Do, I beg you, try if 
 you can make anything now like it. I'm 
 sure no one else I have ever seen can ; 
 but I'll say no more of it, or I could speak 
 of nothing else. — Dunlop, Mrs. Frances 
 A., 1789, Letter to Burns, Sept. 23; Rob- 
 ert Burns and Mrs. Dunlop, ed. Wallace, 
 vol I, p. 308. 
 
 "The Cotter's Saturday Night" is ten- 
 der and moral, it is solemn and devotional, 
 and rises at length into a strain of grand- 
 eur and sublimity, which modern poetry 
 has not surpassed. The noble sentiments 
 of patriotism with which it concludes, cor- 
 respond with the rest of the poem. In no 
 age or country have the pastoral muses 
 breathed such elevated accents, if the 
 Messiah of Pope be excepted, which is 
 
244 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 indeed a pastoral in form only.^ — ^Currie, 
 James, 1800, ed.. Works of Robert Burns, 
 Life. 
 
 A noble and pathetic picture of human 
 manners, mingled with a fine religious 
 awe. — Hazlitt, William, 1818, Lectures 
 on the English Poets, Lecture vii. 
 
 The "Cottar's Saturday Night" is, per- 
 haps, of all Burns's pieces, the Qne whose 
 exclusion from the collection, were such 
 things possible now-a-days, would be the 
 most injurious, if not to the genius, at 
 least to the character, of the man. In 
 spite of many feeble lines, and some heavy 
 stanzas, it appears to me, that even his 
 genius would suffer more in estimation, by 
 being contemplated in the absence of this 
 poem, than of any other single perform- 
 ance he has left us. Loftier flights he 
 certainly had made, but in these he re- 
 mained but a short while on the wing, apd 
 effort is too often perceptible ; here the 
 motion is easy, gentle, placidly undulating. 
 There is more of the conscious security of 
 power, than in any other of his serious 
 pieces of considerable length ; the whole 
 has an appearance of coming in a full 
 stream from the fountain of the heart — • 
 a stream that soothes the ear, and has no 
 glare on the surface. — Lockhart, John 
 Gibson, 1828, Life of Robert Burns, p. 97. 
 
 In "the Cottar's Saturday Night," the 
 poet has so varied his dialect that there 
 are scarcely two consecutive stanzas writ- 
 ten according to the same model. An 
 hour of winter evening music on the 
 ^olian harp, when all the winds are on 
 the wing, would hardly be more wild, and 
 sweet, and stern, and changeable than the 
 series. Some of the strains are as purely 
 English as the author could reach ; others 
 so racily Scottish as often to require a 
 glossary ; while in a third class the two 
 are so enchantingly combined, that no 
 poetic diction can excel the pathos and 
 sublimity, blended with beauty and home- 
 liness, that equally mark them. — Mont- 
 gomery, James, 1833, Lectures on Gen- 
 eral Literature, Poetry, etc., p. 135. 
 
 There are a few more perfect poems. It 
 is the utterance of a heart whose cords 
 were all tuned to gratitude, "making 
 sweet melody" to the Giver, on a night 
 not less sacred in His eye than His own 
 appointed Sabbath. —Wilson, John, 1844, 
 The Genius and Character of Burns, p. 31. 
 
 There is an artless beauty and solem- 
 nity in the picture of the humble devo- 
 tions of the farmer and his household 
 which shows that the poet himself felt 
 the influence of such scenes, and inclines 
 us the more to look with pity and leniency 
 on the excesses which ruined the man, 
 and which these stanzas show that he 
 himself, in his better moments, must have 
 both lamented and condemned. — Yonge, 
 Charles Duke, 1872, Three Centuries of 
 English Literature, p. 475. 
 
 This is true, but the piece as a whole is 
 formed on English models. It is the 
 most artificial and the most imitative of 
 Burns's works. Not only is the influence 
 of Gray's "Elegy" conspicuous, but also 
 there are echoes of Pope, Thomson, Gold- 
 smith, and even Milton ; while the stanza, 
 which was taken, not from Spenser, whom 
 Burns had not then read, but from Beattie 
 and Shenstone,is so purely English as to lie 
 outside the range of Burns's experience 
 and accomplishment. — Henley, William 
 Ernest, and Henderson, Thomas P., 
 1896, ed.. The Poetry of Robert Burns, 
 vol. I, p. 362, note. 
 
 No nobler tribute to the sturdy virtues 
 of the poor has ever been penned. It is 
 not marred by ranting ; in a pure, simple, 
 homely way, it pictures the sweetness of 
 life in honest poverty. — Watrous, George 
 A. , 1898, ed., Selections from Dry den. Burns, 
 Wordsworth and Browning, p. 131, note. 
 
 TAM O'SHANTER 
 1793 
 
 The humor, the grandeur, and the fancy 
 of that poem will never be equaled. — 
 MiTFORD, Mary Russell, 1813, Letter to 
 Sir William Elford, Nov. 10; Life, ed. 
 UEstrange, vol. i, p. 186. 
 
 It is not so much a poem as a piece of 
 ysparkling rhetoric ; the heart and body of 
 (the story still lies hard and dead. He 
 has not gone back, much less carried us 
 back, into that dark, earnest, wondering 
 age, when the tradition was believed, and 
 when it took its rise ; he does not attempt, 
 by any new modelling of his supernatural 
 ware, to strike anew that deep mysterious 
 chord of human nature, which once re- 
 sponded to such things, and w^hich lives in 
 us too, and will forever live, though silent, 
 or vibrating with far other notes, and to 
 far different issues. Our German readers 
 will understand us when we say that he is 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 245 
 
 not the Tieck but the Musaus of this tale. 
 Externally it is all green and living ; yet 
 look closer, it is no firm growth, but 
 only ivy on a rock. The piece does not 
 properly cohere ; the strange chasm which 
 yawns in our incredulous imagination be- 
 tween the Ayr public-house and gate of 
 Tophet is nowhere bridged over; nay, 
 the idea of such a bridge is laughed at ; 
 and thus the tragedy of the adventure 
 becomes a mere drunken phantasmagoria 
 painted on ale-vapors, and the farce 
 alone has any reality. We do not say 
 that Burns should have made much more 
 of this tradition; we rather think that, 
 for strictly poetical purposes, not much 
 was to be made of it. Neither are we 
 blind to the deep, varied, genial power dis- 
 played in what he has actually accomplished; 
 but we find far more ''Shakespearean" 
 qualities, as these of "Tarn o' Shanter" 
 have been fondly named, in many of his 
 other pieces; nay, we incline to believe 
 that this latter might have been written, 
 all but quite as well, by a man who, in 
 place of genius, had only possessed talent. 
 — Carlyle, Thomas, 1828, Essay on 
 Burns. 
 
 He himself regarded it as his master- 
 piece of all his poems, and posterity has 
 not, I believe, reversed the judgment. — 
 Shairp, John Campbell, 1879, Robert 
 Burns {English Men of Letters), p. 121. 
 
 Ay, the very house in which Tarn and 
 Souter Johnny prolonged their market- 
 night m.eetings, the foaming ale growing 
 better with each successive draught, 
 Souter telling his queerest stories, Tarn 
 and the landlady growing gracious — a 
 house not less famous than the old Boar's 
 Head in Eastcheap, or the Bell at Edmon- 
 ton, named in these latter days after that 
 drouth] est of "drouthy neebors," the in- 
 corrigible Tam, who elbows Rip Van 
 Winkle, Bailie Nichol Jarvie, and Conn in 
 our vagabond affiliations. It is a plain, plas- 
 tered, thatched little tavern, tinted yel- 
 low, in contrast to the surrounding houses, 
 which are white. Over the door is a sign- 
 board with a creditable painting of Tam 
 leaving the house, 
 
 "Weel mounted on his gray mare Meg," 
 and the Souter grasping his hand with 
 maudlin affection before he plunges 
 through the storm toward Alloway. The 
 landlord holds the history of the tavern 
 precious, and on another sign-board he 
 
 specifies its associations, with the addi- 
 tional announcement that "a chair and 
 caup are in the house." The "caup" is 
 the identical one drained by Tam, the chair 
 the one he sat in, and it would be a tee- 
 totaler of less than usual flexibility who 
 could pass without ordering some mild 
 beverage as an excuse for viewing the in- 
 terior. The landlord's name is A. Glass, 
 and he is not only a most devoted admirer 
 of Burns, but also a poet in a very small 
 way himself.— RiDEiNG, William H.,1879, 
 The Land o' Burns, Harpefs Magazine, 
 vol. 59, p. 184. 
 
 "Tam 0' Shanter" is not so marvellous 
 a creation as "The Dance of the Sevin 
 Deidly Synnis," though we may find it 
 easier to appreciate the modern poem, in 
 which the tipsy hilarity of the hero gives 
 a familiar aspect to the devilry of the 
 Avitches, and robs it of the weirdness and 
 Ihorror that should mark the spectacle of 
 a supernatural world. Burns' s humour 
 plays most freely round the incidents of 
 human life, though none can deny the 
 boldness with which it now and again 
 makes a sweep into the realms of super- 
 stition.— Ross, John Merry, 1884, Scot- 
 tish History and Literature, ed. Brown, 
 p. 214. 
 
 Scarcely excelled in powers of imagina- 
 tion by Shakespeare himself is Burns's 
 weird description of the orgies of the 
 witches, and the infernal scenery in which 
 they are exhibited. . . . The only 
 fault found in this poem is that at the 
 conclusion it falls off in interest. This is 
 said to be owing to Burns having stuck 
 to the papular tale of this hero ; for Tam 
 was not a creation of fancy, but a real 
 person. . . . Burns considered "Tam 
 0' Shanter" his masterpiece, and many 
 critics have regarded it in the same light ; 
 yet it does not perhaps embody what is 
 brightest and best in his poetry. His ad- 
 dress to a mouse on turning up her nest 
 with a plough in November is richer in 
 true poetic light and color. Its compan- 
 ion is that to a daisy. In these and in the 
 "Cotter's Saturday Night" it has been 
 lappily remarked that "the poet is seen 
 n his happiest inspiration, his brightest 
 ijunshine, and his tenderest tears." The 
 atter poem is familiar to all, and in true 
 and touching description is almost un- 
 rivalled.— Brooks, Sarah Warner, 1890, 
 English Poetry and Poets, pp. 289,290,291. 
 
246 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 THE JOLLY BEGGARS 
 Perhaps we may venture to say that the 
 most strictly poetical of all his ''poems" 
 is one which does not appear in Currie's 
 edition, but has been often printed before 
 and since under the humble title of "The 
 Jolly Beggars." The subject truly is 
 among the lowest in nature ; but it only 
 the more shows our poet's gift in raising 
 it into the domain of art. To our minds 
 this piece seems thoroughly compacted; 
 melted together, refined; and poured forth 
 in one flood of true liquid harmony. It 
 is light, airy, and soft of movement, yet 
 sharp and precise in its details ; every face 
 is a portrait : that raucle carlin, that wee 
 Apollo, that Son of Mars are Scottish, yet 
 ideal ; the scene is at once a dream, and 
 the very Rag-castle of "Poosie-Nansie." 
 Further, it seems in a considerable degree 
 complete, a real self-supporting whole, 
 which is the highest merit in a poem. — 
 Carlyle, Thomas, 1828, Essay on Burns. 
 
 In the world of the "Jolly Beggars" there 
 is more than hideousness and squalor, 
 there is bestiality; yet the piece is a 
 superb poetic success. It has a breadth, 
 truth, and power which make the famous 
 scene in Auerbach's Cellar, of Goethe's 
 ''Faust," seem artificial and tame beside it, 
 and which are only matched by Shake- 
 speare and Aristophanes. — Arnold, Mat- 
 thew, 1880, English Poets, ed. Ward, In- 
 troduction, vol. I, p. xlv. 
 
 That incomparable opera in which crit- 
 ical genius of the highest order has dis- 
 covered the highest flight of his poetical 
 genius.— Service, John, 1880, English 
 Poets, ed. Ward, vol. ni, p. 521. 
 
 In Burns's "Jolly Beggars," it seems 
 to me that Burns touched nearly the high- 
 est point of his creative genius, though 
 nothing, except the large licence of the 
 roving vagabond's life, is concentrated 
 into it, and rendered with an almost pas- 
 sionate wealth of vigour and sympathy, 
 — HuTTON, Richard Holt, 1882, Profes- 
 sor Shairp's ''Aspects of Poetry,'^ Criticisms 
 on Contemporary Thought and Thinkers, 
 vol. II, p. 163. 
 
 For riotous luxuriance, "The Jolly Beg- 
 gars" overtops all that Burns ever wrote. 
 Probably no poem more graphic exists in 
 literature. It describes what the writer 
 had actually seen, and not otherwise would 
 its extreme vividness seem to be attainable. 
 
 —Walker, Hugh, 1893, Three Centuries 
 of Scottish Literature, vol. ii, p. 162. 
 
 Is an immortal masterpiece of melody 
 and observation. The squalor of the 
 piece is glorified by a style so little rustic 
 that every word and every rhythm is fitted 
 to its purpose. It is the literature of the 
 street, maybe, but the literature of the 
 street made classic for all time. — Whib- 
 ley, Charles, 1898, Burns, Macmillan's 
 Magazine, vol. 77, p. 183. 
 
 HOLY WILLIE'S PRAYER 
 
 "Holy Willie's Prayer" is a satirical 
 crucifixion — slow, lingering inexorable. 
 He hated Hypocrisy, he tore its holy robe, 
 and for the outrage Hypocrisy did not for- 
 give him while he lived, nor has it yet 
 learned to forgive him. — Smith, Alex- 
 ander, 1865, The Complete Works of Rob- 
 ert Burns, Life, p. xxxix. 
 
 The unfortunate man, William Fisher, 
 known as "Holy Willie, " both Patrick and 
 his wife were little inclined to speak of. 
 When they did so, it was only as a man 
 'neither very bad nor very guid, to ootward 
 appearance." Mrs. Patrick said he must 
 have drawn attention to himself, in his ear- 
 lier days, as at least a good professor, "to 
 be made an elder o'. " Seeing that I knew 
 that the satires of Burns were only too 
 well founded, for he was subsequently dis- 
 missed the eldership and died in a ditch 
 after a debauch, they admitted that "he 
 was blaim'd for takin' the kirk bawbees. 
 When standin' at the plate on Sabbath, 
 fowk said, he would boo doon to pat his 
 boots richt, as it were, and slip in a baw- 
 bee or so!" Poor man, his punishment 
 has been greater than Burns, with all his 
 indignation against his character, I am 
 sure, meant it to be ; for the poet had lit- 
 tle anticipation that his fiery words would 
 reach so far and wide when he wrote 
 them, and be so long remembered against 
 their luckless object. Happily, however, 
 in such world-wide pages, the man him- 
 self becomes a myth, a mere ideal repre- 
 sentative of certain thoughts and actions, 
 which alone remain as the theme of the 
 poem.— Jolly, William, 1881, Robert 
 Burns at Mossgiel ; JVith Reminiscences of 
 the Poet by His Herd-Boy, p. 100. 
 
 This amazing achievement in satire, 
 this matchless parody of Calvinistic inter- 
 cession — so nice, so exquisite in detail, 
 so overwhelming in effect. — Henley, 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 247 
 
 William Ernest, and Henderson, Thomas 
 F., 1896, ed., The Poetry of Robert Burns, 
 vol. II, p. 320, note. 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 The prose works of Burns consist almost 
 entirely of his letters. They bear, as well 
 as his poetry, the seal and the impress of 
 his genius ; but they contain much more 
 bad taste, and are written with far more 
 apparent labour. His poetry was almost 
 all written primarily from feeling, and 
 only secondarily from ambition. His let- 
 ters seem to have been nearly all com- 
 posed as exercises, and for display. 
 There are few of them written with sim- 
 plicity or plainness; and though natural 
 enough as to the sentiment, they are gen- 
 erally very strained and elaborate in the 
 expression. A very great proportion of 
 them, too, relate neither to facts nor feel- 
 ings peculiarly connected with the author 
 or his correspondent — but are made up 
 of general declamation, moral reflections, 
 and vague discussions — all evidently com- 
 posed for the sake of effect, and fre- 
 quently introduced with long complaints 
 of having nothing to say, and of the ne- 
 cessity and difficulty of letter-writing. — 
 Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 1809-44, Con- 
 tributions to the Edinburgh Review, vol. u, 
 p. 398. 
 
 Allen (Lord Holland's Allen — the best 
 informed and one of the ablest men I know 
 — a perfect Magliabecchi — a devourer, a 
 Helluo of books, and an observer of men), 
 has lent me a quantity of Burns's unpub- 
 lished and never-to-be published, Letters. 
 They are full of oaths and obscene songs. 
 What an antithetical mind ! — tenderness, 
 roughness — delicacy, coarseness— senti- 
 ment, sensuality — soaring and grovelling, 
 dirt and deity — all mixed up in that one 
 compound of inspired clay ! — Byron, 
 Lord, 1813, Journal, Dec. 13, ed. Moore. 
 
 His prose-letters are sometimes tinc- 
 tured with affectation. They seem writ- 
 ten by a man who has been admired for 
 his wit, and is expected on all occasions 
 to shine. Those in which he expresses 
 his ideas of natural beauty in reference to 
 Alison's "Essay on Taste," and advocates 
 the keeping up the remembrances of old 
 customs and seasons, are the most pow- 
 erfully written. — Hazlitt, William, 
 1818, Lectures on the English Poets, Lec- 
 ture vii. 
 
 Lord Byron's correspondence exhibits 
 some of the finest specimens of epistolary 
 composition in the language; but the 
 monotony of selfish complaint without 
 cause, petulant aspersion of his fellow- 
 creatures, inexcusable accumulation of 
 oaths, and occasional use of slang, which 
 disfigures it, are faults that must offend 
 the most partial reader. Page after 
 page of sneering, of wilful swearing, or 
 of petty scandal, with scarcely the relief 
 of a single tear, or the sunshine of a 
 single smile, is overwhelming at once to 
 taste and patience. In variety of topic 
 there is nothing in him at all like Burns, 
 and in appropriate diversity of style — on 
 this, or on that theme, as it occurs — there 
 is but little approach to him. In Burns 
 we have sometimes an oath, and some- 
 times indecorum ; but sympathy and sin- 
 cerity always, and slang never. — Wad- 
 dell, Hately, 1869, Critical Edition of 
 the Life and Works of Burns, vol. ii. 
 
 The letters are of unequal value, and 
 have been variously estimated. They 
 show indeed that, like almost all poets, he 
 might, if choice and fate had united, have 
 become a very considerable prose-writer, 
 and they have immense autobiographic 
 value. But they are sometimes, and per- 
 haps often, written as much in falsetto as 
 the division of verse just ruled out ; their 
 artificiality does not take very good mod- 
 els ; and their literary attraction is alto- 
 gether second-rate.— Saintsbury,George, 
 1896, A History of Nineteenth Century 
 Literature, p. 14. 
 
 GENERAL 
 Unacquainted with the necessary requi- 
 sites for commencing Poet by rule, he 
 sings the sentiments and manners he felt 
 and saw in himself and his rustic com- 
 peers around him, in his and their native 
 language. Though a Rhymer from his 
 earliest years, at least from the earliest 
 impulses of the softer passions, it v/as 
 not till very lately that the applause, per- 
 haps the partiality, of Friendship, wak- 
 ened his vanity so far as to make him 
 think anything of his was w^orth showing ; 
 and none of the following w^orks were ever 
 composed with a view to the press. To 
 amuse himself with the little creations of 
 his own fancy, amid the toil and fatigues 
 of a laborious life; to transcribe the 
 various feelings, the loves, the griefs, the 
 hopes, the fears, in his own breast; to 
 
248 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 find some kind of counterpoise to the 
 struggles of a world, always an alien scene, 
 a task uncouth to the poetical mind ; these 
 were his motives for courting the Muses, 
 and in these he found Poetry to be its own 
 reward. ... To his Subscribers the 
 Author returns his most sincere thanks. 
 Not the mercenary bow over a counter, 
 but the heart-throbbing gratitude of the 
 Bard, conscious how much he is indebted 
 to Benevolence and Friendship for gratify- 
 ing him, if he deserves it, in that dearest 
 wish of every poetic bosom— to be distin- 
 guished. He begs his readers, particu- 
 larly the Learned and the Polite, who may 
 honour him with a perusal, that they will 
 make every allowance for Education and 
 Circumstances of Life : but if, after a fair, 
 candid, and impartial criticism, he shall 
 stand convicted of Dulness and Nonsense, 
 let him be done by, as he would in that 
 case do by others — let him be condemned 
 without mercy, to contempt and oblivion. 
 — Burns, Robert, 1786, Poems Chiefly in 
 the Scottish Dialect, Preface. 
 
 I hope I shall not be thought to assume 
 too much, if I endeavour to place him in a 
 higher point of view, to call for a verdict 
 of his country on the merit of his works, 
 and to claim for him those honours which 
 their excellence appears to deserve. In 
 mentioning the circumstance of his humble 
 station, I mean not to rest his pretensions 
 solely on that title, or to urge the merits 
 of his poetry, when considered in relation 
 to the lowness of his birth, and the little 
 opportunity of improvement which his edu- 
 cation could alford. These particulars, 
 indeed, might excite our wonder at his pro- 
 ductions; but his poetry, considered ab- 
 stractedly, and without the apologies aris- 
 ing from his situation, seems to me fully 
 entitled to command our feelings, and to 
 obtain our applause. — Mackenzie, Henry, 
 1786, The Lounger, Dec. 9. 
 
 Many instances have I seen of Nature's 
 force and beneficence exerted under 
 numerous and formidable disadvantages; 
 but none equal to that with which you 
 have been kind enough to present me. 
 There is a pathos and delicacy in his seri- 
 ous poems, a vein of wit and humour in 
 those of a more festive turn, which can- 
 not be too much admired, nor too warmly 
 approved ; and I think I shall never open 
 the book without feeling my astonishment 
 renewed and increased. It was my wish 
 
 to have expressed my approbation in verse ; 
 but whether from declining life, or a tem- 
 porary depression of spirits, it is at present 
 out of my power to accomplish that agree- 
 able intention. Mr. Stewart, Professor of 
 Morals in this University, had formerly 
 read me three of the poems, and I had 
 desired him to get my name inserted 
 among the subscribers: but whether this 
 was done, or not, I never could learn. I have 
 little intercourse with Dr. Blair, but will 
 take care to have the poems communicated 
 to him by the intervention of some mutual 
 friend. It has been told me by a gentle- 
 man, to whom I shewed the performances, 
 and who sought a copy with diligence and 
 ardour, that the whole impression is 
 already exhausted. It were, therefore, 
 much to be wished, for the sake of the 
 young man, that a second edition, more 
 numerous than the former, could immedi- 
 ately be printed: as it appears certain 
 that its intrinsic merit, and the exertion 
 of the author's friends, might give it a 
 more universal circulation than any thing 
 of the kind which has been published 
 within my memory. — Blacklock, Thomas, 
 1786, Letter to Rev. G. Lowrie. 
 
 Some of the poems you have added in this 
 last edition are very beautiful, particularly 
 the ' ' Winter Night, " the ' ' Address to Edin- 
 burgh, " ''Green Grow the Rashes," and 
 the two songs immediately following, the 
 latter of which is exquisite. By the way, 
 I imagine you have a peculiar talent for 
 such compositions, which you ought to in- 
 dulge. No kind of poetry demands more 
 delicacy or higher polishing. Horace is 
 more admired on account of his Odes than 
 all his other writings. But nothing now 
 added is equal to your ''Vision" and "Cot- 
 ter's Saturday Night." In these are 
 united fine imagery, natural and pathetic 
 description, with sublimity of language 
 and thought. It is evident that you 
 already possess a great variety of expres- 
 sion and command of the English language ; 
 you ought, therefore, to deal more spar- 
 ingly for the future in the provincial dia- 
 lect ; why should you, by using that, limit 
 the number of your admirers to those who 
 understand the Scottish, when you can ex- 
 tend it to all persons of taste who under- 
 stand the English language? In my opin- 
 ion, you should plan some larger work than 
 any you have as yet attempted. I mean, 
 reflect upon some proper subject, and 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 249 
 
 arrange the plan in your mind, without 
 beginning to execute any part of it till you 
 have studied most of the best English 
 poets, and read a little more of history. 
 — Moore, John, 1787, Letter to Burns, 
 May 23. 
 
 I have been much pleased with the 
 poems of the Scottish ploughman^ of 
 which you have had specimens in the 
 Review. His ' ' Cotter's Saturday Night, ' ' 
 has much of the same kind of merit as the 
 School-mistress ;" and the Daisy, "and 
 the ''Mouse," which I believe you have had 
 in the papers, I think are charming. The 
 endearing diminutives, and the Doric rus- 
 ticity of the dialect, suit such subjects 
 extremely. — Barbauld, Anna L^titia, 
 1787, Letter to Dr. Aikin, Works, vol. ii, 
 p. 151. 
 
 Read Burns' s poems, and have read them 
 twice : and though they be written in a 
 language that is new to me, and many of 
 them on subjects much inferior to the 
 author's ability, 1 think them, on the 
 whole, a very extraordinary production. 
 He is, I believe, the only poet these king- 
 doms have produced in the lower rank of 
 life since Shakspeare, 1 should rather say 
 since Prior, who need not be indebted for 
 any part of his praise as a charitable con- 
 sideration of his origin, and the disadvan- 
 tages under which he has laboured. It 
 will be pity if he should not hereafter 
 divest himself of barbarism, and content 
 himself with writing pure English, in 
 which he appears perfectly qualified to 
 excel. . . . Poor Burns loses much 
 of his deserved praise in this country, 
 through our ignorance of his language. 
 I despair of meeting with any Englishman 
 who will take the pains that I have taken 
 to understand him. His candle is bright, 
 but shut up in a dark lantern. I lent him 
 to a very sensible neighbour of mine, 
 but his uncouth dialect spoiled all, and 
 before he had half read him through, he 
 was quite ram/eez/ec^.— Cowper, William, 
 1787, Letters to Samuel Rose, July 24, and 
 Aug. 27; Life, ed. Hayley, vol. I, pp. 
 138, 139. 
 
 Robert Burns, a natural poet of the 
 first eminence, does not, perhaps appear 
 to his usual advantage in song — non omnia 
 possumus. The political ''fragment," as 
 he calls it, inserted in the second volume 
 of the present collection, has, however, 
 much merit in some of the satirical stanzas. 
 
 and could it have been concluded with 
 the spirit with which it is commenced, 
 would indisputably have been entitled to 
 great praise; but the character of his 
 favourite minister seems to have operated 
 like the touch of a torpedo; and after 
 vainly attempting something like a pane- 
 gyric, he seems under the necessity of 
 relinquishing the task. Possibly the bard 
 will one day see occasion to complete his 
 performance as a uniform satire. — RiT- 
 SON, Joseph, 1794, Historical Essay on 
 Scottish Songs, p. 71. 
 
 Rustick Burns, 
 And all his artless wood-notes Scotland 
 mourns, 
 
 — Mathias, Thomas James, 1797, The 
 Pursuits of Literature, Eighth ed., p. 417. 
 
 Old and young, high and low, grave and 
 gay, learned or ignorant, all were alike 
 delighted, agitated, transported. I was 
 at that time resident in Galloway, contig- 
 uous to Ayrshire : and I can well remem- 
 ber, how that even the plough-boys and 
 maid-servants would have gladly bestowed 
 the wages which they earned and most 
 hardly, and which they wanted to pur- 
 chase necessary clothing, if they might 
 but secure the works of Burns. — Heron, 
 Robert, 1797, A Memoir of the Life of the 
 Late Robert Burns. 
 
 It was not, indeed, until the appearance 
 of the rustic Burns, that Bard of Nature 
 and of Love, that we could boast of a 
 writer of eminent genius, who had paid 
 due attention to this department of Lyric 
 poetry, and had brought forward numer- 
 ous specimens of undoubted excellence. 
 —Drake, Nathan, 1798-1820, Literary 
 Hours, vol. II, No. xliii, p. 374. 
 
 Now I have to satisfy you as to my 
 favourite poem of Burns. Doubtless the 
 *' Daisy" is the most finished and excels 
 in simple elegance; "The De'il himsel" 
 in humour — exquisite, peculiar humour. 
 I confess, if decorous people could be 
 reconciled to blackguardism, John Horn- 
 book is the very Emperor of blackguards. 
 Only think of that despotic power over 
 the fancy, which can unite, what the crea- 
 tive Shakspeare himself never united, 
 the terrible and ludicrous. Yet, where 
 Death is personified meeting the bard, I 
 am sure you would laugh, if you were not 
 afraid. The same power reappears in 
 "Tam O'Shanter," which I allow to possess 
 superior excellence, though not the very 
 
250 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 sort of excellence most to my taste. But 
 if you talk of my very own taste, I find 
 myself quite at home in ''The Epistle to 
 Davy," and "The Cottar's Saturday 
 Night."— Grant, Mrs. Anne, 1802, To 
 Miss Dunbar, April 25 ; Letters from the 
 Mountains, vol. ii, p. 176. 
 I mourned with thousands, but as one 
 More deeply grieved, for He was gone 
 Whose light I hailed when first it shone, 
 
 And showed my youth 
 How Verse may build a princely throne 
 On humble truth. 
 
 —Wordsworth, William, 1803, At the 
 Grave of Burns. 
 
 Much as I admire the exquisite tender- 
 ness and moral delicacy of Cowper's tem- 
 perament, I confess I am still more de- 
 lighted with the boldness and vehemence 
 of the bard of Caledonia. ''His generous 
 affections, his ardent eloquence, his bril- 
 liant and daring imagination" make him 
 my idol. His proper regard to the dignity 
 of his own powers, his stern and indig- 
 nant elevation of manners, and due jeal- 
 ousy and repression of the insolence of 
 rank and wealth, are worthy of inexpres- 
 sible applause. . . . The genius of 
 Burns was more sublime than that of Cow- 
 per. Both excelled in the familiar : but 
 yet the latter was by nature as well as 
 education more gentle, more easy, and 
 delicate : he had also more of tenuity, 
 while Burns was more concise, more bold, 
 and energetic. They both also abounded 
 in humour, which possessed the same 
 characteristics in each ; one mild, serene, 
 and smiling ; the other daring and power- 
 ful, full of fire and imagery. The poems 
 of one fill the heart and the fancy with 
 the soft pleasures of domestic privacy, 
 with the calm and innocent occupations of 
 rural solitude, the pensive musings of the 
 moralist, and the chastised indignation of 
 pure and simple virtue : the poems of the 
 other breathe by turns Grief, Love, Joy, 
 Melancholy, Despair and Terror; plunge 
 us in the vortex of passion, and hurry us 
 away on the wings of unrestrained and 
 undirected fancy. — Brydges, Sir Samuel 
 Egerton, 1806, Censura Liter aria, vol. 
 II, pp. 43, 59. 
 
 Yes, Burns, "thou dear departed shade!" 
 When rolling centuries have fled, 
 Thy name shall still survive the wreck of 
 time. 
 
 Shall rouse the genius of thy native clime ; 
 Bards yet unborn, and patriots shall come. 
 
 And catch fresh ardour at thy hallow'd 
 tomb ! 
 
 There's not a cairn-built cottage on our hills, 
 Nor rural hamlet on our fertile plains, 
 But echoes to the magic of thy strains, 
 While every heart with highest transport 
 thrills. 
 
 Our country's melodies shall perish never, 
 For, Burns, thy songs shall live for ever. 
 — Tannahill, Robert, 1807, Ode for the 
 Celebration of the Birthday of Burns, Works, 
 ed. Ramsay, p. 157. 
 
 An earnest wish to possess a scrap of 
 the hand-writing of Burns, originally led 
 to the discovery of most of the papers 
 that compose this volume. In the manner 
 of laying them before the public I hon- 
 estly declare that I have done my best ; 
 and I trust I may fairly presume to hope 
 that the man who has contributed to ex- 
 tend the bounds of literature by adding 
 another genuine volume to the writings 
 of Robert Burns, has some claim on the 
 gratitude of his countrymen. On this 
 occasion, I certainly feel something of 
 that sublime and heart-swelling gratifica- 
 tion, which he experiences, who cast 
 another stone on the Cairn of a great 
 and lamented chief. — Cromek, R. H., 
 1808, ed., Reliques of Robert Burns, Pref- 
 ace, p. viii. 
 
 The illustrious soul that has left 
 amongst us the name of Burns, has often 
 been lowered down to a comparison with 
 me ; but the comparison exists more in 
 circumstances than in essentials. That 
 man stood up with the stamp of superior 
 intellect on his brow; a visible great- 
 ness: and great and patriotic subjects 
 would only have called into action the 
 powers of his mind, which lay inactive 
 while he played calmly and exquisitely 
 the pastoral pipe. The letters to which 
 I have alluded in my preface to the 
 Rural Tales," were friendly, warnings, 
 pointed with immediate reference to the 
 fate of that extraordinary man. ''Re- 
 member Burns," has been the watchword 
 of my friends. I do remember Burns; 
 but I am not Burns ! I have neither his 
 fire to fan, or to quench ; nor his passions 
 to control ! Where then is my merit, if 1 
 make a peaceful voyage on a smooth sea, 
 and with no mutiny on board. — Bloom- 
 field, Robert, 1808, Reliques of Robert 
 Burns, ed. Cromek. 
 
 Burns is certainly by far the greatest 
 of our poetical prodigies — from Stephen 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 251 
 
 Duck down to Thomas Dermody. They 
 are forgotten already; or only remem- 
 bered for derision. But the name of 
 Burns, if we are not mistaken, has not 
 yet "gathered all its fame;" and will en- 
 dure long after those circumstances are 
 forgotten which contributed to its first 
 notoriety. So much indeed are we im- 
 pressed with a sense of his merits, that 
 we cannot help thinking it a derrogation 
 from them to consider him as a prodigy 
 at all ; and are convinced that he will 
 never be rightly estimated as a poet, till 
 that vulgar wonder be entirely repressed 
 which was raised on his having been a 
 ploughman. It is true, no doubt, that he 
 was born in an humble station ; and that 
 much of his early life was devoted to 
 severe labour, and to the society of his 
 fellow-labourers. But he was not himself 
 either uneducated or illiterate; and was 
 placed in a situation more favourable, 
 perhaps, to the development of great poet- 
 ical talents, than any other which could 
 have been assigned him. — Jeffrey, Fran- 
 cis Lord, 1809-44, Contributions to the 
 Edinburgh RevieWy vol. ii, p. 389. 
 
 The sweetest, the subliraest, the most 
 tricksy poet who has blest this nether 
 world since the days of Shakespeare ! — 
 MiTFORD, xVIary Russell, 1813, Letter to 
 Sir William E. Elford, Nov. 10; Life, ed. 
 UEstrange, vol. I, p. 186. 
 
 Whether engaged, or roaming at liberty, 
 Wither never seems to have abated a jot 
 of that free spirit, which sets its mark 
 upon his writings, as much as a predom- 
 inant feature of independence impresses 
 every page of our late glorious Burns; 
 but the elder poet wraps his proof-armour 
 closer about him, the other wears his too 
 much outwards ; he is thinking too much 
 of annoying the foe, to be quite easy 
 within. — Lamb, Charles, 1814, George 
 Wither's Poetical Works, Quarterly Re- 
 view, Oct. 
 
 It is a remark too trite perhaps to re- 
 quire repetition, that the writings of Rob- 
 ert Burns are, in Scotland, the most pop- 
 ular of any works of fancy, ancient or 
 modern, — that there is scarcely a home in 
 the kingdom which does not contain a 
 copy of his poems — and that there are few 
 individuals elevated above the clods of 
 valley, who are not familiar with the pro- 
 ductions of his muse. The tendency of 
 works so widely circulated, and so highly 
 
 esteemed, is evidently a matter of no triv- 
 ial moment. — Peterkin, Alexander, 
 1815, ed.. The Life and Works of Robert 
 Burns, vol. i, p. xiii. 
 
 Neither the subjects of his poems, nor 
 his manner of handling them, allow us 
 long to forget their author. On the basis 
 of his human character he has reared a 
 poetic one, which with more or less dis- 
 tinctness presents itself to view in almost 
 every part of his earlier, and in my esti- 
 mation, his most valuable verses. This 
 poetic fabric, dug out of the quarry of 
 genuine humanity, is airy and spiritual: 
 — and though the materials, in some parts, 
 are coarse, and the disposition is often 
 fantastic and irregular, yet the whole is 
 agreeable and strikingly attractive. . . . 
 It is probable that he would have proved 
 a still greater poet if, by strength of rea- 
 son, he could have controlled the pro- 
 pensities which his sensibility engendered ; 
 but he would have been a poet of a differ- 
 ent class; and certain it is, had that 
 desirable restraint been early established, 
 many peculiar beauties which enrich his 
 verses could never have existed, and many 
 accessary influences, which contribute 
 greatly to their effect, would have been 
 wanting.— Wordsworth, William, 1816, 
 A Letter to a Friend of Robert Burns. 
 
 Burns has given an elixir of life to 
 his native dialect. The Scottish "Tam 
 O'Shanter" will be read as long as any 
 English production of the same century. 
 The impression of his genius is deep and 
 universal ; and, viewing him merely as a 
 poet, there is scarcely any other regret 
 connected with his name, than that his 
 productions, with all their merit, fall 
 short of the talents which he possessed. 
 . . . He meets us, in his composi- 
 tions, undisguisedly as a peasant. At the 
 same time, his observations go extensively 
 into life, like those of a man who felt the 
 proper dignity of human nature in the 
 character of a peasant. The writer of 
 some of the severest strictures that ever 
 have been passed upon his poetry conceives 
 that his beauties are considerably defaced 
 by a portion of false taste and vulgar 
 sentiment, which adhere to him from his 
 low education. That Burns's education, 
 or rather the want of it, excluded him 
 from much knowledge, which might have 
 fostered his inventive ingenuity, seems to 
 be clear ; but his circumstances cannot be 
 
252 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 admitted to have communicated vulgarity 
 to the tone of his sentiments. They have 
 not the sordid taste of low condition. It 
 is objected to him, that he boasts too 
 much of his own independence; but, in 
 reality, this boast is neither frequent nor 
 obtrusive ; and it is in itself the expres- 
 sion of a manly and laudable feeling. So 
 far from calling up disagreeable recollec- 
 tions of rusticity, his sentiments triumph, 
 by their natural energy, over those false 
 and fastidious distinctions which the 
 mind is but too apt to form in allotting 
 its sympathies to the sensibilities of the 
 rich and poor. He carries us into the 
 humble scenes of life, not to make us dole 
 out our tribute of charitable compassion 
 to paupers and cottagers, but to make us 
 feel with them on equals terms, to make 
 us enter into their passions and interests, 
 and share our hearts with them as with 
 brothers and sisters of the human species. 
 — Campbell, Thomas, 1819, Specimens of 
 the British Poets. 
 
 What bird, in beauty, flight, or song, 
 
 Can with the Bard compare. 
 Who sang as sweet, and soar'd as strong, 
 
 As ever child of air? 
 His plume, his note, his form, could Bums 
 
 For whim or pleasure change ; 
 He was not one, but all by turns, 
 
 With transmigration strange. 
 
 Peace to the dead — In Scotia's choir 
 
 Of Minstrels great and small. 
 He sprang from his spontaneous fire, 
 
 The Phoenix of them all. 
 
 — Montgomery, James, 1820, Robert 
 Burns. 
 
 There have been loftier themes than his. 
 
 And longer scrolls, and louder lyres. 
 And lays lit up with Poesy's 
 
 Purer and holier fires : 
 Yet read the names that know not death ; 
 
 Few nobler ones than Burns are there ; 
 And few have won a greener wreath 
 
 Than that which binds his hair. 
 His is that language of the heart. 
 
 In which the answering heart would speak, 
 Thought, word, that bids the w^arm tear start, 
 
 Or the smile light the cheek ; 
 And his that music, to whose tone 
 
 Tlie common pulse of man keeps time, 
 In cot or castle's mirth or moan, 
 
 In cold or sunny clime. 
 And who hath heard his song, nor knelt 
 
 Before its spell with willing knee. 
 And listened, and believed, and felt 
 
 The Poet's mastery 
 O'er the mind's sea, in calm and storm, 
 
 O'er the heart's sunshine and its showers > 
 O'er Passion's moments, bright and warm, 
 O'er Reason's dark cold hours. 
 
 Praise to the bard ! his words are driven, 
 
 Like flower-seeds by the far winds sown, 
 Where'er, beneath the sky of heaven, 
 
 The birds of fame have flown. 
 — Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 1822, Burns. 
 
 *'Mr. John Home, the celebrated au- 
 thor of Douglas," says an evening paper 
 of 6th Nov. 1789, ''was lately asked 
 his opinion of the poems of Robert Burns. 
 His answer was, 'The encouragement that 
 fellow has met with is a perfect disgrace 
 to the nation. ' This anecdote is genuine, 
 and the majority is satisfied the remark 
 is just. His reputation is vastly faded !" 
 — Collet, Stephen, 1823, Relics of Lit- 
 erature, p. 260. 
 
 The great Master of lyrical composi- 
 tion, in its purest and most intelligible 
 sense. His ballads, on the simplest, 
 sweetest, and most powerful subjects, are 
 beyond all coifipetition ; and the strains of 
 love, friendship, and patriotism, by turn 
 take possession of the heart. — Dibdin, 
 Thomas Frognall, 1824, The Library 
 Companion, p. 743, note. 
 His native strains each bard may try. 
 
 But who has got his fire? 
 Why. none— for Nature saw him die, 
 
 Then took away his lyre. 
 And for that lyre the learned youth 
 
 May search the world in vain ; 
 She vowed she ne'er would lend it more 
 
 To sound on earth again ; 
 But called on Fame to hang it by — 
 
 She took it with a tear. 
 Broke all the strings to bind the wreath 
 That Burns shall ever wear. 
 — Nicholson, John, 1826, The Birthday 
 of Burns. 
 
 Lyrical poetry admits of less variety 
 than any other species : and Burns, from 
 this circumstance, as well as from the 
 flexibility of his talents, may be considered 
 as the representative of his whole nation. 
 Indeed, his universal genius seems to have 
 concentrated within itself the rays which 
 were scattered among his predecessors: 
 the simple tenderness of Crawford, the 
 fidelity of Ramsay, and careless humour 
 of Ferguson. The Doric dialect of his 
 country was an instrument peculiarly fit- 
 ted for the expression of his manly and 
 unsophisticated sentiments. But no one 
 is more indebted to the national music 
 than Burns: embalmed in the sacred 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 253 
 
 melody, his songs are familiar to us from 
 childhood, and, as we read them, the sil- 
 ver sounds with which they have been 
 united seem to linger in our memory, 
 heightening and prolonging the emotions 
 which the sentiments have excited.— 
 Prescott, William Hickling, 1826, ScoU 
 tish Song, Biographical and Critical Mis- 
 cellanies. 
 
 If, in spite of Burns, and all his succes- 
 sors, the boundary lines of society are 
 observed with increasing strictness among 
 us — if the various orders of men still, 
 day by day, feel the chord of sympathy 
 relaxing, let us lament over symptoms of 
 a disease in the body politic, which, if it 
 goes on, must find sooner or later a fatal 
 ending : but let us not undervalue the an- 
 tidote which has all along been checking 
 this strong poison. Who can doubt, that 
 at this moment thousands of "the first- 
 born of Egypt" look upon the smoke of a 
 cottager's chimney with feelings which 
 would never have been developed within 
 their being, had there been no Burns? — 
 LocKHART, John Gibson, 1828, Life of 
 Robert Burns, p. 434. 
 
 A certain rugged sterling worth per- 
 vades whatever Burns has written : a vir- 
 tue, as of green fields and mountain 
 breezes, dwells in his poetry ; it is redo- 
 lent of natural life, and hardy natural 
 men. There is a decisive strength in 
 him, and yet a sweet native gracefulness : 
 he is tender, and he is vehement, yet 
 without constraint or too visible effort; 
 he melts the heart, or inflames it, with a 
 power which seems habitual and familiar 
 to him. We see in him the gentleness, 
 the trembling pity of a woman, with the 
 deep earnestness, the force, and passion- 
 ate ardour of a hero. Tears lie in him, 
 and consuming fire, as lightning lurks in 
 the drops of a summer cloud. He has a 
 resonance in his bosom for every note of 
 human feeling : the high and the low, the 
 sad and the ludicrous, the joyful, are wel- 
 come in their turns to his "lightly-moved 
 and all-conceiving spirit." ... No 
 poet of any age or nation is more graphic 
 than Burns: the characteristic features 
 disclose themselves to him at a glance ; 
 three lines from his hand, and we have 
 a likeness. And in that rough dialect, 
 in that rude, often awkward meter, so 
 clear and definite a likeness ! It seems a 
 draughtsman working with a burnt stick ; 
 
 and yet the burin of a Retzsch is not 
 more expressive or exact. ... No 
 one, at all events, is ignorant that in the 
 poetry of Burns keenness of insight keeps 
 pace with keenness of feeling; that his 
 light is not more pervading than his 
 warmth. He is a man of the most impas- 
 sioned temper; with passions not strong 
 only, but noble, and of the sort in which 
 great virtues and great poems take their 
 rise. It is reverence, it is love toward 
 all Nature that inspires him, that opens 
 his eyes to its beauty, and makes heart 
 and voice eloquent in its praise. . . . 
 Burns, indeed, lives in sympathy ; his soul 
 rushes forth into all realms of being; 
 nothing that has existence can be indiffer- 
 ent to him. The very Devil he cannot 
 hate with right orthodoxy! — Carlyle, 
 Thomas, 1828, Essay on Burns. 
 
 For son. — What an admirable Spanish 
 scholar must Mr. Wordsworth be ! How 
 completely has he transfused into his own 
 compositions all the spirit of those 
 verses! Nevertheless, it is much to be 
 regretted that, in resolving on simplicity, 
 he did not place himself under the tuition 
 of Burns ; which quality Burns could have 
 taught him in perfection ; but others he 
 never could have imparted to sueh an 
 auditor. He would have sung in vain to 
 him 
 
 "Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled." 
 A song more animating than ever Tyr- 
 tseus sang to the fife before the Spar- 
 tans. But simplicity in Burns is never 
 stale and unprofitable. In Burns there is 
 no waste of words out of an ill-shouldered 
 sack; no troublesome running backward 
 and forward of little, idle, ragged ideas ; 
 no ostentation of sentiment in the surtout 
 of selfishness. — Landor, Walter Savage, 
 1828, Southey and PorsoUy Imaginary 
 Conversations, Third Series. 
 
 Burns, whose lofty soul spread its own 
 pathos and dignity over the "short and 
 simple annals of the poor." — Alison, Sir 
 Archibald, 1833-42, History of Europe 
 During The French Revolution, vol. xiy,p.S. 
 
 When we consider the genius of Burns, 
 we see it manifestly moulded and coloured 
 by his agricultural life. It was thus that 
 nothing seemed worthy to engross his 
 attention but the feelings and the pas- 
 sions of the heart of man.— Hogg, James, 
 1838-40, Memoir of Burns, ch. ii. 
 
 It is not easy to conceive any two men 
 
254 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 more unlike each other, than Cowper and 
 Burns were; and yet, in their genius, 
 there is much similarity. Burns, perhaps, 
 was twice as much a man as Cowper, and 
 the tenth part of the tithe as much a 
 poet as Shakspeare or Scott: he was 
 a giant, nevertheless. His Muse was 
 manliness: he was honest and fearless. 
 The Muse of Cowper was conscious; he 
 was honest but not fearless; he trem- 
 bled, and a shadow overthrew him but 
 it was a shadow darker than the shadow 
 of death. He would have been a far 
 greater poet than he was, if disease had 
 not made him a coward. Not that he 
 was insincere : oh no ! and yet he dared 
 not whisper to his poor heart that God is 
 merciful. Nor was his despair unpoetical ; 
 but the hope of Burns is more poetical 
 than Cowper's despair; and Burns had 
 this further advantage, that he neither 
 despaired of a man as he is, nor of his ulti- 
 mate destiny. How much more respecta- 
 ble human nature appears in our eyes after 
 reading Burns, than after reading Byron ! 
 — Elliott, Ebenezer, 1842, Cowper and 
 Burns, Edinburgh Magazine, vol, 9, p. 357. 
 
 Read Burns : no one ever compressed so 
 much meaning into so few words. Their 
 beautiful rhythm seems their least beauty. 
 — Eastlake, Lady, 1843, Journal, May 
 19 ; Memoirs, ed. Smith, vol. i, p. 68. 
 
 The divine qualities of Burns would 
 have been lost had he been more lettered. 
 . . . What plant is more frail or deli- 
 cate than genius, and what a combination 
 of circumstances is necessary for its 
 growth? It is not enough this time to 
 have a passionate heart and an ardent 
 imagination. It was necessary that adver- 
 sity should flourish and hatch the seed, 
 that ignorance should screen the flower 
 of it. And can we help being astonished 
 that this fruit divine should be so rare, 
 and that, like the marvellous tree in East- 
 ern stories, genius should only flourish 
 once in a hundred years! . . . . 
 Burns is of that family of writers whose 
 power reaches the heart : Pectus est quod 
 facit disertos. With him there is no literary 
 preoccupation, none of the beauties of the 
 room ; he lives in the pure air amid nature. 
 He is not one of those pastoral muses who 
 only visits the country on fine days to re- 
 coup themselves after all their luxuriant 
 winter dissipations; courtly muses who 
 only sing of nature in her pleasant garb, 
 
 whose forests like those of Virgil, are 
 dignified as a consul ; who transfer their 
 armours from the city to bring them back 
 to the shams of a gravelled walk and an 
 artificial river. The muse of Burns is en- 
 tirely rustic ; she dwells in a cottage ; rises 
 with the sun ; harnesses herself with the 
 cattle ; soaks the furrows with her sweat ; 
 lives on oatmeal ; willingly frequenting the 
 village hostel ; speaking more of poppies 
 than of lillies ; of pools than of lakes ; of 
 wild ducks than of swans ; and only taking 
 her loves in the village — perhaps it is for 
 this reason that she is so constant. With 
 such a guide we are far away from the 
 boudoirs of the warm greenhouses, as we 
 inspire the noble air, as we are animated, 
 interested, impassioned in speaking to the 
 heart, as we are conscious of the intimate 
 harmony with those we love, and in whom 
 we live. — Wailly, Leon de, 1843, Poesies 
 Completes de Robert Burns, traduites de 
 VEcossais. 
 
 Burns is by far the greatest poet that 
 ever sprung from the bosom of the people, 
 and lived and died in an humble condition. 
 Indeed, no country in the world but Scot- 
 land could have produced such a man ; and 
 he will be for ever regarded as the glorious 
 representative of the genius of his coun- 
 try. He was born a poet, if ever man was, 
 and to his native genius alone is owing the 
 perpetuity of his fame. For he manifestly 
 had never very deeply studied poetry as 
 an art, nor reasoned much about its prin- 
 ciples, nor looked abroad with the wide ken 
 of intellect for objects and subjects on 
 which to pout out his inspiration. . . . 
 The strings of his lyre sometimes yield 
 their finest music to the sighs of remorse 
 or repentance. Whatever, therefore, be 
 the faults or defects of the poetry of 
 Burns — and no doubt it has many — it has, 
 beyond all that was ever written, this 
 greatest of all merits, intense, life-pervad- 
 ing, and life-breathing truth. ... No 
 poet ever lived more constantly and more 
 intimately in the hearts of a people. . . . 
 Of all men that ever lived. Burns was the 
 least of a sentimentalist ; he was your true 
 Man of P^eeling. He did not preach to 
 Christian people the duty of humanity to 
 animals; he spoke of them in winning 
 words warm from a manliest breast, as his 
 fellow-creatures, and made us feel what 
 we owe. — Wilson, John, 1844, TAe Genius 
 and Character of Burns, pp. 1, 3, 4, 118. 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 255 
 
 And Bums, with pungent passionings 
 Set in his eyes : deep lyric springs 
 Are of the fire-mount's issuings. 
 
 — Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1844, 
 A Vision of Poets. 
 On, exulting in his magic, 
 
 Swept the gifted peasant on — 
 Though his feet were on the greensward, 
 
 Light from Heaven around him shone ; 
 At his conjuration demons 
 
 Issued from their darkness drear ; 
 Hovering round on silver pinions, 
 Angels stoop'd his songs to hear; 
 Bow'd the Passions to his bidding. 
 
 Terror gaunt, and Pity calm ; 
 Like the organ pour'd his thunder. 
 
 Like the lute his fairy psalm. 
 Lo ! when clover-swathes lay round him, 
 
 Or his feet the furrow press'd. 
 He could mourn the sever'd daisy, 
 
 Or the mouse's ruined nest; 
 Woven of gloom and glory, visions 
 
 Haunting throng'd his twilight hour; 
 Birds enthrall' d him with sweet music, 
 
 Tefnpests with their tones of power ; 
 Eagle- wing' d, his mounting spirit 
 Custom's rusty fetters spurn'd; 
 Tasso-like, for Jean he melted, 
 Wallace -like, for Scotland burn'd! 
 — MoiR, David Macbeth, 1844, Stanzas 
 for the Burns Festival. 
 
 In these poems and letters of Burns, we 
 apprehend, is to be found a truer history 
 than any anecdote can supply, of the things 
 which happened to himself, and moreover 
 of the most notable things which went on 
 in Scotland between 1759 and 1796. . . . 
 Consider the terrible contradiction be- 
 tween faith and practice which must have 
 met the eyes of the man, before he could 
 write with the same pen — and one as 
 honestly as the other — ''The Cottar's 
 Saturday Night," and ''Holy Willie's 
 Prayer." . . . The field in which Burns's 
 influence has been, as was to be expected, 
 most important and most widely felt, is in 
 the poems of working men. He first 
 proved that it was possible to become a 
 poet and a cultivated man, without desert- 
 ing his class, either in station or in sym- 
 pathies; nay, that the healthiest and 
 noblest elements of a lowly born poet's 
 mind might be, perhaps certainly must be, 
 the very feelings and thoughts 'which he 
 brought up with him from below, not 
 those which he received from above, in the 
 course of his artificial culture. From the 
 example of Burns, therefore, many a work- 
 ing man, who would otherwise have "died 
 and given no sign," has taken courage, 
 
 and spoken out the thought within him, in 
 verse or prose, not always wisely and well, 
 but in all cases, as it seems to us, in the 
 belief that he had a sort of divine right to 
 speak and be heard, since Burns had broken 
 down the artificial ice-wall of centuries, 
 and asserted, by act as well as song, that 
 "a man's a man for a' that." — Kings- 
 ley, Charles, 1848? Burns and his 
 School. 
 
 Burns wrote in this class of poetry at 
 no such length as Ramsay; but he was 
 pastoral poetry itself, in the shape of an 
 actual, glorious peasant, vigorous as if 
 Homer had written him, and tender as 
 generous strength, or as memories of the 
 grave. Ramsay and he have helped Scot- 
 land for ever to take pride in its heather, 
 and its braes, and its bonny rivers, and be 
 ashamed of no beauty or honest truth, in 
 high estate or in low; — an incalculable 
 blessing. Ramsay, to be sure, with all his 
 genius, and though he wrote an entire and 
 excellent dramatic pastoral, in five legiti- 
 mate acts, is but a small part of Burns ; — 
 is but a field in a corner compared with 
 the whole Scots pastoral region. He has 
 none of Burns's pathos ; none of his grand- 
 eur ; none of his burning energy ; none of 
 his craving after universal good. How 
 universal is Burns! What mirth in his 
 cups ! What softness in his tears ! What 
 sympathy in his very satire ! What man- 
 hood in everything! If Theocritus, the 
 inventor of a loving and affecting Poly- 
 phemus, could have forseen the verses on 
 the ' ' Mouse' ' and the ' ' Daisy" turned with 
 plough, the "Tarn o' Shanter," "0 Willie 
 brew'd a peck o' maut," "Ye banks and 
 braes o' bonnie Doon," &c., (not to men- 
 tion a hundred others, which have less to 
 do with our subject), tears of admiration 
 would have rushed into his eyes. — Hunt, 
 Leigh, 1848, A Jar of Honey from Mount 
 Hybla, ch. viii. 
 
 Burns' Songs are better than Buhver's 
 Epics. — Bronte, Charlotte, 1849, Letter 
 to W. S. Williams, April 2; Charlotte 
 Bronte and Her Circle^ ed. Shorter^ p. 392. 
 
 I have passed the morning in writing to 
 James Stephen, and reading about fifty of 
 Burns's songs, to the merit of which I re- 
 main insensible. A happy verse there 
 may be here and there, and even a few 
 good songs ; but I have read nothing to- 
 day which seems worthy to live for twenty 
 years. I have often in the course of my 
 
256 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 life taken up Burns to see if I would change 
 my mind about him, but my mind won't be 
 changed. He was a man of highly poetic 
 temperament, and some other attributes of 
 genius, but for one reason or another 99 
 per cent, of what he wrote was worthless, 
 and I think nothing that he wrote was of 
 such excellence as to found a poet's fame. 
 Perhaps if he had written nothing but his 
 best pieces I should think more highly of 
 him, and with less liability to error ; but 
 no man's best lies buried under more of 
 worse, worser, and worsest. — Taylor, 
 Henry, 1850, Letter to his wife, May 3 ; 
 Correspondence, ed. Dowden, p. 187. 
 He rose and sang, and Scotland heard; 
 
 The round world echoed with his song, 
 And hearts in every land were stirred 
 
 With love, and joy, and scorn of wrong. 
 Some their cold lips disdainful curled, 
 
 Yet the sweet lays would many learn ; 
 But he went singing through the world, 
 
 In most melodious unconcern. 
 
 — Parsons, Thomas William, 1852, The 
 Birthplace of Robert Burns, Poems, p. 81. 
 
 We must listen, too, -while in homely 
 Scots vernacular we are told by an Ayrshire 
 ploughman authentic tidings of living in- 
 stincts, of spontaneous belief, which not 
 all the philosophy in the brain of the intel- 
 lectual can banish from the breast of the 
 human being. — Clough, Arthur Hugh, 
 1852, Development of English Literature, 
 Prose Remains, p. 350. 
 
 There was one writer of the last century, 
 one who wrote satire but who has done 
 higher things, — who has left a name writ- 
 ten upon the earth's surface in flowers; 
 one, in all ways, of the greatest men that 
 the literature of Great Britain boasts, — I 
 mean Robert Burns. Burns wrote satire, 
 as the greatest men do, when that was the 
 natural attitude for him. . . . Burns 
 wrote satirical verses, ballads, squibs, and 
 epigrams, as he wrote everything else, — ■ 
 from his heart. He loved, and hated, and 
 prayed, and drank, in obedience to the in- 
 stincts of a most vivid and genuine nature, 
 and more absolutely than any writer 
 poured out himself. He is as real as a 
 summer afternoon: and his very faults 
 were as natural as poppies among the corn ; 
 and because they glare and are staring in 
 color, you must not forget how few and 
 how light they are, compared in bulk and 
 weight with the masses of most beautiful 
 and nutritious grain in the crop. . . . His 
 satire is a piece of himself ; and whether he 
 
 produced nettles or roses, they were both 
 fresh. ... 1 must leave "Holy Willie's 
 Prayer" to anybody's private perusal, 
 who wishes to see irony as exquisite as 
 Swift's, — bitter and brilliant ridicule ; and 
 the "Address to the unco Guid" also, full 
 of humor and of heart. I think the best 
 satire he has written, without doubt, to be 
 the "Holy Fair," which has so much comic 
 painting, besides its cutting wit. — Han- 
 nay, James, 1854, Satire and Satirists, 
 pp. 198, 200, 202. 
 
 Through all his tuneful art, how strong 
 
 The human feeling gushes ! 
 The very moonlight of his song 
 
 Is warm with smiles and blushes ! 
 Give lettered pomp to teeth of Time, 
 
 So "Bonnie Doon" but tarry; 
 Blot out the Epic's stately rhyme, 
 
 But spare his " Highland Mary!" 
 
 — Whittier, John Greenleaf, 1856, 
 Burns, Poetical Works. 
 
 If scant his service at the kirk, » 
 
 He paters heard and aves 
 From choirs that lurk in hedge and birk, 
 
 From blackbird and from mavis ; 
 The cowering mouse, poor unroofed thing, 
 
 In him found Mercy's angel ; 
 The daisy's ring brought every spring 
 
 To him Love's fresh evangel! 
 
 — Lowell, James Russell, 1859, At the 
 Burns Centennial, Jan. 
 
 Not Latimer, not Luther struck more 
 telling blows against false theology than 
 did this brave singer. The Confession of 
 Augsburg, the Declaration of Independ- 
 ence, the French Rights of Man, and the 
 Marseillaise, are not more weighty docu- 
 ments in the history of freedom than the 
 songs of Burns. His satire has lost none 
 of its edge. His musical arrows yet sing 
 through the air. He is so substantially a 
 reformer that I find his grand plain sense in 
 close chain with the greatest masters — Ra- 
 belais, Shakespeare in comedy, Cervantes, 
 Butler and Burns. . . . Yet how true a poet 
 is he ! and the poet, too, of poor men, of 
 gray hodden and the guernsey coat, and the 
 blouse. He has given voice to all the ex- 
 periences of common life ; he has endeared 
 the farm-house and cottage, patches and 
 poverty, beans and barley ; aie, the poor 
 man's wine; hardship; the fear of debt; 
 the dear society of weans and wife, of 
 brothers and sisters, proud of each other, 
 knowing so few, and finding amends for 
 want and obscurity in books and thoughts. 
 ... As he was thus the poet of the poor, 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 257 
 
 anxious, cheerful, working humanity, so 
 had he the lanojuage of low life. He grew 
 up in a rural district, speaking a patois 
 unintelligible to all but natives, and he 
 has made the Lowland Scotch a Doric 
 dialect of fame. It is the only example 
 ia history of a language made classic by 
 the genius of a single man. — Emerson, 
 Ralph Waldo, 1859, Address at the 
 Burns Centenary, Boston, Jan. 25. 
 
 We love him, not for sweetest song, 
 
 Though never tone so tender ; 
 We love him, even in his wrong, — 
 
 His wasteful self -surrender. 
 We praise him, not for gifts divine, — 
 
 His Muse was born of woman, — 
 His manhood breathes in every line, — 
 
 Was ever heart more human? 
 We love him, praise him, just for this: 
 
 In every form and feature, 
 Through wealth and want, through woe and 
 bliss, 
 
 He saw his fellow -creature ! . . . 
 The waning suns, the wasting globe, 
 
 Shall spare the minstrel's story, — 
 The centuries weave his purple robe, 
 
 The mountain-mist of glory! 
 
 — Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 1859, For 
 the Burns Centennial Celebration, Jan. 25. 
 
 All hail! immortal Robin, hail! 
 
 Thy natal day again returns. 
 And here the gather'd clans are met 
 
 To crown their Poet — Burns ! 
 A crowded century has pass'd, 
 
 Auld Scotia, a repentant dame, 
 Kneels at her ploughboy's feet and gives 
 
 A hundred years of fame. 
 How dear to her his memory now — 
 
 See to his grave how pilgrims wend ; 
 Dear are liis haunts, the fields he ploughed 
 
 And every line he penn'd. 
 Rare bards have borne across the deep 
 
 The wild rose pluck'd from Alio way's aisle, 
 Sprays from the birks of EUisland 
 
 And braes o' Ballochmyle. 
 
 — Latto, Thomas C, 1859, The Poefs 
 Jubilee, Jan. 25. 
 
 . . . He learned the touch that speeds 
 
 Right to the natural heart of things ; 
 Struck rootage down to where Life feeds 
 
 At the eternal Springs : . . . 
 He caught them, Witch and Warlock, ere 
 
 They vanished ; all the revelry 
 Of wizard wonder, we must wear 
 
 The mask of Sleep to see ! 
 Droll Humours came for him to paint 
 
 Their pictures ; straight his merry eye 
 Had taken them, so queer, so quaint. 
 
 We laugh until we cry. . . . 
 He knew the Sorrows of poor folk, 
 
 He felt for all their patient pain ; 
 
 17 C 
 
 And from his clouded soul he shook 
 
 Lark -like the music-rain . . . 
 Auld Scotland's Music waited long, 
 
 And wandered wailing through the land, 
 Divinely yearning in her wrong. 
 
 And sorrowfully grand ; 
 And many touched responsive chords, 
 
 But could not tell what She would say; 
 Till Robin wed her with his V/^ords, 
 
 And they were One for aye . . . 
 . . . now we recognize in him, 
 
 One of the high and shining race ; 
 All gone the mortal mists that dim 
 
 The fair immortal face. 
 — Massey, Gerald, 1859, Robert Burns. 
 To nature's feast, — 
 
 Who knew the noblest guest 
 
 And entertained him best, — 
 Kingly he came. Her chambers of the east 
 
 She draped with crimson and with gold, 
 And poured her pure joy-wines 
 
 For him the poet-souled. 
 
 For him her anthem rolled, 
 From the storm -wind among the winter 
 pines, 
 
 Down to the slenderest note 
 
 Of a love-warble from the linnet's throat. 
 —Knox, Is a Craig, 1859, Ode on the 
 Centenary of Burns. 
 
 The most serious and profound Scotch- 
 men of later days have hailed the appear- 
 ance of the Ayrshire ploughman poet as an 
 element of wholesome human reality 
 brought into the midst of an atmosphere 
 thick and heavy with notions and book 
 lore. They say that his songs brought back 
 to them the belief in green fields and hills, 
 as well as the fact of their belonging to 
 a land on which their fathers had dwelt 
 and suffered before them ; and that his life 
 showed them there is need, in the heart of 
 every peasant, of a hope to raise him and 
 protect him against himself, as well as 
 against his rich patrons, which neither the 
 divinity nor the philosophy of Scotland at 
 that time afforded ; which was not offered 
 by old light formalism or new light ex- 
 periences ; which was not found necessary 
 by the polite circles that Hume frequented, 
 and which only glimmered faintly through 
 the consciousness and common sense of 
 Reid ; but of which Burns could see the 
 pledge and the promise in the domestic 
 life of his sires, and in the testimony they 
 bore to a Father whose righteousness the 
 earthly father was feebly to exhibit in his 
 own. — Maurice, Frederick Denisox, 
 1 862, Moral and Metaphysical Philosophy^ 
 vol. II, p. 586. fl^K^ 
 In his own day the Ballad singer oHfte 
 
258 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 street, chanting the last new Ballad, 
 sought for guerdon and applause by an- 
 nouncing it as a new song by Rabble Burns ; 
 and when the grave had closed over his 
 remains, every scrap written in his noble, 
 manly hand- writing, however unworthy, — 
 and many a Poem and Song, because ex- 
 pressed in the rough quaint Doric, were 
 claimed as his, and forthwith thrown from 
 the press. — M'Kie, James, 1869, ed., 
 Poems Chiefly in the Scottish Dialect by 
 Robert Burns, Preface, vol. ii, p. vi. 
 
 Many of those who sit at this table have 
 doubtless heard the report of a cannon 
 discharged among the Highlands that over- 
 look the Hudson, our own ''exulting and 
 abounding river." The sound has scarcely 
 left the cannon's mouth before it is re- 
 echoed by one of the majestic mountains — 
 Dunderberg, perhaps — on whose summit 
 the clouds rest and the lightnings are 
 born. Crow Nest rolls it back from his 
 dark precipices and ancient forests. Then 
 some headland more remote receives it, 
 and from its cliffs flings it back to the 
 listener. The sound travels swiftly on, 
 and a response comes from height after 
 height, until it passes away among the 
 hills and shores which lie beyond the 
 sight. ... So the reverberation is 
 likely to go on from generation to genera- 
 tion, an involuntary tribute of admiration 
 from the world of letters to the genius of 
 Burns.— Bryant, William Cullen, 1870, 
 Address at Celebration of the 111th Anni- 
 versary of Robert Burns' Natal Day. 
 
 Of all the poets, larger and less, not one 
 has been so true to his own thought ; so 
 faithful to the sight of his eye, to the 
 sound in his ear, to the emotion of his 
 heart! ''A touch of nature makes the 
 whole world kin" — and so it is that Burns 
 is the accredited oracle of the human soul, 
 not only where the Scottish dialect — that 
 beautiful modern Doric — is spoken and 
 best appreciated, but in all lands where 
 men employ our capable English tongue. 
 The memory of Burns ! Ah ! the poetry of 
 Burns has taken care of that, for all time 
 to come ! It beams like an aureole over 
 every hallowed spot where he suffered and 
 sung ; it breathes on the ''Banks and Braes 
 of Bonny Doon it is renewed with each 
 returning Spring in his own "Mountain 
 Daisy;" it lives in the immortal life of 
 "Mary in Heaven!" So long as love is 
 precious, and bereavement sacred, and 
 
 hypocrisy hateful, and pretension ridicu- 
 lous, and labor honorable, and true man- 
 hood noble— so long as poetry, simple, 
 natural, eloquent, is the delight of man- 
 kind, alike in the halls of the opulent and 
 by "wee bit ingle bluikies' family," so long 
 shall the memory of Burns endure! — 
 Saxe, John G., 1870, Address at Cele- 
 bration of the 111th Anniversary of Robert 
 Burns' Natal Day. 
 
 Burns cries out in favour of instinct and 
 joy, so as to seem epicurean. He has 
 genuine gaiety, comic energy; laughter 
 commends itself to him ; he praises it and 
 the good suppers of good comrades, where 
 the wine flows, pleasantry abounds, ideas 
 pour forth, poetry sparkles, and causes a 
 carnival of beautiful figures and good- 
 humoured people to move about in the 
 human brain. . . . That, indeed, was 
 natural poetry ; not forced in a hothouse, 
 but born of the soil between the furrows, 
 side by side with music, amidst the gloom 
 and beauty of the climate, like the violet 
 gorse of the hillside and woods. We can 
 understand that it gave vigour to his 
 tongue : for the first time this man spoke 
 as men speak, or rather as they think, 
 without premeditation, with a mixture of 
 all styles, familiar and terrible, hiding an 
 emotion under a joke, tender and jeering 
 in the same place, apt to combine taproom 
 trivialities with the high language of 
 poetry, so indiflterent was he to rules, con- 
 tent to exhibit his feeling as it came to 
 him, and as he felt it. At last, after so 
 many years, v/e escape from the measured 
 declamation, we hear a man's voice ! much 
 better, we forget the voice in the emotion 
 which it expresses, we feel this motion 
 reflected in ourselves, we enter into rela- 
 tions with a soul. Then form seems to 
 fade away and disappear : I will say that 
 this is the great future of modern poetry ; 
 Burns has reached it seven or eight times. 
 — Taine, H. a., 1871, History of English 
 Literature, tr. Van Laun, vol. ii, bk. iv, 
 ch. i, pp. 237, 239. 
 
 O Burns! where bid? where bide you now? 
 Where are you in this night's full noon, 
 Great master of the pen and plough? 
 Might you not on yon slanting beam 
 Of moonlight, kneeling to the Doon, 
 Descend once to this hallow' d stream? 
 Sure yon stars yield enough of light 
 For heaven to spare your face one night. 
 
 O Burns ! another name for song, 
 Another name for passion — pride ; 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 259 
 
 For love and poesy allied ; 
 
 For strangely blended right and wrong. 
 
 I picture you as one who kneel'd 
 A stranger at his own hearthstone ; 
 One knowing all, yet all unknown, 
 One seeing all, yet all conceal'd; 
 The fitful years you linger'd here, 
 A lease of peril and of pain ; 
 And I am thankful yet again 
 The gods did love you, ploughman! peer! 
 — Miller, Joaquin, 1871, Songs of the 
 Sierras, p. 259. 
 
 About the time you were writing to me 
 about Burns and Beranger, I was thinking 
 of them "which was the Greater Genius?" 
 — I can't say ; but, with all my Admiration 
 for about a Score of the Frenchman's 
 almost perfect Songs, I would give all of 
 them up for a Score of Burns' Couplets, 
 Stanzas, or single Lines scattered among 
 those quite imperfect Lyrics of his. 
 Beranger, no doubt, was The Artist ; which 
 still is not the highest Genius — witness 
 Shakespeare, Dante, iEschylus, Calderon, 
 to the contrary. Burns assuredly had 
 more Passion than the Frenchman ; which 
 is not Genius either, but a great Part of 
 the Lyric Poet still. What Beranger 
 might have been, if born and bred among 
 Banks, Braes, and Mountains, I cannot tell : 
 Burns had that advantage over him. And 
 then the Highland Mary to love, amid the 
 heather, as compared to Lise the Grisette 
 in a Parisian Suburb! Some of the old 
 French Virelays and Vaudevires come 
 much nearer the Wild Notes of Burns, and 
 go to one's heart like his ; Beranger never 
 gets so far as that 1 think. — Fitzgerald, 
 Edward, 1873, Letters to Fanny Kemhle, 
 ed. Wright, p. 18. 
 
 Neither Pope with his smooth verses, 
 nor Lord Bolingbroke with his sceptical 
 wit, nor Dr. Johnson amid his worshippers, 
 gave forth the first truly original note 
 which announced a new phase in the 
 poetry of Great Britain : from the banks 
 of the Doon, out of a cottage in Scotland, 
 rose the wood-lark who uttered it. — 
 SCHERR, J., 1874, A History of English 
 Liter ature,tr. M. F., p. 177. 
 
 In Part II. are social and drinking songs, 
 with which latter Scotland is abundantly 
 supplied. In this province, too. Burns has 
 lavishly poured out his splendid genius, 
 with a strange fatality, singing the praises 
 of the Syren that lured him to his own 
 ruin.— AiTKEN, Mary Carlyle, 1874, 
 ed.f Scottish Song, Preface, p. vii. 
 
 As a lyric poet Burns deserves the name 
 of great. In the most essential qualities 
 of this form of verse ; in fire, tenderness 
 and naturalness, none have surpassed him. 
 . . . Though Burns stands at the 
 entrance of the new period, none of the 
 great poets that followed surpassed him in 
 individuality of faculties, a freedom which 
 yet left him in full mastery of a varied and 
 most melodious verse. — Bascom, John, 
 1874, Philosophy of English Literature, 
 pp. 221, 222! 
 
 In a company of German critics who 
 were weighing the claims and estimating 
 the rank of the poets, their contempora- 
 ries, the leader of their chorus, the genial 
 humorist, Jean Paul Kichter, is said to 
 have hushed his audience when the name 
 of Goethe was introduced, exclaiming— 
 ''We are not to sit in judgment on that 
 sacred head. ' ' Scotsmen are apt to attach 
 the same half superstitious reverence to 
 the name which is, more than any other, 
 that of Scotland condensed in a personal- 
 ity, the representative of what is noblest 
 and also of much that is erring in their 
 race. . . . The affectations of his 
 style are insignificant and rare. His pre- 
 vailing characteristic is an absolute sin- 
 cerity. A love for the lower forms of 
 social life was his besetting sin ; Nature 
 was his healing power. Burns compares 
 himself to an ^Eolian harp, strung to every 
 wind of heaven. His genius flows over 
 all living and lifeless things with a sym- 
 pathy that finds nothing mean or insignifi- 
 cant. — Nicol, John, 1875, Encyclopcedia 
 Britannica, vol. 11. 
 
 Three things may be noted as to the in- 
 flunce of Burns on men's feeling for 
 Nature. First, he was a more entirely 
 open-air poet than any first-rate singer 
 who had yet lived, and as such he dealt 
 with Nature in a more free, close, intimate 
 way than any English poet since the old 
 ballad-singers. He did more to bring the 
 hearts of men close to the outer world, 
 and the outer world to the heart, than any 
 former poet. His keen eye looked 
 directly, with no intervening medium, on 
 the face alike of Nature and of man, and 
 embraced all creation in one large sym- 
 pathy. With familiar tenderness he dwelt 
 on the lower creatures, felt for their 
 sufferings, as if they had been his own, 
 and opened men's hearts to feel how much 
 the groans of creation are needlessly 
 
260 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 increased by the indifference or cruelty of 
 man. In Burns, as in Cowper, and in him 
 perhaps more than in Cowper, there was a 
 large going forth of tenderness to the 
 lower creatures, and in their poetry this 
 first found utterance, and in no poet since 
 their time, so fully as in these two. 
 Secondly, his feeling in Nature's presence 
 was not, as in the English poets of his 
 time, a quiet contemplative pleasure. It 
 was nothing short of rapture. Other 
 more modern poets may have been thrilled 
 with the same delight, he alone of all in 
 last century expressed the thrill. In 
 this, as in other things, he is the truest 
 herald of that strain of rejoicing in Nature, 
 even to ecstasy, which has formed one of 
 the finest tones in the poetry of this cen- 
 tury. Thirdly, he does not philosophize 
 on Nature or her relation to man ; he feels 
 it, alike in his joyful moods and in his sor- 
 rowful. It is to him part of what he calls 
 ''the universal plan,'^ but he nowhere 
 reasons about the life of Nature as he 
 often does so trenchantly about that of 
 man. — Shairp, John Campbell, 1877, 
 On Poetic Interpretation of Nature, p. 229. 
 
 The vigorous and beautiful poetry which 
 Burns thus produced gave men a new 
 standard of criticism. The decasyllabic 
 metre, which Pope had made fashionable, 
 was at once discarded, and most of the 
 great writers of the period adopted either 
 original or other styles. — Walpole, 
 Spencer, 1878, A History of England 
 from the Conclusion of the Great War in 
 1815, vol. I, p. 348. 
 
 Burns, like Chaucer, comes short of a 
 
 f high seriousness of the great classics, 
 \ and the virtue of matter and manner which 
 \ goes with that high seriousness is wanting 
 to his work. . . . We arrive best at 
 the real estimate of Burns, I think, by con- 
 ceiving his work as having truth of matter 
 and truth of manner, but not the accent 
 or the poetic virtue of the highest mas- 
 * ters. . . . The freedom of Chaucer is 
 heightened, in Burns, by a fiery, reckless 
 energy ; the benignity of Chaucer deepens, 
 in Burns, into an overwhelming sense of the 
 pathos of things ; — of the pathos of human 
 nature, the pathos, also, of non-human 
 nature. Instead of the fluidity of Chau- 
 cer's manner, the manner of Burns has 
 spring, bounding swiftness. Burns is by 
 far the greater force, though he has per- 
 haps less charm. The world of Chaucer 
 
 is fairer, richer, more significant than that 
 of Burns ; but when the largeness and free- 
 dom of Burns get full sweep, as in "Tam 
 o' Shanter," or still more in that puissant 
 and splendid production, ''The Jolly Beg- 
 gars," his world may be what it will, his 
 poetic genius triumphs over it. — Arnold, 
 Matthew, 1880, English Poets, ed. Ward, 
 Introduction, vol. I, pp. xliv, xlv. 
 
 Touched by his hand, the wayside weed 
 Becomes a flower ; the lowliest reed 
 
 Beside the stream 
 Is clothed with beauty; gorse and grass 
 And heather, where his footsteps pass, 
 
 The brighter seem. 
 He sings of love, whose flame illumes 
 The darkness of lone cottage rooms ; 
 
 He feels the force, 
 The treacherous undertow and stress, 
 Of wayward passions, and no less 
 
 The keen remorse. 
 At moments, wrestling with his fate, 
 His voice is harsh, but not with hate ; 
 
 The brush -wood, hung 
 Above the tavern door, lets fall 
 Its bitter leaf, its drop of gall, 
 
 Upon his tongue. 
 But still the music of his song 
 Rises o'er all, elate and strong ; 
 
 Its master-chords 
 Are Manhood, Freedom, Brotherhood, 
 Its discords but an interlude 
 
 Between the words. 
 
 —Longfellow, Henry W., 1880, Robert 
 Burns, Harper's Magazine, vol. 61, p. 322 ; 
 Ultima Thule. 
 
 Burns' poetry shares with all poetry of 
 the first order of excellence the life and 
 movement not of one age but of all ages, 
 that which belongs to what Wordsworth 
 calls ''the essential passions" of human 
 nature. It is the voice of nature which 
 we hear in his poetry, and it is of that 
 nature one touch of which makes the ; 
 whole world kin. It is doubtful whether 
 any poet, ancient or modern, has evoked 
 as much personal attachment of a fervid 
 and perfervid quality as Burns has been 
 able to draw to himself. It is an attach- 
 ment the amount and the quality of which 
 are not to be explained by anything in the 
 history of the man, anything apart from 
 the exercise of his genius as a poet. His 
 misfortunes, though they were great, do 
 not account for it — these are cancelled by 
 his faults, from which his misfortunes are 
 not easily separated. What renders it at 
 all intelligible is that human nature, in its 
 most ordinary shapes, is more poetical 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 261 
 
 than it looks, and that exactly at those 
 moments of its consciousness in which it 
 is most truly because most vividly and 
 powerfully and poetically itself, Burns has 
 a voice to give to it.— Service, John, 
 1880, English Poets, ed. Ward, vol. iii, 
 p. 515. 
 
 In no respect do the poems of Words- 
 worth more strongly contrast with those 
 of Burns than in what I would call, with 
 strict meaning, historical value. The 
 first book of Homer's "Iliad" makes the 
 life of old heroic Greece visible to us. 
 We see it and know it in a sense in which 
 no mere statistical information could place 
 it before us. In this sense Burns is the 
 Scottish historian of his day and genera- 
 tion. His Tam o' Shanter, his Duncan 
 Gray, his Doctor Hornbrook, his lads and 
 lasses frolicking at Halloween, his peasant 
 opening the Bible and reverently reading 
 it to his household in the evening, are as 
 true to the Ayrshire of his time as the 
 weeping Achilles and his divine mother, 
 the mourning Priam and his dead Hector, 
 are to that old Homeric world ; and the 
 same ring and shout of human laughter 
 makes ancient and modern kin, when the 
 preternatural potent of Halloween turns 
 out to be "grumphy, asteer that night,'' 
 and when Ajax, clearing from mouth and 
 nostril the mud into which he had flopped, 
 complains that, he had been tripped up in 
 the race by Pallas, and the surrounding 
 Achaians ''laugh sweetly" at the notion. 
 Now Wordsworth's poems, as compared 
 with those of Keats and Shelley, are racy 
 of the soil. There is a good deal of 
 Cumberland in them. But, compared with 
 those of Burns, they are outside Cumber- 
 land life. — Bayne, Peter, 1881, Essay 
 on Poetry y Two Great Englishwomen, p Axil. 
 
 His humour comes from him in a stream 
 so deep and easy that I will venture to call 
 him the best of humourous poets. — Stev- 
 enson, Robert Louis, 1882, Soms Aspects 
 of Robert Burns, Familiar Studies of Men 
 and Books p. 85. 
 
 We praised the "Lass o' Ballochmyle," 
 We talked of Mary, loved and lost, 
 Until our spirits touched and crossed, 
 
 And melted into tears, the while; 
 
 We drank to "Nell," and "Bonnie Jean," 
 To "Chloris," and the "Banks o' Cree"— 
 
 Blest hour! — I keep its mem'ry green, 
 The night you quoted Burns to me. 
 
 —Matthews, James Newton, 1883, The 
 Night you Quoted Burns to Me. 
 
 He was the final product of a long-con- 
 tinued tendency in one direction, and 
 not a miraculous phenomenon. — Perry, 
 Thomas Sergeant, 1883, English Liter- 
 ature in the Eighteenth Century, p. 431. 
 
 He found his idea, not in the remote and 
 conventional, but in the familiar and near- 
 at-hand ; and, without rant or trick, with 
 genuine feeling, gave it articulate voice — • 
 a voice not from the university, but from 
 the heart of Nature. Thus we may under- 
 stand why no poetry was ever more instan- 
 taneously and more widely popular ; why 
 in the rural circle he was a delight and an 
 admiration, and in cultured Edinburgh a 
 phenomenon. ... A playmate to 
 Nature and to Man. — Welsh, Alfred H., 
 1883, Development of English Literature 
 and Language, vol. ii, pp. 235, 237. 
 We saw again the plowman lad, 
 
 As by the banks of Ayr he wandered, 
 With burning eyes and eager heart, 
 
 And first on Song and Scotland pondered ; 
 We saw him, as from Nature's soul 
 
 His ow^n drew draughts of joy o'erflowing: 
 The plower's voice, the brier-rose, 
 
 The tiny harebell lightly growing, 
 The wounded hare that passed him by, 
 
 The timorous mousie's ruined dwelling, 
 The cattle cowering from the blast, 
 
 The dying sheep her sorrows telling, — 
 All touched the heart that kept so strong 
 
 Its sympathy with humbler being, 
 And saw in simplest things of life 
 
 The poetry that waits the seeing ! 
 
 — Machar, Agnes Maule, 1884, An 
 Evening with Burns, The Century, vol. 27, 
 p. 479. 
 
 Criticism of Burns is only permitted to 
 Scotchmen of pure blood. Admirable 
 appreciations may be found in the essays 
 of Carlyle and Nichol. Yet it may be 
 said that, if there are more elegant and 
 subtle song-writers in the language, no 
 one even approaches Burns in masculine 
 strength or concentrated utterance of 
 passion. Though all his writings are occa- 
 sional, he reflects every mood of the na- 
 tional character, its tenderness, its sensu- 
 ous vigour, and its patriotic fervour. Like 
 Byron, he always wrote at a white heat, 
 but, unlike Byron, he had the highest 
 lyrical power, and, if he sometimes fails, 
 he does not fail by excessive dilution. He 
 is only insipid when he tries to adopt the 
 conventional English of his time, in obedi- 
 ence to foolish advice from Dr. Moore 
 and others. — Stephen, Leslie, 1886, 
 Dictionary of National Biography, vol. vii. 
 
262 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 A quiet life of song.fallentis semita vitce, 
 was not to be yours. Fate otherwise de- 
 creed it. The touch of a lettered society, 
 the strife with the Kirk, discontent with 
 the State, poverty and pride, neglect and 
 success, were needed to make your Genius 
 what it was, and to endow the world with 
 ^'Tam o' Shanter,''the ''Jolly Beggars," 
 and "Holy Willie's Prayer." Who can 
 praise them too highly — who admire in 
 them too much the humour, the scorn, 
 the wisdom, the unsurpassed energy and 
 courage ?— Lang, Andrew, 1886, Letters 
 to Dead Authors, p. 202. 
 
 Dear Rob ! Manly, witty, fond, friendly, 
 full of weak spots as well as strong ones — ■ 
 essential type of so many thousands — 
 perhaps the average, as just said, of the 
 decent-born young men and the early mid- 
 aged, not only of the British Isles, but 
 America, too, North and South, just the 
 same. I think, indeed, one best part of 
 Burns is the unquestionable proof he pre- 
 sents of the perennial existence among 
 the laboring classes, especially farmers, 
 of the finest latent poetic elements in their 
 blood. (How clear it is to me that the 
 common soil has always been, and is now, 
 thickly strewn with just such gems.) He 
 is well called the Ploughman. . . . 
 There is something about Burns peculiarly 
 acceptable to the concrete, human points 
 of view. He poetizes work-a-day agricul- 
 tural labor and life (whose spirit and 
 sympathies, as well as practicalities, are 
 much the same everywhere), and treats 
 fresh, often coarse, natural occurrences, 
 loves, persons, not like many new and 
 some old poets in a genteel style of gilt 
 and china, or at second or third removes, 
 but in their ov;n born atmosphere, laugh- 
 ter, sweat, unction. Perhaps no one ever 
 sang "lads and lassies" — that universal 
 race, mainly the same, too, all ages, all 
 lands — down on their own plane, as he 
 has. He exhibits no philosophy worth 
 mentioning ; his morality is hardly more 
 than parrot-talk — not bad or deficient, but 
 cheap, shopworn, the platitudes of old aunts 
 and uncles to the youngsters (be good boys 
 and keep your noses clean.) Only when 
 he gets at Poosie Nansie's, celebrating the 
 "barley bree," or among tramps, or demo- 
 cratic bouts and drinking generally, 
 
 ("Freedom and wliiskey ^^ang thes'ither,") 
 we have, in his own unmistakable color 
 and warmth, those interiors of rake-helly 
 
 life and tavern fun — the cantabile of jolly 
 beggars in highest jinks — lights and 
 groupings of rank glee and brawny amor- 
 ousness, outvying the best painted pictures 
 of the Dutch school, or any school. . . . 
 Never indeed was there truer utterance in a 
 certain range of idiosyncrasy than by this 
 poet. Hardly a piece of his, large or small, 
 but has "snap" and raciness. . . . Finally, 
 in any summing-up of Burns, though so 
 m.uch is to be said in the way of fault- 
 finding, drawing black marks, and doubtless 
 severe literary criticism — (in the present 
 outpouring I have "kept myself in," rather 
 than allow'd any 'free flow) — after full 
 retrospect of his work and life, the afore- 
 said "odd-kind chiel" remains to my heart 
 and brain as almost the tenderest, manliest, 
 and (even if contradictory) dearest flesh- 
 and-blood figure in all the streams and 
 clusters of by-gone poets. — Whitman, 
 Walt, 1886-88, Robert Burns as Poet 
 and Person, November Boughs, pp. 59, 
 60, 63, 64. 
 
 The books that have most influenced me 
 are inaccessible to the general reader, 
 Horace, Pindar, and Dante, for instance ; 
 but these following are good for every- 
 body: — Scott's "Lady of the Lake" and 
 "Marmion" (the "Lady" first for me, 
 though not for Scott). Pope's "Homer's 
 Iliad" Byron, all, but most "Corsair," 
 "Bride of Abydos," and the "Two Fos- 
 cari. " Coleridge and Keats, in my youth. 
 Burns, as I grew older and wiser. — Rus- 
 KiN, John, 1887, Books which Have In- 
 fluenced Me, p. 43. 
 
 It has always been a mystery to me why 
 Walter Scott stands so low in the estima- 
 tion of the present race of Scotsmen all 
 over the world, and why Robert Burns, a 
 greatly inferior genius, stands so high. 
 Is it because the majority of the Scotch 
 people are so ultra-democratic that they 
 cannot forgive Scott for being an aristo- 
 crat ; and that they almost worship Burns 
 because he was born and nurtured and died 
 in poverty, because he was an ultra- 
 plebeian, earning his scanty and pre- 
 carious bread by the sweat of his brDW ? 
 Or do the multitude, in all countries, love 
 their heroes all the more because of their 
 conspicuous human frailties, and have 
 nothing but cold respect for the great men 
 who are only virtuous and respectable? 
 — Mackay, Charles, 1887, Through the 
 Long Day, vol. i, p. 147. 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 263 
 
 But more than all fend memory turns 
 And rests on Ayr, the home of Burns. 
 For there the "Daisy" was up torn, 
 
 To blossom on a wider field ; 
 And there the "Mousie," kindred born. 
 
 Was first to iwesie revealed. 
 The land of "Auld Lang Syne" is there, 
 The cotter's home, the evening prayer: 
 To these, in truth, the memory turns — 
 To these, which make the Land of Burns. 
 
 It seemed his mission to bestow 
 
 On humble things the highest worth ; 
 
 The streams that by his "shieling" flow 
 Ripple in song o'er all the earth. 
 
 The little Kirk of Alloway 
 
 Shines forth immortal in his lay, 
 
 And, filled with witches, takes its stand, 
 
 The ruin of his storied land. 
 
 His "Scots wha hae" rings out more clear 
 
 Than any song in field or camp ; 
 And others rise more true and dear — 
 
 "The rank is but the guinea-stamp." 
 For there are grander fields to fight, 
 Where man proclaims his brother's right; 
 And Burns of poets leads the van 
 In simple truth — that man is man. 
 
 — Bruce, Wallace, 1887, The Land of 
 Burns, Old Homestead Poems, pp. 100, 
 101, 103. 
 
 It is not chiefly the romantic side of the 
 Scotch character which was represented 
 to Burns — its imagination, its patriotism, 
 its zealous affectionateness, its love of the 
 legendary, the marvelous and the ancient, 
 that part, in fact, which belongs most to the 
 highlands ; he was more amply furnished 
 with the stronger lowland qualities, sense, 
 independence, courageous perseverance, 
 shrewdness, and humour, a retentive heart, 
 and a mind truthful alike when fully ex- 
 pressed or when partially reserved^ These 
 qualities were united in his abundant 
 nature ; and his poetic temperament freed 
 them from the limitations which belonged 
 to every character formed upon a local 
 type. The consequence is that his songs 
 are sung at the hearth and on the moun- 
 tain-side ; his pathos is felt and his humour 
 applauded by the village circle ; his sharp 
 descriptions and shrewd questions on grave 
 matters are treated as indulgently by 
 ministers of the "National Assembly," 
 the "Free Kirk," and "orthodox dis- 
 senters," as Boccaccio's stories once were 
 by the Italian clergy ; and for the lonely 
 traveller from the South the one small 
 volume which contains his works is the 
 best of guide-books, not indeed to noted 
 
 spots, legendary or famed for beauty, — 
 but to the manners, the moral soul, and 
 the heart of the Scotch people. Burns is 
 emphatically the most national of poets. 
 — De Vere, Aubrey, 1887, Essays Chiefly 
 on Poetry, vol. 11, p, 121. 
 
 Those who hold that poetry should move 
 in a realm apart from the actual world 
 find little to enchant or interest them in 
 Burns, for it was with the actual world 
 alone that he sought to deal. The sphere 
 of his observation was narrov/ in com- 
 parison with that of most great poets. 
 The only class he knew thoroughly were 
 the Scottish peasantry, a class born to a 
 life of labour and anxiety, with few excite- 
 ments to break the monotony of their toil. 
 Burns had no wish to transform them into 
 idyllic figures; he was content to take 
 them as they were, and in their simple 
 lives he found all the experiences which, 
 when touched by imagination, move man- 
 kind to laughter or to tears. — Sime, 
 James, 1887, Robert Burns, English Il- 
 lustrated Magazine, vol. 4, p. 339. 
 
 The Voice of a wondrous Seer ! 
 
 The voice of a soul that is strong ! 
 As true as Love, and as swift as Fear 
 
 In the mazes of marvellous song. 
 Far over the mountains bare, 
 
 Red heather, and ridges of sea. 
 It flows in the pulse of the living air, 
 
 And throbs in the veins of the free. 
 It whispers in Summer's breath, 
 
 It lisps on the creamy shore. 
 It sings in the lips that smile at death, 
 
 In the storm and cataract's roar. 
 It murmurs in brae and birk, 
 
 It pleads in the daisy's eye, 
 Where hands are toughened by honest work, 
 
 And bairns in their cradles lie ; 
 In cottage, in kirk, and bower. 
 
 In hall, in court, and in mart. 
 In the chirp of the mavis, and hawthorn 
 flower. 
 
 And the maiden's simple heart. 
 It croons in the blaze of the inn, 
 
 Where the droughty neighbors bide. 
 It shrieks in the ghastly glare and din, 
 
 Where the witches dance and ride. 
 Its mirth is a tempest of glee. 
 
 Its grief is the smart of fire, 
 Its solemn strain is the trump of the sea, 
 
 Its chorus the world's desire! 
 I listen, and brooklet and wold. 
 
 Wild bird and the darkling wood 
 And breathing secrets before untold 
 
 Of the perfect and passionless Good. 
 
 —Powers, Horatio Nelson, 1887, Ten 
 Years of Song. 
 
264 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 The one immortal bard of humanit3^ 
 —Russell, A. P., 1888, A Club of One, 
 p. 150. 
 
 To-night amid Canadian snows, 
 
 In lordly hall and cottage home, 
 Where'er the blood of Scotsmen flows, 
 
 Where'er the feet of Scotsmen roam ; 
 One name upon the lips grows sweet, 
 
 More rich than wine from purple urns, 
 With thrill electric flashing fleet, 
 
 The name o/" Robert Burns. 
 — Macfarland, John, 1888, Robert 
 Burns, Jan. 25. 
 
 The love poetry of Burns affords an 
 abundant exemplification of nearly all the 
 known devices peculiar to the theme. 
 Consisting of short effusions, mainly songs, 
 it almost entirely excludes plot-interest ; 
 occasionally there is a slight use of nar- 
 rative, as in *'The Soldier's Return" and 
 ''There was a lass and she was fair." In 
 regard to description of the object of love. 
 Burns usually depends on a few unsystem- 
 atic touches, expressive of the emotion 
 excited. Sometimes, however, he does 
 enter on a regular enumeration of the 
 qualities that charm ; but his method even 
 then is rather to elevate the object by 
 comparisons, both figurative and literal, 
 than to give any distinct impression of the 
 personal appearance. — Bain, Alexander, 
 1888, English Composition and Rhetoric, 
 Part Second, p. 157. 
 
 In respect of genius, I think it is now 
 universally admitted that our Ayrshire 
 bard has gained for himself, by the number, 
 the variety, and the brilliancy of his pro- 
 ductions, a place in the first rank of the 
 great singers of the intellectual world, — 
 Pindar, Chaucer, Horace, Hafiz, Goethe, 
 Beranger, Moore, and if there be any others 
 who enjoy an equally wide recognition. 
 . . . If ever there was a song-writer 
 who could say with the most catholic com- 
 prehensiveness in the words of the old 
 comedian, *7 am a man, and all things 
 human are kin to me," it v/as Robert Burns. 
 In this respect he is the Shakespeare of 
 lyric poetry. ... If inferior to Cole- 
 ridge in ideal speculation, to Wordsworth 
 in harmonious contemplation, and to 
 Southey in book-learning, in all that con- 
 cerns living men and human life and human 
 society he was extremely sharp-sighted 
 and not only wise in penetrating to the 
 inmost springs of human thought and sen- 
 timent, but in the judgment of conduct 
 eminently shrewd and sagacious ; gifted, 
 
 in the highest degree, with that funda- 
 mental virtue of all sound Scotsmen, 
 common-sense, without which great genius 
 in full career is apt to lead a man astray 
 from his surroundings, and make him most 
 a stranger to that with which in common 
 life he ought to be most familiar. — 
 Blackie, John Stuart, 1888, Life of 
 Robert Burns(Great Writers), pp. 157,160. 
 [Song] drooped and fell, and one 'neath north- 
 ern skies. 
 
 With southern heart, who tilled his father's 
 field. 
 
 Found Poesy a-dying, bade her rise 
 And touch quick nature's hem and go 
 forth healed. 
 
 On life's broad plain the ploughman's con- 
 quering share 
 Upturned the fallow lands of truth anew. 
 
 And o'er the formal garden's trim parterre 
 The peasant's team a ruthless furrow drew. 
 
 — Watson, W^illiam, 1890, Wordsworth's 
 
 Grave. 
 
 To Burns the very air was charged with 
 poetry, and his heart responded to every 
 appeal made to his imagination. He saw 
 Nature with a clear and penetrating vision ; 
 his emotions and experiences were blended 
 with the world about him, and in a single 
 line a whole landscape flashes into view. 
 Burns spoke of Nature without a touch 
 of self-consciousness and with the intimacy 
 of one born to the soil ; he loved with 
 infinite tenderness every living thing that 
 made its home in the fields. His early 
 familiarity with field and sky, the solitude 
 that came with that intercourse, the sensi- 
 tiveness of his imagination, and the passion 
 of his nature gave his poetry a thrill and 
 rapture born only of the deepest emotion. 
 The commonest wild-flower, in the verse of 
 this passionate singer, has its roots beside 
 the fountain of tears, and not a leaf stirs 
 or falls but its image is caught in the 
 tumultuous sweep and current of life. — 
 Mabie, Hamilton Wright, 1891-93, Short 
 Studies in Liter ature^ p. 101. 
 
 It is for his service to Scotland in the 
 matter of songs that we specially delight 
 to honour him. It was he, more than all 
 else put together, who made Scottish song 
 the glorious thing that it is. Prior to 
 Burns's appearance on the stage of human 
 existence what was the condition, Sir, of 
 our national minstrelsy ? We had a popu- 
 lar song-book polluted on every page. 
 Such of the popular songs of the time — if 
 you except a dozen or so, **The Flower o' 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 265 
 
 the Forest," '*Auld Robin Gray," ''Nae 
 luck about the hoose," "Logie o' Bu- 
 chan," ''Johnnie Cope," ''Maggie Lau- 
 der," and "Down the burn, Davie," and 
 one or two more — such of them, I say, with 
 these few exceptions, as were not tainted 
 with vulgarity and vile innuendo, were 
 the most puerile and feckless doggerel. 
 Burns set himself to purify these old songs, 
 and gave us a song-book which is like a 
 human psalter by comparison. It is when 
 we take up Ramsay's "Evergreen" and 
 the "Tea-Table Miscellany," or Herd's 
 collection of old songs and ballads, and 
 look at the original of "Dainty Davie," 
 "She rose and loot me in," and "John 
 Anderson my jo," and some more that we 
 discover the noble— the God's work — 
 which he performed. It is for the purifi- 
 cation of these old songs, and for the 
 hundred and more original gems which he 
 added to our song-book, that we regard 
 Robert Burns as a gift from the gods. 
 It is for this that we can overlook so many 
 of his faults and failings. It is for this 
 that we delight to honour his memory — 
 for this we are "a' sae prood o' Robin." 
 — Ford, Robert, 1893, Address Delivered 
 Before the Barlinnie Burns Club, Jan. 25 ; 
 Burnsiana, vol. iv, p. 87. 
 
 And the natural greatness of mind that 
 prompted this ambition was not without 
 special influences to keep the flame alive. 
 Had Burns been educated as other iQcal 
 rhymers were, he might have remained, 
 like them, content with local fame, ignor- 
 ant of the great world outside, hungering 
 for no applause beyond his own small 
 circle, because he was unaware of anything 
 more to be desired. But the education of 
 Burns was different from that of other 
 local rhymers, and had carried him to 
 spiritual altitudes, the views from which 
 were bounded by a much wider horizon. 
 In common with all the other young men 
 of the time, rich and poor, Burns had the 
 advantage for a poet of living in a poetical 
 atmosphere ; but he had the further special 
 advantage of coming under personal influ- 
 ences that helped powerfully to give his 
 work the quality of greatness. — MiNTO, 
 William, 1894, The Literature of the 
 Georgian Era, ed. Knight, p. 160. 
 
 The collective poems of Robert Burns 
 have been reprinted on a great number 
 of occasions, and in every variety of form. 
 It is calculated that by the end of 1816 
 
 no less than 22 editions had appeared in 
 London, 19 in Edinburgh, 16 in the United 
 States, 4 in Dublin, 4 in Belfast, 3 in 
 Glasgow, 2 in Berwick-upon-Tweed, 1 at 
 Kilmarnock, 1 at Paisley, and 9 in other 
 towns scattered about England and Scot- 
 land. The original edition appeared at 
 Kilmarnock in 1786, and for eighty-four 
 years from that date, say up to 1870, 
 only two years are recorded (1791 and 
 1795), in which at least one edition of 
 Burns' works was not published. This 
 record of continuous publication is only 
 surpassed in the case of three other books, 
 viz., the Bible, the works of Shakespeare, 
 and the "De Imitatione Christi." . . . 
 The most extensive collection of Burnsiana 
 in existence is probably that in the 
 museum at Kay Park, Kilmarnock. It con- 
 sists of nearly 1000 volumes, a large pro- 
 portion of which comprise various editions 
 of the poet's works published in the United 
 Kingdom, and the remainder of books 
 touching on his life or writing or the 
 scenes with which he was associated. 
 . . . In March, 1888, at the sale of 
 the second portion of the extensive library 
 of the late Mr. Gibson-Craig, a good copy 
 of the Kilmarnock edition of "Poems 
 chiefly in the Scottish Dialect," sold for 
 £111, and on another occasion a rebound 
 copy brought £86.— Slater, J. H., 1894, 
 Early Editions, pp. 56, 57, 58. 
 
 Not his the light of Shakespeare's line, 
 
 Nor Milton's massive splendour; 
 But Scotland rich in Auld Langsyne 
 
 Needs naething mair to mend her. 
 And while a "Daisy" decks the soil, 
 
 And while a wrang needs rightin', 
 The rough, strong-hearted sons of toil, 
 
 Shall still his songs delight in. 
 
 — Murdoch, Alexander G. , 1894, Rhymin' 
 Robin, Burnsiana, vol. iv, p. 24. 
 
 It has been the common responsibility 
 of his biographers to point out how differ- 
 ently he might have lived, how much more 
 wisely he might have ordered his days. 
 More wisely, perhaps, but not so well. 
 There is a diviner economy in these things 
 than we have come to allow. — Rhys, 
 Ernest, 1895, ed.. The Lyrical Poems of 
 Burns. 
 
 There is perhaps only one poet of real 
 po\Yer who ever has been in modern 
 times popular, — Robert Burns. — Walker, 
 Henry L., 1895, The Greater Victorian 
 Poets, p. 47. 
 
266 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 John Barleycorn 
 Prepared his sweetest rose and sharpest 
 thorn ; 
 
 The witches set their heads and hoofs to 
 work, 
 
 To hunt O'Shanter from the ancient kirk; 
 The hills began to put themselves in tune 
 To voice the care that lurked in "Bonnie 
 Doon ; ' ' 
 
 The world would soon a world of love en- 
 shrine 
 
 Within the golden bars of ' ' Auld Lang Syne ; ' ' 
 The cotter's home produced its greatest grief, 
 But fame and glory, far beyond belief — 
 When Burns was born ! 
 
 —Carleton, Will, 1895, Rhymes of our 
 Planet, p. 32. 
 
 All the same, this disability weighs me 
 down with a sense of hopeless obtuseness 
 when 1 consider the deportment of the 
 average intelligent Scot at a Burns ban- 
 quet, or a Burns conversazione, or a Burns 
 festival, or the unveiling of a Burns statue, 
 or the putting up of a pillar on some spot 
 made famous by Burns. All over the 
 world — and all under it, too, when their 
 time comes — Scotsmen are preparing 
 after-dinner speeches about Burns. The 
 great globe swings round out of the sun 
 into the dark; there is always midnight 
 somewhere; and always in this shifting 
 region the eye of imagination sees orators 
 gesticulating over Burns; companies of 
 heated exiles with crossed arms shouting 
 ''Auld Lang Syne;" lesser groups— if 
 haply they be lesser — reposing under 
 tables, still in honour of Burns. And as the 
 vast continents sweep ''eastering out of 
 the high shadow which reaches beyond the 
 moon," and as new nations, with their 
 cities and villages, their mountains and 
 seashores, rise up on the morning-side, 
 lo! fresh troops, and still fresh troops, 
 and yet again fresh troops, wend or are 
 carried out of action with the dawn. 
 None but a churl would wish this enthu- 
 siasm abated. But why is it all lavished 
 on Burns? That is what gravels the 
 Southron. Why Burns? Why not Sir 
 Walter? Had I the honor to be a fellow- 
 countryman of Scott, and had I command 
 of the racial tom-tom, it seems to me 
 that I would tune upon it in honor of that 
 great man until I dropped.— Quiller- 
 CouCH, A. T., 1896, Adventures in Criti- 
 cism, p. 109. 
 
 A man of Burns's temperament, born 
 in the middle of that (the 18th) century, 
 was almost bound to combine rationalism 
 
 in theology with a genuine religious sen- 
 timent. It is unnecessary to search very 
 particularly in his actual theological en- 
 vironment for the origins of his religion. 
 He had the same bias in reasoning — 
 towards materialism, empiricism, ''com- 
 mon-sense," — as most of the leading intel- 
 lect of the age. . . . It would be a mis- 
 take to try to trace any very close con- 
 nection between the thought of Burns, so 
 far it was dogmatic, and the doctrines 
 held by the New Light ministers who took 
 the young farmer by the hand, and eulo- 
 gised the satires which he wrote for their 
 side. The doctrine spread by Auld, Rus- 
 sell and their kind disgusted him ; but his 
 polemic against them was purely neg- 
 ative and destructive. . . . The con- 
 sciousness of the living presence of God 
 in nature was always stronger in him than 
 any theory of redemption. An intellectual 
 sceptic, he was not really interested in 
 theological dogma, though moral and 
 emotional causes preserved in him certain 
 relics of more or less inter-dependant 
 doctrines. — Wallace, William, 1896, 
 rev. The Life and Works of Robert Burns, 
 ed. by Robert Chambers. 
 
 Rare as was the poetic gift of Burns, 
 and unique in their quality of pure ele- 
 mental passion as were his bursts of 
 song, the poet himself has no place in 
 what is mainly a history of influences 
 and tendencies. Writing as he did — so 
 long at least as he wrote poetry and not 
 somewhat inferior verse — in the Lowland 
 Scottish vernacular, he naturally could 
 not contribute anything directly to the 
 development of English poetic literature. 
 Nor does it even appear that he directly 
 influenced those who were the main con- 
 tributors to this work. — Traill, Henry 
 Duff, 1896, Social England, vol. v, p. 445. 
 
 His ideas are — to use the rough old 
 Lockian division — ideas of sensation, not 
 of reflection; and when he goes beyond 
 them he is sensible, healthy, respectable, 
 but not deep or high. In his own range 
 there are few depths or heights to w^hich 
 he has not soared or plunged. ... In 
 the expression of the triumph and despair 
 of love, not sicklied over with any thought 
 as inmost modern poets, only Catullus and 
 Sappho can touch Burns. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1896, A History of Nineteenth 
 Century Literature, pp. 15, 16. 
 
 Always a poet, he was more, much 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 267 
 
 more than a poet. He was a student of 
 man, — of all sorts of men ; caring much, 
 as a student, for the baser sort which 
 reveled in Poosie Nansie's dram-shop, 
 and which he celebrated in '*The Jolly 
 Beggars;'' but caring more as a man, for 
 the better sort which languished in huts 
 w^here poor men lodged, and which he 
 was the voice of lamentation in "Man 
 was Made to Mourn." He was a student 
 of manners, which he painted with a sure 
 hand, his masterpiece being that reveren- 
 tial reproduction of the family life at 
 Lochlea "The Cotter's Saturday Night." 
 He was a student of nature, — his love of 
 which was conspicuous in his poetry,flush- 
 ing his words with picturesque phrases 
 and flooding his lines with the feeling of 
 outdoor life. He was a student of animal 
 life, — a lover of horses and dogs, observ- 
 ant of their habits and careful of their 
 comfort. He felt for the little mouse 
 which his plowshare turned out of its nest, 
 and he pitied the poor hare which the 
 unskillful fowler could only wound. The 
 commoners of the earth and air were dear 
 to him ; and the flower besides his path, 
 the gowan wet with dew, was precious in 
 his eyes. His heart was large, his mind 
 was comprehensive, and his temper singu- 
 larly sweet and sunny. — Stoddard, Rich- 
 ard Henry, 1896, Library of the World's 
 Best Literature, ed. Warner, vol. v, p. 2839. 
 
 Burns is one of the Immortals. What 
 a fortunate thing for us that he was not 
 educated, let us say at Eton and Balliol ! 
 There are many of Burns's poems (humor- 
 ous and pathetic) which are superb. — 
 Locker-Lampson, Frederick, 1896, My 
 Confidences, p. 178. 
 
 Other poets may be the favourites of a 
 class or a clique ; Burns is the favorite of 
 the whole world. The secret of this uni- 
 versal favor is to be found in the fact that 
 he was born in a lowly condition of life, 
 close to our mother earth, and gave 
 utterance to the rudimentary sentiments, 
 the abiding sorrows, and the constant 
 yearnings of human nature. — Austin, 
 Alfred, 1898, Address at the Unveiling 
 of the Statue to Burns at Irvine, July. 
 
 In his love songs we hear again, even 
 more simply, more directly the same nat- 
 ural music which in the age of Elizabeth 
 enchanted the world. ... It was the 
 strength of his passions an.d the weakness 
 of his moral will which made his poetry 
 
 and spoilt his life.— Brooke, Stopford 
 A., 1896, English Literature, p. 226. 
 
 I come here as a loyal burgess of Dum- 
 fries to do honour to the greatest burgess 
 of Dumfries. . . . Mankind owes him 
 a general debt. But the debt of Scotland 
 is special. For Burns exalted our race, 
 he hallowed Scotland and the Scottish 
 tongue. Before his time we had for a 
 long period been scarcely recognised, we 
 had been falling out of the recollection of 
 the world. From the time of the union 
 of the Crowns, and still more from the 
 time of the legislative union, Scotland 
 has lapsed into obscurity. Except for an 
 occasional riot or a Jacobite rising, her 
 existance was almost forgotten. She had, 
 indeed, her Robertsons and her Humes 
 writing history to general admiration, but 
 no trace of Scottish authorship was dis- 
 coverable in their works; indeed, every 
 flavour of national idiom was carefully 
 excluded. The Scottish dialect, as Burns 
 called it, was in danger of perishing. 
 Burns seemed at this juncture to start to 
 his feet and re-assert Scotland's claim to 
 national existence; his Scottish notes 
 rang through the world, and he thus pre- 
 served the Scottish language forever ; for 
 mankind will never allow to die that idiom 
 in which his songs and poems are en- 
 shrined. That is a part of Scotland's 
 debt to Burns. — Rosebery, Archibald 
 Philip Primrose Lord, 1896, Address at 
 Dumfries, July 21. 
 
 No poet, probably, excepting Shake- 
 speare, ever owed more than Burns to the 
 suggestions of predecessors in his art. 
 Hardly, indeed, is there anything in his 
 work, down even to details, for which the 
 example is not to be found in the pages 
 of some earlier Scottish poet — Dunbar, 
 Lyndsay, Semple, Ramsay, Fergusson, 
 and countless unnamed song and ballad 
 writers. With the works of all these he 
 was closely familiar. At the same time 
 no poet, excepting Shakespeare, ever 
 proved himself so capable of transmuting 
 the rude ore of earlier suggestion into 
 the fine gold of immortal song. It is 
 difficult at the present day, when all its 
 effects are a common possession, to ap- 
 preciate the native strength and original- 
 ity of Burns's work. This, however, may 
 be ventured, that what the Revolution 
 at that time did for France at a cost of 
 untold horror and streams of blood, the 
 
268 
 
 ROBERT BURNS 
 
 poetry of Burns did for Scotland. Who 
 will reckon the clearing of the air that 
 has been made, the shams and affectations 
 and cruel tyrannies that have been killed, 
 and the courage and stamina which have 
 been built into the nation's character by 
 a single poem like ''Scots wha ha'e" or 
 " A man's a man for a' that"? — Eyre- 
 ToDD, George, 1896, Scottish Poetry of 
 the Eighteenth Century, vol. ii, p. 172. 
 The daisy by his ploughshare cleft, 
 The lips of women loved and left, 
 'The griefs and joys that weave the weft 
 
 Of human time, 
 With craftsman's cunning, keen and deft, 
 
 He carved in rhyme. 
 
 But never, since bright earth was born 
 In rapture of the enkindling morn , 
 Might godlike wrath and sunlike scorn 
 
 That was and is 
 And shall be while false weeds are worn 
 
 Find word like his. 
 Above the rude and radiant earth 
 That heaves and glows from firth to firth 
 In vale and mountain, bright in dearth 
 
 And warm in wealth, 
 Which gave his fiery glory birth 
 
 By chajice and stealth, 
 Above the storms of praise and blame 
 That blur with mist his lustrous name, 
 His thunderous laughter went and came, 
 
 And lives and flies ; 
 The roar that follows on the flame 
 
 When lightning dies. 
 Earth, and the snow-dimmed heights of air. 
 And water winding soft and fair 
 Through still sweet places, bright and bare. 
 
 By bent and byre, 
 Taught him what hearts within them were : 
 
 But his was fire. 
 
 —Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1896, 
 Robert Burns, The Nineteenth Century, vol'. 
 39, pp. 183, 184. 
 
 By virtue of his ardent and undisci- 
 plined temperament, by his peasant origin 
 and his experience of the sufferings of 
 the poor, by that pride of manhood and 
 of genius which made him feel himself 
 an equal of prince or peer, by the zeal of 
 his humanitarian sympathies, by his 
 sentimental Jacobitism and his imaginative 
 enthusiasm for the traditions of Scottish 
 independence, by the fact that he belonged 
 to the democratic Presbyterian Church and 
 sympathized with the party of spiritual 
 revolt, Burns was fitted to be a spokesman 
 of the passions of the time. — Dowden, 
 Edward, 1897, The French Revolution 
 and English Literature, p. 146. 
 
 Not only does he take whatever the 
 Vernacular School can give in such matters 
 as tone, sentiment, method, diction phrase ; 
 but also, he is content to run in debt to it 
 for suggestions as regards ideas and for 
 models in style. ... It was fortunate 
 for him and for his book, as it was fortu- 
 nate for the world at large — as, too, it 
 was afterwards to be fortunate for Scots 
 song — that he was thus imitative in kind 
 and thus traditional in practice. He had 
 the sole ear of the Vernacular Muse ; there 
 was not a tool in her budget of which he 
 was not master ; and he took his place, the 
 moment he moved for it, not so much, 
 perhaps, by reason of his uncommon capac- 
 ity as, because he discovered himself to 
 his public in the very terms — of diction 
 form, style, sentiment even — with which 
 that public was familiar from of old, and 
 in which it was waiting and longing to be 
 addressed. — Henley, William Ernest, 
 1897, LifCy GeniuSy Achievement, The Poetry 
 of Robert Burns, vol. iv, pp. 270, 272. 
 
 Burns rides the ways of literature hedged 
 by a numerous and terrible guard of de- 
 voted Scots, and if .any hat is not doffed as 
 he passes the irreverent offender is a 
 marked man. Who dares lay hands on a 
 poet guarded by a nation ? . . . Burns, 
 like Homer, is not merely a poet, but a 
 literature. He has succeeded in fulfilling 
 the old savage ideal — he has eaten up all 
 his predecessors, and become possessed of 
 their united powers. It is useless to 
 haggle over much about what he borrowed : 
 one can only envy the gigantic luck of his 
 chance. Such vamps as the one I have 
 analysed from Mr. Henley's notes can only 
 be credited to him as brilliant luck bril- 
 liantly used. But the pieces I enumerated 
 of the third class proved that he could 
 write charming songs without such luck ; 
 though I think, on the whole, they prove 
 that he wrote still better when he bor- 
 rowed. . . . Taking him, borrowings 
 and all, the merit of his songs lies in the 
 partly dramatic kind ; they display, vividly 
 and pictorially, the life of a whole peas- 
 antry, as it has not been displayed in Eng- 
 lish literature. — Thompson, Francis, 
 1897, Mr. Henley's Burns, The Academy, 
 vol. 51, pp. 273, 274. 
 
 No poet, not even Shakespeare, has been 
 so minutely, lovingly studied as Burns. — 
 Davidson, James, 1897, New Light on 
 Burns, The Scottish Review, vol 29, p. 306. 
 
ROBERT BURNS 
 
 269 
 
 A stranger freak of burgess criticism is 
 every-day fare in the odd world peopled 
 by the biographers of Robert Burns. The 
 nature of Burns, one would think, was 
 simplicity itself ; it could hardly puzzle a 
 ploughman, and two sailors out of three 
 would call him brother. But he lit up the 
 whole of that nature by his marvellous 
 genius for expression, and grave person- 
 ages have been occupied ever since in dis- 
 cussing the dualism of his character, and 
 professing to find some dark mystery in 
 the existence of this, that, or the other 
 trait — a love of pleasure, a hatred of 
 shams, a deep sense of religion. It is com- 
 mon human nature, after all, that is the 
 mystery, but they seem never to have met 
 with it, and treat it as if it were the poet's 
 eccentricity. They are all agog to wor- 
 ship him, and when they have made an 
 image of him in their own likeness, and 
 given it a tin-pot head that exactly hits 
 their taste, they break into noisy lamenta- 
 tion over the discovery that the original 
 was human, and had feet of clay. They 
 deem "Mary in Heaven" so admirable that 
 they could find it in their hearts to regret 
 that she was ever on earth. — Raleigh, 
 Walter, 1897, Style, p. 76. 
 
 It is of importance that we^ recognize 
 the fact that in Burns the tWo literary 
 estates, English and Scottish, were united. 
 Until his time there was a sharp distinc- 
 tion between Scottish and English litera- 
 ture ; but after him the literature of the 
 two countries became one, bo^h in nature 
 and in name. This was but natural, when 
 we consider that something of the original 
 impulse which moved Burns' s gehius was 
 English. When the riches of this noble 
 Scottish house, and of that sister house of 
 Chaucer, Spenser, Shakespeare, and Mil- 
 ton, awaited union in a. royil heir, there 
 came a peasant lad from i;ihe "auld clay 
 biggin' " in Ayrshire, who, with the 
 simple and graceful dignity of one of 
 nature's noblemen, claimed his own, and 
 there was added a new hereditary peer to 
 the House of Fame. — George, Andrew 
 J., 1897, Carlyle's Essay on Burns, p. 114. 
 
 Burns. — The most amazing price ever 
 realised for a modern book was that of 
 £572 for "Poems chiefly in the Scottish 
 dialect. By Robert Burns. Kilmarnock, 
 1786." The original price of this octavo 
 volume was three shillings. The history 
 of the very fine copy sold in Edinburgh in 
 
 February 1898 is traced back about eighty 
 years by a writer in Literature. In 1870 
 it was sold for six guineas to G. B. Simp- 
 son, of Dundee, who sold it in 1879, with 
 some other books, to A. C. Lamb for £124. 
 The price of the Kilmarnock Burns has 
 steadily advanced from £3, 10s. in 1858 to 
 £111 in 1888, and then it made the im- 
 mense leap to£572.— Wheatley, Henry 
 B., 1898, Prices of Books, p. 257. 
 
 In his relation to Nature there was this - 
 great difference between Burns and his ^ 
 literary contemporaries and immediate ' 
 pedecessors, that whereas even the best of 
 them wrote rather as pleased spectators 
 of the country, with all its infinite variety 
 of form and colour, of life and sound, of 
 calm and storm, he sang as one into whose 
 very inmost heart the power of these 
 things had entered. For the first time in- 
 English literature the burning ardour of a 
 passionate soul went out in tumultuous joy 
 towards Nature. The hills and woods, the 
 streams and dells were to Burns not merely 
 enjoyable scenes to be visited and de- 
 scribed. They became part of his very 
 being. In their changeful aspects he found 
 the counterpart of his own variable moods ; 
 they ministered to his joys, they soothed 
 his sorrows. They yielded him a com- 
 panionship that never palled, a sympathy 
 that never failed. They kindled his poetic 
 ardour, and became themselves the sub- 
 jects of his song. He loved them with all 
 the overpowering intensity of his aflfection- 
 ate nature, and his feelings found vent in 
 an exuberance of appreciation which had 
 never before been heard in verse. — Geikie, 
 Sir Archibald, 1898, Types of Scenery 
 and their Influence on Literature, p. 26. 
 
 I venture to assume that I have advanced 
 enough to vindicate my postulate, that 
 throughout Fergusson's poems saturated 
 the mind, heart, imagination, aflPection, 
 and memory, and imposed subjects and 
 forms and elect words on Robert Burns. 
 That, when all is said, Robert Burns still 
 stands by head and shoulders above Robert 
 Fergusson and beyond all possible com- 
 parison Scotland's supremest singer; that 
 his was the larger, stronger soul, the richer 
 imagination, the more inspired utterance, 
 the more seeing eyes, the broader intel- 
 lect, does not alter the fact of wide, deep; 
 and pervasive obligations to his precursor. 
 Mentally as physically he was stalwart 
 where Fergusson was fragile; he was 
 
 « 
 
270 
 
 BURNS— MACPHERSON 
 
 dowered with immeasurable resources 
 where Fergusson was soon exhausted ; he 
 was master of all moods and passions where 
 Fergusson was only their victim ; he was 
 possessor of Elisha's wished-for ''double 
 portion" of poetic inspiration where 
 Fergusson was at best fitfully and briefly 
 fired and inspired. But with every limita- 
 tion of genius and range, it abides that it 
 was a happy day for Robert Burns, and a 
 still happier day for the immortal in Scot- 
 tish poetry, whereon he fell in with Robert 
 Fergusson's volume of 1773-79. — Gro- 
 SART, Alexander B., 1898, Robert Fer- 
 gusson (Famous Scots Series) , p. 147. 
 
 When the tom-tit patronises the eagle, 
 one realises how small the little bird is. 
 But though Burns is gone, his immortal 
 poems live and burn themselves into our 
 heart of hearts. When we feel disgusted 
 with the little peddling thoughts of little 
 people ; when we feel sick to the soul of 
 the conventional cant of the time, of the 
 false gods in art and literature and music ; 
 
 we should turn for inspiration to the glow- 
 ing rapture, the blazing patriotism, the 
 all-conquering humour, and the biting wit 
 and overwhelming irony of Robert Burns. 
 The glorious fire of that mighty genius 
 will warm the. coldest heart. — Forster, 
 Joseph, 1898, Great Teachers, p. 3. 
 
 The very high rank of Burns depends, 
 in great part, on the fact that he could 
 command a wider range of emotion than 
 most lyrists; humour in almost all its 
 varieties save the cynical, pathos in several 
 forms, love when young and passionate, 
 personal independence and the competence 
 of the individual, patriotism — Burns has 
 sung them all. — Winchester, C. T., 
 1899, Some Principles of Literary Criti- 
 cism, p, 99. 
 
 The genius of Burns was breathing into 
 the Scottish Muse a fire and a vigour that 
 were to be the harbingers of new feelings 
 and new impulses far beyond her borders. 
 — Craik, Sir Henry, 1901, A Century 
 of Scottish History, vol. ii, p. 125. 
 
 James Macpherson 
 
 1736-1796 
 
 Born, at Kingussie, Invernesshire, 27 Oct. 1736. Early education at parish school. 
 Matric, King's Coll., Aberdeen, Feb. 1753. To Marischal Coll., 1755. Probably 
 studied at Edinburgh Univ., winter of 1755-56. After leaving Edinburgh, was master 
 in school at Ruthven ; and afterwards private tutor. Contrib. to ''Scots Mag.," 1758. 
 Friendship with Home and Dr. Carlyle, who encouraged him in publication of transla- 
 tions of Gaelic poems. Travelled in Highlands, 1760, collecting material. To London, 
 1761. Sec. to Governor of Pensacola, West Florida, 1764. Returned to England, 1766. 
 Employed by Government to write on political questions. Agent to Nabob of Arcot, 
 1780. M. P. for Camelford, 1780-96. Died, at Badenoch, Invernesshire, 17 Feb. 
 1796. Buried in Westminster Abbey. Works : ''The Highlander" (anon.), 1758 ; ''Frag- 
 ments of Ancient Poetry, collected in the Highlands" (anon.), 1760; Ossian's 
 "Fingal," translated from the Gaelic, 1762; Ossian's "Temora," translated, 1763; 
 "Introduction to the History of Great Britain and Ireland," 1771; translation of 
 Homer's "Iliad," 1773; "A History of Great Britain, from the Restoration to the 
 Accession of the House of Hanover" (2 vols.), 1775; "Original Papers, containing 
 the Secret History of Great Britain" (2 vols.), 1775; "The Rights of Great Britain 
 asserted againsl^the claims of America" (anon.), 1776; "A Short History of the Op- 
 position during the last Session" (anon.), 1779; "The History and Management of the 
 East India Company" (anon.), 1779. Ee edited: "Letters from Mahommed Ali Chang, 
 Nabob of Arcot, to the Court of Directors," 1779. Collected Works: "Poetical 
 Works," 1802. Life: by T. B. Saunders, 1894.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A 
 Dictionary of English Authors, p. 181. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I received your foolish and impudent 
 note. Whatever insult is ofi:'ered me, I 
 will do my best to repel, and what I cannot 
 do for myself, the law shall do for me. 
 I will not desist from detecting what I 
 
 think a cheat, from any fear of the 
 menaces of a Ruffian. What would you 
 have me retract ? I thought your book an 
 imposture ; I think it an imposture still. 
 For this opinion I have given my reasons to 
 the public, which I here dare you to refute. 
 
JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 271 
 
 Your rage I defy. Your abilities, since 
 your Homer, are not so formidable; and 
 what I hear of your morals inclines me to 
 pay regard, not to what you shall say, but 
 to what you shall prove, l^ou may print 
 this if you will.* — Johnson, Samuel, 
 1775, Letter to Macpherson, Jan. 20. 
 
 ''Why dost thou build the tower, son of 
 the winged days ? Soon will thou depart 
 with thy fathers. The blast from the 
 desert shall rush through thy hall, and 
 sound upon the bossy shield." Do you 
 recollect, dear Madam, when I stopped 
 with you at the gate of Belleville, 1 re- 
 peated those lines, and observed what a 
 suitable inscription they might prove for 
 the front of poor James Macpherson's new 
 house. It would appear I was moved by a 
 prophetic impulse when I predicted that 
 he never would see it finished. ... He 
 felt the approaches of death, and hoped 
 no relief from medicine, though his life 
 was not such that one would like to look 
 back on at that awful period : indeed 
 whose is? It pleased the Almighty to 
 render his last scene most affecting and 
 exemplary. He died last Tuesday evening ; 
 and, from the minute he was confined, till 
 a very little before he expired, never ceased 
 imploring the Divine mercy in the most 
 earnest and pathetic manner. People 
 about him were overawed and melted at the 
 fervour and bitterness of his penitence ; 
 he frequently and earnestly entreated the 
 prayers of good serious people of the lower 
 class w^ho were admitted. He was a very 
 good-natured man; and now, that he had 
 got all his schemes of interest and ambi- 
 tion fulfilled, he seemed to reflect and grow 
 domestic, and showed, of late, a great in- 
 clination to be an indulgent landlord, and 
 very liberal to the poor ; of which I could 
 relate various instances, more tender and 
 interesting than flashy or ostentatious. 
 His heart and temper were orignally good ; 
 his religious principles were, I fear, un- 
 fixed, and fluctuating. But the primary 
 cause that so much genius, taste, benevo- 
 lence and prosperity, did not produce or 
 diffuse more happiness, was his living a 
 stranger to comforts of domestic life, 
 from which unhappy connexions excluded 
 him. — Grant, Mrs. Anne, 1796, To Mrs. 
 Macintosh, Feb. 20 ; Letters from the Moun- 
 tains, vol. II. 
 
 *The original of this weU-known letter -was sold by 
 auction in 1875, for £30.— Saunders, Batlet, 1894, 
 The Life and Letters of James Macj)herson, p. 250. 
 
 A Scottish Chatterton of maturer 
 growth who did not commit suicide. — 
 Collier, William Francis, 1861, A His- 
 tory of English Literature, p. 353. 
 
 As an original writer Macpherson be- 
 came more and more discredited, but as 
 an individual more and more wealthy ; and, 
 to prove that no honour lies beyond the 
 grasp of unprincipled mediocrity, he was 
 buried in Poet's Corner. — Gosse, Ed- 
 mund, 1888, A History of Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury Literature, p. 336. 
 
 He went up to London — was appointed 
 to go with Governor Johnston to Florida, 
 in America ; remained there at Pensacola, 
 a year or more ; but quarrelled with his 
 chief (he had rare aptitude for quarrelling) 
 and came back in 1766. Some English 
 historical work followed ; but with little 
 success or profit. Yet he was a canny 
 Scotchman, and so laid his plans that he 
 became agent for some rich nabob of India 
 (from these pickings winning a great 
 fortune eventually) ; entered Parliament 
 in 1780 ; had a country house at Putney, 
 where he entertained lavishly ; and at last 
 built a great show place in the highlands 
 near to his birth-place — v/hich one may see 
 to-day — with an obelisk to his memory, 
 looking down on the valley of the Spey ; 
 and not so far away from the old coach- 
 road, that passes through Killiecrankie, 
 from Blair Athol to Inverness, but the 
 coach man can show it — as he did to me — 
 with his whip. . . . Yet if his bock 
 of Ossianic poems was ten-fold better than 
 it is, it would hardly give an enduring, or 
 a brilliant gloss to the memory of James 
 Macpherson. — Mitchell, Donald G., 
 1895, English Lands Letters and Kings, 
 Queen Anne and the Georges, pp. 224, 228. 
 
 If none but the great deserved a biog- 
 raphy, this book would not have been 
 written. For Macpherson was in no sense 
 a great man : he was a miscellaneous writer 
 of considerable talent, a busy journalist, 
 a member of Parliament, an agent for an 
 Indian prince, a popular and prosperous 
 citizen; and, beyond the fact that he 
 brought out the Ossianic poems at the age 
 of twenty-five, he did little in the si^^ty 
 years of his life that would entitle him to 
 permanent remembrance. This work of 
 his youth was, as he declared, translated 
 from Gaelic fragments found in the Scot- 
 tish Highlands. By its wonderful success, 
 and its no less wonderful influence on 
 
272 
 
 JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 literature, both in England and on the 
 Continent, it gave him, in his own day, a 
 world-wide reputation. Literary fashions 
 have suffered many c«hanges in the century 
 that has passed since his death, and Mac- 
 pherson's reputation no longer exists ; but 
 his work retains an historical interest of a 
 curious and unique character. . . . 
 While I believe that, on the whole, he has 
 been greatly slandered, he is certainly no 
 hero ; and I hope that I am not afflicted, 
 in regard to him, with what has been called 
 the lues boswelliana, or the disease of ad- 
 miration. — Saunders, Bailey, 1894, The 
 Life and Letters of James MacphersoUy 
 Preface, pp. v, vii. 
 
 The big, burly politician lived in society. 
 . . . As he grew elderly, rich, and pros- 
 perous, Macpherson's heart yearned for 
 his old Highland district, and he turned 
 his eyes to Badenoch ; there he resolved 
 to buy land and build a home within 
 sight of his native mountains. Two or 
 three small farms were bought on the 
 banks of the Spey and soon a villa, bear- 
 ing the cockney title of "Belleville,'* 
 which had been designed by his friend 
 Adam, the architect, rose in the wilds, 
 two miles from Kingussie. People long 
 remembered the great man from London, 
 who came every year, bedizened with rings 
 and gold seals, and clad in fur-edged coat. 
 They told stories of the grand state he 
 kept up as a Highland chief, his splendid 
 table, his home filled with guests ; of his 
 sallying forth in the morning and bringing 
 bibulous lairds from, houses far and near, 
 who in the dining-room, from whose walls 
 portraits by Sir Joshua Reynolds looked 
 down, kept high revelry till they and the 
 nights were far spent. But good things, 
 too, were told of Macpherson, pleasant 
 to remember ; of his refusing from a grate- 
 ful Government the forfeited estate of 
 Cluny Macpherson, which was thereupon 
 restored to its rightful owner ; his gener- 
 osity to the poor, whom he employed at 
 high wages, which no Badenoch man had 
 ever dreamed of; his kindly remembrance 
 of all about his native Ruthven. Now that 
 his ambition was satisfied, now that his 
 struggle with poverty and obscurity was 
 over he could be the pleasant, affable man, 
 the kindly landlord, and the genial host. 
 — Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish 
 Men of Letters in the Eighteenth Century, 
 p. 238. 
 
 POEMS OF OSSIAN 
 Several gentlemen of the Highlands and 
 Isles, generously gave me all the assistance 
 in their power, and it was by their means 
 I was enabled to complete the Epic Poem. 
 How far it comes up to the rules of the 
 Epopoeia is the province of criticism to 
 examine. It is only my business to lay it 
 before the reader as I have found it. . . . 
 A man diffident of his abilities might 
 ascribe his own compositions to a person 
 whose remote antiquity and whose situa- 
 tion when alive might well answer for 
 faults which would be inexcusable in a 
 writer of this age. . . . But of this 
 I am persuaded . . . that some will 
 think, notwithstanding the disadvantages 
 with which the works ascribed to Ossian 
 appear, it would be a very uncommon in- 
 stance of self-denial in me to disown them, 
 were they really of my composition. — 
 Macpherson, James, 1762, Fm^aZ, Preface. 
 
 It is as beautiful as Homer. — Grimm, 
 Friedrich Melchior, 1762, Correspond- 
 dnce Litter aire, April. 
 
 There we find the fire and enthusiasm 
 of the most early times, combined with an 
 amazing degree of regularity and art. 
 We find tenderness, and even delicacy of 
 sentiment, greatly predominant over 
 fierceness and barbarity. Our hearts are 
 melted with the softest feelings, and at the 
 same time elevated with the highest ideas 
 of magnanimity, generosity, and true 
 heroism. — Blair, Hugh, 1763, Critical 
 Dissertation on the Poems of Ossian. 
 
 Ossian, sublimest, simplest bard of all 
 Whom English infidels Macpherson call. 
 — Churchill, Charles, 1763, The Proph- 
 ecy of Famine. 
 
 I never was able to discover in his most 
 unguarded moments that he was any other 
 than the collector and translator of the 
 works of Ossian, or assumed any other 
 merit that might be derived from thence. 
 But I have heard him express the greatest 
 contempt and disdain for those who 
 thought him the fabricator of them. If 
 there was any person who asserted that 
 Macpherson had owned it to himself, even 
 that would not shake my faith ; for I knew 
 him to be of a temper, when he was teased 
 and fretted, to carry his indignation that 
 far. — Carlyle, Alexander, 1769-70, 
 Report of the Highland Society, App. p. 68. 
 
 I have no less zeal for the ''Poems of 
 
JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 273 
 
 Ossian," than if I had been born on one of 
 his favourite mountains; and I shall be 
 very glad to see history confirm all that 
 his poetry has set forth. — Montagu, Eliz- 
 abeth, 1771, Letter to Lord Karnes, Oct. 3. 
 
 Homer has been superseded in my heart 
 by the divine Ossian. Through what a 
 world does this angelic bard carry me ! 
 With him I wander over barren wastes and 
 frightful wilds ; surrounded by whirlwinds 
 and hurricanes, trace by the feeble light 
 of the moon the shades of our noble ances- 
 tors ; hear from the mountainous heights, 
 intermingled with the roaring of waves 
 and cataracts, their plaintive tones steal- 
 ing from cavernous recesses; while the 
 pensive monody of some love-stricken 
 maiden, who heaves her departing sighs 
 over the moss-clad grave of the warrior 
 by whom she was adored, makes up the 
 inarticulate concert. I trace this bard, 
 with his silver locks, as he wanders in the 
 valley and explores the footsteps of his 
 fathers. Alas! no vestige remains but 
 their tombs. His thought then hangs on 
 the silver moon, as her sinking beams play 
 upon the rippling main ; and the remem- 
 brance of deeds past and gone recurs to the 
 hero's mind — deeds of times when he 
 gloried in the approach of danger, and 
 emulation nerved his whole frame ; when 
 the pale orb shone upon his bark, laden 
 with the spoils of his enemy, and illumi- 
 nated his triumphant return. When I see 
 depicted on his countenance a bosom full 
 of woe ; when I behold his heroic great- 
 ness sinking into the grave, and he ex- 
 claims, as he throws a glance at the cold 
 sod which is to lie upon him: ''Hither 
 will the traveler who is sensible of my 
 worth bend his weary steps, and seek the 
 soul-enlivening bard, the illustrious son of 
 Fingal ; his foot will tread upon my tomb, 
 but his eyes shall never behold me;'' at 
 this time it is, my dear friend, that, like 
 some renowned and chivalrous knight, I 
 could instantly draw my sword ; rescue 
 my prince from a long, irksome existence 
 of langour and pain; and then finish by 
 plunging the weapon into my own breast, 
 that I might accompany the demi-god 
 whom my hand had emancipated. — 
 Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, 1774, Sor- 
 rows of Werther, Letter Ixviii. 
 
 Doctor Johnson having asserted in his 
 late publication that the Translator of 
 Ossian' s Poems ''never could show the 
 
 18 G 
 
 original, nor can it be shown by any other," 
 J. hereby declare that the originals of "Fin- 
 gal" and other poems of Ossian lay in my 
 shop for many months in the year 1762, for 
 the inspection of the curious. The public 
 were not only apprised of their lying there 
 for inspection, but even proposals for 
 publishing the originals of the poems of 
 Ossian were dispersed through the king- 
 dom, and advertised in the newspapers. 
 Upon finding that a number of subscribers 
 sufficient to bear the expenses were not 
 likely to appear, I returned the manu- 
 script to the proprietor, in whose hands 
 they still remain. — Becket, Thomas, 1775, 
 To the Public, Jan. 19. 
 
 I see you entertain a great doubt with 
 regard to the authenticity of the poems of 
 Ossian. You are certainly right in so 
 doing. It is indeed strange that any men 
 of sense could have imagined it possible, 
 that above twenty thousand verses, along 
 with numberless historical facts, could 
 have been preserved by oral tradition 
 during fifty generations, by the rudest, 
 perhaps, of all the European nations, the 
 most necessitous, the most turbulent, and 
 the most unsettled. Where a supposition 
 is so contrary to common sense, any posi- 
 tive evidence of it ought never to be re- 
 garded. Men run with great avidity to 
 give their evidence in favour of what 
 flatters their passions and their natural 
 prejudices. You are therefore over and 
 above indulgent to us in speaking of the 
 matter with hesitation. — Hume, David, 
 
 1776, Letter to Gibbon, March 18; Gib- 
 bon's Memoirs,, ed. Hill, p. 197. 
 
 Mr. Tyrrwhit has at last published the 
 Bristol poems. He does not give up the 
 antiquity, yet fairly leaves everybody to 
 ascribe them to Chatterton, if they please, 
 which I think the internal evidence must 
 force every one to do, unless the amazing 
 prodigy of Chatterton's producing them 
 should not seem a larger miracle than 
 Rowley's and Canning's anticipation of 
 the style of very modern poetry. Psalm- 
 anazar alone seems to have surpassed the 
 genius of Chatterton, and when that lad 
 could perform such feats, as he certainly 
 did, what difficulty is there in believing 
 that Macpherson forged the cold skeleton 
 of an epic poem, that is more insipid 
 than "Leonidas?" — Walpole, Horace, 
 
 1777, To Rev. William Mason, Feb. 17; 
 LetterSf ed, Cunningham, vol. vi, p, 412. 
 
274 
 
 JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 Mr. Macpherson is by many supposed to 
 be the sole and original author of the com- 
 positions which he has published as trans- 
 lations of the works of Ossian ; this charge 
 I am enabled to refute, at least in part, 
 having fortunately met with the originals 
 of some of them. Mr. Macpherson, I 
 acknowledge, has taken very great liberties 
 with them ; retrenching, adding, and alter- 
 ing as he judged proper: but we must 
 admit that he has discovered great ingenu- 
 ity in these variations. — Young, Matthew, 
 1784, Ancient Gaelic Poems respecting the 
 Race of the Fians: Transactions of the 
 Royal Irish Academy, vol. I, Autiq. p. 43. 
 
 I look upon M'Pherson's "Fingal" to be 
 as gross an imposition as ever the world 
 was troubled with. Had it been really an 
 ancient work, a true specimen how men 
 thought at that time, it would have been 
 a curiosity of the first rate. As a mod- 
 ern production, it is nothing. — Johnson, 
 Samuel, 1785, The Journal of the Tour to 
 the Hebrides, by Boswell. 
 
 I was the first person who brought out 
 to the notice of the world, the poems of 
 Ossian: first, by the Fragments of 
 Ancient Poetry" which I published, and 
 afterwards, by my setting on foot the 
 undertaking for collecting and publishing 
 the "Works of Ossian and I have always 
 considered this as a meritorious action of 
 my life. — Blair, Hugh, 1787, Letter to 
 Robert Burns, May 4. 
 
 Mr. Macpherson must not only be 
 esteemed as one of the first poets, but as 
 exhibiting an attention and skill in the 
 preservation of costume hitherto unpar- 
 alleled. Ancient or modern, however, 
 these poems must be viewed as pregnant 
 with beauties of the highest rank; uni- 
 formly mild and generous in manners and 
 sentiment, uniformly simple, pathetic, and 
 sublime, vivid and picturesque in imagery, 
 in diction rapid, nervous, and concise, they 
 are alike calculated to melt and meliorate 
 the heart, to elevate and fire the imagina- 
 tion. I do not hesitate to affirm that, if 
 in sublimity the palm must be allowed, 
 and I think it must, to our great country- 
 man, yet in the pathetic the Caledonian is 
 far superior, not only to Milton, but to 
 every other poet. Conceiving, therefore, 
 as I firmly do, that Finpal and Temora are 
 solely indebted to Mr. Macpherson for 
 their form, and for, probably, a very con- 
 siderable portion of their matter, and as 
 
 the bard under whose name they are now 
 published was totally unknown till within 
 these forty years, I have placed them, and 
 wish indeed there to place the whole col- 
 lection, which is in fact truly epic, at the 
 head of the first department, where I am 
 confident they need not fear comparison 
 with any specimens of our elder poetry. — 
 Drake, Nathan, 1798-1820,. Literary 
 Hours, vol. u. No. xxix, p. 102. 
 
 After a long interval the poetical genius 
 of the Scots was revived in the tender and 
 luxuriant Thomson ; butthe spurious poems 
 of Ossian, a recent forgery, still continue 
 to pollute their history, and to corrupt 
 their taste. — Laing, Malcolm, 1800-4, 
 The History of Scotland, vol. iv, p. 390. 
 
 The Phantom was begotten by the snug 
 embrace of an impudent Highlander upon 
 a cloud of tradition. It traveled south- 
 ward, where it was greeted with acclama- 
 tion, and the thin consistence took its 
 course through Europe upon the breath of 
 popular applause. . . . Open this 
 far-famed book ! I have done so at ran- 
 dom, and the beginning of the ''Epic Poem 
 Temora," in eight books, presents itself. 
 . . . Having had the good fortune to 
 be born and reared in a mountainous coun- 
 try, from my very childhood I have felt 
 the falsehood that pervades the volumes 
 imposed upon the world under the name of 
 Ossian. From what I saw with my own 
 eyes, I knew that the imagery was spuri- 
 ous. In nature everything is indistinct, 
 yet nothing defined into absolute, inde- 
 pendent singleness. In Macpherson's 
 work it is exactly the reverse : everything 
 (that is not stolen) is in this manner de- 
 fined, insulated, dislocated, deadened, yet 
 nothing distinct. It will always be so 
 when words are substituted for things. 
 To say that the characters never could 
 exist; that the manners are impossible; 
 and that a dream has more substance than 
 the whole state of society, as there 
 depicted, is doing nothing more than 
 pronouncing a censure which Macpherson 
 defied. . . . Yet, much as these pre- 
 tended treasures of antiquity have been 
 admired, they have been wholly uninfluen- 
 tial upon the literature of the country. 
 No succeeding writer appears to have 
 caught from them a ray of inspiration ; no 
 author in the least distinguished has ven- 
 tured formally to imitate them, except the 
 boy, Chatterton,on their first appearance. 
 
JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 275 
 
 . . . This incapability to amalgamate 
 with the literature of the Island is, in 
 my estimation, a decisive proof that the 
 book is essentially unnatural ; nor should 
 I require any other to demonstrate it to 
 be a forgery, audacious as worthless. 
 Contrast, in this respect, the effect of 
 Macpherson's publication with the ''Re- 
 liques" of Percy, so unassuming, so modest 
 in their pretensions. — Wordsworth, Wil- 
 liam, 1800, Lyrical Ballads, Second Edi- 
 tion, Essay Supplementary to Preface. 
 
 Under a cloudy sky, on the coast of that 
 sea whose tempests were sung by Ossian, 
 their Gothic architecture has something 
 grand and somber. Seated on a shattered 
 altar in the Orkneys, the traveler is aston- 
 ished at the dreariness of those places: 
 sudden fogs, vales where rises the sepul- 
 chral stone, streams flowing through wild 
 heaths, a few reddish pine trees, scattered 
 over a naked desert studded with patches 
 of snow ; sach are the only objects which 
 present themselves to his view. The wind 
 circulates among the ruins, and their 
 innumerable crevices become so many 
 tubes, which heave a thousand sighs. 
 Long grasses wave in the apertures of the 
 domes, and beyond these apertures you 
 behold the flitting clouds and the soaring 
 sea-eagle. . . . Long will those four 
 stones which mark the tombs of heroes on 
 the moors of Caledonia, long will they con- 
 tinue to attract the contemplative traveler. 
 Oscar and Malvina are gone, but nothing 
 is changed in their solitary country. 'Tis 
 no longer the hand of the bard himself 
 that sweeps the harp ; the tones we hear 
 are the slight trembling of the strings, 
 produced by the touch of a spirit, when 
 announcing at night, in a lonely chamber, 
 the death of a hero. ... So when 
 he sits in the silence of noon in the valley 
 of his breezes is the murmur of the moun- 
 tain to Ossian's ear : the gale drowns it 
 often in its course, but the pleasant sound 
 returns again. — Chateaubriand, Fran- 
 gois Rene Vicomte de, 1802, Genie du 
 Christianisme, bk. ii, ch. vii, pt. iv. 
 
 You recall me to some very pleasant 
 feelings of my boyhood when you ask my 
 opinion of Ossian. . . . Ossian and 
 Spenser were two books which the good 
 old bard [Dr. Blacklock] put into my 
 hands, and which I devoured rather than 
 perused. Their tales were for a long time 
 so much my delight, that I could repeat 
 
 without remorse whole Cantos of the one 
 and Duans of the other; and wo to the 
 unlucky wight who undertook to be my 
 auditor, for in the height of my enthu- 
 siasm I was apt to disregard all hints that 
 my recitations became tedious. . . . 
 Ossian's poems, in particular, have more 
 charms for youth than for a more advanced 
 stage. . . . After making every 
 allowance for the disadvantages of a literal 
 translation, and the possible debasement 
 which those now collected may have suf- 
 fered in the great and violent change 
 which the Highlands have undergone since 
 the researches of Macphercon, 1 am com- 
 pelled to admit that incalculably the 
 greater part of the English Ossian must 
 be ascribed to Macpherson himself, and 
 that his whole introductions, notes, &c., 
 &c., are an absolute tissue of forgeries. — 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 1805, Letter to Miss 
 Seward, Lockharfs Life of Scott. 
 
 Little as we participate in the unquali- 
 fied enthusiasm expressed by some admir- 
 ers of Ossian, still the influence exercised 
 by these poems on the public taste is cer- 
 tainly very remarkable. ... My obser- 
 vations of these Ossianic poems have been 
 founded on the principle of conceding to 
 them the highest possible antiquity, which 
 is at all consistent with historical truth, 
 and at the same time acquiescing at once 
 in their relative authenticity. Certainly, 
 unless the contrary be proved by extrane- 
 ous circumstances, no internal evidence 
 militates against the supposition that such 
 a hero-race as that of Fingal existed on 
 the northwest coast of Scotland in the 
 ninth and tenth centuries ; that it actually 
 produced an Ossian, who, as bard and hero, 
 celebrated his own exploits and those of 
 his race. If his constant recurrence to 
 the melancholy remembrance of departed 
 ancestors, and the earlier period of their 
 glory, become by frequent repetition 
 monotonous and wearying, still the con- 
 tinual interweaving of the person of the 
 bard into the history narrated, affords a 
 happy poetical and universal point of 
 union, and greatly contributes to enhance 
 that fascinating interest with which the 
 poems have inspired so many readers and 
 hearers. This circumstance is, indeed, so 
 peculiarly propitious, that many succeed- 
 ing bards have adopted the form once 
 suggested, and written and sung as if in 
 Ossian's person. — Schlegel, Frederick, 
 
276 
 
 JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 1812, On the Poetry of the North, Esthetic 
 and Miscellaneous Works, tn Millington, 
 pp. 248, 256. 
 
 Hail, Bards of mightier grasp! on you 
 I chiefly call, the chosen Few, 
 Who cast not off the acknowledged guide, 
 Who falter'd not, nor turn'd aside ; 
 Wliose lofty genius could survive 
 Privation, under sorrow thrive; 
 In whom the fiery Muse revered 
 The symbol of a snow-white beard, 
 Bedew'd with meditative tears 
 Dropp'd from the lenient cloud of years. 
 
 — Wordsworth, William, 1824, Lines 
 written in a blank leaf of Macpherson's 
 Ossian. 
 
 They are utterly worthless, except as 
 an edifying instance of the success of a 
 story without evidence, and of a book 
 without merit. They are a chaos of words 
 which present no image, of images which 
 have no archetype: — they are without 
 form and void ; and darkness is upon the 
 face of them. Yet how many men of 
 genius have panegyrised and imitated 
 them! — Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 
 1824, Criticisms Upon the Principal Italian 
 Writers, Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 Homer and Virgil, though the gods of 
 our young idolatry, — sunbright both, in the 
 golden morn of our imagination — were not 
 greater or more glorious ''orbs of song" 
 than our own Ossian. Was that belief 
 delusion all ? Are the songs of Selma but 
 unmeaning words, — idle as the inarticulate 
 winds, the murmurs of the Harp and the 
 Voice of Cona ? Let us return, if we can, 
 to our old creed — let us abjure, if we 
 can, the folly of wisdom. — Wilson, John, 
 1839, Have You Read Ossian? Black- 
 wood's Magazine, vol. 46, p. 693. 
 
 It is many years ago since I looked at 
 Ossian, and I never did much delight in 
 him, as that fact proves. Since your letter 
 came I have taken him up again, and have 
 just finished "Carthon." There are 
 beautiful passages in it, the most beauti- 
 ful beginning, I think, ''Desolate is the 
 dwelling of Moina," and the next place 
 being filled by that address to the sun you 
 magnify so with praise. But the charm 
 of these things is the only charm of all the 
 poems. There is a sound of wild vague 
 music in a monotone — nothing is articu- 
 late, nothing individual, nothing various. 
 Take away a few poetical phrases from 
 these poems, and they are colourless and 
 
 bare. Compare them with the old burn- 
 ing ballads, with a wild heart beating in 
 each. How cold they grow in the com- 
 parison! Compare them with Homer's 
 grand breathing personalities, with ^Eschy- 
 ius's — nay, but I cannot bear upon my lips 
 or finger the charge of the blasphemy of 
 such comparing, even for religion's sake. 
 . . . And that reminds me of a distinction 
 you suggest between Ossian and Homer. 
 I fashion it in this way : Homer sometimes 
 nods, but Ossian makes his readers nod. — 
 Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1843, 
 To H. S. Boyd ; Letters, ed. Kenyon, vol. 
 I, pp. 118, 119. 
 
 You ask me about Ossian — now here is 
 truth — the first book I ever bought in my 
 life was Ossian. . . . It is now in 
 the next room. And years before that, 
 the first composition I ever was guilty of 
 was something in imitation of Ossian, whom 
 I had not read, but conceived, through two 
 or three scraps in other books — I never 
 can recollect not writing rhymes . . . 
 but I knew they were nonsense even then ; 
 this, however, I thought exceedingly well 
 of, and laid up for posterity under the 
 cushion of a great armchair. "And now 
 my soul is satisfied'^ — so said one man 
 after killing another, the death being 
 suggested, in its height of honour, by 
 stars and stars (****). I could not 
 have been five years old, that's one con- 
 solation. Years after, when 1 bought this 
 book, I found a vile dissertation of Laing 
 ... all to prove Ossian was not Ossian. 
 . . . I would not read it, but could 
 not help knowing the purpose of it, and the 
 pith of the hatefully — irresistible argu- 
 ments. The worst came in another shape, 
 though ... an after-gleaning of 
 real Ossianic poems, by a firm believer 
 whose name I forget — "if this is thereat* 
 — I thought ! Well, to this day I believe 
 in a nucleus for all that haze, a founda- 
 tion of truth to Macpherson's fanciful 
 superstructure — and I have been long in- 
 tending to read once again those Fingals 
 and Malvinas. — Browning, Robert, 1846, 
 To Elizabeth Barrett, Aug. 25 ; The Letters 
 of Robert Browning and Elizabeth Barrett, 
 vol. II, p. 466. 
 
 The history of Celtic poetry in Scotland 
 has been invested with a false brilliancy, 
 which time is gradually impairing. The 
 poems ascribed to Ossian, whatever may 
 be their intrinsic merit, have been chiefly 
 
JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 277 
 
 admired as the productions of a remote 
 age, and of a nation which, if not utterly 
 barbarous, was, at all events, very imper- 
 fectly civilized ; and when this charm of 
 antiquity is completely dissolved, they 
 cannot be perused with the same degree 
 of enthusiasm.— Irving, David, 1861, 
 History of Scotish Poetry y ed. Carlyle^ p. 1. 
 
 One circumstance, which has con- 
 tributed to keep up the dispute about 
 Ossian so much longer than that about 
 Rowley, no doubt, is, that there was some 
 small portion of truth mixed up with Mac- 
 pherson's deception, whereas there was 
 none at all in Chatterton's. But the 
 Ossianic poetry, after all that has been 
 said about its falsehood of style and sub- 
 stance as well as of pretention, making it 
 out to be thus a double lie, must still have 
 some qualities wonderfully adapted to 
 allure the popular taste. Both Chatterton 
 and Macpherson wrote a quantity of 
 modern English verse in their own names ; 
 but nothing either did in this way was 
 worth much : they evidently felt most at 
 ease in their masks. — Craik, George L., 
 1861, A Compendious History of English 
 Literature and of the English Language, 
 vol. II, p, 309. 
 
 When the Gaelic *'Fingal,'' published 
 in 1807, is compared with any one of the 
 translations which purport to have been 
 made from it, it seems to me incomparably 
 superior. It is far simpler in diction. It 
 has a peculiar rhythm and assonance which 
 seem to repel the notion of a mere transla- 
 tion from English as something almost 
 absurd. It is impossible that it can be a 
 translation from MacPherson's English, 
 unless there was some clever Gaelic poet 
 then alive, able and willing to write what 
 Eton schoolboys call ''full sense verses.^' 
 — Campbell, J. P., 1862-93, Popular 
 Tales of the West Highlands, vol. iv, p. 132. 
 
 The Celts are the prime authors of this 
 vein of piercing regret and passion, of 
 this Titanism in poetry. A famous book, 
 Macpherson's ''Ossian," carried, in the 
 last century, this vein like a flood of lava 
 through Europe. I am not going to criti- 
 cise Macpherson's "Ossian" here. Make 
 the part of what is forged, modern, tawdry, 
 spurious in the book as large as you please ; 
 strip Scotland, if you like, of every feather 
 of borrowed plumes which, on the strength 
 of Macpherson's "Ossian," she may have 
 stolen from that vetus et major Scotia, 
 
 the true home of the Ossianic poetry, 
 Ireland ; I make no objection. But there 
 will still be left in the book a residue with 
 the very soul of the Celtic genius in it , 
 and which has the proud distinction of 
 having brought this soul of the Celtic 
 genius into contact with the nations of 
 modern Europe, and enriched all our poetry 
 by it. Woody Morven, and echoing Sora, 
 and Selma with its silent halls ! We all 
 owe them a debt of gratitude, and when 
 we are unjust enough to forget it, may the 
 Muse forget us ! Choose any one of the 
 better passages in Macpherson's ' ' Ossian, ' ' 
 and you can see, even at this time of 
 day, what an apparition of newness and 
 power such a strain must have been to the 
 eighteenth century.— Arnold, Matthew, 
 1867, On the Study of Celtic Literature, 
 p. 152, 
 
 MacPherson got much from Mss. and 
 much from oral recitation. It is most 
 probable that he has given the minor poems 
 exactly as he found them. He may have 
 made considerable changes in the larger 
 ones in giving them their present form, 
 although I do not believe that he, or any 
 of his assistants, added much, even in the 
 way of connecting-links between the 
 various episodes. — Clerk, Archibald, 
 1870, Poems of Ossian in the Original 
 Gaelic, with a literal translation into 
 English, vol. i, p. 1. 
 
 A Scotchman, a man of wit, of over- 
 much wit, having written to his cost an 
 unsuccessful rhapsody, wished to recover 
 himself, went amongst the mountains of 
 his country, gathered picturesque images, 
 collected fragments of legends, plastered 
 over the whole an abundance of elo- 
 quence and rhetoric, and created a Celtic 
 Homer, Ossian, who, with Oscar, Malvina, 
 and his whole troop, made the tour of 
 Europe, and, about 1830, ended by furnish- 
 ing baptismal names for French grisettes 
 and perruquiers. Macpherson displayed 
 to the world an imitation of primitive 
 manners, not overtrue, for the extreme 
 rudeness of barbarians would have shocked 
 the people, but yet well enough preserved 
 or portrayed to contrast with modern 
 civilisation, and persuade the public that 
 they were looking upon pure nature. A 
 keen sympathy with Scotch landscape, so 
 grand, so cold, so gloomy, rain on the 
 hills, the birch trembling to the wind, the 
 mist of heaven and the vagueness of the 
 
278 
 
 JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 soul, so that every dreamer found there 
 the emotions of his solitary walks and his 
 philosophical glooms; chivalric exploits 
 and magnanimity, heroes who set out alone 
 to engage an army, faithful virgins dying 
 on the tomb of their betrothed ; an im- 
 passioned, coloured style, affecting to be 
 abrupt, yet polished; able to charm a 
 disciple of Rousseau by its warmth and 
 elegance : here was something to transport 
 the young enthusiasts of the time, civilised 
 barbarians, scholarly lovers of nature, 
 dreaming of the delights of savage life, 
 whilst they shook off the powder which 
 the hairdresser had left on their coats. — 
 Taine, H. a., 1871, History of English 
 Literature, tr. Van Laun, vol. ii, bk. iii, 
 ch. vii, p. 220. 
 
 The fate of a poem which excited the 
 enthusiasm of Goethe and Napoleon, and 
 which nobody can read at the present day, 
 certainly suggests some curious problems. 
 Briefly, we may assume that its vague and 
 gigantesque scenery, its pompous mouth- 
 ing of sham heroics, its crude attempts to 
 represent a social state when great men 
 stalked through the world in haughty 
 superiority to the narrow conventions of 
 modern life, were congenial to men grow- 
 ing weary of an effete formalism. Men 
 had been talking under their breath and 
 in a mincing dialect so long that they were 
 easily gratified, and easily imposed upon, 
 by an affectation of vigorous and natural 
 sentiment. — Stephen, Leslie, 1876, His- 
 tory of English Thought in the Eighteenth 
 Century, vol. ii, p. 447. 
 
 Above all, Ossian, that poet of the 
 vague — that northern Dante, as great, as 
 majestic, as supernatural as the Dante of 
 Florence, and who draws often from his 
 phantoms cries more human and more 
 heart-rending than those of the heroes of 
 Homer. — Van Laun, Henri, 1877, His- 
 tory of French Literature, vol. iii, p. 333. 
 
 The appearance of this poetry gave to 
 the English-speaking mind the thrill of a 
 new and strange emotion about mountain 
 scenery. Whether the poetry was old, or 
 the product of last century, it describes, 
 as none other does, the desolation of 
 dusky moors, the solemn brooding of the 
 mists on the mountains, the occasional 
 looking through them of sun by day, of 
 moon and stars by night, the gloom of dark 
 cloudy Bens or cairns, with flashing 
 cataracts, the ocean with its storms as it 
 
 breaks on the West Highland shores or on 
 the headlands of the Hebrides. — Shairp, 
 John Campbell, 1877, On Poetic Inter- 
 pretation of Nature, p. 232. 
 
 Not into literature only did MacPher- 
 son's book pour a new lava-steam, but it 
 initiated, in the domain of Historical 
 Science, the most fruitful new researches. 
 Directly springing from, or indirectly 
 stimulated by, the enthusiasm excited by 
 
 Ossian," researches were instituted into 
 the antiquities of all the three great races 
 of Europe — not of the Kelts only, but of 
 the Teutons, and of the Slavs — and col- 
 lections were made, or edited, of their 
 ancient poesies. It is unnecessary to re- 
 call the dates of the several publications. 
 Only this general fact we need here note, 
 that if, in very various degrees, propter 
 
 Ossian, in every case post Ossian, 
 were such works as the Welsh My vyrian 
 Archaeology' ' and ' ' Mabinogion ;' ' Miiller 's 
 
 Collection of German Poems from the 
 12th, 13th and 14th Centuries," and 
 Grimm's ''Teutonic Mythology;" and the 
 numberless Slavonic Folk-lore collections 
 which were the antiquarian bases of the 
 great political fact of Panslavonic aspira- 
 tions. And considering this, we see that 
 by no means was the scope and bearing of 
 the researches springing from, or stimu- 
 lated by, MacPherson's*' Ossian" confined 
 to the sphere of historical theory, and 
 religious belief. Few things are, in the 
 last hundred years, more remarkable than 
 the direct transformation of historical 
 theories into political forces. Political 
 aspirations of nationalities or races to 
 union or re-union are but the transference 
 into the sphere of practical endeavour of 
 the theories of antiquaries and historians. 
 Yet no forces have in Europe, in this 
 century, shown themselves more powerful. 
 And more particularly events are now 
 indicating, with almost daily increasing 
 clearness, that the Keltic Revival, directly, 
 initiated by MacPherson's Ossian," will 
 show itself hardly less important as a 
 political force than the Slavonic Revival, 
 indirectly stimulated by "Ossian." — Stu- 
 art-Glennie, J. S., 1880, MacPherson, 
 Burns, and Scott in their Relation to the 
 Modern Revolution, Eraser's Magazine, voL 
 101, p. 521. 
 
 Addison had already directed attention 
 to the English ballad-poetry, and Kl op- 
 stock, Gleim and others had profited by 
 
JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 279 
 
 his example. Bishop Percy's collection 
 of English ballads was, therefore, received 
 with general rapture in Germany, and the 
 sentimental heroic poetry of Celtic origin, 
 which Macpherson sent forth under the 
 name of Ossian, was greeted with enthus- 
 iastic applause by a race of poets full 
 of sentiment and warlike sympathies. — 
 ScHERER, WiLHELM, 1883-86, A History 
 of German Literature^ tr. Conybeare, vol. 
 II, p. 56. 
 
 Space (fortunately) does not permit a 
 discussion of the Ossianic question. That 
 fragments of Ossianic legend (if not of 
 - Ossianic poetry) survive in oral Gaelic 
 traditions, seems certain. How much 
 Macpherson knew of these, and how little 
 he used them in the bombastic prose which 
 Napoleon loved (and spelled ''Ocean"), 
 it is next to impossible to discover. — 
 Lang, Andrew, 1886, Books and Book- 
 men, p. 27. 
 
 Curiously enough, although Macpherson 
 died suddenly, his papers were searched 
 in vain for a scrap of evidence for or 
 against his culpability. In these days few 
 will be credulous enough to pin their faith 
 to the misty songs of Ullin ; but there are 
 probably some persons of intelligence, 
 especially north of the Tay, who still "in- 
 dulge the pleasing supposition that Fingal 
 fought and Ossian sang." — GossE, Ed- 
 mund, 1888, A History of Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury Literature, p. 337. 
 
 It has been seen that among his con- 
 temporaries and fellow-countrymen there 
 were some who showed signs of the com- 
 ing romantic movement ; but he was the 
 first in the English language who power- 
 fully and decisively expressed it. And 
 this must be set down as his signal merit. 
 Far from being a mere translator, he was 
 peculiarly original. Not that Macpherson 
 created the spirit of romance. . . . 
 It does not follow that Macpherson was a 
 man of great genius. On the contrary, 
 the range of his ideas was so narrow that 
 to read any one of his poems is to become 
 master of almost all that he had to say. 
 The same expressions, the same images, 
 and almost identical situations recur again 
 and again. Repetition was affected no 
 doubt partly to give an aspect of antiquity ; 
 but in Macpherson it goes deeper and dis- 
 closes poverty of mind. Still, to deny 
 him the praise of having w^ell expressed 
 his few thoughts is unjust. There is much 
 
 fustian in his style, and it speedily palls 
 upon the ear ; but the peculiar poetic prose 
 which he formed for himself has, in little 
 bits, a powerful charm. His descriptions of 
 scenery and of aspects of nature are often 
 very beautiful. We ask again and again 
 why they are there, but he who can forget 
 their incongruity with a poem of the third 
 century must feel their truth. — Walker, 
 Hugh, 1893, Three Centuries of Scottish 
 Literature, vol. ii, pp. 127, 128. 
 
 Ossian points as directly to Byron as the 
 chivalry and ballad revivals point to Scott. 
 These indicate the two great streams in 
 the Romantic movement. In Byron's 
 poetry — sincere or feigned — we see con- 
 stantly manifest the Ossian feeling. What 
 Byron himself thought of Ossian I have 
 had a good opportunity to observe by pe- 
 rusing Byron's own manuscript notes in a 
 copy of the Ossian poems. The following 
 notes I copied directly from Byron's hand- 
 writing: "The portrait which Ossian has 
 drawn of himself is indeed a masterpiece. 
 He not only appears in the light of a dis- 
 tinguished warrior— generous as well as 
 brave — and possessed of exquisite sensi- 
 bility — but of an aged venerable bard 
 — subjected to the most melancholy vicis- 
 situdes of fortune — weak and blind — the 
 sole survivor of his family — the last of 
 the race of Fingal. The character of 
 Fingal — the poet's own father — is a highly 
 finished one. There is certainly no hero 
 in the Iliad — or the Odyssey — who is at 
 once so brave and amiable as this renowned 
 king of Morven. It is well known that 
 Hector — whose character is of all the 
 Homeric heroes the most complete — 
 greatly sullies the lustre of his glorious 
 actions by the insult over the fallen 
 Patroclus. On the other hand the conduct 
 of Fingal appears uniformly illustrious 
 and great — without one mean or inhuman 
 action to tarnish the splendour of his 
 fame — He is equally the object of our ad- 
 miration esteem and love. " Speaking of 
 Ossian's skill in depicting female charac- 
 ters, he writes, "How happily, for in- 
 stance, has he characterized his own mis- 
 tress — afterwards his wife — by a single 
 epithet expressive of that modesty — soft- 
 ness — and complacency— which consti- 
 tute the perfection of feminine excellence 
 — 'the mildly blushing Everallin.' ... I 
 am of opinion that though in sublimity of 
 sentiment — in vivacity and strength of 
 
280 
 
 JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 description— Ossian may claim a full 
 equality of merit with Homer himself — yet 
 in the invention both of incidents and 
 character he is greatly inferior to the 
 Grecian bard." These quotations are in- 
 teresting as showing how seriously Byron 
 took Ossian and how carefully and thought- 
 fully he read him. The influence of Ossian 
 lasted long after the immediate excite- 
 ment caused by its novelty and professed 
 antiquity had passed away. — Phelps, 
 William Lyon, 1893, The Beginnings of 
 the English Romantic Movement^ p. 153. 
 
 The problem of Macpherson's true 
 character must now be regarded as de- 
 pending, not upon any question as to the 
 survival of ancient Celtic poetry in the 
 Highlands — for of the existence there, in 
 Macpherson's day, of even a considerable 
 body of such traditionary remains there 
 seems no longer any room to doubt — but 
 rather upon the particular degree of fidel- 
 ity and conscientious care displayed in his 
 arrangement and translation of the several 
 * 'fragments" recovered by him from the 
 Highlanders, and declared by him to be 
 none other than the disjecta membra of the 
 long-lost epic of 'Tingal." — Hutchinson, 
 T., 1894, The Academy, vol. 46, p. 205. 
 
 Ossian was translated into Italian by 
 Cesarotti ; there were two versions of him 
 in Spanish, several in German, one in 
 Swedish, one in Danish, and two in Dutch, 
 of which one was by Bilderdyk. In Ger- 
 many, especially, he created a furor. 
 The true originator of Northern poetry was 
 found at last; ''Thou, too, Ossian," cried 
 / Klopstock, "wert swallowed up in oblivion ; 
 but thou has been restored to thy position ; 
 behold thee now before us, the equal and 
 the challenger of Homer the Greek." 
 "What need," wrote Voss to Briickner, 
 "of natural beauty? Ossian of Scotland 
 is a greater poet than Homer of Ionia." 
 Lerse, in a sonorous discourse at Stras- 
 burg, acknowledged three guides of the 
 "sacred art of poetry:" Shakespeare, 
 Homer, and Ossian — two Northern poets 
 to a single classic. Herder wrote a com- 
 parison between the Homeric and the 
 Ossianic epics, spoke of Ossian as "the 
 man I have sought," and contemplated a 
 joiWey to Scotland in order to collect the 
 songs of the bards. Biirger imitated him, 
 and Christian Heyne constituted himself 
 champion at the University of Gottingen. 
 js/ Lastly, Goethe, need we remind the reader. 
 
 drew inspiration from him in "Werther" 
 and elsewhere. When his spirits are high 
 Werther's taste is for Homer, but in sor- 
 row he feeds upon Ossian, and when "it 
 is autumn within and about him, " he cries : 
 "Ossian has completely banished Homer 
 from my heart!" — Texte, Joseph, 1895- 
 99, Jean-Jacques Rousseau and the Cosmo- 
 politan Spirit in Literature^ tr, Matthews, 
 p. 319. 
 
 In his former works M. d'Arboiss had 
 already drawn up a catalogue of Irish 
 epics ; he had examined them and briefly 
 defined their character and their literary 
 importance; he had taught us how to dis- 
 tinguish the cycle of Ulster, which crystal- 
 lised in the North of Ireland around the 
 heroic figure of KingConchobar or Conor ; 
 the cycle of Leinster, which celebrated in 
 the east of Ireland the deeds of Osson, or 
 Ossian, as the moderns have it ; and finally 
 the mythological cycle, formed in earth, 
 sea and sky, around the conceptions of a 
 religious imagination. He showed us how 
 the two Epics of the North and the East, 
 artificially combined and quite transformed 
 from their rude, barbarous and fierce 
 antiquity, were idealised out of all sem- 
 blance by the rhetorical Macpherson till 
 they condensed anew into those pale, 
 vague, nebulous poems of Ossian which 
 appeared so tremendous a revelation of 
 nature to the earlier Romantics. A whole 
 generation found in this mutilated para- 
 phrase a joy for ever. Napoleon, Goethe, 
 Lamartine read and raved of Ossian, as 
 Valso Baour-Lormian. And Werther was 
 to write: "Ossian has supplanted Homer 
 in my heart." M. d'Arbois and his col- 
 laborators. Mm. Dottin, Duvau and Ferdi- 
 nand Grammont give, in the present 
 volume, numerous specimens of these 
 various epochs, which dwell, still unpub- 
 lished, in the dusty seclusion of libraries 
 and archives. It is interesting to study 
 them, to turn from Macpherson to his 
 models. Despite his inferior value — for 
 the copy is far below the original — his 
 versions merit our attention, not only on 
 their own merits and as the testimony, 
 however ill-reported, of a forgotten world, 
 but for the indirect and latent action 
 which during more than fifty years they 
 continued to exercise upon the imaginative 
 literature of Europe. In two of the 
 episodes selected: the death of Derdrin 
 and the death of Cuchulain, the editors 
 
JAMES MACPHERSON 
 
 281 
 
 give, side by side with the version of 
 Ossian, a literal translation from the 
 original epic. One knows not which is 
 the more surprising, the audacity with 
 which Macpherson has drowned the brutal, 
 savage, old legends in a vapour of vague 
 exclamations, or the innocent good faith 
 with which our romantic fore-fathers 
 accepted these tricked-out ecstasies and 
 insipid, tame tirades which we have not 
 the patience to read to the end of, as 
 the unsophisticated voice of Nature. It 
 is a matter to give pause to the advocates 
 of an absolute standard in criticism, a 
 shaft the more in the quiver of the impres- 
 sionists, chi oggi han il grido, till a new 
 mode arise. — Darmesteter, James, 1894 
 — 96, Celtica, English Studies, tr, Mrs. 
 Darmesteter, p. 183. 
 
 The imposture (for that in the main it 
 was imposture is certain) of Macpherson 
 is more interesting as a matter of ten- 
 dency than of essence. The world wanted 
 romance; it wanted ''the Celtic vague ;" 
 it wanted anything but what it had had : 
 Macpherson met it with a sort of clumsy 
 genius. All the others named catered for 
 the same want, not with the intelligent 
 scoundrelism of the adulterator, but with 
 the honest attempt of the still unqualified 
 artist. — Saintsbury, George, 1896, Social 
 England, ed. Traill, vol. v, p. 262. 
 
 We do not acquit a man of dishonesty 
 because he passes a few good half-crowns 
 amid hundreds of his own coinage. We 
 know that this is a necessary trick of the 
 game, and part of the prudential wisdom 
 of knavery. . . . We certainly believe 
 that many men, and many women, given 
 a few Gaelic names and a tale to tell about 
 them, could, after one perusal of ''Fingal'* 
 or ''Temora," turn out a poem which, 
 bating perhaps the felicities which appear 
 at very rare intervals in Macpherson' s com- 
 pilation, and prove that he had some 
 poetic gift, would pass for Macpherson- 
 Ossianic. — Tovey, Duncan C., 1897, Os- 
 sian and his Maker, Reviews and Essays 
 in English Literature, pp. 138, 144. 
 
 In studying the landscape of Macpher- 
 son's ''Ossian" we soon learn that it be- 
 longs unmistakably to Western Argyle- 
 shire. Its union of mountain, glen, and 
 sea removes it at once from the interior 
 to the coast. Even if it had been more 
 or less inaccurately drawn, its prominence 
 and consistency all through the poems 
 
 would have been remarkable in the pro- 
 ductions of a lad of four-and-twenty, who 
 had spent his youth in the inland region 
 of Badenoch, where the scenery is of 
 another kind. But when we discover that 
 the endless allusions to topographical 
 features are faithful delineations, which 
 give the very spirit and essence of the 
 scenery, we feel sure that whether they 
 were written in the eighteenth century or 
 in the third, they display a poetic genius 
 of no mean order. The grandeur and 
 gloom of the Highland mountains, the 
 spectral mists that sweep round the crags, 
 the roar of the torrents, the gleams of 
 sunlight on moor and lake, the wail of 
 the breeze among the cairns of the dead, 
 the unspeakable sadness that seems to 
 brood over the landscape whether the sky 
 be clear or clouded — these features of 
 west Highland scenery were first revealed 
 by Macpherson to the modern world. 
 This revelation quickened the change of 
 feeling, already begun, in regard to the 
 prevailing horror of mountain-scenery. 
 It brought before men's eyes some of the 
 fascination of the mountain-world, more 
 especially in regard to the atmospheric 
 effects that play so large a part in its 
 landscape. It showed the titanic forces 
 of storm and tempest in full activity. 
 And yet there ran through all the poems 
 a vein of infinite melancholy. The pathos 
 of life manifested itself everywhere, now 
 in the tenderness of unavailing devotion, 
 now in the courage of hopeless despair. — 
 Geikie, Sir Archibald, 1898, Types of 
 Scenery and their Influence on Literature, 
 p. 44. 
 
 GENERAL 
 His* 'History" is pronounced by Fox to 
 be full of "impudent" falsehoods; it has 
 long sunk from public notice, and had no 
 charm either of style or thought to relieve 
 it from neglect. Nor is it possible to be- 
 lieve, that one who wrote so dull a his- 
 tory could have produced so wild and 
 imaginative a poem as that which the 
 world has generally attributed to him. — 
 Lawrence, Eugene, 1855, Lives of the 
 British Historians, vol. ii, p. 238. 
 
 Though he never could have become so 
 important a figure as he thought himself, 
 we are convinced that he would have 
 achieved a fame in literature quite as 
 great and much less sinister if he had been 
 more honest. — Tovey, Duncan C, 1897, 
 
282 
 
 MA CPHERSON—REID 
 
 Ossian and his Maker, Reviews and Essays 
 in English Liter ature, p. 152. 
 
 That a writer of the stamp of James 
 Macpherson should have been destined to 
 approach history at all was, I think, a re- 
 markable freak of nature. That it should 
 be reserved, however, for the author of 
 the ''Ossian" fraud to discover and give 
 to the world important facts, tearing to 
 shreds the character of one of the great- 
 test men that this country has ever pro- 
 duced, is, I submit, a little too hard for 
 belief by rational beings. Is it reasona- 
 ble to suppose that "Original Papers" 
 on English history produced by the in- 
 ventor of the Gaelic ' ' Originals' ' of the Os- 
 sian poems are likely to be genuine ? The 
 
 point is, indeed, virtually settled at the 
 outset by the fact which I have mentioned 
 that the manuscripts in question, imput- 
 ing such fearful crimes to Marlborough, 
 Godolphin, and their associated helpers in 
 the work of the Revolution, are not origi- 
 nal. I must ask my readers to keep this 
 steadily in view; for the whole gist of 
 the position taken up by Dalrymple, Hal- 
 lam, Macaulay, and all more recent follow- 
 ers of Macpherson lies in the assumption 
 that the Nairne papers in the Bodleian 
 library are original state documents, and 
 therefore not to be gainsaid. — Parnell, 
 Arthur, 1897, Macpherson and the Nairne 
 Papers, English Historical Review, vol. 12, 
 p. 274. 
 
 Thomas Reid 
 
 1710-1796 
 
 Born, at Strachan, Kincardineshire, 26 April 1710. Early education at Kincardine 
 parish school. To Marischal College, Aberdeen, 1722; B. A., 1726. Studied for 
 Presbvterian ministry. Licensed preacher, Sept. 1731. Librarian of Marischal Coll., 
 1733-36. Minister of New Machar, Aberdeen, 1737. Married Elizabeth Reid, 1740. 
 ''Regent" (afterwards Prof, of Philosophy) at King's Coll., Aberdeen, Oct. 1751 to 
 May 1764. Founded Philosophical Society, 1758; it existed till 1773. Hon. D. D., 
 Marischal Coll., 18 Jan. 1762. Prof, of Moral Philosophy, Glasgow Univ., May 1764 
 to Oct. 1796 ; deputed active duties of professorship to an assistant, 1780. Died, in 
 Glasgow, 7 Oct. 1796. Works: "An Inquiry into the Human Mind on the Principles 
 of Common Sense, " 1764; "Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man," 1785; "Essays 
 on the Active Powers of Man," 1788; (He contributed: "An Essay on Quantity" to 
 the "Philosophical Transactions" for 1748; "A Brief Account of Aristotle's Logic" 
 to "Kame's Sketches of the History of Man," vol. ii., 1774; "A Statistical Account 
 of the University of Glasgow" to Sinclair's "Statistical Account of Scotland," 1799.) 
 Collected Works: ed. by Sir W. Hamilton (2 vols.), 1846-63.Li/e; by Dugald Stewart, 
 1803. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 238. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Reid was below the middle size, but 
 had great athletic power. His portrait, 
 painted by Raeburn during his last visit to 
 Edinburgh, belongs to Glasgow Univer- 
 sity ; and a medallion by Tassie, taken in 
 his eighty-first year, in the National Por- 
 trait Gallery, Edinburgh, is said to be a 
 very good likeness. Reid's obvious char- 
 acteristic was the strong and cautious 
 "common sense" which also dictated his 
 philosophy. He was thoroughly independ- 
 ent, strictly economical, and uniformly 
 energetic in the discharge of his duties. 
 He was amiable in his family, delighted in 
 young children, some of whom, it is said, 
 "noticed the peculiar kindness of his eye ;" 
 and was as charitable as his means per- 
 mitted. Stewart mentions a gift to his 
 
 former parishioners of New Machar, dur- 
 ing the scarcity of 1782, which would 
 have been out of proportion to his means 
 had it not been for his rigid economy, and 
 of which he endeavoured to conceal the 
 origin. From the few letters preserved, 
 he appears to have been remarkable for 
 the warmth and steadiness of his friend- 
 ships. — Stephen, Leslie, 1896, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography, vol. XLvn, 
 p. 438. 
 
 There was a fine simplicity, a sterling 
 honesty in the old philosophical student, 
 who in controversy was the model of cour- 
 tesy shocking thereby Dr.Beattie,who was 
 grieved that a controversialist who pro- 
 fessed to be a Christian should write like a 
 gentleman. As he grew aged he became 
 very deaf, but not less shrewd ; as active 
 
THOMAS REID 
 
 283 
 
 at eighty-seven years as at sixty, with 
 his short, sturdy frame, busy in his gar- 
 den, keen over botany, physiology, or 
 physics. Yet with all his energy he would 
 plaintively say, with a kindly look on his 
 good, plain, common-sense face, which 
 looked like an incarnation of his own phi- 
 losophy : "I am ashamed of having lived 
 so long after having ceased to be useful. ' ' 
 Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish 
 Men of Letters in the Eighteenth Century, 
 p. 259. 
 
 His life had been a singularly calm one, 
 and his chief characteristics had been an 
 indomitable faculty of patient thought and 
 a sincerity of purpose that never wavered. 
 Such influence as he possessed was gained 
 by quiet and persistent effort ; and he did 
 not affect his contemporaries either by 
 any marked originality of genius, or by a 
 striking or eccentric personality. — Craik, 
 Sir Henry, 1901, A Century of Scottish 
 History, vol. ii, p. 209. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 1 have been looking into Dr. Reid's book 
 on ''The Active Powers of Man.'^ It is 
 written with his usual perspicuity and 
 acuteness; is in some parts very enter- 
 taining ; and to me, who have been obliged 
 to think so much on those subjects, is 
 very interesting throughout. The ques- 
 tion concerning Liberty and Necessity is 
 very fully discussed, and very ably ; and, 
 1 think, nothing more needs be said about 
 it. I could have wished that Dr. Reid had 
 given a fuller enumeration of the passions, 
 and been a little more particular in illus- 
 trating the duties of morality. But his 
 manner is, in all his writings, more turned 
 to speculation than to practical philoso- 
 phy ; which may be owing to his having 
 employed himself so much in the study of 
 Locke, Hume, Berkeley, and other theo- 
 rists ; and partly, no doubt, to the habits 
 of study and modes of conversation which 
 were fashionable in this country in his 
 younger days. If I were not personally 
 acquainted with the Doctor, I should con- 
 clude, from his books, that he was rather 
 too warm an admirer of Mr. Hume. He 
 confutes, it is true, some of his opinions ; 
 but he pays them much more respect than 
 they are entitled to. — Beattie, James, 
 1788, Letter to Sir William Forbes, March 
 5; Account of the Life and Writings of 
 Beattie, ed. Forbes, vol. ill, p. 37. 
 
 The merit of what you are pleased to 
 
 call my Philosophy, lies, I think, chiefly, in 
 having called in question the common 
 theory of ideas, or images of things in the 
 mind, being the only objects of thought ; 
 a theory founded on natural prejudices, 
 and so universally received as to be inter- 
 woven with the structure of language. 
 Yet, were I to give you a detail of what led 
 me to call in question this theory, after I 
 had long held it as self-evident and un- 
 questionable, you would think, as I do, 
 that there was much of chance in the mat- 
 ter. The discovery was the birth of time, 
 not of genius; and Berkeley and Hume 
 did more to bring it to light than the 
 man that hit upon it. I think there is 
 hardly any thing that can be called mine 
 in the philosophy of the mind, which does 
 not follow with ease from the detection 
 of this prejudice. — Reid, Thomas, 1790, 
 Letter to Dr. James Gregory, Works. 
 
 The author of an ''Inquiry into the 
 Mind," and of subsequent "Essays on the 
 Intellectual and Active Powers of Man,'' 
 has great merit in the effect to which he 
 has pursued this history. But, consider- 
 ing the point at which the science stood 
 when he began his inquiries, he has per- 
 haps no less merit in having removed the 
 mist of hypothesis and metaphor with 
 which the subject was enveloped, and in 
 having taught us to state the facts of 
 which we are conscious, not in figurative 
 language, but in the terms which are 
 proper to the subject. In this it will be 
 our advantage to follow him; the more 
 that, in former theories, so much atten- 
 tion had been paid to the introduction of 
 ideas or images as the elements of knowl- 
 edge, that the belief of any external exist- 
 ence or prototype has been left to be in- 
 ferred from the mere idea or image ; and 
 this inference, indeed, is so little founded, 
 that many who have come to examine its 
 evidence have thought themselves war- 
 ranted to deny it altogether. And hence 
 the criticism of ingenious men, who, not see- 
 ing a proper access of knowledge through 
 the medium of ideas, without considering 
 whether the road they had been directed 
 to take was the true or a false one, denied 
 the possibility of arriving at the end. — 
 Ferguson, Adam, 1792, Principles of 
 Moral and Political Science, vol. I. 
 
 With respect to his character ; its most 
 prominent features were, intrepid and 
 inflexible rectitude; a pure and devoted 
 
284 
 
 THOMAS REID 
 
 attachment to truth ; and an entire com- 
 mand, acquired by the unwearied ex- 
 ertions of a long life, over all his passions. 
 ■ — Stewart, Dugald, 1803, Account of the 
 Life and Writings of Thomas Reid. 
 
 Dr. Reid's great achievement was, un- 
 doubtedly, the subversion of the Ideal 
 system, or the confutation of that hy- 
 pothesis which represents the immediate 
 objects of the mind in perception as cer- 
 tain images or pictures of external objects 
 conveyed by the senses to the sensorium. 
 This part of his task, it is now generally 
 admitted that he has performed with ex- 
 emplary diligence and complete success ; 
 but we are by no means so entirely satis- 
 fied with the uses he has attempted to 
 make of his victory. — Jeffrey, Francis 
 Lord, 1804, Stewart's Life of Dr. Reid, 
 Edinburgh Review, vol. 3, p. 281. 
 
 A sincere inquirer after Truth, who 
 maintained indeed the existence of certain 
 principles of knowledge, independent of 
 experience, but considered philosophy as 
 the science of the human mind, which 
 must be founded on the principles of Com- 
 mon Sense, regarding the latter as species 
 of Intellectual Instinct. — Tennemann, 
 William Gottlieb, 1812-52, A Manual 
 of the History of Philosophy, tr. Johnson, 
 ed. Morell. 
 
 You can read in the translation of one 
 of the best pupils of the Normal School, 
 , now my colleague in this faculty, the 
 judicious Reid, with the truly superior 
 commentary of M. Royer-Collard. The 
 Scotch philosophy will prepare you for the 
 German philosophy. It is to Reid and to 
 Kant that I refer in great part the polem- 
 ics which I have instituted against empir- 
 icism in the person of Locke. — Cousin, 
 Victor, 1828-52, History of Modern Phi- . 
 losophy, tr. Wight. 
 
 A patient, modest, and deep thinker, 
 who in his first work (''Enquiry into the 
 Human Mind") deserves a commendation 
 more descriptive of a philosopher than 
 that bestowed by Professor Cousin, of 
 having made a vigorous protest against 
 scepticism on behalf of common sense. 
 His observations on suggestion, on natural 
 signs, on the connection between what he 
 calls sensation and conception, though 
 perhaps occasioned by Berkeley, whose 
 idealism Reid had once adopted, are 
 marked by the genuine spirit of original 
 
 observation. — Mackintosh, Sir James, 
 1830, Second Preliminary Dissertation, 
 Encyclopcedia Britannica. 
 
 Reid, who carried into the recesses of 
 the human mind the torch of reason. — 
 Alison, Sir Archibald, 1833-42, His- 
 tory of Europe During The French Revolu- 
 tion, vol. XIV, p. 3. 
 
 Dr. Reid has many merits as a specula- 
 tor, but the only merit which he arrogates 
 to himself, — the principal merit accorded 
 to him by others, — is, that he was the first 
 philosopher, in more recent times, who 
 dared, in his doctrine of immediate per- 
 ception, to vindicate, against the unani- 
 mous authority of philosophers, the uni- 
 versal conviction of mankind. But this 
 doctrine he has at best imperfectly de- 
 veloped, and, at the same time, has un- 
 fortunately obscured it, by errors of so 
 singular a character, that some acute phi- 
 losophers — for Dr. Brown does not stand 
 alone — have never even suspected what 
 his doctrine of perception actually is. 
 . . . But if all he did was merely to 
 explode the cruder hypothesis of represen- 
 tation, and to adopt in its place the finer, 
 — why, in the first place, so far from de- 
 priving idealism and scepticism of all 
 basis, he only placed them on one firmer 
 and more secure ; and, in the second, so 
 far from originating a new opinion, he 
 could only have added one to a class of 
 philosophers, who, after the time of 
 Arnauld, were continually on the increase, 
 and who, among the contemporaries of 
 Reid himself, certainly constituted the 
 majority. His philosophy would thus be at 
 once only a silly blunder ; its pretence to 
 originality only in proclamation of ignor- 
 ance ; and, so far from being an honour to 
 the. nation from which it arose, and by 
 whom it was respected, it would, in fact, 
 be a scandal and a reproach to the philos- 
 ophy of any country in which it met 
 with any milder treatment than derision. 
 ... I then detailed to you the grounds 
 on which it ought to be held that Reid's 
 doctrine of Perception is one of Natural 
 Realism, and not a form of Cosmothetic 
 Idealism, as supposed by Brown. . . . 
 Having concluded the argument by which 
 I endeavoured to satisfy you that Reid's 
 doctrine is Natural Realism, I should now 
 proceed to show that Natural Realism 
 is a more philosophical doctrine than 
 Hypothetical Realism. — Hamilton, Sir 
 
THOMAS REID 
 
 285 
 
 William, 1836-56, Lectures on Metaphys- 
 ics, Lectures y xiii, xxiv. 
 
 It may be here remarked that what 
 Malebranche has properly called the judg- 
 ment of the mind as to the cause of its 
 sensations, is precisely what Reid denom- 
 inates perception ; a term less clear, and 
 which seems to have led some of his 
 school into important errors. The lan- 
 guage of the Scottish philosopher appears 
 to imply that he considered perception as 
 a distinct and original faculty of the mind, 
 rather than what it is, a complex opera- 
 tion of the judgment and memory, apply- 
 ing knowledge already acquired by experi- 
 ence. Neither he nor his disciple Stewart, 
 though aware of the mistakes that have 
 arisen in this province of metaphysics by 
 selecting our instances from the phenom- 
 ena of vision instead of the other senses, 
 have avoided the same source of error. 
 — Hall AM, Henry, 1837-39, Introduc- 
 tion to the Literature of Europe^ pt. iv, ch, 
 iii, par. 43. 
 
 Reid's philosophy made a great stir at 
 first, but has for some years past been 
 sinking into merited neglect. The appeal 
 to Common Sense as arbiter in Philosophy, 
 is now pretty well understood to be on a 
 par with Dr. Johnson's kicking a stone 
 as a refutation of Berkeley. — Lewes, 
 George Henry, 1845-46, Biographical 
 History of Philosophy, p. 619. 
 
 The great aim of Reid's philosophy, 
 then, was to investigate the true theory 
 of perception; to controvert the repre- 
 sentationalist hypothesis, as held in one 
 sense or another by almost all preceding 
 philosophers; and to stay the progress 
 which scepticism, aided by this hypothesis, 
 was so rapidly making. . . . That 
 Reid has done much for the advancement 
 of mental science, is almost universally 
 admitted: to complain that he did not 
 accomplish more, or follow out the track 
 which he opened to its furthest results, is 
 perhaps unreasonable; since we ought 
 rather to look for the completion of his 
 labours from the hands of his followers, 
 than demand from himself at once the 
 foundation and the superstructure. — 
 MORELL, J. D., 1846-7, An Historical 
 and Critical View of the Speculative Phi- 
 losophy of Europe in the Nineteenth Century. 
 
 The merits of Dr. Reid, then, as a re- 
 former of philosophy, amount in our opin- 
 ion to this : he was among the first to say 
 
 and to write that the representative theory 
 of perception was false and erroneous, and 
 was the fountain head of scepticism and 
 idealism. But this admission of his merits 
 must be accompanied by the qualification 
 that he adopted, as the basis of his philos- 
 ophy, a principle which rendered nugatory 
 all his protestations. It is of no use to 
 disclaim a conclusion if we accept the 
 premises which inevitably lead to it. Dr. 
 Reid disclaimed the representative theory, 
 but he embraced its premises, and thus he 
 virtually ratified the conclusions of the 
 very system which he clamorously de- 
 nounced. In his language he is opposed to 
 representationism, but in his doctrine he 
 lends it the strongest support by accept- 
 ing as the foundation of his philosophy an 
 analysis of the perception of matter. — 
 Ferrier, James Frederick, 1847-66, 
 Reid and the Philosophy of Common Sense, 
 Lectures, vol. ii, p. 417. 
 
 The positive doctrines of Reid's own 
 system could not be understood without 
 much explanation ; and his own exposition 
 of them is very imperfect. Indeed the 
 constant occurrence of polemical matter, 
 and the repetitions which his Essays de- 
 rived from their original shape of Lec- 
 tures, are the circumstances that chiefly 
 injure the literary value of the work. He 
 is a bald and dry, but very clear and log- 
 ical writer ; and never was there a more 
 sincere lover of truth, or a more candid 
 and honourable disputant. His slow and 
 patient thinking, notwithstanding a strong 
 aversion to close analysis, led him to some 
 very striking results, out of which his 
 whole scheme is developed. The origi- 
 nality of these is much greater than his 
 own manner of expounding them would 
 lead us to suppose ; and their importance 
 in the history of philosophy may be esti- 
 mated from this fact, that Reid's meta- 
 physical creed does really coincide with 
 the first and most characteristic step in 
 that of his German contemporary Kant. — 
 Spalding, William, 1852-82, A History 
 of English Literature, p. 352. 
 
 Since the first edition of this work. Sir 
 W. Hamilton has published an edition of 
 Reid, illustrated and enriched by notes 
 and dissertations of incomparable erudi- 
 tion and acuteness. Respecting the inter- 
 pretation Sir William gives to Reid's doc- 
 trines, I will only say that he has shown 
 what a subtle mind can read into the 
 
286 
 
 THOMAS REID 
 
 philosophy of common sense ; but he has not 
 in the least produced the conviction in me 
 of Reid's having meant what the illustrious 
 successor supposed him to have meant. 
 At the same time, I will add that, the 
 limits of my work having restricted me to 
 the consideration of Reid's contributions 
 to Philosophy, (in the narrow sense of 
 the term), I have not done justice to his 
 many excellent qualities as a teacher. 
 His works are well worthy of diligent 
 study, and their spirit is eminently scien- 
 tific. — Lewes, George Henry, 1857, Bio- 
 graphical History of Philosophy, p. 629, 
 note. 
 
 Reid is a bold, dry, but very clear and 
 logical writer, a sincere lover of truth, 
 and a candid and honorable disputant ; his 
 system is original and important in the 
 history of philosophy. — BoTTA, Anne C. 
 Lynch, 1860, Hand-Book of Universal 
 Literature, p. 510. 
 
 Was the most eminent among the purely 
 speculative thinkers of Scotland, after 
 Hume and Adam Smith, though in point of 
 merit, he must be placed far below them. 
 For, he had neither the comprehensiveness 
 of Smith, nor the fearlessness of Hume. 
 The range of his knowledge was not wide 
 enough to allow him to be comprehensive ; 
 while a timidity, almost amounting to 
 moral cowardice, made him recoil from 
 the views advocated by Hume, not so much 
 on account of their being false, as on ac- 
 count of their being dangerous. . . . 
 With Reid, the main question always is, 
 not whether an inference is true, but what 
 will happen if it is true. He says, that 
 a doctrine is to be judged by its fruits ; 
 forgetting that the same doctrine will 
 bear different fruits in different ages, 
 and that the consequences which a theory 
 produces in one state of society, are often 
 diametrically opposed to those which it 
 produces in another. He thus made his 
 own age the standard of all future ones. 
 He also trammelled philosophy with prac- 
 tical considerations; diverting thinkers 
 from the pursuit of truth, which is their 
 proper department, into the pursuit of 
 expediency, which is not their department 
 at all. Reid was constantly stopping to 
 inquire, not whether theories were accu- 
 rate, but whether it was advisable to 
 adopt them ; whether they were favoura- 
 ble to patriotism, or to generosity, or to 
 friendship ; in a word, whether they were 
 
 comfortable, and such as we should at 
 present like to believe. Or else, he 
 would take other ground, still lower, and 
 still more unworthy of a philosopher. — 
 Buckle, Henry Thomas, 1862-66, His- 
 tory of Civilization in England, vol. ni, ch.Y. 
 
 The mere fact of his originating a 
 school of philosophy, even though we 
 allow that his conclusions were supported 
 by popular feeling, argues a large measure 
 of intellectual force, in one direction or 
 another ; but very different opinions have 
 been expressed as to his capacities for 
 mental analysis. Various particulars in 
 his style and his favourite studies indicate 
 a tendency to dwell by preference upon 
 the concrete. He had no great turn for 
 style ; his composition deserves the praise 
 of "ease, perspicuity, and purity;'' it is, 
 besides, neat and finished, and often moves 
 with considerable spirit : but it has neither 
 the incisive vigour of Campbell, the 
 copiousness of Smith, nor the original 
 freshness of Tucker. — Minto, William, 
 1872-80, Manual of English Prose Litera- 
 ture, p. 471. 
 
 If he was not the founder, he is the fit 
 representative of the Scottish philosophy. 
 He is in every respect, a Scotchman of 
 the genuine type: shrewd, cautious, out- 
 wardly calm, and yet with a deep well of 
 feeling within, and capable of enthusi- 
 asm ; not witty, but with a quiet vein of 
 humour. And then he has the truly philo- 
 sophic spirit seeking truth modestly, hum- 
 bly, diligently ; piercing beneath the sur- 
 face to gaze on the true nature of things ; 
 and not to be caught by sophistry, or mis- 
 lead by plausible representations. He has 
 not the mathematical consecutiveness of 
 Descartes, the speculative genius of Leib- 
 nitz, the sagacity of Locke, the spirituel 
 of Berkeley, or the detective skill of Hume ; 
 but he has a quality quite as valuable as 
 any of these, even in philosophy he has in 
 perfection that common-sense which he so 
 commends, and this saves him from the 
 extreme positions into which these great 
 men have been tempted by the soaring 
 nature of their inexorable logic. — Mc- 
 CosH, James, 1874, The Scottish Philoso- 
 phy, p. 192. 
 
 Reid's appeal to the common-sense of 
 men, was taken without sufficient analysis, 
 and hence bears a dogmatic character. 
 He has left it uncertain, whether he re- 
 garded sensation itself as a direct contract 
 
REID— BURKE 287 
 
 with the external world, or whether it is 
 instantly completed by an intuitive action 
 of the mind, and the reference of effects 
 to causes becomes the medium by which 
 this union is effected. We suppose him 
 to have obscurely held this last view. 
 Hamilton ascribes to him the first. — Bas- 
 COM, John, 1874, Philosophy of English 
 Literature^ p. 315. 
 
 The ethical speculations of Reid, the 
 most eminent writer of the Common-Sense 
 school, are contained in his ''Essays on 
 the Active Powers," but would scarcely 
 justify a prolonged analysis. They may 
 be described briefly as a combination of 
 the views of Clarke and Shaftsbury, though 
 most resembling those of Butler. Recog- 
 nising the nugatory character of Clarke's 
 theory, he also thinks that to adopt 
 Shaftesbury's theory would be to make 
 morality arbitrary, as dependent upon a 
 ''natural or acquired taste." The con- 
 science, therefore, which guides our moral 
 judgments, is at once, in his language, 
 an intellectual and an active power, and 
 its supremacy is, as with Butler, an ulti- 
 mate and self-evident fact. This power, 
 which is simply common sense applied to 
 moral questions, is, of course, capable of 
 laying down as many first principles as 
 may be required. Here, as elsewhere, 
 the difficulty of finding an ultimate justi- 
 fication for axioms is evaded by simply 
 
 declaring that no justification is needed ; 
 but there is nothing in Reid's ethical 
 doctrine which has not been more articu- 
 lately worked out by his predecessors, 
 except that his facility in multiplying first 
 principles is, perhaps, more marked and 
 his philosophy proportionally weaker. — 
 Stephen, Leslie, 1876, History of English 
 Thought in the Eighteenth Century^ vol. II, 
 p. 62. 
 
 The principles which Reid insists upon 
 as every where present in experience evi- 
 dently correspond pretty closely to the 
 Kantian categories and the unity of apper- 
 ception.— Seth, Andrew, 1886, Encyclo- 
 pcedia Brittanica, vol. XX. 
 
 The works of Reid, from his "Enquiry 
 into the Human Mind" (1763), to his 
 "Active Powers of Man" (1788), show a 
 great clearness of intellect and strictly 
 logical habit, but no great enthusiasm or 
 originality. — Gosse, Edmund, 1888, A 
 History of Eighteenth Century Literature, 
 p. 295. 
 
 The father of Scottish or common-sense 
 philosophy. — Robertson, J. Logie, 1894, 
 A History of English Literature, p. 252. 
 
 On the study of psychology, it is ad- 
 mitted by some who do not think very 
 highly of his general philosophy, Reid had 
 a favourable influence. — Whittaker, T., 
 1896, Social England, ed. Traill, vol. v, 
 p. 413. 
 
 Edmund Burke 
 
 1729-1797 
 
 Born, in Dublin, 12 Jan. (?) 1729. Educated at a school at Ballitore, 1741-43; 
 at Trinity Coll., Dublin, 1743-48; scholarship, 1746; B. A., 1748. To Middle Tem- 
 ple to study Law, 1750. Never called to Bar ; gave up legal studies by 1755. Took 
 to literary work. Married Jane Nugent, 1756 (or 1757?). Edited "Annual Register, " 
 1759-88. Gradually became known by literary work. Private Sec. to William 
 Gerard Hamilton, 1759-64. To Ireland with Hamilton, 1761. Annual pension of 
 £300, 1763. Threw up pension, April 1764. Private Sec. to Lord Rockingham, July 
 1765. M. P. for Wendover, Dec. 1765. First speech made, 27 Jan. 1766. To 
 Ireland, summer of 1766; received freedom of city of Galway. Purchased estate 
 near Beaconsfield, 1768. Appointed Agent to the Province of New York, 1771. Visit 
 to Paris, Feb. to March 1773. M. P. for Malton after dissolution of Parliament in 
 Sept. 1774 ; again after dissolution in Sept. 1780 ; and again in Nov. 1790. Intimacy 
 with Fox begun. Appointed Paymaster of the Forces, 1782. Lord Rector of Glasgow 
 University, 1784 and 1785. Impeachment of Warren Hastings, 10 May 1787 ; trial 
 begun, 13 Feb. 1788. Grace for conferring Hon. LL.D. degree passed, Dublin Univ., 
 11 Dec. 1790. Burke apparently never attended to take the degree. Again elected 
 M. P. for Malton, Nov. 1790. Rupture with Fox, 1791. Retired from Parliament, 
 July 1794. Two pensions of £1,200 and £2,500 granted him, Aug. 1794. Inter- 
 ested in foundation of Maynooth Catholic College, 1795. Established, at Beaconsfield, 
 school for sons of French emigrants, 1796. Died at Beaconsfield, 6 July 1797. 
 
288 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 Buried in Beaconsfield parish church. Works: Burke's chief literary works are: 
 "A Vindication of Natural Society" (anon.), 1756; ''A Philosophical Inquiry into 
 the Origin of our Ideas of the Sublime and the Beautiful" (anon.), 1757; *'An Account 
 of the European Settlements in America" (anon, probably edited by Burke, and written 
 by himself and his cousin, William Burke), 1757; "A Short Account of a Short Ad- 
 ministration" (anon.), 1766 ; ''Observations on a late Publication intituled 'The Present 
 State of the Nation' " (anon.), 1769 ; "Thoughts on the Causes of the Present Discon- 
 tents" (anon.), 1770; "Political Tracts and Speeches," 1777; "Reflections on the 
 Revolution in France," 1790 (2nd edn. same year) ; "Appeals from the New to the 
 Old Whigs" (anon.), 1791 (2nd edn. same year); "Thoughts on the Prospect of a 
 Regicide Peace" (anon), 1796 (11th edn. same year). [Burke published a number of 
 his speeches, also of political pamphlets and letters, beween 1774 and 1791, and many 
 were published posthumously. A complete collection is the "Works and Correspond- 
 ence" (8 vols.), London, 1852]. Posthumous: "Correspondence with Dr. Laurence," 
 1827; "Letters, 1744-97" (4 vols.), 1844; "Speeches, withMemoir," 1854 ; "Letters, 
 Speeches, and Tracts on Irish Affairs," 1881. Collected Works: in 8 vols., 1792- 
 1827; in 8 vols., 1852. Life: by MacCormick, 1798; by Bisset, 1798; by Sir James 
 Prior, 5th edn. 1854; by MacKnight, 1858; by Morley ("English Men of Letters" 
 series), 1879.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 39. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 It is time I should say who my friend is. 
 His name is Edmond Burke. As a liter- 
 ary man he may possibly be not quite un- 
 known to you. He is the author of a 
 piece which imposed on the world as Lord 
 Bolingbroke's, called, "The Advantages 
 of Natural Society," and of a very ingen- 
 ious book published last year, called, "A 
 Treatise on the Sublime and Beautiful." 
 I must farther say of him, that his chief 
 application has been to the knowledge of 
 public business, and our commercial in- 
 terests; that he seems to have a most 
 extensive knowledge, with extraordinary 
 talents for business, and to want nothing 
 but ground to stand upon to do his coun- 
 try very important services. — Markham, 
 W., 1759, Letter to the Duchess of Queens- 
 bury, Sep. 25; Chatham Correspondence, 
 vol. I, p. 432. 
 
 An Irishman, Mr. Burke, is sprung up, 
 in the House of Commons who has aston- 
 ished every body with the power of his 
 eloquence, and his comprehensive knowl- 
 edge in all our exterior and internal poli- 
 tics, and commercial interests. He wants 
 nothing but that sort of dignity annexed 
 to rank and property in England to make 
 him the most considerable man in the 
 Lower House.— Lee, Arthur, 1766, To 
 the Prince Royal of Poland, Life, p. 290. 
 
 At Beaconsfield, Mr. Burke is an indus- 
 trious farmer, a polite husband, a kind 
 master, a charitable neighbour, and a 
 most excellent companion. The demons 
 of ambition and party who hover about 
 
 Westminster do not extend their influ- 
 ences as far as the villa. I know not why 
 it is, but these busy spirits seem more 
 tranquil and pleased in their days of re- 
 treat than the honest, dull justice of the 
 quorum, who never stretched forth his 
 hand to snatch the sceptre of power, or 
 raised his voice in publick to fill the trum- 
 pet of fame. — Montagu, ELizABEfn, 
 1772, Letters, Aug. 9 ; A Lady of the Last 
 Century, ed. Doran, p. 175. 
 
 Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius 
 was such, 
 
 We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too 
 much; 
 
 Who, born for the universe, narrow 'd his 
 mind, 
 
 And to party gave up what was meant for 
 mankind ; 
 
 Though fraught with all learning, yet strain- 
 ing his throat 
 
 To persuade Tommy Townshend to lend him 
 a vote ; 
 
 Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on 
 refining, 
 
 And thought of convincing, while they 
 
 thought of dining ; 
 Though equal to all things, for all things 
 
 unfit. 
 
 Too nice for a statesman, too proud for a wit; 
 For a patriot, too cool; for a drudge, dis- 
 obedient ; 
 
 And too fond of the right to pursue the ex- 
 
 pedient. 
 
 In short, 'twas his fate, unemploy'd, or in 
 place, sir, 
 
 To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a 
 razor. 
 
 — Goldsmith, Oliver, 1774, The Retali- 
 ation. 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 289 
 
 No expectation that I had formed of 
 Mr. Burke, either from his works, his 
 speeches, his character, or his fame, had 
 anticipated to me such a man as 1 now 
 met. He appeared, perhaps, at this 
 moment, to the highest possible advantage 
 in health, vivacity, and spirits. Removed 
 from the impetuous aggravations of party 
 contentions, that, at times, by inflaming 
 his passions, seem, momentarily at least, 
 to disorder his character, he was lulled 
 into gentleness by the grateful feelings 
 of prosperity ; exhilarated, but not intoxi- 
 cated, by sudden success : and just risen, 
 after toiling years of failures, disappoint- 
 ments, fire and fury, to place, affluence, 
 and honours ; which were brightly smiling 
 on the zenith of his powers. He looked, 
 indeed, as if he had no wish but to diffuse 
 philanthropy, pleasure, and genial gaiety 
 all around. His figure, when he is not 
 negligent in his carriage, is noble; his 
 air commanding; his address graceful; 
 his voice clear, penetrating, sonorous, and 
 powerful ; his language copious, eloquent, 
 and changefully impressive ; his manners 
 are attractive ; his conversation is past all 
 praise. You will call me mad, I know ; — ■ 
 but if I wait till I see another Mr. Burke 
 for such another fit of extasy — I may be 
 long enough in my very sober good senses ! 
 — D'Arblay, Madame (Fanny Burney), 
 1782, Letter to Samuel Crisp ^ Memoirs of 
 Doctor Burney, p. 172. 
 
 Fox never talks in private company; 
 not from any determination not to talk, 
 but because he has not the first motion. 
 A man who is used to the applause of the 
 House of Commons has no wish for that of 
 a private company. A man accustomed to 
 throw for a thousand pounds, if set down 
 to throw for sixpence, would not be at the 
 pains to count his dice. Burke's talk is 
 the ebullition of his mind. He does not 
 talk from a desire of distinction, but be- 
 cause his mind is full. — Johnson, Sam- 
 uel, 1783, Life by Boswell, ed. Hill, vol. 
 IV, p. 192. 
 
 So lively, and so foolish, and so good- 
 humoured was he, and so like the agreea- 
 ble Mr. Burke I once knew and admired, 
 • that I soon forgot his malefactions, and 
 how often I had been in a passion with him 
 for some of his speeches. — More, Han- 
 nah, 1784, Letter jto her Sister, Memoirs^ 
 ed. Roberts. 
 
 He must again repeat that all he ever 
 
 19 0 
 
 knew of men, that all he ever read in 
 books, that all his reasoning faculties in- 
 formed him of, or his fancy suggested to 
 him, did not impart that exalted knowl- 
 edge, that superior information, which he 
 had acquired from the lessons of his right 
 honourable friend. To him he owed all 
 his fame, if fame he had any. And if he 
 (Mr. Fox) should now, or at any time, pre- 
 vail over him in discussion, he could ac- 
 knowledge his gratitude for the capabil- 
 ity and pride of the conquest in telling 
 him "Hoc ipsum quod vincit id esttuum." 
 — Fox, Charles James, 1791, Speech in 
 the House of Commons on the occasion of 
 his rupture with Mr. Burke. 
 We trust thy liberal views, thy generous 
 heart ; 
 
 We think of those who, naked, pale, and 
 poor, 
 
 Relieved and blessed, have wandered from 
 thy door ; 
 
 We see thee with unwearied step explore 
 Each track of bloodshed on the farthest shore 
 Of injured Asia, and thy swelling breast 
 Harrowing the oppressor, mourning for the 
 oppressed. 
 
 —Bowles, William Lisle, 1792? The 
 Right Honourable Edmund Burke. 
 
 Burke is, indeed, a young man of his 
 years. But the reason I take to be, that 
 if age should deprive him of one half of 
 his ideas he would have still more left 
 him than any man of five-and-twenty. — ■ 
 Charlemont, Lord, 1792, Letter to Ed- 
 mond MalonCy Aug. 20; Life by Prior, 
 p. 196. 
 
 As late I lay in Slumber's shadowy vale, 
 With wetted cheek and in a mourner's 
 guise, 
 
 I saw the sainted form of Freedom rise : 
 She spake ! not sadder moans the autumnal 
 gale — 
 
 ''Great Son of Genius ! sweet to me thy name, 
 Ere in an evil hour with altered voice 
 Thou badst Oppression's hireling crew re- 
 joice, 
 
 Blasting with wizard spell my laurelled fame. 
 
 Yet never, Burke! thou drank'st Corrup- 
 tion's bo wd! 
 Thee stormy Pity and the cherish'd lure 
 Of Pomp, and proud precipitance of soul 
 
 Wildered with meteor fires. Ah spirit pure ! 
 
 That error's mist had left thy purged eye: 
 
 So might I clasp thee with a Mother's joy!" 
 
 —Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1794, 
 Sonnet to Burke, Dec. 9. 
 
 Mrs. Burke presents her compliments 
 to Mr. Fox, and thanks him for his oblig- 
 ing inquiries. Mrs. Burke communicated 
 
290 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 his letter to Mr. Burke, and, by his desire, 
 has to inform Mr. Fox that it has cost 
 Mr. Burke the most heart-felt pain to 
 obey the stern voice of his duty in render- 
 ing asunder a long friendship, but that he 
 deemed his sacrifice necessary; that his 
 principles remained the same ; and that in 
 whatever his life yet remained to him, he 
 conceives that he must live for others and 
 not for himself. Mr. Burke is convinced 
 that the principles which he has endeav- 
 oured to maintain are necessary to the 
 welfare and dignity of his country, and 
 that these principles can be enforced only 
 by the general persuasion of his sincerity. 
 For herself, Mrs. Burke has again to ex- 
 press her gratitude to Mr. Fox for his in- 
 quiries. — Burke, Mrs. Edmund, 1797, 
 Letter to C. J. Fox 
 
 His end was suited to the simple great- 
 ness of his mind, which he displayed 
 through life, every way unaffected, without 
 levity, without ostentation, full of natural 
 grace and dignity.— Laurence, French, 
 1797, Gentleman's Magazine, vol. 67. 
 
 There never was a more beautiful alli- 
 ance between virtue and talents. All his 
 conceptions were grand, all his sentiments 
 generous. The great leading trait of his 
 character, and that which gave it all its 
 energy and its colour, was that strong 
 hatred of vice which is no other than the 
 passionate love of virtue. It breathes in 
 all his writings ; it was the guide of all 
 his actions. But even the force of his 
 eloquence was sufficient to transfuse it 
 into the weaker or perverted minds of 
 his contemporaries. This has caused 
 much of the miseries of Europe ; this has 
 rendered of no effect towards her salva- 
 tion the sublimest talents, the greatest and 
 rarest virtues that the beneficence of 
 Providence ever concentrated in a single 
 character for the benefit of mankind. But 
 Mr. Burke was too superior to the age in 
 which he lived. His prophetic genius only 
 astonished the nation which it ought to 
 have governed.— Cazales, M., 1797, On 
 the Death of Edmund Burke. 
 
 Had a long and interesting conversation 
 with Mr. Mackintosh, turning principally 
 on Burke and Fox. Of Burke he spoke 
 with rapture, declaring that he was, in his 
 estimation, without any parallel, in any age 
 or country, except, perhaps. Lord Bacon 
 and Cicero: that his works contained 
 an ampler store of political and moral 
 
 wisdom than could be found in any other 
 writer whatever ; and that he was only not 
 esteemed the most severe and sagacious of 
 reasoners, because he was the most elo- 
 quent of men, the perpetual force and 
 vigour of his arguments being hid from 
 vulgar observation by the dazzling glories 
 in which they were enshrined. In taste 
 alone he thought himself deficient ; but to 
 have possessed that quality in addition to 
 his other, would have been too much for 
 man. — Passed the last Christmas (of Mr. 
 Burke's Life) with Burke at Beaconsfield, 
 and described, in glowing terms the as- 
 tonishing effusions of his mind in con- 
 versation : perfectly free from all taint of 
 afl^ectation ; would enter, with cordial glee, 
 into the sports of children, rolling about 
 with them on the carpet, and pouring out, 
 in his gambols, the sublimest images, 
 mingled with the most wretched puns. — 
 Anticipated his approaching dissolution 
 with due solemnity but perfect composure ; 
 — minutely and accurately informed, to a 
 wonderful exactness, with respect to every 
 fact relative to the French Revolution. 
 . . . Of Gibbon, Mackintosh neatly 
 remarked that he might have been cut 
 out of a corner of Burke's mind without his 
 missing it. — Green, Thomas, 1797-1810, 
 Diary of a Lover of Literature. 
 
 near this place lies interred all 
 that was mortal of the 
 
 right honourable edmund burke, 
 
 WHO DIED ON THE 9tH OF JULY, 1797, 
 AGED 68 YEARS. 
 IN THE SAME GRAVE ARE DEPOSITED 
 THE REMAINS OF HIS ONLY SON, RICHARD 
 
 BURKE, ESQ., 
 REPRESENTATIVE IN PARLIAMENT FOR THE 
 BOROUGH OF MALTON, 
 WHO DIED THE 2ND OF AUGUST, 1794, 
 AGED 35. 
 
 OF HIS BROTHER, RICHARD BURKE, ESQ., 
 
 BARRISTER-AT-LAW, 
 AND RECORDER OF THE CITY OF BRISTOL, 
 WHO DIED ON THE 4tH OF FEBRUARY, 1794 : 
 AND OF HIS WIDOW, JANE MARY BURKE, 
 WHO DIED THE 2nD OF APRIL, 1812, 
 AGED 78. 
 
 —Tablet to the Burke Family, 1812, 
 Beaconsfield Church. 
 
 Burke's conversation was rambling, but 
 splendid, rich and instructive beyond com- 
 parison.— Butler, Charles, 1822, Remin- 
 iscences, vol. I, p. 168. 
 
 In person, he was five feet ten inches 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 291 
 
 high, erect, well-formed, never very ro- 
 bust; when young, expert in the sports 
 of his country and time, active in habits 
 suited to his years until his last illness, and 
 always, it scarcely need be added, particu- 
 larly active in mind, having nothing of 
 what he called ''the master-vice, sloth," in 
 his composition. His countenance in early 
 life possessed considerable sweetness, 
 and by his female friends was esteemed 
 handsome. At a later period, it did not 
 appear to be marked, particularly when 
 in a state of quiescence, by that striking 
 expression which, from the well-known 
 qualities of his mind, many persons ex- 
 pected to see; but the lines of thought 
 were evident, and when excited by discus- 
 sion, there was an occasional working of 
 the brow, occasioned partly by being near- 
 sighted, which let the attentive observer 
 into the secret of the powerful workings 
 within. From this defective state of 
 vision, he almost constantly, from about 
 the year 1780, wore spectacles. . . . 
 Like Mr. Fox, Mr. Burke was somewhat 
 negligent in common dress, being latterly 
 distinguished by a tight brown coat, which 
 seemed to impede all freedom of motion, 
 and a little bob-wig with curls, which, in 
 addition to his spectacles, made his per- 
 son be recognized by those who had never 
 previously seen him, the moment he rose 
 to speak in the House of Commons. 
 . . . His address in private life pos- 
 sessed something of a chivalrous air — ■ 
 noble, yet unaffected and unreserved, im- 
 pressing upon strangers of every rank, 
 imperceptibly and without effort, the 
 conviction of his being a remarkable man. 
 — Prior, Sir James, 1824, Memoir of the 
 Life and Character of the Right Hon. Ed- 
 mund Burke, vol. ii, jpp. 374, 377, 378. 
 
 It was a great pity that Burke accepted 
 a pension, because as he turned out so 
 right about the Revolution it dimmed the 
 glory of genius. Lord Mulgrave said: 
 *'Mr. Fox acknowledged afterwards that 
 Burke was right too soon." It was cruel 
 to break up his friendship with Sheridan 
 and Fox, but Burke had no other way of 
 becoming again an isolated object of pub- 
 lic astonishment. Sheridan and Fox had 
 rather dulled his fame, and his only 
 chance of self -applause, the only chance 
 of soothing his wounded vanity left him, 
 was to burst like a fiery star from his 
 regular orbit, and become the object of 
 
 wonder and abuse, enthusiasm and admi- 
 ration, which he was no longer in the 
 ordinary progress. Love of power was at 
 the bottom of his heart, depend upon it ; 
 to be sure, the weakness of the greatest 
 minds. To think that Burke was always 
 giving Barry caution about his temper, 
 while he was such a signal instance of vio- 
 lence himself.— Haydon, Benjamin Rob- 
 ert, 1825, To Miss Mitford, Dec. 10; Life, 
 Letters and Table Talk, ed. Stoddard, p. 227. 
 
 I saw a letter or two of Burke's in 
 which there is an epanchement du coeur 
 not visible in those of Pitt, who writes 
 like a Premier to his colleague. Burke 
 was under the strange hallucination that 
 his son, who predeceased him, was a man 
 of greater talents than himself. On the 
 contrary, he had little talent and no reso- 
 lution.— Scott, Sir Walter, 1828, Jour- 
 nal, May 24. 
 
 What a guardian angel he proved to the 
 nation. There are two individuals who 
 have adorned and benefited our country, 
 whom it is a pleasure to trace into the 
 very recesses of private life: there are 
 no discoveries to make; — all is so fair, 
 so clear, so honourable — the milk of 
 human kindness flows forth so abundantly. 
 I speak of Edmund Burke and Walter 
 Scott. How delightful it is to find those 
 diamonds without a flaw. — Grant, Anne, 
 1834, Letters, Apr. 17 ; Memoir and Cor- 
 respondence, ed. Grant, vol. iii, p. 237. 
 
 It is strange, considering the eminence 
 of the man, and how early his biographers 
 were in the field, what an impenetrable 
 cloud hangs over the life of Edmund Burke, 
 from the time when he left college to his 
 avowed entrance into a public career. 
 The same observation was made long 
 years since by one who knew him person- 
 ally and well. ' 'It always appeared to Mr. 
 West ('Life of West') that there was 
 about Mr. Burke a degree of mystery con- 
 nected with his early life which their long 
 intercourse never tended to explain." 
 This mystery was not only maintained dur- 
 ing life, but prepared for after death. 
 There is not in existence, as far as we know 
 or have a right to infer from the silence of 
 the biographers, one single letter, paper, 
 or document of any kind, — except a mys- 
 terious fragment of one letter, — relating 
 to the domestic life of the Burke.'s, until 
 long after Edmund Burke became an illus- 
 trious and public man, — from brothers to 
 
292 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 brother, or brothers to sister. Such let- 
 ters could not, of course, find a place in 
 the formal "Correspondence of the Right 
 Honourable," — but they were the best 
 possible material for the biographer — for 
 the man Burke must grow in and out of 
 them. These letters and documentary- 
 evidence must have been intentionally col- 
 lected and destroyed ; and the probabili- 
 ties are, that they were destroyed by Ed- 
 mund himself, for he was the last sur- 
 vivor of the family. — Dilke, Sir Charles 
 Went WORTH, 1853, Burke, The Papers of 
 a Critic, vol. n, p. 330. 
 
 I confess that he does not interest me 
 chiefly as either statesman, essayist, or 
 orator— that 1 should not care for him in 
 any of these characters if I did not per- 
 ceive that he was first of all a Man. I 
 may disagree with a number of his opin- 
 ions ; 1 shall not tell you with how many 1 
 agree or disagree. But he himself, I 
 think, is a subject worthy of all study, 
 and of very sincere affection. — Maurice, 
 Frederick I>Em^o^,l'^bl, Edmund Burke, 
 The Friendship of Books and Other Lec- 
 tures, ed. Hughes, p. 305. 
 
 A few months after her [Mrs. Burke] 
 death, the house which she had occupied 
 to the last was destroyed by fire. All 
 that was pleasant and beautiful in the 
 abode became a dream of the past. Some 
 blackened walls and charred timbers alone 
 remained to tell the tale of desolation. 
 Perhaps it was better so. No stranger 
 was long to inhabit the mansion which 
 had been the scene of so much pure enjoy- 
 ment, so much domestic affection, so many 
 noble aspirations. Its fate was symbol- 
 ical of the sad family history of which it 
 had been the scene. The blackened ruins 
 were a fitting memorial of blighted hopes, 
 and of a broken heart. — Macknight, 
 Thomas, 1860, History of the Life and 
 Times of Edmund Burke, vol. ill, p. 718. 
 
 He was well versed in Greek and Latin 
 literature, was familiar with the great 
 masters of his own language, and had 
 read the best models of the French. 
 Ancient and modern history he had deeply 
 studied ; he was an admirable connoisseur 
 in art; and he was not unfamiliar with 
 some of the natural sciences. To theology 
 and philosophy he paid considerable at- 
 tention. His acquaintance with English 
 law astonished professional men them- 
 selves, while from the Roman jurisprudence 
 
 he not unfrequently drew happy illustra- 
 tions; and, as is said of Shakespeare, 
 he loved to converse with laborers and 
 mechanics about their trades. He was 
 a skilful, practical agriculturist ; in mat- 
 ters of conimerce and finance he was 
 exceedingly well versed, and in the whole 
 science of economics he was far beyond 
 his age. — Robertson, J. B., 1875, Lec- 
 tures on the Life of Burke. 
 
 He sits erect and firm, his head thrown 
 somewhat back as if conscious of his in- 
 tellectual strength. His face is one that 
 a painter would find it hard adequately to 
 portray, for its expression is constantly 
 varying, but full of benevolence; now 
 darkened by the shadow of deep thought, 
 now marked by vigorous intellect, softened 
 by sensibility.— Waller, J. F., 1881, 
 Boswell and Johnson, Their Companions 
 and Contemporaries, p. 7. 
 
 There is no public man whose character 
 is more clearly reflected in his life and in 
 his intimate correspondence ; and it may 
 be confidently said that there is no other 
 public man whose character was in all 
 essential respects more transparently 
 pure. Weak health, deep and fervent 
 religious principles, and studious habits, 
 saved him from the temptations of youth ; 
 and amid all the vicissitudes and corrup- 
 tion of politics his heart never lost its 
 warmth, or his conscience its sensitive- 
 ness. There were faults indeed which 
 were only too apparent in his character 
 as in his intellect — an excessive violence 
 and irritability of temper; personal antip- 
 athies, which were sometimes carried 
 beyond all the bounds of reason ; party 
 spirit, which was too often suffered to 
 obscure his judgment, and to hurry him 
 into great intemperance and exaggeration 
 of language. But he was emphatically a 
 good man ; and in the higher moral quali- 
 ties of public as of private life he has not 
 often been surpassed. — Lecky, William 
 Edward Hartpole, 1882, A History of 
 England in the Eighteenth Century, vol. 
 Ill, ch. xi, p. 201. 
 
 So wide and various are the genius and 
 career of Burke that you might as well 
 attempt to exhaust the character of 
 Shakespeare in a speech of this kind as 
 attempt to deal adequately with the genius 
 of Burke. . . . There was no stronger 
 party man than Burke. He was a Whig 
 of the Whigs. He glorified Whigs. He 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 293 
 
 inspired Whigs. He was, if I may so ex- 
 press myself, the prose Poet Laureate of 
 Whiggery. And yet, without hesitation 
 or murmur, he forsook all and followed 
 what he believed to be the truth. He 
 loved Charles Fox and all his other polit- 
 ical associates. His eulogy on Charles 
 Fox in his speech on his Indian Bill is per- 
 haps the noblest tribute ever paid in elo- 
 quence by one politician to another. But 
 he forsook them all, Charles Fox and all, 
 to follow what he believed to be the truth. 
 The wrench was terrible. It brought 
 tears to the eyes of all who witnessed it. 
 But Burke never flinched and never 
 blenched. He went home to his lonely 
 country home. He went home to see his 
 son die, and all his hopes and future die 
 with that son, and then to die in solitude 
 and sorrow himself. And what of him? 
 Is he a shadow ? No, he is, in my opinion, 
 the one figure of the time which is likely 
 never to be a shadow. He brightens on 
 the historic canvas — as the other figures 
 fade — by his speeches, which, as I have 
 said, were read and not listened to. He 
 will be remembered as long as there are 
 readers to read, when those orators on 
 whose lips Parliaments and people hung 
 enthralled are forgotten with the tongue 
 that spoke and the ears that listened to 
 them.— RosEBERY, Lord Archibald P. P., 
 1894-1900, Life and Speeches, ed. Coates, 
 vol II, pp. 1010, 1013. 
 
 He became a statesman and great 
 Parliamentary orator, so to speak, in spite 
 of himself. But he must have early dis- 
 covered the great barrier to complete suc- 
 cess created by his poverty. He may be 
 said to have passed his life in pecuniary 
 embarrassment. This alone might not 
 have shut him out from the Whig official 
 Paradise, for the same thing might have 
 been said of Pitt and Fox : but they had 
 connections ; they belonged by birth and 
 association to the Whig class. Burke's 
 relatives were no help or credit to him. 
 In fact, they excited distrust of him. 
 They offended the fastidious aristocrats 
 with whom he associated, and combined 
 with his impecuniousness to make him 
 seem unsuitable for a great place. These 
 aristocrats were very good to him. They 
 lent him money freely, and settled a pen- 
 sion on him, and covered him with social 
 adulation; but they were never willing 
 to put him beside themselves in the 
 
 government. His latter years therefore 
 had an air of tragedy. He was unpopular 
 with most of those who in his earlier years 
 had adored him, and was the hero of those 
 whom in earlier years he had despised. 
 His only son, of whose capacity he had 
 formed a strange misconception, died 
 young, and he passed his own closing 
 hours, as far as we can judge, with a 
 sense of failure. But he left one of the 
 great names in English history. There is 
 no trace of him in the statue book, but he 
 has, it is safe to say, exercised a profound 
 influence in all succeeding legislation, both 
 in England and America. He has inspired 
 or suggested nearly all the juridical 
 changes which distinguish the England of 
 to-day from the England of the last cen- 
 tury, and is probably the only British 
 politician whose speeches and pamphlets, 
 made for immediate results, have given 
 him immortality. — GODKIN, E. L., 1896, 
 Library of the World's Best Literature, ed. 
 Warner, vol. v, p. 2787. 
 
 The genius of Burke is platonically dem- 
 ocratic in its multifariousness. . . . While 
 the mind is fascinated by the mere 
 enumeration of the attributes of his pro- 
 digal genius, curiosity and controversy, 
 have been ceaselessly attracted to such 
 questions as to the reason why his youth 
 is so enveloped in obscurity, to the inter- 
 minable dispute as to whether or not he 
 was Junius, and how he managed to pur- 
 chase the Beaconsfield estate. Many of the 
 rumours on these subjects are, no doubt, 
 mere contes en Vair. Some thirty years 
 ago, according to Mr. Lecky,the last word 
 was said about the purchase of Beacons- 
 field estate, and the same eminent authority 
 considers that the account rendered was 
 satisfactory enough, and that it is idle to 
 pursue the subject. Mr. Morley even 
 takes the trouble to deny the rumour that 
 Burke ever went to America, or that he 
 was a cavaliere servente of Peg Woffington. 
 The evidence that Burke paid a visit to 
 America seems, perhaps, wwth a little 
 more consideration than Mr. Morley gives 
 it, since it rests on the highly respectable 
 evidence of Benjamin West, a President 
 of the Royal Academy, who was himself 
 an American.— Sibley, N. W., 1897, 
 Edmund Burke, The Westminster Review, 
 vol. 148, p. 496. 
 
 Edmund Burke gave the most striking 
 proofs of his character and genius in the 
 
294 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 evil days in which his life ended — not 
 when he was a leader in the Commons, but 
 when he was a stricken old man at Beacons- 
 field. That Burke was a great states- 
 man, no thinking man could read his pam- 
 phlets and speeches can deny ; but a man 
 may be a great statesman and yet fall very 
 short of being a great man. Burke makes 
 as deep an impression upon our hearts as 
 upon our minds. We are taken captive, 
 not so much by his reasoning, strongly as 
 that moves to its conquest, as by the 
 generous warmth that steals out of him 
 into our hearts. There is a tonic breatli 
 of character and of generous purpose in 
 which he writes — the fine sentiment of a 
 pure man ; and we are made aware that 
 he who could write thus was great, not so 
 much by reason of what he said or did, as 
 by reason of what he was. What a man 
 was you may often discover in the rec- 
 ords of his days of bitterness and pain 
 better than in what is told of his seasons 
 of cheer and hope ; for if the noble quali- 
 ties triumph then and show themselves 
 still sound and sweet, if his courage sink 
 not, if he show himself still capable of 
 self-forgetfulness, if he still stir with a 
 passion for the service of causes and 
 policies which are beyond himself, his 
 stricken age is even greater than his full- 
 pulsed years of manhood. This is the test 
 which Burke endures — the test of fire. 
 It has not often been judged so, I know ; 
 but let any man of true insight take that 
 extraordinary "Letter to a Noble Lord," 
 which was written in 1796, and which is 
 Burke's apologia -pro vita sua, consider the 
 circumstances under which it was written, 
 its tone, its scope, its truth, its self-revela- 
 tions, and the manner of man revealed, 
 and say whether this be not the real Burke, 
 undaunted, unstained, unchanged in pur- 
 pose and in principle. — Wilson, Wood- 
 row, 1901, Edmund Burke and the French 
 Revolution, The Century Magazine, vol. 62, 
 p. 784. 
 
 SPEECHES AND ORATORY 
 Burke also abounds with these fine pas- 
 sages, and he soars also as much out of 
 the lower regions of discourse and in- 
 finitely further into those of imagination 
 and fancy; but no man could ever per- 
 ceive in him the least trace of prepara- 
 tion, and he never appears more incontest- 
 ably inspired by the moment and trans- 
 ported with the fury of the god within him 
 
 than in those finished passages which it 
 would cost Shakespeare long study and 
 labour to produce. — Elliot, Sir Gilbert, 
 1751-1806, Life of Elliot by Lady Minto, 
 vol, I, p, 215. 
 
 His performance Conciliation with 
 America"] was the best I have heard 
 from him in the whole winter. He is 
 always brilliant to an uncommon degree, 
 and yet I believe it would be better he 
 were less so. I don't mean to join with 
 the cry which will always run against 
 shining parts, when I say that I sincerely 
 think it interrupts him so much in argu- 
 ment that the House are never sensible 
 that he argues as well as he does. Fox 
 gives a strong proof of this, for he makea 
 use of Burke's speech as a repertory, and 
 by stating crabbedly two or three of those 
 ideas which Burke has buried under 
 flowers, he is thought almost always to 
 have had more argument. — Flood, Henry, 
 1775, Letter to Charlemont. 
 
 While we are waiting at Trinity Lodge 
 for the deputation from the Senate to 
 conduct the Chancellor, I had a conversa- 
 tion with Lord Erskine upon the qualifica- 
 tions of Burke as an orator. Lord Erskine 
 said that his defect was episode. **A 
 public speaker," said he, "should never 
 be episodical — it is a very great mistake. 
 I hold it to be a rule respecting public 
 speaking, which ought never to be vio- 
 lated, that the speaker should not intro- 
 duce into his oratory insular brilliant 
 passages — they always tend to call off the 
 minds of his hearers, and to make them 
 wander from what ought to be the main 
 business of his speech. If he wish to in- 
 troduce brilliant passages, they should run 
 along the line of his subject-matter, and 
 never quit it. Burke's episodes were 
 highly beautiful— I know nothing more 
 beautiful, but they were his defects in 
 speaking." . . . Lord Erskine also 
 told me that Burke's manner was some- 
 times bad — 'Ht was like that of an Irish 
 chairman." ''Once," said he, *'I was so 
 tired of hearing him in a debate upon 
 the India Bill, that not liking he should 
 see me leave the House of Commons while 
 he was speaking, I crept along under the 
 benches and got out, and went to the Isles 
 of Wight. Afterwards that very speech 
 of his was published, and I found it to be 
 so extremely beautiful that I actually wore 
 it into pieces by reading it." — Clarke, E. 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 295 
 
 D., 1819, Jonrnaly July 5; Prior's Life 
 of Burke, voL ii, j9. 431. 
 
 The variety and extent of his power in 
 debate was greater than that of any other 
 orator in ancient or modern times. No 
 one ever poured forth such a flood of 
 thought — so many original combinations 
 of inventive genius; as much knowledge 
 of man and the working of political 
 systems; so many just remarks on the 
 relation of government to the manners, 
 the spirit, and even the prejudices of a 
 people; so many wise maxims as to a 
 change in constitutions and laws ; so many 
 beautiful effusions of lofty and generous 
 sentiment ; such exuberant stores of illus- 
 tration, or ornament, and apt allusion ; all 
 intermingled with the liveliest sallies of 
 wit or the boldest flights of a sublime 
 imagination. In actual debate, as a con- 
 temporary informs us, he passed more 
 rapidly from one exercise of his powers to 
 another, than in his printed productions. 
 During the same evening, sometimes in 
 the space of a few moments, he would be 
 pathetic and humorous, acrimonious and 
 conciliating, now giving vent to his in- 
 dignant feelings in lofty declamation, and 
 again, almost in the same breath, con- 
 vulsing his audience by the most laugh- 
 able exhibitions of ridicule or burlesque. 
 —Goodrich, Chauncey A., 1852, ed., 
 Select British Eloquence, p. 237. 
 
 Burke always dissappointed me as a 
 speaker. I have heard him, during his 
 speeches in the House, make use of the 
 most vulgar expressions, such as ''three 
 nips of a straw, " " three skips of a louse, ' ' 
 &c. ; and, on one occasion when I was 
 present, he introduced, as an illustration, 
 a most indelicate story about a French 
 king, who asked his physician why his 
 natural children were so much finer than 
 his legitimate.— Maltby, William, 1854, 
 In The Recollections of the Table-Talk of 
 Samuel Rogers, p. 79. 
 
 Sheridan once said to me, ''When pos- 
 terity read the speeches of Burke, they 
 will hardly be able to believe that, during 
 his life-time, he was not considered as a 
 first-rate speaker, not even as a second- 
 rate one."— Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Table- 
 Talk, p. 66. 
 
 Burke is rescued from the usual doom 
 of orators, because his learning, his ex- 
 perience, his sagacity are rimmed with a 
 halo by this bewitching light behind the 
 
 intellectual eye from the highest heaven 
 of the brain.— Lowell, James Russell, 
 1871, Carlyle, My Study Windows, p. 118. 
 
 His speeches on the Stamp Acts and the 
 American War soon lifted him into fame. 
 The heavy Quaker-like figure, the little 
 wig, the round spectacles, the cumbrous 
 roll of paper whichloaded Burke's pocket, 
 gave little promise of a great orator and 
 less of the characteristics of his oratory — 
 its passionate ardor, its poetic fancy, its 
 amazing prodigality of resources; and 
 dazzling succession in which irony, pathos, 
 invective, tenderness, and the most bril- 
 liant word-pictures, the coolest argument 
 followed each other. It was an eloquence 
 indeed of a wholly new order in English 
 experience. . . . The philosophical 
 cast of Burke's reasoning was unaccom- 
 panied by any philosophical coldness of 
 tone or phrase. The groundwork, indeed, 
 of his nature was poetic. His ideas, if 
 conceived by the reason, took shape and 
 color from the splendor and fire of his 
 imagination. A nation was to him a great 
 living society, so complex in its relations, 
 and whose institutions were so interwoven 
 with glorious events in the past, that to 
 touch it rudely was a sacrilege. — Green, 
 John Richard, 1874, A Short History of 
 the English People, pp. 761, 762. 
 
 Burke, before the spectre of the French 
 Revolution shot across his path, was 
 listened to as a seer by the House of 
 Commons; but, after that event, his 
 Cassandra-like croakings bored his hear- 
 ers, and his rising to speak was a signal 
 for a stampede from the benches. . . . 
 Greater as a thinker than Chatham or 
 Fox, but inferior as an orator, was Edmund 
 Burke, who, in the variety and extent of 
 his powers, surpassed every other orator 
 of ancient or modern times. He was 
 what he called Charles Townshend, "a 
 prodigy," and ranks not merely with the 
 eloquent speakers of the world, but with 
 the Bacons, Newtons, and Shakespeares. 
 His speeches and pamphlets are saturated 
 with thought ; they absolutely swarm, like 
 an ant-hill, with ideas, and, in their 
 teeming profusion, remind one of the 
 "myriad-minded" author of Hamlet. To 
 the broadest sweep of intellect, he added 
 the most surprising subtlety, and his 
 almost oriental imagination was fed by a 
 vast and varied knowledge, — the stores of 
 a memory that held everything in its 
 
^96 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 graspo The only man who, according to 
 Adam Smith, at once comprehended the 
 total revolution the latter proposed in 
 political economy, he was at the same 
 time the best judge of a picture that Sir 
 Joshua Reynolds ever knew; and while 
 his knowledge was thus boundless, his 
 vocabulary was as extensive as his knowl- 
 edge. Probably no orator ever lived on 
 whose lips language was more plastic and 
 ductile.— Mathews, William, 1878, Ora- 
 tory and Orators, pp. 134, 268. 
 
 There is much in the oratory of Edmund 
 Burke to suggest the amplitude of mind 
 and the power and scope of intellectual 
 grasp that characterized Shakespeare. 
 He surveyed every subject as if standing 
 on an eminence and taking a view of it in 
 all its relations, however complex and re- 
 mote. United with this remarkable com- 
 prehensiveness was also a subtlety of intel- 
 lect that enabled him to penetrate the 
 most complicated relations and unravel 
 the most perplexed intricacies. Why? 
 Whence? For what end? With what 
 results? were the questions that his 
 mind seemed always to be striving to 
 answer. The special objects to which 
 he applied himself were the workings 
 of political institutions, the principles 
 of wise legislation, and the sources 
 of national security and advancement. 
 Rerum cognoscere causas, — to know the 
 causes of things — in all the multiform re- 
 lations of organized society, was the con- 
 stant end of his striving. More than any 
 other one that has written in English he 
 was a political philosopher. But he was 
 far more than that. He had a memory of 
 extraordinary grasp and tenacity; and 
 this, united with a tireless industry, gave 
 him an affluence of knowledge that has 
 rarely been equalled. He had the fancy 
 of a poet, and his imagination surveyed 
 the whole range of human experience for 
 illustrations with which to enrich the train 
 of his thought.— Adams, Charles Ken- 
 dall, 1884, ed. Representative British 
 Orations, p. 172. 
 
 Tall and vigorous, of dignified deport- 
 ment, with massive brow and stern ex- 
 pression, he had an air of command. His 
 voice was of great compass; his words 
 came fast, but his thoughts seemed almost 
 to overcome even his powers of utterance. 
 Invective, sarcasm, metaphor, and argu- 
 ment followed hard af tet* one another ; his 
 
 powers of description were gorgeous, his 
 scorn was sublime, and in the midst of a 
 discussion of some matter of ephemeral 
 importance came enunciations of political 
 wisdom which are for all time, and which 
 illustrate the opinion that he was, Bacon 
 alone excepted, the greatest political 
 thinker who has ever devoted himself to the 
 practice of English politics" (Buckle, "Civ- 
 ilization in England," c. VII). Although 
 he spoke with an Irish accent, with 
 awkward action, and in a harsh tone, his 
 "imperial fancy" and commanding elo- 
 quence excited universal admiration. No 
 parliamentary orator has ever moved his 
 audience as he now and again did. His 
 speech on the employment of the Indians 
 in war, for example, is said at one time to 
 have almost choked Lord North, against 
 whom it was delivered, with laughter, and 
 at another to have drawn ''iron tears 
 down Barre's cheek. ' ' ( Walpole to Mason, 
 12 Feb., 1778, Letters, vii, 29.) Unfor- 
 tunately, his power over the house did not 
 last ; his thoughts were too deep for the 
 greater part of the members, and were 
 rather exhaustive discussions than direct 
 contributions to debate (Morley, Life, 
 209), while the sustained loftiness of his 
 style and a certain lack of sympathy with 
 his audience marred the effect of his 
 oratory. — Hunt, William, 1886, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography, vol. vii, p. 348. 
 
 Burke's prose is as prominent an ex- 
 ample as there is in English Letters of the 
 oratorical style, in the best sense of that 
 term. The reported speeches of Fox and 
 Grattan, Pitt and Sheridan — his great 
 contemporaries, evince occasional pas- 
 sages of equal excellence, but as to the 
 entire body of oratorical prose produced, 
 Burke is the superior of any one of them 
 and marks the highest point as yet at- 
 tained in England in forensic prose. — 
 Hunt, Theodore W., 1887, Representa- 
 tive English Prose and Prose Writers, 
 p. 342. 
 
 To Burke has already been assigned the 
 honour of being the first statesman and 
 orator who used the Platform at election 
 time as a real instrument in political 
 power. The occasions on which he so 
 used it were few, but his speeches at 
 Bristol in 1774 and 1780 recognised 
 clearly the claims of constituents to the 
 fullest explanation of the conduct of their 
 representative, and his full accountability 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 297 
 
 to them. That was the most important 
 matter to have put so prominently on rec- 
 ord. Though taking part in the Economy 
 Agitation he does not appear to have 
 actually spoken from the Platform in its 
 support, but in the crisis of the struggle 
 between Pitt and the Coalition he had 
 recourse to the Platform at Aylesbury in 
 1784. After that, however, his voice 
 from the Platform was silent. — Jephson, 
 Henry, 1891, The Platform, Its Rise and 
 Progress, vol. i, p. 223. 
 
 It is in his oratory that Burke's para- 
 graphs are remarkable. He exhibits here 
 such qualities as make him the best para- 
 grapher our literature produced before the 
 present century. His unity is simple (as 
 opposed to that of compound paragraphs) 
 and organic. His paragraph bears the 
 test, as Wendell has pointed out, of hav- 
 ing its substance expressed in one organic 
 sentence. For purposes of oratorical 
 emphasis and oratorical rhythm, he has 
 completely mastered the short sentence. 
 His percentage of sentences of less than 
 fifteen words is higher than the highest 
 yet reached. . . . The great orator 
 had, to a degree uncommon even in the 
 most eminent orators, the power of 
 marshalling his propositions in a specious 
 order. His emotion never ran away with 
 him; he drove straight at his hearer's in- 
 tellect — did so too constantly for his 
 highest immediate success. There is 
 always the impression of a convincing 
 chain of logic. In short, Burke is the 
 earliest great master of the paragraph, 
 and in impassioned prose he still remains 
 a master of the paragraph. But for his 
 lingering sense of the prime importance 
 of balancing and rounding the sentence he 
 is a nineteenth century paragrapher, and 
 one of the best.— Lewis, Edwin Herbert, 
 1894, The History of the English Para- 
 graph, pp. 122, 123. 
 
 A VINDICATION OF NATURAL 
 SOCIETY 
 
 1756 
 
 The book is a parody upon the style and 
 manner of Lord Bolingbroke. . . . 
 The wit of Burke's essay is that he sup- 
 poses this very aristocratic man to main- 
 tain the advantage of a purely natural 
 society upon the very same ground upon 
 which he had maintained the advantages 
 of a purely natural religion. The imita- 
 tion of style was so skilful, that many are 
 
 said to have been deceived by it. I cannot 
 understand how such a mistake could have 
 been possible for any who had the very 
 slightest acquaintance with the designs or 
 character of Bolingbroke. The outside 
 resemblance only makes the internal con- 
 trast more striking. . . . Burke did 
 not appear in his first conspicuous work 
 merely or chiefly as a successful jester. A 
 parody may be very amusing ; but he had 
 as distinct and serious a purpose in this 
 as in any of his writings. — Maurice, 
 Frederick Deniso}^, ISbl, Edmund Burke, 
 The Friendship of Books and Other Lec- 
 tures, ed. Hughes, p. 311. 
 
 Intended as a parody of Bolingbroke's 
 reasonings on religion, is sometimes 
 praised as a successful piece of mimicry ; 
 but it contains more of the real Burke 
 than of the sham Bolingbroke. It may be 
 viewed as an exercise in the style that the 
 author ultimately adopted as his habitual 
 manner of composition. The "Essay on 
 the Sublime and Beautiful" has much less 
 glow and sweep of style; the writer's flow 
 of words seems to be painfully embarrassed 
 by the necessity of observing order and 
 proportion of statement. — Minto, Wil- 
 liam, 1872-80, Manual of English Prose 
 Literature, p. 437. 
 
 From the very beginning Burke was 
 drawn to the deepest of all the currents 
 in the thought of the eighteenth century. 
 . . . What is remarkable in Burke's first 
 performance is his discernment of the im- 
 portant fact, that behind the intellectual 
 disturbances in the sphere of philosophy, 
 and the noisier agitations in the sphere of 
 theology, there silently staked a force 
 that might shake the whole fabric of civil 
 society itself. In France, as all students 
 of its speculative history are agreed, there 
 came a time in the eighteenth century 
 when theological controversy was turned 
 into political controversy. Innovators 
 left the question about the truth of 
 Christianity, and busied themselves with 
 questions about the ends and means of 
 government. The appearance of Burke's 
 ''Vindication of Natural Society" coin- 
 cides in time with the beginning of this 
 important transformation. Burke foresaw 
 from the first what, if rationalism were 
 allowed to run an unimpeded course, 
 would be the really great business of the 
 second half of his century. — Morley, 
 John, 1879, Burke (English Men of Letters). 
 
298 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 THE SUBLIME AND BEAUTIFUL 
 
 1757 
 
 I began to-day, as a natural supplement 
 to Longinus, a philosophical inquiry into 
 the nature of our ideas of the sublime and 
 beautiful, and read the introduction upon 
 Taste, p. 1-40, which, like all other 
 researches into our primary ideas, is 
 rather loose and unsatisfactory. The 
 division, however, of the passive impres- 
 sion which is common to all men, and 
 relates chiefly to positive beauty or faulti- 
 ness, and the active judgment which is 
 founded on knowledge, and exercised 
 mostly on comparison, pleased me ; per- 
 haps because very like an idea of my own. 
 . . . The author writes with ingenuity, 
 perspicuity, and candour. — Gibbon, Ed- 
 ward, 1762, Journal, Nov. 1, 4. 
 
 As I walked out before breakfast with 
 Mr. B., I proposed to him to revise and 
 enlarge his admirable book on the "Sub- 
 lime and Beautiful,'' which the experi- 
 ence, reading, and observation of thirty 
 years could not but enable him to improve 
 considerably. But he said the train of 
 his thoughts had gone another way, and 
 the whole bent of his mind turned from 
 such subjects; that he was much fitter 
 for such speculations at the time he pub- 
 lished that book (about 1758) than now. 
 Besides, he added, the subject was then 
 new, but several writers have since gone 
 over the same ground. Lord Kames and 
 others. The subject he said had been 
 long rolling in his thoughts before he 
 wrote his book, he having been used from 
 the time he was in college to speculate on 
 the topics which form the subjects of it. 
 He was six or seven years employed on it, 
 and when it was produced he was about 
 28 or 29 years old — a prodigious work for 
 such a period of life. — Malone, Edmond, 
 1789, Maloniana, ed. Prior , July 28, 
 p. 154. 
 
 Burke's "Essay on the Sublime and 
 Beautiful" seems to me a poor thing; and 
 what he says upon Taste is neither pro- 
 found nor accurate. — Coleridge, Samuel 
 Taylor, 1827, Table Talk, ed. Ashe, July 
 12, p. 54. 
 
 The essay on the Sublime and Beautiful 
 fell in with a set of topics, on which the 
 curiosity of the better minds of the age, 
 alike in France, England, and Germany, 
 was fully stirred. In England the essay 
 has been ordinarily slighted; it has 
 
 perhaps been overshadowed by its author's 
 fame in weightier matters. The nearest 
 approach to a full and serious treatment 
 of its main positions is to be found in 
 Dugald Stewart's lectures. The great 
 rhetorical art-critic of our own day refers 
 to it in words of disparagement, and in 
 truth it has none of the flummery of 
 modern criticism. It is a piece of hard 
 thinking, and it has the distinction of 
 having interested and stimulated Lessing, 
 the author of "Laokoon" (1766), by far 
 the most definitely valuable of all the con- 
 tributions to aesthetic thought in an age 
 which was not poor in them. — Morley, 
 John, 1879, Burke {English Men of Let- 
 ters), p. 17. 
 
 In the great Mr. Burke's "Essay on the 
 Sublime and the Beautiful" — a singularly 
 modern book, considering how long ago it 
 was wrote (as the great Mr. Steele would 
 have written the participle a little longer 
 ago), and full of a certain well-mannered 
 and agreeable instruction. In some 
 things it is of that droll little eighteenth- 
 century world, when philosophy had got 
 the neat little universe into the hollow of 
 its hand, and knew just what it was, and 
 what it was for ; but it is quite without 
 arrogance.— HowELLS, William Dean, 
 1891, Criticism and Fiction, p. 6. 
 
 REFLECTIONS ON THE REVOLUTION 
 IN FRANCE 
 
 1790 
 
 Waving all discussion concerning the 
 substance and general tendency of this 
 printed letter, 1 must declare my opinion, 
 that what I have seen of it is very loosely 
 put together. In point of writing, at 
 least, the manuscript you showed me first 
 was much less objectionable. Remember 
 that this is one of the most singular, that 
 it may be the most distinguished, and 
 ought to be one of the most deliberate 
 acts of your life. Your writings have 
 hitherto been the delight and instruction 
 of your own country. You now undertake 
 to correct and instruct another nation, and 
 your appeal, in effect, is to all Europe. Al- 
 lowing you the liberty to do so, in an ex- 
 treme case, you cannot deny that it ought 
 to be done with special deliberation in the 
 choice of the topics, and with no less care 
 and circumspection in the use you make of 
 them. Have you thoroughly considered 
 whether it be worthy of Mr. Burke— of a 
 privy-counsellor — of a man so high and 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 299 
 
 considerable in the House of Commons as 
 you are — and holding the station you have 
 obtained in the opinion of the world, to 
 enter into a War of pamphlets with Dr. 
 Price ? If he answered you, as assuredly 
 he will (and so will many others), can 
 you refuse to reply to a person whom you 
 have attacked? If you do, you are de- 
 feated in a battle of your own provoking, 
 and driven to fly from ground of your own 
 choosing. If you do not, where is such a 
 contest to lead you, but into a vile and 
 disgraceful, though it was ever so victo- 
 rious, an altercation? ''Di meliora." But 
 if you will do it, away with all jest, and 
 sneer, and sarcasm ; let every thing you 
 say be grave, direct, and serious. In a 
 case so interesting as the errors of a 
 great nation, and the calamities of great 
 individuals, and feeling them so deeply as 
 you profess to do, all manner of insinua- 
 tion is improper, all gibe and nickname 
 prohibited. — Francis, Sir Philip, 1790, 
 To Edmund Burke, Feb, 19 ; The Francis 
 Letters, ed. Francis and Keary, vol. ii, 
 p. 378. 
 
 I wish Mr. Burke would publish what he 
 intended on the present state of France. 
 He is a man of principle, and a friend to 
 religion, to law, and to monarchy, as well 
 as to liberty. — Beattie, James, 1790, 
 Letter to Robert Arbuthnot, April 25. 
 
 His pamphlet came out this day se'n- 
 night, and is far superior to what was ex- 
 pected, even by his warmest admirers. I 
 have read it twice ; and though of three 
 hundred and fifty pages, I wish I could 
 repeat every page by heart. It is sublime, 
 profound, and gay. The wit and satire 
 are equally brilliant; and the whole is 
 wise, though in some points he goes too 
 far : yet in general there is far less want 
 of judgment than could be expected from 
 him. If it could be translated, — which, 
 from the wit and metaphors and allusions, 
 is almost impossible, — I should think it 
 would be a classic book in all countries, 
 except in present France. To their 
 tribunes it speaks daggers ; though, unlike 
 them, it uses none. Seven thousand 
 copies have been taken off by the book- 
 sellers already, and a new edition is pre- 
 paring. I hope you will see it soon. — 
 Walpole, Horace, 1790, To the Miss 
 BerrySy Nov. 8 ; Letters, ed. Cunningham, 
 vol. IX, p. 260. 
 
 Burke's book is a most admirable 
 
 medicine against the French disease, which 
 has made too much progress even in this 
 happy country. I admire his eloquence, 
 I approve his politics, I adore his chivalry, 
 and I can forgive even his superstition. — 
 Gibbon, Edward, 1791, To Lord Sheffield ; 
 Private Letters, ed. Brother o, vol. ii, p. 237. 
 
 The Revolution of France does not 
 astonish me as much as the Revolution of 
 Mr. Burke. I wish I could believe the 
 latter proceeded from as pure motives as 
 the former. But what demonstration 
 could scarcely have established before, 
 less than the hints of Dr. Priestley & 
 Mr. Paine established firmly now. How 
 mortifying that this evidence of the rotten- 
 ness of his mind must oblige us now to 
 ascribe to wicked motives those actions of 
 his life which wore the mark of virtue & 
 patriotism. — Jefferson, Thomas, 1791, 
 To Benjamin Vaughan, May 11 ; Writings, 
 ed. Ford, vol. v, p. 333. 
 
 An author whose splendid and un- 
 equalled powers have given a vogue and 
 fashion to certain tenets which from any 
 other pen would have appeared abject and 
 contemptible. In the field of reason the en- 
 counter would not be difficult, but who can 
 withstand the fascination and magic of his 
 eloquence ? The excursions of his genius 
 are immense. His imperial fancy has laid 
 all nature under tribute, and has collected 
 riches from every scene of the creation 
 and every walk of art. His eulogium on 
 the Queen of France is a masterpiece of 
 pathetic composition ; so select are its 
 images, so fraught with tenderness, and 
 so rich with colours "dipt in heaven," 
 that he who can read it without rapture 
 may have merit as a reasoner, but must 
 resign all pretentions to taste and sensi- 
 bility. His imagination is, in truth, only 
 too prolific; a world of itself, where he 
 dwells in the midst of chimerical alarms, 
 is the dupe of his own enchantments, and 
 starts, like Prospero, at the spectres of 
 his own creation. His intellectual views 
 in general, however, are wide and varie- 
 gated, rather than distinct ; and the light 
 he has let in on the British constitution 
 in particular, resembles the coloured 
 eflPulgence of a painted medium, a kind of 
 mimic twilight, solemn and soothing to the 
 senses, but better fitted for ornament 
 than use. — Hall, Robert, 1796, An 
 Apology for the Freedom of the Press. 
 
 I conceive there is not to be found in all 
 
300 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 the writings of my day, perhaps I may say 
 not in the English language, so brilliant a 
 cluster of fine and beautiful passages in 
 the declamatory style, as we are presented 
 with in Edmund Burke's inimitable tract 
 upon the French Revolution. It is most 
 highly coloured and most richly orna- 
 mented, but there is elegance in its splen- 
 dour, and dignity in its magnificence. The 
 orator demands attention in a loud and 
 lofty tone, but his voice never loses its 
 melody, nor his periods their sweetness. 
 — When he has aroused us with the 
 thunder of his eloquence, he can at once, 
 Timotheus-like, chuse a melancholy theme, 
 and melt us into pity : there is grace in 
 his anger; for he can inveigh without 
 vulgarity ; he can modulate the strongest 
 bursts of passion, for even in his madness 
 there is music. I was so charmed with 
 the style and matter of his pamphlet, that 
 I could not withstand the pleasure of 
 intruding upon him with a letter of thanks. 
 — Cumberland, Richard, 1806, Memoirs 
 Written by Himself, vol. ii, p. 271. 
 
 This was Dodsley's book for authors' 
 receipts; in that he showed me William 
 Burke's receipt for 6Z. 6s. on account of 
 Edmund Burke, for the copy of the ''Vin- 
 dication of Natural Society. ' ' That book, 
 said Nicoll, was so much admired in France 
 by d'Alembert, Diderot, &c., &c., that it 
 made them mad, and really produced the 
 Revolution. ''And now" (he added) "I 
 have shown you what Burke had for kin- 
 dling the Revolution, let me also show you 
 what he had for putting it out, ' ' and then 
 he pointed out his (Burke's) own receipt 
 for 1,000/. for the profits of his famous 
 volume. — Young, Arthur, 1806, Auto- 
 biography, Feb, 25, ed. Betham-Edwards, 
 p. 428. 
 
 The publication proved one of the re- 
 markable events of the year, perhaps of 
 the century ; for it may be doubted whether 
 any previous political production ever ex- 
 cited so much attention, so much discus- 
 sion, so much praise from one party, so 
 much animadversion from another, but 
 ultimately, among the great majority of 
 persons, such general conviction of the 
 correctness of his views, as to have fully 
 succeeded in turning the stream of public 
 opinion to the direction he wished, from 
 the channel in which it had hitherto 
 flowed. . . . The interest which it 
 excited did not cease with the moment. 
 
 for it was sought after then and since by 
 persons little prone to political discussion, 
 for the wisdom of the lessons it taught ; 
 by many for its literary beauties ; by many 
 in order to retrace the outline of fearful 
 and extraordinary events there in great 
 measure foretold; and it will ever be a 
 source of deep interest to the practical 
 statesman, and of unfeigned admiration 
 to the man of taste and genius. — Prior, 
 Sir James, 1824, Memoir of the Life and 
 Character of the Right Hon. Edmund 
 Burke, vol. ii, pp. 91, 92. 
 
 The very greatest writers write best 
 when calm, and exerting themselves upon 
 subjects unconnected with party. Burke 
 rarely shows all his powers, unless where 
 he is in a passion. The French Revolu- 
 tion was alone a subject fit for him. — 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1823, Table 
 Talk, ed. Ashe, Jan. 4, p. 22. 
 
 The merits of his production are, we 
 think, greatly enhanced by the simplicity 
 of the vehicle in which its thoughts ride. 
 The book is a letter ; but such a letter ! 
 In this simplest shape of literature, we 
 find philosophy the most subtle ; invective 
 the most sublime; speculation the most 
 farstretching ; Titantic ridicule, like the 
 cachinnation of a Cyclops ; piercing pathos ; 
 powerful historic painting ; and eloquence 
 the most dazzling that ever combined 
 depth with splendor.— Gilfill an, George, 
 1855, A Third Gallery of Portraits, p. 308. 
 
 Not a single weak point in the position 
 of the French Revolutionists escaped his 
 glance. We doubt whether modern critics 
 have discovered a single revolutionary 
 error or fallacy which he overlooked, but 
 to the good or the better side of the rev- 
 olutionary movement he was as blind as 
 the stupidest of Tory squires. — Dicey, 
 A. v., 1879, Morley's Burke, The Nation, 
 vol. 29, p. 245. 
 
 When Mr. Windham received his copy 
 of Burke's "Reflections," and came to 
 read it, he pronounced the work to be 
 "capable of overturning the National 
 Assembly, and turning the stream of opin- 
 ion throughout Europe. ' ' So thought very 
 many worthy persons who had hoped much 
 from the first prospects of the French Rev- 
 olution, but, ignorant of the signs of the 
 times, had at length become thoroughly 
 scared. Mr. Burke, indeed, "turned the 
 stream" of opinion ; for the stream, which 
 had hitherto flowed with at least some 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 301 
 
 aspect of peacefulness, as over a flat allu- 
 vial basin, was at once diverted into two 
 opposite channels of torrent-like charac- 
 ter. Mr. Burke may be credited with 
 having evoked one of the most violent 
 conflicts of opinion in English history; 
 and, of the rival parties, those who had 
 expected much from the early stages of 
 the Revolution, and had become frightened 
 at its later, untoward aspects, who forgot 
 that a too sudden disruption must, under 
 any circumstances, leave a certain amount 
 of wreck, were perhaps the most unreason- 
 able.— Smith, Edward, 1881, The Story 
 of the English Jacobins, p. 11. 
 
 This extraordinary book was published 
 near the outbreak of the French Revolu- 
 tion and justly takes rank as one of the 
 master-pieces of English literature. It is 
 at once a condemnation of the Revolution, 
 and a prophecy of the evils the Revolution 
 would produce. As a specimen of denun- 
 ciatory writing, it is probably one of the 
 most remarkable ever produced in any 
 language. It pours out torrent after 
 torrent, Niagara after Niagara. But 
 though it is repetitious, and therefore 
 somewhat monotonous, it abounds in 
 shrewd judgments, in brilliant pictures, 
 and in prophecies that seem inspired. At 
 times it is so unfair and so unjust that 
 some have attempted to explain its ex- 
 cesses by the presumption that Burke had 
 lost his reason. There is no need, how- 
 ever, of resorting to this violent hypoth- 
 esis. Burke's mind was always essen- 
 tially denunciatory in its nature ; and he 
 was never able to be quite just either to 
 men or to political methods he disliked. 
 Moreover, though he was a passionate 
 friend of liberty, he never believed liberty 
 was to be secured or preserved by sub- 
 mitting political affairs to the control of 
 masses of ignorant men. These charac- 
 teristics of his mind and of his political 
 doctrines are quite suflicient to account 
 for the peculiarities of what, with all its 
 drawbacks, must probably be considered 
 the greatest work of the greatest writer 
 of English prose. — Adams, Charles Ken- 
 dall, 1882, A Manual of Historical Lit- 
 erature, p. 363. 
 
 Burke though of all rhetoricians the 
 most philosophic was still a rhetorician 
 and presented only one side of a case. 
 Of this his essay on the French Revolution 
 is the memorable and disastrous proof. 
 
 Though he goes deep into everything he 
 seldom goes to the bottom. — Smith, Gold- 
 win, 1893, The United States, an Outline 
 of Political History, p. 69. 
 
 Because Burke broke away in the ''Re- 
 flections" from the judicial self-restraint 
 which usually characterized him we are 
 apt to forget that, in that wonderful com- 
 position, he deviates again and again into 
 his earlier and better manner, and rewards 
 the persevering reader with passages of 
 calm wisdom and solid, fruitful specula- 
 tion.— Power, J. O'Connor, 1897, Ed- 
 mund Burke and His Abiding Influence^ 
 North American Review, vol. 165, p. 677. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The most eloquent and rational mad- 
 man that 1 ever knew. — Gibbon, Edward, 
 1791, To Lord Sheffield, May 31 ; Private 
 Letters, ed. Prothero, vol. ii, p. 251. 
 
 With Mr. Burke's book I do not mean 
 to find fault, but to distinguish between 
 what delights me, and what I only respect. 
 I adore genius ; to judgment I pull off my 
 hat, and make it a formal bow ; but as I 
 read only to amuse myself, and not to be 
 informed or convinced, I had rather (for 
 my private pleasure) that in his last pam- 
 phlet he had flung the reins on the neck 
 of his boundless imagination, as he did in 
 the first. Genius creates enthusiasts or 
 enemies; judgment only cold friends; 
 and cold friends will sooner go over to 
 your enemies than to your bigots. — Wal- 
 POLE, Horace, 1791, To the Countess of 
 Ossory, Aug. 22 ; Letters, ed. Cunningham, 
 vol. IX, p. 338. 
 
 Burke's pamphlets and speeches have 
 lost nothing of their attraction by time. 
 — Brydges, Sir Samuel Egerton, 1793, 
 Autobiography, vol. i, p. 168. 
 
 When I have revolved the various 
 labours of Edmund Burke and the cause 
 HE has maintained (as it generally re- 
 gards government, religion, and society, 
 not the details of the war and its con- 
 duct), I say, with this allowance for the 
 feverous frailties of the passions, and 
 the taint of mortality in all our best 
 actions, I could record in lasting char- 
 acters, and in our holiest and most 
 honourable temple, the departed Orator 
 of England, the Statesman, and the Chris- 
 tian, Edmund Burke ! "Remuneratio ejus 
 
 CUM ALTISSIMO!" — MaTHIAS, ThOMAS 
 
 James, 1797, The Pursuits of Literature, 
 Eighth ed., p. 423. 
 
302 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 Eloquent statesman and sage, who, though 
 
 late, broke loose from his trammels, 
 Giving then to mankind what party too 
 
 long had diverted. 
 — SouTHEY, Robert, 1821, A Vision of 
 Judgment, x. 
 
 I have been assured by a person who had 
 the best means of knowing, that the "Let- 
 ter to a Noble Lord'' (the most rapid, 
 impetuous, glancing, and sportive of all 
 his works) was printed off, and the proof 
 sent to him ; and that it was returned to 
 the printing-office with so many altera- 
 tions and passages interlined, that the 
 compositors refused to correct it as it 
 was — took the whole matter in pieces, 
 and re-set the copy. This looks like 
 elaboration and after-thought. — Hazlitt, 
 William, 1821-22, Table Talk. 
 
 To our imperfect notice of some of the 
 benefits, not less durable than numerous, 
 which Burke achieved for the civil liber- 
 ties, the national welfare of his country, 
 we cannot neglect to add — and to rank in 
 the highest degree — the marked and still 
 living influence of his writings, — an influ- 
 ence derived not only from the personal 
 character, and the earnest and impressive 
 language of the writer, but from the 
 gradual and conclusive testimony of 
 events. If we supposed their value to 
 be confined to the refutation of the doc- 
 trines, and the exposure of the tendency 
 of the French Revolution, we should under- 
 rate the matter most unjustly. Great and 
 useful as may be this merit, the works of 
 Burke would possess, if entirely stripped 
 of it, undoubted claims to the gratitude 
 of Englishmen. The honesty of his 
 alarms at the danger of the contagion of 
 French doctrines, and of jacobinical an- 
 archy, has been, and will continue to be, 
 questioned ; but it can scarcely be disputed 
 that, in pursuing his purpose of denounc- 
 ing the influence of revolutionary France, 
 he did profoundly examine the true prin- 
 ciples of the British constitution, and 
 explain its genuine excellence with a force 
 of argument and a wealth of illustration 
 of which our preceding political literature 
 had exhibited no example. He made it 
 an object of affection and of reverence on 
 the higher grounds of reason and of phi- 
 losophy ; and by displaying in the strongest 
 light the value of the possession, he ren- 
 dered the possible loss of it a more active 
 and more general cause of apprehension. 
 . . . Henceforth it was as easy to 
 
 disprove the existence of that constitution, 
 as its value ; and in the merit of having 
 rooted this principle of national faith and 
 personal devotion more firmly in the hearts 
 of his countrymen. Burke stands alone 
 and far above all competition. — Croker, 
 John Wilson, 1826, Priofs Life of Burke, 
 Quarterly Review, vol. 34, pp. 480, 481. 
 
 Burke was, indeed, a great man. No 
 one ever read history so philosophically 
 as he seems to have done. Yet, until he 
 could associate his general principles 
 with some sordid interest, panic of prop- 
 erty. Jacobinism, &c., he was a mere 
 dinner bell. Hence you will find so many 
 half truths in his speeches and writings. 
 Nevertheless, let us heartily acknowledge 
 his transcendent greatness. He would 
 have been more influential if he had less 
 surpassed his contemporaries, as Fox and 
 Pitt, men of much inferior minds in all 
 respects. — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 
 1833, Table Talk, ed. Ashe, Apr. 8, p. 207. 
 
 Yesterday I read Burke's appeal from 
 the new to the old Whigs, which contains 
 astonishing coincidences with the present 
 times. His definition of the people is 
 somewhat tumid and obscure, and involved 
 in a splendid confusion of generalities 
 and abstruse doctrine ; but it is a wonder- 
 ful monument of his genius, and exhibits 
 that extent of knowledge and accuracy of 
 insight into the nature of parties and the 
 workings of political ambition which make 
 him an authority for all times, and show 
 him to be in the political what Shake- 
 speare was in the moral world. But his 
 writings, however as objects of study 
 they may influence the opinions or form 
 the judgment of young men, would have 
 no more power than a piece of musty 
 parchment to arrest the tide of present 
 violence, and superinduce reflection and 
 calmness. A speech of Tom Buncombe's 
 would produce far greater effect than the 
 perusal of a discourse of Burke's. — Grev- 
 ILLE, Charles C. F., 1835, A Journal of 
 the Reigns of King George IV. and King 
 William IV., Feb. 17, vol. ii, p. 349. 
 
 He was a writer of the first class, and 
 excelled in almost every kind of prose 
 composition. Possessed of most extensive 
 knowledge, and of the most various de- 
 scription; acquainted alike with what 
 different classes of men knew, each in his 
 own province, and with much that hardly 
 any one ever thought of learning; he 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 303 
 
 could either bring his masses of informa- 
 tion to bear directly upon the subjects to 
 which they severally belonged — or he 
 could avail himself of them generally to 
 strengthen his faculties and enlarge his 
 views — or he could turn any portion of 
 them to account for the purpose of illus- 
 trating his theme or enriching his diction. 
 Hence, when he is handling any one matter, 
 we perceive that we are conversing with 
 a reasoner or a teacher, to whom almost 
 every other branch of knowledge is famil- 
 iar. His views range over all the cognate 
 subjects ; his reasonings are derived from 
 principles applicable to other matters as 
 well as the one in hand ; arguments pour 
 in from all sides, as well as those which 
 start up under our feet, the natural 
 growth of the path he is leading us over ; 
 while to throw light round our steps, and 
 either explore its darker places or serve 
 for our recreation, illustrations are fetched 
 from a thousand quarters ; and an imag- 
 ination marvellously quick to descry 
 unthought-of-resemblances pours forth 
 the stores which a lore yet more marvel- 
 lous has gathered from ali ages and nations 
 and arts and tongues. — Brougham, Henry 
 Lord, 1839-43, Historical Sketches of 
 Statesmen who Flourished in the Time of 
 George III., vol. i, p. 231. 
 
 His oratorical impressiveness was 
 strongly connected with the weight of 
 those maxims which he had formed from a 
 long and profound study of the heart of 
 man. And it is the force and abundance 
 of those fine reflections which give an im- 
 mortal value to his works on topics of the 
 most temporary nature. — Croly, George, 
 1840, The Political Life of Burke. 
 
 A sufficiently poetical politician to in- 
 terest one just when one^s sonnetteering 
 age is departing, but before one has come 
 down quite to arid fact. — Fitzgerald, 
 Edward, 1841, Letters, vol. i, p. 72. 
 
 Burke's words are continually practising 
 the broad-sword exercise, and sweeping 
 down adversaries with every stroke. — 
 Whipple, Edwin Percy, 1845, Words, 
 Essays and Reviews. 
 
 His most universal charm is a style so 
 copious as to enrich the student's vocabu- 
 lary by the aptitude and flow of words, to 
 gratify the taste by its elegance, and the 
 ear by its musical periods. Withal it is 
 a manly style. Burke is not fastidious in 
 his choice of epithets or illustrations to 
 
 the extent of weakening his force of state- 
 ment. He can use the most homely as 
 well as the most classic phrases and fig- 
 ures. He does not sacrifice truth to 
 beauty, but aims to render them mutually 
 illustrative. Few English writers boast 
 passages that exhibit so clearly the dignity 
 of the language, its facility of application, 
 and its persuasive grace.— Tuckerman, 
 Henry T., 1849, Characteristics of Litera- 
 ture, p. 225. 
 
 On the subject of Irish Catholic free- 
 dom he wrote fully in letters to Sir Her- 
 cules Langrishe and others. He also dealt 
 with this important theme in the defence 
 of his parliamentary conduct, which will 
 be found in this volume amongst his 
 speeches delivered at Bristol. His sup 
 port of the Catholic side of the question 
 was one of the causes of his unpopularity 
 with the electors of that city. Respect- 
 ing the liberty of the press he was in ad- 
 vance of his age. ... On the subject of 
 the toleration of Dissenters, Burke was 
 large-minded and liberal, and supported 
 the principle on several occasions. . . . 
 On questions connected with Irish Trade 
 and with Irish Parliamentary freedom. 
 Burke took the side of his native country. 
 — Burke, James, 1853, ed., The Speeches 
 of Edmund Burke, Memoir, pp. xxii, xxiii. 
 
 I have now finished reading again most 
 of Burke's works. Admirable! The 
 greatest man since Milton. — Macaulay, ^ 
 Thomas Babington, 1854, Journal, Feb. ' 
 6 ; Life and Letters, ed. Trevelyan. 
 
 The contrast between the manner of 
 his characteristic writings and their mat- 
 ter is very remarkable. He too threw 
 over the detail of business and of politics 
 those graces and attractions of manner 
 which seems in some sort inconsistent with 
 them ; which are adapted for topics more 
 intrinsically sublime and beautiful. It was 
 for this reason that Hazlitt asserted that 
 no woman ever cared for Burke's writ- 
 ings: the matter, he said, was "hard and 
 dry," and no superficial glitter or eloquence 
 could make it agreeable to those who 
 liked what is in its very nature fine and 
 delicate. . . . His mind was the re- 
 verse of historical : although he had rather 
 a coarse, incondite temperament, not finely 
 susceptible to the best influences, to the 
 most exquisite beauties of the world in 
 which he lived, he yet lived in that world 
 thoroughly and completely. He did not 
 
304 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 take an interest, as a poet does, in the 
 sublime because it is sublime, in the beau- 
 tiful because it is beautiful : but he had 
 the passions of more ordinary men in 
 a degree, and of an intensity, which ordi- 
 nary men may be most thankful that 
 they have not. In no one has the intense 
 faculty of intellectual hatred — the hatred 
 which the absolute dogmatist has for those 
 in whom he incarnates and personifies the 
 opposing dogma — been fiercer or stronger ; 
 in no one has the intense ambition to rule 
 and govern — in scarcely any one has the 
 daily ambition of the daily politician — been 
 fiercer and stronger : he, if any man, cast 
 himself upon his time. — Bagehot, Wal- 
 ter, 1856, Thomas Babinqton Macaulay, 
 Works, ed. Morgan, vol. ii, pp. 83, 84. 
 
 The slightest sketch of the reign of 
 George III. would indeed be miserably im- 
 perfect if it were to omit the name of 
 Edmund Burke. The studies of this ex- 
 traordinary man not only covered the 
 whole field of political inquiry, but ex- 
 tended to an immense variety of subjects, 
 which, though apparently unconnected 
 with politics, do in reality bear upon them 
 as important adjuncts ; since, to a philo- 
 sophic mind, every branch of knowledge 
 lights up even those that seem most re- 
 mote from it. The eulogy passed upon 
 him by one who was no mean judge of 
 men, might be justified, and more than 
 justified by passages from his works, as 
 well as by the opinions of the most eminent 
 of his contemporaries. Thus it is, that 
 while his insight into the philosophy of 
 jurisprudence has gained the applause of 
 lawyers, his acquaintance with the whole 
 range and theory of the fine arts has won 
 the admiration of artists ; a striking com- 
 bination of two pursuits, often, though 
 erroneously, held to be incompatible with 
 each other. At the same time, and not- 
 withstanding the occupations of political 
 life, we know on good authority, that he 
 had paid great attention to the history 
 and filiation of languages, a vast subject, 
 which within the last thirty years has be- 
 come an important resource for the study 
 of the human mind, but the very idea of 
 which had, in its large sense, only begun 
 to dawn upon a few solitary thinkers. 
 And, what is even more remarkable, when 
 Adam Smith came to London full of those 
 discoveries which have immortalized his 
 name, he found to his amazement that 
 
 Burke had anticipated conclusions the 
 maturing of which cost Smith himself many 
 years of anxious and unremitting labour. 
 — Buckle, Henry Thomas, 1857, His- 
 tory of Civilization in England, vol. i. 
 
 Burke's acknowledged writings I had 
 studied diligently many years before I 
 thought of writing anything on his career. 
 They have ever appeared to me as a treas- 
 ure in English literature, only second in 
 genius and worth to Shakespeare's Plays; 
 and it is through the noble arch-way they 
 afliord, that all men must, as an indispen- 
 sable condition, enter into the spirit of his 
 life. Until we can raise ourselves to the 
 elevation of his mind, and accustom our- 
 selves to look at the events of his time 
 through his own medium, any criticism on 
 his character or political career can be of 
 little worth. We may otherwise compla- 
 cently remonstrate with him, rebuke him, 
 wonder at him, and misjudge him ; but we 
 shall certainly not understand him. — 
 Macknight, Thomas, 1858, History of the 
 Life and Times of Edmund Burke, vol. i. 
 Preface p. xii. 
 
 All hail to Edmund Burke, the supreme 
 writer of his century, the man of the 
 largest and finest understanding! Upon 
 that word understanding, we lay a stress : 
 for, oh ! ye immortal donkeys who have 
 written ''about him and about him," with 
 what an obstinate stupidity have ye brayed 
 away for one-third of a century about that 
 which ye are pleased to call his "fancy." 
 Fancy in your throats, ye miserable twad- 
 dlers ! As if Edmund Burke were the man 
 to play with his fancy for the purpose of 
 separable ornament ! He was a man of 
 fancy in no other sense than as Lord Bacon 
 was so, and Jeremy Taylor, and as all large 
 and discursive thinkers are and must be ; 
 that is to say, the fancy which he had in 
 common with all mankind, and very prob- 
 ably in no eminent degree, in him was 
 urged into unusual activity under the 
 necessities of his capacious understanding. 
 His great and peculiar distinction was 
 that he viewed all objects of the under- 
 standing under more relations than other 
 men, and under more complex relations. 
 — De Quince y, Thomas, 1859, Rhetoric, 
 Collected Writings, ed. Masson, vol. x, 
 p. 114. 
 
 The freedom of Burke's style in all ins 
 more characteristic writings would be al- 
 together strange and startling in a writer 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 805 
 
 of the present day.— Craik, George L., 
 1861, A Compendious History of English 
 Literature and of the English Language, 
 vol. II, p. 565. 
 
 Burke has not only loftier qualities of 
 the mind than Bolingbroke —a knowledge 
 of books, though not of men, more accu- 
 rate, comprehensive, and profound — a rea- 
 soning more subtle, an imagination more 
 splendid — but this superiority in gifts and 
 acquirements is accompanied by an equal 
 superiority over Bolingbroke in the very 
 beauties for which Bolingbroke is most 
 remarkable. He excels him in luxury 
 and pomp of language ; he excels him in 
 discipline and art of style. The most 
 sovereign genius will be always that, 
 whether in prose or verse, which unites in 
 the highest degree the faculty of reason- 
 ing with the faculty of imagination ; the 
 most beautiful writing, either in prose or 
 verse, will be that which unites the logical 
 arrangement that satisfies our reason with 
 the splendour of language that delights 
 our imagination. And it appears to me 
 that, in< this f elicitious union, we have no 
 prose-writer who is the equal of Burke. 
 — Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lord, 1863- 
 68, Caxtoniana, Miscellaneous ProseWorks, 
 vol. Ill, p. 98. 
 
 Burke is so great because, almost 
 alone in England, he brings thought to 
 bear upon politics, he saturates politics 
 with thought ; it is his accident that his 
 ideas were at the service of an epoch of 
 concentration, not of an epoch of expan- 
 sion; it is his characteristic that he so 
 lived by ideas, and had such a source of 
 them welling up within him, that he could 
 float even an epoch of concentration and 
 English Tory politics with them. It does 
 not hurt him that Dr. Price and the Lib- 
 erals were enraged with him ; it does not 
 even hurt him that George the Third and 
 the Tories were enchanted with him. His 
 greatness is that he lived in a world which 
 neither English Liberalism nor English 
 Toryism is apt to enter, — the world of 
 ideas, not the world of catch words and 
 party habits. — Arnold, Matthew, 1865, 
 The Function of Criticism at the Present 
 Time, Essays in Criticism, p. 14. 
 
 With a fertility of fancy sufficient to 
 make a poet of the rank of Milton, and a 
 power of general reasoning which might 
 have furnished a philosopher of the rank 
 of Bacon, he devoted these rare gifts to 
 
 20 C 
 
 political pursuits. He was not indeed the 
 ivory paper-knife which Swift considers 
 as the true measure of sharpness of in- 
 tellect for a practical statesman, and was 
 rather the razor to which Goldsmith com- 
 pares him. — Russell, John Lord, 1866, 
 The Life and Times of Charles James Fox, 
 vol. Ill, p. 122. 
 
 Read him only several pages at a time : 
 only thus he is great ; otherwise all that 
 is exaggerated, commonplace, and strange 
 will arrest and shock you; but if you give 
 yourself up to him, you will be carried 
 away and captivated. The vast amount 
 of his work rolls impetuously in a current 
 of eloquence. Sometimes a spoken or 
 written discourse needs a whole volume to 
 unfold the train of his multiplied proofs 
 and courageous anger. — Taine, H. A., 
 1871, History of English Literature, tr. 
 Van Laun, vol. ii, bk. iii, ch. iii, p. 82. 
 
 Considered simply as a master of English 
 prose. Burke ^ has not, in my judgment, 
 been surpassed in any period of our lit- 
 erature. Critics may point to certain 
 faults of haste; the evolution of his 
 thought is sometimes too slow ; his ma- 
 jestic march is trammeled by the sweep 
 of his gorgeous rhetoric ; or his imagina- 
 tion takes fire, and he explodes into fierce 
 denunciations which shock the reader when 
 the excitement which prompted them has 
 become unintelligible. But, whatever 
 blemishes may be detected, Burke's mag- 
 nificent speeches stand absolutely alone in 
 the language. They are, literally speak- 
 ing, the only English speeches which may 
 still be read with profit when the hearer 
 and the speaker have long been turned to 
 dust. His pamphlets, which are written 
 speeches, are marked by a fervour, a rich- 
 ness, and a flexibility of style which is 
 but a worthy incarnation of the wisdom 
 which they embod5\ It matters little if 
 we dissent from his appreciations of cur- 
 rent events, for it is easy to supply the 
 corrective for ourselves. The charge 
 of over-refinement sometimes brought 
 against him is in great part nothing more 
 than the unconscious testimony of his 
 critics that he could see farther than them- 
 selves. To a certain degree it is, perhaps, 
 well founded.— Stephen, Leslie, 1876, 
 History of English Thought in the Eight- 
 eenth Century, vol. ii, p. 219. 
 
 The varieties of Burke's literary or 
 rhetorical method are very striking. It 
 
306 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 is almost incredible that the superb im- 
 aginative amplication of the description of 
 Hyder All's descent upon the Carnatic 
 should be from the same pen as the grave, 
 simple, unadorned ''Address to the King'' 
 (1777), where each sentence falls on the 
 ear with the accent of some golden- 
 tongued oracle of the wise gods. His 
 stride is the stride of a giant, from the 
 sentimental beauty of the picture of Marie 
 Antoinette at Versailles, or the red horror 
 of the tale of Debi Sing in Rungpore, to 
 the learning, positiveness, and cool judicial 
 mastery of the ''Report on the Lord's 
 Journals" (1794), which Phillip Francis, 
 no mean judge, declared on the whole to 
 be the "most eminent and extraordinary" 
 of all his productions. Even in the coolest 
 and dryest of his pieces there is the mark 
 of greatness, of grasp, of comprehension. 
 In all its varieties Burke's style is noble, 
 earnest, deep-flowing, because his senti- 
 ments were lofty and fervid, and went with 
 sincerity and ardent disciplined travail of 
 judgment. . . . Burke will al- 
 ways be read with delight and edification, 
 because in the midst of discussions on the 
 local and the accidential, he scatters 
 apophthegms that take us into the regions 
 of lasting wisdom. In the midst of the 
 torrent of his most strenuous and pas- 
 sionate deliverances, he suddenly rises 
 aloof from his immediate subject, and in 
 all tranquility reminds us of some per- 
 manent relation of things, some enduring 
 truth of human life or society. We do 
 not hear the organ tones of Milton, for 
 faith and freedom had other notes in the 
 seventeenth century. There is none of 
 the complacent and wise-browed sagacity 
 of Bacon, for Burke's were days of 
 eager personal strife and party fire and 
 civil division. . . . The only great 
 English writer of that age whom we can 
 name along with Burke in the literature 
 of enduring power, is Wordsworth, that 
 great representative in another and a 
 higher field, and with many rare elements 
 added that were all his own, of those har- 
 monising and conciliatory forces and ideas 
 that make man's destiny easier to him 
 through piety in its oldest and best sense ; 
 through reverence for the past, for duty, 
 for institutions. — Morley, John, 1879, 
 Burke (English Men of Letters), pp. 210, 
 211, 212. 
 
 Except when dealing with American 
 
 questions (as to which Burke has the 
 calmness which arises from the sense of 
 being absolutely in the right), he never 
 entirely carries even his admirers with 
 him. You feel that an unknown something 
 spoils what would otherwise be perfect. 
 This "something" is a want of justness 
 of mind. Burke was an enthusiast for 
 justice. He would have sacrificed every- 
 thing on earth to put an end to any act 
 of oppression, but he was not a just man. 
 The calmness requisite to balance one side 
 against another, the attempt to realize 
 what were the strong points of an op- 
 ponent's case, the faculty even of showing 
 that kind of appreciation of an enemy's 
 position which is requisite if one is fully 
 to expose its w^eakness, was the one moral 
 or intellectual gift which Burke did not 
 possess. Hence the persons he assailed 
 suffered from a sense of unfairness which 
 was the greater because of the indubitable 
 force of the assault. — Dicey, Ao V., 
 1879, Morley's Burke, The Nation, vol. 29, 
 p. 245. 
 
 The most distinguished of warriors, the 
 great Burke, the most eloquent and potent 
 champion against whom a young assailant 
 ever tried his powers. — Oliphant, Mar- 
 garet 0. W., 1882, Literary History of 
 England, XVIII and XIX Centuries, voL 
 III, p, 270. 
 
 In one of his elaborated sentences you 
 will sometimes find words and clauses se- 
 lected and multiplied and arranged and 
 compacted and qualified and defined and 
 repeated, for the very purpose of extend- 
 ing and limiting the truth to its exact and 
 undoubted measure. He obviously labors 
 to say just what he means, no more, no 
 less, no other. Still, on the whole, he 
 fails, because he is so elaborately precise in 
 details. The thought is suffocated by the 
 multitude of words employed to give it life. 
 It is buried alive. To change the figure, 
 you can divide and subdivide a field into 
 so many, so small, so regular, and so exact 
 patches, that the chief impression it shall 
 leave on your eye is that of the fences. 
 Similar is the impression of an excessively 
 precise style.— Phelps, Austin, 1883, 
 English Style in Public Discourse, p. 91. 
 
 To my mind Burke looms up, after the 
 lapse of a century, as a prodigy of thought 
 and knowledge, devoted to the good of his 
 country; an unselfish and disinter^s cl 
 patriot, as wise and sagacious as he ' as 
 
EDMUND BURKE 
 
 307 
 
 honest ; a sage whose moral wisdom shines 
 brighter and brighter, since it was based 
 on the immutable principles of justice and 
 morality. One can extract more profound 
 and striking epigrams from his speeches 
 and writings than from any prose writer 
 that England has produced, if we except 
 Francis Bacon. And these writings and 
 speeches are still valued as among the 
 most precious legacies of former genera- 
 tions ; they form a thesaurus of political 
 wisdom which statesmen can never ex- 
 haust. Burke has left an example which 
 all statesmen will do well to follow. He 
 was not a popular favorite, like Fox and 
 Pitt ; he was not born to greatness, like 
 North and Newcastle ; he was not liked by 
 the king or the nobility ; he was generally 
 in the ranks of the opposition ; he was a 
 new man, like Cicero, in an aristocratic 
 age, — yet he conquered by his genius the 
 proudest prejudices; he fought his way 
 upward, inch by inch^; he was the founder 
 of a new national policy, although it was 
 bitterly opposed ; and he died universally 
 venerated for his integrity, wisdom and 
 foresight. He was the most remarkable 
 man, on the whole, who has taken part in 
 public affairs, from the Revolution to our 
 times. Of course, the life and principles 
 of so great a man are a study. If history 
 has any interest or value, it is to show the 
 influence of such a man on his own age and 
 the ages which have succeeded, — to point 
 out his contribution to civilization. — 
 Lord, John, 1885, Beacon Lights of His- 
 tory, vol. IV, p. 288. 
 
 Burke spoke well but wrote better, and 
 his political writing has, in the grand 
 style, few equals. — Saintsbury, George, 
 1886, Specimens of English Prose Style, 
 p. 226. 
 
 It was Burke's peculiarity and his glory 
 to apply the imagination of a poet of the 
 first order to the facts and the business 
 of life. Arnold says of Sophocles — ■ 
 
 "He saw life steadily, and saw it whole." 
 Substitute for the word **life'' the words 
 
 organised society," and you get a peep 
 into Burke's mind. . o . Wordsworth 
 has been called the High Priest of Nature. 
 Burke may be called the High Priest of 
 Order — a lover of settled ways, of justice, 
 peace, and security. His writings are a 
 storehouse of wisdom, not the cheap 
 shrewdness of the mere man of the world, 
 but the noble, animating wisdom of one 
 
 who has the poet's heart as well as the 
 statesman's brain.— Birrell, Augustine, 
 1887, Obiter Dicta, Second Series, pp, 
 188, 194. 
 
 With all due enthusiasm for the majestic 
 merit of his style, that extremity of praise 
 will not be reached here. Notwithstanding 
 all its magnificence it appears to me that 
 the prose of Burke lacks the variety, the 
 delicacy, the modulated music of the very 
 finest writers. When Mr. Leslie Stephen 
 applauds the "flexibility" of Burke's style, 
 he attributes to him the very quality which 
 to my ear he seems most to lack. A robe 
 of brocaded damask is splendid, sumptu- 
 ous, and appropriate to noble public occa- 
 sions, but it is scarcely flexible. To be 
 a perfect prose-writer, a man must play 
 sometimes upon thrilling and soul-sub- 
 duing instruments, but Burke never takes 
 the trumpet from his lips. To those few 
 who may think him humorous, I resign 
 him in despair ; and surely still fewer will 
 be found to think him pathetic. The 
 greatest of English prose-writers, we 
 may be sure, would be found to have some 
 command over laughter and tears, but 
 Burke has none— Gosse, Edmund, 1888, 
 A History of Eighteenth Century Litera- 
 ture, p. 365. 
 
 The writer of a prose illumined as 
 with fire ; enthusiastic and yet supremely 
 logical ; fearless and yet absolutely obedi- 
 ent to order and to law; eloquent and 
 yet restraint; stirred by every papular 
 movement, and yet suggestive and philo- 
 sophical. More completely than any man 
 he showed, in style no less perfectly than 
 in spirit and in sympathy, all that was 
 most typical of the best genius of his 
 age — its restraint, its philosophy, its obe- 
 dience to order and to law, and its gift to 
 literary instinct — removed as far from the 
 exaggeration and pedantry of what had 
 gone before, as from the vulgar platitude 
 and superficial complacency of what was 
 to follow. — Craik, Henry, 1895, ed., 
 English Prose, Introduction, vol. iv, p. ii. 
 
 How much of the artist dwelt in the 
 brains of the statesman the record of his 
 indefatigable toil in composition is witness. 
 In answer to the assertion that he is the 
 greatest of English prose writers it is 
 often said that his style lacks restraint 
 and the dignity that accompanies reserve. 
 His temper rather than any lack of taste 
 made him too eager-voiced ; he grasped at 
 
308 
 
 EDMUND BURKE 
 
 much that did not fall naturally within 
 his reach, lost chiaroscuro in unrelieved 
 emphasis, and attained the massive at the 
 expense of the beautiful. But genius like 
 Burke's declines the selective economy of 
 weaker artists compelled to a choice of 
 material easily handled. He swept into 
 his service all that his excursive imagina- 
 tion took captive, and frequently marshals 
 an unequal array of arguments. But if 
 his touch fails at times to transmute the 
 baser metal into gold, amid such profu- 
 sion as his we cannot feel ourselves the 
 poorer. —Dixon, W. Macneile, 1895, 
 English Prose, ed. Craik, vol. IV, p. 377. 
 
 Political writers both sagacious and 
 eloquent have flourished at all periods of 
 modern English history. The thought and 
 the expression were often united in the 
 same person, and in some instances with 
 a profundity in the one gift matched 
 worthily with distinction in the other. 
 But it may well be doubted whether any 
 writer on politics and the philosophy of 
 politics has ever combined sagacity and 
 eloquence in such measure, or anything 
 approaching to such measure, as that in 
 which they are combined by Burke. — 
 Traill, Henry Duff, 1896, Social Eng- 
 land, vol. V, p. 451. 
 
 Burke is the prince of pamphleteers. 
 His great speeches are in reality pam- 
 phlets, manifestly written and cast in the 
 pamphlet form. He is a politician among 
 philosophers, a profound philosopher 
 among politicians. He is at his best in the 
 speeches on the American question and the 
 letter on the same question to the sherilfs 
 of Bristol. Here our reason and our moral 
 sense are with him throughout. The eleva- 
 tion of sentiment is noble ; the style is 
 superb ; with all its fervour and force it 
 retains the calmness, the sobriety, the dig- 
 nity of truth. He hardly ever became 
 declamatory,he is never vituperative. Only 
 once or twice does he lapse into the taste- 
 less extravagant metaphor which defaced 
 his later style. Political writing grander 
 or more full of instruction, moral and pru- 
 dential, there is none.— Smith, Gold win, 
 1896, Burke, Cornhill, Magazine, vol. 74, 
 p. 18. 
 
 Steeped as we are to-day in evolution- 
 ary conceptions, Burke's thought speaks 
 to us in the language we understand best ; 
 it speaks besides with a power that 
 makes it more than simply parallel to 
 
 already existing influences. Modern evo- 
 lutionary philosophy has produced no 
 master of political science worthy to be 
 compared for a moment to Burke, in depth 
 of thought, wealth of observation, experi- 
 ence, and research ; and above all, in that 
 primal energy of mind which, baffling all 
 explanation or formulation, in its mighty 
 outflow bears along with it the minds and 
 feelings of men in enforced but willing 
 subdual. — Claghorn, Kate Holladay, 
 1897, Burke, A Centenary Perspective, 
 Atlantic Monthly, vol. 80, p. 93. 
 
 No account of the great writers of our 
 country could be written without a mention 
 of Edmund Burke and his works. . . . 
 Nearly all he wrote he wrote well, and 
 few men did more to teach and guide the 
 people of his time than Edmund Burke. 
 — Forster, H. 0. Arnold, 1897, A His- 
 tory of England, p. 791. 
 
 In no part of the world should his name 
 be held more in honor than in this country. 
 He was among the earliest, as he was 
 the greatest, of the defenders of the rights 
 of the American colonies. He gave to 
 , the cause of the colonies all the powers 
 of his intellect and the resources of his 
 peculiar and unapproachable knowledge of 
 their affairs and the interests of the em- 
 pire. No one in England knew the 
 colonial side of the question as he did ; 
 few understood as he did the dangers and 
 difficulties of a vast colonial empire ; no 
 one could unite as he could the interests 
 of the colonies and of the mother country 
 in one comprehensive view, in which rights 
 upon the one hand and duties upon the 
 other would be harmoniously blended. 
 The War of Independence vindicated his 
 statesmanship. — McDermot, George, 
 1897, Edmund Burke the Friend of Human 
 Liberty, Catholic World, vol. 65, p. 473. 
 
 In a well-known canon of style Burke 
 lays it down that the master sentence of 
 every paragraph should involve, first, a 
 thought, secondly, an image, and, thirdly, 
 a sentiment. The rule is certainly not 
 one of universal application ; it is one not 
 always followed by Burke himself, but it 
 expresses the character of his mind. A 
 thought, an image, a sentiment, and all 
 bearing upon action, — it gives us an inti- 
 mation that the writer who set forth such 
 a canon was a complete nature, no frag- 
 ment of a man, but a full-formed human 
 spirit, and that when he came to write or 
 
« 
 
 OF THt 
 
 UNIVERSITY (^^LUNO\S. 
 
 : 
 
BURKE— WALPOLE 
 
 309 
 
 speak, he put his total manhood into his 
 utterance. This is, indeed, Burke's first 
 and highest distinction. — Dowden, Ed- 
 ward, 1897, The French Revolution and 
 English Literature, p. 94. 
 
 In the whole scope of political literature 
 there is no writer so often read or so fre- 
 quently quoted in the present day, and 
 none whose influence has been so deep and 
 lasting, as that of Edmund Burke. . . . 
 He never touched a subject without adorn- 
 ing it with reflections that go to the 
 root of the principles of government in all 
 ages and all nations. — Pollard, A. F., 
 
 1897, ec?., Political Pamphlets, Introduction, 
 p, 23. 
 
 The times were seeking the man of 
 large and liberal ideas. There existed a 
 reading public. Parliamentary speeches 
 were now allowed to be published. The 
 press was practically free to praise or 
 blame. The post carried the pamphlet 
 and the newspaper to the villages, and 
 thus the English people became the audi- 
 ence. At length the man was found, and 
 that man was Edmund Burke.— George, 
 Andrew J., 1898, From Chaucer to Ar- 
 nold, Types of Literary Art, p. 642. 
 
 Horace Walpole 
 
 Earl of Orford 
 1717-1797 
 
 Born, in London, 24 Sept. 1717. Educated at Eton, April 1727 to Sept. 1734. 
 Entered at Lincoln's Inn, 27 May 1731. To King's Coll., Camb., March 1735. In- 
 spector of Imports and Exports, 1737-38 ; Usher of the Exchequer, 1738 ; Comptroller 
 of the Pipe, 1738; Clerk of the Estreats, 1738. Left Cambridge, March 1739. 
 Travelled on Continent, 1739-41. M. P. for Callington, 1741-44. Settled at Straw- 
 berry Hill, 1747. M. P. for Castle Rising, 1754-57; for King's Lynn, 1757-68. 
 Succeeded to Earldom of Orford, Dec. 1791. Unmarried. Died, in London, 2 March 
 1797. Buried at Houghton. IForA:s; ''Lessons for the Day" (anon.), 1742 ; ''Epilogue 
 to Tamerlane" (1746); "^des Walpolian^," 1747; "Letter from Xo-Ho," 1757 
 (5th edn. same year); "Fugitive Pieces in Verse and Prose," 1758; "Catalogue of 
 the Royal and Noble Authors of England" (2 vols.), 1758; "Observations on the 
 Account given of the Catalogue . . . in . . . the Critical Review," 1759; 
 "Reflections on the Different Ideas of the French and English in regard to Cruelty" 
 (anon.), 1759; "A Counter-Address to the Public" (anon.), 1764; "The Castle of 
 Otranto" (anon.), 1765 (2nd edn. same year) ; "An Account of the Giants lately dis- 
 covered," 1766; "The Mysterious Mother" (priv. ptd.), 1768; "Historic Doubts of 
 the Life and Reign of King Richard the Third," 1768 (2nd edn. same year) ; "Miscel- 
 laneous Antiquities" (anon.), 1772 ; "Description of the Villa . . . at Strawberry 
 Hill," 1772; "Letter to the Editor of the Miscellanies of Thomas Chatterton," 1779; 
 "To Lady H. Waldegrave" (anon.), (1779); "Hieroglyphick Tales" (anon.), 1785; 
 "Essay on Modern Gardening," 1785; "The Press at Strawberry Hill to . . . 
 the Duke of Clarence" (anon.), (1790?) ; "Hasty Productions." 1791. Posthumous: 
 "Letters to . . . Rev. W. Cole and others," 1818; "Letters to G. Montagu," 
 1819; "Private Correspondence" (4 vols.), 1820; "Memoirs of the Last Ten Years 
 of the Reign of King George II.," ed. by Lord Holland (2 vols.), 1822; "Letters to 
 Sir H. Mann" (7 vols.), 1833-44; "Letters," ed. by J. Wright (6 vols.), 1840; 
 "Memoirs of the Reign of King George III.," ed. by Sir D.Le Marchant (4 vols.), 
 1845; "Letters to the Countess of Ossory" (2 vols.), 1848; "Correspondence with 
 W. Mason," ed. by J. Mitford (2 vols.), 1851 ; "Letters," ed. by P. Cunningham (9 
 vols.), 1857-58; "Journal of the Reign of King George the Third . . . being a 
 Supplement to his Memoirs," ed. by Dr. Doran (2 vols.), 1859; "Supplement to the 
 Historic Doubts," ed. by Dr. Hawtrey (priv. ptd.), 1860-61. He edited: P. 
 Hentzner's "A Journey into England," 1757; G. Vertue's "Anecdotes of Painting in 
 England," 1762; and "Catalogue of Engravers," 1763, Lord Herbert of Cherbury's 
 Life, 1764; Count de Grammont's "Memoires," 1772. Collected Works: in 9 vols., 
 1798-1825. Life: by Austin Dobson, 1890.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A 
 Dictionary of English Authors, p, 291. 
 
310 
 
 HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I find Mr. Walpole then made some 
 mention of me to you ; yes, we are together 
 again. It is about a year, I believe, since 
 he wrote to me, to offer it, and there has 
 been (particularly of late), in appearance, 
 the same kindness and confidence almost 
 as of old. What were his motives, I can- 
 not yet guess. What were mine, you will 
 imagine and perhaps blame me. However 
 as yet I neither repent, nor rejoice over- 
 much, but I am pleased. — Gray, Thomas, 
 1750, Letter to John CJiute, Oct. 12. 
 
 I was well acquainted with Mr. Walpole 
 at Florence, and indeed he was particularly 
 civil to me. I am encouraged to ask a 
 favor of him, if I did not know, that few 
 people have so good memories as to re- 
 member, so many years backwards as 
 have passed since I have seen him. If 
 he has treated the character of Queen 
 Elizabeth with disrespect, all the women 
 should tear him in pieces, for abusing the 
 glory of her sex.— Montagu, Lady Mary 
 WoRTLEY, 1758, To the Countess of Bute, 
 Oct. 10 ; WorkSy ed. Dallaway^ vol. v, p. 62. 
 
 I am certainly the greatest philosopher 
 in the world, without ever having thought 
 of being so : always employed, and never 
 busy ; eager about trifles, and indifferent 
 to ever thing serious. Well, if it is not 
 philosophy, at least it is content. — Wal- 
 pole, Horace, 1774, To Hon. H. S. Con- 
 way, Aug. 18; Letters, ed. Cunningham, 
 vol. VI, p. 109. 
 
 When Mr. Horace Walpole came from 
 abroad about the year 1746, he was much 
 of a Fribble in dress and manner. Mr. 
 Colman, at that time a schoolboy, had 
 some occasion to pay him a visit. He told 
 me he has a strong recollection of the 
 singularity of his manner; and that it 
 was then said that Garrick had him in 
 thought when he wrote the part of Fribble, 
 in ' ' Miss in her Teens. ' ' But I doubt this 
 much ; for there is a character in a play 
 called ''Tunbridge Wells," in which that 
 of Fribble seems to be evidently formed. 
 However, Garrick might have had Mr. 
 Walpole in his thoughts. This gentleman 
 (Mr. Walpole) is still somewhat singular 
 in manner and appearance ; but it seems 
 only a singularity arising from a very del- 
 icate and weak constitution, and frorh 
 living quite retired among his books, 
 and much with ladies. He is always 
 lively and ingenious ; never very solid or 
 
 energetic. He appears to be very fond of 
 French manners, authors, &c., &c., and I 
 believe keeps up to this day a correspond- 
 ence with many of the people of fashion in 
 Paris. His love of French manners, and 
 his reading so much of their language, 
 have I think infected his style a little, 
 which is not always so entirely English as 
 it ought to be. He is, I think, a very 
 humane and amiable man. — Malone, Ed- 
 MOND, 1782 ? Maloniana, ed. Prior, p. 86. 
 
 The letter you sent me of Horace Wal- 
 pole's is brilliant, and, from its subject, 
 inevitably interesting ; but do not expect 
 that I can learn to esteem that fastidious 
 and unfeeling being, to whose insensibility 
 we owe the extinction of the greatest 
 poetic luminary Chatterton, if we may 
 judge from the brightness of its dawn, 
 that ever rose in our, or perhaps any other 
 hemisphere. This fine wit of Strawberry 
 Hill, is of that order of mortals who 
 swarm, alv/ays swarmed, and always will 
 swarm in refined states; whose eyes of 
 admiration are in their backs, and who, 
 consequently, see nothing worthy their at- 
 tention before, or on either side of them ; 
 and who, therefore, weary, sicken, and 
 disgust people whose sensibilities are 
 strong and healthy, by their eternal cant 
 about the great have beens, and the little 
 are's.— Seward, Miss, 1787, Letter to 
 Hardinge, Nov. 21. 
 
 Poor Lord Orford! I could not help 
 mourning for him as if I had not expected 
 it. But twenty years' unclouded kindness 
 and pleasant correspondence cannot be 
 given up without emotion. I am not sorry 
 now that I never flinched from his ridicule 
 or attacks, nor suffered them to pass with- 
 out rebuke. At our last meeting I made 
 him promise to buy Law's ''Serious Call." 
 His playful wit, his various knowledge, his 
 polished manners, alas! what avail they 
 now? The most serious thoughts are 
 awakenfed. 0 that he had known and be- 
 lieved the things that belonged to his 
 peace. My heart is much oppressed with 
 this reflection.— More, Hannah, 1797, 
 Letters. 
 
 When viewed from behind, he had some- 
 what of a boyish appearance, owing to the 
 forna of his person, and the simplicity of 
 his dress. . . . ' His laugh was forced 
 and uncouth, and even his smile not the 
 most pleasing. His walk was enfeebled 
 by the gout ; which, if the editor's memory 
 
HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 311 
 
 do not deceive, he mentioned that he had 
 been tormented with since the a^e of 
 twenty-five ; adding, at the same time, 
 that it was no hereditary complaint, his 
 father. Sir Robert Walpole, who always 
 drank ale, never having known that dis- 
 order, and far less his other parent. This 
 painful complaint not only affected his 
 feet, but attacked his hands to such a de- 
 gree that his fingers were always swelled 
 and deformed, and discharged large chalk- 
 stones once or twice a year : upon which 
 occasions he would observe, with a smile, 
 that he must set up an inn, for he could 
 chalk up a score with more ease and 
 rapidity than any man in England. — 
 PiNKERTON, John, 1799, Walpoliana. 
 
 The whole spirit of this man was penury. 
 Enjoying an afl^luent income he only ap- 
 peared to patronise the arts which amused 
 his tastes, — employing the meanest art- 
 ists, at reduced prices, to ornament his 
 own works, an economy which he bitterly 
 reprehends in others who were compelled 
 to practise it. He gratified his avarice 
 at the expense of his vanity ; the strongest 
 passion must prevail. It was the simplic- 
 ity of childhood in Chatterton to imagine 
 Horace Walpole could be a patron — but it 
 is melancholy to record that a slight pro- 
 tection might have saved such a youth. 
 Gray abandoned this man of birth and rank 
 in the midst of their journey through 
 Europe ; Mason broke with him ; even his 
 humble correspondent Cole, this ''friend 
 of forty years," was often sent away in 
 dudgeon ; and he quarrelled with all the 
 authors and artists he had ever been ac- 
 quainted with. The Gothic castle at 
 Strawberry-hill was rarely graced with 
 living genius — there the greatest was 
 Horace Walpole himself. — ■ Disraeli, 
 Isaac, 1812-13, The Pain of Fastidious 
 Egotism, Calamities of Authors. 
 
 He certainly was proud of being con- 
 sidered as a sort of patron of literature, 
 and a friend to literary men, but he did 
 not choose to purchase the pre-eminence 
 at a higher price than a little flattery and 
 praise, and a pudding neither over large 
 nor over solid. ... On his first in- 
 vitation to dinner with his Lordship, he 
 accompanied Mr. K. There were no other 
 guests. The Sexagenarian presumed that 
 he should for once enjoy the luxury of a 
 splendid dinner, and prepared himself ac- 
 cordingly. Dinner was served, when to 
 
 the poor author's astonishment, one dish 
 only smoked upon the noble board, and 
 that too, as ill luck would have it, was a 
 species of fish not very agreeable to the 
 palate of the guest. He waited, however, 
 in patience, and the fish was succeeded by 
 a leg of mutton. Wae worth the man, 
 who, in the pride and haughtiness of his 
 heart, presumes to say anything to the 
 disparagement of a leg of mutton. The 
 author, however, thought that he might 
 have a leg of mutton at home, and taking 
 it for granted, that at a nobleman/s table, 
 a second course would succeed, where 
 there would be some tit-bit to pamper his 
 appetite, he was very sparingly helped. 
 Alas ! nothing else made its appearance. 
 ''Well then," exclaimed the disappointed 
 visitor, "I must make up with cheese." 
 His Lordship did not eat cheese. So to 
 the great amusement of his companion, 
 the poor author returned hungry, discon- 
 certed, and half angry. — Beloe, Wil- 
 liam, 1817, The Sexagenarian, vol. I, 
 pp. 277, 278. 
 
 His figure was, as every one know^s, not 
 merely tall, but more properly long, and 
 slender to excess; his complexion, and 
 particularly his hands, of a most unhealthy 
 paleness. I speak of him before the year 
 1772. His eyes were remarkably bright 
 and penetrating, very dark and lively : his 
 voice was not so strong; but his tones 
 were extremely pleasant, and (if I may so 
 say) highly gentlemanly. I do not remem- 
 ber his common gait : he always entered a 
 room in that style of affected delicacy 
 which fashion had then made almost 
 natural ; chapeau bras between his hands, 
 as if he wished to compress it, or under 
 his arm ; knees bent ; and feet on tiptoe, 
 as if afraid of a wet floor. His dress in 
 visiting was most usually (in summer when 
 I most saw him) a lavender suit ; the waist- 
 coat embroidered with a little silver, or 
 of white silk worked in the tambour; 
 partridge silk stockings; and gold 
 buckles ; ruffles and frill, generally lace. 
 I remember, when a child, thinking him 
 very much under-dressed if at any time, 
 except in mourning, he wore hemmed 
 cambric. In summer, no powder ; but his 
 wig combed straight, and showing his 
 smooth pale forehead, and queued behind ; 
 in winter, powder. — Hawkins, Letitia 
 Matilda, 1823, Anecdotes, Biographical 
 Sketches and Memoirs, vol. i. 
 
312 
 
 HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 That cold and false-hearted Frenchified 
 coxcomb, Horace Walpole. — Words- 
 worth, William, 1833, Letters, Memoirs 
 by C. Wordsworth, ed. Reed, vol. ii, p, 277. 
 
 He was, unless we have formed a very 
 erroneous judgment of his character, the 
 most eccentric, the most artificial, the 
 most fastidious, the most capricious of 
 men. His mind was a bundle of inconsist- 
 ent whims and affectations. His features 
 were covered by mask within mask. When 
 the outer disguise of obvious affectation 
 was removed, you were still as far as ever 
 from seeing the real man. He played in- 
 numerable parts, and overacted them all. 
 When he talked misanthropy, he out- 
 Timoned Timon. When he talked philan- 
 thropy, he left Howard at an immeasurable 
 distance. He scoffed at courts, and kept 
 a chronicle of their most trifling scandal ; 
 at society, and was blown about by its 
 slightest veerings of opinions ; at literary 
 fame, and left fair copies of his private 
 letters, with copious notes, to be pub- 
 lished after his decease; at rank, and 
 never for a moment forgot that he was an 
 honourable ; at the practice of entail, and 
 tasked the ingenuity of conveyancers to 
 tie up his villa in the strictest settlement. 
 The conformation of his mind was such, 
 that whatever was little, seemed to him 
 great, and whatever was great seemed to 
 him little. Serious business was a trifle 
 to him, and trifles were his serious busi- 
 ness. To chat with blue-stockings; to 
 write little copies of complimentary verses 
 on little occasions; to superintend a 
 private press; to preserve from natural 
 decay the perishable topics of Ranelagh 
 and White's; to record divorces and bets. 
 Miss Chudleigh's absurdities and George 
 Selwyn's good sayings; to decorate a 
 grotesque house with piecrust battle- 
 ments; to procure rare engravings and 
 antique chimney-boards; to match odd 
 gauntlets; to lay out a maze of walks 
 within five acres of ground — these were 
 the grave employments of his long life. 
 From these he turned to politics as to an 
 amusement. After the labours of the 
 print-shop and the auction-room, he unbent 
 his mind in the House of Commons. And, 
 having indulged in the recreation of mak- 
 ing laws and voting millions, he returned 
 to more important pursuits — to researches 
 after Queen Mary's comb, Wolsey's red 
 hat, the pipe which Van Tromp smoked 
 
 during his last sea-fight, and the spur 
 which King William struck into the flank 
 of Sorrel.— Macaulay, Thomas Babing- 
 TON, 1833, Walpole's Letters to Sir Horace 
 Mann, Edinburgh Review, vol. 58 ; Critical 
 and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 Mr. Walpole 's affection for his mother 
 was so much the most amiable point in his 
 character, and his expressions whenever 
 he names or alludes to her are so touching, 
 come so directly and evidently from the 
 heart, that one would very fain think of 
 her as he did, and believe she had every 
 perfection his partiality assigns to her. 
 But, in truth, there was a contrary version 
 of the matter, not resting solely, nor yet 
 principally, upon the authority of Lady 
 Mary Wortley. It filled so prominent a 
 place in the scandalous history of the 
 time, that the world knew as well which 
 way Captain Lemuel Gulliver was glancing 
 when gravely vindicating the reputation 
 of my Lord Treasurer Flimnap's excellent 
 lady, as what he meant by the red, green, 
 and blue girdles of the Lilliputian gran- 
 dees, or the said Flimnap's feats of agility 
 on the tight-rope. Those ironical lines 
 also, where Pope says that Sir Robert 
 Walpole 
 
 "Had never made a friend in private life, 
 And was besides a tyrant to his wife.''^ 
 
 are equally well understood as conveying 
 a sly allusion to his good-humoured uncon- 
 cern about some things which more strait- 
 laced husbands do not take so coolly. 
 Openly laughing at their nicety, he pro- 
 fessed it his method "to go his own way, 
 and let madam go hers." . . . That Lady 
 Mary Wortley had been the chief friend 
 and protectress of his step-mother, was 
 alone enough to make him bitter against 
 her. — Stuart, Lady Louisa, 1837, The 
 Letters and Works of Lady Mary Wortley 
 Montagu, ed. Lord Wharncliffe, Introduc- 
 tory Anecdotes, vol. i, pp. 72, 73. 
 
 A vile, malignant, and unnatural wretch, 
 though a very clever writer of Letters. — 
 Brougham, Henry Lord, 1838, Selec- 
 tions from the Correspondence of the Mac- 
 vey Napier, Letter July 4. 
 
 The affections of his heart were bestowed 
 on few ; for in early life they had never 
 been cultivated, but they were singularly 
 warm, pure, and constant; characterised 
 not by the ardour of passion, but by the 
 constant preoccupation of real affection. 
 He had lost his mother, to whom he was 
 
HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 313 
 
 fondly attached, early in life; and with 
 his father, a man of coarse feelings and 
 boisterous manners, he had few sentiments 
 in common. Always feeble in constitu- 
 tion, he was unequal to the sports of the 
 field, and to the drinking which then ac- 
 companied them; so that during his 
 father's retreat at Houghton, however 
 much he respected his abilities and was 
 devoted to his fame, he had little sympathy 
 in his tastes, or pleasure in his society. 
 To the friends of his own selection his de- 
 votion was not confined to professions or 
 words : on all occasions of difficulty, of 
 whatever nature, his active affection came 
 forward in defence of their character, or 
 assistance in their affairs. — Berry, Mary, 
 1840, Advertisement to the Letters Ad- 
 dressed to the Misses Berry. 
 
 A wit he was of the first water ; effemin- 
 ate too, no doubt, though he prided him- 
 self on his open-breasted waistcoats in his 
 old age, and possessed exquisite good sense 
 and discernment, where party -feelings did 
 not blind him. But of the charge of heart- 
 lessness, his zeal and painstaking in behalf 
 of a hundred people, and his beautiful let- 
 ter to his friend Conway in particular, 
 offering, in a way not to be doubted, to 
 share his fortune with him, ought to acquit 
 him by acclamation. — Hunt, Leigh, 1849, 
 A Book for a Corner. 
 
 It is said that, latterly, Sir Robert Wal- 
 pole and his wife did not live happily 
 together, and that Horace, the youngest, 
 was not the son of the great Prime Minis- 
 ter of England, but of Carr, Lord Hervey, 
 elder brother of Pope's antagonist, and 
 reckoned, as Walpole records, of superior 
 parts to his celebrated brother, John. 
 The story rests on the authority of Lady 
 Louisa Stuart, daughter of the minister 
 Earl of Bute, and grand-daughter of Lady 
 Mary Wortley Montagu. She has related 
 it in print in the Introductory Anecdotes 
 to Lady Mary's Works ; and there is too 
 much reason to believe that what she says 
 is true. — Cunningham, Peter, 1858, ed. 
 Walpole' s Letters. 
 
 As for Horace Walpole, he was only a 
 link in the chain of ignoble circumstances 
 that led up to the suicide [of Chatterton] 
 — for which act, however, it is absurd to 
 make any one so responsible as the boy 
 himself. Why should this conceited liter- 
 ary sybarite have been so very forward to 
 befriend a sucking author vVho had hoaxed 
 
 him? It is all fair for a nobleman to 
 amuse himself by elaboratly concocting a 
 series of gossipy letters to be passed off 
 as the offspring of unpremeditated friendly 
 intercourse — and to tell lies about a 
 trumpery ''Otranto," writing when he is 
 detected, *'the author flatters himself he 
 shall appear excusable" — but when a poor 
 attorney's clerk plays similar pranks in a 
 work of stupendous genius, then the noble 
 * 'forger" bethinks him that ''all of the 
 house of forgery are relations, ' ' and that 
 his younger brother in "Forgery" '^must 
 be a consummate villain." — Noel, Roden, 
 1872-86, Chatterton, Essays on Poetry and 
 Poets, p. 46. 
 
 "'The Autocrat of Strawberry Hill." 
 ' ' The Frenchified Coxcomb. " " Lying Old 
 Fox." "A Parasite of Genius." "The 
 Puck in Literature." "Trifler in Great 
 Things. " " Ty deus. " " Ul timus Roman- 
 orum." — Frey, Albert R., 1888, Sobri- 
 quets and Nicknames, p. 476. 
 
 The student of English literature can 
 neither overlook Walpole nor treat him as 
 a person of little consequence. He has a 
 marked individuality. If not a great man 
 in the strict sense of the term, he had lived 
 among those who were in the first rank, 
 and he reflected some of their light. His 
 was a complex character which it is easier 
 to criticise than to comprehend. He ex- 
 hibited in his person a strange compound 
 of foppery and shrewdness, of excessive 
 vanity and of indubitable good sense. He 
 ridiculed and sneered at the follies of his 
 countrymen, and he was the most affected 
 and conceited Englishman of note in his 
 day. — Rae, W. Fraser, 1890, Horace 
 Walpole's Letters, Temple Bar, vol. 88, 
 p. 188. 
 
 Here, at last, we have the prince of 
 letter- writers drawn for us with a sure and 
 graceful touch. Here is the petted child, 
 who, humored in a foolish whim, was 
 carried privately to court at night, to kiss 
 King George's hand. Here is the clever 
 schoolboy, who preferred reading to fight- 
 ing ; whose friends were lads as precocious 
 as himself, and who, in most unboyish 
 fashion, dubbed his play-fellows Oromasdes 
 and Plato instead of plain Ashton and 
 Gray. Here is the one undergraduate of 
 Cambridge who frankly confesses (for 
 which we love him much) that he never 
 mastered even his multiplication table. 
 Here is the young gentleman of leisure 
 
314 
 
 HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 who drew a handsome income from sine- 
 cures, and who was of real service to his 
 country by traveling abroad, and writing 
 admirable letters home. Here is the 
 valued friend of so many brilliant and dis- 
 tinguished people, who has left us in his 
 vivacious pages those matchless portraits 
 that time can never fade. Here, in a 
 word, is Horace Walpole, whom some loved 
 and not a few hated, whose critics have 
 dealt him heavy censure and faint praise, 
 and who now, from a snug corner in the 
 Elysian fields, must secretly rejoice at find- 
 ing himself in hands at once sympathetic, 
 tolerant and impartial.— Repplier, Agnes, 
 1893, Horace Walpole, A Memoir by Aus- 
 tin Dobson, The Cosmopolitan, vol. 16, p. 250. 
 
 He was eleven years younger than the 
 rest of his father's children, a circum- 
 stance which, taken in connection with his 
 dissimilarity, both personally and mentally, 
 to the other members of the family, has 
 been held to lend some countenance to the 
 contemporary suggestion, first revived by 
 Lady Louisa Stuart (Introduction to Lord 
 Wharncliffe's edition of the Works of 
 Lady Mary Wortley Montagu")* that he 
 was the son not of Sir Robert Walpole, 
 but of Carr, lord Hervey, the ''Sporus" 
 of Pope. His attachment to his mother 
 and his life-long reverence for Sir Robert 
 Walpole, of whom he was invariably the 
 strenuous defender, added to the fact that 
 there is nowhere the slightest hint in his 
 writings of any suspicion on his own part 
 as to his parentage, must be held to dis- 
 credit this ancient scandal. — Dobson, 
 Austin, 1899, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. Lix, p. 170. 
 
 STRAWBERRY HILL 
 
 Whether Horace Walpole conferred a 
 benefit upon the public by setting of apply- 
 ing the Gothic style of architecture to 
 domestic purposes, may be doubtful; so 
 greatly has the example he gave been 
 abused in practice since. But, at all 
 events, he thus led the professors of archi- 
 tecture to study with accuracy the princi- 
 ple of the art, which has occasioned the 
 restoration and preservation in such an ad- 
 mirable manner of so many of our finest 
 cathedrals, colleges, and ancient Gothic 
 and conventual buildings. This, it must 
 be at least allowed, was the fortunate re- 
 sult of the rage for Gothic, which suc- 
 ceeded the building at Strawberry Hill. 
 For a good many years after that event. 
 
 every new building was pinnacled and 
 turreted on all sides, however little its 
 situation, its size, or its uses might seem to 
 fit it for such ornaments. Then, as fashion 
 is never constant for any great length of 
 time, the taste of the public rushed at 
 once upon castles; and loop-holes, and 
 battlements, and heavy arches, and but- 
 resses appeared in every direction. Now 
 the fancy of the time has turned as madly 
 to that bastard kind of architecture, pos- 
 sessing, however, many beauties, which, 
 compounded of the Gothic, Castellated, and 
 Grecian or Roman, is called the Elizabethan, 
 or Old English. No villa, no country- 
 house, no lodge in the outskirts of Lon- 
 don, no box of a retired tradesman, is now 
 built, except in some modification of this 
 style.— Dover, Lord, 1833, ed. Walpole's 
 Letters to Sir Horace Mann, Life. 
 
 In his multitudinous collection nothing 
 was incongruous, nothing out of place; 
 every thing was well arranged, every thing 
 was complete in its way. Some things 
 might be finical, some trifling; yet all 
 gave evidence of good taste, of refined 
 intellect, and of a range of thought, of 
 occupation, of amusement, far, far higher 
 than could be challenged by any other 
 votarist of fashion of that time. Horace 
 Walpole was himself a living specimen of 
 the rarity which he prized. Strawberry 
 Hill and its master were alike unique. — 
 Stone, Elizabeth, 1845, English Society, 
 Chronicles of Fashion. 
 
 The fate of Strawberry was still more 
 lamentable. For four and twenty days 
 the apartments, sacred to the Horatian 
 pleasantries, echoed with the hammer of 
 the auctioneer. Circumstances, that 
 need not be more particularly alluded to, 
 rendered this degradation unavoidable, 
 and it was only with difficulty that the 
 most sacred of the family possessions 
 could be preserved from the relentless or- 
 deal of ' 'a public sale !' ^ The shrine which 
 had been visited with so much interest and 
 veneration, was now overrun by a well 
 dressed mob, who glanced at its treasures, 
 and at the copious catalogue in which they 
 were enumerated, apparently with a like 
 indifference. But at the sale this indiffer- 
 ence, whether feigned or real, changed to 
 the most anxious desire to obtain posses- 
 sion of some relic of the man whose name 
 was invested \yith so many pleasant as- 
 sociations; and the more interesting 
 
HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 315 
 
 portion of "the thousand trifles" created a 
 degree of excitement which would almost 
 have reconciled their proprietor to such a 
 distribution.— Warburton, Eliot, 1852, 
 ed.y Memoirs of Horace Walpole and His 
 Contemporaries, vol. ii, p. 568. 
 
 If in the history of British art there is 
 one period more distinguished than 
 another for its neglect of Gothic, it was 
 certainly the middle of the eighteenth 
 century. ... An author appeared 
 . . . to whose writings and to whose 
 influence as an admirer of Gothic art we 
 believe may be ascribed one of the chief 
 causes which induced its present revival. 
 . . . It is impossible to peruse either 
 the letters or the romances of this re- 
 markable man without being struck by the 
 unmistakable evidence which they contain 
 of his Mediaeval predilections. . . . 
 The position which he occupies with re- 
 gard to art resembles in many respects 
 that in which he stands as a man of letters. 
 His labours were not profound in either 
 field. But their result was presented to 
 the public in a form which gained him 
 rapid popularity both as an author and a 
 dilettante. As a collector of curiosities 
 he was probably influenced more by a love 
 of old world associations than by any sound 
 appreciation of artistic design. — East- 
 lake, Charles Lock, 1871, History of 
 the Gothic Revival, pp. 42, 43. 
 
 Strawberry Hill . . . stands on a 
 gentle elevation about three hundred yards 
 from, and overlooking, the Thames im- 
 mediately above Twickenham. . . 
 When Walpole rented the house it was 
 little more than a cottage, and the grounds 
 were of narrow compass. As soon as he 
 became its owner, he began to enlarge the 
 house and extend the grounds. The cot- 
 tage grew into a villa, the villa into a 
 mansion. . . . Strawberry Hill, when 
 completed, was a Gothic building, but 
 Gothic of no particular period, class, or 
 style. Windows, doorways, and mouldings 
 of the thirteenth century stood side by side 
 with others of the fifteenth and sixteenth. 
 Ecclesiastical were co-mingled with secu- 
 lar features, collegiate with baronial or 
 military. Next to an Abbey Entrance was 
 the oriel of an Elizabethan Manor-house, or 
 the keep of a Norman Castle, while battle- 
 ments and machicolation frowned over the 
 wide bay windows that opened on to the 
 lawn. . . . Walpole was in his thirtieth 
 
 year when he took Strawberry Hill ; and he 
 spent fifty summers in it, improving the 
 house, adding to his collections, and en- 
 joying the lilacs and nightingales in his 
 grounds. ... As it now stands. 
 Strawberry Hill is a renewal of Walpole's 
 house, with modern sumptuousness super- 
 added. All the old rooms are there, 
 though the uses of many have been 
 changed. . . . The grounds and gardens 
 are as beautiful and attractive as of old, 
 the trees as verdant, the rosary as bright, 
 the lawn as green, and in their season 
 Walpole's "two passions, lilacs and 
 nightingales," in as full bloom and abun- 
 dance as ever. — Thorne, James, 1876, 
 Strawberry Hill, Hand-Book of the Envi- 
 rons of London. 
 
 As a virtuoso and amateur, his position 
 is a mixed one. He was certainly widely 
 different from that typical art connoisseur 
 of his day — the butt of Goldsmith and of 
 Reynolds — who travelled the Grand Tour 
 to litter a gallery at home with broken- 
 nosed busts and the rubbish of the Roman 
 picture-factories. As the preface to the 
 "iEdes Walpolianae" showed, he really 
 knew something about painting, in fact 
 was a capable draughtsman himself, and 
 besides, through Mann and others, had en- 
 joyed exceptional opportunities for pro- 
 curing genuine antiques. But his collec- 
 tion was not so rich in this way as might 
 have been anticipated ; and his portraits, 
 his china, and his miniatures were prob- 
 ably his best possessions. For the rest, 
 he was an indiscriminate rather than an 
 eclectic collector ; and there w^as also con- 
 siderable truth in that strange "attraction 
 from the great to the little, and from the 
 useful to the odd" which Macaulay has 
 noted. Many of the marvels at Straw- 
 berry would never have found a place in 
 the treasure-houses — say of Beckford or 
 Samuel Rogers. — Dobson, Austin, 1890- 
 93, Horace Walpole, A Memoir, p. 286. 
 
 He grew old there in his gim-crack of a 
 palace, cultivating his flowers and his 
 complexion ; tiptoeing while he could over 
 his waxed floors in lavender suit, with em- 
 broidered waistcoat and "partridge silk 
 stockings," with chapeauhas held before 
 him — very reverent to any visitor of dis- 
 tinction — and afterward (he lived almost 
 into this century), when gout seizes him, 
 I seem to see still — as once before — the 
 fastidious old man, shuffling up and down 
 
316 
 
 HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 from the drawing-room to library — stop- 
 ping here and there to admire some newly 
 arrived bit of pottery — pulling out his 
 golden snuff-box and whisking a delicate 
 pinch into his old nostrils — then dusting 
 his affluent shirt-frills with the tips of his 
 dainty fingers, with an air of gratitude to 
 Providence for having created so fine a 
 gentleman as Horace Walpole, and of 
 gratitude to Horace Walpole for having 
 created so fine a place as Strawberry Hill. 
 — Mitchell, Donald G., 1895, English 
 Lands Letters and Kings, Queen Anne and 
 the Georges, p. 87. 
 
 Horace Walpole's collections were sold 
 at Strawberry Hill by George Robins in 
 April and May 1842, during twenty-four 
 days. The first six days were devoted to 
 the sale of the library, which consisted of 
 1555 lots, and realised £3900. It was 
 very badly catalogued, and the books and 
 books of prints, collection of portraits, 
 &c., forming the seventh and eight days' 
 sale, were withdrawn, re-catalogued, and 
 extended to a ten days' sale. — Wheat- 
 ley, Henry B., 1898, Prices of Books, 
 p. 162. 
 
 ROYAL AND NOBLE AUTHORS 
 
 1758 
 
 My Catalogue I intended should have 
 been exact enough in style : it has not been 
 thought so by some ; I tell you that you 
 may not trust me too much. Mr. Gray, a 
 very perfect judge, has sometimes cen- 
 sured me for parliamentary phrases, famil- 
 iar to me as your Scotch law is to you. — 
 Walpole, Horace, 1759, To Dr. William 
 Robertson, Mar, 4 ; Letters, ed. Cunning- 
 ham, vol. Ill, p. 213. 
 
 A caprice sometimes mingled with 
 affectation, and a prevalent desire of say- 
 ing a witty thing rather than a wise one, 
 will be obvious to the considerate reader : 
 but his lordship had a liveliness in the 
 manner of conveying his sentiments, an 
 intelligent pertinence in his observations, 
 and a brilliant smartness in his mode of 
 passing critical judgment, which appear to 
 have compensated for many defects, in the 
 eye of the fashionable world. — Park, 
 Thomas, 1806, ed., A Catalogue of the 
 Royal and Noble Authors of England, Scot- 
 land and Ireland, vol. iv, p. 438, note. 
 
 I cannot leave the ''Royal and Noble 
 Authors" without exposing the extraordin- 
 ary chain of errors which an examination 
 
 of the subject has detected in that work. 
 —Nichols, J. G., 1833, London Gentle- 
 man^s Magazine, vol. 2, p. 498. 
 
 CASTLE OF OTRANTO 
 
 1765 
 
 Shall I even confess to you, what was the 
 origin of this romance? I waked one 
 morning in the beginning of last June from 
 a dream, of which all I could recover was, 
 that I had thought myself in an ancient 
 castle (a very natural dream for a head 
 filled, like mine, with Gothic story), and 
 that, on the uppermost banister of a great 
 staircase I saw a gigantic hand in armour. 
 In the evening I sat down, and began to 
 write, without knowing in the least what 
 I intended to say or relate. The work 
 grew on my hands. ... In short, I 
 was so engrossed with my tale, which I 
 completed in less than two months, that 
 one evening I wrote from the time 1 had 
 drunk my tea, about six o'clock, till half 
 an hour after one in the morning. — Wal- 
 pole, Horace, 1765, To Rev. William 
 Cole, March 9; Letters, ed. Cunningham, 
 vol. IV, p. 328. 
 
 How do you think he has employed that 
 leisure which his political frenzy has 
 allowed of? In writing a novel, entitled 
 the ''Castle of Otranto;" and such a novel 
 that no boarding-school Miss of thirteen 
 could get through with without yawning. 
 —Williams, Gilly, 1765, Letter to George 
 Selwyn, March 19. 
 
 A series of supernatural appearances, 
 put together under the most interesting 
 form imaginable. Let one be ever so 
 much of a philosopher, that enormous 
 helmet, that monstrous sword, the portrait 
 which starts from its frame and walks 
 away, the skeleton of the hermit praying 
 in the oratory, the vaults, the subterranean 
 passages, the moonshine — all these things 
 make the hair of the sage stand on end, 
 as much as that of the child and his nurse : 
 so much are the sources of the marvellous 
 the same to all men. It is true that 
 nothing very important results at least 
 from all these wonders; but the aim of 
 the author was to amuse, and he certainly 
 cannot be reproached for having missed 
 his aim. — Grimm, Friedrich Melchior 
 Baron, 1767? Historical and Literary 
 Memoirs and Anecdotes, vol. ii, p. 218. 
 
 Read the "Castle of Otranto," which 
 grievously disappointed my expectations. 
 
HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 317 
 
 —Green, Thomas,- 1779-1810, Diary of 
 a Lover of Literature. 
 
 Is, to my notion, dry, meagre, and 
 without effect. It is done upon false 
 principles of taste. The great hand and 
 arm which are thrust into the court-yard, 
 and remain there all day long, are the 
 pasteboard machinery of a pantomime; 
 they shock the senses, and have no pur- 
 chase upon the imagination. They are a 
 matter-of-fact impossibility; a fixture, 
 and no longer a phantom. — Hazlitt, Wil- 
 liam, 1818, Lectures on the English Comic 
 Writers, Lecture vi. 
 
 The actors in the romance are strikingly 
 drawn, with bold outlines becoming the age 
 and nature of the story. Feudal tyranny 
 was, perhaps, never better exemplified 
 than in the character of Manfred. . . . 
 The applause due to chastity and precision 
 of style, — to a happy combination of super- 
 natural agency with human interest, — to a 
 tone of feudal manners and language sus- 
 tained by characters strongly drawn and 
 well discriminated, — and to unity of action, 
 producing scenes alternately of interest 
 and of grandeur ; — the applause, in fine, 
 which cannot be denied to him who can 
 excite the passions of fear and of pity, 
 must be awarded to the author of ''The 
 Castle of Otranto."— Scott, Sir Walter, 
 1821, Horace Walpole. 
 
 By way of experiment, in reviving the 
 more imaginative style of romance, Wal- 
 pole had bethought himself of a mediaeval 
 story of an Italian castle, the human 
 tenants of which should act naturally, but 
 should be surrounded by supernatural 
 circumstances and agencies leading them 
 on to their fate. I confess that on repe- 
 rusing the story the other day, I did not 
 find my nerves affected as they were when 
 I read it first. The mysterious knockings 
 and voices, the pictures starting from the 
 wainscot, the subterranean vaults, and 
 even the great helmet with the nodding 
 black plumes in the courtyard, had lost 
 their horror ; and Walpole seemed to me 
 a very poor master of the Gothic business, 
 or of poetic business of any kind. The at- 
 tempt, however, is interesting as a hark- 
 back to medigevalism, at a time when 
 mediaevalism was but little in fashion. As 
 a virtuoso Walpole had acquired a certain 
 artificial taste for the Gothic; and his 
 "Gothic Story," as he called it, did some- 
 thing to bring to the minds of British 
 
 readers, on its first publication, the recol- 
 lection that there had been a time in the 
 world, when men lived in castles, believed 
 in the devil, and did not take snuff', or 
 wear powdered wigs. — Masson, David, 
 1859, British Novelists and Their Styles, 
 p. 151. 
 
 There can, however, be no doubt that 
 this story had a very powerful effect on 
 the writers that followed ; nay, that it led, 
 amongst other things, to the study of 
 architecture, medisevalism, the love of the 
 Gothic, the writing of Sir Walter Scott's 
 great romances, and even to the revival 
 of the love of colour, glitter, show, and 
 pictorial decoration observable in the 
 religious services of a large portion of the 
 people of this land. — Friswell, James 
 Hain, 1869, Essays on English Writers, 
 p. 294. 
 
 This story fills one of the conditions to 
 be found in almost every form of writing 
 that leaves its mark; its main merit is 
 its novelty ; it is itself commonplace and 
 nearly unreadable.— Perry, Thomas Ser- 
 geant, 1883, English Literature in the 
 Eighteenth Century, p. 362. 
 
 Originality the work may safely claim. 
 The mountainous helmet, with its waving 
 sable plumes, which crashes down into the 
 courtyard of the Castle of Otranto at the 
 very beginning of the narrative, unher- 
 alded and unexplained, may be taken as a 
 symbol and type of the suddenness with 
 which supernatural terror was reintroduced 
 into English fiction by Horace Walpole. 
 Here, with a decisive hand, was struck the 
 keynote of all those later romances which 
 gave only too much ground for Goethe's 
 pithy maxim. "The classical is health; 
 and the romance, disease." The very 
 violence and crudity of Walpole's original- 
 ity proved an invitation to his imitators to 
 better the instruction he gave them. — 
 Raleigh, Walter, 1894, The English 
 Novel, p. 223. 
 
 It is impossible at this day to take "The 
 Castle of Otranto" seriously, and hard to 
 explain the respect with which it was once 
 mentioned by writers of authority. . . . 
 Walpole's master-piece can no longer make 
 anyone cry even a little ; and instead of 
 keeping us out of bed, it sends us there — 
 or would, if it were a trifle longer. For 
 the only thing that is tolerable about the 
 book is its brevity, and a certain rapidity 
 in the action. . . . The book was 
 
318 
 
 HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 not an historical romance, and the manners, 
 sentiments, language, all were modern. 
 Walpole knew little about the Middle 
 Ages and was not in touch with their 
 spirit. At bottom he was a trifler, a 
 fribble; and his incurable superficiality, 
 dilettantism, and want of seriousness, made 
 all his real cleverness of no avail when 
 applied to such a subject as ''The Castle 
 of Otranto."— Beers, Henry A., 1898, 
 A History of English Romanticism in the 
 Eighteenth Century, pp. 237, 238, 240. 
 
 THE MYSTERIOUS MOTHER 
 
 1768 
 
 Though the subject of this last piece be 
 singularly horrid and almost disgusting, 
 yet the fable is conducted with such inimi- 
 table skill, that it may in this respect be 
 considered as approximating nearer to 
 perfection than any other drama extant, 
 the (Edipus Tyrannus of Sophocles even 
 not excepted. — Drake, Nathan, 1798- 
 1820, Literary HourSy vol. ii. No. xxix, 
 p. 109. 
 
 He is the ultimus Romanorum, the 
 author of the "Mysterious Mother," a 
 tragedy of the highest order, and not a 
 puling love play. He is the father of the 
 first romance, and of the last tragedy, in 
 our language; and surely worthy of a 
 higher place than any living writing, be 
 he who he may. — Byron, Lord, 1820, 
 Marino Faliero, Preface. 
 
 *'The Mysterious Mother," is a produc- 
 tion of higher talent and more powerful 
 genius than any other which we owe to the 
 pen of Horace Walpole. — Dover, Lord, 
 1833, ed. Walpole^s Letters to Sir Horace 
 Mann, Life. 
 
 Lord Byron, as quoted by Lord Dover, 
 says, that the ''Mysterious Mother" raises 
 Horace Walpole above every author living 
 in his. Lord Byron's, time. Upon which 
 I venture to remark, first, that I do not 
 believe that Lord Byron spoke sincerely ; 
 for I suspect that he made a tacit excep- 
 tion in favour of himself at least ; secondly, 
 that it is a miserable mode of comparison 
 which does not rest on difference of kind. 
 It proceeds of envy and malice and detrac- 
 tion to say that A. is higher than B., un- 
 less you show that they are in pari 
 materia; — thirdly, that the "Mysterious 
 Mother" is the most digusting, vile, de- 
 testable composition that ever came from 
 the hand of man. No one with a spark of 
 
 true manliness, of which Horace Walpole 
 had none, could have written it. As to 
 the blank verse, it is indeed better than 
 Rowers and Thomson's, which was execra- 
 bly bad :— any approach, therefore, to the 
 manner of the old dramatists was, of 
 course, an improvement ; but the loosest 
 lines in Shirley are superior to Walpole's 
 best. — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1834, 
 Table Talk, ed. Ashe, March 20, p. 279. 
 
 A clever buckram tragedy. — GossE, 
 Edmund, 1888, A History of Eighteenth 
 Century Literature, p. 301. 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 Incomparable letters. — Byron, Lord, 
 1820, Marino Faliero, Preface. 
 
 Read, if you have not read, all Horace 
 Walpole's letters, wherever you can find 
 them ; — the best wit ever published in the 
 shape of letters. — Smith, Sydney, 1820, 
 Letter to Edw. Davenport, Nov. 19 ; Mem- 
 oir of Rev. Sydney Smith. 
 
 The best letter-writer in the English 
 language. — Scott, Sir Walter, 1821, 
 Horace Walpole. 
 
 The "Letters" of Mr. Walpole have 
 already attained the highest rank in that 
 department of English literature, and 
 seem to deserve their popularity, whether 
 they are regarded as objects of mere 
 amusement, or as a collection of anecdotes 
 illustrative of the politics, literature, and 
 manners of an important and interesting 
 period.— Croker, John Wilson, 1825, 
 ed.. Letters from the Hon. Horace Walpole 
 to the Earl of Hertford during his Lord- 
 ship^ s Embassy in Paris: to which are 
 added Mr. Walpole's Letters to the Rev. 
 Henry Zouch. 
 
 Walpole's "Letters" are generally con- 
 sidered as his best performances, and we 
 think, with reason. His faults are far 
 less offensive to us in his correspondence 
 than in his books. His wild, absurd, and 
 ever changing opinions about men and 
 things are easily pardoned in familiar let- 
 ters. His bitter, scoffing, depreciating 
 disposition does not show itself in so un- 
 mitigated a manner as in his "Memoirs." 
 A writer of letters must be civil and 
 friendly to his correspondent, at least, if 
 to no other person. — Macaulay, Thomas 
 Babington, 1833, Walpole's Letters to Sir 
 Horace Mann, Edinburgh Review, vol. 58, 
 Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 319 
 
 Read the new edition of ''Horace Wal- 
 pole's Letters to Sir Horace Mann." 
 There is something 1 don't like in his style ; 
 his letters don't amuse me so much as they 
 ought to do.— Greville, Charles C. F., 
 1833, A Journal of the Reigns of King 
 George IV and King William IV, ^ June 
 29, vol. II, p. 170. 
 
 The twenty or thirty volumes of Vol- 
 taire's correspondence have already fur- 
 nished a signal example how much a dis- 
 tinguished man will sometimes repeat 
 himself. Yet, as compared with Walpole, 
 he appears to write rather from impulse 
 than meditation, and with the character- 
 istic vivacity of his country. His repeat- 
 ing seems, therefore, to be natural, and 
 like that of a man in conversation upon 
 the same general topics with the succes- 
 sion of individuals. It is not so with 
 Walpole. His phrases are too nicely 
 picked, his anecdotes too carefully told. 
 When they are read the first time, they 
 earn for him the credit of ready wit. But 
 when seen to be transferred from place to 
 place with no essential change, they smack 
 something too much of study. Neither do 
 we detect this solely in his letters. He 
 often produces in his ''Memoirs" the 
 counterpart of what he writes to Lord 
 Hertford, or Mann, or Montague. We 
 find the same stories in even the same 
 words. We must, then, already begin to 
 deny him the greatest merit of epistolary 
 composition, its natural and spontaneous 
 flow. But besides this, the repetition of 
 the same thing, however well told, when 
 it is not connected with important events, 
 soon becomes fatiguing. — Adams, Charles 
 F'rancis, 1845, Horace Walpole' s Letters 
 and Memoirs, North American Review, 
 vol. 61, p. 423. 
 
 Of letter-writers by profession we have, 
 indeed few, although Horace Walpole, 
 bright, fresh, quaint, and glittering as one 
 of his most precious figures of Dresden 
 china, is a host in himself. — Mitford, 
 Mary Russell, 1851, Recollections of a 
 Literary Life, ch. xxxii. 
 
 I refrain to quote from Walpole regard- 
 ing George, for those charming volumes 
 are in the hands of all who love the gossip 
 of the last century. Nothing can be more 
 cheery than Horace's "Letters. ' ' Fiddles 
 sing all through them; wax-lights, fine 
 dresses, fine jokes, fine plates, fine equi- 
 pages, glitter and sparkle there ; never was 
 
 such a brilliant, jigging, smirking Vanity 
 Fair as that through which he leads 
 us. Hervey, the next great authority, 
 is a darker spirit.— Thackeray, William 
 Makepeace, 1860, George the Second, The 
 Four Georges. 
 
 One evergreen still flourishes among all 
 the garlands of flowers which Mudie hourly 
 scatters in our path. Horace Walpole is 
 ours, and ours for ever. Who will ever 
 cease now and then to dip into those 
 numerous volumes, edited, and re-edited, 
 and every now and then coming out with 
 new notes and fresh portraits, and new 
 prefaces and a new index? — Thomson, 
 Katharine (Grace Wharton), 1862, 
 The Literature of Society, vol. ii, p. 236. 
 
 As to the upper classes, I know few 
 books that leave a more painful impression 
 upon the reader than the volumes which 
 contain the letters of Horace Walpole, in 
 which we see all the froth and scum that 
 floated to the surface of what is called 
 Good Society, and can form a tolerable 
 idea of what was fermenting in the mass 
 below. With all his persiflage and cyni- 
 cism, he at all events may be trusted as a 
 witness who does not invent, but retails the 
 current scandals of the day.— Forsyth, 
 William, 1871, The Novels and Novelists 
 of the Eighteenth Century, p. 19. 
 
 The affectations of Horace Walpole sit 
 so gracefully upon him, and are so much 
 a part of the man, that they lend a lustre 
 and reality to the pictures he is drawing. 
 — Pattison, Mark, 1872-89, Pope and 
 His Editors, Essays, ed. Nettleship, vol. ii, 
 p. 361. 
 
 His forte lay in chronicling the gossip 
 of Courts, or in transporting his readers 
 behind the scenes when a political intrigue 
 was in progress. He was more of a Saint- 
 Simon than a Bayard. Although he 
 counted a suit of Francis L's armour 
 amongst his choicest treasures, he would 
 have been more in his element handing 
 Louis XIV. a shirt at Versailles than in 
 helping Francis to a fresh horse at Pavia. 
 — Hayward, a., 1876, Strawberry Hill, 
 Sketches of Eminent Statesmen and Writers 
 with other Essays, vol. ii, p. 283. 
 
 For variety of anecdote and scandal, 
 malicious humour, pleasant cynicism, and 
 lively tittle-tattle, couched in a style at 
 once piquant and graceful, his epistles are 
 quite incomparable. We must bear in mind 
 
320 
 
 HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 however, that Walpole's aim in life was to 
 be amused, and that he gratified this pro- 
 pensity by playing the part of a fashion- 
 able critic and thoroughbred virtuoso. 
 His social position, his wealth, his exten- 
 sive connection with courtiers and aristo- 
 crats, litterateurs, and blue-stockinffs, and 
 his great powers of observation, afforded 
 him unequalled opportunites for gratify- 
 ing his whim. But he was too unsparing 
 a judge of the vanities and foibles of his 
 own age to escape being placed in the 
 stocks himself ; and Macaulay has done it. 
 — ScooNES, W. Baptiste, 1880, Four 
 Centuries of English Letters, p. 259. 
 
 Due allowance made for the superiority 
 of French idiom and French finesse in a 
 department where they appear to most ad- 
 vantage, it may safely be affirmed that, if 
 variety and interest of topics be regarded 
 as well as style, Walpole's letters are un- 
 rivalled. It was only by degrees that 
 Horace attained to the perfection of easy 
 engaging writing. His earlier letters be- 
 tray signs of considerable labour. It is 
 said that a summary prepared beforehand 
 of one of his letters to Montagu was found 
 in looking over some of his correspond- 
 ence. In later days he wrote with the 
 greatest facility, even carrying on a con- 
 versation the while. But he continued to 
 the last the habit of putting down on the 
 backs of letters or slips of paper, a note 
 of facts, of news, of witticisms, or of any- 
 thing he wished not to forget for the 
 amusement of his correspondents. — See- 
 ley, L. B., 1884, Horace Walpole and 
 His World, p. 32. 
 
 These letters have always ranked high 
 since Byron and Scott said they were 
 classic. They are excellently written, 
 and when the subject is good they are 
 delightful, being vivid, amiable, quick, 
 seasoned with allusion, point, and anecdote. 
 But whether they will keep their rank may 
 be questioned. . . . The defect in 
 these letters, as classical compositions, is 
 their lack of freshness. They are a 
 chronicle of faded things — finery, ambi- 
 tions, sentiments, gossip, criticisms, beaux, 
 dames, and nephews, all musty, and dry, 
 and rubbishy. They do not reveal a 
 nature like Cowper's, nor treasure up re- 
 finement, sense, and scholarly associations 
 like Gray's. Invaluable to the historian, 
 and to lovers of old French memoirs, they 
 are not classic in the sense that Cowper's 
 
 and Graves letters are — in the sense of 
 being invaluable to the highly-cultivated 
 man. So far as the society they picture 
 is concerned, the candles were burnt out 
 and the play was done long ago. They 
 are the quintessential spirit of the world- 
 liness— the form and feature of the world 
 of which it was anciently said the fashion 
 of it passeth away. They belong to the 
 antiquary; they no longer touch life. — 
 Woodberry, George E., 1884, Seeley's 
 Walpole, The Nation, vol. 38, p. 261. 
 
 It is as a letter-writer that he survives ; 
 and it is upon the vast correspondence, of 
 which, even now, we seem scarcely to have 
 reached the limits, that is based his surest 
 claim volitare per ora virum. The quali- 
 ties which are his defects in more serious 
 productions become merits in his corre- 
 spondence; or, rather, they cease to be 
 defects. . . . Among the little band 
 of those who have distinguished them- 
 selves in this way, Walpole is in the fore- 
 most rank; nay, if wit and brilliancy, 
 without gravity or pathos, are to rank 
 highest, he is first. It matters nothing 
 whether he wrote easily or with difficulty ; 
 whether he did, or did not, make minutes 
 of apt illustrations or descriptive inci- 
 dents: the result is delightful. For 
 diversity of interest and perpetual enter- 
 tainment, for the constant surprises of an 
 unique species of wit, for happy and un- 
 expected turns of phrase, for graphic 
 characterization and clever anecdote, for 
 playfulness, pungency, irony, persiflage, 
 there is nothing in English like his cor- 
 respondence. And when one remembers 
 that, in addition, this correspondence con- 
 stitutes a sixty-years' social chronicle of 
 a specially picturesque epoch by one of the 
 most picturesque of picturesque chroni- 
 clers, there can be no need to bespeak any 
 further suffrage for Horace Walpole's 
 incomparable letters. "—Dobson, Aus- 
 tin, 1890-93, Horace Walpole, A Memoir, 
 pp. 293, 294. 
 
 Walpole's Letters delight each succes- 
 sive generation. Nor, indeed, can one 
 imagine any abatement of their inextin- 
 guishable charm. No student of the eight- 
 eenth century, however perfunctorily he 
 may take himself, can afford to neglect 
 that wonderful canvas whereon are posed, 
 in undress, so many great personages, such 
 vital and terrible events. For that mat- 
 ter, the philosopher, the man of affairs, 
 
HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 321 
 
 the politician, and the philanthropist — 
 unless his philanthropy shall have de- 
 prived him of his natural vision, — may 
 find grave instruction in these light pages. 
 They are instinct with the lessons of other 
 men's experience. — Thanet, Octave, 
 1890, The Letters of Horace Walpole, The 
 Dial, vol. 11, p. 66. 
 
 Walpole's most heinous literary fault 
 was his absurd though not at all remarka- 
 ble disposition to gauge his estimate of a 
 book according to the rank or gentility of 
 the author. He actually seemed to think 
 a plebeian incapable of meritorious effort 
 in literature, and his opinion as to any 
 performance anonymously published was 
 probably held in suspense until the fact of 
 its authorship had been clearly established. 
 . . . He makes few illusions to the 
 writers contemporaneous with him who 
 were making the real literature of the 
 time ; they were all too vulgar to engage 
 his pen, except when he went out of his 
 way to write adversely of them, when he 
 perpetrated some precious bits of most 
 nonsensical critical coxcombry. — Ross- 
 man, Vincent D., 1895, A Prince of Scrib- 
 blers, Catholic World, vol. 60, p. 810. 
 
 Is sprightly, lively, intolerant, even to 
 nervousness, of dulness or heaviness, 
 speaking the opinion or impression of the 
 hour, superficial, it is true, but yet sincere 
 in his individuality, and with a certain 
 freshness in his freedom from convention- 
 ality.— Craik, Henry, 1895, ed., English 
 Prose, Introduction, vol. iv, p. 7. 
 
 The title of coxcomb, which has been 
 scornfully awarded and indignantly re- 
 pudiated, is too surely his; he had the 
 faults to which those born on the fringe 
 of the purple, as he was, are more liable 
 than those born in the purple itself ; he 
 was (chiefly through wilfulness) a bad 
 critic of other men's work, and for this or 
 other reasons not too good a one of his 
 own. But his work is delightful as litera- 
 ture and invaluable as history. Taken 
 with Boswell's ''Johnson,'' it supplies 
 almost a complete view of the intellectual, 
 social, and literary life of this period, 
 certainly an indispensable companion to 
 the due enjoyment and the due under- 
 standing of the *' Ode on the Passions" and 
 the ''Elegy in a Country Churchyard," 
 of "Tom Jones" and "Clarissa," and 
 ''Humphry Clinker" and "Tristram Shandy," 
 of the "Rambler" and the "Decline and 
 
 21 C 
 
 Fall," of "She Stoops to Conquer" and 
 the "School for Scandal."— Saixtsbury, 
 George, 1896, Social England, ed. Traill, 
 vol. V, p. 270. 
 
 It was an out-patient of Bedlam who 
 first suggested that Mr. Walpole's were 
 written with an eye on posterity. . . . 
 He did not write his charming letters for 
 posterity. He wrote them because he had 
 parts and was good-natured, and wished 
 to amuse his friends. . . . Horace 
 Walpole is for every humor. If you are 
 wise he confirms you with a pleasant 
 philosophy, though he hated the name ; if 
 you are flippant, he tells you a comical, 
 perhaps a wicked story; if you are com- 
 plaisant, he charms you with agreeable 
 courtesies ; if you would rail at your age, 
 he turns you many a contemptuous text 
 from his.— Street, G. S., 1899, After 
 Reading Horace Walpole ; Fortnightly Re- 
 view, vol. 11, pp. 124, 128. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 An author who has illustrated many 
 passages in the English History, and 
 adorned more. — Robertson, William, 
 1759, History of Scotland, bk. viii, note. 
 
 The lively and curious acuteness of Wal- 
 pole. — Gibbon, Edward, 1762, Memoirs 
 of my Life and Writings, July 26. 
 
 I have my fribbles as well as you. In 
 the "Anecdotes of Painting," just pub- 
 lished, the author, by the most unprovoked 
 malice, has a fling at your friend obliquely, 
 and puts him in company where you would 
 not expect to find him, with Tom Hearne 
 and Browne Willis. It is about Gothic 
 edifices, for which I shall be about his pots, 
 as Bentley said to Lord Halifax of Rowe. 
 But I say it is better ; I mean the galley- 
 pots and washes of his toilet. I know he 
 has a fribble-tutor at his elbow, as sicklied 
 over with affectation as himself. — War- 
 burton, William, 1762, Letter to Gar- 
 rick, Feb. 17. 
 
 Walpole had by nature a propensity, 
 and by constitution a plea, for being 
 captious and querulentiai, for he was a 
 martyr to the gout. He wrote prose and 
 published it ; he composed verses and circu- 
 lated them, and was an author, who seemed 
 to play at hide-and-seek with the public. 
 — There was a mysterious air of conse- 
 quence in his private establishment of 
 a domestic printing press, that seemed to 
 augur great things, but performed little. 
 
322 
 
 HORACE W ALP OLE 
 
 — Cumberland, Richard, 1806, Memoirs 
 Written by Himself j voL I, p. 23. 
 
 His taste was highly polished ; his vivac- 
 ity attained to brilliancy ; and his pictur- 
 esque fancy, easily excited, was soon ex- 
 tinguished ; his playful wit and keen irony 
 were perpetually exercised in his observa- 
 tions on life, and his memory was stored 
 with the most amusing knowledge, but 
 much too lively to be accurate ; for his 
 studies were but his sports. But other quali- 
 ties of genius must distinguish the great 
 author, and even him who would occupy 
 that leading rank in the literary republic 
 our author aspired to fill. He lived too 
 much in that class of society which is little 
 favourable to genius ; he exerted neither 
 profound thinking, nor profound feeling ; 
 and too volatile to attain to the pathetic, 
 that higher quality of genius, he was so 
 imbued with the petty elegancies of society 
 that every impression of grandeur in the 
 human character was deadened in the 
 breast of the polished cynic. ... All 
 his literary works, like the ornamented 
 edifice he inhabited, were constructed on 
 the same artificial principle ; an old paper 
 lodging-house, converted by the magician 
 of taste into a Gothic castle, full of scenic 
 effects.— Disraeli, Isaac, 1812-13, The 
 Pains of Fastidious Egotism, Calamities of 
 Authors. 
 
 His judgment of literature, of contem- 
 porary literature especially, was altogether 
 perverted by his aristocratical feelings. 
 No writer surely was ever guilty of so 
 much false and absurd criticism. He 
 almost invariably speaks with contempt of 
 those books which are now universally 
 allowed to be the best that appeared in his 
 time ; and, on the other hand, he speaks 
 of writers of rank and fashion as if they 
 were entitled to the same precedence in 
 literature which would have been allowed 
 to them in a drawing-room. ... It 
 is easy to describe him by negatives. He 
 had not a creative imagination. He had 
 not a pure taste. He was not a great 
 reasoner. There is indeed scarcely any 
 writer, in whose works it would be possible 
 to find so many contradictory judgments, 
 so many sentences of extravagant non- 
 sense. Nor was it only in his familiar 
 correspondence that he wrote in this 
 flighty and inconsistent manner; but in 
 long and elaborate books, in books repeat- 
 edly transcribed and intended for the 
 
 public eye.— Macaulay, Thomas Babing- 
 TON, 1833, IValpole's Lettters to Sir Horace 
 Mann, Edinburgh Review, vol. 58 ; Critical 
 and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 I must guard you against the historical 
 publications of the celebrated Horace 
 Walpole. Look for entertainment in them 
 if you please, and you will not be disap- 
 pointed ; but give him not your confidence : 
 indeed you will soon see, from his lively 
 and epigrammatic style of invective, that 
 he cannot deserve it.— Smyth, William, 
 1840, Lectures on Modern History, Lec- 
 ture xxxiii. 
 
 The affectation of his style has its roots 
 in the affectation of his nature, and it is 
 an admirable style for him. — Whipple, 
 Edwin P., 1849, Use and Misuse of Words, 
 Literature and Life, p. 247. 
 
 Horace Walpole illustrates his knowl- 
 edge of the world by anecdote and witti- 
 cism, by the authority of his own empirical 
 opinion, by a fancy so wanton and discur- 
 sive that it cannot fail to be sometimes 
 just; but he never fatigues himself by 
 seeking, like Rochefoucauld, to dissect 
 and analyse. He prides himself on being 
 frivolous, and, if he is wise, he takes care 
 to tell you that he is only so for his own 
 amusement. We cannot dispute his 
 knowledge of the world in breadth of sur- 
 face, as we may do that of the French 
 Court-philosophers; but he very rarely 
 dives to the depth which they explore, 
 though it be but the depth of a garden 
 fountain. — Lytton, Edward Bulwer 
 Lord, 1863-68, Caxtoniana, Miscellaneous 
 Prose Works, vol. iii, p. 427. 
 
 Horace Walpole's pungent prose. — 
 Burton, John Hill, 1880, A History, of 
 the Reign of Queen Anne, vol. ii, p. 131 
 
 Without a spark of genius, he has a 
 taste, bright and intelligent, for the arts ; 
 he understands their principles, and 
 dabbles in them all. He revives Gothic 
 architecture in Strawberry Hill — a toy 
 house ; he makes an experiment in romance 
 in ''The Castle of Otranto'' — a toy novel; 
 he writes sketchy Lives of the Painters, 
 and composes an ingenious ''Essay on 
 Landscape Gardening. Courthope, Wil- 
 liam John, 1885, The Liberal Movement 
 in English Literature, p. 120. 
 
 "Unhealthy and disorganised mind," 
 "a bundle of whims and affectations,'' 
 
ai M "I 
 
 •S '-^ =3 
 
WALPOLE— MASON 
 
 323 
 
 ^'maskwithin mask these are the phrases 
 that go to make up the popular estimate 
 of a writer who was distinguished by the 
 sincerity of his taste and judgment, and 
 by the quickness and truth of his response 
 to all impressions. Horace Walpole wrote 
 and thought exactly as he pleased ; his 
 letters are the expression, direct and clear, 
 of a mind that could not condescend to dull 
 its reflections by any compromise about 
 the values of things, or any concession to 
 
 opinion. He never tampered with his 
 instinctive appreciation of anything. 
 Whether his judgments are sound in them- 
 selves is a question of small importance in 
 comparison with his virtue of self-respect 
 and self-restraint. It is because he had a 
 mind of his own and would not pretend to 
 like what he could not like, that he has 
 been pointed out by the literary dema- 
 gogue. — Ker,W. p., 1895, English Prose, 
 ed. Craiky vol. iv, p. 233. 
 
 William Mason 
 
 1724-1797 
 
 An English divine who gained some reputation by his poetry, but more by the 
 friendship of Gray, was the son of the Vicar of St. Trinity Hall, in the East Riding of 
 Yorkshire; educated at St. John's College, Cambridge, and elected a Fellow of Pem- 
 broke College in 1747. In 1754, he took holy orders ; became Rector of Aston, York- 
 shire, and chaplain to the king, and at the time of his death had been thirty-two years 
 Precentor and Canon Residentiary of York. His principal works are ''Elfrida, a 
 Dramatic Poem, written on the Model of the Antient Greek Tragedy," 1752; ''Odes 
 on Memory, Independence, Melancholy, and the Fate of Tyranny," 1756 ; ''Caractacus, 
 a Dramatic Poem, written on the Model of the Antient Greek Tragedy," 1759 ; ''The 
 English Garden, a Poem in Pour Books, " 1772-82 ; "Collection of Anthems for Church 
 Music," 1782; "Secular Ode in Commemoration of the Glorious Revolution, 1688," 
 1788; "Essays, Historical and Critical, on English Church Music," 1795, "Memoirs 
 of Thomas Gray," 1775. — Allibone, S. Austin, 1870, Critical Dictionary of English 
 Liter atur By vol. ii, p. 1238. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Mr. Mason is my acquaintance : I liked 
 the ode very much, but have found no one 
 else that did. He has much fancy, little 
 judgment, and a good deal of modesty. I 
 take him for a good and well-meaning 
 creature ; but then he is really in simplic- 
 ity a child, and loves everybody he meets 
 with : he reads little or nothing, writes 
 abundance, and that with a design to 
 make his fortune by it.— Gray, Thomas, 
 1748, Letter to Thomas Wharton, June 5 ; 
 Works, ed. Gosse, vol. ii, p. 184. 
 
 Whence is that groan? no more Britannia 
 
 sleeps, 
 
 But o'er her lost Musaeus bends and weeps. 
 Lo, every Grecian, every British, Muse 
 Scatters the rarest flowers, and gracious dews, 
 Where Mason lies. 
 
 — Mathias, Thomas James, 1797, The 
 Pursuits of Literature, Eighth ed., p. 421. 
 
 During the whole progress of the 
 American war, Mason continued un- 
 changed in his Whig principles ; and took 
 an active share in the association for par- 
 liamentary reform, which began to be 
 formed in the year 1779. . . . Among his 
 accomplishments, his critical knowledge 
 
 of painting must have been considerable, 
 for his translation of DuFresnoy's poem 
 on that art, which appeared in 1783, was 
 finished at the particular suggestion of 
 Sir Joshua Reynolds, who furnished it with 
 illustrative notes. . . . Mason's learning 
 in the arts was of no ordinary kind. He 
 composed several devotional pieces of 
 music for the choir of York cathedral; 
 and Dr. Burney speaks of an "Historical 
 and Critical Essay on English Church 
 Music," which he published in 1795, in 
 very respectful terms. It is singular, 
 however, that the fault ascribed by the 
 same authority to his musical theory, 
 should be that of Calvinistical plainness. 
 In verse he was my Lord Peter ; in his 
 taste for sacred music. Dr. Burney com- 
 pares him to Jack, in the ' ' Tale of a Tub. ' ' 
 —Campbell, Thomas, 1819, Specimens 
 of the British Poets. 
 
 Mason's private character is said to 
 have been distinguished by the most fervid 
 affection for his friends, and by the most 
 universal philanthropy, though there was 
 something in his manners which appeared 
 more than the mere dignity of conscious 
 talent. Warton, whose character was 
 
324 
 
 WILLIAM MASON 
 
 marked by an unaffected simplicity and 
 easy carelessness, used to say "Mason is 
 not in my way, he is a buckram man ;" and 
 this has been repeated by those who were 
 not partial to him for political or other 
 reasons. He had the misfortune to sur- 
 vive most of his early friends, and he does 
 not appear to have been desirous of form- 
 ing new connexions ; this did not proceed 
 from misanthropic cynicism, but from 
 natural reserve ; yet it caused the super- 
 ficial observer to deem him proud and un- 
 social. That he possessed the Christian 
 virtues in an eminent degree, and fulfilled 
 the duties of his sacred character* in an 
 exemplary manner cannot be doubted. — 
 Singer, S. W., 1822, The British Poets, 
 Chiswick ed. 
 
 ELFRIDA 
 
 1752 
 
 One of the best poets of the present 
 age, the ingenious Mr. Mason of Cam- 
 bridge, has not long ago published a 
 Tragedy upon the model of the ancients, 
 called "Elfrida;" the merit of this piece, 
 as a poem has been confessed by the gen- 
 eral reading it has obtained ; it is full of 
 beauties ; the language is perfectly poet- 
 ical, the sentiments chaste, and the moral 
 excellent ; there is nothing in our tongue 
 can much exceed it in the flowry enchant- 
 ments of poetry, or the delicate flow of 
 numbers, but while we admire the poet, 
 we pay no regard to the character; no 
 passion is excited, the heart is never 
 moved, nor is the reader's curiosity ever 
 raised to know the event. — Cibber, The- 
 OPHILUS, 1753, Lives of the Poets, vol. I, 
 p. 316. 
 
 My friend Mason is much chagrined at 
 his daughter Elfrida's having eloped with- 
 out his consent. I knew when I heard it 
 was brought on the stage that he was not 
 consulted, and they say it is sadly per- 
 formed. It vexes one to think that a 
 poem of such delicacy and dignity should 
 be prostituted, and the charms of virgins 
 represented by the abandoned nymphs of 
 Drury Lane. Such a poem would have 
 been represented in days of yore by the 
 youthful part of the Royal family, or those 
 of the first rank. — Granville, Mary 
 (Mrs. Delany,), 1772, Letter to Mrs. 
 Port, Dec. 30; Autobiography and Corre- 
 spondence, ed. Llanover, Second series, vol. 
 I, p. 488. 
 
 Mr. Mason, in his ''Elfrida," has wantonly 
 
 misrepresented historical fact, — for which 
 no man could be forgiven, and for which 
 no beauties in his poetry can compensate. 
 — Headley, Henry, 1787, Select Beauties 
 of Ancient English Poetry. 
 
 The conduct of this regular drama is 
 the most irregular thing in the world. — 
 Bo ADEN, James, 1825, Memoirs of the 
 Life of John Philip Kemble, vol. i, p. 265. 
 
 "Elfrida" is very, very far from a con- 
 temptible piece of workmanship: it is 
 manifestly the production of a scholar and 
 a gentleman, of an ardent lover of poetry, 
 and platonic inamorato of abstract virtue : 
 but impossible as it is to approve our con- 
 jecture by experiment, we do shrewdly 
 suspect that it is nothing like what 
 Sophocles or Euripides would have written 
 had they risen from the dead in the pleni- 
 tude, or, if you will, with only a tithe of 
 their powers, and an inspired mastery of 
 the English language, to exhibit to the 
 eighteenth century the marvel of a modern 
 ancient drama. . . . As an accommoda- 
 tion of the ancient drama to modern habits 
 and sympathies, "Elfrida" must be pro- 
 nounced a decided failure. . . . With 
 the great poets in any department of 
 poetry. Mason cannot be numbered, yet 
 for many years of his life he was Eng- 
 land's greatest living Poet. — Coleridge, 
 Hartley, 1833, Biographia Borealis, pp. 
 406, 427, 462. 
 
 There are two sorts of simplicity in the 
 natural history of poets — the right sort, 
 the manly simplicity that makes him write 
 like Burns and Crabbe, from the forcible 
 dictates of nature ; and the wrong sort, 
 perhaps, better entitled to the name of 
 credulity, that gulls them to believe in 
 the false resources of their art. The 
 worthy and single-hearted Mason was of 
 the latter description : he was one of 
 those, to use Burns's words, 
 
 "Who think to climb Parnassus' hill 
 By dinto' Greek." 
 He was not only persuaded himself that 
 he could incorporate the Attic chorus 
 with the modern drama — an attempt like 
 that of ingrafting a dead branch on a 
 living tree, but he made his experiment 
 with a play that is without action and 
 without interest. We might forgive him 
 for perverting history, and showing off 
 *'Elfrida," who was a barbarous traitress, 
 as a tender wife, but it defies all patience 
 to find her employed in nothing but making 
 
WILLIAM MASON 
 
 325 
 
 speeches, and calling on her waiting-maids 
 to strike up odes to the rising sun. 
 In order to save her husband, and divert 
 the king's affection, she makes a promise 
 to stain and deform her beauty, but she 
 never performs it ; and, when her lord is 
 killed, she hurries off her poor maids into 
 a nunnery, without consulting their in- 
 clinations. All this time he dreamed 
 himself, and wrote to his friends, t-hat he 
 was imitating Sophocles ! — Campbell, 
 Thomas, 1834, Life of Mrs. Siddons, p.lAS. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I intended writing to you on Gray's 
 Life, " if you had not prevented me. I am 
 charmed with it, and prefer it to all the 
 biography I ever saw. The style is ex- 
 cellent, simple, unaffected; the method 
 admirable, artful, and judicious. He has 
 framed the fragments (as a person said), 
 so well, that they are fine drawings, if not 
 finished pictures. For my part, I am so 
 interested in it, that I shall certainly read 
 it over and over. — Walpole, Horace, 
 1775, To Rev. William Cole, April 11; 
 Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. vi, p. 199. 
 
 With many other virtues he possessed a 
 fine genius for poetry, and was indeed the 
 best poet of his time, as appears from his 
 Works of that sort published by himself 
 at different times in three volumes. — 
 HuRD, Richard, 1808? Commonplace Book, 
 ed. Kilvert, p. 247. 
 
 Mr. Chalmers's character of this poet is 
 expressed as usual with laboured and in- 
 accurate pomposity; its import however 
 is just, he censures the finical profuse- 
 ness of his ornaments, the epithets which 
 encumber what they do not illustrate, and 
 the stiff and strained alliteration which he 
 so perpetually affected: and he does 
 justice to the bold and original conceptions 
 of a writer who aimed at nobler and better 
 things than any of his contemporaries. — 
 SouTHEY, Robert, 1814, Chalmers's Eng- 
 lish Poets, Quarterly Review, vol. 11, p.b02. 
 
 I cannot bring myself to think much of 
 Mason's poetry. I may be wrong ; but all 
 those passages in the Caractacus which 
 we learn to admire at school, now seem to 
 me one continued falsetto. — Coleridge, 
 Samuel Taylor, 1833, Table Talk, ed. 
 Ashe, Jan. 3, p, 184. 
 
 Prim, in spnice parti-colours, Mason shone, 
 His Muse lookt well in gall-dyed crape alone. 
 
 — Landor, Walter Savage, 1846, Sat- 
 irists, Miscellaneous Poems, cxvi. 
 
 Mason's poetry cannot be said to be 
 popular, even with poetical readers. His 
 greatest want is simplicity, yet at times 
 his rich diction has a fine effect. In his 
 
 English Garden," though verbose and 
 languid as a whole, there are some ex- 
 quisite images. — • Chambers, Robert, 
 1876, Cyelopcedia of English Literature, 
 ed. Carruthers. 
 
 Grateful as we must be to Mason for 
 his affection and good-heartedness, we 
 cannot refrain from wishing that his poems 
 had been fastened to a mill -stone and cast 
 into the river Cam. They are not only 
 barren and pompous to the very last de- 
 gree, but to the lovers of Gray they have 
 this disadvantage, that they constantly 
 resolve that poet's true sublime into the 
 ridiculous, and leave on the ear an un- 
 comfortable echo, as of a too successful 
 burlesque or parody. Of this Gray him- 
 self was not unconscious, though he put 
 the thought behind him, as one inconsist- 
 ent with friendship.— GossE, Edmund, 
 1882, Gray {English Men of Letters), p. 87. 
 
 The most pretentious poetical prig that 
 the eighteenth century produced. This 
 was Mason, who still lingers in literary 
 history, after a vicarious fashion, as the 
 friend of Gray. He was himself, however, 
 not actually devoid of poetical ability. 
 At least at one period of his life spiteful- 
 ness gave a vigor to his pen which inspira- 
 tion was never able to impart, and he 
 produced, as a result, some abusive and 
 therefore still readable satires. . . . 
 No student of Chaucer needs to be told 
 that language [of "Musseus"] is hardly 
 contemptuous enough to set forth satis- 
 factorily the contemptible character of 
 this imitation. It is an outrage both upon 
 the memory of the poet and of the speech 
 in which he wrote. Yet there is no ques- 
 tion that it was generally thought at the 
 time to be a successful reproduction of the 
 diction of Chaucer. Mason was hailed by 
 some as the coming poet upon the strength 
 of this one production. Even as late as 
 1806 Bowles in his edition of Pope stjled 
 it ''the exquisite Musbbus." That this 
 cuckoo song could so long have been mis- 
 taken for the note of a nightingale is one 
 of those perversities of criticism which 
 leave the reader in doubt whether there 
 is in reality anything that can be deemed 
 even remotely a standard of taste. The 
 affirmative view can only be maintained in 
 
326 
 
 MASON— GODWIN 
 
 this case upon the ground that knowledge 
 is essential to any proper literary judg- 
 ment, and that then knowledge of our 
 early speech did not exist. — Lounsbury, 
 Thomas R., 1891, Studies in Chaucer, 
 vol. Ill, pp, 126, 128. 
 
 It is rather difficult to classify the poet 
 William Mason, except to say that he was 
 first, last, and all the time an imitator. 
 . . . His connection with Gray, and 
 the fact that he edited Gray's literary 
 remains have kept Mason alive ; his poetry 
 is not altogether without merit, but it 
 ''smells of mortality. Lowell said that 
 Gray and Mason together could not make 
 the latter a poet. — Phelps, William 
 Lyon, 1893, The Beginnings of the Eng- 
 lish Romantic Movement, p. 97. 
 
 Mason was a man of considerable abili- 
 ties and cultivated taste, who naturally 
 mistook himself for a poet. He accepted 
 the critical canons of the day, taking Gray 
 and Hurd for his authorities, and his seri- 
 ous attempts at poetry are rather vapid 
 performances, to which his attempt to 
 assimilate Gray's style gives an air of 
 affectation. The "Heroic Epistle" gives 
 him a place among the other followers of 
 Pope's school in satire. — Stephen, L., 
 1893, Dictionary of National Biography. 
 
 Was a very small poet and a somewhat 
 absurd person. He aped, first Milton and 
 afterward Gray, so closely that his work 
 often seems like parody. — Beers, Henry 
 A., 1898, A History of English Romanti- 
 cism in the Eighteenth Century, p. 151. 
 
 Mary WoUstonecraft Godwin 
 
 1759-1797 
 
 Mary WoUstonecraft was born 27 April 1759. Companion to a lady, 1778-80. Kept 
 school at Newington Green with her sister, 1783-85. Acquaintance with Dr. John- 
 son. Governess in Lord Kingsborough's family, 1787-88. To London; worked as 
 reader and translator for Dr. Johnson, 1788-92. Met William Godwin, Nov. 1791. 
 To Paris, 1792. Lived with Gilbert Imlay, 1793-96. Attempted suicide, 1796. 
 Intimacy with William Godwin begun, 1796 ; married to him, 29 March 1797. Died, 
 in London, 10 Sept. 1797. Works: ''Thoughts on the Education of Daughters,'' 
 1787; ''Original Stories" (anon.), 1788; "Vindication of the Rights of Men,'' 
 1790; "Vindication of the Rights of Woman," vol. i., 1792 (no more pub.) ; "His- 
 torical and Moral View of . . . the French Revolution, " vol. i., 1794 (no more 
 pub.); "Letters written in Norway, " 1796. Posthumous: "Posthumous Works, " ed. 
 by Wm. Godwin (4 vols.), 1798; "Letters to Imlay," ed. by C. Kegan Paul, 1879. 
 She tensk^e^; Salzmann's "Elements of Morality," 1790.— Sharp, R. Farquhar- 
 SON, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 114. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 I never wanted but your heart — that 
 gone, you have nothing more to give. 
 Had I only poverty to fear, I should not 
 shrink from life. Forgive me then, if I 
 say, that I shall consider any direct or in- 
 direct attempt to supply my necessities, 
 as an insult which I have not merited, and 
 as rather done out of tenderness for your 
 own reputation, than for me. My child 
 may have to blush for her mother's want 
 of prudence, and may lament that the 
 rectitude of my heart made me above 
 vulgar precautions ; but she shall not de- 
 spise me for meanness. You are now 
 perfectly free. God bless you ! — Woll- 
 STONECRAFT, Mary, 1793, Letters to Imlay, 
 Nov. 
 
 Adieu, thou excellent woman ! thou re- 
 verse of that hyaena in petticoats, Mrs. 
 
 Wolstoncroft, who to this day discharges 
 her ink and gall on Maria Antoinette, 
 whose unparalleled sufferings have not yet 
 stanched that Alecto's blazing ferocity. 
 — Walpole, Horace, 1795, To Hannah 
 More; Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. ix, 
 p. 452. 
 
 Of all the lions or literati I have seen 
 here, Mary Imlay's countenance is the 
 best, infinitely the best : the only fault in 
 it is an expression somewhat similar to 
 what the prints of Home Tooke display — 
 an expression indicating superiority ; not 
 haughtiness, not sarcasm, in Mary Imlay, 
 but still it is unpleasant. Her eyes are 
 light brown, and although the lid of one 
 of them is affected by a little paralysis, 
 they are the most meaning I ever saw. — 
 Southey, Robert, 1797, Letter to J. Cottle, 
 March 13. 
 
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN 
 
 327 
 
 Mrs. Godwin died on Sunday, Sept. 10, 
 about eight in the morning. I was with 
 her at the time of her delivery, and with 
 very little intermission until the moment 
 of her death. Every skilful effort that 
 medical knowledge of the highest class 
 could make, was exerted to save her. It 
 is not possible to describe the unremitting 
 and devoted attentions of her husband. 
 Nor is it easy to give you an adequate 
 idea of the affectionate zeal of many of 
 her friends, who were on the watch night 
 and day to seize on an opportunity of con- 
 tributing towards her recovery, and to 
 lessen her sufferings. ... I know 
 of no consolations for myself, but in re- 
 membering how happy she had lately been, 
 and how much she was admired, and almost 
 idolized, by some of the most eminent and 
 best of human beings. — Fenwick, Eliza, 
 1797, Letter to Everina Wollstonecraft^ 
 Sept. 12. 
 
 The loss of the world in this admirable 
 woman, I leave to other men to collect ; my 
 own I well know, nor can it be improper to 
 describe it. I do not here allude to the 
 pleasures I enjoyed in her conversation : 
 these increased every day, in proportion 
 as we knew each other better, and as our 
 mutual confidence increased. They can 
 be measured only by the treasures of her 
 mind, and the virtues of her heart. But 
 this is a subject for meditation, not for 
 words. What I purposed alluding to, was 
 the improvement that I have forever lost. 
 —Godwin, William, 1798, Memoirs of 
 the Author of a Vindication of the Rights 
 of Woman, p. 199. 
 
 They say that thou wert lovely from thy 
 birth, 
 
 Of glorious parents, thou aspiring child! 
 I wonder not — for One then left this earth 
 Whose life was like a setting planet mild, 
 Which clothed thee in the radiance un- 
 defiled 
 
 Of its departing glory ; still her fame 
 Shines on thee, through the tempests dark 
 and wild, 
 Which sliake these latter days. 
 — Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1817, To 
 Mary, Revolt of Islam. 
 
 An Ariel imprisoned in a brickbat ! It 
 is a real tragedy and of the deepest. Sub- 
 limely virtuous endowment ; in practice, 
 misfortune, suffering, death ... by 
 destiny, and also by desert. An English 
 Mignon; Godwin an honest boor that 
 loves her, but cannot guide or save her. 
 
 — Carlyle, Thomas, 1831, Journal, Life 
 by Froude, vol. ii, p. 167. 
 
 Fuseli found in her a philosophical 
 sloven : her usual dress being a habit of 
 coarse cloth, black worsted stockings, and 
 a beaver hat, with her hair hanging lank 
 about her shoulders. When the Prince 
 Talleyrand was in this country, in a low 
 condition with regard to his pecuniary 
 affairs, and visited her, they drank their 
 tea, and the little wine they took, indis- 
 criminately from tea-cups. — Knowles, 
 John, 1831, The Life and Writings of 
 Henry Fuseli. 
 
 No woman (with the exception of the 
 greatest woman, Madame de Stael) has 
 made any impression on the public mind 
 during the last fifty years, to be compared 
 with Mrs. Godwin. This was perhaps 
 more especially true in the provinces, 
 where her new and startling doctrines were 
 seized with avidity, and acted upon in 
 some particulars to considerable extent, 
 particularly by married women. . . . 
 She was, I have been told by an intimate 
 friend, very pretty and feminine in man- 
 ners and person ; much attached to those 
 very observances she decries in her works ; 
 so that if any gentleman did not fly to open 
 the door as she approached it, or take 
 up the handkerchief she dropped, she 
 showered on him the full weight of re- 
 proach and displeasure ; an inconsistency 
 she would have doubtless despised in a dis- 
 ciple. I have heard the late Miss Jews- 
 bury express an intention of so remodel- 
 ling the Rights of Women, that it would 
 not fail to become attractive, and she 
 thought useful. — Elwood, Mrs. A. K., 
 1842, Memoirs of the Literary Ladies of 
 England. 
 
 Mary Wollstonecraft was one of those 
 beings who appear once perhaps in a gener- 
 ation, to gild humanity with a ray which no 
 difference of opinion nor chance of circum- 
 stances can cloud. Her genius was un- 
 deniable. She had been bred in the hard 
 school of adversity, and having experi- 
 enced the sorrows entailed on the poor 
 and the oppressed, an earnest desire was 
 kindled within her to diminish these sor- 
 rows. Her sound understanding, her 
 intrepidity, her sensibility and eager 
 sympathy, stamped all her writings with 
 force and truth, and endowed them with a 
 tender charm that enchants while it en- 
 lightens. She was one whom all loved 
 
328 
 
 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN 
 
 who had ever seen her. Many years are 
 passed since that beating heart has been 
 laid in the cold still grave, but no one who 
 has ever seen her speaks of her without 
 enthusiastic veneration. Did she witness 
 an act of injustice, she boldly came for- 
 ward to point it out, and induce its repara- 
 tion. Was there discord among friends 
 or relatives, she stood by the weaker 
 party, and by her earnest appeals and 
 kindliness awoke latent affection, and 
 healed all wounds. ''Open as day to 
 melting charity, with a heart brimful of 
 generous affection, yearning for sympathy, 
 she had fallen on evil days, and her life 
 had been one course of hardship, poverty, 
 lonely struggle, and bitter disappoint- 
 ment. — Shelley, Mary Wollstone- 
 CRAFT, 1851, Fragmentary Notes, Paul's 
 Life of Godwin, vol. i, p. 231. 
 
 Mary Wollstonecraft went to live with 
 Imlay without going through any prelimi- 
 nary ceremony of marriage, because she 
 believed that the enforced permanence of 
 wedlock was inexpedient or immoral ; and 
 yet, curiously enough, those who are most 
 eager to justify her in acting out one half 
 of the theory are most severe upon Imlay 
 for acting out the other half. The 
 deserted woman, naturally enough, set the 
 example of injustice, and it has been fol- 
 lowed by all her admirers. Mrs. Pennell 
 quotes Southey's saying that*' Mary Woll- 
 stonecraft was but beginning to reason 
 when she died." She had certainly not 
 begun to reason when she blamed Imlay, 
 and considered herself a wronged woman 
 because he had acted as her disciple, and 
 owned no obligation save to his own 
 emotional instincts. He may have been 
 worthy of blame ; and for my part I, with 
 probably the majority of my readers, must 
 regard hi'm as a heartless brute ; but I do 
 not think that any one who echoes my 
 verdict with one breath, and justifies Mary 
 Wollstonecraft' s theory and practice with 
 another, can be credited with a severely 
 logical mind. — Noble, James Ashcroft, 
 1885, Mary Wollstonecraft Godwin, The 
 Academy, vol. 28, p. 55. 
 
 Who shall paint her as she was, without 
 distortion, without idealization? This 
 beautiful woman, with her "Titianesque" 
 coloring, her careless dress, and habits 
 frugal that she might be generous — with 
 her quick temper, sensitiveness, pride, 
 inconsistency, deep personal tenderness; 
 
 with her melancholy, and her misunder- 
 stood religious enthusiasm ; this daughter 
 of the Revolution, her strong head crowded 
 with theories— some of them, one would 
 think, to be beaten out of it by all the 
 waves and billows that went over her. 
 But not so; the circumstances of her 
 marriage with Godwin, the tendency of the 
 work done during the brief remainder of 
 her life, show us that we must add tenacity 
 to her characteristics. This creature, 
 now coarse, now fine, now harsh, and now 
 all pity, — who shall explore her strength 
 and weakness, her deeps and shallows? 
 It is natural that in an age better calcu- 
 lated to understand her motives than that 
 in which she lived, a vindicator should 
 have arisen to call up out of the past, by 
 the name of Mary Wollstonecraft, a spirit 
 radiant and purified, like the soul of lanthe 
 in "Queen Mab," from every stain of 
 earthliness. But to make the woman her- 
 self live before us, as she lived in Paris, in 
 London, in those strange days of the close 
 of the eighteenth century — that would be 
 a task for a pen that has dealt with char- 
 acter under somewhat similar conditions 
 — the pen of Ivan Turgenef. — Cone, 
 Helen Gray, and Gilder, Jeannette L., 
 1887, Pen-Portraits of Literary Women, 
 vol I, p. 84. 
 
 Her books show some genuine eloquence, 
 though occasionally injured by the stilted 
 sentimentalism of the time. The letters 
 are pathetic from the melancholy story 
 which they reveal. Her faults were such 
 as might be expected from a follower of 
 Rousseau, and were consistent with much 
 unselfishness and nobility of sentiment, 
 though one could wish that her love-affairs 
 had been more delicate. — Stephen, Les- 
 lie, 1890, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. XXII, p. 61. 
 
 She v^as rather hardly treated in her 
 own time; Horace Walpole calling her, it 
 is said (I have not verified the quotation), 
 a ''hyena in petticoats:" it would be at 
 least as just to call Lord Orford a baboon 
 in breeches. And though of late years 
 she has been made something of a heroine, 
 it is to be feared that admiration has been 
 directed rather to her crotchets than to 
 her character. This last appears to have 
 been as lovable as her hap was ill. . . . 
 She had but ill luck in her life, and per- 
 haps showed no very good judgment in 
 letters, but she had neither bad brains nor 
 
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN 
 
 329 
 
 bad blood ; and the references to her, long 
 after her death, by such men as Southey, 
 show the charm which she exercised. — 
 Saintsbury, George, 1896, A History of 
 Nineteenth Century Literature, pp. 37, 38. 
 
 VINDICATION OF THE RIGHTS OF 
 WOMAN 
 1793 
 
 I have seen Mary Woolstonecroft's book, 
 which is much run after here. ... It 
 has produced no other conviction in my 
 mind, but that of the author's possessing 
 considerable abilities, and greatly misap- 
 plying them. To refute her arguments 
 would be to write another and a larger 
 book; for there is more pains and skill 
 required to refute ill-founded assertions, 
 than to make them. Nothing can be more 
 specious and plausible, for nothing can 
 delight Misses more than to tell them they 
 are as wise as their masters. Though, 
 after all, they will in every emergency be 
 like Trinculo in the storm, when he crept 
 under Caliban's gaberdine for shelter. I 
 consider this work as every way dangerous. 
 First, because the author, to considerable 
 powers adds feeling, and I dare say a degree 
 of rectitude of intention. She speaks from 
 conviction on her own part, and has com- 
 pletely imposed on herself before she at- 
 tempts to mislead you. Then because she 
 speaks in such a strain of seeming piety, and 
 quotes Scripture in a manner so applicable 
 and emphatic, that you are thrown off your 
 guard, and surprised into partial acquies- 
 cence, before you observe that the deduc- 
 tion to be drawn from her position, is in 
 direct contradiction, not only to Scripture, 
 reason, the common-sense and universal 
 custom of the world, but even to parts of 
 her own system, and many of her own 
 assertions. — Grant, Anne, 1794, To 
 Miss Ourry, Jan. 2; Letters from the 
 Mountains, vol. Ii, p. 268. 
 
 '^The Vindication of the Rights of 
 Woman" is a very unequal performance, 
 and eminently deficient in method and ar- 
 rangement. When tried by the hoary and 
 long-established laws of literary composi- 
 tion, it can scarcely maintain its claim to 
 be placed in the class of finished produc- 
 tions. But, when we consider the import- 
 ance of its doctrines, and the eminence of 
 genius it displays, it seems not very im- 
 probable that it will be read as long as the 
 English language endures. The publica- 
 tion of this book forms an epocha in the 
 
 subject to which it belongs; and Mary 
 Wollstonecraft will perhaps hereafter be 
 found to have performed more substantial 
 service for the cause of her sex, than all 
 the other writers, male or female, that 
 ever felt themselves animated by the con- 
 templation of their oppressed and injured 
 state. — Godwin, William, 1798, Mem- 
 oirs of the Author of a Vindication of the 
 Rights of Woman, p. 83. 
 
 The faults of the book are grave over 
 and above those of the time; it is ill- 
 considered, hasty, and rash, but its merits 
 are great also ; there is much that is valu- 
 able for these days also — it is fresh, vigor- 
 ous, and eloquent, and most remarkable as 
 the herald of the demand not even yet 
 wholly conceded by all, that woman should 
 be the equal and friend, not the slave and 
 the toy of man. . . . Opposed as were 
 her views to those of the majority of 
 women in her own, and even in this day, 
 yet they were those which now are, except 
 on one point, held by very many cultivated 
 women, without a shadow of blame attach- 
 ing to them. Her opinions on the equality 
 of the sexes, on the social and political 
 position of women, might now be held 
 without remark, and it would not be too 
 much to say that she was simply in advance 
 of her age in giving expression on those 
 subjects to thoughts which are held in- 
 creasingly by men and women of advanced 
 political views, but of many shades of de- 
 vout religion. On the question alone of 
 the relation of the sexes, there is no indica- 
 tion of any approximation to her theories. 
 Her view had now become that mutual 
 affection was marriage, and that the mar- 
 riage tie should not bind after the death 
 of love, if love should die. — Paul, C. 
 Keg AN, 1876, William Godwin: His 
 Friends and Contemporaries, vol. I, pp, 
 203, 213. 
 
 To say that her drunken father was the 
 reason why Mary Wollstonecraft wrote the 
 
 Rights of Women" would be too strong 
 an accusation; but this circumstance 
 evidently brought a painful struggle into 
 her life. And one of her sisters, the pretty 
 one, the beauty of the family, ''poor 
 Bess," made an unhappy marriage, and 
 had to be taken out of her husband's 
 clutches almost in a state of frenzy by 
 Mary herself. Thus degraded by the be- 
 sotted folly of one man, and driven into 
 energetic action by the unkindness of 
 
330 
 
 MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN 
 
 another, she certainly was. And it was not 
 till after nearly ten years^ experience of 
 the ''slings and arrows of outrageous for- 
 tune" that she put forth the book which was 
 the first word of a long controversy. . . . 
 The woman who wrote this book was not 
 an abstract personage, or one of the class 
 which is called strong-minded. . . . 
 Mary Wollstonecraft's plea for women is 
 of the mildest description. She vindicates 
 their right to be considered as human 
 creatures, bound by the general laws of 
 truth and honour, and with a generous 
 vehemence assails the sentimental teach- 
 ings of Rousseau and of the more virtuous 
 moralists— Gregory, Fordyce, and even 
 Mrs. Chapone — who take it for granted 
 that the highest mission of a woman is'* to 
 please, ' ' and excuse in her, nay, recommend 
 to her, those arts by which she can govern 
 while appearing to obey. All that Mary 
 Wollstonecraft asks is education for her 
 clients and an exemption from that false 
 and mawkish teaching specially addressed 
 to "the fair," in which the eighteenth 
 century was so rich, and which has not 
 quite died out, even among ourselves. — 
 Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1882, The 
 Literary History of England^ XVIII-XIX 
 Century, pp. 209, 210. 
 
 A plainness of speech, amounting in 
 some places to coarseness, and a deeply 
 religious tone, are to many modern readers 
 the most curious features of the book. . . . 
 A century ago men and women were more 
 straightforward in their speech than we 
 are to-day. They were not squeamish. . . . 
 Therefore, when it came to serious discus- 
 sions for moral purposes, there was little 
 reason for writers to be timid. . . . 
 Hers is the plain speaking of the Jewish 
 law-giver, who has for end the good of man ; 
 and not that of an Aretino, who rejoices in 
 it for its own sake. Even more remarka- 
 ble than this boldness of expression is the 
 strong vein of piety running through her 
 arguments. Religion was to her as im- 
 portant as it was to a Wesley or a Bishop 
 Watts. The equality of man, in her eyes, 
 would have been of small importance had 
 it not been instituted by man's Creator. 
 . . . If women were without souls, 
 they would, notwithstanding their intel- 
 lects, have no rights to vindicate. If the 
 Christian heaven were like the Mahometan 
 paradise, then they might indeed be looked 
 upon as slaves and playthings of beings who 
 
 are worthy of a future life, and hence are 
 infinitely their superiors. But, though 
 sincerely pious, she despised the meaning- 
 less forms of religion as much as she did 
 social conventionalities, and was as free 
 in denouncing them. — Pennell, Eliza- 
 beth Robins, 1884, ]jiary Wollstonecraft 
 (Famous Women), pp. 162, 163. 
 
 The "Vindication of the Rights of 
 Woman, " on which Mary Wollstonecraft^s 
 fame as an author almost wholly rests, is 
 in some ways a book nearly as faulty as it 
 can be. It is not well-written ; it is full 
 of prejudices quite as wrong-headed as 
 those it combats; it shows very little 
 knowledge either of human nature or of 
 good society; and its "niceness," to use 
 the word in what was then its proper sense, 
 often goes near to the nasty. But its pro- 
 test on the one hand against the "proper" 
 sentimentality of such English guides of 
 female youth as Drs. Fordyce and Greg- 
 ory, on the other against the "improper" 
 sentimentality of Rousseau, is genuine and 
 generous. Many of its positions and con- 
 tentions may be accepted unhesitatingly 
 to-day by those who are by no means 
 enamoured of advanced womanhood : and 
 Mary, as contrasted with most of her 
 rights-of-woman followers, is curiously 
 free from bumptiousness and the general 
 qualities of the virago. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1896, A History of Nineteenth 
 Century Literature, p. 38. 
 
 It was not an able book, and grave faults 
 and frailties that clouded that later life of 
 the authoress did much to discredit it, but 
 in its general tendency it is far from ex- 
 travagant or revolutionary. Mary Woll- 
 stonecraft indulges in none of those attacks 
 on marriage which have sometimes been 
 connected with the movement. She speaks 
 of it with reverence, as "the foundation 
 of almost every social virtue. ' ' She dwells 
 on the transcendent importance of chastity 
 and morality, and on the essentially domes- 
 tic character of the chief duties of women ; 
 and although she desires to assimilate in a 
 great measure the tastes and studies of the 
 two sexes, it is worthy of notice that she 
 expresses a strong antipathy to women 
 who are addicted to field sports. . . . 
 These views would not now appear very 
 startling, and it is difficult to realise the 
 indignaiton they aroused. The political 
 aspect of the case was only touched at 
 rare intervals.— Lecky, William Edward 
 
MARY WOLLSTONECRAFT GODWIN 
 
 331 
 
 Hartpole, 1896, Democracy and Liberty, 
 vol. II, pp. 507, 509. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The story that follows is an old one. 
 Captain Imlay, whose name no generous 
 mind who reads the following letters can 
 ever hear mentioned without execration, 
 took advantage of the ardent and tender 
 heart which threw itself trustfully into 
 his keeping. She considered herself his 
 wife until death. He also addressed her, 
 both by letters of affection and busi- 
 ness, as his ''beloved wife." But when 
 absence, and other attractions which came 
 during absence, asserted themselves over 
 the shallow and base nature of the man, 
 his affection began to wane. It is touch- 
 ing to trace the heart of the woman in 
 these letters, and to see how it asserts 
 itself over all her theories. She pours 
 out to him her love, her reproaches, her 
 fears, in words that seem written in 
 "heart's blood turned to tears." It is touch- 
 ing also to read her first vague conscious- 
 ness of the distinction between such a love 
 as she felt and that of which he was only 
 capable. . . . There is nothing out- 
 side Hood's ''Bridge of Sighs" which can 
 parallel in sadness the description of the 
 poor wretch as she stood on Putney Bridge, 
 in a soaking rain, waiting till her clothes 
 should be so saturated that they would 
 more quickly "drag her down to muddy 
 death." She was rescued, however, by 
 a Thames boatman before life was gone, 
 and was restored to her misery. . . . 
 Like the letters of Vanessa to Swift, or of 
 Keats to Fanny Brawne, they are too 
 sacred for the vulgar eye, and ought to be 
 read only by those who have hearts to feel 
 for such suffering and such heart-break as 
 is here made palpable upon the lifeless 
 pages. — Richardson, Abby Sage, 1882, 
 ed.y Old Love-Letters, pp. 110, 111, 112. 
 
 Few women have worked so faithfully 
 for the cause of humanity as Mary Woll- 
 stonecraft,and few have been the objects of 
 such bitter censure. She devoted herself 
 to the relief of her suffering fellow-beings 
 with the ardor of a Saint Vincent de Paul, 
 and in return she was considered by them 
 a moral scourge of God. Because she had 
 the courage to express opinions new to her 
 generation, and the independence to live 
 according to her own standard of right 
 and wrong, she was denounced as another 
 Messalina. The 5^oung were bidden not to 
 
 read her books, and the more mature 
 warned not to follow her example, the 
 miseries she endured being declared the 
 just retribution of her actions. Indeed, 
 the infamy attached to her name is almost 
 incredible in the present age, when new 
 theories are more patiently criticised, and 
 when purity of motive has been accepted 
 as the vindication of at least one well- 
 known breach of social laws. . . . The 
 mere admiration of Southey and Shelley 
 had little weight against popular prej- 
 udice. Year by year Mary's books, like 
 so many other literary productions, were 
 less frequently read, and the prediction 
 that in another generation her name would 
 be unknown bade fair to be fulfilled. But 
 the latest of her admirers, Mr. Kegan 
 Paul, has, by his zealous efforts in her 
 behalf, succeeded in vindicating her char- 
 acter and reviving interest in her writings. 
 By his careful history of her life, and 
 noble words in her defence, he has re- 
 established her reputation. . . . She 
 lived a century too soon. — Pennell, 
 Elizabeth Robins, 1884, Life of Mary 
 Wollstonecraft (Famous Women), pp. 1, 
 10, 269. 
 
 Some of the coarseness of this censor of 
 her sex may, no doubt, be regarded as a 
 mere affair of superficial style, and w'as 
 referable to the tone of the coteries in 
 which she had been living for several 
 years: — the coteries of Philosophical 
 Radicalism, where speech was even more 
 free than thought. But some of Mary 
 Wollstonecraft's coarseness was due to 
 natural want of refinement and a vein of 
 vulgarity that, instead of playing only on 
 the surface of her life, had its source in 
 the depths of her soul. Her view of men 
 and their feelings was as sordid as her 
 view of women and their failings. Her 
 conception of love as a force in human 
 affairs would have discredited a chamber- 
 maid. — Jeaffreson, John Cordy, 1885, 
 The Real Shelley, vol. ii, p. 25. 
 
 The works of Mary Wollstonecraft dis- 
 play unusual versatility of mental powers. 
 She was able to turn her mind to new 
 tasks in a way that made her eminent in 
 several directions. She may be classed 
 among pedagogical writers, but she also 
 wTote on historical subjects and took 
 part in discussions in political principles. 
 She wrote fiction, and her letters descrip- 
 tive of experiences in travel, and letters 
 
332 
 
 GODWIN— WILKES 
 
 personal, take a high rank even to this derived from originality of conception, 
 
 day, among productions of that kind, which helped to carry forward an historic 
 
 And more than all this, her genius movement. — Rauschenbusch - Clough, 
 
 furnished, in her ''Vindication of the Emma, 1898, A Study of Mary Wollstone- 
 
 Rights of Woman," the motive power, craft and the Bights of Woman, p. 24:, 
 
 John Wilkes 
 
 1727-1797 
 
 Born, in Clerkenwell, 17 Oct. 1727. Early education at schools at Hertford and 
 Thame. Afterwards at Leyden University. Returned to England, 1749. Married 
 Miss Mead, Oct. 1749; separated from her soon afterwards. M. P. for Aylesbury, 
 1757-64. Edited (and wrote) "The North Briton," 1762-63. Expelled from House 
 of Commons (for attack on the king in No. 45 of "The North Briton"), 19 Jan. 1764. 
 M. P. for Middlesex, 1^68. Expelled from House for his part in the publication of a 
 letter of Lord Weymouth's, 27 Jan. 1769. Re-elected M. P. for Middlesex, 16 Feb. 
 1769 ; re-expelled, 17 Feb. Re-elected, 16 March ; re-expelled, 17 March. Re-elected, 
 13 April; unseated, 15 April. Alderman of Farringdon Without, 2 Jan. 1769. 
 Sheriff, 1771. M. P. for Middlesex, 1774. Lord Mayor, 1774; Chamberlain of Lon- 
 don, 1779-97. Died in London, 25 Dec. 1797. Buried in South Audley Street Church. 
 Works: (Exclusive of separate speeches) : "Observations on the Papers relative to 
 the Rupture with Spain" (anon.), 1762; "The North Briton" (2 vols.), 1763; "An 
 Essay on Woman" (anon. ; priv. ptd.), 1763; "Recherches sur Porigine du Despotisme 
 Oriental," 1763; "The Present Crisis" (anon.), 1764: "Letter to the Worthy Electors 
 of . . . Aylesbury, " 1764 ; "Letter to a Noble Member of the Club in Albemarle 
 Street," 1764; "Letter to . . . the Duke of Grafton" (anon.), 1767 (8th edn. same 
 year) ; "The History of England" (only the "Introduction" pubd.), 1768; "Addresses 
 to the Gentlemen ... of Middlesex," 1769; "A Letter to Samuel Johnson, 
 LL.D." (anon.), 1770; "Controversial Letters, " 1771 ; "Speeches," 1786. Post- 
 humous: "Letters ... to his Daughter" (4 vols.), 1804; "Correspondence," 
 ed. by J. Almon, 1805. He edited "Catullus" (priv. ptd.), 1788; "'©eoc^pao-rov 
 Xa/oaxrrype? 'H^tKot" (priv. ptd.), 1790; ''Supplement to the Miscellaneous Works of Mr. 
 Gibbon," 1796. Life: by P. Fitzgerald, 1888.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A 
 Dictionary of English Authors, p. 301. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 On the first Sunday evening I was in 
 Leyden, I walked round the Cingle — a fine 
 walk on the outside of the Rhine, which 
 formed the wet ditch of the town — with 
 John Gregory, who introduced me to 
 the British students as we met them, not 
 without giving me a short character of 
 them, which I found ifl general a very 
 just outline. When we came to John 
 Wilkes, whose ugly countenance in early 
 youth was very striking, I asked earnestly 
 who he was. His answer was, that he was 
 the son of a London distiller or brewer, 
 who wanted to be a fine gentleman and 
 man of taste, which he could never be, 
 for God and nature had been against him. 
 I came to know Wilkes very well after- 
 wards, and found him to be a sprightly, 
 entertaining fellow, — too much so for his 
 years, as he was but eighteen ; for even 
 then he showed something of daring 
 profligacy, for which he was afterwards 
 
 notorious. Though he was fond of learn- 
 ing, and passionately desirous of being 
 thought something extraordinary, he was 
 unlucky in having an old, ignorant pedant 
 of a dissenting parson for his tutor. — 
 Carlyle, Alexander, 1745-1860, Auto- 
 biography, p. 137. 
 
 He had such a flow of spirits that it was 
 impossible ever to be a moment dull in his 
 company. His wit gave charm to every 
 subject he spoke upon, and his humour 
 displayed the foibles of mankind in such 
 colours as to put folly even out of counte- 
 nance. But the same vanity which had 
 first made him ambitious of entering into 
 this society, only because it was composed 
 of persons superior to his own in life, and 
 still kept him in it, though upon acquaint- 
 ance he despised them, sullied all these 
 advantages. His spirits were often 
 stretched to extravagance to overcome 
 competition. His humour was debased into 
 buffoonery, and his wit was so prostituted 
 
JOHN WILKES 
 
 333 
 
 to the lust of applause that he would 
 sacrifice his best friend for a scurvy jest, 
 and wound the heart of him whom he 
 would at the very moment hazard his life 
 and fortune to serve, only to raise a laugh. 
 —Johnstone, Charles, 1760, The Ad- 
 ventures of a Guinea. 
 
 Colonel Wilkes, of the Buckinghamshire 
 Militia, dined with us. ... 1 scarcely 
 ever met with a better companion; he 
 has inexhaustible spirits, infinite wit and 
 humour, and a great deal of knowledge. 
 . . . He told us himself, that in this 
 time of public dissension, he was resolved 
 to make his fortune.— Gibbon, Edward, 
 1762, Memoir Sy Journal, Sep. 23. 
 
 With good and honest men 
 His actions speak much stronger than my 
 pen, 
 
 And future ages shall his name adore, 
 When he can act and I can write no more. 
 England may prove ungrateful and unjust, 
 But fostering France shall ne'er betray her 
 trust : 
 
 'Tis a brave debt which gods on men impose, 
 To pay with praise the merit e'en of foes. 
 When the great warrior of Amilcar's race 
 Made Rome's wide empire tremble to her 
 base, 
 
 To prove her virtue, though it gall'd her 
 pride, 
 
 Rome gave that fame which Carthage had 
 denied. 
 
 — Churchill, Charles, 1764, The Candi- 
 date, Poems, ed. Hannay, vol. ii, p. 200. 
 
 Wilkes is here, and has been twice to 
 see me in my illness. He was very civil, 
 but 1 cannot say entertained me much. I 
 saw no wit ; his conversation shows how 
 little he has lived in good company, and the 
 chief turn of it is the grossest bawdy. — 
 Walpole, Horace, 1765, To George 
 Montagu, Oct. 16; Letters, ed, Cunning- 
 ham, vol. IV, p. 421. 
 
 Bristol, April lAth. — We hear that on 
 Wednesday next, being the day of Mr. 
 Wilkes' enlargement, forty-five persons 
 are to dine at the ''Crown," in the passage 
 leading from Btoad Street to Tower Lane. 
 The entertainment is to consist of two 
 rounds of beef, of 45 lbs. each ; two legs 
 of veal, weighing 45 lbs. ; two ditto of 
 pork, 45 lbs. ; a pig, roasted, 45 lbs. ; 
 two puddings of 45 lbs. ; 45 loaves ; and, 
 to drink, 45 tankards of ale. After 
 dinner, they are to smoke 45 pipes of 
 tobacco, and to drink 45 bowls of punch. 
 Among others, the following toasts are to 
 
 be given: — 1. Long live the King; 2. 
 Long live the supporters of British 
 Liberty ; 3. The Magistrates of Bristol. 
 And the dinner to be on the table exactly 
 45 minutes after two o'clock. — London 
 Public Adventurer, 1770. 
 
 Did we not hear so much said of Jack 
 Wilkes, we should think more highly of 
 his conversation. Jack has great variety 
 of talk. Jack is a scholar, and Jack has 
 the manners of a gentleman. But, after 
 hearing his name sounded from pole to 
 pole as the phoenix of convivial felicity, 
 we are disappointed in his company. — 
 Johnson, Samuel, 1777, Life by Boswell, 
 ed. Hill, vol. iii, p. 208. 
 
 Wilkes desired that his tomb should be 
 inscribed, "J. W., a friend to Liberty." 
 1 am glad he was not ashamed to show a 
 little gratitude to her in her old age ; for 
 she was a great friend to him. — Tooke, 
 John Horne, 1812? Recollections by Sam- 
 uel Rogers. 
 
 He was really a sad dog, but most de- 
 lightfully amusing, facetious, witty, well- 
 informed, and with much various, though 
 not profound learning. He was sometimes 
 so intolerably sarcastic, and more particu- 
 larly at the expence of his friends in the 
 city, that the wonder is, how he could so 
 long continue in their good graces. — 
 Beloe, William, 1817, The Sexagena- 
 rian, vol. II, p. 5. 
 
 Wilkes had, till very lately, been known 
 chiefly as one of the most profane, licen- 
 tious, and agreeable rakes about town. 
 He was a man of taste, reading, and en- 
 gaging manners. His sprightly conversa- 
 tion was the delight of green-rooms and 
 taverns, and pleased even grave hearers 
 when he was sufliiciently under restraint to 
 abstain from detailing the particulars of 
 his amours and from breaking jests on the 
 New Testament. His expensive debauch- 
 eries forced him to have recourse to the 
 Jews. He was soon a ruined man, and 
 determined to try his chance as a political 
 adventurer. In Parlianemt he did not 
 succeed. His speaking, though pert, was 
 feeble, and by no means interested his 
 hearers so much as to make them forget 
 his face, which was so hideous that the 
 caricaturists were forced, in their own 
 despite, to flatter him. i\.s a \mter he 
 made a better figure. — Macaulay, 
 Thomas Babington, 1844, The Earl of 
 Chatham, Edinburgh Review, vol. 80, ^.560. 
 
334 
 
 JOHN WILKES 
 
 He was clever, courageous, unscrupu- 
 lous. He was a good scholar, expert in 
 resource, humorous, witty, and a ready 
 master of the arts of conversation. He 
 could ''abate and dissolve a pompous gen- 
 tleman" with singular felicity. Churchill 
 did not know the crisis of his fortune that 
 had given him to patriotism. He was 
 ignorant, that, early in the preceding 
 year, after loss of his last seven thousand 
 pounds on his seat of Aylesbury, he had 
 made an unsuccessful attempt upon the 
 Board of Trade. He was not in his con- 
 fidence when, a little later, he offered to 
 compromise with the Government for the 
 embassy to Constantinople. He was dead 
 when, many years later, he settled into a 
 quiet supporter of the most atrocious of 
 ''things as they were." What now pre- 
 sented itself in the form of Wilkes to 
 Churchill, had a clear unembarrassed 
 front; — passions unsubdued as his own; 
 principles rather unfettered than de- 
 praved; apparent manliness of spirit ; real 
 courage; scorn of conventions; an open 
 heart and a liberal hand ; and the capacity 
 of ardent friendship. They entered at 
 once into an extraordinary alliance, offen- 
 sive and defensive. It is idle to deny 
 that this has damaged Churchill with pos- 
 terity, and that Wilkes has carried his 
 advocate along with him into the Limbo of 
 doubtful reputations. But we will deny 
 the justice of it.— Forster, John, 1845- 
 55, Charles Churchill, p. 51. 
 
 All, then, that we dare now say of him 
 is, that with all his faults he was a true- 
 born Englishman, with the marking char- 
 acteristics, good and bad; who, having 
 once taken up a position, even though 
 driven to do so by his adversary, would 
 maintain and defend it with bull-dog per- 
 tinacity, and at all costs, personal, political 
 and social. His courage amounted almost 
 to reckless daring ; and he would resent 
 an insult, whether it came from a Chatham, 
 a Grafton, an Onslow, a Martin, or even 
 a Grenville, though it should cost him the 
 friendship of a Temple. He was a good, 
 kind, and dutiful son, — a gentle, tender, 
 and affectionate father. There is some- 
 thing morally beautiful in the fact that 
 when challenged by Lord Talbot, his last 
 act before the mad moonlight devilry be- 
 gan was, to write to Lord Temple thanking 
 him for the friendship which he had ever 
 shown to him, and entreating as a last and 
 
 crowning favour, that if he fell his Lord- 
 ship and Lady Temple would superintend 
 the education of his daughter. Though 
 drinking and gaming were amongst the 
 vices of his age, he was no gambler, — and 
 his abstinence was remarkable and a sub- 
 ject of remark. He rose early and read 
 diligently. Indeed, his reading was ex- 
 tensive and varied beyond that of most 
 men of his age not being professed schol- 
 ars ; not merely in the Classics, which he 
 especially loved, but in most of the modern 
 languages that had a literature — French, 
 Spanish, and Italian. As the amusement 
 of his leisure hours, and of that quiet do- 
 mestic life which in truth he loved, he 
 published editions of Catullus and Theo- 
 phrastus, said to be almost unrivalled for 
 accuracy — and translated Anacreon so 
 well, that Dr. Joseph Warton, no bad 
 judge, pressed him to publish it. — Dilke, 
 Sir Charles Wentworth, 1852, Wilkes, 
 The Papers of a Critic, vol. ii, p. 262. 
 
 One morning when I was a lad, Wilkes 
 came into our banking-house to solicit my 
 father's vote. My father happened to be 
 out, and, I as his representative, spoke to 
 Wilkes. At parting, Wilkes shook hands 
 with me ; and I felt proud of it for a week 
 after. He was quite as ugly, and squinted 
 as much, as his portraits make him ; but 
 he was very gentlemanly in appearance 
 and manners. I think I see him at this 
 moment, walking through the crowded 
 streets of the city, as Chamberlain, on his 
 way to Guildhall, in a scarlet coat, military 
 boots, and a bag-wig, — the hackney- 
 coachman in vain calling out to him, "A 
 coach, your honour?" — Rogers, Samuel, 
 1855, Table-Talk, p. 42. 
 
 Wilkes was without morals of any kind ; 
 and only fought for "liberty," when there 
 was nothing to be made by jobbing. — 
 Hannay, James, 1866, ed., The Poetical 
 Works of Charles Churchill, Memoir, 
 p. xviii. 
 
 To attempt any analysis of such a char- 
 acter would be superfluous ; it is so patent 
 in his actions that those who run may read. 
 Trickster, tuft-hunter, bully, humbug, 
 roue, false alike to man and woman, friend 
 and foe, a sceptic in morals, politics, and 
 religion, without honour or honesty, what 
 can be said in his favour? Well, he had 
 courage enough to defend his misdeeds, 
 was a jovial boon companion; and ugly, 
 squinting, lying, dishonest, dissolute as he 
 
JOHN WILKES 
 
 335 
 
 was, he possessed some mysterious kind of 
 fascination which few men or women could 
 resist, and which we feel even in perusing 
 the records of his life. Such was Jack 
 Wilkes, who, although a Model Dema- 
 gogue, at least had little of the bilious 
 sourness of the tribe. — Baker, H. Bar- 
 ton, 1877, A Model Demagogue, Gentle- 
 man^ s Magazine, vol. 241, p. 492. 
 
 John Wilkes, who now became one of 
 the most prominent figures in English poli- 
 tics, was at this time in his thirty-sixth 
 year. . . . His countenance was re- 
 pulsively ugly. His life was scandalously 
 and notoriously profligate, and he was 
 sometimes guilty of profanity which ex- 
 ceeded even that of the vicious circle in 
 which he lived, but he possessed some 
 qualities which were well fitted to secure 
 success in life. He had a brilliant and 
 ever ready wit, unflagging spirits, unfail- 
 ing good humour, great personal courage, 
 much shrewdness of judgment, much charm 
 of manner. The social gifts must have 
 been indeed of no common order which 
 half-conquered the austere Toryism of 
 Johnson, extorted a warm tribute of ad- 
 miration from Gibbon, secured the friend- 
 ship of Reynolds, and made the son of a 
 London distiller a conspicuous member of 
 the Medmenham Brotherhood, and the 
 favourite companion of the more dissipated 
 members of the aristocracy. — Lecky, 
 William Edward Hartpole, 1882, A 
 History of England in the Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury, vol. Ill, ch. X, p. 78. 
 
 What man was ever more successful in 
 laying seige to female hearts than the 
 demagogue John Wilkes ? He was so ex- 
 ceedingly ugly that a lottery-oflice keeper 
 once offered him ten guineas not to pass 
 his window while the tickets were drawing 
 for fear of his bringing ill-luck on the 
 house. Rogers the poet, who had seen 
 him, speaks of his ''diabolical squint." 
 Yet, though the ugliest man in England, 
 he was at the same time its most accom- 
 plished intriguer. He was the Don Juan 
 of his day, sneering at the very women he 
 subdued. He once boasted to Lord Town- 
 shend, whom he admitted to be the hand- 
 somest man in the kingdom, that, give him 
 but a half hour's start, he would enter the 
 lists against his lordship with any woman 
 he might choose to name. — Mathews, 
 William, 1887, Men, Places and Things, 
 p. 244. 
 
 His part in public life he played with 
 courage and consistency ; but there was a 
 deeper sense than appeared on the surface 
 in his arch denial that he was ever a 
 Wilkite. By nature unquestionably he 
 was no demagogue, but a man of fashion 
 and a dilettante ; nor did he possess the 
 ready eloquence which is characteristic of 
 the born leader of the masses. His 
 speeches were always carefully prepared, 
 and smelt too much of the oil for popular 
 effect. He retained dilettantism, and 
 especially his interest in French and Italian 
 literature and painting, to the last. — 
 RiGG, J. M., 1900, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. LXi, p. 249. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 That the paper entitled the North Briton, 
 No. XLV. was a false, scandalous, and 
 seditious libel, containing expressions of 
 the most unexampled insolence and con- 
 tumely towards his Majesty, the grossest 
 aspersions on both houses of parliament, 
 and the most audacious defiance of the 
 authority of the whole legislature; and 
 most manifestly tending to alienate the 
 affections of the people from his Majesty, 
 to withdraw them from their obedience to 
 tlie laws of the realm, and to excite them 
 to traitorous insurrections. — Resolution 
 OF THE House op Commons, 1763. 
 
 The only part of the work [' ' Correspond- 
 ence"] we have pursued with any degree 
 of amusement, is that which contains his 
 private letters to Mr. Cotes and his daugh- 
 ter. The former give a very lively and 
 undisguised picture of his feelings during 
 the period of his persecution and popular- 
 ity ; and afford some curious glimpses of 
 constitutional gaiety and Epicurean care- 
 lessness, in a mind agitated by a fierce 
 ambition, a distempered vanity, and a 
 rancorous thirst for revenge. The latter 
 are indulgent, cheerful, unconstrained, and 
 every way amiable. Though written in 
 a tone of a man of the world, the morality 
 which they inculcate is entirely unexcep- 
 tional, and show the author to have been 
 susceptible, in private life, of better feel- 
 ings and affections than could be guessed 
 at from his public appearances. — Jef- 
 frey, Francis Lord, 1805, Correspond- 
 ence and Memoirs of John Wilkes, Edin- 
 burgh Review, vol. 5, p. 488. 
 
 Wilkes's brilliancy faded away when he 
 proceeded to commit his thoughts to paper, 
 
336 
 
 JOHN WILKES 
 
 as if it had dissolved itself in the ink. . . . 
 Some of Wilkes's colloquial impromptus 
 that have been preserved are perfect, con- 
 sidered in themselves, and without regard 
 to the readiness with which they may have 
 been struck out, — are so true and deep, 
 and evince so keen a feeling at once of the 
 ridiculous and of the real, — that one 
 wonders at finding so little of the same 
 kind of power in his more deliberate 
 efforts. In all his published writings that 
 we have looked into — and, what with 
 essays and pamphlets of one kind and 
 another, they fill a good many volumes — 
 we scarcely recollect anything that either 
 in matter or manner rises above the veriest 
 commonplace, unless perhaps it be a char- 
 acter of Lord Chatham, occurring in a 
 letter addressed to the Duke of Grafton, 
 some of the biting things in which are im- 
 pregnated with rather a subtle venom. A 
 few of his verses also have some fancy and 
 elegance, in the style of Carew and Waller. 
 But even his private letters, of which two 
 collections have been published, scarcely 
 ever emit a sparkle. And his House of 
 Commons speeches, which he wrote before 
 hand and got by heart, are equally unen- 
 livened. It is evident, indeed, that he had 
 not intellectual lung enough for any pro- 
 tracted exertion or display. The soil of 
 his mind was a hungry, unproductive 
 gravel, with some gems embedded in it. — 
 Craik, George L., 1861, A Compendious 
 History of English Literature and of the 
 English Language, vol. ii, p. 319. 
 
 His literary qualifications have been ex- 
 tolled beyond their desert. He has been 
 called a good classical scholar; but his 
 reading in Latin was not extensive, and his 
 knowledge of Greek was evidently slight. 
 His editorship of Catullus and Theophras- 
 tus was merely nominal ; such commenda- 
 tion as the volumes merit belongs to the 
 printer. He seems to have been incapable 
 to any sustained literary effort. After his 
 professed determination to give a life and 
 edition of Churchill and a life of Sterne, it 
 might have been thought that very shame 
 would have urged him to produce some- 
 thing of those works ; but what he did for 
 Churchill was nought, and Sterne he 
 utterly neglected. Of his promised His- 
 tory of England nothing was written but 
 a short introduction in praise of liberty 
 and the Revolution. His few attempts at 
 verse are poor and dry. — Watson, John 
 
 Selby, 1870, Biographies of John Wilkes 
 and William Cobbett, p. 113. 
 
 The story of the ''Essay on Woman" 
 is singular. He had a private press at 
 which he ordered that twelve copies only 
 of this brief poem should be struck off, for 
 he seems to have had no idea of publishing 
 it. One of the printers took one sheet of 
 it with him to wrap some butter in. Hav- 
 ing unrolled the butter at a friend's house 
 where he was to sup, the friend read some 
 of the verses, and finding them spicy, asked 
 for the paper, which he showed to some 
 one else. The paper, passing from hand 
 to hand, found its way to higher quarters. 
 The eminent enemies of Wilkes, anxious 
 to get hold of some charge against him 
 which would go down with the public 
 better than their political indictments, 
 actually bribed the head printer with a 
 place worth a hundred pounds per annum 
 to give them a copy of the whole poem. 
 The ridicule it heaped on the Athanasian 
 Creed Wilkes justified by quoting Arch- 
 bishop Tillotson's wish that the Church 
 were fairly rid of that creed ; and, with 
 regard to the alleged indecencies of other 
 portions, after making sundry cracks in 
 the glass houses in which many of his ac- 
 cusers dwelt, he confessed that it con- 
 tained ''a few portraits drawn from warm 
 life, with the too high coloring of a youth- 
 ful fancy ; and two or three descriptions, 
 perhaps too luscious, which, though nature 
 and woman might pardon, a Kidgell and a 
 Mansfield could not fail to condemn." 
 Wilkes does not appear to have lost any 
 friends by the publication of the poem 
 either among men or women. . 
 Wilkes seems to have employed one-half 
 of his active life writing the memoirs of 
 the other half.— Conway, M. D., 1870, 
 South-coast Sauntering s in England, Har- 
 per's Magazine, vol. 40, yp, 373, 374. 
 
 Less polished as a writer than Addison, 
 less incisive in attack than Junius, as good 
 a classic and as much a man of the world 
 as the former, as reckless and brazen-faced 
 as the latter, he had the art of stating a 
 case with singular lucidity, and of illustrat- 
 ing it in a homely and telling manner. His 
 touch was light, and his sarcasm stinging. 
 He anticipated Cobbett in the skill and 
 daring with which he put and reiterated in 
 plain terms the most unpalatable truths. 
 He was the first political writer who 
 not only applied to things their proper 
 
WILKES— HUTTON 
 
 337 
 
 epithets, but also called persons by their 
 proper names. The initials and innuendoes 
 to which timorous journalists had resorted, 
 he discarded and disowned, excepting when 
 an illusion was more effective than a 
 simple statement. — Rae, William Fra- 
 SER, 1873, WiLkeSy Sheridan, Fox, p. 28. 
 
 With the exception of the *' Essay on 
 Woman, which was never meant to be 
 published, Wilkes had written nothing 
 that was not sound in reason, and respect- 
 ful in tone. Number forty-five of the 
 North Briton, if it had appeared in the 
 Morning Chronicle as a leading article 
 at the time when George the Third dis- 
 missed Pitt and sent for Addington, or at 
 the time when William the Fourth dis- 
 missed the Whigs and sent for Peel, would 
 have been regarded as a very passable 
 effusion, rather old-fashioned in the tender- 
 ness with which it treated the susceptibili- 
 ties of the monarch. Grave statesmen 
 acknowledged that Wilkes in his famous 
 paper had rendered a solid and permanent 
 service to the cause of constitutional 
 government by the clear and attractive 
 form in which he had laid down the doc- 
 trine that ministers are responsible for the 
 contents of the royal speech. — Trevel- 
 YAN, George Otto, 1880, The Early His- 
 tory of Charles James Fox, p. 143. 
 
 Altogether Mr. Wilkes was one of the 
 most important personages of the last cen- 
 tury. He wrote many letters of a very free 
 and easy sort to his daughter "Polly," born 
 in the year 1750, to whom he was without 
 doubt very greatly attached. He informed 
 
 her of his movements and narrated for her 
 entertainment much that was lively and 
 laughable. But his letters are certainly 
 not of the kind Mrs. Hester Chapone would 
 have approved, or the Reverend Dr. 
 Fordyce have addressed to young women, 
 or, for that matter, to young men either. 
 — Cook, Button, 1882, John Wilkes at 
 Brighton, Belgravia, vol. 47, p. 295. 
 
 It has been often repeated that The North 
 Briton was scarcely of sufficient import- 
 ance to have excited the commotion it did, 
 and that it would have been more prudent 
 to have treated it with contempt. But the 
 truth is, as we read it now, it is found to 
 be a very stirring, vigorous and dangerous 
 opponent, written with much pungency, 
 wit, and even vivacity. This may be im- 
 agined, when it is stated that Wilkes had 
 found so valuable a coadjutor as Charles 
 Churchill, who contributed not only his 
 prose but also his verse. Wilkes was 
 often absent, and eventually the whole 
 burden of the paper fell upon Churchill. 
 He must at least have written half of the 
 numbers, and, as Mr. Forster says, 'Svhere- 
 ever it shows the coarse, broad mark of 
 sincerity, there seems to us the trace of 
 his hand.'' The correspondence between 
 them during the progress of the paper 
 shows Wilkes to be full of an unbounded 
 admiration for his friend's powers, and his 
 gratitude for his assistance corresponds 
 with his generous appreciation, which 
 certainly was beyond the merits of the 
 work. — Fitzgerald, Percy, 1888, The 
 Life and Times of John Wilkes, vol. i, p. 74. 
 
 James Hutton 
 
 1726-1797 
 
 One of the founders of geology, was born at Edinburgh. He studied medicine there, 
 in Paris, and at Leyden, but in 1754 settled in Berwickshire and devoted himself to 
 agriculture and chemisty, from which he was led to minerology and geology ; in 1768 
 he removed to Edinburgh. The Huttonian theory, emphasising the igneous origin of 
 many rocks and deprecating the hypothetical assumption of other causes than those 
 we see still at work, was expounded in two papers read before the Royal Society of 
 Edinburgh, ''A Theory of the Earth" (1785) and ''A Theory of Rain" (1784). The 
 former was afterwards expanded into two volumes (1795). He also wrote ''Disserta- 
 tions in Natural Philosophy" (1792), ''Considerations on the Nature of Coal and 
 Culm" (1777), and other works.— Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's 
 Biographical Dictionary, p. 515. 
 
 PERSON A.L 
 To his friends his conversation was in- 
 estimable ; as great talents, the most per- 
 fect candour, and the utmost simplicity of 
 character and manners, all united to stamp 
 
 22 c 
 
 a value upon it. He had, indeed, that 
 genuine simplicity, originating in the 
 absence of all selfishness and vanity, by 
 which a man loses sight of himself alto- 
 gether, and neither conceals what is, 
 
338 
 
 JAMES HUTTON 
 
 nor affects what is not. This simplicity 
 prevaded his whole conduct; while his 
 manner, which was peculiar, but highly 
 pleasing, displayed a degree of vivacity 
 hardly ever to be found among men of 
 profound and abstract speculation. His 
 great liveliness, added to this aptness to 
 lose sight of himself, would sometimes lead 
 him into little eccentricities, that formed 
 an amusing contrast with the graver habits 
 of a philosophic life. . . . His con- 
 versation was extremely animated and for- 
 cible, and, whether serious or gay, full of 
 ingenious and original observation. . . . 
 His figure was slender, but indicated ac- 
 tivity ; while a thin countenance, a high 
 forehead, and a nose somewhat aquiline, 
 bespoke extraordinary acuteness and vig- 
 our of mind. His eye was penetrating 
 and keen, but full of gentleness and benig- 
 nity ; and even his dress, plain, and all of 
 one colour, was in perfect harmony with 
 the rest of the picture, and seemed to 
 give a fuller relief to its characteristic 
 features. — Playfair, John, 1805, Bio- 
 graphical Account of James Hutton, M. D,, 
 Works, vol. IV, pp. 110, 111. 
 
 Hutton was slender, but active, thin- 
 faced, with a high forehead, acquiline 
 nose, keen and penetrating eyes, and a 
 general expression of benevolence. His 
 dress was very plain. His portrait was 
 painted by Raeburn for John Davidson of 
 Stewartfield. Upright, candid, humane, 
 and a true friend, he was very cheerful in 
 company, whether social or scientific, and 
 was, like Adam Smith and Joseph Black, a 
 leading member of the Oyster Club." 
 Playfair draws an interesting contrast 
 (Biography of Hufton, pp. 58, 59), between 
 Hutton and his friend Black, to whom, as 
 well as to John Clerk of Eldin, he owed 
 many valuable suggestions. — Bettany, 
 G. T., 1891, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. XXVIII, p. 355. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 It might have been expected, when a 
 work of so much originality as this ' 'Theory 
 of the Earth" was given to the world, a 
 theory which professed to be the result of 
 such an ample and accurate induction, and 
 which opened up so many views, interest- 
 ing not to mineralogy alone, but to philos- 
 ophy in general, that it would have pro- 
 duced a sudden and visible effect, and that 
 men of science would have been every- 
 where eager to decide concerning its real 
 
 value. Yet the truth is, that it drew 
 their attention very slowly, so that several 
 years elapsed before any one showed him- 
 self publicly concerned about it, either as 
 an enemy or a friend. . . . Truth, how- 
 ever, forces me to add, that other reasons 
 certainly contributed not a little to pre- 
 vent Dr. Hutton's theory from making a due 
 impression on the world. It was proposed 
 too briefly, and with too little detail of 
 facts, for a system which involved so much 
 that was new, and opposite to the opinions 
 generally received. The descriptions 
 which it contains of the phenomena of 
 geology, suppose in the reader too great a 
 knowledge of the things described. The 
 reasoning is sometimes embarrassed by the 
 care taken to render it strictly logical; • 
 and the transitions, from the author's 
 peculiar notions of arrangement, are often 
 unexpected and abrupt. These defects 
 run more or less through all Dr. Hutton's 
 writings, and produce a degree of obscu- 
 rity astonishing to those who knew him, and 
 who heard him every day converse with no 
 less clearness and precision, than anima- 
 tion and force. From whatever causes the 
 want of perspicuity in his writings pro- 
 ceed, perplexity of thought was not among 
 the number ; and the confusion of his ideas 
 can neither be urged as an apology for 
 himself, nor as a consolation to his read- 
 ers. — Playfair, John, 1805, Biographical 
 Account of James Hutton, M. D., Works, 
 vol. IV, pp. 63, 64. 
 
 Meanwhile Hutton, a contemporary of 
 Werner, began to teach, in Scotland, that 
 granite as well as trap was of igneous 
 origin, and had at various periods intruded 
 itself in a fluid state into different parts 
 of the earth's crust. He recognized and 
 faithfully described many of the phenom- 
 ena of granitic veins, and the alterations 
 produced by them on the invaded strata 
 which will be treated of in the thirty-third 
 chapter. He, moreover, advanced the 
 opinion, that the crystalline strata called 
 primitive had not been precipitated from a 
 primaeval ocean, but were sedimentary 
 strata altered by heat. In his writings, 
 therefore, and in those of his illustrator, 
 Playfair, we find the germ of that meta- 
 morphic theory. — Lyell, Sir Charles, 
 1838-55, A Manual of Elementary Geo- 
 logy, p. 92. 
 
 By an idea entirely new, the illustrious 
 Scottish philosopher showed the successive 
 
JAMES BUTTON 
 
 339 
 
 co-operation of water and the internal 
 heat of the globe in the formation of 
 the same rocks. It is the mark of genius 
 to unite in one common origin phe- 
 nomena very different in their nature. 
 
 . Hutton explains the history 
 of the globe with as much simplicity as 
 grandeur. Like most men of genius, in- 
 deed, who have opened up new paths, he 
 exaggerated the extent to which his con- 
 ceptions could be applied. But it is im- 
 possible not to view with admiration the 
 profound penetration and the strictness of 
 induction of so clear-sighted a man, at a 
 time when exact observations had been so 
 few, he being the first to recognise the 
 simultaneous effect of water and heat in 
 the formation of rocks, in imagining a 
 system which embraces the whole physical 
 system of the globe. He established 
 principles which, in so far as they are 
 fundamental, are now universally ad- 
 mitted. — Daubree, Gabriel Auguste, 
 1860, Essays. 
 
 It is not so generally known that he 
 found much satisfaction in the pursuit of 
 metaphysics, and is author of an elaborate 
 work in three large quarto volumes, ' ' An 
 Investigation of the Principles of Knowl- 
 edge, and of the Progress of Reason from 
 Sense to Science and Philosophy." The 
 work is full of awkwardly constructed 
 sentences and of repetitions, and it is a 
 weariness in the extreme to read it. Yet 
 we are made to feel at times that these 
 thoughts must be profound, if only we 
 could understand them. He certainly 
 speculates on recondite subjects, but does 
 not throw much light on them. — McCosH, 
 James, 1874, The Scottish Philosophy y 
 p. 262. 
 
 But it was not merely, or even chiefly, 
 for their exposition of the structure and 
 history of the rocks under our feet that 
 the geologists of the Scottish School de- 
 serve to be held in lasting remembrance. 
 They could not, indeed, have advanced as 
 far as they did in expounding former and 
 ancient conditions of the planet, had they 
 not, with singular clearness, perceived the 
 order and system of change which is in 
 progress over the surface of the globe at 
 the present day. It was their teaching 
 which first led men to see the harmony and 
 co-operation of the forces of nature which 
 work within the earth, with those which 
 are seen and felt upon its surface. Hutton 
 
 first caught the meaning of that constant 
 circulation of water which, by means of 
 evaporation, winds, clouds, rain, snow, 
 brooks, and rivers, is kept up between land 
 and sea. He saw that the surface of the dry 
 land is everywhere being wasted and worn 
 away. The scarped cliff, the rugged glen, 
 the lowland valley, are each undergoing 
 this process of destruction ; wherever land 
 rises above ocean, there, from mountain- 
 top to sea-shore, degradation is continually 
 going on. Here and there, indeed, the 
 debris of the hills may be spread out upon 
 the plains; here and there, too, dark 
 angular peaks and crags rise as they rose 
 centuries ago, and seem to defy the ele- 
 ments. But these are only apparent and 
 not real exceptions to the universal law, 
 that so long as the surface of land is ex- 
 posed to the atmosphere it must suffer 
 degradation and removal. . . . The men 
 were before their time: and thus, while 
 the world gradually acknowledged the 
 teaching of the Scottish school as to the 
 past history of the rocks, it lent an in- 
 credulous ear to that teaching when deal- 
 ing with the present surface of the earth. 
 Even some of the Huttonians themselves 
 refused to follow their master when he 
 sought to explain the existing inequalities 
 of the land by the working of the same 
 quiet unobtrusive forces which are still 
 plying their daily tasks around us. But 
 no incredulity or neglect can destroy the 
 innate vitality of truth. And so now after 
 the lapse of fully two generations, the 
 views of Hutton have in recent years been 
 revived, and have become the war-cry of a 
 yearly increasing crowd of earnest hard- 
 working geologists. — Geikie, Archibald, 
 1871, The Scottish School of Geology, A 
 Lecture, Nov. 6. 
 
 With his true scientific spirit Hutton 
 would have nothing to do with convulsions 
 or with the origin of the globe ; he did not 
 want to guess or speculate, but to argue 
 logically on facts which anybody could 
 observe. He took geology out of the age 
 of the marvellous and laid the foundations 
 of the present aspect of the science. He 
 was in no hurry to publish his views, 
 possibly because his temperament was 
 cautious, and possibly he was aware what 
 a furious fuss there would be made about 
 it ; how he would be abused, scolded, and 
 anathematized. There is no doubt that 
 the light.s of the age and public opinion 
 
340 
 
 HUTTON—FARMER 
 
 were perfectly incompetent to judge the 
 merits of such a theory ; they were sunken 
 in prejudices, and resisted any change of 
 opinion. He was aware that a great out- 
 cry would be made by men whose religious 
 opinions were his own, and whom he re- 
 spected greatly. In fact, the world, just 
 before the appearance of Button's' 'Theory 
 of the Earth," was less prepared for it than 
 ordinary opinion was for the doctrines of 
 Charles Darwin one hundred years after- 
 wards. The appearance of the work of 
 this last great naturalist made, and is still 
 making, a great stir, but that of Button's 
 work was received, as he anticipated, with 
 incredible opposition, by the teachers of 
 the day ; and its slow acceptation by the 
 scientific world was remarkable. No 
 abuse could efface its effects ; it was true, 
 and the true alone lasts ; it was reasonable, 
 and it was to the glory of God. — Duncan, 
 P. Martin, 1882, Heroes of Science, p. 230. 
 
 Hutton ranks as the first great British 
 geologist, and the independent originator 
 of the modern explanation of the phenom- 
 ena of the earth's crust by means of 
 changes still in progress. ' * No powers, ' ' 
 
 he says, ''are to be employed that are not 
 natural to the globe, no action to be ad- 
 mitted of except those of which we know 
 the principle." He first drew a marked 
 line between geology and cosmogony. 
 He early observed that a vast proportion 
 of the present rocks are composed of 
 materials afforded by the destruction of 
 pre-existing materials. He realised that 
 all the present rocks are decaying, and 
 their materials being transported into the 
 ocean ; that new continents and tracts of 
 land have been formed by elevation, often 
 altered and consolidated, by volcanic heat, 
 and afterwards fractured and contorted ; 
 and that many masses of crystalline rocks 
 are due to the injection of rocks among 
 fractured strata in a molten state. His 
 views on the excavation of valleys by 
 denudation, after being largely ignored by 
 Lyell, have been accepted and inforced by 
 Ramsay, A. Geikie, and others. He may 
 be considered as having originated the 
 uniformitarian theory of geology (science 
 modified by that of evolution). — Bettany, 
 G. T., 1891, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. XXVIII, p. 355. 
 
 Richard Farmer 
 
 1735-1797 
 
 Shakespearean scholar ; born at Leicester, England, in 1735. He was educated in 
 the free grammar school of his native town and at Emmanuel College, Cambridge ; 
 became a classical tutor in the latter institution in 1760, and a master in 1775, and 
 was appointed librarian at the university in 1778. He held various benefices at 
 Lichfield, Canterbury, and St. Paul's, but he twice declined the offer of a bishopric, 
 unwilling to give up the free-and-easy life he was used to. The only monument of his 
 learning and industry he has left is his "Essay on the Learning of Shakespeare," 
 published in 1766, and afterward often reprinted. Died at Cambridge, Sept. 8, 1797. 
 — Adams, Charles Kendall, ed., 1897, Johnson's Universal Cyclopaedia, vol. iii, p. 289. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 When a young man he wrote some ''Di- 
 rections for Studying the English His- 
 tory," which have been printed in the 
 "European Magazine" for 1791 and in 
 Seward's "Biographiana ;" but his only 
 work of any importance is the "Essay on 
 the Learning of Shakespeare." Invincible 
 indolence prevented him from achieving 
 other literary triumphs. He was content 
 to be the hero of a coterie, and to reign 
 supreme in a college combination-room 
 amid the delights of the pipe and the bottle. 
 To his ease or his disappointment in love 
 may be attributed a want of attention to 
 his personal appearance, and to the usual 
 
 forms of behaviour belonging to his sta- 
 tion. In the company of strangers ^he 
 eccentricity of his appearance caused him 
 sometimes to be taken for a person half 
 crazed. There were three things, it is 
 said, which he loved above all others, 
 namely, old port, old clothes, and old 
 books; and three things which nobody 
 could persuade him to do, namely, to rise 
 in the morning, to go to bed at night, and 
 to settle an account. In his own college 
 he was adored, and in the university he 
 exercised for many years more influence 
 than any other individual. — Cooper, 
 Thompson, 1889, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. xviii, p. 215. 
 
RICHARD 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 It C'the Essay on the Learning of Shakes- 
 peare") may in truth be pointed out as a 
 master-piece, whether considered with a 
 view to the sprightliness and vivacity with 
 which it is written, the clearness of the 
 arrangement, the force and variety of the 
 evidence, or the compression of scattered 
 materials into a narrow compass ; materials 
 which inferior writers would have ex- 
 panded into a large volume. — Reed, Isaac, 
 1807? Life of Farmer, 
 
 How shall I talk of thee, and of thy 
 wonderful collection, 0 Rare Richard 
 Farmer ? — and of thy scholarship, acute- 
 ness, pleasantry, singularities, varied 
 learning, and colloquial powers! Thy 
 name will live long among scholars in 
 general ; and in the bosoms of virtuous 
 and learned bibliomaniacs thy memory 
 shall be ever shrined! The walls of 
 Emanuel College now cease to convey the 
 sounds of thy festive wit ; thy volumes are 
 no longer seen, like Richard Smith's 
 
 bundles of sticht books," strewn upon 
 the floor ; and thou hast ceased, in the 
 cause of thy beloved Shakspeare, to delve 
 into the fruitful ore of black-letter litera- 
 ture. Peace to thy honest spirit ; for thou 
 wert wise without vanity, learned without 
 pedantry, and joyous without vulgarity. 
 . . . Farmer had his foragers, his 
 jackals, and his avant-couriers, for it was 
 well known how dearly he loved every thing 
 that was interesting and rare in the litera- 
 ture of former ages. As he walked the 
 streets of London — careless of his dress, 
 and whether his wig was full-bottomed 
 or narrow-bottomed — he would talk and 
 
 mutter strange speeches" to himself, 
 thinking all the time, I ween, of some 
 curious discovery he had recently made in 
 tifee aforesaid precious black-letter tomes. 
 But the reader is impatient for the BiB- 
 
 LIOTHECA FaRMERIANA.— DiBDIN, ThOMAS 
 
 Frognall, 1811, The Bibliomania; or 
 Book-Madness. 
 
 His knowledge is various, extensive and 
 recondite. With much seeming negli- 
 gence, and perhaps in later years some real 
 relaxation, he understands more and re- 
 members more about common and uncom- 
 mon subjects of literature, than many of 
 those who would be thought to read all the 
 day and meditate half the night. In 
 quickness of apprehension and acuteness 
 of discrimination I have not often seen his 
 
 FARMER 341 
 
 equal.— Parr, Samuel, 1825? On^it^mrd 
 Farmer. 
 
 Farmer had silently p«™ed an entire 
 chase in this ''black" forest, for he had a 
 keen gusto for the native venison ; and, 
 alluding to his Shakespearian pursuits, 
 exclaimed in ti*€inspiring language of his 
 poet, — 
 
 "Age csinfl!ot wither them, nor custom stale 
 Their inmiite variety." 
 
 His vivacity relieved the drowsiness of 
 mere antiquarianism. This novel pursuit 
 once ojJened, an eager and motley pack 
 was halloed up; but Shakespeare, like 
 Actseon, was torn to pieces by a whole 
 kennel of his own hounds, as they were 
 typified with equal humor and severity. 
 But to be severe, and never to be just, 
 is the penury of the most sordid criticism ; 
 and among these — 
 
 "Spirits black, white, and gray," — 
 are some of the most illustrious in Eng- 
 lish literature. — Disraeli, Isaac, 1841, 
 Shakespeare, Amenities of Literature. 
 
 There was another cause of the hospi- 
 tality of Steevens and his school of 
 commentators. Farmer was their Cori- 
 phseus. Their souls were prostrate be- 
 fore the extent of his researches in that 
 species of literature which possesses this 
 singular advantage for the cultivator, 
 that, if he studies it in original edition, of 
 which only one or two copies are known to 
 exist (the merit is gone if there is a 
 baker's dozen known), he is immediately 
 pronounced learned, judicious, laborious, 
 acute. And this was Farmer's praise. 
 He wrote, **An Essay on the Learning of 
 Shakspeare, " which has not one passage 
 of solid criticism from the first page to 
 the last, and from which, if the name and 
 the works of Shakspere were to perish, 
 and one copy — an unique copy is the af- 
 fectionate name for these things — could 
 be miraculously preserved, the only in- 
 ference from the book would be that Wil- 
 liam Shakspere was a very obscure and 
 ignorant man, whom some misjudging ad- 
 mirers had been desirous to exalt into an 
 ephemeral reputation, and that Richard 
 Farmer was a very distinguished and 
 learned man, who had stripped the mask 
 oflP the pretender. The first edition of 
 Farmer's pamphlet appeared in 1767. 
 . . . This arrogant pamphlet. — Knight, 
 Charles, 1849, Studies of Shakspere, 
 p. 546. 
 
342 
 
 Charles Macklin 
 
 1699?-1797 
 
 Born, in Ireland, 1699 (?). Name originally McLaughlin, but form '^Macklin** eventu- 
 ally adopted. At school near Dublin. Ran away from home. Perhaps served in a 
 public house in London, and at Trinity Coll., Dublin, as servant. Joined strolling com- 
 pany of actors in Bristol. Acted in London, 1725-48. Married (i) Grace Purvor (or, 
 Mrs. Ann Grace?), 1735 (?). Play, ''King Henry VII," produced at Drury Lane, 18 Jan. 
 1746; ''A Will and no Will," 23 April 1746; ''The Suspicious Husband Criticised," 
 Drury Lane, 24 March 1747; "The Fortune Hunters," 1748. Acted in Dublin, 1748- 
 50 ; in London, 1750-53. Play, "Covent Garden Theatre, " produced at Covent Garden, 
 8 April 1752. Retired from stage, 1753. Kept a tavern in Covent Garden, March 
 1754 to Jan. 1758. Wife died, 1758 ( ?). Reappeared on stage, at Drury Lane 12 Dec. 
 1759, in his ' ' Love a la Mode. ' ' Acted in London, 17 59-63. Married (ii) Elizabeth Jones, 
 10 Sept. 1759. "The Married Libertine" produced, Covent Garden, 28 Jan. 1761. 
 In Dublin, 1761-63. "The True-Born Irishman" produced at Smock Alley 
 Theatre, Dublin, 1763 (at Covent Garden, as "The Irish Fine Lady," 28 Nov. 1767) ; 
 "The True-Born Scotchman," Crow Street Theatre, Dublin, 7 Feb. 1766 (at Covent 
 Garden, as "The Man of the World," 10 May 1781). Acted in London, 1772-89. 
 Died in London, 11 July 1797. Buried in St. Paul's, Covent Garden. Works: "Mr. 
 Macklin's Reply to Mr. Garrick's Answer," 1743; "The Genuine Arguments of the 
 Council," etc. (anon. ; attrib. to Macklin), 1774; "Love a la Mode," 1784; "The Man 
 pf the World" (under initials C. M.), 1786. Life by E. A. Parry, 1891.— Sharp, R. 
 Farquh ARSON, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors^ p. 180. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Macklin, who largely deals in half-form'd 
 sounds, 
 
 Who wantonly transgresses Nature's bounds, 
 Whoseacting's hard,aff ected and constrain'd. 
 Whose features, as each other they disdain 'd, 
 At variance set, inflexible, and coarse, 
 Ne'er know the workings of united force, 
 Ne'er kindly soften to each other's aid, 
 Nor show the mingled powers of light and 
 shade, 
 
 No longer for a thankless stage concern' d. 
 To worthier thoughts his mighty genius 
 turn'd, 
 
 Harangued, gave lectures, made each simple 
 elf 
 
 Almost as good a speaker as himself, 
 Whilst the whole town, mad with mistaken 
 zeal, 
 
 An awkward rage for elocution feel ; 
 Dull cits and grave divines his praise pro- 
 claim, 
 
 And join with Sheridan's their Macklin's 
 name. 
 
 —Churchill, Charles, 1761, The Ros- 
 dad, V. 633-648, Poems, ed. Hannay, vol. 
 I, p. 31. 
 
 Macklin, whose writing was as harsh 
 and as hard as his conduct was rude and 
 dogmatic, who, though he did not produce 
 many pieces, contrived to make one answer 
 the purpose of many, whose strange pecul- 
 iarities made him a torment to himself and 
 to everybody else, was, however, a useful, 
 and sometimes a great actor, and very 
 
 far from an inferior author. — Dibdin, 
 Charles, 1795, History of the Stage, bk, 
 ix, chap. 7. 
 
 Macklin, whose personation of Shylock 
 to its true reading had elicited the im- 
 promptu of Pope, "This is the Jew that 
 Shakespeare drew," was my father's the- 
 atrical oracle. His portrait hung over 
 the fireplace of our little dining-room, 
 with the inscription, Charles Macklin, 
 aged 98. " In some of his visits to Dublin 
 he had instructed my father in the part of 
 Egerton in his comedy of the'* Man of the 
 World;" and on the occasion of his last 
 benefit there he sent for his pupil from 
 Waterford (where my father was playing) 
 to act ''Egerton." . . . His manner 
 was generally harsh, as indeed was his 
 countenance. So much so that on some 
 one speaking to Quin of the "strong 
 lines" of Macklin's face, he cut short his 
 remarks with, "The lines of his face, sir? 
 You mean the cordage." My father has 
 described to me his mode of speaking to 
 the players at rehearsal. There was good 
 advice, though conveyed in his gruff voice 
 and imperious tone. "Look at me, sir, 
 look at me ! Keep your eye fixed on me 
 when I am speaking to you ! Attention is 
 always fixed ; if you take your eye from 
 me you rob the audience of my effects, 
 and you rob me of their applause!" — a 
 precept I never forgot, and to which I 
 
CHARLES MACKLIN 
 
 343 
 
 have been much indebted. — Macready, 
 W. C, 1808-11, Reminiscences, pp. 2\, 22. 
 
 He had no respect for the modesty of 
 youth or sex, but would say the most dis- 
 couraging, as well as grossest things, and 
 felt pleasure in proportion to the pain he 
 gave. It was common of him to ask his 
 pupils, why they did not rather think of 
 becoming bricklayers than players. He 
 was impatient of contradiction to an ex- 
 treme; and when he found fault, if the 
 person attempted to answer, he stopped 
 him without hearing, by saying, *'Ha, you 
 have always a reason for being in the 
 wrong!" This impatience carried him 
 still farther; it often rendered him ex- 
 ceedingly abusive. He could pronounce 
 the word, scoundrel^ fool, blockhead, famil- 
 iarly, without the least annoyance to his 
 nervous system. He, indeed, pretended to 
 the strictest impartiality,and while his pas- 
 sions were inconcerned, often preserved 
 it ; but these were so extremely irritable, 
 that the least opposition was construed 
 into an unpardonable insult, and the want 
 of immediate apprehension in his pupils 
 subjected them to the most galling con- 
 tempt, which excited despair instead of 
 emulation. His authority was too severe 
 a climate for the tender plant of genius 
 ever to thrive in. His judgment was, 
 however, in general sound, and his instruc- 
 tions those of a master. — Holcroft, 
 Thomas, 1809 ? Memoirs, bk. ii, ch. i. 
 
 His conversation among young people 
 was perfectly moral, and always tended to 
 make us better : he was, in my opinion as 
 to intellect, a very shining character, and 
 in all instances I knew him to be a worthy 
 man ; but a great sitter-up at nights for 
 sake of conversation: many a morning 
 sun has peeped into our convival parties ; 
 he was then between seventy and eighty. 
 From the loss of his teeth his nose and chin 
 were prominent: he took no snuff, and 
 hated swearing, or broad vulgar jests in 
 conversation, though smitten much with 
 repartee. — O'Keeffe, John, 1826, Recol- 
 lections, vol. n, ch. VI. 
 
 Everybody, I presume, must have had 
 some information respecting Macklin's 
 person and manners ; that he was a broad- 
 breasted, ball-headed, shaggy-browed, 
 hooked-nosed individual, as rough and 
 husky as a cocoa-nut, with a barking or 
 grunting delivery more peculiar than 
 pleasing, which to musical ears made him 
 
 something like a bore." . . . If good 
 manners are to be gleaned from a collision 
 with society, Macklin's were bad, because 
 throughout life he had been chiefly his 
 own company. His manners grew out of 
 his mind, which became powerful and pro- 
 found, cared not for oil or ornament, so 
 long as it could express itself with vigor 
 and conciseness. . . . The terrific effect 
 of his features, when under excitation, have 
 been recorded in his performance of Shy- 
 lock. The most amusing proof I have 
 heard upon the point was as follows: — 
 When he had established his fame in that 
 character, George the Second went to see 
 him ; and the impression he received was 
 so powerful that it deprived him of rest 
 throughout the night. In the morning 
 the premier (Sir Robert Walpole) waited 
 on the king, to express his fears that the 
 Commons would oppose a certain measure 
 then in contemplation. "I wish, your 
 Majesty, ' ' said Sir Robert, ' * it was possible 
 to find a recipe for frightening a House 
 of Commons?" ^'What do you think," 
 replied the King, **of sending them to the 
 Theatre to see that Irishman play Shy- 
 lock!" — Bernard, John, 1830, Retro- 
 spections of the Stage, vol. ii, ch. i. 
 
 As an actor, he was without trick ; his 
 enunciation was clear, in every syllable. 
 Taken as a whole, he probably excelled 
 every actor who had ever played Shylock, 
 say his biographers ; but I remember Ed- 
 mund Kean, and make that exception. He 
 was not a great tragedian, nor a good light 
 comedian, but in comedy and farce, where 
 rough energy is required, and in parts re- 
 sembling Shylock, in their earnest ma- 
 lignity, he was paramount. He was also 
 an excellent teacher, very impatient with 
 mediocrity, but very careful with the intel- 
 ligent. Easily moved to anger, his pupils 
 and, indeed, many others stood in awe of 
 him ; but he was honorable, generous, and 
 humane; convivial, frank, and not more 
 free in his style than his contemporaries ; 
 but naturally irascible, and naturally for- 
 giving. Eccentricity was second nature 
 to him, and seems to have been so with 
 other men of his blood. — Doran, John, 
 1863, Annals of the English Stage, vol. n, 
 p. 191 
 
 GENERAL 
 As a comic writer, Mr. Macklin un- 
 questionably stands high. ''The Man of 
 the World," for boldness of satire, and 
 
344 
 
 MACKLIN— BLACK 
 
 originality of character, may challenge any 
 production, which has been represented on 
 the stage for the last fifty years ; and his 
 **Love-a-la-Mode," which is pregnant with 
 much genuine humour, and knowledge of 
 men and manners, demands also an high 
 share of praise. In most of his dramatic 
 pieces, there is to be found real character, 
 discrimination of humour, modish affecta- 
 tion, and fashionable folly. He never 
 offends (from his thorough knowledge of 
 stage oeconomy), in the conduct of his 
 plot, and the right management of his 
 scenes. To these dramatic excellencies, 
 he added a strict attention to decency and 
 morality. Mr. Macklin's merit, as an 
 actor and a man, introduced him to 
 persons of high rank. — Kirkman, James 
 Thomas, 1799, Memoirs of the Life of 
 Charles Macklin, vol. ii, p. 433. 
 
 But, alas ! where shall we look for the 
 foundation of Macklin's authorship? We 
 have already sketched his education, 
 which, taken at its supposable extremity, 
 could amount to no more than a capacity 
 for reading some of the commonest English 
 school-books, with scarcely any knowledge 
 of the habits of civilized life. . . . His 
 next attempt at Authorship was not till the 
 year 1760, when he produced his Farce 
 of ''Love a la Mode ;" a dramatic morceau, 
 which, though it had many enemies to com- 
 bat with, from personal prejudices, has 
 long since surmounted them, and given to 
 the author the merited rank of an able 
 comic v/riter. Having now produced a 
 piece which would stand the test of time, 
 he was ambitious of producing a Comedy 
 which would carry the same seeds of lon- 
 gevity; and for this purpose, without 
 
 consulting books, which are very often but 
 the multiplied copies of fanciful originals, 
 he sought his principal characters from his 
 own long experience of life, and of the 
 Stage; and with these aids produced a 
 Comedy, which, considered for regularity 
 of plot, strength of character, and knowl- 
 edge of the world, will remain a favourite 
 on the stock list, whilst there are per- 
 formers found capable of supporting so 
 arduous and discriminating a part as that 
 of Sir Pertinax Mac Sycophant.— Cooke, 
 William, 1804-6, Memoirs of Charles 
 Macklin, Comedian, pp. 412, 415. 
 
 Macklin, though not a voluminous con- 
 tributor to scenic representations, has 
 condensed multum in parvo, by showing a 
 complete knowledge of the practices of 
 the stage, and an acute perception of 
 human life : his characters are drawn with 
 the hand of a master, who felt no diffidence 
 in the accomplishment of the task which 
 he had proposed to himself to execute. — 
 Ireland, S. W. H. , 1815, Scribbleomania, 
 p. 113. 
 
 Energy and honesty were the dominant 
 traits of his character. Entirely self- 
 educated, he yet used his alert intelligence 
 so well as to become, after Garrick, the 
 most cultured actor of his time ; though 
 when he attempted to lecture on the 
 theatre of the Greeks and the origins of 
 the Shaksperean drama he was doubtless 
 beyond his depth. He wrote with vigor 
 and propriety, though in controversy he 
 carried to extremes the italicized emphasis 
 then in vogue. — Archer, William, 1886, 
 Actors and Actresses of Great Britain and 
 the United States, eds. Matthews and Hut- 
 ton, vol. I, p. 10. 
 
 Joseph Black 
 
 1728-1799 
 
 Joseph Black was born at Bordeaux, in 1728. His father, John Black, was a native 
 of Belfast, a member of a Scottish family settled in Ireland. His mother belonged to 
 the family of Gordon, of Halhead, in Aberdeenshire, and was a cousin of Dr. Adam Fer- 
 guson. In 1740 he was sent home and educated at the Grammar School of Belfast. In 
 1746 he matriculated at the University of Glasgow, where he remained till 1750, study- 
 ing in the faculties of art and medicine. He then removed to Edinburgh, where he 
 graduated as doctor of medicine in 1754. In 1756 he was appointed Professor of 
 anatomy and Lecturer on Chemistry in the University of Glasgow. He soon exchanged 
 with a colleague the duty of teaching anatomy for that of physiology, and continued 
 to lecture on physiology and chemistry till 1766, when he was called to Edinburgh to 
 succeed his friend and teacher. Dr. Cullen, in the Chair of Chemistry. He died 
 November 26, 1799. — Brown, Crum, 1878, Lecture to the Edinburgh University 
 Chemical Society, Nature, vol. 18, p. 346. 
 
JOSEPH BLACK 
 
 345 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 His personal appearance and manner 
 were those of a gentleman, and peculiarly 
 pleasing. His voice in lecturing was low, 
 but fine ; and his articulation so distinct 
 that he w^as perfectly well heard by an 
 audience consisting of several hundreds. 
 His discourse was so plain and perspicuous, 
 his illustrations by experiment so apposite, 
 that his sentiments on any subject never 
 could be mistaken, even by the most illit- 
 erate ; and his instructions were so clear 
 of all hypothesis or conjecture, that the 
 hearer rested on his conclusions with the 
 confidence scarcely exceeded in matters 
 of his own experience. — Robison, John, 
 1803, Black^s Lectures on the Elements of 
 Chemistry^ Preface, p. Ixii. 
 
 The physical sciences have few more 
 illustrious names to boast than that of 
 Joseph Black. With all the habits and the 
 disciplined faculties of a true philosopher, 
 with the temper as well as the capacity of 
 a sage, he possessed that happy union of 
 strong but disciplined imagination, with 
 powers of close undivided attention, and 
 ample resources of reasoning, which forms 
 original genius in scientific pursuits ; and, 
 as all these qualities may be combined in 
 an individual without his happening to 
 signalise his investigations of nature by 
 any discovery, we must add that his life 
 was crowned with the good fortune of 
 opening to mankind new paths in which 
 both himself and his followers successfully 
 trod, enlarging to an incalculable extent 
 the bounds of human knowledge. . . . The 
 qualities which distinguished him as an 
 inquirer and as a teacher followed him into 
 all the ordinary affairs of life. He was a 
 person whose opinions on every subject 
 were marked by calmness and sagacity, 
 wholly free from both passion and prej- 
 udice, while affectation was only known to 
 him from the comedies he might have read. 
 His temper in all the circumstances of life 
 was unruffled. — Brougham, Henry Lord, 
 1845-50, Lives of Philosophers of the Time 
 of George IIL, pp. 1, 21. 
 
 Black was a prominent member of the 
 intellectual society by which Edinburgh 
 was then distinguished. Amongst his in- 
 timates were his relative and colleague 
 Adam Ferguson, Hume, Hutton, A. Car- 
 lyle, Dugald Stewart, and John Robison. 
 Adam Smith with whom he knit a close 
 friendship at Glasgow, used to say that 
 
 " no man had less nonsense in his head than 
 Dr. Black." He was one of James Watt's 
 earliest patrons, and kept up a constant 
 correspondence with him. Though grave 
 and reserved. Black was gentle and sincere, 
 and it is recorded of him that he never 
 lost a friend. He was at the same time 
 gifted with a keen judgment of character, 
 and with the power of expressing that 
 judgment in an indelible phrase." In 
 person he is described as rather above 
 the middle size ; he was of a slender make ; 
 his countenance was placid and exceed- 
 ingly engaging" (Thomson). As he ad- 
 vanced in years, Robison tells us, he 
 preserved a pleasing air of inward con- 
 tentment. Graceful and unaffected in 
 manner, *'he was of most easy approach, 
 affable, and readily entered into conversa- 
 tion, whether serious or trivial." Nor 
 did he distain elegant accomplishments. 
 — Clerke, Miss A. M., 1886, Dictionary 
 of National Biography, vol. v, p. 111. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The modesty of his nature making him 
 averse to publish his speculations, and the 
 genuine devotion to the investigation of 
 truth, for its own sake, rendering him 
 most open in his communications with all 
 who were engaged in the same pursuits, 
 his incontestable claim to be regarded as 
 the founder of modern chemistry has been 
 oftentimes overlooked; and, while some 
 have endeavoured more or less obscurely 
 to mingle themselves with his discoveries, 
 others have thought it becoming to post- 
 date the new system, that it might seem 
 the produce of a somewhat later age. The 
 interests of truth and justice therefore 
 require that we should minutely examine 
 the facts of the case; and, happily, the 
 evidence is so clear that it only requires 
 an attentive consideration to remove all 
 doubt from the subject. I feel it a duty 
 imperatively cast upon me to undertake a 
 task from which, did I not regard it as 
 less difficult than sacred, I might shrink. 
 But I had the great happiness of being 
 taught by himself, having attended one of 
 the last courses of lectures which he deliv- 
 ered ; and the knowledge thus gained can- 
 not be turned to a better use than in record- 
 ing the glory and in vindicating the fame 
 of my illustrious master. — Brougham, 
 Henry Lord, 1845-55, Lives of Philoso- 
 phers of the Time of George IIL, p. 1. 
 
 He struck out a theory which, being 
 
346 
 
 BLACK— BURNETT 
 
 eminently original, was violently attacked, 
 but is now generally admitted. "With a 
 boldness and reach of thought not often 
 equalled, he arrived at the conclusion, that 
 whenever a body loses some of its consist- 
 ence, as in the case of ice becoming water, 
 or water becoming steam, such body re- 
 ceives an amount of heat which our senses, 
 though aided by the most delicate ther- 
 mometer, can never detect. . . . The 
 intellect of Black belonged to a class. 
 
 which, in the eighteenth century, was 
 almost universal in Scotland, but was hardly 
 to be found in England, and which, for 
 want of a better word, we are compelled 
 to call deductive, though fully admitting 
 that even the most deductive minds have 
 in them a large amount of induction, since, 
 indeed, without induction, the common 
 business of life could not be carried on. — 
 Buckle, Henry Thomas, 1862-66, History 
 of Civilization in England, voL ill, chap, v. 
 
 James Burnett 
 
 Lord Monboddo 
 1714-1799 
 
 A Scottish lawyer and author, was born at Monboddo, in Kincardineshire, in 1714, 
 educated at Marischal College, Aberdeen, where he displayed a great fondness for the 
 Greek philosophers, and afterwards studied law for 3 years at Gronigen in Holland. 
 In 1737 he became a member of the Scottish bar, and soon obtained considerable 
 practice ; but the first thing that brought him prominently into notice was his con- 
 nection with the celebrated Douglas case, in which Mr. Burnet acted as counsel for 
 Mr. Douglas. In 1767 he was raised to the bench by the title of lord Monboddo. He 
 died May 26, 1799. Monboddo's first work, on the ''Origin and Progress of Lan- 
 guage" (1771-76), is a very learned, heretical, and eccentric production; yet in the 
 midst of its grotesque crotches there occasionally flashes out a wonderfully acute 
 observation, that makes one regret the distorted and misapplied talent of the author. 
 The notion that men have sprung from monkeys, is perhaps that which is most com- 
 monly associated with the name of Monboddo, who gravely asserted that the orang- 
 outangs are members of the human species, and that in the bay of Bengal there exists 
 a nation of human creatures with tails, and that we have only worn away ours by 
 sitting on them, but that the stumps may still be felt. Monboddo wrote another work, 
 entitled ''Ancient Metaphysics,'' which was published only a few weeks before his 
 death. — Peck, Harry Thurston, ed., 1898, The International Cyclopcedia, vol. x, p. 16. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The metaphysical and philological Lord 
 Monboddo breakfasted with us yesterday. 
 He is such an extravagant admirer of the 
 ancients that he scarcely allows the Eng- 
 lish language to be capable of any excel- 
 lence, still less the French. ... He said 
 we moderns were entirely degenerated. 
 1 asked in what? "In everything," was 
 his answer. "Men are not so tall as they 
 were, — women are not so handsome as they 
 were, nobody can now write a long period, 
 everything dwindles." . . . Among much 
 just thinking and some taste, especially in 
 his valuable third volume on "The Origin 
 and Progress of Language," he entertained 
 some opinions so absurd that they would 
 be hardly credible if he did not deliver 
 them himself, both in writing and conversa- 
 tion, with a gravity which shows that he 
 is in earnest, but which makes the hearer 
 feel that to be grave exceeds all power of 
 
 face. He is so wedded to system, that, as 
 Lord Barrington said to me the other day, 
 rather than sacrifice his favorite opinion 
 that men were born with tails, he would 
 be contented to wear one himself. — More, 
 Hannah, 1782, Letter to her Sister, Mem- 
 oirs, ed. Roberts, vol. i, p. 146. 
 
 I was married to the handsomest woman 
 in Scotland, and I believe the best wife in 
 it, with whom 1 lived most happily seven 
 years. I have been fifteen years a 
 widower, and during all that time I never 
 had the least thought of a second choice, 
 till I saw you at this time in London, so 
 amiable both in mind and person, and your 
 sentiments so much agreeing with mine 
 that I thought, and still think, we are 
 made for one another, and may live most 
 comfortably together. During my wido w- 
 hood, the affairs of my family have suffered 
 much, chiefly for want of a mother to my 
 children. ... I am sure I would 
 
JAMES BURNETT 
 
 347 
 
 make a most loving husband to you, and 
 besides I would propose to be a father to 
 that excellent girl who lives with you and 
 whose admirable genius it would give me 
 the greatest pleasure to cultivate and im- 
 prove, as I think I could do. Now my 
 dear Mrs. Garrick, tell me if you know any 
 three in Britain that you think would be 
 happier together than we three? And if 
 you pleased, I would add a fourth, my 
 young daughter, who is almost as hand- 
 some as her mother, a good figure, a very 
 good disposition, and not defective in 
 genius, particularly in painting. — ^BUR- 
 NETT, James Lord Monboddo, 1782, Letter 
 to Mrs. David Garrick. 
 
 The answer I gave you in that moment 
 when you did me the honor of proposing an 
 union between us came from my heart : it 
 was that I never would change my situa- 
 tion ; and which you must give me leave 
 to repeat again as a final answer to your 
 letter, I remain, my Lord, Your most 
 obliged and obedient servant. — Garrick, 
 Mrs. David, 1782, Letter to Lord Mon- 
 hoddOy June 26. 
 
 Lord Monboddo's temper was affection- 
 ate, friendly and social. He was fond of 
 convivial intercourse ; and it was his daily 
 custom to unbend himself, after his pro- 
 fessional labours, amidst a select party of 
 literary friends, whom he invited to an 
 early supper. The entertainment itself 
 partook of the costume of the ancients : it 
 had all the variety and abundance of a 
 principal meal ; and the master of the 
 feast crowned his wine, like Anacreon, 
 with a garland of roses. His conversa- 
 tion, too, had a race and ^a?;o2^r peculiarly 
 its own : it was nervous, sententious, and 
 tinctured with genuine wit. His apo- 
 thegms, (or, as his favourite Greeks would 
 rather term them Tyw^t), were singularly 
 terse and forcible ; and the grave manner 
 in which he often conveyed the keenest 
 irony, and the eloquence with which 
 he supported his paradoxical theories, 
 afforded the highest amusement of those 
 truly attic banquets, which will be long 
 remembered by all who had the pleasure of 
 partaking in them. — Tytler, Alexander 
 Fraser, 1806-14, Memoirs of the Life and 
 Writings of Henry Home of KameSy vol. i, 
 p. 250, note. 
 
 Lord Monboddo was a humorist both in 
 private life and in his literary career. He 
 was, says Sir Walter Scott, a gentleman of 
 
 the most amiable disposition, and of the 
 strictest honour and integrity. He was 
 deeply read in ancient literature, was a 
 devout believer in the virtues of the heroic 
 ages and the deterioration of civilized 
 mankind, and so great a contemner of 
 luxuries that he would never use a wheel 
 carriage. There were several points of 
 similarity between him and Johnson — 
 great learning, clearness of head, precision 
 of speech, and a love of inquiry on subjects 
 which people in general do not investigate. 
 Foote used to call Lord Monboddo "an 
 Elzevir edition of Johnson." — Ford, Ed- 
 ward, 1883, Lord Monboddo and Mrs. 
 Garricky National Review, vol. 2, p. 106. 
 
 In his judicial capacity he showed him- 
 self to be both a profound lawyer and an 
 upright judge, and his decisions were free 
 from those paradoxes which so frequently 
 appeared in his writings as well as in his 
 conversation. He was not, however, with- 
 out peculiarities, even in the court of 
 sessions, for instead of sitting on the 
 bench with his fellow-judges, he always 
 took his seat underneath with the clerks. 
 Nor was he as a rule inclined to agree with 
 his colleagues in their decisions, but was 
 generally in the minority and sometimes 
 alone. Burnett is, however, best known 
 to the world as a man of letters. . 
 In private life Burnett was an amiable, 
 generous, and kind-hearted man. Though 
 in his habit he was exceedingly temperate 
 and lived much according to rule, yet he 
 greatly delighted in the convivial society 
 of his friends. — Barker, G. F. Russell, 
 1886, Dictionary of National Biography , 
 vol. VII, pp. 412, 413. 
 
 Lord Monboddo was known rather for 
 his quaint eccentricities and social humour 
 than for any consummate mastery of the 
 law.— Craik, Sir Henry, 1901, A Cen- 
 tury of Scottish History, vol. ii, p. 148. 
 
 The venerable figure of Monboddo was 
 every year seen on horseback posting off to 
 London, to visit old friends and delight 
 old circles. At last, however, such ex- 
 peditions were too fatiguing for his shriv- 
 elled old body. He was on his way in 1799 
 to make his annual visit, but only got as 
 far as Dunbar, where he was taken ill, and 
 forced to undergo the ignominy of being 
 conveyed home in the despised chaise. 
 *'0h, George, "he said plaintively to his 
 nephew, "I find that I am eighty-four." 
 A few days later, in May, the venerable 
 
348 
 
 JAMES BURNETT 
 
 humorist was dead. Then the world 
 gossiped, according to its fashion, of 
 stories true and false about the old man's 
 humours — how he used to fancy that the 
 tails of babies were snipped off by mid- 
 wives at their birth, and how he would 
 watch at the bedroom door when a child 
 was born, in order to detect the relics of a 
 primeval ancestry. Others more worthily 
 recalled memorable nights in his society, 
 his sayings of curious wit, his sallies which 
 set the table in a roar, while perfect 
 gravity reigned on his ugly old face ; his 
 pleasant ways, his courtly, old-fashioned 
 manners. They missed the familiar form 
 which had trotted up innumerable stairs to 
 merry suppers — the worn-out old figure 
 they had daily seen standing at the door of 
 Creech's shop, or pacing the Parliament 
 Close — the owner of a most kindly heart, 
 the author of most unreadable books. 
 — Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish 
 Men of Letters in the Eighteenth Century, 
 p. 197. 
 
 GENERAL 
 And with Monboddo still believ'd in tails. 
 — Mathias, Thomas James, 1797, The 
 Pursuits of Literature, Eighth ed., p. 331. 
 
 The writings of Lord Monboddo display 
 a profound acquaintance with the philos- 
 ophy of the ancients, which he has explored 
 with the ardour, and admired perhaps with 
 the prejudices of an enthusiast ; but in so 
 far as they relate to criticism and phi- 
 lology, they are valuable monuments of 
 classical taste, and a sound discriminating 
 judgment in the excellencies and defects 
 of rhetorical composition.— Tytler, ALEX- 
 ANDER Eraser, 1806-14, Memoirs of the 
 Life and Writings of Henry Home of Kames, 
 vol. I, p. 246. 
 
 The writings of the eccentric James 
 Burnet, Lord Monboddo, contain interest- 
 ing passages, such as his theory about the 
 origin of man, and his humorously extrava- 
 gant defence of the superiority of ancient 
 over modern writers ; but the interest is 
 more in the matter than in any felicity or 
 original force of expression. — Minto, 
 William, 1872-80, Manual of English 
 Prose Literature, p. 487. 
 
 I confess that I have felt a deep interest 
 in reading the philosophical works of Lord 
 Monboddo, — he is so unlike any other 
 Scotch metaphysician, he is so unlike his 
 age. As appearing among a body of in- 
 ductive inquirers, and in the middle of the 
 
 eighteenth century, he looks very much 
 like a megatherium coming in upon us in 
 the historical period. His society is not 
 with the modern empiricists, not even with 
 the Latins, but with Plato and the Neo- 
 Platonists, with Aristotle and his com- 
 mentators. As regards the higher Greek 
 philosophy, he is the most erudite scholar 
 that Scotland has produced, not excepting 
 even Sir William Hamilton. He had two 
 great philosophic works. ... He 
 dwells with evident fondness on categories 
 or universal forms. All things are to be 
 known by their causes. The knowledge of 
 first causes belongs to metaphysics. 
 Everything that is to be known falls 
 under one or other of the categories. He 
 shows that God must have ideas. Man 
 is capable of forming ideas. Time is not 
 a cause, but is a necessary adjunct or 
 concomitant of the material world. — 
 McCosH, James, 1874, The Scottish Phil- 
 osophy, pp. 248, 250, 252. 
 
 A brief reference must suffice to one 
 other thinker of considerable ability, who, 
 in attempting to assail the dominant philos- 
 ophy, produced at least a literary curios- 
 ity. Lord Monboddo, following James 
 Harris, the author of ''Hermes," attempted 
 to revive the Aristotelian philosophy. 
 His six quartos upon ''Antient Metaphy- 
 sics," and his six octavos upon the pro- 
 gress of language, contain much acute 
 thought amidst huge masses of digression, 
 repetition, and apology for eccentric 
 crochets. His main point is really a 
 criticism of Locke and Hume for their con- 
 fusion of sensation and perception. He 
 makes many of the criticisms which from 
 this point of view would commend them- 
 selves to the metaphysical school of which 
 he professes himself an adherent ; but he 
 produced no influence upon thought — 
 partly because his doctrine was an attempt 
 to resuscitate the dead ; and even more, 
 perhaps, because it was overlaid with oddi- 
 ties, some of which are remembered when 
 his more serious remarks are forgotten. 
 . . . Reid and Hartley each founded a 
 school ; but Monboddo remained an isolated 
 being, annointing himself according to the 
 fashion of the ancients, growling at the 
 degeneracy of mankind, and regarded by 
 them as a semi-lunatic, outside the sphere 
 of practical influence. — Stephen, Leslie, 
 1876, History of English Thought in the 
 Eighteenth Century, vol. i, pp. 68, 69. 
 
349 
 
 Patrick Henry 
 
 1736-1799 
 
 Henry was born at Studley, Virginia, May 29th, 1736. He was of good Scotch and 
 English blood, and was educated by his father ; he married at eighteen and went early 
 into business. He became a lawyer when twenty-four, and was successful from the 
 first. When pleading the cause of a clergyman in 1763 in the celebrated tobacco-tax 
 question, he showed himself to be a fine speaker ; and from this on, advanced rapidly 
 in public life. Elected in 1765 to the Virginia House, in a fiery speech he advocated 
 resistence to the Stamp Act and became the leader of his colony. He was a delegate 
 to the first Continental Congress, and in 1776, on the adoption of the Constitution, his 
 own state made him four times governor ; he declined re-election in 1786, to be again 
 elected in 1796 and again to decline. . . . Retiring from public life in 1791 at the 
 age of fifty-five, he practiced law, preferring to guard his broken health and provide for 
 his large family ; although subsequently Washington offered him the post of Secretary 
 of State and that of Chief Justice, and President Adams named him minister to France. 
 In 1799, however, at Washington's appeal he allowed himself to be elected to the 
 Legislature; but died June 6th, before taking his seat. — Warner, Charles Dudley, 
 ed.f 1897, Library of the World's Best Literature, vol. xii, p. 7241. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 On the 6th inst. departed this life 
 Patrick Henry, Esquire, of Charlotte 
 Count. Mourn, Virginia, mourn! Your 
 Henry is gone ! Ye friends to liberty in 
 every clime, drop a tear. No more will 
 his social feelings spread delight through 
 his happy house. No more will his edify- 
 ing example dictate to his numerous off- 
 spring the sweetness of virtue, and the 
 majesty of patriotism. No more will his 
 sage advice, guided by zeal for the com- 
 mon happiness, impart light and utility to 
 his caressing neighbors. No more will he 
 illuminate the public councils with senti- 
 ments drawn from the cabinet of his own 
 mind, ever directed to his country's good, 
 and clothed in eloquence sublime, delight- 
 ful, and commanding. Farewell, first- 
 rate patriot, farewell ! As long as our 
 rivers flow, or mountains stand — so long 
 will your excellence and worth be the theme 
 of homage and endearment, and Virginia, 
 bearing in mind her loss, will say to rising 
 generations, imitate my Henry. — Vir- 
 ginia Gazette, 1799, June 14 
 
 I have not time to compare the charac- 
 ters of Washington and Henry, or I would 
 clearly show that fewer blunders fell to the 
 share of the latter than the former, and 
 yet I have no objection to paying a tribute 
 to the past services and virtues of either. 
 —Tyler, John, 1799, Letter to James 
 Monroe, Dec. 27. 
 
 His disposition was indeed all sweet- 
 ness — his affections were warm, kind, and 
 social — his patience invincible — his tem- 
 per ever unclouded, cheerful and serene — 
 
 his manners plain, open, familiar, and 
 simple — his conversation easy, ingenious 
 and unaffected, full of entertainment, full 
 of instruction, and irradiated with all those 
 light and softer graces, which his genius 
 threw, without effort, over the most com- 
 mon subjects. It is said that there stood 
 in the court, before his door, a large wal- 
 nut-tree, under whose shade it was his de- 
 light to pass his summer evenings, sur- 
 rounded by his affectionate and happy 
 family, and by a circle of neighbours who 
 loved him almost to idolatry. Here he 
 would disport himself with all the careless 
 gaiety of infancy. Here, too, he would 
 sometimes warm the bosoms of the old, and 
 strike fire from the eyes of his younger 
 hearers, by recounting the tales of other 
 times ; by sketching, with the boldness of 
 a master's hand, those great historic in- 
 cidents in which he had borne a part ; and 
 by drawing to the life, and placing before 
 his audience, in colours as fresh and strong 
 as those of nature, the many illustrious 
 men in every quarter of the continent, 
 with whom he had acted a part on the 
 public stage. . . . Mr. Henry's con- 
 versation was remarkably pure and chaste. 
 He never swore. He was never heard to 
 take the name of his Maker in vain. He 
 was a sincere Christian, though after a 
 form of his own ; for he w^as never attached 
 to any particular religious society, and 
 never, it is believed, communed with any 
 church. . . . His morals were strict. 
 As a husband, a father, a master, he had 
 no superior. He was kind and hospitable 
 to the stranger, and most friendly and 
 
350 
 
 PATRICK HENRY 
 
 accommodating to his neighbours. In his 
 dealings with the world, he was faithful to 
 his promise, and punctual in his contracts, 
 to the utmost of his power. — Wirt, Wil- 
 liam, 1817, Sketches of the Life and Char- 
 acter of Patrick Henry, pp. 394, 418. 
 
 Imagination can present no brighter 
 picture of a happy old age, than is ex- 
 hibited in the real life of Henry ; and, when 
 we compare this charming spectacle with 
 that of the cares and privations which 
 have clouded the closing years of some of 
 our greatest revolutionary patriots, we 
 are forced to acknowledge, that the strict 
 private economy with which Henry has 
 sometimes been reproached as a fault, 
 when combined, as it was in his case, with 
 a genial temperament and a liberal dis- 
 charge of all the duties of life, was not so 
 much a venial error as an actual, positive, 
 and most important virtue. He had been 
 always strongly impressed with the im- 
 portance of religion, and had studied with 
 care the best books on the subject that 
 came within his reach. . . . He possessed 
 an instinctive sagacity, which supplied, to 
 a great extent, the deficiencies of his 
 education ; a moral courage, which led 
 him to spurn all considerations of mere 
 temporary expediency, when he was once 
 satisfied where the right lay, and a natur- 
 ally noble and generous heart. To these 
 better qualities he owed his extraordinary 
 eflSciency and success as a public speaker. 
 — Everett, Alexander H., 1844, Life 
 of Patrick Henry; The Library of American 
 Biography, ed. Sparks, vol. I, pp. 384, 387. 
 
 Mason Locke Weems, with his fun and 
 his fiddle, his imagination and his fluency, 
 had points in common with that most gifted 
 of all such Virginians, Patrick Henry. 
 Without the opportunity which called into 
 exercise Patrick Henry's sublime talent, 
 that great-natured orator might have lived 
 to the end of his days a fiddling stroller 
 and story-teller, like his contemporary, 
 Weems.— Parton, James, 1879, The Tra- 
 ditional and Real Washington, Magazine 
 of American History, vol. 3, p. 467. 
 
 Such, 1 think it may fairly be said, 
 was Patrick Henry when, at the age 
 of twenty-four, having failed in every 
 other pursuit, he turned for bread to the 
 profession of the law. There is no evi- 
 dence that either he or any other mortal 
 man was aware of the extraordinary gifts 
 that lay within him for success in that 
 
 career. Not a scholar surely, not even a 
 considerable miscellaneous reader, he yet 
 had the basis of a good education ; he had 
 the habit of reading over and over again 
 a few of the best books ; he had a good 
 memory; he had an intellect strong to 
 grasp the great commanding features of 
 any subject; he had a fondness for the 
 study of human nature, and singular pro- 
 ficiency in that branch of science ; he had 
 quick and warm sympathies, particularly 
 with persons in trouble, — an invincible 
 propensity to take sides with the under- 
 dog in any fight. Through a long experi- 
 ence in off-hand talk with the men whom 
 he had thus far chiefly known in his little 
 provincial world, — with an occasional 
 clergyman, pedagogue, or legislator, small 
 planters and small traders, sportsmen, 
 loafers, slaves, and the drivers of slaves, 
 and, more than all, those bucolic Solons 
 of old Virginia, the good-humored, illiter- 
 ate, thriftless Caucasian consumers of 
 tobacco and whiskey, who, cordially con- 
 senting that all the hard work of the 
 world should be done by the children of 
 Ham, were thus left free to commune 
 together in endless debate on the tavern 
 porch or on the shady side of the country 
 store, — young Patrick had learned some- 
 what of the lawyer's art of putting things ; 
 he could make men laugh, could make them 
 serious, could set fire to their enthusiasms. 
 What more he might do with such gifts 
 nobody seems to have guessed ; very likely 
 few gave it any thought at all. In that 
 rugged but munificient profession at whose 
 outward gates he then proceeded to knock, 
 it was altogether improbable that he would 
 burden himself with much more of its 
 erudition than was really necessary for a 
 successful general practice in Virginia in 
 his time or that he would permanently - 
 content himself with less. — Tyler, Moses 
 Coit, 1887, Patrick Henry (American 
 Statesmen), p. 18. 
 
 With no pomp or ceremony, but amid 
 the tears of his devoted family and loving 
 neighbors, Patrick Henry was laid to rest 
 in the quiet graveyard at Red Hill, at the 
 foot of the garden. A plain marble slab 
 covers his grave, on which are inscribed 
 his name, the dates of his birth and death, 
 and the words, "His fame is his best 
 epitaph." — Henry, William Wirt, 1891, 
 Patrick Henry, vol. ii, p. 626. 
 
 Beloved and praised without stint by the 
 
PATRICK HENRY 
 
 351 
 
 men of his time, and since his death 
 strangely maligned by a rival statesman 
 of Virginia.— Poole, W. P., 1892, Pat- 
 rick Henry, The Dial, vol. 13, p. 41. 
 
 xA.mong his own countrymen every detail 
 of the career of such a familiar historical 
 figure is of undying interest ; but to the 
 notice of most English readers Patrick 
 Henry comes, I think, but as a shadowy 
 name. His life can be divided into two 
 distinct periods. The first has an ijiter- 
 national interest, and consists of the 
 almost magical transformation of the de- 
 spised clown, through a series of dramatic 
 situations, to a leading figure and potent 
 factor in one of the greatest struggles in 
 English history. In the second his activity 
 ceases to have any international signifi- 
 cance, and is reduced by the march of 
 events to a purely provincial and domestic 
 stage. The former, as a subject of in- 
 terest to Englishmen, needs no apology. 
 The latter would only be welcome where 
 some sympathy with the personality of 
 Henry, and the conditions of the Southern 
 Colonies after the war, had been awakened. 
 — Bradley, A. G., 1892. Patrick Henrys 
 Macmillan^s Magazine, vol. 65, p. 355. 
 
 SPEECHES 
 He is by far the most powerful speaker 
 I ever heard. Every word he says not 
 only engages but commands the attention ; 
 and your passions are no longer your own 
 when he addresses them. But his elo- 
 quence is the smallest part of his merit. 
 He is, in my opinion, the first man upon 
 this continent, as well in abilities as 
 public virtues, and had he lived in Rome 
 about the time of the first Punic War. . . . 
 Mr. Henry's talents must have put him at 
 the head of that glorious commonwealth. 
 — Mason, George, 1774, Letter to Martin 
 Cockburn, Life and Writings. 
 
 The times in which he lived were suited 
 to his genius, in other times we doubt if 
 his peculiar powers would have raised him 
 to a higher distinction, than that of an 
 eloquent speaker at the bar. . . . The 
 secret of his eloquence unquestionably 
 rested in his power of touching the spring 
 of passion and feeling. He had little to 
 do with the understanding or judgment of 
 his hearers.— Sparks, Jared, 1818, Mr. 
 Wirfs Life of Patrick Henry, North Amer- 
 ican Review, vol. 6, p. 322. 
 
 They fall, of course, far below his fame ; 
 
 and it is, after all, on the faith of mere 
 tradition, attested, however, by facts too 
 numerous and of too public a character to 
 leave it in any way doubtful, that the pres- 
 ent and future generations will acknowl- 
 edge the justice of his claim to the proud 
 title, that has been given him, of the great- 
 est orator of the New World.— Everett, 
 Alexander H., 1844, Life of Patrick 
 Henry ; The Library of American Biog- 
 raphy, vol. I, p. 389. 
 
 Mr. Henry seldom used his pen, and has 
 therefore left but little written eloquence 
 authenticated by himself. To form our 
 estimate of his powers, we have mainly 
 to rely on the reports of those who had 
 witnessed the wonders he wrought — those 
 who had felt the magic of his action, 
 trembled at the majesty of his voice, and 
 caught the flashings of his eye, — who had 
 been fascinated by his smile, or repulsed 
 by his terrific frov/n, and who always found 
 themselves incompetent to express fully 
 the power with which he impressed con- 
 viction. — Magoon, E. L., 1848, Orators 
 of the American Revolution, p. 263. 
 
 In executing a mission from the Synod 
 of Virginia, in the year 1794, 1 had to pass 
 through the county of Prince Edward, 
 where Mr. Henry resided. Understanding 
 that he was to appear before the Circuit 
 Court, which met in that county, in de- 
 fence of three men charged with murder, 
 I determined to seize the opportunity of 
 observing for myself the eloquence of this 
 extraordinary orator. ... In person, 
 Mr. Henry was lean rather than fleshy. He 
 was rather above than below the common 
 height, but had a stoop in the shoulders 
 which prevented him from appearing as 
 tall as he really was. In his moments of 
 animation, he had the habit of straighten- 
 ing his frame, and adding to his apparent 
 stature. He wore a brown wig, which 
 exhibited no indication of any great care 
 in the dressing. Over his shoulders he 
 wore a brown camlet cloak. Under this 
 his clothing was black, something the worse 
 for wear. The expression of his counte- 
 nance was that of solemnity and deep 
 earnestness. His mind appeared to be 
 always absorbed in what, for the time, 
 occupied his attention. His forehead was 
 high and spacious, and the skin of his face 
 more than usually wrinkled for a man of 
 fifty. His eyes were small and deeply set 
 in his head, but were of a bright blue color, 
 
352 
 
 PATRICK HENRY 
 
 and twinkled much in their sockets. In 
 short, Mr. Henry's appearance had nothing 
 very remarkable, as he sat at rest. You 
 might readily have taken him for a com- 
 mon planter who cared very little about 
 his personal appearance. In his manners, 
 he was uniformly respectful and courte- 
 ous. ... In the countenance, action, and 
 intonation of the speaker, there was ex- 
 pressed such an intensity of feeling, that 
 all my doubts were dispelled ; never again 
 did I question whether Henry felt, or only 
 acted a feeling. Indeed, I experienced an 
 instantaneous sympathy with him in the 
 emotions which he expressed ; and I have 
 no doubt the same sympathy was felt by 
 every hearer. —Alexander, Archibald, 
 1850, Reminiscences of Patrick Henry , 
 Princeton Magazine ; Life by J. W. Alex- 
 ander. 
 
 Henry rose with an unearthly fire burn- 
 ing in his eye. He commenced somewhat 
 calmly [Speech of March 23, 1775], 
 but the smothered excitement began 
 more and more to play upon his features 
 and thrill in the tones of his voice. The 
 tendons of his neck stood out white and 
 rigid "like whipcords." His voice rose 
 louder and louder, until the walls of the 
 building, and all within them, seemed to 
 shake and rock in its tremendous vibra- 
 tions. Finally, his pale face and glaring 
 eye became ' ' terrible to look upon. ' ' Men 
 leaned forward in their seats," with their 
 heads ''strained forward," their faces pale, 
 and their eyes glaring like the speaker's. 
 His last exclamation, ''Give me liberty or 
 give me death!" was like the shout of a 
 leader which turns back the rout of battle. 
 The old clergymen said, when Mr. Henry 
 sat down, he [the auditor] felt "sick with 
 excitement." Every eye yet gazed en- 
 tranced on Henry. It seemed as if a word 
 from him would have led to any wild 
 explosion of violence. ' ' Men looked beside 
 themselves." — Randall, Henry Steph- 
 ens, 1858, Life of Thomas Jefferson, vol, i, 
 p. 101. 
 
 No one spoke so well or reasoned so 
 badly as Henry. He was to the end of his 
 days an orator and an actor, and nothing 
 more. Had he, indeed, gone upon the 
 stage, he would have rivalled Garrick. 
 The attitudes which he struck, the way in 
 which he walked, his gestures, his sonorous 
 voice, and the wonderful play of his fea- 
 tures must, if we may trust the descriptions 
 
 of those who heard him, have been most 
 remarkable. He would have been fine as 
 Othello, and have done well as Sir Andrew 
 Aguecheek. But a statesman he certainly 
 was not. Whatever could be done by elo- 
 quence he could do, He could deliver a 
 fourth-of-July oration, move a jury, con- 
 duct a canvass, or entertain the Legisla- 
 ture with tirades on liberty and, the rights 
 of man in a way that would have ex- 
 cited the envy of Pitt and Burke. When, 
 however, the end sought was to be gained 
 not by good speaking, but by good reason- 
 ing, he was unable to cope with men whose 
 limited vocabulary, whose mouthing and 
 stammering and monotonous tones it was 
 painful to hear. — McMaster, John Bach, 
 1883, A History of the People of the United 
 States, vol. I, p. 490. 
 
 Mr. Henry was a man of marked and 
 peculiar power as an orator. He could 
 sway the minds of the cultured and the 
 ignorant with equal ease. He could rouse 
 to action, or quiet the raging passions. 
 He was a born actor, and understood how 
 to use his powers with the best effect. 
 While he was not a wise and accomplished 
 statesman, he exercised a strong influence 
 on the destinies of his country. — Whit- 
 man, C. M., 1883, American Orators and 
 Oratory, p. 32. 
 
 For Virginia he was Otis and Adams in 
 one, — both orator and political manager. 
 Not many of his burning speeches have 
 come down to us, but we well know, what 
 he was: one of the first orators of 
 the eighteenth century. — Richardson, 
 Charles F., 1887, American Literature, 
 1607-1885, vol. I, p. 189. 
 
 His speeches had an extraordinary vivid- 
 ness, and no speaker of his day is so widely 
 quoted in our time as Henry. He ex- 
 pressed honesty as well as passion, and 
 strong practical ability lay behind his 
 words. He prepared the minds of the 
 people for the inevitableness of war, and 
 was active in devising measures to meet it 
 when it came — Hawthorne, Julian, and 
 Lemmon, Leonard, 1891, American Lit- 
 erature, p. 35. 
 
 Mr. Henry was happily endowed with 
 that rich imagination which gives vitality 
 to the body of thought, and which is essen- 
 tial to the success of the great orator. 
 He was deeply inbued with that vehemence 
 of conviction, that oratorical action, which 
 
HENR r— WASHING TON 
 
 353 
 
 modulates the tones, tinges the visage 
 with irresistible power, and suggests to 
 the hearer more than articulate language 
 can express. — Hardwicke, Henry, 1896, 
 History of Oratory and Orators^ p. 332. 
 
 His oratory appeals strongly to the 
 emotions. In his legal practice he de- 
 pended more on the spell which his elo- 
 quence threw over the jury, than on a 
 mastery of the legal intricacies of the 
 case. He was fervid rather than weighty ; 
 superficial and hasty rather than deep. 
 His oratory abounds in figurative lan- 
 guage ; it is sometimes overwrought, even 
 turgid, full of exaggerations and extrava- 
 gant rhapsodies, yet when joined with the 
 
 fire, the energy, the flashing eye, the im- 
 passioned voice of the man who origin- 
 ated it, was irresistible. — Pattee, Fred 
 Lewis, 1896, A History of American Lit- 
 erature, p. 73. 
 
 The greatest Revolutionary orator of 
 the emotional type was Patrick Henry of 
 Virginia, inferior to many of his contem- 
 poraries in learning, judgment, and prac- 
 tical efficiency, but endowed with the gift 
 of passionate eloquence. His famous 
 speech before the Virginia Convention, in 
 1775, rivals the oratory of Chatham for 
 terse strength and fiery logic. — Broxson, 
 Walter C, 1900, A Short History of 
 American Literature, p. 46. 
 
 George Washington 
 
 1732-1799 
 
 Born in Westmoreland County, Va., Feb. 22 (0. S. Feb. 11), 1732: died at Mount 
 Vernon, Dec. 14, 1799. A famous American soldier and statesman, the first President 
 of the United States. He was the son of Augustine Washington, a Virginia planter. 
 He was at school until he was about 16 years of age ; was engaged in surveying 1748-51 ; 
 was appointed adjutant of Virginia troops in 1751 ; inherited Mount Vernon on the death 
 of his brother in 1752; was made by-Dinwiddie commander of a military district of 
 Virginia in 1753 ; was sent on a mission to the French authorities beyond the Allegheny 
 River 1753-54 ; was appointed lieutenant-colonel in 1754 ; had a successful skirmish 
 with the French, and defended Fort Necessity, but was obliged to surrender on July 3 ; 
 was a volunteer aide-de-camp to Braddock in the battle of the Monongahela in 1755, 
 and brought off the Virginians; commanded on the frontier 1755-57; and led the ad- 
 vance-guard in Forbes' s expedition for the reduction of Fort Duquesne in 1758. On 
 Jan. 9, 1759, he married Martha Custis (widow of Daniel Parke Custis), and settled as 
 a planter at Mount Vernon. He was a delegate to the Virginia House of Burgesses, 
 and to the Continental Congresses of 1774 and 1775 ; was appointed commander-in- 
 chief of the Continental forces June 15, 1775; arrived at Cambridge July 2, and took 
 command and compelled the evacuation of Boston on March 17, 1776. His army was 
 defeated at the battle of Long Island Aug. 27, 1776, and at White Plains Oct. 28, 1776 ; 
 he retreated through New Jersey ; surprised the Hessians at Trenton Dec. 26 ; won the 
 victory of Princeton Jan., 1777 ; was defeated at Brandy wine and Germantown in 1777 ; 
 was at Valley Forge during the winter of 1777--78 ; fought the drawn battle of Mon- 
 mouth in 1778 ; compelled the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown in 1781 ; resigned 
 his commission as commander-in-chief at Annapolis in 1783; and retired to Mount 
 Vernon. In 1787 he was president of the Constitutional Convention ; was unanimously 
 elected President of the United States in Feb. 1789, and inaugurated at New York 
 April 30, 1789 ; and was unanimously re-elected in 1793, serving until 1797. Among 
 the chief events in his administrations were the establishment of the machinery of 
 government, the crystallization of parties, the regulation of commerce and finance, the 
 admission of Vermont, Kentucky, and Tennessee, the Indian wars, the whiskey insur- 
 rection," and the Jay treaty. He issued his farewell address to the people in Sept., 
 1796. He was appointed lieutenant-general and commander-in-chief of the army in 
 anticipation of a war with France in 1798. — Smith, Benjamin E., ed., 1894-97, The 
 Century Cyclopedia of Names, p. 1051. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 George Washington, son to Augustine 
 and Mary his wife, was born y*" 11th day 
 of February 173i about ten in the morning, 
 
 23C 
 
 and was baptized the 3d of April following ; 
 Mr. Beverly Whiting and Captain Christo- 
 pher Brooks, godfathers, and Mrs. Mildred 
 Gregory godmother.— Family Bible, 1732. 
 
354 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 Is Mr. Washington among your acquaint- 
 ances ? If not, I recommend you to em- 
 brace the first opportunity to form his 
 friendship. He is about twenty-three 
 years of age ; with a countenance both mild 
 and pleasant, promising both wit and judg- 
 ment. He is of comely and dignified de- 
 meanor, at the same time displays much 
 self-reliance and decision. He strikes me 
 as being a young man of extraordinary and 
 exalted character, and is destined to 
 make no inconsiderable figure in our coun- 
 try.— Braddock, Gen. Edward, 1755, 
 Letters. 
 
 Washington, the dictator, has shown 
 himself both a Fabius and a Camillus. His 
 march through our lines is allowed to have 
 been a prodigy of generalship. In one 
 word, I look upon a great part of America 
 as lost to this country ! — Walpole, 
 Horace, 1777, To Sir Horace Mann, April 
 3 ; Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. vi, p. 423. 
 Strike up, hell's music ! roar, infernal drums ! 
 Discharge the cannon ! Lo, the warrior comes ! 
 He comes, not tame as on Ohio's banks, 
 But rampant at the head of ragged ranks. 
 Hunger and itch are with him — Gates and 
 Wayne ! 
 
 And all the lice of Egypt in his train. 
 Sure these are Falstaff 's soldiers, poor and 
 bare, 
 
 Or else the rotten reg'ments of Rag -Fair. 
 
 Hear thy indictment, Washington, at large; 
 Attend and listen to the solemn charge : 
 Thou hast supported an atrocious cause 
 Against the king, thy country, and the laws ; 
 Committed perjury, encouraged lies. 
 Forced conscience, broken the most sacred 
 ties; 
 
 Myriads of wives and fathers at thy hand 
 Their slaughtered husbands, slaughtered 
 
 sons, demand; 
 That pastures hear no more the lowing kine, 
 That towns are desolate, all — all is thine ; 
 The frequent sacrilege that pained my sight, 
 The blasphemies my pen abhors to write, 
 Innumerable crimes on thee must fall— 
 For thou maintainest, thou defendest all. 
 — Odell, Jonathan, 1779, The Loyalist 
 Poetry. 
 
 I have seen General Washington, that 
 most singular man — the soul and support 
 of one of the greatest revolutions that has 
 ever happened, or can happen. I fixed my 
 eyes upon him with that keen attention 
 which the sight of a great man always in- 
 spires. We naturally entertain a secret 
 hope of discovering in the features of such 
 illustrious persons some traces of that 
 
 genius which distinguishes them from, and 
 elevates them above, their fellow mortals. 
 Perhaps the exterior of no man was better 
 calculated to gratify these expectations 
 than that of General Washington. He is 
 of a tall and noble stature, well propor- 
 tioned, a fine, cheerful, open countenance, 
 a simple and modest carriage; and his 
 whole mien has something in it that inter- 
 ests the French, the Americans, and even 
 enemies themselves in his favor. . . . 
 His reputation has, at length, arisen to a 
 most brilliant height; and he may now 
 grasp at the most unbounded power, with- 
 out provoking envy or exciting suspicion. 
 He has ever shown himself superior to 
 fortune, and in the most trying adversity 
 has discovered resources until then un- 
 known: and, as if his abilities only in- 
 creased and dilated at the prospect of 
 difficulty, he is never better supplied than 
 when he seems destitute of everything, nor 
 have his arms ever been so fatal to his 
 enemies, as at the very instant when they 
 thought they had crushed him forever. It 
 is his to excite a spirit of heroism and 
 enthusiasm in a people who are by nature 
 very little susceptible of it ; to gain over 
 the respect and homage of those whose 
 interest it is to refuse it, and to execute his 
 plans and projects by means unknown even 
 to those who are his instruments; he is 
 intrepid in dangers, yet never seeks them 
 but when the good of his country demands 
 it, preferring rather to temporize and act 
 upon the defensive, because he knows such 
 a mode of conduct best suits the genius 
 and circumstances of the nation, and all 
 that he and they have to expect, depends 
 upon time, fortitude, and patience ; he is 
 frugal and sober in regard to himself, but 
 profuse in the public cause ; like Peter the 
 Great, he has by defeats conducted his 
 army to victory ; and like Fabius, but with 
 fewer resources and more difficulty, he has 
 conquered without fighting and saved his 
 country. — Robin, Claude C, 1781, Letter 
 from Camp of Phillipsburg, Aug. 4 ; Maga- 
 zine of American History, vol. 20, pp. 
 137, 138. 
 
 0 Washington ! how do I love thy name ! 
 How have I often adored and blessed thy 
 God, for creating and forming thee the 
 great ornament of human kind ! . . , 
 The world and posterity will, with admira- 
 tion, contemplate thy deliberate, cool, and 
 stable judgment, thy virtues, thy valor and 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 355 
 
 heroic achievements, as far surpassing 
 those of Cyrus, whom the world loved and 
 adored. The sound of thy fame shall go 
 out into all the earth, and extend to dis- 
 tant ages. . . . Such has been thy 
 military wisdom in the struggles of this 
 arduous conflict, such the noble rectitude, 
 amiableness, and mansuetude of thy char- 
 acter, something is there so singularly 
 glorious and venerable thrown by Heaven 
 about thee, that not only does thy country 
 love thee, but our very enemies stop the 
 madness of their fire in full volley, stop 
 the illiberality of their slander at thy name, 
 as if rebuked from Heaven with a — "Touch 
 not mine Annointed, and do my Hero no 
 harm !" Thy fame is of sweeter perfume 
 than Arabian spices in the gardens of 
 Persia. A Baron de Steuben shall waft 
 it to a far greater monarch, and diffuse 
 thy renown throughout Europe. Listen- 
 ing angels shall catch the odor, waft it to 
 heaven, and perfume the universe! — 
 Stiles, Ezra, 1783, The United States 
 Elevated to Glory and Honor, p, 334. 
 
 The name of the Deliverer of America 
 alone can stand in the title-page of the 
 tragedy of the Deliverer of Rome. — To 
 you, most excellent and most rare citizen, 
 I therefore dedicate this: without first 
 hinting at even a part of so many praises 
 due to yourself, which I now deem all com- 
 prehended in the sole mention of your 
 name.— Alfieri, Vittorio, 1785, The 
 First Brutus, Dedication. 
 
 My fine crab tree walking stick, with a 
 gold head curiously wrought in the form 
 of the cap of liberty, I give to my friend, 
 and the friend of mankind, General Wash- 
 ington. It it were a sceptre he has 
 merited it ; and would become it. — Frank- 
 lin, Benjamin, 1790, Will. 
 
 Illustrious man, deriving honour less 
 from the splendor of his situation than 
 from the dignity of his mind, before whom 
 all borrowed greatness sinks into insignifi- 
 cance, and all the potentates of Europe 
 (excepting the members of our own royal 
 family) become little and contemptible! 
 He has had no occasion to have recourse 
 to any tricks of policy or arts of alarm ; 
 his authority has been sufficiently sup- 
 ported by the same means by which it was 
 acquired, and his conduct has uniformly 
 been characterised by wisdom, modera- 
 tion and firmness. — Fox, Charles James, 
 1794, Speech in House of Commons , Jan. 
 
 First in war — first in peace — and first 
 in the hearts of his countrymen, he was 
 second to none in the humble and endear- 
 ing scenes of private life; pious, just, 
 humane, temperate and sincere ; uniform, 
 dignified and commanding, his example 
 was as edifying to all around him as were 
 the effects of that example lasting. To 
 his equals he was condescending, to his 
 inferiors kind, and to the dear object of 
 his affections exemplarily tender. Correct 
 throughout, vice shuddered in his presence, 
 and virtue always felt his fostering hand. 
 The purity of his private character gave 
 effulgence to his public virtues. His last 
 scene comported with the whole tenor of 
 his life — although in extreme pain, not a 
 sigh, nor a groan escaped him ; and with 
 undisturbed serenity he closed his well- 
 spent life. Such was the man America 
 has lost — such was the man for whom our 
 nation mourns. — Lee, Major General 
 Henry, 1799, Funeral Oration on Wash- 
 ington, Delivered before the Two Houses of 
 Congress, Dec. 26. 
 
 The life of our WASHINGTON cannot 
 suffer by a comparison with those of other 
 countries, who have been most celebrated 
 and exalted by fame. The attributes and 
 declarations of royalty could have only 
 served to eclipse the majesty of those 
 virtues, which made him, from being a 
 modest citizen, a more resplendid lumi- 
 nary. Misfortune, had he lived, could here- 
 after have sullied his glory only with those 
 superficial minds, who, believing that char- 
 acters and actions are marked by success 
 alone, rarely deserve to enjoy it. Malice 
 could never blast his honor : and envy made 
 him a singular exception to her universal 
 rule. For himself he had lived enough, 
 to life and glory. For his fellow-citizens, 
 if their prayers could have been answered, 
 he would have been immortal. For me, 
 his departure is at a most unfortunate 
 moment. Trusting, however, in the wise 
 and righteous dominion of Providence over 
 the passions of men, and the results of 
 their councils and actions, as well as over 
 their lives, and nothing remains for me, 
 but humble resignation. His example is 
 now complete, and it will teach wisdom 
 and virtue to magistrates, citizens, and 
 men, not only in the present age, but in 
 future generations, as long as our his- 
 tory shall be read. If a Trajan found a 
 Pliny, a Marcus Aurelius can never want 
 
356 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 biographers, eulogists or historians. — 
 Adams, John, 1799, To the Senate, Dee. 19. 
 
 Born to high destinies, he was fashioned 
 for them by the hand of nature. His form 
 was noble — his port majestic. On his 
 front were enthroned the virtues which 
 exalt, and those which adorn the human 
 character. So dignified his deportment, 
 no man could approach him but with re- 
 spect — none was great in his presence. 
 You all have seen him, and you all have 
 felt the reverence he inspired; it was 
 such, that to command, seemed to him but 
 the exercise of an ordinary function, while 
 others felt a duty to obey, which (anterior 
 to the injunctions of civil ordinance, or 
 the compulsion of a military code) was 
 imposed by the high behests of nature. 
 He had every title to command — Heaven, in 
 giving him the higher qualities of the soul, 
 had given also the tumultous passions which 
 accompany greatness, and frequently tar- 
 nish its lustre. With them was his first 
 contest, and his first victory was over him- 
 self. So great the empire he had there 
 acquired, that calmness of manner and of 
 conduct distinguished him through life. 
 Yet, those who have seen him strongly 
 moved, will bear witness that his wrath 
 was terrible ; they have seen boiling in his 
 bosom, passion almost too mighty for 
 man; yet, when just bursting into act, 
 that strong passion was controlled by his 
 stronger mind.— Morris, Gouverneur, 
 1799, An Oration upon the Death of Gen- 
 eral Washington, Delivered at the Request 
 of the Corporation of the City of New York, 
 on the ^Ist of December. 
 Oh, WASHINGTON! thou hero, patriot, 
 sage! 
 
 Friend of all climes, and pride of every age ! 
 Were thine the laurels, every soil could raise. 
 The mighty harvest were penurious praise. 
 Well may our realms thy Fabian wisdom 
 boast ; 
 
 Thy prudence sav'd, what bravery had lost. 
 —Paine, Thomas, 1800, Ode Sung at the 
 Old South Meeting House, Boston, Jan. 9. 
 
 Washington is no more ! The tomb has 
 claimed him who was the model of Repub- 
 lican perfection. This is not the time to 
 trace all that this truly great man has 
 accomplished for the liberties of America, 
 the number and importance of military 
 achievements, the generous inspirations 
 which he imparted to the French who were 
 attracted to his school of arms ; the sub- 
 lime act which will ever add lustre to his 
 
 memory, when, after exerting his talents 
 in giving liberty to his country, he volun- 
 tarily relinquished supreme power to con- 
 ceal his glory in the obscurity of private 
 life. — Faulcon, Felix, 1800, Proceedings 
 in the French Legislative Assembly, Feb. 4. 
 
 There was indeed in this patriot some- 
 thing that all felt, but could not describe. 
 A strength of understanding, a keenness of 
 perception, a loftiness of thought, that 
 convinced without argument, and subdued 
 without effort. His language, like his 
 carriage, was impressive, elegant and 
 manly. It had secured a grace beyond 
 the reach of rhetoric ; it had created an 
 illumination beyond the coloring of meta- 
 phor. His integrity overruled persuasion ; 
 and his majesty overawed sophistry. 
 Corruption stood abashed in his presence, 
 and venality blushed into shame. The ad- 
 ministration caught the character of their 
 leader, and seconded the energies of his 
 irresistible infiuence. — Story, Joseph, 
 1800, Eulogy on Washington, Delivered at 
 Marblehead, Mass., Feb. 22. 
 
 There has scarcely appeared a really 
 great man whose character has been more 
 admired in his lifetime, or less correctly 
 understood by his admirers. When it is 
 comprehended, it is no easy task to de- 
 lineate its excellence in such a manner as 
 to give to the portrait both interest and 
 resemblance ; for it requires thought and 
 study to understand the true ground of the 
 superiority of his character over many 
 others, whom he resembled in the princi- 
 ples of an action, and even in the manner of 
 acting. But perhaps he excels all the 
 great men that ever lived, in the steadiness 
 of his adherence to his maxims of life, and 
 in the uniformity of all his conduct to the 
 same maxims. . . . His talents were 
 such as assist a sound judgment, and 
 ripen with it. His prudence was consum- 
 mate, and seemed to take the direction of 
 his powers and passions ; for as a soldier, 
 he was more solicitous to avoid mistakes 
 that might be fatal, than to perform ex- 
 ploits that are brilliant ; and as a states- 
 man, to adhere to just principles, however 
 old, than to pursue novelties ; and there- 
 fore, in both characters, his qualities were 
 singularly adapted to the interest, and 
 were tried in the greatest perils, of the 
 country. — Ames, Fisher, 1800, Eulogy De- 
 livered before the Massachusetts Legisla- 
 ture, Feb. 8. 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 357 
 
 Born to direct the destiny of empires, 
 his character was as majestic as the 
 events, to which it was attached, were 
 illustrious. In the delineation of its feat- 
 ures, the vivid pencil of genius cannot 
 brighten a trait, nor the blighting breath 
 of a calumny obscure. His principles 
 were the result of organic philosophy, — 
 his success, of moral justice. His integ- 
 rity assumed the port of command, — his 
 intelligence, the aspect of inspiration. 
 Glory, to many impregnable, he obtained 
 without ambition; popularity, to all in- 
 constant, he enjoyed without jealousy. 
 The one was his from admiration, the other 
 from gratitude. The former embellished, 
 but could not reward ; the latter followed, 
 but never could lead him. The robust 
 vigor of his virtue, like the undazzled eye 
 of the eagle, was inaccessible to human 
 weakness; and the unaspiring tempera- 
 ment of his passions, like the regenerating 
 ashes of the phoenix, gave new life to the 
 greatness it could not extinguish. In the 
 imperial dignity of his person was ex- 
 hibited the august stature of his mind. — 
 Paine, Robert Treat, Jr., 1800, Eulogy 
 on Washington. 
 
 Exalted Chief — in thy superior mind 
 What vast resource, what various talents 
 joined! 
 
 Tempered with social virtue's milder rays, 
 There patriot worth diffused a purer blaze : 
 Formed to command respect, esteem inspire, 
 Midst statesmen grave, or midst the social 
 choir, 
 
 With equal skill the sword or pen to wield. 
 In council great, unequalled in the field. 
 Mid glittering courts or rural walks to please. 
 Polite with grandeur, dignified with ease ; 
 Before the splendours of that high renown 
 How fade the glowworm lustres of a crown. 
 How sink diminished in that radiance lost 
 The glare of conquest, and of power the 
 boast. 
 
 — Alsop, Richard, 1800, Sacred to the 
 Memory of George Washington. 
 
 There was in him that assemblage of qual- 
 ities which constitutes real greatness ; and 
 these qualities were remarkably adapted to 
 the conspicuous part which he was called to 
 perform. He was not tinsel, but gold ; not 
 a pebble, but a diamond ; not a meteor but 
 a sun. Were he compared with the sages 
 from the Neroes of antiquity, he would 
 gain by the comparison, or rather, he 
 would be found to be free from the blem- 
 ishes, and to unite the excellencies of them 
 all. Like Fabius, he was prudent; like 
 
 Hannibal, he was unappalled by difficulties ; 
 like Cyrus, he conciliated affection; like 
 Cimon, he was frugal ; like Philopemon, he 
 was humble ; and like Pompey, he was suc- 
 cessful. If we compare him with charac- 
 ters in the Sacred Records, he combined 
 the exploits of Moses and Joshua, not only 
 by conducting us safely across the 
 Red Sea, and through the wilderness, but 
 by bringing us into the promised land; 
 like David, he conquered an insulting 
 Goliath, and rose to the highest honors 
 from an humble station; like Hezekiah, 
 he ruled, and like Josiah at his death, 
 there is a mourning "as the mourning of 
 Hadadrimmon, in the valley of Megiddon." 
 Nor is the mourning confined to us, but 
 extends to all the wise and good who ever 
 heard of his name. The Generals whom he 
 opposed will wrap their hilts in black, and 
 stern Cornwallis drop a tear. — Linn, Wil- 
 liam, 1800, Funeral Eulogy on Washing- 
 ton, Feb. 22. 
 
 If Washington possessed ambition, that 
 passion was, in his bosom, so regulated by 
 principles, or controlled by circumstances, 
 that it was neither vicious, nor turbulent. 
 Intrigue was never employed as the means 
 of its gratification, nor was personal 
 aggrandizement its object. The various 
 high and important stations to which he 
 was called by the public voice, were un- 
 sought by himself ; and, in consenting to 
 fill them, he seems rather to have yielded 
 to a general conviction that the interests 
 of his country would be thereby promoted, 
 than to an avidity for power. . . . 
 Endowed by nature with a sound judg- 
 ment, and an accurate discriminating 
 mind, he feared not that laborious attention 
 which made him perfectly master of those 
 subjects, in all their relations, on which 
 he was to decide : and this essential quality 
 was guided by an unvarying sense of moral 
 right, which would tolerate the employ- 
 ment, only, of those means that would bear 
 the most rigid examination ; by a fairness 
 of intention which neither sought nor re- 
 quired disguise : and by a purity of virtue 
 which was not only untainted, but unsus- 
 pected. — Marshall, John, 1805-35, The 
 Life of George Washington, vol. ii, pp. 
 447, 448. 
 
 He was as fortunate as great and 
 good. Under his auspices, a civil war was 
 conducted with mildness, and a revolution 
 with order. Raised himself above the 
 
358 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 influence of popular passions, he happily 
 directed these passions to the most useful 
 purposes. Uniting the talents of the 
 soldier with the qualifications of the states- 
 man, and pursuing, unmoved by difficul- 
 ties, the noblest end by the purest means, 
 he had the supreme satisfaction of behold- 
 ing the complete success of his great mili- 
 tary and civil services, in the independence 
 and happiness of his country. — Bancroft, 
 Aaron, 1807, The Life of George Wash- 
 ington, vol. II, p. 218. 
 
 Of these private deeds of Washington 
 very little has been said. In most of 
 the elegant orations pronounced to his 
 praise, you see nothing of Washington 
 below the clouds — nothing of Washington 
 the dutiful son — the afl^ectionate brother 
 — the cheerful school-boy — the diligent 
 surveyor — the neat draftsman — the labo- 
 rious farmer — the widow's husband — the 
 orphan's father — the poor man's friend. 
 No ! this is not the Washington you see ; 
 'tis only Washington, the Hero, and the 
 Demigod — Washington the sun-beam in 
 council, or the storm in war. — Weems, 
 Mason L., 1810, The Life of George Wash- 
 ington, p. 5. 
 
 Washington had a large thick nose, and 
 it was very red that day, giving me the 
 impression that he was not so moderate in 
 the use of liquors as he was supposed to 
 be. I found afterward that this was a 
 peculiarity. His nose was apt to turn 
 scarlet in a cold wind. He was standing 
 near a small camp-fire, evidently lost in 
 thought and making no efl^ort to keep 
 warm. He seemed six feet and a half in 
 height, was as erect as an Indian, and did 
 not for a moment relax from a military 
 attitude. Washington's exact height was 
 six feet two inches in his boots. He was 
 then a little lame from striking his knee 
 against a tree. His eye was so gray that 
 it looked almost white, and he had a 
 troubled look on his colorless face. He 
 had a piece of woollen tied around his 
 throat and was quite hoarse. Perhaps the 
 throat trouble from which he finally died 
 had its origin about then. Washington's 
 boots were enormous. They were number 
 13. His ordinary walking-shoes were 
 number 11. His hands were large in pro- 
 portion, and he could not buy a glove to fit 
 him and had to have his gloves made to 
 order. His mouth was his strong feature, 
 the lips being always tightly compressed. 
 
 That day they were compressed so tightly 
 as to be painful to look at. At that time 
 he weighed two hundred pounds, and there 
 was no surplus flesh about him. He was 
 tremendously muscled, and the fame of his 
 great strength was everywhere. . . . 
 His lungs were his weak point, and his voice 
 was never strong. He was at that time 
 in the prime of life. His hair was a chest- 
 nut brown, his cheeks were prominent, and 
 his head was not large in contrast to every 
 other part of his body, which seemed large 
 and bony at all points. His finger-joints 
 and wrists were so large as to be genuine 
 curiosities. As to his habits at that 
 period I found out much that might be in- 
 teresting. He was an enormous eater, 
 but was content with bread and meat, if 
 he had plenty of it. But hunger seemed 
 to put him in a rage. It was his custom 
 to take a drink of rum or whiskey on 
 awakening in the morning. Of course all 
 this was changed when he grew old. I 
 saw him at Alexandria a year before he 
 died. His hair was very gray, and his 
 form was slightly bent. His chest was 
 very thin. He had false teeth, which did 
 not fit and pushed his under lip outward. — 
 AcKERSON, David, 1811, Letter to his Son. 
 
 Where may the wearied eye repose 
 
 Where gazing on the Great ; 
 
 Where neither guilty glory glows 
 
 Nor despicable state? 
 
 Yes, one — the first, the last, the best, 
 
 The Cincinnatus of the West, 
 
 Whom envy dared not hate — 
 
 Bequeathed the name of Washington, 
 
 To make man blush, there was but one. 
 — Byron, Lord, 1814, Ode to Napoleon. 
 
 Perhaps the strongest feature in his 
 character was prudence, never acting until 
 every circumstance, every consideration, 
 was maturely weighed; refraining if he 
 saw a doubt, but, when once decided, going 
 through with his purpose, whatever ob- 
 stacles opposed. His integrity was most 
 pure, his justice the most inflexible I have 
 ever known. ... On the whole, his charac- 
 ter was in its mass, perfect ; in nothing bad, 
 in few points indifferent ; and it may truly 
 be said, that never did nature and fortune 
 combine more perfectly to make a man 
 great, and to place him in the same constel- 
 lation with whatever worthies have merited 
 from man an everlasting remembrance. 
 For his was the singular destiny and merit, 
 of leading the armies of his country suc- 
 cessfully through an arduous war, for the 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 359 
 
 establishment of its independence ; of con- 
 ducting its councils through the birth of a 
 government, new in its forms and princi- 
 ples, until it had settled down into a quiet 
 and orderly train; and of scrupulously 
 obeying the laws through the whole of his 
 career, civil and military, of which the 
 history of the world furnishes no other 
 example.— Jefferson, Thomas, 1814, 
 Letter to Dr. Walter Jones, Jan. 2. 
 
 Dilke, whom you know to be a Godwin- 
 perfectibility man, pleases himself with 
 the idea that America will be the country 
 to take up the human intellect where Eng- 
 land leaves off. I differ there with him 
 greatly : a country like the United States, 
 whose greatest men are Franklins and 
 Washingtons, will never do that : they are 
 great men doubtless ; but how are they to 
 be compared to those, our countrymen, 
 Milton and the two Sidneys ? The one is a 
 philosophical Quaker, full of mean and 
 thrifty maxims ; the other sold the very 
 charger who had taken him through all 
 his battles. — Keats, John, 1818, Letter 
 to George Keats, Oct. 29 ; Works, ed. For- 
 man, vol. ni, p. 242. 
 
 Washington is another of our perfect 
 characters; to me a most limited, un- 
 interesting sort. The thing is not only to 
 avoid error, but to attain immense masses 
 of truth. The ultra-sensual surrounds the 
 sensual and gives it meaning, as eternity 
 does time. Do I understand this ? Yes, 
 partly, I do.— Carlyle, Thomas, 1833, 
 Journal, Life by Froude, vol. ii, p. 300. 
 
 The disinterested virtue, prophetic wis- 
 dom, and imperturbable fortitude of 
 Washington.— Alison, Sir Archibald, 
 1833-42, History of Europe During The 
 French Revolution, vol. xiv, p. 2. 
 
 On my return to Philadelphia in May, 
 1796, 1 saw for the first time, in company 
 with my father and uncle, Stuart's por- 
 trait. We all agreed that although 
 beautifully painted, and touched in a 
 masterly style, as a likeness it was inferior 
 to its merit as a painting — the complexion 
 being too fair and florid, the forehead too 
 flat, eyebrows too high, eyes too full, nose 
 too broad, about the mouth too much in- 
 flated, and the neck too long. Such were 
 the criticisms made by artists and others 
 during the life time of Washington. This 
 is truth, and should be a matter of his- 
 tory. After the death of Washington, it 
 was my opinion and deep-felt regret that 
 
 there existed no portrait which character- 
 istically recorded the countenance of that 
 great man. With the hope, therefore, of 
 finding something that would at least 
 gratify my own feelings, I made many at- 
 tempts to combine in a separate picture 
 what I conceived to be the merits of my 
 father's and my own studies, and with 
 various success, always to gratify some 
 willing purchaser, but never to satisfy my- 
 self, till the seventeenth trial, which re- 
 sulted, under extraordinary excitements, 
 in accomplishing the portrait which is 
 now in the Senate chamber at Washington. 
 These efforts were solely to gratify my 
 own feelings and admiration of the char- 
 acter of the great original; and I had 
 every right to do so, without reference to 
 any other artist's claim. — Peale, Rem- 
 brandt, 1834, To William Dunlap, Dec. 27. 
 
 He is eminently conspicuous as one of 
 the great benefactors of the human race, 
 for he not only gave liberty to millions, 
 but his name now stands, and will for ever 
 stand, a noble example of high and low. 
 He is a great work of the Almighty Artist, 
 which none can study without receiving 
 purer ideas and more lofty conceptions of 
 the grace and beauty of the human char- 
 acter. He is one that all may copy at 
 different distances, and whom none can 
 contemplate without receiving lasting and 
 salutary impressions of the sterling value, 
 the inexpressible beauty of piety, integ- 
 rity, courage, and patriotism, associated 
 with a clear, vigorous, and well-poised in- 
 tellect. ... He is already become the 
 saint of liberty, which has gathered new 
 honours by being associated with his 
 name; and when men aspire to free 
 nations, they must take him for their 
 model.— Paulding, James Kirke, 1835, 
 Life of George Washington, p. 283. 
 
 To the historian, indeed, there are few 
 characters that appear so little to have 
 shared the common frailties and imperfec- 
 tions of human nature ; there are but few 
 particulars that can be mentioned even to 
 his disadvantage. It is understood, for 
 instance, that he was once going to com- 
 mit an important mistake as a general in 
 the field; but he had at least the very 
 great merit of listening to Lee (a man 
 whom he could not like, and who was even 
 his rival), and of not committing the mis- 
 take.— Smyth, William, 1839, Lectures 
 on Modern History, Lecture xxxvi. 
 
360 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 Washington 
 Doth know no other language than the one 
 We speak : and never did an English tongue 
 Give voice unto a larger, wiser mind. 
 You'll task your judgment vainly to point 
 out 
 
 Through all this desp'rate conflict, in liis 
 plans 
 
 A flaw, or fault in execution. He 
 In spirit is unconquerable, as 
 In genius perfect. 
 
 —Calvert, George Henry, 1840, Ar- 
 nold and Andre, 
 
 However, to say nothing of eloquence, 
 Washington had not those brilliant and 
 extraordinary qualities, which strike the 
 imagination of men at the first glance. 
 He did not belong to the class of men of 
 vivid genius, who pant for an opportunity 
 of display, are impelled by great thoughts 
 or great passions, and diffuse around them 
 the wealth of their own natures, before 
 any outward occasion or necessity calls 
 for its employment. Free from all inter- 
 nal restlessness, and the promptings and 
 pride of ambition, Washington did not seek 
 opportunities to distinguish himself, and 
 never aspired to the admiration of the 
 world. This spirit, so resolute, this heart 
 so lofty, was profoundly calm and modest. 
 Capable of rising to a level with the highest 
 destiny, he might have lived in ignorance 
 of his real power, without suffering from 
 it, and have found, in the cultivation of 
 his estates, a satisfactory employment 
 for those energetic faculties, which were 
 to be proved equal to the task of com- 
 manding armies and founding a govern- 
 ment. ^ But, when the opportunity pre- 
 sented itself, when the exigence occurred, 
 without effort on his part, without any sur- 
 prise on the part of others, indeed rather, 
 as we have just seen, in conformity with 
 their expectations the prudent planter 
 stood forth a great man. He had, in a 
 remarkable degree, those two qualities 
 which, in active life, make men capable of 
 great things. He could confide strongly 
 in his own views, and act resolutely in 
 conformity with them, without fearing to 
 assume the responsibility. — Guizot, Fran- 
 gois Pierre Guillaume, 1840, An Essay 
 on the Character of Washington and his 
 Influence in the Revolution of the United 
 States of America. 
 
 High over all whom might or mind made 
 great. 
 
 Yielding the conqueror's crown to harder 
 hearts, 
 
 Exalted not by politician's arts, 
 Yet with a will to meet and master fate, 
 And skill to rule a young, divided State ; 
 Greater by what was not than what was 
 done — 
 
 Alone on History 's height stands Washington ; 
 And teeming Time shall not bring forth his 
 mate; 
 
 For only he, of men, on earth was sent, 
 In all the might of mind's integrity; 
 Ne'er as in him truth, strength, and wisdom 
 blent ; 
 
 And that his glory might eternal be, 
 
 A boundless country is his monument, 
 
 A mighty nation his posterity. 
 
 —White, Richard Grant, 1842, George 
 
 Washington. 
 
 The nearest approach to universality of 
 genius in intellect is Shakspeare ; in will. 
 Napoleon; in harmony of combination, 
 Washington. It is singular that Washing- 
 ton is not generally classed among men of 
 genius. Lord Brougham declares him to 
 be the greatest man that ever lived, but 
 of moderate talents, — as if being the soul 
 of a revolution and the creator of a coun- 
 try did not suppose energies equal to those 
 employed in the creation of a poem, — as 
 if there were any other certain test of 
 genius but its influence, any other measure 
 of the power of a cause but the magnitude 
 of its effects! — Whipple, Edwin P., 
 1848-71, Literature and Life, p. 159. 
 
 The picture of a man beside whom, con- 
 sidered physically, any English nobleman 
 whom I have seen would look like common 
 clay.— Hawthorne, Nathaniel, 1855, 
 English Note-Books, Sep. 14. 
 
 The character of Washington may want 
 some of those political elements which 
 dazzle and delight the multitude, but it 
 possessed fewer inequalities and a rarer 
 union of virtues than perhaps ever fell to 
 the lot of one man. Prudence, firmness, 
 sagacity, moderation, and overruling 
 judgment, an immovable justice, courage 
 that never faltered, patience that never 
 wearied, truth that disdained all artifice, 
 magnanimity without alloy. It seems that 
 if Providence had endowed him in a pre- 
 eminent degree with the qualities requisite 
 to fit him for the high destiny he was called 
 upon to fulfill. ... The fame of Wash- 
 ington stands apart from every name in 
 history: shining with a truer light and 
 more benignant glory. — Irving, Wash- 
 ington, 1855-59, Life of George Washing- 
 ton. 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 361 
 
 History, which shows us many a more 
 dazzling character, shows none so grandly 
 consistent, so splendid in disinterested- 
 ness, so free from conceit, yet so deter- 
 mined in duty, so true and tender in friend- 
 ship, yet able to put aside every personal 
 consideration when the good of the country 
 and the great cause of Freedom were in 
 question. What manner of people ought 
 we to be in return for this great gift? 
 Let us bless God that America, having pro- 
 duced one such son, may bring forth others 
 like him, when the day of trial shall come, 
 as it may come, even to us, favored as we 
 are above all the nations of the earth. 
 There is more hope, not less, of another 
 Washington, from having had the first. — • 
 — KiRKLAND, Caroline Matilda, 1856, 
 Memoirs of Washington, p. 501. 
 
 In his person, Washington was six feet 
 high, and rather slender. His limbs were 
 long ; his hands were uncommonly large, 
 his chest broad and full, his head was ex- 
 actly round, and the hair brown in man- 
 hood, but gray at fifty; his forehead 
 rather low and retreating, the nose large 
 and massy, the mouth wide and firm, the 
 chin square and heavy, the cheeks full and 
 ruddy in early life. His eyes were blue 
 and handsome, but not quick or nervous. 
 He required spectacles to read with at 
 fifty. He was one of the best riders in 
 the United States, but, like some other 
 good riders, awkward and shambling in his 
 walk. He was stately in his bearing, re- 
 served, distant, and apparently haughty. 
 Shy among women, he was not a great 
 talker in any company, but a careful ob- 
 server and listener. He read the natural 
 temper of men, but not always aright. He 
 seldom smiled. He did not laugh with his 
 face, but in his body, and while calm above, 
 below the diaphragm his laughter was 
 copious and earnest. Like many grave 
 persons, he was fond of jokes and loved 
 humorous stories. He had negro story- 
 tellers to regale him with fun and anec- 
 dotes at Mount Vernon. He was not 
 critical about his food, but fond of tea. 
 He took beer or cider at dinner, and oc- 
 casionally wine. He hated drunkenness, 
 gaming, and tobacco. He had a hearty 
 love of farming, and of private life. 
 There was nothing of the politician in him, 
 no particle of cunning. He was one of 
 the most industrious of men. Not an 
 elegant or accurate writer, he yet took 
 
 great pains with style, and, after the Rev- 
 olution, carefully corrected the letters 
 he had written in the time of the French 
 War, more than thirty years before. He 
 was no orator, like Jefferson, Franklin, 
 Madison, and others, who had great influ- 
 ence in American affairs. He never made 
 a speech. . . . Cromwell is the greatest 
 Anglo-Saxon who was ever a ruler on a 
 large scale. In intellect, he was im- 
 mensely superior to Washington ; in integ- 
 rity, immeasurably below him. For one 
 thousand years no king in Christendom has 
 shown such greatness, or gives us so high 
 a type of manly virtue. He never dis- 
 sembled. He sought nothing for himself. 
 In him there was no unsound spot ; nothing 
 little or mean in his character. The whole 
 was clean and presentable. We think 
 better of mankind because he lived, adorn- 
 ing the earth with a life so noble. . . . 
 God be thanked for such a man. — Par- 
 ker, Theodore, 1858-70, Historic Amer- 
 icans. 
 
 Upon the banks of the Potomac, which 
 for four years have been swept by the des- 
 olating storms of war, where tens of 
 thousands of the bravest sons of the Re- 
 public have gone down in the shock of 
 fratricidal strife, is one sacred spot in the 
 presence of which war has forgotten its 
 passion, and assumed, for the moment, the 
 virtues of white-robed Peace. A simple 
 tomb there marks the place where Liberty 
 has erected her chosen altar on this earth. 
 Thanks be to God that every American 
 heart that pulsates lovingly towards the 
 Father of his Country — and whose does 
 not? — may claim that altar for his own! 
 Let us, on this day, with reverent step and 
 worshipful feeling, approach it with votive 
 offerings. Let us come as Americans, 
 who still have one country and one destiny, 
 and unite with our countrymen all over 
 the globe, in acts of grateful commemora- 
 tion. In this land, united to our own by 
 the most cherished traditions, and which 
 from mothers' lips we learned to love, let 
 us unite in devout thanksgiving, that the 
 Temple of Liberty erected by Washington 
 and his compeers, stands to-day, after its 
 fiery trial, more firm in its foundations, 
 more fair in its beauty, its portals th'rown 
 more widely open for the solace and refuge 
 of humanity. — Putnam, James 0., 1866, 
 Birthday of Washington Celebrated in 
 Paris, Feb. 22, p. 3. 
 
362 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 Soldier and statesman, rarest unison; 
 High-poised example of great duties done 
 Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn 
 As life's indifferent gifts to all men born ; 
 Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, 
 But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent. 
 Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, 
 Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content ; 
 Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed 
 Save by the men his nobler temper shamed ; 
 Never seduced through show of present good 
 By other than unsetting lights to steer 
 New-trimmed in Heaven, nor than his stead- 
 fast mood 
 
 More steadfast, far from rashness as from 
 fear; 
 
 Rigid, but with himself first, grasping still 
 In swerveless poise the wave -beat helm of 
 will; 
 
 Not honored then or now because he wooed 
 The popular voice, but that he still with- 
 stood ; 
 
 Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one 
 Who was all this and ours, and all men's, 
 — Washington. 
 
 —Lowell, James Russell, 1875, Under 
 the Old Elm. 
 
 To the appointment of Washington, far 
 more than to any other single circum- 
 stance, is due the ultimate success of the 
 American Revolution, though in purely in- 
 tellectual powers, Washington was cer- 
 tainly inferior to Franklin, and perhaps to 
 two or three of his colleagues. . . . His 
 mind was not quick or remarkably original. 
 His conversation had no brilliancy or wit. 
 He was entirely without the gift of elo- 
 quence, and he had very few accomplish- 
 ments. He knew no language but his own, 
 and except for a rather strong turn for 
 mathematics, he had no taste which can be 
 called purely intellectual. There was 
 nothing in him of the meteor or the cata- 
 ract, nothing that either dazzled or over- 
 powered. A courteous and hospitable 
 country gentleman, a skilful farmer, a very 
 keen sportsman, he probably differed little 
 in taste and habits from the better mem- 
 bers of the class to which he belonged ; and 
 it was in a great degree in the administra- 
 tion of a large estate and in assiduous at- 
 tention to county and provincial business 
 that he acquired his rare skill in reading 
 and managing men. — Lecky, William 
 Edward Hartpole, 1882, A History of 
 England in the Eighteenth Century, vol. 
 Ill, ch. xii, pp. 468, 469. 
 
 Of Washington we know at least that 
 as he gave himself without reserve to the 
 welfare of his country, as neither ambition 
 
 or any personal object animated him, so 
 his happiness could not have been exposed 
 to the causes which afflict the aspiring 
 and self-seeking ; that as he was not a man 
 of genius, so he did not suffer the pains 
 of genius ; and that all the enduring satis- 
 faction which great deeds, wise counsels, 
 and disinterested services can give to the 
 heart of man must have been his. — Cur- 
 tis, George Ticknor, 1882, Washington's 
 Acceptance of the First Presidency, Har- 
 per's Magazine, vol. 64, p. 523. 
 
 George Washington is now a cold statue 
 enshrouded in Fourth of July smoke ; he is 
 a teashop chromo and a character that 
 seldom is dragged from unused histories 
 except to be belittled by comparison with 
 some smaller man of later days. While 
 he lived, Washington was a warm-blooded, 
 clear-headed, clean-hearted man, a hard 
 working farmer, a conscientious employer, 
 a loyal husband, a hearty friend, an un- 
 selfish soldier, an honest neighbor, a stout- 
 hearted patriot, a jolly good fellow and a 
 consistent Christian. He paid close atten- 
 tion to whatever was going on about him 
 or within his means of information, was 
 superior to prejudice and partiality, and 
 apparently believed that any man could do 
 anything upon which he set his mind. — 
 Habberton, John, 1884, George Washing- 
 ton (American Worthies), Preface. 
 
 The world has done ample justice to the 
 character of Washington. His own coun- 
 trymen, after death had put its solemn 
 seal upon his career and services, did him 
 more than justice, and all but idolised his 
 memory. He was not great in the highest 
 sense of the word. He was not brilliant. 
 He was not even successful, except by aids 
 which he could not have anticipated, and 
 which it would have been better for the 
 self-love of his country if he had never 
 accepted. He wore out evil fortune 
 mainly by the incapability which he shared 
 with the English, from whom he sprang, 
 of never knowing when he was beaten, and 
 by the dogged pertinacity and perseverance 
 which are characteristics of the race. He 
 was essentiality a good man; and though 
 subject to occasional fits of violence, was 
 cautious, prudent, just, honourable, un- 
 wearied in the pursuit of the right, and 
 inflexible in his adherence to it when dis- 
 covered. He was a man of his age — a 
 little in advance of it, perhaps, but never 
 so much in advance of it as to incur the 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 363 
 
 reproach of being rash, impracticable, or 
 Utopian. Living, he attracted but little 
 love — as little as Aristides the Just ; but 
 dead, he commanded the admiration of 
 Europe and the affectionate veneration of 
 America, as one, "who was first in war, 
 first in peace, and first in the hearts of his 
 countrymen. Mackay, Charles, 1885, 
 The Founders of the American Republic^ 
 p. 141. 
 
 The stately column that stretches 
 heavenward from the plain whereon we 
 stand bears witness to all who behold it, 
 that the covenant which our fathers made, 
 their children have fulfilled. In the com- 
 pletion of this great work of patriotic 
 endeavor there is abundant cause for 
 national rejoicing, for while this structure 
 shall endure it shall be to all mankind a 
 steadfast token for the affectionate and 
 reverent regard in which this people con- 
 tinue to hold the memory of Washington. 
 Well may he ever keep the foremost 
 place in the hearts of his countrymen. — 
 Arthur, Chester A., 1885, On Present- 
 ing the Washington National Monument to 
 the People, Feb. 21. 
 
 Washington stands alone and unap- 
 proachable, like a snow peak rising above 
 its fellows into the clear air of morning, 
 with a dignity, constancy, and purity which 
 have made him the ideal type of civic virtue 
 to succeeding generations. No greater 
 benefit could have befallen the republic 
 than to have such a type set from the first, 
 before the eye and mind of the people. — 
 Bryce, James, 1888, The American Com- 
 monwealth, vol. I, p. 641. 
 
 "The American Fabius.'' "The Atlas 
 of America." "The Cincinnatus of the 
 West.'^ "The Deliverer of America." 
 "The Father of his Country." "The 
 Flower of the Forest." "The Lovely 
 Georgius." — Frey, Albert R., 1888, 
 Sobriquets and Nicknames, p. 477. 
 
 He was not perhaps exactly joyous or 
 gay of nature, but he had a contented and 
 happy disposition, and, like all robust, 
 well-balanced men, he possessed strong 
 animal spirits and a keen sense of enjoy- 
 ment. He loved a wild, open-air life, and 
 was devoted to rough out-door sports. He 
 liked to wrestle and run, to shoot, ride or 
 dance, and to engage in all trials of skill 
 and strength, for which his great muscular 
 development suited him admirably. With 
 such tastes, it followed almost as a matter 
 
 of course that he loved laughter and fun. 
 Good, hearty country fun, a ludicrous mis- 
 hap, a practical joke, all merriment of a 
 simple, honest kind, were highly congenial 
 to him, especially in his youth and early 
 manhood. ... He knew human nature 
 well, and had a smile for its little weak- 
 nesses when they came to his mind. It 
 was this same human sympathy which 
 made him also love amusements of all 
 sorts ; but he was as little their slave as 
 their enemy. No man ever carried great 
 burdens with a higher or more serious 
 spirit, but his cares never made him for- 
 bidding, nor rendered him impatient of 
 the pleasure of others. ... He 
 had, indeed, in all w^ays a thoroughly well- 
 balanced mind and temper. In great 
 affairs he knew how to spare himself the 
 details to which others could attend as 
 well as he, and yet he was in no wise a 
 despiser of small things. ... He did 
 not have the poetical and imaginative 
 quality so strongly developed in Lincoln. 
 Yet he was not devoid of imagination, 
 although it was here that he was lacking, 
 if anywhere. He saw facts, knew them, 
 mastered and used them, and never gave 
 much play to fancy ; but as his business in 
 life was with men and facts, this deficiency, 
 if it was one, was of little moment. . . . 
 I see in Washington a great soldier who 
 fought a trying war to a successful end 
 impossible without him ; a great statesman 
 who did more than all other men to lay 
 the foundations of a republic which has 
 endured in prosperity for more than a 
 century. I find in him a marvellous judg- 
 ment which was never at fault, a penetra- 
 ting vision which beheld the future of 
 America when it was dim to other eyes, a 
 great intellectual force, a will of iron, an 
 unyielding grasp of facts, and an un- 
 equaled strength of patriotic purpose. I 
 see in him too a pure high-minded gentle- 
 man of dauntless courage and stainless 
 honor, simple and stately of manner, kind 
 and generous of heart. — Lodge, Henry' 
 Cabot, 1889, George Washington {Amer- 
 ican Statesmen), vol. ii, pp. 367, 374, 375, 
 384, 388. 
 
 We always gladly concede that Wash- 
 ington was good, but we are not always so 
 sure that he was great. But a man's 
 greatness is measured by his service to 
 mankind. If, without ambition and with- 
 out crime, righteously to lead a people to 
 
364 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 independence through a righteous war; 
 then, without precedent and amid vast and 
 incalculable hostile forces, to organize 
 their government, and establish in every 
 department the fundamental principles of 
 the policy which has resulted in marvellous 
 national power and prosperity, and untold 
 service to liberty throughout the world ; 
 and to do all this without suspicion or re- 
 proach, with perfect dignity and sublime 
 repose,— if this be greatness, do you find 
 it more in Alexander or Pericles, Caesar 
 or Alfred, in Charlemagne or Napoleon 
 Bonaparte, or in George Washington ? As 
 this majestic arch will stand here, through 
 the long succession of years, in the all- 
 revealing light of day, visible at every 
 point and at every point exquisitely 
 rounded and complete, so in the searching 
 light of history stands Washington, strong, 
 simple, symmetrical, supreme, beloved by 
 a filial nation, revered by a grateful 
 world.— Curtis, George William, 1890, 
 The Washington Memorial Arch, May 30 ; 
 Orations and Addresses, vol. iii, p. 196. 
 
 Let us thank God that he has lived, and 
 that he has given to us the highest and 
 best example of American citizenship. 
 And let us especially be grateful that we 
 have this sacred memory, which spanning 
 time, vicissitude, and unhappy alienation, 
 calls us together in sincere fellowship and 
 brotherly love on "The birthday of George 
 Washington." — Cleveland, Grover, 
 1890, The Character of George Washington, 
 Writings and Speeches, ed. Parker, p. 351. 
 
 Washington was to the confederacy all 
 in all. Without him it would have been 
 ten times lost, and the names of the poli- 
 ticians who had drawn the country into 
 the conflict would have gone down to pos- 
 terity linked with defeat and shame. His- 
 tory has hardly a stronger case of an 
 indispensable man. His form, like all 
 other forms of the revolution, has no doubt 
 been seen through a golden haze of pane- 
 gyric. We can hardly number among the 
 greatest captains a general who acted on 
 so small a scale and who, though he was 
 the soul of the war, never won a battle. 
 . . . Carlyle, who threatened to take 
 George down a peg or two," might have 
 made good his threat. But he could not 
 have stripped Washington of any part of 
 his credit for patriotism, wisdom and cour- 
 age ; for the union of enterprise with pru- 
 dence; for integrity and truthfulness ; for 
 
 simple dignity of character ; for tact and 
 forbearance in dealing with men; above 
 all for serene fortitude in the darkest hour 
 of his cause and under trials from the per- 
 versity, insubordination, jealousy and per- 
 fidy of those around him severer than any 
 defeat. . . . Wellington might be 
 more of an aristocrat than Washington, 
 less of a democrat he could hardly be. 
 Washington insisted that his oflicers should 
 be gentlemen, not men fit to be shoe- 
 blacks. He drew a most undemocratic 
 distinction between the ofllicer and the 
 private soldier.— Smith, Gold win, 1893, 
 The United States, an Outline of Political 
 History, pp. 96, 97. 
 
 He had the English feeling of never 
 knowing when he was beaten ; and his own 
 courageous enthusiasm finally infected the 
 men whom he led. His personal influence 
 was greater than any leader on his side. 
 Lee and Gates might have had a certain 
 amount of romantic enthusiasm attached 
 to them when successful, but when they 
 failed their influence failed too. Through 
 success and failure, through want and 
 privation, as well as through victory, 
 Washington, the only general of them all 
 who never left his men through the weary 
 years of war, even to go to his beloved 
 home, save on two brief occasions, won 
 year by year their increasing reverence 
 and regard. It was this that made George 
 Washington one of the leaders of military 
 history. A leader of men; not from 
 victories in the field, but from that higher 
 and nobler leadership of being their sym- 
 pathetic comrade through pain and toil as 
 well as through success, which is rarer 
 than generalship.— King, Lieut. -Colonel 
 Cooper, 1894, George Washington, p. 273. 
 
 There have been three distinct eras in 
 Washington-olatry. The generation which 
 fought the Revolution, framed and adopted 
 the Constitution, and established the 
 United States were impressed with the 
 most profound veneration, the most de- 
 voted affection, the most absolute idolatry 
 for the hero, sage, statesman. In the 
 reaction that came in the next generation 
 against* 'the old soldiers," who for thirty 
 years had assumed all the honors and en- 
 joyed all the fruits of the victory that 
 they had won, accelerated by the division 
 in American sentiment for or against the 
 French Revolution, it came to be felt, 
 as the younger generation always will feel. 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 365 
 
 that the achievements of the veterans had 
 been greatly overrated and their demigod 
 enormously exaggerated. They thought, 
 as English Harry did at Agincourt, that 
 ''Old men forget: yet all shall be forgot, 
 but they'll remember with advantages 
 what feats they did that day. ' ' The fierce 
 attacks of the Jeffersonian Democracy on 
 Washington, his principles, his life, and 
 his habits, exercised a potent influence in 
 diminishing the general respect for his 
 abilities felt by the preceding generation; 
 and Washington came to be regarded as a 
 worthy, honest, well-meaning gentleman, 
 but with no capacity for military and only 
 mediocre ability in civil affairs. The 
 estimate continued from the beginning of 
 Jefferson's administration to the first of 
 Grant's. Neither Marshall nor Irving did 
 much during that period to place him in a 
 proper historical light. The official and 
 judicial statement of the case by Chief- 
 Justice Marshall never reached the popular 
 ear, and the laudatory style of Washington 
 Irving did not impress the popular convic- 
 tion. But in the last twenty-five years 
 there has been a steady drift toward giving 
 Washington his proper place in history and 
 his appropriate appreciation as soldier and 
 statesman. The general who never won a 
 battle is now understood to have been the 
 Revolution itself, and one of the great 
 generals of history. The statesman who 
 never made a motion, nor devised a meas- 
 ure, nor constructed a proposition in the 
 convention of which he was president, is 
 appreciated as the spirit, the energy, the 
 force, the wisdom which initiated, organ- 
 ized, and directed the formation of the 
 Constitution of the United States and the 
 Union by, through, and under it ; and there- 
 fore it seems now possible to present him 
 as the Virginian soldier, gentleman, and 
 planter, as a man, the evolution of the 
 society of which he formed a part, repre- 
 sentative of his epoch, and his surround- 
 ings, developed by circumstances into the 
 greatest character of all time — the first 
 and most illustrious of Americans. — ■ 
 Johnson, Gen. Bradley T., 1894, Gen- 
 eral Washington (Great Commanders) y 
 Preface^ p. vii. 
 
 There can be no doubt that Washington 
 during the whole of his life had a soft heart 
 for women, and especially for good looking 
 ones, and both in his personal intercourse 
 and in his letters he shows himself very 
 
 much more at ease with them than in his 
 relations with his own sex. . . . The 
 question whether Washington was a faith- 
 ful husband might be left to the facts 
 already given, were it not that stories of 
 his immorality are bandied about in clubs, 
 a well-know clergyman has vouched for 
 their truth, and a United States senator 
 has given further currency to them by 
 claiming special knowledge on the sub- 
 jects. Since such are the facts, it seems 
 best to consider the question and show 
 what evidence there actually is for these 
 stories, that at least the pretended "let- 
 ters," etc., which are always being cited, 
 and are never produced, may no longer 
 have credence put in them, and the true 
 basis for all the stories may be known and 
 valued at its worth.— Ford, Paul Lei- 
 cester, 1896, The True George Washing- 
 tony pp. 84, 105. 
 
 Washington hardly seems an American, 
 as most of his biographers depict hirn. 
 He is too colorless, too cold, too prudent. 
 He seems more like a wise and dispassion- 
 ate Mr. Alworthy, advising a nation as he 
 would a parish, than like a man building 
 states and marshaling a nation in a wilder- 
 ness. But the real Washington was as 
 thoroughly an American as Jackson or 
 Lincoln. What we take for lack of pas- 
 sion in him was but the reserve and self- 
 mastery natural to a man of his class and 
 breeding in Virginia. He was no parlor 
 politician, either. He had seen the 
 frontier, and far beyond it where the 
 French forts lay. He knew the rough life 
 of the country as few other men could. 
 His thoughts did not live at Mount Vernon. 
 He knew difficulty as intimately and faced 
 it always with as quiet a mastery as William 
 the Silent. — Wilson, Woodrow, 1896, 
 Mere Literature and Other Essay Sy p. 201. 
 
 I know of no instance in which sectional 
 feelings disturbed his impartiality, nor do 
 I know of a single Southern or Virginia 
 statesman with whom he can be grouped. 
 One reason of this is obvious — he was that 
 rara avis in those days, a self-made 
 Virginian ; for in his early years he was 
 thrown largely on his own resources. 
 This was not the case with the other great 
 Virginians of the Revolution, save Patrick 
 Henry; and Henry's career showed traces 
 of the shiftlessness that nearly always ac- 
 companied Virginian poverty. Washing- 
 ton, then, was always something more than 
 
366 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 a Virginian or a Southerner. He has 
 always belonged to America and the 
 nation; yet I do not think he could have 
 developed all the features of his rounded 
 character anywhere else than in the Vir- 
 ginia of the eighteenth century. — Trent, 
 William P., 1897, Southern Statesmen of 
 the Old Regime, p. 42. 
 
 Of the many thousand victims of these 
 heroic methods, the most illustrious was 
 George Washington, who, but for medical 
 treatment, might probably have lived a 
 dozen or fifteen years into the nineteenth 
 century. When Washington in full vigour 
 found that he had caught a very bad cold 
 he sent for the doctors, and meanwhile 
 had half a pint of blood taken from him 
 by one of his overseers. Of the three 
 physicians in attendance, one was his dear 
 friend, the good Scotchman, Dr. James 
 Craik, ''who from forty years' experi- 
 ence,'' said Washington, ''is better quali- 
 fied than a dozen of them put together." 
 His colleague, Dr. Elisha Dick, said, "Do 
 not bleed the General ; he needs all his 
 strength." But tradition prevailed over 
 common sense, and three copious bleed- 
 ings followed, in the last of which a quart 
 of blood was taken. The third attendant, 
 Dr. Gustavus Brown, afterwards expressed 
 bitter regret that Dr. Dick's advice was 
 not followed. Besides this wholesale 
 bleeding, the patient was dosed with 
 calomel and tartar emetic and scarified 
 with blisters and poultices ; or, as honest 
 Tobias Lear said, in a letter written the 
 next day announcing the fatal result, 
 "every medical assistance was offered, but 
 without the desired effect." — Fiske, 
 John, 1897, Old Virginia and Her Neigh- 
 bours, vol. II, p. 260. 
 
 FAREWELL ADDRESS 
 
 When last in Philadelphia, you men- 
 tioned to me your wish, that I should 
 redress a certain paper which you had pre- 
 pared. As it is important that a thing of 
 this kind should be done with great care, 
 and much at leisure touched and retouched, 
 1 submit a wish, that, as soon as you have 
 given it the body you mean it to have, it 
 may be sent to me. — Hamilton, Alex- 
 ander, 1796, Letter toWashington,May 10. 
 
 Even if you should think it best to throw 
 the whole into a different form, let me 
 request, notwithstanding, that my draught 
 may be returned to me (along with yours) 
 
 with such amendments and corrections as 
 to render it as perfect as the formation 
 is susceptible of ; curtailed if too verbose ; 
 and relieved of all tautology not necessary 
 to enforce the ideas iji the original or 
 quoted part. My wish is that the whole 
 may appear in a plain style, and be handed 
 to the public in an honest, unaffected, 
 simple garb. — Washington, George, 
 1796, Letter to Alexander Hamilton, 
 May 15. 
 
 With respect to his farewell address, 
 to the authorship of which, it seems, there 
 are conflicting claims, I can state to you 
 some facts. He had determined to decline 
 re-election at the end of his first term, and 
 so far determined, that he had requested 
 Mr. Madison to prepare for him something 
 Valedictory, to be addressed to his con- 
 stituents on his retirement. This was 
 done, but he was finally persuaded to 
 acquiesce in a second election, to which no 
 one more strenously pressed him than my- 
 self, from a conviction of the importance 
 of strengthening, by longer habit, the re- 
 spect necessary for that office, which the 
 weight of his character only could effect. 
 When, at the end of his second term, his 
 valedictory came out, Mr. Madison recog- 
 nized in it several passages of his draught, 
 several others, we were both satisfied, 
 were from the pen of Hamilton, and others 
 from that of the President himself. These 
 he probably put into the hands of Hamilton 
 to form into a whole, and hence it may all 
 appear in Hamilton's hand-writing, as if it 
 were all his composition. — Jefferson, 
 Thomas, 1823, To Johnson, June 12; 
 Writings, ed. Ford, vol. x, p. 228. 
 
 Washington's Farewell Address is full 
 of truths important at all times, and par- 
 ticularly deserving consideration at the 
 present. With a sagacity which brought 
 the future before him, and made it like the 
 present, he saw and pointed out the dan- 
 gers that even at this moment most immi- 
 nently threaten us. I hardly know how a 
 greater service of that kind could now be 
 done to the community, than by a renewed 
 and wide diffusion of that admirable paper, 
 and an earnest invitation to every man in 
 the country to reperuse and consider it. 
 Its political maxims are invaluable; its 
 exhortations to love of country and to 
 brotherly affection among citizens, touch- 
 ing; and the solemnity with which it 
 urges the observance of moral duties, and 
 
GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 367 
 
 impresses the power of religious obliga- 
 tion, gives to it the highest character of 
 truly disinterested, sincere, parental ad- 
 vice.— Webster, Daniel, 1832, The Char- 
 acter of Washington, Works, vol. i, p. 227. 
 
 This composition is not unworthy of him, 
 for it is comprehensive, provident, affec- 
 tionate, and wise. — Smyth, William, 
 1839, Lectures on Modern History, Lec- 
 ture xxxvi. 
 
 The document was in every respect a 
 masterly production, and formed a fitting 
 close to Washington's official career. — 
 Channing, Edward, 1895, The United 
 States of America, 1765-1865, p. 150. 
 
 Although no claim seems to have been 
 made for it, Madison has clearly a share 
 with Hamilton in any honor arising from 
 its literary merit. It is to Hamilton's 
 credit that he used Madison's introduc- 
 tory, since it could hardly be improved 
 upon; and this shows that he was not 
 seeking fame for himself in rendering 
 Washington the assistance requested. If 
 the inception of the address and the sub- 
 stance of it were Washington's, and the 
 literary style was largely that of Madison, 
 what was there in it, it may be asked, that 
 was the distinctive work of Hamilton? 
 While the draft prepared by Washington 
 was more than a desultory enumeration of 
 precepts, recommendations, and warnings, 
 while it embodied his thought and feeling 
 upon the subjects touched with some 
 method, and in language dignified and 
 forceful, it was not yet, in form and finish, 
 such a paper as he intended his Farwell 
 Address to be. It was for Hamilton to 
 * 'form anew," to ''redress," and ''much 
 at leisure, touch and retouch." His 
 work was that of the lapidary upon the 
 diamond. It was his to transform the 
 draft of Washington, and to reproduce 
 from it a luminous and unique gem which, 
 as a public paper, should, as he said, "wear 
 well, progress in approbation with time, 
 and redound to future reputation." He 
 brought to bear upon that labor the yearn- 
 ing of a patriotic heart and the vast re- 
 sources of a trained and logical mind. . . . 
 Authorship, in its restricted literary 
 sense, is not a term properly applicable 
 to the Farewell Address, unless joint 
 authorship be accredited to all who in any 
 way participated in it. The thought and 
 the expression of Washington, Madison, 
 and Hamilton were singularly intermingled 
 
 in it, besides some suggestions by Judge 
 Jay, to whom, at Washington's request, 
 it was on one occasion shown, liut the 
 origiii of the Address was not in Madison, 
 Hamilton, or Jay. Whatever their subse- 
 quent contributions may have been, the 
 Address did not generate in either of them. 
 It was conceived in the mind, and nurtured 
 in the heart, of Washington. Not only 
 did he conceive the intention and nurture 
 the desire to deliver a parting message to 
 his countrymen, but he selected and deter- 
 mined the subjects he intended to press 
 upon their consideration. . . . Great 
 honor is due to Hamilton and Madison for 
 eminent services in the preparation of the 
 Farewell Address ; but the evidence is con- 
 clusive that Washington was, in the only 
 applicable sense of the term, the author 
 of it. — Washington, Bushrod C, 1899, 
 Was Washington Author of his Farewell 
 Address? Forum,vol. 27, pp. 153, 154,155. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 In his letters he is plain ; in his public 
 addresses elegant ; in all he is correct, ex- 
 pressing in a small compass his clear con- 
 ception, without tiresome nervosity or 
 any parade of ornament. In attending to 
 what has fallen from his pen the connection 
 between modes of thinking and writing, 
 between character and composition, is ap- 
 parent. His writings are worded with the 
 strong and pleasing features of sincerity, 
 simplicity and dignity. — Davis, John, 
 1800, Address Before the Massachusetts 
 Historical Society. 
 
 That he wrote in his own hand all his 
 official letters during the Revolution, it 
 would be as preposterous to suppose, as 
 that Marlborough, or Bonaparte, or Wel- 
 lington, or any other great commander, 
 was the penman of all the letters to which 
 he subscribed his name. Compositions of 
 this kind are not adduced as evidences of 
 the genius, the rhetorical ingenuity, the 
 brilliant fancy, the felicitous invention, or 
 the literary accomplishments of the per- 
 sons, whose name they bear. The value 
 to be attached to them, and the high con- 
 sideration, which they justly claim, are 
 derived from the circumstance of their 
 being records of great events, expressing 
 the opinions and unfolding the designs of 
 men, in whose conduct and motives the 
 destinies of nations are involved. They 
 are the highest and purest fountains of 
 history, and by whatever hand the written 
 
368 
 
 GEORGE WASHINGTON 
 
 language is constructed, the spirit ami 
 substance, the principles, facts, argu- 
 ments, and purposes, must necessarily be 
 considered as flowing from him by whose 
 name they are sanctioned, he is responsible 
 for the whole ; his character and reputa- 
 tion, as well as the vital interests of the 
 cause entrusted to him, are at stake. — 
 Sparks, Jared, 1834, ed., The Writings 
 of George Washington ; being his Corre- 
 spondence, Addresses, Messages, and Other 
 Papers, Official and Private, With a Life 
 of the Author. 
 
 We deem it unnecessary to make any 
 extracts from the correspondence, as 
 specimens of its style or substantial char- 
 acter. It is more valuable as materials 
 for history, and as illustrating the char- 
 acter of the writer, than from the intrinsic 
 interest of the contents, which relate in 
 general to matters of mere detail. It has 
 all the prominent qualities of the subse- 
 quent revolutionary correspondence, and 
 exhibits a complete maturity of mind, as 
 well as style. The latter was probably 
 somewhat improved by revision at a later 
 period of life. — Everett, Alexander 
 Hill, 1834, The Washington Papers, North 
 American Review, vol. 39, p. 494. 
 
 The character of the author transcends 
 all vulgar praise. The interest of the 
 events, which form the subjects of his writ- 
 ings, is inferior to nothing in history. . . . 
 We consider the publication of a standard 
 edition of the writings of Washington, as 
 a matter of importance in a national point 
 of view. Of the auspicious influence of 
 the principles of Washington over public 
 opinion throughout the country, which 
 happily is still highly operative, much 
 must be ascribed to the unexpended force 
 of his personal ascendency and the freshly- 
 remembered power of his personal inter- 
 course. These, with the lapse of time, 
 must daily grow fainter. — Everett, Ed- 
 ward, 1838, Sparks' s Life and Writings of 
 Washington, North American Review, vol. 
 47, p. 319. 
 
 The name of Washington may be intro- 
 duced in a collection of American litera- 
 ture, rather to grace it than to do honor 
 to him. In any strict sense of the word, 
 Washington was not a literary man; he 
 never exercised his mind in composition on 
 any of those topics abstracted from com- 
 mon life, or its affairs, which demanded 
 either art or invention. He prepared no 
 
 book of elaborate industry. — Yet he was 
 always scrupulously attentive to the 
 claims of literature; elegant and punc- 
 tilious in the acknowledgment of com- 
 pliments from authors and learned institu- 
 tions ; and had formed a style which is so 
 peculiar that it may be recognised by its 
 own ear-mark. . . . The handwriting 
 of Washington, large, liberal, and flowing, 
 might be accepted as proof of the honesty 
 of the figures. Indeed this same hand- 
 writing is a capital index of the style of 
 all the letters, and may help us to what we 
 would say of its characteristics. It is 
 open, manly, and uniform, with nothing 
 minced, affected, or contracted. It has 
 neither the precise nor the slovenly style 
 which scholars variously fall into ; but a 
 certain grandeur of the countenance of 
 the man seems to look through it. Second 
 to its main quality of truthfulness, saying 
 no more than the writer was ready to abide 
 by, is its amenity and considerate court- 
 esy. Washington had, at different times, 
 many unpleasant truths to tell; but he 
 could always convey them in the language 
 of a gentleman. He wrote like a man of 
 large and clear views. ... In fine, a 
 critical examination of the writings of 
 Washington will show that the man here, 
 as in other lights, will suffer nothing by a 
 minute inspection. — Duyckinck, Evert 
 A. AND George L., 1855-65-75, Cyclo- 
 pcedia of American Literature, ed. Simons, 
 vol. I, pp. 189, 191. 
 
 The writings of Washington produced 
 chiefly in the camp surrounded by the din 
 of arms, are remarkable for clearness of 
 expression, force of language, and a tone 
 of lofty patriotism. They are second to 
 none of similar character in any nation, 
 and they display powers which, had they 
 been devoted to literature, would have 
 achieved a position of no secondary char- 
 acter.— Botta, Anne C. Lynch," 1860, 
 Hand-Book of Universal Literature, p. 528. 
 
 In the letters and documents known to 
 be his, his style is simple, direct, and ex- 
 plicit, but bald and fragmentary. Succes- 
 sive ideas were arranged by no rhetorical 
 plan, in no logical order, and with no con- 
 tinuous flow of diction, but jotted down 
 abruptly, and without connective clauses, 
 as they occurred spontaneously to his 
 mind, or were called up by casual associa- 
 tions. His military training, and his in- 
 cessantly busy life through the entire 
 
WASHING TON— TUCKER 
 
 369 
 
 period in which the graces of diction might 
 have been cultivated, precluded the abun- 
 dant leisure and the careful practice by 
 which alone he could have become a master 
 of sentences, as he was of noble deeds. — 
 Peabody, a. p., 1860, Washington's Fare- 
 well Address, North American Keview, vol. 
 90, p. 209. 
 
 He has been edited into obscurity, like 
 a Greek play. Where the genial and 
 friendly soldier wrote "Old Put," a re- 
 spectable editor, devoid of the sense of 
 humor, has substituted General Putman; 
 until, at length, a lover of the man has to 
 defend him against the charge of perfec- 
 tion.— Partox, James, 1879, The Tradi- 
 tional and the Real Washington, Magazine 
 of American History, vol. 3, jo, 465. 
 
 Washington himself claims direct per- 
 sonal recognition in the field of letters 
 only by his clear and incisive, though 
 seldom highly-polished, correspondence ; 
 for his celebrated "Farewell Address" is 
 understood to have been mainly the joint 
 work of himself, Madison, and Jay. — 
 NiCHOL, John, 1880-85, American Liter- 
 ature, p. 74. 
 
 V/as a writer who made some small mark 
 upon incipient American literature, and 
 who at any rate, may be mentioned among 
 the political writers of his time. Without 
 collegiate education, and never paying 
 special attention to the art of style, he 
 wrote plainly and clearly, in a somewhat 
 individual way. Twelve large volumes 
 trimly include his once scattered and 
 desultory manuscripts, chiefly letters and 
 
 documents.— Richardson, Charles F., 
 1887, American Literature, 1607-1885, 
 vol. I, p. 203. 
 
 As a letter writer Washington had few 
 superiors ; his journals, notably the ac- 
 count of his famous journey to the Ohio, 
 first published in 1754, are written in clear, 
 conscise English ; and his farewell ad- 
 dresses are full of a wisdom and a stateli- 
 ness worthy in every way of the great man 
 who produced them. — Pattee, Fred 
 Lewis, 1896, A History of American Lit- 
 erature, p. 81. 
 
 Of couse, no one goes to the letters of 
 Washington, in the expectation of finding 
 there sprightliness of thought, flexibly, 
 or ease of movement; yet, in point of 
 diligence and productiveness, he was one 
 of the great letter-writers of that age, 
 while all that he ever wrote has the in- 
 communicable worth of his powerful and 
 noble character — sincerity, purity, robust- 
 ness, freedom from all morbid vapors, 
 soundness of judgment ripened under vast 
 responsibility. Who can hope ever to know 
 the mind and conscience of our Revolution, 
 its motive, its conduct, its stern and 
 patient purpose, or its cost, without 
 studying Washington's letters? — Tyler, 
 Moses Coit, 1897, The Literary History 
 of the American Revolution, 1763-1783, 
 vol. I, p. 13. 
 
 Washington'scorrespondence and "Fare- 
 well Address" would scarcely, from an- 
 other, constitute a claim to literary re- 
 nown.— Bates, Katharine Lee, 1897, 
 American Literature, p. 72. 
 
 Josiah. Tucker 
 
 1712-1799 
 
 Born in Wales; graduate of St. John's College, Oxford, rector of St. Stephen's, 
 Bristol ; prebend, 1755 ; dean of Gloucester, 1758 till his death. He was a thorough 
 student, and careful writer on political economy and subjects pertaining to religion, and 
 published several pamphlets in the beginning of the contest between the English govern- 
 ment and its American colonies in favor of the colonists. — Peck, Harry Thurston, 
 ed., 1898, The International Cyclopcedia, vol. xiv, p. 616. 
 
 GENERAL 
 A case in which the whole British nation 
 were, in one particular, manifestly puzzle- 
 headed, except one man : who was accord- 
 ingly derided by all. In the dispute 
 between Great Britain and her American 
 Colonies. . . . Dean Tucker, stand- 
 ing quite alone, wrote a pamphlet to show 
 that the separation would be no loss at all, 
 
 24 c 
 
 and that we had best give them the in- 
 dependence they coveted, at once, and in 
 a friendly way. Some thought he was 
 writing in jest, the rest despised him as 
 too absurd to be worth answering But 
 now (and for above half a century) every 
 one admits that he was quite right, and 
 regrets that his view was not adopted. . . . 
 Of all the clever men, then, that at that 
 
370 
 
 TUCKER— COWPER 
 
 time existed, and many of whom spoke 
 eloquently on each side, Tucker was the 
 only one who was not puzzle-headed. And 
 he obtained some small share of late credit, 
 but present contempt. — Whately, Rich- 
 ard, 1856, ed. Bacon's Essay with An- 
 notations, Essay LV. 
 
 Josiah Tucker, whose works on Trade 
 anticipated some of the established doc- 
 trines on political economy. — Burton, 
 John Hill, 1860, ed. Autobiography of Rev. 
 Dr. Alexander Carlyle. 
 
 A bitter Tory, but one of the best living 
 writers on all questions of trade. — Lecky, 
 William Edward Hartpole, 1882, A 
 History of England in the Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury, vol. Ill, ch. xii, p. 421. 
 
 Holds a distinguished place among the 
 immediate predecessors of Smith. Most 
 of his numerous productions had direct ref- 
 erence to contemporary questions, and, 
 though marked by much sagacity and 
 penetration are deficient in permanent in- 
 terest. . . . The most important of 
 his general economic views are those re- 
 lating to international commerce. He is 
 an ardent supporter of free-trade doc- 
 trines, which he bases on the principle that 
 there is between nations no necessary an- 
 tagonism, but rather a harmony, of inter- 
 ests, and that their several natural advan- 
 tages and different aptitudes naturally 
 prompt them to exchange. He had not, 
 however, got quite clear of mercantilism. 
 
 and favored bounties on exported manu- 
 factures and the encouragement of popu- 
 lation by a tax on celibacy. — Ingram, J. 
 K., 1885, Political Economy , Encyclopcedia 
 Britannica, Ninth edition, vol. xix, p. 378. 
 
 Tucker was a very shrewd though a 
 rather crotchety and inconsistent writer. 
 He is praised by McCulloch and others who 
 shared his view of the inutility of colonies ; 
 and he argued very forcibly that a ''shop- 
 keeping nation" would not improve its 
 trade by beating its customers. The war 
 with the colonies would, he said, hereafter 
 appear to be as absurd as the crusades. 
 He retained, as McCulloch complains, a 
 good many of the prejudices which later 
 economists sought to explode. He is not 
 clear about the ''balance of trade" ; he be- 
 lieves in the wickedness of forestalling 
 and regrating, and wishes to stimulate 
 population by legislation. In spite, how- 
 ever, of his inconsistencies and narrowness 
 of views, he deserves credit, as Turgot 
 preceived, for attacking many of the evils 
 of ^monopolies, and was so far in sympathy 
 with the French economists and with Adam 
 Smith. He deserves the credit of antici- 
 pating some of Adam Smith's arguments 
 against various forms of monopoly, but, 
 though he made many good points, he was 
 not equal to forming a comprehensive 
 system.— Stephen, Leslie, 1899, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, vol. LVii, 
 p. 283. 
 
 William Cowper 
 
 1731-1800, 
 
 Born, at Great Berkhamstead Rectory, 15 Nov. 1731. At a school in Market Street, 
 Herts, 1737-39. Under the care of an oculist, 1739-41. At Westminster School, 
 1741-49. Student at Middle Temple, 29 April 1748. Articled to a solicitor for three 
 years, 1750. Called to Bar, 14 June 1754. Depression of mind began. Commissioner 
 of Bankrupts, 1759-65. Contrib. nos. Ill, 115, 134, 139 to "The Connoisseur," 
 1756; to Buncombe's "Translations from Horace," 1756-57; to "The St. James's 
 Chronicle," 1761. Symptoms of insanity began to appear ; taken to a private asylum 
 at St. Albans, Dec. 1763. Left there and settled in Huntingdon, June 1765. Began 
 to board in house of Mr. and Mrs. Unwin there, Nov. 1765. Removed with Mrs. Unwin 
 and family to Olney, Bucks, autumn of 1767. Assisted John Newton, curate of Olney, 
 in parochial duties. Fresh attack of insanity, 1773-74. On recovery, showed more 
 activity in literary work. Friendship with Lady Austen, 1781-83. Contrib. to 
 "Gentleman's Mag.," June 1784 and Aug. 1785. Removed from Olney to Weston, 
 Nov. 1786. Attack of insanity, 1787. Contrib. to "Analytical Review," Feb. 1789. 
 Crown pension of £300 a year granted, 1794. Visited various places in Norfolk with 
 Mrs. Unwin, summer of 1795. Settled in Dereham Lodge, Oct. 1795. Died there, 
 25 April 1800. Buried in Dereham Church. Works: "Olney Hymns" (anon., with 
 J. Newton), 1779; "Anti-Thelyphthora" (anon.), 1781; "Poems," 1782; "John 
 Gilpin" (anon.), 1783; "The Task," 1785 (the fly-leaf bears the words: "Poems 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 371 
 
 Vol. II/') ; Translation of ''Iliad and Odyssey," 1791 ; 'Toems" C'On the receipt of 
 my mother's picture" — ''The Dog and the Water Lily"), 1798. Posthumous: "Adel- 
 phi," 1802; "Life and Posthumous Writings," ed. by Hayley, 1803 (2nd edn., 1804; 
 3rd. entitled "Life and Letters," 1809); "Memoir of the early life of William 
 Cowper" (autobiographical), 1816; "Table Talk," 1817; "Hymns," 1822; "Private 
 Correspondence" (2 vols.), 1824; "Poems, the early productions of W. Cowper," ed. 
 by J. Croft, 1825; "Minor Poems," 1825;" "The Negro's Complaint," 1826. He 
 translated: "Homer," 1791; "The Power of Grace," by Van Lier, 1792; "Poems by 
 Mme. De la Motte Guion" (posth.), 1801; Milton's Latin and Italian poems (posth.), 
 1808. Collected Works: ed. by Newton (10 vols.), 1817; ed. by Memes (3 vols.), 
 1834; ed. by Grimshawe (8 vols.), 1835; ed. by Southey (15 vols.), 1836-37. Life: 
 by Hayley, 1803 ; by Bruce, in Aldine edn. of Works, 1865 ; by Benham, in Globe edn. of 
 Works, 1870.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. Ql. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The morning is my writing time, and in 
 the morning I have no spirits. So much 
 the worse for my correspondents. Sleep, 
 that refreshes my body, seems to cripple 
 me in every other respect. As the evening 
 approaches, I grow more alert, and when 
 I am retiring to bed, am more fit for mental 
 occupation than at any other time. So it 
 fares with us whom they call nervous. By 
 a strange inversion of the animal economy, 
 we are ready to sleep when we have most 
 need to be awake, and go to bed just when 
 we might sit up to some purpose. The 
 watch is irregularly wound up, it goes in 
 the night when it is not wanted, and in 
 the day stands still.— Cowper, William, 
 1784, Letter to John Newton, Feb. 10. 
 
 IN MEMORY 
 
 OF WILLIAM COWPER, ESQ. 
 
 BORN IN HERTFORDSHIRE, 1731. 
 BURIED IN THIS CHURCH, 1800. 
 Ye, who with warmth the public triumph 
 feel 
 
 Of talents, dignified by sacred zeal, 
 Here, to devotion's Bard devoutly just. 
 Pay your fond tribute due to Cowper's dust! 
 England, exulting in his spotless fame. 
 Ranks with her dearest sons his fav'rite 
 name ; 
 
 Sense, fancy, wit, suffice not all to raise 
 So clear a title to affection's praise : 
 His highest honors to the heart belong ; 
 His virtues form'd the magic of his song. 
 — Hayley, William, 1800, Inscription 
 on Monument, St. Edmund's Chapel, East 
 Dereham Church. 
 
 From his figure, as it first appeared to me, 
 in his sixty-second year, I should imagine 
 that he must have been very comely in his 
 youth; and little had time injured his 
 countenance, since his features expressed, 
 in that period of life, all the powers of his 
 mind, and all the sensibility of his heart. 
 He was of a middle stature, rather strong 
 
 than delicate in the form of his limbs : the 
 colour of his hair was a light brown, that 
 of his eyes a bluish, and his complexion 
 ruddy. In his dress he was neat, but not 
 finical; in his diet temperate and not 
 dainty. He had an air of pensive reserve 
 in his deportment, and his extreme shyness 
 sometimes produced in his manners an in- 
 describable mixture of aukwardness and 
 dignity ; but no being could be more truly 
 graceful when he was in perfect health 
 and perfectly pleased with his society. 
 Towards women, in particular, his be- 
 haviour and conversation was delicate and 
 fascinating in the highest degree. — Hay- 
 ley, William, 1803, Life and Posthumous 
 Writings of William Cowper, vol. ii, p. 124. 
 
 It appears to the present writer, from a 
 careful perusal of that instructive piece 
 of biography published by Mr. Hayley, 
 that Cowper, from his infancy, had a ten- 
 dency to errations of the mind ; and with- 
 out admitting this fact in some degree, it 
 must seem extremely improbable that the 
 mere dread of appearing as a reader in 
 the house of lords should have brought on 
 his first settled fit of lunacy. Much, in- 
 deed, has been said of his uncommon shy- 
 ness and diffidence, and more, perhaps, 
 than the history of his early life will 
 justify. Shyness and diffidence are com- 
 mon to all young persons who have not 
 been early introduced into company, and 
 Cowper, who had not, perhaps, that ad- 
 vantage at home, might have continued to 
 be shy when other boys are forward. But 
 had his mind been, even in this early period, 
 in a healthful state, he must have gradu- 
 ally assumed the free manners of an in- 
 genuous youth, conscious of no unusual 
 imperfection that should keep him back. 
 At school, we are told, he was trampled 
 upon by the ruder boys who took advantage 
 of his weakness, yet we find that he mixed 
 
372 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 in their amusements, which must in some 
 degree have advanced him on a level with 
 them: and what is yet more extraordi- 
 nary, we find him associating with men of 
 more gaiety than pure morality admits, 
 and sporting with the utmost vivacity and 
 wildness with Thurlow and others, when 
 it was natural to expect that he would 
 have been glad to court solitude for 
 the purposes of study, as well as for 
 the indulgence of his habitual shyness, if, 
 indeed, at this period it was so habitual 
 as we are taught to believe. — Chalmers, 
 Alexander, 1814, English Poets, Life of 
 Cowper. 
 
 I could have wished a stronger tone of 
 severity to have been expressed, in the 
 authority last referred to, against the 
 publication of those ' ' Memoirs of Cowper, " 
 1816, 8vo., which were written by himself, 
 and which betrayed his morbid and un- 
 happy state of feelings in an attempt to 
 commit suicide. There is perhaps no 
 species of mental depravation, connected 
 with a lust of lucre, more deserving of 
 reproof and castigation, than that which 
 led to the publication of these Memoirs. 
 First, this composition could never have 
 been intended for the public eye; and 
 was therefore on every account sacred. 
 Secondly, it could only lead to the debase- 
 ment of that amiable creature, whom it 
 was the bounden duty of the publisher to 
 have kept as free from all imputation as 
 the pages of Hayley had justly represented 
 him. Thirdly, if the feeling which lead to 
 this publication were a religious one, I 
 must say that it is one of the most per- 
 verted and mischievous views of religion 
 with which I am acquainted. Cant, or 
 lucre, in its genuine form, was, I fear, 
 the source or the motive of this highly in- 
 judicious publication. We love and re- 
 spect Cowper too sincerely, to ''drag his 
 frailties from their drear abode. "*^Dib- 
 DiN, Thomas Frognall, 1824, The Li- 
 brary Companion, p. 533, note. 
 
 Had Cowper' s mind been sane, no rational 
 views of religion could unquestionably 
 have produced the hallucination; but 
 when his mind was clouded with hypo- 
 chondria, as in early life before it had taken 
 any definite form, nothing was wanting to 
 convert his melancholy into monomania, 
 and to change the wandering reveries of 
 the former into the settled gloom of the 
 latter, but the exclusive application of 
 
 enthusiasm to a single subject. . . . 
 Cowper, from his earliest years, was deli- 
 cate in constitution, and timid in his dis- 
 position. Excessive application to pro- 
 fessional studies in the Temple increased 
 the delicacy of his health, the nervous 
 system and the cerebral organs became 
 disturbed or disordered in their functions, 
 and his natural timidity merged into a 
 morbid sensibility which wholly disquali- 
 fied him for the active duties of that pro- 
 fession in which he had been so improperly 
 placed.— Madden, R. R., 1833, The In- 
 firmities of Genius, vol. ii, pp. 47, 99. 
 
 His prevailing insanity, so far as it could 
 be called insanity at all, in those long in- 
 tervals of many years, during which his 
 mind was serene and active, his habit of 
 thought playful, and his affections more 
 and more fervent, was simply the exclusion 
 of a personal religious hope to such a de- 
 gree as to seem like habitual despair. 
 This despair was his insanity, for it could 
 be only madness that could produce it, 
 after such a revelation of the glory of God 
 in the face of Jesus Christ as he had been 
 permitted in the outset to enjoy. If Paul 
 had gone deranged after being let down 
 from his trance and vision in the third 
 heavens, and the type of his derangement 
 had been the despair of ever again behold- 
 ing his Saviour's face in glory, and the 
 obstinate belief of being excluded by 
 Divine decree from heaven, though his 
 affections were all the while in heaven, 
 even that derangement would have been 
 scarcely more remarkable than Cowper' s. 
 In the case of so delicate and profound an 
 organization as his, it is very difficult to 
 trace the effect of any entanglement or 
 disturbance from one side or the other 
 between the nervous and mental sensibili- 
 ties of his frame. There was a set of 
 Border Ruffians continually threatening his 
 peace, endeavoring to set up slavery in- 
 stead of freedom, and ever and anon mak- 
 ing their incursions, and defacing the 
 title-deeds to his inheritance, which they 
 could not carry away ; and Cowper might 
 have assured himself with the consolation 
 that those documents would not be de- 
 stroyed, being registered in heaven, and 
 God as faithful to them, as if their rec- 
 ord in his own heart had been always 
 visible. — Cheever, George B., 1843, 
 Lectures on the Life, Genius and Insanity 
 of Cowper, Introduction, p. vii. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 373 
 
 O poets! from a maniac's tongue was poured 
 
 the deathless singing ! 
 O Christians! at your cross of hope, a hope- 
 less hand was clinging ! 
 O men ! this man in brotherhood your weary 
 
 paths beguiling, 
 Groaned inly while he taught you peace, and 
 
 died while ye were smiling ! 
 And now, wliat time ye all may read through 
 
 dimming tears his story, 
 How discord on the music fell, and darkness 
 
 on the glory. 
 And how when one by one, sweet sounds 
 
 and wandering lights departed, 
 He wore no less a loving face because so 
 
 broken-hearted ; 
 He shall be strong to sanctify the poet's high 
 
 vocation, 
 
 And bow the meekest Christian down in 
 
 meeker adoration : 
 Nor ever shall he be, in praise, by wise or 
 
 good forsaken ; 
 Named softly as the household name of one 
 
 whom God hath taken. 
 
 — Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1844, 
 Cowpefs Grave, 
 
 Here Cowper was fond of coming, and 
 sitting within the hollow boll for hours, 
 around him stretching the old woods, with 
 their solitude and the cries of woodland 
 birds. The fame which he has conferred 
 on this tree has nearly proved its destruc- 
 iton. Whole arms and great pieces of its 
 trunk have been cut away with knife and 
 axe and saw to prepare different articles 
 from. The Marquis of Northampton, to 
 whom the chase belongs, has had multi- 
 tudes of nails driven in to stop the prog- 
 ress of this destruction, but, finding that 
 not sufficient, has affixed a board bearing 
 this inscription : *'Out of respect to the 
 memory of the poet Cowper, the Marquis 
 of Northampton is particularly desirous of 
 preserving this oak. Notice is hereby 
 given that any person defacing or other- 
 wise injuring it will be prosecuted accord- 
 ing to law." In stepping round the 
 Yardley Oak it appeared to me to be, at 
 the foot, about thirteen yards in circum- 
 ference.— Ho WITT, William, 1847, The 
 Homes and Haunts of the Most Eminent 
 British Poets, vol. I, p. 458. 
 
 Few things are more touching than the 
 history of Cowper 's life, as it is related, 
 with more than feminine grace, innocence, 
 and tenderness, in his own inimitable let- 
 ters ; and we can understand the devoted- 
 ness with which so many of his friends 
 sacrificed their whole existence to cherish 
 
 and console a being so gifted, so fascinat- 
 ing, and so unhappy. The dim shadow, 
 too, of an early and enduring, but hope- 
 less love, throws over the picture a soft 
 and pensive tint, like moonlight on some 
 calm landscape.— Shaw, Thomas B., 1847, 
 Outlines of English Literature, p. 305. 
 
 Words are wanting to describe the sense 
 of relief with which we close this saddest, 
 most mysterious narrative. The man were 
 granite who could refrain from sympathy, 
 amounting to bitter anguish, with this 
 poor unfortunate. And then, there are 
 questions arising out of his story, which 
 descend into the very depths of those 
 awful relations which connect us with God 
 and Eternity. Why did this man suffer 
 thus ? Why was he ever born to endure 
 such wretchedness ? What the rationale of 
 his long martyrdom and darkness ? . . . 
 Truly William Cowper was still more a 
 marvellous, than he was a mild and gentle 
 spirit, — stronger, even, than he was ami- 
 able — a very Prometheus chained to his 
 rock, let us call him, — the rock being his 
 rugged, deep-rooted woe; the chain his 
 lengthened life ; and himself the Titan, in 
 his earnestness, lofty purpose, and poetic 
 power. — GiLPiLLAN, George, 1854, ed. 
 Cowpefs Poetical Works, Life, vol, i, pp. 
 XXV, xxvii. 
 
 His talent is but the picture of his char- 
 acter, and his poems but the echo of his 
 life. ... He was one of those to 
 whom women devote themselves, VN^hom 
 they love maternally, first from compas- 
 sion, then by attraction, because they find 
 in them alone the contrivances, minute 
 and tender attentions, delicate observances 
 which men's rude nature cannot give 
 them, and which their more sensitive 
 nature nevertheless craves. — Taine, H. 
 A.. 1871, History of English Literature, tr. 
 Van Laun, vol. ii, bk. iv, ch. i, pp. 243-4. 
 
 It niust have been a disappointment to 
 Cowper that the songs or ballads he wrote 
 on the slave trade, for the express purpose 
 of being sung in the streets, and by that 
 means widely circulated among the people, 
 came to nothing. ''If you hear ballads 
 sung in the streets on the hardships of the 
 negroes in the islands," he writes to Mr. 
 Rose, ''they are probably mine." But 
 Mr. Rose heard them not, nor was the song 
 writer ever to have that satisfaction him- 
 self.— Jacox, Francis, 1872, Self-Heard 
 in Song, Aspects of Authorship, p. 48. 
 
374 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 So sad and strange a destiny has never 
 before or since been that of a man of 
 genius. With wit and humour at will, he 
 was nearly all his life plunged in the dark- 
 est melancholy. Innocent, pious and con- 
 fiding, he lived in perpetual dread of ever- 
 lasting punishment: he could only see 
 between him and heaven a high wall which 
 he despaired of ever being able to scale ; 
 yet his intellectual vigour was not subdued 
 by affliction. What he wrote for amuse- 
 ment or relief in the midst of supreme 
 distress,'' surpasses the elaborate efforts 
 of others made under the most favourable 
 circumstances ; and in the very winter of 
 his days, his fancy was as fresh and bloom- 
 ing as in the spring and morning of exist- 
 ence. That he was constitutionally prone to 
 melancholy and insanity, seems undoubted ; 
 but the predisposing causes were as surely 
 aggravated by his strict and secluded 
 mode of life. — Chambers, Robert, 1876, 
 Cyclopoedia of English Literature, ed. Car- 
 ruthers. 
 
 If Cowper's retirement was virtuous, it 
 was so because he was actively employed 
 in the exercise of his highest faculties : 
 had he been a mere idler, secluded from 
 his kind, his retirement would not have been 
 virtuous at all. His flight from the world 
 was rendered necessary by his malady, and 
 respectable by his literary work ; but it 
 was a flight and not a victory. His mis- 
 conception was fostered and partly pro- 
 duced by a religion which was essentially 
 ascetic, and which, while it gave birth to 
 characters of the highest and most ener- 
 getic beneficence, represented salvation 
 too little as the reward of effort, too much 
 as the reward of passive belief and of spir- 
 itual emotion. — Smith, Goldwin, 1880, 
 Cowper (English Men of Letters.), p. 52. 
 
 The time of William Cowper seems 
 now, so far as Westminster is con- 
 cerned, equally remote as that of Raleigh. 
 It was in the churchyard of St. Mar- 
 garet's, while he was a scholar at West- 
 minster, that he received one of those 
 impressions which had so strong an effect 
 on his after life. Crossing the burial- 
 ground one dark evening, towards his 
 home in the school, he saw the glimmering 
 lantern of a grave-digger at work. He 
 approached to look on, with a boyish crav- 
 ing for horrors, and was struck by a skull 
 heedlessly thrown out of the crowded 
 earth. To the mind of William Cowper 
 
 such an accident had an extraordinary 
 significance. In after life he remembered 
 it as the occasion of religious emotions not 
 readily suppressed. On the south side 
 of the church, until the recent restora- 
 tions, there was a stone the inscription of 
 which suggests the less gloomy view of 
 Cowper 's character. It marked ''The 
 Burial-Place of Mr. John Gilpin the date 
 was not to be made out, but it must have 
 been fresh when Cowper was at school, and 
 it would be absurd to doubt that the future 
 poet had seen it, and perhaps unconsciously 
 adopted from it the name of his hero. — 
 LoFTiE, William John, 1883-4, History 
 of London, vol. ii, ch. xvi. 
 
 William Cowper is one of the strangest 
 and most pathetic figures in the literary 
 history of England. He had much in com- 
 mon with another famous writer, and it 
 would be easy to draw a parallel between 
 William Cowper and Charles Lamb. In 
 nothing is the resemblance closer than in 
 the circumstance that both began by writ- 
 ing poetry and produced much sweet verse, 
 while the prose of each is far more note- 
 worthy than his poetry, and is among the 
 best in the language. If neither had 
 written a line or a sentence, the personal 
 story of each would have ensured his name 
 being remembered. Though the career of 
 both was chequered and painful, yet it 
 has a fascination for every reader, and, of 
 the two, Cowper' s is the sadder and the 
 more curious. — Rae, W. Eraser, 1891, 
 The Bard of Olney, Temple Bar, vol. 91, 
 p. 503. 
 
 On the 19th of April it was evident that 
 death was near, and Mr. Johnson ventured 
 to speak of his approaching dissolution as 
 the signal for his deliverance from the 
 miseries of both mind and body. Cowper 
 making fewer objections than might have 
 been supposed, Johnson proceeded to say, 
 ''that in the world to which he was hasten- 
 ing, a merciful Redeemer had prepared 
 unspeakable happiness for all His children, 
 and therefore for him. " To the first part of 
 this sentence he listened with composure, 
 but upon hearing the concluding words he 
 passionately entreated that no further 
 observations might be made on the sub- 
 ject. He lingered five days longer. On 
 Thursday he sat up as usual in the evening. 
 In the course of the night, when he was 
 exceedingly exhausted. Miss Perowne 
 offered him some refreshment, which he 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 375 
 
 rejected, saying, **What can it signify?" 
 and these were the last words he was heard 
 to utter. At five in the morning a deadly 
 change had taken place in his features, and 
 he remained in an insensible state from 
 that time till about five in the afternoon, 
 when he ceased to breathe, expiring so 
 peacefully that none who stood at his bed- 
 side could tell the precise moment of his 
 departure. From the time of his death 
 till the coffin was closed, Mr. Johnson 
 says, "the expression with which his 
 countenance had settled was that of calm- 
 ness and composure, mingled, as it were, 
 with holy surprise." — Wright, Thomas, 
 1892, The Life of William Cowper, p. 656. 
 
 Intellectually, Cowper is rendered more 
 difficult in appearance, perhaps, than in 
 reality by his malady. He would probably 
 not have been very different as a perfectly 
 sane man ; that is to say, he would have at 
 least shown generous sympathies, pure 
 morality, and, above all things, the in- 
 stincts and conduct of a gentleman, in the 
 very best sense of the word, without join- 
 ing to them any very vigorous reasoning 
 power or wide faculty of appreciation. 
 His nature, slightly feminine, must always 
 have been more than slightly prejudiced ; 
 but his prejudices sometimes contribute 
 to his poetry, and rarely interfere with it. 
 — Saintsbury, George, 1898, Short His- 
 tory of English Literature^ p. 590. 
 
 The country has but little changed in 
 the course of a century. The ruins of 
 Capability Brown's exploits are still trace- 
 able at Weston ; the square tower of Clif- 
 ton still looks down upon the spire of Olney ; 
 there is still a clump of poplars at Laven- 
 don Mill ; there is still a wealth of flower- 
 ing rushes with their cherry scented 
 blossoms, of broad-leaved plants varying 
 the monotony of the reeds, of purple loose- 
 strife, of blue forget-me-not. An ad- 
 venturous holiday-maker, who could for a 
 couple of days forego the delights of dusty 
 roads and the rushing wheel, might find a 
 less agreeable pastime than a voyage in a 
 canoe from Newport Pagnell down to 
 Turvey. Thus he might bathe himself in 
 the atmosphere which was breathed by no 
 mean English poet, gliding beneath hills 
 clothed with trees, or between wide 
 meadows ; but he would do well not to sur- 
 render himself unguardedly to the calm 
 pleasures of plain-sailing, lest he should 
 rue his error lost in the mazes of a 
 
 reed-bed. — Tarver, J. C, 1900, Cowpefs 
 Ouse, Macmillan's Magazine, vol. 82, p. 144. 
 
 MARY UNWIN 
 The twentieth year is well-nigh past, 
 Since first our sky was overcast ; 
 Ah, would that this might be the last! 
 
 My Mary ! 
 Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 
 I see thee daily weaker grow ; 
 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Thy silver locks, once auburn bright. 
 Are still more lovely in my sight 
 Than golden beams of orient light, 
 My Mary ! 
 
 Partakers of thy sad decline, 
 Thy hands their little force resign ; 
 Yet, gently prest, press gently mine. 
 My Mary ! 
 
 And should my future lot be cast 
 With much resemblance of the past, 
 Thy worn-out heart will break at last. 
 My Mary ! 
 
 —Cowper, William, 1793, To Mary. 
 
 I am tedious without being, perhaps, 
 after all, intelligible ; but an example may 
 make me so. Mrs. Unwin, the friend of 
 Cowper, felt that the Divine inflictions 
 were mercies, and to be received as such, 
 as sensibly as we feel that the shower, 
 which wets our garment, refreshes the 
 dried- up soil. What we regard, in a 
 speculative way, as a thing we ought to 
 believe, was, with her, like the evidence 
 of the senses, and enabled her to bear the 
 severest evils with unshaken and even 
 cheerful patience. In vain would those, 
 who cherish and brood over sorrow, ex- 
 cuse themselves, by depreciating as a kind 
 of apathy the lively faith which supported 
 this Christian heroine, even under the 
 death of her most excellent and only son. 
 What but sensibility of the purest, highest 
 kind led her to do and suffer, in the cause 
 of friendship, more than ever the courage 
 of man or the love of woman achieved ? 
 Dying for one's friend was nothing to 
 this. Estranged from all social enjoy- 
 ments, and having one's sole attention 
 tied down, day after day, and year after 
 year, to the most painful object that heart 
 can conceive — the ghastly form and sus- 
 pended faculties of a dear friend ! What 
 a being must Cowper have been, that could 
 excite such a pure and fervent attachment ; 
 and how much beyond the conception of 
 
376 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 ordinary minds was the tenderness, the 
 constancy, the fortitude, and, above all, 
 the faith of this blessed woman! Lady 
 Hesketh, the good, the generous, and the 
 amiable, tried to fill her place, but sank 
 under it. Miss Fanshawe, who was with 
 Lady H. in the last months of her life, 
 told me that she never recovered the miser- 
 able winter she spent with her beloved 
 cousin. — Grant, Anne, 1823, Letters, 
 Sept. 2 ; Memoir and Correspondence , ed. 
 Grant, vol. iii, p. 15. 
 
 LADY AUSTEN 
 
 He was not a famous poet in those days, 
 but a poor invalid recluse, with a shadow 
 of madness and misery about him, whose 
 story was inevitably known to all his 
 neighbours, and about whom there could 
 be no delusion possible ; but though all 
 this is against the theory that a brilliant, 
 lively, charming, and very likely fanciful 
 woman, such as Lady Austen seems to have 
 been, meant to marry him, it is quite 
 enough to explain the compassionate in- 
 terest rapidly ripening into warm friend- 
 ship which moved her at first. Men like 
 Cowper are always interesting to women, 
 and there can be little doubt that, in the 
 dull neighborhood of Olney, such company 
 and conversation as his would be a godsend 
 to any visitor from livelier scenes. 
 When the new alliance went so far as to 
 induce her to settle in Olney in the adjoin- 
 ing house, with that famous door in the 
 wall first made to facilitate communica- 
 tions between Newton and Cowper, re- 
 opened, a stronger motive is no doubt 
 necessary. But it is a vulgar conclusion 
 that marriage must bethought of wherever 
 a man and woman are concerned, and it 
 was the age for romantic friendships. At 
 all events, whatever was the cause. Lady 
 Austen took up her abode in the deserted 
 vicarage. — Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 
 1882, Literary History of England in the 
 End of the Eighteenth and Beginning of the 
 Nineteenth Century, vol. i, p. 55. 
 
 The fact now began to dawn upon his 
 mind that Lady Austen was in love with 
 him. The only wonder is that he did not 
 perceive it before. Nobody can blame her 
 for losing her heart to the poet. She saw 
 only the bright and cheerful side of his 
 character, and knew little or nothing of 
 the canker of despair that gnawed continu- 
 ally at his heart. ... As soon as Cowper 
 discovered in what light Lady Austen 
 
 regarded him, he perceived that matters 
 could no longer go on as they were. The 
 thought of love— anything more than a 
 brotherly and sisterly love — had never en- 
 tered his mind, for since his last dreadful 
 derangement at the vicarage he had given 
 up all thoughts of marriage (it should be 
 remembered, too, that he was in his fifty- 
 fourth year), and seeing himself called on 
 to renounce either one lady or the other, 
 he felt it to be his bounden duty to cling 
 to Mrs. Unwin, to whose kindness he had 
 been indebted for so many years. It has 
 been said by some that Mrs. Unwin was 
 jealous of Lady Austen. Very likely she 
 was. When we consider how tenderly and 
 patiently she had watched over Cowper in 
 his dark and dreadful hours, how for so 
 many years she had shared his joys and 
 sorrows, and delighted in his companion- 
 ship, we need not wonder if some feeling 
 akin to jealousy stirred her when she per- 
 ceived the danger of her place being taken 
 by one who, though more brilliant, could 
 not possibly love him more. But Mrs. 
 Unwin had no need to fear. Cowper's 
 affections for her, his knowledge of her 
 worth, his gratitude for past services, 
 would not allow him to hesitate. He had 
 hoped that it would be possible to enjoy 
 the friendship of both ladies ; but when 
 he discovered that it was necessary to 
 decide between one and the other, he 
 bowed to the painful necessity and wrote 
 Lady Austen ''a very tender yet resolute 
 letter, in which he explained and lamented 
 the circumstances that forced him to re- 
 nounce her society." She in anger burnt 
 the letter, and henceforth there was no 
 more communication between them. — 
 Wright, Thomas, 1892, The Life of Wil- 
 liam Cowper, pp. 347, 348. 
 
 The sprightly Muse, with all her stability 
 of temper, sense of religion, and serious- 
 ness of mind, must soon have become disa- 
 greeably conscious of the difference be- 
 tween the forced attendance of a wayward 
 and irritable invalid with his thoughts else- 
 where, and the effusive camaraderie with 
 which he sought her company in the bright 
 days of their first companionship. 
 "O Love ! it is a pleasant thing 
 A little time, while it is new." 
 
 Mrs. Unwin might not have resented the 
 change, but Lady Austen was not Mrs. 
 Unwin, and she ''repaired to Bristol." 
 We might have understood the cause of 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 377 
 
 the separation better if the lady had kept 
 Cowper's letter of farewell, but she was 
 so dissatisfied with it that she threw it in 
 the fire — tempted, perhaps, for once in her 
 life, to believe that Methodism was cant. 
 Lady Austen was too exacting, or Cowper 
 was too exacting ; anyhow, they could not 
 get on together— any explanation you 
 please except that Mrs. Unwin was jealous. 
 To entertain this explanation for a moment 
 is to commit the most senseless outrage 
 on the memory of a gentle, self-denying 
 woman who bore with all the crazy poet's 
 selfish whims and caprices, and watched 
 over him with more than a mother's love 
 till her own mind gave way under the 
 strain.— MiNTO, William, 1894, Tke Lit- 
 erature of the Georgian Era, ed. Knight^ 
 p. 144. 
 
 OLNEY HYMNS 
 
 1779 
 
 Precious is his memory to every lover of 
 sacred song.— Hatfield, Edwin F., 1884, 
 The Poets of the Church, p. 165. 
 
 Very many of Cowper's hymns, like 
 passages in his longer poems, have become 
 ''household words." . . . Cowper — 
 the great Christian poet of England, and, 
 as Willmott justly remarks, pre-eminently 
 the poet of the affections, above any 
 writer in our language — has enriched 
 sacred literature by so many exquisite 
 bursts of poetic inspiration, that it is no 
 easy task to determine which are the best. 
 —Saunders, Frederick, 1885, Evenings 
 with the Sacred Poets, pp. 345, 346. 
 
 As a hymn-writer, except for one very 
 remarkable composition, Cowper scarcely 
 ranks as high as the Wesleys. He might 
 have taken a much higher place than they 
 — a higher place than almost any writer 
 of hymns of his own time or since — if he 
 could have applied his genius to the work. 
 That was certainly not possible to him at 
 the time when the Olney hymns were 
 written, and at the other periods when it 
 might have been possible he was occupied 
 with greater things. The defect of his 
 hymns was their severe doctrinal char- 
 acter. They are statements of religious 
 belief, for the most part narrow and des- 
 pondent; and only occasionally, w^hen 
 they reflect what may have been a passing 
 mood of cheerfulness, do' they express the 
 aspirations or contentments of simple 
 piety.— Cotterell, George, 1897, Cow- 
 per's Letters, The Argosy, vol. 64, p. 152. 
 
 *'Hark my Soul" is the most beautiful 
 of all English hymns. It emphasises what 
 is the essence of the Christian faith, — the 
 appeal of Christ to the individual man. 
 It describes in language that is exquisitely 
 simple and true the work of the Saviour 
 for the soul in redemption. In words 
 hardly less powerful than those of St. 
 Paul, it brings home to the heart the truth 
 that He who speaks to us through the 
 Gospel is the fulness of Him who filleth all 
 in all, and then it closes by bringing the 
 poor human heart, conscious of its own 
 feebleness, into its true attitude of abso- 
 lute reliance on the Divine peace, in which 
 it lives and moves, and has its being. — 
 Sinclair, William Macdonald, 1897, 
 Hymns that have Helped, ed. Stead, p. 146. 
 
 *'God Moves in a Mysterious Way." 
 Cowper's hymn has helped multitudes to 
 bear up under the blows of apparently ad- 
 verse fortune. Within a year of the writ- 
 ing of this beautiful and touching hymn, 
 Cowper's reason reeled, and he endeav- 
 oured to commit suicide by drowning in 
 the Ouse. It is some poor consolation to 
 know that his attempt at suicide was not 
 a suicide of despair, but rather the perver- 
 sion of the spirit of resignation and joyful 
 submission which finds expression in the 
 hymn. Newton says that Cowper tried to 
 take his life, believing it was a sacrifice 
 which God required at his hands. The 
 accepted legend is that he had proposed 
 to commit suicide at a certain place, but 
 as the driver of the postchaise could not 
 find it, he returned home without putting 
 his purpose into execution, and there 
 composed this hymn. — Stead, W. T., 
 1897, Hymns that have Helped, p. 115. 
 
 JOHN GILPIN 
 
 1783 
 
 When I received your account of the 
 great celebrity of ''John Gilpin," I felt 
 myself both flattered and grieved. Being 
 man, and having in my composition all the 
 ingredients of \vhich other men are made, 
 and vanity among the rest, it pleased me 
 to reflect that I was on a sudden become 
 so famous, and that all the world was busy 
 inquiring after me ; but the next moment, 
 recollecting my former self, and that thir- 
 teen years ago, as harmless as John's his- 
 tory is, I should not then have written it, 
 my spirits sank, and I was ashamed of my 
 success. Your letter was followed the 
 next post by one from Mr. Unwin. You 
 
378 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 tell me that I am rivalled by Mrs. Bellamy ; 
 and he, that I have a competitor for fame, 
 nor less formidable, in the Learned Pig. 
 Alas! what is an author's popularity 
 worth, in a world that can suffer a prosti- 
 tute on one side, and a pig on the other, 
 to eclipse his brightest glories? I am 
 therefore sufficiently humbled by these 
 considerations ; and unless I should here- 
 after be ordained to engross the public at- 
 tention by means more magnificent than a 
 song, am persuaded that I shall suffer no 
 real detriment by their applause. I have 
 produced many things, under the influence 
 of despair, which hope would not have 
 permitted to spring. But if the soil of 
 that melancholy, in which I have walked 
 so long, has thrown up here and there an 
 unprofitable fungus, it is well, at least, 
 that it is not chargeable with having 
 brought forth poison. Like you, I see, 
 or think I can see, that Gilpin may have 
 his use. Causes, in appearance trivial, 
 produce often the most beneficial conse- 
 quences; and perhaps my volumes may 
 now travel to a distance, which, if they 
 had not been ushered into the world by 
 that notable horseman, they would never 
 have reached. — Cowper, William, 1785, 
 Letter to Rev. John Newton^ April 22. 
 
 The story of John Gilpin has perhaps 
 given as much pleasure to as many people 
 as anything of the same length that ever 
 was written. — Hazlitt, William, 1818, 
 Lectures on the English PoetSy Lecture v. 
 
 THE TASK 
 
 1785 
 
 Is not ''The Task" a glorious poem? 
 The religion of ''The Task,'' bating a few 
 scraps of Calvinistic divinity, is the reli- 
 gion of God and Nature ; the religion that 
 exalts and ennobles man. — Burns, Robert, 
 1795, Letter to Mrs. Dunlop, Dec. 25. 
 
 The "Task," beginning with all the 
 peaceful attractions of sportive gaiety, 
 rises to the most solemn and awful grand- 
 eur, to the highest strain of religious 
 solemnity. Its frequent variation of tone 
 is masterly in the greatest degree, and the 
 main spell of that inexhaustible enchant- 
 ment which hurries the reader through a 
 flowery maze of many thousand verses, 
 without allowing him to feel a moment of 
 languor or fatigue. Perhaps no author, 
 ancient or modern, ever possessed, so com- 
 pletely as Cowper, the nice art of passing, 
 
 by the most delicate transition, from sub- 
 jects to subjects that might otherwise 
 seem but little or not at all allied to each 
 other, the rare talent 
 
 "Happily to steer 
 From grave to gay, from lively to severe." 
 — Hayley, William, 1803, The Life and 
 Posthumous Writings of William Cowper^ 
 vol. II, p. 142. 
 
 In the "Task" are to be found descrip- 
 tive powers not inferior to those of 
 Thomson, mingled with a strain of the 
 happiest satiric humour, and interspersed 
 with touches of the most exquisite pathos 
 and sublimity ; while the whole inculcates, 
 in versification of unparalleled sweetness 
 and simplicity, the noblest lessons of 
 morality and religion. — Drake, Nathan, 
 1810, Essays, Illustrative of the Rambler, 
 Adventurer, and Idler, vol. ii, p. 333. 
 
 It seems to have been begun without 
 design like a morning's ramble, and to 
 have been continued and completed with- 
 out labour. Nevertheless, in this walk 
 how many beautiful and even sublime 
 objects rise upon the view. Cowper ap- 
 pears to bear in his style a very great re- 
 semblance to the Roman Ovid. There is 
 in both the same elegance of diction and 
 unstudied easiness of expression. But 
 the Christian poet must be allowed to bear 
 the palm from the Pagan in sentiment if 
 he is equalled by him (which I do not think) 
 in other respects. The pious fervour 
 which goes through the page of Cowper 
 will preserve it from obljvion, while the 
 blasphemous scoffings of a witty infidel, 
 should they pass down to another genera- 
 tion, will be viewed only with mingled in- 
 dignation and contempt. — Thirlwall, 
 CONNOP, 1810, To John Candler, Oct. 24 ; 
 Letters, eds. Perowne and Stokes, p. 16. 
 
 Cowper' s first volume, partly from the 
 grave character of the longer pieces and 
 the purposely rugged, rambling, slip-shod 
 versification, was long neglected, till "The 
 Task," the noblest effort of his muse, 
 composed under the inspiration of cheer- 
 fulness, hope, and love, unbosoming the 
 whole soul of his affections, intelligence, 
 and piety, — at once made our countrymen 
 feel that neither the genius of poesy had 
 fled from our isle, nor had the heart for it 
 died in the breast of its inhabitants. 
 "The Task" was the first long poem from 
 the close of Churchill's brilliant but 
 evanescent career, that awoke wonder, 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 379 
 
 sympathy, and delight by its own ineffable 
 excellence among the reading people of 
 England.— Montgomery, James, 1833, 
 Lectures on General Literature, Poetry, 
 etc., p. 303. 
 
 Lady Austen has the honor also of having 
 suggested at this time to Cowper the sub- 
 ject of that work which made him the 
 most popular poet of his age, and raised 
 him to a rank in English poetry from 
 which no revolution of taste can detrude 
 him. She had often urged him to try his 
 powers in blank verse : at last he promised 
 to comply with her request, if she would 
 give him a subject. ''Oh," she replied, 
 ''you can never be in want of a subject; 
 you can write upon any ; — write upon this 
 Sofa!" The answer was made with a 
 woman's readiness, and the capabilities of 
 such a theme were apprehended by Cow- 
 per with a poet's quickness of perception. 
 — SouTHEY, Robert, 1836-7, The Life of 
 William Cowper, vol. i, p. 268. 
 
 Where is the poem that surpasses the 
 "Task" in the genuine love it breathes, at 
 once towards inanimate and animate exist- 
 ence — in truthfulness of perception and 
 sincerity of presentation — in the calm 
 gladness that springs from a delight in 
 objects for their own sake, without self- 
 reference — in divine sympathy with the 
 lowliest pleasures, with the most short- 
 lived capacity for pain? . . . How 
 Cowper's exquisite mind falls with the mild 
 warmth of morning sunlight on the com- 
 monest objects, at once disclosing every 
 detail and investing every detail with 
 beauty ! No object is too small to prompt 
 his song — not the sooty film on the bars, 
 or the spoutless tea-pot holding the bit of 
 mignonette that serves to chear the dingy 
 town-lodging with a "hint that Nature 
 lives;" and yet his song is never trivial, 
 for he is alive to small objects, not because 
 his mind is narrow, but because his glance 
 is clear and his heart is large. — Eliot, 
 George, 1857, Worldliness and Other- 
 Worldliness: The Poet Young; Essays, 
 pp. 72, 73. 
 
 Incomparably the best poem that any 
 Englishman then living had produced — a 
 poem, too, which could hardly fail to ex- 
 cite in a well constituted mind a feeling 
 of esteem and compassion for the poet, a 
 man of genius and virtue, whose means 
 were scanty, and whom the most cruel of 
 all the calamities incident to humanity had 
 
 made incapable of supporting himself by 
 vigorous and sustained exertion. — Macau- 
 lay, Thomas Babington, 1859, William 
 Pitt, Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 The great beauties of "The Task," and 
 its pure and elevated feeling, can hardly 
 be said to make it a poem of the highest 
 class. The very method of its origin was 
 some bar to success. . . . Towards 
 the end of the First Book he again changes 
 his subject, for the purpose of moralizing. 
 The country and the life therein are con- 
 trasted with the town, and this affords the 
 opening for satire, which is just touched 
 in the end of the First Book, but forms 
 the staple for the Second. And splendid 
 satire it is, full of vigour, and energy, 
 and point, sometimes mere good humoured 
 badinage, sometimes full of burning indig- 
 nation. It is satire of a different kind 
 from that of his former poems ; it is less 
 bilious, more free from personality. Yet, 
 Antseus-like, the author loses all his 
 power when he ceases to touch his proper 
 sphere. His faculty of keen observation 
 enables him to lash effectively the false 
 pretentions and follies which he sees. But 
 his reflections upon the world without are 
 of the poorest kind. He foresees the end 
 of the world close at hand. He rails at 
 the natural philosopher who attempts to 
 discover the causes of physical calamities, 
 such as earthquakes and diseases ; at the 
 historian who takes the trouble to investi- 
 gate the motives of remarkable men ; at 
 the geologist and the astronomer. For 
 the last especially there is nothing but 
 contempt. — Benham, William, 1870, ed.. 
 The Poetical Works of William Cowper, 
 Introduction, p. Ivii. 
 
 Is the kitchen-garden indeed poetical ? 
 To-day perhaps; but to-morrow, if my 
 imagination is barren, I shall see there 
 nothingbut carrots and other kitchen stuff. 
 It is my sensation which is poetic, which I 
 must respect, as the most precious flower 
 of beauty. Hence a new style. . . . 
 This is his great poem, "The Task." If 
 we enter into details, the contrast is 
 greater still. He does not seem to dream 
 that he is being listened to ; he only speaks 
 to himself. He does not dwell on his 
 ideas, to set them in relief, and make them 
 stand out by repetitions and antitheses ; he 
 marks his sensation and that is all. We 
 follow it in him as it is born, and we see 
 it rising from a former one, swellings 
 
380 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 falling, remounting, as we see vapour 
 issuing from a spring, and insensibly ris- 
 ing, unrolling and developing its shifting 
 forms. Thought, which in others was 
 curdled and rigid, becomes here mobile 
 and fluent; the rectilinear verse grows 
 flexible ; the noble vocabulary widens its 
 scope to let in vulgar words of conversa- 
 tion and life. At length poetry has again 
 become lifelike; we no longer listen to 
 words, but we feel emotions; it is no 
 longer an author but a man who speaks. 
 His life is there perfect, beneath its black 
 lines, without falsehood or concoction; 
 his whole effort is bent on removing 
 falsehood and concoction. — Taine, H. A., 
 1871, History of English Literature, tr. Van 
 Laun, vol. ii, bk. iv,ch. i, pp. 246, 247. 
 
 There is a wonderful variety of objects 
 and of thought in this poem ; it may be 
 called a universal composition, for the 
 poet gathers up all the phenomena of life, 
 nature, and society, and the colours with 
 which he paints the bright and the dark 
 sides of all things are as brilliant as they 
 are true.— Scherr, J., 1874, A History 
 of English Literaturey tr. M. F., p. 164. 
 
 Though Cowper sees the outer world as 
 set off against his own personal moods and 
 the interests of man, yet he does not allow 
 these to discolor his scenes or to blur the 
 exactness of their outlines. Fidelity, ab- 
 solute veracity, characterize his descrip- 
 tions. He himself says that he took 
 nothing at second-hand, and all his pictures 
 bear witness to this. Homely, of course, 
 flat, tame, was the country he dwelt in and 
 described. But to this day that Hunting- 
 donshire landscape, and the flats by the 
 sluggish Ouse, in themselves so unbeauti- 
 ful, acquire a charm to the eye of the 
 traveler from the remembered poetry of 
 the **Task'^ and for the sake of him 
 who wrote it.— Shairp, John Campbell, 
 1877, On Poetic Interpretation of Nature, 
 p. 215. 
 
 As Paradise Lost'' is to militant Puri- 
 tanism, so is ''The Task" to the religious 
 movement of its author's time. To its 
 character as the poem of a sect it no doubt 
 owed and still owes much of its popular- 
 ity. Not only did it give beautiful and 
 effective expression to the sentiments of a 
 large religious party, but it was about the 
 only poetry that a strict Methodist or 
 Evangelical could read; while to those 
 whose worship was unritualistic and who 
 
 were debarred by their principles from the 
 theatre and the concert, anything in the 
 way of art that was not illicit must have 
 been eminently welcome. — Smith, Gold- 
 win, 1880, Cowper {English Men of Let- 
 ters), p. 62. 
 
 It is in the second book, **The Time- 
 piece," that the poet takes his highest 
 flight. Nothing finer of its kind has ever 
 been written in the English language than 
 the first half-dozen pages. — Hope, Eva, 
 1886, The Poetical Works of William 
 Cowper (Canterbury Poets), Introduction, 
 p. xxvi. 
 
 Save for a few occasional — and not 
 always fortunate — lapses into familiarity, 
 Cowper's manner of dealing with the 
 domestic is still the manner of the earlier 
 century, still radically opposed to these 
 principles of ''natural" poetic diction, on 
 which Wordsworth was afterwards to in- 
 sist with so much more zeal than discre- 
 tion, and to delay for many years the 
 acceptance of invaluable truth by ex- 
 aggerating them in his preaching and 
 rendering them ridiculous in his practice. 
 Cowper is still far from that frank frater- 
 nal recognition of the common objects, 
 ideas, and interests of life which is ad- 
 vocated in the famous preface to the 
 "Lyrical Ballads." Poetry in his hands 
 will unbend to common things, but it is 
 always with a too vigilant dignity: she 
 will take notice of the tea-urn and the silk- 
 reels, and the modest indoor pleasures and 
 employments of the country house', but it 
 is all done with the conscious condescen- 
 sion of the squire's wife at the village 
 school treat. And Cowper, moreover, 
 clings still to that leisurely diffuseness of 
 utterance which is so alien to the spirit of 
 the great poetry, pregnant with thought, 
 and eager to bring it to the birth. One 
 reads him sometimes divided between de- 
 light in his perfect literary finish and 
 irritation at its prolixity. — Traill, Henry 
 Duff, 1896, Social England, vol. v, p. 443. 
 
 Cowper's "Task" is almost curiously 
 barren of landscape; and the style does 
 not essentially differ from Thomson's 
 except in that the poet himself is the 
 spectator; whence, naturally, the land- 
 scape is more intimate and more devout. 
 This poem, though of much value in its own 
 day, now certainly disappoints. — Pal- 
 grave, Francis Turner, 1896, Land- 
 scape in Poetry, p. 175. 
 
 9 
 
WILLIAM COW PER 
 
 381 
 
 HOMER 
 
 1791 
 
 My dear friend's Homer is coming 
 abroad. 1 have received my copy, but the 
 publication is not yet. I have cursorily 
 surveyed the first volume ; it seems fully 
 equal to what I expected, for my expecta- 
 tions were not high. I do not think it 
 will add to the reputation of the author of 
 the ''Task," as a poet ; but I hope the per- 
 formance will not be unworthy of him, 
 though the subject is greatly beneath 
 the attention of the writer, who has a mind 
 capable of original, great, and useful 
 things ; but he could not at the time fix his 
 thoughts upon any thing better — and they 
 who know his state will rather pity than 
 blame him. I hope we shall have no more 
 translations. — Newton, John, 1791, Let- 
 ter to Hannah More, July 17 ; Memoirs of 
 Hannah More, ed. Roberts. 
 
 You know my admiration for this truly 
 great genius, but I am really grieved that 
 he should lower his aims so far as to stoop 
 to become a mere editor and translator. It 
 is Ulysses shooting from a baby's bow. 
 Why does he quit the heights of Solyma 
 for the dreams of Pindus? "What's 
 Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba?" In 
 his own original way he has few competi- 
 tors ; in his new walk he has many superi- 
 ors ; he can do the best things better than 
 any man, but others can do middling 
 things better than he. — More, Hannah, 
 1791, Letter Sy ed. Roberts. 
 
 That the translation is a great deal more 
 close and literal, than any that had previ- 
 ously been attempted in English verse, 
 probably will not be disputed by those who 
 are the least disposed to admire it. That 
 the style into which it is translated is a 
 true English style, though not perhaps a 
 very elegant or poetical one, may also be 
 assumed ; but we are not sure that a rigid 
 and candid criticism will go farther in its 
 commendation. — Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 
 1803, Hay ley's Life of Cowper, Edinburgh 
 Review, vol. 2, p. 85. 
 
 No satiety is perceived from reading any 
 quantity of the blank verse of Cowper ; 
 and the genius of Homer, the state of 
 manners of the period in which he wrote, 
 and the whole scope and design of his im- 
 mortal epopees, are infinitely better felt 
 and comprehended in the blank than in the 
 rhymed copy of the venerable bard. ^ The 
 issue will most likely be this, that for 
 
 insulated passages. Pope will generally be 
 referred to; but that he who wishes to 
 peruse, and for any length of time together, 
 the entire poems of Homer, will have re- 
 course to the labours of Cowper. — Drake, 
 Nathan, 1804, Essays Illustrative of the 
 Tatler, Spectator and Guardian, vol. ni, 
 p. 94. 
 
 I hate Cowper 's slow, dry, blank verse, 
 so utterly alien to the spirit of the poem, 
 and the minstrel mode of delivery. How 
 could it have suited any kind of recitative 
 or melody, or the accompaniment of any 
 music ? It is like a pursy, pompous, but 
 unpolished man moving laboriously in a 
 stiff dress of office. Those boar and lion 
 hunting similes describing swift motion are 
 dreadfully dragging in this sort of verse. 
 . . . Cowper's poem is like a Camera 
 Lucida portrait — far more unlike in ex- 
 pression and general result than one less 
 closely copied as to lines and features. — 
 Coleridge, Sara, 1834, To Her Husband, 
 Memoir and Letters, ed. Her Daughter, 
 pp. 92, 93. 
 
 Between Cowper and Homer there is in- 
 terposed the mist of Cowper's elaborate 
 Miltonic manner, entirely alien to the flow- 
 ing rapidity of Homer. — Arnold, Mat- 
 thew, 1861, Lectures on Homer, p. 11. 
 
 The transition from Pope to Cowper is 
 the change from poetic thraldom to poetic 
 freedom. In the former you are held 
 down to the severest rigor of rhythm, 
 while yet you admire the grace, the finish, 
 and the splendor of the chain which binds 
 you. In the latter you find yourself let 
 loose and range in freedom, unrestrained 
 but by the beautiful order that rules in the 
 very nature of things. In reading Pope, 
 one admires the wonderful subjection of 
 the idea, the thought in its divers phases 
 and relations, its qualities and its meas- 
 ures, to the exactions of the rhyme and 
 the rhythm ; in Cowper, one admires the 
 more wonderful incorporation of the idea 
 into the perfect harmonies and melodies 
 of words. One must read Pope with his 
 attention fixed on the rhythm; he must 
 read Cowper with his mind filled and 
 prompted by the thought. There can 
 hardly be supposed a wider contrast than 
 the two present.— Day, Henry N., 1868, 
 Introduction to the Study of English Litera- 
 ture, p. 340. 
 
 Cowper brought such poetic gifts to his 
 work that his failure might have deterred 
 
382 
 
 WILLIAM COW PER 
 
 others from making the same hopeless 
 attempt. But a failure his work is; 
 the translation is no more a counterpart 
 of the original, than the Ouse creeping 
 through its meadow is the counterpart of 
 the ^gean rolling before a fresh wind and 
 under a bright sun. Pope delights school- 
 boys ; Cowper delights nobody, though, on 
 the rare occasions when he is taken from 
 the shelf, he commends himself, in a cer- 
 tain measure, to the taste and judgment 
 of cultivated men. — Smith, Goldwin, 
 1880, Cowper {English Men and Letters), 
 p. 93 
 
 He brought scholarly tastes and a quick 
 conscience to the work ; a boy would be 
 helped more to the thieving of the proper 
 English by Cowper's Homer, than by 
 Pope's ; but there was not ' ' gallop' ' enough 
 in his nature for a live rendering ; and he 
 was too far in-shore for the rhythmic beat 
 of the multitudinous waves and too far from 
 the ''hollow" ships.— Mitchell, Donald 
 G., 1895, English Lands Letters and Kings, 
 Queen Anne and the Georges, p. 251. 
 
 ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S 
 PICTURE 
 
 1798 
 
 This is no doubt, as a whole, Cowper's 
 finest poem, at once springing from the 
 deepest and purest fount of passion, and 
 happy in shaping itself into richer and 
 sweeter music than he has reached in any 
 other. It shows what his real originality, 
 and the natural spirit of art that was in 
 him, might have done under a better train- 
 ing and more favorable circumstances of 
 personal situation, or perhaps in another 
 age.— Craik, George L., 1861, A Com- 
 pendious History of English Literature and 
 of the English Language, vol. ii, p. 381. 
 
 Perhaps the most pathetic poem in our 
 language, which the recluse of Olney wrote 
 on the receipt of his mother's picture. — 
 Farrar, F. W., 1883, With the Poets, 
 Preface, p. xviii. 
 
 A cousin sent him his mother's portrait. 
 He received it in trepidation, kivssed it, hung 
 it where it would be seen last at night, first 
 in the morning, and wrote a poem on 
 it, whose tenderness and pathos, flowing 
 in richer and sweeter music than he had 
 elsewhere reached, are unequalled by any- 
 thing else he has written, and surpassed 
 by little in the language. Springing from 
 the deepest and purest fount of passion, 
 and shaping itself into mobile and fluent 
 
 verse, it reveals his true originality, as 
 well as that life-like elegance, that natural 
 spirit of art, wherein consists the great 
 revolution of the modern style. — Welsh, 
 Alfred H., 1883, Development of English 
 Literature and Language, vol. ii, p. 245. 
 
 After reading [Tennyson] Cowper's 
 "Poplar Field," People nowadays, I 
 believe, hold this style and metre light ; I 
 wish there were any one who could put 
 words together with such exquisite flow 
 and evenness. ' ' Presently we reached the 
 same poet's stanzas to Mary Unwin. He 
 read them, yet could barely read them, so 
 deeply was he touched by their tender, 
 their most agonizing pathos. And once 
 when I asked him for the ''Lines on my 
 Mother's Portrait," his voice faltered as 
 he said he would, if I wished it ; but he 
 knew he should break down. — Palgrave, 
 Francis Turner, 1892-97, Personal Rec- 
 ollections of Tennyson ; Alfred Lord Ten- 
 nyson, A Memoir by His Son, vol. ii, p. 501. 
 
 SONNETS 
 Petrarch's sonnets have a more ethereal 
 grace and a more perfect finish ; Shakes- 
 peare's more passion; Milton's stand su- 
 preme in stateliness, Wordsworth's in 
 depth and delicacy. But Cowper's unites 
 with an exquisiteness in the turn of 
 thought which the ancients would have 
 called Irony, an intensity of pathetic 
 tenderness peculiar to his loving and in- 
 genuous nature. — There is much manner- 
 ism, much that is unimportant or of now 
 exhausted interest in his poems : but where 
 he is great, it is with that elementary great- 
 ness which rests on the most universal 
 human feelings. Cowper is our highest 
 master in simple pathos. — Palgrave, 
 Francis Turner, 1861, The Golden Treas- 
 ury, note. 
 
 They never rise to the highest excel- 
 lence, neither do they fall much below the 
 level of his average compositions. If they 
 embalm no superb thoughts, of which it 
 can be said, as of Herrick's fly in amber : 
 "The urn was little but the room 
 More rich than Cleopatra's tomb; " 
 and if none of them have lines which have 
 become current for their intrinsic beauty 
 or wealth of thought, or for a breadth of 
 application which has caused them to echo 
 alone the decades from his day till ours, 
 they still present refined and elevated 
 sentiments, gracefully, naturally, and 
 poetically, and clothe them in pure and 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 383 
 
 nervous English. — Deshler, Charles D., 
 1879, Afternoons with the Poets, p. 176. 
 
 LETTERS 
 The letters of Cowper . . . form 
 a perfect contrast to Pope's. In the one, 
 I think I see a mind striving to be great, 
 and affecting to be unaffected; in the 
 other, we contemplate, not the studious 
 loftiness, but the playfulness of a mind 
 naturally lofty, throwing at random a ray 
 of sweetness, cheerfulness, and tenderness 
 upon whatever subject occurs, mixed oc- 
 casionally with severer touches of wisdom, 
 and a mournful, but seldom angry survey 
 of the follies of mankind. We see the 
 playful humour, mingled with melancholy, 
 and the melancholy, mingled with kind- 
 ness, social feelings, sincerity and tender- 
 ness.— Bowles, William Lisle, 1806, 
 ed. Pope's IVorks. 
 
 There is something in the letters of 
 Cowper inexpressibly delightful. They 
 possess excellencies so opposite — a naive 
 simplicity, arising from perfect goodness 
 of heart and singleness of purpose, con- 
 trasted with a deep acquaintance with the 
 follies and vices of human nature, and a 
 keen sense of humour and ridicule. They 
 unite the playfulness of a child, the affec- 
 tionateness of a woman, and the strong 
 sense of a man : they give us glimpses of 
 pleasures so innocent and pure as almost 
 to realise the Eden of our great poet, con- 
 trasted with horrors so deep, as even to 
 exceed his power of imagery to express. 
 — Heber, Reginald, 1823, Private Cor- 
 respondence of Cowper J Quarterly Review^ 
 vol. 30, p. 185. 
 
 Being neither a blockhead nor conceited, 
 you will take due interest in all that per- 
 tains to this saintly sufferer ; yet there are 
 blockheads, namely, conceited ones, that 
 will say, '^What do the public care for his 
 stockings, or for his oysters, or for the 
 cake that came in its native pan, or the 
 heartless hens that refused to lay eggs 
 to make another cake?" I would have 
 such persons to know that a Cowper, mov- 
 ing in the light of his mental beauty and 
 modest sanctity, irradiates every object 
 that is in contact with him; it is their 
 oysters and cakes that are insignificant, 
 because they are so themselves. I wish I 
 knew what kind of garters he wore ; how 
 proud and happy I should have been to 
 knit a pair for him : I should have hung 
 
 up the wires as Cervantes did his pen, con- 
 sidering them hallowed ever afterwards. 
 —Grant, Anne, 1824, Letters, Apr. 7 ; 
 Memoir and Correspondence, ed. Grant, 
 vol. Ill, y. 28. 
 
 The best of English letter-writers. — 
 SouTHEY, Robert, 1836-7, The Life of 
 William Cowper, 
 
 The purest and most perfect specimens 
 of familiar letters in the language. Con- 
 sidering the secluded, uneventful course 
 of Cowper's life, the charm in his letters 
 is wonderful ; and is to be explained, I 
 believe, chiefly by the exquisite light of 
 poetic truth which his imagination shed 
 upon daily life, whether his theme was 
 man, himself or a fellow-being, or books, 
 or the mute creation which he loved to 
 handle with such thoughtful tenderness. 
 His seclusion did not separate him from 
 sympathy with the stirring events of his 
 time ; and, alike in seasons of sunshine or 
 of gloom, there is in his letters an ever- 
 present beauty of quiet wisdom, and a 
 gentle but fervid spirit. — Reed, Henry, 
 1851-55, Lectures on English Literature, 
 From Chaucer to Tennyson, p. 409. 
 
 The charm of Cowper's Correspondence 
 consists in this succession of images, of 
 thought, and of shades of meaning unfolded 
 with varying vivacity, but in an equable 
 and peaceful course. In his letters we can 
 best apprehend the true sources of his 
 poetry, of the true domestic poetry of 
 private life : bantering not devoid of affec- 
 tion, a familiarity which disdains nothing 
 which is interesting as being too lowly and 
 too minute, but alongside of them, eleva- 
 tion or rather profundity. Nor let us 
 forget the irony, the malice, a delicate and 
 easy raillery such as appears in the letters 
 I have quoted. — Sainte-Beuve, C. A., 
 1854, English Portraits, p. 191. 
 
 Cowper's letters are far more than con- 
 tributions towards his biography. The 
 graceful affectionateness, the shrewd esti- 
 mate of men and things, the genuine love 
 of fun and appreciation of it in others, all 
 contribute to make his correspondence de- 
 lightful. In fact, to many readers his 
 prose will be more agreeable than his 
 poetry, though, as in many like cases, 
 his letters were only published because 
 his poetry had made him famous. — Ben- 
 ham, William, 1883, ed., Letters of Wil- 
 liam Cowper, Introduction, p. xii. 
 
384 
 
 WILLIAM COW PER 
 
 In these select letters, flowing on in the 
 old, sweet, fresh English, one perceives 
 the rare literary faculty, the shy humor, the 
 discrimination, the sound sense, all the 
 many graces of style and many virtues of 
 intrinsic worth that have long been 
 familiar to scholars, and, more than that, 
 one gladly recognizes again the companion- 
 able, soft-hearted, pathetic man whose 
 pastimes, whether in gardening, or poetry, 
 or caring for his pets, were a refuge from 
 the most poignant anguish; who played 
 only to escape this terror, and at last 
 failed even in that. . . . Now, it is 
 a very striking fact that while Cowper 
 spent the larger part of his time in reli- 
 gious reading and conversation, and besides 
 meditated in private on the same themes, 
 his letters do not show in any degree that 
 insight into spiritual things which would 
 naturally be looked for from real genius 
 occupied with such subjects. Spirituality 
 should have been his trait if religion was 
 his life, but, in fact, these letters are in 
 this regard barren. — Woodberry, George 
 E., 1884, Cowpefs Letters, The Nation, 
 vol. 39, j9. 57. 
 
 His correspondence is unaffected, facile, 
 and often playful. Religion of course 
 forms a substantial part of this, as it so 
 conspicuously did of the author's mind: 
 but it has been noticed, and has been made 
 matter of some reproach from certain 
 quarters, that the religious tone of the 
 letters diminishes very observably after 
 1785, when Cowper had become an eminent 
 man in literature, and more open conse- 
 quently to the entanglements of "the 
 world."— RossETTi, William Michael, 
 1878, Lives of Famous Poets, p. 187. 
 
 His letters, like his best poetry, owe 
 their charm to absolute sincerity. . . . 
 His letters are written without an erasure 
 — at leisure but without revision; the 
 spontaneous gaiety is the more touching 
 from the melancholy background some- 
 times indicated ; they are the recreation 
 of a man escaping from torture; and 
 the admirable style and fertility of ingen- 
 ious illustration make them perhaps the 
 best letters in the language. — Stephen, 
 Leslie, 1887, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. xii, p. 401. 
 
 Rich mines of pleasure and profit for us 
 all, full to the brim of homely pleasant 
 details which only leisure can find time to 
 note. A man who was even ordinarily 
 
 busy would never have stopped to observe 
 the things which Cowper tells us about so 
 charmingly. — Repplier, Agnes, 1893, 
 Essays in Idleness, p. 219. 
 
 His letters are his principal work in 
 prose, if not the best of all his work. 
 They differ from most of the prose of the 
 time by the same interval as separates the 
 verse of ''The Task" at its best from the 
 verse of ''The Botanic Garden." The 
 phrase of Landor, in the preface to the 
 Hellenics, "not prismatic but diaphanous," 
 applies more fitly to the style of Cowper 
 in verse and prose, especially prose, than 
 to any other writer. It is not that the 
 style is insipid or tame; it is alive and 
 light ; but it escapes notice, like the prose 
 of Southey, by reason of its perfect ac- 
 commodation to the matter. — Ker, W. 
 P., 1895, English Prose, ed. Craik, vol. 
 IV, p. 424. 
 
 All good critics have agreed that his 
 letters are not surpassed, perhaps not 
 sur passable. He has more freedom than 
 Gray ; he has none of the coxcombry of 
 Walpole and Byron ; and there is no fifth 
 name that can be put even into competi- 
 tion with him. Ease, correctness, facil- 
 ity of expression, freedom from convention 
 within his range, harmony, truth to nature, 
 truth to art: — these things meet in the 
 hapless recluse of Olney as they had not 
 met for a century — perhaps as they had 
 never met — in English epistles. The one 
 thing that he wanted was strength: as 
 his madness was melancholy, not raving, 
 so was his sanity mild but not triumphant. 
 — Saintsbury, George, 1896, A History 
 of Nineteenth Century Literature, p. 6. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I received the letter you did me the 
 honour of writing to me, and am much 
 obliged by your kind present of a book. 
 The relish for reading of poetry had long 
 since left me, but there is something so 
 new in the manner, so easy, and yet so 
 correct in the language, so clear in the 
 expression, yet concise, and so just in the 
 sentiments, that I have read the whole 
 with great pleasure, and some of the pieces 
 more than once. — Franklin, Benjamin, 
 1782, Letter to Cowper, May 8. 
 
 I am enchanted with this poet; his 
 images so natural and so much his own ! 
 Such an original and philosophic thinker ! 
 Such genuine Christianity! and such a 
 
WILLIAM COW PER 
 
 385 
 
 divine simDlicity ! but very rambling, and 
 the order not very lucid. He seems to put 
 down every thought as it arises, and never 
 to retrench or alter anything. — More, 
 Hannah, 1786, Letter to Her Sister, Feb ; 
 Memoirs, ed. Roberts, vol. I, p. 235. 
 With England's Bard, with Cowper who 
 
 shall vie? 
 Original in strength and dignity, 
 With more than painter's fancy blest, with 
 
 lays 
 
 Holy, as saints to heav'n expiring raise. 
 — Mathias, Thomas James, 1794-98, The 
 Pursuits of Literature, Eighth ed., p. 418. 
 
 I have been reading *'The Task" with 
 fresh delight. I am glad you love Cowper. 
 I could forgive a man for not enjoying 
 Milton ; but I would not call that man my 
 friend who should be offended with the 
 ''divine chit-chat of Cowper." — Lamb, 
 Charles, 1796, Dec, 5 ; Letters, ed.Ainger, 
 vol. I, p. 52. 
 
 It has been thought that Cowper was 
 the first poet who re-opened the true way 
 to nature and a natural style ; but we hold 
 this to be a mistake, arising merely from 
 certain negations on the part of that 
 amiable but by no means powerful writer. 
 Cowper 's style is for the most part as in- 
 verted and artificial as that of the others ; 
 and we look upon him to have been by 
 nature not so great a poet as Pope ; but 
 Pope, from certain infirmities on his part, 
 was thrown into the society of the world, 
 and thus had to get what he could out of 
 an artificial sphere : — Cowper, from other 
 and more distressing infirmities (which by 
 the way the wretched superstition that 
 undertook to heal, only burnt in upon him) 
 was confined to a still smaller though more 
 natural sphere, and in truth did not much 
 with it, though quite as much perhaps as 
 was to be expected from an organization 
 too sore almost to come in contact with 
 any thing. — Hunt, Leigh, 1817, The 
 Examiner. 
 
 The love of nature seems to have led 
 Thomson to a cheerful religion; and a 
 gloomy religion to have led Cowper to a 
 love of nature. The one would carry his 
 fellowmen along with him into nature ; the 
 other flies to nature from his fellowmen. 
 In chastity of diction, however, and the 
 harmony of blank verse, Cowper leaves 
 Thomson immeasurably below him; yet 
 still I feel the latter'to have been the born 
 poet.— Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1817, 
 Biographia Literaria, note, 
 
 25C 
 
 With all his boasted simplicity and love 
 of the country, he seldom launches out 
 into general descriptions of nature : he 
 looks at her over his clipped hedges, and 
 from his well-swept garden-walks ; or if 
 he makes a bolder experiment now and 
 then, it is with an air of precaution, as if 
 he were afraid of being caught in a shower 
 of rain, or of not being able, in case of 
 any untoward accident, to make good his 
 retreat home. He shakes hands with 
 nature with a pair of fashionable gloves 
 on, and leads his'^Vashti" forth to public 
 view with a look of consciousness and at- 
 tention to etiquette, as a fine gentleman 
 hands a lady out to dance a minuet. He 
 is delicate to fastidiousness, and glad to 
 get ba(7k, after a romantic adventure with 
 crazy Kate, a party of gypsies or a little 
 child on a common, to the drawing-room 
 and the ladies again, to the sofa and the 
 tea-kettle — No, I beg his pardon, not to 
 the singing, well-scoured tea-kettle, but 
 to the polished and loud-hissing urn. . . . 
 Still he is a genuine poet, and deserves 
 all his reputation. His worst vices are 
 amiable weaknesses, elegant trifling. 
 Though there is a frequent dryness, timid- 
 ity, and jejuneness in his manner, he has 
 left a number of pictures of domestic 
 comfort and social refinement, as well as 
 of natural imagery and feeling, which can 
 hardly be forgotten but with the language 
 itself. — Hazlitt, William, 1818, Lec- 
 tures on the English Poets, Lecture v. 
 
 His language has such a masculine 
 idiomatic strength, and his manner, 
 whether he rises into grace or falls into 
 negligence, has so much plain and familiar 
 freedom, that we read no poetry with a 
 deeper conviction of its sentiments having 
 come from the author's heart, and of the 
 enthusiasm, in whatever he describes, hav- 
 ing been unfeigned and unexaggerated. 
 . . . Considering the tenor and circum- 
 stances of his life, it is not much to be 
 wondered at, that some asperities and 
 peculiarities should have adhered to the 
 strong stem of his genius, like the moss 
 and fungus that cling to some noble oak 
 of the forest, amid the damps of its un- 
 sunned retirement. It is more surprising 
 that he preserved, in such seclusion, so 
 much genuine power of comic observation. 
 Though he himself acknowledged having 
 written "many things with bile" in his 
 first volume, yet his satire has many 
 
386 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 legitimate objects : and it is not abstracted 
 and declamatory satire; but it places 
 human manners before us in the liveliest 
 attitudes and clearest colours. There is 
 much of the full distinctness of Theo- 
 phrastus, and of the nervous and concise 
 spirit of La Bruye, in his piece entitled 
 *' Conversation," with a cast of humour 
 superadded, which is peculiarly English, 
 and not to be found out of England. — 
 Campbell, Thomas, 1819, Specimens of 
 the British Poets. 
 
 At last, Cowper threw off the whole 
 trammels of French criticism and artificial 
 refinement; and, setting at defiance all 
 the imaginary requisites of poetical diction 
 and classical imagery — dignity of style, 
 and politeness of phraseology — ventured 
 to write again with the force and the free- 
 dom which had characterised the old 
 school of English literature, and been so 
 unhappily sacrificed, upwards of a century 
 before. Cowper had many faults, and 
 some radical deficiencies ; — but this atoned 
 for all. There was something so delight- 
 fully refreshing, in seeing natural phrases 
 and natural images again displaying their 
 unforced graces, and waving their un- 
 pruned heads in the enchanted gardens of 
 poetry, that no one complained of the taste 
 displayed in the selection; — and Cowper 
 is, and is likely to continue, the most 
 popular of all who have written for the 
 present or the last generation. — Jeffrey, 
 Francis Lord, 1819-44, Contributions to 
 the Edinburgh Review, vol. ii, p. 293. 
 
 Of Cowper, how shall I express myself 
 in adequate terms of admiration? The 
 purity of his principles, the tenderness of 
 his heart, his unaffected and zealous piety, 
 his warmth of devotion (however tinctured 
 at times with gloom and despondency), the 
 delicacy and playfulness of his wit, and the 
 singular felicity of his diction, all conspire 
 by turns 
 
 To win the wisest, warm the coldest heart. 
 Cowper is the poet of a well-educated 
 and well-principled Englishman. * ' Home, 
 sweet home" is the scene — limited as it 
 may be imagined — in which he contrives 
 to concentrate a thousand beauties, which 
 others have scattered far and wide upon 
 objects of less interest and attraction. 
 His pictures are, if I may so speak, con- 
 ceived with all the tenderness of Raffaelle, 
 and executed with all the finish and sharp- 
 ness of Teniers. No man, in such few 
 
 words, tells his tale, or describes his 
 scene, so forcibly and so justly. His 
 views of Nature are less grand and less 
 generalised than those of Thomson: and 
 here, to carry on the previous mode of 
 comparison, I should say that Thomson was 
 the Caspar Poussin, and Cowper the 
 Hobbima, of rural poetry. — Dibdin, 
 Thomas Frognall, 1824, The Library 
 Com^panion, p. 735, note. 
 
 Cowper divested verse of its exquisite 
 polish ; he thought in metre, but paid 
 more attention to his thoughts than his 
 verse. It would be difficult to draw the 
 boundary of prose and blank verse between 
 his letters and his poetry. — Peacock, 
 Thomas Love, 1820, The Four Ages of 
 Poetry, Calidore and Miscellanea, p. 61. 
 
 Cowper was a good man, and lived at a 
 fortunate time for his works. — Byron, 
 Lord, 1821, On Bowleses Strictures on 
 Pope. 
 
 He is allowed, both by Edinburgh and 
 Quarterly Reviews, to be the patriarch and 
 founder of the romantic, or present school 
 of poetry. When we say, present we oUght 
 to recollect, that there is a Lake, as well 
 as a romantic school. . . . One thing, 
 however, we must say, that a school of 
 which that moonstruck prophet, Cowper, 
 was the founder, is a school of which we 
 should not wish to become disciples. Is 
 poetry run mad ? or is that poetry good 
 for nothing, which is not run mad ? So it 
 would seem, from making Cowper the 
 founder of that school which established 
 itself on the ruins of the classical. The 
 Quarterly and Edinburgh Reviews give him 
 the credit of being the founder of this 
 school, — a school of which they are them- 
 selves admirers, and yet they know he was 
 a fanatic— M'Dermot, M., 1824, The 
 Beauties of Modern Literature, pp. xxii, 
 xxiii. 
 
 Lord Byron unquestionably estimated 
 Cowper much too low in calling him no 
 poet. But many others have put him much 
 too high, if we are to pay any consistent 
 regard to principles. . . . The con- 
 sideration of him raises the question of all 
 those evanescent lines that separate the 
 approximations between poetical fancy and 
 poetical imagination. A painter of par- 
 ticular and local landscapes, or portraits, 
 copies directly from external objects ; but 
 a describer in words, who means it to be 
 poetry, scarcely ever (if ever) does; he 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 387 
 
 copies from the internal impression made 
 on the fancy. — Brydges, Sir Samuel 
 Egerton, 1824, Recollections of Foreign 
 Travel, July 20, vol. i, pp. 268, 269. 
 
 Compare the landscapes of Cowper with 
 those of Burns. There is, if we mistake 
 not, the same, sort of difference between 
 them, as in the conversation of two per- 
 sons on scenery, the one originally an 
 enthusiast in his love of the works of 
 nature, the other driven, by disappoint- 
 ment or weariness, to solace himself with 
 them as he might. It is a contrast which 
 every one must have observed, when such 
 topics come under discussion in society ; 
 and those who think it worth while, may 
 find abundant illustration of it in the 
 writings of this unfortunate but illustri- 
 ous pair. The one all overflowing with the 
 love of nature, and indicating, at every 
 turn, that whatever his lot in life, he could 
 not have been happy without her. The 
 other visibly and wisely soothing himself, 
 but not without effort, by attending to 
 rural objects, in default of some more con- 
 genial happiness, of which he had almost 
 come to despair. The latter, in conse- 
 quence, laboriously sketching every object 
 that came in his way : the other, in one or 
 two rapid lines, which operate, as it were, 
 like a magician's spell, presenting to the 
 fancy just that picture, which was wanted 
 to put the reader's minds in unison with 
 the writer's.— Keble, John, 1825, Sacred 
 Poetry, Quarterly Review, vol. 32, p. 217. 
 
 Cowper has not Thomson's genius, but 
 he has much more taste. His range is 
 neither so wide, nor so lofty, but, as far 
 as it extends, it is peculiarly his own. 
 He cannot paint the Plague at Carthagena, 
 or the Snow-storm, or the Earthquake, as 
 Thomson has done ; but place him by the 
 banks of the Ouse, or see him taking his 
 Winter walk at Noon," or accompany 
 him in his rambles through his Flower 
 garden, and where is the Author who can 
 compare with him for a moment? The 
 pictures of domestic life which he has 
 painted are inimitable. It is hard to say 
 whether his sketches of external nature, 
 or of indoor life, are the best. Cowper 
 does not attempt the same variety of scene 
 as Thomson ; but in what he does attempt, 
 he always succeeds. — Neele, Henry, 
 1827-29, Lectures on English Poetry, 
 p. 184. 
 
 The forerunner of the great restoration 
 
 of our literature was Cowper. — Macau- 
 lay, Thomas Babington, 1830, Moore's 
 Life of Lord Byron, Edinburgh Review; 
 Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 Cowper's bold freedom, though it 
 seemed at first like uncouth roughness, 
 gained much in variety of expression, 
 without losing much in point of sound. It 
 offended, because it seemed careless, and 
 as if he respected little the prevailing 
 taste of his readers : but it was far from 
 being unpolished as it seemed. He tells 
 us, that the lines of his earlier poems were 
 touched and retouched, with fastidious 
 delicacy : his ear was not easily pleased ; 
 and yet, if we may judge from one or two 
 specimens of alterations, his corrections 
 very often injured what they were meant 
 to repair. — Peabody, W. B. 0., 1834, 
 Life of Cowper, North American Review, 
 vol. 38, p. 27. 
 
 The poet of the Cross. — Memes, John, 
 1840, ed. Cowper's Works, Life. 
 
 If Cowper had written songs, such was 
 the honesty of his nature that he would 
 probably have equalled Burns, great as are 
 the disadvantages under which our lan- 
 guage would have laid him. . . . Cowper 
 does not, like Burns, write the history of 
 the poor in every page of his works, but 
 his heart was with them. ... If 
 Cowper had been blessed with the physical 
 strength of Burns, he might have been, — 
 but I don't say he would have been, — at 
 once, one of the greatest of poets and 
 ablest of active men. As it is, I am un- 
 able to name a poet whose writings, page 
 for page, can boast an equal amount of 
 original thought and sterling common 
 sense.— Elliott, Ebenezer, 1842, A Lec- 
 ture on Cowper and Burns, Tail's Edin- 
 burgh Magazine, vol. 9, p. 359. 
 
 When the shame of England burns in the 
 heart of Cowper, you must believe him ; 
 for through that heart rolled the best of 
 England's blood.— Wilson, John, 1845, 
 Supplement to Mac-Flecnoe and the Dun- 
 dad, Blackwood's Magazine. 
 
 Sweet are thy strains, celestial Bard; 
 
 And oft, in childhood's years, 
 I've read them o'er and o'er again, 
 With floods of silent tears. 
 
 Is He the source of every good. 
 
 The spring of purity? 
 Then in thine hours of deepest woe 
 
 Thy God was still with thee. 
 How else, when every hope was fled, 
 
388 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 Oouldst thou so fondly cling 
 To holy things and holy men? 
 
 And how so sweetly sing, 
 Of things that God alone could teach? 
 
 And whence that purity, 
 That hatred of all sinful ways— 
 That gentle charity? 
 —Bronte, Anne, 1846, To Cowper, Poems 
 by Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell. 
 
 He is emphatically the poet of ordinary 
 and intimate life, of the domestic emo- 
 tions, of household happiness. His muse 
 is a domestic deity, a familiar Lar, and 
 his countrymen have enshrined his verses 
 in the very holiest penetralia of their 
 hearths. Cowperwas one of the first poets 
 — even among the English — who ventured 
 to describe those familiar thoughts, feel- 
 ings, and enjoyments which are imagined 
 by the word home — that word which 
 echoes so deeply in the English heart, 
 that word for which so many cultivated 
 languages have neither synonym nor 
 equivalent. . . . His language is in 
 the highest degree easy, familiar, and con- 
 sequently impressive ; there is no author 
 who so completely talks to his reader — 
 none whose works breathe so completely 
 of the individuality and personal character 
 of their writer. He abounds in descrip- 
 tion of scenery ; and we hardly regret that 
 he should have passed his life among the 
 dull levels of the Ouse, when we think that 
 the power of his genius has given an un- 
 fading grace and interest to landscapes in 
 themselves neither romantic nor sublime. 
 It appears to us that he is greatly inferior 
 to Thomson in comprehensiveness and 
 rapidity of picturesque perception; but 
 then his mode of expression is simpler, 
 less ambitious, and in purer taste, and he 
 surpasses not only the author of ''The 
 Seasons, but perhaps all poets, in the 
 power of communicating interest to the 
 familiar details of domestic life. His 
 humour was very delicate and just, and 
 his descriptions of the common absurdities 
 of ordinary intercourse are masterly. 
 When rising, as he often and gracefully 
 does, into the loftier atmosphere of moral 
 or religious thought, he exhibits a surpris- 
 ing ease and dignity ; his mind was of that 
 rare order which can rise without an effort 
 and sink without meanness. He is uni- 
 formly earnest and sincere. — Shaw, 
 Thomas B., 1847, Outlines of English Lit- 
 erature, pp. 305, 307. 
 
 Cowper is eminently the David of 
 
 English poetry, pouring forth, like the 
 great Hebrew bard, his own deep and 
 warm feelings in behalf of moral and re- 
 ligious truth.— Celveland, Charles D., 
 1848, A Compendium of English Litera- 
 ture, p. 737. 
 
 Tenderest of tender hearts, of spirits pure 
 The purest! such, O Cowper! such wert thou, 
 But such are not the happiest : thou wert not, 
 Till borne where all those hearts and spirits 
 rest. 
 
 Young was I, when from Latin lore and 
 Greek 
 
 I play'd the truant for thy sweeter Task, 
 Nor since that hour hath aught our Muses 
 held 
 
 Before me seem'd so precious ; in one hour, 
 I saw the poet and the sage unite, 
 More grave than man, more versatile than 
 boy! 
 
 — Landor, Walter Savage, 1853, The 
 Last Fruit off an Old Tree, xxxvii. 
 
 Cowper is certainly the sweetest of our 
 didactic poets. He is elevated in his 
 ''Table Talk acute in detailing the ''Prog- 
 ress of Error;'' and he chants the praises 
 of Truth" in more dulcet notes than 
 were ever sounded by the fairest swan in 
 Cayster. His Expostulation" is made 
 in the tones of a benevolent sage. His 
 *'Hope" and his Charity" are proofs of 
 his pure Christian-like feeling, — a feeling 
 which also pervades his Conversation" 
 and his Retirement," and which barbs 
 the shafts of his satire without taking 
 away from their strength.— Doran, John, 
 
 1854, Habits and Men, p. 20. 
 
 As a scold, we think Cowper failed. He 
 had a great idea of the use of railing, and 
 there are many pages of laudable invective 
 against various vices which we feel no call 
 whatever to defend. But a great vitu- 
 perator had need to be a great hater ; and 
 of any real rage, any such gall and bitter- 
 ness as great and irritable satirists have 
 in other ages let loose upon men, — of any 
 thorough, brooding, burning, abiding de- 
 testation, — he was as incapable as a tame 
 hare. His vituperation reads like the mild 
 man's whose wife ate up his dinner : 
 Really, sir, I feel quite angry Nor 
 has his language any of the sharp intru- 
 sive acumen which divides in sunder both 
 soul and spirit, and makes fierce and un- 
 forgetable reviling. — Bagehot, Walter, 
 
 1855, William Cowper, Works, ed. Mor- 
 gan, vol. I, p. 428. 
 
 Whatever estimate may be formed of 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 389 
 
 his poetry in comparison with that of 
 earlier or later writers, everyone must feel 
 that his English is that of a scholar and a 
 gentleman — that he had the purest enjoy- 
 ment of domestic life, and of what one may 
 call the domestic or still life of nature. 
 One is sure also that he had the most ear- 
 nest faith, which he cherished for others 
 when he could find no comfort in it for 
 himself. These would be sufficient ex- 
 planations of the interest which he has 
 awakened in so many simple and honest 
 readers who turn to books for sympathy 
 and fellowship, and do not like a writer at 
 all the worse because he also demands their 
 sympathy with him. Cowper is one of the 
 strongest instances, and proofs, how much 
 more qualities of this kind affect English- 
 men than any others. The gentleness of 
 his life might lead some to suspect him 
 of effeminacy; but the old Westminster 
 school-boy and cricketer comes out in the 
 midst of his Meditation on Sofas ; and the 
 deep tragedy which was at the bottom of 
 his whole life, and which grew more ter- 
 rible as the shadows of evening closed 
 upon him, shows that there may be un- 
 utterable struggles in those natures which 
 seem least formed for the rough work of 
 the world. — Maurice, Frederick Den- 
 ISON, 1856, The Friendship of Books and 
 Other Lectures^ p. 28. 
 
 His language is often vulgar, and not 
 least so when his theme is most sublime ; 
 and his most successful passages, his 
 minutely touched descriptions of familiar 
 still-life and rural scenery, are indeed 
 strongly suggestive, but have little of 
 the delicate susceptibility of beauty which 
 breathes through Thomson's musings on 
 nature. — Spalding, William, 1852-82, 
 A History of English Literature, p, 357. 
 
 As the death of Samuel Johnson closes 
 one era of our literature, so the appear- 
 ance of Cowper as a poet opens another. 
 Notwithstanding his obligations both to 
 Churchill and Pope, a main characteristic 
 of Cowper's poetry is its originality. 
 Compared with almost any one of his pred- 
 ecessors, he was what we may call a 
 natural poet. He broke through conven- 
 tional forms and usages in his mode of 
 writing more daringly than any English 
 poet before him had done, at least since 
 the genius of Pope had bound in its spell 
 the phraseology and rhythm of our poetry. 
 His opinions were not more his own than 
 
 his manner of expressing them. — Craik, 
 George L., 1861, A Compendious History 
 of English Literature and of the English 
 Language, vol. ii, p. 372. 
 
 If we compare our English literature to 
 a beautiful garden, where Milton lifts his 
 head to heaven in the spotless chalice of 
 the tall white lily, and Shakspere scatters 
 his dramas round him in beds of fragrant 
 roses, blushing with a thousand various 
 shades — some stained to the core as if 
 with blood, others unfolding their fair 
 pink petals with a lovely smile to the sum- 
 mer sun, — what shall we find in shrub or 
 flower so like the timid, shrinking spirit of 
 William Cowper, as that delicate sensitive 
 plant, whose leaves, folding up at the 
 slightest touch, cannot bear even the 
 brighter rays of the cherishing sun? — 
 Collier, William Francis, 1861, ^ His- 
 tory of English Literature, p. 379. 
 
 William Cowper and Erasmus Darwin 
 were contemporaries: but how has the 
 lowlier russet outlasted the glittering Bal- 
 masque costume, a genuine human heart 
 beneath the one, a piece of mechanism, 
 like a skeleton-clock, within the other: 
 the one pure, true, beating, the other 
 movement without life, energy without 
 appliance. — Grosart, Alexander B., 
 1868, Giles Fletcher's Poems, Memorial- 
 Introduction, p. 56. 
 
 The gentleness of his temper, and the 
 wide charity of his sympathies, made it 
 natural for him to find good in everything 
 except the human heart. . . . Your 
 muscles grow springy, and your lungs 
 dilate with the crisp air as you walk along 
 with him. You laugh with him at the 
 grotesque shadow of your legs lengthened 
 across the snow by the just-risen sun. I 
 know nothing that gives a purer feeling 
 of out-door exhilaration than the easy 
 verses of this escaped hypochondriac. . . . 
 To me Cowper is still the best of our de- 
 scriptive poets for every-day wear. And 
 what unobtrusive skill he has ! How he 
 heightens, for example, your sense of 
 winter-evening seclusion, by the twanging 
 horn of the postman on the bridge ! — 
 Lowell, James Russell, 1871, A Good 
 Word for Winter, My Study Windows. 
 
 While his poems have in them much 
 that might be thought didactic, this 
 matter is given in so natural, reflective, 
 and yet more, in so emotional, a manner as 
 quite to escape the censure that might be 
 
390 
 
 WILLIAM COW PER 
 
 implied in the word. The thought does 
 not, predetermined, so much seek for the 
 image and rhythm wherewith to enforce 
 itself, as flow out in an incidental living 
 way from the scenes and objects present 
 to the poetic imagination. . . . Cowper 
 has a large measure of that power which 
 brings interpretation to natural objects, 
 and looks upon them with a rapid interplay 
 of suggestions, uniting the visible to the 
 invisible, and lending to passing events a 
 scope otherwise quite beyond them. . . . 
 The quiet, earnest, subtile, pure, pervasive 
 mind of Cowper made him a poet by the 
 innate force and character of its concep- 
 tions. There is everything in his history 
 to confirm the view, that art finds its germ 
 in natural endowment, and nothing to sus- 
 tain the theory, that it can be compassed 
 by external conditions. — Bascom, John, 
 1874, Philosophy of English Liter ature, 
 pp. 218, 219. 
 
 Cowper is the first of the poets who 
 loves Nature entirely for her own sake. 
 He paints only what he sees, but he paints 
 it with the affection of a child for a flower 
 and with the minute observation of a man. 
 The change in relation to the subject of 
 man is equally great. The idea of mankind 
 as a whole which we have seen growing up 
 is fully formed in Cowper' s mind. The 
 range of his interests is as wide as the 
 world, and all men form one brotherhood. 
 — Brooke, Stopford A., 1876, English 
 Literature (Primer)^ p. 148. 
 
 Cowper's diatribes against the growth 
 of luxury have become obsolete ; his reli- 
 gious meanings are interesting to those 
 alone who share his creed ; but his intense 
 love of calm scenery fell in with a widely- 
 spread sentiment of his age, and has scat- 
 tered through his pages vignettes of en- 
 during beauty. The pathetic power in 
 which he was unrivalled, and which gives 
 to two or three of his poems a charm quite 
 unique in its kind, seems to belong to no 
 age. — Stephen, Leslie, 1876, History of 
 English Thought in the Eighteenth Century ^ 
 vol. II, p. 454. 
 
 The eager, sudden-looking, large-eyed, 
 shaven face of Cowper is familiar to us in 
 his portraits — a face sharp-cut and suf- 
 ficiently well-moulded, without being hand- 
 some, nor particularly sympathetic. It 
 is a high-strung, excitable face ; as of a 
 man too susceptible and touchy to put him- 
 self forward willingly among his fellows, 
 
 but who, feeling a vocation" upon him, 
 would be more than merely earnest — self- 
 asserting, aggressive, and unyielding. 
 This is in fact very much the character of 
 his writings. He was an enthusiastic 
 lover of Nature, and full of gentle kindli- 
 ness, and of quiet pleasant good-humour, 
 — and all these lovable qualities appear 
 in ample proportion and measure in pas- 
 sages of his writings: but at the same 
 time his narrow, exclusive, severe, and 
 arbitrary religious creed — a creed which 
 made him as sure that other people were 
 wicked and marked out for damnation as 
 that himself was elected and saved (and 
 even as regards himself this confidence 
 gave way sometimes to utter desperation) 
 — this creed speaks out in his poems in 
 unmistakable tones of harsh judgment and 
 unqualified denunciation. Few writers 
 are more steadily unsparing of the lash 
 than the shrinking sensitive Cowper. It 
 may be that he does not lay it on with the 
 sense of personal power, and indignant 
 paying-off of old scores, which one finds 
 in a Juvenal or a Pope ; but the conviction 
 that he is the mouthpiece of Providence, 
 and that, when William Cowper has pro- 
 nounced a man reprobate, the smoke of his 
 burning is certain to ascend up for ever 
 and ever, stands instead of much, and lends 
 unction to the hallowed strain. In con- 
 formity with this inspiration, his writing 
 is nervous and terse, well stored with 
 vigorous stinging single lines; and his 
 power of expressive characterization, 
 whether in moral declaiming or in de- 
 scriptive work, is very considerable : — and 
 was (at any rate in the latter class of pas- 
 sages) even more noticeable in his own 
 day than it is in ours. Apart from his 
 religion, Cowper (as has just been said) 
 was eminently humane and gentle-hearted ; 
 the interest which he took in his tame 
 hares will perhaps be remembered when 
 much of his wielding of the divine thunder- 
 bolts against the profane shall have been 
 forgotten. ... In point of literary 
 or poetic style, Cowper was mainly inde- 
 pendent, and the pioneer of a simpler and 
 more natural method than he found pre- 
 vailing; his didactic or censorial poems 
 may be regarded as formed on the writings 
 of Churchill rather than of any other pred- 
 ecessor. — RossETTi, William Michael, 
 1878, Lives of Famous Poets, pp. 185, 186. 
 
 An amiable piety makes his **Task," a 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 391 
 
 long moralizing poem in blank verse, at- 
 tractive to many minds; from the mere 
 literary point of view, it must be allowed 
 to be a feeble production. As he gained 
 more confidence in himself, he developed 
 a curious sort of mild feline humor, which 
 appears in the delightful ballad of ''John 
 Gilpin," and in several shorter pieces. 
 The strength which had been wanting all 
 his life came to him near its close, and in- 
 spired him to write those stanzas of 
 wondrous majesty and beauty which have 
 the title of ''The Castaway;" unhappily 
 it was the strength of spiritual despair. 
 — Arnold, Thomas, 1878, English Liter- 
 ature, Encyclopcedia Britannica^ Ninth 
 Edition^ vol, vii. 
 
 The pathos of Cowper's life and his 
 position in our poetical history will always 
 lend a special interest to his work, even 
 though it is no longer possible to regard 
 a poet limited as he was as a poet of the 
 first order. He was an essentially original 
 writer, owing much of course as every 
 writer must owe, to the subtle influences of 
 his time, but deriving as little as ever 
 poet derived from literary study. . . . 
 We read Cowper, indeed, not for his pas- 
 sion or for his ideas, but for his love of 
 nature and his faithful rendering of her 
 beauty ; for his truth of portraiture, for 
 his humour, for his pathos; for the re- 
 fined honesty of his style, for the melan- 
 choly interest of his life, and for the 
 simplicity and the lovelinesss of his char- 
 acter. — Ward, Thomas Humphry, 1880, 
 The English Poets, vol. ni, pp. 423, 433. 
 
 His pictures of social life are as truth- 
 ful as they are charming. All is natural, 
 forcible and pathetic, humorous at times, 
 and frequently desponding and gloomy; 
 but through all these is an undertone of 
 unaffected piety that rises occasionally 
 into higher utterances. And so it is that 
 his popularity has never been on the de- 
 cline. And there are passages, particu- 
 larly of domestic life, that one hears per- 
 petually quoted. As a letter-writer, no 
 man perhaps has ever excelled him. His 
 epistolary style is the finest in our lan- 
 guage, abounding in every phase of senti- 
 ment, humour, sadness, pathos, liveliness, 
 yet all spontaneous and natural. — Wal- 
 ler, J. F., 1881, Boswell and Johnson, 
 Their Companions and Contemporaries, 
 p. 148. 
 
 This then was the training which made 
 
 a poet of Cowper, one of the most popular 
 in England — in his way a transforming in- 
 fluence, a new beginning of intellectual 
 life and power. Had we been left to con- 
 jecture what lines of education would have 
 been the best on which to raise up for us 
 the precursor of a new poetical age, cer- 
 tainly these are not the lines which we 
 would have chosen. Nor, had we been 
 asked to prophesy what were the works to 
 be expected from a man so exceptionally 
 circumstanced — with a past so strangely 
 chequered, a future so painfully uncertain, 
 a mind so sensitive, and which had passed 
 through so many passionate struggles — 
 could we have hit upon anything half so 
 unlikely as the actual issue. What we 
 should have looked for would have been 
 some profound and morbid study of a de- 
 spairing soul, some terrible pictures like 
 those of Job, some confusion of gloomy 
 skies and storms, and convulsions of 
 nature. That anatomy of the heart which 
 he gives us in his various narratives of his 
 own feelings, that minute dissection of 
 quivering nerve and tissue, would have 
 been what we should have looked for in his 
 poetry. But lo, when the moment came, 
 and the prophet was softly persuaded and 
 guided into the delivery of his burden, it 
 was no such wild exposition of the terrors 
 and pangs of the soul that came to his 
 lips. These heavy vapours melted and 
 dispersed from the infinite sweet blueness 
 of the heavens : he forgot himself as if he 
 had never been — and forgot all those 
 miseries of the imagination, those bitter 
 pangs and sorrows, the despair and dark- 
 ness through which he had stumbled 
 blindly for years. A soft and genial free- 
 dom entered into his soul, involuntary 
 smiles came to him, light to his eyes, and 
 to his steps such wandering careless grace, 
 such devious gentle ways, as no one had 
 dreamed of. — Oliphant, Margaret 0. 
 W., 1882, Literary History of England in 
 the End of the Eighteenth and Beginning 
 of the Nineteenth Century, vol. i, p. 49. 
 
 Cowper is less read than he deserves to 
 be ; but he has this glory, that he has ever 
 been the favorite poet of deeply religious 
 minds ; and his history is peculiarly touch- 
 ing, as that of one who, himself plunged 
 in despair and madness, has brought hope 
 and consolation to a thousand other souls. 
 — Farrar, Frederick William, 1883, 
 With the Poets, Preface, p. xviii. 
 
392 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 Cowper's poetry will not win hosts of 
 admirers ; no societies will be formed for 
 the purpose of reading papers on his 
 verses and expounding his meaning ; but 
 the reader who may be interested in other 
 things than the pomp and clatter of con- 
 temporary poetry will be rewarded by 
 occasional tender, simple passages. He 
 will detect many attractive qualities in the 
 poems, but he is tolerably sure not to be 
 swept off his feet by enthusiasm. This 
 is generally the fate of a reformer, or the 
 first man who writes under a new impulse. 
 He is like the guide-post where roads 
 divide; he points the way which others 
 are able to make more attractive, and is 
 soon forgotten. We overlook Cowper's 
 simple record of nature while we are under 
 the influence of Wordsworth's mightier 
 verse, and we grow impatient of his phi- 
 losophy when we see how much further 
 later poets carried the notion of the 
 brotherhood of man which he was one of 
 the first authoritatively to utter. — Perry, 
 Thomas Sergeant, 1883, English Litera- 
 ture in the Eighteenth Century, p. 437. 
 
 Cowper is a true poet of a very rare 
 type, one of the most important in the de- 
 velopment of English poetry. — Harrison, 
 Frederic, 1883-86, The Choice of Books 
 and Other Literary Pieces, p. 381. 
 
 The greatest things in this world are 
 often done by those who do not know they 
 are doing them. This is especially true 
 of William Cowper. He was wholly un- 
 aware of the great mission he was fulfill- 
 ing ; his contemporaries were wholly un- 
 aware of it. And so temporal are the 
 world's standards, in the best of times, 
 that spiritual regenerators are not gener- 
 ally recognized until long after they have 
 passed away, when the results of what they 
 did are fully ripe, and philosophers begin 
 to trace the original impulses. — Corson, 
 Hiram, 1886, An Introduction to the Study 
 of Robert Browning^s Poetry, p. 12. 
 
 It would be scarcely claiming too much 
 if we set down the whole of Cowper's 
 original poetry (the translation of Homer 
 is of course not included) as belonging to 
 the literature of the Evangelical Revival. 
 No doubt the fire of his genius would have 
 burnt brightly, whatever his religious 
 sentiments might have been. In the pro- 
 ductions of his elegant pen we should, 
 under any circumstances, have recognised 
 at least the disjecti membra poetce. But, 
 
 as a matter of fact, his Christian convic- 
 tions were the mainspring which set the 
 whole machinery of his poetical work in 
 motion. It was this which gave coherence 
 and symmetry and soul to it all. Abstract 
 the religious element from his composi- 
 tions, and they all fall to pieces ; but, in 
 fact, it is impossible to do so. With the 
 exception of one or two lighter pieces, 
 there is an undercurrent of Christian 
 sentiment running through and inseparable 
 from them alL— Overton, John Henry, 
 1886, The Evangelical Revival in the 
 Eighteenth Century, p. 127. 
 
 The moral meditations of Young had 
 comprised much vigorous declamation of 
 native English growth. Cowper, a far 
 greater poet, expressed in purer and 
 simpler language thoughts with more of 
 substantial worth, as well as a strain of 
 sentiment, manly, religious, and gravely 
 affectionate. In him, too, we find an 
 admirable fidelity to outward nature in de- 
 tail ; although with her grander forms, un- 
 endeared by association, he had little sym- 
 pathy ; while ideal representations of scen- 
 ery are no more to be found in his poetry 
 than ideal conceptions of character. — 
 De Vere, Aubrey, 1887. Essays Chiefly 
 on Poetry, vol. ii, p. 120. 
 
 Cowper is less read than he deserves to 
 be, but he has this glory, that he has ever 
 been the favourite poet of deeply religious 
 minds. — Saunders, Frederick, 1887, 
 The Story of Some Famous Books, p. 112. 
 
 Cowper has probably few readers now. 
 One sometimes meets with an elderly 
 lady, brought up in an Evangelical family, 
 who, having been made to learn the "Moral 
 Satires" and "The Task" by heart when a 
 child, still remembers a good deal of them, 
 and cherishes for the poet of Evangelicism 
 the tender affections which gathers in old 
 age round the things which belongs to 
 childhood. But we have most of us ceased 
 to be Evangelical, and most of us who love 
 poetry having come under the spell of 
 Goethe and of the lesser poets of the nine- 
 tenth century, find poor Cowper a little 
 cramped, a little narrow, and, to tell the 
 truth, a little dull. Yet there are pas- 
 sages in Cowper's poetry which deserve to 
 live and will live, and which will secure him 
 a place, not.indeed among English poets of 
 the first rank, but high among those of the 
 second. The pity is that they run great 
 risk of being buried and lost forever in the 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 393 
 
 wilderness of sermons which fills up such 
 a large part of ''The Progress of Error" 
 and ' ' The Task. " It is very hard to write 
 sermons that will live, and, as a writer of 
 sermons, I am afraid Cowper is likely to 
 take his place on the very peaceful and 
 dusty upper shelf in our libraries Nvhere 
 the divines of the last century repose. 
 But he deserves a better fate than this, 
 and all lovers of English poetry ought to 
 do what they can to save him from it. — 
 Bailey, J. C, 1889, William Cowper, 
 Macmillan's Magazine, vol. 60, p. 261. 
 
 Cowper's virtue was in his simplicity 
 and genuineness, rare qualities then ; his 
 good fortune was in never belonging to the 
 literary set or bowing to the town taste ; 
 hence in a time the most barren in English 
 literature, he gave us a half dozen fine 
 poems that stand far beyond all contem- 
 porary rivalry, and some private letters of 
 the best style and temper. When, how- 
 ever, the question comes as to the in- 
 trinsic value of these letters, it must be 
 confessed that though they please the 
 taste they do not interest the mind except 
 in a curious and diverting way. They are 
 less the letters of a poet than of a village 
 original, a sort of schoolmaster or clergy- 
 man manque, of sound sense, tender heart 
 and humane perception, but the creature of 
 a narrow sphere. — Woodberry, George 
 Edward, 1890, Studies in Letters and 
 Life, p. 227. 
 
 Direct, easeful, chaste — Cowper's best 
 work is all this, and more; he had the 
 foundation of common sense, without 
 which the other gifts of song go for little 
 or nothing. Given common sense together 
 with spontaneity and taste, and genuine 
 poetry is assured. Beyond these qualifi- 
 cations Cowper reveals both humor, — 
 though humor, perhaps, may be an integral 
 part of taste — and pathos, two essential 
 forces seldom found separated. And 
 having enumerated thus far, we have but 
 to add imagination, and we have the outfit 
 for a poet of the first order. But it will 
 not do to claim for Cowper great imagina- 
 tive power, nor can we credit him with 
 that certainty, that continuity of inspira- 
 tion which stamps a master of the guild. 
 We shall look to him in vain for the sub- 
 lime; furthermore, we shall find that if 
 he can move lightly and gracefully on 
 levels not the highest, he can also plod 
 there, and that right heavily. To transfer 
 
 the figure from the feet to the hands, the 
 fingers are naturally nimble, but suddenly 
 on go the Methodist mittens, and we are 
 in for a pull of theologic fumbling. — 
 Cheney, John Vance, 1892, A Study of 
 Cowper, The Chautauquan, vol. 15, p. 405. 
 
 There is no more interesting poet than 
 Cowper, and hardly one the area of whose 
 influence was greater. No man, it is un- 
 necessary to say, courted popularity less, 
 yet he threw a very wide net, and caught 
 a great shoal of readers. For twenty 
 years after the publication of "The Task" 
 in 1785, his general popularity never 
 flagged, and even when in the eyes of the 
 world it was eclipsed, when Cowper became 
 in the opinion of fierce Byronians and 
 moss-trooping Northerners, ''a coddled 
 Pope" and a milksop, our great, sober, 
 Puritan middle-class took him to their 
 warm firesides for two generations more. 
 . . . Had Cowper not gone mad in his 
 thirty-second year, and been frightened 
 out of the world of trifles, we should have 
 had another Prior, a wittier Gay, an 
 earlier Praed, an English La Fontaine. — 
 Birrell, Augustine, 1892, Res Judicatce, 
 pp. 90, 94. 
 
 Cowper, the herald of Wordsworth, may 
 perhaps be described as a reformer of 
 poetry, but it is more significant of his 
 historical position to describe him as an 
 essayist in verse.— Minto, William, 1894, 
 The Literature of the Georgian Era, ed.. 
 Knight, p. 132. 
 
 I am in a state of great excitement about 
 Cowper. Reading him right through I was 
 more than ever struck with his innumer- 
 able felicities. Yet how very terribly he 
 sinks ! The style sinks, but still more the 
 thought. I imagined that his fine taste 
 had piloted him through the theological 
 mare mortuum of his age and school with 
 comparative safety. But really, it is not 
 so. He is often quite abominable; so 
 rude, so insolent. He sends his antagon- 
 ists to the Devil ; literally, if I am not 
 mistaken, tells them to go to H — 11 ; exults 
 over them, sneers, jeers, jokes. His mild- 
 est attitude is a **sarve them right," and 
 his idea of God as the owner of some 
 patent sort of peep-show, which, if we 
 don't appreciate, he will d — n our eyes 
 for a set of God knows what, is absolutely 
 Swiftian in its utter vulgarity. What a 
 destestable poison has penetrated his 
 vitals ! Mind, it is not the doctrine, but 
 
394 
 
 WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 the swagger and infernal rudeness that 
 offend me. The style too becomes in- 
 fected; with all this ghastly machinery 
 of unreason, he takes it upon him to be 
 flippant. Such "awful mirth" is almost 
 unparalleled in literature. He even as- 
 sumes an athletic, or pseudo-athletic vig- 
 our of contemptuous denunciation. — 
 Brown, Thomas Edward, 1895, To S. T. 
 Irwin, July 16 ; Letters, vol. ii, p. 109. 
 
 Critics are agreed that we shall not rank 
 him among the great poets ; but he comes 
 nearer to their rank than anybody in his 
 day believed possible. He is so true ; he 
 is so tender; he is so natural. If in his 
 longer poems there is sometimes a lack of 
 last finish, and an overplus of language — 
 there is a frankness of utterance and a 
 billowy undulation of movement that have 
 compensating charms. He loves Nature 
 as a boy loves his play ; his humanities are 
 wakened by all her voices. He not only 
 seizes upon exterior effects with a painter's 
 eye and hand, but he has a touch which 
 steals deeper meanings and influences and 
 transfers them into verse that flows softly 
 and quietly as summer brooks. He cannot 
 speak or rhyme but the odors of the coun- 
 try cling to his words. — Mitchell, Don- 
 ald G., 1895, English Lands Letters and 
 Kings, Queen Anne and the Georges, p. 254. 
 
 Several of Cowper's short poems are 
 inimitable. He writes so very like a 
 gentleman. — Locker-Lampson, Freder- 
 ick, 1896, My Confidences, p. 178. 
 
 William Cowper's first poems were some 
 of the "Olney Hymns," 1779, and in these 
 the religious poetry of Charles Wesley 
 was continued. The profound personal 
 religion, gloomy even to insanity as it 
 often became, which fills the whole of 
 Cowper's poetry, introduced a theological 
 element into English poetry which con- 
 tinually increased till it died out with 
 Browning and Tennyson. His didactic and 
 satirical poems in 1782 link him backwards 
 to the last age. His translation of Homer, 
 1791, and of shorter pieces from the Latin 
 and Greek, connects him with the classical 
 influence, his interest in Milton with the 
 revived study of the English poets. The 
 playful and gentle vein of humour which 
 he showed in "John Gilpin" and other 
 poems, opened a new kind of verse to poets. 
 With this kind of humour is connected a 
 simple pathos of which Cowper is a great 
 master. The ' ' Lines to Mary Unwin' ' and 
 
 to his "Mother's Picture" prove, with the 
 work of Blake, that pure natural feeling 
 wholly free from artifice had returned to 
 English song. A new element was also 
 introduced by him and Blake — the love of 
 anim als an d the poetry of their relation to 
 maj^^l^in plentifully worked by after 
 po|^^^«greatest work was the ''Task." 
 — I^^^IStopford a., 1896, English 
 Literature, p. 223. 
 
 Cowper, even more than most writers, 
 deserves and requites consideration under 
 the double aspect of matter and form. In 
 both he did much to alter the generally 
 accepted conditions of English poetry ; and 
 if his formal services have perhaps re- 
 ceived less attention than they merit, his 
 material achievements have never been de- 
 nied.— Saintsbury, George, 1896, A His- 
 tory of Nineteenth Century Literature, p. 4. 
 
 Such were the simple elements of Cow- 
 per's landscape. They have no special 
 attraction that is not shared by hundreds 
 of other similar scenes in the Oolitic tracts 
 of England. To the cursory visitor they 
 may even seem tame and commonplace. 
 And yet for us, apart from any mere 
 beauty they may possess, they have been 
 for ever glorified and consecrated by the 
 imagination of the poet. We see in them 
 the natural features which soothed his 
 sorrow and gladdened his heart, and which 
 became the sources of an inspiration that 
 breathed fresh life into the poetry of 
 England. The lapse of time has left the 
 scene essentially unchanged. We may 
 take the same walks that Cowper loved, 
 and see the same prospects that charmed 
 his eyes and filled his verse. In so follow- 
 ing his steps, we note the accuracy and 
 felicity of his descriptions, and appreciate 
 more vividly the poetic genius which, out 
 of such simple materials, could work such 
 a permanent change in the attitude of his 
 countrymen towards nature. — Geikie, 
 Sir Archibald, 1898, Types of Scenery 
 and their Influence on Literature, p. 13. 
 
 The cold indifference of the moderns 
 towards Cowper is largely due to the fact 
 that he has left no love poetry behind him. 
 For this reason they may find him unin- 
 teresting, and they regard him pretty 
 much as he says his contemporaries and 
 former associates did: "They think of 
 me as of the man in the moon, and whether 
 I have a lantern, a dog and a faggot, or 
 whether I have neither of these desirable 
 
COWPER—WARTON 
 
 395 
 
 accommodations, is to them a matter of 
 perfect indifference. ' ' Whether his heart 
 was torn with the agonies of love or not, 
 Cowper does not tell us. He has left no 
 confessions of this nature. His appeal is 
 not to our passionate 'prentice years, but 
 to our maturity, when having si|jj|^, we 
 have learnt our lesson, and Pj^^^H 
 to pass out of the petty circlg^l^jHRves 
 into the study of life's larger^mole. — 
 Law, Alice, 1900, William Cowper, Fort- 
 nightly Review, vol. 73, p. 111. 
 
 Cowper was pre-eminently a poet of 
 feelings; he may have been melancholy, 
 but he pointed out to his readers how they 
 were themselves subjects of emotion. He 
 owed a debt to Providence, and he rebuked 
 the people for their follies. In doing so 
 he was regardless of his own fame and of 
 their opprobrium. He gave them toler- 
 able advice, and strove to awaken them 
 from their apathy to a sense of their duty 
 towards their neighbours. First, of poets, 
 since the days of Milton, to champion the 
 sacredness of religion, he was the fore- 
 runner of a new school that disliked the 
 political satires of the disciples of Pope, 
 and aimed at borrowing for their lines of 
 song from the simple beauties of a perfect 
 nature. — Spender, A. Edmund, 1900, 
 The Centenary of Cowper, The Westminster 
 Review, vol. 153, y. 545. 
 
 Cowper knew every landmark about 
 Olney and weaved many a one into his 
 verse. He loved Nature in his gentle 
 way, and her influence must often have 
 been a healing one, when thoughts of those 
 dark insane fits, which turned his homely 
 life into a tragedy, hovered about his 
 mind. He did not observe her with so 
 nice an eye as poor Clare the peasant, 
 who beginning in gladness also ended in 
 the despondency and madness which a poet 
 has declared to be the lot of poets ; and I 
 have always had my doubts about the 
 nightingale which he believed he heard in 
 full song on New Year's Day. And yet 
 the "Winter Walk at Noon," among other 
 poems, has lines and descriptions worth 
 remembering. The rich laburnum — ''la- 
 burnum," as Tennyson put it, "drooping- 
 wells of fire" — and the leafless but lovely 
 mezereon and the myriad blossomed yellow 
 broom of full summertide — these and 
 many other features in the pageant of the 
 spring and summer he noted and set forth 
 with a lover's eye, if in rather stilted 
 language and in somewhat too much the 
 form of a catalogue to please us to-day. 
 Cowper belonged as a poet of nature rather 
 to the Thomson than the Wordsworth 
 school.— Dew AR, George A. B., 1900, 
 William Cowper, The Saturday RevieWy. 
 vol. 89, p. 521. 
 
 Joseph. Warton 
 
 1722-1800 
 
 Born at Dunsfold, Surrey, was the son of the Rev. Thomas Warton (1688-1745), 
 vicar of Basingstoke and Oxford professor of Poetry. In 1740 he passed from Win- 
 chester to Oriel, and, rector of Winslade from 1748, returned to Winchester as second 
 master in 1755, and was its head 1766-93. His preferments were a prebend of St. 
 Paul's, the living of Thorley, a prebend of Winchester, and the rectories of Easton and 
 Upham. His "Odes" (1746) marked a reaction from Pope. An edition of Virgil 
 (1753), with translation of the "Eclogues" and "Georgics," gained him a high repu- 
 tation. He was, like his brother Thomas, a member of the Literary Club. In 1756 
 appeared vol. i. of his "Essay on Pope" (vol. ii. in 1782), with its distinction between 
 the poetry of reason and the poetry of fancy. Later works were editions of Pope 
 (1797) and Dryden. See the panegyrical "Memoir" by Wooll (1806). — Patrick 
 AND Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p. 956. 
 
 That ardent mind which had so emi- 
 nently distinguished the exercise of his 
 public duties, did not desert him in the 
 hours of leisure and retirement ; for in- 
 activity was foreign to his nature. His 
 parsonage, his farm, his garden, were cul- 
 tivated and adorned with the eagerness 
 and taste of undiminished youth. His 
 
 lively sallies of playful wit, his rich stores 
 of literary anecdote, and the polished and 
 habitual ease with which he imperceptibly 
 entered into the various ideas and pursuits 
 of men, rendered him an acquaintance 
 both profitable and amusing; whilst his 
 unaffected piety and unbounded charity 
 stamped him a pastor adored by his 
 
396 
 
 JOSEPH WARTON 
 
 parishioners. Difficult indeed would it 
 be to decide whether he shone in a de- 
 gree less, in this social character, than in 
 the closest of criticism or the chair of in- 
 struction. — WooLL, John, 1806, Memoirs 
 of Warton. 
 
 I knew Joseph Warton well. When 
 Matthias attacked him in *'The Pursuits 
 of Literature" for reprinting some loose 
 things in his edition of Pope, Joseph wrote 
 a letter to me, in which he called Matthias 
 ''his pious critic," — rather an odd ex- 
 pression to come from a clergyman. — He 
 certainly ought not to have given that 
 letter of Lord Cobham. — Rogers, Samuel, 
 1855, Table-Talk, p. 133. 
 
 He remained a schoolmaster for thirty- 
 eight years. As a teacher Warton achieved 
 little success. He was neither an exact 
 scholar nor a disciplinarian. Thrice in his 
 headmastership the boys openly mutinied 
 against him, and inflicted on him ludicrous 
 humiliations. The third insurrection took 
 place in the summer of 1793, and, after 
 ingloriously suppressing it, Warton pru- 
 dently resigned his post. His easy good 
 nature secured for him the warm affection 
 of many of his pupils, among whom his 
 favourites were William Lisle Bowles and 
 Richard Mant. Although the educational 
 fame of the school did not grow during his 
 regime, his social and literary reputation 
 gave his office increased dignity and im- 
 portance. In 1778 George IH visited the 
 college, Warton's private guests on the 
 occasion included Sir Joshua Reynolds and 
 Garrick. — Lee, Sidney, 1899, Dictionary 
 of National Biography^ vol. Lix, p. 429. 
 H S E 
 
 JOSEPHUS WARTON, S. T. P. 
 
 HUJUS ECCLESI^ 
 
 Prebendarius : 
 
 SCHOL^ WiNTONIENSIS 
 
 Per annos fere triginta 
 Informator : 
 Poeta fervidus, facilis, expolitus : 
 Criticus eruditus, Prespicax, elegans: 
 Obiit xxiii° Feb. MDCCC, 
 ^TAT. LXXVIII. 
 Hoc qualecunque 
 Pietatis Monumentum 
 prieceptori optimo, 
 Desideratissimo, 
 
 WiCCAMICI SUI 
 
 p. c. 
 
 — Inscription on Tomb, Winchester 
 Cathedral. 
 
 ESSAY AND EDITION OF POPE. 
 
 Is, I think, the most extraordinary work 
 I ever read, and is indeed everything 
 but what it promises. The writer seems 
 to have copied, and impudently enough 
 printed, his commonplace book of anec- 
 dotes.ani. remarks upon various writers. 
 Some. -par^ are indeed critical, but his 
 criticrsma^^^fr-e not in my opinion always 
 just, and there is but little anywhere to 
 be found that can be called new. — 
 Charlemont, Lord, 1782, Letter to Ed- 
 mond Malone, Oct. 4, Life by Prior, p. 96. 
 
 Though by nature one of the most candid 
 and liberal of critics, continues, as a biogra- 
 pher, to indulge that prejudice which had 
 early induced him, in his popular ''Essay" 
 on this illustrious poet, to endeavour to 
 sink him a little in the scale of poetical 
 renown : not, I believe, from any envious 
 motive, but as an affectionate compliment 
 to his friend Young, the patron to whom 
 he inscribed his Essay. — Hayley, Wil- 
 liam, 1803, The Life and Posthumous 
 Writings of William Cowper, vol. u,p. 157. 
 
 Dr. Joseph Warton was an exquisite 
 scholar, of very general reading, a man 
 of the purest taste, and of some genius ; 
 yet it is obvious that he had not clearly set- 
 tled in his own mind the theoretic prin- 
 ciples of poetry, otherwise he would not 
 have wavered in so feeble a manner, in 
 finally drawing up a summary of the poet- 
 ical merits of Pope, in his elegant Essay'* 
 on that poet. — Brydges, Sir Samuel 
 Egerton, 1824, Recollections of Foreign 
 Travel, Aug. 6, vol. i, p. 257. 
 
 He was seventy-five when he published 
 his edition of Pope, and to save himself 
 trouble he apportioned out the old farrago 
 in notes. Profuse in digressions, he is 
 sparing of needful explanations. His turn 
 was for the lighter portions of criticism 
 and biography, and most of his apposite 
 remarks are critical opinions. They are 
 often just, but never profound, for he had 
 neither fervid feelings nor a robust under- 
 standing, and his highest qualities are a 
 fair poetical taste, and a tolerable acquaint- 
 ance with ancient and modern authors. — 
 Elwin, Whitwell, 1871, ed., The Works 
 of Alexander Pope, Introduction, vol. i, 
 p. xxiii. 
 
 His delay in following up the first volume 
 of his ''Essay" with a second, and the 
 long period of forty years which elapsed 
 between his first volume and his edition, 
 
JOSEPH WARTON 
 
 397 
 
 have led to its being asserted that he ab- 
 stained, from fear of Warburton. This 
 assertion is not supported by Dr. Johnson, 
 who, when asked the reason of Warton's 
 delay in bringing out the second volume 
 of his ''Essay, " said, he supposed ''it was 
 because he could not persuade the world 
 to be of his opinion about Pope." But 
 Warton may, very likely, have been afraid 
 of Warburton. If he was, such fear would 
 have been no imputation on his courage 
 and honour. He may, nay, he must, have 
 feared Warburton, not as cowed by his 
 superiority, but as a just and reasonable- 
 minded man fears the contact of the 
 irrepressible slanderer. He feared dirt, 
 not confutation. It was impossible to 
 suppress Warburton, and Warton was too 
 refined a scholar to fight him with his own 
 weapons of scurrility and abuse. When 
 a man is incurably wrong-headed, the only 
 resource is to avoid him. If it seems un- 
 handsome in Warton to have spoken his 
 opinion of the Bishop after his death, 
 having preserved silence for so many 
 years, it should be remembered that what 
 might have been presumptuous in him at 
 thirty-five, when he was only beginning to 
 be known, was no longer so at seventy- 
 five, when he had a long and honourable 
 career of a life devoted to learning behind 
 him. . . . Strange to say, though 
 Warton's Pope was published in 1797, and 
 though it has been superseded in the mar- 
 ket, it has never yet been improved upon. 
 — Pattison, Mark, 1872-89, Pope and 
 His Editors, Essays, ed. Nettleship, vol. ii, 
 
 Have you seen the works of two young 
 authors, a Mr. Warton and a Mr. Collins, 
 both writers of Odes? It is odd enough, 
 but each is the half of a considerable man, 
 and one the counterpart of the other. The 
 first has but little invention, very poetical 
 choice of expression, and a good ear. The 
 second, a fine fancy, modelled upon th^ 
 antique, a bad ear, great variety of words, 
 and images with no choice at all. They 
 both deserve to last some years but will 
 not.— Gray, Thomas, 1746, Letter to 
 Thomas Wharton, Dee, 27; WorkSy ed. 
 Gosse, vol. II, p. 159. 
 
 To every classical reader, indeed. War- 
 ton's Virgil will afford the richest fund of 
 instruction and amusement; and as a 
 professional man, I hesitate not to declare, 
 
 that I scarcely know a work, to the upper 
 classes of schools, so pregnant with the 
 most valuable advantages: as it imparts 
 information, without the encouragement 
 of idleness ; and crowns the exertions of 
 necessary and laudable industry with the 
 acquisition of a pure and unadulterated 
 taste. — WooLL, John, 1806, Memoirs of 
 Warton, p. 28. 
 
 The power which feels, and the power 
 which originates poetry, are totally dis- 
 tinct. The former no writer seems to 
 have possessed with more exquisite pre- 
 cision, than Dr. Warton ; and I do not mean 
 to deny that he possessed the latter in a 
 considerable degree : I only say that his 
 powers of execution do not seem to have 
 been equal to his taste. — Brydges, Sir 
 Samuel Egerton, 1807, Censura Liter- 
 aria, vol. Ill, p. 199. 
 
 On this small collection of Lyric verse 
 the fame of Dr. Warton, as a poet, princi- 
 pally rests. Of the seventeen Odes, how- 
 ever, of which it is composed, there are 
 but two entitled to an elevated rank for 
 their lofty tones and high finish ; the Odes 
 "To Fancy" and "On reading Mr. West's 
 Pindar," and of these the first is much 
 the superior. It abounds, indeed, in a suc- 
 cession of strongly contrasted and high- 
 wrought imagery, clothed in a versification 
 of the sweetest cadence and most brilliant 
 polish. . . . The studies and propensities 
 of Warton peculiarly fitted him for a trans- 
 lator of this portion of Virgil. His knowl- 
 edge of the language of his original was 
 intimate and critical ; he was well versed 
 ^ in the manners, customs, and mythology of 
 the ancients ; he had a strong relish of the 
 tender and sympathetic; his taste was 
 delicately pure and chastised, and his 
 versification correctly harmonious. W^ith 
 these qualifications, he has produced a 
 translation of the Georgics which, in 
 taste, costume, and fidelity, in sweetness, 
 tenderness, and simplicity, has far ex- 
 ceeded any previous attempt, and has only 
 been rivalled by the version of Mr. Sotheby. 
 — Drake, Nathan, 1810, Essays, Illus- 
 trative of the Rambler, Adventurer, and 
 Idler, vol. ii, pp. 117, 123. 
 
 As a critic. Dr. Warton is distin- 
 guished by his love of the fanciful and 
 romantic. He examined our poetry at 
 a period when it appeared to him that 
 versified observations on familiar life and 
 manners had usurped the honours which 
 
398 
 
 WAR TON— MONT A G U 
 
 were exclusively due to the bold and in- 
 ventive powers of imagination. . . . 
 The school of the Wartons, considering 
 them as poets, was rather too studiously 
 prone to description. The doctor, like his 
 brother, certainly so far realized his own 
 ideas of inspiration, as to burden his verse 
 with few observations on life which oppress 
 the mind by their solidity. To his brother 
 he is obviously inferior in the graphic and 
 romantic style of composition, at which 
 he aimed; but in which, it must never- 
 theless be owned, that in some parts of 
 his ''Ode to Fancy'' he has been pleasingly 
 successful. — Campbell, Thomas, 1819, 
 Specimens of the British Poets. 
 
 His reputation as a critic and a scholar 
 has preserved his poetry from neglect. 
 Of his Odes, that to Fancy, written when 
 he was very young, is one that least dis- 
 appoints us by a want of poetic feeling. 
 Yet if we compare it with that by Collins, 
 on the Poetical Character, we shall see of 
 how much higher beauty the same subject 
 was capable. In the ''Ode to Evening," 
 he has again tried his strength with Col- 
 lins. There are some images of rural life 
 in it that have the appearance of being 
 drawn from nature, and which therefore 
 please.'. . . In his " Dying Indian, " 
 he has produced a few lines of extraordi- 
 nary force and pathos. The rest of his 
 poems, in blank verse, are for the most 
 part of an indifferent structure. — Cary, 
 Henry Francis, 1821-24-45, Lives of 
 the English Poets, From Johnson to Kirke 
 White, pp. 177, 178. 
 
 One of the ripest scholars and soundest 
 critics England has produced. —Cleve- 
 land, Charles D., 1853, English Liter- 
 ature of the Nineteenth Century, p. 19. 
 
 Joseph Warton was not one of those 
 original men of genius who rouse our 
 curiosity and leave their mark on their 
 age. Johnson, with far less learning, and 
 Gray, who left only a few hundred lines of 
 fragmentary poetry, will count as more 
 remarkable men than Warton. But if, 
 from want of force of character, Warton 
 does not hold a first place among his con- 
 temporaries, he will always claim the re- 
 gard of students of our literature, both 
 for what he was himself, and for the new 
 direction which he impressed on poetical 
 criticism in this country. — Pattison, 
 Mark, 1872-89, Pope and His Editors, 
 Essays, ed. Nettleship, vol. ii, p. 369. 
 
 What Warton laid down as principles in 
 his prose essays, he tried to exemplify in 
 his verse. He turned directly away from 
 Classicism, and drew his inspiration from 
 fresh out-door nature and from meditative 
 melancholy. Perhaps he is the first con- 
 sciously romantic poet in the eighteenth 
 century. — Phelps, William Lyon, 1893, 
 The Beginnings of the English Romantic 
 Movement, p. 92. 
 
 Warton deserves remembrance as a 
 learned and sagacious critic. He was a 
 literary, not a philological, scholar. His 
 verse, although it indicates a true ap- 
 preciation of natural scenery, is artificial 
 and constrained in expression. He was 
 well equipped for the role of literary his- 
 torian, but his great designs in that field 
 never passed far beyond the stage of pre- 
 liminary meditation. It was as a leader 
 of the revolution which overtook literary 
 criticism in England in the eighteenth cen- 
 tury that his chief work was done.— Lee, 
 Sidney, 1899, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. LIX, p. 430. 
 
 Elizabeth Montagu 
 
 1720-1800 
 
 Born at York, Oct. 2, 1720 : died at Montagu House, London, Aug. 25, 1800. An 
 English author and social leader. On Aug 5, 1742, she married Edward Montagu, 
 grandson of the first Earl of Sandwich. After 1750 she held her salon in Hill street, 
 Mayfair. The epithet "blue-stocking" was first applied to her assemblies. Among 
 her visitors were Lord Lyttelton, Burke, Garrick, and Sir Joshua Reynolds. Her 
 younger associates included Hannah More and Fanny Burney. In 1760 she contributed 
 three dialogues to Lyttelton's "Dialogues of the Dead." She visited Paris after the 
 peace of 1763. In 1769 she wrote an essay on the "Genius of Shakspere" in answer 
 to Voltaire. In 1776 she built Montagu House, now No. 22 Portman Square, where 
 she died. (This was not the Montagu House upon the site of which the British Museum 
 was built.)— Smith, Benjamin E., 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia of Names, p. 700, 
 
ELIZABETH MONTAGU 
 
 399 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The husband of Mrs. Montagu, of 
 Shakespeareshire, is dead, and has left her 
 an estate of seven thousand pounds a year 
 in her own power. Will you come and be 
 candidate for her hand ? I conclude it will 
 be given to a champion at some Olympic 
 games; and were I she, I would sooner 
 marry you than Pindar. — Walpole, 
 Horace, 1775, Letter to William Mason; 
 Letters, ed. Cunninghairiy vol. vi, p. 217. 
 
 Just returned from spending one of the 
 most agreeable days of my life, with the 
 female Maecenas of Hill-street; she en- 
 gaged me five or six days ago to dine with 
 her, and had assembled half the wits of the 
 age. The only fault that charming woman 
 has, is, that she is fond of collecting too 
 many of them together at one time. There 
 were nineteen persons assembled at dinner, 
 but after the repast, she has a method of 
 dividing her guests, or rather letting them 
 assort themselves, into little groups of five 
 or six each. I spent my time in going 
 from one to the other of these little socie- 
 ties, as 1 happened more or less to like the 
 subjects they were discussing. Mrs. 
 Scott, Mrs. Montagu's sister, a very good 
 writer, Mrs. Carter, Mrs. Barbauld, and a 
 man of letters, whose name I have for- 
 gotten, made up one of these little 
 parties. When we had canvassed two or 
 three subjects, I stole off and joined in 
 with the next group, which was composed 
 of Mrs. Montagu, Dr. Johnson, the Provost 
 of Dublin, and two other ingenious men. 
 — More, Hannah, 1776, Letter to her 
 Sister, Memoirs, ed. Roberts, vol. I, p. 44. 
 
 Mrs. Montague wants to make up with 
 me again. I dare say she does ; but I will 
 not be taken and left even at the pleasure 
 of those who are much nearer and dearer 
 to me than Mrs. Montague. We want no 
 flash, no flattery. I never had more of 
 either in my life, nor ever lived half so 
 happily : Mrs. Montague wrote creeping let- 
 ters when she wanted my help, or foolishly 
 thought she did, and then turned her back 
 upon me and sent her adherents to do the 
 same. — Thrale, Hester Lynch (Mrs. 
 Piozzi), 1789, Journal, May 1 ; Autobiog- 
 raphy, ed. Hay ward, p. 107. 
 
 To me, on all occasions, ever since 1771, 
 when I first became acquainted with her, 
 she has been a faithful -and affectionate 
 friend especially in seasons of distress and 
 difficulty. You will not wonder, then. 
 
 that her death afflicts me. For some years 
 past a failure in her eyes had made writing 
 very painful to her ; but for not less than 
 twenty years she was my punctual corre- 
 spondent. She was greatly attached to 
 Montagu, who received his name from her, 
 and not less interested in my other son, 
 and in everything that related to my 
 family. I need not tell you what an ex- 
 cellent writer she was : you must have seen 
 her book on Shakespeare, as compared with 
 the Greek and French dramatic writers. 1 
 have known several ladies eminent in 
 literature, but she excelled them all ; and 
 in conversation she had more wit than any 
 other person, male or female, whom I have 
 ever known. These, however, were her 
 slighter accomplishments: what was in- 
 finitely more to her honour, she was a 
 sincere Christian, both in faith and in 
 practice, and took every proper oppor- 
 tunity to show it; so that by her ex- 
 ample and influence she did much good. — 
 Beattie, James, 1799, Letter to Rev. Dr, 
 Laing, March 7; Forbes' Life of Beattie, 
 vol. Ill, p. 162. 
 
 At the same time of which I speak, the 
 gens de Mres, or Blue Stockings," as they 
 were commonly denominated, formed a 
 very numerous, powerful, compact phalanx 
 in the midst of London. . . . Mrs. 
 Montague was then the Madame du Deffand 
 of the English capital ; and her house con- 
 stituted the central point of union, for all 
 those persons who already were known, or 
 who emulated to become known by their 
 talents and productions. Her supremacy 
 . . . was indeed established on more solid 
 foundations than those of intellect, and 
 rested on more tangible materials than any 
 with which Shakspeare himself could fur- 
 nish her. Though she had not as yet begun 
 to construct the splendid mansion in which 
 she afterwards resided near Portman 
 Square, but lived in an elegant house in 
 Hill Street . . . Mrs. Montague was 
 accustomed to open her house to a large 
 company of both sexes, whom she fre- 
 quently entertained at dinner. A ser- 
 vice of plate, and a table plentifully 
 covered, disposed her guests to admire the 
 splendour of her fortune, not less than the 
 lustre of her talents. . . . Mrs. 
 Montague, in 1776, verged tow^ards her 
 sixtieth year. But her person, which was 
 thin, spare, and in good preservation, gave 
 her an appearance of less antiquity. From 
 
400 
 
 ELIZABETH MONTAGU 
 
 the infirmities often attendant on advanced 
 life, she seemed to be almost wholly ex- 
 empt. All the lines of her countenance 
 bespoke intelligence, and her eyes, were 
 accommodated to her cavSt of features, 
 which had in them something satirical and 
 severe, rather than amiable or inviting. 
 . . . Destitute of taste in dispos- 
 ing the ornaments of her dress, she 
 nevertheless studied or affected those 
 aids, more than would seem to have 
 become a woman possessing a philo- 
 sophic mind, intent on higher pursuits 
 than toilet. Even when approaching to 
 four score, this female weakness still ac- 
 companied her; nor could she relinquish 
 her diamond necklace and bows, which . . . 
 formed on evenings the perpetual ornament 
 of her emaciated person. I used to think 
 that these glittering appendages of opu- 
 lence, sometimes helped to dazzle the dis- 
 putants, whom her arguments might not 
 always convince. . . . Notwithstanding the 
 defects that I have enumerated, she pos- 
 sessed a masculine understanding, enlight- 
 ened, cultivated, and expanded by the 
 acquaintance of men, as well as of books. 
 Many of the most illustrious persons in 
 rank, no less than in ability, under the 
 reigns of George II. and III., had been her 
 correspondents, friends, companions and 
 admirers. — Wraxall, Sir Nathaniel 
 William, 1815, Historical Memoirs of My 
 Own Time, from 1772 to 1784, pp. 64, 65. 
 
 She was equal to conversation on every 
 subject; but she assumed that dogmatic 
 and presumptuous tone which is well known 
 as peculiar to learned English ladies, and 
 even to young English tourists. — Schlos- 
 SER, Friedrich Christoph, 1823, His- 
 tory of the Eighteenth Century, tr. Davison, 
 pt. ii. ch. i. 
 
 Her conversational powers were of a 
 truly superior order; strong, just, clear, 
 and often eloquent. Her process in argu- 
 ment, notwithstanding an earnest solici- 
 tude for pre-eminence, was uniformly 
 polite and candid. But her reputation for 
 wit seemed always in her thoughts, mar- 
 ring their natural flow, and untutored ex- 
 pression. No sudden start of talent urged 
 forth any precarious opinion ; no vivacious 
 new idea varied her logical course of 
 ratiocination. Her smile though most 
 generally benignant, was rarely gay ; and 
 her liveliest sallies had a something of 
 anxiety rather than of hilarity— till their 
 
 success was ascertained by applause. Her 
 form was stately, and her manners were 
 dignified. Her face retained strong remains 
 of beauty throughout life ; and though its 
 native cast was evidently that of severity, 
 its expression was softened off in discourse 
 by an almost constant desire to please. 
 . . . Taken for all in all, Mrs. Montagu 
 was rare in her attainments ; splendid in 
 her conduct ; open to the calls of charity ; 
 forward to precede those of indigent 
 genius ; and unchangeably just and firm in 
 the application of her interest, her princi- 
 ples, and her fortune, to the encourage^ 
 ment of loyalty, and the support of virtue. 
 — D'Arblay, Madame (Fanny Burney), 
 1832, Memoirs of Doctor Burney. 
 
 Mrs. Montagu is one of the best speci- 
 mens on record of that most comprehensive 
 character — a woman of the world, for she 
 was of the world, yet not corrupted by it. 
 Her wit, displayed in the girlish effusions 
 of a satire, rather the result of high spirits 
 than of a sarcastic tone, improved as age 
 advanced. Passionately fond of society, a 
 lover of the great, she displayed, neverthe- 
 less, a perfect contentment when deprived 
 of excitement by any accident ; and, whilst 
 she courted the great, she was courteous 
 and bountiful to the small. — Thomson, 
 Katherine, 1848, The Literary Circles of 
 the Last Century, Eraser's Magazine, vol. 
 37, p. 73. 
 
 Mrs. Montague's parties were pleasant, 
 no doubt, for she got together the people 
 best worth knowing ; and though she liked 
 flattery, and loved to drape and pose her- 
 self as the chief Muse of a new British 
 Parnassus, she was essentially a gentle- 
 woman, full of kindness and benevolence, 
 standing stoutly up for her friends, and 
 always ready to help unknown and strug- 
 gling people with her patronage,her advice, 
 and her money. If she quarrelled with 
 Johnson when in his ''Lives of the Poets" 
 he decried one of her idols, Lyttelton, she 
 not the less kept up her annuity to poor 
 blind Miss Williams. If her ''Essay on 
 Shakspere" is not very profound, it shows 
 at least sounder appreciation of the great 
 dramatist than the criticisms of Johnson, 
 who abused it. — Leslie, Charles Rob- 
 ert and Taylor, Tom, 1865, Life and 
 Times of Sir Joshua Reynolds, vol. i, 
 p. 452. 
 
 But even in the days of her maidenhood, 
 when she was glad in her youth and in her 
 
ELIZABETH MONTAGU 
 
 401 
 
 beauty, and conscious of her intellect, yet 
 unconscious of the pleasures, duties, and 
 trials before her, yet when she feared she 
 might live idle and die vain, she said, ''If 
 ever I have an inscription over me, it shall 
 be without a name, and only, — Here lies 
 one whom having done no harm, no one 
 should censure ; and, having done no good, 
 no one can commend ; who, for past folly, 
 only asks oblivion." She lived, however, 
 to do much good, to make great amends for 
 small and venial follies, and by the mag- 
 nificent usefulness, which little Burney has 
 recorded, to merit such pains as it may 
 cost a poor chronicler to rescue her name 
 and deeds from the oblivion which she 
 asked in the pleasant days of her bright 
 youth and her subduing beauty. — Doran, 
 John, 1873, A Lady of the Last Century, 
 p. 356. 
 
 Other ladies — Mrs. Montagu's friend 
 the Duchess of Portland, Mrs. Ord, Mrs. 
 Vesey, wife of Agmondesham Vesey, Mrs. 
 Boscawen, wife of the admiral, and Mrs. 
 Greville, wife of Fulke Greville — endeav- 
 oured to rival Mrs. Montagu's entertain- 
 ments; but for nearly fifty years she 
 maintained a practically undisputed su- 
 premacy as hostess in the intellectual 
 society of London, and to her assemblies 
 was, apparently for the first time, applied 
 the now accepted epithet of ''blue-stock- 
 ing. ' ' Two explanations of the term have 
 been suggested. According to the ordi- 
 nary account, which was adopted by Sir 
 William Forbes in his "Life of Beattie," 
 in 1806 (i. 210), full dress was not in- 
 sisted on at Mrs. Montagu's assemblies, 
 and Benjamin Stillingfleet who regu- 
 larly attended them, as well as the 
 rival assemblies presided over by Mrs. 
 Vesey or Mrs. Boscawen, habitually in- 
 fringed social conventions by appearing in 
 blue worsted instead of black silk stock- 
 ings ; consequently. Admiral Boscawen, a 
 scoffer at his wife's social ambitions, is 
 stated to have applied the epithet "blue- 
 stockings" to all ladies' conversaziones. 
 On the other hand, Lady Crewe, daughter 
 of Mrs. Greville, who was one of Mrs. 
 Montagu's rival hostesses, stated that the 
 ladies themselves at Mrs. Montagu's 
 parties wore "blue-stockings as a distinc- 
 tion, "in imitation of a fashionable French 
 visitor, Madame de Polignac. — Lee, Sid- 
 ney, 1894, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. XXXVIII, p. 241. 
 
 26 G 
 
 ESSAY ON THE GENIUS OF 
 SHAKESPEARE 
 
 Mrs. Montague, a lady distinguished for 
 having written an Essay on Shakspeare, 
 being mentioned, — Reynolds: "I think 
 that essay does her honour." Johnson. 
 ' ' Yes, sir, it does her honour ; but it would 
 do nobody else honour. I have, indeed, 
 not read it all. But when I take up the 
 end of a web, and find it packthread, I do 
 not expect, by looking further, to find em- 
 broidery. Sir, I will venture to say there 
 is not one sentence of true criticism in her 
 book." Garrick: "But, sir, surely it 
 shows how much Voltaire has mistaken 
 Shakspeare, — which nobody else has 
 done. ' ' Johnson : * ' Sir, nobody else has 
 thought it worth while. And what merit 
 is there in that? You may as well praise 
 a schoolmaster for whipping a boy who 
 has construed ill. No, sir ; there is no real 
 criticism in it, — none showing the beauty 
 of thought as formed on the workings of the 
 human heart." . . . One day at Sir Joshua's 
 table, when it was related that Mrs. 
 Montague, in an excess of compliment to the 
 author of a modern tragedy (Braganza?), 
 had exclaimed, "I tremble for Shaks- 
 peare," Johnson said, "When Shakspeare 
 has got — [ Jephson ?] for his rival and Mrs. 
 Montague for his defender, he is in a poor 
 state indeed." — Johnson, Samuel, 1769, 
 Life by Boswell. 
 
 The most elegant and judicious piece of 
 criticism which the present age has pro- 
 duced.— Warton, Thomas, 1778-81, The 
 History of English Poetry. 
 
 I no longer wonder that Mrs. Montagu 
 stands at the head of all that is called 
 learned, and that every critic veils his 
 bonnet to her superior judgment. I am 
 now reading and have reached the middle 
 of her essay on the genius of Shakspeare 
 — a book of which, strange as it may seem, 
 though I must have read it formerly, I had 
 absolutely forgot the existence. The 
 learning, the good sense, the sound judg- 
 ment, and the wit displayed in it fully 
 justify, not only my compliment, but all 
 compliments that either have been already 
 paid to her talents or shall be paid here- 
 after. Voltaire, I doubt not, rejoiced that 
 his antagonist wrote in English, and that 
 his countrymen could not possibly be 
 judges of the dispute. Could they have 
 known how much she was in the right. 
 
402 
 
 ELIZABETH MONTAGU 
 
 and by how many thousand miles the Bard 
 of Avon is superior to all their dramatists, 
 the French critic would have lost half his 
 fame among them. — Cowper, William, 
 1788, Letter to Lady Hesketh, May 27. 
 
 Considering it as a piece of the second- 
 ary or comparative species of criticism ; 
 and not of that profound species which 
 alone Dr. Johnson would allow to be* 'real 
 criticism." It is, besides, clearly and 
 elegantly expressed, and has done effectu- 
 ally what it professed to do; namely, 
 vindicated Shakspeare from the misrepre- 
 sentations of Voltaire; and considering 
 how many young people were misled by 
 his witty, though false observations, Mrs. 
 Montagu's Essay" was of service to 
 Shakspeare with a certain class of readers, 
 and is, therefore, entitled to praise. — 
 Bos WELL, James, 1791-93, Life of Sam- 
 uel Johnson, note. 
 
 Hurd and Lord Karnes, especially the 
 former, may be reckoned among the best 
 of this class ; Mrs. Montagu, perhaps, in 
 her celebrated Essay, not very far from 
 the bottom of the list. — Hallam, Henry, 
 1837-39, Introduction to the Literature 
 of Europe, pt, iii, ch. vi, par. 54. 
 
 Mrs. Montague was the Minerva, for so 
 she was complimented on this occasion, 
 whose celestial spear was to transfix the 
 audacious Gaul. Her Essay on the 
 Writings and Genius of Shakespeare, 
 compared with the Greek and French 
 dramatic poets," served for a popular 
 answer to Voltaire. This accomplished 
 lady, who had raised a literary coterie 
 about her, which attracted such fashion- 
 able notice that its title has survived its 
 institution, found in ''the Blue-stocking 
 Club" choral hymns and clouds of incense 
 gathering about the altar in Portman 
 Square! The volume is deemed "a 
 wonderful performance, ' ' by those echoes 
 of contemporary pre-possessions, the com- 
 pilers of dictionary-biography: even the 
 poet Cowper placed Mrs. Montague "at 
 the head of all that is called learned." — 
 Disraeli, Isaac, 1841, Shakespeare, Amen- 
 ities of Literature. 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 Mrs. Montagu's [Letters] are lively and 
 ingenious, but not natural. — Mackintosh, 
 Sir James, 1808, Life, vol. i, ch. viii. 
 
 I think very highly of them. One of 
 their chief merits is series juncturaque. 
 Nothing can be more easy and natural than 
 
 the manner in which the thoughts rise one 
 out of the other, even where the thoughts 
 may appear rather forced, nor is the 
 expression ever hard or laboured. I see 
 but little to object to in the thoughts them- 
 selves, but nothing can be more natural or 
 graceful than the manner in which they 
 are put together. The flow of her style 
 is not less natural, because it is fully 
 charged with shining particles, and 
 sparkles as it flows. — Windham, William, 
 1809, Diary, Dec. 5. 
 
 The merit of the pieces before us seems 
 to us to consist mainly in the great gaiety 
 and vivacity with which they are written. 
 The wit, to be sure, is often childish, and 
 generally strained and artificial ; but still 
 it both sparkles and abounds ; and though 
 we should admire it more if it were better 
 selected, or even if there were less of it, 
 we cannot witness this profuse display of 
 spirits and ingenuity without receiving a 
 strong impression of the talents and 
 ambition of the writer. The faults of the 
 letters, on the other hand, are more 
 numerous. In the first place, they have, 
 properly speaking, no subjects. They 
 are all letters of mere idleness, friendship, 
 and flattery. There are no events,— no 
 reasonings, — no anecdotes of persons who 
 are still remembered, — no literature, and 
 scarcely any original or serious opinions. 
 . . . There are great faults in the vol- 
 umes before us ; and that we do not exactly 
 perceive the necessity of reading the bad 
 letters before we are favoured with the 
 good.— Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 1809, 
 Mrs. Montagues Letters, Edinburgh Review, 
 vol. 15, pp. 76, 87. 
 
 I am now reading the third and fourth 
 volumes of Mrs. Montague's "Letters." 
 To me, who have lived through all the time 
 she writes of, they are interesting, — in- 
 dependent of the wit and talent, — as re- 
 calling a number of persons and events 
 once present to my mind : they are also, 
 I think, very entertaining, though, as let- 
 ters, somewhat studied. — Barbauld, 
 Anna L^titia, 1813, Works, vol. ii, p. 139. 
 
 In her own generation Mrs. Montagu 
 was without a superior in the art of letter 
 writing. — Scoones, W. Baptiste, 1880, 
 Four Centuries of English Letters, p. 277. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 These letters do great credit both to 
 her head and heart ; they are written in 
 an easy and perspicuous style ; are filled 
 
MONTAGU—BLAIR 
 
 403 
 
 with judicious and pertinent reflections 
 upon the passing events and the great 
 men of the times; and, with her ''Essay 
 on Shakspeare," give her no mean ranlc 
 among English authors. If not a profound 
 critic, she was certainly an acute and in- 
 genious one, possessing judgment and 
 
 taste as well as learning; and if not of 
 such versatile talents as her namesake, 
 Lady Mary Wortley, she is an example of 
 much higher moral purity both in her 
 writings and character. — Cleveland, 
 Charles D., 1853, English Literature of 
 the Nineteenth Century, p. 25. 
 
 Hugh. Blair 
 
 1718-1800 
 
 Born at Edinburgh 7th April 1718, in 1730 entered the university, and in 1741 was 
 licensed as a preacher. After occupying the churches of Collessie in Fife, Canongate, 
 and Lady Tester's, he was promoted in 1758 to one of the charges of the High Church, 
 Edinburgh. In 1759 he commenced a series of university lectures on ''Composition ;" 
 and in 1762 he was appointed to a new regius chair of Rhetoric and Belles-lettres, 
 with a salary of £70 a year. He resigned this post in 1783, and published his 
 ^'Lectures," which obtained a reputation far beyond their merits, and one that time 
 has by no means confirmed. His "Sermons" (1777) enjoyed the approval not only of 
 Dr. Johnson, but of George III., who bestowed on Blair in 1780 a pension of £200 a 
 year. Blair died December 27, 1800. — Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's 
 Biographical Dictionary, p. 103. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Dr. Blair was a different kind of man 
 from Robertson, and his character is very 
 justly delineated by Dr. Finlayson, so far 
 as he goes. Robertson was most saga- 
 cious, Blair was most naif. Neither of 
 them could have been said to have either 
 wit or humor. Of the latter Robertson 
 had a small tincture — Blair had hardly a 
 relish for it. Robertson had a bold and 
 ambitious mind, and a strong desire to 
 make himself considerable; Blair was 
 timid and unambitious, and withheld him- 
 self from public business of every kind, 
 and seemed to have no wish but to be ad- 
 mired as a preacher, particularly by the 
 ladies. His conversation was so infantine 
 that many people thought it impossible, 
 at first sight, that he could be a man 
 of sense or genius. He was as eager 
 about a new paper for his wife's drawing- 
 room, or his own new wig, as about a 
 new tragedy or a new epic poem. — Car- 
 lyle, Alexander, 1753-56-1860, Auto- 
 biography, p. 236. 
 
 Saturday morning proving rainy, I could 
 not resist the temptation of staying till 
 Sunday, and I heard Dr. Robertson in the 
 morning, and Dr. Blair in the afternoon. 
 They are neither of them orators, but Dr. 
 Robertson has a serious, unaffected manner 
 which pleased me very much. Dr. Blair 
 is very pompous in his delivery, and 
 all the great and fashionable attend 
 his church. He gave us a sermon on 
 
 censoriousness, which I understand is soon 
 to be published with some others, in a 
 third volume. — Rogers, Samuel, 1784, 
 Letter, July 21 ; Early Life by Clay den, p. 79. 
 
 With Dr. Blair I am more at ease. I 
 never respect him with humble venera- 
 tion ; but when he kindly interests himself 
 in my welfare, or still more, when he de- 
 scends from his pinnacle, and meets me on 
 equal ground in conversation, my heart 
 overflows with what is called liking. — 
 When he neglects me for the mere carcass 
 of greatness, or when his eye measures 
 the difference of our points of elevation, 
 I say to myself, with scarcely any emotion. 
 What do I care for him, or his pomp either? 
 — Burns, Robert, 1787, Commonplace 
 Book, Apr. 9. 
 
 In Edinburgh none was more famous in 
 the latter half of the eighteenth century 
 than Dr. Hugh Blair. His dingy church 
 was attended by the most fashionable when 
 he preached ; his little, dark class-room at 
 college was full of the most cultured when 
 he lectured; every tea-table was silent 
 when he spoke; every supper-party was 
 deferential as he conversed. An unevent- 
 ful life of unbroken health and prosperity 
 was the fortune of the preacher-critic of 
 Scotland. ... He was accepted as the 
 arbiter of taste. Poems and treatises were 
 submitted for his judgment, and his opinion 
 was considered infallible. Home brought 
 to him his "Douglas," Blacklock his 
 poems, Hume his essays, and we know how 
 
404 
 
 HUGH BLAIR 
 
 in later years his verdict on Burns' poems 
 was awaited with anxiety. He was the 
 literary accoucheur of Scotland. At the 
 same time patrons conferred with him 
 on suitable moderate presentees" for 
 parishes, and town councils consulted him 
 on candidates for professorial chairs. Is 
 it surprising that the popular preacher, 
 the respected critic, the deferred-to 
 guide, had his constitutional vanity 
 strengthened, and that all this homage 
 made him more pompous and certain of 
 his infallibility, especially as he was 
 utterly devoid of any sense of humour ? — 
 Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish 
 Men of Letters in the Eighteenth Century, 
 pp. 121, 126. 
 
 SERMONS 
 
 I love ''Blair's Sermons." Though the 
 dog is a Scotchman, and a Presbyterian, 
 and every thing he should not be, I was 
 the first to praise them. — Johnson, Sam- 
 uel, 1781, Life by Boswell, ed. Hill, vol. 
 IV, p. 113. 
 
 Great merit they undoubtedly have ; but 
 I cannot discover in them that sublime 
 simplicity of manner and style, which I 
 have long thought essential to such com- 
 positions.— Beattie, James, 1783, Letter 
 to the Bishop of Worcester, Sept. 18 ; Life, 
 ed. Forbes, vol. n, p. 308. 
 
 We have no modern sermons in the 
 English language that can be considered 
 as very eloquent. The merits of Blair 
 (by far the most popular writer of sermons 
 within the last century) are plain good 
 sense, a happy application of scriptural 
 quotation, and a clear harmonious style, 
 richly tinged with scriptural language. 
 He generally leaves his readers pleased 
 with his judgment, and his just observa- 
 tions on human conduct, without ever 
 rising so high as to touch the great pas- 
 sions, or kindle any enthusiasm in favour 
 of virtue. For eloquence we must ascend 
 as high as the days of Barrow and Jeremy 
 Taylor : and even there, while we are de- 
 lighted with their energy, their copious- 
 ness, and their fancy, we are in danger 
 of being suffocated by a redundance which 
 abhors all discrimination, which compares 
 till it perplexes, and illustrates till it con- 
 founds.— Smith, Sydney, 1802, Dr. 
 Rennet, Edinburgh Review, Essays, p. 6. 
 
 No other sermons in Great Britain have 
 been followed by so splendid a success as 
 the once famous, now forgotten, discourses 
 
 of Hugh Blair. Neither of Tillotson, nor 
 Jeremy Taylor in past times, nor of Arnold 
 or Newman or even Frederick Robertson 
 in our own time, can be recorded, as of 
 Blair, that they were translated into al- 
 most all the languages of Europe, and won 
 for their author a public reward from the 
 Crown. Nor was it only the vulgar public 
 that was satisfied. Even the despot of 
 criticism (fastidious judge, zealous High- 
 churchman, fanatically English as he was), 
 the mighty Samuel Johnson, who had a 
 few years before declared that no Scottish 
 clergyman had written any good work on 
 religious subjects, pronounced, after his 
 perusal of Blair's first sermon, "I have 
 read it with more than approbation — to 
 say it is good is to say too little." — 
 Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn, 1872, Lec- 
 tures on the History of the Church of Scot- 
 land, p. 143. 
 
 They are not so much sermons as essays, 
 composed by a professor of rhetoric to 
 illustrate the principles of his art. For 
 unction there was mere mouthing ; instead 
 of the solid common sense of earlier writ- 
 ers, an infinite capacity for repeating the 
 feeblest of platitudes; their style seems 
 to be determined by an attempt at the easy 
 flow of the Addisonian period, disturbed by 
 a recollection of Johnsonian grandilo- 
 quence; the morality can scarcely be 
 dignified by the name of prudential, unless 
 all prudence be summed up in the great 
 commandment, be respectable; the the- 
 ology is retained rather to give a faint 
 seasoning to the general insipidity of 
 moral commonplace than seriously to in- 
 fluence the thought ; and the nearest ap- 
 proach to a philosophical argument is some 
 feeble echo of Pope's ''Essay on Man." 
 Blair, in short, is in theology what Hayley 
 was in poetry — a mere washed-out retailer 
 of second-hand commonplaces, who gives 
 us the impression that the real man has 
 vanished, and left nothing but a wig and 
 gown. — Stephen, Leslie, 1876, History 
 of English Thought in the Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury, vol. II, p. 346. 
 
 They are perhaps grammatically correct 
 in composition, but they are monotonous 
 in style, and as for grasp of thought or 
 reasoning, elevated emotion, or impas- 
 sioned eloquence, they have none. — Mack- 
 intosh, John, 1878-96, The History of 
 Civilisation in Scotland, vol. iv, p. 216. 
 
 Of his sermons, which were originally 
 
HUGH BLAIR 
 
 405 
 
 published in five volumes, it may be said 
 that they were unduly praised at the time 
 of their appearance, and that they are as 
 unduly neglected now. Samuel Johnson 
 called them "auro magis aurei;" and 
 King George the Third, who was a great 
 patron of Blair, and who gave him a pen- 
 sion of two hundred pounds a year, is re- 
 ported to have often said that he wished 
 to hear that the Bible and Blair's sermons 
 were in the hands of every youth in the 
 United Kingdom. These opinions from 
 the leader of literature and the leader of 
 fashion may perhaps account in some 
 degree for the number of editions through 
 which Blair's sermons passed ; while the 
 fact that the distinctive features of the 
 Gospel are largely absent from them may 
 explain the oblivion into which now they 
 have fallen. But for style and method 
 they may still be studied with advantage, 
 though they do not now, of course, hold 
 the same relatively high place in these 
 respects which they did at the date of 
 their publication. They have a distinc- 
 tively modern cast, and his mode of open- 
 ing up and dividing a subject is often 
 felicitous and suggestive. In matter, 
 however, they are exceedingly defective. 
 —Taylor, William M., 1887, The Scot- 
 tish Pulpit, p. 155. 
 
 LECTURES ON RHETORIC AND 
 BELLES-LETTRES 
 
 1783 
 
 They were originally designed for the 
 initiation of youth into the study of belles 
 lettres, and of composition. With the 
 same intention they are now published; 
 and, therefore, the form of Lectures, in 
 which they were at first composed, is still 
 retained. The author gives them to the 
 world, neither as a work wholly original, 
 nor as a compilation from the writings of 
 others. On every subject contained in 
 them, he has thought for himself. He 
 consulted his own ideas and reflections: 
 and a great part of what will be found in 
 these Lectures is entirely his own. At 
 the same time he availed himself of the 
 ideas and reflections of others, as far as 
 he thought them proper to be adopted. 
 To proceed in this manner, was his duty 
 as a public professor. It was incumbent 
 on him to convey to his pupils all the 
 knowledge that could improve them; to 
 deliver not merely what was new, but what 
 might be useful, from whatever quarter 
 
 it came. He hopes, that to such as are 
 studying to cultivate their taste, to form 
 their style, or to prepare themselves for 
 public speaking or composition, his 
 Lectures will afford a more comprehensive 
 view of what relates to these subjects 
 than, as far as he knows, is to be received 
 from any one book in our language. — 
 Blair, Hugh, 1783, Lectures on Rhetoric 
 and Belles-Lettres, Preface. 
 
 These ''Lectures on Rhetoric" have 
 been for several years known to the public. 
 They were printed by their excellent 
 author, in the latter period of his life, 
 after he had retired from the discharge of 
 his academical duties. They contain an 
 accurate analysis of the principles of 
 literary composition, in all the various 
 species of writing : a happy illustration of 
 those principles by the most beautiful and 
 apposite examples, drawn from the best 
 authors both ancient and modern ; and an 
 admirable digest of the rules of elocution, 
 as applicable to the oratory of the pulpit, 
 the bar, and the popular assembly. They 
 do not aim at the character of a work 
 purely original ; for this, as the author 
 justly considered, would have been to 
 circumscribe their utility; neither, in 
 point of style, are they polished with the 
 same degree of care that the author has 
 bestowed on some of his other works, as, 
 for example, his ''Sermons :" Yet so 
 useful is the object of these lectures, so 
 comprehensive their plan, and such the 
 excellence of the matter they contain, 
 that, if not the most splendid, they will 
 perhaps prove the most durable monument 
 of their author's reputation. — Tytler, 
 Alexander Fraser, 1806-14, Memoirs 
 of the Life and Writings of Lord Karnes, 
 vol. I, p. 275. 
 
 Will always be esteemed valuable as an 
 exercise of correct taste, and an accumu- 
 lation of good sense, on the various 
 branches of the art of speaking and writ- 
 ing. ... In the first place, with re- 
 spect to the language, though the selec- 
 tion of words is proper enough, the ar- 
 rangement of them in the sentences is often 
 in the utmost degree stifle and artificial. 
 It is hardly possible to depart further from 
 any resemblance to what is called a living 
 or spoken style, which is the proper diction 
 at all events for popular addresses, if not 
 for all the departments of prose composi- 
 tion. Instead of the thought throwing 
 
406 
 
 HUGH BLAIR 
 
 itself into words, by a free, instantaneous, 
 and almost unconscious action, and pass- 
 ing off in that easy form, it is pretty ap- 
 parent there was a good deal of handicraft 
 employed in getting ready proper cases 
 and trusses, of various but carefully 
 measured lengths and figures, to put the 
 thoughts into, as they came out, in very 
 slow succession, each of them cooled and 
 stiffened to numbness in waiting so long to 
 be dressed. ... In the second place, 
 there is no texture in the composition. 
 The sentences appear often like a series of 
 little independent propositions, each satis- 
 fied with its own distinct meaning, and 
 capable of being placed in a different part 
 of the train, without injury to any mutual 
 connection, or ultimate purpose, of the 
 thoughts. The ideas relate to the subject 
 generally, without specifically relating to 
 one another.— Foster, John, 1807-56, 
 Critical Essays^ ed. Ryland, vol. I. pp. 82, 
 84, 85. 
 
 Though not equal to Campbell's Phi- 
 losophy of Rhetoric" in depth of thought 
 or in ingenious original research, they are 
 written in a most pleasing style, convey 
 a large amount of valuable information, 
 suggest many most useful hints, and con- 
 tain an accurate analysis of the principles 
 of literary composition in almost every 
 species of writing, and an able digest of 
 the rules of eloquence as adapted to the 
 pulpit, the bar, or to popular assemblies. 
 In short, they form an admirable system 
 of rules for forming the style and cultiva- 
 ting the taste of youth ; and the time will 
 be far distant, if it ever arrives, when they 
 shall cease to be a text-book in every well- 
 devised course of study for a liberal educa- 
 tion. — Cleveland, Charles D., 1853, 
 English Literature of the Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury, p. 30. 
 
 Deserves special mention for his lectures 
 on Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres, " which 
 for a long time constituted the principal 
 text-book on those subjects in our schools 
 and colleges. A better understanding of 
 the true scope of rhetoric as a science has 
 caused this work to be superseded by later 
 text-books. Blair's lectures treat princi- 
 pally of style and literary criticism, and 
 are excellent for their analysis of some of 
 the best authors, and for happy illustra- 
 tions from their works. — Coppee, Henry, 
 1872, English Literature, Considered as 
 an Interpreter of English History, p. 370. 
 
 His ''Rhetoric" is a very vapid per- 
 formance compared with Campbell's. — 
 MiNTO, William, 1872-80, Manual of 
 English Prose Literature, p. 475. 
 
 The chair of Belles-Lettres was filled by 
 the accomplished Dr. Hugh Blair, whose 
 lectures remain one of the best samples of 
 the correct and elegant, but narrow and 
 frigid style, both of sentiment and criti- 
 cism, which then flourished throughout 
 Europe, and nowhere more than in Edin- 
 burgh. — Shairp, John Campbell, 1879, 
 Robert Burns (English Men of Letters), 
 p. 44. 
 
 His position as a critic was improved 
 by the publication in 1783 of his ' 'Lectures 
 on Rhetoric and Belles Lettres," which 
 made him the literary pope of Scotland. — 
 Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish 
 Men of Letters in the Eighteenth Century, 
 p. 129. 
 
 GENERAL 
 A tiresome critic, in the French style : 
 he w^as placed far below Johnson. — Cha- 
 teaubriand, Franqois Rene Vicomte 
 DE, 1831, Sketches of English Literature, 
 vol II, p. 269. 
 
 Looked at the "Life of Hugh Blair ;"— 
 a stupid book, by a stupid man, about a 
 stupid man. Surely it is strange that so 
 poor a creature as Blair should ever have 
 had any literary reputation at all. The 
 "Life" is in that very vile fashion which 
 Dugald Stewart set; — not a life, but a 
 series of disquisitions on all sorts of sub- 
 jects. — Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 
 1850, Journal, Nov, 5 ; Life and Letters, 
 ed. Trevelyan. 
 
 The lectures expressed the canons of 
 taste of the time in which Addison, Pope, 
 and Swift were recognised as the sole 
 models of English style, and are feeble in 
 thought, though written with a certain 
 elegance of manner. A tenth edition 
 appeared in 1806, and they have been 
 translated into French. The same quali- 
 ties are obvious in the sermons, which for 
 a long time enjoyed extraordinary popu- 
 larity. . . . The sermons were trans- 
 lated into many languages, and until the 
 rise of a new school passed as the models 
 of the art. They are carefully composed ; 
 he took a week over one (Boswell's Tour, 
 ch. iii), and they are the best examples 
 of the sensible, if unimpassioned and 
 rather affected, style of the moderate 
 
BLAIR— MA CKNIGHT 
 
 407 
 
 divines of the time. They have gone 
 through many editions. — Stephen, Les- 
 lie, 1886, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. V, p. 160. 
 
 The only reason for mentioning Blair 
 amid so many of his betters is that he wrote 
 popular lectures on rhetoric, in which he 
 said a deal about proportioning the sen- 
 tence, but nothing about the paragraph ; 
 and one is curious to see if such men as 
 Blair, Campbell, and Kames, personally 
 followed paragraph law. Blair's smooth 
 
 Shaftesburian style leads him securely 
 from sentence to sentence ; he writes 
 nearly six monotonous sentences to the 
 paragraph ; he follows the loose order of 
 procedure in the paragraph, and observes 
 the law of unity. In brief, it is strange 
 that such mildly correct rhetoricians as 
 he, wrote respectable paragraphs, but, 
 amid the multitude of their stylistic theo- 
 ries, had no theory of the process. — 
 Lewis, Edwin Herbert, 1894, The His- 
 tory of the English Paragraph, p. 120. 
 
 James Macknight 
 
 1721-1800 
 
 An eminent Scotch divine, was born in Ayrshire in 1721. He studied in the 
 University of Glasgow, but, like many of the Presbyterian divines both of his own coun- 
 try and of England, went abroad, and finished his studies at Leyden. On his return 
 he entered the ministry in the Scotch Church (in 1753) as pastor of Maybole, in Ayr- 
 shire. Here he spent sixteen years, during which time he prepared three works : "A 
 Harmony of the Gospels" (Lond. 1756, 2 vols. 4to), with copious illustrations, being, 
 in fact, a life of Christ, embracing everything which the evangelists have related con- 
 cerning him: — "A New Translation of the Epistles" (published in 1795 in 4 vols. 4to, 
 and later in 6 vols. 8vo.) :— and ''Truth of Gospel History" (1763, 4to). These works 
 were favorably received, and are to this day highly esteemed. The ''Harmony" has 
 been repeatedly printed, and to the later editions there are added several dissertations 
 on curious points in the history or antiquities of the Jews. The theology of them is 
 what is called moderately orthodox. For these his valuable services to sacred liter- 
 ature Dr. Macknight received the rewards in the power of the Presbyterian Church to 
 give. The Degree of D. D. was conferred upon him by the University of Edinburgh. 
 In 1769 he was removed from Maybole to the more desirable parish of Jedburgh, and 
 in 1772 he became one of the ministers at Edinburgh. Here he continued for the 
 remainder of his life, useful in the ministry and an ornament to the Church. He died 
 Jan. 13, 1800. — Worman, J. H., 1873, Cyclopcedia of Biblical, Theological and Eccle- 
 siastical Literature, eds. MClintock and Strong, vol. v, p. 624. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I think I see his large, square, bony 
 visage, his enormous white wig, girdled 
 by many tiers of curls, his old, snulTy 
 black clothes, his broad, flat feet, and his 
 thread-bare iDlue greatcoat. ... He 
 rarely walked without reading. His elbows 
 were stuck, immovably onto his haunches, 
 on which they rested as brackets and 
 enabled him to form a desk for his book. 
 In this attitude he shuffled forward (in the 
 Meadows) at the rate of half an inch 
 each step ; moving his rigid, angular bulk 
 straight forward, without giving place to 
 any person or thing, or being aware indeed 
 that there was anything in the world ex- 
 cept himself and his volume. — Cockburn, 
 Henry Thomas Lord, 1854-6, Memorials 
 of His Time. 
 
 An estimable and learned divine, whose 
 
 "Harmony of the Gospels" was regarded 
 in its day as a marvel of criticism, though 
 simple folk wondered that the doctor 
 should write a book to "make four men 
 agree who never cast oot." — Graham, 
 Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish Men oj Let- 
 ters in the Eighteenth Century, p. 429. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Dr. Macknight closely adheres to the 
 principle of Osiander ; but his paraphrase 
 and commentary contain so much useful 
 information that his "Harmony" has long 
 been regarded as a standard book among 
 divines. It is in the lists of Bishops 
 Watson and Tomline. The preliminary 
 disquisitions greatly enhance its value. — • 
 Horne, Thomas Hartwell, 1818-39, 
 A Manual of Biblical Bibliography, p. 133. 
 
 This ['^Harmony"] is the most valuable 
 work of the kind in the English language. 
 
408 
 
 MA CKNIGHT—STEEVENS 
 
 Less violence is done to the text of the 
 Evangelists than by most harmonies ; and 
 the evangelical narratives, by being 
 minutely compared, often very happily 
 illustrate one another. . . . His pre- 
 liminary observations contain useful in- 
 formation : his notes are seldom profound : 
 and the paraphrase contains sentiments 
 v\7hich do not accord with the doctrine of 
 the Evangelists. . . . This is one of 
 the most useful [''Apostolical Epistles"] 
 and one of the most dangerous books on 
 the New Testament, — which has thrown 
 considerable light on the Epistles, and, at 
 the same time, has propagated most per- 
 nicious views of their leading doctrines. 
 . . . As a critical work it is entitled 
 to rank high. . . . His notes discover 
 very considerable acquaintance with sacred 
 criticism, and, had they contained less of 
 his erroneous theology, would have been 
 very valuable.— Orme, William, 1824, 
 Bibliotheca Biblica. 
 
 Nor let the name of Macknight be for- 
 gotten. His works are, indeed, the more 
 exclusive property of the disciplined theo- 
 logical student ; but the general reader will 
 do well to secure his inviting quartos upon 
 the Gospels and Epistles of the New Testa- 
 ment. In these he will find learning with- 
 out pedantry, and piety without enthu- 
 siasm. In short, no theological collection 
 can be perfect without them. If any man 
 may be said to have exhausted his subject, 
 it is Macknight. — Dibdin, Thomas Frog- 
 NALL, 1824, The Library Companion. 
 
 Balmer — 'Tray, sir, do you admire 
 Macknight as a commentator?" Hall — 
 "Yes, sir, I do, very much: I think 
 it would be exceedingly difficult, indeed, 
 to come after him in expounding the 
 apostolic epistles. I admit, at the same 
 time, that he has grievous deficiencies: 
 there is a lamentable want of spirituality 
 and elevation about him. He never sets 
 
 his foot in the other world if he can get 
 a hole to step into in this ; and he never 
 gives a passage a meaning which would 
 render it applicable and useful in all ages 
 if he can find in it any local or temporary 
 allusion. He makes fearful havoc, sir, of 
 the text on which you preached to-day. 
 His exposition of it is inimitably absurd." 
 The text referred to was Ephesians i. 8 : 
 "Wherein he hath abounded towards us in 
 all wisdom and prudence;" and the "wis- 
 dom and prudence" are explained by 
 Macknight, not of the wisdom of God as 
 displayed in the scheme of redemption, but 
 of the wisdom and prudence granted to the 
 apostles to enable them to discharge their 
 office.— Hall, Robert, 1819-23, Miscel- 
 laneous ■ Gleanings from Mr, HalVs Con- 
 versational Remarks by Rev. Robert Balmer y 
 Works ^ ed. Gregory, vol. VI, p. 121. 
 
 This work ["Truth of Gospel History 
 Shewed"] is admitted by the best judges 
 to be a performance as useful and instruct- 
 ive as any we have on that important sub- 
 ject.— Lowndes, William Thomas, 1839, 
 British Librarian. 
 
 McKnight's "Harmony" is one of the 
 standard works in the literature of the 
 subject. . . . McKnight on the "Epis- 
 tles" is also one of the standard works 
 which every theologian wishes to have in 
 his library. Neither of these works is ex- 
 haustive or final. The science of her- 
 meneutics have made great advance since 
 McKnight' s day. Yet they are works of 
 great ability and of original research and 
 no interpreter even now can safely pass 
 them by as superseded. — Hart, John S., 
 1872, A Manual of English Literature, 
 p. 373. 
 
 His style had little elegance or orna- 
 ment, but it is clear and pertinent to the 
 subject. — Mackintosh, John, 1878-96, 
 The History of Civilisation in Scotland, 
 vol. IV, p. 216. 
 
 George Steevens 
 
 1736-1800 
 
 Shakspeare scholar ; born at Stepney, London, May 10, 1736; was educated at King's 
 College, Cambridge ; devoted himself to Shakspearean studies, and in 1766 published, 
 in 4 vols. 8vo, "Twenty of the Plays of Shakspeare, being the whole number printed 
 in Quarto during his Lifetime," etc., which led to his association with Dr. Johnson 
 in an annotated edition published in 1773 under their joint names. Afterward, in con- 
 junction with Issac Reed, he prepared two new editions (1785 and 1793). His editions 
 remained the standard for the text for almost fifty years. He also assisted in the 
 
GEORGE STEEVENS 
 
 409 
 
 preparation of the **Biographia Dramatica," and furnished contributions to Nichols's 
 "Biographical Anecdotes of Hogarth." Died at Hampstead, Jan. 22, 1800. — Beers, 
 Henry A., rev. 1897, Johnson's Universal Cyclopcedia, vol.Yii, p. 735. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 His slaver so subtle no med'cine allays, 
 It kills by kind paragraphs, poisons with 
 praise. 
 
 The "Chronicle," James, but too truly can 
 tell 
 
 How the malice of man can fetch poison 
 from Hell. 
 
 — Bryant, Jacob, 1789, Verses to Horace 
 Walpole. 
 
 If we possessed the secret history of the 
 literary life of George Steevens, it would 
 display an unparalleled series of arch 
 deception and malicious ingenuity. He 
 has been happily characterized by Gifford, 
 as ' ' the Puck of Commentators !' ' Steevens 
 is a creature so spotted over with literary 
 forgeries and adulterations, that any re- 
 markable one about the time he flourished 
 may be attributed to him. They were the 
 habits of a depraved mind, and there was 
 a darkness in his character many shades 
 deeper than belonged to Puck ; even in the 
 playfulness of his invention, there was 
 usually a turn of personal malignitj% and 
 the real object was not so much to raise 
 a laugh, as to ''grin horribly a ghastly 
 smile," on the individual. It is more 
 than rumoured, that he carried his ingen- 
 ious malignity into the privacies of domes- 
 tic life; and it is to be regretted, that 
 Mr. Nichols, who might have furnished 
 much secret history of this extraordinary 
 literary forger, has, from delicacy, muti- 
 lated his collective vigour. — Disraeli, 
 Isaac, 1824, On Puck the Commentator^ 
 Curiosities of Literature. 
 
 I have elsewhere called Steevens the 
 Puck of Commentators; and I know not that 
 I could have described him more graphic- 
 ally. Yet in this, strict justice, I fear, is 
 hardly done to Puck. Both delighted to 
 mislead, and both enjoyed the fruits of 
 their mischievous activity ; but the frank 
 and boisterous laugh, the jolly hoh ! hoh ! 
 hoh ! of the fairy hobgoblin degenerated 
 in his follower to a cold and malignant 
 grin, which he retired to his cell to enjoy 
 alone. Steevens was an acute and appre- 
 hensive mind, cankered by envy and de- 
 based. — Gifford, William, 1827, ed. 
 Dramatic Works of Ford, Introduction, 
 vol. I. 
 
 George Steevens and Cumberland . . . 
 would have echoed the praises of the man 
 
 whom they envied, and then have sent to 
 the newspapers anonymous libels upon 
 him. — Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 
 1843, Oliver Goldsmith, Critical and His- 
 torical Essays. 
 
 As a critic, he has several qualifications 
 — a scholar, a wit, of ready perceptions, an 
 appetite for work, and not indisposed to 
 those antiquarian pursuits required by the 
 undertaking. He did not, however, intend 
 so wide a range in research as the subject 
 of this Memoir had in view ; nor was he of 
 course so successful. Neither did he in a 
 private capacity win the favourable opinion 
 of contemporaries. He had the unhappy 
 art of making enemies. He is represented 
 as sarcastic, ill-natured, jealous, envious, 
 self-sufficient, and while occasionally prone 
 to a kind of generous action, quite as ready 
 to evince bitter malignity for small or 
 fancied offences. — Prior, Sir James, 
 1861, Life of Edmond Malone, Editor of 
 Shakespeare, p. 48. 
 
 But Steevens' s irrepressible saturnine 
 humour overshadowed his virtues. In 
 conversation, even with intimates, he reck- 
 lessly sacrificed truth to cynicism. Dr. 
 Parr, who was well disposed towards him, 
 said he was one of the wisest, most learned, 
 but most spiteful of men. Johnson, the 
 most indulgent of his friends, admitted 
 that he was mischievous, but argued that 
 he would do no man an essential injury. 
 When Lord Mansfield remarked that one 
 could only believe half of what Steevens 
 said, the doctor sagely retorted that no 
 one could tell which half deserved cre- 
 dence. — Lee, Sidney, 1898, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. liv, p. 145. 
 
 EDITION OF SHAKESPEARE 
 Steevens is a dangerous guide for such 
 as do not look well about them. His errors 
 are specious ; for he was a man of ingenu- 
 ity : but he w^as often wantonly mischiev- 
 ous, and delighted to stumble for the mere 
 gratification of dragging unsuspecting in- 
 nocents into the mire with him. He 
 was, in short, the very Puck of com- 
 mentators. — Gifford, William, 1811, 
 Ford's Dramatic Works, Quarterly Review, 
 vol. 6, p. 478. 
 
 The sources whence they drew their 
 waters were muddy ; and Steevens, who 
 
410 
 
 GEORGE STEEVENS 
 
 affected more gayety in his chains than his 
 brothers in the Shakespearian galley, with 
 bitter derision reproached his great coad- 
 jutor Malone, whom he looked on with 
 the evil eye of rivalry for drawing his 
 knowledge from ''books too mean to be 
 formally quoted." The commentators 
 have encumbered the poet, who often has 
 been but a secondary object of their 
 lucubrations ; for they not only write notes 
 on Shakespeare, but notes, and bitter ones 
 too, on one another. This commentary 
 has been turned into a gymnasium for the 
 public sports of friendly and of unfriendly 
 wrestlers ; where some have been so earn- 
 est, that it is evident, that, in measuring 
 a^cast, they congratulated themselves in 
 the language of Orlando: "If ever he 
 goes alone again, I'll never wrestle for 
 prize more." — Disraeli, Isaac, 1841, 
 Shakespeare, Amenities of Literature. 
 
 And this then is the text of Shakspere 
 that England has rejoiced in for half a 
 century ! These are the labours, whether 
 of correction or of critical opinion, that 
 have made Shakspere ''popular." The 
 critical opinions have ceased, we believe, 
 to have any effect except amongst a few 
 pedantic persons, who fancy that it is 
 cleverer to dispraise than to admire. But 
 the text as corrupted by Steevens is that 
 which is generally put into the hands of the 
 readers of Shakspere. The number of the 
 editions of the text alone of Shakspere 
 printed during the present century is by 
 no means inconsiderable ; and of these edi- 
 tions, which are constantly multiplying, 
 there are many thousand copies year by 
 year supplying the large and increasing 
 demand for a knowledge of our greatest 
 poet. With very few exceptions, indeed, 
 all these editions are copies of some edition 
 whose received text is considered as a 
 standard — even the copying of typograph- 
 ical errors. That received text, to use 
 the words of the title-page of what is called 
 the trade edition, is, "From the text of 
 the corrected copies left by the late George 
 Steevens, Esq., and Edmund Malone, Esq." 
 If we were to suppose, from this title, that 
 Steevens and Malone had agreed together 
 to leave a text for the benefit of posterity, 
 we should be signally deceived. The re- 
 ceived text is that produced by Steevens, 
 when he fancied himself "at liberty to re- 
 store some apparent meaning to Shaks- 
 pere's corrupted lines, and a decent flow 
 
 to his obstructed versification." Malone 
 was walking in his own track, that of ex- 
 treme caution, and an implicit reliance on 
 the very earliest copies. The text of his 
 edition of 1821, though deformed with 
 abundant marks of carelessness, is an 
 honest text, if we admit the principle 
 upon which it is founded. But the 
 text of Steevens, in which the peculiar 
 versification of Shakspere, especially 
 its freedom, its vigour, its variety of 
 pause, its sweetness, its majesty, are 
 sacrificed to what he called "polished 
 versification, " has been received for nearly 
 half a century as the standard text. — ■ 
 Knight, Charles, 1849, Studies of Shaks- 
 pere, p. 551. 
 
 Steevens is one of the most acute and 
 accomplished of Shakespeare's commenta- 
 tors ; but rarely have abilities and acquire- 
 ments been put to more unfruitful use. 
 To show his ability to suggest ' ' ingenious' ' 
 readings, he wantonly rejected the obvi- 
 ous significance of the text, and perverted 
 the author's meaning, or destroyed the in- 
 tegrity of his work. He was witty, and 
 not only launched his shafts at his fellow- 
 commentators, but turned them against his 
 author, and, most intolerable of all, at- 
 tempted to substitute his own smartness 
 for Shakespeare's humor. He had an ac- 
 curate — mechanically accurate — ear, and 
 ruthlessly mutilated, or patched up Shakes- 
 peare's lines to a uniform standard of ten 
 syllables. — White, Richard Grant, 1854, 
 Shakespeare's Scholar, p. 18, 
 
 The main business of Steevens's life was 
 the systematic study and annotation of 
 Shakespeare's works. . . . The younger 
 man brought to his task exceptional dili- 
 gence, method, and antiquarian knowledge 
 of literature. His illustrative quotations 
 from rare contemporary literature were 
 apter and more abundant than any to be 
 met with elsewhere. But his achievement 
 exhibited ingrained defects of taste and 
 temper. He spoke scornfully of the 
 labours of many predecessors, and espe- 
 cially of those of Edward Capell, one of the 
 most capable. — Lee, Sidney, 1898, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, vol. Liv, 
 p. 144. 
 
 GENERAL 
 This gentleman, whose memory will be 
 handed down to posterity as long as com- 
 mentaries on Shakspeare exist, followed 
 his usual mode of conduct with respect to 
 
STEEVENS— ROBINSON 
 
 411 
 
 the fabricated 'manuscripts: he did not 
 boldly enter the lists; but, like a mole, 
 worked in secret; and, when occasion 
 served, stung with the subtlety of a viper. 
 — Whether this gentleman lent his friendly 
 aid to Mr. Malone, in the course of his In- 
 quiry, I will not pretend to say, though I 
 rather conceive, that upon that occasion, 
 the rival commentators, like the two kings 
 of Brentford, "smelt at one nosegay, ' ' and 
 
 buried their private feelings in the general 
 
 attempt to crush that which would have 
 proved so many of their labours of non 
 effect had it passed current with the 
 world.— Ireland, William Henry, 1805, 
 Confessions, p. 227. 
 
 He was acute and well read in dramatic 
 literature, but prone to literary mystifica- 
 tion and deception. — Chambers, Robert, 
 1876, Cyclopcedia of English Literature. 
 
 Mary Robinson 
 
 1758-1800 
 
 Mary Robinson, also called Maria, 1758-1800, the daughter of an American sea- 
 captain named Darby, but a native of Bristol, England, was married at fifteen to Mr. 
 Robinson, whose pecuniary difficulties caused his wife to try her fortune on the stage. 
 Whilst performing in the character of Perdita (a name which she subsequently assumed 
 in amatory correspondence), she attracted the attention of the Prince of Wales 
 (afterwards George IV.), then in his 18th year. An intimacy of two years with this 
 person was followed by one equally reprehensible with an officer of the army. She 
 pub. a vol. of 'Toems" in 1775, 8vo; Captivity, a Poem, and Celadon and Lydia, a 
 Tale," 1777, 4to; 2 more vols, of Poems," 8vo, in 1791 ; a number of single poems, 
 novels, plays, pamphlets, &c., between 1775 and 1799; and "The False Friend," 1799 
 4 vols, 12mo. "The Effusions of Love, " purporting to be her correspondence with 
 the Prince of Wales, was pub. in 177 — , 8vo; her "Lyrical Tales" appeared in 1800, 
 cr. 8vo; her "Memoirs," written by herself, were pub. after her death in 1801, 4 
 vols. 12mo. (also 1826, 12mo; and again with Charlotte Clarke's "Autobiographv," 
 18mo. and 12mo) ; her "Poems," 1803, 2 vols, 12mo; and the "Poetical Works of the 
 late Mrs. Robinson, now first collected," were pub. by her daughter, Mary Robinson, 
 in 1806, 3 vols. p. 8vo. — Allibone, S. Austin, 1870, Critical Dictionary of English 
 Literature, vol. ii, p. 1839. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Charles Fox is languishing at the feet 
 of Mrs. Robinson. George Selwyn says, 
 "Who should the Man of the People live 
 with, but with the Woman of the People ? " 
 — Walpole, Horace, 1782, To the Earl 
 of Harcourt, Sept. 7 ; Letters, ed. Cunning- 
 ham, vol. VIII, p. 276. 
 So melting is thy lute's soft tone, 
 
 Each breast unused to feel desire. 
 Confesses bliss before unknown. 
 
 And kindles at the sacred fire ! 
 So cliaste, so eloquent thy song. 
 
 So true each precept it conveys, 
 That e'en the Sage shall teach the Young 
 
 To take their lesson from thy lays. 
 And when thy pen's delightful art 
 
 Paints with soft touch Love's tender flame ; 
 Thy verse so melts and mends the heart, 
 
 Tliat, taught by thee, we prize his name. 
 — BuRGOYNE, Gen. John, 1791, To Mrs. 
 Robinson. 
 
 Farewell to the nymph of my heart ! 
 
 Farewell to the cottage and vine ! 
 
 From these, with a tear, I depart. 
 
 Where pleasure so often was nwie. 
 
 Remembrance shall dwell on her smile, 
 
 And dwell on her lute and her song ; 
 
 That sweetly my hours to beguile, 
 
 Oft echoed the valleys along. 
 
 Once more the fair scene let me view. 
 
 The grotto, the brook, and the grove. 
 
 Dear valleys, for ever adieu ! 
 
 Adieu to the Daughter of Love ! 
 — Wolcot, John, 1800, A Pastoral Elegy 
 on the Death of Mrs. Robinson. 
 
 *'Nay, but thou dost not know her might, 
 The pinions of her soul, how strong! 
 But many a stranger in my height 
 Hath sung to me her magic song. 
 
 Sending forth his ecstasy 
 
 In her divinest melody, 
 And hence I know her soul is free. 
 She is, where'er she wills to be, 
 
 Unfetter'd by mortality! 
 
 Now to 'the haunted beach' can fly, 
 Beside the threshold scourg'd with waves, 
 Now where the maniac wildly raves, 
 
 Pale Moon, thou spectre of the ski/ ! 
 No wind tliat hurries o'er my height 
 Can travel with so swift a flight. 
 
 I too, methinks, might merit 
 
 The presence of her spirit ! 
 
412 
 
 MARY ROBINSON 
 
 To me too might belong 
 The honour of her song and witching melody, 
 
 Which most resembles me, 
 
 Soft, various, and sublime, 
 
 Exempt from wrongs of time! " 
 Thus spake the mighty mount, and I 
 Made answer, with a deep drawn sigh: — 
 "Thou ancient Skiddaw! by this tear, 
 I would, I would, that she were here!" 
 
 —Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1800, A 
 Stranger Minstrel. 
 
 Deathless was to be the young Prince's 
 love, and his munificence was to be equal 
 to his truth. In proof of the latter, he 
 gave her a bond for £20,000, to be paid 
 to her on his coming of age. In a few 
 months he attained his majority, refused to 
 pay the money, and made no secret to the 
 lady of his deathless love having altogether 
 died out. He passed her in the park, 
 affecting not to know her ; and the spirited 
 young woman, who had given up a lucra- 
 tive profession for his sake, flung a remark 
 at him, in her indignation, that ought to 
 have made him blush, had he been to that 
 manner born. However, she was not alto- 
 gether abandoned. The patriotic Whig 
 statesman, Charles Fox, obtained for the 
 Prince's cast-off favourite an annuity of 
 £300, — out of the pockets of a tax-paying 
 people ! . . . There was good in this 
 hapless creature. Throughout life, she 
 was the loving and helping child of her 
 mother, the loving and helpful mother of 
 her child, for both of whom she laboured 
 ungrudgingly, to the last. Hannah More, 
 herself, would not harshly construe the 
 conduct of her pupil. *'I make the great- 
 est allowance for inexperience and novel 
 passions," was the comment of Horace 
 Walpole. **Poor Perdita!" said Mrs. 
 Siddons, ^*I pity her from my very heart !" 
 — Dor AN, John, 1863, Annals of the Eng- 
 lish Stage, vol, ii, p. 214. 
 
 The actress had made great way in 
 public favour — she was becoming a favour- 
 ite with the town. She was not powerful, 
 perhaps, but she was certainly pleasing ; 
 not a great artist but a very graceful one. 
 She could not take the public by storm ; 
 but she could win them gradually, holding 
 them just as securely at last. It was 
 difficult to resist the beauty of her face 
 and form — the charm of her voice. More 
 than these was not required in many of 
 her characters. She had no genius, but 
 she had a cultivated cleverness which did 
 nearly as ;_weli. She was very lovely. 
 
 dressed beautifully, could be arch and 
 sparkling, or tender and pathetic. The 
 good-natured audience demanded no more 
 — they gave her their hands and hearts 
 without further question, thundering their 
 applause.— Cook, Dutton, 1865-81, Poor 
 Perdita, Hours with the Players, vol. i, p. 73. 
 
 Of all the black spots that rest upon 
 the character of this prince, there are few 
 blacker than his treatment of this un- 
 fortunate lady ; and how little blame was 
 considered to attach to her, by those whom 
 envy and malice did not render partial 
 judges, is proved by the sympathy and 
 friendship which she obtained from many 
 persons of high standing in society. — 
 Baker, Henry Barton, 1879, English 
 Actors from Shakespeare to Macready, vol. 
 II, p. 95. 
 
 GENERAL 
 As an authoress, she displays very con- 
 siderable powers, but, being one of the 
 Delia Cruscan school, she was mercilessly 
 attacked by Gifford.— Rowton, Frederic, 
 1848, The Female Poets of Great Britain, 
 p. 166. 
 
 There were in her day many admirers of 
 her writings, though they have since sunk 
 into comparative f orgetf ulness, and justly, 
 as they are not characterized by merit 
 sufficient to warrant praise. — Bethune, 
 George W., 1848, The British Female 
 Poets, p. 85. 
 
 Perdita was not idle ; she wrote poems 
 and novels : the former, tender in senti- 
 ment and expression ; the latter, not with- 
 out power and good sense. She had under- 
 taken to supply the Morning Post with 
 poetry, when she died. — Doran, John, 
 1863, Annals of the English Stage, vol. ii, 
 p. 214. 
 
 As an author she was credited in her 
 own day with the feeling, taste, and ele- 
 gance, and was called the English Sappho. 
 Some of her songs, notably Bounding 
 Billow, cease thy motion," Lines to him 
 who well understood them," and **The 
 Haunted Beach, ' ' enjoyed much popularity 
 in the drawing-room; but though her 
 verse has a certain measure of facility, it 
 appears, to modern tastes, jejune, affected, 
 and inept. Wolcott (Peter Pindar) and 
 others belauded her in verse, celebrating 
 her graces, which were real, and her 
 talents, which were imaginary. — Knight, 
 Joseph, 1897, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. xlix, p. 33. 
 
413 
 
 Charles Johnstone 
 
 1719?-180U? 
 
 Charles Johnstone, novelist, descended from branch of the Johnstones of Annan- 
 dale, Dumfriesshire, born at Carrigogunnel in the county of Limerick about 1719, 
 was educated in the university of Dublin, where, however, he does not appear to have 
 taken a degree. He was called to the bar, but extreme deafness prevented his practice 
 except as a chamber lawyer, and not succeeding in that branch of the profession, he had 
 recourse to literature for his support. His chief work, entitled ''Chrysal, or the 
 Adventures of a Guinea," and frequently reprinted, appeared in 4 vols., London, 
 1760-5. The first and second volumes had been written during a visit to the Earl of 
 Mount-Edgcumbe in Devonshire. The book pretended to reveal political secrets, and 
 to expose the profligacy of well-known public characters. It soon attracted attention 
 as ''the best scandalous chronicle of the day." In May 1782 Johnstone sailed for 
 India, and very narrowly escaped death by shipwreck on the voyage. He found em- 
 ployment in writing for the Bengal newspaper press, under the signature of "Oneir- 
 opolos." He became in time joint proprietor of a journal, and is said to have acquired 
 considerable property. He died at Calcutta about 1800. Johnstone was also the 
 author of 1. ''The Reverie, or a Flight to the Paradise of Fools," 2 vols. London, 
 1762. 2. "The History of Arbases, Prince of Betlis," 2 vols. 1774. 3. "The 
 Pilgrim, or a Picture of Life," 2 vols. 1775. 4. "History of John Juniper, Esq., 
 aZias Juniper Jack, " 3 vols. 1781. — Blacker, B. H., 1892, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. xxx, p. 73. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 His talents were of a lively and com- 
 panionable sort, and as he was much abroad 
 in the world, he had already, in his youth, 
 kept such general society with men of all 
 descriptions, as enabled him to trace their 
 vices and follies with a pencil so power- 
 ful. . . . His language is firm and 
 energetic — his power of personifying 
 character striking and forcible, and the 
 persons of his narrative move, breathe, and 
 speak, in all the freshness of life. His 
 sentiments are, in general, those of the 
 bold, high-minded, and indignant censor of 
 a loose and corrupted age. . . . Feeling 
 and writing under the popular impression 
 of the moment, Johnstone has never failed 
 to feel and write like a true Briton, with 
 a sincere admiration of his country's laws, 
 an ardent desire for her prosperity, and 
 a sympathy with her interests, which more 
 than atone for every error and prejudice. 
 — Scott, Sir Walter, 1821, Charles 
 Johnstone. 
 
 As Dr. Johnson — to whom the manu- 
 script was shewn by the bookseller — ad- 
 vised the publication of the "Adventures 
 of a Guinea," and as it experienced con- 
 siderable success, the novel may be pre- 
 sumed to have possessed superior merit. 
 It exhibits a variety of incidents, related 
 in the style of Le Sage and Smollett, but 
 the satirical portraits are overcharged, 
 and the author, like Juvenal, was too fond 
 
 of lashing and exaggerating the vices of 
 his age.— Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cydo- 
 pcedia of English Literature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 A depraved mind only could find any 
 pleasure in reading "Chrysal," and who- 
 ever is obliged to read it from cover to 
 cover for the purpose of describing it to 
 others, must find himself, at the end of his 
 task, in sore vexation of spirit. Human 
 depravity is never an agreeable subject 
 for a work of entertainment, and while 
 Swift's genius holds the reader fascinated 
 with the horror of his Yahoos, the ability 
 of a Manley or a Johnstone is not sufficient 
 to aid the reader in wading through their 
 vicious expositions of corruption. It 
 must be said that Johnstone had some ex- 
 cuse. If he were to satirize society at 
 all, it was better that he should do it 
 thoroughly ; that he should expose official 
 greed and dishonesty, the orgies of 
 Medenham Abbey, the infamous extortions 
 of trading justices, in all their native ugli- 
 ness. It must be said that the time in 
 which he lived presented many features to 
 the painter of manners which could not 
 look otherwise than repulsive on his can- 
 vas. But his zeal to expose the vices of 
 his age led him into doing great injustice 
 to some persons, and into grossly libelling 
 others. He imputed crimes to individuals 
 of which he could have had no knowledge ; 
 and he shamefully misrepresented the 
 Methodists and the Jews. If Johnstone 
 
414 
 
 JOHNSTONE— ORME • 
 
 had wished to see how offensive a book he 
 might write, and how disgusting and in- 
 decent a book the public of his day would 
 read and applaud, he might well have 
 brought ''Chrysal" into the world. If he 
 had intended, by exposing crime, to check 
 it, he had better have burned his manu- 
 script. He has added one other corruption 
 to those he exposed, and one other evi- 
 dence of the lack of taste and decency 
 
 which characterized his time.— Tucker- 
 man, Bayard, 1882, A History of Prose 
 Fiction, p. 240. 
 
 This savage and gloomy book, which, 
 perhaps, took its form from a reminiscence 
 of Addison's "Adventures of a Shilling," 
 in the Tattler, was a very clever follow- 
 ing of Smollett in his most satiric mood. 
 — GossE, Edmund, 1888, A History of 
 Eighteenth Century Literature, p, 271. 
 
 Robert Orme 
 
 1728-1801 
 
 Author of a ''History of British India," was the son of John Orme, surgeon in 
 Bombay, and was born at Anjengo, Travancore, in June 1728. He w^as sent to Harrow 
 school in 1736, and in 1742 to a school near London to obtain an education preparing 
 him for commercial pursuits. In 1744 he became a clerk in the East India Company's 
 service in Calcutta. In 1752 he went to Madras, and in the following year he returned 
 home with Lord Clive, with whom he lived on terms of close intimacy. His knowledge 
 of Indian affairs gave him considerable influence with the company. Returning to 
 Madras in 1755, he was appointed a member of the council, and in this position took 
 an active part in directing the military operations in the Carnatic in 1755-59. By 
 the court of directors he was appointed to succeed Lord Pigot in the government of 
 Madras, and in 1757-59 he was commissary-general. In the latter year bad health 
 compelled him to quit India, and he took up his residence in London, where he occupied 
 himself in writing a ''History of the Military Transactions of the British Nation in 
 Indostan from 1745," the first volume appearing in 1763, the second in 1775, and the 
 third in 1778. In acknowledgment of his services he was appointed historiographer 
 to the East India Company with a salary of £400 a year. In 1770 he was chosen a 
 fellow of the Society of Antiquaries. He died at Ealing 13th January 1801. — Baynes, 
 Thomas Spencer, ed., 1884, The Encyclopcedia Britannica, vol. xvii, p. 853. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 A bust of Orme at the age of forty-six, 
 made in 1774 by J. Nollekens, R. A., was 
 bequeathed to the East India Company ; an 
 engraving of it forms the frontispiece to 
 Orme's" Historical Fragments," ed. 1805. 
 His face is described as expressing shrewd- 
 ness and intelligence. Orme bad a taste 
 for painting and sculpture, and was a lover 
 of Handel.— Wroth, Warwick, 1895, 
 Dictionary of National Biography, vol. xui, 
 p. 257. 
 
 HISTORY OF BRITISH INDIA 
 
 1763-78 
 
 Orme, inferior to no English historian 
 in style and power of painting, is minute 
 even to tediousness. In one volume he 
 allots, on an average, a closely-printed 
 quarto page to the events of every forty- 
 eight hours. The consequence is that his 
 narrative, though one of the most authentic 
 and one of the most finely written in our 
 language, has never been very popular, and 
 is now scarcely ever read. — Macaulay, 
 
 Thomas Babington, 1840, Sir John Mai- 
 corn's Life of Lord Clive, Edinburgh Re- 
 view ; Critical and Miscellaneous Essays, 
 
 Colonel Newcome's favourite work. — 
 Thackeray, William Makepeace, 1854- 
 5, The Newcomes. 
 
 As a writer, he had formed his taste in 
 the school of Robertson. He had some 
 imagination, much clearness, a pure dic- 
 tion, and many agreeable qualities. He 
 was truthful, accurate^ and desirous in 
 every particular to avoid exaggeration, 
 and to prepare a reliable narrative of a 
 series of remarkable events. . . . Orme's 
 style, manner, and subject seem to have 
 delighted his contemporaries. Robertson 
 and Sir William Jones unite in praising 
 them highly, and Sterne speaks in graceful 
 praise, in a letter to his daughter, of Mr. 
 Orme's agreeable History. Although he 
 was no philosopher, nor gifted with any 
 remarkable learning or originality, he was 
 honest, truthful, and sincere Some of 
 his descriptions, too, are written with a 
 
ORME— WA KEFIELD 
 
 415 
 
 simplicity and natural power that remind Accurate and perspicuous. — Craik, 
 
 one strongly of Herodotus.— Lawrence, George L., 1861, A Compendious History 
 
 Eugene, 1855, Lives of the British His- of English Literature and of the English 
 
 torians, vol. ii, pp. 314, 316. Language, vol. ii, p. 360. 
 
 Gilbert Wakefield 
 
 1756-1801 
 
 English divine; born at Nottingham, Feb. 22, 1756; died in London, Sept. 9, 1801. 
 He was graduated at Cambridge, 1776, obtained a fellowship ; took holy orders, left 
 (1786), and violently assailed the Established Church. He joined no other communion. 
 From 1779 to 1783 he was classical tutor in the dissenting academy at Warrington, 
 and for a year (1790-91) the same in the dissenting academy at Hackney. His later 
 views were Unitarian. Gentle in domestic life, he yet was acrimonious in controversy. 
 He published editions of Bion and Moschus, Virgil and Lucretius, and many original 
 books, of which may be mentioned, *'An enquiry into the opinions of the Christian 
 writers of the three first centuries concerning the person of Christ," London, 1784, 
 (only vol. 1 printed) ; ''Enquiry into the expediency and propriety of social worship," 
 1791 (in which he takes strong ground against it) ; ''Translations of the New Testa- 
 ment," 1791, 3 vols. (2d. ed., 1795, 2 vols, reprinted, Cambridge, Mass., 1820), "An 
 examination of the Age of Reason, by Thomas Paine, " 1794.— Shafp-Herzog, eds., 
 1883, Religious Encyclopcedia, vol. iii, p. 2470. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I was introduced into this planet on 
 February 22, 1756, in the parsonage house 
 of St. Nicholas, in Nottingham, of which 
 church my father was rector. . . . 
 From my earliest infancy I was endowed 
 with affections unusually composed, with 
 a disposition grave and serious. I was in- 
 spired from the first with a most ardent 
 desire of knowledge, such as I believe hath 
 never been surpassed in any breast, nor 
 for a moment impaired in mine. . . . 
 At the age of three years, I could spell the 
 longest words, say my catechism without 
 hesitation, and read the gospels with flu- 
 ency. — Wakefield, Gilbert, 1772, Auto- 
 biography. 
 
 He had the pale complexion and mild 
 features of a saint, was a most gentle 
 creature in domestic life, and a very 
 amiable man; but when he took part in 
 political or religious controversy, his pen 
 was dipped in gall. — Robinson, Henry 
 Crabbe, 1799, Diary, Reminiscences and 
 Correspondence. 
 
 Porson was never at any pains to conceal 
 his extreme contempt for Wakefield. 
 There was at one time a seeming sort of 
 friendly communication ; but whilst Wake- 
 field aimed at being thought on a level with 
 Porson in point of attainments, this latter 
 must unavoidably have felt the conscious- 
 ness of his own great superiority. — Indeed, 
 the difference between them was immense. 
 
 Without disparagement to Wakefield, his 
 warmest advocates must acknowledge, 
 that although he formed his opinions 
 hastily, he never failed to vindicate them 
 with peremptory decision. In consequence 
 of this eagerness and haste, his criticisms 
 were frequently erroneous, and his con- 
 clusions false; neither, if detected in 
 error, would his pride allow him either to 
 confess, or retract his fault. — Beloe, 
 William, 1817, The Sexagenarian, vol. i, 
 p. 222. 
 
 He did himself less than justice in his 
 writings; but his private life was spot- 
 lessly pure, pre-eminently true, and great 
 in qualities which only those who knew 
 him intimately and enjoyed his friendship 
 had the opportunity of knowing. It con- 
 veys a disagreeable impression of himself 
 in his autobiography (a work now almost 
 unknown), but this impression those who 
 loved him declare to be quite a false one, 
 due only to his unfortunate manner of ex- 
 pressing himself and a want of moderation 
 and judgment. That stern obedience to 
 conscience which, in the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, brought him to Dorchester Goal, 
 would certainly, in the fifteenth, have 
 gained him a martyr's death; since he 
 never hesitated for a moment to sacrifice 
 what he held most dear to his intense and 
 ardent conviction of truth. — AIartix, 
 Mary E.,1883, Memories of Seventy Years, 
 by One of a Literary Family, p. 176. 
 
416 
 
 GILBERT WAKEFIELD 
 
 ■ 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Wakefield possesses exquisite taste and 
 a most luxuriant fancy, as a critic ; and 
 one grieves that he should ever have mis- 
 applied his powers to politics and religion. 
 —Green, Thomas, 1779-1810, Diary of 
 a Lover of Literature. 
 
 His ravages on Virgil and Horace, in 
 his late editions of them are often as 
 shocking to taste as to truth. — Mathias, 
 Thomas James, 1797, The Pursuits of Lit- 
 erature, Eighth ed., p. 113, note. 
 
 The late Gilbert Wakefield is an instance 
 where the political and theological opin- 
 ions of a recluse student tainted his pure 
 literary works. Condemned as an enraged 
 Jacobin by those who were Unitarians in 
 politics, and rejected because he was a 
 Unitarian in religion by the orthodox, poor 
 Wakefield's literary labours were usually 
 reduced to the value of waste-paper. We 
 smile, but half in sorrow, in reading a letter, 
 where he says, "I meditate a beginning 
 during the winter, of my criticisms on all 
 the ancient Greek and Latin authors, by 
 small piece-meals, on the cheapest possible 
 paper, and at the least possible expense of 
 printing. As I can never do more than 
 barely indemnify myself, I shall print only 
 250 copies." He half ruined himself by 
 his splendid edition of Lucretius, which 
 could never obtain even common patronage 
 from the opulent friends of classical litera- 
 ture. Since his death it has been re- 
 printed, and is no doubt now a marketable 
 article for the bookseller; so that if some 
 authors are not successful for themselves, 
 it is a comfort to think how useful, 
 in a variety of shapes, they are made 
 so to others. Even Gilbert's "contracted 
 scheme of publication" he was compelled 
 to abandon ! Yet the classic erudition of 
 Wakefield was confessed, and is still re- 
 membered. — Disraeli, Isaac, 1814, Po- 
 litical Criticism, Quarrels of Authors, note. 
 
 The design of Mr. Wakefield in the plan 
 of this work ["Silva Critica"] was the 
 union of theological and classical learn- 
 ing, — the illustration of the Scriptures by 
 light borrowed from the philology of 
 Greece and Rome, as a probable method 
 of recommending the books of revelation 
 to scholars. —HoRNE, Thomas Hartwell, 
 1818-39, A Manual of Biblical Bibliog- 
 raphy. 
 
 Some of the emendations [''Silva 
 Critica"] are too conjectural, and discover 
 
 the natural boldness of the author; but 
 his criticisms often afford a clear and 
 happy solution of difficulties which have 
 hitherto proved insuperable. The com- 
 plete work is now become scarce. — Orme, 
 William, 1824, Bibliotheca Biblica. 
 
 A scholar, and an ardent and multifa- 
 rious one, Gilbert Wakefield undoubtedly 
 was ; but, with his talents and attainments, 
 we regret that a more elegant and interest- 
 ing air is not given to the pages of his 
 biography : and while the sincerity of his 
 religious principles, and the integrity of 
 his private life, cannot fail to be readily 
 admitted, it must be regretted that these 
 excellent qualities did not produce a more 
 placable temper in argument, and a more 
 peaceful tone in literary and political con- 
 troversies. Why should human beings, 
 gifted as was Gilbert Wakefield, dip their 
 pens in gall, when there is abundance of 
 milk within their reach? And why do 
 eminently intellectual characters seem to 
 strive their utmost to make us disgusted 
 with the pursuits and consolations of 
 Literature? Nevertheless, let Gilbert 
 Wakefield's biography find a place upon 
 the shelves of the curious — for a sum some- 
 what less than a sovereign. — Dibdin, 
 Thomas Frognall, 1824, The Library 
 Companion, p. 561. 
 
 Person felt much respect for Gilbert 
 Wakefield's integrity, but very little for 
 his learning. When Wakefield put forth 
 the "Diatribe Extemporalis" on Person's 
 edition of the "Hecuba," Person said, "If 
 Wakefield goes on at this rate, he will 
 tempt me to examine his 'Silva Critica.' 
 I hope that we shall not meet ; for a violent 
 quarrel would be the consequence." — 
 Wakefield was a very agreeable and enter- 
 taining companion. " 'My Lucretius,' "he 
 once said to me, ''is my most perfect pub- 
 lication, — it is, in fact, 'Lucretius Resti- 
 tutus.' " He was a great walker ; he has 
 walked as much as forty miles in one day ; 
 and I believe that his death was partly 
 brought on by excessive walking, after his 
 long confinement in Dorchester goal. 
 What offended Wakefield at Person was, 
 that Person had made no mention of him 
 in his notes. Now, Person told Burney 
 expressly, that out of pure kindness he had 
 forborne to mention Wakefield; for he 
 could not have cited any of his emendations 
 without the severest censure. — Maltby, 
 William, 1854, Porsoniana. 
 
WAKEFIELD -CHAPONE 
 
 417 
 
 Gilbert Wakefield was a man who re- 
 ceived scanty justice. His contemporaries 
 condemned him as hot-headed, arrogant, 
 and eccentric, though they contemptuously 
 admitted his honesty. He was weak 
 enough, they declared, to fall in love with 
 the opinions for which he made sacrifices, 
 and would, so they argued, have ceased to 
 love them had they been generally ac- 
 ceptable. He was as dogmatic about 
 trifles as about serious matters; ''he was 
 as violent against Greek accents as he was 
 against the Trinity, and anathematised 
 the final v as strongly as episcopacy." 
 He had, in short, that love of petty 
 crotchets which distinguishes men of his 
 temperament, and which flourishes in rev- 
 olutionary periods. He was a teetotaler 
 and vegetarian in the good old days of port 
 wine and roast beef, and had he lived a 
 generation later would doubtless have been 
 at the head of numerous societies for the 
 regeneration of mankind. Our ancestors 
 dealt him shorter and sharper measure. — 
 Stephen, Leslie, 1876, History of Eng- 
 lish Thought in the Eighteenth Century, 
 vol. I, p. 441. 
 
 Wakefield possessed accurate scholar- 
 ship and acuteness of intellect, but lacked 
 judgment ; he was violent in his prejudices, 
 and bitter in his animosities ; and he re- 
 belled against authority, equally in church, 
 in state, and in letters. His writings are 
 valuable, not for his conclusions, but for 
 the sharpness of his criticism. — Hart, 
 John S., 1872, A Manual of English Lit- 
 erature, p. 359. 
 
 He was one of those not very uncommon 
 men who, personally amiable, become 
 merely vixenish when they write : and his 
 erudition was much more extensive than 
 sound. But he edited several classical 
 authors, not wholly without intelligence 
 
 and scholarship, and his ''Silva Critica,'" 
 a sort of variorum commentary from 
 profane literature on the Bible, was the 
 forerunner, at least in scheme, of a 
 great deal of work which has been seen 
 since. — Saintsbury, George, 1896, A 
 History of Nineteenth Century Literature. 
 
 He holds a distinct position in the his- 
 tory of English scholarship. As a scholar, 
 he had decided merits and conspicuous de- 
 fects. He had abundance of good taste, 
 extensive general knowledge, and great 
 industry; but these qualifications were 
 counterbalanced by the excessive haste and 
 temerity of his conclusions. His reputa- 
 tion would be higher if he had been a ^ 
 severer critic of himself. He measured 
 swords with Porson with a light heart, 
 and when Porson published his "Hecuba" 
 in 1787, Wakefield immediately assailed 
 the work in a ''Diatribe Extemporalis. " 
 The result was a more or less discourteous 
 controversy, which went on simmering in 
 Porson's notes to the ' ' Orestes' ' and in the 
 second edition of the "Hecuba;" and an 
 estrangement followed. . . . Wakefield's 
 best known works are the"Silva Critica" 
 and the editions of "Lucretius," both of 
 which show him alike at his best and his 
 worst. The former is a medley of critical 
 and illustrative comment on classical pas- 
 sages, acute, ingenious, and widely in- 
 formed, but here and there disfigured by 
 serious blunders that a little thought would 
 have corrected. It was his chief fault as a 
 scholar that he carried his love of emenda- 
 tion to an absurd degree, and fairly justified 
 Person's remark that "no author escaped 
 his rage for correction." "Lucretius," 
 although Wakefield's greatest work, was 
 published at a loss. — Brodribb, A. A., 
 1899, Dictionary of National Biography, 
 vol. Lvni, pp. 454, 455. 
 
 Hester Chapone 
 
 1727-1801 
 
 Authoress, daughter of Thomas Mulso, and born at Twywell, Northants, wrote for the 
 "Rambler" (No. 10), "Adventurer," and "Gentleman's Magazine;" but is now chiefly 
 remembered by her "Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, " (1772). She married 
 an attorney in 1760, but next year was left a widow. See her Works with Life (4 
 vols. 1807).— Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, 
 p. 200. 
 
 PERSONAL mwdX ; but she is deadly ugly to be sure ;— 
 
 I went one evening last week to the Dean such [an] African nose and lips, and such a 
 of Winchester's, where we met Mrs. clunch figure! — Burney, Charlotte Ann, 
 Chapone, who looked less forbidding than 1781 ? Journal, ed. Ellis, June 21, p. 298. 
 
 27 c 
 
418 
 
 CHAPONE—BAGE 
 
 Mrs.Chapone was of a lively and sanguine 
 temperament, possessed of humour and 
 sagacity, and knowledge of the world, 
 which made her an entertaining com- 
 panion, and a sound adviser. Her disposi- 
 tion was kind and amiable, and her princi- 
 ples were excellent. — Brydges, Sir Sam- 
 uel Egerton, 1807, Censura Literariay 
 vol. V, p. 320. 
 
 But though the dignity of her mind de- 
 manded, as it deserved, the respect of some 
 return to the visits which her love of 
 society induced her to pay, it was a tete-a-tete 
 alone that gave pleasure to the intercourse 
 with Mrs. Chapone : her sound understand- 
 ing, her sagacious observations, her turn 
 to humour, and the candour of her alfec- 
 tionate nature, all then came into play 
 without effort : and her ease of mind, when 
 freed from the trammels of doing the 
 honours of reception, seemed to soften off, 
 even to herself, her corporeal infirmities. 
 It was thus that she struck Dr.Burney with 
 the sense of her worth ; and seemed por- 
 traying in herself the original example 
 whence the precepts had been drawn, for 
 forming the unsophisticated female char- 
 acter, that are displayed in the author's 
 Letters on the Improvement of the Mind." 
 — D'Arblay, Madame (Fanny Burney), 
 1832, Memoirs of Doctor Burney, 
 
 GENERAL 
 Mrs. Chapone' s 'Letters' ' are written 
 with such good sense, and unaffected hu- 
 mility, and contain so many useful observa- 
 tions, that I only mention them to pay the 
 
 worthy writer this tribute of respect. I 
 cannot, it is true, always coincide in opin- 
 ion with her; but I always respect her. — 
 
 WOLLSTONECRAFT, MaRY (MrS. GODWIN), 
 
 1792, Vindication of the Rights of Woman, 
 p, 234. 
 
 Nor was she only diligent in acquiring 
 the accomplishments of elegance and taste ; 
 the studies of philosophy and theology 
 occupied a large portion of her time ; for 
 her devotion was ardent, and her reasoning 
 powers of uncommon strength. Her en- 
 thusiastic love of genius, and her scepticism 
 with regard to dogmatic assertion, led 
 her, while very young, into a warm ad- 
 miration of Richardson the author of 
 
 Clarissa, " and into a masterly refutation 
 of his arbitrary opinions on parental au- 
 thority and filial obedience ; a correspond- 
 ence which has been lately published, and 
 forms a most respectable proof of early 
 proficiency in argumentative discussion. — 
 Drake, Nathan, 1810, Essays, Illustra- 
 tive of the Rambler, Adventurer and Idler, 
 vol. II, p. 154. 
 
 Her enthusiastic love of genius made her 
 a warm admirer of Richardson, the novel- 
 ist, to whom, however, she could not sur- 
 render her opinions. With him she entered 
 into an able correspondence on the subject 
 of filial obedience ; and her letters, though 
 written at the age of twenty-two, display 
 much ability, and strength and clearness 
 of mind.— Cleveland, Charles D., 1853, 
 English Literature of the Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury, p. 35. 
 
 Robert Bage 
 
 1728-1801 
 
 Born at Darley, Derbyshire, England, Feb. 29, 1728 : died at Tamworth, England, 
 Sept. 1, 1801. An English novelist. He was a paper-manufacturer by trade, and did 
 not begiQ to write before the age of fifty-three. He wrote "Mount Henneth" (1781), 
 *'Barham Downs" (1784), ''Hermsprong, or Man as he is not" (1796), etc.— Smith, 
 Benjamin E., 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia of Names, p. 108. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 In his person, Robert Bage was some- 
 what under the middle size, and rather 
 slender, but well proportioned. His com- 
 plexion was fair and ruddy ; his hair light 
 and curling; his countenance intelligent, 
 mild, and placid. His manners were 
 courteous, and his mind was firm. His 
 integrity, his honour, his devotion to truth, 
 were undeviating and incorruptible; his 
 humanity, benevolence, and generosity. 
 
 were not less conspicuous in private life 
 than they were in the principal characters 
 in his works. He supplied persons he 
 never saw with money, because he heard 
 they were in want. He kept his servants 
 and his horses to old age, and both men and 
 quadrupeds were attached to him. He 
 behaved to his sons with the unremitting 
 affection of a father ; but, as they grew up, 
 he treated them as men and equals, and 
 allowed them that independence of mind 
 
ROBERT BAGE 
 
 419 
 
 and conduct which he claimed for himself. 
 — HuTTON, Catherine, 1821, Novelist's 
 Library, ed. Scott, Life of Bage. 
 
 We have the testimony of Mr. Hutton, 
 his most intimate friend, that in private 
 life Bage was most amiable, but he adds 
 with regret that **he laid no stress upon 
 revelation, ' ' and was ' ' barely a christian. ' ' 
 His friends were deeply attached to him, 
 and they described his temper as open, 
 mild, and sociable. He was very kind to 
 his domestics, who lived with him till they 
 were old, and even to his horses when they 
 were past work. — Smith, G. Barnett, 
 1885, Dictionary of National Biography^ 
 vol. II, ». 392. 
 
 1 GENERAL 
 
 It is scarce possible to read him without 
 being amused, and, to a certain degree in- 
 structed. His whole efforts are turned to 
 the development of human character ; and, 
 it must be owned, he possessed a ready key 
 to it. The mere story of the novels seldom 
 possesses much interest — in which we are 
 interested; and, contrary to his general 
 case, the reader is seldom or never tempted 
 to pass over the dialogue in order to con- 
 tinue the narrative. ... A light, 
 gay, pleasing air, carries us agreeably 
 through Bage's novels ; and when we are 
 disposed to be angry at seeing the worse 
 made to appear the better reason, we are 
 reconciled to the author by the ease and 
 good-humour of his style. — Scott, Sir 
 Walter, 1821, Robert Bage. 
 
 Bage's novels are decidedly inferior to 
 those of Holcroft, and it is surprising that 
 Sir Walter Scott should have admitted 
 them into his ''British Novelists," and at 
 the same time excluded so many superior 
 works. — Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cyclo- 
 pcedia of English Literature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 Good Mr. Bage near Tamworth, whom 
 Godwin, about the time when he tried to 
 persecute and argue Miss Harriet Lee into 
 marrying him, went out of his way to see, 
 asking, ''Are not such men as much worth 
 visiting as palaces, towns, and cathe- 
 drals V * Bage was born a miller, and was 
 a well-to-do person with paper-mills, be- 
 side those that ground the grain. To ' ' dis- 
 sipate his melancholy" under some special 
 trouble, he began to write novels; and 
 afterward, when he had formed the habit, 
 went on producing them methodically one 
 every two years, as children are born in 
 well-regulated families. Where have all 
 
 those children of the fancy gone ? ' ' Herm- 
 sprong, " which Godwin reports to be "his 
 sixth," very much indeed as if it had been 
 a baby, is the one that is best known. — 
 Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1882, The 
 Literary History of England, XVIII-XIX 
 Century, vol. II, /?. 316. 
 
 The writer in Chambers's ^'Cyclopaedia 
 of English Literature" describes Bage's 
 novels as decidedly inferior to those of 
 Holcroft, with whom Bage had not little in 
 common; and he expresses surprise that 
 Sir Walter Scott should have admitted 
 them into his "Novelists' Library." But 
 the reader will feel inclined to applaud Sir 
 Walter for granting them this distinction. 
 As novels they may not interest strongly 
 by their plot, but there is a distinct origi- 
 nality about them. They were chiefly in- 
 tended to inculcate certain political and 
 philosophical opinions. Not unfrequently, 
 perhaps, the author's strong convictions 
 betray him into exaggeration. But touch- 
 ing the literary power of his works there 
 can scarcely be two opinions. Considered 
 altogether apart from their moral and 
 social bearings, the novels of Bage display 
 an unquestionable power in drawing and 
 developing character, while their style is 
 always entertaining and frequently in- 
 cisive. — Smith, G. Barnett, 1895, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, vol. ii, 
 p. 392. 
 
 It is impossible to say that there is 
 genius in Bage ; yet he is a very remark- 
 able writer, and there is noticeable in him 
 that singular JiTi de siecle tendency which 
 has reasserted itself a century later. An 
 imitator of Fielding and Smollett in gen- 
 eral plan, — of the latter specially in the 
 dangerous scheme of narrative by letter, 
 — Bage added to their methods the pur- 
 pose of advocating a looser scheme of 
 morals and a more anarchical system of 
 government. In other words, Bage, 
 though a man well advanced in years at 
 the date of the Revolution, exhibits for us 
 distinctly the spirit which brought the 
 Revolution about. He is a companion of 
 Godwin and of Mary Wollstonecraft ; and 
 though it must be admitted that, as in 
 other cases, the presence of "impro- 
 priety" in him by no means implies the 
 absence of dulness, he is full of a queer 
 sort of undeveloped and irregular clever- 
 ness. — Saintsbury, George, 1896, A 
 History of Nineteenth Century Literature. 
 
420 
 
 Erasmus Darwin 
 
 1731-1802 
 
 Born at Elston Hall, Notts, 12 Dec. 1731. At Chesterfield School, 1741-50; to St. 
 John's Coll., Camb., 1750; Exeter Scholar; B. A., 1754. To Edinburgh to study 
 medicine, 1754. M. B., Cambridge, 1755. Settled in practice in Nottingham, Sept. 
 1756; removed to Lichfield, Nov, 1756. Married Mary Howard, Dec. 1757; she died, 
 1770. Married Mrs. Chandos-Pole, 1781 ; lived, first at her estate, Radbourne Hall ; 
 subsequently at Derby, and Breadsall Priory, near Derby. Died suddenly,, at Bread- 
 sail Priory, 18 April 1802. Buried in Breadsall Church. Works: "Loves of the 
 Plants'' (anon., pt. ii. of Botanic Garden"), 1789; ^'Economy of Vegetation" (anon., 
 pt. i. of Botanic Garden") 1792; "Zoonomia," 1794-96; "A Plan for the Conduct 
 of Female Education in Boarding Schools," 1797; "Phytologia," 1800. Posthumous: 
 "The Temple of Nature," 1803; "Collected Poems," 1807. He edited: C. Darwin's 
 "Experiments establishing a Criterion, etc.," 1780. Life: by A. Seward, 1804; by E. 
 Krause, trans, by W. S. Dallas, 1879. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary 
 of English Authors, p. 74. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Erasmus Darwin, M. D., F. R. S. 
 
 Borji at Elston, near Newark, 12th Dec, 1 731, 
 Died at the Priory, near Derby, 1 0th April, 
 1802. 
 
 Of the rare union of Talents 
 ichich so eminently distinguished him 
 as a Physician, a Poet and Philosopher 
 His luritings remain 
 a public and unfading testimony. 
 His Widotv 
 has erected his monument 
 in memory of 
 the zealous benevolence of his disposition, 
 the active humanity of his conduct, 
 and the many private virtues 
 tvhich adorned his character. 
 
 — Inscription on Tomb, Breadsall Church. 
 
 Five or six times in my life I have seen 
 him angry, and have heard him express 
 that anger with much real, and more ap- 
 parent vehemence, more than men of less 
 sensibility would feel or show. But then 
 the motive never was personal. When Dr. 
 Darwin beheld any example of inhumanity 
 or injustice, he never could refrain his in- 
 dignation; he had not learnt, from the 
 school of Lord Chesterfield, to smother 
 every generous feeling. — ^Edgeworth, 
 Richard LovELL, 1802, Monthly Magazine. 
 
 I think all those who knew him, will 
 allow that sympathy and benevolence were 
 the striking features. He felt very sen- 
 sibly for others, and, from his knowl- 
 edge of human nature, he entered into 
 their feelings and sufferings in the differ- 
 ent circumstances of their constitution, 
 character, health, sickness, and prejudice. 
 In benevolence, he thought that almost 
 all virtue consisted. He despised the 
 monkish abstinences and the hypocritical 
 
 pretentions which so often impose on the 
 world. The communication of happiness 
 and the relief of misery were by him held as 
 the only standard of moral merit. Though 
 he extended his humanity to every sentient 
 being, it was not like that of some philoso- 
 phers, so diffused as to be of no effect ; 
 but his affection was there warmest where 
 it could be of most service to his family 
 and his friends, who will remember the 
 constancy of his attachment and his zeal 
 for their welfare.— Keir, James, 1802, 
 Letter to Robert Darwin, May 12. 
 
 He was somewhat above the middle size, 
 his form athletic, and inclined to corpu- 
 lence ; his limbs too heavy for exact pro- 
 portion. The traces of a severe small- 
 pox; features, and countenance, which, 
 when they were not animated by social 
 pleasure, were rather saturnine than 
 sprightly; a stoop in the shoulders, and 
 the then professional appendage, a large 
 full-bottomed wig, gave, at that early 
 period of life, an appearance of nearly 
 twice the years he bore. Florid health, 
 and the earnest of good humour, a sunny 
 smile, on entering a room, and on first 
 accosting his friends, rendered, in his 
 youth, that exterior agreeable, to which 
 beauty and symmetry had not been pro- 
 pitious. He stammered extremely, but 
 whatever he said, whether gravely or in 
 jest, was always well worth waiting for, 
 though the inevitable impression it made 
 might not always be pleasant to individual 
 self-love. Conscious of great native eleva- 
 tion above the general standard of intel- 
 lect, he became, early in life, sore upon 
 opposition, whether in argument or con- 
 duct, and always revenged it by sarcasm 
 
OF THt 
 
 UNIVERSITY of 1LUN0\S. 
 
ERASMUS DARWIN 
 
 421 
 
 of very keen edge. Nor was he less im- 
 patient of sallies of egotism and vanity, 
 even when they were in so slight a degree, 
 that strict politeness would rather tolerate 
 than ridicule them. Dr. Darwin seldom 
 failed to present their caricature in jocose 
 but wounding irony. If these ingredients 
 of colloquial despotism were discernible in 
 unworn existence, they increased as it ad- 
 vanced, fed by an ever-growing reputation 
 within and without the pale of medicine. 
 — Seward, Anna, 1804, Memoir of the 
 Life of Dr. Darwin^ p. 1. 
 
 We all hastened to the window to see 
 Dr. Darwin, of whom we had heard so 
 much, and whom I was prepared to honor 
 and venerate, in no common degree, as the 
 restorer of my mother's health. What, 
 then, was my astonishment at beholding 
 him, as he slowly got out of the carriage ! 
 His figure was vast and massive ; his head 
 was almost buried on his shoulders, and he 
 wore a scratch-wig, as he called it, tied 
 up in a little bobtail behind. — Schimmel- 
 PENNiCK, Mary Anne, 1859, Life, ed. 
 HankiUy p. 205. 
 
 Equally eminent as philanthropist, physi- 
 cian, naturalist, philosopher, and poet, is 
 far less known and valued by posterity than 
 he deserves, in comparison with other per- 
 sons who occupy a similar rank. It is 
 true that what is perhaps the most im- 
 portant of his many-sided endowments, 
 namely his broad view of the philosophy of 
 nature, was not intelligible to his contem- 
 poraries ; it is only now, after the lapse of 
 a hundred years, that by the labours of one 
 of his descendants we are in a position to 
 estimate at its true value the wonderful 
 perceptivity, amounting almost to divina- 
 tion, that he displayed in the domain of 
 biology. For in him we find the same in- 
 defatigable spirit of research, and almost 
 the same biological tendency, as in his 
 grandson ; and we might, not without jus- 
 tice, assert that the latter has succeeded 
 to an intellectual inheritance, and carried 
 out a programme sketched forth and left 
 behind by his grand-father. — Krause, 
 Ernst, 1879, The Scientific Works of 
 Erasmus Darwin, tr. Dallas, p. 132. 
 
 His correspondence with many distin- 
 guished men was large ; but most of the 
 letters which I possess or have seen are 
 uninteresting, and not worth publication. 
 Medicine and mechanics alone aroused him 
 to write with any interesto . . . Judging 
 
 from his published works, letters, and all 
 that I have been able to gather about him, 
 the vividness of his imagination seems to 
 have been one of his pre-eminent charac- 
 teristics. This led to his great originality 
 of thought, his prophetic spirit both in 
 science and in the mechanical arts, and to 
 his over-powering tendency to theorise 
 and generalise. Nevertheless, his re- 
 marks, hereafter to be given, on the value 
 of experiments and the use of hypotheses 
 show that he had the true spirit of a philos- 
 opher. That he possessed uncommon 
 powers of observation must be admitted. 
 The diversity of the subjects to which he 
 tended is surprising. But of all" his char- 
 acteristics, the incessant activity or energy 
 of his mind was, perhaps, the most re- 
 markable.— Darwin, Charles, 1879, The 
 Scientific Works of Erasmus Darwin by 
 Krause, tr. Dallas, Preliminary Notice, 
 pp. 27, 48. 
 
 THE BOTANIC GARDEN 
 1781 
 
 My father has just returned from Dr. 
 Darwin's, where he has been nearly three 
 weeks. ... He saw the first part of 
 Dr. Darwin's ^'Botanic Garden;" £900 
 was what his bookseller gave him for the 
 whole !—Edgeworth, Maria, 1792, Let- 
 ters, vol. I, p. 21. 
 
 I wish I could let you have a look at this 
 fashionable style of English book, as I have 
 it before me in large quarto bound in 
 morocco. It weighs exactly five and a 
 half pounds, as I know by having convinced 
 myself of this yesterday. Now as our 
 pocket-books weigh about as much in half- 
 ounces, we may, in this respect, also be as 
 one to thirty-two compared with the Eng- 
 lish, unless indeed we on our part were 
 able to counterbalance one such fashion- 
 able English giant with thirty -two pocket- 
 books. It is splendidly printed on smooth 
 paper, embellished with crazy, allegorical 
 engravings by Fuseli, and in addition to 
 this every now and again adorned with 
 illustrations the subjects of which are 
 taken from botany, antiquarian research, 
 incidents and love-affairs of the day ; it has 
 introductions, tables of contents, notes 
 below the text and notes at the end of the 
 text, in which physics, geography, botany, 
 manufacture and commerce, but more 
 especially the names of dead and living 
 celebrities are admirably set forth, so that 
 from ebb and flood down to the sympathetic 
 
422 
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN 
 
 ink, everything can be readily perceived 
 and understood. . . . Here, therefore, 
 you have the plan of a poem ! Such must 
 be the appearance presented by a didactic 
 poem which is not only to teach but to in- 
 struct. You will now be able to imagine 
 that a goodly variety of descriptions, of 
 allegories and of similes is to be found 
 roaming about in this book, and that there 
 is not a vestige of poetic feeling to link 
 the poem together. The versification, it 
 seems to me, is not bad, and many pas- 
 sages possess a rhetorical turn peculiar to 
 the metre. In part, the details remind 
 one of many of those English poets whose 
 works are of didactic and narrative order. 
 How pleased the English blase world will 
 be with certain passages when it sees so 
 much theoretical matter — of which it has 
 for long heard faint whisperings — sung 
 aloud to it in the well-known rhythm ! I 
 have only had the book in the house since 
 last night, and, in truth, find it beneath 
 my expectation, for I am really in favour 
 of Darwin.— Goethe, Johann Wolfgang, 
 1798, Letter to Schiller, Jan. 26; Corre- 
 spondence Between Schiller and Goethe, tr. 
 Schmitz, vol. ii, pp. 26, 27. 
 
 Darwin's book would probably have little 
 success in Germany. The Germans like 
 sentiment, and the more trifling it is the 
 more generally welcome it is ; but this play 
 of the fancy with ideas, this realm of 
 allegory, this cold intellectuality and 
 learning disguised in verse, could not be 
 attractive to any but the English in their 
 present state of frostiness and unconcern. 
 The work, however, shows what function 
 is wont to be attributed to poetry, and is 
 a new and brilliant triumph to the philis- 
 tines over their poetical adversaries. 
 Otherwise I do not think the subject-matter 
 inadmissible and wholy inappropriate for 
 poetical treatment. The miscarriage, in 
 this case, I consider altogether the poet's 
 fault. If one were, at the very outset, to 
 relinquish all idea of giving so-called in- 
 struction, and merely endeavoured to bring 
 nature, in its rich variety, movement, and 
 co-operation, within reach of the imagina- 
 tion, and set forth all the products of 
 nature with a certain love and reverence — 
 paying regard to the independent existence 
 of every one and so forth — then a lively 
 interest in the various subjects could not 
 fail to be awakened —Schiller, Johann 
 Christoph Friederich, 1798, Letter to 
 
 Goethe, Jan. 30; Correspondence Between 
 Schiller and Goethe, tr. Schmitz, vol. n, 
 p. 29. 
 
 Only a few years have elapsed, since the 
 genius of the author of *'The Botanic 
 Garden" first burst on the public notice in 
 all its splendour. The novelty of his plan 
 —an imposing air of boldness and origi- 
 nality in his poetical as well as philosoph- 
 ical speculations — and a striking display 
 of command over some of the richest 
 sources of poetical embellishment, were 
 sufficient to secure to him a large share 
 of approbation, even from the most fastid- 
 ious readers, and much more than suf-^ 
 ficient to attract the gaze and the indis-' 
 criminating acclamations of a herd of 
 admirers and imitators. Yet, with all 
 these pretentions to permanent fame, we 
 are much deceived, if we have not already 
 observed, in that of Dr. Darwin the visible 
 symptoms of decay. — Thomson, T., 1803, 
 The Temple of Nature, Edinburgh Review, 
 vol. 1, p. 491. 
 
 This poem ought not to be considered 
 more than as a capriccio,or sport of fancy, 
 on which he has expended much labour to 
 little purpose. It does not pretend to 
 anything like correctness of design, or 
 continuity of action. It is like a picture 
 of Breughel's where every thing is highly 
 coloured, and every thing out of order. — 
 Gary, Henry Francis, 1821-24-45, Lives 
 of English Poets, p. 265. 
 
 When we enter ''The Botanic Garden" 
 of Darwin, we find that we have been en- 
 ticed back into the wilderness of didactic 
 verse: while this masterly versifier ex- 
 emplifies also, almost everywhere, one of 
 the most common of poetical errors; 
 namely, the attempt to make poetry de- 
 scribe minutely the sensible appearances 
 of corporeal objects, instead of being con- 
 tent with communicating the feelings 
 which those objects awaken. — Spalding, 
 William, 1852-82, A History of English 
 Literature, p. 356. 
 
 The section on manures, or the food of 
 plants, is the sole part that interests the 
 agriculturist, and it is much too refined 
 for the grossness of the farmer's applica- 
 tion of the articles. No new fact was 
 elicited and established, but much light 
 was cast on the processes that had been 
 adopted.— Donaldson, John, 1854, Agri- 
 cultural Biography. 
 
ERASMUS DARWIN 
 
 423 
 
 Strangely enough, in spite of her cor- 
 rect taste, Mrs. Barbauld was quite fasci- 
 nated by Darwin's ''Botanic Garden" when 
 it first appeared, and talked of it with 
 rapture ; for which I scolded her heartily. 
 — Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollections of 
 Table-Talk, ed. Dyce. 
 
 Nothing is done in passion and power ; 
 but all by filing, and scraping, and rubbing, 
 and other painstaking. Every line is as 
 elaborately polished and sharpened as a 
 lancet ; and the most effective paragraphs 
 have the air of a lot of those bright little 
 instruments arranged in rows, with their 
 blades out, for sale. You feel as if so thick 
 an array of points and edges demanded 
 careful handling, and that your fingers are 
 scarcely safe in coming near them. Dar- 
 win's theory of poetry evidently was, that 
 it was all a mechanical affair — only a 
 higher kind of pin-making. His own 
 poetry, however, with all its defects, is 
 far from being merely mechanical. The 
 
 Botanic Garden" is not a poem which any 
 man of ordinary intelligence could have 
 produced by sheer care and industry, or 
 such faculty of writing as could be acquired 
 by serving an apprenticeship to the trade 
 of poetry. Vicious as it is in manner, it 
 is even there of an imposing and original 
 character; and a true poetic fire lives 
 under all its affectations, and often blazes 
 up through them. There is not much, in- 
 deed, of pure soul or high imagination in 
 Darwin ; he seldom rises above the visible 
 and material ; but he has at least a poet's 
 eye for the perception of that, and a poet's 
 fancy for its embellishment and exalta- 
 tion. No writer has surpassed him in the 
 luminous representation of visible objects 
 in verse; his descriptions have the dis- 
 tinctness of drawings by the pencil, with 
 the advantage of conveying, by their har- 
 monious words, many things that no pencil 
 can paint. His images, though they are 
 for the most part tricks of language rather 
 than transformations or new embodiments 
 of impassioned thought, have often at 
 least an Ovidian glitter and prettiness, or 
 are striking from their mere ingenuity and 
 novelty. — Craik, George, 1861, A Com- 
 pendous History of English Literature and 
 of the English Language, vol. ii, p. 382. 
 
 Now the book I mean shows us the 
 scientific faculty and the poetic faculty — 
 and no weak faculties either— working 
 along together, not merged, not chemically 
 
 united, not lighting up matters like a 
 star, — with the result, as seems to me, of 
 producing the very funniest earnest book 
 in our language. It is ''The Loves of 
 the Plants, " by Dr. Erasmus Darwin. — 
 Lanier, Sidney, 1881, The English Novel, 
 p. 191. 
 
 For all Wordsworth's exultant prophecy 
 on the harmony of Poetry and Science, it 
 cannot be said that any very assuring 
 illustration of the circumstance has 
 happened before his date or since. The 
 "Botanical Garden" of Erasmus Darwin 
 looms almost tragically alone, like the for- 
 lorn desert image of Shelley's famous son- 
 net, as a warning, if not a menace, to all 
 travellers in this demesne. — Bayne, Wil- 
 liam, 1898, James Thomson (Famous 
 Scots Series), p. 62. 
 
 ZOONOMIA 
 
 1794-6 
 
 If, however, the doctrines of the "Zoo- 
 nomia" are not always infallible, it is a 
 work which must spread the fame of its 
 author over lands and seas, to whatever 
 clime the sun of science has irradiated and 
 warmed. The "Zoonomia" is an exhaust- 
 less repository of interesting facts, of curi- 
 ous experiments in natural productions, and 
 in medical effects ; a vast and complicated 
 scheme of disquisition, incalculably im- 
 portant to the health and comforts of man- 
 kind, so far as they relate to objects 
 merely terrestrial; throwing novel, use- 
 ful, and beautiful light on the secrets of 
 physiology, botanical, chemical, and aero- 
 logical.— Seward, Anna, 1804, Memoirs 
 of the Life of Dr. Darwin, p. 68. 
 
 The second part of the Zoonomia is 
 occupied with an enumeration of diseases, 
 classified on the above principles, illus- 
 trated by brief reports of cases, and with 
 suggestions as to their medical treat- 
 ment. All diseases are morbid motions, 
 and are divided into four classes, as those 
 motions are irritative, sensitive, volun- 
 tary, or associative. The four classes are 
 divided into eleven orders, founded on the 
 increased, diminution, or inversion of the 
 motion. The eleven orders are divided 
 into forty-one genera, thirty-seven of 
 which are founded on the part of the sj^stem 
 affected, the other four on the fundamental 
 classification. Nothing could have a more 
 admirable simplicity upon paper ; and we 
 must pardon those who hailed it with the 
 
424 
 
 ERASMUS DARWIN 
 
 enthusiastic faith that the Newton of mor- 
 bid physiology had appeared in Erasmus 
 Darwin. . . . Dr. Darwin's theory of 
 evolution was closely connected with his 
 scheme of classifying diseases ; the most 
 signal defect of that scheme was the fail- 
 ure to recognize any other differences than 
 differences of degree. There was no 
 sharpness of definition anywhere. It is, 
 I confess, patent to every eye that some 
 disorders in the human system have this 
 indefinite character. There seems to be 
 no dividing line between the highest state 
 of health and complete disorganization and 
 prostration ; the one runs into the other 
 more gradually than the oaks into the 
 chestnuts. But, on the other hand, there 
 are, certainly, some diseases which are 
 sharply defined. The modern microscope, 
 modern chemical reagents, and the modern 
 spirit of experimental science are pro- 
 ducing indisputable results in this field. 
 The revulsion from Darwin's method of 
 classifying diseases will, we think, be 
 followed by revulsion from its method 
 of classifying organic beings. — Hill, 
 Thomas, 1878, Erasmus Darwin, Bibli- 
 otheca Sacra, vol. 35, pp. 470, 480. 
 
 Like Buffon, Dr. Darwin had no wish to 
 see far beyond the obvious ; he missed good 
 things sometimes, but he gained more than 
 he lost ; he knew that it is always on the 
 margin, as it were, of the self-evident that 
 the greatest purchase against the nearest 
 difficulty is obtainable. His life was not 
 one of Herculean effort, but, like the lives 
 of all these organisms that are most likely 
 to develop and transmit a useful modifica- 
 tion, it was one of well-sustained activ- 
 ity ; it was a long-continued keeping open 
 of the windows of his own mind, much 
 after the advice he gave to the Notting- 
 ham weavers. Dr. Darwin knew, and, I 
 imagine, quite instinctively, that nothing 
 tends to oversight like over-seeing. He 
 does not trouble himself about the origin 
 of life ; as for the perceptions and reason- 
 ing faculties of animals and plants, it is 
 enough for him that animals and plants do 
 things which we say involve sensation and 
 consciousness when we do them ourselves 
 or see others do them. If, then, plants 
 and animals appear as if they felt and 
 understood, let the matter rest there, 
 and let us say they feel and understand 
 — being guided by the common use of 
 language, rather than by any theories 
 
 concerning brain and nervous system. — 
 Butler, Samuel, 1879, Evolution Old and 
 New, p. 197. 
 
 The ''Zoonomia " is largely devoted to 
 medicine, and my father thought that it 
 had much influenced medical practice in 
 England ; he was of course a partial, yet 
 naturally a more observant judge than 
 others on this point. The book when pub- 
 lished was extensively read by the medical 
 men of the day, and the author was highly 
 esteemed by them as a practitioner. — 
 Darwin, Charles, 1879, The Scientific 
 Works of Erasmus Darwin, by Krause, tr. 
 Dallas, Preliminary Notice, p. 105. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Milton is harmonious to me, and I abso- 
 lutely nauseate Darwin's poems. — Cole- 
 ridge, Samuel Taylor, 1796, Letters, 
 ed. E. H. Coleridge, vol. i, p. 164. 
 
 Meantime the matter and diction seemed 
 to me characterized not so much by poetic 
 thoughts, as by thoughts translated into 
 the language of poetry. On this last point, 
 I had occasion to render my own thoughts 
 gradually more and more plain to myself, 
 by frequent amicable disputes concerning 
 Darwin's Botanic Garden," which, for 
 some years, was greatly extolled, not only 
 by the reading public in general, but even 
 by those, whose genius and natural robust- 
 ness of understanding enabled them after- 
 wards to act foremost in dissipating these 
 
 painted mists" that occasionally rise 
 from the marshes at the foot of Parnassus. 
 During my first Cambridge vacation, I 
 assisted a friend in a contribution for a 
 literary society in Devonshire : and in this 
 I remember to have compared Darwin's 
 work to the Russian palace of ice, glitter- 
 ing, cold, and transitory. — Coleridge, 
 Samuel Taylor, 1817, Biographia Lit- 
 eraria. 
 
 Dr. Darwin has splendidly exemplified 
 the effects of his own theory, which cer- 
 tainly includes much truth, but not the 
 whole truth. Endued with a fancy pecul- 
 iarly formed for picture-poetry, he has 
 limited verse almost within the compass 
 of designing and modelling with visible 
 colours and palpable substances. Even in 
 this poetic painting, he seldom goes be- 
 yond the brilliant minuteness of the Dutch 
 school of artists, while his groups are the 
 extreme reverse of theirs, being rigidly 
 classical. His productions are undis- 
 tinguished by either sentiment or pathos. 
 
ERASMUS DARWIN 
 
 425 
 
 He presents nothing but pageants to the 
 eye, and leaves next to nothing to the 
 imagination ; every point and object being 
 made out in noonday clearness, where the 
 sun is nearly vertical, and the shadow 
 most contracted. He never touches the 
 heart, nor awakens social, tender,- or 
 playful emotions.— Montgomery, James, 
 1833, Lectures on General Literature, 
 Poetry, etc., p. 126. 
 
 All optic nerve.— Browning, Eliza- 
 beth Barrett, 1842-63, The Book of the 
 Poets. 
 
 As a poet, his ''Botanic Garden" by its 
 tawdry splendor gained him a tawdry rep- 
 utation ; as a philosopher his ''Zoonomia, 
 or. Laws of Organic Life," gained him a 
 reputation equally noisy and fleeting. — 
 Lewes, George Henry, 1845-46, Bio- 
 graphical History of Philosophy, p. 609. 
 
 The poet-laureate of botany. — Collier, 
 William Francis, 1861, A History of 
 English Literature, p. 352. 
 
 Almost every single work of the younger 
 Darwin may be paralleled by at least a 
 chapter in the works of his ancestor ; the 
 mystery of heredity, adaptation, the pro- 
 tective arrangement of animals and plants, 
 sexual selection, insectivorous plants, and 
 the analysis of the emotions and socio- 
 logical impulses ; nay, even the studies on 
 infants are to be already discussed in the 
 writings of the elder Darwin. But at the 
 same time we remark a material difference 
 in their interpretation of nature. The 
 elder Darwin was a Lamarckian, or, more 
 properly, Jean Lamarck was a Darwinian of 
 the older school, for he has only carried 
 out further the ideas of Erasmus Darwin, 
 although with great acumen ; and it is to 
 Darwin therefore that the credit is due of 
 having first established a complete system 
 of the theory of evolution. — Krause, 
 Ernst, 1879, The Scientific Works of Eras- 
 mus Darwin, tr. Dallas, pp. 132. 
 
 He was a poet, in his day a very popular 
 poet, whose works went through many 
 editions. His stately verses are repugnant 
 to modern taste, and it is hard to imagine 
 them ever becoming popular again. Yet 
 this is in a great measure due to the fact 
 that they are written in a language which 
 is wholly gone by, and which in the ears 
 of those educated in this post-Words- 
 worthian age sounds stilted and pompous. 
 Byron called the author of the ''Loves of 
 
 the Plants" a "mighty master of unmean- 
 ing rhyme," but this is unfair. His 
 poetry is anything but unmeaning. It is 
 at times even eloquent. The chief defect 
 that would be found with it nowadays 
 (leaving out of view the Johnsonese 
 vocabulary and style) would be that it is 
 rather rhetorical than poetical. — Sedg- 
 wick, A. G., 1880, Erasmus Darwin, The 
 Nation, vol. 30, p. 254. 
 
 Unfortunately for his lasting fame, Dr. 
 Darwin was much given to writing poetry ; 
 and this poetry, though as ingenious as 
 everything else he did, had a certain false 
 gallop of verse about it which has doomed 
 it to become since Canning's parody a sort 
 of warning beacon against the worse 
 faults of the post-Augustan decadence in 
 the ten-syllabled metre. Nobody now 
 reads the "Botanic Garden" except either 
 to laugh at its exquisite extravagances, or 
 to wonder at the queer tinsel glitter of 
 its occasional clever rhetorical rhapsodies. 
 But in his alternative character of philo- 
 sophic biologist, rejected by the age which 
 swallowed his poetry all applausive, Eras- 
 mus Darwin is well worthy of the highest 
 and deepest respect, as a prime founder 
 and early prophet of the evolutionary 
 system. His ' ' Zoonomia, " " which, though 
 ingenious, is built upon the most absurd 
 hypothesis" — as men still said only thirty 
 years ago — contains in the germ the whole 
 theory of organic development as under- 
 stood up to the very moment of the pub- 
 lication of the "Origin of Species." — 
 Allen, Grant, 1885, Charles Darwin 
 (English Worthies), p. 21. 
 
 The antithesis to Edmund Waller is 
 Erasmus Darwin. ... He was, indeed, 
 an extraordinary being, and if verve, knowl- 
 edge, a brilliant vocabulary, and boundless 
 intellectual assurance could make any man 
 a poet, Darwin might have been one. But 
 he has no imagination, and almost every 
 fault of style. When he desires to seem 
 glowing, his verses have the effect of ice ; 
 his very versification, for which he was 
 once greatly admired, is so monotonous 
 and so exasperatingly antithetical, that it 
 reads like a parody of the verse of the 
 earlier classicists. His landscapes, his 
 sketches of character, his genre-pieces, 
 his bursts of enthusiasm, are all of them 
 ruined by his excessive insincerity of 
 style, his lack of genuine vivacity, and his 
 unceasing toil and tumidity of phrase. In 
 
426 
 
 DARWIN— MOORE 
 
 his abuse of personation, as in many otlier 
 qualities, he is the typical helot of eight- 
 eenth-century poetry, and the great 
 temporary success of his amazing poem led 
 to the final downfall of the school. To 
 rival the hortus siccus of Darwin was more 
 than the most ambitious of grandiose 
 poetasters could hope to do.— GossE, Ed- 
 mund, 1888, A History of Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury Literature, pp. 328, 330. 
 
 Darwin's poetry would be forgotten 
 were it not for- Canning's parody. He 
 followed the model of Pope, just passing 
 out of favour, for his versification, and ex- 
 , pounded in his notes the theory that 
 poetry should consist of word-painting. 
 He had great facility of language, but the 
 effort to give an interest to scientific 
 
 didacticism in verse by elaborate rhetoric 
 and forced personification was naturally 
 a failure. Darwin would not have shrunk 
 from Coleridge's favourite phrase, "Inocu- 
 lation, heavenly maid. " Yet it is remark- 
 able that Darwin's bad poetry everywhere 
 shows a powerful mind. . . . The per- 
 manent interest in his writings depends 
 upon his exposition of the form of evolu- 
 tionism afterwards expounded by Lamarck. 
 He caught a glimpse of many observations 
 and principles, afterwards turned to ac- 
 count by his grandson, Charles Darwin; 
 but though a great observer and an acute 
 thinker, he missed the characteristic doc- 
 trine which made the success of his grand- 
 son's scheme. — Stephen, Leslie, 1888, 
 Dictionary of National Biography. 
 
 John Moore 
 
 1729-1802 
 
 Born at Stirling, a minister's son, studied medicine and practised in Glasgow, 
 travelled with the young Duke of Hamilton 1772-78, and then settled in London. His 
 "View of Society in France, Switzerland, Germany, and Italy" (1779-81) was well 
 received; but the novel "Zeluco" (1789), which suggested Byron's "Childe Harold," 
 is to-day the least forgotten of his works. These include two other novels, "Medical 
 Sketches," and books on the French Revolution. Moore died at Richmond. — Patrick 
 AND Groome, eds.y 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p. 672. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Moore was sagacious as a physician, and 
 throughout life had intense enjoyment in 
 general observation, and in every kind of 
 good literature and good society. He was 
 universally liked, and most of all in his own 
 house. He had a well-built frame and 
 regular features.— Moore, Norman, 1894, 
 Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 
 XXXVIII, p. 365. 
 
 ZELUCO 
 
 1789 
 
 This character is well contrived to 
 purge the selfish and malignant passions, 
 by exhibiting the hideous effect of their un- 
 restrained indulgence. — Green, Thomas, 
 1810, Diary of a Lover of Literature. 
 
 I now leave "Childe Harold" to live his 
 day, such as he is ; it had been more agree- 
 able, and certainly more easy, to have 
 drawn an amiable character. It had been 
 easy to varnish over his faults, to make 
 him do more and express less; but he 
 never was intended as an example, further 
 than to show, that early perversion of mind 
 and morals leads to satiety of past pleas- 
 ures and disappointment in new ones, and 
 that even the beauties of nature, and the 
 
 stimulus of travel (except ambition, the 
 most powerful of all excitements) are lost 
 on a soul so constituted, or rather mis- 
 directed. Had I proceeded with the poem, 
 this character would have deepened as he 
 drew to the close ; for the outline which I 
 once meant to fill up for him was, with 
 some exceptions, the sketch of a modern 
 Timon,perhaps a poetical Zeluco. — Byron, 
 Lord, 1813, Childe Harold's Pilgrimage, 
 Addition to the Preface. 
 
 Dr. Moore, the father of the hero of 
 Corunna, with good narrative power, some 
 sly humour, and much observation of char- 
 acter, would have been, in our day, a 
 writer of the Peacock family. Neverthe- 
 less, to one who is accustomed to our style 
 of things, it is comic to read the dialogue 
 of a jealous husband, a suspected wife, a 
 faithless maid-servant, a tool of a nurse, a 
 wrong-headed pomposity of a priest, and 
 a sensible physician, all talking Dr. Moore 
 through their masks. Certainly an Irish 
 soldier does say by Jasus, and a cockney 
 footman this here and that there ; and this 
 and the like is all the painting of charac- 
 ters which is effected out of the mouths 
 of the bearers by a narrator of great 
 
JOHN MOORE 
 
 427 
 
 power. I suspect that some novelists re- 
 pressed their power under a rule that a 
 narrative should narrate, and that the 
 dramatic should be confined to the drama. 
 — De Morgan, Augustus, 1872, A Budget 
 of Paradoxes, p. 113. 
 
 His nover'Zeluco'' (published in 1789) 
 produced a powerful impression at the 
 time, and indirectly, through the poetry 
 of Byron, has left an abiding mark on 
 literature. The novel would in these days 
 be called a psychological novel ; it is a 
 close analysis of the motives of a head- 
 strong, passionate, thoroughly selfish and 
 unprincipled profligate. It is full of inci- 
 dent, and the analysis is never prolonged 
 into tedious reflections, nor suffered to 
 intercept the progress of the story, while 
 the main plot is diversified with many 
 interesting episodes. The character took 
 a great hold of Byron's imagination, and 
 probably influenced his life in some of its 
 many moods, as well as his poetry. It is 
 not too much to say that the common opin- 
 ion that Byron intended *'Childe Harold'' 
 as a reflection of himself cannot be cleared 
 of its large mixture of falsehood with a 
 study of Moore's ''Zeluco." Byron said 
 that he intended the Childe to be "a poetical 
 Zeluco, " and the most striking features of 
 the portrait were undoubtedly taken from 
 that character. At the same time it is 
 obvious to everybody acquainted with 
 Moore's novel and Byron's life that the 
 moody and impressionable poet often 
 adopted the character of Zeluco, fancied 
 himself and felt himself to be a Zeluco, 
 although he was at heart a very different 
 man. — Baynes, Thomas Spencer, ed., 
 1884, Encyclopcedia Brittanica, vol. xvi, 
 p. 830. 
 
 Owing to the praise bestowed on it by 
 Mrs. Barbauld, has been far too generally 
 accepted as one of the most notable of 
 eighteenth-century novels. Zeluco, the 
 Byronic villain, and Laura, his amiable and 
 suffering wife, are highly conventional 
 types of evil and of good. — Raleigh, 
 Walter, 1894, The English Novel, p. 193. 
 
 The book, besides the unlucky drawback 
 that almost all its interest lies in the 
 latter part, has for hero a sort of lifeless 
 monster of wickedness, who is quite as 
 uninteresting as a faultless one and shows 
 little veracity of character except in the 
 minor personages and episodes. In these, 
 and indeed throughout Moore's work, 
 
 there is a curious mixture of convention 
 with extreme shrewdness, of somewhat 
 commonplace expression with a remark- 
 ably pregnant and humorous conception. 
 But he lacks concentration and finish, and 
 is therefore never likely to be much read 
 again as a whole. — Sal\tsbury, George, 
 1896, A History of Nineteenth Century 
 Literature, p. 28. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Every reader ©f extracts from the writ- 
 ings of Dr. Moore must feel a strong desire 
 to become more intimately acquainted 
 with an author so conversant with men and 
 manners and so eminent for the benevo- 
 lence of his heart and the purity of his 
 morals, and thus be irresistibly induced to 
 purchase all his works and place them in 
 his library by the side of Johnson, Field- 
 ing, and Smollett. — Prevost, F., and 
 Blagdon, F., 1803, Mooriana. 
 
 He is characterised by profound knowl- 
 edge of the world, admirable good sense, 
 intimate acquaintance with human nature, 
 a lively imagination, a rich vein of original 
 humour, and an incomparable power of 
 representing life and manners with dis- 
 crimination, force, and delicacy. — An- 
 derson, Robert, 1820, Memoirs of the 
 Life and Writings of John Moore, p. 49. 
 
 As an author. Dr. Moore was more dis- 
 tinguished by the range of his information 
 than by its accuracy or extent upon any 
 particular subject, and his writings did not 
 owe their celebrity to any great depth or 
 even originality of thought. As a novelist 
 he showed no extraordinary felicity in the 
 department of invention, no great power 
 of diversifying his characters, or ease in 
 conducting his narrative. The main 
 quality of his works is that particular 
 species of sardonic wit, with which they 
 are indeed perhaps profusely tinctured, 
 but which frequently confers a grace and 
 poignancy on the general strain of good 
 sense and judicious observation that per- 
 vades the whole of them. — Carlyle, 
 Thomas, 1820-23, Edinburgh Encyclo- 
 pcedia, Montaigne and other Essays, p. 44. 
 
 The popularity of the work [''View of 
 Society"] was mainly owing to its amusing 
 sketches, to the many good stories which 
 it contains, and to the lively and animated 
 style in which the whole is written. — 
 HiLLARD, George Stillman, 1853, Six 
 Months in Italy. 
 
428 
 
 James Beattie 
 
 1735-1803 
 
 Born, at Laurencekirk, Kincardine, 25 Oct. 1735. To Marischal Coll., Aberdeen, 
 1749; M. A., 1753. Schoolmaster and parish clerk at Fordoun, 1753-58. Contrib. 
 to Scots* Magazine." Master of Aberdeen Grammar School, 1758-60. Professor of 
 Moral Philosophy and Logic, Marischal Coll., 1760-97. Published first vol. of poems, 
 1761. First visit to London, 1763. Friendship with Gray begun, 1765. Married 
 Mary Dunn, 28 June 1767. Hon. D. C. L., Oxford, 9 July 1773. Crown pension of 
 £200, Aug. 1773. Refused Professorship of Moral Philosophy at Edinburgh, 1773. 
 Active literary work. Failing health from 1793. Died, 18 Aug. 1803. Buried in St. 
 Nicholas Churchyard, Aberdeen. Works : * ' Original Poems and Translations, ' ' 1760 ; 
 ''Judgment of Paris," 1765; '' Verses on the Death of Churchill," 1765; 'Toems on 
 Several Subjects," 1766 ; ''Essay on Truth," 1770 ; "The Minstrel," pt. l.(anon.) 1771 ; 
 pt. ii., 1774; "Poems on Several Occasions," 1776; "Essays," 1776 (2nd edn. same 
 year) ; "Letter to the Rev. H. Blair . . . on the Improvement of Psalmody, in Scotland" 
 (anon., privately printed), 1778; "List of Two Hundred Scotticisms" (anon.), 1779; 
 "Dissertations, Moral and Critical," 1783; "Evidences of the Christian Religion," 
 1786; "The Theory of Language," 1788; "Elements of Moral Science," vol. 1, 1790; 
 vol. 11, 1793; "Notes on Addison (apparently not published), 1790. Collected 
 Poems: 1805, 1810, 1822, 1831, etc. He edited: "Essays and Fragments," by his 
 son, J. H. Beattie (privately printed), 1794. Life: by Bower, 1804; by Sir W. Forbes, 
 1806. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 20. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 I found him pleasant, unaffected, un- 
 assuming, and full of conversable intelli- 
 gence ; with a round, thick, clunch figure, 
 that promised nothing either of his works 
 or his discourse, yet his eye, at intervals, 
 . . . shoots forth a ray of genius that in- 
 stantly lights up his whole countenance. 
 His voice and his manners are particularly 
 and pleasingly mild, and seem to announce 
 an urbanity of character both inviting and 
 edifying. . . . You would be surpised to 
 find how soon you could forget that he 
 is ugly and clumsy, for there is a sort of 
 perfect good-will in his countenance and 
 his smile, that is quite captivating. — 
 D'Arblay, Mme. (Fanny Burney), 1787, 
 Diary, July 13. 
 
 MemoricB. Sacrum. 
 JAOOBI. BEATTIE. LL.D. 
 
 Ethices. 
 
 In Academia. Marescallana. hujus. Urbis. 
 Per. XLIII. Annos. 
 Professoris. Meretissimi. 
 Viri. 
 
 Pietate. Probitate. Ingenio. atque. Doctrina. 
 Prcestantis. 
 
 Scriptoris. Elegantissimi. Poetce. Suavissimi. 
 
 Philosophi. Vere. Christiani. 
 Natus. est. V. Nov. Anno. MDCCXXXV. 
 Obiit. XVIII. Aug. MDCCCIII. 
 Omnibus. Liberis. Orbus. 
 Quorum. Natu. Maximus. Jacobus. Hay. 
 Beattie. 
 Vel. a. Puerilibus. Annis. 
 Patrio. Vigens. Ingenio. 
 
 Novumque. Decus. Jam. Addens. Paterno. 
 Suis. Carissimus. Patrice. Flebilis. 
 Lenta. Tabe. Consumptus. Periit. 
 Anno, ^tatis. XXIII. 
 Geo. et. Mar. Glennie. 
 H. M. P. 
 
 — Gregory, James, 1803, Inscription on 
 Monument, Churchyard of St. Nicholas, 
 Aberdeen. 
 
 I am happy to think, that the moral 
 effect of his works is likely to be so power- 
 fully increased by the Memoirs of his ex- 
 emplary life, which you are preparing for 
 the press, while the respect which the pub- 
 lic already entertains for his genius and 
 talents, cannot fail to be blended with 
 other sentiments still more flattering to 
 his memory, when it is known with what 
 fortitude and resignation he submitted to a 
 series of trials, far exceeding those which 
 fall to the common lot of humanity ; and 
 that the most vigorous exertions of his mind 
 were made, under the continued pressure 
 of the severest domestic affliction, which 
 a heart like this could be doomed to 
 suffer.— Stewart, Dugald, 1806, Letter 
 to Sir William Forbes, Life of Beattie by 
 Forbes, vol. iii, p. 255. 
 
 Of his conduct towards his unhappy 
 wife, it is impossible to speak in terms of 
 too high commendation. It has already 
 been mentioned, that Mrs. Beattie had the 
 misfortune to inherit from her mother, 
 that most dreadful of all human ills, a 
 
JAMES BEATTIE 
 
 429 
 
 distempered imagination, which, in a very 
 few years after their marriage, showed 
 itself in caprices and folly, that embit- 
 tered every hour of his life, while he 
 strove at first to conceal her disorder from 
 the world, and, if possible, as he has been 
 heard to say, to conceal it even from him- 
 self ; till at last from whim, and caprice, 
 and melancholy, it broke out into down- 
 right insanity, which rendered her seclusion 
 from society absolutely necessary. . . . 
 When I reflect on the many sleepless nights 
 and anxious days, which he experienced 
 from Mrs. Beattie's malady, and think of 
 the unwearied and unremitting attention 
 he paid to her, during so great a number 
 of years, in that sad situation, his char- 
 acter is exalted in my mind to a degree 
 which may be equalled, but I am sure never 
 can be excelled, and makes the fame of the 
 poet and the philosopher fade from my re- 
 membrance. ... In his person. Dr. 
 Beattie was of the middle size, though not 
 elegantly, yet not awkwardly formed, but 
 with something of a slouch in his gait. 
 His eyes were black and piercing, with an 
 expression of sensibility, somewhat border- 
 ing on melancholy, except when engaged 
 in cheerful and social intercourse with his 
 friends, when they were exceedingly ani- 
 mated. As he advanced in years, and 
 became incapable of taking his usual de- 
 gree of exercise, he grew corpulent and 
 unwieldly, till within a few months of his 
 death, when he had greatly decreased in 
 size. When I last saw him, the diminu- 
 tion of his form was but too prophetic of 
 the event that soon followed. — Forbes, 
 Sir William, 1806, An Account of the 
 Life and Writings of James Beattie^ vol. 
 Ill, pp. 176, 177, 187. 
 
 Read ''Beattie's Life," by Sir Wm. 
 Forbes (from Barjarg, where I was some 
 days ago), Schneidermdssig, religious 
 ' ' Gigmanity, " yet lovable, pitiable, in many 
 respects worthy. Of all literary men, 
 Beattie, according to his deserts, was per- 
 haps (in those times) the best rewarded ; 
 yet alas! also, at length, among the un- 
 happiest. How much he enjoyed that is 
 far from thee! — converse with minds con- 
 genial ; an element not of black cattleism^ 
 but of refinement, plenty, and encourage- 
 ment. Repine not ; or, what is more to be 
 dreaded, rebel not. — Carlyle, Thomas, 
 1834, Journal, Feb. 9; Life by Froude, 
 vol. II, J). 327. 
 
 Let us recall his black and piercing eyes, 
 ''with an expression of sensibility border- 
 ing on melancholy" when in repose, but 
 brightening into animation when he ad- 
 dressed those whom he loved. He after- 
 wards — I grieve to say it of any poet — 
 grew corpulent ; but at this time he carried 
 with him to those levees of talent a spare 
 person, and the rare qualities of a mind 
 which I shall briefly characterise. His 
 imagination was, perhaps, subservient to 
 his taste. The cultivation of his mind 
 had been carried almost to what human 
 nature can conceive of perfection, his 
 chief acquirements being in moral science. 
 As a professor, he was revered; as a 
 friend and companion, fondly cherished. 
 In literature he held an eminent place. 
 The deepest piety, a true sensibility and 
 gentleness, and a humility sincere as it 
 was rare, softened and elevated all his 
 mental attributes.— Thomson, Katherixe 
 (Grace Wharton), 1848, The Literary 
 Circles of the Last Century, Frasefs Maga- 
 zine, vol. 37, p. 80. 
 
 Throughout the whole of the North of 
 Scotland in these days, there was not one 
 that could compete with Dr. Beattie, the 
 recluse professor at Aberdeen, in variety 
 of accomplishments; for he was an ex- 
 cellent classical scholar, a veritable poet, 
 a scientific as well as practical musician, 
 and indefatigable student, and, as a meta- 
 physician, unsurpassed at that epoch, un- 
 less it were by his friend and colleague, 
 Dr. Ried.— Gillies, Robert Pierce, 1851, 
 Memoirs of a Literary Veteran. 
 
 This excellent and amiable man ; for such 
 he was, whatever we may think of him as 
 a writer. Scepticism was at this time 
 fashionable among the wits and men of 
 letters. It was thought a great thing 
 that such a man as Beattie, not a clergy- 
 man, should have taken up the pen against 
 Hume and Voltaire. The essay had won 
 him popular fame, royal favour, and a pen- 
 sion. The Edinburgh Town Council had 
 wooed him to the chair of moral philos- 
 ophy ; the Archbishop of York had solicited 
 him to enter the Church of England. — 
 Leslie, Charles Robert, and Taylor, 
 Tom, 1865, Life and Times qf Sir Joshua 
 Reynolds, vol. ii, p. 56. 
 
 During the latter half of the eighteenth 
 century the literary traditions of the most 
 northerly university town of Scotland — 
 the city of John Barbour and of Hector 
 
430 
 
 JAMES BEATTIE 
 
 Boece— were honourably upheld by a 
 small knot of poets. Of these the most 
 academic remains the most famous. Poet 
 and professor, philosopher and man of 
 letters, James Beattie was no less dis- 
 tinguished in his time by his Minstrel" 
 and his prose "Essay on Truth" than by 
 the encouragement and help which he 
 constantly afforded to men of genius less 
 fortunately placed. Not only were Ross 
 and Blacklock substantially indebted to 
 him for the furtherance of their literary 
 fortunes, but constantly in the literary 
 history of the time one comes upon hints 
 and helps given now to one poet and now 
 to another, which again and again bore 
 valuable fruit. Beattie indeed may be said 
 to have been for forty years a gentle and 
 more generous Johnson, at once the liter- 
 ary dictator and the Maecenas of the far 
 north. — Eyre-Todd, George, 1896, Scot- 
 tish Poetry of the Eighteenth Century, vol, 
 II, p. 1. 
 
 ESSAY ON TRUTH 
 
 1770 
 
 I am not at all surprised to hear, that 
 your spirited attack on the head-quarters 
 of scepticism has drawn upon you the re- 
 sentment of Mr. Hume and his followers. 
 — PORTEUS, BiELBY, 1772, Letter to Beat- 
 tie May 22 ; Forbes^ Life of Beattie, vol, 
 I, p, 293. 
 
 I have lately been employed in reading 
 Beattie and Blair's "Lectures." The 
 latter I have not yet finished. I find the 
 former the most agreeable of the two; 
 indeed the most entertaining writer upon 
 dry subjects that I ever met with. His 
 imagination is highly poetical, his lan- 
 guage easy and elegant, and his manner so 
 familiar, that we seem to be conversing 
 with an old friend, upon terms of the most 
 social intercourse, while we read him. . . . 
 In Blair we find a scholar ; in Beattie both 
 a scholar and an amiable man ; indeed so 
 amiable, that I have wished for his ac- 
 quaintance ever since I read his book. — 
 CowPER, William, 1784, Letter to Rev. 
 John Newton, April 26 ; Works, ed. Southey, 
 vol. Ill, p. 103. 
 
 Dr. Beattie's great work, and that which 
 was undoubtedly the first foundation of 
 his celebrity, is the "Essay on the Nature 
 and Immutability of Truth ;" on which such 
 unmeasured praises are bestowed, both by 
 his present biographer, and by all the 
 author's male and female correspondents, 
 
 that it is with difficulty we can believe that 
 they are speaking of the performance 
 which we have just been wearying ourselves 
 with looking over. That the author's in- 
 tentions were good, and his convictions 
 sincere, we entertain not the least doubt : 
 but that the merits of his book have been 
 prodigiously overrated, we think, is equally 
 undeniable. It contains absolutely noth- 
 ing, in the nature of argument, that had 
 not been previously stated by Dr. Reid in 
 his "Inquiry into the Human Mind ;" and, 
 in our opinion, in a much clearer and more 
 unexceptionable form. — Jeffrey, Fran- 
 cis Lord, 1807-44, Life of Dr. Beattie, 
 Contributions to the Edinburgh Review, vol. 
 Ill, p. 365. 
 
 Beattie is among the philosophers what 
 the Quaker is among religious sectaries. 
 The Kotvog vov^, or common sense, is the spirit 
 whose illapses he sits down and waits for, 
 and by whose whispers alone he expects to 
 be made wise. It has sometimes prompted 
 him well ; for there are admirable passages 
 in the Essay. The whole train of his 
 argument, or rather his invective, in the 
 second part, against the sceptics, is irre- 
 sistible.— Gary, Henry Francis, 1821- 
 24-45, Lives of English Poets, p. 310. 
 
 The book was received very favourably, 
 passed through five large editions in four 
 years, and was translated into French, 
 German, Dutch, and Italian. In the his- 
 tory of philosophy it has not the slightest 
 importance. The loose, commonplace 
 character of the professor's reasoning 
 made the essay popular among such read- 
 ers as wish to be thought acquainted with 
 the philosophy of the day, while they have 
 neither the ability nor inclination to grap- 
 ple with metaphysical problems. Attacks 
 on Hume in singularly bad taste abound 
 throughout the book. Hume is said to 
 have complained that he "had not been 
 used like a gentleman, ' ' and this probably 
 is the only notice that he deigned to take 
 of th^e professor's labours. — Bullen, A. 
 H., 1885, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. IV, p. 23. 
 
 The book had an enormous vogue, and 
 procured for its author a renown which, 
 however evanescent, was for the moment 
 astonishing. But it was in England rather 
 than in Scotland that its reception was 
 most flattering. . . . But as a fact 
 the book was but a piece of literary flotsam 
 such as is often cast up by the breaking 
 
JAMES BEATTIE 
 
 431 
 
 waves of controversy. As a philosophical 
 disputant Beattie is beneath contempt. 
 Occasionally he scores a good point, but 
 it may almost always be traced to Reid. He 
 makes a sound accusation against the 
 Scottish school, that they were ignorant 
 of the work of the ancient philosophers 
 and blind to their merits; but the accusa- 
 tion is one which he was utterly incapable 
 of pushing home. The book is indeed a 
 commonplace and frothy mixture of popu- 
 lar invective and almost childish argu- 
 ment.— Craik, Sir Henry, 1901, A Cen- 
 tury of Scottish History, vol. ii, p. 219. 
 
 THE MINSTREL 
 
 1771-74 
 
 The design was to trace the progress of 
 a Poetical Genius, born in a rude age, from 
 the first dawning of fancy and reason, till 
 that period at which he may be supposed 
 capable of appearing in the world as a 
 Minstrel, that is, as an itinerant Poet and 
 Musician ; — a character which, according 
 to the notions of our forefathers, was not 
 only respectable, but sacred. I have en- 
 deavoured to imitate Spenser in the meas- 
 ure of his verse, and in the harmony, 
 simplicity, and variety of his composition. 
 Antique expressions I have avoided; ad- 
 mitting, however, some old words, where 
 they seemed to suit the subject ; but I hope 
 none will be found that are now obsolete, 
 or in any degree not intelligible to a reader 
 of English poetry. To those who may be 
 disposed to ask, what could induce me to 
 write in so difficult a measure, I can only 
 answer that it pleases my ear, and seems, 
 from its Gothic structure and original, to 
 bear some relation to the subject and spirit 
 of the Poem. It admits both simplicity 
 and magnificence of sound and of language 
 beyond any other stanza that I am ac- 
 quainted with. It allows the sententious- 
 ness of the couplet, as well as the more 
 complex modulation of blank verse. What 
 some critics have remarked, of its uni- 
 formity growing at last tiresome to the 
 ear, will be found to hold true only when 
 the poetry is faulty in other respects. — 
 Beattie, James, 1771, The Minstrel, 
 Preface. 
 
 I read the ''Minstrel" with as much 
 rapture as poetry, in her noblest, sweetest 
 charms, ever raised in my soul. It seemed 
 to me that my once most-beloved minstrel, 
 Thomson, was come down from heaven, 
 refined by the converse of purer spirits 
 
 than those he lived with here, to let me 
 hear him sing again the beauties of nature, 
 and the finest feelings of virtue, not 
 with human, but with angelic strains. — 
 Lyttelton, Lord, 1771, Letter to Mrs. 
 Montagu, March. 
 
 I am charmed with * ' The Minstrel, ' ' and 
 have circulated its fame. I have enclosed 
 a note, by which you will see how much it 
 pleased Lord Lyttelton. I have sent one 
 into the country to Lord Chatham ; and I 
 wrote immediately to a person who serves 
 many gentlemen and ladies with new books, 
 to recommend it to all people of taste. I 
 am very sorry the second edition of Dr 
 Beattie's book is not yet in town. I have 
 recommended it, too, to many of our 
 bishops and others; but all have com- 
 plained this whole winter, that the book- 
 sellers deny having any of either the first 
 or second edition. — Montagu, Elizabeth, 
 1771, Letter to Dr. John Gregory, March 
 13 ; Forbes' Life of Beattie, vol. i, p. 251. 
 
 Nor tremble lest the tuneful art expire, 
 While Beattie strikes anew old Spenser's lyre ; 
 He, best to paint the genuine minstrel knew, 
 Who from himself the living portrait drew. 
 —More, Hannah, 1782, Sensibility. 
 
 I thanked you in my last for Johnson ; 
 I now thank you, with more emphasis, for 
 Beattie, — the most agreeable and amiable 
 writer I ever met with ; the only author I 
 have seen, whose critical and philosophical 
 researches are diversified and embellished 
 by a poetical imagination, that makes even 
 the driest subject and the leanest, a feast 
 for an epicure in books. He is so much 
 at his ease, too, that his own character 
 appears in every page; and, which is very 
 rare, we see not only the writer, but the 
 man; and that man so gentle, so well- 
 tempered, so happy in his religion, and so 
 humane in his philosophy, that it is neces- 
 sary to love him, if one has the least sense of 
 what is lovely. If you have not his poem 
 called The Minstrel, " and cannot borrow 
 it, I must beg you to buy it for me ; for, 
 though I cannot afl^ord to deal largely in 
 so expensive a commodity as books, I must 
 afford to purchase at least the poetical 
 works of Beattie.— Co WPER, Willia3i, 
 1784, Letter to Rev. William Unwin, April 5. 
 No gifts have I from Indian coasts 
 
 The infant year to iiail ; 
 I send you more than India boasts, 
 In Edwin's simple tale. 
 —Burns, Robert, 1787, To Miss Logan, 
 with Beattie's Poems. 
 
432 
 
 JAMES BEATTIE 
 
 It was his supreme delight to saunter 
 in the fields the livelong night, contem- 
 plating the sky, and marking the approach 
 of day; and he used to describe, with 
 peculiar animation, the pleasure he re- 
 ceived from the soaring of the lark in the 
 summer morning. A beautiful landscape 
 which he has magnificently described in 
 the twentieth stanza of the first book of 
 the "Minstrel," corresponds exactly with 
 what must have presented itself to his 
 poetical imagination, on those occasions, 
 at the approach of the rising sun, as he 
 would view the grandeur of that scene 
 from the hill in the neighbourhood of his 
 native village. The high hill which rises 
 to the west of Fordoun, would, in a misty 
 morning, supply him with one of the 
 images so beautifully described in the 
 twenty-first stanza. And the twentieth 
 stanza of the second book of the ''Min- 
 strel" describes a night-scene unquestion- 
 ably drawn from nature, in which he prob- 
 ably had in view Homer's sublime descrip- 
 tion of the moon, in the eighth book of the 
 Iliad, so admirably translated by Pope, 
 that an eminent critic had not scrupled to 
 declare it to be superior to the original. 
 He used, himself, to tell, that it was from 
 the top of a high hill in the neighbourhood 
 that he first beheld the ocean, the sight 
 of which, he declared, made the most 
 lively impression on his mind. — Forbes, 
 Sir William, 1806, An Account of the Life 
 and Writings of James Beattie, vol. i, 2?. 25. 
 
 ''Lives there the man, " who has a heart 
 to feel, and an understanding to appre- 
 ciate, who does not even hug the "Min- 
 strel" of Beattie? Most sweet and 
 soothing and instructive is that thoroughly 
 picturesque and sentimental poem,through- 
 out : while the stanza exhibits one of the 
 happiest of modern attempts at that of the 
 Spencerian structure. — Dibdin, Thomas 
 Frognall, 1824, The Library Companion j 
 p. 735, note. 
 
 His fame now rests upon "The Minstrel" 
 alone. Since its first publication, many 
 poems of a far loftier and more original 
 character have been produced in England ; 
 yet still does it maintain its popularity ; 
 and still in Edwin, that happy personifica- 
 tion of the poetic temperament, do young 
 and enthusiastic readers delight to recog- 
 nize a picture of themselves. Though we 
 cannot fail to regret that Beattie should 
 have left it incomplete, yet we do not long 
 
 for the concluding books from any interest 
 which we take in the story, such as is ex- 
 cited by some other unfinished works of 
 genius, the tale of "Cambuscan," for in- 
 stance, or the legend of "Christabel." 
 In "The Minstrel," indeed, there is but 
 little invention ; it is a poem of sentiment 
 and description, conveying to us lessons 
 of true philosophy in language of surpris- 
 ing beauty, and displaying pictures of 
 nature, in her romantic solitudes, painted 
 by a master's hand.— Dyce, Alexander, 
 ISSlf Beattie^ s Poems, Aldine ed., Memoir. 
 
 No poem has ever given more delight to 
 minds of a certain class, and in. a certain 
 stage of their progress . . . that class 
 a high one, and that stage perhaps the 
 most delightful in the course of their 
 pilgrimage. It was to this class that the 
 poet himself belonged ; the scenes which 
 he delineated were those in which he had 
 grown up, the feelings and aspirations 
 those of his own boyhood and youth, and 
 the poem derived its peculiar charm from 
 its truth.— Southey, Robert, 1835, Life 
 of Cowper, p. 340. 
 
 This afternoon I read through Beattie's 
 "Minstrel," which I never read carefully 
 before. It does not seem to me in most 
 parts to possess fire enough — you can't see 
 the "kindling touch" of genius in it. — 
 Lowell, James Russell, 1837, To G. B. 
 Loring, April 14 ; Letters, ed. Norton, vol. 
 I, p. 18. 
 
 "The Minstrel" is an harmonious and 
 eloquent composition, glowing with poet- 
 ical sentiment ; but its inferiority in the 
 highest poetical qualities may be felt by 
 comparing it with Thomson's "Castle of 
 Indolence," which is perhaps the other 
 work in the language which it most nearly 
 resembles, but which yet it resembles much 
 in the same way as gilding does solid gold, 
 or as colored water might be made to re- 
 semble wine.— Craik, George L., 1861, 
 A Compendious History of English Liter- 
 ature and of the English Language, vol. 11, 
 p. 307. 
 
 Beattie had not the same power of lus- 
 cious delineation, nor the same command 
 over language, which belonged to Thom- 
 son ; yet, on the other hand, he sometimes 
 rises to a strain of manly force and dignity 
 which was beyond the compass of the 
 other.— Arnold, Thomas, 1868-75, Chau- 
 cer to Wordsworth, p. 362. 
 
JAMES BEATTIE 
 
 433 
 
 Of James Beattie it is enough to record 
 that he published incoherent fragments of 
 a mock-antique "Minstrel," in the 
 Spenserian stanza. — Gosse, Edmund, 1888, 
 A History of Eighteenth Century Litera- 
 ture, p. 327. 
 
 His thought is nowhere great ; it verges 
 on originality, but is never conspicuously 
 fresh and new. ''The Minstrel" besides 
 is defective in the execution of its plan. 
 The idea at the root of it was a happy 
 one; and Wordsworth subsequently gave 
 partial proof of what might be done with 
 it. But Beattie did not really carry out 
 his purpose. The figure of Edwin remains 
 a mere shadow ; and the reader cannot be 
 said to behold the growth of a mind whose 
 features are nowhere brought before his 
 eye. — Walker, Hugh, 1893, Three Cen- 
 turies of Scottish Literature, vol. ii, p. 131. 
 
 ''The Minstrel," like "The Seasons," 
 abounds in insipid morality, the common- 
 places of denunciation against luxury and 
 ambition, and the praise of simplicity and 
 innocence. —Beers, Henry A., 1898, A 
 History of English Romanticism in the 
 Eighteenth Century, p. 305. 
 
 "The Minstrel or the Progress of 
 Genius' ' can satisfy only the most moderate 
 expectations, or the least fastidious taste. 
 There is absolutely no story ; the expres- 
 sion is seldom or never striking, and the 
 versification (it is Spenserian), though not 
 contemptible, has no distinction. But all 
 the objects of the early, confused. Roman- 
 tic appetite — country scenes, woods, 
 ruins, the moon, chivalry, mountains — 
 are dwelt upon with a generous emotion, 
 and with at least poetic intention. Above 
 all, Beattie was important "for them,^^ to 
 apply once more one of the most constantly 
 applicable of critical dicta. His time 
 could understand him, as it could not have 
 understood purer Romanticism, and it is 
 probable that, for an entire generation at 
 least, and perhaps longer, "The Minstrel" 
 served to bring sometimes near, and some- 
 times quite, to poetry, readers who would 
 have found Coleridge too fragmentary, 
 Shelley too ethereal, and both too remote. 
 — Saintsbury, George, 1898, A Short 
 History of English Literature, p. 586. 
 
 GENERAL 
 Dr. Beattie' s style is singularly free 
 and perspicuous, and adapted in the highest 
 degree to the purpose of familiar lectur- 
 ing to his pupils ; but for the author we 
 
 28C 
 
 should deem it something less than elegant, 
 and something less than nervous. In early 
 life he took great pains to imitate Addison, 
 whose style he always recommended and 
 admired. . . . In many parts of the letters, 
 we are constrained to perceive a degree 
 of egotism inconsistent with the dignity 
 of a philosopher or a man. The writer 
 seems unwilling to lose any opportunity 
 of recounting the attentions, the com- 
 pliments, the testimonies of admiration, 
 which he has received from individuals or 
 the public. The complacency v;ith which 
 he expatiates on himself and his perform- 
 ances, is but imperfectly disguised by the 
 occasional and too frequent professions of 
 holding himself and those performances 
 cheap. This is a very usual but unsuc- 
 cessful expedient, with those who have 
 reflection enough to be sensible that they 
 have rather too much ostentation, but not 
 resolution enough to restrain themselves 
 from indulging in it. — Foster, John, 
 
 1807, On Memoir- Writing, Critical Es- 
 says, ed. Ryland, vol. I, pp. 27, 28. 
 
 He wrote English better than any other 
 of his countrymen, and had formed his 
 style and manner of composition on our 
 Addison ; but what he admired in him was 
 his tuneful prose and elegant expression. 
 He had no notion of that writer's original 
 and inimitable humour. — Hurd, Richard, 
 
 1808, Commonplace Book, Memoirs, ed. 
 Kilvert, p. 244. 
 
 The few of his poems which he thought 
 worthy of being selected from the rest, 
 and of being delivered to posterity, have 
 many readers, to whom perhaps one recom- 
 mendation of them is that they are few. 
 They have, however, and deservedly, some 
 admirers of a better stamp. They soothe 
 the mind with indistinct conceptions of 
 something better than is met with in ordi- 
 nary life. The first book of the "Minstrel," 
 the most considerable amongst them, de- 
 scribes with much fervour the enthusiasm 
 of a boy "smit with the love of song, " and 
 awakened to a sense of rapture by all that 
 is most grand or lovely in the external 
 appearance of nature. It is evident that 
 the poet had felt much of what he de- 
 scribes, and he therefore makes his hearers 
 feel it. Yet at times, it must be owned, 
 he seems as if he were lashing himself 
 into a state of artificial emotion. — Gary, 
 Henry Francis, 1821-24-45, Lives of 
 English Poets, p. 313. 
 
434 
 
 JAMES BEATTIE 
 
 On the whole, Beattie may be ranked 
 beside, or near, Campbell, Collins, Gray, 
 and Akenside. Deficient in thought and 
 passion, in creative power, and copious 
 imagination, he is strong in sentiment, in 
 mild tenderness, and in delicate description 
 of nature. Whatever become of his Essay 
 on Truth, or even of his less elaborate and 
 more pleasing Essays on Music, Imagina- 
 tion, and Dreams, the world can never, at 
 any stage of its advancement, forget to 
 read and admire the Minstrel' ' and the 
 Hermit," or to cherish the memory 
 of their warm-hearted and sorely-tried 
 author. — ^Gilfillan, George, 1854, ed. 
 The Poetical Works of Beattie, Blair and 
 Falconer, p. xxiv. 
 
 Beattie, a metaphysical moralist, with a 
 young girl's nerves and an old maid's 
 hobbies.— Taine, H. A., 1871, History of 
 English Literature, tr. Van Laun, vol. Ii, 
 bk. iii, ch. vii, p. 220. 
 
 His style has considerable power of the 
 rotund declamatory order ; copious, high- 
 sounding, and elegant ; occasionally in its 
 appeals to established feeling throwing 
 out rhetorical interrogations, followed by 
 brief, abrupt answers. — MiNTO, William, 
 1872-80, Manual of English Prose Liter- 
 ature, p. 474. 
 
 His poems will ever hold a place among 
 the classical writings of Great Britain. 
 His ''Minstrel" and his ''Hermit" are 
 exquisite poems of their kind: simple, 
 graceful, tender, and leaving a peaceful 
 and peace-giving impression on the mind ; 
 and therefore not likely to be appreciated 
 by those whose tastes were formed by the 
 passionate and startling style of poetry 
 introduced in the next page by Byron, who 
 was at school in Aberdeen while Beattie 
 was in his declining years. His prose 
 works do not exhibit much grasp or depth 
 of thought, but are characterized by much 
 ease and elegance. — • McCosH, James, 
 1874, The Scottish Philosophy, p. 234. 
 
 Beattie also wrote odes, but any inter- 
 ference with the dust that has settled upon 
 them would be officious and unnecessary ; 
 it is by his "Minstrel" that he lives, so far 
 as he can be said to live at all, for there 
 is no great delight to be got from his other 
 poems. "The Minstrel," however, has 
 real merit. It was due in good part to the 
 influence of Speneer, whom he greatly ad- 
 mired, but even in beautiful passages we 
 
 find such conventional phrases as "glitter- 
 ing waves and skies in gold arrayed." 
 Yet in the first book we find very genuine 
 love of nature expressed with real poetical 
 skill.— Perry, Thomas S., 1880, Gray, 
 Collins and Beattie, Atlantic Monthly, vol 
 46, p. 816. 
 
 Beattie is perhaps the most difficult poet 
 of the eighteenth century for a nineteenth- 
 century reader to criticise sympathetic- 
 ally. His original poetical power was 
 almost nil. But he had a delicate and 
 sensitive taste, and was a diligent student 
 of the works of Gray and Collins on the 
 one hand, and of the ballads which Percy 
 had just published on the other. His 
 earlier poems are merely so many varia- 
 tions on the "Elegy" and the "Ode on the 
 Passions. ' ' His ' ' Judgment of Paris' ' and 
 his ''Lines on Churchill" are perhaps those 
 of his works in which he was least indebted 
 to others, and they are almost worthless 
 intrinsically, besides being (at least the 
 Churchill lines) in the worst possible taste. 
 — Saintsbury, George, 1880, The Eng- 
 lish Poets, ed. Ward, vol. iii, p. 396. 
 
 Beattie 's odes are feeble echoes of "The 
 Bard" of Gray and "The Passions" of 
 Collins ; his "Judgment of Paris" is mere 
 rhetoric; his imitation of Shakespeare's 
 "Blow, blow, thou winter wind" is chiefly 
 remarkable for the number of technical 
 faults compressed within so narrow com- 
 pass. "The Minstrel" itself is more 
 noteworthy as a symptom than for its in- 
 trinsic merits. — Walker, Hugh, 1893, 
 Three Centuries of Scottish Literature, vol. 
 II, p. 130. 
 
 The author of the "Minstrel" was an 
 honest man and a respectable poet, but he 
 prided himself too much on what he called 
 common sense, and failed to see that in 
 the search after truth other and even 
 higher faculties may be also needed. — 
 Dennis, John, 1894, The Age of Pope, 
 p. 226. 
 
 His fame to-day is as a tale that is told. 
 His prose works, so lauded in their genera- 
 tion, are forgotten. His "Minstrel" 
 lingers still with a slender reputation 
 after its days of glory, and its author 
 is stamped with that disastrous title of 
 mediocrity — "a pleasing poet." — Graham, 
 Henry Grey, 1901, James Beattie, Scottish 
 Men of Letters in the Eighteenth Century, 
 p. 272. 
 
435 
 
 Joseph Ritson 
 
 1752-1803 
 
 Antiquary, born at Stockton-on-Tees, came to London in 1775, and practised as a 
 conveyancer, but was enabled to give most of his time to antiquarian studies. He was 
 as notorious for his vegetarianism, whimsical spelling, and irreverence as for his attacks 
 on bigger men than himself. His first important work was an onslaught on Warton's 
 "History of English Poetry" (1782). He assailed (1783) Johnson and Steevens for 
 their text of Shakespeare, and Bishop Percy in ''Ancient Songs" (1790); in 1792 
 appeared his ''Cursory Criticisms" on Malone's Shakespeare. Other works were "Eng- 
 lish Songs" (1783); "Ancient Popular Poetry" (1791); "Scottish Songs" (1794); 
 "Poems," by Laurence Minot (1795); "Robin Hood Ballads" (1795); and "Ancient 
 English Metrical Romances" (1802).— Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's 
 Biographical Dictionary, p. 792. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor, 
 And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar, 
 His diet too acid, his temper too sour, 
 Little Ritson came out with his two volumes 
 more. 
 
 —Scott, Sir Walter, 1823, Song of One 
 Volume More. 
 
 Coarse, caustic, clever ; and, am I to sup- 
 pose, not amiable. — Lamb, Charles, 1823, 
 Ritson Versus John Scott, the Quaker, 
 p. 437. 
 
 This narrow-minded, sour, and dogmat- 
 ical little word-catcher had hated the very 
 name of a Scotsman, and was utterably 
 incapable of sympathizing with any of the 
 higher views of his new correspondent. 
 Yet the bland courtesy of Scott disarmed 
 even this half -crazy pedant ; and he com- 
 municated the stores of his really valu- 
 able learning in a manner that seems to 
 have greatly surprised all who had hitherto 
 held any intercourse with him on antiqua- 
 rian topics. — Lockhart, John Gibson, 
 1836, Life of Sir Walter Scott, ch. x. 
 
 Whose wild temper and vegetarian 
 crotchets have found a more permanent 
 place in history than his collections. — 
 Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1882, The 
 Literary History of England, XVIIIth- 
 XlXth Century, vol. ii, p. 189. 
 
 One of the most interesting spots in all 
 London to me is Bunhill Fields cemetery, 
 for herein are the graves of many whose 
 memory I revere. I had heard that Joseph 
 Ritson was buried here, and while my 
 sister. Miss Susan, lingered at the grave 
 of her favorite poet, I took occasion to 
 spy around among the tombstones in the 
 hope of discovering the last resting-place 
 of the curious old antiquary whose labors 
 in the field of balladry have placed me 
 under so great a debt of gratitude to him. 
 
 But after I had searched in vain for some- 
 what more than an hour one of the keepers 
 of the place told me that in compliance 
 with Ritson's earnest desire while living, 
 that antiquary's grave was immediately 
 after the interment of the body levelled 
 down and left to the care of nature, with 
 no stone to designate its location. So at 
 the present time no one knows just where 
 old Ritson's grave is, only that within that 
 vast enclosure where so many thousand 
 souls sleep their last sleep the dust of the 
 famous ballad-lover lies fast asleep in the 
 bosom of mother earth. — Field, Eugene, 
 1895, The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac, 
 p. 93. 
 
 Ritson combined much pedantry with his 
 scholarship; but he sought a far higher 
 ideal of accuracy than is common among 
 antiquaries, while he spared no pains in 
 accumulating information. Sir Walter 
 Scott wrote that *'he had an honesty of 
 principle about him which, if it went to 
 ridiculous extremities, was still respect- 
 able from the soundness of the founda- 
 tion." But Scott did not overlook his 
 friend's peculiarities, and in verses written 
 for the Bannatyne Club in 1823 he referred 
 to ''Little Ritson" 
 
 As bitter as gall, and as sharp as a razor, 
 And feeding on herbs as a Nebuchadnezzar. 
 Ritson's impatience of inaccuracy led him 
 to unduly underrate the labours of his con- 
 temporaries, and his suspicions of impos- 
 ture were often unwarranted. But his 
 irritability and eccentricity were mainly 
 due to mental malady. He showed when 
 in good health many generous instincts, 
 and he cherished no personal animosity 
 against those on whose published work he 
 made his splenetic attacks. With Surtees, 
 George Baton, Walter Scott, and his 
 nephew he corresponded good -humour edly 
 
436 
 
 JOSEPH RITSON 
 
 to the end. He produced his works with 
 every typographical advantage, and em- 
 ployed Bewick and Stothard to illustrate 
 many of them. It is doubtful if any of his 
 literary ventures proved remunerative. 
 In person, according to his friend Robert 
 Smith, Ritson resembled a spider. A car- 
 icature of him by Gillray represents him 
 in a tall hat and a long closely buttoned 
 coat.— Lee, Sidney, 1896, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. XLViii, p. 330. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 In Theron's form, mark Ritson next contend; 
 Fierce, meagre, pale, no commentator's 
 friend. 
 
 — Mathias, Thomas James, 1797, The 
 Pursuits of Literature, Eighth ed,, p. 100. 
 
 A man of acute observation, profound 
 research, and great labour. These valu- 
 able attributes were unhappily combined 
 with an eager irritability of temper, which 
 induced him to treat antiquarian trifles with 
 the same seriousness which men of the 
 world reserve for matters of importance, 
 and disposed him to drive controversies 
 into personal quarrels, by neglecting, in 
 literary debate, the courtesies of ordinary 
 society. It ought to be said, however, 
 by one who knew him well, that this irri- 
 tability of disposition was a constitutional 
 and physical infirmity, and that Ritson's 
 extreme attachment to the severity of 
 truth corresponded to the vigour of his 
 criticisms upon the labours of others. — 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 1802-3, Ancient 
 Minstrelsy, Introduction. 
 
 Hear how this puny worm lifts its feeble 
 cry, to arraign the orders of nature, and 
 scoff at the Omniscience, which, for wise 
 purposes, though quite unknown to us, 
 suffers it to crawl upon the earth. . . . 
 Before taking leave of this nauseous 
 performance, a few words remain to be 
 added upon the style, in which so many 
 absurdities are delivered. We do not 
 mean to go farther than the external 
 qualities, — the matchless ludicrousness of 
 the orthography and typography. . . . 
 We now most joyfully leave the ''Essay 
 on Abstinence from Animal Food" to that 
 oblivion which awaits it ; and from which 
 its singularities, however gross and 
 wicked, are of too dull a cast to save it. 
 — Smith, Sidney, and Brougham, Henry 
 Lord, 1803, Ritson on Abstinence From 
 Animal Food, Edinburgh Review, vol. 2, 
 pp. 135, 136. 
 
 Ritson is the oddest, but most honest of 
 all our antiquarians. — Southey, Robert, 
 1803, ToS. T. Coleridge, March 14; Life 
 and Correspondence. 
 
 Mr. Joseph Ritson, unilluminated by a 
 particle of taste or fancy, and remarkable 
 only for the increasing drudgery with 
 which he dedicated his life to one of the 
 humblest departments of literary antiqui- 
 ties, and for the bitter insolence and foul 
 abuse with which he communicated his dull 
 acquisitions to the public. . . . Who- 
 ever is acquainted with that strange, but 
 not totally useless, book ["Bibliographia 
 Poetica"], will wonder how it was possible 
 for a man, with such a fund of materials 
 before him, to compile a work so utterly 
 lifeless and stupid, so uncheared by one 
 single ray of light, or one solitary flower 
 admitted even by chance from the numer- 
 ous and varied gardens of poetry over 
 which he had been travelling ! But, poor 
 unhappy spirit, thou art gone ! Perhaps 
 thy restless temper was diseased: and 
 mayst thou find peace in the grave! — 
 Brydges, Sir Samuel Egerton, 1805, 
 Censura Literaria, vol. i, p. 54. 
 
 Sycorax was this demon; and a 
 cunning and clever demon was he ! I 
 will cease speaking metaphorically, but 
 Sycorax was a man of ability in his way. 
 He taught literary men, in some measure, 
 the value of careful research and faithful 
 quotation ; in other words, he taught them 
 to speak the truth as they found her ; and 
 doubtless for this he merits not the name 
 of demon, unless you allow me the privilege 
 of a Grecian. That Sycorax loved the 
 truth must be admitted ; but that he loved 
 no one else so much as himself to speak 
 the truth, must also be admitted. — Dib- 
 din, Thomas Frognall, 1811, The Bibli- 
 omania ; or, Book-Madness. 
 
 Ritson, the late antiquary of poetry (not 
 to call him poetical) amazed the world by 
 his vituperative railing at two authors of 
 the finest taste in poetry, Warton and 
 Percy; he carried criticism, as the dis- 
 cerning few had first surmised, to insanity 
 itself; the character before us only ap- 
 proached it.— Disraeli, Isaac, 1812-13, 
 The Influence of a Bad Temper in Criti- 
 cism, Calamities of Authors. 
 
 As to the rabid Ritson, who can describe 
 his vagaries ? What great arithmetician 
 can furnish an index to his absurdities, or 
 what great decipherer furnish a key to the 
 
RITSON— HOPKINS 
 
 437 
 
 principles of these absurdities? In his 
 very title-pages, — nay, in the most obsti- 
 nate of ancient technicalities, — he showed 
 his cloven foot to the astonished reader. 
 Some of his many works were printed in 
 Pali-Mall ; now, as the world is pleased to 
 pronounce that word Pel-Mel, thus and 
 no otherwise (said Ritson) it shall be 
 spelled for ever. Whereas, on the con- 
 trary, some men would have said: The 
 spelling is well enough, it is the public 
 pronunciation which is wrong. . . . 
 Volumes would not suffice to exhaust the 
 madness of Ritson upon this subject. And 
 there was this peculiarity in his madness, 
 over and above its clamorous ferocity, — ■ 
 that, being no classical scholar (a meagre 
 self-taught Latinist and no Grecian at all), 
 though profound as a black-letter scholar, 
 he cared not one straw for ethnographic 
 relations of words, nor for unity of anal- 
 ogy, which are the principles that gener- 
 ally have governed reformers of spelling. 
 He was an attorney and moved constantly 
 under the monomaniac idea that an action 
 lay on behalf of misused letters, mutes, 
 liquids, vowels, and diphthongs, against 
 somebody or other (John Doe, was it, or 
 Richard Roe ?) for trespass on any rights 
 of theirs which an attorney, might trace, 
 and of course for any direct outrage upon 
 their persons. Yet no man was more 
 systematically an offender in both ways 
 than himself, — tying up one leg of a 
 quadruped word and forcing it to run upon 
 three, cutting off noses and ears if he 
 fancied that equity required it, and living 
 in eternal hot water with a language which 
 he pretended eternally to protect. — De 
 Quince Y, Thomas, 1847-60, Orthographic 
 Mutineers; Works, ed. Masson, vol. XI, 
 pp. 441, 442. 
 
 A man of ample reading and excellent 
 taste in selection, and who, real scholar 
 as he was, always drew from original 
 sources.— Lowell, James Russell, 1871, 
 Library of Old Authors, My Study Win- 
 dows, p. 359. 
 
 Neither Percy nor Warton escaped the 
 strictures of Ritson, that ''black-letter 
 dog," a tame and affected pedant of no 
 critical importance, but far more careful 
 as an editor than either of them. — GossE, 
 Edmund, 1888, A History of Eighteenth 
 Century Literature, p. 325. 
 
 I do not wonder that Ritson and Percy 
 quarrelled. It was his misfortune that 
 Ritson quarrelled with everybody. Yet 
 Ritson was a scrupulously honest man ; he 
 was so vulgarly sturdy in his honesty that 
 he would make all folk tell the truth even 
 though the truth were of such a character 
 as to bring the blush of shame to the devil's 
 hardened cheek. — Field, Eugene, 1895, 
 The Love Affairs of a Bibliomaniac, p. 101. 
 
 Joseph Ritson possessed all the enthusi- 
 asm, and even more than the share of 
 eccentricity, which so often accompanies 
 the genius of the antiquary. . . . 
 Violent in all his notions, — religious, 
 moral, and political, as well as critical, — 
 he was always ready to fall upon others 
 whose opinions were at variance with 
 truth, or at least with his own view of it. 
 As his learning was large and strictly 
 accurate, and his style incisive, he was 
 respected and disliked; and at different 
 times War burton, Johnson, Warton, and 
 Steevens all felt the edge of his criticism. 
 It will readily be supposed that Percy's 
 ideas of the duties of an editor did not 
 commend themselves to Ritson. — Court- 
 hope, W. J., 1895, A History of English 
 Poetry, vol. I, p. 428. 
 
 Samuel Hopkins 
 
 1721-1803 
 
 A Congregational clergyman of Newport, Rhode Island, the founder of what has been 
 called Hopkinsian Divinity, which differed from Calvinism in maintaining the free agency 
 of sinners, the moral inability of the unregenerate, and ascribing the essence of sin to 
 the disposition and purpose of the mind. His views had great influence in the modifica- 
 tion of contemporary thought. He was a strong opponent of slavery, and his influence 
 procured the passage of a law prohibiting the importation of slaves into Rhode Island. 
 The "System of Doctrine contained in Divine Revelation" is his principal work. 
 Others are, "The True State of the Unregenerate "Nature of True Holiness ;" "The 
 Duty and Interest of American States to Emancipate their Slaves." »S'ee "Life" by 
 Park ; Mrs. Stowe's "Minister's Wooing ;" Sprague's "Annals of the American Pulpit.'* 
 —Adams, Oscar Fay, 1897, A Dictionary of American Authors, p. 194. 
 
438 
 
 SAMUEL HOPKINS 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 His appearance was that of a man who 
 had nothing to do with the world. I can 
 well recollect the impression which he 
 made on me when a boy, as he rode on 
 horseback in a plaid gown, fastened by a 
 girdle round his waist, and with a study 
 cap on his head instead of a wig. His de- 
 livery in the pulpit was the worst I ever 
 met with. Such tones never came from 
 any human voice within my hearing. He 
 was the very ideal of bad delivery. Then 
 I must say, the matter was as often unin- 
 viting as the manner. :^ . . . His manners 
 had a bluntness, partly natural, partly the 
 result of long seclusion in the country. 
 We cannot wonder that such a man should 
 be set down as hard and severe. But he 
 had a true benevolence, and what is more 
 worthy of being noted, he was given to a 
 facetious style of conversation. — Chan- 
 NiNG, William Ellery, 1836, Christian 
 Worship, Discourse at Newport, R. /., 
 July 27 ; Works, vol. iv, p. 348, note. 
 
 As to his personal appearance, my 
 recollection is, that he was rather above 
 the middle height, somewhat inclined to a 
 plethoric habit, with a thoughtful and in- 
 telligent expression of countenance. He 
 wore a black cap, and seemed to me very 
 aged and infirm. I remember to have 
 thought his preaching exceedingly dry and 
 abstract, and such I believe was the esti- 
 mate formed of it by those whose age and 
 acquirements rendered them more com- 
 petent judges than I was. I understand that 
 some of his sermons were written out, but 
 he usually preached from short notes. The 
 effect of his preaching was that nearly all 
 the young people of the town went to other 
 churches. I distinctly recollect that there 
 was a larger proportion of aged people in 
 his congregation than I remember ever to 
 have seen in any other ; and there was a 
 corresponding gravity and solemnity in 
 their appearance. — Pitman, Benjamin H., 
 1851, Letter to William B. Sprague, Aug, 
 18 ; Annals of the American Pulpit, vol. i, 
 p. 433. 
 
 Nothing in the history of Samuel Hop- 
 kins is more honorable to him, than his 
 early, fearless, uncompromising and inde- 
 fatigable testimony against the slave trade 
 and against slavery. We commend the 
 consideration of his heroic example, and 
 the study of his works on this subject, to 
 those pastors and doctors, who, within the 
 
 last three years, in their zeal for com- 
 promise and political expediency, have 
 shown themselves recreant to the cause of 
 liberty. That honest old man, with all 
 his metaphysics, had a throb under the 
 left breast;" and, with all his logic, it was 
 impossible for him to deduce from the 
 Scriptures, or from his own theory of the 
 nature of virtue, any apology for so 
 atrocious a thing as the system of slavery. 
 Without the gift of eloquence, without 
 any advantage of station or office, without 
 wealth, without personal influence, save in 
 a restricted range, he made himself felt, 
 and was willing to be hated, as a defender 
 of the needy and the captive. His in- 
 fluence in this respect has acted upon 
 thousands of minds who were never con- 
 scious that the influence which moved them 
 came from so obscure a source. Guided 
 by no impracticable or Jacobinical theory, 
 impelled only by the Divine instinct of 
 equity and love, he demanded, as with an 
 inspired earnestness, justice for the 
 wronged and liberty for all. — Bacon, 
 Leonard, 1852, Prof. Park's Memoir of 
 Hopkins, New Englander, vol. 10, p. 470. 
 
 He was so infirm, during at least a part 
 of the time after I knew him, that he was 
 unable to walk to the house of God with- 
 out help. He was rather tall and some- 
 what corpulent, as well as infirm ; and I 
 well remember that a coloured man used 
 to put his shoulder under the Doctor's 
 arm, and thus walk with him to his pulpit, 
 and then home again after the service. I 
 think I never heard him preach but once, 
 and then his voice and manner, owing I 
 suppose to his bodily infirmities, were ex- 
 tremely feeble; but I think that, in his 
 best state, he had not much animation in 
 the pulpit. I visited him very often, and 
 always found him in his study, and always 
 received from him a cordial welcome. He 
 was pleasant and instructive in conversa- 
 tion, and seemed to be living under a 
 habitual sense of the Divine presence. He 
 was evidently deeply affected that so little 
 apparent success had attained his ministry, 
 and I think he had great fears as to what 
 would be the condition of his society after 
 his removal from them. — Bradley, 
 Joshua, 1853, Letter to William B. 
 Sprague, July 15 ; Annals of the American 
 Pulpit, vol. I, p. 435. 
 
 He was a good man. His own phrase 
 to express the sum total of virtue was 
 
SAMUEL HOPKINS 
 
 439 
 
 "disinterested benevolence," and he lived 
 it as faithfully as he preached it. He se- 
 cured the personal esteem and love of those 
 of his neighbors who differed most widely 
 from him in his theological views. His 
 great mental trait was that which was so 
 clearly marked upon his daily life that he 
 received the nick-name Old Honesty. He 
 was humble, and honest in expressing a 
 depreciatory opinion of his own services. 
 He was honest in his theological convic- 
 tions, and thorough in carrying them out 
 into their' manifold ramifications. So 
 honest was he, that he did not stop always 
 to select language not likely unnecessarily 
 to offend.— Foster, Frank H., 1886, The 
 Eschatology of the New England Divines, 
 Bibliotheca Sacra, vol. 43, p. 711. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The celebrity of the author, who, with 
 Edwards and Bellamy, completes the 
 American triumvirate of eminent writers 
 in the same strain of divinity, would have 
 rendered this work [''System of Doc- 
 trines"] much more popular and useful, had 
 he kept clear of a bold and grating state- 
 ment, — that ''God has foreordained all the 
 moral evil which does take place," and 
 which he endeavours to defend with more 
 ingenuity than success. — Williams, Ed- 
 ward, 1800, The Christian Preacher. 
 
 His system, however fearful, was yet 
 built on a generous foundation. He main- 
 tained that all holiness, all moral excel- 
 lence, consists in benevolence, or disin- 
 terested devotion to the greatest good. 
 . . He taught that sin was introduced 
 into the creation, and is to be everlastingly 
 punished, because evil is necessary to the 
 highest good. . . . True virtue, as 
 he taught, was an entire surrender of per- 
 sonal interest to the benevolent purposes 
 of God. Self-love he spared in none of its 
 movements. — Channing, William El- 
 LERY, 1836, Christian Worship, Dis- 
 course at Newport, R. /., July 27. 
 
 We have chosen to speak of Dr. Hopkins 
 as a philanthropist, rather than a theo- 
 logian. Let those who prefer to contem- 
 plate the narrow sectarian, rather than the 
 universal man, dwell upon his controversial 
 works, and extol the ingenuity and logical 
 acumen with which he defended his own 
 dogmas, and assailed those of others. We 
 honor him, not as the founder of a new 
 sect, but as the friend of all mankind; 
 the generous defender of the poor and 
 
 oppressed. Great as unquestionably were 
 his powers of argument, his learning, and 
 skill in the use of the weapons of theo- 
 logic warfare, these by no means con- 
 stitute his highest title to respect and 
 reverence. As the product of an honest 
 and earnest mind, his doctrinal disserta- 
 tions have at least the merit of sincerity. 
 They were put forth in behalf of what he 
 regarded as truth ; and the success which 
 they met with, while it called into exercise 
 his profoundest gratitude, only served to 
 deepen the humility and self-abasement of 
 their author. — Whittier, John G., 1849, 
 Old Portraits and Modern Sketches, p. 162. 
 
 Hopkins sought to add to the five points 
 of Calvinism the rather heterogeneous in- 
 gredient that holiness consists in pure, 
 disinterested benevolence, and that all re- 
 gard for self is necessarily sinful. — HiL- 
 dreth, Richard, 1849-54, History of 
 the United States of America, vol. ii, p. 597. 
 
 Few theologians of our country have 
 exerted a wider special influence than 
 Samuel Hopkins, a descendant of Governor 
 Hopkins, of Connecticut, and the chief of 
 the Calvinistic sect of Christians known as 
 Hopkinsians. . . . Dr. Hopkins was 
 an inefficient preacher. His pen, and not 
 his tongue, was the chief utterer of those 
 sentiments which have made his name 
 famous as a Calvinistic theologian. — Loss- 
 iNG, Benson J., 1855-86, Eminent Amer- 
 icans, p. 240. 
 
 Hopkinsianism is Calvinism, in distinc- 
 tion from every form and shade of Armin- 
 ianism ; and yet not Calvinism, in precisely 
 the sense of Calvin, or of the Westminster 
 Confession of faith. It is a modification 
 of some of the points of old Calvinism, 
 presenting them, as its abettors think, in 
 a more reasonable, consistent, and scrip- 
 tural point of light. These modifications 
 originated in New England, more than a 
 hundred years ago. They commenced 
 with the first President Edwards, and were 
 still further unfolded in the teachings of 
 his pupils and followers, Hopkins, Bellamy, 
 West, the younger Edwards, Dr. Emmons, 
 and Dr. Spring. The name '^Hopkinsian" 
 is derived from Dr. Samuel Hopkins of 
 Newport, R. I., and was fastened upon 
 those who sympathized with him, not by 
 himself, but by an opponent. — Pond, 
 Enoch, 1862, Hopkinsianism, Bibliotheca 
 Sacra, vol. 19, p. 633. 
 
 The progress of theology during the 
 
440 
 
 HOPKINS— ADAMS 
 
 thirty years which followed the Revolution 
 is illustrated by the works of many men of 
 mark in their profession, and by two men 
 of original though somewhat crotchety 
 religious genius, Samuel Hopkins and 
 Nathaniel Emmons.— Whipple, Edwin 
 Percy, 1886, American Literature and 
 Other Papers, ed. Whittier, p. 29. 
 
 He expected men to study his books till 
 they got the great sweep and purpose of 
 the whole, and interpret single expressions 
 by his general meaning. If one will read 
 him thus, and do him the justice now and 
 then to re-state his thought in modern 
 styles of expression, the grandeur of his 
 fearless consistency will impress, as much 
 as the deep solicitude and heart-searching 
 faithfulness of this preacher-theologian 
 will move and profit in the reading. — 
 Foster, Frank H., 1886, The Eschatology 
 of the New England Divines, Bibliotheca 
 Sacra, vol 43, p. 712. 
 
 No one can read Hopkins's writings with- 
 out perceiving how saturated he has become 
 
 with Edwards's thought. Whether he is 
 the truest interpreter of Edwards may be 
 doubted, however, for his mind was cast 
 in a different mould. Nor does it appear 
 that Edwards admitted him, after all, to 
 complete intellectual intimacy ; for Hop- 
 kins is silent as the grave about Edwards's 
 more recondite philosophical or theological 
 speculations. . . . Dr. Hopkins passed 
 his life shut up to his own reflections, 
 within the narrow precincts of his theo- 
 logical system. He had learned to think 
 vigorously for himself, but he had a strange 
 incapacity for seeing how other people 
 thought. He showed no concern at the 
 great revulsion of feelmg which was all 
 around him in his later years. He had no 
 anticipation of a truth to be revealed to 
 the coming generation which would shake 
 the principles to whose advocacy he had 
 devoted his life. — Allen, Alexander V. 
 G., 1891, The Transition in New England 
 Theology, Atlantic Monthly, vol, 68, pp. 
 769, 777. 
 
 Samnel Adams 
 
 1722-1803 
 
 Patriot and orator ; a second cousin of President John Adams ; born in Boston, Sept. 
 27, 1722 ; graduated at Harvard College in 1740 ; and became a merchant, but was 
 not successful in business, and soon abandoned it. In 1765 he was chosen to represent 
 Boston in the General Court of Massachusetts, in which he distinguished himself by 
 his courage, energy, and oratorical talents, and acquired great influence. Before the 
 Revolution he was an unflinching advocate of the popular cause, and took such an active 
 part in political meetings that he was one of the two leading patriots who were excepted 
 from a general pardon offered in 1775. He was a member of the first Continental 
 Congress, which met in Sept., 1774, and he signed the Declaration of Independence 
 in 1776. He remained in Congress about eight years, was afterwards elected to the 
 Senate of Massachusetts, and was a member of the State convention which ratified 
 the Federal Constitution in 1788. His political affinities connected him with the 
 Republicans (or Jeffersonian) party. He was elected Governor of Massachusetts in 
 1794, was re-elected twice, and retired to private life in 1797. He died Oct. 2, 1803. 
 In religion he was a decided Calvinist. — Adams, Charles Kendall, ed., 1897, John- 
 son^s Universal Cyclopcedia, vol. I, p. 43. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The Cromwell of New England. — Decius, 
 1779, London Morning Post; Moore^s 
 Diary of the Revolution, vol. ii, p. 144. 
 
 If ever a man was sincerely an idolater 
 of republicanism, it was Samuel Adams; 
 and never a man united more virtues to 
 give respect to his opinions. He has the 
 excess of republican virtues, —untainted 
 probity, simplicity, modesty, and, above 
 all, firmness. He will have no capitulation 
 with abuses. He fears as much the despot- 
 ism of virtue and talents as the despotism 
 
 of vice. Cherishing the greatest love and 
 respect for Washington, he voted to take 
 from him the command at the end of a 
 certain time. He recalled that Csesar 
 could not have succeeded in overturning 
 the Republic but by prolonging the com- 
 mand of the army. The event has proved 
 that the application was false ; but it was 
 by a miracle, and the safety of a country 
 should never be risked on the faith of a 
 miracle. — Brissot de Warville, Jean P., 
 1790 ? New Travels in the United States. 
 The dignity of his manners was well 
 
SAMUEL ADAMS 
 
 441 
 
 expressed by the majesty of his counte- 
 nance, — an index of a mind never debased 
 by grovelling ideas nor occupied in contem- 
 plating low pursuits. Yet this appearance 
 was accompanied with a suavity of temper, 
 qualifying him for those charities and 
 graces so highly ornamental to the most 
 sublime and dignified character. Few are 
 there who better discharge the social rela- 
 tions of life than our departed friend; 
 neither would it be easy to find a more 
 tender husband, more affectionate parent, 
 or more faithful friend. He would easily 
 relax from severe care and study, to enjoy 
 the delight of private conversation. Nor 
 did he ever omit any patronage or kindness 
 due to any in the circle of his acquaintance 
 which was in his power to execute. So 
 that some who disliked his political con- 
 duct loved and revered him as a neighbor 
 and friend.— Teacher, Thomas, 1803, A 
 Tribute of Respect to the Memory of Sam- 
 uel Adams, LL. D., A. A. S. 
 
 It has been lately announced to the pub- 
 lic, that one of the earliest patriots of the 
 Revolution has paid his last debt to Nature. 
 I had hoped that some other gentleman, 
 better qualified for the task, would have 
 undertaken to call the attention of the 
 House to this interesting event. It cannot 
 indeed be a matter of deep regret that 
 one of the first statesman of our country 
 has descended to the grave full of years and 
 full of honors; that his character and 
 fame are put beyond the reach of that time 
 and chance to which everything mortal is 
 exposed. But it becomes this House to 
 cherish a sentiment of veneration for such 
 men, since such men are rare, and to keep 
 alive the spirit to which we owe the Con- 
 stitution under which we are now deliber- 
 ating. ... I feel myself in every way 
 unequal to the attempt of doing justice to 
 the merits of our departed countryman. 
 Called upon by the occasion to say some- 
 thing, I could have not have said less. I 
 would not, by any poor eulogium of mine, 
 enfeeble the sentiments which pervades 
 the House, but content myself with moving 
 the following resolutions — Resolved unani- 
 mously, That thi s House is penetrated with a 
 full sense of the eminent services rendered 
 to his country in the most arduous times 
 by the late Samuel Adams, deceased, and 
 that the members thereof wear crape on 
 the left arm for one month in testimony 
 for the national gratitude and reverence 
 
 towards the memory of that undaunted and 
 illustrious patriot. — Randolph, John, 
 1803, Speech before Congress, Oct. 19. 
 
 Altho' my high reverence for Samuel 
 Adams was returned by habitual notices 
 from him which highly flattered me, yet 
 the disparity of age prevented intimate 
 and confidential communications. I always 
 considered him as more than any other 
 member the fountain of our important 
 measures. And altho' he was neither an 
 eloquent nor easy speaker, whatever he 
 said was sound, and commanded the pro- 
 found attention of the House. — Jeffer- 
 son, Thomas, 1819, Letter to Benjamin 
 Waterhouse, Jan. 31 ; Writings, ed. Ford, 
 vol. X, p. 124. 
 
 He attached an exclusive value to the 
 habits and principles in which he had been 
 educated, and wished to adjust wide con- 
 cerns too closely after a particular model. 
 One of his colleagues who knew him well, 
 and estimated him highly, described him, 
 with goood-natured exaggeration, in the 
 following manner : Samuel Adams would 
 have the State of Massachusetts govern the 
 Union, the town of Boston govern Massa- 
 chusetts, and that he should govern 
 the town of Boston, and then the whole 
 would not be intentionallv ill-governed." 
 —Tudor, William, 1823, The Life of 
 James Otis, p. 274. 
 
 No single man did so much to promote 
 the success of the Revolution. — McMas- 
 TER, John Bach, 1883, A History of the 
 People of the United States, vol. I, p. 179. 
 
 In character and career he was a singu- 
 lar combination of things incongruous. 
 He was in religion the narrowest of Puri- 
 tans, but in manner very genial. He was 
 perfectly rigid in his opinions, but in his 
 expression of them, often very compliant. 
 He was the most conservative of men, 
 but was regarded as were the abolition 
 fanatics" in our time, before the emanci- 
 pation proclamation. Who will say that 
 his uprightness was not inflexible ? Yet 
 a wilier fox than he in all matters of polit= 
 ical manoeuvring our history does not 
 show. In business he had no push or 
 foresight, but in politics was a wonder of 
 force and shrewdness. In a voice full of 
 trembling he expressed opinions, of which 
 the audacity would have brought him at 
 once to the halter if he could have been 
 seized. Even in his young manhood his 
 hair had become gray and his hand shook 
 
442 
 
 SAMUEL ADAMS 
 
 as if with paralysis ; but he lived, as we 
 shall see, to his eighty-second year, his 
 work rarely interrupted by sickness, serv- 
 ing as governor of Massachusetts for 
 several successive terms after he had lived 
 his three score and ten years, almost the 
 last survivor among the great pre-revolu- 
 tionary figures. . . . There is another 
 character in our history to whom was once 
 given the title, ''Father of America," — 
 a man to a large extent forgotten, his re- 
 putation overlaid by that of those who 
 followed him, — no other than this man of 
 the town-meeting, Samuel Adams. As far 
 as the genesis of America is concerned, 
 Samuel Adams can more properly be called 
 the ''Father of America" than Washing- 
 ton. — HosMER, James K., 1885, Samuel 
 Adams (American Statesmen), pp.S51 ,S7 A. 
 
 "The American Cato;" "The Crom- 
 well of New England;" "The Father of 
 America;" "The Last of the Puritans ;" 
 "The Man of the Revolution."— Frey, 
 Albert R., 1888, Sobriquets and Nick- 
 names, p. 369. 
 
 Samuel was stern, serious, and deeply 
 in earnest. He seldom smiled and never 
 laughed. He was uncompromisingly re- 
 ligious, conscientious, and morally unbend- 
 ing. In his life there was no soft senti- 
 ment. The fact that he ran a brewery 
 can be excused when we remember 
 that the best spirit of the times saw 
 nothing inconsistent in the occupation; 
 and further than this we might explain in 
 extenuation that he gave the business in- 
 different attention and the quality of his 
 brew was said to be very bad. In religion 
 he swerved not nor wavered. He was a 
 Calvinist and clung to the five points with 
 a tenacity at times seemingly quite un- 
 necessary. . . . Adams' home life 
 was simple to the verge of hardship. All 
 through life he was on the ragged edge 
 financially, and in his latter years he was 
 for the first time relieved from pressing 
 obligations by an afflicting event — the 
 death of his only son, who was a surgeon 
 in Washington's army. The money paid 
 to the son by the Government for his ser- 
 vices gave the father the only financial 
 competency he ever knew. Two daughters 
 survived him, but with him died the name. 
 . . . The grave of Samuel Adams is 
 viewed by more people than that of any 
 other American patriot. In the old 
 Granary Burying Ground, in the very centre 
 
 of Boston, on Tremont Street, there where 
 travel congests, and two living streams 
 meet all day long, you look through the 
 iron fence, so slender that it scarce im- 
 pedes the view, and not twenty feet from 
 the curb is a simple metal disc set on an 
 iron rod driven into the ground and on it 
 this inscription. "This marks the grave 
 of Samuel Adams." For many years the 
 grave was unmarked, and the disc that 
 now denotes it was only recently placed in 
 position by the Sons of the Revolution.— 
 Hubbard, Elbert, 1898, Little Journeys 
 to the Homes of American Statesmen, pp. 
 120, 142, 143. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 As a writer, he was indefatigable when 
 he thought his literary efforts could tend 
 to promote his liberal and patriotic views ; 
 and although most of his productions have 
 suffered that oblivion, to which the best 
 efforts of temporary politics are generally 
 destined, those which remain, or of which 
 a knowledge is yet preserved, give abun- 
 dant proof of the strength and fervour of 
 his diction, the soundness of his politics, 
 the warmth of his heart, and the piety and 
 sincerity of his devotion. As an orator, 
 he was peculiarly fitted for the times and 
 circumstances on which he had fallen. 
 His language was pure, concise and im- 
 pressive ; lie was more logical than figura- 
 tive; and Eis arguments were addressed 
 rather to the understanding than the feel- 
 ings: yet these he could often deeply 
 interest, when the importance and dignity 
 of his subject led him to give free vent to 
 the enthusiasm and patriotic ardour, of 
 which his heart was always full ; and if we 
 are to judge by the fairest of all tests, the 
 effect upon his hearers, few speakers of 
 ancient or modern times, could be named 
 as superior to him, — Sanderson, John, 
 1820-27, Signers to the Declaration of In- 
 dependence, vol. I, p. 57. 
 
 Samuel Adams possessed a calm, solid, 
 and yet polished mind. There is a wonder- 
 ful lucidness in his thought and phrase- 
 ology; everything about his composition 
 is plain, forcible, and level to the simplest 
 comprehension. Above all the men of his 
 day, he was distinguished for sound prac- 
 tical judgment. All prominent statesmen 
 looked to him for counsel. He aided Otis 
 in preparing state papers ; and a direc- 
 tion to the printers, attached to some of 
 Josiah Quincy 's manuscripts, reads — ' ' Let 
 
SAMUEL ADAMS 
 
 443 
 
 Samuel Adams, Esq., correct the press." 
 In fact there were few, if any, important 
 documents published between 1764 and 
 1769, in Boston, that were not revised by 
 the cool and solid judgment of the New 
 Englmd Phocion. . . One great secret 
 of the power of his popular address, 
 probably, lay in the unity of his purpose 
 and the energy of his. pursuit. He pas- 
 sionately loved freedom, and subordinated 
 every thing to its attainment. This kind 
 Of inspiration is a necessary pre-requisite 
 to eminent success. I^amuel Adams had 
 more logic in his composition than 
 rhetoric, and was accustomed to convince 
 the judgment rather than inflame the 
 passions ; and, yet, when the occasion de- 
 manded, he could give vent to the ardent 
 and patriotic indignation of which his 
 heart was often full.— Magoon, E. L., 
 1848, Orators of the American Revolution^ 
 pp. 102, 113. 
 
 His pen was early employed in political 
 discussion, and the soundness of his judg- 
 ment, and purity of his thoughts, made 
 him very popular, even before public 
 affairs called his patriotism into activity. 
 — LossiNG, Benson J., 1855-86, Eminent 
 Americans, p. 76. 
 
 His state papers and essays in the public 
 journals, which would fill volumes, contain 
 the most advanced political doctrines of 
 the times as they presented themselves to 
 thinkers and actors for decision and ap- 
 plication. It is impossible to touch upon 
 the history of Massachusetts without meet- 
 ing his name. He took a leading part in 
 the Congress that separated us from Eng- 
 land ; and, having from the beginning cast 
 in his lot with his country, never shrunk 
 from the labour, the sacrifices, or the 
 perils which his decision involved. — 
 Greene, G. W., 1866, Wells's Life and 
 Services of Samuel Adams, North Amer- 
 ican Review, vol. 102, p. 615. 
 
 It is probable that he was one of the 
 most voluminous writers whom America 
 has as yet produced. Some twenty-five 
 signatures have been identified as used by 
 him in the newspapers at different times. 
 At the same moment that he filled the 
 papers, he went on with his preparation of 
 documents for the town and the Assembly 
 till one wonders how a single brain could 
 have achieved it all. If those writ- 
 ings only which can be identified were 
 published, the collection would present a 
 
 formidable array of polemical documents, 
 embracing all the great issues out of 
 whose discussion grew our independence. 
 They were meant for a particular purpose, 
 to shatter British oppression, and when 
 that purpose was secured, their author was 
 perfectly careless as to what became of 
 them. Like cannon-balls which sink the 
 ship, and then are lost in the sea, so the 
 bolts of Samuel Adams, after riddling 
 British authority in America, must be 
 sought by diving beneath the oblivion that 
 has rolled over them. Of the portion that 
 has been recovered, these pages have given 
 specimens enough to justify a high esti- 
 mate of the genius and accomplishments 
 of their author.— Hosmer, James K.. 
 1885, Samuel Adams (American States- 
 men), p. 360. 
 
 No other American had so good an op- 
 portunity to mould the form of a democracy 
 in its best condition, and Adams made the 
 most of his opportunity. A Calvinistic 
 Congregationalist in religion, he applied 
 to politics the principles of equality upon 
 which he insisted in church order. Boston 
 was somewhat leavened with aristocratic 
 and Tory tendencies; against both he 
 fought with a vigour which finally tri- 
 umphed. To him fell a work in the North 
 like that done by Thomas Jefferson in the 
 South. Democratic principles carried 
 too far become communistic ; but extreme 
 Federalism endangers the rights of the 
 people. In the latter Adams saw the 
 greater danger ; and his work, fortunately, 
 came at a time when the centrifugal force 
 was more needed than the centripetal. . . . 
 His work was that of a strong personal 
 force, a pioneer, a destroyer of oppression, 
 and upbuilder of liberty. He was the 
 central figure in the town-meeting; he 
 framed and voiced its policy ; he drew up 
 important instructions or appeals to home 
 and foreign officers or legislators ; and his 
 pen was almost constantly in his hand, for 
 he wrote stirring articles for the people's 
 newspaper in Boston. His signatures were 
 many; now he was ''Vindex," now 
 ''Valerius Poplicola," now "A Son of 
 Liberty, '' but the purport of his utterances 
 was ever the same. In his speeches, 
 epistles, or memorials he put the spirit 
 before the letter, the matter before the 
 manner.- Richardson, Charles F.,1887, 
 American Literature, 1607-1885, vol. i, 
 p. 179. 
 
444 
 
 ADAMS— PRIESTLEY 
 
 One of the greatest citizens that Massa- 
 chusetts has ever produced, the man who 
 has been well described as preeminently 
 *'the man of the town meeting,'' — Samuel 
 Adams. The limitations of this great man, 
 as well as his powers, were those which 
 belonged to him as chief among the men 
 of English race who have swayed society 
 through the medium of the ancient folk 
 mote.— FiSKE, John, 1888, The Critical 
 Period of American History, 1783-1789, 
 p. 318. 
 
 The first colonial orator in point of time 
 was Samuel Adams, but the record of his 
 speeches is not abundant. The central 
 figure of the Boston town-meeting he 
 fought toryism and federalism with equal 
 vigor ; but reporters did not frequent 
 town-meetings, or think the utterances of 
 even a leader worth preserving. For 
 their literary merit the speeches of Adams 
 would not have been recorded. They were 
 the straightforward, energetic sentiments 
 of an earnest man who had no time to 
 choose his words. Back of these, how- 
 ever, was the tremendous force of a strong 
 personal character, fired with enthusiasm 
 for freedom. His pen served him as often 
 as his voice, and in the people's newspaper 
 in Boston and in the Providence Gazette 
 he published predictions and opinions 
 which both New England and Old might 
 read, causing him to be excluded from the 
 general offer of pardon to the patriots 
 made by the Throne the year before the 
 Revolution broke out. His name belongs 
 as much to political literature as to ora- 
 tory, by reason of such contributions to 
 the public press. ... In point of 
 time the name of Samuel Adams heads the 
 roll of American orators and statesmen, 
 and in immediately effecting the purpose 
 they had in mind none have surpassed him. 
 His was a practical oratory which carried 
 its point at the time and with contempo- 
 raries, even though it has not been 
 perpetuated as a model to succeeding 
 
 generations. It ended in action and the 
 action which it secured was the establish- 
 ment of a new and free nation on the 
 western continent. Measured by what it 
 accomplished it must be admitted to be 
 among the greatest achievements of human 
 speech, and in its final result it is as yet 
 unmeasured. — Sears, Lorenzo, 1895, The 
 History of Oratory, pp. 306, 309. 
 
 It is as an orator that he deserves men- 
 tion in a history of American literature, 
 though only fragments of his fiery oratory 
 have come down to us. Tradition, how- 
 ever, mentions him as a speaker to be 
 compared with Otis and Quincy. — Pattee, 
 Fred Lewis, 1896, A History of Amer- 
 ican Literatvre, p. 68. 
 
 This sleepless, crafty, protean politician, 
 for nearly a third of a century, kept flood- 
 ing the community with his ideas, chiefly 
 in the form of essays in the newspapers, 
 — thereby constantly baffling the enemies 
 of the Revolutionary movement, and con- 
 ducting his followers victoriously through 
 those battles of argument which preceded 
 and then for a time accompanied the 
 battles of arms. . . . Whether in oral or 
 in written speech, his characteristics were 
 the same, — simplicity, acuteness,- logical 
 power, and strict adaptation of means to 
 the practical end in view. Nothing was 
 for effect — everything was for effective- 
 ness. He wrote pure English, and in a 
 style severe, felicitous, pointed, epigram- 
 matic. Careful as to facts, disdainful of 
 rhetorical excesses, especially conscious 
 of the strategic folly involed in mere over- 
 statement, an adept at implication and at 
 the insinuating light stroke, he had never 
 anything to take back or to apologize for. 
 . . . Perhaps no long public career 
 was ever more perfectly self-consistent 
 than his. From boyhood to old age, his 
 master principle was individualism. — 
 Tyler, Moses Coit, 1897, The Literary 
 History of the American Revolution, 1763- 
 1783, vol. II, pp. 9, 12, 13. 
 
 Joseph Priestley 
 
 1733-1804 
 
 Joseph Priestley was born, a cloth-dresser's son, at Fieldhead in Birstall parish, 
 Leeds, 13th March 1733. After four years at a Dissenting academy at Daventry, in 
 1755 he became Presbyterian minister at Needham Market, and wrote ''The Scripture 
 Doctrine of Remission," denying that Christ's death was a sacrifice, and rejecting the 
 Trinity and Atonement. In 1758 he removed to Nantwich, and in 1761 became a 
 tutor at Warrington Academy. In yearly visits to London he met Franklin, who 
 
JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 445 
 
 supplied him with books for his ''History of Electricity'* (1767). In 1764 he was made 
 LL.D. of Edinburgh, and in 1766 F. R. S. In 1767 he became minister of a chapel 
 at Mill Hill, Leeds, where he took up the study of chemistry. In 1774, as literary 
 companion, he accompanied Lord Shelburne on a continental tour, and published 
 ''Letters to a Philosophical Unbeliever." But at home he was branded as an atheist in 
 spite of his "Disquisition relating to Matter and Spirit" (1777j, affirming from revela- 
 tion our hope of resurrection. He was elected to the French Academy of Sciences in 
 1772 and to the St. Petersburg Academy in 1780. He became in that year minister 
 of a chapel at Birmingham. His "History of Early Opinions concerning Jesus Christ" 
 (1786) occasioned renewed controversy. His reply to Burke's "Reflections on the 
 French Revolution" led a Birmingham mob to break into his house and destroy its 
 contents (1791). He now settled at Hackney, and in 1794 removed to America, where 
 he was heartily received; at Northumberland, Pa., he died 6th February 1804, believ- 
 ing himself to hold the doctrines of the primitive Christians, and looking for the second 
 coming of Christ. Priestley is justly called the father of pneumatic chemistry ; good 
 authorities (see "Nature," XLII. 1890) defend the priority of his discovery of oxygen 
 (1774) and of the composition of water (1781), and deny Lavoisier's claim to be con- 
 sidered an independent discoverer. See Rutt's edition of Priestley's "Works" 
 (1831-32), including Autobiographical Memoir; and Martineau's "Essay." — Patrick 
 AND Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p. 762. 
 
 When I wrote my last, little did I for- 
 see what soon after happened ; but the will 
 of God be done. The company were hardly 
 gone from the inn, before a drunken mob 
 rushed into the house, and broke all the 
 windows. They then set fire to our meet- 
 ing-house, and it is burned to the ground. 
 After that they gutted, and, some say, 
 burned the old meeting. In the mean- 
 time, some friends came to tell me that I 
 and my house were threatened, and another 
 brought a chaise to convey me and my 
 wife away. I had not presence of mind to 
 take even my MSS. ; and after we were 
 gone, the mob came and demolished every- 
 thing, household goods, library, and ap- 
 paratus. Indeed, they say the house itself 
 is almost demolished, but happily no fire 
 could be got, so that many things, but I 
 know not what, will be saved. We 
 thought that when it was day, the mob 
 would disperse, and therefore we kept in 
 the neighbourhood ; but finding they rather 
 increased, and grew more outrageous with 
 liquor, we were advised to go off, and are 
 now on our way to Heath. My wife 
 behaves with wonderful courage. The 
 recollection of my lost MSS. pains me the 
 most, especially my Notes on the New 
 Testament, which I wanted only five days 
 of getting all transcribed. But, I doubt 
 not, all will be for good in the end. I 
 can hardly ever live at Birmingham again. 
 — Priestley, Joseph, 1791, To Rev. T. 
 Lindsey, July 15 ; Memoirs, ed. Rutt, 
 vol. I, p. 123. 
 
 Sir, and most illustrious associate, the 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 This morning an express arrived at the 
 Secretary of State's office from Birming- 
 ham, with an account that a great number 
 of persons, to the amount of some hundreds, 
 who were in opposition to the Revolution- 
 ists, had assembled on Thursday last be- 
 fore the house where the Society dined, 
 and broke all the windows. They then 
 pulled part of the house down, and pro- 
 ceeded to the different meeting-houses, 
 which they laid level with the ground. 
 After which, they broke into the house of 
 Dr. Priestley, took everything out, burnt 
 his books, drank the wine, and other liquor 
 found in his cellars, and, when the express 
 came away, were demolishing the house to 
 the foundation. The whole town was in 
 an uproar. ... A messenger was dis- 
 patched to His Majesty at Windsor with 
 the above particulars. — London Chron- 
 icle, 1791, July 14-16. 
 
 Seeing, as I passed, a house in ruins, on 
 inquiry I found it was Dr. Priestley's. I 
 alighted from my horse, and walked over 
 the ruins of that laboratory which I had 
 left home with the expectation of reaping 
 instruction in; of that laboratory, the 
 labours of which have not only illuminated 
 mankind, but enlarged the sphere of science 
 itself ; which has carried its master's fame 
 to the remotest corners of the civilized 
 world ; and will now, with equal celerity, 
 convey the infamy of its destruction to the 
 disgrace of the age, and the scandal of 
 the British name. — Young, Arthur, 1791, 
 Tour through Warwickshire, 
 
446 
 
 JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 Academy of Sciences have charged me to 
 express the grief with which they are 
 penetrated at the recital of the persecution 
 of which you have been lately the victim. 
 They all feel how much loss the sciences 
 have experienced by the destruction of 
 those labours which you had prepared for 
 their aggrandizement. It is not you, Sir, 
 who have reason to complain. Your virtue 
 and your genius still remain undiminished, 
 and it is not in the power of human in- 
 gratitude to forget what you have done 
 for the happiness of mankind. — Condor- 
 CET, M., 1791, Letter to Dr. Priestley, 
 July 30 ; Memoirs, ed. Rutt, vol, i, p. 127. 
 
 His love to man was great, his useful- 
 ness greater. I have been informed by 
 the faculty that his experimental discover- 
 ies on air, applied to medical purposes, 
 have preserved the lives of thousands ; and, 
 in return, he can scarcely preserve his 
 own. A clergyman attended this outrage, 
 and was charged with examining and even 
 pocketing the manuscripts. I think he paid 
 the Doctor a compliment, by showing a re- 
 gard for his works. I will farther do him 
 the justice to believe he never meant to 
 keep them, to invade the Doctor's profes- 
 sion by turning philosopher, or to sell 
 them, though valuable; but only to ex- 
 change them with the minister for prefer- 
 ment. — Hutton, William, 1791,^ A^arra- 
 tive of the Riots in Birmingham, Life of 
 Hutton by Jewitt, p. 228. 
 
 The mighty dead 
 Rise to new life, whoe'er from earliest time 
 With conscious zeal had urg'd Love's won- 
 drous plan, 
 Coadjutors of God. To Milton's trump 
 The odorous groves of earth, reparadis'd, 
 Unbosom their glad echoes : inly hush'd, 
 Adoring Newton his serener eye 
 Raises to heaven: and he, of mortal kind 
 Wisest, he first who mark'd the ideal tribes 
 Down the fine fibres from the sentient brain 
 Roll subtly surging. Pressing on his steps, 
 Lo! Priestley there, patriot, and saint, and 
 sage. 
 
 Whom that my fleshly eye hath never seen, 
 A childish pang of impotent regret 
 Hath thrill' d my heart. Him from his native 
 land 
 
 Statesmen, blood-stain'd, and priests idola- 
 trous. 
 
 By dark lies madd'ning the blind multitude, 
 Drove with vain hate: calm, pitying he 
 retir'd, 
 
 And mus'd expectant on these promis'd years. 
 
 — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1794, 
 Religious Musings. 
 
 I have seen Priestley. I love to see his 
 name repeated in your writings. I love 
 and honor him, almost profanely. — Lamb, 
 Charles, 1796, To Coleridge, Letters, ed. 
 Ainger, vol. i, p. 10. 
 
 I have lived much among the friends of 
 Priestley, and learned from them many 
 peculiar opinions of that man, who speaks 
 all he thinks. No man has studied 
 Christianity more, or believes it more 
 sincerely.— SouTHEY, Robert, 1797, To 
 John May, June 26 ; Life and Correspond- 
 ence, ch. V. 
 
 Yours is one of the few lives precious 
 to mankind, and for the continuance of 
 which every thinking .man is solicitous. 
 Bigots may be an exception. — Jefferson, 
 Thomas, 1801, Letter to Joseph Priestley, 
 March21 ; Writings, ed.Ford,vol.\m, p.21. 
 
 THIS TABLET 
 
 Is consecrated to the Memory of the 
 REV. JOSEPH PRIESTLEY, LL.D. 
 
 by his affectionate Congregation, 
 in Testimony 
 of their Gratitude for his faithful Attention 
 to their spiritual Improvement, 
 and for his peculiar Diligence in training up their 
 Youth to rational Piety and genuine Virtue; 
 of their Respect for his great and 
 various Talents, 
 which were uniformly directed to the noblest 
 Purposes ; 
 and of their Veneration 
 for the pure, benevolent, and holy Principles, 
 which through the trying Vicissitudes of Life, 
 and in the awful hour of Death, 
 animated him with the hope of a blessed 
 Immortality. 
 His Discoveries as a Philosopher 
 will never cease to be remembered and admired 
 by the ablest Improvers of Science. 
 His Firmness as an Advocate of Liberty, 
 and his Sincerity as an Expounder of the 
 Scriptures, 
 endeared him to many 
 of his enlightened and unprejudiced 
 Contemporaries. 
 His Example as a Christian 
 will be instructive to the Wise, and interesting 
 to the Good, 
 of every Country, and in every Age. 
 He was born at Fieldhead, near Leeds, in 
 Yorkshire, March 24, A. D., 1733, 
 Was chosen a Minister of this Chapel, 
 Dec. 31, 1780. 
 Continued in that office Ten Years and Six Months. 
 Embarked for America, April 7, 1794. 
 Died at Northumberland, in Pennsylvania, 
 Feb. 6, 1804. 
 
 — Parr, Samuel, Inscription on Tablet at 
 Birmingham. 
 
JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 447 
 
 On Monday morning, the 6th of Feb- 
 ruary, after having lain perfectly still till 
 four o'clock in the morning, he called to 
 me, but in a fainter tone than usual, to 
 give him some wine and tincture of bark. 
 I asked him how he felt. He answered, 
 he had no pain, but appeared fainting 
 away gradually. About an hour after, he 
 asked me for some chicken-broth, of which 
 he took a tea-cup full. His pulse was 
 quick, weak, and fluttering, his breathing, 
 though easy, short. About eight o'clock 
 he asked me to give him some egg and 
 wine. After this, he lay quite still till ten 
 o'clock when he desired me and Mr. 
 Cooper to bring him the pamphlets we had 
 looked out the evening before. He then 
 dictated as clearly and distinctly as he 
 had ever done in his life, the additions 
 and alterations he wished to have made in 
 each. Mr. Cooper took down the sub- 
 stance of what he said, which, when he 
 had done, I read to him. He said Mr. 
 Cooper had put it in his own language ; he 
 wished it to be put in his. I then took a 
 pen and ink to his bed-side. He then re- 
 peated over again, nearly word for word, 
 what he had before said ; and when I had 
 done, I read it over to him. He said, 
 * * That is right ; I have now done. ' ' About 
 half an hour after he desired, in a faint 
 voice, that we would move him from the 
 bed on which he lay to a cot, that he might 
 be with his lower limbs horizontal, and his 
 head upright. He died in about ten 
 minutes after we had moved him, but 
 breathed his last so easy, that neither 
 myself nor my wife, who were both sitting 
 close to him, perceived it at the time. 
 He had put his hand to his face, which 
 prevented our observing it. — Priestley, 
 Joseph, Jr., 1805-7, Memoirs of Dr. Joseph 
 Priestley. 
 
 Dr. Priestley, after he had abjured the 
 Holy Ghost, and satisfied himself that Jesus 
 Christ was nothing more than a man ; that 
 the scriptural writers were no more in- 
 spired than himself ; and that the soul of 
 man had no existence, retained the same 
 devout passion for preaching, praying, 
 and catechising, which he acquired while 
 he believed in the Trinity and the im- 
 materiality of the sentient principle of his 
 nature. . . . We have already said, that 
 we believe him to have been sincere in 
 the singular profession of faith which 
 he promulgated; and therefore, we are 
 
 constrained to respect his endeavours to 
 confirm and recommend it. But it is im- 
 possible not to regret the presumption and 
 infatuation by which he seems to have 
 been guided ; and we are afraid that the 
 theological speculations of a man of great 
 learning, sagacity, industry, and devotion, 
 are at this day an offence to the serious, 
 and a jest to the profane. — Jeffrey, 
 Francis Lord, 1806, Memoirs of Dr. 
 Priestley, Edinburgh Review, vol. 9, pp, 
 137, 161. 
 
 Priestley was a good man, though his 
 life was too busy to leave him leisure for 
 that refinement and ardour of moral senti- 
 ment, which have been felt by men of less 
 blameless life. Frankness and disin- 
 terestedness in the avowal of his opinion, 
 were his point of honour. In other re- 
 spects his morality was more useful than 
 brilliant. But the virtue of the senti- 
 mental moralist is so over precarious and 
 ostentatious, that he can seldom be en- 
 titled to look down with contempt on the 
 steady, though homely, morals of the house- 
 hold. — Mackintosh, Sir James, 1807, 
 Journal, Sep. 13; Life, ed. Mackintosh, 
 vol. I, ch. vii. 
 
 A list of folks that kicked a dust, 
 
 On this poor globe, from Ptol. the First. 
 
 The Fathers, ranged in goodly row, 
 A decent, venerable show, 
 Writ a great while ago, they tell us, 
 And many an inch o'ertop their fellows. 
 
 Sermons, or politics, or plays. 
 Papers and books, a stratiged mixed olio, 
 From shilling touch to pompous folio ; 
 Answer, remark, reply, rejoinder, 
 Fresh from the mint, all stamped and coined 
 here. 
 
 Forgotten rhymes and college themes, 
 Wormeaten plans and embryo schemes, 
 A mass of heterogeneous matter, 
 A chaos dark, nor land nor water, 
 
 — Barbauld, Anna L^titia, 1825, An 
 Inventory of the Furniture in Dr. Priest- 
 ley's Study. 
 
 Every person of sober mind, whilst com- 
 miserating Dr. Priestley as an unfortunate 
 man, and esteeming him as a very ingenious 
 one, could view him in no other light than 
 as the victim of his own folly and misguided 
 passions. — De Quincey, Thomas, 1831-57, 
 Dr. Samuel Parr, Works, vol. v, p. 118. 
 
 In nothing did Dr. Priestley's mental 
 
448 
 
 JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 and moral freedom more nobly manifest 
 itself than in his well-proportioned love of 
 truth. With all his diversity of pursuit, 
 he did not think all truth of equal import- 
 ance, or deem the diffusion of useful knowl- 
 edge an excuse for withholding the more 
 useful. With all his ardour of mind, he 
 did not look at an object till he saw noth- 
 ing else, and it became his universe. He 
 made his estimate deliberately; and he 
 was not to be dazzled, or flattered, or 
 laughed out of it. In his laboratory, he 
 thought no better of chemistry than in his 
 pulpit ; and in the drawing-rooms of the 
 French Academicians, no worse of Chris- 
 tianity than by the firesides of his own 
 flock. He was never anxious to appear in 
 either less or more than his real char- 
 acter. — Martineau, James, 1833-90, Dr. 
 Priestley, Essays, Reviews and Addresses, 
 vol. I, p. 38. 
 
 His character is a matter of no doubt, 
 and it is of a high order. That he was a 
 most able, most industrious, most success- 
 ful student of nature, is clear ; and that 
 his name will for ever be held in grateful 
 remembrance by all who cultivate physical 
 science, and placed among those of its 
 most eminent masters, is unquestionable. 
 That he was a perfectly conscientious man 
 in all the opinions which he embraced, and 
 sincere in all he published respecting other 
 subjects, appears equally beyond dispute. 
 He was, also, upright and honourable in 
 all his dealings, and justly beloved by his 
 family and friends as a man spotless in all 
 the relations of life. That he was 
 governed in his public conduct by a temper 
 too hot and irritable to be consistent either 
 with his own dignity, or with an amiable 
 deportment, may be freely admitted ; and 
 his want of self-command, and want of 
 judgment in the practical affairs of life, 
 was manifest above all in his controversial 
 history; for he can be charged with no 
 want of prudence in the management of 
 his private concerns. His violence and 
 irritability, too, seems equally to have been 
 confined to his public life, for in private 
 all have allowed him the praise of a mild 
 and attractive demeanour; and we have 
 just seen its great power in disarming the 
 prejudices of his adversaries. — Brougham, 
 Henry Lord, 1845-55, Lives of Phi- 
 losophers of the Time of George IIL, p. 89. 
 
 I was intimately acquainted with Dr. 
 Priestley : and a more amiable man never 
 
 lived ; he was all gentleness, kindness, and 
 humility. He was once dining with me, 
 when some one asked him (rather rudely) 
 **How many books he had published?" 
 He replied, "Many more, sir, than I should 
 like to read."— Rogers, Samuel, 1855, 
 Recollections of Table-Talk, ed. Dyce, p. 122. 
 
 A man of admirable simplicity, gentle- 
 ness, and kindness of heart, united with 
 great acuteness of intellect. I can never 
 forget the impression produced on me by 
 the serene expression of his countenance. 
 He, indeed, seemed present with God by 
 recollection and with man by cheerfulness. 
 
 — SCHIMMELPENNICK, MARY AnNE, 1859, 
 
 Life, ed. Hankin. 
 
 The sources of information concerning 
 the life of Joseph Priestley are numerous 
 and detailed. His philosophical writings, 
 his theological controversies, his liberal 
 political essays, his notable discoveries in 
 chemistry, and even his misfortunes in the 
 Birmingham riots of 1791, that caused his 
 eventual expatriation, kept him constantly 
 before the public. Being both affection- 
 ately admired and cordially hated, per- 
 secuted by his own townsmen yet highly 
 esteemed by continental savants, bitterly 
 assailed by the public press and yet the 
 frequent recipient of substantial testi- 
 monials of esteem from active and influen- 
 tial friends, contemporary publications 
 portrayed his acts, his opinions, and his 
 remarkable talents. Since his death many 
 men of letters have placed on record their 
 estimate of Priestley's philosophy, of his 
 theological system, of his political tenets, 
 and of his contributions to science, and, 
 finally, every extended dictionary of biog- 
 raphy and every encyclopaedia, in three 
 languages, for three-quarters of a cen- 
 tury, has contained a sketch of his life 
 and labors. — Bolton, Henry Carring- 
 TON, 1892, Scientific Correspondence of 
 Joseph Priestley, p. 1. 
 
 His statue, modelled from Fuseli's por- 
 trait, was placed in the Oxford Museum by 
 a committee co-operating with Prince 
 Albert; his name figures on the great 
 frieze surrounding the Palais d'Industrie 
 in the Champs Elysees ; and Birmingham 
 erected a statue to him in 1874, the cen- 
 tenary of the discovery of oxygen. When 
 this statue was inaugurated, my mother, 
 who was born in Pennsylvania, was prob- 
 ably the only person living in England who 
 could personally recall Joseph Priestley. 
 
JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 449 
 
 She was seven years old when he died. He 
 had taught her to read, and her memory of 
 him remained perfectly clear and vivid. 
 The delicate features of the old man, 
 framed in thin locks of silvery hair, are 
 recorded in the portrait by Artaud before 
 me as I write. This presentment, rather 
 than any of those by Flaxman, is what my 
 mother affirmed to be the real grandfather 
 she remembered.— Belloc, Bessie Ray- 
 NER, 1894-95, In a Walled Garden, p. 25. 
 
 He composed in shorthand ; his rapid pen 
 never left his meaning doubtful; a turn 
 for epigram is the chief ornament of his 
 style. He had little humour, but enjoyed 
 a remarkable faculty for making the best 
 of things. His home affections were 
 strong. He provided a maintenance for 
 his younger brother Joshua at BirstalL 
 Domestic management he left to his wife, 
 speaking of himself as a lodger in her 
 house. To the faults of his memory he 
 often alludes ; it is curious that he never 
 learned the American currency, and would 
 say to a shopkeeper, ' ' You will give me the 
 proper change, for I do not know it. " . . . 
 In person Priestley was slim but large- 
 boned ; his stature about five feet nine, and 
 very erect. His countenance is best seen 
 in profile, and the right and left profiles 
 differ remarkably ; the front face is heavy. 
 He wore a wig till he settled in North- 
 umberland, which did not boast of a hair- 
 dresser.— Gordon, Alexander, 1896, 
 Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 
 XLVi, p. 366. 
 
 SCIENTIFIC WORK 
 
 Gentlemen, it is with great satisfaction 
 I enter upon this part of my office, to con- 
 fer, in your name, the prize-medal of this 
 year upon a member of this Society, so 
 worthy of that distinction. It is with 
 singular pleasure I acquaint you that the 
 Rev. Joseph Priestley, Doctor of Laws, 
 has been found at this time the best en- 
 titled to this public mark of your approba- 
 tion, on account of the many curious and 
 useful experiments contained in his ''Ob- 
 servations on Different Kinds of Air, " read 
 at the Society in March, 1772, and inserted 
 in the last complete volume of your 
 Transactions. And indeed. Gentlemen, 
 when you reflect on the zeal which our 
 worthy brother has shewn to serve the 
 public, and to do credit to your Institu- 
 tion, by his numerous, learned, and valu- 
 able communications, you will, I imagine, 
 
 29C 
 
 be inclined to think that we have been 
 rather slow than precipitate in acknowl- 
 edging so much merit. — Pringle, Sir 
 John, 1773, President's Address to the 
 Royal Society. 
 
 He had great merit in the contrivance of 
 his apparatus, which was simple and neat, 
 to a degree that has never been equalled ; 
 and the indefatigable industry with which 
 he pursued his researches, would entitle 
 him to still higher praise, if he had com- 
 bined with it the patience and forecast 
 by which so much labour may be saved. 
 The truth is, however, that he was always 
 too much occupied with making experi- 
 ments to have leisure, either to plan them 
 beforehand with philosophical precision, 
 or to combine their results afterwards into 
 systematic conclusions. He was so im- 
 patient to be doing ; that he could spare no 
 time for thinking; and erroneously im- 
 agined, that science w^as to be forwarded 
 rather by accumulating facts, than by 
 meditating on those that were ascertained. 
 — Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 1806, Memoirs 
 of Dr. Priestley, Edinburgh Review, vol. 9, 
 p. 150. 
 
 Dr. Priestley drew no conclusion of the 
 least value from his experiments. But 
 Mr. Watt, after thoroughly weighing them, 
 by careful comparison with other facts, 
 arrived at the opinion that they proved the 
 composition of water. This may justly be 
 said to have been the discovery of that 
 great truth in chemical science. I have 
 examined the evidence, and am convinced 
 that he was the first discoverer, in point of 
 time, although it is very possible that Mr. 
 Cavendish may have arrived at the same 
 truth from his own experiments, without 
 any knowledge of Mr. Watt's earlier pro- 
 cess of reasoning. — Brougham, Henry 
 Lord, 1835, Discourse of Natural Theol- 
 ogy, p. 106, note. 
 
 Whose researches were devoted almost 
 exclusively to the chemistry of the gases. 
 Their results are recorded in six volumes 
 of Experiments and Observations on 
 different kinds of Airs," which were pub- 
 lished between 1775 and 1786, and ^Yhich 
 appear to have enjoyed an uncommon de- 
 gree of popularity. They are written in 
 a light and agreeable style, detailing his 
 successes and his failures with equal can- 
 dour and openness, and laying open his 
 entire chemical mind to the observation of 
 his readers. He was very ingenious in 
 
450 
 
 JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 devising experiments, and dexterous in his 
 manipulations ; and though the processes 
 which he followed and the means which he 
 had at his command were generally in- 
 sufficient to secure that minute and rigor- 
 ous accuracy which is equally necessary 
 for the establishment of great truths and 
 the exclusion of great errors, yet it may 
 be safely asserted that few persons have 
 contributed so great a number of valuable 
 facts to the science of chemistry. He 
 affected no profound philosophical views, 
 and the character of his mind was alto- 
 gether unequal to them; he generally 
 adopted at once the most obvious conclu- 
 sions which his experiments appeared to 
 justify, and he modified or abandoned them 
 upon further investigation with almost 
 equal facility. — Croker, John Wilson, 
 1845, Quarterly Review, vol. 77, p. 119. 
 
 Priestley's reputation as a man of 
 science rests upon his numerous and im- 
 portant contributions to the chemistry of 
 gaseous bodies ; and to form a just esti- 
 mate of the value of his work — of the ex- 
 tent to which it advanced the knowledge 
 of fact and the development of sound 
 theoretical views — we must reflect what 
 chemistry was in the first half of the 
 eighteenth century. . . . It is a trying 
 ordeal for any man to be compared with 
 Black and Cavendish, and Priestley cannot 
 be said to stand on their level. Never- 
 theless, his achievements are not only 
 great in themselves, but truly wonderful, if 
 we consider the disadvantages under which 
 he laboured. Without the careful scien- 
 tific training of Black, without the leisure 
 and appliances secured by the wealth of 
 Cavendish, he scaled the walls of science 
 as so many Englishmen have done before 
 and since his day; and trusting to mother 
 wit to supply the place of training, and to 
 ingenuity to create apparatus out of wash- 
 ing tubs, he discovered more new gases 
 than all his predecessors put together had 
 done. He laid the foundations of gas 
 analysis ; he discovered the complementary 
 actions of animal and vegetable life upon 
 the constituents of the atmosphere ; and, 
 finally, he crowned his work, this day one 
 hundred years ago, by the discovery of 
 that ''pure dephlogisticated air" to which 
 the French chemists subsequently gave 
 the name of oxygen. . . . That 
 Priestley's contributions to the knowledge 
 of chemical fact were of the greatest 
 
 importance, and that they- richly deserved 
 all the praise that has been awarded to 
 them is unquestionable ; but it must, at the 
 same time, be admitted that he had no 
 comprehension of the deeper significance 
 of his work ; and, so far from contribu- 
 ting anything to the theory of the facts 
 which he discovered, or assisting in their 
 rational explanation, his influence to the 
 end of his life was warmly exerted in 
 favour of error. — Huxley, Thomas Henry, 
 1874, Joseph Priestley, Macmillan's Mag- 
 azine, vol. 30, pp. 477, 478. 
 
 Priestley is mainly remembered by his 
 theological controversies and his contribu- 
 tions to the history of pneumatic chem- 
 istry. I have nothing to tell you of his 
 merits as a controversialist, except to say 
 that some of his argumentative pieces are 
 among the most forcible and best written 
 of his literary productions. It is on his 
 chemical work that his reputation will 
 ultimately rest : this will continue to hand 
 down his name when all traces of his other 
 labours are lost. He has frequently been 
 styled the Father of Pneumatic Chemistry ; 
 and although we may question the pro- 
 priety of the appellation when we call to 
 mind the labours of Van Helmont, of Boyle, 
 and of Hales, there is no doubt that 
 Priestley did more to extend our knowl- 
 edge of gaseous bodies than any preceding 
 or successive investigator. . . . The 
 knowledge which Priestley, as he tells us, 
 imparted to the French chemists was used 
 by them with crushing effect against his 
 favourite theory. The discovery of oxygen 
 was the death blow to phlogiston. Here 
 was the thing which had been groped for 
 for years, and which many men had even 
 stumbled over in the searching, but had 
 never grasped. Priestley indeed grasped 
 it, but he failed to see the magnitude and 
 true importance of what he had found. It 
 was far otherwise with Lavoisier. He at 
 once recognised in Priestley's new air the 
 one fact needed to complete the overthrow 
 of Stahl's doctrine ; and now every strong- 
 hold of phlogistonism was in turn made to 
 yield. Priestley, however, never surren- 
 dered, even when nearly every phlogistian 
 but he had given up the fight or gone over 
 to the enemy. When age compelled him 
 to leave his laboratory he continued to 
 serve the old cause in his study, and almost 
 his last publication was his ''Doctrine 
 of Phlogiston Established." — Thorpe, 
 
JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 451 
 
 Thomas E., 1874-94, Joseph Priestley, 
 Essays in Historical Chemistry, pp. 35, 51. 
 
 Foremost in the number of those who 
 after Black distinguished themselves as 
 pneumatic chemists, was Dr. J. Priestley. 
 His first discovery, made in 1772, was 
 nitric oxide gas, which he soon employed 
 in the analysis of air. . . . Besides 
 nitric oxide and nitrogen, Priestley first 
 made known sulphurous acid gas, gaseous 
 ammonia and hydrochloric acid, and carbon 
 monoxide ; and he it was who, by showing 
 that the condition of ammoniacal gas and 
 of common air is altered by the transmis- 
 sion of electric sparks, led to Berthollet's 
 analysis of ammonia, and Cavendish's dis- 
 covery of the composition of nitric acid. 
 — Butler, F. H., 1877, Chemistry, Ency- 
 clopcedia Britannica, JSlinth ed., vol. V, 
 p. 400. 
 
 Priestley was just the man who was 
 wanted in the early days of chemical 
 science. By the vast number, variety and 
 novelty of his experimental results, he 
 astonished scientific men — he forcibly drew 
 attention to the science in which he 
 laboured so hard ; by the brilliancy of some 
 of his experiments he obliged chemists to 
 admit that a new field of research was 
 opened before them, and the instruments 
 for the prosecution of this research were 
 placed in their hands ; and even by the un- 
 satisfactoriness of his reasoning he drew 
 attention to the difficulties and contradic- 
 tions of the theories which then prevailed 
 in chemistry. That the work of Priestley 
 should bear full fruit it was necessary that 
 a greater than he should interpret it, and 
 should render definite that which Priestley 
 had but vaguely shown to exist. The man 
 who did this, and who in doing it really 
 established chemistry as a science, was 
 Lavoisier.— Mum, M. M. Pattison, 1883, 
 Heroes of Science, Chemists, p. 75. 
 
 Priestley's eminent discoveries in chem- 
 istry were due to an extraordinary quick- 
 ness and keenness of imagination combined 
 with no mean logical ability and manipula- 
 tive skill. But, owing mainly to lack of 
 adequate training, he failed to apprehend 
 the full or true value of his great results. 
 Carelessness and haste, not want of critical 
 power, led him, at the outset, to follow 
 the retrograde view of Stahl rather than 
 the method of Boyle, Black, and Cavendish. 
 The modification of the physical properties 
 of bodies by the hypothetical electricity 
 
 doubtless led him to welcome the theory 
 of a "phlogiston" which could similarly 
 modify their chemical properties. Priest- 
 ley was content to assign the same name 
 to bodies with different properties, and to 
 admit that two bodies with precisely the 
 same properties, in other respects differ- 
 ent in composition (''Considerations . . . 
 on Phlogiston," 1st edit, p., 17). Though 
 often inaccurate, he was not incapable of 
 performing exact quantitative experi- 
 ments, but he was careless of their inter- 
 pretation. . . . Priestley is unjust 
 to himself in attributing most of his dis- 
 coveries to chance. — Hartog, P. J., 1896, 
 Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 
 XLVi, p. 375. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Of Dr. Priestley's theological works, 
 he (Johnson) remarked, that they tended 
 to unsettle everything, and yet settled 
 nothing. — Maxwell, William, 1770, 
 BoswelVs Life of Johnson, ed. Hill, vol. ii, 
 p. 142. 
 
 It is a mortifying proof of the infirmity 
 of the human mind, in the highest improve- 
 ment of its faculties in the present life, 
 that such fallacies in reasoning, such mis- 
 construction of authorities, such distorted 
 views of facts and opinions, should be 
 found in the writings of a man, to whom, 
 of all men in the present age, some 
 branches of the experimental sciences are 
 the most indebted. — Horsley, Samuel, 
 1783, Letters in Answer to Priestley. 
 
 The Bishop (Percy) wishes Mr. Pinker- 
 ton would carefully read Dr. Priestley's 
 
 Institutes of Natural and Revealed Re- 
 ligion," in 2 vols. 8vo, before he decides 
 that all of that school have given up the 
 Old Testament, as Mr. Pinkerton seems 
 to hint in a former letter ; but indeed he 
 wishes Mr. Pinkerton would read them on 
 other accounts. — Percy, Thomas, To John 
 Pinkerton, Feb. 28, 1787 ; Nichols's Illus- 
 trations of Literary History, voLvm, p. 135. 
 
 The religious tenets of Dr. Priestley 
 appear to me erroneous in the extreme ; 
 but I should be sorry to suffer any differ- 
 ence of sentiment to diminish my sensi- 
 bility to virtue, or my admiration of genius. 
 From him the poisoned arrow will fall 
 pointless. His enlightened and active 
 mind, his unwearied assiduity, the ex- 
 tent of his researches, the light he has 
 poured into almost every department of 
 science, will be the admiration of that 
 
452 
 
 JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 period, when the greater part of those who 
 have favoured, or those who have opposed 
 him will be alike forgotten. — Hall, Rob- 
 ert, 1791, Christianity Consistent With a 
 Love of Freedom. 
 
 I do not wonder at Johnson's displeasure 
 when the name of Dr. Priestley was men- 
 tioned ; for I know no writer who has been 
 suffered to publish more pernicious doc- 
 trines. 1 shall instance only three. First, 
 ''Materialism;" by which mind is denied 
 to human nature ; which, if believed, must 
 deprive us of every elevated principle. 
 Secondly, ''Necessity;" or the doctrine 
 that every action, whether good or bad, 
 is included in an unchangeable and unavoid- 
 able system ; a notion utterly subversive 
 of moral government. Thirdly, that we 
 have no reason to think that the future 
 world (which, as he is pleased to inform 
 us, will be adapted to our merely improved 
 nature), will be materially different from 
 this ; which, if believed, would sink 
 wretched mortals into despair, as they 
 could no longer hope for the "rest that 
 remaineth for the people of God," or for 
 that happiness which is revealed to us as 
 something beyond our present conceptions, 
 but would feel themselves doomed to a con- 
 tinuation of the uneasy state under which 
 they now groan. I say nothing of the 
 petulant intemperance with which he dares 
 to insult the venerable establishments of 
 his country. As a specimen of his writ- 
 ings, I shall quote the following passage, 
 which appears to me equally absurd and 
 impious, and which might have been re- 
 torted upon him by the men who were 
 prosecuted for burning his house. ... My 
 illustrious friend was particularly resolute 
 in not giving countenance to men whose 
 writings he considered as pernicious to 
 society. I was present at Oxford when 
 Dr. Price, even before he had rendered 
 himself so generally obnoxious by his zeal 
 for the French revolution, came into a 
 company where Johnson was, who instantly 
 left the room. Much more would he have 
 reprobated Dr. Priestley. Whoever wishes 
 to see the perfect delineation of this 
 "Literary Jack of all Trades" may find it 
 in an ingenious tract, entitled "A Small 
 Whole-Length of Dr. Priestley," printed 
 for Rivingtons, in St. PauPs Churchyard. 
 — BoswELL, James, 1791-93, Life of 
 Samuel Johnson^ ed. Hilly voL iv, pp. 274, 
 275, note. 
 
 Let Dr. Priestley be confuted where 
 he is mistaken ; let him be exposed where 
 he is superficial ; let him be repressed 
 where he is dogmatical ; let him be rebuked 
 where he is censorious. But let not his 
 attainments be depreciated, because they 
 are numerous almost without parallel. 
 Let not his talents be ridiculed, because 
 they are superlatively great. Let not his 
 morals be vilified, because they are cor- 
 rect without austerity, and exemplary 
 without ostentation ; because they present, 
 even to common observers, the innocence 
 of a hermit, and the simplicity of a patri- 
 arch ; and because a philosophic eye will 
 at once discover in them the deep-fixed 
 root of virtuous principle, and the solid 
 trunk of virtuous habit. — Parr, Samuel, 
 1792, Letter from Irenopolis to the Inhabit- 
 ants of Eleutheropolis. 
 To thee the slander of a passing age 
 Imports not. Scenes like these hold little 
 space 
 
 In his large mind, whose ample stretch of 
 thought 
 
 Grasps future periods. — Well canst thou 
 afford 
 
 To give large credit for that debt of fame 
 Thy country owes thee. Calm thou canst 
 consign it 
 
 To the slow payement of that distant day, — 
 If distant, — when thy name, to Freedom's 
 joined, 
 
 Shall meet the thanks of a regenerate land. 
 — Barbauld, Anna L^titia, 1792, To 
 Dr. Priestley, Dec. 29. 
 
 In his "History of the Corruptions of 
 Christianity," Dr. Priestley threw down 
 his two' gauntlets to Bishop Hurd and Mr. 
 Gibbon. I declined the challenge in a 
 letter exhorting my opponent to enlighten 
 the World by his philosophical discoveries, 
 and to remember that the merit of his 
 predecessor Servetus is now reduced to a 
 single passage, which indicates the smaller 
 circulation of the blood through the lungs, 
 from and to the heart. Instead of listen- 
 ing to this friendly advice, the dauntless 
 philosopher of Birmingham continues to 
 fire away his double battery against those 
 who believe too little and those who 
 believe too much. From my replies he 
 has nothing to hope or fear; but his 
 Socinian shield has repeatedly been pierced 
 by the spear of the mighty Horsley, and 
 his trumpet of sedition may at length 
 awaken the magistrates of a free country. 
 — Gibbon, Edward, 1793, Autobiography, 
 note. 
 
JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 453 
 
 Though king-bred rage with lawless Tumult 
 rude 
 
 Have driv'n our Priestley o'er the ocean swell ; 
 Though Superstition and her wolfish brood 
 Bay his mild radiance, impotent and fell; 
 Calm in his halls of brightness he sliall dwell I 
 For lo ! Religion at his strong behest 
 Disdainful rouses from the Papal spell, 
 And flings to Earth her tinsel -glittering vest, 
 Her mitred state and cumbrous pomp unholy ; 
 And Justice wakes to bid th' oppression wail, 
 That ground th' ensnared soul of patient 
 Folly; 
 
 And from her dark retreat by Wisdom won, 
 Meek Nature slowly lifts her matron veil 
 To smile with fondness on her gazing son ! 
 
 —Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1794, 
 Sonnet to Priestley, Dee. 11. 
 
 I am at present re-re-reading Priestley's 
 Examination of the Scotch Doctors : how 
 the rogue strings 'em up ! three together ! 
 You have no doubt read that clear, strong, 
 humorous, most entertaining piece of 
 reasoning. If not, procure it, and be ex- 
 quisitely amused. I wish I could get more 
 of Priestley's works. — Lamb, Charles, 
 1797, To Coleridge, Jan. 2; Letters, ed. 
 Ainger, vol. I, p. 57. 
 If I may write, let Proteus Priestley tell. 
 He writes on (dl things, but on nothing well ; 
 Who, as the daemon of the day decrees, 
 Air, books, or water makes with equal ease. 
 May not I strive amid this motley throng, 
 All pale and pensive as I muse along? 
 — Mathias, Thomas James, 1797, The 
 Pursuits of Literature, Eighth ed., p. 50. 
 
 The attack of Dr. Priestley, however, 
 gave him [Beattie] no concern. He ap- 
 pears, indeed, by his correspondence with 
 his friends to have formed, at first, the 
 resolution of replying to it ; and he speaks 
 as if he had already prepared his materials, 
 and of being altogether in such a state of 
 forwardness, and to be. fully ready for the 
 task. On farther consideration, however, 
 he abandoned the idea, and he no doubt 
 judged wisely. For, while Dr. Priestley's 
 Examination " is now never heard of, 
 the Essay on Truth" remains a classical 
 work, of the highest reputation and 
 authority.— Forbes, Sir William, 1806, 
 An Account of the Life and Writings of 
 James Beattis, vol. ii, p. 96. 
 
 Dr. Priestley has written more, we 
 believe, and on a greater variety of sub- 
 jects, than any other English author ; and 
 probably believed, as his friend Mr. Cooper 
 appears to do at this moment, that his 
 several publications were destined to make 
 
 an sera in the respective branches of 
 speculation to which they bore reference. 
 We are not exactly of that opinion : But 
 we think Dr. Priestley a person of no com- 
 mon magnitude in the history of Eng- 
 lish literature.— Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 
 1806-44, Priestley, Contributions to the 
 Edinburgh Review, vol. iii, p. 338. 
 
 No man living had a more affectionate 
 respect for him. In religion, in politics, 
 in physics, no man has rendered more 
 service. — Jefferson, Thomas, 1807, To 
 Thomas Cooper, July 9; Writings, ed. 
 Ford, vol. IX, p. 102. 
 
 His work [''Notes on all the Books of 
 Scripture"] contains many invaluable notes 
 and observations, particularly on the phi- 
 losophy, natural history, geography, and 
 chronology of the Scriptures ; and to these 
 subjects few men in Europe were better 
 qualified to do justice. — Clarke, Adam, 
 1810-26, Comment on the Bible. 
 
 As to his theological creed, it could not 
 justify the usage he received ; for though 
 he led the way to an open determined 
 avowal of socinianism, no patron of liberty 
 of conscience will impute this to him as a 
 civil crime ; nor should the friends of the 
 orthodox creed condemn him for the frank- 
 ness which rendered him the real, though 
 unintentional friend of the truth, which 
 has triumphed ever since Priestley tore 
 the mask of concealment from error, and 
 bade it be honest. The reflections which 
 he poured upon evangelical sentiments, 
 were often bitter enough, indeed ; but the 
 same may be said of the charges brought 
 against him and his creed; and it was 
 Horsley rather than Priestley, who en- 
 listed the depraved passions of men, and 
 the cruel prejudices of party politics, to 
 contend in the arena, which should have 
 been occupied solely by the authority of 
 revelation, and the evidence of unimpas- 
 sioned argument. — BoGUE, David, and 
 Bennett, James, 1812, History of Dis- 
 senters from the Revolution in 1688 to the 
 year 1808, vol. iv, p. 433. 
 
 The celebrated natural philosopher, 
 Joseph Priestley, criticised at the same 
 time both Hume and his antagonists. He 
 may be said to have been more successful 
 with the latter, whose instinctive principles 
 he justly styled qualitates occultce. In op- 
 position to Hume he alleged a proof of the 
 existence of the Divinity, which was un- 
 tenable. He was a rank Determinist ; and, 
 
454 
 
 JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 consistently with his principles, contro- 
 verted, as Hartley had done, the doctrine 
 of free agency, and endeavoured to estab- 
 lish a system of materiality of the soul. — 
 Tenneman, William Gottlieb, 1812-52, 
 A Manual of the History of Philosophy, tr. 
 Johnson, ed. MorelL 
 
 Neglecting accordingly, all the pre- 
 sumptions for a future state, afforded by 
 a comparison of the course of human 
 affairs with the moral judgments and 
 moral feelings of the human heart; and 
 overlooking, with the same disdain, the 
 presumptions arising from the narrow 
 sphere of human knowledge, when com- 
 pared with the indefinite improvement 
 of which our intellectual powers seem to 
 be susceptible, this acute but superficial 
 writer attached himself exclusively to the 
 old and hackneyed pneumatological argu- 
 ment ; tacitly assuming as a principle, that 
 the future prospects of man depend en- 
 tirely on the determination of a physical 
 problem, analogous to that which was then 
 dividing chemists about the existence or 
 non-existence of phlogiston. In the actual 
 state of science, these speculations might 
 well have been spared. — Stewart, Du- 
 GALD, 1815-21, First Preliminary Dis- 
 sertation, Encyclopcedia Britannica. 
 
 Charmed with the discoveries of science, 
 and eager, by prompt and unreserved com- 
 munication, to diffuse as far as possible, 
 their beneficial influence, he was yet su- 
 premely attracted to the discoveries of 
 revelation. Hence his unvarying purpose, 
 **by labour and patience, through evil re- 
 port, and through good report, " and even 
 when flesh and heart were failing, to pro- 
 mote, in the most enlarged sense of the 
 expression, "the greatest good of the 
 greatest number a sentiment with which 
 he had the honour, by one of his earliest 
 publications, to inspire that philosopher 
 and philanthropist, who has lately left the 
 world, after devoting himself in death, as 
 in life, to its service ; but whose memory 
 will remain, unless, again, in the dispensa- 
 tions of an inscrutable Providence, ''dark- 
 ness shall cover the earth, and gross dark- 
 ness the people."— RuTT, John Towil, 
 1832, Life and Correspondence of Joseph 
 Priestley, vol. I, pt. ii, p. 533. 
 
 There can be no doubt that versatility 
 was the great characteristic of Dr. Priest- 
 ley's genius. Singularly quick of appre- 
 hension, he made all his acquisitions with 
 
 facility and rapidity ; and hence he derived 
 a confidence in the working-power of his 
 own mind, and a general faith in the suf- 
 ficiency of the human faculties as instru- 
 ments of knowledge, which led him on to 
 achievement after achievement in the true 
 spirit of intellectual enterprise. — Marti- 
 neau, James, 1833-90, Dr. Priestley, 
 Essays, Reviews and Addresses, vol. I, 
 p. 17. 
 
 He is one of the most voluminous writers 
 of any age or country, and probably he is 
 of all voluminous writers the one who 
 has the fewest readers. — Brougham, 
 Henry Lord, 1845-55, Lives of Philoso- 
 phers of the Times of George HI, p. 74. 
 
 Priestley's mind was objective to an ex- 
 treme ; he could fix his faith upon nothing, 
 which had not the evidence of sense in 
 some way or other impressed upon it. 
 Science, morals, politics, philosophy, re- 
 ligion, all came to him under the type of 
 the sensational. The most spiritual ideas 
 were obliged to be cast into a material 
 mould before they could commend them- 
 selves to his judgment or conscience. 
 His intellect was rapid to extraordinary 
 degree ; he saw the bearings of a question 
 according to his own principles at a glance, 
 and embodied his thoughts in volumes 
 whilst many other men would hardly have 
 sketched out their plan. All this, though 
 admirable in the man of action,waLS not the 
 temperament to form the solid metaphysi- 
 cian, nay, it was precisely opposed to 
 that deep reflective habit, that sinking into 
 one's own inmost consciousness, from 
 which alone speculative philosophy can 
 obtain light and advancement. — Morell, 
 J. D., 1846-7, An Historical and Critical 
 View of the Speculative Philosophy of Europe 
 in the Nineteenth Century, p. 101. 
 
 Dr. Priestley's metaphysical creed em- 
 braces four leading doctrines : he adopted 
 the theory of vibrations, the association 
 of ideas, the scheme of philosophical 
 necessity, and the soul's materiality. On 
 all these topics he has furnished us with 
 extended dissertations; and, whatever 
 opinions may be ascertained of any or all 
 of them, there are few persons but will 
 readily admit the Doctor has displayed 
 both great zeal and great ability in de- 
 fence of them.— Blakey, Robert, 1848, 
 History of the Philosophy of Mind, vol. III. 
 
 His style is idiomatic, compact, incisive, 
 and vigorous. He is eminently easy to 
 
JOSEPH PRIESTLEY 
 
 455 
 
 follow ; he usually describes the progress 
 of his thoughts, explains by what circum- 
 stances he was led to take such and such 
 a view, and thus introduces us from the 
 known to the unknown by an easy grada- 
 tion.— Minto, William, 1872-80, Manual 
 of English Prose Literature, p. 474. 
 
 Priestley possessed one of those restless 
 intellects which are incapable of confining 
 themselves to any single task, and, un- 
 fortunately, incapable in consequence of 
 sounding the depths of any philosophical 
 system. Urged partly by his natural bent, 
 and partly, it may be, constrained by the 
 pressure of poverty, he gave to the world 
 a numerous series of dissertations which, 
 with the exception of his scientific writ- 
 ings, bear the marks of hasty and super- 
 ficial thought. As a man of science he 
 has left his mark upon the intellectual 
 history of the century ; but, besides being 
 a man of science, he aimed at being a 
 metaphysician, a theologian, a politician, 
 a classical scholar, and a historian. With 
 an amazing intrepidity he plunged into 
 tasks the effective performance of which 
 would have demanded the labours of a 
 lifetime. With the charge of thirty 
 youths on his hands he proposes to write 
 an ecclesiastical history, and soon after- 
 wards observes that a fresh translation of 
 the Old Testament would "not be a very 
 formidable task.'' He carried on all 
 manner of controversies, upon their own 
 ground, with Horsley and Bradcock, with 
 his friend Price, with Beattie and the 
 Scotch philosophers, with Gibbon and the 
 sceptics; and yet often laboured for six 
 hours a day at his chemical experiments. 
 So discursive a thinker could hardly do 
 much thorough work, nor really work out 
 or co-ordinate his own opinions. Pushing 
 rationalism to conclusions which shocked 
 the orthodox, he yet retained the most 
 puerile superstitions. He disbelieved in 
 the inspiration of the Apostles, and found 
 fault with St. Paul's reasoning, but had 
 full faith in the phophecies, and at a late 
 period of his life expected the coming of 
 Christ within twenty years. Nelson's 
 victories were to f ufill the predictions con- 
 tained in the 19th chapter of Isaiah, and 
 he suspected that Napoleon was the de- 
 liverer promised to Egypt. In his youth 
 he had become convinced, as he tells us, 
 of the falsity of the doctrines of the Atone- 
 ment and the inspiration of the Bible, and 
 
 **of all idea of supernatural interference 
 except" (a singular exception!) ''for the 
 purpose of miracles." Near half a cen- 
 tury's familiarity with theological specu- 
 lation failed to emancipate his mind from 
 the bondage of half-truths. It would be 
 in vain, therefore, to anticipate any great 
 force or originality in Priestley's specula- 
 tions. At best, he was a quick reflector 
 of the current opinions of his time and 
 class, and able to run up hasty theories of 
 sufficient apparent stability to afford a 
 temporary refuge amidst the storm of con- 
 flicting elements.— Stephen, Leslie, 1876, 
 History of English Thought in the Eight- 
 eenth Century, vol. I, p. 430. 
 
 If we choose one man as a type of the 
 intellectual energy of the century, we 
 could hardly find a better than Joseph 
 Priestley, though his was not the greatest 
 mind of the century. His versatility, 
 eagerness, activity, and humanity; the 
 immense range of his curiosity, in all 
 things physical, moral, or social ; his place 
 in science, in theology, in philosophy, and 
 in politics; his peculiar relation to the 
 Revolution, and the pathetic story of his 
 unmerited sufferings, may make him the 
 hero of the eighteenth century. — Harri- 
 son, Frederic, 1883, The Choice of Books 
 and Other Literary Pieces, p. 369. 
 
 The style of this author is adequate to 
 his thought. There is little flexibility or 
 vivacity; the diction is heavy, and oc- 
 casionally the preacher bestows on us the 
 tediousness and prolixity too frequently 
 associated with sermons. He has usually 
 something to prove, and, if he does not 
 prove it, the fault is not in the manner but 
 in the matter of statement. — Bonar, 
 James, 1895, English Prose, ed. Craik, 
 vol. IV, p. 438. 
 
 His labours culminated in the ''History 
 of Early Opinions concerning Jesus 
 Christ" (1786). Writing as a sectary, 
 he damaged at the outset his claim to 
 scrutinise in the scientific spirit the course 
 of thought in Christian antiquity ; but he 
 was one of the first to open the way to the 
 study of doctrinal development, and while 
 proclaiming his own bias with rare frank- 
 ness, he submitted his historical judgments 
 to the arbitrament of further research. 
 His account of the origin of Arianism, as 
 a novel system, has stood the test. What 
 was special in his method was the endeav- 
 our, discarding the speculations of the 
 
456 
 
 PRIESTLEY— HAMIL TON 
 
 fathers, to penetrate to the mind of the 
 common Christian people. He broke en- 
 tirely with the old application of the 
 principle of private judgment, maintaining 
 that a purely modern interpretation of 
 Scripture is, ipso facto, discredited, and the 
 meaning attached to it by the earliest age. 
 
 if ascertainable, must be decisive. A 
 good summary of his position is in his 
 Letters" (1787) to Alexander Geddes the 
 Roman catholic scholar, who had addressed 
 him as his * ^fellow-disciple in Jesus.'* — 
 Gordon, Alexander, 1896, Dictionary 
 of National Biography, vol. XLVI, p. 362. 
 
 Alexander Hamilton 
 
 1757-1804 
 
 Alexander Hamilton was born in the Island of Nevis, in the West Indies, January 
 11, 1757. His father was a merchant from Scotland ; his mother was the daughter of 
 a French Huguenot ; and the sons appear to have inherited, in equal measure, the vigour 
 and endurance of the one race and the address and vivacity of the other. His educa- 
 tion was not at all systematic, but his active mind instinctively found its proper stimu- 
 lants, and he began to show his great natural powers at an early age. While attending 
 to his studies at Columbia College, in New York city, the war broke out, and he entered 
 the patriot army as a captain of artillery. In 1777 he was made aide-de-camp to 
 General Washington, and distinguished himself by his ability in correspondence as 
 well as by active personal service in the field. At the close of the war he commenced 
 the practice of law in New York. His chief work, as an author, was a series of 
 papers entitled "The Federalist," of which he wrote the greater number — an elaborate 
 exposition of the Constitution of the United States. These papers, though necessarily 
 abstruse in character, are perspicuous in style and powerful in reasoning. He was the 
 first secretary of the treasury, and in that position he displayed unrivalled skill. . . . 
 After six years' service Hamilton retired from office, and resumed the practice of his 
 profession. As he had opposed Aaron Burr, first in his endeavours to become presi- 
 dent, and afterwards in his canvass for the office of governor of New York, that un- 
 scrupulous demagogue, maddened by defeat, challenged him tQ fight a duel. Hamilton 
 fell at the first fire, and died the next day, July 12, 1804.— Underwood, Francis H., 
 1872, A Hand-Book of English Literature, American Authors, p. 29. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Hamilton has a very boyish, giddy man- 
 ner. — Maclay, William, 1790, Sketches 
 of Debate in the First Senate of the United 
 States, p. 238. 
 
 In every relation which you have borne 
 to me I have found that my confidence in 
 your talents, exertions, and integrity has 
 been well placed. I the more freely tender 
 this testimony of my approbation because 
 I speak from opportunities of information 
 which cannot deceive me and which furnish 
 satisfactory proof of your title to public 
 regard. — Washington, George, 1795, 
 Letter to Hamilton on his Resignation. 
 
 The son of the camp-girl. — Callender, 
 J. T., 1800, The Prospect Before the United 
 States. 
 
 On my expected interview with Colonel 
 Burr, I think proper to make some remarks 
 explanatory of my conduct, motives, and 
 views. I was certainly desirous of avoiding 
 this interview for the most cogent of 
 reasons. First — My religious and moral 
 
 principles are strongly opposed to the 
 practice of duelling; and it would ever 
 give me pain to shed the blood of a fellow 
 creature in a private combat forbidden by 
 the laws. Secondly — My wife and children 
 are extremely dear to me, and my life is 
 of the utmost importance to them in vari- 
 ous views. Thirdly — I feel a sense of 
 obligation toward my creditors, who, in 
 case of accident to me, by the forced sale 
 of my property, may be in some degree 
 sufferers. I did not think myself at 
 liberty, as a man of probity, lightly to ex- 
 pose them to hazard. Fourthly — I am con= 
 scious of no ill-will to Colonel Burr distinct 
 from political opposition, which, as I 
 trust, has proceeded from pure and up- 
 right motives. Lastly — I shall hazard 
 much, and can possibly gain nothing, by 
 the issue of the interview. ... I 
 have resolved, if our interview is conducted 
 in the usual manner, and it pleases God to 
 give me the opportunity, to reserve and 
 throw away my first fire, and I have 
 thoughts even of reserving my second fire, 
 
0 ^ 
 
 Il 
 
 Q OQ 
 
ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 457 
 
 and thus giving a double opportunity to 
 Colonel Burr to pause and reflect. It is 
 not, however, my intention to enter into 
 any explanations on the ground. Apology, 
 from principle, I hope, rather than pride, 
 is out of the qustion. To those who, with 
 me, abhorring the practice of duelling, 
 may think that I ought on no account to 
 have added to the number of bad examples, 
 I answer that my relative situation, as well 
 in public as private, enforcing all the con- 
 siderations which constitute what men of 
 the world denominate honor, imposed on 
 me (as I thought) a peculiar necessity not 
 to decline the call.— Hamilton, Alexan- 
 der, 1804, Paper Prepared the Evening 
 Before his Duel with Aaron Burr. 
 
 Brethren of the Cincinnati — there lies 
 our chief! Let him still be our model. 
 Like him, after long and faithful public 
 services, let us cheerfully perform the 
 social duties of private life. Oh ! he was 
 mild and gentle. In him there was no 
 offence; no guile. His generous hand and 
 heart were open to all. Gentleman of the 
 bar — you have lost your brightest orna- 
 ment. Cherish and imitate his example. 
 While, like him, with justifiable, and with 
 laudable zeal, you pursue the interests of 
 your clients, remember, like him, the 
 eternal principle of justice. Fellow- 
 citizens — you have long witnessed his pro- 
 fessional conduct, and felt his unrivalled 
 eloquence. You know how well he per- 
 formed the duties of a citizen — you know 
 that he never coarted your favor by adula- 
 tion or the sacrifice of his own judgment. 
 You have seen him contending against you, 
 and saving your dearest interests as it 
 were, in spite of yourselves. And you 
 now feel and enjoy the benefits resulting 
 from the firm energy of his conduct. Bear 
 this testimony to the memory of my de- 
 parted friend. I charge you to protect his 
 fame. It is all he has left — all that these 
 poor orphan children will inherit from 
 their father. — Morris, Gouverneur, 
 1804, Funeral Oration by the Dead Body 
 of Hamilton. 
 
 The tears that flow on this fond recital 
 will never dry up. My heart, penetrated 
 with the rememberance of the man, grows 
 liquid as I write, and I could pour it out 
 like water. I could weep too for my 
 country, which, mournful as it is, does not 
 know the half of its loss. It deeply la- 
 ments, when it turns its eyes back, and 
 
 sees what Hamilton v;as; but my soul 
 stiffens with despair when I think what 
 Hamilton would have been. ... No 
 man ever more disdained duplicity, or car- 
 ried frankness further than he. . . . 
 Virtue so rare, so pure, so bold, by its 
 very purity and excellence inspired sus- 
 picion as a prodigy. His enemies judged 
 of him by themselves; so splendid and 
 arduous were his services, they could not 
 find it in their hearts to believe that they 
 were disinterested. . . . The name 
 of Hamilton would have honoured Greece 
 in the age of Aristides. May heaven the 
 guardian of our liberty, grant that our 
 country may be fruitful of Hamiltons, and 
 faithful to their glory! — Ames, Fisher, 
 1804, Sketch of the Character of Alexander 
 Hamilton. 
 
 Melancholy, most melancholy news for 
 America — the premature death of her 
 greatest man, Major-General Hamilton! 
 . . . His most stupendous talents which 
 set him above rivalship, and his integrity, 
 with which intrigue had not the hardihood 
 to tamper, held him up as the nation's 
 hope and as the terror of the unprincipled. 
 —Mason, John M., 1804, Letter to a 
 Friend in Scotland, Aug. 11. 
 
 TO the memory of 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 The corporation of Trinity have 
 erected this 
 Monument 
 In testimony of their respect 
 
 FOR 
 
 The patriot of incorruptible integrity 
 
 The soldier of approved valour 
 The statesman of consummate wisdom 
 Whose talents and virtues will be 
 admired 
 
 BY 
 
 Grateful posterity 
 Long after this marble shall have 
 mouldered to 
 Dust 
 
 He died July 12th, 1804, aged 47. 
 — Inscription on Tomb, Trinity Church- 
 yard, New York. 
 
 The model of eloquence and the most 
 fascinating of orators. With all his fail- 
 ings, he possessed a high and ennobled 
 spirit, and acquired an influence from his 
 overwhelming talents which death alone 
 swept away.— Story, Joseph, 1810, Let- 
 ter to Mrs. Story, Feb. 7 ; Life and Letter 
 vol. I, p. 196. 
 
458 
 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 Bastard brat of a Scotch peddler. — 
 Adams, John, 1813, Letter to Thomas 
 Jefferson, 
 
 Of Mr. Hamilton I ought, perhaps, to 
 speak with some restraint, though my feel- 
 ings assure me that no recollection of 
 political collisions could control the jus- 
 tice due to his memory. That he possessed 
 intellectual powers of the first order, and 
 the moral qualifications of integrity and 
 honor in a captivating degree, has been 
 decreed to him by a sufferage now univer- 
 sal.— Madison, James, 1831, Letter to 
 J. K. Paulding, April ; Writings of James 
 Madison, vol. iv, p. 176. 
 
 He was under middle size, thin in person, 
 but remarkably erect and dignified in his 
 deportment. His bust, seen in so many 
 houses, and the pictures and prints of him, 
 make known, too generally, the figure of 
 his face, to make an attempt at descrip- 
 tion expedient. His hair was turned back 
 from his forehead, powdered, and collected 
 in a club behind. His complexion wac 
 exceedingly fair, and varying from this 
 only by the almost feminine rosiness of his 
 cheeks. His might be considered, as to 
 figure and color, an uncommonly hand- 
 some face. When at rest, he had rather 
 a severe and thoughtful expression ; but 
 when engaged in conversation, it easily 
 assumed an attractive smile. . . . 
 The eloquence of Hamilton was said to 
 be persuasive and commanding ; the more 
 likely to be so, as he had no guide but the 
 impulse of a great and rich mind, he hav- 
 ing had little opportunity to be trained at 
 the bar, or in popular assemblies. Those 
 who could speak of his manner from the 
 best opportunities to observe him in public 
 and private, concurred in pronouncing him 
 a frank, amiable, high-minded, open- 
 hearted gentleman. He was capable of 
 inspiring the most afl^ectionate attach- 
 ment ; but he could make those whom he 
 opposed, fear and hate him cordially. He 
 was capable of intense and effectual ap- 
 plication, as is abundantly proved by his 
 public labours. But he had a rapidity and 
 clearness of perception, in which he may 
 not have been equalled. One who knew 
 his habits of study, said of him, that when 
 he had a serious object to accomplish, his 
 practice was to reflect on it previously ; 
 and when he had gone through this labour, 
 he retired to sleep, without regard to the 
 hour of the night, and having slept six or 
 
 seven hours, he rose, and having taken 
 strong coffee, seated himself at his table, 
 where he would remain six, seven, or 
 eight hours; and the product of his 
 rapid pen required little correction for the 
 press. ... In private and friendly 
 intercourse, he is said to have been ex- 
 ceedingly amiable, and to have been affec- 
 tionately beloved.— Sullivan, William, 
 1834, Familiar Letters on the Public Men 
 of the Revolution. 
 
 Among his brethern Hamilton was in- 
 disputably preeminent. This was univer- 
 sally conceded. He rose at once to the 
 loftiest heights of professional eminence, 
 by his profound penetration, his power of 
 analysis, the comprehensive grasp and 
 strength of his understanding, and the 
 firmness, frankness, and integrity of his 
 character. We may say of him, in refer- 
 ence to his associates, as was said of 
 Papinian, omnes longo post se intervallo 
 reliquerit. — Kent, James, 1836, Address 
 before the Law Associationy New York, 
 Oct. 21. 
 
 In Hamilton's death the Federalists and 
 the country experienced a loss second only 
 to that of Washington. Hamilton pos- 
 sessed the same rare and lofty qualities, 
 the same just balance of soul, with less, 
 indeed, of Washington's severe simplicity 
 and awe-inspiring presence, but with more 
 of warmth, variety, ornament, and grace. 
 If the Doric in architecture be taken 
 as the symbol of Washington's character, 
 Hamilton belonged to the same grand style 
 as developed in the Corinthian, — if less 
 impressive, more winning. If we add Jay 
 for the Ionic, we have a trio not to be 
 matched, in fact, not to be approached, in 
 our history, if, indeed, in any other. Of 
 earth-born Titans, as terrible as great, — 
 now angels, and now toads and serpents, 
 — there are everywhere enough. Of the 
 serene benign sons of the celestial gods, 
 how few at any time have walked the 
 earth ! — Hildreth, Richard, 1849-52, 
 History of the United States of America, 
 vol. II, p. 526. 
 
 His wife survived him, in widowhood, 
 fifty years. She died on the 9th of Novem- 
 ber, 1854, at the age of ninety-seven years 
 and three months.— Lossing, Benson J., 
 1855-86, Eminent Americans, p. 214. 
 
 As General Greene one day, on his way 
 to Washington's headquarters, was pass- 
 ing through a field, — then on the outskirts 
 
ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 459 
 
 of the city, now in the heart of its busiest 
 quarters, and known as "the Park," — he 
 paused to notice a provincial company of 
 artillery, and was struck with its able per- 
 formances, and with the tact and talent of 
 its commander. He was a mere youth, 
 apparently about twenty years of age, 
 small in person and stature, but remark- 
 able for his alert and manly bearinoj. It 
 was Alexander Hamilton. — Irving, Wash- 
 ington, 1855, Life of Washington, vol. ii, 
 p. 237. 
 
 Two peculiar charms belong to the life 
 of Hamilton as compared with his contem- 
 porary soldiers and statesmen, — his youth 
 and his gifts of expression. The variety 
 of his services, his exalted patriotism, and 
 his untarnished honor endeared his genius 
 to the highest order of minds ; while his 
 errors, however they may diminish his 
 glory to the eye of the moralist and the 
 Christian, add yet another effective ele- 
 ment to his nature as a subject for delinea- 
 tion. His were errors of passion, not of 
 calculation, and prove him weak, not in- 
 human. This weakness contrasted with 
 the moral consistency of Washington, this 
 yielding to the wiles of love and the soph- 
 istry of a false code of honor, associated 
 as it is with the pre-eminent merits and 
 transcendant abilities of Hamilton, gives 
 an extraordinary pathos to the drama of 
 his life. Circumstances here blend with 
 character, tears and triumph, admiration 
 with sorrow, to produce the highest 
 tragedy of human existence. — Tucker- 
 man, EE^RYT.,lSbS, Alexander Hamilton, 
 North American Review, vol. 86, p. 371. 
 
 Alexander Hamilton was of small stat- 
 ure, not above five feet five inches, accord- 
 ing to my recollection. His countenance, 
 without being handsome, was full of intel- 
 ligence, and his powers of conversation 
 distinguished. I heard him at the bar on 
 one occasion plead before the Supreme 
 Court of the United States the constitu- 
 tional right of Congress to tax carriages 
 and other excisable articles, in opposition 
 to a party in Virginia ; and no advocate 
 that I ever heard acquitted himself so well. 
 Talleyrand-Perigord sat not far from me 
 as a listener. — Breck, Samuel, 1862-77, 
 Recollections, ed. Scudder, p. 210. 
 
 He had a good heart, but with it the 
 pride and the natural arrogance of youth, 
 combined with an almost over-weening 
 consciousness of his powers, so that he 
 
 was ready to find fault with the adminis- 
 tration of others, and to believe that things 
 might have gone better if the direction 
 had rested with himself. Bold in the 
 avowal of his own opinions, he was fear- 
 less to provoke, and prompt to combat op- 
 position. It was not his habit to repine 
 over lost opportunities. His nature in- 
 clined him rather to prevent what seemed 
 to him coming evils by timely action. — 
 Bancroft, George, 1874, History of the 
 United States, vol. X, p. 409. 
 
 It is a highly interesting fact, that A. D. 
 1797, one of the foremost men of the 
 United States, a person who valued himself 
 upon his moral principle, and was accepted 
 by a powerful party at his own valuation 
 in that particular, should have felt it to 
 be a far baser thing to cheat men of their 
 money than to despoil women of their 
 honor. In this pamphlet he puts his 
 honorable wife to an open shame, and 
 publishes to the world the frailty of the 
 woman who had gratified him ; and this to 
 refute a calumny which few would have 
 credited. His conduct in this affair 
 throws light upon his political course. He 
 could be false to women for the same 
 reason that he could disregard the will of 
 the people. He did not look upon a woman 
 as a person and an equal with whom faith 
 was to be kept, any more than he recog- 
 nized the people as the master and the 
 owner whose will was law. Original in 
 nothing, he took his morals from one side 
 of the Straits of Dover, and his politics 
 from the other.— Barton, James, 1874, 
 Life of Thomas Jefferson, p. 534. 
 
 I frankly acknowledge that I began this 
 work with a deep admiration both for the 
 character and the intellect of Hamilton, 
 and that sentiment has strengthened as I 
 have proceeded in the study of his career. 
 . . . Hamilton was a man who excited 
 no moderate feelings either of affection or 
 animosity. His adherents worshipped 
 him as a kind of human deity ; his oppo- 
 nents assailed him as if he had been an in- 
 carnate fiend. He was loved as man has 
 seldom been loved, and hated as a man 
 free from the charge of any fearful crime 
 against his fellow-men has seldom been 
 hated. The language of moderation has 
 never yet been used concerning him. — 
 Morse, John T., Jr., 1876, The Life of 
 Alexander Hamilton, vol. l. Preface, pp. 
 viii, ix. 
 
460 
 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 There is something very attractive to us 
 as we contemplate him during those early 
 years of which we have written. We con- 
 fess that we like to think of him as he 
 there appears, — constant to the purpose 
 of a noble life. The world was all before 
 him. He was not the creature of circum- 
 stance, nor its servant. He chose his 
 path, and never turned back. We are 
 pleased when we think of him as the earn- 
 est student, — the boy that was willing to 
 risk his life, though not his character, to 
 exalt his station, — as the youth that knew 
 himself, confided in his own understanding 
 and strength, and yet never ventured 
 beyond his ability, — as one who depended 
 not on genius alone, but brought to his aid 
 on every occasion the practical experience 
 of actual knowledge, — and as the friend 
 whose ardor no adversity could chill and 
 whose faithfulness no reverse of fortune 
 could alienate.— Shea, George, 1879, 
 The Life and Epoch of Alexander Hamil- 
 ton, p. 430. 
 
 In person Hamilton was well made, of 
 light and active build, but very small, 
 much below the average height. His 
 friends were wont to call him the little 
 lion;" and it is somewhat remarkable that 
 his stature seems to have interfered so 
 slightly, if at all, with his success as an 
 orator. . . . The man was impressive. 
 Inches of stature and of girth were lack- 
 ing, but he was none the less full of 
 dignity. In this, of course, his looks 
 helped him. His head was finely shaped, 
 symmetrical and massive. His eyes were 
 dark, deep-set, and full of light and fire. 
 He had a long, rather sharp nose, a well- 
 shaped, close-set mouth, and a strong, firm 
 jaw. The characteristics of the spare, 
 clean-cut features are penetration and 
 force. There is a piercing look about the 
 face even in repose ; and when Hamilton 
 was moved a fire came into his eyes which 
 we are told had a marvellous effect. But 
 it was the soul which shone through his 
 eyes, and animated his mobile counte- 
 nance, that made him so effective in 
 speech. As men listened to him, they 
 felt profoundly the mastery of the strong 
 nature, the imperious will, and the pas- 
 sionate energy which gave such force to 
 his pathos, to his invective and to the even 
 flow of clear, telling argument. ... 
 In private life Hamilton was much beloved 
 and most attractive. He talked well and 
 
 freely. He was open-hearted and hospita- 
 ble, full of high spirits and geniality. In 
 his own family he was idolized by wife and 
 children. The affection which he inspired 
 in all who knew him was largely due to the 
 perfect generosity of his nature, for he 
 gave time and money with a lavish hand to 
 all who sought his aid. He carried this 
 habit into his business to his own detri- 
 ment. He would often refuse to make any 
 charge to poor clients, and never could be 
 persuaded to accept anything beyond a 
 reasonable and modest fee. He had in 
 truth a contempt for money, and while he 
 made a nation's fortune, he never made 
 his own. — Lodge, Henry Cabot, 1882, 
 Alexander Hamilton {American States- 
 men), pp. 272, 273, 274. 
 
 His temper was gentle ; his manner en- 
 gaging ; his spirit, high and resolute, was 
 raised above the influence both of cupidity 
 and of fear ; his parts were quick ; his in- 
 dustry unwearied ; his attainments various. 
 He was at once a skilful officer, a brilliant 
 pamphleteer, an active political leader, an 
 impressive debater, a wise statesman, an 
 able financier, a political economist of 
 rare sagacity. In his veins was mingled 
 the blood of two distinctly opposite races. 
 In his mind and character were combined 
 the choicest traits of each. From his 
 father, a cool, deliberate, calculating 
 Scotchman, he inherited the shrewdness, 
 the logical habits of thought, which con- 
 stitute the peculiar glory of the Scottish 
 mind. From his mother, a lady of French 
 extraction, and daughter of a Huguenot 
 exile, he inherited the easy manners, the 
 liveliness and vivacity, the keen sense of 
 humor, the desire and ability to please, 
 which so eminently distinguish the chil- 
 dren of the Celtic race. Born within 
 fifteen degrees of the equator, the rare 
 powers of his mind ripened in him at a 
 time when, in the natives of a colder 
 climate, they have scarcely begun to 
 bloom. Since the time of William of 
 Orange the world had rarely seen an in- 
 stance of so mature a mind in so young a 
 lad.— McM ASTER, John Bach, 1883, A 
 History of the People of the United States, 
 vol. I, p. 125. 
 
 Inseparably connected with the political 
 history of the United States— above all 
 other kindred events— is that memorable 
 meeting of Alexander Hamilton and Aaron 
 Burr at Weehawken (New Jersey) opposite 
 
ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 461 
 
 the city of New York, on Wednesday 
 morning, about seven o'clock, July 11, 
 1804, in which the former received his 
 antagonist's bullet in a vital part, and from 
 which he died at two o'clock Thursday 
 afternoon. No event of the kind — so far 
 as can be discovered by the author — in 
 America, or elsewhere, overproduced such 
 a general and profound sensation. The 
 intelligence of the fall of the illustrious 
 Hamilton, while it was received with 
 marked feeling in Europe, even, fell like 
 a crushing doom upon the American 
 people. New York City was paralyzed, 
 and the inhabitants of the whole country 
 were plunged into the deepest mourning. 
 Great multitudes of people thronged to 
 New York to witness the melancholy cere- 
 monies, and to take part in the funeral 
 procession — which was very large and very 
 impressive. This took place on Saturday, 
 July 14. The funeral address was de- 
 livered by Gouverneur Morris, from a plat- 
 form in front of Trinity Church, Broadway, 
 in the presence of many thousands o,f grief- 
 stricken people, among whom were four of 
 the sons of the deceased, the eldest of 
 whom was sixteen and the youngest 
 between six and seven. . . . The 
 weapons used by Hamilton and Burr are at 
 present in the possession of a citizen of 
 Rochester (New York). For more than 
 fifty years they were in possession of the 
 descendants of Hamilton, who gave them 
 to the mother of the present possessor, 
 also a descendant of Hamilton. In ap- 
 pearance they are very formidable. They 
 are horse-pistols" of English manufac- 
 ture, and are exactly alike, so far as an 
 ordinary observer can discover. The one 
 from which Burr fired the fatal missile is 
 marked by a cross filed under the lower 
 part of the barrel. They do not in any 
 respect resemble any modern arm. In 
 handling them one is strongly impressed 
 with the idea that they were evidently in- 
 tended for use in duels where the partici- 
 pants ''shot to kill" and not to obtain 
 newspaper notoriety without the disa- 
 greeable shedding of blood. Although 
 they evidently could not be manipulated so 
 rapidly as the modern double-acting, self- 
 cocking pistol, they are capable of fatal 
 execution, as they carry a bullet of 56 
 calibre. They are sixteen inches long. 
 —Truman, Ben C, 1883, The Field of 
 Honor, pp. 334, 354. 
 
 To the student, however, the military 
 services of Alexander Hamilton shine out 
 like new stars, giving an added lustre to 
 his fame. He sees him in the fog and 
 darkness covering that masterful retreat 
 from Long Island. He hears him ask per- 
 mission of his chief to retake Fort Wash- 
 ington with but a handful of men. Again 
 he appears at Monmouth, correcting Lee's 
 blunders and winning victory from defeat. 
 Finally at Yorktown, with the dash of 
 Ney, the magnetism of Napoleon, and the 
 coolness of his own great Washington, he 
 captures a redoubt with the loss of scarcely 
 a man, and makes the surrender of Corn- 
 wallis a necessity. Such is the brief his- 
 tory of the little lion" of Nevis on the 
 field of battle. And this was accomplished 
 while in stature and in age he was yet a 
 boy. — HoTCHKiss, William H., 1886, 
 Alexander Hamilton, ed. Dodge, p. 142. 
 
 No name from the rolls of our struggle 
 for independence and our binding together 
 as a nation awakens more intense interest 
 or opens wider fields for consideration than 
 that of Hamilton. From the first appear- 
 ance of the youthful student, to the tragic 
 hour on the heights of Weehawken, the 
 story has the attraction of romance, and 
 in it can be found the kindling of influences 
 potent not only for then but for all time. 
 In the very beginning of his plan to found 
 an institution of learning, Samuel Kirkland 
 sought the counsel of Hamilton and re- 
 ceived his approval. Hamilton was one of 
 the first trustees, and in recognition of 
 his encouragement the institution received 
 his name. It is fitting that this College 
 should call special attention to Alexander 
 Hamilton. Soon after the establishment 
 of prizes for English essays, the Faculty 
 announced as a subject for the Senior class, 
 "Alexander Hamilton as a Constitutional 
 Statesman." The prize on this subject 
 was awarded in a vigorous competition to 
 Franklin H. Head of the Class of 1856, 
 who evinced in College the marked ability 
 he has shown so fully since. In 1863, the 
 Senior prizes for essays having been with- 
 drawn, Mr. Head established the prize 
 called by his name, designating that the 
 subject for this Prize Oration year by year 
 should have reference to the character and 
 career of Alexander Hamilton. . . . 
 It is believed that these efforts grouped 
 about the life of Hamilton will be of in- 
 terest to many and will at least show how 
 
462 
 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 <;onstant Hamilton College is to the mem- 
 ory of the great leader. — Root, Oren, 
 1896, Alexander Hamilton, Thirty-one 
 Orations Delivered at Hamilton College 
 from 1864 to 1895, upon the Prize Foun- 
 dation Established by Franklin Harvey 
 Head, A. M., ed. Dodge, Introduction. 
 
 The funeral took place from the house 
 of John Church, in Robinson Street, near 
 the upper Park. Express messengers had 
 dashed out from New York the moment 
 Hamilton breathed his last, and every city 
 tolled its bells as it received the news. 
 People flocked into the streets, weeping 
 and indignant to the point of fury. 
 Washington's death had been followed by 
 sadness and grief, but was unaccompanied 
 by anger, and a loud desire for vengeance. 
 Moreover, Hamilton was still a young man. 
 Pew knew of his feeble health ; and that 
 dauntless resourceful figure dwelt in the 
 liigh light of the public imagination, ever 
 ready to deliver the young country in its 
 many times of peril. His death was 
 lamented as a national calamity. On the 
 day of the funeral. New York was black. 
 Every place of business was closed. The 
 world was in the windows, on the house- 
 tops, on the pavements of the streets 
 through which the cortege was to pass : 
 Robinson, Beekman, Peal, and Broadway 
 to Trinity Church. Those who were to 
 walk in the funeral procession waited, the 
 Sixth Regiment, with the colours and 
 music of the several corps, paraded, in 
 Robinson Street, until the standard of the 
 Cincinnati, shrouded in crepe, was waved 
 before the open door of Mr. Church's 
 house. The regiment immediately halted 
 and rested on its reversed arms, until the 
 bier had been carried from the house to 
 the centre of the street, when the proces- 
 sion immediately formed. . . . When 
 the procession after its long march reached 
 Trinity Church the military formed in two 
 columns, extending from the gate to the 
 corners of Wall Street, and the bier was 
 deposited before the entrance. Morris, 
 surrounded by Hamilton's boys, stood over 
 it, and delivered the most impassioned ad- 
 dress which had ever leapt from that bril- 
 liant but erratic mind. It was brief, both 
 because he hardly was able to control him- 
 self, and because he feared to incite the 
 people to violence, but it was profoundly 
 moving. . . . The bells tolled until 
 sundown. The city and the people wore 
 
 mourning for a month, the bar for six 
 weeks. In due time the leading men of 
 the parish decided upon the monument 
 which should mark to future generations 
 the cold and narrow home of him who had 
 been so warm in life, loving as few men 
 had loved, exulted in the wide greatness of 
 the empire he had created. — Atherton, 
 Gertrude Franklin, 1902, The Con- 
 queror, Being the True and Romantic Story 
 of Alexander Hamilton, pp. 532, 533, 534. 
 
 STATESMAN 
 At the time when our government was 
 organized we were without funds, though 
 not without resources. To call them into 
 action and establish order in the finances, 
 Washington sought for splendid talents, 
 for extensive information, and, above all, 
 he sought for sterling, incorruptible in- 
 tegrity. All these he found in Hamilton. 
 — Morris, Gouverneur, 1804, Funeral 
 Oration by the dead body of Hamilton, 
 
 I would hope and may not disbelieve, that 
 Mr. Hamilton's attachment to the Union 
 was of that stubborn, inflexible character 
 which under no circumstances would have 
 found him arrayed in arms against it. But 
 in the events of Mr. Hamilton's life a com- 
 parison of his conduct with his opinions, 
 in more than one instance, exhibits him in 
 that class of human characters whose sense 
 of rectitude itself is swayed by the im- 
 pulses of the heart, and the purity of 
 whose virtue is tempered by the baser 
 metal of the ruling passion. This conflict 
 between the influence of the sensitive and 
 the reasoning faculty was perhaps never 
 more strikingly exemplified than in the 
 catastrophe which terminated his life, and 
 in the picture of his soul unveiled by this 
 posthumous paper. — Adams, John Quincy, 
 1800-15, Federalism. 
 
 This naturally brought Hamilton into his 
 [Talleyrand] thoughts, and of him he spoke 
 willingly, freely, and with great admira- 
 tion. In the course of his remarks, he 
 said that he had known, during his life, 
 many of the more marked men of his time, 
 but that he had never, on the whole, known 
 one equal to Hamilton. I was much sur- 
 prised, as well as gratified, by the remark ; 
 but still feeling that, as an American, I 
 was, in some sort, a party concerned by 
 patriotism in the compliment, I answered, 
 — with a little reserve, perhaps with a 
 little modesty,— that the great military 
 
ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 463 
 
 commanders and the grest statesmen of 
 Europe had dealt with much larger masses 
 of men, and much wider interests than 
 Hamilton ever had. "Mais, monsieur,'' 
 the Prince instantly replied, ''Hamilton 
 avail devine VEuropeJ' — TiCKNOR, George, 
 1818, Journal. 
 
 That he possessed intellectual powers 
 of the first order, and the moral qualifica- 
 tions of integrity and honour in a captivat- 
 ing degree, has been decreed to him by a 
 suffrage now universal. If his theory of 
 government deviated from the republican 
 standard, he had the candour to avow it, 
 and the greater merit of co-operating 
 faithfully in maturing and supporting a 
 system which was not his choice. — Mad- 
 ison, James, 1831, Letters, vol. iv, p, 176. 
 
 He smote the rock of the national re- 
 sources, and abundant streams of revenue 
 gushed forth. He touched the dead corpse 
 of the Public Credit, and it sprung upon 
 its feet. The fabled birth of Minerva from 
 the brain of Jove was hardly more sudden 
 or more perfect than the financial system 
 of the United States as it burst forth from 
 the conception of Alexander Hamilton. — ■ 
 Webster, Daniel, 1831, Speech at a Pub- 
 lic Dinner in New York, Feb. 
 
 Hamilton must be classed among the 
 men who have best known the vital 
 principles and fundamental conditions of 
 a government, — not of a government such 
 as this (France), but of a government 
 worthy of its mission and of its name. 
 There are not in the constitution of the 
 United States an element of order, of force, 
 or of duration, which he has not power- 
 fully contributed to introduce into it and 
 caused to predominate. — GuizoT, Fran- 
 gois Pierre Guillaume, 1840, An Essay 
 on the Character of Washington and His 
 Influence in the Revolution of the United 
 States of America, 
 
 Among all the remarkable men of the 
 Revolution, we know of no one, who, for 
 the attributes which usually mark genius, 
 was more distinguished. He was endowed 
 with a singularly comprehensive mind, 
 which enabled him to originate forms of 
 government and systems of administration, 
 whilst he united with it an intrepidity and 
 an ener'gy equal to the task of putting 
 them in execution. He was a politician 
 and a statesman, without possessing those 
 finer and more delicate feelings of lofty 
 
 morality, which, while they do honor to 
 a public man, sometimes go far to impair 
 his means of usefulness. To Hamilton, 
 men appeared always as instruments to be 
 moved, and not as accountable beings, and 
 theories of government or modes of policy 
 were regarded simply with reference to 
 the ends which might be attained by ap- 
 filying them. The consequence was, that 
 however bold the features of his system 
 were, and however decidedly beneficial in 
 its application to the interests of the 
 country, there was always a slight taint 
 of earthly morality about it, which de- 
 prived him of the share in the public con- 
 fidence, which he may now be regarded as 
 having deserved. Peculiarly fitted for the 
 difficult duty of calling a government into 
 being, he was capable, at the same time, 
 of understanding the bearings, of the most 
 comprehensive principles and of entering 
 into its minutest practical detail. Yet 
 there is this remarkable peculiarity about 
 the history of Mr. Hamilton, that, whilst 
 he acted a most important and honourable 
 part in a critical period of our national 
 affairs, there was not, probably, an instant 
 of his life in which he enjoyed the perfect 
 sympathy of the mass of the people of the 
 United States. — Adams, Charles Fran- 
 cis, 1841, The Madison Papers, North 
 American Review, vol. 53, p. 70. 
 
 Where, among all the speculative phi- 
 losophers in political science whom the 
 world has seen, shall we find a man of 
 greater acuteness of intellect, or more 
 capable of devising a scheme of govern- 
 ment which should appear theoretically, 
 perfect? Yet Hamilton's unquestionable 
 genius for political disquisition and con- 
 struction was directed and restrained by a 
 noble generosity, and an unerring percep- 
 tion of the practicable and the expedient, 
 which enabled him to serve mankind with- 
 out attempting to force them to his own 
 plans, and without compelling them into 
 his own views. — Curtis, George Ticknor, 
 1854, History of the Origin, Formation 
 and Adoption of the Constitution of the 
 United States, vol. i, p. 387. 
 
 In the career of Hamilton we trace the 
 progress of the Constitution, from its first 
 germ in the mind of the young soldier, 
 through all the difficulties of its establish- 
 ment, and the trials of its early years, 
 until its administration passes from the 
 control of its authors, to fall into the hands 
 
464 
 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 of the champions of an absolute democ- 
 racy. But, apart from all political 
 speculations, the story of Hamilton him- 
 self, his character, his services, and his 
 fate, are well worthy of record and ought 
 to be better known than they have hitherto 
 been — especially in that England which he 
 understood with the instinct of genius, 
 and loved with the enthusiasm of a high 
 and generous nature. Such knowledge 
 can only tend to the honour of his name, 
 and to the growth of kindly feelings 
 between his country and our own. — 
 
 RlETHMliLLER, CHRISTOPHER JaMES, 1864, 
 
 Alexander Hamilton and His Contempora- 
 ries, Dedication, p. iv. 
 
 It is idle to speculate on what **might 
 have been;'' but we may be permitted to 
 conjecture that, had Hamilton lived, many 
 of the evils which it has taxed the vitality 
 of the States to survive, and others of 
 equal magnitude, against which they still 
 are struggling, would have been averted 
 or mitigated. But when he fell, in a 
 half-personal, half-political quarrel, in his 
 thirty-fifth year [?] (1804), by the bullet 
 of the infamous demagogue Aaron Burr, a 
 blow was dealt to Western civilisation, only 
 less vital and lasting than to that of Scot- 
 land by the assassination of the greatest 
 of the Stuart kings ; for Hamilton had no 
 worthy successor, and the victory lay 
 henceforth with the unscrupulous man of 
 genius who, without serious let or hind- 
 rance, assumed the control of the national 
 destinies. — Nichol, John, 1880-85, 
 American Literature, p. 74. 
 
 Like Napoleon, Pitt, and so many others 
 of his great contemporaries, Hamilton, 
 instead of working his way slowly up, 
 established his hold upon the government 
 and direction of affairs from the day that 
 he was admitted to a share in them, and 
 leaped at a bound into a position which in 
 quieter times men attain only after long 
 years of patient struggle. His influence 
 seems to have been due in great measure 
 to the remarkable sincerity of his mind. 
 His nature was profoundly truthful. — 
 Sedgwick, A. G., 1882, Alexander Ham- 
 ilton, The Nation, vol. 34, p. 445. 
 
 There is one man in the political history 
 of the United States whom Daniel Webster 
 regarded as his intellectual superior. And 
 this man was Alexander Hamilton ; not so 
 great a lawyer or orator as Webster, not 
 so broad and experienced a statesman, but 
 
 a more original genius, who gave shape 
 to existing political institutions. He was 
 one of those fixed stars which will forever 
 blaze in the firmament of American lights, 
 like Franklin, Washington, and Jefferson ; 
 and the more his works are critically ex- 
 amined, the brighter does his genius ap- 
 pear. No matter how great this country 
 is destined to be, — no matter what illus- 
 trious statesmen are destined to arise, 
 and work in a larger sphere with the eyes 
 of the world upon them, — Alexander 
 Hamilton will be remembered and will be 
 famous for laying one of the corner-stones 
 in the foundation of the American struc- 
 ture.— Lord, John, 1885, Beacon Lights 
 of History, vol. iv, p. 367. 
 
 Alexander Hamilton was, next to Frank- 
 lin, the most consummate statesman among 
 the band of eminent men who had been 
 active in the Revolution, and who after- 
 ward labored to convert a loose confedera- 
 tion of States into a national government. 
 His mind was as plastic as it was vigorous 
 and profound. It was the appropriate in- 
 tellectual expression of a poised nature 
 whose power was rarely obtrusive, be- 
 cause it was half concealed by the har- 
 monius adjustment of its various faculties. 
 It was a mind deep enough to grasp prin- 
 ciples, and broad enough to regard 
 relations, and fertile enough to devise 
 measures. Indeed, the most practical of 
 our early statesmen was 'also the most in- 
 ventive. He was as ready with new ex- 
 pedients to meet unexpected emergencies 
 as he was wise in subordinating all ex- 
 pedients to clearly defined principles. In 
 intellect he was probably the most creative 
 of our early statesmen, as in sentiment 
 Jefferson was the most widely influential. 
 — Whipple, Edwin Percy, 1886, Amer- 
 ican Literature and Other Papers, ed. 
 Whittier, p. 14. 
 
 One cannot note the disappearance of 
 this brilliant figure, to Europeans the most 
 interesting in the early history of the Re- 
 public, without the remark that his coun- 
 trymen seem to have never, either in his 
 lifetime or afterwards, duly recognized his 
 splendid gifts.— Bryce, James, ISSS, The 
 American Commonwealth, vol. I, p. 641. 
 
 Hamilton's work went to the making of 
 the American State, but personally he 
 may be said to have failed ; for when death 
 overtook him he had no political future, 
 and could have had none, unless he could 
 
ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 465 
 
 have readjusted himself entirely to the 
 conditions of American public life. — 
 Sumner, William Graham, 1890, Alex- 
 ander Hamilton (Makers of America)^ 
 Preface, p. iv. 
 
 There are two points which should be 
 clearly understood ; the first, that Hamil- 
 ton's character as a private individual was 
 currupt, and as a politician full of plots, 
 and bitterness, and not always free from 
 treachery; the second, and his views of 
 government and democratic institutions 
 were such that, had they secured predomi- 
 nance, would have been fatal to the Re- 
 public. At the present moment the tend- 
 encies most likely to work mischief are 
 Hamiltonian. — Powell, E. P., 1891, 
 Popular Leaders Past and Present, The 
 Arena, vol. 3, p. 579. 
 
 No emergency found him at a loss, and 
 his creative intellect brought victory out 
 of disaster. The symmetry of his nature 
 and the genuine modesty of his character 
 veiled the extent and power of his re- 
 sources ; he sought not his own prosperity, 
 but that of the measures in which he be- 
 lieved, and was careless though others 
 got the credit of his success. Practical 
 in his objects and clear in their expound- 
 ing, he conquered opposition, partly by 
 lucid and temperate reasoning, and partly 
 by a magnetic force of intellectual passion. 
 — Hawthorne, Julian, and Lemmon, 
 Leonard, 1891, American Literature, p. 31. 
 
 His promptness rivalled occasion, and 
 serried obstinacy yielded to his intrepid 
 assaults. It was not his own success he 
 sought, but the triumph of a mighty cause. 
 Had he preferred power, which is transient, 
 to influence, which endures ; had he been 
 a partisan rather than a patriot, a self- 
 seeker rather than the trustee of a future 
 beyond even his hope or ken ; had he been 
 duplex, where he was open, lucid and 
 sincere ; then he had not impressed his in- 
 dividuality upon a whole America as the 
 truest translator of her predestinate 
 nationality. ... He was neither 
 sophist nor paralogist. He dwelt above 
 manipulation, and compromise, and ex- 
 pedient, and formula, and all mere pass- 
 ports. He sought the underlying princi- 
 ples and the ultimate reality. His soul 
 went into his plea. With warmth and 
 grace, but with a peculiar logical sim- 
 plicity — a clearness that became clarity— 
 and with the unshaken courage of one 
 
 80 G 
 
 compelled by conviction, he summoned his 
 facts and marshaled his reasons. His was 
 the strategy of unambushed truth and the 
 elastic energy of a direct will. . . . 
 With pen as with voice he was a chief of 
 assemblies. He was a sharp sword and 
 two-edged. He was the exponent and 
 champion of frank and fearless argument. 
 Malignity might vituperate, but he did not 
 pause. Malice might misrepresent him, 
 but he never sulked. Cunning was not in 
 him, nor little envy, nor treachery. He 
 met each new issue as it arose, and his 
 enemies themselves being judges he was 
 never put to the worst in free and open 
 encounter. . . . Life, fortune, honor 
 were to that sacredly rendered, ungrudg- 
 ingly, unweariedly, unregrettingly, and, 
 thank God, with absolute success. He 
 had no secrets from his country ! — Stry- 
 ker, M. Woolsey, 1895, Address at the 
 Hamilton Club, Brooklyn, N. Y., Jan. 11, 
 pp. 9, 10, 11. 
 
 Certainly one of the greatest figures in 
 our history is the figure of Alexander 
 Hamilton. American historians, though 
 compelled always to admire him, often in 
 spite of themselves, have been inclined, 
 like the mass of men in his own day, to 
 look at him askance. They hint, when 
 they do not plainly say, that he was not 
 ''American." He rejected, if he did not 
 despise, democratic principles ; advocated 
 a government as strong, almost, as a mon- 
 archy; and defended the government 
 which was actually set up, like the skilled 
 advocate he was, only because it was the 
 strongest that could be had under the cir- 
 cumstances. He believed in authority, and 
 he had no faith in the aggregate wisdom 
 of masses of men. He had, it is true, 
 that deep and passionate love of liberty, 
 and that steadfast purpose in the main- 
 tenance of it, that mark the best English- 
 men everywhere ; but his ideas of govern- 
 ment stuck fast in the old-world politics, 
 and his statesmanship was of Europe rather 
 than of America. And yet the genius and 
 the steadfast spirit of this man were 
 absolutely indispensable to us. No one 
 less masterful, no one less resolute than 
 he to drill the minority, if necessary, to 
 have their way against the majority, could 
 have done the great work of organization 
 by which he established the national 
 credit, and with the national credit the 
 national government itself. — Wilson, 
 
466 
 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 WOODROW, 1896, Mere Literature and 
 Other Essays, p. 188. 
 
 The most precocious statesman of 
 America, if not of the world. — Bronson, 
 Walter C, 1900, A Short History of 
 American Literature, p. 49. 
 
 THE FEDERALIST 
 
 No constitution of government ever re- 
 ceived a more masterly and successful 
 vindication. I know not, indeed, of any 
 work on the principles of free government 
 that is to be compared, in instruction and 
 intrinsic value, to this small and unpre- 
 tending volume of the Federalist; not 
 even if we resort to Aristotle, Cicero, 
 Machiavel, Montesquieu, Milton, Locke, or 
 Burke. It is equally admirable in the 
 depth of its wisdom, the comprehensiveness 
 of its views, the sagacity of its reflections, 
 and the fearlessness, patriotism, candour, 
 simplicity, and elegance, with which its 
 truths are uttered and recommended. Mr. 
 Justice Story acted wisely in making the 
 Federalist the basis of his Commentary. — 
 Kent, James, 1826-54, Commentaries 
 upon American Law. 
 
 His are easily distinguished by their 
 superior comprehensiveness, practicalness, 
 originality, and condensed and polished 
 diction. — Griswold, RuFUS Wilmot, 1846, 
 The Prose Writers of America, p. 91. 
 
 The Federalist originally appeared in the 
 columns of the New York Daily Advertiser. 
 The papers were collected and published 
 in two neat duodecimo volumes, by J. & A. 
 M'Lean, New York, 1788; another edition 
 appeared during Hamilton's Lifetime, in 
 1802, from the press of George F. Hop- 
 kins, New York. The papers were also 
 included in an edition of Hamilton's 
 works, in three vols., by Williams & 
 Whiting, New York, 1810. In 1818, an 
 edition was published by Jacob Gideon at 
 Washington, which embraced the revisions 
 by Madison of his papers. — Duyckinck, 
 Evert A. and George L., 1855-65-75, 
 Cyclopedia of American Literature, ed. 
 Simons, vol. i, p. 439, note. 
 
 It was from him that the Federalist de- 
 rived the weight and the power which 
 commanded the careful attention of the 
 country, and carried conviction to the 
 great body of intelligent men in all parts 
 of the Union. — Curtis, George Ticknor, 
 1855, History of the Origin, Formation 
 and Adoption of the Constitution of the 
 United States, vol. I, p. 417= 
 
 On the whole, the Federalist" is a 
 very remarkable instance of statesmanlike 
 ability, in which a certain amount of 
 pedantry and affectation may well be par- 
 doned in consideration of the clearness 
 with which the conditions of a great polit- 
 ical crisis are appreciated. Hamilton, 
 whose influence is most perceptible, was 
 by far the ablest representative of what 
 may be called the English' theory of 
 government in the United States ; and took 
 no inconsiderable share in carrying into 
 execution the plan which he had so ably 
 defended. —Stephen, Leslie, 1S16, His- 
 tory of English Thought in the Eighteenth 
 Century, vol. ii, p. 260. 
 
 These are, perhaps, the ablest political 
 essays in the English language ; and they 
 are like some of the great speeches of 
 Burke, in that they were intended to effect 
 an immediate purpose only and yet have 
 served ever since as a perpetual store- 
 house of political wisdom. — Matthews, 
 Brander, 1896, An Introduction to the 
 Study of American Literature, p. 221. 
 
 The effect was immediate and far-reach- 
 ing. The 'federalist" did more than any 
 other writing to secure the adoption and 
 support of the Constitution throughout the 
 country. It is a profound disquisition on 
 the principles of our government, and has 
 since been quoted as of the highest 
 authority on constitutional questions. 
 But it is more than a political and con- 
 troversial treatise. Its masterly style 
 raises it to the rank of real literature. 
 Most of the controversial writings of the 
 Revolutionary Period have been forgotten. 
 Having served their temporary purpose, 
 they have been swept into oblivion. But 
 the "Federalist" endures as one of the 
 masterpieces of the human reason. Its 
 sustained power is wonderful. The argu- 
 ment, clothed in elevated, strong, and 
 sometimes eloquent language, moves for- 
 ward with a mighty momentum that sweeps 
 away everything before it. It is hardly 
 surpassed in the literature of the world 
 as a model of masterful popular reasoning. 
 By this production Hamilton won for him- 
 self a foremost place in the literature of 
 his time.— Painter, F. V. N., 1897, In- 
 troduction to American Literature, p. 87. 
 
 As a series of formal essays, the** Feder- 
 alist" groups itself roughly with the 
 **Tatler," the ** Spectator," and those 
 numerous descendants of theirs which fill 
 
ALEXANDER HAMILTON 467 
 
 the literary records of eighteenth-century 
 England. It differs, however, from all 
 these, in both substance and purpose. 
 The *'Tatler," the ''Spectator," and their 
 successors dealt with superficial matters 
 in a spirit of literary amenity : the ''Feder- 
 alist" deals, in an argumentative spirit as 
 earnest as that of any Puritan divine, with 
 political principles paramount in our his- 
 tory ; and it is so wisely thoughtful that one 
 may almost declare it the permanent basis 
 of sound thinking concerning American 
 constitutional law. Like all the educated 
 writing of the eighteenth century, too, it 
 is phrased with a rhythmical balance and 
 urbane polish which gave it claim to 
 literary distinction. After all, however, 
 one can hardly feel it much more signifi- 
 cant in a history of pure letters than are 
 the opinions in which a little later Judge 
 Marshall and Judge Story developed and 
 expounded the constitutional law which 
 the "Federalist" commented on. Its 
 true character appears when we remember 
 the most important thing published in 
 England during the same years, — the 
 poetry of Robert Burns. The contrast 
 between Burns and the "Federalist" tells 
 the whole literary story. Just as in the 
 seventeenth century the only serious 
 literature of America was a phase of that 
 half-historical, half-theological sort of 
 work which had been a minor part of 
 English literature generations before ; so 
 in the eighteenth century the chief product 
 of American literature was an extremely 
 ripe example of such political pamphlet- 
 eering as in England had been a minor 
 phase of letters during the period of Queen 
 Anne. Pure letters in America were still 
 to come.— Wendell, Barrett, 1900, A 
 Literary History of America, p. 118. 
 
 GENERAL 
 That great man, whose remarkable 
 career was finished at the point when most 
 men are just ready for action, was a reader 
 and inquirer in political economy in his 
 twentieth year. In his twenty-fifth year, 
 in such leisure as the camp of the Revolu- 
 tion afforded, he matured a scheme for a 
 Bank of the United States, and became a 
 correspondent of Morris on that subject. 
 And, finally, at the age of thirty-four, he 
 produced, as Secretary of the Treasury, 
 his great reports on the Public Credit, on 
 a National Bank, and on Manufactures, 
 the most powerful and comprehensive 
 
 discussion of the national finances every 
 made under our government, and the sub- 
 ject, It may be remembered, of one of Mr. 
 Webster's noblest periods. Those reports 
 bear the evidence throughout of much 
 reading and reflection upon the experiences 
 of nations, and of careful meditation on 
 the speculations and theories of previous 
 writers. . . . Both the knowledge of 
 economic questions and the power of deal- 
 ing with them exhibited by Hamilton in 
 these discussions warrant us in setting him 
 down as a writer who, under other condi- 
 tions and freed from the pressure of public 
 business, might have been expected to 
 make some positive contribution to the 
 development of economic theory. But his 
 few crowded years left him little oppor- 
 tunity for such pursuits, and it would now 
 be hard to say that he left any impression 
 on the thought of the world, by his dealing 
 with this subject. His reports have con- 
 tinued to be the arsenal from which the 
 advocates of special measures have again 
 and again drawn forth weapons now well 
 worn; but systematic political economy 
 cannot be said to owe to him any recog- 
 nized principle, any discovery in method, 
 or indeed any influence save the stimulus 
 which his example must always afford to 
 the student of financial history. — Dun- 
 bar, Charles F., 1876, Economic Science 
 in America, 1776-1876, North American 
 Review, vol. 122, pp. 130, 131. 
 
 The greatness of his political has ob- 
 scured the memory of his literary fame : 
 he was one of the best writers of his 
 time. He wrote in the periodic style, 
 sonorous, often weighty and austere. He 
 was only forty-seven when he died; yet 
 his literary productions fill many volumes, 
 his clear intelligence instructed his age. 
 He helped to form the Constitution, and, 
 although not pleased with some of its pro- 
 visions, defended it in the "Federalist" 
 with great force and propriety. His pen 
 was never at rest ; he spared few of his 
 contemporaries; his integrity was un- 
 doubted, his patriotism sincere; his in- 
 fluence upon the fate of his country in- 
 calculable.— Lawrence, Eugene, 1880, 
 A Primer of American Literature, p. 42. 
 
 During our rapid advance in wealth and 
 influence they [Hamilton's writings] have 
 shown the adaptive powder which belongs 
 to principles rather than expedients. 
 Their effect has been far-reaching and 
 
468 
 
 ALEXANDER HAMILTON 
 
 permanent, and the memory of their author 
 shall be as lasting as the Union which he 
 helped to form.— Lang, Philip A., 1880, 
 Alexander Hamilton^ ed. Dodge, p, 112. 
 
 If we compare Hamilton with the other 
 writers of that period when every distin- 
 guished man did more or less political 
 writing, and when there was no other 
 native literature, it is a simple matter to 
 fix his position. He was easily first. Not 
 only have his writings alone survived for 
 the general reader out of the wilderness 
 of essays and pamphlets of the last cen- 
 tury on similar subjects, but the 'feder- 
 alist" has become a text-book in America 
 and an authority in Europe. Hamilton, 
 in this capacity, will, however, bear a 
 severer test, — that of abstract merit. His 
 writings deal exclusively with the great 
 questions of that day, and have lost their 
 living interest. Yet as specimens of polit- 
 ical literature, as disquisitions on con- 
 stitutions and the art of government, and 
 as masterpieces of reasoning, they are not 
 only the best produced here, but they will 
 take high rank among the best efforts of 
 other countries. One quality which raised 
 Hamilton in this regard beyond his con- 
 temporaries on both sides of the Atlantic 
 was his freedom from the didactic tone 
 which so mars the writings of the latter 
 half of the last century. His style was 
 simple, nervous, and modern in feeling, 
 and anyone who has tried to condense one 
 of his arguments will appreciate the state- 
 ment that the thought is compressed to the 
 last point consistent with clearness. Yet 
 forcible and convincing as all Hamilton's 
 essays are, pure as is the style, and vigor- 
 ous and rapid as is the flow of thought, 
 they are hard reading. Admiring them 
 as models in their way and as great intel- 
 lectual efforts, one is forced to confess 
 them dry to the last degree. — Lodge, 
 Henry Cabot, 1884, Studies in History, 
 p. 168. 
 
 The writings of Hamilton, like those of 
 nearly all the politicians whose names are 
 here under consideration, had no real 
 literary motive. They were produced in 
 the course of the life of a statesman, and 
 all, whether written with greater or less 
 care, were designed to further the ends of 
 statecraft or of political management. 
 . . . His rank as an author depends 
 finally upon his contributions to **The 
 Federalist" — a weighty and potent book. 
 
 which, however, like Adam Smith's 
 Wealth of Nations," scarcely belongs 
 within the border line of true literature. — 
 Richardson, Charles F., ISSl, American 
 Liter ature,lQ07-lSS5, vol. I, pp. 201, 203. 
 
 In the exposition of his views touching 
 the several vast fields of thought here 
 brought under consideration, — constitu- 
 tional law, municipal law, the long line 
 of colonial charters, colonial laws and 
 precedents, international polity as affect- 
 ing the chief nations of Christendom, jus- 
 tice in the abstract and justice in the con- 
 crete, human rights both natural and con- 
 ventional, the physical and metaphysical 
 conditions underlying the great conflict 
 then impending, — it must be confessed, 
 that this beardless philosopher, this states- 
 man not yet out of school, this military 
 strategist scarcely rid of his roundabout, 
 exhibits a range and precision of knowl- 
 edge, a ripeness of judgment, a serenity, 
 a justice, a massiveness both of thought 
 and of style, which would perhaps make 
 incredible the theory of his authorship of 
 these pamphlets, were not this theory 
 confirmed by his undoubted exhibition in 
 other ways, at about the same period of 
 his life, of the same astonishing qualities : 
 as in his "Remarks on the Quebec Bill," 
 published in 1775 ; in his letters under the 
 signature of *'Publius," published in 
 1778 ; in his essays over the signature of 
 "The Continentalist," published in 1781 ; 
 above all, in his personal letter to James 
 Duane written in 1780, and containing a 
 powerful statement of the defects of the 
 articles of confederation, and an almost 
 miraculous forecast of the very incidents 
 and sequences of the process by which, 
 some seven or eight years afterward, the 
 articles of confederation were actually 
 developed into the constitution of the 
 United States.— Tyler, Moses Coit,1897, 
 The Literary History of the American 
 Revolution, 1763-1783, vol. i, p. 390. 
 
 From his time to the present, in peace 
 and war, notwithstanding temporary em- 
 barrassments and occasional panics, the 
 finances of the government have been 
 sound, and its obligations accepted wher- 
 ever offered. In the long line of honest 
 and able secretaries who have administered 
 the treasury, Hamilton stands as the first 
 and greatest financier. — Oilman, Daniel 
 C, 1897, Library of the World's Best Lit- 
 erature, ed. Warner, vol. xii, p. 6895. 
 
469 
 
 Charlotte Lennox 
 
 1720-1804 
 
 Born (Charlotte Ramsay), in New York, 1720. To England, 1735(?). Being un- 
 provided for at her father's death, went on the stage for a short time. Married to — 
 Lennox, 1748( ?). Friendship with Dr. Johnson and Richardson. Edited ''The Ladies' 
 Museum,'' 1760-61. Play, "The Sister" (dramatized from her novel "Henrietta"), 
 produced at Covent Garden, 18 Feb. 1769; "Old City Manners" (adapted from Jon- 
 son, Chapman and Mars ton's "Eastward Hoe!"), Drury Lane, 9 Nov. 1775. Ill health 
 and distress in later years. Pension from Royal Literary Fund, 1803. Died, in London, 
 4 Jan. 1804. Works: "Poems on Several Occasions," (anon.) 1747; "The Life of 
 Harriot Stuart" (anon.) 1751 (1750); "The Female Quixote" (anon.), 1752; "Shake- 
 spear Illustrated" (3 vols., anon.), 1753-54; "Philander" (anon.), 1758; "Henrietta" 
 (anon.), 1758; "Sophia" 1762; "The Sisters," 1769; "Old City Manners," 1775; 
 "Euphemia," 1790; "Memoirs of Henry Lennox," 1804. She translated: "Memoirs 
 of the Countess of Berci,"1756; "Memoirs of the Duke of Sully," 1756; "Memoirs 
 for the History of Madame de Maintenon," 1757; Brumoy's "Greek Theatre" (with 
 Johnson and others), 1759 ; the Duchess de la Valliere's "Meditations," 1774. — 
 Sharp, R. Farquh arson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 167. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 A poetess and deplorable actress. — 
 Walpole, Horace, 1748, To George Mon- 
 tagu, Sept. 3; Letters, ed. Cunningham, 
 vol. II, p. 126. 
 
 He (Dr. Johnson) gave us an account of 
 Mrs. Lennox. Her "Female Quixote" is 
 very justly admired here. But Mrs. Thrale 
 says that though her books are generally 
 approved, nobody likes her. I find she, 
 among others, waited on Dr. Johnson upon 
 her commencing writing, and he told us 
 that at her request he carried her to 
 Richardson. "Poor Charlotte Lennox!" 
 continued he. "When we came to the 
 house she desired me to leave her; 'for,' 
 says she, 'I am under great restraint in 
 your presence ; but if you leave me alone 
 with Richardson, I'll give you a very good 
 account of him;' however, I fear poor 
 Charlotte was disappointed, for she gave 
 me no account at all."— D'Arblay, Mme. 
 (Fanny Burney), 1778, Diary, Aug. 26. 
 
 Mrs. Lenox, a lady now well known in 
 the literary world, had written a novel 
 intitled, "The Life of Harriot Stuart," 
 which in the spring of 1751, was ready 
 for publication. One evening at the club, 
 Johnson proposed to us the celebrating 
 the birth of Mrs. Lenox's first literary 
 child, as he called her book, by a whole 
 night spent in festivity. Upon his men- 
 tioning it to me, I told him I had never 
 sat up a whole night in my life ; but he 
 continuing to press me, and saying, that I 
 should find great delight in it, I, as did all 
 the rest of our company, consented. The 
 place appointed was the Devil tavern, and 
 
 there, about the hour of eight, Mrs. 
 Lenox and her husband, and a lady of her 
 acquaintance, now living, as also the club, 
 and friends to the number of near twenty, 
 assembled. Our supper was elegant, and 
 Johnson had directed that a magnificent 
 hot apple-pie should make a part of it, and 
 this he would have stuck with bay-leaves, 
 because, forsooth, Mrs. Lenox was an 
 authoress, and had written verses; and 
 further, he had prepared for her a crown 
 of laurel, with which, but not till he had 
 invoked the muses by some ceremonies of 
 his own invention, he encircled her brows. 
 The night passed, as must be imagined, in 
 pleasant conversation, and harmless mirth, 
 intermingled at different periods with the 
 refreshments of coffee and tea. About 
 five Johnson's face shone with meridian 
 splendour, though his drink had been only 
 lemonade ; but the far greater part of us 
 had deserted the colours of Bacchus, and 
 were with difficulty, rallied to partake of 
 a second refreshment of coffee, which was 
 scarcely ended when the day began to 
 dawn. This phenomenon began to put us 
 in mind of our reckoning ; but the waiters 
 were all so overcome with sleep, that it was 
 two hours before we could get a bill, and 
 it was not till near eight that the creaking 
 of the street-door gave the signal for our 
 departure. — Hawkins, Sir John, 1787, 
 Life of Samuel Johnson, p. 285. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 On the evening of Saturday, May 15, he 
 was in fine spirits at our Essex Head Club. 
 He told us, "I dined yesterday at Mrs. 
 Garrick's with Mrs. Carter, Miss Hannah 
 
470 
 
 LENNOX— PALEY 
 
 More, and Miss Fanny Burney. Three such 
 women are not to be found : I know not 
 where I could find a fourth, except Mrs. 
 Lennox, who is superiour to them all." — 
 Johnson, Samuel, 1784, Life by Boswell, 
 ed. Hill, vol. IV, p. 317. 
 
 But her (Dorothy Osborne's) favourite 
 books were those ponderous French 
 Romances which modern readers know 
 chiefly from the pleasant satire of Char- 
 lotte Lennox. — Macaulay, Thomas Bab- 
 INGTON, 1838, Sir William Temple, Edin- 
 burgh Review, Critical and Miscellaneous 
 Essays. 
 
 A very ingenious, deserving, and not 
 very fortunate woman, who wrote the 
 clever novel of the ''Female Quixote, " and 
 a somewhat silly book about Shakespeare, 
 to which Johnson, a great friend of her's, 
 was suspected to have contributed. . . . 
 Though with too much sentiment, it 
 [''Sister"] is both amusing and interest- 
 ing ; and the Strawberry-hill critics who 
 abused it, and afterwards pronounced 
 Burgoyne's "Heiress" "the finest comedy 
 in the English language," might have 
 had the justice to discover that three of 
 the characters of the fashionable General 
 were stolen from this very "Sister" of 
 poor Mrs. Lennox. — Forster, John, 1848- 
 54, The Life and Times of Oliver Gold- 
 smith, vol. II, pp. 145, 146. 
 
 It ["Female Quixote"] certainly is a 
 very amusing book. . . . The story 
 is rather wire-drawn, but rather full of 
 
 humor.— Minto, William, 1894, The Lit- 
 erature of the Georgian Era, ed. Knight, 
 pp. 117, 118. 
 
 The "Female Quixote," published in 
 1752, and perpetuated by Mrs. Barbauld, 
 is precious for preserving to the world the 
 best impression we have of what the old, 
 old romances of the Calprenede and 
 Scudery school really were ; sparing us an 
 effort which even I am incapable of— that 
 is, wading through the black volumes like 
 those beloved of the old nurse in the 
 Wortley family, and even of Lady Mary 
 herself and her contemporaries. It is an 
 agreeable and ingenious satire upon the 
 old romances, and I really think it is 
 written in a modern spirit, and that Ara- 
 bella, the heroine, has more good stuff in 
 her than other imaginary ladies of the 
 time who have been more praised. She 
 is supposed to have been brought up in 
 the country and secluded from all society, 
 but allowed to amuse herself in an old 
 library furnished with the works of these 
 voluminous authors. Of course she im- 
 bibes their views of life, and when she 
 comes out into the world, possessed of 
 beauty and fortune, it is with a pronounced 
 ignorance of every circumstance of real 
 life and manners. She fancies every man 
 who speaks to her to be secretly in love 
 with her, and is in constant apprehension 
 of being forcibly carried off. — Hale, 
 Susan, 1898, Men and Manners of the 
 Eighteenth Century, p. 45. 
 
 William Paley 
 
 1743-1805 
 
 Born, at Peterborough, July 1743. Educated at Giggleswick Grammar School (of 
 which his father was head-master). To Christ's Coll., Camb., as Sizar, Oct. 1759; 
 Scholar and Exhibitioner, Dec. 1759: B. A., 1763; M. A., 1766. Schoolmaster at 
 Greenwich, 1763-66. Ordained Deacon, 1766; Priest, 21 Dec. 1767. Fellow of 
 Christ's Coll., Camb., June 1766. Prselector, 1767-69; Hebrew Lecturer, 1768-70; 
 Tutor, March 1771. Preacher at Whitehall, 1771-76. Rector of Musgrave, Cumber- 
 land, May 1775 to 1777. Married (i) Jane Hewitt, 6 June 1776. Vicar of Dalston, 
 Cumberland, 1776-93. Vicar of Appleby, 1777 to Aug. 1782. Prebendary of Carlisle, 
 1780 to Jan. 1795. Archdeacon and Rector of Great Salkeld, Aug. 1782 to May 1805. 
 Chancellor of the Diocese, 1785 to Jan. 1795. Wife died, May 1791. Vicar of 
 Aldingham, May 1792 to March 1795 ; Vicar of Stanwix, 1793 to March 1795. Preb- 
 endary of St. Pancras, St. Paul's Cathedral, Aug. 1794. Sub-dean of Lincoln, Jan. 
 1795. D. D. Camb., 1795. Rector of Bishop- Wearmouth, March 1795. Resided 
 there till his death. Married (ii), Miss Dobinson, 14 Dec. 1795. Died, at Lincoln, 
 25 May 1805. Buried in Carlisle Cathedral. Works: "A Defence of the 'Considera- 
 tions on the propriety of requiring a subscription to Articles of faith' " (anon.) 1774; 
 "Caution recommended in the use ... of Scripture Language," 1777; "Advice 
 addressed to the Young Clergy of the Diocese of Carlisle," 1781; "A Distinction of 
 
UHIVFJ 
 
WILLIAM PALEY 
 
 471 
 
 Orders in the Church defended," 1782; Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy," 
 1785; *'The young Christian instructed, " 1790; ''Horae Paulinse," 17130 (2ndedn. same 
 j^ear) ; ''The Use and propriety of local and occasional preaching," 1790; "Reasons for 
 Contentment," 1792; ''View of the Evidences of Christianity," 1794 (2nd edn. same 
 year) ; "Dangers incidental to the Clerical Character," 1795; "A Sermon preached at 
 the Assizes at Durham," 1795; "A Short Memoir of the Life of Edward Law., D. D. 
 1800; "Natural Theology," 1802. Posthumous : "Sermons on Several Subjects," 
 1808; "Sermons and Tracts," 1808; "Sermons on Various Subjects," (2 vols.), 1825. 
 Collected Works in 8 vols., 1805-08; in 5 vols, 1819; etc., etc. Life: by G. W. 
 Meadley, 2nd edn., 1810.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English 
 Authors, p. 220. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 His delivery was fluent, his language 
 strong and perspicuous, though mixed 
 sometimes with provincial, but expressive 
 words and phrases, which, however, were 
 purposely used as uncommon, and likely 
 to be remembered. His general manner, 
 also, was strikingly impressive; and he 
 treated everything with such force and 
 animation, that the driest topics became 
 interesting. By all these means, he secured 
 not only the attendance of his pupils 
 without the aid of punishments, but 
 also their admiration whilst he lectured, 
 and their regret when he had done. . . . 
 In person. Dr. Paley was above the com- 
 mon size, and rather inclined to corpulence 
 in his latter years. The expression of his 
 countenance is well delineated in Mr. 
 Romney's exquisite portrait of him, taken 
 after he was appointed archdeacon of 
 Carlisle. Dr. Paley is understood to have 
 left a very competent fortune amongst his 
 family : for though he had never levied the 
 utmost value of his preferments, and had 
 always lived in a style suitable to his 
 station, he had been through life, to use 
 his own phrase, an economist upon a plan. — 
 Meadley, George Wilson, 1809, Memoirs 
 of William Paley, pp. 75, 225. 
 
 A man singularly without guile, and yet 
 often misunderstood or misrepresented ; a 
 man who was thought to have no learning, 
 because he had no pedantry, and who was 
 too little of a quack to be reckoned a phi- 
 losopher ; who would have been infallibly 
 praised as a useful writer on theory of 
 government, if he had been more visionary, 
 and would have been esteemed a deeper 
 divine, if he had not been always so in- 
 telligible.— Blunt, J. J., 1828, Works 
 and Character of Paley, Quarterly Review, 
 vol. 38, p. 335. 
 
 The greatest divine of the period is Dr. 
 William Paley, a man of remarkable vigour 
 and clearness of intellect, and originality 
 
 of character. His acquirements as a 
 scholar and churchman were grafted on a 
 homely, shrewd, and benevolent nature, 
 which no circumstances could materially 
 alter. There was no doubt of obscurity 
 either about the man or his works ; he 
 stands out in bold relief among his brother 
 divines, like a sturdy oak on a lawn or 
 parterre — a little hard and cross-grained, 
 but sound, fresh, and massive— dwarfing 
 his neighbours with his w^eight and bulk, 
 and his intrinsic excellence.— Chambers, 
 Robert, 1876, Cyclopcedia of English Lit- 
 erature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 Paley was above the average height, and 
 in later life stout. He was curiously 
 clumsy, made grotesque gesticulations, 
 and talked, as Meadley and Best agree, 
 with broad north-country accent. His son 
 only admits "a want of refinement." 
 His voice was weak, though deep ; and he 
 overcame the awkward effect of his pulpit 
 appearances by his downright sincerity. 
 His son apologises for his abrupt conclu- 
 sions by saying that he stopped when he 
 had no more to say. ... He was 
 given to brooding over his books, often 
 writing and teaching his sons at the 
 same time, and turning every odd mo- 
 ment to account. ... He was the 
 incarnation of strong common-sense, full 
 of genial good humour, and always dis- 
 posed to take life pleasantly. As a 
 lawyer, the profession for which he thought 
 himself suited, he would probably have 
 rivalled the youger Law, who became 
 Lord Ellenborough. He had no romance, 
 poetic sensibility, or enthusiasm ; but was 
 thoroughly genial and manly. He was a 
 very affectionate father and husband, and 
 fond, like Sydney Smith, of gaining knowl- 
 edge from every one who would talk to him. 
 He only met one person in his life from 
 whom he could extract nothing. — Ste- 
 phen, Leslie, 1895, Dictionary of Na- 
 tional Biography, vol. XLiii, pp. 104, 105. 
 
472 
 
 WILLIAM PALEY 
 
 PRINCIPLES OF MORAL AND 
 POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY 
 
 1785 
 
 Paley, who had not read a great deal, had 
 certainly read Puffendorf: he has bor- 
 rowed from him several minor illustra- 
 tions. . . . Their minds were in some 
 respects alike; both phlegmatic, honest, 
 and sincere, without warmth or fancy ; yet 
 there seems a more thorough good-nature 
 and kindliness of heart in our countryman. 
 . . . They do not, indeed, resemble 
 each other in their modes of writing : one 
 was very laborious, the other very indo- 
 lent ; one sometimes misses his mark by 
 circuity, the other by precipitance.— Hal- 
 lam, Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to 
 the Literature of Europe, pt. iv, cL iv, 
 par, 49. 
 
 The work of Dr. Paley embraces the 
 Principles of Political as well as Moral 
 Philosophy ; but, able and judicious as in 
 many respects that portion of the book is, 
 the space allotted to it, being little more 
 than one-third of two moderate-sized and 
 widely-printed octavo volumes, shows how 
 far it must be from explaining the whole 
 even of the principles of the science. 
 Of Political Economy it has almost nothing ; 
 it only gives the principles of government 
 in their most general form ; it makes no 
 application of them to any constitution but 
 that of England ; it derives from the con- 
 stitution of no other country any illustra- 
 tion of them ; and it may justly be regarded 
 rather as an illustration of the doctrines 
 of Moral Philosophy, and an appendix to 
 the main body of the work, than as a 
 treatise on Political Science. — Brougham, 
 Henry Lord, 1840-44, Political Philoso- 
 phy, Introduction, pt. i. 
 
 Of what value, let me ask, is Paley's 
 *'Moral Philosophy" ? What is its imagined 
 use ? Is it that in substance it reveals any 
 new duties, or banishes as false any old 
 ones? No; but because the known and 
 admitted duties — duties recognized in e2;er?/ 
 system of ethics — are here placed (suc- 
 cessfully or not) upon new foundations, or 
 brought into relation with new principles 
 not previously perceived to be in any rela- 
 tion whatever. This, in fact, is the very- 
 meaning of a theory or contemplation, 
 when A, B, C, old and undisputed facts, 
 have their relations to each other de- 
 veloped. It is not, therefore, for any 
 practical benefit in action, so much as for 
 
 the satisfaction of the understanding, 
 when reflecting on a man's own actions, 
 the wish to see what his conscience or his 
 heart prompts reconciled to general laws 
 of thinking — this is the particular service 
 performed by Paley 's "Moral Philosophy." 
 It does not so much profess to tell what 
 you are to do, as the why and the where- 
 fore ; and, in particular, to show how one 
 rule of action may be reconciled to some 
 other rule of equal authority, but which, 
 apparently, is in hostility to the first. 
 Such then, is the utmost and highest aim 
 of the Paleyian or the Ciceronian ethics, 
 as they exist. — De Quince y, Thomas, 1853, 
 Literary Reminiscences, ch. xxiii. 
 
 Paley is a hard-headed North-country- 
 man, whose chief mental sustenance has 
 been a severe course of Cambridge mathe- 
 matics. He is throughout a systematiser, 
 not an original thinker ; and his system 
 begins by expelling as far as possible 
 everything that is not as solid and tangible 
 as a proposition in Euclid. Moreover, his 
 ethical treatise is, in fact, intended for 
 educational purposes. In such works, 
 clearness and order are the cardinal virtues, 
 and originality, if not a vice, is of equivocal 
 advantage. Paley primarily is a condenser 
 and a compiler; though he modestly 
 enough claims to be ''more than a mere 
 compiler." He gives a lucid summary of 
 the most generally accepted system ; and 
 if there is any gleam of originality in his 
 writing, it is, for the most part, such as 
 occasionally results from a rearrangement 
 of old materials. . . . Paley, with his 
 undeniable merits as a reasoner, was not 
 the man to desert the paths into which he 
 had been guided. He has simply given a 
 compact statement of what may be called 
 the orthodox theory. — Stephen, Leslie, 
 1876, History of English Thought in the 
 Eighteenth Century, vol. Ii, p. 121. 
 
 It has been, I think, the fortune of this 
 work to be of late years very unduly de- 
 preciated, partly because, in consequence 
 of the singular charm and lucidity of its 
 style, it has been so widely read, studied, 
 and criticised that all its weak points have 
 been fully disclosed, and partly also 
 because the particular type of the utili- 
 tarian theory of ethics which it teaches 
 has been generally abandoned. It is, how- 
 ever, both in form and substance, one of 
 the masterpieces of the eighteenth cen- 
 tury, and the author was much too shrewd 
 
WILLIAM PALEY 
 
 473 
 
 a man not to know that the doctrines 
 which he taught were not likely under 
 George III. to lead a clergyman to the 
 bench. — Lecky, William Edward Hart- 
 pole, 1887, A History of England in the 
 Eighteenth Century, vol. v, ch. xix, p. 171. 
 
 HOR^ PAULINA 
 
 1790 
 
 He proceeds with infinite acuteness and 
 ingenuity to produce most striking in- 
 stances of undesigned coincidences in the 
 documents in question. Many of his senti- 
 ments and expressions are eminently 
 happy.— Green, Thomas, 1810, Diary 
 of a Lover of Literature. 
 
 He is singularly ingenious in hitting on 
 a casual argument where a common mind 
 would have overlooked it. He makes his 
 deduction just as far as that instance bears 
 him out, and no farther; and, on proper 
 occasions, he presses his reasonings with 
 convincing force. — Orme, William, 1824, 
 Bibliotheca Biblica. 
 
 Paley's ''Horse Paulinge'' is perhaps the 
 most original and ingenious of his pro- 
 ductions which may be called strictly pro- 
 fessional ; but his "Moral Philosophy" and 
 ''Natural Theology" will probably make 
 his name longer known to posterity. — 
 DiBDiN, Thomas Frognall, 1824, The 
 Library Companion, p. 88, note. 
 
 It would not be in the power of the most 
 suspicious lawyer, at the Old Bailey, to 
 subject two witnesses to stricter cross- 
 examination than that by which Paley has 
 tried the testimony of St. Paul and St. 
 Luke. This is the light in which the 
 "Horse Paulinse" is to be viewed: it is a 
 close, and rigorous, and searching series 
 of questions, addressed to two men de- 
 ponents to certain facts, and addressed, 
 too, by a most acute advocate, in open 
 court, before an intelligent tribunal. — 
 Blunt, J. J., 1828, Works and Charac- 
 ter of Paley, Quarterly Review, vol. 38, 
 p. 317. 
 
 The "Horae Paulinge" is remarkably 
 adapted for the profitable exercise of the 
 minds of law-students. It is pronounced 
 by one of the highest authorities upon 
 such matters. Dr. Whately, to be "an in- 
 comparable specimen of reasoning," — and 
 of that kind of reasoning, moreover, with 
 which lawyers are peculiarly conversant, 
 and in which they do and ought to excel. 
 Independently of the pre-eminent value 
 
 and importance of such an undertaking, in 
 a religious point of view, such an interest- 
 ing and masterly exhibition of logical 
 acuteness ought to be familiar to all 
 capable of appreciating and profiting by it. 
 — Warren, Samuel, 1835-45, Popular 
 and Practical Introduction to Law Studies, 
 pp. 224, 225. 
 
 EVIDENCES OF CHRISTIANITY 
 
 1793 
 
 Mr. Paley' s book has been universally 
 well received, and the first edition is 
 already gone. As he wrote and published 
 it at my desire, I have just given him a 
 prebend of St. Paul's as a mark of my ap- 
 probation and gratitude. It has given me 
 much pleasure to find that this book has 
 been much read and approved at Cam- 
 bridge, where I think it will do essential 
 service.— Porteus, Beilby, 1793, Letter 
 to Hannah More, Memoirs, ed. Roberts, 
 vol. I, p. 424. 
 
 It is almost superfluous to name a work 
 so universally known as Dr. Paley 's "View 
 of the Evidences of Christianity," which is 
 probably, without exception, the most clear 
 and satisfactory statement of the historical 
 proofs of the Christian religion ever ex- 
 hibited in any age or country. — Hall, 
 Robert, 1800, Modern Infidelity Con- 
 sidered with Respect to its Influence on 
 Society, Preface. 
 
 We regard Dr. Paley' s writings on the 
 "Evidences of Christianity" as of so 
 signally decisive a character, that we 
 could be content to let them stand as the 
 essence and the close of the great argu- 
 ment on the part of its believers; and 
 should feel no despondency or chagrin if 
 we could be prophetically certified that 
 such an efficient Christian reasoner would 
 never henceforward arise. We should 
 consider the grand fortress of proof as 
 now raised and finished — the intellectual 
 capitol of that empire which is destined to 
 leave the widest boundaries attained by the 
 Roman very far behind. ... It is 
 impossible to hear, with the slightest 
 degree of respect or patience the expres- 
 sions of doubt or anxiety about the truth 
 of Christianity, from any one who can de- 
 lay a week to obtain the celebrated "View 
 of its Evidences, " or fail to read it through 
 again and again. It is of no use to say 
 what would be our opinion of the moral 
 and intellectual state of his mind, if after 
 
474 
 
 WILLIAM PALEY 
 
 this he remained still undecided. — Foster, 
 John, 1809, Paley as a Theologian, Critical 
 Essays, ed. Ryland, vol. i, pp. 236, 238. 
 
 I am glad you can speak so respectfully 
 of Paley's Evidences as you do in your 
 Preface. I have a sneaking regard for 
 him, as a good, tough North of England 
 man, not spoiled by his cleverness as a 
 lawyer. But I have been fighting against 
 him all my days ; I cannot help thinking 
 he has done much to demoralise Cam- 
 bridge, and to raise up a set of divines who 
 turn out a bag infidel on Sundays to run him 
 down, fixing exactly where he shall run, and 
 being exceedingly provoked if he finds any 
 holes and corners which they do not happen 
 to know of. I do not mean that Paley 
 was at all like these disciples ; but I have 
 a spite against him for their sakes. — 
 Maurice, Frederick Denison, 1863, To 
 Rev. Charles Kingsley, Aug. 11 ; Life, ed. 
 Maurice, vol. ii, p, 450. 
 
 Paley was an able writer on the proofs 
 of Christianity, yet bases his ethical system 
 on the skeptical, materialistic view of 
 obligation. He found in his spiritual 
 philosophy, no higher inspiration, no 
 weightier law for the duties of ordinary 
 life, than came to Hume in absolute un- 
 belief, generalizing a transient law of 
 action, from the unsubstantial fleeting 
 facts afloat about him, — ^the gains and 
 losses that fall to us under them. The 
 belief and unbelief of England often strike 
 hands on this question of morals, intimate 
 as it is to daily life and character.— Bas- 
 COM, John, 1874, Philosophy of English 
 Literature, p. 309. 
 
 The task is so judiciously performed that 
 it would probably be difficult to get a more 
 effective statement of the external evi- 
 dences of Christianity than Paley has here 
 presented. The general position, however, 
 that the action of the first preachers of 
 Christianity was due "solely" to their be- 
 lief in the occurrence of certain miraculous 
 events is on the same level as the view that 
 *'the proper business of a revelation" is 
 to certify future rewards and punishments. 
 It betrays a defective analysis of the re- 
 ligious consciousness. For the rest, his 
 idea of revelation depends upon the same 
 mechanical conception of the relation of 
 God to the world which dominates his 
 * ' Natural Theology ' and he seeks to prove 
 the divine origin of Christianity by isolat- 
 ing it from the general history of mankind. 
 
 whereas later writers find their chief argu- 
 ment in the continuity of the process of 
 revelation. — Seth, Andrew, 1885, Ency- 
 clopoedia Britannica, Ninth ed., vol. xviii, 
 p. 186. 
 
 All his works, the most famous and char- 
 acteristic of which is his ''Evidences," 
 exhibit a peculiar hard-headedness of 
 thought and the utmost lucidity of expres- 
 sion. — Saintsbury, George, 1886, Speci- 
 mens of English Prose Style, p. 244. 
 
 The evidences of the truth of the Chris- 
 tian religion, and the proofs of the Being of 
 a God had never been presented in a form 
 that seemed to bring them so nearly within 
 the grasp of the ordinary human under- 
 standing. Yet after 100 years Paley' s 
 work on the subject seems to have many 
 defects. ■ In particular the Argument from 
 Design is, as he gave it, founded too nar- 
 rowly on the analogies of physical mechan- 
 ism. The very facts of physiology, so 
 carefully and minutely described (such 
 as the phenomena of seeing and hear- 
 ing), and the facts of biology as to 
 the growth of life in the world, are 
 all translated into terms of mechanical 
 adaptation and compared to the watch 
 or the windlass. He bore the stamp of 
 his time. It is fairer to point to such de- 
 fects in philosophical argument than to 
 treat Paley's reasoning as discredited 
 throughout by an arriere-pensee. No 
 doubt like most men he did not refuse ad- 
 vancement, and he may even have courted 
 it. But the social optimism which made 
 him think that the labourers of England 
 had nearly every reason in 1791 to be 
 contented with their condition is of a piece 
 with the metaphysical optimism which 
 made him regard the organisation of living 
 beings as nearly perfect. It seems also 
 true that his theology, which gave char- 
 acter to to his utilitarianism, qualified his 
 optimism. The world is a place of proba- 
 tion, and therefore is not perfect. Chris- 
 tianity would make men perfectly happy ; 
 but it has not been universally accepted. 
 Paley is theologian first and philosopher 
 afterwards. — Bonar, J., 1895, English 
 Prose, ed. Craik, vol. iv, p. 498. 
 
 NATURAL THEOLOGY 
 1803 
 
 As a collection of striking facts and 
 powerful arguments for the existence of 
 a wise and beneficient Creator, this pub- 
 lication is certainly entitled to a very 
 
WILLIAM PALEY 
 
 475 
 
 favourable reception. . . . Dr.Paley's 
 chief excellence c(Hisists in the judicious 
 disposition of his forces, and the skill 
 and confidence with which he has extended 
 his array to every point which atheism 
 has affected to menace. . . . The lan- 
 guage of this book is by no means remark- 
 able for dignity or elegance. Perspicuity 
 and conciseness, seem to have been the only 
 accomplishments of style which the author 
 was ambitious of acquiring ; and to these 
 his praise must be confined. There is a 
 great carelessness of composition through- 
 out the whole volume, and a colloquial 
 homeliness of diction, upon some occasions, 
 that does not seem altogether suitable 
 either to the gravity of the subject, or the 
 dignity of the writer. — Jeffrey, Francis 
 Lord, 1803, Natural Theology, Edinburgh 
 Review, vol. I, pp. 304, 305. 
 
 It may be affirmed that a more im- 
 portant and generally useful work has 
 scarcely at any time been published than 
 the Natural Theology. "—Joyce, Jere- 
 miah, 1804, A Full and Complete Analy- 
 sis of Dr. Paley's Natural Theology, p. iii. 
 
 His Natural Theology" will open the 
 heart, that it may understand, or at least 
 receive, the Scriptures, if anything can. 
 It is philosophy in its highest and noblest 
 sense; scientific, without the jargon of 
 science; profound, but so clear that its 
 depth is disguised. — Blunt, J. J., 1828, 
 Works and Character of Paley, Quarterly 
 Review, vol. 38, p. 312. 
 
 His Natural Theology" is the won- 
 derful work of a man who, after sixty, 
 had studied anatomy in order to write it ; 
 and it could only have been surpassed by 
 one who, to great originality of concep- 
 tion and clearness of exposition, added 
 the advantage of a high place in the first 
 class of physiologists. — Mackintosh, Sir 
 James, 1830, Dissertations on the Progress 
 of Ethical Philosophy. 
 
 Paley 's "Theology" has been to me a 
 treasure of instruction and delight: the 
 concluding chapter of the Goodness of 
 God is invaluable, especially where he 
 speaks of the alleviations afforded to those 
 who suffer under the most painful diseases, 
 and the compensation of delight which re- 
 sults from the first interval of ease. My 
 imperfect recollection injures the sub- 
 ject ; but on lately reading his life by his 
 son, his faith and patience appeared more 
 exalted when I found that this testimony 
 
 to the Divine goodness, in affording sup- 
 port, was written in the few intervals of 
 ease afforded during a dreadful disorder, 
 which proved fatal not long after. — • 
 Grant, Anne, 1832, Letters, Sept. 19; 
 Memoir and Correspondence, ed. Grant, vol. 
 Ill, p. 213. 
 
 His ''Natural Theology" is the best 
 work on the sublimest subject of human 
 contemplation — the wisdom of God in the 
 works of nature — that exists in our 
 language. — Alison, Sir Archibald, 1853- 
 69, History of Europe, 1815-52, vol. I, ch. v. 
 
 I do not think I hardly ever admired a 
 book more than Paley's ''Natural Theol- 
 ogy." I could almost formerly have said 
 it by heart.— Darwin, Charles, 1859, 
 To John Lubbock, Nov. 15 ; Life and Letters, 
 ed. Darwin, vol. ii, p. 15. 
 
 So wonderful for its beauty, for its skil- 
 ful statement, for its common sense, so 
 valuable as a logical basis for the Christian 
 faith, that the world will not willingly let 
 it die.— Welsh, Alfred H., 1883, Devel- 
 opment of English Literature and Lan- 
 guage, vol. II, p. 184. 
 
 GENERAL 
 I have enclosed a little work of that 
 great and good man Archdeacon Paley; 
 it is entitled "Motives of Contentment," 
 addressed to the poorer part of our fellow- 
 men. The twelfth page I particularly ad- 
 mire, and the twentieth. The reasoning 
 has been of some service to me, who am of 
 the race of the Grumbletonians. — Cole- 
 ridge, Samuel Taylor, 1793, To Mrs. 
 Evans, Feb. 5 ; Letters, ed. Coleridge, vol. i, 
 p. 47. 
 
 The name of Dr. Paley, though scarcely 
 to be reckoned among those of the great 
 theologians and philosophers of England, 
 is probably associated with as large and an 
 enviable a portion of public approbation, 
 as that of any living ecclesiastic. With 
 less learning and less originality than some 
 of his distinguished predecessors, it would 
 be difficult, perhaps, to point out his 
 superior in soundness of judgment, or in 
 vigilant and comprehensive sagacity. . . . 
 Almost all the writings of Dr. Paley relate 
 to the highest and most important ques- 
 tions upon which human reason can be 
 exercised, and appear to have been com- 
 posed with suitable caution and delibera- 
 tion. They are elaborate, rather than in- 
 genious ; and seem to have been diligently 
 
476 
 
 WILLIAM PALEY 
 
 meditated, and carefully arranged, rather 
 than to have been conceived in any fervour 
 of imagination, or poured forth in any con- 
 viction of their infallibility. The utmost 
 pains are taken, therefore, to render every- 
 thing intelligible and precise; and more 
 anxiety is shown that nothing necessary 
 shall be omitted, than that all superfluity 
 should be excluded. All cavil is prevented 
 by a jealous strictness of expression ; and 
 a few homely illustrations are commonly 
 sufficient to expose those illusions, by 
 which a false philosophy is supported in 
 so many of her unsubstantial specula- 
 tions.— Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 1803, 
 Natural Theology, Edinburgh Review, vol. 
 I, pp. 287, 288. 
 
 No reader of Dr. Paley's former works 
 will open his Sermons with any expectation 
 of what we usually call eloquence. . . . 
 In speaking of the effect which we have 
 felt in reading parts of these Sermons, 
 from the cool and somewhat austere man- 
 ner in which the most interesting subjects 
 are presented, we have described some- 
 thing different from the usual course of 
 our experience : from our manner of ac- 
 counting for it, we shall not be misunder- 
 stood to approve, in general, of so cold a 
 manner of exhibiting the subjects of su- 
 preme consequence ; for popular addresses 
 we condemn it totally. . . . It would 
 be ridiculous in us to affect to recommend 
 a volume written by Dr. Paley. It will 
 be extensively read ; its readers will re- 
 ceive many useful and striking thoughts ; 
 and we earnestly wish they may study the 
 New Testament enough to be saved from 
 any injurious impression of what we can- 
 not allow ourselves to regard as unimpor- 
 tant errors. — Foster, John, 1809, Paley 
 as a Theologian, Critical Essays, ed. Ry- 
 land, vol. i, pp. 241, 243, 251. 
 
 Paley' s writings have done more for the 
 moral improvement of mankind than per- 
 haps the writings of any other man that 
 ever existed. The doctrines laid down 
 and established by this wise and able writer 
 may be considered as the principia of 
 moral physiology !— Windham, William, 
 1810, Speech, Feb. 9. 
 
 To prove the existence of God, as Paley 
 has attempted to do, is like lighting a 
 lantern to seek for the sun. If you look 
 hard by your lantern, you may miss your 
 search.— Carlyle, Thomas, 1826, Note 
 Books, Life by Froude, vol. i, p. 306. 
 
 This excellent writer, who after Clarke 
 and Butler, ought to be ranked among the 
 brightest ornaments of the English Church 
 in the eighteenth century, is, in the his- 
 tory of philosophy, naturally placed after 
 Tucker, to whom with praiseworthy liber- 
 ality, he owns his extensive obligations. 
 It is a mistake to suppose that he owed his 
 system to Hume, a thinker too refined, 
 and a writer perhaps too elegant, to have 
 naturally attracted him. . . . The 
 natural frame of Paley's understanding 
 fitted it more for business and the world 
 than for philosophy ; and he accordingly 
 enjoyed with considerable relish the few 
 opportunities which the latter part of his 
 life afforded of taking a part in the affairs 
 of his county as a magistrate. . . . 
 His style is as near perfection in its kind 
 as any in our language. Perhaps no words 
 were ever more expressive and illustra- 
 tive than those in which he represents the 
 art of life to be that of rightly ''setting our 
 habits."— Mackintosh, Sir James, 1830, 
 Dissertation on the Progress of Ethical 
 Philosophy. 
 
 There is no name in the English Church, 
 perhaps, that should stand higher than his ; 
 there are few in the vast circles of Eng- 
 lish literature whose just fame shall be 
 more extensively or permanently recorded. 
 —Barnes, Albert, 1838-55, Address 
 Delivered before the Society of Inquiry in 
 Amherst College, Aug. 21 ; Essays and 
 Reviews, vol. ii, p. 217. 
 
 Nothing can drop from the pen of such 
 a writer, so remarkable for his clearness 
 and excellent sense, that can be without 
 its importance, particularly where the 
 subject has any immediate connection 
 with the business of human life. . . . 
 Johnson and Paley, Locke and Butler, 
 immediately occur as the great masters 
 of moral, metaphysical, and religious in- 
 struction,^ — Locke the votary of truth; 
 and Paley, the very genius of good sense. 
 — Smyth, William, 1839, Lectures on 
 Modern History, Lectures xxiv, xxix. 
 
 His mind was essentially English and 
 English in its best mood. He was not re- 
 markable for his learning, though far from 
 being ill-informed; but the bent of his 
 mind was not toward scholarship. He was 
 eminently practical in his ideas; his 
 thoughts, descending from the clouds, ever 
 turned to some object of actual importance 
 in real life. His mind was not of the most 
 
/ 
 
 WILLIAM PALEY 477 
 
 elevated cast; and accordingly he made 
 utility the great object of life and measure 
 of actions. He will never be a favourite, 
 accordingl3% with that* handful of men who 
 nevertheless alone do great things in the 
 world, who aim at the noble and generous 
 in all things, and let the useful take care 
 of itself. But, while his disposition pre- 
 cluded him from rising to the highest rank 
 in literature, which never is to be attained 
 but by the influence of lofty feelings, 
 whithin his limits, and in a lower sphere, 
 he was very admirable and eminently use- 
 ful. — Alison, Sir Archibald, 1853-59, 
 History of Europe, 1815-1852, vol. I, ch. v. 
 
 All the theological works of all the 
 numerous bishops whom he (Pitt) made 
 and translated are not, when put together, 
 worth fifty pages of the ''Horse Paulinae," 
 of the ''Natural Theology," or of the 
 "View of the Evidences of Christianity." 
 But on Paley the all-powerful minister 
 never bestowed the smallest benefice. — 
 Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 1859, 
 William Pitt, Critical and Miscellaneous 
 Essays. 
 
 No Englishman will refuse to join with 
 Coleridge in "the admiration" he ex- 
 presses "for the head and heart" of Paley, 
 "the incomparable grace, propriety, and 
 persuasive facility of his writings." But 
 Paley had unfortunately dedicated his 
 powers to a factitious thesis ; his demon- 
 stration, however perfect, is in unreal 
 matter.— Pattison, Mark, 1860, Reli- 
 gious Thought in England, Essays, ed. 
 Nettelship, vol. ii, p. 50. 
 
 His intellect was clear and steady. He 
 is a shining example of the form of 
 practical good sense characteristic of 
 Englishmen. He did not hunt after para- 
 doxes and subtleties, nor did he throw 
 himself with eagerness into original in- 
 vestigations. He liked to walk on sure 
 ground, and made abundant use of the 
 labours of others. . . . His writings 
 contain little or nothing to satisfy the 
 emotions ; occasionally we cross a pleasant 
 vein of irony or sarcasm, and we are con- 
 stantly entertained with homely facts, but 
 high-flown sentiment is totally wanting. 
 . . . Although Paley's language is not 
 studiously varied, he never seems to be 
 in want of words, and the combinations 
 are often agreeably fresh. His preference 
 is for homely words; but he does not 
 scruple to use the most technical terms. 
 
 and now and then even quotes Latin, trust- 
 ing to make himself intelligible to the 
 ordinary capacity by the power of his 
 homely illustrations. . . . The chief 
 thing worth noticing about Paley's 
 sentences is that they are not constructed 
 upon a few favourite forms, or with any 
 leaning to a favourite rhythm. His is not 
 a "formed" style; he is studious to ex- 
 press himself in simple language, without 
 regard to measure of fluent melody. It 
 might be expected that, having no mis- 
 leading desire for euphonious combina- 
 tions, he would adopt the best arrangement 
 for emphasis. But it is not so ; he had 
 not much natural turn for point, and does 
 not seem to have been aware of the ad- 
 vantage of calling special attention to a 
 word by its position.— Minto, William, 
 1872-80, Manual of English Prose Liter- 
 ature, pp. 489, 490, 491. 
 
 No works of a theological or philosoph- 
 ical nature have been so extensively popu- 
 lar among the educated classes of England 
 as those of Paley. His perspicacity of 
 intellect and simplicity of style are almost 
 unrivalled. Though plain and homely, and 
 often inelegant, he had such vigour and 
 discrimination, and such a happy vein of 
 illustration, that he is always read with 
 pleasure and instruction. No reader is 
 ever at a loss for his meaning, or finds him 
 too difficult for comprehension. He had 
 the rare art for popularising the most 
 recondite knowledge, and blending the 
 business of life with philosophy. The 
 principles inculcated in some of his works 
 have been disputed, particularly his 
 doctrine of expediency as a rule of morals, 
 which has been considered as trenching on 
 the authority of revealed religion, and also 
 lowering the standard of public duty. 
 The system of Paley certainly would not 
 tend to foster the great and heroic virtues. 
 —Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopoedia 
 of English Literature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 Men received preferment neither from 
 their abilities nor from their deserts, but 
 through the interest of their friends. 
 Paley was incomparably the ablest of living 
 divines. But no one ever dreamed of 
 offering him a bishopric. "Paley is a 
 great man," said George HI., "will never 
 be a bishop — will never be a bishop." — 
 Walpole, Spencer, 1878, A History of 
 England from the Conclusion of the Great 
 War in 1815, vol. i, p. 173. 
 
478 
 
 WILLIAM PALEY 
 
 The crystal clearness and matchless 
 grace of Paley's periods, which were the 
 envy of Coleridge, continue to attract 
 readers, in spite of his antiquated science 
 and dangerous philosophy. — Mathews, 
 William, 1881, Literary Style, p. 7. 
 
 Paley's works, whether judiciously or 
 not we need not pause to inquire, are still 
 text-books at the universities, but the 
 scepticism against which he sets his forces 
 in array was not of the kind to which we 
 are now accustomed, which takes much of 
 the force from his defence. They are still 
 however eminently readable in a merely 
 literary point of view, and extracts might 
 be made, in which the reader would find 
 much happiness of expression and force of 
 illustration, without any of the disadvan- 
 tages of antiquated polemics. — Oliphant, 
 Margaret 0. W., 1882, Literary History 
 of England, XVIII and XIX Centuries, 
 vol. III, p. 306. 
 
 The face of the world has changed so 
 greatly since Paley's day that we are apt 
 to do less than justice to his undoubted 
 merits. He is nowhere original, and no- 
 where profound, but he justly claims to be 
 
 something more than a mere compiler." 
 His strong reasoning power, his faculty of 
 clear arrangement and forcible statement, 
 place him in the first rank of expositors 
 and advocates. He masses his arguments, 
 it has been said, with a general's eye. 
 His style is perfectly perspicuous, and its 
 
 strong home-touch" compensates for 
 what is lacking in elasticity and grace. 
 Paley's avoidance of ultimate speculative 
 questions commended him to his own 
 generation, and enabled him to give full 
 scope to the shrewd practical understand- 
 ing in which his strength lay.— Seth, 
 Andrew, 1885, Encydopcedia Britannica, 
 Ninth edition, vol. xviii, p. 186. 
 
 Paley may very well be taken as charac- 
 teristic of the theological style of the forty 
 years preceding, and between Paley's 
 literary form and the sapless legal style 
 of Clarke, in the age of Anne, there is so 
 little difference that we are tempted to 
 regard these two as typical of their respec- 
 tive groups. If, then, we can say that in 
 the generation of Swift leading theologians 
 wrote like Clarke, and in the age of Burke 
 like Paley, we are almost justified by that 
 very circumstance in conjecturing that the 
 contributions of eighteenth-century divin- 
 ity to literature are so small that they are 
 
 hardly worth considering.— GossE, Ed- 
 mund, 1888, A History of Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury Literature, p, 396. 
 
 Paley is the most prominent instance 
 among modern writers of a man who para- 
 graphed on the theory of emphasis. His 
 mechanical devices for securing promi- 
 nence were numerous — different kinds of 
 type, numerals, etc. But the man that 
 takes up only mechanical means for secur- 
 ing emphasis, usually perishes by the same 
 means: he loses in proportion what he 
 gains in emphasis. Paley is a shining 
 illustration of this fact.— Lewis, Edwin 
 Herbert, 1894, The History of the English 
 Paragraph, p. 125. 
 
 Nobody has surpassed Paley as a writer 
 of text-books. He is an unrivalled ex- 
 positor of plain arguments, though he 
 neither showed nor claimed much original- 
 ity.— Stephen, Leslie, 1895, Dictionary 
 of National Biography, vol. XLin, p. 105. 
 
 He was not, like Butler, an original 
 thinker, but he was possessed of remark- 
 able tact and common sense, and for 
 lucidity of style is almost unrivalled. . . . 
 An examination of Paley will show that he 
 anticipates the hypothesis of evolution and 
 the theory of indefinite, fortuitous varia- 
 tion, and shapes his argument accordingly. 
 In his theological opinions Paley may be 
 called a latitudinarian, although in his 
 whole cast of thought he was at a wide 
 remove from the school bearing that name. 
 — Fisher, George Park, 1896, History 
 of Christian Doctrine, pp. 388, 389. 
 
 English theology in the later eighteenth 
 century had, in fact, ceased to be specula- 
 tive at all ; and its philosophic impotence 
 is peculiarly evident in the pages of its 
 most luminous and persuasive exponent, 
 Paley. Nowhere are the virtues and the 
 vices of the mechanical modes of thought 
 more easy to study than in the work of 
 this accomplished senior wrangler, who 
 made theology as transparently coherent 
 as a proposition of Euclid, and as devoid 
 of all appeal to the deeper instincts of 
 man.— Herford, C. H., 1897, The Age 
 of Wordsworth, p. 28. 
 
 As an apologist and expositor, Paley has 
 been accused of a too business-like and 
 profit-and-loss view of religion ; but those 
 who call him interested perhaps use an 
 unfair presumption, and his popularity 
 has no doubt suffered from his having 
 served for generations as a class-textbook 
 
PALEY—ANSTEY 
 
 479 
 
 in the University of Cambridge. As a 
 philosopher in tilings divine and human, 
 he has a little too much of the merely- 
 forensic competence of the advocate about 
 him. But this same competence extends 
 (it may not be in the most interesting 
 manner) to his work as literature. Paley 
 gets the full value out of the plain style, 
 for purposes to which it is far better 
 
 adapted than anything more imaginative 
 could possibly be. His arguments, if far 
 lower and less noble, are much more easily 
 intelligible than Butler's ; his style is per- 
 fectly clear; he sees his point and his 
 method distinctly, and seldom or never 
 fails to prove the one to the best of the 
 other.— Saintsbury, George, 1898, A 
 Short History of English Literature, p. 633. 
 
 Christopher Anstey 
 
 1724-1805. 
 
 Christopher Anstey, poet, was son of the Rev. Christopher Anstey, rector of 
 Brinkley, Cambridgeshire, where he was born in 1724-5. He was educated at Eton 
 and King's College, Cambridge. He was originally designed for the church, but 
 his degrees being withheld from him, he retired into privacy ''upon a competent 
 fortune." He was rusticated from the university. . . . He entered the army, and 
 having married a daughter of Cabert of Allbury Hall, Herts, he obtained a seat in 
 parliament for Hertford by his father-in-law's influence. One of the most glaring of 
 current literary blunders is the common statement that the ''New Bath Guide," of 
 Christopher Anstey was in a great measure built on Smollett's novel of "Humphrey 
 Clinker." The facts are that the "New Bath Guide" was published in 1766, whilst "Hum- 
 phrey Clinker" was not written until 1770, and was first published in 1771. . . . The 
 "Election Ball, in Poetical Letters from Mr. Inkle at Bath to his wife at Gloucester," 
 sustained the reputation won by the "Guide." It seems to us even more brilliant in 
 its wit, and finely touched as verse. Other productions in verse and prose have long 
 passed into oblivion. The poetical works were collected in 1808 (2 vols) by the au- 
 thor's son John, himself author of "The Pleader's Guide," in the same vein with the 
 "New Bath Guide." He died on 3d August, 1805.— Grosart, A. B., 1875, Encyclo- 
 pcedia Britannica, Ninth edition^ vol. II, p. 83. 
 
 Mr. Anstey was often with me, and you 
 will believe he was very droll and enter- 
 taining ; but what recommends him more, 
 is his great attention to his family. He 
 has eight children. He instructs his boys 
 in the Greek and Latin, so that they are 
 fitted for the upper forms of Eton School, 
 where their education is finished. He 
 has a house in the Crescent, at which he 
 resides the greatest part of the year. Mrs. 
 Anstey is a very sensible, amiable woman, 
 and does not deal in the gossip of the 
 place. — Montagu, Elizabeth, 1779, 
 Letter to Mrs. Robinson, June IS; A. Lady 
 of the Last Century, ed. Doran, p. 249. 
 
 THE NEW BATH GUIDE 
 1766 
 
 Have you read the "New Bath Guide?" 
 It is the only thing in fashion, and is a 
 new and original kind of humour. — Gray, 
 Thomas, 1766, Letter to Thomas Wharton, 
 Aug. 26, Works ; ed. Gosse, vol. iii, p. 245. 
 
 It is a set of letters in verse, in all kind 
 of verses, describing the life at Bath, and 
 incidentally everything else ; but so much 
 
 PERSONAL 
 M. S. 
 
 Christopheri Anstey, Arm. 
 Alumni Etonensis, 
 Et Collegii Regalis apud Cantabri- 
 gienses olim Socii, 
 Poet^, 
 
 Literis elegantioribus adprime ornati, 
 Et inter principes Poetarum, 
 Qui in eodem genere floruerunt, 
 Sedem eximian tenentis. 
 Ille annum circiter 
 
 MDCGLXX. 
 
 Rus suuM in agro Cantabrigiensi 
 
 MUTAVIT BaTHONIA, 
 
 quem locum ei prater omne dudum 
 arrisisse 
 
 Testis est, celeberrimum illud Poema, 
 titulo inde ducto insignitum : 
 
 IbI DEINCEPS sex ET TRIGINTA ANNOS 
 COMMORATUS, 
 
 Obiit a. D. MDCCCV. 
 Et ^tatis su^ 
 octogesimo primo. 
 — Inscription on Cenotaph, Westminster 
 Abbey. 
 
480 
 
 CHRISTOPHER ANSTEY 
 
 wit, so much humour, fun, and poetry, 
 so much originality, never met together 
 before. Then the man has a better ear 
 than Dryden or Handel. Apropos to 
 Dryden, he has burlesqued his St. Cecilia, 
 that you will never read it again without 
 laughing. There is a description of a 
 milliner's box in all the terms of land- 
 scape, painted lawns and chequered shades, 
 a Moravian ode, and a Methodist ditty, 
 that are incomparable, and the best names 
 that ever were composed. — Walpole, 
 Horace, 1766, To George Montagu, June 20 ; 
 Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. iv, p. 504. 
 
 The very ingenious scheme of describ- 
 ing the various effects produced upon 
 different members of the same family by 
 the same objects, was not original, though 
 it has been supposed to be so. Anstey 
 the facetious author of the "New Bath 
 Guide," has employed it six or seven years 
 before ''Humphrey Clinker" appeared. 
 But Anstey's diverting satire was but a 
 light sketch compared to the finish and 
 elaborate manner in which Smollett has, 
 in the first place, identified his characters, 
 and then fitted them with language, sen- 
 timents, and powers of observation, in 
 exact correspondence with their talents, 
 temper, condition, and disposition. — 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 1821, Tobias Smollett. 
 
 Is not the fashion as well as faction 
 of the time thus reflected to us vividly? 
 Now, all excepting Christopher Anstey 
 are forgotten, of these admired ones ; nor 
 is it likely that even Anstey would have 
 been noticed with anything but a sneer, 
 if, besides being a scholar and a wit, he 
 had not also been a member of parliament. 
 JBeyond the benches of the Houses, too, or 
 the gossip of St. James's, this affluence 
 reached. It was social rank that had 
 helped Anstey, for this poem of the "New 
 Bath Guide," to no less a sum than two 
 hundred pounds; it was because Gold- 
 smith had no other rank than as a man of 
 letters, depressed and at that time very 
 slowly rising, that his "Traveller" had 
 obtained for him only twenty guineas. — ■ 
 Forster, John, 1848-54, The Life and 
 Times of Oliver Goldsmith, vol. ii, p. 25. 
 
 The versification of this is remarkably 
 graceful, and the spirit of good-humoured 
 raillery is admirably kept up. The simi- 
 larity of the metre and the subject of 
 Moore's "Fudge Family in Paris," sug- 
 gests a comparison which may be worked 
 
 out not at all unfavorable to Anstey. — 
 Creasy, Sir Edward, 1850-75, Memoirs 
 of Eminent Etonians, p. 550. 
 
 Perhaps the best description of Bath in 
 its heyday of fashion and popularity a 
 century ago, is to be found in the verse 
 of Anstey, burlesque although it be. 
 "The New Bath Guide," written in a 
 light and tripping manner, well adapted 
 to the subject and little previously known, 
 had an immense vogue in its day ; a vogue 
 all the greater that some of the characters 
 were supposed to be real, and the poign- 
 ancy of personal satire was added to 
 general pleasantry. It is so far forgotten 
 by the general reader, that the extracts 
 upon which I may venture will probably 
 be as good as new. I do not apologize 
 for a few omissions rendered necessary 
 by the better manners of our times. — 
 MiTFORD, Mary Russell, 1851, Recollec- 
 tions of a Literary Life, p. 328. 
 
 "The New Bath Guide" does not rise 
 or aspire to rise above a rattling vivacity, 
 and has been far surpassed in brilliancy 
 by later productions in the same style; 
 but it is entitled to be remembered as the 
 earliest successful attempt of its class. — 
 Craik, George L., 1861, A Compendious 
 History of English Literature and of the 
 English Language, vol. ii, p. 307. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Since the first edition of the "Bath 
 Guide," never was a duller goose than 
 Anstey !— Walpole, Horace, 1786, To 
 the Countess of Ossory, Sept. 28 ; Letters, 
 ed. Cunningham, vol. ix, p. 68. 
 
 His other works hardly required the 
 investigation of their date. In the decline 
 of life he meditated a collection of his 
 letters and poems ; but letters recovered 
 from the repositories of dead friends are 
 but melancholy readings; and, probably 
 overcome by the sensations which they 
 excited, he desisted from his collection. 
 —Campbell, Thomas, 1819, Specimens 
 of the British Poets. 
 
 A painter and a poet were, perhaps, 
 never more similar to each other in their 
 talents than the contemporaries Bunbury 
 and Anstey. There is in both an admira- 
 ble power of seizing the ludicrous and 
 the grotesque in their descriptions of 
 persons and incidents in familiar life ; and 
 this accompanied by an elegance which 
 might have seemed scarcely compatible 
 with that power. There is in both an 
 
ANSTEY— MURPHY 
 
 481 
 
 absence of any extraordinary elevation or 
 vigour ; which we do not regret, because 
 we can hardly conceive but that they 
 would be less pleasing if they were in 
 any respect different from what they are. 
 Each possesses a perfect facility and com- 
 mand over his own peculiar manner, which 
 has secured him from having any success- 
 ful imitator. Yet as they were both 
 employed in representing the fortuitous 
 and transient follies, which the face of 
 society had put on in their own day, rather 
 than in portraying the broader and more 
 permanent distinctions of character and 
 manners, it may be questioned whether 
 they can be much relished out of their 
 own country, and whether even there, the 
 effect must not be weakened as fatuity 
 and absurdity shall discover new methods 
 of fastening ridicule upon themselves. 
 
 They border more nearly on farce than 
 comedy. They have neither of them any 
 thing of fancy, that power which can give 
 a new and higher interest to the laughable 
 itself, by mingling it with the marvellous, 
 and which has placed Aristophanes so far 
 above all his followers. ... On the whole, 
 he has the rare merit of having discovered 
 a mode of entertaining his readers, which 
 belongs exclusively to himself. — Gary, 
 Henry Francis, 1821-24-45, Ldves of 
 English Poets, pp. 188, 190. 
 
 Anstey never repeated the success of 
 the *'New Bath Guide." His reputation 
 as a rhymester and humorist attracted at- 
 tention to his subsequent performances, 
 but they have neither the freshness nor 
 the vivacity of his first effort. — Dobson, 
 Austin, 1885, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. ii, p. 39. 
 
 Arthnr Murphy 
 
 1730-1805. 
 
 Born in county Roscommon, Ireland ; educated at St. Omer's college (1740-47), 
 and spent two years in Cork in business. He then went to London and entered upon 
 his career as literary man, dramatist, and actor. From 1752 to 1754 he published a 
 periodical called ''The Gray's Inn Journal,'' and afterwards a political Journal "The 
 Test," both unsuccessful. As an actor he appeared at Covent Garden and Drury 
 Lane Theatres, but did not meet with much favor. He now adopted the study of law 
 and began practice in 1757, but once more with little success. He had already pub- 
 lished a farce "The Apprentice," which had some popularity, and now occupied him- 
 self entirely in writing farces and comedies. In this he gained some wealth and a 
 high reputation as a dramatist. Among the most successful of his pieces were, "The 
 Upholsterer;" "The Way to Keep Him;" "All in the Wrong;" and "Know your Own 
 Mind." In 1792 he published an essay on Dr. Johnson, and soon after a translation 
 of Tacitus: his life of Garrick was printed in 1801. A few years before his death a 
 pension of £200 and the office of commissioner of bankrupts were bestowed on him by 
 the English government.— Peck, Harry Thurston, ed., 1898, The International Cy- 
 clopcedia, vol. x, p. 202. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 As one with various disappointments sad, 
 Whom dulness, only, kept from being mad, 
 Apart from all the rest great Murphy came — 
 Common to fools and wits, the rage of fame. 
 What tho' the sons of nonsense hail him sire, 
 Auditor, author, manager and squire ! 
 His restless soul's ambition stops not there ; 
 To make his triumphs perfect, dub him 
 Player. 
 
 In person tall, a figure form'd to please, 
 If symmetry could charm, deprived of ease ; 
 When motionless he stands, we all approve ; 
 What pity 'tis the Thing was made to move ! 
 
 Still in extremes, he knows no happy mean, 
 Or raving mad, or stupidly serene. 
 In cold-wrought scenes the lifeless actor 
 
 31 c 
 
 In passion, tears the passion into rags. 
 Can none remember? Yes— I know all must — 
 When in the Moor he ground his teeth to dust, 
 When o'er the stage he folly's standard bore. 
 Whilst Common-Sense stood trembling at 
 the door. 
 
 — Churchill, Charles, 1761, The Rosciad, 
 
 A manner so studied, so vacant a face, 
 These features the mind of our Murphy dis= 
 grace, 
 
 A mind unaffected, soft, artless, and true, 
 A mind which, though ductile, has dignity 
 too. 
 
 Where virtues ill-sorted are huddled in heaps, 
 Humanity triumphs, and piety sleeps ; 
 A mind in which mirth may with merit 
 reside. 
 
 And Learning turns Frolic, with Humor, his 
 
 guide. 
 
482 
 
 ARTHUR MURPHY 
 
 Whilst wit, follies, faults, its fertility prove, 
 Till the faults you grow fond of, the follies 
 you love, 
 
 And corrupted at length by the sweet con- 
 versation, 
 
 You swear there's no honesty left in the 
 nation. 
 
 — Piozzi, Hester Lynch, 1773? The 
 Streatham Portraits, Autobiography , ed. 
 Hayward, p. 254. 
 
 Though apparently formed to captivate 
 the sex, having every advantage which a 
 fine face, a tall and graceful person, and 
 dignified gentlemanly manners could give, 
 Arthur Murphy was never induced to 
 enter the marriage-state. Politely de- 
 clining a romantic proposal made to him 
 in early life, by the brother of a lady he 
 had never seen, there is no record of any 
 second negotiation. With some faults of 
 temper, which probably proved the source 
 of all his disappointments, he seems to 
 have possessed a warm affectionate heart 
 and a generous unselfish spirit. His at- 
 tachments were cordial and steady, and 
 totally free from any sordid consideration 
 respecting money; his liberality did not 
 render him unjust ; he died poor, but de- 
 void of debt ; and, though he might have 
 repented many acts of imprudence, there 
 was no transaction of his life of which he 
 had cause to be ashamed. Nor was the 
 lustre of Murphy^s talents obscured by 
 folly of any kind ; he put forth no absurd 
 pretentions — displayed no over- weening 
 vanity ; securing in society the respect of 
 his associates, and making a distinguished 
 figure without any ambition to shine. — 
 Dunham, S. Astley, 1838, ed.. Eminent 
 Literary and Scientific Men of Great Britain 
 and Ireland, vol. ni, p. 339. 
 
 I knew Murphy long and intimately ; 1 
 was introduced to him by the Piozzis at 
 Streatham. On the first night of any of 
 his plays, if the slightest symptoms of 
 disapprobation were shown by the audi- 
 ence, Murphy always left the house, and 
 took a walk in Covent-Garden Market: 
 then, after having composed himself, he 
 would return to the theatre.— Rogers, 
 Samuel, 1855, Recollections of Table Talk, 
 ed. Dyce, p. 106. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The attempt to naturalize the works of 
 Tacitus has been justly considered, by the 
 best scholars, as an achievement of great 
 difficulty ; and if Mr. Murphy has not alto- 
 gether succeeded in preserving the style 
 
 and manner of his author, which, terse 
 and condensed as they are, are scarcely 
 susceptible of transfusion, he has, how- 
 ever, presented the English reader with 
 a faithful though a rather paraphrastic 
 interpretation of a most useful and mas- 
 terly historian, at the same time supplying 
 many of the chasms which time had effected 
 in the original.— Drake, Nathan, 1810, 
 Essays Illustrative of the Rambler, Adven- 
 turer and Idler, vol. n, p. 251. 
 
 Murphy's plays of *'A11 in the Wrong" 
 and "Know Your Own Mind," are admira- 
 bly written; with sense, spirit, and con- 
 ception of character, but without any 
 great effect of the humourous, or that 
 truth of feeling which distinguishes the 
 boundary between the absurdities of 
 natural character and the gratuitous 
 fictions of the poet's pen. The heroes of 
 these two plays, Millamour and Sir Ben- 
 jamin Constant, are too ridiculous in their 
 caprices to be tolerated, except in farce ; 
 and yet their follies are so flimsy, so 
 motiveless, and fine-spun, as not to be in- 
 telligible, or to have any effect in their 
 only proper sphere. Both his principle 
 pieces are said to have suffered by their 
 similarity, first, to Colman's "Jealous 
 Wife," and next to the "School for Scan- 
 dal," though in both cases he had the 
 undoubted priority. It is hard that the 
 fate of plagiarism should attend upon orig- 
 inality ; yet it is clear that the elements 
 of the "School for Scandal" are not spar- 
 ingly scattered in Murphy's comedy of 
 "Know Your Own Mind, "which appeared 
 before the latter play, only to be eclipsed 
 by it. — Hazlitt, William, 1818, Lec- 
 tures on the English Comic Writers, Lec- 
 ture viii. 
 
 Had the reputation of Murphy rested 
 solely upon his tragic writings, he would 
 have had little title to lasting fame. Not- 
 withstanding his admiration for Shaks- 
 peare, and his capability of appreciating 
 all the beauties of that exquisite genius, 
 he made no attempt to pursue the same 
 bold track, contenting himself with the 
 turgid, pompous declamation which were 
 the characteristics of the serious drama 
 of his time. ... No man ever did 
 more for the cause of morality, in com- 
 posing for the theatre, than the writer 
 now under review ; there is not a simple 
 passage in any one of his plays that can 
 justly give offence to the most fastidious 
 
MURPHY— PARK 
 
 483 
 
 reader ; his wit is of a chaste and refined 
 description, and he delighted in display- 
 ing the female character in its most charm- 
 ing point of view. During his public 
 career he had to contend against prejudices 
 occasioned by the strong part which he 
 took in politics, and against the attack of 
 hosts of newspaper writers, who envied 
 him his talents, and hated him for his 
 success ; but though he did not disdain to 
 defend himself when thus assailed, the 
 hostilities which ensued led to nothing 
 more than a petty kind of warfare, not 
 worthy of a chronicle. — Dunham, S. 
 AsTLEY, 1838, ed.. Eminent Literary and 
 Scientific Men of Great Britain and Ireland^ 
 vol. Ill, pp. 328, 336. 
 
 The translation [Tacitus] wants the com- 
 pression of the original, and is too para- 
 phrastic. The English language would 
 not well admit of the brevity of Tacitus 
 
 without rendering the narration abrupt 
 and obscure. The translation is dis- 
 tinguished for elegance and strength and 
 dignity, and gives the sense of the original 
 with fidelity.— Kent, James, 1840-53, A 
 Course of English Reading, ed. Oakley. 
 
 The comedies of Murphy have not in all 
 cases lost the spirit of the originals from 
 which he took them. Several of them 
 were acted early in the present century. 
 His tragedies are among the worst that 
 have obtained any reputation. ''Zeno- 
 bia," however, was played as late as 1815, 
 and the ''Grecian Daughter" many years 
 later. Totally devoid of invention, Mur- 
 phy invariably took his plots from previous 
 writers. He showed, however, facility 
 and skill in adapting them to English 
 tastes. — Knight, Joseph, 1894, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography^ vol, xxxix, 
 p, 336. 
 
 Mungo Park 
 
 1771-1806? 
 
 Traveler , born at Fowlshiels, Scotland, Sept. 10, 1771 ; studied surgery at Edin- 
 burgh, and was 1792-93 assistant surgeon in India. Under the auspices of the African 
 Association, London, he was the pioneer in the modern exploration of Africa. He 
 journeyed up the Gambia (1795), suffering extreme hardships, and being a prisoner 
 for some time in the hands of a Moorish king. Escaping on July 1, 1796, he reached 
 the upper Niger, the great object of his search, at Segu, and followed the river toward 
 Timbuctoo as far as Silla, where he was compelled to turn back. After seven months' 
 illness and great hardships he reached the mouth of the Gambia, having been nineteen 
 months in the interior. This journey was described in his book, ''Travels in the In- 
 terior of Africa. " The British Government sent him (1805) to descend the Niger 
 from the upper river, and trace its entire course. Most of his party died of fever, 
 and before the Niger was reached only five white men were left out of forty-four. The 
 party set sail down the river, at first in two canoes, but soon built a little schooner, 
 with which they descended the Niger some 1,500 miles, where they were treacherously 
 attacked by a large party of natives, and Park and all his company perished in the 
 attempt to escape by swimming. The journals he sent home and information collected 
 by Clapperton and Lander have given all the facts that are known of his last expedition. 
 — Adams, Cyrus C., rev., 1897, Johnson's Universal Cyclopcedia, vol. vi, p. 448. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 It grieves me to the heart to write any- 
 thing that may give you uneasiness ; but 
 such is the will of Him who doeth all things 
 well! Your brother Alexander, my dear 
 friend, is no more ! He died of the fever 
 at Sansanding, on the morning of the 28th 
 of October ; for particulars I must refer 
 you to your father. I am afraid that, im- 
 pressed with a woman's fears and the 
 anj^ieties of a wife, you may be led to 
 consider my situation as a great deal 
 worse than it really is. It is true, my 
 
 dear friends, Mr. Anderson and George 
 Scott, have both bid adieu to the things 
 of this world; and the greater part of 
 the soldiers have died on the march during 
 the rainy season ; but you may believe me, 
 I am in good health. The rains are com- 
 pletely over, and the healthy season has 
 commenced, so that there is no danger of 
 sickness ; and I have still a sufficient force 
 to protect me from any insult in sailing 
 down the river, to sea. ... I think 
 it not unlikely but I shall be in England 
 before you receive this. — You may be sure 
 
484 
 
 MUNGO PARK 
 
 that I feel happy at turning my face to- 
 wards home. We this morning have done 
 with all intercourse with the natives ; and 
 the sails are now hoisting for our depar- 
 ture for the coast.— Park, Mungo, 1805, 
 Letter to Mrs. Park from Sansanding, 
 Nov. 19. 
 
 It might have been expected, that a 
 person who had been so much accustomed 
 to literary and scientific society, and who 
 had lately been in some degree admitted 
 into the fashionable circles of the me- 
 tropolis, in which he had become an object 
 of much interest and attention, would have 
 felt great repugnance to the solitude and 
 obscurity of a small market town. But 
 this does not appear to have been the case. 
 General society, for which indeed he was 
 not particularly suited, was not much to 
 his taste ; and during every period of his 
 life, he always looked forward to a state of 
 complete retirement and seclusion in the 
 country, as the object and end of all his 
 labours. He had great enjoyment how- 
 ever in his own domestic circle, and in 
 the society of select friends. . . . 
 In his person he was tall, being about 
 six feet high, and perfectly well propor- 
 tioned. His countenance and whole ap- 
 pearance were highly interesting ; and his 
 frame active and robust, fitted for great 
 exertions and the endurance of great hard- 
 ships. His constitution had suffered con- 
 siderably from the effects of his first 
 journey into Africa, but seems after- 
 wards to have been restored to its original 
 vigour, of which his last expedition 
 afforded the most ample proofs. Park's 
 family consisted of three sons and one 
 daughter, all of whom, together with 
 Mrs. Park, their mother, are now living. 
 He also left a mother, four brothers (of 
 whom one is lately dead), and three sisters. 
 — Whishaw, John, 1815, The Journal of 
 a Mission to the Interior of Africa in the 
 Year 1805, by Mungo Park, to which is 
 Prefixed an Account of His Life, pp. 32,84. 
 
 His character will be best understood 
 by a careful examination of his life ; but 
 it may be useful to remark, in conclusion, 
 that, although his natural prudence seems 
 partly to have forsaken him during his 
 second journey, few men have possessed 
 in a higher degree the virtues of a 
 traveller — ^intrepidity, enthusiasm, perse- 
 verance, veracity, prudence ; his manners, 
 likewise, though somewhat too stiff and 
 
 reserved, must upon the whole have been 
 agreeable, since he was able both in civi- 
 lized and savage countries to gain and 
 preserve many friends. — St. John, James 
 Augustus, 1832, The Lives of Celebrated 
 Travellers^ vol. ni, p. 65. 
 
 During this autumn Scott formed the 
 personal acquaintance of Mungo Park, the 
 celebrated victim of African discovery. 
 On his return from his first expedition. 
 Park endeavoured to establish himself as 
 a medical practitioner in the town of 
 Hawick, but the drudgeries of that calling 
 in such a district soon exhausted his ardent 
 temper, and he was now living in seclu- 
 sion in his native cottage at Fowlsheils on 
 the Yarrow, nearly opposite Newark 
 Castle. . . . His thoughts had al- 
 ways continued to be haunted with Africa. 
 He told Scott, that whenever he awoke 
 suddenly in the night, owing to a nervous 
 disorder with which he was troubled, he 
 fancied himself still a prisoner in the tent 
 of Ali ; but when the poet expressed some 
 surprise that he should design again to 
 revisit those scenes, he answered, he would 
 rather brave Africa and all its horrors, 
 than wear out his life in long and toil- 
 some rides over the hills of Scotland, for 
 which remuneration was hardly enough to 
 keep soul and body together. Towards 
 the end of the autumn, when about to 
 quit his country for the last time. Park paid 
 Scott a farewell visit and slept at Ashestiel. 
 Next morning his host accompanied him 
 homewards over the wild chain of hills 
 between the Tweed and the Yarrow. Park 
 talked much of his new scheme, and men- 
 tioned his determination to tell his family 
 that he had some business for a day or 
 two in Edinburgh, and send them his bless- 
 ing from thence, without returning to 
 take leave. He had married not long be- 
 fore a pretty and amiable woman ; and 
 when they reached the Williamhope ridge, , 
 *'the autumnal mist floating heavily and 
 slowly down the valley of the Yarrow," 
 presented to Scott's imagination * 'a strik- 
 ing emblem of the troubled and un- 
 certain prospect which his undertaking 
 afforded." He remained, however, un- 
 shaken, and at length they reached the 
 spot at which they had agreed to separate. 
 A small ditch divided the moor from the 
 road, and, in going over it. Park's horse 
 stumbled, and nearly fell. '*I am afraid, 
 Mungo," said the Sheriff, ''that is a bad 
 
MUNGO PARK 
 
 485 
 
 omen." To which he answered, smiling, 
 ^'Freits (omens) follow those who look to 
 them."— LocKH ART, John Gibson, 1836, 
 Life of Sir Walter Scott, ch. xiii. 
 
 What Ledyard wanted to complete his 
 character, the famous Mungo Park emi- 
 nently possessed. He had not so large a 
 grasp of mind as Ledyard, but he was in no 
 need of it. He had quite enough for his 
 purpose, and not any of a doubtful sort to 
 distract it. But who needs to be told 
 what a thorough man for his purpose he 
 was, what sufferings he went through with 
 the simplest and most touching courage, 
 what successes he achieved, and what a 
 provoking, mortal mischance befell him 
 after all ? It was not so mortifying a one 
 as Bruce's, who broke his neck down his 
 own staircase ; but it was sadder by a 
 great deal, so far from home and on the 
 threshold of the greatest of his adventures. 
 — Hunt, Leigh, 1849, A Book for a Cor- 
 ner, p. 176. 
 
 TRAVELS 
 
 But the essential merit of this book, 
 and that which has conferred a lasting 
 distinction on the name of its author, 
 consists in the authentic and important 
 information which it contains. Consid- 
 ered in this point of view, it must un- 
 questionably be regarded as the greatest 
 accession to the general stock of geo- 
 graphical knowledge, which was ever yet 
 made by any single traveller. The claim 
 of Park to this distinction will be apparent 
 from a short view of his principal dis- 
 coveries. — Whishaw, John, 1815, The 
 Journal of a Mission to the Interior of 
 Africa in the Year 1805, by Mungo Park, 
 to which is Prefixed an Account of his Life, 
 p. 16. 
 
 It is difficult for imagination to conceive 
 a project of a more commanding, or, to a 
 daring and contemplative spirit, a more 
 attractive aspect, than that which Park 
 returned to Africa, resolved to execute, 
 or perish in the attempt. It was perfectly 
 new, and it was vast to sublimity. It 
 combined, in a singular manner, a definite- 
 ness of principle with a boundlessness of 
 scope. Nothing could be more precise 
 than the law of its execution, to follow 
 with undeviating fidelity the course — in- 
 deed, to go with the stream — of a noble 
 river, the directions of which had been 
 perfectly ascertained, to a great distance, 
 by the traveller himself; but then, no 
 
 man could tell him whither this river was 
 to carry him, in what wilderness of lakes 
 or sands it might desert him, or into what 
 ocean it might, with the pride of accumu- 
 lated waters, bear him down. On any 
 hypothesis, immensity of scene was be- 
 fore him. — Foster, John, 1815, Mungo 
 Park, Critical Essays, ed. Ryland, vol, 
 II, p. 289. 
 
 We now lay aside this interesting vol- 
 ume ; and bid a mournful farewell to that 
 amiable and illustrious man, whose last 
 sufferings and exploits it is destined to 
 record; — sufferings, borne with an un- 
 affected cheerfulness of magnanimity, 
 which must both exalt and endear him to 
 all who are capable of being touched with 
 what is generous and noble in character, — 
 and exploits performed with a mildness 
 and modesty, and ardour with which they 
 were conjoined. In Mungo Park, we are 
 not afraid to say, that the world has lost 
 a great man, — and one who was as well 
 qualified, as he was undoubtedly inclined, 
 to have been one of its greatest bene- 
 factors. The account which is here given 
 of him, is in the highest degree interest- 
 ing, — not merely to those who care about 
 Africa, but to all who take delight in the 
 spectacle of unbounded courage and heroic 
 ardour, unalloyed with any taint of feroc- 
 ity, selfishness, or bigotry. — Brougham, 
 Henry Lord, 1815, Park's Last Journey 
 and Life, Edinburgh Review, vol. 24, 
 p. 490. 
 
 Park, — a man of the most peculiar and 
 splendid qualifications. His journey was 
 unquestionably the most important ever 
 performed by a European. — Murray, 
 Hugh, 1817, Historical Account of Discov- 
 eries and Travels in Africa. 
 
 Few books of travels have acquired so 
 speedy and extensive a reputation as this 
 of Park's. It was sought for with an 
 eagerness which might have done credit 
 to a novel; and the reader — whilst his 
 imagination was exalted by the remote- 
 ness, the eminent perils, and strange 
 scenes of the journey— could not help 
 feeling something like affection for a per- 
 son so kindly, so resolute, and yet so un- 
 assuming. It still continues one of the 
 most popular works of its class, and the 
 qualities, both of its subject and manner, 
 v;ell deserve this pre-eminence. In pursu- 
 ing it we follow the traveller with a 
 keen anxiety; we participate in all his 
 
486 
 
 MUNGO PARK 
 
 toils and dangers, and hairbreadth escapes, 
 portrayed with a brief and touching sim- 
 plicity, which at once awakens our sympa- 
 thies by its indubitable air of truth ; we 
 are instructed and entertained by his 
 delineation of those vast countries and 
 the rude tribes which people them; we 
 admire his modest though unshaken forti- 
 tude ; we love the honesty and benevolent 
 candour everywhere displayed by him. 
 Many travellers have possessed more learn- 
 ing, more philosophy, and greater intel- 
 lectual endowments; but none has ever 
 known better the secret of concentrating 
 our attention and calling forth our esteem. 
 It required not only extraordinary strength 
 of mind to accomplish this undertaking ; 
 no common powers of fancy and judg- 
 ment were also requisite to describe it so 
 agreeably. — Carlyle, Thomas, 1820-23, 
 Edinburgh Eneydopcediay Montaigne and 
 other Essays, p. 234. 
 
 Park was the first of the devoted band 
 who returned to tell what he had seen, 
 and his narrative was received with ex- 
 treme eagerness. To this day, though 
 many have gone, and some have returned 
 like him, to give us knowledge, and then 
 gone back to perish, Park's name is the 
 most tenderly spoken, and every fragment 
 of his experience, and of information 
 about him, is still caught up with a stronger 
 interest than any of his successors have 
 ever commanded. — Martineau, Harriet, 
 1851, History of England, A. D., 1800- 
 1815, p. 536. 
 
 Thus perished Mungo Park, in the thirty- 
 fifth year of his age ; a man whose natural 
 enthusiasm, scientific acquirements, un- 
 daunted intrepidity, patience of suffering, 
 and inflexible perseverance — in short, 
 every quality requisite for a traveller in 
 the path he adopted, have never been sur- 
 passed, and who, had he survived, would 
 no doubt have reaped those laurels, which 
 more fortunate successors in the same 
 career have won. To these qualities in his 
 public character, it is pleasing to be able 
 to add those of amiable simplicity of man- 
 ners, constancy of affection, and sterling 
 integrity in private life. — Cleveland, 
 Charles D., 1853, English Literature of 
 the Nineteenth Century, p. 70. 
 
 The style is simple and manly, and re- 
 plete with a fine moral feeling. — Cham- 
 bers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopaedia of Eng- 
 lish Literaturey ed. Carruthers. 
 
 The journal of Mungo Park lacks the 
 diffuseness and the infiated style which is 
 so objectional a feature in Bruce's narra- 
 tive. It is simple, straightforward, and 
 possesses all the qualities of truthful his- 
 tory. It was at once received with favor, 
 and still ranks among our most valuable 
 narratives of travel in Africa. — Baldwin, 
 James, 1883, English Literature and Lit- 
 erary Criticism, Prose, p. 129. 
 
 In lecturing and writing on the question 
 of the innateness of conscience, or the 
 moral sense in man, I have found no testi- 
 mony as to the moral condition of the 
 lower Sutrata of humanity more explicit, 
 instructive, and evidential than that given 
 in the records of Mungo Park's Travels 
 in Africa, " which I have not seen for more 
 than sixty years, but which in my childhood 
 I read with delight and wonder. — Peabody, 
 A. P., 1888, Books That Have Helped Me, 
 p. 43. 
 
 Although Park was not spared to solve 
 the problem which he had set himself, his 
 discoveries and his observations enabled 
 others to finish what he had begun ; he was 
 the first European in modern times to 
 strike the Niger river, and he drew a cor- 
 rect inference when he convinced himself 
 that the Niger ''could flow nowhere but 
 into the sea." In his travels he proved 
 himself an explorer of untiring persever- 
 ance and inflexible resolution. His heroic 
 efforts served to stimulate the enthusiasm 
 of travellers who during the next twenty 
 years followed in his footsteps, and they 
 roused a keen public interest in African 
 discovery and development. After James 
 Bruce, who, like himself, was a Scotsman, 
 he was the second great African traveller 
 of British origin. The unaffected style 
 and simple narration made use of by Park 
 in the "Travels" increased the popularity 
 of what would have been in any case a 
 much-read book. The accuracy of the 
 general narrative has never been im- 
 pugned ; but, owing to an unfortunate mis- 
 take in reckoning thirty-one days in April, 
 the observations of longitude and latitude 
 are not to be depended upon. The work was 
 translated into both French and German 
 the year after publication, and subsequently 
 into most European languages; it has 
 passed through a great number of editions, 
 the quarto edition of 1799 being the best. 
 — Carr, William, 1895, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. XLiii, p. 221. 
 
487 
 
 Henry Kirke White 
 
 1785-1806 
 
 Poet; born at Nottingham, England, Mar. 21, 1785; was the son of a butcher; 
 was apprenticed to a stocking-weaver, and afterwards to an attorney, in whose office 
 he found time to study the classics and several modern languages, as well as English 
 literature, drawing, and music ; began to write verses for magazines in his fifteenth 
 year ; gained several prizes offered by publishers of periodicals ; printed a volume, 
 Clifton Grove, a Sketch in Verse, with other Poems," (1803), which won for him the 
 high regard of Southey and other men of letters, by whom he was encouraged to study 
 for the ministry; obtained a sizarship at St. John's College, Cambridge, 1804; was 
 for two years at the head of his class, and became a tutor in mathematics, but 
 destroyed his health by excessive study, and died of consumption at Cambridge, Oct. 
 19, 1806. His papers were placed in the hands of Southey, who published his Re- 
 mains, etc., with an Account of his Life" (2 vols., 1807; vol. III., 1822), which 
 obtained for him a permanent place in English literature. — Beers, Henry A., rev., 
 1897, JohnsorCs Universal Cyclopcedia, voL viii, p. 744. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The books which I now read with atten- 
 tion, are Blackstone, Knox's ''Essays," 
 Plutarch, Chesterfield's ''Letters," four 
 large volumes, Virgil, Homer and Cicero, 
 and several others. ... I have finished 
 Rollin's "Ancient History, "Blair's "Lec- 
 tures," Smith's "Wealth of Nations," 
 Hume's "England" and "British Nepos" 
 lately. . . . With a little drudgery, 
 I read Italian — Have got some good Italian 
 works, as "Pastor Fido," etc. I taught 
 myself, and have got a grammar. — White, 
 Henry Kirke, 1800, Letters to his Brother 
 Neville, June 26; Remains, ed. Southey, 
 vol. I, pp. 66, 67. 
 
 It is not possible to conceive a human 
 being more amiable in all the relations of 
 life. He was the confidential friend and 
 adviser of every member of his family; 
 this he instinctively became; and the 
 thorough good sense of his advice is not 
 less remarkable, than the affection with 
 which it is always communicated. To his 
 mother he is as earnest in beseeching her 
 to be careful of her health,as he is in labour- 
 ing to convince her that his own complaints 
 were abating ; his letters to her are always 
 of hopes, of consolation, and of love. To 
 Neville he writes with the most brotherly 
 intimacy, still, however, in that occasional 
 tone of advice which it was his nature to 
 assume, not from any arrogance of super- 
 iority, but from earnestness of pure affec- 
 tion. To his younger brother he addresses 
 himself like the tenderest and wisest 
 parent ; and to two sisters, then too young 
 for any other communication, he writes to 
 direct their studies, to enquire into their 
 progress, to encourage and to improve 
 
 them.— Southey, Robert, 1807, The Re- 
 mains of Henry Kirke White, with an 
 Account of his Life, vol. i, p. 54. 
 
 I have been very much interested lately 
 with the "Remains" of H. K. White, 
 which, however, left a very melancholy 
 impression on my mind. Was there no 
 patron for such a man but Simeon and 
 Wilberforce, who, with the best intentions 
 in the world, seem to have encouraged his 
 killing himself by religious enthusiasm? 
 I am afraid that sort of people do not 
 recollect that enthusiasm, like other potent 
 draughts, should be tempered to the 
 strength of the patient. A dram which 
 hardly warms the veins of a rough-nerved 
 Scotchman will drive to frenzy a more 
 sensitive system. I wish Simeon and Levi 
 would confine their operations to hard- 
 headed Cantabs, and make no excursions 
 to Nottingham for crimping young poets. 
 —Scott, Sir Walter, 1808, To Southey, 
 Feb. 26 ; Familiar Letters, vol. I, p. 96. 
 Unhappy White ! while life was in its spring, 
 And thy yoimg muse just w^aved. her joyous 
 wing, 
 
 The spoiler came ; and all thy promise fair 
 Has sought the grave, to sleep forever there. 
 Oh ! what a noble heart was here undone. 
 When Science's self destroyed her favorite 
 son! 
 
 Yes, she too much indulged thy fond pursuit, 
 She sowed the seeds, but death has reaped 
 the fruit. 
 
 'Twas thine own Grenius gave the final blow, 
 And helped to plant the wound that laid 
 thee low. 
 
 —Byron, Lord, 1809, English Bards and 
 Scotch Reviewers. 
 
 Butcher-basket-born Kirke White ! — 
 Beddoes, Thomas Lovell, 1824, Letters, 
 
488 
 
 HENRY KIRKE WHITE 
 
 That most gifted youth, Henry Kirke 
 White, whose sincere and ardent piety was 
 equaled only by his genius, his learning, 
 and his uncommon ardor in the pursuit of 
 knowledge. — Cleveland, Charles D., 
 1853, English Literature of the Nineteenth 
 Century, p. 70. 
 
 GENERAL 
 Hail! gifted youth, whose passion -breathing 
 lay 
 
 Portrays a mind attun'd to noblest themes. 
 — Owen, Arthur, 1803, Sonnet to H. K. 
 White on his Poems Lately Published. 
 
 He seldom discovered any sportiveness 
 of imagination, though he would very ably 
 and pleasantly rally any one of his friends 
 for any little peculiarity ; his conversation 
 was always sober and to the purpose. That 
 which is the most remarkable in him, is 
 his uniform good sense, a faculty perhaps 
 less common than genius. There never 
 existed a more dutiful son, a more affec- 
 tionate brother, a warmer friend, nor a 
 devouter Christian. Of his powers of 
 mind it is superfluous to speak ; they were 
 acknowledged wherever they were known. 
 It would be idle too to say what hopes were 
 entertained for him, and what he might 
 have accomplished in literature. — 
 Southey, Robert, 1807, The Remains of 
 Henry Kirke White, with an Account of 
 His Life, p, 59. 
 
 There are, I think, among these Re- 
 mains, " a few of the most exquisite pieces 
 in the whole body of English poetry. Con- 
 joined with an easy and flowing fancy, they 
 possess the charm of a peculiar moral deli- 
 cacy, often conveyed in a happy and inim- 
 itable simplicity of language. — Brydges, 
 Sir Samuel Egerton, 1809, Censura Lit- 
 eraria, vol. ix, p. 393. 
 
 Setting aside his bigotry, he surely 
 ranks next to Chatterton. It is astonish- 
 ing how little he was known ; and at Cam- 
 bridge no one thought or heard of such a 
 man till his death rendered all notice use- 
 less. For my own part, I should have been 
 most proud of such an acquaintance : his 
 very prejudices were respectable. — By- 
 ron, Lord, 1811, Letter to Mr. Dallas, 
 Aug. 27. 
 
 To Chatterton . . . he is not to be 
 compared. Chatterton has the force of a 
 young poetical Titan, who threatens to take 
 Parnassus by storm. White is a boy 
 differing from others more in aptitude to 
 follow than in ability to lead. The one is 
 
 complete in every limb, active, self-con- 
 fident, and restless from his own energy. 
 The other, gentle, docile, and animated, 
 rather than vigorous. He began, as most 
 youthful writers have begun, by copying 
 those whom he saw to* be -the objects of 
 popular applause in his own day. He has 
 little distinct character of his own. We 
 may trace him by turns to Goldsmith, 
 Chatterton, and Coleridge. — Cary, Henry 
 Francis, 1821-24-45, Lives of English 
 Poets, -p. 418. 
 
 His talents were unusually precocious, 
 and their variety was as astonishing as 
 their extent. Besides the Poetical pieces 
 in this volume, and his scholastic attain- 
 ments, his ability was manifested in various 
 other ways. His style was remarkable for 
 its clearness and elegance, and his cor- 
 respondence and prose pieces show ex- 
 tensive information. To great genius 
 and capacity, he united the rarest and 
 more important gifts of a sound judgment 
 and common sense. . . . Kirke White's 
 poetry is popular because it describes feel- 
 ings, passions, and associations, which all 
 have felt, and with which all can sympa- 
 thize. It is by no means rich in metaphor, 
 nor does it evince great powers of imagina- 
 tion; but it is pathetic, plaintive, and 
 agreeable; and emanating directly from 
 his own heart, it appeals irresistibly to that 
 of his reader.— Nicolas, Sir Harris, 
 1837, The Poetical Works of Henry Kirke 
 White, Memoir. 
 
 Few writers of verses have been more 
 overrated than Henry Kirke White, and it 
 is a shame, that while there has never ap- 
 peared in this country a single edition of 
 the poetical writings of Landor, Kenyon, 
 Milnes, Miss Barrett, and others of similar 
 merit, there have been more impressions 
 of White than there have been of Milton, 
 or Pope, or Coleridge. ... He was 
 scarcely equal to the Davidsons of New 
 York, and it would be almost as absurd to 
 compare him with Keats or Chatterton as 
 to compare Robert Montgomery with Mil- 
 ton. I doubt whether if he had lived to 
 the maturest age, he would have produced 
 any thing in poetry above elegant medioc- 
 rity.— Gris wold, RuFUS W., 1844, The 
 Poets and Poetry of England in the Nine- 
 teenth Century, p. 214. 
 
 Kirke White's promises were endorsed 
 by the respectable name of Mr. Southey, 
 but surely with no authority from Apollo. 
 
HENRY KIRKE WHITE 
 
 489 
 
 They have the merit of a traditional piety, 
 which, to our mind, if uttered at all, had 
 been less objectionable in the retired closet 
 of a diary, and in the sober raiment of 
 prose. They do not clutch hold of the 
 memory with the drowning pertinacity of 
 Watts ; neither have they the interest of 
 his occasional simple, lucky beauty. — 
 Lowell, James Russell, 1845, Edgar 
 Allan Poey Graham's Magazine, Feb. 
 
 The torch of his inspiration was cer- 
 tainly kindled at the inner shrine; 
 but it was darkly destined that his fair 
 dawn was to have no meridian, and with a 
 heart full of youthful promise and of lofty 
 aspirations — devoted to the noblest and 
 purest objects of humanity — he died while 
 his feet were yet on the threshold of man- 
 hood. Three, at least, of the great mag- 
 nates of literature lamented his fate, and 
 were loud in his praises. On examining 
 his posthumous papers, Coleridge and 
 Southey alike expressed their astonish- 
 ment at so much genius united to so much 
 industry ; and Byron, in a truculent satire, 
 wherein almost nobody was spared, truth- 
 stricken, suspended the lash, to scatter 
 flowers liberally on his early grave. — 
 Mom, David Macbeth, 1850-51, Sketches 
 of the Poetical Literature of the Past Half 
 Century. 
 
 In coming to the consideration of his 
 works and genius, it is extremely difficult, 
 so to speak, to insulate ourselves from all 
 considerations connected with his lovely 
 character, his brief laborious life, and his 
 premature end. That he was a man of 
 high talents, of powers of fancy and elo- 
 quence of a rare order, as well as indomit- 
 able energy, and great assimilative and 
 acquisife capacity, must be conceded by 
 all. But there are not a few who deny him 
 the possession of original genius, and who 
 even in the uniform good taste and good 
 sense which he discovered at so early an 
 age find an argument in favour of their 
 hypothesis. — Gilfillan, George, 1856, 
 ed., The Poetical Works of Henry Kirke 
 White and James Grahame, p. xix. 
 
 A protege of Simeon, who fell a victim 
 to over study, whose memory Byron em- 
 balmed in some beautiful lines, whose 
 death Southey deemed a loss to our litera- 
 ture — hymns, sonnets, and lyric pieces, 
 written l3ef ore he had reached his twentieth 
 year, all distinguished by plaintive tender- 
 ness and pleasing fancy, though without 
 
 the certain indications of great genius 
 which we have in the equally early writings 
 of Cowley or of Chatterton. — Angus, 
 Joseph, 1865, The Handbook of English 
 Literature, p. 269. 
 
 He wrote a number of sonnets, nearly 
 all of which were composed while he was 
 a hopeless consumptive. With one or two 
 exceptions, they are pitched in a plaintive 
 minor key ; and although they are too uni- 
 formly sad to be thoroughly enjoyable, 
 they are so gracefully poetic, and there is 
 so little of selfish or morbid repining in 
 them, that their soft murmurs awaken 
 pleasant emotions, even while they touch 
 our sympathies and sufl^use our eyes with 
 tender sorrow. — Deshler, Charles D., 
 1879, Afternoons With the Poets, p. 233. 
 
 The lad, in every way lacking pith and 
 substance, and ripening prematurely in 
 a heated atmosphere, drooped and died. 
 — DowDEN, Edward, 1880, Southey (Eng- 
 lish Men of Letters), p. 124. 
 
 His splendid poem, the ''Star of Bethle- 
 hem,'' is destined to live in the memories 
 and hearts of all lovers of sacred song. — 
 Saunders, Frederick, 1885, Evenings 
 with the Sacred Poets, p. 388. 
 
 Both withdrew from a profession that 
 was distasteful to them; both loved un- 
 happily — the lady being, curiously enough, 
 in each case named Fanny; both had the 
 foreknowledge of their approaching death, 
 and both suffered in consequence from a 
 penetrating melancholy, amounting at 
 times to a refined despair, the outcome of 
 baffled hopes and thwarted ambition. Both 
 died young. The trumpeter of their fame 
 had his clarion already at his lips, but 
 hurrying death stopped their ears, so that 
 they did not hear the blast. It would 
 seem as if their lives and memories had 
 been handed on together, as if our knowl- 
 edge of the one is not complete without a 
 knowledge of the other. Keats seems to 
 have taken up the thread of Kirke White's 
 inspiration, or to have woven it into the 
 fabric of his own genius ; he seems uncon- 
 sciously to have become the sequel, the 
 completion, the consummation of White. 
 He did not so much eclipse, as pass into, 
 comprehend, and, as it were re-issue him. 
 Much of Keats's verse seems an echo, a 
 remembrance of Henry's, but a remem- 
 brance that is given with a more satisfying 
 expression, a more artistic utterance. . . . 
 White, like Keats, is peculiarly the child 
 
490 
 
 HENRY KIRKE WHITE 
 
 of this century, though he died on its very 
 threshold. There is in both cases the 
 same self-destroying heart — and brain- 
 consuming ' ' passion for the unattainable. ' ' 
 Henry possessed the genuine fin-de-siecle 
 temperament, without being in any sense 
 a sickly, sentimental, self-absorbed nine- 
 teenth century poseur. Like Tasso, he 
 battled with his agony. His pain struck 
 music from him; and until death seized 
 him, his brave, high-minded courage en- 
 abled him to conceal the "torture of his 
 despair." Nearly a hundred years have 
 passed since he died, and while the name 
 of Keats is upon many lips, the world only 
 occasionally hears of Henry. But his 
 genius cannot perish, and from time to 
 time there will be breathed upon the air 
 an echo of what he himself calls his * 'faint, 
 neglected song/'— Law, Alice, 1894, 
 A Forerunner of Keats, Westminster Re- 
 view, vol. 142, p. 291. 
 
 Any one who will now study Kirke 
 White's poems in themselves, as litera- 
 ture, without prejudice, must inevitably 
 come to the conclusion that they are 
 worthless, and disfigured by every fault 
 that can be laid to the charge of poetry. 
 They are not even promising. They are 
 tedious, grotesque, inharmonious, dull. 
 And yet they have a place in the Aldine 
 edition of British poets. — Benson, Ar- 
 thur Christopher, 1896, Essays, p. 180. 
 
 He was a poetaster, and nothing more. 
 The "genius" attributed to him in Byron's 
 well-known and noble though rather 
 rhetorical lines may be discovered on an 
 average in about half a dozen poets during 
 any two or three years of any tolerable 
 poetic period. His best things are imita- 
 tions of Cowper in his sacred mood, such 
 as the familiar "Star of Bethlehem," and 
 even these are generally spoilt by some 
 feebleness or false note. At his worst he 
 is not far from Delia Crusca. — Saints- 
 bury, George, 1896, A History of Nine- 
 teenth Century Literature, p. 108. 
 
 "Oft in Sorrow, Oft in Woe."— Kirke 
 White's marching song of the Christian 
 Life has no such lilting tune attached to 
 it' as "Onward Christian Soldiers," but 
 being older it has probably helped more 
 souls than its recent rival. — Stead, W. 
 T., 1897, Hymns that Have Helped, p. 169. 
 
 Few men have owed more in the way of 
 reputation to their misfortunes than Kirke 
 White. His continual struggles against 
 
 adverse circumstances in the pursuit of 
 knowledge, together with the amiability 
 of his disposition and the piety of his life, 
 secured for him many friends, who, in 
 their admiration for his character, dis- 
 covered evidence of Genius in his verse 
 which those uninfluenced by his personality 
 are unable to detect. It would of course 
 be absurd to look for maturity in the work 
 of a youth of twenty years, but Genius 
 could scarcely have written as much as 
 this youth wrote without betraying itself, 
 however crudely, in some thought or 
 phrase of obvious originality or latent 
 power. Kirk White's poems display no 
 such evidence as we expect to find in the 
 work of Genius, however young. He 
 lacked originality and imagination; and 
 while unable to invent new forms of 
 beauty, showed no freshness in his views 
 of old forms of truth. He had ambition, 
 but he had nothing to say, nor was there 
 anything felicitous in his manner of say- 
 ing nothing. Among the "Fragments," 
 gathered from the backs of old mathe- 
 matical papers, there are one or two which 
 are calculated to excite expectation, but 
 it may be doubted whether he would ever 
 have justified the claims made on his be- 
 half even if Time had dealt more gently 
 with him. ... Of Kirk White's shorter 
 poems his lines "To Love" have been per- 
 haps most frequently quoted, though they 
 can scarcely be said to rise above the level 
 of valentine verse. — Miles, Alfred H., 
 1897, The Poets and the Poetry of the 
 Century; Sacred, Moral and Religious 
 Verse, pp. 81, 83. 
 
 Southey's charitable judgment, which 
 Byron echoed, has not stood the test of 
 time. White's verse shows every mark of 
 immaturity. In thought and expression 
 it lacks vigour and originality. A promise 
 of weirdness in an early and prophetic 
 lyric, "A Dance of Consumptives" (from 
 an unfinished "Eccentric Drama") was not 
 fulfilled in his later compositions. The 
 metrical dexterity which is shown in the 
 addition to Waller's "Go, lovely Rose," is 
 not beyond a mediocre capacity. Such 
 popularity as White's work has enjoyed is 
 to be attributed to the pathetic brevity of 
 his career and to the fervour of the evan- 
 gelical piety which inspired the greater 
 part of his writings in both verse and 
 prose.— Lee, Sidney, 1900, Dictionary 
 of National Biography, vol. LXI, p. 50. 
 
491 
 
 Elizabeth Carter 
 
 1717-1806 
 
 Elizabeth Carter (1717-1806), a celebrated lady scholar, and translator of the work 
 of Epictetus, was the daughter of the Rev. Dr. Carter of Deal in Kent, and was born 
 in that town, December 16, 1717. . . . Miss Carter learned Greek and Latin 
 from her father, and was specially proficient in Greek, so that Dr. Johnson said con- 
 cerning a celebrated scholar, that he ''understood Greek better than any one whom he 
 had ever known except Elizabeth Carter. She learned also Hebrew, French, German, 
 Italian, Spanish, Portuguese, and lastly some Arabic. She studied astronomy, ancient 
 geography, and ancient and modern history. In 1734 some of her verses appeared in 
 the "Gentleman's Magazine" under the signature ''Eliza," Carr the editor being a 
 friend of her father. In 1738 she published a small collection of poems, and next year 
 she translated from the French an attack on Pope's "Essay on Man" by M. Crousaz. 
 In 1739 appeared her translation from the Italian of Algarotti's "Newtonianismo per 
 leDame," calling it "Sir Isaac Newton's Philosophy explained for the use of the 
 Ladies, in Six Dialogues on Light and Colors." Her translation of Epictetus was 
 undertaken in 1749 to please her friends Dr. Seeker (afterwards archbishop of Canter- 
 bury) and Miss Talbot, to whom the translation was sent, sheet by sheet, as it was 
 done. This work was published by guinea subscription in 1758. In 1763 Miss Carter 
 printed a second collection of poems. . . . Miss Carter never married, and lived 
 to the age of eighty-nine. She died in Clarges street, Piccadilly, 1806 ; and her nephew 
 the Rev. Montagu Pennington, published her "Memoirs" in 1808. — Baynes, Thomas 
 Spencer, ed.y 1877, Encyclopcedia Britannica, Ninth edition, vol. v, p, 124. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 For the most part of the time we are 
 entirely alone. . . . Our friend, you 
 know, has talents which must distinguish 
 her in the largest circles ; but there it is 
 impossible for one fully to discover either 
 the beauties of her character or the extent 
 and variety of her understanding, which 
 always improves on a more accurate ex- 
 amination and on a nearer view. . . . 
 The charm is inexpressibly heightened 
 when it is complicated with the affections 
 of the heart.— Montagu, Elizabeth, 
 1764, Letter to Mrs. Vesey, A Lady of the 
 Last Century, ed. Dor an, p. 136. 
 
 Mrs. Carter has in her person a great 
 deal of what the gentlemen mean when 
 they say such a one is a "poetical lady;" 
 however, independently of her great tal- 
 ents and learning, I like her much ; she has 
 affability, kindness, and goodness; and 
 I honour her heart even more than her 
 talents.— More, Hannah, 1775, Letter 
 to One of Her Sister's, Memoirs, ed. Roberts, 
 vol. I, p. 39. 
 
 This ardent thirst after knowledge was 
 at length crowned with complete success, 
 and her acquirements became, even very 
 early in life, such as are rarely met with. 
 What she once gained, she never afterwards 
 lost, an effect, indeed, to be expected from 
 the intense application by which she 
 acquired her learning, and which is often 
 
 by no means the case with those, the quick- 
 ness of whose faculties renders labour 
 almost useless. — Pennington, Montagu, 
 1808, Memoirs of Mrs. Carter. 
 
 Though history and classical learning 
 were, in profane literature, the favourite 
 studies of Mrs. Carter, the sciences were 
 not neglected ; she had paid some attention 
 to mathematics, and in astronomy and 
 ancient geography she had made no com- 
 mon progress. What she studied, how- 
 ever, with still superior ardour and delight, 
 and with an effect on her manners and con- 
 duct of the most indelible kind, was re- 
 ligion. Her piety, indeed, was the most 
 decided feature of her character, and its 
 intensity continued undiminished to the 
 last moment of her life. Nothwithstand- 
 ing these various, laborious, and important 
 pursuits, she found leisure for amusements, 
 and for the display of a cheerful and even 
 gay disposition. Of dancing she was par- 
 ticularly fond, and entered, indeed, with 
 singular naivete and vivacity into all the 
 innocent diversions of youth and high 
 spirits. What enabled her to partake of 
 so much relaxation was the habit which she 
 had acquired of rising every morning be- 
 tween four and five o'clock, a practice that 
 was continued, to a certain extent, even 
 in very advanced life, for at no time, if in 
 health, was she known to lie later than 
 seven.— Drake, Nathan, 1810, Essays, 
 
492 
 
 ELIZABETH CARTER 
 
 Elustrative of the Rambler, Adventurer and 
 Idler, vol. ii, p. 74. 
 
 Miss Fanshawe says, in one of her letters 
 to me, written soon after the death of this 
 venerated person, that she appears to her 
 to have been half an angel and half a sage ; 
 differing from most of her sex, in having 
 laid down a plan in the outset of life to 
 which she adhered steadily to the end; 
 writing Greek in the face of the world with- 
 out compunction, never losing a friend, and 
 never making an enemy. — Grant, Anne, 
 1830, Letters, Nov. 13 ; Mew,oir and Cor- 
 respondence, ed. Grant, vol. iii, p. 165. 
 
 We were startled at reading somewhere 
 the other day that, in her youth, she had 
 not only the wisdom of a Pallas, but the 
 look of a Hebe. Healthy no doubt she 
 was, and possessed of a fine constitution. 
 She was probably also handsome; but 
 Hebe and a hook nose are in our minds im- 
 possible associations. — Hunt, Leigh, 
 1847, British Poetesses; Men, Women and 
 Books, vol. II, jp. 119. 
 
 Her regular rule was, when in health, 
 to read two chapters in the Bible before 
 breakfast ; a sermon, some Hebrew, Greek, 
 and Latin, and after breakfast something 
 in every language with which she was ac- 
 quainted ; thus never allowing herself to 
 forget what she had once attained. These 
 occupations were of course varied accord- 
 ing to circumstances, and when she took 
 exercise before breakfast her course of 
 reading was necessarily deferred till later 
 in the day. Her constitution must have 
 been strong to have enabled her to take 
 the very long walks to which she accus- 
 tomed herself; but she suffered greatly 
 from headaches, not improbably arising 
 from her over-exertion of body and mind 
 in early youth, and the not allowing her- 
 self sufficient repose to recruit her over- 
 worked strength. At one time of her life 
 she was wont to sit up very late, and as she 
 soon became drowsy, and would sleep 
 soundly in her chair, many were the ex- 
 pedients she adopted to keep herself 
 awake, such as pouring cold water down 
 her dress, tying a wet bandage round her 
 head, &c. She was a great snuff-taker, 
 though she endeavoured to break herself 
 of the habit to please her father. She 
 suffered so much, however, in the attempt, 
 that he kindly withdrew his prohibition. 
 — Hale, Sarah Josepha, 1852, Woman's 
 Record, p. 244. 
 
 Genial, happy, old lady! We believe 
 her when she declared that she had never 
 regretted not having looked for interest 
 in married life. We love her sapient say- 
 ings, and gentle, holy memory. We rever- 
 ence her as the very pattern of a high- 
 minded, active, and more than contented 
 Old Maid.— Thomson, Katherine (Grace 
 Wharton), 1861, Mrs. Elizabeth Carter 
 and Miss Talbot, Celebrated Friendships, 
 vol. II, p. 170. 
 
 After the third edition of her poems, 
 Mistress Carter wrote no more for the 
 press ; but she appears to have taken much 
 delight in the productions of contemporary 
 genius, and it is interesting to find that 
 she lived to welcome and applaud "The 
 Lay of the Last Minstrel. " How amazed 
 would she and many others of her time 
 have been to behold the slight esteem in 
 which it is the present fashion to hold 
 that glorious *'Lay!" And perchance, 
 modest as she was, it would also have 
 surprised not a little the translator of 
 **Epictetus,^' and the greatest female 
 scholar of her period, could she know that 
 her very name, as well as the records of 
 her triumphs, is almost unknown to a 
 generation which has scarce patience for 
 its own pedants, and cares less than nothing 
 for the pedants of former days. — Wal- 
 FORD, L. B., 1891, A Learned Lady; 
 Elizabeth Carter, Blackwood^s Magazine, 
 vol. 149, p, 519. 
 
 She was more remarkable for her lin- 
 guistic acquirements than for original 
 work, and is said to have known not only 
 Greek and Latin, but Hebrew, French, 
 Italian, Spanish and German as well. 
 With all these accomplishments she re- 
 tained to the last a fund of delightful 
 modesty and good sense, and bore with 
 dignified equanimity the unpleasant noto- 
 riety that her learning sometimes brought 
 her. — Thomson, Clara Linklater, 1900, 
 Samuel Richardson, A Biographical and 
 Critical Study, p. 113. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The judgments of this most excellent 
 woman appears to have been at once origi- 
 nal, candid and sound. They are expressed 
 in language perspicuous, strong, and 
 elegant ; and are the result of a mind act- 
 ing on the most mature deliberation, and 
 enlightened by the nicest powers of dis- 
 tinction. ... A mind more clear. 
 
ELIZABETH CARTER 
 
 493 
 
 more extensive, and better regulated than 
 Mrs. Carter's does not occur in the annals 
 of genius and learning. — Brydges, Sir 
 Samuel Egerton, 1808, Censura Liter- 
 aridy vol. viii, p. 197. 
 
 The poetry of Mrs. Carter is such as 
 might have been expected from the ele- 
 gance of her classical learning, and the 
 purity of her moral principles. Her 
 language is clear and correct, her versi- 
 fication sweet and harmonious, while the 
 sentiment is always dignified, or devo- 
 tional, and even sometimes sublime. Of 
 splendid imagination, of the creative 
 powers which form the character of a 
 first-rate poet, she has exhibited few 
 proofs ; yet are her productions far beyond 
 mediocrity, and, though not breathing the 
 fire and energy of exalted genius, will be 
 ever highly valued by those to whom the 
 union of taste, piety, and erudition, is 
 dear.— Drake, Nathan, 1810, Essay 
 Illustrative of the Rambler y Adventurer , 
 and Idler, vol. ii, p. 86. 
 
 I have the headache myself, caught per- 
 haps by reading Mrs. Carter's letters, 
 which tell of nothing else. — Piozzi, Hes- 
 ter Lynch, 1817, To Sir James Fellowes, 
 June 26 ; Autobiography , Letters and Lit- 
 erary Remains, ed. Hayward, p. 389. 
 
 This lady's poetical writings display but 
 little imagination, and have none of those 
 strong thoughts and sublime ideas which 
 betoken lofty genius : but her verses ex- 
 hibit great classical purity, and are re- 
 markable for an unusual sweetness of 
 versification. They embody, too, a cheer- 
 ful serenity very highly calculated to im- 
 prove the reader's mind; for although 
 Miss Carter translated Epictetus, she by 
 no means followed his philosophy. —Row- 
 ton, Frederic, 1848, The Female Poets 
 of Great Britain, p. 178. 
 
 Her literary fame was chiefly founded 
 upon her translation of Epictetus, and this 
 one work sufficed, as it well may do, for a 
 lifetime. For of all her other literary 
 efforts, — her translations from the French, 
 and the Italian, — her contributions as 
 Eliza" to The Gentleman's Magazine, — 
 her odes and elegies, the fame thereof 
 has long since been entombed with her 
 bones. — Thomson, Katherine (Grace 
 Wharton), 1848, The Literary Circles of 
 the Last Century, Eraser's Magazine, vol. 
 37, p. 76. 
 
 The character of her poetry is such as 
 might have been expected from the ele- 
 gance of her classical learning, the purity 
 of her moral principles, and her consistent 
 piety. While, to high imagination, or to 
 great creative power, she can lay no claim, 
 her language is clear and correct, her 
 versification sweet and harmonious, and 
 her sentiments all that the moralist or the 
 Christian could wish— pure, dignified, de- 
 votional, and sometimes rising to the sub- 
 lime.— Cleveland, Charles D., 1853, 
 English Literature of the Nineteenth Cen- 
 lury, p. 59. 
 
 Her sound and comprehensive mind, 
 highly cultured as it was, could produce 
 nothing contemptible : but it wanted that 
 essential qualification of the true poet, 
 active originality, the power of conceiving, 
 and of shaping new conceptions. — Wil- 
 liams, Jane, 1861, The Literary Women 
 of England, p. 215. 
 
 Although superseded by later workers 
 in the same field, Elizabeth Carter still 
 holds an honourable place beside the 
 Daciers, the Sarah Fieldings, and other 
 women scholars, and will ever remain in 
 our memories as the English translator 
 of Epictetus. — Edwards, M. Betham- 
 1880, Six Life Studies of Famous Women, 
 p. 225. 
 
 Mrs. Carter was more celebrated for 
 the solidity of her learning than for any 
 brilliant intellectual qualities; and it is as 
 a Greek scholar and translator of Epictetus 
 that she is now best remembered. She 
 used to relate with pleasure that Dr. John- 
 son had said, speaking of some celebrated 
 scholar, that *'he understood Greek better 
 than any one he had ever known, except 
 Elizabeth Carter." Her poems have ceased 
 to be read and are not of very high order, 
 the ''Dialogue between the Body and the 
 Mind" being perhaps the most successful. 
 Her letters display considerable vigour of 
 thought, and now and then a transient flash 
 of humour. Though by no means a woman 
 of the world, she possessed a large amount 
 of good sense, and, though more learned 
 than her fellows, was a thoroughly sociable 
 and amiable woman. — Barker, G. F. 
 Russell, 1887, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. ix, p. 196. 
 
 One of the most accomplished women of 
 the century. — Abbey, Charles J.. 1887, 
 The English Church and Its Bishops, 1700- 
 1800, vol. II, p. 49. 
 
494 
 
 CAR TER—HORSLEY 
 
 She belongs in spirit as well as in time much to her learning as to her purely 
 
 to the last century. Among women she literary achievements. — Lounsbury, 
 
 is perhaps its greatest scholar. Her dis- Thomas R., 1891, Studies in Chaucer, vol. 
 
 tinction in her own age was due full as iii, p. 262. 
 
 Samuel Horsley 
 
 1733-1806 
 
 A learned and eloquent prelate of the Church of England ; born in London, 1733 ; died 
 at Brighton, Oct. 4, 1806. His father was a minister, and personally supervised his 
 education till he entered Trinity College, Cambridge, where he graduated LL.B. in 
 1758. His first charge in the ministry was Newington in Surrey. In 1767 he was 
 elected to the Royal Society, and was secretary of that body from 1773 to 1784, when 
 he resigned his membership, on account of difficulties with the president. He was an 
 able classical scholar and mathematician, published works in both departments, and 
 edited Works of Sir Isaac Newton," in 5 vols., 1779-85. His ministerial career was 
 a brilliant one. After filling other positions, he was appointed in 1781 archdeacon of 
 St. Alban's. Whilst holding his position, he entered (1783) upon his famous contro- 
 versy with Dr. Priestley. His "Letters" on this subject are full of learning and 
 keen argument. In clear and solid reasoning he was more than a match for his op- 
 ponent; and Gibbon describes his achievements by saying that *'his spear pierced the 
 Socinian's shield." The dispute was carried on with great heat, and not a little acri- 
 mony on both sides. For his services in stopping the tide of Socinianism, he was re- 
 warded by Thurlowwith a prebend's stall in Gloucester, and with the see of St. David's, 
 in 1788. In Parliament, Bishop Horsley was an energetic supporter of Mr. Pitt. In 
 1793 he was translated to the see of Rochester, and rewarded with the deanery of 
 Westminster for the famous sermon preached there on the anniversary of the execution 
 of Charles I., and a few days after Louis XVI. was guillotined. In 1802 he was trans- 
 ferred to the see of St. Asaph. Bishop Horsley was a man of overbearing temper, but 
 a keen reasoner, sound scholar, and eloquent orator. His sermons are among the very 
 best specimens of English pulpit eloquence. Among his works not already referred to 
 may be mentioned a Commentary on Hosea" (1801, 2d ed. 1804), the posthumous 
 work on the"Psalms translated from the Hebrew," etc. (1815, 2 vols, 4th ed. , 1845), 
 Biblical Criticism of Fourteen Historical Books of the Old Testament," etc. (1820, 
 4 vols. 2d ed. 1844, 2 vols.), a collected edition of Horsley 's Theological Works" 
 (London, 1830, 9 vols.), and his "Sermons," complete in 1 vol. (London, 1839). — 
 Shafp-Herzog, eds., 1883, Encyclopoedia of Religious Knowledge, . vol. ii, p. 1023. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 No man of the age, perhaps, possessed 
 more of what is generally understood by 
 the term of recondite learning, or was more 
 profoundly versed in classical chronology. 
 He was extremely eloquent, and his voice 
 was deep and full-toned ; his enunciation 
 also was distinct, and his delivery in all 
 respects commanding and highly impres- 
 sive. His manner was rather dictatorial, 
 but he was, nevertheless, an argumentative 
 speaker, equally clear and strong. His 
 mind grasped all the learning of the 
 ancient and modern world, and his heart 
 was as warm and generous towards all 
 whom he had the ability to serve, as his 
 head was capable of advocating their 
 cause. His charity to the distressed was 
 even more than prudent ; he often wanted 
 himself when he gave away ; and in money 
 
 affairs no one was more careless than the 
 bishop, and no one so easily imposed upon. 
 Though he was irascible, passionate, and 
 easily moved to anger, yet he had a very 
 large amount of human kindness ; he was 
 a devoted father and husband, and always 
 bent both his mind and body to partake of 
 the amusements of children, of whom he 
 was particularly fond. — Daniell, J. W., 
 1874, Bishop Horsley, Good Words, vol, 
 15, p. 827. 
 
 Horsley is described as somewhat irrit- 
 able in temperament and dictatorial in 
 manner ; apart from polemics he was not- 
 ably generous, and so charitable as to be 
 easily imposed upon. His intellectual 
 force was great, and his learning admi- 
 rably digested. As a speaker and preacher 
 his deep-toned and flexible voice gave dire 
 effect to his strong argumentative powers. 
 
SAMUEL HORSLEY 
 
 495 
 
 — Gordon, Alexander, 1891, Dictionary 
 of National Biography, vol. xxvii, y. 385. 
 
 SERMONS 
 
 His sermons are fine specimens of com- 
 manding eloquence, and contain many deep 
 and original views of Scripture facts and 
 prophecies.— Williams, Edward, 1800, 
 The Christian Preacher. 
 
 In the evening I read two of Bishop 
 Horsley's sermons upon the Forty-fifth 
 Psalm. There are four, but I had already 
 read the two previous ones. They have a 
 very high reputation in this country, and 
 are undoubtedly discourses of great learn- 
 ing and ingenuity. But they are dogmat- 
 ical and bigoted ; and their object is to 
 inculcate doctrines so odious that I could 
 not believe them if I would. Here are four 
 sermons to explain one psalm, and, if the 
 Bishop's exposition is correct, the psalm 
 has been waiting three thousand years to 
 be made at last intelligible by him.- - 
 Adams, John Quincy, 1817, Journal, 
 April 12 ; Memoirs, ed. C. F, Adams, vol. 
 Ill, p. 498. 
 
 Confining our view to Horsley in his 
 literary character, I must say that he is 
 far beyond the reach of Dr. Parr's hostil- 
 ity. As a polematic and a champion of 
 his own Church, he was above the competi- 
 tion of any contemporary divine. As a 
 theologian, he reconciled the nearly con- 
 tradictory merits of novelty and originality 
 with well-meditated orthodoxy ; and I may 
 venture to assert that his "Sermons" pro- 
 duced a greater impression than any Eng- 
 lish book of pure divinity for the last cen- 
 tury. In saying this, I do not speak of the 
 sale ; what that might be I know not ; I 
 speak of the strength of the impression 
 diffused through the upper circles, as ap- 
 parent in the reverential terms which, 
 after the appearance of that work, univer- 
 sally marked the sense of cultivated men 
 in speaking of Bishop Horsley — even of 
 those who had previously viewed him with 
 some dislike in his character of contro- 
 versialist.— De QuiNCEY, Thomas, 1831- 
 57, Dr. Samuel Parr, Collected Writings, 
 ed. Masson, vol. v, p. 32. 
 
 Lord Chancellor Thurlow, being detained 
 by a thunderstorm at a country inn, and 
 asking the hostess whether she had any 
 books in the house, is said to have tossed 
 aside the Bible she brought him, and to 
 have sworn at Horsley's ''Sermons," — 
 
 which last, however, to cure idleness by 
 short distraction, his lordship began to 
 read, and was so enthralled by the unknown 
 divine that he read on, long after the rain 
 was over, and carried it with him to the 
 carriage steps — whence he threw the book 
 back to the hostess, wishing he might be 
 — something unpleasant — if he didn't 
 make that fellow a bishop ; and he was as 
 good as his word.— Jacox, Francis, 1872, 
 Enthralling Books, Aspects of Authorship, 
 p. 338. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 It is most sincerely regretted by me, 
 that the dispositions of Bishop Horsley 
 should have been warped either by pride, 
 ambition, or selfishness, to such an exces- 
 sive obliquity as displays itself throughout 
 his writings. The native vigour of his 
 faculties, his various knowledge, his ele- 
 gant and nervous style, and his ingenuity of 
 invention might have been happily em- 
 ployed to the advancement of science, and 
 to the 'Confirmation and recommendation of 
 the Christianity of the Scriptures. — 
 Wakefield, Gilbert, 1792, Memoirs 
 Written by Himself. 
 
 It is not a little extraordinary that 
 Bishop Horsley, the apologist of tyranny, 
 the patron of passive obedience, should 
 affect to admire the British constitution, 
 whose freedom was attained by a palpable 
 violation of the principles for which he 
 contends. . . . Whatever bears the 
 semblance of ''reasoning," in Bishop 
 Horsley's discourse, will be found, I trust, 
 to have received a satisfactory answer ; 
 but to animadvert with a becoming sever- 
 ity on the temper it displays, is a less easy 
 task. To render him the justice he 
 deserves in that respect would demand all 
 the fierceness of his character. . . . 
 It is time to turn from this disgusting 
 picture of sanctimonious hypocrisy and 
 priestly insolence, to address a word to the 
 reader on the following pamphlet. The 
 political sentiments of Dr. Horsley are in 
 truth of too little consequence in them- 
 selves to engage a moment's curiosity, and 
 deserve attention only as they indicate the 
 spirit of the times.— Hall, Robert, 1793, 
 An Apology for the Freedom of the Press, 
 Preface. 
 
 In my opinion, the controversy so ably 
 maintained by this learned Prelate against 
 the Heresiarch Priestle.y, is his peculiar 
 praise. Bishop Horsley reminds me of the 
 
496 
 
 HORSLEY— SMITH 
 
 celebrated Divine, Charles Leslie. He has 
 often the same strength, the same acute- 
 ness, and sometimes the same coarseness 
 of manner. But the argument is cogent, 
 and the arms are irresistible. In theo- 
 logical controversy, Charles Leslie and 
 Bishop Horsley always appear to me, 
 ' ' iEacidse similes, Vulcaniaque arma capes- 
 sunt.'' — Mathias, Thomas James, 1797, 
 The Pursuits of Liter aturCy Eighth ed., 
 p. 412. 
 
 Much original, deep, devout, and evan- 
 gelical matter, with much that is bold, 
 hazardous, speculative, and rash. Bishop 
 Horsley' s powers of mind were of a high 
 order; and his sermons and his other 
 works will render assistance to the student 
 chiefly in the way of criticism. He had 
 the integrity and candour to speak de- 
 cidedly against the ignorance of many who 
 opposed what they called Calvinistic views. 
 — ■ BiCKERSTETH, Edward, 1844, The 
 Christian Student. 
 
 Horsley was a man of a masculine mind, 
 great learning, and quick intelligence. 
 He was also master of a clear style and 
 much power of logical argumentation. 
 His attack upon Priestley was a very 
 damaging one.— Perry, George G., 1864, 
 The History of the Church of England^ vol. 
 Ill, p. 434. 
 
 Horsley had an arrogance and dogma- 
 tism even fiercer than Warburton's, with- 
 out anything like Warburton's genius for 
 style. His sermons procured him respect 
 from many that disapproved of his violence 
 as a polemic; they are distinguished by 
 breadth of view and clear racy expression. 
 — xMiNTO, William, 1872-80, Manual of 
 English Prose Literature, p. 469. 
 
 As a critic and scholar, he had few 
 equals ; and his disquisitions on the proph- 
 ets Isaiah and Hosea, his translation of 
 the Psalms, and his ''Biblical Criticisms" 
 (in four volumes), justly entitled him to 
 the honour of the mitre. His ' ' Sermons, ' ' 
 in three volumes, are about the best in the 
 language: clear, nervous, and profound. 
 
 he entered undauntedly upon the most 
 difficult subjects, and dispelled, by re- 
 search and argument, the doubt that hung 
 over several passages of Scripture. — 
 Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopcedia of 
 English Literature, ed.Carruthers. 
 
 In Horsley we may find an example of 
 what religious writing became in the latter 
 part of the century, earnest and con- 
 scientious, rich in scholarship and robust 
 in thought, but moving rather with judicial 
 formality and dignified reverence than by 
 any instinct of enthusiastic piety. — Craik, 
 Henry, 1895, ed., English Prose, Intro- 
 duction, vol. IV, p. 6. 
 
 As a master of English prose Samuel 
 Horsley had few equals in his own day. 
 The reputation he gained among his con- 
 temporaries and their immediate succes- 
 sors was quite out of proportion to the bulk 
 of his writings, but not at all out of pro- 
 portion to their merits. He was in fact 
 regarded in the early part of thenineteenth 
 century as, in point of abilities and at- 
 tainments, far above all other writers and 
 speakers on the side of the Church. Men 
 of the most widely differing sentiments 
 agree in this. ... He writes in a 
 remarkably pure, luminous, and dignified 
 style ; his matter is weighty, his argumen- 
 tative power convincing, his learning pro- 
 found, and his satire, though always kept 
 within the bounds of decency and courtesy, 
 most cutting. There is a robustness and 
 manliness about his tone of mind which is 
 reflected in his style ; he takes a lofty line, 
 which some might think supercilious, but 
 it is certainly justified by his merits ; it is 
 that of a judge summing up, not that of an 
 advocate pleading his cause. His senti- 
 ments are always those of the marked high 
 churchman, and in many points he antici- 
 pates the men of the Oxford movement. 
 His sermons are the finest specimens of 
 pulpit eloquence which the age produced, 
 and they are still unrivalled in their way. 
 — Overton, J. H., 1895, English Prose, 
 ed. Craik, vol. iv, pp. 447, 448. 
 
 Charlotte Smith 
 
 1749-1806 
 
 Poet and novelist, was born at London, May 4, 1749. Married Benjamin Smith, 
 Feb. 23, 1765. Published "Elegiac Sonnets and other Essays," 1784; second edition 
 same year, and a fifth edition 1789. Translated ''Manon Lescaut," 1785, and wrote 
 the "Romance of Real Life," 1786. Her first novel, "Emmeline," published 1788; 
 "TheOld Manor House," 1793. Other works by Charlotte Smithare: 1. "Ethelinde, 
 
CHARLOTTE SMITH 
 
 49? 
 
 or the Recluse of the Lake/' 5 vols. 1790 ; 2nd edit. 1814. 2. '*The Banished Man/' 
 4 vols. 1794. 3. "Montalbert," 1795. 4. ^'Marchmont." 5. Rural Walks." 
 6. ''Rambles Farther," 1796. 7. "Minor Morals interspersed with Sketches," 2 
 vols. 1798; other editions, 1799, 1800, 1816, 1825. 8. "The Young Philosopher," 
 anovel, 1798. 9. "The Solitary Wanderer," 1799. 10. "Beachy Head," a poem, 
 1807.— MouLTON, Charles Wells, 1902. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 But every one, whether of sad or gay 
 temperament, must regret that the tone 
 of melancholy which pervades Mrs. Smith's 
 compositions was derived too surely from 
 the circumstances and feelings of the 
 amiable authoress. We are indeed, in- 
 formed by Mrs. Dorset that the natural 
 temper of her sister was lively and playful ; 
 but it must be considered that the works on 
 which she was obliged, often reluctantly, 
 to labour, were seldom undertaken from 
 free choice. Nothing saddens the heart 
 so much as that sort of literary labour 
 which depends upon the imagination, when 
 it is undertaken unwillingly, and from a 
 sense of compulsion. The galley-slave 
 may sing when he is unchained, but it 
 would be uncommon equanimity which 
 could induce him to do so when he is 
 actually bound to his oar. If there is a 
 mental drudgery which lowers the spirits 
 and lacerates the nerves, like the toil 
 of the slave, it is that which is exacted 
 by literary composition when the heart 
 is not in unison with the work upon 
 which the head is employed. Add to the 
 unhappy author's task, sickness, sorrow, 
 or the pressure of unfavourable circum- 
 stances, and the labour of the bondsman 
 becomes light in comparison. — Scott, Sir 
 Walter, 1823? Charlotte Smith, Mis- 
 eellanies. 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 I did not see Charlotte Smith's "Son- 
 nets" until after I had published my own ; 
 but when I met with them they filled me 
 with delight, and to this day I equally ad- 
 mire them. — Brydges, Sir Samuel Eger- 
 ton, 1834, Autobiography, vol. I, p. 63. 
 
 I will, however, first prelude my ex- 
 amples from her by two sonnets from an 
 earlier writer, Charlotte Smith, whose 
 productions in this stanza are not only 
 numerous, but of such elegance and merit 
 as to command the homage of all who are 
 interested in the history of its growth and 
 development. — Deshler, Charles D., 
 1879, Afternoons With the Poets, p, 253. 
 
 The unmitigable woe with which Mrs. 
 Smith's poems are filled, together with 
 
 32 c 
 
 their factitious and second-hand phrase- 
 ology, renders them unpalatable to a 
 generation so much healthier than that in 
 which they were produced ; yet we must 
 respect the opinion of so admirable a critic 
 as Wordsworth, who described her as a "a 
 lady to whom English verse is under 
 greater obligations than are likely to be 
 either acknowledged or remembered." 
 "She wrote little," he continues, "and 
 that little unambitiously, but with true 
 feeling for rural Nature, at a time when 
 Nature was not much regarded by English 
 Poets; for in point of time her earlier 
 writings preceded, I believe, those of 
 Cowper and Burns." Her Sonnets, about 
 which some of their old sweetness still 
 lingers, like the perfume of dried flowers, 
 have been repeatedly praised by Dyce. — 
 Main, David M., 1879, ed., A Treasury 
 of English Sonnets, p. 358. 
 
 When Bowles first published his sonnets 
 he was accused of having imitated those 
 of Charlotte Smith. In what high estima- 
 tion this lady's work was still held nearly 
 thirty years after her death, may be 
 gathered from the fact that the late Rev. 
 Alexander Dyce included no fewer than 
 nine of her sonnets in his Selection, whereas 
 he only gives one by Keats, and entirely 
 omits those of Shelley and Byron. — Wad- 
 dington, Samuel, 1882, English Sonnets 
 by Poets of the Past, p. 229. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 A lady to whom English verse is under 
 greater obligations than are likely to be 
 either acknowledged or remembered. She 
 wrote little, and that little unambitiously, 
 but with true feeling for rural Nature, at a 
 time when Nature was not much regarded 
 by English Poets ; for in point of time her 
 earlier writings preceded, I believe, those 
 of Cowper and Burns. — Wordsworth, 
 William, 1833, St. Bees' Heads, note. 
 
 Some of her novels will last, and her 
 sonnets with them, each perhaps aided by 
 the other. There is nothing great in her ; 
 but she is natural and touching, and has 
 hit, in the music of her sorrows, upon some 
 of those chords, which have been awakened 
 
498 
 
 SMITH— FOX 
 
 equally, though not so well, in all human 
 bosoms. — Hunt, Leigh, 1847, British 
 Poetesses, Men, Women and Books, vol. ii, 
 p. 119. 
 
 Did you ever read any of Charlotte 
 Smith's novels? Except that they want 
 cheerfulness, nothing can exceed the 
 beauty of the style. Whenever Erskine 
 had a great speech to make he used to 
 read her works, that he might catch their 
 grace of composition. — Mitford, Mary 
 Russell, 1854, To Mrs. Jennings, Nov. 
 29 ; Life, ed. U Estrange, vol. ii, /?. 358. 
 
 Her poetical compositions are distin- 
 guished by an easy grace. A sweet 
 melancholy, never morbid though settled, 
 but chastened by a hopeful piety, sheds a 
 touching charm over her verses. She had 
 a keen perception of natural beauty, and 
 her descriptions of rural scenery or culti- 
 vated gardens are ever true and full of 
 sentiment. Some of her sonnets are 
 among the best of the second class in our 
 language, and a volume of them, we are 
 told, ''passed through eleven editions, 
 besides being translated into French and 
 Italian. " We have given a longer sketch 
 of this interesting lady than of some 
 others, because her writings, though 
 marked with elegance, judgment and 
 natural beauty, have fallen into such un- 
 deserved neglect, that they are rarely 
 found except in libraries of collectors. — 
 Bethune, George Washington, 1848, 
 The British Female Poets. 
 
 Few women have ever possessed greater 
 advantages of capacity and ability, of 
 
 acquirement and influence. Her faculties 
 were of no common kind. Her mind had 
 naturally great scope, comprising the high 
 imaginative power of an inborn poet, with 
 the accuracy of detail and sound common 
 sense which constitute the woman of 
 business and worldly wisdom. To her be- 
 longed also that attribute of noble natures, 
 pervading sincerity; the thoughts and 
 feelings of her every-day existence being 
 the opinions and sentiments of her prose 
 and poetry. There is that charm in her 
 poetry which belongs only to genius. The 
 tone is too monotonous, the spirit too 
 querulous; it wants the exulting and 
 exalting notes of the caroller who soars 
 to the skies and dwells blissfully in the 
 turf, yet it has a sort of ravishment like 
 the nightingale's strains, ever pleasing 
 though plaintive. — Williams, Jane, 1861, 
 The Literary W omen of England, p. 224. 
 
 She was among the most prolific novel- 
 ists of her time, but only one work, ''The 
 Old Manor House, ' ' enjoyed more than a 
 passing reputation, or has any claim to 
 particular mention here. The chief merit 
 of Charlotte Smith's novels lies in their 
 descriptions of scenery, an element only 
 just entering into the work of the novelist. 
 — Tuckerman, Baynard, 1882, A History 
 of English Prose Fiction, p, 257. 
 
 As a novelist she shows skill in portray- 
 ing character, but the deficiencies of the 
 plots render her novels tedious. Her 
 English style is good.— Lee, Elizabeth, 
 1898, Dictionary of National Biography, 
 vol. Liii, p. 29. 
 
 Charles James Fox 
 
 1749-1806 
 
 Third son of the first Lord Holland, was born in London, 24th January 1749, and 
 educated at Eton and Hertford College, Oxford, spending his vacations in the gayest 
 circles of the French capital. Even as a schoolboy he led an irregular life, but was 
 distinguished for ability ; at nineteen his father had him brought into parliament as 
 member for Midhurst. Soon after he attained his majority he came forward as a sup- 
 porter of Lord North, and was made a lord of Admirality. In 1772 he resigned, but next 
 year was named a commissioner of the Treasury. Dismissed from that post in 1775 
 after another quarrel with Lord North, he passed over to the ranks of the opposition, 
 and during the American war was the most formidable opponent of the coercive meas- 
 ures of government. After the downfall of North (1782), Fox was one of the secre- 
 taries of State till the death of the Marquis of Piockingham. In 1783 the North and 
 Fox coalition was formed, and Fox resumed his former office ; but the rejection of his 
 India Bill by the House of Lords led to the resignation of his government. Now Pitt 
 came into power, and the long contest between him and Fox began. The sudden illness 
 of the king in 1788 and the need for a regency recalled Fox from a visit to Gibbon at 
 Lausanne and to Italy. The regency, the trial of Warren Hastings, and the French 
 
LIBhArfY 
 
 OF THfe 
 
 UNIVERSITY of ILLINOIS. 
 
CHARLES JAMES FOX 
 
 499 
 
 Revolution gave ample scope to the talents and energies of Fox, who employed his 
 influence to modify, if not to counteract, the policy of his great rival. He was a 
 strenuous opponent of the war with France, and an advocate of non-intervention. 
 After Pitt's death in January 1806, Fox, recalled to office, set on foot negotiations 
 for a peace with France. He was on the point of introducing a bill for the abolition 
 of the slave-trade, when he died at Chiswick, 13th September 1806. He was buried, 
 near Pitt, in Westminster Abbey. Fox was a hard liver, addicted to gambling and 
 drinking; his bearing towards his opponents was generous. Burke called him *'the 
 greatest debater the world ever saw." — Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's 
 Biographical bidionary, p. 375. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I believe there never was a person yet 
 created who had the faculty of reason- 
 ing like him. His judgments are never 
 wrong; his decision is formed quicker 
 than any man's I ever conversed with; 
 and he never seems to mistake but in his 
 own affairs. — Carlisle, Earl of, 1772? 
 Letter to George Selwyn, George Selwyn and 
 His Contemporaries, vol. ill, p. 23. 
 
 Fox is a most extraordinary man ; here 
 is a man . . . who has divided the 
 Kingdom with Caesar; so that it was a 
 doubt whether the nation should be ruled 
 by the sceptre of George the Third, or the 
 tongue. of Fox.— Johnson, Samuel, 1784, 
 Life by Boswell, ed. Hill, vol, iv, p. 337. 
 
 I beg you would assure him that my ex- 
 pressions of esteem for him are not mere 
 professions. I really think him a great 
 man, and I should not think so, if I did 
 not believe he was at bottom, and would 
 prove himself, a good one. — Franklin, 
 Benjamin, 1783, Letter to David Hartley, 
 Works, ed. Sparks, vol. x, p. i. 
 
 Mr. Fox is in a very bad state of health. 
 His rapid journeys to England, on the 
 news of the king's illness, have brought 
 on him a violent complaint in the bowels, 
 which will, it is imagined, prove mortal. 
 However, if it should, it will vindicate his 
 character from the general report that he 
 has no bowels, as has been most strenu- 
 ously asserted by his creditors. — Mon- 
 tagu, Elizabeth, 1788, Letter, Dec.; A 
 Lady of the Last Century, p. 346. 
 
 I have eat, and drank, and conversed, 
 and sat up all night with Fox in England ; 
 but it never has happened, perhaps it never 
 can happen again, that I should enjoy him, 
 as I did that day, alone, from ten in the 
 morning till ten at night. We had little 
 politics; though he gave me in a few 
 words such a character of Pitt as one 
 great man should give of another his rival ; 
 much of books, from my own, on which he 
 
 flattered me very pleasantly, to Homer and 
 the 'Arabian Nights; much about the 
 country, my garden, (which he understands 
 far better than I do) ; and, upon the whole, 
 I think he envies me, and would do so 
 were he minister.— Gibbon, Edward, 1788, 
 Correspondence, Oct. 4, p. 331. 
 
 He, too, is fall'n, who Britain's loss supplied, 
 With him our fast- reviving hopes have died ; 
 Not one great people only raise his urn, 
 All Europe's far-extending regions mourn. 
 "These feelings wide, let sense and truth 
 undue, 
 
 To give the palm where Justice points it's 
 due:" 
 
 Yet let not canker' d Calumny assail, 
 Or round our statesmen wind her gloomy 
 veil. 
 
 Fox! o'er whose corse a mourning world 
 
 must weep. 
 Whose dear remains in honor 'd marble sleep ; 
 For whom, at last, e'en hostile nations groan, 
 While friends and foes alike his talents own ; 
 Fox shall in Britain's future annals shine. 
 Nor e'en to Pitt the patriot's palm resign; 
 Which envy, wearing Candor's sacred mask, 
 For Pitt, and Pitt alone, has dared to ask. 
 — Byron, Lord, 1806, On the Death of 
 Mr. Fox. 
 
 Mr. Fox, though not an adept in the use of 
 political wiles, was very unlikely to be the 
 dupe of them. He was conversant in the 
 ways of man, as well as in the contents 
 of books. He was acquainted with the 
 peculiar language of states, their peculiar 
 forms, and the grounds and effects of their 
 peculiar usages. From his earliest youth 
 he had investigated the science of politics 
 on the greater and smaller scale ; he had 
 studied it in the records of history, both 
 popular and rare, — in the conferences of 
 ambassadors, — in the archives of royal cab- 
 inets, — in the minuter detail of memoirs 
 — and in collected or straggling anecdotes 
 of the wrangles, intrigues, and cabals, 
 which, springing up in the secret recesses 
 of courts, shed their baneful influence on 
 the determination of sovereigns, the 
 
500 
 
 CHARLES JAMES FOX 
 
 fortune of favourites and the tranquility 
 of kingdoms. — Parr, Samuel, 1807, Char- 
 acter of Charles James Fox, Works y vol. 
 IV, p. 40. 
 
 Genius and taste, and talent gone, 
 
 Forever tombed beneath the stone, 
 
 Where — taming thought to human pride — 
 
 The mighty chiefs sleep side by side. 
 
 Drop upon Fox's grave the tear, 
 
 'Twill trickle to his rival's bier. 
 
 O'er Pitt's the mournful requiem sound, 
 
 And Fox's shall the notes rebound. 
 
 The solemn echo seems to cry, — 
 
 "Here let their discord with them die. 
 
 Speak not for those a separate doom 
 
 Whom fate made brothers in the tomb ; 
 
 But search the land of living men, 
 
 Where wilt thou find their like again?" 
 
 — Scott, Sir Walter, 1808, Marmion, 
 Canto /., Introduction. 
 
 I have never seen Mr. Fox more per- 
 fectly happy than when we were quite 
 alone. Pie was so utterly divested of a 
 wish to shine, or of any appetite for flat- 
 tery, that he in no manner required, what 
 is called, company, to enliven or animate 
 him. A lover of nature, and consequently 
 an enemy to art, he held, I think, above 
 every quality, sincerity, and unaffected- 
 ness ; and, being also of a character singu- 
 larly domestic and amiable, he found in 
 his little circle all he wished and wanted. 
 To his other attainments he had added 
 very considerable knowledge in Botany ; 
 and without making it a primary object, 
 enjoyed every pursuit connected with agri- 
 culture, in a high degree. — Trotter, John 
 Bernard, 1812, Memoirs of the Latter 
 Years of Charles James Fox, p. 35. 
 
 In London mixed society Pox conversed 
 little ; but at his own house in the country, 
 with his intimate friends, he would talk 
 on forever, with all the openness and 
 simplicity of a child: he has continued 
 talking to me for half-an-hour after he had 
 taken up his bed-room candle. — I have 
 seen it somewhere stated that Pox liked to 
 talk about great people : nothing can be 
 more untrue; he hardly ever alluded to 
 them. — Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollec- 
 tions of Table-Talk, ed. Dyce, p. 74. 
 
 Nature bestowed on Mr. Pox the quali- 
 ties which are certain to command distinc- 
 tion in popular assemblies. He possessed 
 in the highest degree the temperament of 
 the orator, which, equal to the poet's in 
 the intensity of feeling, is diametrically 
 opposed to the poet's in the direction to 
 
 which its instincts impel it. . . . Mr. 
 Pox might have spent the night in a gam- 
 ing-house, hurried off to Newmarket at 
 daybreak, returned just in time to open a 
 debate in the House of Commons — but who 
 shall say that during those hours he had 
 found no intervals in which his reason was 
 arranging a course of argument, and his 
 memory suggesting the appropriate witti- 
 cism or the felicitous allusion? . . . 
 Those, indeed, notably err, who, judging 
 only by the desultory social habits and 
 dissipated tastes of Mr. Fox, conclude that 
 his faculties attained their strength with- 
 out the necessary toil of resolute exertion. 
 — Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lord, 1855- 
 68, Pitt and Fox, Miscellaneous Prose 
 Works, vol. I, pp. 224, 225. 
 
 There is one man, Charles Pox, happy 
 from his cradle, who learned everything 
 without study, whom his father trained in 
 prodigality and recklessness, whom, from 
 the age of twenty-one, the public voice 
 proclaimed as the first in eloquence and 
 the leader of a great party, liberal, 
 humane, sociable, faithful to these gener- 
 ous expectations, whose very enemies 
 pardoned his faults, whom his friends 
 adored, whom labour never wearied, whom 
 rivals never embittered, whom power did 
 not spoil ; a lover of converse, of litera- 
 ture, of pleasure, who has left the impress 
 of his rich genius in the persuasive 
 abundance, in the fine character, the 
 clearness and continuous ease of his 
 speeches. — Taine, H. A., 1871, History 
 of English Literature, tr. Van Laun, vol. 
 II, bk. iii, ch. iii, p. 80. 
 
 It was an end which would better have 
 become a serious Christian. But it is not 
 for us to pass sentence on a man so be- 
 nevolent in his dispositions and designs. 
 We may rather be surprised at his possess- 
 ing so much virtue, not having the gift 
 of faith. We may hope that his good 
 deeds, his gratitude to all who had ever 
 served him, his constant uneasiness till he 
 had repaid their kindness, his uniform 
 longing for peace, and his general philan- 
 thropy, have been taken into account by 
 the Merciful Judge who makes allowances 
 for all. ' ' Perhaps no human being, ' ' said 
 Gibbon, ''was evermore perfectly exempt 
 from the taint of malevolence, vanity, of 
 falsehood." — Earle, John Charles, 1871, 
 English Premiers, vol. I, p. 332. 
 
 Our first great statesman of the modern 
 
CHARLES JAMES FOX 
 
 501 
 
 school. ... He was not a political 
 adventurer, but a knight-errant roaming 
 about in search of a tilt, or, still better, 
 of a melee; and not much caring whether 
 his foes were robbers or true men, if only 
 there were enough of them. He was one 
 who, in a venal age, looked to something 
 besides the main chance; who, when he 
 had set his mind or his fancy on an enter- 
 prise, never counted the odds that he 
 faced, or the hundreds a year that he for- 
 feited. But with all these generous gifts, 
 his education and his circumstances almost 
 proved too much for him ; and it was the 
 instinct of moral self-preservation which 
 drove him to detach himself from his early 
 surroundings, and find safety in uncom- 
 promising hostility to that evil system 
 which had come so near to spoiling him. 
 "Are wills so weak? Then let not mine wait 
 long. 
 
 Hast thou so rare a poison? Let me be 
 Keener to slay thee, lest thou poison me." 
 
 Such is the temper in which, fortunately 
 for mankind, rare and noble natures have 
 often revolted against that world whose 
 blighting influence they had begun to feel ; 
 and such was the mood of Charles Fox 
 when, sick of a prison-house whose secrets 
 had so early been familiar to him, he dis- 
 solved his partnership with Sandwich and 
 Wedderburn, and united himself to Burke 
 and Chatham and Savile in their crusade 
 against the tyranny which was trampling 
 out English liberty in the colonies, and the 
 corruption which was undermining it at 
 home. — Trevelyan, George Otto, 1880, 
 The Early History of Charles James Fox, 
 pp. 1, 452. 
 
 While there is so much to admire and 
 love in the character of Fox . . . 
 there is no man of his own or perhaps of 
 any age who presented in himself more to 
 be accepted and at the same time more to 
 be avoided as an example. His habits of 
 life would have ruined him before he 
 had matured if he had not contracted them 
 innocently, and if they had not been after- 
 w^ard controlled to some extent by intel- 
 lectual endowments of the very highest 
 order. Happily the number of parents 
 who train children as Fox was trained is 
 very limited, and unhappily the number 
 born with such marvelous endowments is 
 still more limited. He is therefore to be 
 contemplated rather as a phenomenon than 
 model, reminding one of the Pyramid of 
 Cheops, so imposing in its dimensions, so 
 
 unique in all its proportions, but fitly built 
 in a wilderness, and not a model upon 
 which a school of architecture can ever 
 be founded.— Bigelow, John, 1881, The 
 Early History of Charles James Fox, Har- 
 per's Magazine, vol. 62, p. 433. 
 
 The early days of Fox were his worst 
 days. Indeed, in the opening years of his 
 life it is not so easy to discover the great 
 liberal of the future. Yet like all the 
 rest of Fox's career his early life was 
 typical. He inherited the doctrines of 
 his father, who was, perhaps, as bad an 
 example as could be found of all the polit- 
 ical vices of the eighteenth century in 
 England. Offices and blunders were the 
 creed of the first Lord Holland ; and his 
 son, making himself master of these and 
 backed by bought majorities, astonished 
 the House of Commons by his brilliant, 
 youthful rhetoric, attacking what was 
 right with the same success which he won 
 in later years when he denounced what 
 was wrong. It was the way of the world 
 into which Charles Fox was born, and he 
 took up all the ways of that world with 
 equal extravagance and success. — Lodge, 
 Henry Cabot, 1881, The Early Days of 
 Fox, The International Review, vol. 10, 
 p. 281. 
 
 That a man of whom all this can be truly 
 said should have taken a high and honour- 
 able place in English history, and should 
 have won for himself the perennial love 
 and loyalty of some of the best English- 
 men of his time, is not a little surprising, 
 for a life such as I have described would 
 with most men have destroyed every fibre 
 of intellectual energy and of moral worth. 
 But in truth there are some characters 
 which nature has so happily compounded 
 that even vice is unable wholly to degrade 
 them, and there is a charm of manner and 
 of temper which sometimes accompanies 
 the excesses of a strong animal nature that 
 wins more popularity in the world than 
 the purest and the most self-denying 
 virtue. Of this truth Fox was an eminent 
 example. With a herculean frame, with 
 iron nerves, with that happy vividness and 
 buoyancy of temperament that can ever 
 throw itself passionately into the pursuits 
 and the impressions of the hour, and can 
 then cast them aside without an effort, he 
 combined one of the sweetest of human 
 tempers, one of the warmest of human 
 hearts. Nothing in his career is more 
 
502 
 
 CHARLES JAMES FOX 
 
 remarkable than the spell which he cast 
 over men who in character and principles 
 were as unlike as possible to himself. 
 — Lecky, William Edward Hartpole, 
 1882, A History of England in the Eight- 
 eenth Century, vol. iii, eh. xiii, p. 507. 
 
 In the duel between Fox (who was a very 
 stout man) and Adam, so soon as the 
 ground had been measured, Fitzgerald 
 (second of the former) said, *'You must 
 stand sideways, Mr. Fox, as much as you 
 can." ''Why so?" asked the statesman; 
 ''I am as thick one way as the other." 
 —Truman, Ben C, 1884, The Field of 
 Honor, p. 554. 
 
 ''Carlo Khan." "A Hercules." "The 
 Last of the Romans." "The Man of the 
 People." "Niger." "The Young Cub."— 
 Frey, Albert R., 1888, Sobriquets and 
 Nicknames, p. 407. 
 
 As a young man Fox was strongly 
 built ; his frame was large, and he had a 
 handsome face, bright eyes, high colour, 
 and black hair. He soon became very 
 stout, and his enemies considered that in 
 manhood his swarthy countenance had a 
 "saturnine" aspect, but his smile was 
 always pleasant. From childhood he was 
 courted for his gaiety, originality, and 
 genius. He was perfectly good-natured, 
 eager, warm-hearted, and unselfish. With 
 great natural abilities, a singular quick- 
 ness of apprehension, and a retentive 
 memory, he combined the habit of doing 
 all things with his might. He was, as he 
 said, a "very painstaking man," and even 
 when secretary of state wrote copies for 
 a writing-master to improve his hand- 
 writing. He delighted in literature and 
 art, his critical faculty was acute, and his 
 taste cultivated. Poetry was to him ' ' the 
 best thing after all," and he declared 
 that he loved "all the poets." — Hunt, 
 William, 1889, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. XX, p. 95. 
 
 Indeed we can only account for his great 
 successes as an orator, his amazing repute, 
 and his exceptional popularity, when we 
 sum up a half score of contributory causes, 
 which lie outside of the cold print of the 
 Parliamentary record; among these, we 
 count — his Holland wealth and training, 
 his environments of rank and luxury, his 
 picturesque bearing, his bonhomie, his 
 scorn of the rank he held, his accessibility 
 to all, his outspoken, democratic sym- 
 pathies, that warmed him into outbursts 
 
 of generous passion, his fearlessness, his 
 bearding of the king, his earnestness when- 
 ever afoot, his very shortcomings too, and 
 the crowding disabilities that grew out of 
 his trust— his simplicities— his lack of 
 forethought, his want of moneyed pru- 
 dence, his free-handedness, his little, un- 
 failing, every-day kindnesses— these all 
 backed his speeches and put a tender 
 under- tone, and a glow, and a drawing 
 power in them, which we look for vainly 
 in the rhetoric or the argumentation. — 
 Mitchell, Donald G., 1895, English 
 Lands Letters and Kings, Queen Anne and 
 The Georges, p. 191. 
 
 It was surely in an evil hour for himself 
 that Burke became connected with Charles 
 Fox. Charles Fox had fine impulses, 
 though love of his own country was not 
 one of them. It is not less certain that 
 he was a most powerful debater, if in the 
 reports of his speeches little of the fire 
 is left. His social charms were also 
 evidently great, and won him ardent 
 friends. But his character had been 
 formed at the gambling table, and Napo- 
 leon w^as right in saying that he would 
 never, if he could help it, employ a gam- 
 bler. The recklessness of the gambling 
 table was brought by Fox into the arena 
 of public life. . . . Fox, indolent, 
 and ostentatiously ignorant of economy 
 and finance, while he aspired to the 
 government of a great commercial coun- 
 try, would, of course, welcome the in- 
 dustry and knowledge of Burke; while 
 Burke would be drawn to Fox by Fox's 
 lovable qualities, perhaps by his high con- 
 nections, perhaps by the very dissimilarity 
 of their character and gifts. Fox's vio- 
 lence in his opposition to North, which 
 went almost to the length of treason, had 
 the eff'ect, as a good observer remarked, of 
 confirming the obstinacy of the Govern- 
 ment and prolonging the American war. 
 Burke, as Fox's associate, must in some 
 measure share the blame. — Smith, Gold- 
 win, 1896, Burke, Cornhill Magazine, 
 vol. 74, pp. 22, 23. 
 
 SPEECHES 
 Vehement in his elocution, ardent in 
 his language, prompt in his invention 
 of arguments, adroit in its use, com- 
 prehensive in his view of the given sub- 
 ject, and equal to his political rival in 
 the power of agitating the passions ; but 
 offending continually by the tautology of 
 
CHARLES JAMES FOX 
 
 503 
 
 his diction and the repetition of his argu- 
 ments. He feels this himself so much, as 
 to think it necessary to vindicate it in 
 private. And he so feels also his own in- 
 feriority in the selection of appropriate 
 terms, that he says, ''although he himself 
 is never in want of words, Mr. Pitt is 
 never without the best words possible." — 
 Abbot, Charles (Lord Colchester), 1795, 
 Diary and Correspondence, vol. I, p. 23. 
 
 Paramount as he is in ability and in 
 political eloquence beyond any man.— 
 Mathias, Thomas James, 1797, The Pur- 
 suits of Literature, Eighth ed., p. 252. 
 
 Fox is the most illustrious model of a 
 Parliamentary Leader, on the side of 
 liberty, that this country has produced. 
 This character is the appropriate glory of 
 England, and Fox is the proper example 
 of this character. . . . Fox, as an 
 orator, appeared to come immediately 
 from the forming hand of nature. He 
 spoke well, because he felt strongly and 
 earnestly. His oratory was impetuous as 
 the current of the river Rhone ; nothing 
 could arrest its course. His voice would 
 insensibly rise to too high a key; he 
 would run himself out of breath. Every- 
 thing showed how little artifice there was 
 in his eloquence. Though on all great 
 occasions he was throughout energetic, 
 yet it was by sudden flashes and emana- 
 tions that he electrified the heart, and 
 shot through the blood of his hearer. I 
 have seen his countenance lighted up with 
 more than mortal ardour and goodness ; I 
 have been present when his voice has be- 
 come suffocated with the sudden bursting 
 forth of a torrent of tears. — Godwin, 
 William, 1806, Morning Chronicle, Wil- 
 liam Godwin, ed. Paul, vol. ii, pp. 153, 156. 
 
 For ourselves, we think we never heard 
 any man who dismissed us from the argu- 
 ment on a debated topic with such a feel- 
 ing of satisfied and final conviction, or such 
 a competence to tell why we were con- 
 vinced. There was, in the view in which 
 subjects were placed by him, something 
 like the daylight, that simple clearness 
 which makes things conspicuous and does 
 not make them glare, which adds no colour 
 or form, but purely makes visible in per- 
 fection the real colour and form of all 
 things round ; a kind of light less amusing 
 than that of magnificent lusters or a 
 thousand coloured lamps, and less fascinat- 
 ing and romantic than that of the moon. 
 
 but which is immeasurably preferred when 
 we are bent on sober business, and not at 
 leisure, or not in the disposition to wander 
 delighted among beautiful shadows and 
 delusions. It is needless to say that Fox 
 possessed in a high degree wit and fancy ; 
 but superlative intellect was the grand dis- 
 tinction of his eloquence ; the pure force 
 of sense, of plain, downright sense was 
 so great, that it would have given a char- 
 acter of sublimity to his eloquence, even 
 if it had never once been aided by a happy 
 image or a brilliant explosion. The 
 grandeur of plain sense would not have 
 been deemed an absurd phrase, by any man 
 who had heard one of Fox's best speeches. 
 — Foster, John, 1808, Personal Virtue 
 in its Relation to Political Eminence, Crit- 
 ical Essays, ed. Ryland, vol. i, p. 158. 
 
 Pitt I never heard : Fox but once, and 
 then he struck me as a debater, which to 
 me seems as different from an orator as 
 an improvisatore, or a versifier, from a 
 poet. — Byron, Lord, 1813, Journal, Life 
 by Moore. 
 
 This extraordinary person, then, in 
 rising generally to speak, had evidently 
 no more premeditated the particular lan- 
 guage he should employ, nor frequently 
 the illustrations and images by which he 
 should discuss and enforce his subject, than 
 he had contemplated the hour he was to 
 die ; and his exalted merit as a debater in 
 Parliament did not, therefore, consist in 
 the length, variety, or roundness of his 
 periods; but in the truth and vigour of 
 his conceptions ; in the depth and extent 
 of his information ; in the retentive powers 
 of his memory, which enabled him to keep 
 in constant view, not only all he had 
 formerly read and reflected on, but every- 
 thing said at the moment, and even at 
 other times, by the various persons whose 
 arguments he was to answer; in the 
 faculty of spreading out his matter so 
 clearly to the grasp of his own mind, as to 
 render it impossible he should ever fail in 
 the utmost clearness and distinctness to 
 others; in the exuberant fertility of his 
 invention, which spontaneously brought 
 forth his ideas at the moment, in every 
 possible shape by which the understanding 
 might sit in the most accurate judgment 
 upon them ; whilst, instead of seeking 
 afterwards to enforce them by cold, pre- 
 meditated illustrations, or by episodes, 
 which, however beautiful, only distract 
 
504 
 
 CHARLES JAMES FOX 
 
 attention, he was accustomed to repass 
 his subject, not methodically ^ but in the 
 most unforeseen and fascinating review, 
 enlightening every part of it, and binding 
 even his adversaries in a kind of spell for 
 the moment of involuntary assent. . . . 
 He possessed, above all men I ever knew, 
 the most gentle and yet the most ardent 
 spirit — a rare and happy combination! 
 He had nourished in his mind all the manly 
 and generous sentiments, which are the 
 true supports of the social world ; he was 
 trembling alive to every kind of private 
 wrong or suffering ; and from the habitual 
 and fervent contemplation of the just 
 principles of government, he had the most 
 bitter and unextinguishable contempt for 
 the low arts of political intrigue, and an 
 indignant abhorrence of every species of 
 tyranny, oppression, and injustice. — Er- 
 SKiNE, Lord, 1815, Fox's Speeches^ Letter 
 to the Editor, vol. i. 
 
 Fox was heedless of method ; having the 
 complete command of good words, he never 
 sought for better ; if those which occurred 
 expressed his meaning clearly and forcibly, 
 he paid little attention to their arrange- 
 ment or harmony. This detracts from the 
 merit of his speeches when they are read ; 
 but, when they were delivered, it perhaps 
 added to their effect, as it tended greatly to 
 make the hearers believe that he was above 
 art, and spoke from conviction. . . . The 
 moment of his grandeur was, when he had 
 stated the argument of his adversary, with 
 much greater strength than his adversary 
 had done, and with greater than his hearers 
 thought possible, he seized it with the 
 strength of a giant, and tore and trampled 
 it to destruction. — Butler, Charles, 
 1822, Reminiscences y vol, I, pp. 158, 160. 
 
 We of 1858, that can only read him, 
 hearing Fox described as forcible, are 
 disposed to recollect Shakspere's Mr. 
 Feeble amongst Falstaff's recruits, who 
 also is described as forcible — viz. as the 
 ''most forcible Feeble.'^ And, perhaps, 
 a better description could not be de- 
 vised for Fox himself: so feeble was he 
 in matter, so forcible in manner; so 
 powerful for instant effect, so impotent 
 for posterity. In the Pythian fury of his 
 gestures, in his screaming voice (for Fox's 
 voice was shrill as a woman's), in his 
 directness of purpose. Fox would now re- 
 mind you of some demon steam-engine on 
 a railroad, some Fire-king or Salmoneus, 
 
 that had counterfeited Jove's thunderr 
 bolts, — hissing, bubbling, snorting, fum- 
 ing. Demonias gas, you think, gas from 
 Acheron, must feed that dreadful system 
 of convulsions. — De Quince y, Thomas, 
 1858, Sehlossefs Literary History, Works, 
 ed. Masson, vol. xi, p. 35. 
 
 While Fox, in the simplicity and the 
 vehemence of his reasoning, might bear 
 comparison with Demosthenes, his speeches 
 as a whole show more distinctly perhaps 
 than those of any other speaker the differ- 
 ence between Greek and British oratory. 
 A speech of Demosthenes resembles a 
 beautiful Greek temple ; it is composed of 
 reasoning, of elegant diction, of appeals 
 to the patriotism and public spirit of his 
 hearers, all of the same pure material. 
 We admire the purity, and harmony, the 
 unity and grace of the structure. A 
 speech of Fox resembles rather a cathedral 
 of Gothic architecture. The strength of 
 the buttresses, the grandeur of the arches, 
 the painted glass, the fretted aisle, these 
 multiplied and fanciful ornaments, fill the 
 mind with admiration and delight. . . . 
 Pitt used to say that, when he thought 
 that he had himself done better than usual, 
 he found Fox, in reply, surpass his ordi- 
 nary vigour, and exceed the best of his 
 former efforts. Wilberforce is reported 
 to have declared himself always convinced 
 for the moment by Pitt or by Fox, and in- 
 clined to give the palm to that one of these 
 two orators who had last spoken. — Rus- 
 sell, Earl, 1866, The Life and Times of 
 Charles James Fox, vol. iii, pp. 388, 389. 
 
 Though a statesman of the first order, 
 yet it was oratory which gave to Fox an 
 indisputable preeminence among his con- 
 temporaries.' He was born with the 
 oratorical temperament; from youth up- 
 wards, his ambition was to become a great 
 speaker. He was endowed with an under- 
 standing of exceeding quickness, with an 
 imagination of great brilliancy, with feel- 
 ing of great mobility and tenderness; he 
 had read much in the ancient and modern 
 languages; a retentive memory enabled 
 him to utilize his vast stores of informa- 
 tion and illustrations, while his logical 
 disposition led him to marshal in faultless 
 symmetry and imposing array all the argu- 
 ments he adduced to prove a case or enforce 
 a proposition. His constant appeal was 
 to the intellect, and his aim was to convince 
 by reasoning. He was as practical as 
 
CHARLES JAMES FOX 
 
 505 
 
 Demosthenes. He had none of Cicero's 
 besetting anxiety to demonstrate, when 
 pleading a cause or advocating a policy, 
 that he was an unrivalled master of fine 
 language. No contemporary orator was 
 his parallel. Chatham was a greater 
 adept in dramatic effects. Burke was far 
 more ornate and profound. William Pitt 
 poured forth sentences infinitely superior 
 in finish and melody. Lord North was 
 more uniformly witty ; Charles Townshend 
 and Sheridan were more uniformly bril- 
 liant. None, however, among the elder 
 or younger generation of speakers suc- 
 ceeded in making an audience feel, as Fox 
 did, that they were listening to arguments 
 which could not be refuted, and to common 
 sense it was hardly possible to gainsay. — 
 Rae, William Fraser, 1873, Wilkes, 
 Sheridan, Fox ; The Opposition under 
 George the III, p. 420. 
 
 Fox was a great speaker, and, in the 
 words of Burke, the greatest debater the 
 world ever saw. Not place or power, but 
 reputation as an orator, was the object of 
 his ambition, as he declares in one of his 
 earliest letters to an intimate friend and 
 relation. He inspired affection rather 
 than admiration. In his worst days an 
 observer said of his party, There are only 
 forty of them, but every one of them is 
 ready to be hanged for Fox." In his 
 earliest days. Lord Mansfield being asked 
 who that young man was whom he saw in 
 Westminster Hall, answered, *'That is the 
 son of old Harry Fox, with twice his parts 
 and half his sagacity." . . . The 
 errors of Fox — his coalition with Lord 
 North, and his India Bill — were grave ; but 
 the warmth of his feelings and his passion- 
 ate love of liberty should obtain for his 
 memory indemnity for these or even 
 greater faults. His affectionate temper, 
 combined with his love of liberty, won him 
 the attachment of devoted friends. His 
 memory ought to be consecrated in the 
 heart of every lover of freedom through- 
 out the globe. — Russell, John Earl, 
 1874, Recollections and Suggestions, 1813- 
 1873, pp. 219, 220. 
 
 Fox delivered his speeches without pre- 
 vious preparation, and their power lay not 
 in rhetorical adornments, but in the vigour 
 of the speaker's thoughts, the extent of 
 his knowledge, the quickness with which 
 he grasped the significance of each point 
 in debate, the clearness of his conceptions, 
 
 and the remarkable plainness with which 
 he laid them before his audience. Even 
 in his longest speeches he never strayed 
 from the matter in hand ; he never rose 
 above the level of his hearers' understand- 
 ing, was never obscure, and never bored 
 the house. Every position that he took 
 up he defended with a large number of 
 shrewd arguments, plainly stated and well 
 ordered. The training in elocution that 
 he had received at Eton and his practice 
 as an amateur actor gave him confidence 
 and ease, while the accuracy and readiness 
 of his memory supplied him with a store 
 of quotations, and rendered him never at 
 loss for a word. At the same time he does 
 not appear to have been particularly fluent 
 until he became warmed with his subject ; 
 then he spoke with a stormy eloquence 
 which carried his hearers with him. His 
 voice was naturally poor, and though he 
 generally modulated it skilfully, he was 
 apt when excited to speak with shrillness. 
 His action was ungraceful. His attempts 
 at pathos generally failed ; he was prone 
 to invective, and is said to have been the 
 wittiest speaker of his time. Although 
 some of his speeches introducing subjects 
 to the house are magnificent, he especially 
 excelled in reply ; for great as he was as an 
 orator, he was certainly greater in debate. 
 — Hunt, William, 1889, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. XX, p. 96. 
 
 Pre-eminently does he stand out as the 
 first English statesman of ministerial rank 
 who appreciated the power of the Plat- 
 form, and who systematically used it. 
 Whether or not it was that he liked it for 
 the qualities which rendered him so much 
 more fascinating to some men than the 
 House of Commons, its freedom, its en- 
 thusiasm, its applause, certain it is that 
 he was constantly addressing public meet- 
 ings, so constantly, indeed, as to earn for 
 himself the name of *'The man of the 
 people." — Jephson, Henry, 1891, The 
 Platform, Its Rise and Progress, voL I, 
 p. 224. 
 
 It may be said once for all that Fox was 
 the most transcendant of all debaters, the 
 most genial of all associates, the most be- 
 loved of all friends. He was moreover, 
 after Burke, the most lettered politician 
 in a generation that aflfected literature. 
 . . . It has been said that his private 
 life was conspicuously disorderedc And 
 yet even \vhen it was blamable it was 
 
506 
 
 CHARLES JAMES FOX 
 
 lovable, and it mellowed into an exquisite 
 evening. Whether we see him plunged 
 in Theocritus after a bout at faro which 
 has left him penniless; or cheerfully 
 watching the baliffs remove his last stick 
 of furniture ; or drinking with the jockey 
 of Norfolk ; or choosing wild waistcoats at 
 Paris ; or building with his own hands his 
 little greenhouse at St. Anne's ;or saunter- 
 ing down its cool glades with a book and a 
 friend ; or prone without either under a 
 tree in the long summer afternoons; or 
 watching the contests of Newmarket with 
 the rapt frenzy of a boy; or chatting 
 before the races with Windham on the 
 horses of the ancients and the precise 
 meaning of argutum caput; or correspond- 
 ing with Gilbert Wakefield about innumer- 
 able other niceties of classical reading; 
 or, when crippled and aged, playing trap- 
 ball with the children and with more than 
 a child's keenness; or speechless of 
 generous tears in the House of Commons 
 when quivering under the harsh severance 
 of Burke ; or placid on his deathbed reas- 
 suring his wife and nephew; — he stills 
 exercises over us something of the un- 
 bounded fascination which he wielded over 
 his contemporaries. — Rosebery, Lord, 
 1891, Pitt (Twelve English Statesmen), 
 pp. 28, 32. 
 
 HISTORY 
 
 The goodness of his heart, and the 
 grandeur of his mind — the just medium of 
 his opinions between the crown and de- 
 mocracy, and his warm love of true and 
 rational liberty, are, however, indelibly 
 recorded in a work, which perhaps came 
 out too soon after his death to be justly 
 appreciated ; and as it promoted the views 
 of none of the parties of the day, it is 
 rather to be considered a classic, whose 
 wholesome tendency and purity of princi- 
 ple, will benefit posterity, than amend 
 the present generation. — Trotter, John 
 Bernard, 1812, Memoirs of the Latter 
 Year of Charles James Fox, p. 41. 
 
 The superiority of Mr. Fox to Sir James 
 as an orator is hardly more clear than the 
 superiority of Sir James to Mr. Fox as an 
 historian. Mr. Fox with a pen in his 
 hand, and Sir James on his legs in the 
 House of Commons, were, we think, each 
 out of his proper element. They were men, 
 it is true, of far too much judgment and 
 ability to fail scandalously in any under- 
 taking to which they brought the whole 
 
 power of their minds. The ''History of 
 James II." will always keep its place in our 
 libraries as a valuable book; and Sir 
 James Mackintosh succeeded in winning 
 and maintaining a high place among the 
 parliamentary speakers of his time. Yet 
 we could never read a page of Mr. Fox's 
 writing, we could never listen for a 
 quarter of an hour to the speaking of Sir 
 James, without feeling that there was a 
 constant effort, a tug up hill. Nature, cr 
 habit which had become nature, asserted 
 its rights. Mr. Fox wrote debates. Sir 
 James Mackintosh spoke essays. . . . 
 While Mr. Fox winnowed and sifted his 
 phraseology with a care, which seems 
 hardly consistent with the simplicity and 
 elevation of his mind, and of which the 
 effect really was to debase and enfeeble his 
 style, he was little on his guard against 
 those more serious improprieties of manner 
 into which a great orator, who undertakes 
 to write history is in danger of falling. 
 There is about the whole book a vehement, 
 contentious, replying manner. Almost 
 every argument is put in the form of an 
 interrogation, an ejaculation, or a sar- 
 casm. The writer seems to be addressing 
 himself to some imaginary audience; to 
 be tearing in pieces a defence of the 
 Stuarts which has just been pronounced 
 by an imaginary Tory. — Macaulay, 
 Thomas Babington, 1834, Mackintosh's 
 History of the Revolution in England in 
 1688, Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 It was also during the early progress of 
 printing the first volume of these (Typo- 
 graphical) Antiquities, at Mr. Savage's, in 
 Bedf ordbury, Co vent Garden, that I used to 
 see the sheets of Mr. Fox's ''Historical 
 Work" hanging up in every direction 
 through the dwelling-house and adjacent 
 yard. It will be supposed that five thou- 
 sand copies of a quarto volume, with five 
 hundred more upon a larger paper, and yet 
 another two hundred and fifty of an ele- 
 phantine size, were not likely to be carried 
 through the press where the premises were 
 small, without seeming to suffocate every 
 passage and corridor of the building. . . . 
 It was doubtless the boldest experiment 
 ever made with a large paper speculation : 
 but it succeeded. In due course, what 
 at first came forth as a rapid and overboil- 
 ing torrent, at a high price subsided into 
 a quiet channel, and became obtainable on 
 very moderate terms. Yet, considering 
 
FOX— PITT 
 
 507 
 
 the extraordinary number of copies 
 printed, I do not consider this book of the 
 commonest possible occurrence. As the 
 work of an Author whose name can never 
 perish, it must necessarily form ''part and 
 parcel" of every well ordered library. 
 Why is it not dressed in "rank and file" 
 with the octavo HUMES, ROBERTSONS, 
 and GIBBONS?— DiBDiN, Thomas Frog- 
 NALL, 1836, Reminiscences of a Literary 
 Life, vol. I, pp. 276, 277, note. 
 
 Has been greatly undervalued; but it 
 will be properly estimated in future times. 
 — Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollections of 
 Table-Talk, ed. Dyce, p. 97. 
 
 His History as he has left it, is simply 
 a disquisition on English politics, from the 
 time of Henry VH. to the death of Charles 
 II., together with a narrative of the reign 
 of James II. until the death of Monmouth. 
 Here he paused, probably from the con- 
 stant interruption of business, indolence, 
 or pleasure. He evidently wanted suf- 
 ficient steadiness to produce any laborious 
 work, and the whole result of his inquiries 
 is this imperfect fragment. The History 
 has good sense, a clear manner, and an 
 evident sincerity and honesty of execu- 
 tion ; but it is wholly wanting in imagina- 
 tion, interest, and grace. Fox's style is 
 that of a debater, plain, pointed, and in- 
 harmonious. His language does not flow 
 easily, and wants the delicate graces of 
 the fine writer. His narrative is some- 
 times interesting, on account of its clear- 
 ness, but something more than simplicity 
 is needed, to keep up for a long period the 
 attention of the reader. And Fox must 
 be remembered rather as one who desired 
 to become an historian, than as having 
 given any proofs of historical power. — 
 Lawrence, Eugene, 1855, Lives of the 
 British Historians, vol. ii, p. 365. 
 
 Incomparably the most important book 
 relating to the art of government which 
 appeared during his lifetime was the 
 "Wealth of Nations, " but Fox once owned 
 that he had never read it, and the history 
 
 which was his own serious composition 
 added nothing to his reputation. — Lecky, 
 William Edward Hartpole, 1882, A 
 History of England in the Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury, vol. Ill, ch. xiii, p. 508. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 We are no admirers of Mr. Fox's poetry. 
 His Vers de Societe appears to us flat and 
 insipid. To write verses was the only 
 thing which Mr. Fox ever attempted to do, 
 without doing it well. In that single in- 
 stance he seems to have mistaken his 
 talent.— Smith, Sydney, 1809, Characters 
 of Fox, Edinburgh Review, vol. 14, p. 355. 
 
 Some specimens of his own verses have 
 been circulated in private, and printed 
 in collections. They were occasional, and 
 on trifling subjects, but sufficient to prove 
 the exquisite correctness of his ear and 
 judgment, the delicacy of his feelings, and 
 his great familarity with the best models 
 of composition.— Lodge, Edmund, 1821- 
 34, Portraits of Illustrious Personages of 
 Great Britain, vol. viii, p. 201. 
 
 Charles Fox's "Fragment of History" 
 falls far short of the expectations which 
 that distinguished statesman's genius had 
 raised regarding it. Probably the failure 
 arose from the difference between the pro- 
 cesses of speaking and of writing: yet 
 Burke equally excelled in both ! — Pitt has 
 given no specimens, by which we may be 
 led to believe that he could have been pre- 
 eminent as an author. The matter of all 
 his speeches is now dead: the spirit 
 evaporated with the tones of his voice. 
 We can cite no general wisdom, — nothing 
 applicable beyond the occasion. Without 
 this there may be talent ; without a power 
 of generalisation there cannot be genius. 
 — Brydges, Sir Samuel Egerton, 1834, 
 Autobiography, vol. I, p. 320. 
 
 Fox, so pre-eminent as a debater, ap- 
 pears with small distinction in his author- 
 ship. — Croker, John Wilson, 1842, Cor- 
 respondence Between Mr. Pitt and the Duke 
 of Rutland, Quarterly Review, vol. 70, 
 p. 289. 
 
 William Pitt 
 
 1759-1806 
 
 William Pitt generally called the Younger Pitt, the second son of the earl of Chat- 
 ham, born May 28 1759. In 1780 he entered into public life, and took his seat in the 
 House of Commons as member for Appleby. The opposition against the party in power, 
 the cabinet of Lord North, consisted of two factions — one led by Rockingham and 
 
508 
 
 WILLIAM PITT 
 
 Fox, and the other by Lord Shelburne. Pitt joined the latter which mostly consisted 
 of old friends of his father, and his speeches made such an impression that Lord Shel- 
 burne, when he became first lord of the treasury in July 1782, offered him a place in 
 the cabinet as chancellor of the exchequer. Lord North although at one time driven 
 from power by Rockingham and Fox, now formed a coalition with them against the 
 cabinet of Lord Shelburne, and in 1783 Lord Shelburne had to give in his resignation, 
 and Pitt with him. But in the very next session, when Fox brought in his bill for 
 transferring the government of India from the E. L Co. to Parliament — that is to say, 
 to the ministry — the coalition was defeated and the cabinet compelled to retire. Pitt 
 was called upon to form the new cabinet, and after dissolving Parliament and gaining a 
 majority at the general election of 1784, he established himself firmly in the most pow- 
 erful position which a subject can occupy in England, and he maintained himself in this 
 position without interruption for 14 years. The principal feature of his administration 
 is his war with France, but no English historian has yet been able to give sufficient 
 reason for this war which England began in 1793 and continued to 1815. It seems to have 
 been a whim, a chimera of the minister; he would imitate his great father in this point 
 too. But his war administration was weak and confused, and when losses and disasters 
 followed, the chimera grew into a mania. In 1801 he retired from office. In Feb. he 
 resigned, and in May the Peace of Amiens was concluded. In 1804, however, he was 
 recalled, and the war was renewed. But the surrender of the Austrian army at Ulm, 
 the battle of Austerlitz, the Peace of Presburg filled the haughty but impotent minister 
 with such chagrin that he died from disappointment, Jan. 23, 1806. — Barnard and 
 GuYOT, 1885, Johnson's New General Cyclopaedia, vol. ii, p, 1079. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 THIS MONUMENT 
 IS ERECTED BY PARLIAMENT TO 
 WILLIAM PITT, 
 SON OF WILLIAM, EARL OF CHATHAM, 
 
 IN TESTIMONY OF GRATITUDE 
 FOR THE EMINENT PUBLIC SERVICES 
 AND OF REGRET FOR THE IRREP- 
 ARABLE LOSS 
 OF THAT GREAT AND DISINTERESTED 
 
 MINISTER. 
 HE DIED ON JANUARY 23, 1806, IN THE 
 47th year of his AGE. 
 
 —Inscription on Monument, Westmin- 
 ster Abbey. 
 
 Pitt . . . was merely a statesman, 
 he was formed to seize occasions to possess 
 himself of power, and to act with consum- 
 mate craft upon every occurrence that 
 arose. He belonged to ancient Carthage 
 — he belonged to modern Italy — but there 
 is nothing in him that expressly belongs 
 to England.— Godwin, William, 1806, 
 Morning Chronicle, William Godwin, ed. 
 Paul, vol. II, p. 157. 
 
 Mr. Pitt, had received regular and sys- 
 tematic instruction in the principles of 
 the Christian religion, in the doctrine and 
 discipline of the Church of England, and 
 in every branch of general ecclesiastical 
 history. His knowledge on these subjects 
 was accurate and extensive. He was 
 completely armed against all sceptical 
 assaults, as well against all fanatical illu- 
 sion; and in truth he was not merely a 
 
 faithful and dutiful, but a learned member 
 of our Established Church.— Wellesley, 
 Lord, 1836, Letter, Nov. 
 
 Plain in feature, but with clear, grey, 
 watchful eyes — with high and massive 
 forehead, in which what phrenologists call 
 the perceptive organs were already promi- 
 nently marked — with lips which when in 
 repose were expressive much of reserve, 
 more of pertinacity and resolve, but in 
 movement were singularly flexible to the 
 impulse of the manlier passions, giving a 
 noble earnestness to declamation and a 
 lofty disdain to sarcasm — this young man 
 sate amongst the Rockingham Whigs, a so- 
 journer in their camp, not a recuit to their 
 standard. He had, indeed, offered himself 
 to their chief, but that provident com- 
 mander had already measured for his uni- 
 form some man of his own inches, and did 
 not think it worth while to secure the 
 thews of a giant at the price of wasting a 
 livery and disappointing a dwarf. — Lyt- 
 TON, Edward Bulwer Lord, 1855-68, 
 Pitt and Fox, Miscellaneous Prose Works, 
 vol. I, p. 229. 
 
 The impression left by the great Minis- 
 ter on all who knew him was indeed on 
 several points, of no common kind. It is 
 the more striking, since, in many cases, 
 we find it come forth incidentally. **Pitt, 
 the most forgiving and easy-tempered of 
 men,''— so says Lord Malmesbury while 
 
WILLIAM PITT 
 
 509 
 
 treating of another subject. 'Titt is the 
 most upright political character I every 
 knew or heard of," — so writes Wilber- 
 force to Bankes. The observation of Rose 
 upon another feature of his character 
 is no less weighty :- - ' With respect to Mr. 
 Pitt, I can say with the sincerest truth, 
 that in an intercourse almost uninterrupted 
 during more than twenty years I never saw 
 him once out of temper, nor did ever one 
 unpleasant sentence pass between us.'^ — 
 Stanhope, Philip Henry Earl, 1861-62, 
 Life of the Right Honourable William Pitty 
 vol. IV, p. 403. 
 
 In all descriptions of Pitt's appearance 
 in the House of Commons, a certain aloof- 
 ness fills an odd space; he is '*a thing 
 apart," different somehow from other 
 members. Fox was the exact opposite, — 
 he was ' ' a good fellow ;' ' he rolled into the 
 House, fat, good-humored, and popular. 
 Pitt was spare, dignified, and reserved; 
 when he entered the House, he walked to 
 the place of the Premier without looking 
 to the right or to the left, and he sat at 
 the same place. He was ready to discuss 
 important business with all proper per- 
 sons, upon all necessary occasions ; but he 
 was not ready to discuss business unneces- 
 sarily with any one, nor did he discuss 
 anything but business with any save a very 
 few intimate friends, with whom his re- 
 serve at once vanished, and his wit and 
 humor at once expanded, and his genuine 
 interest in all really great subjects was at 
 once displayed. — Bagehot, Walter, 1861 , 
 William Pitt, Works, ed. Morgan, vol. iii, 
 p. 163. 
 
 His was one of those minds which dawns 
 at rare intervals upon the world, yet with 
 the exception of his lofty intellect, and his 
 splendid sense of independence, which 
 commanded the homage of all, he possessed 
 few of the qualities which Englishmen ad- 
 mire in their rulers, and many of the 
 faults which they detest. He was in- 
 tensely proud, and, save in the presence 
 of his family, where he was warmly 
 loved, stiff, cold, and ungenial. When he 
 appeared in public, even when he was 
 cheered and feted, his harsh features 
 seldom relaxed their haughty, repellent 
 expression. Kings bowed and smiled, but 
 Pitt, the commoner, the son of a newly- 
 created peer, took scant pains not to show 
 that he held such homage in contempt. 
 His conduct was irreproachable. . . . 
 
 He seemed never to forget that he was so 
 rigidly virtuous, so highly honourable, so 
 pure and disinterested, and endowed with 
 such splendid talents ; from the lofty pedes- 
 tal of his superiority he never descended, 
 he always spoke and acted as if the world 
 were at his feet, and he the only man who 
 should stand upright. He wanted humil- 
 ity, toleration, charity ; had he possessed 
 these great virtues, he would have been 
 one of the noblest characters in history. 
 As it was, his circle of friends was small, 
 though intensely devoted, whilst that of 
 his enemies was both numerous and power- 
 ful. His austerity alienated the sym- 
 pathies of what is called society. . . , 
 On the bead-roll of English Ministers, 
 there have been men more popular, more 
 kindly, more generous, but none more able, 
 more straightforward, or more worthy of 
 the high position he held, than the great, 
 the disinterested, the austere William 
 Pitt. — EwALD, Alexander Charles, 
 1877, Ministers and Maxims, Temple Bar, 
 vol. 51, pp. 229, 230. 
 
 Pitt, however, will always be measured 
 and weighed by Englishmen according to 
 two different modes of reckoning. Inter- 
 preted by his personal character, by the 
 pureness, the loftiness,the public spirit and 
 disinterestedness of his life, he stands on 
 a higher pedestal than ever his genius for 
 organization and administration has raised 
 for him. To have been the least self- 
 seeking politician that had wielded su- 
 preme power up to his own times — to have 
 established and handed down a grand 
 tradition of republican honour and simplic- 
 ity in English statesmanship — is in itself 
 a nobler triumph than the praise of his 
 followers, or the success of his intrigues, 
 or the votes of parliament, or the monu- 
 ment in Westminster Abbey. — Sergeant, 
 Lewis, 1882, William Pitt (English Polit- 
 ical Leaders), p. 192. 
 
 His friendship, although like all worthy 
 friendship, not lavishly given, was singu- 
 larly warm and was enthusiastically re- 
 turned. Nothing in history is more 
 credible and interesting than his affection- 
 ate and lifelong intimacy with Wilber- 
 force, so widely differing from him in his 
 views of life. Hardened politicians such 
 as Rose and Farnborough were softened 
 by their intercourse with him, and cher- 
 ished his memory to the end of their lives 
 with something of religious adoration. 
 
510 
 
 WILLIAM PITT 
 
 This indeed was the posthumous feeling 
 which he seems to have inspired more than 
 any person in history. Even Sidmouth, 
 who had loved him little during the last 
 lustre of his life, shared this, and boasted 
 that he had destroyed every letter of Pitt's 
 which could cause the slightest detriment 
 to Pitt's reputation. Canning, Pitt loved 
 as a son. There is nothing more human 
 in Pitt's life than the account of his 
 alfectionate solicitude and absorption at 
 Canning's marriage. Canning's love for 
 Pitt was something combined of the senti- 
 ments of a son, a friend, and a disciple. 
 — RosEBERY, Lord, 1891, Pitt {Twelve 
 English Statesmen), p. 264. 
 
 He had the genius of command, and was 
 one of the greatest Parliamentary leaders 
 England has ever seen ; but it may be ques- 
 tioned if his public efficiency would not 
 have been enhanced, had he possessed some 
 of that ''subordinate" experience he so 
 haughtily repudiated, and had his long pub- 
 lic life been more tempered by some of the 
 teachings of Opposition. He came to re- 
 gard rule and office almost as his right. 
 . . . The life of this great statesman 
 must be judged after taking into account, 
 not only his actions and his motives, but 
 also the times in which he lived, with all 
 their diftculties and all their emergencies. 
 In his review his ''personal purity, disin- 
 terestedness, integrity, and love of coun- 
 try' ' stand out conspicuous. His aims, his 
 gifts, and his powers were great, and 
 William Pitt must forever be regarded as 
 a very noble figure in the public life of 
 England. — Gibson, Edward, 1898 (Lord 
 Ashbourne), Pitt; Some Chapters of his 
 Life and Times, pp. 364, 368. 
 
 SPEECHES 
 
 In his luminous and comprehensive 
 speeches in Parliament Pitt has explained 
 his motives and unfolded his views, his ob- 
 jects, and his designs. — Gifford, John, 
 1809, History of the Political Life of Pitt. 
 
 Before Mr. Pitt had a seat in parliament, 
 he had been a constant attendant in the 
 gallery of the house of commons, and near 
 the throne in the house of lords, upon 
 every important debate ; and whenever he 
 heard a speech of any merit on the side 
 opposite to his own opinions, he accus- 
 tomed himself to consider, as it proceeded, 
 in what manner it might be answered ; and 
 when the speaker accorded with his own 
 sentiments, he then observed his mode of 
 
 arranging and enforcing his ideas, and 
 considered whether any improvement could 
 have been made, or whether any argument 
 had been omitted. To this habit, and to 
 the practice already mentioned of reading 
 Greek and Latin into English, joined to his 
 wonderful natural endowments, may be 
 attributed that talent for reply, and that 
 command of language, for which he was 
 from the first so highly distinguished. At 
 whatever length he spoke, he avoided re- 
 petition and it was early and justly observed 
 of him, that "he . never failed to put the 
 best viTord in the best place." — Tomline, 
 George, 1821, Memoirs of the Life of the 
 Right Honourable William Pitt, vol. i, 
 p. 31. 
 
 Mackintosh said that Pitt's speeches are 
 miserably reported. He was himself pres- 
 ent at the speech on the Slave Trade in 
 '92 (which Mr. Fox declared was the finest 
 he had ever heard), and the report, he 
 says, gives no idea whatever of its merits. 
 — Moore, Thomas, 1823, Diary, Memoirs, 
 ed. Russell, vol. iv, p. 76. 
 
 Pitt, tall and slender, had an air at once 
 melancholy and sarcastic. His delivery 
 was cold, his intonation monotonous, his 
 action scarcely perceptible. At the same 
 time, the lucidness and the fluency of his 
 thoughts, the logic of his arguments, sud- 
 denly irradiated with flashes of eloquence, 
 rendered his talent something above the 
 ordinary line. ... Ill dressed, with- 
 out pleasure, without passion, greedy of 
 power, he despised honours, and would not 
 be any thing more than William Pitt. — 
 Chateaubriand, Franqois Rene Vicomte, 
 1837, Sketches of English Literature, vol. 
 II, pp. 277, 278. 
 
 His declamation was admirable, min- 
 gling with and clothing the argument, as to 
 be good for any thing declamation always 
 must ; and no more separable from the rea- 
 soning than the heat is from the metal in a 
 stream of lava. Yet, with all this excel- 
 lence, the last effect of the highest elo- 
 quence was for the most part wanting ; we 
 seldom forgot the speaker, or lost the 
 artist in the work. — Brougham, Henry 
 Lord, 1839-43, Statesmen who Flourished 
 in the Time of George III. 
 
 The almost unanimous judgment of those 
 who were in the habit of listening to that 
 remarkable race of men, placed Pitt, as a 
 speaker, above Burke, above Windham, 
 above Sheridan, and not below Fox. His 
 
PITT— REEVE 
 
 511 
 
 declamation was copious, polished, and 
 splendid. In power of sarcasm he was 
 probably not surpassed by any speaker, 
 ancient or modern; and of this formid- 
 able weapon he made merciless use. In 
 two parts of the oratorical art which are 
 of the highest value to a minister of state 
 he was singularly expert. No man knew 
 better how to be luminous or how to be 
 obscure.— Macaulay, Thomas Babing- 
 TON, 1859, William Pitt, Encyclopcedia 
 Britannica; Critical and Miscellaneous 
 Essays. 
 
 The early speeches of Pitt were master- 
 pieces. Eloquence was his heritage, and 
 the House of Commons the predestined 
 theatre for its display. The lucidity of 
 his exposition, the vigour of his declama- 
 tion, the sting of his sarcasm, the regular 
 flow and careful finish of his sentences, 
 were as notable and striking when he first 
 entered Parliament as they were after he 
 had become its acknowledged ornament. 
 His oratory had neither spring nor autumn. 
 His mind never seemed to have been youth- 
 ful. No one knew him as a mediocre 
 speaker ; it was difficult to believe that he 
 ever had been a boy. — Rae, William 
 Fraser, 1873, Wilkes, Sheridan, Fox; 
 The Opposition Under George the Third, 
 p. 423. 
 
 All his classicism was but a weapon to 
 smite with, or from which to forge the 
 links of those shining parentheses by which 
 he strangled an opponent. Nothing be- 
 yond or below the cool, considerate hu- 
 manities of the cultured, self-poised 
 gentleman (unless we except some rare 
 outbreak of petulance) belongs to this 
 great orator, who could thrust one 
 through with a rapier held by the best 
 rules of fence ; and who never did or could 
 say a word so warm as to touch a friend 
 or make an enemy forget his courtliness. 
 
 — Mitchell, Donald G., 1895, English 
 Lands Letters and Kings, Queen Anne 
 and the Georges, p. 194. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Of the letters thus printed in the course 
 of the present summer, we have had the 
 honour to receive a copy, and we feel no 
 hesitation in saying that— written though 
 many of them were, in the very height of 
 the session, or the utmost hurry of busi- 
 ness — they appear to us models in that 
 kind of composition. We can scarcely 
 praise them more highly than by saying 
 that they rival Lord Bolingbroke's cele- 
 brated diplomatic correspondence, of 
 which, as we know from other sources, Mr. 
 Pitt was a warm admirer. They never 
 strain at any of those rhetorical ornaments, 
 which, when real business is concerned, 
 become only obstructions, but are endowed 
 with a natural grace and dignity— a happ^ 
 choice of words, and a constant clearness 
 of thought. Although scarce ever divided 
 into paragraphs, they display neither con- 
 fusion, nor yet abrupt transition of sub- 
 jects, but flow on, as it were, in an even 
 and continuous stream. — Croker, John 
 Wilson, 1842, Correspondence Between 
 Mr. Pitt and the Duke of Rutland, Quar- 
 terly Review, vol. 70, p. 291. 
 
 If it is impossible now to read his private 
 letters, written in the darkest hours of 
 his official adversities, without a throbbing 
 of the heart at the calm fortitude and in- 
 domitable hopefulness of their tone, it 
 may be easily conceived how overpowering 
 was the influence of these qualities over 
 the minds of the small men, and the super- 
 ficial men, and the congenial men, and the 
 affectionate idolators, by whom he was 
 surrounded.— Martineau, Harriet, 1851, 
 History of England, A. D. 1800-1815, 
 p. 32. 
 
 Clara Keeve 
 
 1729-1807 
 
 Born at Ipswich, the daughter of the rector of Freston, translated Barclay's 
 *'Argenis" (1772), and wrote ''The Champion of Virtue, a Gothic Story" (1777), re- 
 named ''The Old English Baron," which was avowedly an imitation of Walpole's "Castle 
 of Otranto." She wrote four other novels and "The Progress of Romance" (1785). 
 — Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p. 782. 
 
 GENERAL probability? It is so probable, that any 
 
 Have you seen "The Old Baron," a trial for murder at the Old Bailey would 
 
 Gothic story, professedly written in imita- make a more interesting story. Mrs, 
 
 tion of Otranto, but reduced to reason and Barbauld's "Fragment" was excellent. 
 
512 
 
 REEVE— HOME 
 
 This is a caput mortuum. — Walpole, Hor- 
 ace, 1778, To Rev. William Mason, April 
 8 ; Letters J ed. Cunninghaitiy vol. vii, p. 51. 
 
 The yet unsated pleasure which I had 
 received from repeated perusals of the 
 English Baron," excited an affectionate 
 regard for its author, and solicitude for 
 her fame.— Anna, Seward, 1786, The 
 Gentleman's Magazine, vol. 56, pt. i, p. 16. 
 
 This romance ["The Old English Baron"] 
 is announced as an attempt to unite 
 the most attractive and interesting cir- 
 cumstances of the ancient romance, with 
 the incidents and feelings of real life. 
 The latter, however, are sometimes too 
 accurately represented, and the most im- 
 portant and heroic characters in the work 
 exhibit a natural anxiety about settle- 
 ments, stocking of farms, and household 
 furniture, which ill assimilates with the 
 gigantic and awful features of the ro- 
 mance. — DuNLOP, John, 1814-45, The 
 History of Fiction, p. 414. 
 
 The various novels of Clara Reeve are 
 all marked by excellent good sense, pure 
 morality, and a competent command of 
 those qualities which constitute a good 
 romance. They were, generally speaking, 
 favourably received at the time, but none 
 of them took the same strong possession 
 of the public mind as ''The Old English 
 Baron, ' ' upon which the fame of the author 
 may be considered as now exclusively 
 rested. . . . In no part of ''The Old 
 English Baron," or of any other of her 
 works, does Miss Reeve show the posses- 
 sion of a rich or powerful imagination. 
 Her dialogue is sensible, easy, and agree- 
 able, but neither marked by high flights 
 of fancy, nor strong bursts of passion. Her 
 apparition is an ordinary fiction, of which 
 popular superstition used to furnish a 
 thousand instances, when nights were long, 
 and a family,assembled around a Christmas 
 
 log, had little better to do than to listen 
 to such tales. Miss Reeve has been very 
 felicitously cautious in showing us no more 
 of Lord Lover s ghost than she needs must 
 — he is a silent apparition, palpable to the 
 sight only, and never brought forward into 
 such broad daylight as might have dis- 
 solved our reverence. And so far, we re- 
 peat, the authoress has used her own 
 power to the utmost advantage, and gained 
 her point by not attempting to step beyond 
 it. But we cannot allow that the rule 
 which, in her own case, has been well and 
 wisely adopted, ought to circumscribe a 
 bolder and a more imaginative writer. — 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 1821, Clara Reeve. 
 
 That the "Old English Baron" was only 
 seventy years ago esteemed by critics an 
 excellent work of fiction, and became very 
 popular, are facts that most forcibly de- 
 clare the advance made during the last two 
 generations in education and general intel- 
 ligence. — Jeaffreson, John Cord y, 1858, 
 Novels and Novelists, vol. I, p. 214. 
 
 As inWalpole's book [in the "Champion 
 of Virtue"], there are a murder and a 
 usurpation, a rightful heir defrauded of 
 his inheritance and reared as a peasant. 
 There are a haunted chamber, unearthly 
 midnight groans, a ghost in armor, and a 
 secret closet with its skeleton. The tale 
 is infinitely tiresome, and is full of that 
 edifying morality, fine sentiment and 
 stilted dialogue — that "old perfumed, 
 powdered D'Arblay conversation," as 
 Thackeray called it — which abound in 
 "Evelina," "Thaddeus of Warsaw," and 
 almost all the fiction of the last quarter 
 of the last century. Still it was a little 
 unkind in Walpole to pronounce his dis- 
 ciple's performance tedious and insipid, as 
 he did.— Beers, Henry A., 1898, A His- 
 tory of English Romanticism in the Eight- 
 eenth Century, p. 243. 
 
 John Home 
 
 1722-1808 
 
 Born, at Leith, 22 Sept. 1722. Educated at Leith Grammar School, and at Edin- 
 burgh Univ. Licensed Probationer of Presbyterian Church, 4 April 1745. Enlisted 
 as Volunteer during Rebellion of 1745-46. Minister of Athelstaneford, 11 Feb. 1747. 
 Tragedy "Agis" refused by Garrick, 1747. Tragedy "Douglas" refused by Garrick, 
 1755 ; performed in Edinburgh, 14 Dec. 1756 ; produced at Covent Garden, 14 March 
 1757. Pension of £100 from Princess of Wales, 1857. Returned to Scotland. In- 
 dicted by Presbytery ; resigned ministry, 7 June, 1757. Tutor to Prince of Wales, 
 1757. Sec. to Lord Bute, 1757. "Agis" produced by Garrick at Drury Lane, 21 
 
JOHN HOME 
 
 513 
 
 Feb. 1758. ''The Siege of Aquileia" produced at Drury Lane, 21 Feb. 1760. Pension 
 of £300 from George 111., 1760. Conservator to Scots Privileges at Campvere, Holland 
 (sinecure), 1763-70. ''The Fatal Discovery" produced at Drury Lane, 23 Feb. 1769. 
 Married Mary Home, 1770. "Alonzo" produced at Drury Lane, 27 Jan. 1773. To 
 Bath with Hume, April 1776; to Edinburgh with him, July 1776. "Alfred," produced, 
 at Drury Lane, 21 Jan. 1778. Enlisted in South Fusiliers, 1778. Died, at Murchiston, 
 5 Sept. 1808. Works: "Douglas" (anon.), 1757; "Agis" (anon.), 1758; "The Siege 
 of Aquileia" (anon.), 1760; "Dramatick Works," 1760; "The Fatal Discovery" 
 (anon.), 1769; "Alonzo" (anon.), 1773; "Alfred" (anon.), 1778; "The History of 
 the Rebellion in . . . 1745 " 1802. Collected Works: ed. by H. Mackenzie (3 
 vols.), 1822. Life: by H. Mackenzie, 1822.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A 
 Dictionary of English Authors, p. 185. 
 
 the old and invariable custom of his family. 
 David carried the discussion so far that on 
 his death-bed he added a codicil to his 
 will, written with his own hand, to this 
 effect: "I leave to my friend Mr. John 
 Home, of Kilduff, ten dozen of my old 
 claret at his choice ; and one other bottle 
 of that other liquor called port. I also 
 leave him six dozen of port, provided that 
 he attests, under his hand, signed John 
 Hume, that he has himself alone finished 
 that bottle at a sitting. By this conces- 
 sion he will at once terminate the only 
 difference that ever arose between us con- 
 cerning temporal matters. " It is to be in- 
 ferred that this is a joke which got into the 
 head'of one Scotchman without a surgical 
 operation. — • Hutton, Laurence, 1891, 
 Literary Landmarks of Edinburgh, p. 26. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 John Honie was an admirable companion, 
 and most acceptable to all strangers who 
 were not offended with the levities of a 
 young clergyman, for he was very hand- 
 some and had a fine person, about 5 feet 
 lOJ inches, and an agreeable, catching 
 address ; he had not much wit, and still less 
 humor, but he had so much sprightliness 
 and vivacity, and such an expression of 
 benevolence in his manner, and such an 
 unceasing flattery, of those he liked (and 
 he never kept company with anybody 
 else), —the kind commendations of a lover, 
 not the adulation of a sycophant, — that 
 he was truly irresistible, and his entry to a 
 company was like opening a window and 
 letting the sun into a dark room. — Car- 
 LYLS, Alexander, 1746-48-1860, Auto- 
 biography, p, 181. 
 
 His temper was of that warm susceptible 
 kind which is caught with the heroic and 
 the tender, and which is more fitted to de- 
 light in the world of sentiment than to 
 succeed in the bustle of ordinary life. 
 This is a disposition of mind well suited to 
 the poetical character, and, accordingly, 
 all his earliest companions agree that Mr. 
 Home was from his childhood delighted 
 with the lofty and heroic ideas which em- 
 body themselves in the description or nar- 
 rative of poetry. . . . Mr. Home's 
 favourite amusement was angling. — Mac- 
 kenzie, Henry, 1812-22, Account of the 
 Life of Mr. John Home, Home's Works, 
 vol. I, pp. 6, 31. 
 
 It is said that the only approaches to a 
 disagreement in the long and intimate 
 friendship existing between these "two 
 Humes" were regarding the relative 
 merits of claret and port, and in relation 
 to the spelling of their name, the philoso- 
 pher in early life having adopted the or- 
 thograhy indicated by the pronunciation, 
 the poet and preacher always clinging to 
 
 33C 
 
 Now he became part of Edinburgh 
 society. A welcome addition he proved, 
 with his hearty laugh, his unfailing good- 
 humour ; and he was happy once more in 
 the company of his old friends Hume and 
 Blair, Ferguson and Robertson. He and 
 Hume enjoyed a banter, and a favourite 
 subject was their names, which were pro- 
 nounced alike, and had been spelt the same 
 till the historian changed his paternal sur- 
 name of "Home to Hume". . . . Home's 
 exuberant praise of everybody and every- 
 thing was not empty flattery, but sheer 
 good-heartedness ; and evenhis vanity over 
 his achievements was likeable. — Graham, 
 Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish Men of Let- 
 ters in the Eighteenth Century, p. 73. 
 
 DOUGLAS 
 
 1754 
 
 On Wednesday, February the 2d, 1757, 
 the Presbytery of Glasgow came to the 
 following resolution. They having seen a 
 printed paper, intituled, "An admonition 
 and exhortation of the reverend Presby- 
 tery of Edinburgh;" which, among other 
 
514 
 
 JOHN HOME 
 
 evils'' prevailing, observing the following 
 
 melancholy" but notorious" facts: 
 that one who is a minister of the church 
 of Scotland did ''himself" write and com- 
 pose a ' ' stage-play, ' ' intituled, "The trag- 
 edy of Douglas" and got it to be acted at 
 the theatre of Edinburgh; and that he 
 with several other ministers of the church 
 were present; and ''some" of them 
 "oftener than once," at the acting of the 
 said play before a numerous audience. 
 The presbytery being "deeply affected" 
 with this new and strange appearance, do 
 publish these sentiments, &c. — Resolu- 
 tion BY THE Presbytery of Glasgow, 
 1757, DisraeWs Curiosities of Literature. 
 
 With great pleasure I have more than 
 once perused your tragedy. It is interest- 
 ing, affecting, pathetic.^ The story is 
 simple and natural ; but what chiefly de- 
 lights me, is to find the language so pure, 
 correct, and moderate. For God's sake, 
 read Shakespeare, but get Racine and 
 Sophocles by heart. It is reserved to you, 
 and you alone, to redeem our stage from 
 the reproach of barbarism. — Hume, David, 
 1756, Letter to John Home. 
 
 I can now^ give you the satisfaction 
 of hearing that the play, though not 
 near so well acted, in Covent Garden as 
 in this place, is likely to be very suc- 
 cessful. Its great intrinsic merit breaks 
 through all obstacles. When it shall be 
 printed (which shall be soon) I am per- 
 suaded it will be esteemed the best, and 
 by French critics the only tragedy of our 
 language. — Hume, David, 1757, Letter to 
 Adam Smith. 
 
 The extraordinary merits of this per- 
 formance, which is now become to Scotch- 
 men a subject of national pride. — Stew- 
 art, DuGALD, 1796-1801, Account of the 
 Life and Writings of William Robertson. 
 
 The "Douglas" of Home is not recom- 
 mended by his species of merit. In diction 
 and character it does not rise above other 
 productions of the period. But the in- 
 terest turns upon a passion which finds a 
 response in every bosom; for those who 
 are too old for love, and too young for 
 ambition, are all alike awake to the warmth 
 and purity of maternal and filial affection. 
 The scene of the recognition of Douglas's 
 birth possesses a power over the affec- 
 tions, which when supported by adequate 
 representation, is scarce equalled in the 
 circle of Drama. It is remarkable that 
 
 the ingenious author was so partial to this 
 theatrical situation, as to introduce it in 
 several of his other tragedies. — Scott, 
 Sir Walter, 1814-23, The Drama. 
 
 I think nobody can bestow too much 
 praise on "Douglas." There has been no 
 English tragedy worthy of the name since 
 it appeared.— Wilson, John, 1822, Noc- 
 tes Ambrosiance, April. 
 
 His great dramatic essay was a grievous 
 offence against the laws of his church, to 
 the practical duties of which he had 
 again surrendered himself. Had it not 
 been that Sarah Ward was willing to help 
 author and friends, even the reading of 
 "Douglas" would never have come off. 
 Sarah lent her sitting room in the Canon- 
 gate, to Home ; and Digges was present 
 and silent, for once, with Mrs. Ward, to 
 enact audience. The characters were 
 thus cast; and a fine group of intellectual 
 persons, sitting as they could best catch 
 the light, in an obscure room of the Can- 
 nongate, cannot well be imagined. Lord 
 Randolph (or Barnard, according to the 
 original cast) was read by Robertson; 
 Glenalvon, by the greater historian, David 
 Hume; Old Nerval, by the famous Dr. 
 Caryle, the minister of Musselburgh ; and 
 Douglas, by Home, in right of authorship. 
 Lady Randolph was allotted to Professor 
 Ferguson; and the part of Anna was 
 read by Dr. Blair, the minister of the High 
 Church, and author of the once popular 
 sermons ! But the Presbyteries of Edin- 
 burgh and Glasgow speedily denounced 
 author, play, dramatists, and dramas 
 generally, as instruments and children of 
 Satan; and excommunicated, not only 
 Home, but actors and audiences, and all 
 abettors and approvers ! The triumph of 
 the play compensated for every thing. 
 The nation confirmed the sentiment of the 
 critic in the pit, whose voice was heard in 
 the ovation of the first night, exultingly 
 exclaiming, "Weel, lads, what do ye think 
 o' Wully Shakspeare, noo?"— Doran, 
 John, 1863, Annals of the English Stage, 
 vol I, p. 414. 
 
 The indisputable merits of the play can- 
 not blind us to the fact that "Douglas" 
 is the child of "Merope."— Ward, A.W., 
 1878, Drama, Encyclopcedia Britannica, 
 Ninth edition, vol. vii. 
 
 All the dramatic capital of "Douglas" 
 is exhausted in telling a sentimental tale ; 
 for characters there are none. There is. 
 
JOHN HOME 
 
 515 
 
 it is true, some poetry in the piece ; but 
 it is poetry of a weak type, pretty, but not 
 beautiful, mildly interesting, but not rous- 
 ing with new and great thoughts. — Wal- 
 ker, Hugh, 1893, Three Centuries of Scot- 
 tish Literature, vol. ii, p. 111. 
 
 A sort of affection, mingled with con- 
 tempt, and connected with the universally 
 known "My name is Norval," keeps in 
 twilight rather than utter darkness the 
 once famous "Douglas" of Home. But it 
 is pretty certain that most audiences, and 
 almost all modern readers, would be 
 affected by it with the same sort of fou rire 
 as that which Thackeray, by a slight 
 anachronism, ascribes to General Lambert 
 and Mr. George Warrington at an early 
 performance of the play. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1898, A Short History of Eng- 
 lish Literature, p. 637. 
 
 "Douglas" was successful — though it 
 only ran a usual nine nights at first. On 
 the third night the Duke of Cumberland 
 handed twenty guineas to the elated 
 author, his pride not objecting to take 
 what an author out-at-elbows would 
 blush now to have offered. Society found 
 a charm about the play which struck a 
 finer note than the turgid dramas which 
 were fashionable at that time ; there were 
 true touches of nature, a chord of human 
 tragedy, a vein of poetry, which, though 
 the play does not appeal strongly to us 
 to-day, made it, by contrast with the 
 bombast and fustian then in vogue, deserv- 
 ing of the honour it won. The fastidious 
 Mr. Gray wrote to his friend Horace Wal- 
 pole that the author of ' ' Douglas' ' * ' seems 
 to have retrieved the true language of the 
 stage, which has been lost for a hundred 
 years, and there is one scene (between 
 Lady Randolph and the stranger) so 
 masterly that it strikes one blind to all 
 its defects." It was played with success 
 in Ireland; and Thomas Sheridan, the 
 manager, munificiently sent from Dublin a 
 gold medal — worth £10 — as a mark of ad- 
 miration of the author. This Dr. Johnson 
 stigmatised in his sweeping way not merely 
 as a piece of impudence, but as an act of 
 folly in rewarding a play "without ten 
 good lines." English praise was high, 
 but the enthusiasm of Scotsmen was bound- 
 less. The drama was proclaimed "the 
 first of English tragedies" — though really 
 and chronologically it was only the first 
 of Scottish tragedies. The delighted 
 
 dramatist absorbed the flattery and be- 
 lieved it all. He had not that modest self- 
 estimate shown by Dr. Samuel Johnson, 
 who, when he was informed that young 
 Mr. Pott, the poet, had pronounced 
 "Irene" "the finest tragedy of modern 
 days," growled out, "If Pott says so, 
 Pott lies." — Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, 
 Scottish Men of Letters in the Eighteenth 
 Century, p. 67. 
 
 The literary merits are not so apparent 
 to modern readers as they were to his 
 contemporaries, but which had its own 
 literary importance as a precursor of the 
 romantic revival which was ere long to 
 make itself more distinctly felt. . . . 
 The excellence, as literature, of Home's 
 tragedy has not been accepted by poster- 
 ity ; and its importance as an instrument 
 in affecting thought may well be doubted. 
 — Craik, Sir Henry, 1901, A Century' 
 of Scottish History, vol. I, pp. 438, 442. 
 
 GENERAL 
 Let them with Home, the very prince of 
 verse, 
 
 Make something like a tragedy in Erse . 
 —Churchill, Charles, 1764, The Journey. 
 
 Mr. Home, author of the tragedy of 
 "Douglas," is also to be numbered in the 
 list of Scotish song writers ; but it must 
 be confessed that '"'The Banks of the Dee" 
 has lost much of its popularity, though 
 surely nothing of its merit, since the 
 "valiant Jemmy" failed to "quell the 
 proud rebels." That Jemmy's ghost now 
 wanders on those banks, instead of his 
 person, might be no improper or unpathetic 
 subject for a second part. — Ritson, 
 Joseph, 1794-1869, An Historical Essay 
 on Scotish Song, p. 70. 
 
 Home's other tragedies are all very in- 
 different, — most of them, quite bad. Mr. 
 Mackenzie should not have disturbed their 
 slumbers. — Wilson, John, 1822, Nodes 
 Ambrosiance, April. 
 
 The work of Home was not entirely such 
 as might have been expected from one 
 who was not only an actor in the scene, but 
 the author of a tragedy like "Douglas," 
 elegant enough to have pleased on the 
 French stage, and yet affecting enough to 
 succeed on ours. The "History of the 
 Rebellion" was a work which had been 
 meditated so long, that it was delivered to 
 the world too late, — when the writer was 
 no longer what he once was. But I recom- 
 mend it to your perusal, because it has all 
 
516 
 
 HOME—HURD 
 
 the marks of authenticity; possesses, I 
 think, more merit than is generally sup- 
 posed ; treats of a very remarkable event 
 in our history; and is, after all, entertain- 
 ing, and not long. — Smyth, William, 1839, 
 Lectures on Modern History, Lec. xxviii. 
 
 So much of the flavour of Home's work 
 has evaporated that the reader of the 
 present day almost inevitably asks what is 
 the secret of the extraordinary popularity 
 he enjoyed in his own time. As far as 
 Scotland is concerned, the explanation 
 might be supposed to lie, and no doubt did 
 in part lie, in the feeling of patriotism. 
 Home was the representative Scot of 
 literature, and the honour of his country 
 was bound up with his. But he was 
 scarcely less warmly received in England ; 
 and a Scot living in England under the 
 Bute administration was not the person to 
 arouse a prejudice in favour of himself. 
 The explanation of the popularity must 
 therefore be sought within Home's writ- 
 ings, and not in external circumstances. 
 It was probably due to the fact that his 
 dramas appeal to sentiment ; and thus, in 
 an age when the appeal to reason had been 
 somewhat overdone, they caught the fancy 
 of the multitude. So long as the love of 
 melodrama survives, and it is perennial, 
 work such as Home's is sure of a tempo- 
 rary popularity. . . . Home was a man 
 who could harp with success upon one 
 string; but he could do nothing more. 
 However foreign it might be to his plot, 
 he must either enlist the spirit of senti- 
 ment or fail. To the true heroic he could 
 
 not rise. He had glimmerings of it in his 
 soul, his heart warmed to it, but he could 
 not express it. Now that the glitter of 
 novelty is gone, it is easy to see that a 
 niggard nature had denied him the wreath 
 of the vates sacer. Johnson, whose scorn- 
 ful disbelief in Home is well known, 
 though he expressed his opinion in ex- 
 aggerated language, was essentially right. 
 But a literary reputation is rarely achieved 
 without some more or less real foundation ; 
 and Home's power was real within the 
 limits of sentiment. He was master of 
 a kind of pathos cognate to, yet different 
 from, that of ' * East Lynne. ' ' He could at 
 least make a martial figure stalk with a 
 gallant bearing across the stage, and he 
 could fill his mouth with sounding phrases. 
 It ought in justice to be added that he 
 has occasional lines of a high order. — 
 Walker, Hugh, 1893, Three Centuries 
 of Scottish Literature, vol. ii, pp. 109, 113. 
 
 No mortal now can go over any of 
 Home's laborious tragedies except Doug- 
 las ;" and one may apply to them the ver- 
 dict which the Marquis of Wellesley passed 
 on Dr. Johnson's Latin verses — ''All of 
 them are bad, but some of them are worse 
 than others." We need not, however, 
 superciliously laugh at Home's defunct 
 tragedies, for they admirably suited the 
 taste of the age. All dramatists gave the 
 same sort of produce for the stage, and 
 society, strange to say, admired it. — • 
 Graham, Henry Grey, 1901, Scottish 
 Men of Letters in the Eighteenth Century, 
 p. 69. 
 
 Richard Hurd 
 
 1720-1808 
 
 Prelate and writer, named the *' Beauty of Holiness" on account of his comeliness 
 and piety, was born at Congreve, Staffordshire, January 13, 1720, and became a fellow 
 of Emmanuel College, Cambridge, in 1742. In 1750 he became a Whitehall preacher, 
 in 1774 Bishop of Lichfield and Coventry, and in 1781 of Worcester. He died May 
 28, 1808. Among his works are ''Commentary on Horace's Ars Poetica" (1749) ; 
 "Dissertations on Poetry" (1755-57) ; "Dialogues on Sincerity, &c." (1759), his most 
 popular book; "Letters on Chivalry and Romance" (1762); "Dialogues on Foreign 
 Travel" (1764); and "An Introduction to the Prophecies" (1722). See Hurd's 
 Works (8 vols. 1811) and "Memoir" by Kilvert (I860).— Patrick and Groome, eds., 
 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p. 514. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 He is grown pure and plump, just of the 
 proper breadth for a celebrated town- 
 preacher. — Gray, Thomas, 1765, To Rev. 
 William Mason ; Letters, ed. Gosse, vol. ni, 
 p. 224. 
 
 Of Dr. Hurd, Bishop of Worcester, 
 Johnson said to a friend, "Hurd, Sir, is 
 one of a set of men who account for every 
 thing systematically ; for instance, it has 
 been a fashion to wear scarlet breeches ; 
 these men would tell you, that according 
 
RICHARD HURD 
 
 517 
 
 to causes and effects, no other wear could 
 at that time have been chosen.'' He, 
 however, said of him at another time to 
 the same gentleman, **Hurd, Sir, is a man 
 whose acquaintance is a valuable acquisi- 
 tion."— Johnson, Samuel, 1783, Life by 
 Boswelly ed. Hill, vol. IV, p. 219. 
 
 His appearance and air are dignified, 
 placid, grave, and mild, but cold and rather 
 distancing. He is extremely well-bred 
 nevertheless. . . . Piety and goodness 
 are so marked on his countenance, which 
 is truly a fine one, that he has been named, 
 and very justly, ' ' The Beauty of Holiness. ' ' 
 Indeed, in face, manner, demeanour, and 
 conversation, he seems precisely what a 
 bishop should be, and what would make a 
 looker-on, were he not a Bishop, and a see 
 vacant, call out, — take Dr. Hurd! that is 
 the man! — D'Arblay, Madame (Fanny 
 Burney), 1786-7, Diary, Dec. 23, Jan. 2. 
 
 Hurd had acquired a great name by 
 several works of slender merit, was a 
 gentle plausible man, affecting a singular 
 decorum that endeared him highly to 
 devout old ladies. — Walpole, Horace, 
 1797, Journal of the Reign of King George 
 the Third. 
 
 Let me be allowed to boast that, from 
 the commencement of my typographic life 
 to the day of his death, I had the honour 
 of uninterruptedly enjoying his Lordship's 
 patronage. ... I had often the 
 satisfaction of attending this good prelate 
 officially, when he was only Mr. Hurd, in 
 the business of his various learned works ; 
 and uniformly experienced the same grati- 
 fying affability, which was not lessened by 
 the progressive dignities to which he was 
 advanced. After Dr. Hurd became a 
 Bishop, I have frequently been honoured 
 with an invitation to his hospitable din- 
 ners, with a very small but select party of 
 his Lordship's friends, when the culinary 
 feast, neatly elegant as it always was, 
 formed the least part of the treat. The 
 rich stores of a capacious and highly- 
 cultivated mind were opened with the ut- 
 most placidity of manner, and were a 
 never-failing source of instruction and 
 delight. — Nichols, John, 1812, Literary 
 Anecdotes, vol. vi, p. 600. 
 
 Hurd was a man of strict integrity, and 
 very kind to those of whom he approved ; 
 but he was distant and lofty, and not at 
 all admired by those who did not estimate 
 him in a literary capacity. Indeed he paid 
 
 no attention to them ; for in one of his 
 letters to Warburton he made use of a 
 common phrase of his, '*I am here per- 
 fectly quiet, for I have delightfully bad 
 T-oads about me." — Cradock, Joseph, 
 1826-28, Memoirs. 
 
 In person. Bishop Hurd was below the 
 middle size, of slight make, but well pro- 
 portioned, his features not marked, but 
 regular and pleasing, and his whole aspect 
 intelligent, thoughtful, and in later life 
 venerable. This idea is fully conveyed in 
 the portraits of him extant, by Gains- 
 borough and others. Although he reached 
 so advanced an age, his health seems never 
 to have been good ; and, notwithstanding 
 his temperate and abstemious mode of 
 living, we find in his letters frequent com- 
 plaints of his suffering from attacks of 
 gout, dizziness, and lowness of spirits, as 
 well as of languor and indolence arising 
 from these causes. . . . His moral 
 character was distinguished by undeviating 
 integrity, and exact propriety, arising 
 horn principle, rather than from sentiment. 
 It was said of him by an unfriendly judge, 
 that he was ''a cold, correct, gentleman," 
 each word being intended as emphatic; 
 and, with due allowance for the quarter 
 from whence it came, this judgment seems 
 not destitute of truth. Another jocularly 
 called him "an old maid in breeches," a 
 sarcasm which, though it attributes to 
 him, perhaps not unjustly, some share of 
 primness and precision, bears testimony 
 to the scrupulous correctness of his char- 
 acter. This constitution of mind, whilst 
 it rendered him less generally amiable, 
 exempted him from many of the tempta- 
 tions to which warmer tempers are ex- 
 posed. ... As a Preacher, his manner 
 was calm, dignified, and impressive. His 
 discourses, though not marked by force 
 and energy, had yet a mild persuasiveness, 
 and a tone of gentle insinuation, which, 
 joined to frequent originality of thought, 
 and constant exactness of methud, pecul- 
 iarly recommended him to his cultivated 
 and refined audience at Lincoln's Inn. — ■ 
 KiLVERT, Francis, 1860, Memoirs of the 
 Life and Writings of the Right Rev. Rich- 
 ard Hurd, pp. 194, 197, 201. 
 
 Hurd was a man who, having many 
 qualities that obtain respect, and none that 
 attach regard, has been more hardly 
 treated by the biographers than he de- 
 served to be. That he provoked a peculiar 
 
518 
 
 RICHARD HURD 
 
 animosity among his contemporaries may 
 well be understood. For if men ill 
 brooked the domineering arrogance of 
 Warburton, they were little likely to 
 tolerate the irritable superciliousness of 
 War burton's toady. The "terse, neat, 
 little, thin man," as one of his college 
 contemporaries describes him, was sadly 
 deficient in the warmth and geniality which 
 the impetuous and choleric Warburton 
 possessed in excess. This contrast of 
 character promoted the intimacy which 
 sprang up between the two. — Pattison, 
 Mark, 1863-89, Life of Bishop Warbur- 
 toUy Essays, ed. Nettleship, vol. ii, p. 145. 
 
 The Bishop of Worcester, chiefly from 
 his connection with Warburton, enjoyed 
 high reputation in his day, but he was 
 emphatically an over-estimated man, and 
 though his manners were courtly and dig- 
 nified in the presence of royalty, they were 
 extremely cold and proud to those whom he 
 considered his inferiors. Some literary 
 claims indeed may fairly be allowed him. 
 His discourses on Prophecy" are still 
 known and valued. — Perry, George G., 
 1864, The History of the Church of Eng- 
 land, vol. Ill, p. 445. 
 
 Hurd is a man for whom, though he has 
 attracted a recent biographer, animated 
 by the ordinary biographer's enthusiasm, 
 it is difficult to find a good word. He was 
 a typical specimen of the offensive variety 
 of University don ; narrow-minded, formal, 
 peevish, cold-blooded, and intolerably con- 
 ceited. As Johnson said of Hermes" 
 Harris, he was ''a prig, and a bad prig." 
 Even Warburton, it is said, could never 
 talk to him freely. In his country vicar- ' 
 age he saw nobody, kept his curate at 
 arm's length, and never gave an entertain- 
 ment except on one occasion, when War- 
 burton, who was staying with him, rebelled 
 against the intolerable solitude. As a 
 bishop, he never drove a quarter of a mile 
 without his episcopal coach and his 
 servants in full liveries. His elevation 
 to the bench was justified by his fame — 
 for which there are, perhaps, some 
 grounds— as an elegant writer of Addi- 
 sonian English and a good critic of Horace. 
 — Stephen, Leslie, 1876, History of 
 English Thought in the Eighteenth Century, 
 vol. I, p. 348. 
 
 GENERAL 
 It is a pleasure to have anybody one 
 esteems agree with one's own sentiments, 
 
 as you do strongly with mine about Mr. 
 Hurd. It is impossible not to own that 
 he has sense and great knowledge — but 
 sure he is a most disagreeable writer! 
 He loads his thoughts with so many words, 
 and those couched in so hard a style, and 
 so void of all veracity, that I have no 
 patience to read him. In one point, in the 
 "Dialogues" you mention, he is perfectly 
 ridiculous. He takes infinite pains to 
 make the world believe, upon his word, 
 that they are the genuine productions of 
 the speakers, and yet does not give himself 
 the least trouble to counterfeit the style 
 of any one of them. — Walpole, Horace, 
 1760, To Rev. Henry Zouch, Feb. 4 ; Letters, 
 ed. Cunningham, vol. iii, p. 289. 
 
 I have now seen the whole of the Let- 
 ter on Chivalry," and am wonderfully 
 taken with them. . . . They cannot but 
 please all persons of taste, greatly. They 
 are the petit-piece to that noble work, 
 
 The Dialogues." . . . In which there 
 is all the correctness of Addison's style, 
 and a strength of reasoning, under the 
 direction of judgment far superior. — 
 Warburton, William, 1762-70, Letters 
 from a Late Eminent Prelate, Letters, civ, 
 ccxxviii. 
 
 In this interval, I published at London 
 my Natural History of Religion," along 
 with some other small pieces : its public 
 entry was rather obscure, except only that 
 Dr. Hurd wrote a pamphlet against it, with 
 all the illiberal petulance, arrogance, and 
 scurrility, which distinguish the Warbur- 
 tonian school. This pamphlet gave me 
 some consolation for the otherwise in- 
 different reception of my performance. — ■ 
 Hume, David, 1776, My Own Life, p. 21. 
 
 To grapple with the unwieldy was among 
 the frolics of Warburton, whilst your Lord- 
 ship toiled in chasing the subtle. He 
 often darkened the subject, and you per- 
 plexed it. He, by the boldness and magni- 
 tude of his conceptions, overwhelmed our 
 minds with astonishment, and you, by the 
 singularity and nicety of your quibbles, 
 benumbed them with surprize. In him, 
 we find our intellectual powers expanded 
 and invigorated by the full and vivid rep- 
 resentation which he sometime^ holds up, 
 both of common and uncommon objects, 
 while you, my Lord, contrive to cramp and 
 to cripple them by all the tedious formali- 
 ties of minute and scrupulous analysis. 
 He scorned every appearance of soothing 
 
RICHARD HURD 
 
 519 
 
 the reader into attention, and you failed 
 in almost every attempt to decoy him into 
 conviction. He instructed, even where 
 he did not persuade, and you, by your 
 petulant and contemptuous gibes, dis- 
 gusted every man of sense, whom you 
 might otherwise have amused by your 
 curious and showy conceits. — Parr, Sam- 
 uel, 1789, Tracts by Warburton and a 
 Warburtoniarij Dedication. 
 
 The assassination of Jortin by Dr. Hurd, 
 now Bishop of Worcester (see the Deli- 
 cacy of Friendship"), is a base and malig- 
 nant act, which cannot be erazed by time 
 or expiated by secret pennance. — Gibbon, 
 Edward, 1793, Autobiography^ p. 304, 
 note. 
 
 Bishop Hurd, with the hand of a master, 
 has opened the general View of the sub- 
 ject of prophecy, and freed it from the 
 intricacies of speculation, and shewn its 
 time, nature, end, and intent. — Mathias, 
 Thomas James, 1797, The Pursuits of 
 Literature^ Eighth ed., p. 204. 
 
 The most distinguished of our philo- 
 sophical critics.— Drake, Nathan, 1804, 
 Essays Illustrative of the Tatler^ Spectator, 
 and Guardian, vol. n, p. 145. 
 
 His Horace, his "Dialogues," and three 
 volumes of ''Sermons," with a ''Life of 
 Bishop Warburton," are the principal 
 works he left behind him, for as to the 
 *' Delicacy of Friendship," it has been 
 dragged into notice without his consent, 
 and in all probability contrary to his 
 wishes. His merit as a writer has been 
 variously estimated, and literary men 
 have gone into opposite extremes. It 
 must be acknowledged that his veneration 
 for the author of the "Divine Legation" 
 seduced him into excessive panegyric, both 
 of the work itself and of the author, and 
 caused him to depreciate the merits and 
 labours of all who had the fortune to 
 differ in their opinions. With much in- 
 genuity in criticism, there will be discov- 
 ered some unecessary refinement, and, in 
 this instance, the character of the two 
 prelates will descend to posterity as per- 
 fectly congenial. — Brydges, Sir Samuel 
 Egerton, 1808, Censura Liter aria, vol. 
 VIII, p. 224. 
 
 Subtle and sophistical, elegant, but 
 never forcible, his heart was cold, though 
 his admiration was excessive. He wanted 
 that power of real genius, which is capable 
 
 of being fired by the contemplation of ex- 
 cellence, till it partakes of the heat and 
 flame of its object. On the other hand, 
 he wanted nothing of that malignity which 
 is incident to the coolest tempers, of that 
 cruel and anatomical faculty, which, in 
 dissecting the characters of an antagonist, 
 can lay bare, with professional indiffer- 
 ence, the quivering fibres of an agonized 
 victim. For this purpose his instrument 
 was irony; and few practitioners have 
 ever adopted that or any other, more un- 
 feelingly than did the biographer of War- 
 burton, even when the ground of complaint 
 was almost imperceptible, as in the cases 
 of Leland and Jortin.— Whitaker, T. D., 
 1812, Hurd's Edition of Bishop Warbur- 
 ton's Works, Quarterly Review, vol. 7, 
 p. 385. 
 
 Then Hurd, the future shield, scarcely 
 the sword of Warburton, made his first 
 sally; a dapper, subtle, and cold-blooded 
 champion, who could dexterously turn 
 about the polished weapon of irony. — 
 Disraeli, Isaac, 1814, Warburton, Quar- 
 rels of Authors. 
 
 This elegantly-written and learned 
 volume ["Prophecies"] has long been 
 known and duly appreciated by the public. 
 The subject is here opened in the most 
 masterly and instructive manner by Bishop 
 Hurd. — HoRNE, Thomas Hartwell, 1818- 
 39, A Manual of Biblical Bibliography. 
 
 Never were my humble expectations 
 more miserably disappointed [ed. Addi- 
 son]. It seemed to me as a sad "potatoe- 
 roasting" performance from such a 
 quarter. — Dibdin, Thomas Frognall, 
 1824, The Library Companion, p. 605, 
 note. 
 
 Hurd has, perhaps, the merit of being the 
 first who in this country aimed at philo- 
 sophical criticism : he had great ingenuity, 
 a good deal of reading, and a facility in 
 applying it; but he did not feel very 
 deeply, was somewhat of a coxcom.b, and 
 having always before his eyes a model 
 neither good in itself nor made for him to 
 emulate, he assumes a dogmatic arrogance, 
 which, as it always offends the reader, so 
 far the most part stands in the way of the 
 author's own search for truth. — Hallam, 
 Henry, 1837-39, Introduction to the Lit- 
 erature of Europe, pt. iv, ch. v, par. 26, 
 note. 
 
 An upright and scholarly, but formal 
 
520 
 
 HURD—PORSON 
 
 and censorious man, whom Johnson called 
 a ''word-picker," and franker contempo- 
 raries ''an old maid in breeches." — Dob- 
 son, Austin, 1883, Fielding (English 
 Men of Letters), p. 141, note. 
 
 Hurd was a cold and "correct" writer, 
 no less arrogant than his master, little 
 less learned, and if anything even more 
 vapid and perverted as a would-be leader 
 of literary taste ; in style he seems a kind 
 of ice-bound Addison.— GossE, Edmund, 
 1888, A History of Eighteenth Century Lit- 
 erature, p. 281. 
 
 He is best known to the present genera- 
 tion by his impertinent notes on Addison's 
 * ' Works. ' ' By reprinting them, Mr. Bohn 
 did much to spoil what was otherwise an 
 excellent edition of that author. — Hill, 
 George Birkbeck, 1891, BoswelVs Life 
 of Johnson^ vol. iv, p. 219. 
 
 We must regard Hurd as a strong influ- 
 ence. (1) He was a follower of the War- 
 ton school of criticism, and spoke much 
 more boldly and decisively than Warton 
 for Romantic tastes. (2) Besides helping 
 in the general movement, he joined the 
 Wartons in dethroning Pope by exalting 
 the imaginative poets. (3) He came just 
 at the time to accelerate the speed of the 
 Romantic movement. Kurd's learning 
 and authoritative position counted for 
 much ; and the emphasis with which he 
 spoke is remarkable, coming so early as 
 1762. The critical judgments on poetry 
 made by Matthew Arnold are really a 
 simple re-statement of what Joseph War- 
 ton and Hurd laid down a hundred years 
 before. — Phelps, William Lyon, 1893, 
 The Beginnings of the English Romantic 
 Movement, p. 115. 
 
 Richard Person 
 
 1759-1808. 
 
 Born, at East Ruston, Norfolk, 25 Dec. 1759. Early education at village schools, 
 and by the curate of the parish. At Eton, Aug. 1774 to 1778. To Trin. Coll., Camb., 
 Oct. 1778; Scholar, 1780; Craven Scholar, 1781; B A., 1782; Chancellor's Prize 
 Medal, 1782; Fellow of Trin. Coll., 1782; M. A., 1785. Obliged to give up Fellow- 
 ship, owing to his not having taken holy orders, July 1792. Annuity purchased for 
 him by his friends. Settled in rooms in the Temple, 1792. Regius Prof, of Greek, 
 Cambridge, Nov. 1792. Continued to reside in London. Pursued classical studies. 
 Contrib. to "Maty's Review," "Gentleman's Mag." "Monthly Review," "Morning 
 Chronicle," etc. Married Mrs. Lunan, Nov. 1796; she died, 12 April 1797. Prin- 
 cipal Librarian of newly-founded London Institution, April 1806. Died, in London, 
 25 Sept. 1808. Buried in chapel of Trin. College, Cambridge. Works: "Letters to 
 Mr. Archdeacon Travis" (from "Gentleman's Mag."), 1790; Edition of Toup's 
 "Emendationes in Suidam," 1790; Edition (anon.) of ^schylus, 1794; Editions of 
 Euripides' "Hecuba," 1797, "Orestes," 1798, "Phoeniss^," 1799, and "Medea," 
 1801 ; Edition of Homer's "Iliad" and "Odyssey" (with Grenville and others), 1800. 
 Posthumous'- "Ricardi Porsoni Adversaria," ed. by J. H. Monk and C. J. Blomfield, 
 1812; "Tracts and Miscellaneous Criticisms," ed. by T. Kidd, 1815; "Aristo- 
 phanica," ed. by P. P. Dobree, 1820; Edition of the "Lexicon of Photius," ed. by 
 P. P. Dobree (2 vols.), 1822; "The Devil's Walk," ed. by H. W. Montagu [1830]; 
 "Correspondence," ed. by H. R. Luard, 1867.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A 
 Dictionary of English Authors, p. 230. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I have been furnished with many oppor- 
 tunities of observing Porson, by a near 
 inspection. He has been at my house 
 several times, and once for an entire 
 summer's day. Our intercourse would 
 have been frequent, but for three reasons : 
 
 1. His extreme irregularity, and inat- 
 tention to times and seasons, which did 
 not at all comport with the methodical 
 arrangement of my time and family. 
 
 2. His gross addiction to that lowest 
 
 and least excusable of all sensualities, im- 
 moderate drinking. And, 3. The unin- 
 teresting insipidity of his society ; as it 
 is impossible to engage his mind on any 
 topic of mutual inquiry, to procure his 
 opinion on any author of any passage of 
 an author, or to elicit any conversation 
 of any kind to compensate for the time 
 and attendance of his company. And as 
 for Homer, Virgil, and Horace, I never 
 could hear of the least critical effort on 
 them in his life. He is, in general, devoid 
 
RICHARD PORSON 
 
 521 
 
 of all human affections ; but such as are 
 of the misanthropic quality; nor do I 
 think that any man exists for whom his 
 propensities rise to the lowest pitch of 
 affection and esteem. — Wakefield, Gil- 
 bert, 1801?-1813, Correspondence with 
 a J. Fox, p. 99. 
 
 Two famous men of a preceding gener- 
 ation, Porson, the Grecian and Simeon, 
 the Methodist, came within my sight, but 
 nothing more, while I was at the univer- 
 sity. They were both remarkable for 
 their appearance, and on that account 
 their portraits are still, as it were, before 
 me in the mind's eye. Porson, when I 
 saw him, was in cap and gown, a thin 
 milddle-sized figure, with lank black 
 hair and cheeks' of the palest cast. He 
 walked at a stealthy pace, and seemed to 
 have a book which he hugged parentally 
 under his arm. — Canning, Stratford 
 (Stratford de Redcliffe), 1806-80-88, 
 Life, ed. Lane-Poole, vol. i, p. 25. 
 
 In giving a relation of the facts con- 
 cerning the illness of Mr. Porson, I can- 
 not let the opportunity escape me, our 
 official situations bringing us a good deal 
 together, of lamenting in common with 
 his most intimate friends, the loss of so 
 pleasing and so valuable an acquaintance ; 
 for to the most gigantic powers of learn- 
 ing and criticism were united the manners 
 of a gentleman, and the inoffensive habits 
 of a child ; and I am sorry to have occasion 
 to observe, in concluding this narrative, 
 that, especially since the . Professor's 
 decease, there should be found persons, 
 who have used no common industry in 
 representing his failings in such pointed 
 terms, as totally to shade the numerous 
 good qualities which were inherent in his 
 nature ; so that it cannot but be remarked 
 with pity, that those persons should be de- 
 ficient in one of those excellent qualities, 
 which he possessed in an eminent degree, 
 never speaking ill of any one. — Savage, 
 James, 1808, The Librarian, Dec. 1, vol. 
 I, p. 281. 
 
 Porson had a very lofty mind, and was 
 tenacious of his proper dignity. Where 
 he was familiar and intimate, he was ex- 
 ceedingly condescendingand good-natured. 
 He was kind to children, and would often 
 play with them, but he was at no pains to 
 conceal his partiality, where there were 
 several in one family. In one which he 
 often visited, there was a. little girl of 
 
 whom he was exceedingly fond ; he often 
 brought her trifling presents, wrote in 
 her books, and distinguished her on every 
 occasion, but she had a brother to whom, 
 for no assignable reason, he never spoke, 
 nor would in any respect, notice. He was 
 also fond of female society, and though 
 too frequently negligent of his person, 
 was of the most obliging manners and be- 
 haviour, and would read a play, or recite, 
 or do any thing that was required. . . . 
 Much has been said of his irregularities. — 
 That odious theme is left to others. With 
 all his errors and eccentricities he who 
 wrote this, loved him much, bowed with 
 reverence to his talents, and admiration to 
 his learning, and acknowledged with 
 gratitude the delight and benefit he re- 
 ceived from his society and conversation. 
 Yet Porson by no means excelled in con- 
 versation; he neither wrote nor spoke 
 with facility. His elocution was perplexed 
 and embarrassed, except where he was 
 exceedingly intimate; but there was 
 strong indication of intellect in his coun- 
 tenance, and whatever he said was mani- 
 festly founded on judgment, sense, and 
 knowledge. Composition was no less 
 difficult to him. Upon one occasion, he 
 undertook to write a dozen lines upon a 
 subject which he had much turned in his 
 mind, and with which he was exceedingly 
 familiar. But the number of erasures and 
 interlineations was so great as to render 
 it hardly legible; yet, when completed, 
 it was, and is, a memorial of his sagacity, 
 acuteness, and erudition. ^ — Beloe, Wil- 
 liam, 1817, The Sexagenarian, vol. 1, 
 pp. 217, 218. 
 
 I remember to have seen Porson at 
 Cambridge, in the hall of our college, and 
 in private parties, but not frequently ; and 
 I never can recollect him except as drunk 
 and brutal, and generally both ; I mean in 
 an evening, for in the hall he dined at 
 the Dean's table, and I at the Vice-master's, 
 so that I w^as not near him ; and he then 
 and there appeared sober in his demeanour, 
 nor did I ever hear of excess or outrage 
 on his part in public,— commons, college, 
 or chapel; but I have seen him in a 
 private party of undergraduates, many of 
 them freshmen and strangers, take up a 
 poker to one of them, and heard him use 
 language as blackguard as his action. I 
 have seen Sheridan drunk, too, with all 
 the world ; but his intoxication was that 
 
522 
 
 RICHARD PORSON 
 
 of Bacchus, and Porson^s that of Silenus. 
 Of all the disgusting brutes, sulky, 
 abusive, and intolerable, Porson was the 
 most bestial, as far as the few times that 
 I saw him went, which were only at Wil- 
 liam Bankes's (the Nubian discoverer's) 
 rooms. I saw him once go away in a rage, 
 because nobody knew the name of the 
 ''Cobbler of Messina," insulting their 
 ignorance with the most vulgar terms of 
 reprobation. He was tolerated in this 
 state amongst the young men for his 
 talents, as the Turks think a madman in- 
 spired, and bear with him. He used to 
 recite, or rather vomit, pages of all lan- 
 guages, and could hiccup Greek like a 
 Helot ; and certainly Sparta never shocked 
 her children with a grosser exhibition than 
 this man's intoxication. — Byron, Lord, 
 1818, Letter to Mr. Murray, Feb, 20 ; Life, 
 Letters and JournalSy ed. Moore, p. 374. 
 
 The Fieldings to dinner. Talked of 
 Porson ; one of his scherzi, the translation 
 of "Three blue beans in a blue bladder;" 
 T/oet? Kvayol Kva/xol &c. The coolness with 
 which he received the intelligence (which 
 Raine trembled to communicate to him) 
 of the destruction by fire of his long 
 laboured ''Photius," he merely quoted 
 "To each his sufferings, all are men," 
 adding, "let us speak no more on the sub- 
 ject," and the next day patiently begun 
 his work all again. — Moore, Thomas, 
 1827, Diary, Sept. 12; Memoirs, Journal 
 and Correspondence, vol. v, p. 203. 
 
 I was at first greatly struck with the 
 acuteness of his understanding and his 
 multifarious acquaintance with every 
 branch of polite literature and classical 
 attainments. I also found him extremely 
 modest and humble, and not vain-glorious 
 of his astonishing erudition and capacity. 
 I was not less struck with his memory. 
 Taking tea one afternoon in his company 
 at Dockerell's coffee-house, I read a pam- 
 phlet written by Ritson against Tom 
 Warton. I was pleased with the work, 
 and after I had read it I gave it to Porson, 
 who began it, and I left him perusing it, 
 On the ensuing day he drank tea with me, 
 with several other friends, and the con- 
 versation happened to turn on Ritson's 
 pamphlet. 1 alluded to one particular 
 part about Shakspeare, which had greatly 
 interested me, adding, to those who had 
 not read it, "I wish I could convey to you 
 a specific idea of the remainder." Porson 
 
 repeated a page and a half, word for word. 
 I expressed my surprise and said, "I sup- 
 pose you studied the whole evening at the 
 coffee-house and got it by heart ?" " Not 
 at all ; I do assure you that I only read it 
 once." — CoxE, William, 1828? Life and 
 Posthumous Works. 
 
 There is one quality of the mind in 
 which it may be confidently maintained 
 that Mr. Porson had no superior— I mean, 
 the most pure and inflexible love of truth. 
 Under the influence of this principle, he 
 was cautious, and patient, and persever- 
 ing in his researches; and scrupulously 
 accurate in stating facts as he found 
 them. All who were intimate with him 
 bear witness to this noble part of his 
 character, and his works confirm the testi- 
 mony of his friends. — TuRTON, Thomas, 
 1829, A Vindication of the Literary Char- 
 acter of the Late Professor Porson, by 
 Crito Cantabrigiensis. 
 
 His head was remarkably fine ; an ex- 
 pansive forehead, over which was smoothlv 
 combed (when in dress) his shining brown 
 hair. His nose was Roman, with a keen 
 and penetrating eye, shaded with long 
 lashes. His mouth was full of expression ; 
 and altogether his countenance indicated 
 deep thought. His stature was nearly 
 six feet. — Gordon, Pryse Lockhart, 
 1830 ; Personal Memoirs, vol. i, p. 288. 
 
 I was once or twice in company with 
 Porson at college. His gift was a sur- 
 prising memory; he appeared to me a 
 mere linguist, without any original powers 
 of mind. He was vain, petulant, arrogant, 
 overbearing, rough and vulgar. He was 
 a great Greek scholar ; but this was a de- 
 partment which very few much cultivated, 
 and in which therefore he had few com- 
 petitors. What are the extraordinary 
 productions which he has left to posterity ? 
 Where is the proof that he has left of 
 energetic sentiments, of deep sagacity, 
 of powerful reasoning, or of high elo- 
 quence ? Admit that he has shown acute- 
 ness in verbal criticism, and verbal 
 emendation ; — what is that ? He was one 
 of those men, whose eccentricities excited 
 a false notice.— Brydges, Sir Samuel 
 Egerton, 1834, Autobiography, vol. i, 
 p. 58. 
 
 I first saw Porson at the sale of Toup's 
 library in 1784, and was introduced to him 
 soon after. I was on the most intimate 
 terms with him for the last twenty years 
 
I 
 
 RICHARD PORSON 
 
 523 
 
 of his life. In spite of all his faults and 
 failings, it was impossible not to admire 
 his integrity and his love of truth. . . . 
 At one period of his life he was in such 
 straitened circumstances, that he would 
 go without dinner for a couple of days. 
 However, when a dinner came his way, 
 he would eat very heartily (mutton was 
 his favourite dish), and lay in, as he used 
 to say, a stock of provisions. He has 
 subsisted for three weeks upon a guinea. 
 — Maltby, William, 1854, Porsoniana. 
 
 When Porson dined with me, I used to 
 keep him within bounds ; but 1 frequently 
 met him at various houses where he got 
 completely drunk. He would not scruple 
 to return to the dining-room, after the 
 company had left it, pour into a tumbler 
 the drops remaining in the wine-glasses, 
 and drink off the omnium gatherum. I 
 once took him to an evening party at Wil- 
 liam Spencer's, where he was introduced 
 to several women of fashion, Lady Crewe, 
 &c., who were very anxious to see the 
 great Grecian. How do you suppose he 
 entertained them? Chiefly by reciting 
 an immense quantity of old forgotten 
 Vauxhall songs. He was far from sober, 
 and at last talked so oddly, that they all 
 retired from him, except Lady Crewe, 
 who boldly kept her ground. I recollect 
 her saying to him, "Mr. Porson, that joke 
 you have borrowed from Joe Miller," and 
 his rather angry reply, "Madam, it is 
 not in Joe Miller; you will not find it 
 either in the preface or in the body of 
 that work, no, nor in the index." I 
 brought him home as far as Piccadilly, 
 where, I am sorry to add, I left him sick 
 in the middle of the street. — Rogers, 
 Samuel, 1855, Recollections of Table- Talk, 
 ed. Dyce, p. 217. 
 
 Great as were Porson's deviations from 
 the even tenour of sobriety, great as were 
 his disagreements with the social habits 
 of the generality of mankind, great also 
 must have been his merit, which, with 
 such aberrations and eccentricities, se- 
 cured him, not only the praise, but the 
 regard, of all men of learning and intellect 
 that had intercourse with him. Whoever 
 knew Richard Porson, felt that he knew 
 a man of high and noble mind, who, with 
 all his irregularities, and all his inclination 
 to sarcasm and jest, had a sincere love of 
 truth and honesty, and who, with an utter 
 contempt for pretence and presumption, 
 
 was ever ready to do justice to gen- 
 uine worth. His life is an example, and 
 an admonition, how much a man may 
 injure himself by indulgence in one un- 
 happy propensity, and how much an 
 elevated mind may suffer by long associa- 
 tion with those of an inferior order. A 
 Porson cannot day after day descend to 
 the level of a Hewardine, without finding 
 it difficult at length to recover his original 
 position above it.— Watson, John Sleby, 
 1861, The Life of Richard Porson, p. 387. 
 
 The humour of Professor Porson lay in 
 parodies, imitations, and hoaxes, ready 
 wit and repartee ; in his oddities of dress 
 and demeanour; and his disregard for 
 certain decencies of society is very deplor- 
 able, though at the same time mirthful 
 in its very extravagances. ... He 
 had for some time become notorious at 
 Cambridge. His passion for smoking, 
 which was then going out among the 
 younger generations, his large and indis- 
 criminate potations, and his occasional 
 use of the poker with a very refractory 
 controversialist, had caused his company 
 to be shunned by all except the few to 
 whom his wit and scholarship were irre- 
 sistible. When the evening began to grow 
 late, the Fellows of Trinity used to walk 
 out of the common room, and leave Porson 
 to himself, who was sometimes found 
 smoking by the servants next morning, 
 without having apparently moved from 
 the spot where he had been left over- 
 night. . . . The most remarkable 
 feature in Porson's love of liquor was, 
 that he could drink anything. Port wine, 
 indeed, was his favourite beverage. But, 
 in default of this, he would take what- 
 ever he could lay his hands on. He was 
 known to swallow a bottle of spirits of 
 wine, an embrocation, and when nothing 
 better was forthcoming, he would even 
 drench himself with w^ater. . . . 
 Porson was very odd in his eating. At 
 breakfast, he frequently ate bread and 
 cheese ; and he then took his porter as 
 copiously as Johnson took his tea. — 
 Times, John, 1866, English Eccentrics 
 and Eccentricities, pp. 150, 154, 155, 
 
 Great linguists have always been noted 
 for their power both of retention and re- 
 production. Porson declared that he 
 could repeat Smollett's "Roderick Ran- 
 dom" from beginning to end, and that he 
 would undertake to learn by heart a copy 
 
524 
 
 RICHARD PORSON 
 
 of the London ''Morning Chronicle" in a 
 week. One day he called upon a friend 
 who chanced to be reading Thucydides, 
 and who asked him the meaning of a 
 certain word. Porson, on hearing the 
 word did not look at the book, but at 
 once repeated the passage. His friend 
 asked how he knew that the word was 
 in the passage. "Because," replied the 
 great linguist, *'the word occurs only 
 twice in Thucydides ; once on the right- 
 hand page in your edition, and once on 
 the left. I observed on which side you 
 looked, and accordingly knew to which 
 passage you referred." — Mathews, Wil- 
 liam, 1881, Literary Style, p, 158. 
 
 This human monument of learning hap- 
 pened to be travelling in the same 
 coach with a coxcomb who sought to 
 air his pretended learning by quotations 
 from the ancients. At last old Porson 
 asked: 'Tri' thee, sir, whence comes that 
 quotation?" ''From Sophocles," quoth 
 the vain fellow. "Be so kind as to find it 
 for me?" asked Porson, producing a copy 
 of Sophocles from his pocket. Then the 
 coxcomb, not at all abashed, said that he 
 meant not Sophocles, but Euripides. 
 Whereupon Porson drew from another 
 pocket a copy of Euripides and challenged 
 the upstart to find the quotation in ques- 
 tion. Full of confusion, the fellow thrust 
 his head out of the window of the coach 
 and cried to the driver: "In Heaven's 
 name, put me down at once ; for there is 
 an old gentleman in here that hath the 
 Bodleian Library in his pocket!" — Field, 
 Eugene, 1895, The Love Affairs of a 
 Bibliomaniac, p. 34. 
 
 The irony which pervades so much of 
 Porson 's writings, and the fierce satire 
 which he could occasionally wield, were 
 intimately connected with this love of 
 accuracy and candour. They were the 
 weapons which he employed where he dis- 
 covered the absence of those qualities. 
 He was a man of warm and keen feelings, 
 a staunch friend, and also a good hater. 
 In the course of life he had suffered, or 
 believed himself to have suffered, some 
 wrongs and many slights. These, acting 
 on his sensitive temperament, tinged it 
 with cynicism, or even with bitterness. 
 He once described himself (in 1807) as a 
 man who had become "a misanthrope from 
 a morbid excess of sensibility." In this, 
 however, he was less than just to himself. 
 
 He was, indeed, easily estranged, even 
 from old acquaintances, by words or acts 
 which offended him. But his native dis- 
 position was most benevolent. To those 
 who consulted him on matters of scholar- 
 ship he was liberal of his aid. Stephen 
 Weston says "he told you all you wanted 
 to know in a plain and direct manner, 
 without any attempt to display his own 
 superiority, but merely to inforn; you." 
 Nor was his liberality confined to the im- 
 parting of his knowledgOc Small though 
 his means were, the strict economy which 
 he practiced enabled him to spare some- 
 thing for the needs of others. — Jebb, 
 R. C, 1896, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. XLVi, p. 159. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Mr. Porson ... is a giant in 
 literature, a prodigy in intellect, a critic 
 whose mighty achievements leave imitation 
 panting at a distance behind them, and 
 whose stupendous powers strike down all 
 the restless and aspiring suggestions of 
 rivalry into silent admiration and passive 
 awe. — Parr, Samuel, 1793, Answer to 
 Combe's Statement, Works, vol. ill, p. 518. 
 
 I consider Mr. Porson's answer to Arch- 
 deacon Travis as the most acute and ac- 
 curate piece of criticism which has 
 appeared since the days of Bentley. His 
 strictures are founded in argument, en- 
 riched with learning, and enlivened with 
 wit; and his adversary neither deserves 
 nor finds any quarter at his hands. The 
 evidence of the three heavenly witnesses 
 would now be rejected in any court of 
 justice : but prejudice is blind, authority 
 is deaf, and our vulgar bibles will ever be 
 polluted by this spurious text, ^'sedet 
 ceternumque sedebit." — Gibbon, Edward, 
 1793, Autobiograghy, note. 
 
 Mr. Professor Porson's "Letters to 
 Archdeacon Travis" are conspicuous for 
 their erudition, acuteness, accuracy, 
 virulence, bitterness, and invective. — 
 Mathias, Thomas James, 1797, The Pur- 
 suits of Literature, Eighth ed., p. 143. 
 
 Porson. — Removed alike from the 
 crowd and the coterie, I have always 
 avoided, with timid prudence, the bird-cage 
 walk of literature, I have withholden 
 from Herman and some others, a part of 
 what is due to them ; and I regret it. Some- 
 times I have been arrogant, never have I 
 been malicious. Unhappily, I was edu- 
 cated in a school of criticism where the 
 
RICHARD PORSON 
 
 525 
 
 exercises were too gladitorial. Looking at 
 my elders in it, they appeared to me so 
 ugly, in part from their contortions, and 
 in part from their scars, that I suspected 
 that it must be a dangerous thing to 
 wield a scourge of vipers ; and I thought 
 it no very creditable appointment to be 
 linkboy or pander at an ally leading down 
 to the Furies. Age and infirmity have 
 rendered me milder than I was. I am 
 loth to fire off my gun in the warren which 
 lies before us ; loth to startle the snug 
 little creatures, each looking so comfort- 
 able at the mouth of its burrow, or skip- 
 ping about at short distances, or frisking 
 and kicking up the sand along the thrift- 
 less heath. — Landor, Walter Savage, 
 1828, Imaginary Conversations, Third 
 Series, Works, vol, iv, p. 49. 
 
 This Greek professor, Porson — whose 
 knowledge of English was so limited that 
 his total cargo might have been embarked 
 on board a walnut-shell on the bosom of a 
 slop basin, and insured for three half- 
 pence — astonishes me, that have been 
 studying English for thirty years and 
 upwards, by the strange discoveries that 
 he announces in this field. One and all, I 
 fear, are mares' nests. — De Quince y, 
 Thomas, 1847-58, Notes on Walter Sa.vage 
 Landor, Works, ed. Masson, vol. xi, p, 421. 
 
 I read Person's ''Letters" to Arch- 
 deacon Travis, and compared the collected 
 letters with the * * Gentleman's Magazine, ' ' 
 in which they originally appeared. The 
 book has a little suffered from the awk- 
 wardness of turning what were letters to 
 Sylvanus Urban into letters to Archdeacon 
 Travis; but it is a masterly work. A 
 comparison between it and the Phalaris 
 would be a comparison between Person's 
 mind and Bentley's mind ; Person's more 
 sure-footed, more exact, more neat, Ben- 
 tley's far more comprehensive and inven- 
 tive. While walking, I read Bishop 
 Burgess's trash in answer to Porson, 
 Home, and read Turton's defence of Porson 
 against Burgess ; an impenetrable dunce, 
 to reason with whom is like kicking a wool- 
 pack. Was there ever such an instance 
 of the binding power of bigotry as the 
 fact that some men, who were not absolute 
 fools, continued, after reading Porson 
 and Turton, to believe in the authenticity 
 of the text of the Three Witnesses ? — 
 Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 1850, 
 Journal, Dec. 25 ; Life and Letters. 
 
 Richard Porson was one of the pro- 
 foundest Greek scholars and the greatest 
 verbal critic that any age or country has 
 produced. He possessed every quality 
 which is necessary to the information of 
 a scholar — a stupendous memory, un- 
 wearied application, great acuteness, 
 strong sound sense, and a lively percep- 
 tion both of the beautiful and the 
 ludicrous. Besides these qualifications 
 he enjoyed the rare faculty of conjectur- 
 ing from the imperfect data of corrupt 
 readings the very words of the author 
 whose text he sought to restore ; in the 
 last particular we know of no one, with 
 the single exception of Bentley, who can 
 be named in comparison with him, and in 
 some points we should not hesitate to 
 place Porson before the great Aristarchus 
 of criticism. — Hawes, Sid ay, 1857, Eng- 
 lish Encyclopcedia, ed. Knight, Biography, 
 vol. IV, /. 940. 
 
 With the single exception of Porson, 
 not one of the English scholars has shown 
 an appreciation of the beauties of his 
 native language. — Buckle, Henry 
 Thomas, 1857, History of Civilization in 
 England, vol. i, p. 587, note. 
 
 The delicacy of whose Greek scholar- 
 ship almost amounted to a sense. — Ar- 
 nold, Thomas, 1862-87, A Manual of 
 English Literature, p. 276. 
 
 Giant as he was, Porson had but small 
 hands, that played with words as with 
 marbles, and delighted in nothing so much 
 as in good penmanship. One is astonished 
 in readingthrough his edition of Euripides, 
 to see how he wrote note upon note, all 
 about words, and less than words — syl- 
 lables, letters, accents, punctuation. He 
 ransacked Codex A and Codex B, Codex 
 Cantabrigiensis and Codex Cottonianus, 
 to show how this noun should be in the 
 dative, not in the accusative ; how that 
 verb should have the accent paroxytone, 
 not perispomenon ; and how by all the 
 rules of prosody there should be an iambus, 
 not a spondee, in this place or in that. 
 Nothing can be more masterly of its kind 
 than the preface to the ''Hecuba," and 
 supplement to it. The lad who hears 
 enough of this wonderful dissertation 
 from his tutors at last turns wistful eyes 
 towards it, expecting to find some magical 
 criticism on Greek tragedy. Behold it is 
 a treatise on certain Greek metres. Its 
 talk is of csesural pauses, penthemimeral 
 
526 
 
 RICHARD PORSON 
 
 and hepthemimeral, of isochronous feet, 
 of enclitics and cretic terminations ; and 
 the grand doctrine it promulgates is ex- 
 pressed in the cannon regarding the pause 
 which, from the discoverer, has been 
 named the Porsonian,that when the iambic 
 trimeter, after a word of more than one 
 syllable, has the cretic termination, in- 
 cluded either in one word or two, then 
 the fifth foot must be an iambus ! The 
 young student throws down the book thus 
 prefaced, and wonders if this be all that 
 giants of Porsonian height can see or care 
 to speak about in Greek literature. Nor 
 was Porson alone ; he had disciples even 
 worse. — Dallas, E. S., 1866, The Gay 
 Science, vol. i, p. 17. 
 
 In some respects the greatest of modern 
 Greek scholars. ... In claiming for Por- 
 son the very high place he has always occu- 
 pied among Greek scholars, it is with those 
 who went before him that he must be com- 
 pared, if we would judge fairly of the ad- 
 vances he made in the knowledge of the 
 language. In learning he was superior to 
 Valckenaer, in accuracy to Bentley. It 
 must be remembered that in his day the sci- 
 ence of comparative philology had scarcely 
 any existence ; even the comparative value 
 of MSS. was scarcely considered in editing 
 an ancient author. With many editors 
 MSS. were treated as of pretty much the 
 same value, whether they were really from 
 the hand of a trustworthy scribe, or what 
 Bentley calls ''scrub manuscripts" or 
 ''scoundrel copies Thus, if we are to 
 find fault with Porson's way of editing, 
 it is that he does not make sufficient 
 difference between the MSS. he uses, or 
 point out the relative value of the early 
 copies whether in MS. or print. — Luard, 
 H. R., 1885, Encyclopedia Britannicay 
 Ninth edition, vol. xix, pp. 537, 540. 
 
 Richard Porson, the profound scholar, 
 linguist, and wit, reared many monuments 
 of classic learning, which have however 
 crumbled away, leaving his name familiar 
 to us only as a writer of jeux d'esprit ; 
 but these are admirable. He was full of 
 the sunshine of wit ; and though sarcastic 
 and personal, as the nature of his hon- 
 mots compelled, he had no bitterness in 
 his reflections, and uttered them with a 
 good-natured laugh.— Ballou, Maturin 
 M., 1886, Genius in Sunshine and Shadow, 
 p. 277. 
 
 Johnson had observed very rightly that 
 
 "the justness of a happy restoration 
 strikes at once, and the moral precept may 
 be well applied to criticism, 'quod dubitas 
 en feceris.' " Of no emendations is this 
 more true than of Porson's. Unlike those 
 of such critics as Bentley and Wakefield — 
 for, immeasurable as was Bentley's su- 
 periority to Wakefield in point of ability 
 and attainments, in temper and taste he 
 was as rash and coarse — they are seldom 
 or never superfiuous. If they do not suc- 
 ceed in satisfying us that the word re- 
 stored is the exact word lost, they afford 
 us the still higher satisfaction of feeling 
 that nothing which could be recovered 
 could be an improvement on what has 
 been supplied. . . . Porson's per- 
 ception, indeed, of what stupidity, care- 
 lessness, or ignorance, had disguised or 
 obscured in the text of an ancient poet, 
 resembled clairvoyance. And even when 
 he failed, his fine and delicate sense of 
 the niceties of rhythm, his exquisite taste, 
 his refined good sense, his sobriety, his 
 tact, kept him at least from going far 
 astray, and from making himself and his 
 author ridiculous, as Bentley habitually 
 did. — Collins, John Churton, 1895, The 
 Porson of Shakspearian Criticism, Essays 
 and Studies, pp. 289, 291. 
 
 He possessed in almost the highest de- 
 gree that power of divination, based on 
 accurate knowledge, which distinguishes* 
 the scholar, and it is, as has been said, 
 nearly certain that he would have been a 
 brilliant writer in English on any subject 
 he chose to take up. — Saintsbury, George, 
 1896, A History of Nineteenth Century 
 Literature, p. 406. 
 
 Textual criticism was the work to which 
 Porson's genius was mainly devoted. 
 His success in it was due primarily to na- 
 tive acumen, aided — in a degree perhaps 
 unequalled — by a marvellous memory, 
 richly stored, accurate, and prompt. His 
 emendations are found to rest both on a 
 wide and exact knowledge of classical 
 Greek, and on a wonderful command of 
 passages which illustrate his point. He re- 
 lied comparatively little on mere "divina- 
 tion," and usually abstained from conjec- 
 ture where he felt that the remedy must re- 
 main purely conjectural. His lifelong love 
 of mathematics has left a clear impress on 
 his criticism ; we see it in his precision 
 and in his close reasoning. Very many 
 of his emendations are such as at once 
 
PORSON—AMES 
 
 527 
 
 appear certain or highly probable. Bent- 
 ley's cogent logic sometimes (as in his 
 Horace) renders a textual change plaus- 
 ible, while our instinct rebels; Porson, 
 as a rule, merely states his correction, 
 briefly gives his proofs, and convinces. 
 His famous note on the "Medea," vv. 139/., 
 where he disengages a series of poetical 
 fragments from prose texts, is a striking 
 example of his method, and has been said 
 also to give some idea of the way in which 
 his talk on such subjects used to flow. 
 Athenseus, so rich in quotations from the 
 poets, afforded a field in which Porson did 
 more, perhaps, than all former critics put 
 together. He definitely advanced Greek 
 scholarship in three principal respects: 
 (1) by remarks on countless points of 
 
 Greek idiom and usage ; (2) by adding to 
 the knowledge of metre, and especially of 
 the iambic trimeter ; (3) by emendation 
 of texts. Then, as a master of precise 
 and lucid phrase, alike in Latin and in 
 English, he supplied models of compact 
 and pointed criticism. A racy vigour and 
 humour often animate his treatment of 
 technical details. He could be tren- 
 chantly severe, when he saw cause ; but 
 his habitual weapon was irony, sometimes 
 veiled, sometimes frankly keen, always 
 polished, and usually genial. Regarding 
 the correctness of texts as the most valu- 
 able oflftce of the critic, he lamented that, in 
 popular estimation, it stood below liter- 
 ary" criticism. — Jebb, R.C.,1896, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography, wZ.XLVi, p, 162. 
 
 Fisher Ames 
 
 1758-1808. 
 
 Born at Dedham, Mass., April 9, 1758: died at Dedham, July 4, 1808. A noted 
 American orator, statesman, and political writer. He was graduated from Harvard 
 College in 1774, began the practice of law at Dedham in 1781, was a member of the 
 Massachusetts ratifying committee in 1788, and was a Federal member of Congress 
 from Massachusetts 1789-97. He declined the presidency of Harvard College in 
 1804. He wrote the ''Laocoon'' and other essays to rouse the opposition against 
 France. — Smith, Benjamin E., ed,, 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia of Names, p. 49. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 The manly genius, ardent thought, 
 The love of truth and wit refined. 
 The eloquence that wonders wrought. 
 And flash 'd its light on every mind. 
 These gifts were thine, immortal Ames! 
 
 Of motive pure, of life sublime ; 
 Their loss our flowing sorrow claims, — 
 Their praise survives the wreck of time. 
 — Gardiner, J. S. J., 1808, Verses Sung 
 in King's Chapel, Boston, July 6. 
 
 His spotless youth brought blessings to 
 the whole remainder of his life. It gave 
 him the entire use of his faculties, and 
 all the fruit of his literary education. 
 Its effects appeared in that fine edge of 
 moral feeling which he always preserved ; 
 in his strict and often austere temperance ; 
 in his love of occupation, that made 
 activity a delight ; in his distaste for pub- 
 lick diversions, and his preference of 
 simple pleasures. Beginning well, he ad- 
 vanced with unremitted steps in the race 
 of virtue, and arriving at the end of life 
 in peace and honour. . . . Mr. Ames 
 in person a little exceeded the middle 
 height, was well proportioned, and remark- 
 ably erect. His features were regular, 
 
 his aspect respectable and pleasing, his 
 eye expressive of benignity and intelli- 
 gence. His head and face are shown 
 with great perfection in the engraving 
 prefixed to his works. In his manners he 
 was easy, aflfable, cordial, inviting con- 
 fidence, yet inspiring a respect. He had 
 that refined spirit of society, which ob- 
 serves the forms of a real, but not studied 
 politeness, and paid a more delicate regard 
 to the propriety of conversation and 
 behaviour. — Kirkland, John Thornton, 
 1809, Life of Fisher Ames. 
 
 His writings sufiiciently exhibited him 
 as a most cheerful and fascinating friend, 
 a brilliant political essayist, an eloquent 
 and fearless orator, and a patriot without 
 reproach or suspicion. ... In all 
 his private relations, in his friendships, 
 his pursuits, his successes, Mr. Ames had 
 the good fortune which a happy temper, 
 sound judgment, and fidelity are very apt 
 to secure. The friends he had (and of 
 what character they were his letters 
 sufficiently show) he ''grappled to him 
 with hooks of steel." The honors which 
 he Vv'on abroad were made thrice dear by 
 
528 
 
 FISHER AMES 
 
 the sympathy of a chosen circle at home. 
 Of the law he had a noble conception, yet, 
 on account of his health, he seems to have 
 given himself to the practice of it as a 
 matter of necessity, and with a divided 
 love. Yet he had no reason to be dis- 
 satisfied with the results of his labors. 
 His fortune was never ample, yet he be- 
 came independent, and when he was no 
 longer compelled to labor for his daily 
 bread, his mind instinctively turned to 
 those broad and varied studies whence he 
 could draw the most important lessons for 
 his country. — Brown, S. G., Works 
 of Fisher Ames, North American Review, 
 vol, 80, p. 233. 
 
 In person Mr. Ames was above middle 
 stature and well formed. His counte- 
 nance was very handsome, and his eye 
 blue in colour, and expressive. His fea- 
 tures were not strongly marked. His 
 forehead was neither high nor broad. 
 His mouth was beautifully shaped, and was 
 one of his finest features ; his hair was 
 black, and he wore it short, and in the 
 latter years of his life unpowdered. He 
 was exceedingly erect in walking, and 
 when speaking he raised his head slightly. 
 It is said that his expression was usually 
 mild and complacent when in debate, and 
 if he meant to be severe, it was seen in 
 good-natured sarcasm, rather than in 
 acrimonious words. — Hardwicke, Henry, 
 1896, History of Oratory and Orators, 
 p. 340. 
 
 SPEECHES 
 
 Fisher Ames, among the great men of 
 his day, was the orator of genius and elab- 
 orate beauty. — Magoon, E. L., 1848, 
 Orators of the American Revolution, p. 315. 
 
 He was decidedly one of the most 
 splendid rhetoricians of the age. Two 
 of his speeches, in a special manner — that 
 on Jay's treaty, and that usually called 
 his ''Tomahawk Speech," (because it in- 
 cluded someresplendent passages on Indian 
 massacres) — were the most brilliant and 
 fascinating specimens of eloquence I have 
 ever heard ; yet have I listened to some 
 of the most celebrated speakers in the 
 British parliament — -among others, to 
 Wilberforce and Mackintosh, Plunket, 
 Brougham and Canning ; and Dr. Priestley, 
 who was familiar with the oratory of Pitt 
 the father and Pitt the son, and also with 
 that of Burke and Fox, made to myself 
 the acknowledgement, that, in his own 
 
 words, the speech of Ames, on the British 
 Treaty, was ''the most bewitching piece 
 of parliamentary oratory he had ever list- 
 ened to."— Caldwell, Charles, 1853-55, 
 Autobiography. 
 
 Mr. Ames possessed uncommon vigor 
 of mind; his memory was stored with 
 literary treasures ; his fancy was active, 
 furnishing illustrative images that were 
 as much to the purpose as his logic. And 
 such was the effect of his oratory, even 
 upon deliberate bodies, that on one occa- 
 sion Congress adjourned on motion of 
 Ames's chief opponent in debate, for the 
 alleged reason that the members ought 
 not to be called upon to vote while under 
 the spell of his extraordinary eloquence. 
 The speeches of Mr. Ames that have been 
 preserved fully sustain his great reputa- 
 tion, being vigorous and logical in state- 
 ment, and adorned with the graces of a 
 lively and learned style. His letters, also, 
 are fresh and charming. — Under w^ood, 
 Francis H.,1872, A Hand-Book of English 
 Literature, American Authors, p. 34. 
 
 If Ames does not quite rival the 
 sublimest flights of Burke, he never is 
 carried by the pursuit of an apt but offen- 
 sive metaphor to a point that is scarcely 
 short of the disgusting. His perfect 
 taste is never at fault. In felicity of 
 illustration, in playfulness of fancy, in 
 readiness of wit, in neatness of raillery, 
 in delicacy of irony, and in keenness of 
 sarcasm, he is not unworthy to be placed 
 in the company of the great Irishman. — 
 QuiNCY, Edmund, 1872, Fisher Ames, The 
 Nation, vol. 14, p. 76. 
 
 Though known to us only as a political 
 orator and newspaper writer, was one of 
 the most poetical minds of his age. His 
 language avoids sonorous and pretentious 
 words, but is rich in tropes and metaphors, 
 which stimulate the attention and aid the 
 apprehension of the reader. The simple 
 words are the result of studious self- 
 control; the figurative expression is the 
 native temperament of the man. The 
 effect is of power well in the leash, and 
 more impressive for the restraint. . . . 
 But, with all his beauty and earnestness, 
 he lacked the massive individuality, the 
 overwhelming torrent of feeling, the 
 towering strength that should be within 
 the scope of the greatest statesman. — 
 Hawthorne, Julian and Lemmon, Leon- 
 ard, 1891, American Literature, p. 34. 
 
AMES— PAINE 
 
 529 
 
 Ames, a man of fine mind and high 
 character, hating exaggeration and rant, 
 had an oratorical style that was nervous, 
 tastefully ornate, and intense with re- 
 strained passion. — Bronson, Walter C, 
 1901, A Short History of American Liter- 
 ature, p. 78. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The traditional reputation of Ames 
 for eloquence, handed down by his 
 friends and fellow politicians, has not 
 expired in his published writings. . . . 
 The quick and forgetive fancy of Ames 
 led to that condensation of expression 
 which is the peculiarity of his writings. 
 He thought in figures. . . . Well 
 grounded in the principles of conservatism, 
 and with a deeply founded respect for 
 the Constitution, Ames mingled with his 
 convictions the restless anticipations of 
 mind given to despondency. For a new 
 state, he was something of a croker ; a 
 man constitutionally timid. There were 
 *'the fears of the brave" in his com- 
 position ; but, if he doubted of affairs, it 
 was with a patriotic motive and acute 
 
 philosophic argument to support him. . . . 
 The letters of Ames are sharply written, 
 with point and occasional felicities of ex- 
 pression, but they are not elaborate or 
 highly finished compositions, rarely par- 
 taking of the essay character of some of 
 Webster's epistles.— Duyckinck, Evert 
 A., AND George L., 1855-65-75, Cyclo- 
 pcedia of American Literature, ed. Simons, 
 vol I, vp. 486, 487. 
 
 In all the writings of this period, there 
 are none that exceed those of Fisher Ames 
 in vigor of thought and expression. He 
 was remarkable for the aptness of his 
 classical illusions and for the frequency 
 and beauty of his comparisons. These are 
 so numerous, indeed, that the reader 
 would weary of them as needless ornament, 
 were it not for the intense earnestness 
 that everywhere breathes through the 
 glowing periods. — Hart, John S., 1872, 
 A Manual of American Literature, p. 85. 
 
 His literary style is quiet, and evidently 
 elaborated with much care. — Richard- 
 son, Charles F., 1887, American Liter- 
 ature, 1607-1885, vol, I, p. 209. 
 
 Thomas Paine 
 
 1737-1809 
 
 Born, at Thetford, Norfolk, 29 Jan. 1737. Educated at Thetford Grammar School. 
 At sea, 1755-56. In London, working as staymaker, 1756-58. Removed to Dover, 
 1758; to Sandwich, 1759. Married (i.) Mary Lambert, 17 Sept. 1759. She died, at 
 Margate, 1760. Returned to Thetford, as Excise Officer, July 1761 ; to Grantham, Dec. 
 1762 ; to Alford, Aug. 1764. Dismissed from Office, Aug. 1765 ; restored, Feb. 1768 ; 
 sent to Lewes; dismissed again, April 1774. Married (ii.) Elizabeth Ollive, 26 March 
 1771 ; separated from her, June 1774. To Philadelphia, Nov. 1774, with introduction 
 to Franklin [ ?]. Contrib. to "Pennsylvania Journal," 1775-7 6. Editor of ' ' Pennsylvania 
 Mag.," Jan. 1775 to Aug. 1776. Took part in American War of Independence. Sec. 
 to Committee of Foreign Affairs, April 1777 to Jan. 1779. Clerk to Pennsylvania 
 Assembly, Nov. 1779 to Dec. 1780. M. A., Pennsylvania Univ., 4 July 178,0. Sec. to 
 Col. Laurens on Mission to France, Feb. to Aug., 1781. Presented with estate of 
 New Rochelle, 1784. Visit to England in connection with his invention of an iron 
 bridge, 1787-90. To Paris, 1790. French citizen, Aug. 1793; Mem. of^onvention, 
 Sept.T793. On Committee to form Republican Constitution, Oct. 1793: Imprisoned 
 in Paris, Dec. 1793 to Nov. 1794. Returned to America, Oct. 1802. Contrib. to 
 ''The Prospect," 1804-05. Died, in New York, 8 July, 1809. Works: ''The Case 
 of the Officers of Excise" (anon.), [1772]; "Common Sense" (anon.), 1776; "Large 
 Additions to Common Sense" (anon.), 1776; "Epistle to the People called Quakers," 
 1776; "Dialogue between Gen. Montgomery and an American Delegate, " 1776; "The 
 American Crisis" (13 nos. ; anon.), 1776-83; "The Public Good," 1780; "Letter ad- 
 dressed to the Abbe Raynal," 1782; "Thoughts on the Peace," 1783; "Letter to the 
 Earl of Shelburne," 1783; "Dissertation on Government," 1786; "Prospects on the 
 Rubicon" (anon.), 1787; (another edn., called: "Prospects on the War," 1793); 
 "Letter to Sir G. Staunton," 1788; "The Rights of Man" (2 pts.), 1791-92; "Ad- 
 dress and Declaration of the Friends of Universal Peace and Liberty" [1791] ; "Letter 
 to the Abbe Sieyes," 1792; "Four Letters on Government," 1792; "Address to the 
 
 34 C 
 
530 
 
 THOMAS PAINE 
 
 Republic of France'' [1792]; "Letter addressed to the Addressers/' 1792; Speech 
 in Convention on bringing Louis Capet to trial," 1792 ; *'Lettre . , . au Peuple frangois" 
 [1792]; "Opinion . . . concernant le judgment de Louis XVL," 1792 ; "Works," 
 1792; "Miscellaneous Articles," 1792; "Reasons for wishing to preserve the life of 
 Louis Capet" [1793] ; "Prospects on the War and Paper Currency," 1793; "Rational 
 and Revealed Religion" (anon.), 1794; "The Age of Reason," pt. i., 1794; pt. ii, 1795; 
 pt. iii., 1811; "Letter to the French Convention," 1794; "Dissertations on First 
 Principles of Government," 1795; "The Decline and Fall of the English System of 
 Finance," 1796; "Letter to George Washington," 1796; "Agrarian Justice opposed 
 to Agrarian Law," 1797; "Lettre . . . sur les Cultes," 1797; "Letter to the 
 Hon. T. Erskine," 1797; "Letter to Camille Jourdan," 1797; "Atheism Refuted," 
 1798; "Maritime Compact," 1801; "Letter to Samuel Adams," 1802; "Letter to 
 Citizens of the United States," 1802; "Letter to the People of England," 1804; "To 
 the French Inhabitants of Louisiana," 1804; "To the Citizens of Pennsylvania," 1805; 
 "On the Causes of Yellow Fever," 1805; "On Constitutions, Governments and 
 Charters," 1805; "Observations on Gunboats," 1806; "Letter to A. A. Dean," 1806; 
 "On the Political and Military Affairs of Europe," 1806; "To the People of New 
 York," 1807; "On Governor Lewis's Speech, " 1807; "On Mr. Hale's Resolutions," 
 1807; "Three Letters to Morgan Lewis," 1807; "On the question, Will there be 
 War?" 1807; "Essay on Dreams," 1807. Posthumous: "Reply to the Bishop of 
 Llandaff," 1810; "The Origin of Freemasonry," 1811; "Miscellaneous Letters and 
 Essays," 1819; "Miscellaneous Poems," 1819. Collected Works: ed. by M. D. Con- 
 way, 1894.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 219. 
 
 PERSONAL of Foreign Affairs. The salary to com- 
 
 pear SoUy The bearer, Mr. Thomas Paine, mence from this day, and to be paid by the 
 
 is very well recommended to me, as an in- 
 genious, worthy young man. He goes to 
 Pennsylvania with a view of settling there. 
 I request you to give him your best advice 
 and countenance, as he is quite a stranger 
 there. If you can put him in a way of ob- 
 tainin-g employment as a clerk, or assistant 
 tutor in a school, or assistant surveyor, 
 (of all which I think him very capable), so 
 that he may procure a subsistence at least, 
 till he can make acquaintance and obtain 
 a knowledge of the country, you will do 
 well, and much oblige your affectionate 
 father. — Franklin, Benjamin, 1774, Let- 
 ter to Richard Bache, Sept. 30 ; Works, ed. 
 Sparks, vol. viii, p. 137. 
 
 Philadelphia, Feb. 10, 1782.— The sub- 
 scribers, taking into consideration the im- 
 portant situation of affairs at the present 
 moment, and the propriety and even neces- 
 sity of informing the people and rousing 
 them into action; considering also the 
 abilities of Mr. Thomas Paine as a writer, 
 and that he has been of considerable utility 
 to the common cause by several of his pub- 
 lications : They are agreed that it will 
 be much for the interest of the United 
 States that Mr. Paine be engaged in their 
 service for the purpose above mentioned. 
 They are therefore agreed that Mr. Paine 
 be offered a salary of $800 per annum, and 
 that the same be paid him by the Secretary 
 
 Secretary of Foreign Affairs out of monies 
 to be allowed by the Superintendent of 
 Finance for secret services. The sub- 
 scribers being of opinion that a salary 
 publicly and avowedly given for the above 
 purpose would injure the effect of Mr. 
 Paine's publications, and subject him to 
 injurious personal reflections. — Morris, 
 Robert, Livingston, Robert, Washing- 
 ton, George. 
 
 Dear Sir, I have learned since I have 
 been at this place, that you are at Borden- 
 town. Whether for the sake of retirement 
 or economy, I know not. Be it for either, 
 for both, or whatever it may, if you 
 will come to this place, and partake with 
 me, I shall be exceedingly happy to see 
 you. Your presence may remind Congress 
 of your past services to this country ; and 
 if it is in my power to impress them, com- 
 mand my best services with freedom, as 
 they will be rendered cheerfully by one 
 who entertains a lively sense of the im- 
 portance of your works, and who, with 
 much pleasure, subscribes himself. Your 
 sincere friend. — Washington, George, 
 1783, Letter to Paine from Rocky Hill, 
 Sept. 10. 
 
 The villain Paine came over to the Crown 
 and Anchor ; but, finding that his pamphlet 
 had not set a straw on fire, and that the 
 14th of July was as little in fashion as 
 
THOMAS PAINE 
 
 531 
 
 the ancient gunpowder-plot, he dined 
 at another tavern with a few quaking con- 
 spirators; and probably is returning to 
 Paris, where he is engaged in a contro- 
 versy with the Abbe Sieyes, about the 
 "plus or minus" of the rebellion. — Wal- 
 POLE, Horace, 1791, To the Miss Berry s, 
 July 26; Letters, ed, Cunningham, vol. 
 IX, p. 332. 
 
 I lodge with my friend Paine — we break- 
 fast, dine, and sup together. The more I 
 see of his interior, the more I like and re- 
 spect him. I cannot express how kind he 
 is to me ; there is a simplicity of manner, 
 a goodness of heart, and a strength of mind 
 in him, that I never knew a man before 
 possess.— Fitzgerald, Lord Edward, 
 1792, Letter to his Mother, Oct. 30 ; Moore's 
 Life and Death of Lord Edward Fitzgerald. 
 
 The crime of ingratitude I trust will 
 never stain our national character. You 
 are considered by all your countrymen as 
 one who has not only rendered important 
 services to them, but also as one, who, on 
 a more extensive scale, has been the friend 
 of human rights, and a distinguished and 
 able advocate in favor of public liberty. 
 To the worth and welfare of Thomas Paine 
 the American people can never he indiffer- 
 ent — Monroe, James, 1794, Letter to 
 Thomas Paine. 
 
 That infamous wretch Tom Paine" the 
 Democrat, whom we all execrate, and 
 who is now, with or without a head in 
 France, I hope in the late fashion of that 
 country.— Mathias, ThomAs James, 1794, 
 The Pursuits of Literature, p. 78. 
 
 I met this interesting personage at the 
 lodgings of the son of a late patriotic 
 American governour [Trumbull]. . . . 
 He was dressed in a snuff-coloured coat, 
 olive velvet vest, drab breeches, coarse 
 hose. His shoe buckles of the size of a 
 half dollar. A bob tailed wig covered 
 that head which worked such mickle woe 
 to courts and kingSo If I should attempt 
 to describe it, it would be in the same stile 
 and principle with which the veteran 
 soldier bepraiseth an old standard: the 
 more tattered, the more glorious. It is 
 probable that this was the same identical 
 wig under the shadow of whose curls he 
 wrote ' ' Common Sense, ' ' in America, many 
 years before. He was a spare man, rather 
 under size ; subject to the extreme of low, 
 and highly exhilarating spirits ; often sat 
 reserved in company ; seldom mingled in 
 
 common chit-chat : But when a man of 
 sense and elocution was present, and the 
 company numerous, he delighted in ad- 
 vancing the most unaccountable, and often 
 the most whimsical paradoxes ; which he 
 defended in his own plausible manner. If 
 encouraged by success, or the applause of 
 the company, his countenance was ani- 
 mated with an expression of feature which, 
 on ordinary occasions one would look for 
 in vain, in a man so much celebrated for 
 acutenessof thought ; but if interrupted by 
 extraneous observation, by the inattention 
 of his auditory, or in an irritable moment, 
 even by the accidental fall of the poker, 
 he would retire into himself, and no per- 
 suasion could induce him to proceed upon 
 the most favourite topic. — Tyler.Royall, 
 1797, The Algerine Captive. 
 
 That the said Elizabeth Pain had ever 
 since lived separate from him the said 
 Thos. Pain, and never had any issue, and 
 the said Thomas Pain had many years 
 quitted this kingdom and resided (if liv- 
 ing) in parts beyond the seas, but had not 
 since been heard of by the said Elizabeth 
 Pain, nor was it known for certain whether 
 he was living or dead. — Paine, Eliza- 
 beth, 1800, Release to Francis Mitchener, 
 Oct. 14. 
 
 I have received your letter calling for 
 information relative to the life of Thomas 
 Paine. It appears to me that this is not 
 the moment to publish the life of that man 
 in this country. His own writings are his 
 best life, and these are not read at present. 
 The greater part of readers in the United 
 States will not be ' persuaded, as long as 
 their present feelings last, to consider him 
 in any other light than as a drunkard and 
 a deist. The writer of his life who should 
 dwell on these topics, to the exclusion of 
 the great and estimable traits of his real 
 character, might indeed please the rabble 
 of the age, who do not know him ; the book 
 might sell, but it would only tend to render 
 the truth more obscure for the future 
 biographer than it was before. But if the 
 present writer should give us Thomas 
 Paine complete in all his character, as one 
 of the most benevolent and disinterested 
 of mankind, endowed with the clearest 
 perception, an uncommon share of 
 original genius, and the greatest breadth 
 of thought; if this piece of biography 
 should analyze his literary labors and rank 
 him, as he ought to be ranked, among the 
 
532 
 
 THOMAS PAINE 
 
 brightest and most undeviating luminaries 
 of the age in which he has lived, yet with 
 a mind assailable by flattery, and receiving 
 through that weak side a tincture of vanity 
 which he was too proud to conceal ; with a 
 mind, though strong enough to bear him up 
 and to rise elastic under the heaviest hand 
 of oppression, yet unable to endure the 
 contempt of his former friends and fellow- 
 laborers, the rulers of the country that 
 had received his first and greatest services ; 
 a mind incapable of looking down with 
 serene compassion, as it ought, on the 
 rude scoffs of their imitators, a new 
 generation that knows him not; a mind 
 that shrinks from their society, and un- 
 happily seeks refuge in low company, or 
 looks for consolation in the sordid, solitary 
 bottle, till it sinks at last so far below its 
 native elevation as to lose all respect for 
 itself and to forfeit that of his best friends, 
 disposing these friends almost to join with 
 his enemies, and wish, though from differ- 
 ent motives, that he would hasten to hide 
 himself in the grave — if you are disposed 
 and prepared to write his life thus entire, 
 to fill up the picture to which these hasty 
 strokes of outline give but a rude sketch 
 with great vacuities, your book may be a 
 useful one for another age, but it will not 
 be relished, nor scarcely tolerated, in this. 
 . . . You ask what company he kept. 
 He always frequented the best, both in 
 England and Prance, till he became the 
 object of calumny in certain American 
 papers (echoes of the English court papers) 
 for his adherence to what he thought the 
 cause of liberty in France — till he con- 
 ceived himself neglected and despised by 
 his former friends in the United States. 
 From that moment he gave himself very 
 much to drink, and, consequently, to com- 
 panions less worthy of his better days. It 
 is said that he was always a peevish in- 
 grate. This is possible. So was Law- 
 rence Sterne, so was Torquato Tasso, so 
 was J. J. Rousseau. But Thomas Paine, 
 as a visiting acquaintance and as a literary 
 friend, the only points of view from which 
 I knew him, was one of the most instruct- 
 ive men I have ever known. — Barlow, 
 Joel, 1809, Letter to James Cheetham, Life 
 and Letters, ed. Todd, pp, 236, 238. 
 
 Paine had no good qualities. Incapable 
 of friendship, he was vain, envious, malig- 
 nant ; in France cowardly, and every where 
 tyrannical. In his private dealings he was 
 
 unjust, never thinking of paying for what 
 he had contracted, and always cherishing 
 deadly resentments against those who by 
 law compelled him to do justice. To those 
 who had been kind to him he was more 
 than ungrateful, for to ingratitude, as in 
 the case of Mr. Munroe, he added mean 
 and detestable fraud. He was guilty of 
 the worst species of seduction ; the aliena- 
 tion of a wife and children from a husband, 
 and a father. Filthy and drunken, he was 
 a compound of all the vices. — Cheetham, 
 James, 1809, Life of Thomas Paine, p. 313. 
 
 I have lived a honest and useful life to 
 mankind ; my time has been spent in doing 
 good; I die in perfect composure and 
 resignation to the will of my God. — 
 Paine, Thomas, 1809, WilL 
 
 Mr. Paine in his person was about five 
 feet ten inches high, and rather athletic ; 
 he was broad shouldered, and latterly 
 stooped a little. His eye, of which the 
 painter could not convey the exquisite 
 meaning, was full, brilliant, and singularly 
 piercing; it had in it the ''muse of fire.'' 
 In his dress and person he was generally 
 very cleanly, and wore his hair cued, with 
 side curls, and powdered, so that he looked 
 altogether like a gentleman of the old 
 French school. His manners were easy 
 and gracious ; his knowledge was universal 
 and boundless; in private company and 
 among his friends his conversation had 
 every fascination that anecdote, novelty 
 and truth could give it. In mixt com- 
 pany and among strangers he said little, 
 and was no public speaker. — Rickman, 
 Thomas C, 1819, The Life of Thomas 
 Paine, 
 
 Paine lies in a little hole under the grass 
 and weeds of an obscure farm in America. 
 There, however, he shall not lie, unnoticed, 
 much longer. He belongs to England. 
 His fame is the property of England ; and 
 if no other people will show that they value 
 that fame, the people of England will. 
 Yes, amongst the pleasures that I promise 
 myself, that of seeing the name of Paine 
 honoured in every part of England ; where 
 base corruption caused him, while alive, to 
 be burnt in effigy. — Cobbett, William, 
 1819, On the Remains of Thomas Paine. 
 
 Paine, I regret to own it, was a native 
 of England ; at his outset a Quaker, and a 
 stay-maker of Thetford, in Norfolk. — 
 Stanhope, Philip Henry Earl (Lord 
 
THOMAS PAINE 
 
 533 
 
 Mahon), 1836-54, History of England 
 from the Peace of Utrecht to the Peace of 
 Versailles, vol. vi, p, 93. 
 
 About this period, the notorious Tom 
 Paine arrived at Nantes, in the Alliance 
 frigate, as Secretary of Colonel Laurens, 
 Minister Extraordinary from Congress; 
 and he took up his quarters at my boarding- 
 place. He was coarse and uncouth in his 
 manners, loathsome in his appearance, and 
 a disgusting egotist; rejoicing most in 
 talking of himself, and reading the effu- 
 sions of his own mind. Yet, I could not 
 repress the deepest emotions of gratitude 
 towards him, as the instrument of Provi- 
 dence in accelerating the declaration of 
 our Independence. ... On his arrival's 
 being announced, the Mayor, and some of 
 the most distinguished citizens of Nantes, 
 called upon him to render their homage of 
 respect. I often officiated as interpreter, 
 although humbled and mortified at his 
 filthy appearance, and awkward address. 
 Besides, as he has been roasted alive at 
 
 L'Orient, for the and well basted 
 
 with brimstone, he was absolutely offen- 
 sive, and perfumed the whole apartment. 
 He was soon rid of his respectable visitors, 
 who left the room with marks of astonish- 
 ment and disgust. I took the liberty, on 
 his asking for the loan of a clean shirt, of 
 speaking to him frankly of his dirty appear- 
 ance and brimstone odor ; and I prevailed 
 upon him to stew, for an hour, in a hot 
 bath. This, however, was not done with- 
 out much entreaty ; and I did not succeed, 
 until, receiving a file of English news- 
 papers, I promised, after he was in the 
 bath he should have the reading of them, 
 and not before. He at once consented, 
 and accompanied me to the bath, where 
 I instructed the keeper, in French (which 
 Paine did not understand) gradually to in- 
 crease the heat of the water, until "Ze 
 Monsieur serait bien bouilliJ^ He became 
 so much absorbed in his reading, that he 
 was nearly parboiled before leaving the 
 bath, much to his improvement and my 
 satisfaction. — Watson, Elkanah, 1842- 
 56, Men and Times of the Revolution, ed. 
 W. a Watson, p. 127. 
 
 Poverty was his mother — Necessity his 
 master. He had more brains than books ; 
 more sense than education ; more courage 
 than politeness ; more strength than polish. 
 He had no veneration for old mistakes — 
 no admiration for ancient lies. He loved 
 
 the truth for the truth's sake, and for 
 man's sake. . . . The result of his 
 investigations was given to the world in 
 the ' ' Age of Reason. ' ' From the moment 
 of its publication he became infamous. 
 He was caluminated beyond measure. To 
 slander him was to secure the thanks of 
 the Church. All his services were in- 
 stantly forgotten, disparaged or denied. 
 He was shunned as though he had been a 
 pestilence. Most of his old friends for- 
 sook him. He was regarded as a moral 
 plague, and at the bare mention of his 
 name the bloody hands of the Church were 
 raised in horror. He was denounced as 
 the most despicable of men. Not content 
 with following him to his grave, they pur- 
 sued him after death with redoubled fury, 
 and recounted with infinite gusto and 
 satisfaction the supposed horrors of his 
 death-bed; gloried in the fact that he 
 was forlorn and friendless, and gloated 
 like fiends over what they supposed to be 
 the agonizing remorse of his lonely death. 
 It is wonderful that all his services were 
 thus forgotten. It is amazing that one 
 kind word did not fall from some pulpit ; 
 that some one did not accord to him, at 
 least — honesty. Strange, that in the 
 general denunciation some one did not re- 
 member his labor for liberty, his devotion 
 to principle, his zeal for the rights of his 
 fellow-men. . . . He had made it impossi- 
 ble to write the history of political free- 
 dom with his name left out. He was one of 
 the creators of light ; one of the heralds 
 of the dawn. He hated tyranny in the 
 name of kings, and in the name of God, 
 with every drop of his noble blood. He 
 believed in liberty and justice, and in the 
 sacred doctrine of human equality. Under 
 these divine banners he fought the battle 
 of his life. In both worlds he offered 
 his blood for the good of man. In the 
 wilderness of America, in the French 
 Assembly, in the sombre cell waiting 
 for death, he was the same unflinching, 
 unwavering friend of his race ; the same 
 undaunted champion of universal freedom. 
 And for this he has been hated ; for this 
 the Church has violated even his grave. 
 — Ingersoll, Robert G., 1874, The Gods 
 and Other Lectures, pp. 122, 135. 
 
 Poor Paine ! His errors were, for the 
 most part, those of his age ; and they were 
 aggravated by his circumstances, his de- 
 fective education, and the ardor of his 
 
534 
 
 THOMAS PAINE 
 
 temperament. But his merits, which were 
 real and not small, were peculiarly his 
 own. He loved the truth for its own 
 sake ; and he stood by what he conceived 
 to be the truth when all the world around 
 him reviled it. . . . It becomes us, 
 however, to deal charitably with the faults 
 of a benefactor who wrote, '*The Crisis" 
 and ''Common Sense," who conceived the 
 planing-machine and the iron bridge. A 
 glorious monument in his honor swells 
 aloft in many of our great towns. The 
 principle of his arch now sustains the 
 marvellous railroad depots that half abolish 
 the distinction between in-doors and out. 
 — Parton, James, 1874, Life of Thomas 
 Jefferson, pp. 591, 592. 
 
 A somewhat extended study of the 
 French Revolution, during the extraordi- 
 nary period in which Paine was so inti- 
 mately connected with it, fails to show 
 anything to the prejudice of his personal 
 or political character, but, on the other 
 hand, it reveals many things eminently 
 creditable to him.— Washburne, E. B., 
 1880, Thomas Paine and the French Revo- 
 lution, Seribnefs Monthly, vol. 20, p. 111. 
 
 The bones of Thomas Paine were landed 
 in Liverpool November 21, 1819. The 
 monument contemplated by Cobbett was 
 never raised. There was much parliamen- 
 tary and municipal excitement. A Bolton 
 town-crier was imprisoned nine weeks for 
 proclaiming the arrival. In 1836 the bones 
 passed with Cobbett's effects into the hands 
 of a Receiver (West). The Lord Chancel- 
 lor refusing to regard them as an asset, 
 they were kept by an old day-laborer in 
 1844, when they passed to B. Tilley, 13 
 Bedford Square, London, a furniture 
 dealer. In 1849 the empty coffin was in 
 possession of J. Chennell Guildford. The 
 silver plate bore the inscription "Thomas 
 Paine, died June 8, 1809, aged 72." In 
 1854, Rev. R. Ainslie (Unitarian) told E. 
 Truelovethat he owned "the skull and the 
 right hand of Thomas Paine," but evaded 
 subsequent inquiries. The removal caused 
 excitement in America. Of Paine's grave- 
 stone the last fragment was preserved 
 by his friends of the Bayeaux family, and 
 framed on their wall. In November, 
 1839, the present marble monument at 
 New Rochelle was erected. — Conway, 
 MoNCURE Daniel, 1892, The Life of 
 Thomas Paine, vol. ii, p. 427, note. 
 
 At eight o'clock on the morning of June 
 
 8, 1809, Paine died quietly and at peace 
 in the seventy-third year of his age. He 
 had expressed a wish to be buried in the 
 Quaker cemetery, for the Quakers were 
 the only Christian sect he held in respect ; 
 but the request was denied. Two days 
 after his death his body was carried for 
 burial to his farm at New Rochelle, twenty- 
 five miles away. The Bonnevilles, good 
 Willett Hicks, and two negroes were his 
 mourners, and followed him to the 
 journey's end. A stone was placed to 
 mark the grave ; and ten years later Wil- 
 liam Cobbett, once a mistaken vilifier of 
 Paine and afterwards his eulogist, had his 
 bones removed and carried to England, in- 
 tending to raise a monuent to him in his 
 native land. But the old outcry was heard 
 again. A town-crier was sent to jail for 
 proclaiming the arrival of the infidel's 
 bones. Cobbett relinquished his design, 
 and no one in the world to-day knows the 
 resting place of Thomas Paine. . . . 
 Paine was a religious man. His convic- 
 tions were few and profound. So strong 
 was his faith that it led him into the very 
 intolerance he detested, and made him 
 ridicule where he ought to have shown 
 respect. ... In private life Paine 
 was uncorrupted by the worst vices of his 
 generation. He was never abstemious, 
 and during the Reign of Terror he drank 
 to excess; but, if there be any truth in 
 the accounts of drunkenness of his later 
 years, it lies in the very occasional in- 
 dulgence at a time when gentlemen slept 
 under the table and awoke still gentlemen. 
 The stories of his filthy habits are slander, 
 though towards the close of his life, he 
 became more careless of his dress, and 
 maybe did not brush his coat after each 
 pinch of snuff. He was always gentle to 
 children and to animals. In manner he was 
 kindly, and in conversation intelligent; 
 but he was intolerant of contradiction, 
 and not disinclined to assume the god in a 
 gathering of friends. Like most vain 
 men, Paine had little pride. His repeated 
 requests for money for his services grate 
 harshly enough, but their origin was not 
 in meanness. . . . His tasks were not all 
 done wisely, but they were done bravely. 
 Too often his light was darkness ; but he 
 walked steadfastly^in its path, and the goal 
 which he sought was the happiness of his 
 fellow-men. — Sedgwick, Ellery, 1899, 
 Thomas Paine, pp. 139. 144, 145, 147. 
 
THOMAS PAINE 
 
 535 
 
 COMMON SENSE 
 
 1776 
 
 This day was published, and is now sell- 
 ing by Robert Bell, in Third Street, price 
 two shillings, Common Sense," addressed 
 to the inhabitants of North America. — 
 Pennsylvania Journal, 1776, Jan. 10. 
 
 A few more of such flaming arguments 
 as were exhibited at Falmouth and Nor- 
 folk, added to the sound doctrine and un- 
 answerable reasoning contained in the 
 pamphlet ''Common Sense," will not leave 
 numbers at a loss to decide upon the pro- 
 propriety of separation. — ^Washington, 
 George, 1776, Letter to Joseyh Reed, Jan. 
 31 ; Writings, ed. Ford, vol. iii, p. 396. 
 
 A pamphlet that had prodigious effects. 
 — Franklin, Benjamin, 1787, Letter to 
 M. de Veillard. 
 
 Speaking a language which the colonists 
 had felt but not thought, its popularity, 
 terrible in its consequences to the parent 
 country, was unexampled in the history of 
 the press.— Cheetham, James, 1809, Life 
 of Thomas Paine, p. 46. 
 
 A pamphlet whose effect was such, that 
 it is quite a feature in this memorable con- 
 test. You may now read it, and wonder 
 how a performance not marked, as you 
 may at first sight suppose, with any par- 
 ticular powers of eloquence, could possibly 
 produce effects so striking. — Smyth, 
 William, 1839, Lectures on Modern His- 
 tory, Lecture xxxiii. 
 
 Nor is our England without her mission- 
 aries. She has her life-saving Needham ; 
 to whom was solemnly presented a "civic 
 sword," — long since rusted into nothing- 
 ness. Her Paine: rebellious Staymaker; 
 unkempt; who feels that he, a single 
 Needleman,* did, by his ''Common Sense" 
 Pamphlet, free America ; — that he can and 
 will free all this World ; perhaps even the 
 other.— Carlyle, Thomas, 1837, The 
 French Revolution, vol. ii, cL iii. 
 
 In '76 or '77 I was present, at Providence, 
 Rhode Island, in a social assembly of most 
 of the prominent leaders of the State. 
 I recollect that the subject of independence 
 was cautiously introduced by an ardent 
 Whig, and the thought seemed to excite 
 the abhorrence of the whole circle. A few 
 weeks after, Paine's "Common Sense" 
 appeared, and passed through the con- 
 tinent like an electric sp^rk. It every- 
 where flashed conviction; and aroused a 
 
 determined spirit, which resulted in the 
 Declaration of Independence, upon the 4th 
 of July ensuing. The name of Paine was 
 precious to every Whig heart, and had re- 
 sounded throughout Europe. — Watson, 
 Elkanah, 1842-56, Men and Times of the 
 Revolution, ed. W. C. Watson, p. 127. / 
 
 He was the first to perceive the destiny 
 of the New World, No other pamphlet 
 ever accomplished such wonderful results. 
 It was filled with argument, reason, per- 
 suasion, and unanswerable logic. It 
 opened a new world. It filled the present 
 with hope and the future with honor. 
 Everywhere the people responded, and in 
 a few months the Continental Congress 
 declared the colonies free and independent 
 States. A new nation was born. It is 
 simple justice to say that Paine did more 
 to cause the Declaration of Independence 
 than any other man. Neither should it 
 be forgotten that his attacks upon Great 
 Britain were also attacks upon monarchy ; 
 and while he convinced the people that the 
 colonies ought to separate from the 
 mother country, he also proved to them 
 that a free government is the best that 
 can be instituted among men. In my 
 judgment, Thomas Paine was the best polit- 
 ical writer that ever lived. — Ingersoll, 
 Robert G., 1874, The Gods and Other ^ 
 Lectures, p. 124. 
 
 Had in him the seeds of something like 
 genius. . . . Though Burke moves in an 
 intellectual sphere altogether superior to 
 that in which Paine was able to rise, and 
 though the richness of Burke's speculative 
 power is as superior to Paine's meager 
 philosophy as his style is superior in the 
 amplitude of its rhetoric, it is not to be 
 denied that Paine's plain-speaking is more 
 fitted to reach popular passions, and even 
 that he has certain advantages in point of 
 argument.— Stephen, Leslie, 1876, His- 
 tory of English Thought in the Eighteenth 
 Century, vol. ii, p. 261. 
 
 Like all his v;orks, this pamphlet was 
 written in clear, racy, vivid English, and 
 with much power of popular reasoning; 
 and, like most of his works, it was shallow, 
 violent, and scurrilous. — Lecky, William 
 Edward Hartpole, 1882, A History of 
 England in the Eighteenth Century, vol. 
 Ill, p. 489. 
 
 No other pamphlet published during the 
 Revolution is comparable with "Common 
 
536 
 
 THOMAS PAINE 
 
 Sense" for interest to the reader of to- 
 day, or for value as an historical document. 
 Therein as in a mirror is beheld the almost 
 incredible England, against which the 
 colonies contended. And therein is re- 
 flected the moral, even religious, enthusi- 
 asm which raised the struggle above the 
 paltriness of a rebellion against taxation 
 to a great human movement, — a war for 
 an idea. The art with which every 
 sentence is feathered for its aim is con- 
 summate. — Conway, Moncure Daniel, 
 1892, The Life of Thomas Paine, vol, i, 
 p. 66. 
 
 Colonial resolution had been screwed 
 to the sticking point by Tom Paine, the 
 stormy petrel of three countries, with his 
 pamphlet Common Sense," issued in the 
 nick of time, coarsely but forcibly written 
 and well spiced with rhetoric about the 
 ''royal brute." — Smith, Gold win, 1893, 
 The United States, An Outline of Political 
 History, 1492-1871, p. 87. 
 
 THE AMERICAN CRISIS 
 
 1776-83 
 
 Under that cloud, by Washington's side, 
 was silently at work the force that lifted 
 it. Marching by day, listening to the 
 consultations of Washington and his gen- 
 erals, Paine wrote by the camp fires ; the 
 winter storms, the Delaware's waves, were 
 mingled with his ink ; the half -naked sol- 
 diers in their troubled sleep dreaming of 
 their distant homes, the skulking deserter 
 creeping off in the dusk, the pallid face of 
 the heavy hearted commander, made the 
 awful shadows beneath which was written 
 that leaflet which went to the Philadelphia 
 printer along with Washington's last fore- 
 boding letters to his relatives in Virginia. 
 It was printed on December 19th, and 
 many copies reached the camp above Tren- 
 ton Falls on the eve of that almost des- 
 perate attack on which Washington had 
 resolved. . . . America has known 
 some utterances of the lips equivalent to 
 decisive victories in tne field, — as some of 
 Patrick Henry's, and the address of Presi- 
 dent Lincoln at Gettysburg. But of utter- 
 ances by the pen none have achieved such 
 vast results as Paine's ''Common Sense" 
 and his first "Crisis." Before the battle 
 of Trenton the half-clad, disheartened 
 soldies of Washington were called together 
 in groups to listen to that thrilling ex- 
 hortation. . . . Not a chord of faith, 
 or love, or hope was left untouched. The 
 
 very faults of the composition, which the 
 dilettanti have picked out, were effective 
 to men who had seen Paine on the march, 
 and knew these things were written in 
 sleepless intervals of unwearied labors. 
 . . . The pamphlet was never sur- 
 passed for true eloquence — that is, for the 
 power that carries its point. With skilful 
 illustration of lofty principles by significant 
 details, all summed with simplicity and 
 sympathy, three of the most miserable 
 weeks ever endured by men were raised 
 into epical dignity. The wives, daughters, 
 mothers, sisters, seemed stretching out 
 appealing hands against the mythically 
 monstrous Hessians. The great com- 
 mander, previously pointed to as "a mind 
 that can even flourish upon care," pres- 
 ently saw his dispirited soldiers beaming 
 with hope, and bounding to the onset, — 
 their watchword : These are the times that 
 try men's souls! Trenton was won, the 
 Hessians captured, and a New Year broke 
 for America on the morrow of that Christ- 
 mas Day, 1776. — Conway, Moncure 
 Daniel, 1892, The Life of Thomas Paine, 
 vol. I, pp. 85, 86. 
 
 In the terrible hour of blackest disaster, 
 poverty, suffering, and despair, when 
 Washington was retreating before Lord 
 Howe, defeated, and the country was 
 beginning to feel the cause hopeless, Paine 
 wrote the first number of "Crisis." 
 Washington had it read at the head of every 
 army corps ; and at every pinch of affairs 
 throughout the war, the words of Paine 
 were looked for, to inspirit the soldiers 
 and arouse the flagging patriotism of the 
 people. Franklin could not have done this 
 work. His logic of prudence and honesty 
 and courage would have failed to touch 
 the souls that were discouraged. It 
 needed words of fire and logic that rang 
 like the blows of a berserker's sword on 
 his shield.— Powell, E. P., 1893, Study 
 of Thomas Paine, The Arena, vol. 8, p. 723. 
 
 THE RIGHTS OF MAN 
 
 1791-92 
 
 Mr. Paine's answer to Burke will be a 
 refreshing shower to their minds. It 
 would bring England itself to reason and 
 i^evolution if it was permitted to be read 
 there. — Jefferson, Thomas, 1791, Letter 
 to Benjamin Vaughan, May 11 ; Writings, 
 ed. Ford, vol. v, p. 334. 
 
 With respect to Paine's book, the first 
 impression was seized by the government. 
 
THOMAS PAINE 
 
 537 
 
 and the circulation of it stopped as much 
 as possible, but still many copies have got 
 abroad, and, as I am just informed, have 
 done much mischief. Your help, there- 
 fore, is as much wanted and as strongly 
 called for as ever. I will venture to say, 
 that the eyes of many are fixed on you at 
 this important crisis. — Porteus, Beilby, 
 1793, Letter to Hannah More, MemoirSy 
 ed. Roberts, vol. I, p. 424. 
 
 I have had the ill or good fortune to 
 provoke two great men of this age to the 
 publication of their opinions: I mean 
 Citizen Thomas Paine, and his Grace the 
 * * * of * * * I am not so great a leveller as 
 to put these two great men on a par, either 
 in the state, or the republic of letters ; 
 but *'the field of glory is a field for all." 
 It is a large one, indeed ; and we ail may 
 run, God knows where, in chase of glory, 
 over the boundless expanse of that wild 
 heath whose horizon always flies before 
 us. I assure his Grace, (if he will yet 
 give men leave to call him so), whatever 
 may be said on the authority of the clubs 
 or the bar, that Citizen Paine (who, they 
 will have it, hunts with me in couples, and 
 who only moves as 1 drag him along) has 
 a sufliicient activity in his own native 
 benevolence to dispose and enable him to 
 take the lead for himself. He is ready to 
 blaspheme his God, to insult his king, and 
 to libel the Constitution of his country, 
 without any provocation from me or any 
 encouragement from his Grace. — Burke, 
 Edmund, 1795, A Letter to William Elliot, 
 Works, vol. I, p. iii. 
 
 The book was characteristic of the man. 
 Its purpose was, through the debasing prin- 
 ciple of envy, which is after all the main 
 principle of a leveller, to reduce all man- 
 kind to one standard, to write up a sort of 
 confusion made easy, by addressing the 
 baser to war against the better passions 
 of our nature, by pulling down superior 
 station, talents, virtues, and distinctions 
 to the level of the lowest. It was an open 
 declaration of hostility to all the institu- 
 tions which we in England had been ac- 
 customed to consider as our ornament and 
 pride ; not a reform of the real or imagi- 
 nary abuses of government, but a pretty 
 plain recommendation to pull it down 
 altogether for the pleasure of building 
 afresh on the republican model — good per- 
 haps in the eyes of an American, but at 
 variance with the habits, the feelings, the 
 
 opinions, the honest convictions and prej- 
 udices of an Englishman. — Prior, Sir 
 James, 1824, Memoir of the Life and Char- 
 acter of the Right Hon. Edmund Burke, 
 vol. II, p. 113. 
 
 This work should be read by every man 
 and woman. It is concise, accurate, 
 natural, convincing, and unanswerable. 
 It shows great thought; and intimate 
 knowledge of the various forms of govern- 
 ment ; deep insight into the very springs 
 of human action, and a courage that com- 
 pels respect and admiration. The most 
 difficult political problems are solved in a 
 few sentences. The venerable arguments 
 in favor of wrong are refuted with a ques- 
 tion — answered with a word. For forci- 
 ble illustration, apt comparison, accuracy 
 and clearness of statement, and absolute 
 thoroughness, it has never been excelled. 
 — Ingersoll, Robert G., 1874, The Gods 
 and Other Lectures, p. 130. 
 
 AGE OF REASON 
 1794-95-1811 
 
 How exceedingly superficial and frivo- 
 lous are the hacknied objections to Chris- 
 tianity, and how entirely they arise from 
 the grossest ignorance of the subject, will 
 appear from my animadversions on Mr. 
 Paine's boasted work. He would have 
 written more to the purpose, if he had 
 been acquainted with the writings of 
 Voltaire, and other better informed un- 
 believers. But he seems entirely un- 
 read on the subject, and thereby to be 
 acquainted with the ground on which 
 either the friends or the enemies of Chris- 
 tianity must stand. Had he been better 
 acquainted with the Scriptures which are 
 a constant subject of his ridicule, he might 
 have made a more plausible attack upon 
 them. — Priestley, Joseph, 1794, Letters 
 to a Philosophical Unbeliever in Answer to 
 Mr. Paine^s Age of Reason. 
 
 Read Tom Paine's ''Age of Reason," — 
 God defend us from such poison. — WiL- 
 berforce, William, 1794, Journal, Life 
 by R. I. and S. Wilberforce, vol. ii, p. 61. 
 
 This volume, the hornbook of vulgar 
 infidelity, is now before us, and we have 
 doubted how far we ought to refer to it, 
 or what use to make of it. It has passed 
 utterly out of the world's thoughts, and 
 we have a repugnance, not easily to be 
 overcome, in bringing it to light again. 
 Its blasphemies are enough to sicken the 
 heart ; but still it may not be useless, in 
 
538 
 
 THOMAS PAINE 
 
 one view, to show the Christian reader to 
 what dregs infidelity, beginning with re- 
 finement and high-bred speculation, will 
 at last come.— Read, W. B., 1843, The 
 Life and Character of Thomas Painey 
 North American Review y vol. 57, p. 49. 
 
 Perhaps the most blasphemous and 
 mischievous book that was ever issued 
 from the English press. — Perry, George 
 G., 1864, The History of the Church of 
 England^ vol. ill, p. 436. 
 
 That hasty pamphlet of his which he 
 named ''The Age of Reason, written to 
 alleviate the tedium of his Paris prison, 
 differs from other deistical works only in 
 being bolder and honester. It contains 
 not a position which Franklin, John 
 Adams, Jefferson, and Theodore Parker 
 would have dissented from ; and, doubtless, 
 he spoke the truth when he declared that 
 his main purpose in writing it was to 
 ''inspire mankind with a more exalted idea 
 of the Supreme Architect of the Uni- 
 verse.'^ I think his judgment must have 
 been impaired before he could have con- 
 sented to publish so inadequate a per- 
 formance.— Parton, James, 1874, Life of 
 Thomas Jefferson^ p. 591. 
 
 The man who was the most influential 
 assailant of the orthodox faith was Thomas 
 Paine. He was the arch infidel, the infidel 
 par eminence, whom our early and later 
 theologians have united in holding up as 
 a monster of iniquity and unbelief. The 
 truth is that Paine was a dogmatic, well- 
 meaning iconoclast, who attacked religion 
 without having any religious experience 
 or any imaginative perception of the vital 
 spiritual phenomena on which religious 
 faith is based. Nobody can read his ' ' Age 
 of Reason," after having had some pre- 
 paratory knowledge derived from the study 
 of the history of religions, without 
 wondering at its shallowness. Paine is, 
 in a spiritual application of the phrase, 
 color-blind. He does not seem to know 
 what religion is. The reputation he en- 
 joyed was due not more to his masterly 
 command of all the avenues to the average 
 popular mind than to the importance to 
 which he was lifted by his horrified theo- 
 logical adversaries. His merit as a writer 
 against religion consisted in his hard, 
 almost animal, common-sense, to whose 
 tests he subjected the current theological 
 dogmas. — Whipple, Edwin Percy, 1886, 
 American Literature and Other Papers. 
 
 Is popular only with the lower classes, 
 unable to perceive its cheap and unschol- 
 arly critical method and its vulgar temper. 
 —Richardson, Charles F., 1887, Amer- 
 ican Literature, 1607-1885, vol. i, p. 211. 
 
 As an exponent of religious views, had 
 a position in his day somewhat similar to 
 that of Robert Ingersoll with us. He 
 made a determined and vigorous attack 
 upon a faith of whose true character he 
 was irremediably ignorant. He was de- 
 void of Ingersoll's quick wit and poetic 
 genius ; but he had his rough and ready 
 knowledge of human nature, his love 
 of destruction, his hard common sense, 
 his spiritual color-blindness, and, per- 
 haps, more than his earnestness. As in 
 Ingersoll's case, too, the consternation 
 which his attacks upon religion produced 
 among clergymen and church members 
 greatly increased his weight and impor- 
 tance as an "infidel." His "Age of 
 Reason," is a shallow production, but it 
 had its effect when it was written. 
 Religion, it needs hardly be said, sus- 
 tained no permanent injury at Paine's 
 hands.— Hawthorne, Julian, and Lem- 
 MON, Leonard, 1891, American Litera- 
 ture, p. 27. 
 
 The "Age of Reason" went everywhere, 
 into holes and corners, among backwoods- 
 men and pioneers, and did more execution 
 among plain moral men than many a book 
 that was more worthy of acceptance. It 
 is a pity that his disciples should be con- 
 tent with repeating his denials, instead of 
 building on the rational foundations which 
 he laidc For instance, they might while 
 adding to his criticism of the Scriptures, 
 have shown their high moral bearing and 
 their spiritual glow. They might have 
 carried out further his "enthusiasm for 
 humanity, " showing that man had more in 
 him than Paine suspected. They might 
 have justified by more scientific reasons 
 his belief in God and in immortality. 
 They might have been truly rationalists 
 as he wanted to be, but could not be at 
 that period. But they were satisfied in 
 saying over and over again, what he said 
 as well as he could, but not as well as they 
 can. He was simply a precursor, but he 
 was a precursor of such men as Colenso 
 and Robertson Smith, and a large host of 
 scholars beside.— Frothingham, Octa- 
 vius Brooks, 1891, Recollections and Im- 
 pressions, p. 252. 
 
THOMAS PAINE 
 
 539 
 
 Paine's book has done as much to modify 
 human belief as any ever written. It is 
 one of the very few religious works of the 
 last century which survives in unsectarian 
 circulation. It requires a scholarly per- 
 ception to recognize in its occasional ex- 
 pressions, by some called coarse," the 
 simple Saxon of Norfolkshire. . . . 
 Paine's book is the uprising of the human 
 HEART against the Religion of Inhuman- 
 ity. . . . But here is one man, a 
 prisoner, preparing for his long silence. 
 He alone can speak for those slain between 
 the throne and the altar. In these out- 
 bursts of laughter and tears, these out- 
 cries that think not of literary style, these 
 appeals from surrounding chaos to the 
 starry realm of order, from the tribune of 
 vengeance to the sun shining for all, this 
 passionate horror of cruelty in the power- 
 ful which will brave a heartless heaven or 
 hell with its immortal indignation, — in all 
 these the unfettered mind may hear the 
 wail of enthralled Europe, sinking back 
 choked with its blood, under the chain it 
 tried to break. So long as a link remains 
 of the same chain, binding reason or heart, 
 Paine's *'Age of Reason" will live. It is 
 not a mere book — it is a man's heart. — 
 Conway, Moncure Daniel, 1892, The 
 Life of Thomas Paine, vol. II, pp. 184, 
 198, 222. 
 
 ''The Age of Reason" damaged Paine^s 
 reputation in America, where the name of 
 **Tom Paine" became a stench in the 
 nostrils of the godly, and a synonym for 
 atheism and blasphemy. His book was 
 denounced from a hundred pulpits, and 
 copies of it were carefully locked away 
 from the sight of *'the young," whose 
 religious beliefs it might undermine. It 
 was, in effect, a crude an'd popular state- 
 ment of the deistic argument against 
 Christianity. . . . The contest between 
 skepticism and revelation has long since 
 shifted to other grounds. Both the phi- 
 losophy and the temper of ''The Age of 
 Reason" belong to the eighteenth cen- 
 tury. But Paine's downright pugnacious 
 method of attack was effective with 
 shrewd, half-educated doubters; and in 
 America well-thumbed copies of his book 
 passed from hand to hand in many a rural 
 tavern or store, where the village atheist 
 wrestled in debate with the deacon or the 
 schoolmaster.— Beers, Henry A., 1895, 
 Initial Studies in American Letters. 
 
 A crude but often acute and forcible 
 exposition of deism. — Herford, C. H., 
 1897, The Age of Wordsworth, p. 8. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 That the early, unsolicited, and con- 
 tinued labors of Mr. Thomas Paine, in ex- 
 plaining and enforcing the principles of 
 the late revolution by ingenious and timely 
 publications upon the nature of liberty, 
 and civil government, have been well re- 
 ceived by the citizens of these States, and 
 merit the approbation of Congress; and 
 that in consideration of these services, 
 and the benefits produced thereby, Mr. 
 Paine is entitled to a liberal gratification 
 from the United States.— Resolution of 
 Congress, 1785, August 25th. 
 
 I have frequently with pleasure reflected 
 on your services to my native and your 
 adopted country. Your ' ' Common Sense, ' ' 
 and your "Crisis," unquestionably awak- 
 ened the public mind, and led the people 
 loudly to call for a declaration of our 
 national independence. I therefore es- 
 teemed you as a warm friend to the liberty 
 and lasting welfare of the human race. 
 But when I had heard you had turned your 
 mind to a defence of infidelity, I felt my- 
 self much astonished and more grieved, 
 that you had attempted a measure so in- 
 jurious to the feelings and so repugnant 
 to the true interest of so great a part of 
 the citizens of the United States. The 
 people of New England, if you will allow 
 me to use a Scripture phrase, are fast re- 
 turning to their first love. Will you ex- 
 cite among them the spirit of angry con- 
 troversy at a time when they are hasten- 
 ing to amity and peace ? I am told that 
 some of our newspapers have announced 
 your intention to publish an additional 
 pamphlet upon the principles of your "Age 
 of Reason." Do you think that your 
 pen, or the pen of any other man, can 
 unchristianize the mass of our citizens, or 
 have your hopes of converting a few of 
 them to assist you in so bad a cause ? We 
 ought to think ourselves happy in the 
 enjoyment of opinion, without the danger 
 of persecution by civil or ecclesiastical 
 law. Our friend, the President of the 
 United States, has been culminated for 
 his liberal sentiments by men who have 
 attributed that liberality to a latent de- 
 sign to promote the cause of infidelity. 
 This, and all other slanders, have been 
 made without the least shadow of proof. 
 
540 
 
 THOMAS PAINE 
 
 Neither religion nor liberty can long sub- 
 sist in the tumult of altercation and amidst 
 the noise and violence of faction. Felix 
 qui cautus. Adieu. — Adams, Samuel, 
 1802, Letter to Thomas Paine, Works, vol. 
 Ill, p. 372. 
 
 Nobody now-a-days would trouble him- 
 self to read Tom Paine. — McCarthy, 
 Justin, 1872, Science and Orthodoxy in 
 England, Modern Leaders, p. 242. 
 
 When our children's children shall 
 celebrate America's second centennial, a 
 hundred years from now, they will write 
 in largest letters, upon their national 
 banner, this sentence, which all intelligent 
 American citizens will then enthusiastic- 
 ally recognize and applaud: Thomas 
 Paine — The Patriot, Philanthropist and 
 Theologian of Two Hundred years ago." — 
 ScHERMERHORN, Martin K., 1876, Cen- 
 tennial Lecture on Thomas Paine, p. 18. 
 
 What other last-century writer on 
 political and religious issues survives in 
 the hatred and devotion of a time engaged 
 with new problems ? What power is con- 
 fessed in that writer who was set in the 
 place of a decadent Satan, hostility to him 
 being a sort of sixth point of Calvinism, 
 and fortieth article of the Church ? Large 
 indeed must have been the influence of a 
 man still perenially denounced by sec- 
 tarians after heretical progress has left 
 him comparatively orthodox, and retained 
 as the figure-head of ''Free thought" after 
 his theism has been abandoned by its lead- 
 ers. Religion," said Paine, **has two 
 principal enemies. Fanaticism and Infidel- 
 ity." It was his strange destiny to be 
 made a battle-field between these enemies. 
 In the smoke of the conflict the man has 
 been hidden. In the catalogue of the 
 British Museum Library I counted 327 
 entries of books by or concerning Thomas 
 Paine, who in most of them is a man- 
 shaped or devil-shaped shuttlecock tossed 
 between fanatical and ''infidel" rackets. 
 Here surely were phenomena enough to 
 attract the historic sense of a scientific 
 age, yet they are counterpart of an his- 
 toric suppression of the most famous 
 author of his time. The meagre refer- 
 ences to Paine by other than controversial 
 writers are perfunctory; by most histo- 
 rians he is either wronged or ignored. 
 Before me are two histories of "American 
 Slavery" by eminent members of Congress ; 
 neither mentions that Paine was the first 
 
 political writer who advocated and devised 
 a scheme of emancipation. Here is the 
 latest "Life of Washington" (1889), by 
 another member of Congress, who manages 
 to exclude even the name of the man who, 
 as we shall see, chiefly converted Washing- 
 ton to the cause of independence. And 
 here is a history of the "American Revolu- 
 tion" (1891), by John Fiske, who, while 
 recognizing the effect of ''Common Sense," 
 reveals his ignorance of that pamphlet, 
 and of all Paine's works, by describing it 
 as full of scurrilous abuse of the English 
 people, — whom Paine regarded as fellow- 
 sufferers with the Americans under royal 
 despotism. — Conway, Moncure Daniel, 
 1892, The Life of Thomas Paine, vol. I, 
 Preface, p. ix. 
 
 Paine is the only English writer who 
 expresses with uncompromising sharpness 
 the abstract doctrine of political rights 
 held by the French revolutionists. His 
 relation to the American struggle, and 
 afterwards to the revolution of 1789, gave 
 him a unique position, and his writings 
 became the sacred books of the extreme 
 radical party in England. Attempts to 
 suppress them only raised their influence, 
 and the writings of the first quarter of the 
 century are full of proofs of the impor- 
 tance attached to them by friends and foes. 
 Paine deserves whatever credit is due to 
 absolute devotion to a creed believed by 
 himself to be demonstrably true and bene- 
 ficial. He showed undeniable courage, 
 and is free from any suspicion of mer- 
 cenary motives. He attached an exces- 
 sive importance to his own work, and was 
 ready to accept the commonplace that his 
 pen had been as eflScient as Washington's 
 sword. He attributed to the power of his 
 reasoning all that may more fitly be 
 ascribed to the singular fitness of his 
 formulae to express the political passions 
 of the time. Though unable to see that 
 his opponents could be anything but fools 
 and knaves, he has the merit of sincerely 
 wishing that the triumph should be won 
 by reason without violence. With a little 
 more "human nature," he would have 
 shrunk from insulting Washington or en- 
 couraging a Napoleonic invasion of his 
 native country. But Paine's bigotry was 
 of the logical kind which can see only one 
 side of a question, and imagines that all 
 political and religious questions are as 
 simple as the first propositions of Euclid. 
 
PAINE— SEWARD 
 
 541 
 
 This singular power of clear, vigorous ex- 
 position made him unequalled as a pam- 
 phleteer in revolutionary times, when 
 compromise was an absurdity. He also 
 showed great shrewdness and independence 
 of thought in his criticisms of the Bible. 
 He said, indeed, little that had not been 
 anticipated by the English deists and their 
 French disciples; but he writes freshly 
 and independently, if sometimes coarsely. 
 — Stephen, Leslie, 1895, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. XLiii, p. 78. 
 
 The coarse and violent expression, as 
 well as the unpopular matter, of ^*aine's 
 works may have led to his being rather 
 unfairly treated in the hot fights of the 
 Revolutionary period; but the attempts 
 which have recently been made to white- 
 wash him are a mere mistake of reaction, 
 or paradox, or pure stupidity. The 
 charges which used to be brought against 
 his moral character matter little; for 
 neither side in these days had, or in any 
 days has, a monopoly of loose or of holy 
 living. But two facts will always remain ; 
 first, that Paine attacked subjects which 
 all require calm, and some of them rever- 
 ent, treatment, in a tone of the coarsest 
 
 violence ; and, secondly, that he engaged 
 in questions of the widest reach, and re- 
 quiring endless thought and reading, with 
 the scanty equipments and the super- 
 abundant confidence of a self-educated 
 man. — Saintsbury, George, 1896, A 
 History of Nineteenth Century Literature, 
 p. 31. 
 
 When we consider the dignity, the 
 elevation, and the reasonableness of so 
 much that he says in his argument for the 
 separation of the Colonies from England, 
 and of many passages even in the "Age of 
 Reason, " one hardly knows how to account 
 for the ribaldry which belongs to so many 
 of his later writings: ribald about old 
 friends and benefactors ; ribald about re- 
 ligion ; ribald about the public which had 
 honored him. Jealous, morbid, crazed by 
 his vanities — his clever mind at intervals 
 blazing through the clouds and foulnesses 
 which his own dissipations and selfish 
 arrogance had created; dying at last, 
 after long stages of drunkenness, and, as 
 many report, with a nose as bloated as 
 Bardolph's. — Mitchell, Donald G.,1897, 
 American Lands and Letters, The May- 
 flower to Rip- Van- Winkle, p. 115. 
 
 Anna Seward 
 
 1747-1809 
 
 The *'Swan of Lichfield," born in 1747 at Eyam rectory, Derbyshire, lived from 
 seven at Lichfield, where her father, himself a poet, became a canon. He died in 
 1790, but she lived on in the bishop's palace, dear to her friends and correspondents, 
 Mrs. Piozzi, Hayley, Southey, Scott, and died 23d March 1809. She published her 
 poetical novel, ''Louisa,'' in 1782; her ''Sonnets" in 1799; her Life of Dr. Darwin 
 in 1804 ; but bequeathed to Walter Scott the care of the collected edition of her poems 
 (1810). Her . . . letters fill six volumes (1811-13). — Patrick and Groome, 
 eds.y 1897, Chambers^ s Biographical Dictionary, p. 843. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 The great command of literary anecdotes 
 which Miss Seward possessed, her ready 
 perception both of the serious and ludi- 
 crous, and her just observation and original 
 taste, rendered her society delightful. 
 She entered into every topic with the keen- 
 ness and vivacity of youth, and it was dif- 
 ficult to associate the idea of advanced 
 years either with her countenance or con- 
 versation. The possessor of such quick 
 feelings seldom escapes the portion of pain 
 with which all earthly good are alloyed 
 and tempered. With the warmest heart 
 of her friends, and an unbounded enthu- 
 siasm in their service. Miss Seward united 
 
 a sensibility to coldness, or to injuries real 
 or supposed, which she permitted to dis- 
 turb her more than was consistent with 
 prudence or with happiness. The same 
 tone of mind rendered her jealous of 
 critical authority, when exercised over 
 her own productions, or those of her 
 friends.— Scott, Sir Walter, 1810, ed.. 
 The Poetical Works of Anna Seward, 
 Memoir. 
 
 Miss Seward had not the art of making 
 friends, except among the little circle 
 whom she flattered, and who flattered her. 
 I never saw her myself, but judge only 
 from the manner in which she was spoken 
 of. My friend Shaw, whom she noticed, 
 
642 
 
 ANNA SEWARD 
 
 thought her the greatest of poetesses. 
 She both gave offence and provoked ridicule 
 by her affectation, and bad taste, and pomp- 
 ous pretensions.- — Brydges, Sir Samuel 
 Egerton, 1834, Autobiography, vol. i, 
 p. 57. 
 
 Anna Seward, — the most successful of 
 unendowed poetesses, — appears before us, 
 in or about her thirtieth year — still in all 
 the freshness of her beauty. Let us 
 follow her into her father's library, as she 
 limps along— for she is lame from the 
 fracture of her knee, years ago — yet she 
 is still, though bent, tall, elegant, and 
 even stately. She seats herself before a 
 table, and with the finest and fairest of 
 hands opens a book. We gaze upon her 
 oval face as she upraises it to look at the 
 old man beside her in his easy chair. That 
 face is full of harmony, as it is of expres- 
 sion. The features are small, regular and 
 delicate; there is something very firm, 
 though very sweet, in the mouth. Her 
 eyes, of auburn, are of the same hue and 
 shade precisely as her hair, which is drawn 
 up from her high forehead, and gathered 
 under a knot of pearls. Around her long, 
 fair throat is a string of pearls sewn to a 
 small band of black velvet; over her 
 shoulder she wears a loose bodice, which 
 is edged with sable fur, leaving her bust 
 exposed in the folds of her loose and 
 short-waisted dress. Large white muslin 
 cambric sleeves fall over her delicate 
 arms. — Thomson, Katherine (Grace 
 Wharton), 1862, The Literature of Sod- 
 ety, vol. n, p. 263. 
 
 Johnson could not appreciate the deep, 
 sensitive nature of Miss Seward, and Bos- 
 well hated her, and speaks very disparag- 
 ingly of her, with his usual coarseness. 
 We can hardly forgive Scott for one of his 
 letters, criticising her little weaknesses, 
 after she was dead. No truer heart ever 
 beat in the breast of any woman. — BuT- 
 TERWORTH, Hezekiah, 1876, Anna Sew- 
 ard and Major Andre, The Galaxy, vol. 
 21, p. 175. 
 
 Her admirers were wont to call her The 
 Swan of Lichfield,'' and she herself seems 
 to have imagined the title not unmerited. 
 Her chief foible, indeed, must have been 
 this poetry. She could never have earned 
 such hearty esteem from men like Sir 
 Walter Scott, and have avoided so success- 
 fully the numberless jealousies which writ- 
 ing people have to encounter, had she not 
 
 in all her private relations shown herself 
 a much more perfect mistress of her con- 
 duct than she was of the poet's pen. — 
 Robertson, Eric S., 1883, English Poet- 
 esses, p. 98. 
 
 GENERAL 
 Misses Seward and Williams, and half-a- 
 dozen more of these harmonious virgins, 
 have no imagination, no novelty. Their 
 thoughts and phrases are like their gown, 
 old remnants cut and turned. — Wal- 
 pole, Horace, 1786, To the Countess of 
 Ossory, Nov. 4 ; Letters, ed, Cunningham, 
 vol. IX, p. 73. 
 
 I had the satisfaction of hearing that 
 Miss Seward's ''Louisa" made you weep; 
 I remember the difliculty I had to make 
 you promise to read it; the same re- 
 pugnance I have had to combat in a 
 dozen other people ; all were as unwilling 
 as if it had been a sermon, or something that 
 was to do them good ; but when they had 
 read it, all who had any taste for imagery, 
 sentiment, and poetry thanked me for 
 having compelled them to enjoy this pleas- 
 ure, and I expected you would have had 
 the same gratitude. Miss Seward's im- 
 agination is bright and glowing; she is 
 rich in expression, and admirable at de- 
 scription ; but to counterbalance all these 
 excellences, she has one fault, which is of 
 great magnitude, but which may not per- 
 haps be so great an offence in your eyes 
 as I confess it is in mine: what it is I 
 shall not mention, and in case it does not 
 strike you, I am willing you should call 
 me mean and malignant for suggesting 
 it : a little envy is natural, if not pardon- 
 able; when I see Mrs. Pepys, I will tell 
 her my objections. — More, Hannah, 
 1784, Letter to Mr. Pepys, July 17 ; Mem- 
 airs, ed. Roberts, vol. I, p. 194. 
 
 I am now doing penance for my ill- 
 breeding, by submitting to edit her pos- 
 thumous poetry, most of which is ab- 
 solutely execrable. This, however, is the 
 least of my evils, for when she proposed 
 this bequest to me, which I could not in 
 decency refuse, she combined it with* a 
 request that I would publish her whole lit- 
 erary correspondence- This I declined on 
 principle, having a particular aversion at 
 perpetuating that sort of gossip; but 
 what availed it ? Lo ! to ensure the pub- 
 lication, she left it to an Edinburgh book- 
 seller; and I anticipate the horror of 
 seeing myself advertised for a live poet 
 
ANNA SEWARD 
 
 543 
 
 like a wild beast on a painted streamer, 
 for I understand all her friends are depicted 
 therein in body, mind, and manners. So 
 much for the risks of sentimental corre- 
 spondence.— Scott, Sir Walter, 1810, 
 Letter to Joanna Bailliey March 18 ; Life 
 by Lockharty ch. xix. 
 
 Have you seen Miss Seward's Let- 
 ters?" The names of her correspondents 
 are tempting, but, alas ! though addressed 
 to all the eminent literati of the last half 
 century, all the epistles bear the signature 
 of Anna Seward. To tell you the truth, I 
 was always a little shocked at the sort of 
 reputation she bore in poetry. Sometimes 
 affected, sometimes fade, sometimes pe- 
 dantic, and sometimes tinselly, none of 
 her works were ever simple, graceful, or 
 natural ; and I never heard her praised but 
 I fancied the commendation would end in, 
 * ' It is very well — for a woman !' ' What I 
 have seen of her letters confirms me in this 
 idea. They are affected, sentimental, and 
 lackadaisical to the highest degree; and 
 her taste is even worse than her execution. 
 — MiTFORD, Mary Russell, 1811, To Sir 
 William Elf or d, Aug. 11 ; Life, ed. U Es- 
 trange, vol. I, p. 121. 
 
 I have returned for entertainment to a 
 book you will not hold in high respect, 
 even Anna Seward's Letters" . . . 
 and now I must apologise to her memory 
 for the disgust with which I was wont to 
 regard her pedantry, quaint, new-coined 
 phrases, violent prejudices, and some 
 small defects of female delicacy. Yet, 
 after all, she amuses me much, now that 
 the country and rainy weather have made 
 me less critical, and more grateful for 
 entertainment. She is so sincere and 
 friendly, so capable of tasting the beauties 
 • of nature and of poetry, that I try hard 
 to forget her injustice to Cowper, and 
 preference of Chatterton to Burns. . . . 
 Her poetry, on which she prided herself, 
 I cannot taste at all ; and her Darwin I 
 cannot endure. — Grant, Anne, 1820, To 
 Mrs. Fletcher, July 26 ; Memoir and Cor- 
 respondence, ed. Grant, vol. ii, pp. 244, 245. 
 
 She was endowed with considerable 
 genius, and with an ample portion of that 
 fine enthusiasm which sometimes may be 
 taken for it ; but her taste was far from 
 good, and her numerous productions (a few 
 excepted) are disfigured by florid ornament 
 and elaborate magnificence. — Dyce, Alex- 
 ander, 1S25, Specimens of British Poetesses. 
 
 It cannot be denied that she sometimes 
 showed flashes of genius ; but never in con- 
 tinuity. She believed that poetry rather 
 lay in the diction than in the thought; 
 and I am not acquainted with any literary 
 letters, which exhibit so much corrupt 
 judgment, and so many false beauties as 
 her's. Her sentiments are palpably 
 studied, and disguised, and dressed up. 
 Nothing seems to come from the heart, but 
 all to be put on. I understand the Andre 
 family say, that in the "Monody on Major 
 Andre," all about his attachment, and 
 Honora Sneyd, &c., is a nonsensical false- 
 hood, of her own invention. Among her 
 numerous sonnets, there are not above five 
 or six which are good; and I cannot 
 doubt that Dr. Darwin's hand is in many 
 of her early poems. The inequalities of 
 all her compositions are of the nature of 
 patchwork. — Brydges, Sir Samuel Eger- 
 TON, 1834, Autobiography, vol. I, p. 57. 
 
 She was a woman whose talents, if her 
 language had not been distorted by false 
 notions of excellence in composition, might 
 have retained for her the high station 
 among female writers, which in her palmy 
 days it was allowed that she had won. 
 Though not always a judicious critic, she 
 was nev-er unjust or ungenerous in her 
 censures; and if she frequently mistook 
 glittering faults for beauties, no beauty 
 ever escaped her observation. — Southey, 
 Robert, 1836-7, The Life of William 
 Cowper, vol. ii, p. 45. 
 
 In the course of this autumn [1810] ap- 
 peared the Poetical Works of Miss Sew- 
 ard, in three volumes, with a Prefatory 
 Memoir of her Life by Scott. This edition 
 had, as we have seen, been enjoined by her 
 last will — but his part in it was an un- 
 grateful one, and the book was among the 
 most unfortunate that James Ballantyne 
 printed, and his brother published, in def- 
 erence to the personal feelings of their 
 partner. He had been, as was natural, 
 pleased and flattered by the attentions of 
 the Lichfield poetess in the days of his 
 early aspirations after literary distinction ; 
 but her verses, which he had with his usual 
 readiness praised to herself beyond their 
 worth, appeared when collected a formid- 
 able monument of mediocrity. Her Cor- 
 respondence, published at the same time by 
 Constable, was considered by him with still 
 greater aversion. — Lockhart, John Gib- 
 son, 1836, Life of Sir Walter Scott, ch.xxii. 
 
544 
 
 SEWARD— HOLCROFT 
 
 Affected and superfluous. — Hunt, Leigh, 
 1847, Men, Women and Books. 
 
 Anna Seward, yclept the Swan of Lich- 
 field, was the Sappho of that era of ribbons 
 and gumflowers, and a fitting one for such 
 a Juvenal as Hayley, and such a Lucretius 
 as Darwin. She wrote with fluency, and 
 poured out a cataract of verse. — Mom, 
 D. M., 1850-1, Sketches of the Poetical 
 Literature of the Past Half-Century, p. 12. 
 
 Miss Seward's own poetry, with much 
 more sentimentality and much less sense 
 and substance, belongs with the same 
 school with Darwin's. Hers is the feeble 
 commonplace of the same labored, tortu- 
 ous, and essentially unnatural and untrue 
 style out of which he, with his more 
 powerful and original genius, has evolved 
 for himself a distinctive form or dialect. 
 — Craik, George L., 1861, A Compen- 
 dious History of English Literature and of 
 the English Language, vol. ii, p. 402. 
 
 If anything could be more absurd than 
 the poems themselves in their form, con- 
 ception, and execution, it would be Miss 
 Seward's criticisms of them. Indeed it is 
 scarcely possible to believe that such a 
 work as her "Life of Dr. Darwin" could 
 have been written in the present century ; 
 its stilted style, its unnatural verbiage, 
 its pompous solemnity, are so out of keep- 
 ing with our modern habits of thought, 
 feeling, and expression. — Story, Wil- 
 liam Wetmore, 1890, Conversations in a 
 Studio, vol. I, p. 258. 
 
 Miss Seward's poetry belongs to the 
 school represented by William Hayley and 
 satirised by Gifford in the *'Baviad." 
 . . . Her work abounds in every sort 
 of affectation. ... At times she 
 shows an appreciation of natural scenery, 
 and now and then turns a good line. — 
 Lee, Elizabeth, 1889, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. hi, p. 281. 
 
 Thomas Holcroft 
 
 1745-1809 
 
 Dramatist and miscellaneous writer, was born 10th December, 1745 (old style), in 
 Orange Court, Leicester Fields, London. ... On the expiry of his term of en- 
 gagement as stable boy he returned to assist his father, who had again resumed his 
 trade of shoemaker in London ; but after marrying in 1765, he procured the office 
 of teacher in a small school in Liverpool. His subsequent career, like his earlier life, 
 was hard and checkered^ but it must suffice to state that, after failing in an attempt 
 to set up a private school, he followed for several years the profession of an actor, 
 often at a very meagre salary, and that he was more successful as a dramatist and 
 novelist, but suffered much and frequent anxiety from pecuniary embarrassments and 
 repeated disappointments. He died 23d March, 1809, from enlargement of the heart, 
 brought on, it is supposed, by the failure of several of his dramatic pieces. He was 
 a member of the Society for Constitutional Reform, and on that account was, in 1794, 
 indicted of high treason, but acquitted. The best known dramas of Holcroft are 
 ^'Duplicity," ''The School for Arrogance," The Road to Ruin," and ''The Deserted 
 Daughter." Among his novels may be mentioned "Alwyn," and "Hugh Trevor." 
 He was also the author of "Travels from Hamburg through Westphalia, Holland and 
 the Netherlands to Paris," and of some volumes of verse, and translated several works 
 from the French and German with considerable elegance. . . . His "Memoirs 
 written by himself and continued down to the time of his death, from his diary, notes, 
 and other papers," by William Hazlitt, appeared in 1815, and has gone into several 
 editions. — Baynes, Thomas Spencer, ed., 1880, Encyclopcedia Britannica, Ninth 
 ed., vol. XII, pp. 59, 60. 
 
 PERSONAL know nothing, to have read nothing. He 
 
 There is a fierceness and dogmatism of is ignorant as a scholar, and neglectful of 
 conversation in Holcroft for which you re- the smaller humanities of a man. — Cole- 
 ceive little compensation either from the ridge, Samuel Taylor, 1794, To Robert 
 veracity of his information, the closeness Southey, Dec. 17 ; Letters, ed. E. H. Cole- 
 of his reasoning, or the splendour of his ridge, vol. i, p. 114. 
 language. He talks incessantly of meta- The relaxations in which Mr. Holcroft in- 
 physics, of which he appears to me to dulged were few and regular. He was fond 
 
THOMAS HOLCROFT 
 
 545 
 
 of riding, and for some years kept a horse, 
 which had generally high blood in its 
 veins. . . . His love for the arts 
 sometimes subjected him to temptations 
 which were not consistent with strict 
 economy. ... It may be supposed, 
 that that part of Mr. Holcroft's time 
 which he could spare from his studies, 
 was chiefly devoted to the society of 
 literary friends. He, however, gave few 
 dinner-parties, and those were not osten- 
 tatious, and consequently not expensive. 
 When a friend dined with him, a bottle of 
 wine was usually produced after dinner ; 
 but, with respect to himself, he was ex- 
 tremely abstemious in the use of liquor, 
 and the habits of his friends were rather 
 those of philosophers than Bacchanalians. 
 — Hazlitt, William, 1816, Memoirs of 
 the Late Thomas Holcroft, Written by Him- 
 self, and Continued to the Time of his 
 Death, p. 185. 
 
 Holcroft's ''Memoirs" are valuable as 
 showing strength of endurance in the man, 
 which is worth more than all the talent in 
 the world.— Byron, Lord, 1816, Letter to 
 Murray, Oct. 5 ; Life by Moore, p. 324. 
 
 I own I could never think so considerably 
 of myself as to decline the society of an 
 agreeable or worthy man upon difference 
 of opinion only. The impediments and the 
 facilitations to a sound belief are various 
 and inscrutable as the heart of man. 
 Some believe upon weak principles ; others 
 cannot feel the efficacy of the strongest. 
 One of the most candid, most upright, and 
 single-meaning men I ever knew, was the 
 late Thomas Holcrof t. I believe he never 
 said one thing, and meant another, in his 
 life ; and, as near as I can guess, he never 
 acted otherwise than with the most scrup- 
 ulous attention to conscience. Ought we 
 to wish the character false, for the sake 
 of a hollow compliment to Christianity? — 
 Lamb, Charles, 1823, The Tombs in the 
 Abbey. 
 
 The name of Holcroft at once gives rise 
 to a crowd of recollections to those who are 
 conversant with the history of the times, 
 and that particular circle of literary men 
 of which my father was one. The son of 
 a shoemaker, he rose to eminence through 
 the energy of his character, and the 
 genius with which nature had endowed 
 him. To think of Holcroft as his friends 
 remember him, and to call to mind whence 
 at this day he principally derives his fame 
 
 35C 
 
 as an author, present a singular contrast. 
 He was a man of stern and irascible char- 
 acter, and from the moment that he 
 espoused liberal principles, he carried them 
 to excess. He was tried for life as a 
 traitor on account of his enthusiasm for 
 the objects of the French Revolution. He 
 believed that truth must prevail by the 
 force of its own powers, but he advocated 
 what he deemed truth with vehemence. 
 He warmly asserted that death and disease 
 existed only through the feebleness of 
 man's mind, that pain also had no reality. 
 Rectitude and Courage were the gods of 
 his idolatry, but the defect of his temper 
 rendered him a susceptible friend. His 
 comedy, ''The Road to Ruin," will always 
 maintain its position on the English 
 stage, so long as there are actors who can 
 fitly represent its leading characters. 
 He was a man of great industry, unwearied 
 in his efforts to support his family. — 
 Shelley, Mary Wollstonecraft, 1851, 
 Fragmentary Notes, Paul's Life of God- 
 win, vol. I, p. 25. 
 
 Holcroft was a stern and conscientious 
 man, with an irascible temper, great 
 energy, and marvellous industry. ... As 
 an actor he was harsh and unsympathetic, 
 and he appears to have taken no further 
 part on the stage after his performance 
 of Figaro. In spite of his poverty and 
 many adverse circumstances, Holcroft with 
 great tenacity of purpose contrived to 
 educate himself creditably, and to acquire 
 a competent knowledge of French, Ger- 
 man, and Italian. His career, however, 
 was one continuous struggle against mis- 
 fortune, and owing to his many rash 
 speculations and his "picture-dealing in- 
 sanity" his affairs were perpetually in an 
 embarrassed condition. — Barker, G. F. 
 Russell, 1891, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. xxvii, p. 117. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 You appear to have seen Holcroft's 
 pamphlet ; which certainly displays much 
 ability and good-writing, but most of all 
 the extreme vanity and self-importance of 
 the author, which is equally ridiculous and. 
 disgusting. He thinks it impossible that 
 any court or jury in the world could have 
 resisted the force of his combined elo- 
 quence and philosophy; and actually told 
 us that he would gladly have given one of 
 his hands for the opportunity of making 
 his defence, which by the way would 
 
546 
 
 THOMAS HOLCROFT 
 
 certainly have hanged him, however favour- 
 able his judges might have been before- 
 hand. — RiTSON, Joseph, 1795, Letters, 
 Jan. 16 ; vol. ii, p. 62. 
 
 Upon the whole, we think that this book 
 is a great deal too long, and that it has at- 
 tained this magnitude by the most intrepid 
 and extensive application of the approved 
 receipts for bookmaking that has yet come 
 under our consideration. If everything 
 were deducted that has no relation to the 
 present state of the countries which the 
 author proposes to describe, and every- 
 thing which is transcribed from books that 
 might as well have been consulted at home, 
 the publication, we are persuaded, would 
 be reduced to one third of its present bulk. 
 The lofty pretensions, too, with which the 
 author sets out, and the solemnity with 
 which he continually speaks of his labours, 
 form a ridiculous contrast with the in- 
 significance of the matters upon which he 
 rested his attention. ... Of the 
 style and language of the book, a tolerable 
 judgment may be formed from the ex- 
 tracts we have already given. Its ruling 
 vice is affectation, which is frequently 
 combined with a greater degree of gram- 
 matical inaccuracy than is usual, even 
 in works of this description. — Jeffrey, 
 Francis Lord, 1804, Holer of fs Travels 
 from Hamburgh to Paris, Edinburgh Re- 
 view, vol. 4, pp. 98, 99. 
 
 This [**Road to Ruin'^ comedy ranks 
 among the most successful of modern 
 plays. There is merit in the writing, but 
 much more in that dramatic science, which 
 disposes character, scenes, and dialogue, 
 with minute attention to theatric exhibi- 
 tion : for the author has nicely considered, 
 that it is only by passing the orjieal of a 
 theatre with safety, that a drama has the 
 privilege of being admitted to a library. 
 The nice art with which the conversations 
 in this play are written, will, by a common 
 reader, pass unadmired and unnoticed. 
 Some of the most important speeches con- 
 sist of no more than one line. The grand 
 skill has been to make no skill evident — 
 to force a reader to forget the author, but 
 to remember his play, and his distinct 
 character. . . . **The Road to Ruin'' 
 is a complete drama; resting its power 
 on itself alone, without adventitious aid. 
 — Inchbald, Mrs. Elizabeth, 1806-9, 
 The British Theatre, The Road to Ruin, 
 Introduction. 
 
 Mr. Holcroft, in his *'Road to Ruin,'' 
 set the example of that style of comedy, 
 in which the slang phrases of jockey-noble- 
 men and the humours of the four-in-hand 
 club are blended with the romantic senti- 
 ments of distressed damsels and philo- 
 sophic waiting-maids, and in which he has 
 been imitated by the most successful of 
 our living writers, unless we make a 
 separate class for the school of Cumber- 
 land.— Hazlitt, William, 1818, Lectures 
 on the English Comic Writers, Lecture viii. 
 
 Becomes one of the best and most 
 voluminous translators upon record. If 
 ever one happens to take up an English 
 version of a French or German book of 
 that period — "Memoirs of Baron Trenck, " 
 or Caroline de Litchfield" — and if that 
 version have in it the zest and savor of 
 original writmg, we shall be sure to find 
 the name of Thomas Holcroft in the title- 
 page. . . . His comedies, Duplicity," 
 *'The School for Arrogance," and ''The 
 Road to Ruin," evinced talent (I had well 
 nigh written genius) of the highest order. 
 The serious parts above all are admirable. 
 Perhaps no scenes have ever drawn so 
 many tears as those between the father 
 and the son in the last-mentioned play. 
 The famous "Good Night" is truly the one 
 touch of nature that makes the whole 
 world kin; and although I have seen it 
 played as well as any thing can be played 
 by Munden and Elliston, I have always felt 
 that the real merit belonged to the author. 
 His greater novels, too, "Anna St. Ives" and 
 "Hugh Trevor," were full of powerful 
 writing ; and he seemed destined to a long 
 course of literary prosperity. — Mitford, 
 Mary Russell, 1851, Recollections of a 
 Literary Life, p. 82. 
 
 Thomas Holcroft is one of the best for- 
 gotten men in English literature. Less 
 than a hundred years ago he was a celeb- 
 rity — a prolific writer of plays, novels and 
 books of travel, the intimate of Hazlitt and 
 Godwin, the hero of a political trial. 
 Now-a-days, when "The Road to Ruin," 
 his one work that has lived, is occasionally 
 revived, the eye of the unlearned play- 
 goer dubiously scans the bill in search of 
 the author's nam.e. For the student of the 
 stage Holcroft' s work must always retain 
 a certain interest. He was not in any 
 sense a great writer ; but his plays were 
 at least worthy of all the consideration 
 bestowed upon them in their time, while 
 
HOLCROFT—TANNAHILL 
 
 547 
 
 *'The Road to Ruin" is one of the dozen 
 or so plays of its century which have sur- 
 vived. Holcroft may be regarded as the 
 founder of the modern school of melo- 
 drama. He was the first, too, to hastily 
 adapt a French success to the exigencies 
 of the English stage, after the fashion now 
 
 in vogue.— HiBBERT, Henry George, 
 1892, The Author of "The Road to Ruin," 
 The Theatre, vol. 28, p. 132. 
 
 A curiosity of literature and a rather 
 typical figure of the time. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1896, A History of Nineteenth 
 Century Literature, p, 38. 
 
 Robert Tannahill 
 
 1774-1810 
 
 One of the most popular of the song-writers of Scotland since Burns, was a native 
 of Paisley, born in 1774. He was bred a weaver ; and his favourite pursuit was to 
 recover old and neglected airs, to which he adapted new words. ''I would 1 were a 
 weaver," says Falstaff ; could sing all manner of songs." He continued to work, 
 with some exceptions, in his native town, where, at the beginning of this century, he 
 made an acquaintance with Robert Archibald Smith, a musical composer, who set some 
 of his songs to original music, and adapted others to old airs. In 1807, Tannahill 
 collected his songs into a volume, which was decidedly successful. The higher suc- 
 cess, which he more prized, was to find his songs universally known and sung amongst 
 all classes. But the poet was the victim of a morbid melancholy which embittered 
 his existence. His means were above his wants ; he had no special unhappiness. But 
 he died, as Ophelia died, — "Where a willow grows aslant a brook" — perhaps "chant- 
 ing snatches of old tunes." This event occurred in 1810, near Paisley. — Knight, 
 Charles, 1847-48, Half-Hours With the Best Authors, vol. iv, p. 161. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Tamnahill used to declare, that one of 
 the most gratifying tributes he ever had 
 paid to his genius, was while taking a 
 solitary walk, in the cool of a summer's 
 evening, he had his musings interrupted 
 by the sweet voice of a country girl, who, 
 on his approaching nearer the spot, he dis- 
 covered was singing one of his composi- 
 tions — 
 
 "We'll meet beside the dusky glen on yon 
 burn side." 
 
 This, he said, was one of the sweetest and 
 delightful moments of his life ; he beheld 
 in it a promise of future fame, and hailed 
 it as a pledge of the rising popularity of 
 his Songs: but the highest tribute ever 
 paid to the genius of Tannahill, was the 
 visit which James Hogg, the Ettrick 
 Shepherd, paid him, not long before his 
 death. There was something romantic in 
 this pilgrimage of the Mountain Bard, to 
 feel, and see, — to converse and enjoy the 
 fellowship of one whose heart, like his 
 own, was gifted with the "magic voice of 
 song:" they spent the night in each 
 other's company. Tannahill convoyed 
 Hogg, on the following morning, half way 
 to Glasgow, where they parted. It was a 
 melancholy adieu which Tannahill gave 
 him — "Farewell," he cried, "we shall 
 
 never meet again, — farewell, I shall never 
 see you more!" — Ryan, Richard, 1826, 
 Poetry and Poets, vol. ii, p. 246. 
 
 As with the generality of people of his 
 rank, the poet's education was limited to 
 reading, writing, and accounts. At an 
 early age he was sent to the loom, — then 
 a profitable calling, — at which he distin- 
 guished himself by his industry. . . . 
 He was possessed of a correct musical ear, 
 and played well on the German flute. His 
 favourite pursuit was to recover old or 
 neglected airs, and unite them to appro- 
 priate words. The airs he hummed over 
 while plying the shuttle, and as the 
 words arose in his mind, he jotted them 
 down at a rude desk which he had attached 
 to his loom, and w^hich he could use with- 
 out rising from his seat. Thus did he 
 contrive to relieve the monotonous dulness 
 of his daily occupation, by combining with 
 it the exercise of his more gentle craft, — 
 weaving threads and verses alternately. 
 . . . The melancholy to which Tanna- 
 hill had been occasionally subject, now 
 became deep and habitual. He evinced a 
 proneness to imagine that his best friends 
 were disposed to injure him, and a certain 
 jealous fear of his claims to genius being 
 impugned. These imaginary grievances 
 were confided to his faithful adviser Smith, 
 
548 
 
 ROBERT TANNAHILL 
 
 who found it impossible to convince him 
 of the hallucination under which he 
 laboured. His eyes sank, his countenance 
 became pale, and his body emaciated. 
 The strange and incoherent texture of 
 some poetical pieces which he wrote about 
 this time, betrayed the state of his mind. 
 In short, it became apparent that a break- 
 ing up of his mental and bodily powers was 
 at hand. He now set himself to destroy 
 all his manuscripts ; not a scrap which he 
 could possibly collect was allowed to 
 escape the flames. This is the more to be 
 regretted, since the corrections and addi- 
 tions he had made for a second edition of 
 his works, and some unpublished pieces of 
 much merit, all of which fell a prey to the 
 flames, would have added greatly to his 
 reputation. — Ramsay, Philip A., 1838, 
 ed.y The Works of Robert Tannahilly Mem- 
 oir, pp. XV, xxxiv. 
 
 The victim of dissappointments which his 
 sensitive temperament could not endure, 
 Tannahill was naturally of an easy and 
 cheerful disposition. As a child, his ex- 
 emplary behaviour was so conspicuous 
 that mothers were satisfied of their 
 children's safety if they learned that they 
 were in company with *^Bob Tannahill.'' 
 Inoffensive in his own dispositions, he en- 
 tertained every respect for the feelings of 
 others. He enjoyed the intercourse of 
 particular friends, but avoided general 
 society ; in company he seldom talked, and 
 only with a neighbour; he shunned the 
 acquaintance of persons of rank, because 
 he disliked patronage, and dreaded super- 
 ciliousness. His conversation was simple ; 
 he possessed, but seldom used, consider- 
 able powers of satire ; but he applied his 
 keenest shafts of sarcasm against the 
 votaries of cruelty. In performing acts 
 of kindness he took delight, but he was 
 scrupulous of accepting favours; he was 
 strong in the love of independence, and 
 had saved twenty pounds at the period of 
 his death. His general appearance did 
 not indicate intellectual superiority; his 
 countenance was calm and meditative; 
 his eyes were grey, and his hair a light 
 brown. In person, he was under the 
 middle size. Not ambitious of general 
 learning, he confined his reading chiefly 
 to poetry.— Rogers, Charles, 1855-57- 
 70, Tfie Scottish Minstrel, The Songs of 
 Scotland Subsequent to Burns, p. 133. 
 
 Robert Tannahill, a Scotch weaver. 
 
 whose songs in their artless sweetness, 
 their simplicity of diction, their tender- 
 ness of sentiment, have long since won 
 distinction, came up to Edinburgh very 
 poor in purse, but rich in the future that 
 poetic aspirations imaged forth. He put 
 his manuscripts into Constable's hands, 
 offering the whole of them at a very small 
 price. Day after day he waited for an 
 answer, with a mind alternating between 
 hope and fear. Constable, who always 
 distrusted his own judgment in such 
 matters, and who, perhaps, at the moment 
 had no one else to consult, eventually re- 
 turned the poems. Tannahill in a madness 
 of despair put a period to his existence, 
 adding one to those ''young shadows" who 
 hover round the shrine of genius, as if to 
 warn all but the boldest from attempting 
 to approach it.— Curwen, Henry, 1873, 
 A History of Booksellers, p. 122. 
 
 The good people of Paisley have cher- 
 ished the memory of Tannahill. The 
 house in which he was born has inserted 
 in its front wall a granite memorial-stone 
 recording the circumstance. His brother, 
 when old age compelled him to cease from 
 labour, was provided with a competency 
 by his fellow-citizens, who long ago formed 
 a Tannahill Club, which always celebrated 
 the anniversary of the poet's birth. The 
 centenary of the ''prince of Paisley 
 poets," as he has been called, was cele- 
 brated with the utmost enthusiasm by the 
 inhabitants of Paisley. A general holiday 
 was held, and the town was decorated with 
 flags and flowers. More than 15,000 per- 
 sons assembled on the Braes o' Gleniffer to 
 listen to addresses spoken in the poet's 
 honour, and to the singing of his own 
 sweet songs — songs that are a priceless 
 heritage to his native land. — Wilson, 
 James Grant, 1876, The Poets and Poetry 
 of Scotland, vol. i, p. 502. 
 
 Poor Tannahill ! Paisley truly has good 
 reason to be proud of her handloom 
 weaver, who knew to mingle the whir of 
 his busy loom, not with the jarring notes 
 of political fret or atheistic pseudo- 
 philosophy, but with the sweet music of 
 Nature in the most melodious season of 
 the year. Sad to think that the author 
 of this song, one of the most lovable, 
 kindly, and human-hearted of mortals, and 
 who, in spite of the deficiencies of his early 
 culture, had achieved a reputation second 
 only to Burns among the song-writers of 
 
ROBERT TANNAHILL 
 
 549 
 
 his tuneful fatherland, should have bade 
 farewell to the sweet light of the sun and 
 the fair greenery of his native glens at 
 the early age of thirty -six— drowning him- 
 self, poor fellow ! in a pool not far from 
 the place of his birth. — Blackie, John 
 Stuart, 1889, Scottish Song, p. 49. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Tannahill could achieve only a song ; but 
 as the songs which he did achieve were 
 very genuine ones, with the true faculty 
 in them, Scotland seems to be in no danger 
 of forgetting them. — Miller, Hugh, 
 1856, Essays, p. 449. 
 
 The poems of this ill-starred son of 
 genius are greatly inferior to his songs. 
 They have all a common-place artificial 
 character. His lyrics, on the other hand, 
 are rich and original, both in description 
 and in sentiment. His diction is copious 
 and luxuriant, particularly in describing 
 natural objects and the peculiar features 
 of the Scottish landscape. His simplicity 
 is natural and unaffected, and though he 
 appears to have possessed a deeper sym- 
 pathy with nature than with the workings 
 of human feeling, or even the passion of 
 love, he is often tender and pathetic. — 
 Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopoedia of 
 ' English Literature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 If, as was said by Fletcher of Saltoun, 
 song-writers are to be classed among 
 lawgivers, then may we hail Tannahill as 
 one of the foremost Scottish legislators — 
 ruling by the sceptre of song. — Wilson, 
 James Grant, 1876, The Poets and Poetry 
 of Scotland, vol. i, p. 501. 
 
 For delicacy and refinement of feeling 
 and expression, comes nearest to Burns of 
 all our song-writers. His range was 
 narrow, even compared with Hogg and 
 Lady Nairne ; for he had not the imagina- 
 tion of the one, nor the humour of the 
 other; yet he possessed that sensitive 
 tenderness of the poetic instinct, capable 
 of touching the finest cords in nature 
 to which the human soul has ever re- 
 sponded, in a degree which Burns alone 
 excelled. Like all their contemporaries 
 he was greatly Burns's inferior in passion, 
 both as to range and intensity. . . . 
 We have already remarked that his poetic 
 range is a narrow one ; out of it he pro- 
 duced nothing of self-sustaining merit, 
 and his poems which are not songs are 
 very commonplace. As a specialist his 
 fame is secure, and as living at the 
 
 present day as when he first delighted his 
 admiring countrymen. His songs, though 
 true to universal nature, have certain 
 local features which make their perfect 
 enjoyment dependent on that sensitiveness 
 to the influences of locality which charac- 
 terises the Scotch mind, and in con- 
 sequence he is not so highly appreciated 
 anywhere as in Scotland, nor, in Scotland, 
 anywhere as in Paisley, of which he is the 
 poetic divinity. — Ross, J., 1884, The Book 
 of Scottish Poems, pp. 707, 708. 
 
 Setting aside Burns, there is no song- 
 writer more popular in Scotland than 
 Tannahill. His memory is cherished with 
 the deepest affection of his own West 
 country. A gathering, at which the finest 
 of his songs are sung, is annually held on 
 the Braes of Gleniffer, and is attended by 
 crowds from Glasgow, Paisley, and other 
 towns in the neighbourhood. And he 
 thoroughly merits the place he has won in 
 his countrymen's hearts. A poet of the 
 people, he has not received due recogni- 
 tion at the hands of literary critics. He 
 has lines than which there are none 
 sweeter in the Scottish tongue; a lyric 
 could not be ''more lightly, musically 
 made'' than ''Gloomy Winter's now awa'." 
 He has a curiously fine sense of words, 
 his lyrics are as finished in their diction 
 as they are true and touching in their 
 sentiment and spontaneous in their flow. 
 In one respect he may, perhaps, be said to 
 have excelled Burns; namely, in his 
 delicate aptness of descriptive phrase 
 when dealing with nature. ... An 
 exquisite artist was lost by the death of 
 the Paisley weaver. He had not a wide 
 range, he had almost no sense of humour, 
 no satiric or narrative faculty. His gift 
 was purely lyrical, and, the gift, was in 
 its way perfect. His love-songs, so pure 
 and tender, so graceful in form, so musical, 
 so admirably adapted to be sung, with the 
 fragrance of the woodland braes he loved 
 so well still clinging to the lines, are 
 almost as little likely as the songs of Burns 
 to lose their hold on Scotchmen's hearts. 
 — Whyte, Walter, 1896, The Poets of 
 the Century, Southey to Shelley, ed. Miles, 
 pp. 74, 75. 
 
 With a more original gift of song than 
 Cunningham, Robert Tannahill owed noth- 
 ing to Scott, who w^as but slightly his 
 senior, and not very much to Burns. . . . 
 His language is not, any more than Burns's, 
 
550 
 
 TANNAHILL—TIGHE 
 
 free from occasional intrusions of discord- 
 ant Anglicism ; but in his own dialect he 
 has an exquisite delicacy, and at times 
 subtlety, of phrase. His love-songs are 
 fine examples of the Scottish gift of paint- 
 ing passion by the human and sympathetic 
 traits of landscape. — Herford, C. H., 
 1897, The Age of Wordsworth, p, 197. 
 
 Tannahill versified early, and some 
 poetical epistles to his friends — e. g. 
 
 Epistle to James Barr,'^ written in 1804 
 — are not without vigor and occasional 
 epigrammatic points, though they are 
 too discursive and diffuse to be generally 
 effective. ''The Soldier's Return, an 
 
 Interlude," contains geveral good songs 
 —some of which helped to win Tannahill 
 his fame— but he has no dramatic 
 quality. ... In sentimental song 
 Tannahill ranks almost with the greatest 
 of Scottish song-writers, approaching Lady 
 Nairne and Burns himself in such dainty 
 and winning lyrics as "Bonnie Wood o' 
 Craigielee, ' ' "Sleepin' Maggie, " * ' Braes o' 
 Gleniffer,'' ''Gloomy Winter's noo awa',", 
 "The Lass o' Arranteenie, " "Cruikston 
 Castle's lonely wa's," and "Jessie the 
 Flower o' Dunblane." — Bayne, Thomas, 
 1898, Dictionary of National Biography , 
 vol, LV, p. 358. 
 
 Mary Tighe 
 
 1772-1810 
 
 Mary Tighe, the daughter of the Rev. William Blachf ord, by Theodosia, the daughter 
 of William Tighe, of Rosanna, Co. Wicklow, Ireland, was married to Henry Tighe, 
 M. P., of Woodstock, Co. Wicklow, and died March 24 1810, after an illness of six 
 years. Perhaps she is better known to many as the subject of Moore's touching lyric, 
 "I saw Thy Form in Youthful Prime," and Mrs. Hemans's "Grave of a Poetess," than 
 by her own exquisite verses. Her poem of "Psyche, or the Legend of Love" (founded 
 on the story of Cupid and Psyche as related in the Golden Ass of Apuleius), was 
 privately printed (100 copies) by C. Whittingham, London, 1805, 12mo. After her 
 death appeared: "Psyche, with other Poems, by the Late Mrs. Henry Tighe" (with 
 portrait), 1811.— Allibone, S. Austin, 1871, A Critical Dictionary of English Liter- 
 ature, p. 2419. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Thou hast left sorrow in thy song, 
 
 A voice not loud but deep ! 
 The glorious bowers of earth among, 
 
 How often didst thou weep? 
 Where couldst thou fix on mortal ground 
 
 Thy tender thoughts and high?— 
 Now peace the woman's heart hath found, 
 
 And joy the poet's eye. 
 — Hemans, Felicia Dorthea, 1828, The 
 Grave of a Poetess. 
 
 Perhaps no writer of merit has been 
 more neglected by her own friends than 
 Mrs. Tighe. With every means of giving to 
 the public a good memoir of her, I believe 
 no such is in existence. . . . The very 
 servants who had lived years in the family 
 had never heard the name of Mrs. Tighe, 
 the poetess, mentioned! These present 
 Tighes had been marrying the daughters 
 of lords — this a daughter of the Duke of 
 Richmond, and Dan Tighe, a daughter of 
 Lord Crof ton. They were ashamed, prob- 
 ably, that any of their name should have 
 degraded herself by writing poetry, which 
 a man or woman without an acre may do. 
 When I reached the church at Innerstiogue, 
 the matter received a most striking 
 
 confirmation. There, sure enough, was the 
 monument, in a small mausoleum in the 
 church-yard. It is a recumbent figure, 
 laid on a granite altar-shaped basement. 
 The figure is of a freestone resembling 
 Portland stone, and is lying on its side, as 
 on a sofa, being said, by the person who 
 showed it, to be the position in which she 
 died, on coming in from a walk. The ex- 
 ecution of the whole is very ordinary, and 
 if really by Flaxman, displays none of his 
 genius. I have seen much better things 
 by a common-stone-mason. There is a 
 little angel sitting at the head, but this 
 has never been fastened down by cement. 
 The monument was, no doubt, erected by 
 the widower of the poetess, who was a 
 man of classical taste, and, I believe, much 
 attached to her. There is no inscription 
 yet put upon the tomb, though one, said 
 to be written by her husband, has loqg 
 been cut in stone for the purpose. In the 
 wall at the back of the monument, aloft, 
 there is an oblong-square hole left for this 
 inscription, which I understood was lying 
 about at the house, but no single effort 
 had been made to put it up, though it 
 
MARY TIGHE 
 
 551 
 
 would not require an hour's work, and 
 though Mrs. Tighe has been dead six-and- 
 thirty years ! This was decisive ! If these 
 two gentlemen, nephews of the poetess, 
 who are enjoying the two splendid estates 
 of the family, Woodstock and Rosanna, 
 show thus little respect to the only one of 
 their name that ever lifted it above the 
 mob, it is not to be expected that they 
 will show much courtesy to strangers. 
 Well is it that Mrs. Tighe raised her own 
 monument, that of immortal verse, and 
 wrote her own epitaph in the hearts of all 
 the pure and loving, not on a stone which 
 sordid relatives, still fonder of earth than 
 stone, may consign to the oblivion of a 
 lumber room. — Howitt, William, 1846, 
 Homes and Haunts of the Most Eminent 
 British Poets, vol. I, pp. 461, 471. 
 
 PSYCHE 
 Tell me the witching tale again, 
 
 For never has, my heart or ear 
 Hung on so sweet, so pure a strain. 
 
 So pure to feel, so sweet to hear. 
 
 Still be the song to Psyche dear, 
 
 The song, whose gentle voice was given 
 To be, on earth, to mortal ear, 
 An echo of her own, in heaven. 
 —Moore, Thomas, 1805 ? To Mrs. Henry 
 Tighe on Reading Her ''Psyche." 
 
 Sorrow seems to be the muse of song, 
 and from Philomela to Mrs. Tighe the 
 most plaintive notes are the most melo- 
 dious. I have read "Psyche I am sorry 
 that Mrs. Tighe chose such a story : it is 
 both too mystical and too much exhausted. 
 For the first three cantos I felt a sort of 
 languid elegance and luscious sweet- 
 ness, which had something of the same 
 effect as if I had been overpowered by per- 
 fumes; but the three last are of such 
 exquisite beauty that they quite silence 
 me. They are beyond all doubt the most 
 faultless series of verses ever produced by 
 a woman. —Mackintosh, Sir James, 1812, 
 Journal, Memoirs, ed. by his Son, vol. ii, 
 p. 195. 
 
 The greater part of the poem itself is 
 little worth, except as a strain of elegance ; 
 but now and then we meet with a fancy 
 not unworthy a pupil of Spenser. — Hunt, 
 Leigh, 1847, Men, Women and Books. 
 
 She is chiefly known by her splendid 
 poem of "Psyche," which for gorgeous- 
 ness of colouring and refinement of im- 
 agination, is scarcely behind the best 
 
 verse of Moore, while it is certainly more 
 chaste and spiritual in its sentiment. — 
 RowTON, Frederic, 1848, The Female 
 Poets of Great Britain, p. 200. 
 
 Her imagination is warm, and her de- 
 scriptions often voluptuous, though always 
 refined. Perhaps she has been somewhat 
 diffuse ; but, taking her altogether she is 
 not equalled in classical elegance by any 
 English female, and not excelled (in that 
 particular) by any male English poet. 
 She has that rare quality for a poetess of 
 not sparing the pumice-stone, her verses 
 being seduously polished to the highest 
 degree. She shows also her great taste 
 in omitting obsolete words, the affectation 
 of which so frequently disfigures imita- 
 tions of the great master of English alle- 
 gory. — Bethune, George Washington, 
 1848, The British Female Poets, 
 
 An adventurous and elaborate effort, 
 full of power and beauty which wanted 
 only a little more of artistic skill and con- 
 centration to have entitled it to a place 
 among first-class productions. — MoiR, D. 
 M., 1850-51, Sketches of the Poetical Lit- 
 erature of the Past Half-Century. 
 
 Displays everywhere an imagination, 
 immature, indeed, and wanting in vigor, 
 but yet both rich and delicate, such as 
 might have shown forth in Spenser himself 
 if he had been a woman, or, as compared to 
 that which we have inthe'Tairy Queen, 
 something like what moonlight is to sun- 
 shine. — Craik, George L., 1861, A Com- 
 pendious History of English Literature and 
 of the English Language, vol. ii, p. 541. 
 
 A very fair and gentle representative 
 of poetry, Mary Tighe, the daughter of a 
 clergyman, the wife of an Irish M. P., is 
 another of the rare instances of literary 
 production in Ireland. She was the 
 author of a poem called ''Psyche," an ex- 
 tremely sweet and melodious rendering 
 of the classical legend, the external form 
 of which, in a slim and sumptuous quarto, 
 with creamy pages as thick as velvet 
 eiishrining in big margins a limpid stream 
 of elaborate verse, gives a very just idea 
 of its merit. It is one of those essays 
 in art which at any time it would be cruel 
 to judge rigorously, all the more as it is 
 the composition of a gentle creature who 
 died young and knew nothing of the world 
 — which, with a humane sense of the claims 
 of weakness, generally does receive such 
 
552 
 
 TIGHE— BROWN 
 
 gentle efforts tenderly. — Oliphant, Mar- 
 garet 0. W., 1882, Literary History of 
 England y XVIII . and XIX. Centuries y vol. 
 Ill p. 213. 
 
 The poem is written in the Spenserian 
 stanza, and has decided merit. The verse 
 is melodious, and the tale is told with 
 pi easing directness and simplicity. It has 
 suffered equally from excessive praise 
 and undue disparagement. Mackintosh 
 considered the last three cantos to be of 
 exquisite beauty, and ''beyond all doubt 
 the most faultless series of verses ever 
 produced by a woman.'' — Lee, Eliza- 
 beth, 1898, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. LVI, p. 388. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Many of the pictures in this ["Psyche"], 
 the chief production of her muse, are con- 
 ceived in the true spirit of poetry, while 
 over the whole composition is spread the 
 richest glow of purified passion. It is a 
 
 poem, however, to be read as a whole, 
 and cannot well be appreciated by any de- 
 tached passages. A luxurious, dreamy 
 sweetness pervades the descriptions, and 
 gives them a peculiar charm, while the 
 elegance of the easy-flowing language 
 attests the complete power of the poet 
 over her theme. Some of her minor 
 pieces, also, are exceedingly beautiful; 
 and the lines ''On Receiving a Branch of 
 Mezereon," are scarcely exceeded, for 
 beauty and pathos, by anything of the kind 
 in the language —Cleveland, Charles 
 D., 1853, English Literature of the Nine- 
 teenth Century, p. 86. 
 
 Mrs. Tighe ought not to be omitted in 
 an enumeration of the writers who were 
 read by Keats, and from whom conse- 
 quently his poetry may be supposed to 
 have taken some of its colour. — Main, 
 David M., 1879, ed., A Treasury of Eng- 
 lish Sonnets, p. 393. 
 
 Charles Brockden Brown 
 
 1771-1810 
 
 Charles Brockden Brown was born in Philadelphia, Jan. 17, 1771, and died in the 
 same city, of consumption, Feb. 22, 1810. By his own statement, made in a letter 
 just before his death, we learn that he never had more than one continuous half-hour 
 of perfect health. In spite of his short life and his ill-health he accomplished much. 
 At first he studied law, but abandoned it for literature. He was a frequent con- 
 tributor to the magazines of the time and was himself editor of the "Monthly Magazine 
 and American Review" (1799), and the "Literary Magazine and American Register" 
 (1803-8). His first published work, "The Dialogue of Alcuin" (1797), dealt with 
 questions of marriage and divorce, and he was also the author of several essays on 
 political, historical, and geographical subjects. His novels followed each other with 
 astonishing rapidity: "Sky Walk; or the Man Unknown to Himself" (1798, not pub- 
 lished), "Wieland; or the Transformation" (1798), "Ormond; or the Secret Wit- 
 ness" (1799), "Arthur Mervyn; or Memoirs of the year 1793" (1799-1800), "Edgar 
 Huntly; or Memoirs of a Sleep- Walker" (1801), "Jane Talbot" (1801), and "Clara 
 Howard or the Enthusiasm of Love" (1801). They met with an equally astonishing 
 success, and constitute the first important contribution to American fiction. — Carpen- 
 ter, George Rice, 1898, ed., American Prose, p. 84. 
 
 « 
 
 PERSONAL Yvas not aware of the great strength of 
 
 Acted as if he had no use for money, certain temptations over others. — Dana, 
 . . . Without system in every thing. Richard Henry, 1827-50, The Novels of 
 . . , Was negligent of personal ap- Charles Brockden Brown, Poems and 
 pearance, even to slovenliness. . . . Prose Writings, vol. ii, p. 335. 
 In mixed company often silent and absent. His religious views were unsettled in 
 . . . Fitful and irregular.— Dunlap, the early period of his life, but in the 
 William, 1815, Life of Charles Brockden preface of his Magazine he emphatically 
 Brown, vol. i, pp. 56, 57. professes his faith in Christianity. His 
 
 We believe Brown to have been one of moral character was unexceptionable, 
 the purest of men. The intellectual so He was much beloved by his friends and 
 predominated in him, and he seems so to relatives, and was liberal notwithstanding 
 have loathed the sensual, that perhaps he his poverty, receiving his sisters-in-law. 
 
or THc 
 
CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 
 
 553 
 
 on their father's death, into his own 
 family. In person, Brown was tall and 
 strongly framed, but extremely thin. His 
 complexion was pale and sallow, his hair 
 straight and black. The expression of 
 his face was strongly marked with melan- 
 choly. **I saw him," says Sully, the 
 painter, "a little before his death. I had 
 never known him — never heard of him — 
 never read any of his works. He was in 
 a deep decline. It was in the month of 
 November — our Indian summer — when the 
 air is full of smoke. Passing a window one 
 day, I was caught by the sight of a man, 
 with a remarkable physiognomy, writing 
 at a table in a dark room. The sun shone 
 directly upon his head. I never shall for- 
 get it. The dead leaves were falling then 
 — it was Charles Brockden Brown." — 
 DuYCKiNCK, Evert A., and George L., 
 1855-65-75, Cyolopcedia of American Lit- 
 erature, ed. Simons, vol, i, p. 611. 
 
 Mr. Brown's character was one of 
 great amiability and moral excellence, and 
 his manners were distinguished by a 
 gentleness and unaffected simplicity. His 
 great colloquial powers made him a most 
 agreeable companion ; and his unwearied 
 application is attested by the large amount 
 of his works, the whole number of which, 
 including his editorial labors, must be 
 equal to twenty-four volumes, — a vast 
 amount to be produced in the brief com- 
 pass of a little more than ten years. — 
 Cleveland, Charles D., 1859, A Com- 
 pendium of American Literature, p. 178. 
 
 He had little of the spirit of adventure, 
 and on one occasion said he would rather 
 consort with a ploughman or an old mar- 
 ket-woman forever, than expose himself to 
 the hundredth part of the perils which 
 beset the heels of a Ledyard or a Park. 
 He was careless of money, and slovenly in 
 dress, but he was habitually careful in 
 his diet. He abstained from spirituous 
 liquors long before temperance societies 
 were established, and he wrote papers in 
 one of his magazines on the deleterious 
 effects of intemperance, and of the use of 
 greasy articles of food.— Smith, George 
 Barnett, 1878, Brockden Brown, Fort- 
 nightly Review, vol. 30, p. 408. 
 
 Truly he was a man of letters, in the 
 fullest sense of the phrase; and though 
 consumption ended his career at the age 
 of thirty-nine, he had his share of the 
 labor of life.— Hawthorne, Julian and 
 
 Lemmon, Leonard, 1891, American Lit- 
 erature, p. 25. 
 
 WIELAND 
 1798 
 
 This powerful and original romance, 
 excited attention and brought the author 
 into the notice of all readers of works of 
 this description. Few novels or romances 
 have been written, which seize so strongly 
 upon the imagination and feelings of the 
 reader, hurry him from the realities which 
 surround him, bury in oblivion his joys or 
 sorrov/s, and fix his whole attention on the 
 images which the author presents before 
 him, as Wieland."— Dunlap, William, 
 1815, Life of Charles Brockden Brown, 
 vol. II, p. 12. 
 
 This novel is the history of a fanatic, 
 whose religious mania incited him to 
 murder his wife and children, and at last 
 to commit suicide, and is one of the most 
 masterly stories that has ever been told 
 of the human soul.— Scherr, J., 1874, 
 A History of English Literature, tr. M. F., 
 V. 307. 
 
 In the hands of a tiro, the materials of 
 which ''Wieland" is composed would have 
 resulted in a melodrama of the commonest 
 and most pinchbeck order ; but being in- 
 fused by the spirit and power of genius, 
 they are transformed into a gloomy and 
 awful tragedy, in which the reader forgets 
 for a time the incredibility of the incidents 
 and the impossibility of the situations. 
 ''Wieland" upon the whole, deservedly 
 ranks as Brown's completest work of 
 fiction. — Smith, George Barnett, 1878, 
 Brockden Brown, Fortnightly Review, vol. 
 30, p. 414. 
 
 Brown's early life was unmistakably 
 gloomy. From a temperament delicate 
 and fine, but morbid, — in which the intel- 
 lectual overbalanced the physical forces, 
 — sprang his first book, which, though 
 stimulated from across the water, was 
 wholly within the range of his mood and 
 spirit. It contained, however, not a hint 
 of the new American life, not a spark of 
 that humor which afterward flashed freely 
 in American literature. Except for an 
 awful sense of solitude, — the gloom of 
 primeval nature, — there was scarcely a 
 touch of our glorious scenery. No social 
 element is represented. — Morse, James 
 Herbert, 1883, The Native Element in 
 American Fiction, The Century^ vol. 26, 
 p. 289. 
 
554 
 
 CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 
 
 In spite of confusion and turgidity, the 
 story has power. The end is ludicrously 
 weak. The chapters in which the mind of 
 Wieland is gradually possessed by delusion 
 could have been written only by one who 
 had genuinely felt a sense of what hide- 
 ously mysterious things may lie beyond 
 human ken. Some such sense as this, in 
 terrible serious form, haunted the imagina- 
 tion of Puritans. In a meretricious form 
 it appears in the work of Poe. In a form 
 alive with beauty it reveals itself through- 
 out the melancholy romances of Haw- 
 thorne. In Poe's work and in Haw- 
 thorne's, it is handled with something like 
 mastery, and few men of letters have been 
 much further from mastery of their art 
 than Charles Brockden Brown; but the 
 sense of horror which Brown expressed in 
 Wieland" is genuine. To feel its power 
 you need only compare it with the similar 
 feeling expressed in Lewis's *'Monk," in 
 the "Mysteries of Udolpho," or even in 
 "Caleb Williams" itself.— Wendell, Bar- 
 rett, 1900, A Literary History of Amer- 
 ica, p, 163. 
 
 ORMOND 
 
 1799 
 
 The appearance of these two novels 
 ["Wieland," and "Ormond"], consti- 
 tutes an epoch in the ornamental literature 
 of America. They are the first decidedly 
 successful attempts in the walk of roman- 
 tic fiction. They are still farther remark- 
 able as illustrating the character and state 
 of society on this side of the Atlantic, 
 instead of resorting to the exhausted 
 springs of European invention. These 
 circumstances, as well as the uncommon 
 powers they displayed both of conception 
 and execution, recommended them to the 
 notice of the literary world, although 
 their philosophical method of dissecting 
 passion and analyzing motives of action 
 placed them somewhat beyond the reach of 
 vulgar popularity. — Prescott, William 
 H., 1834, Charles Brockden Brown, Bio- 
 graphical and Critical Miscellanies, p. 26. 
 
 "Ormond" is mainly remarkable for the 
 analytical power shown in the author's one 
 fine female character, Constantia Dudley, 
 who, reduced from affluence to poverty, 
 braves all the threats and seductions of 
 the hypocritical Lovelace, from whom the 
 book takes its name. Brown's plots are, 
 as a rule, methodless and improbable : his 
 bursts of passion are dulled by intervening 
 
 tediousness; and his style, generally 
 rough, is sometimes further deformed by 
 pedantic circumlocutions; but he leaves 
 us, despite his acknowledged obligations 
 to Godwin, with the impression of an 
 original power cramped by the necessities 
 of hasty work, unhappily because prema- 
 turely quenched, and of a writer who has 
 been unduly forgotten. — Nichol, John, 
 1880-85, American Literature, p, 162. 
 
 ARTHUR MERVYN 
 1799-1800 
 
 "Arthur Mervyn" is, of all his books, 
 the most wandering and forgetful in narra- 
 tive, continually throwing out false clews 
 and leaving behind unsolved mysteries, 
 leading with elaborate pains up to situa- 
 tions which amount to nothing. With 
 something of Poe's sombre imagination, 
 Brown lacked Poe's fine economy of liter- 
 ary structure. The strength of "Arthur 
 Mervyn" is in its episodes, — its vivid 
 pictures of Philadelphia ravaged by the 
 yellow fever, its glimpses of the debtors' 
 prison, anticipating "Little Dorrit." — 
 Bates, Katharine Lee, 1897, American 
 Literature, p. 89. 
 
 EDGAR HUNTLY 
 
 1801 
 
 "Edgar Huntly," the scene of which is 
 laid in a then thinly-settled part of Penn- 
 sylvania, is full of vivid, if somewhat over- 
 colored, descriptions of the solitudes of 
 mountain and forest. We are taken, per- 
 haps for the first time in fiction, into the 
 midst of the perils of our frontier life ; 
 we encounter the panther and the Indian, 
 the latter surrounded with none of Coop- 
 er's tinge of romance, but depicted as the 
 mere wily and bloodthirsty savage. This 
 choice of a native theme was a deliberate 
 one, for Brown says in his preface that he 
 is the first to call forth the reader's sym- 
 pathy by substituting for puerile super- 
 stitions, Gothic castles, and chimeras, — 
 the conventional machinery of the English 
 romances, — "the incidents of Indian hos- 
 tility and the perils of the Western wilder- 
 ness. ' ' In this story he distantly suggests 
 Cooper, in his fondness for psychological 
 problems, and in the morbid strain that 
 runs through many of his books, he still 
 more faintly fore-shadows Poe and the yet 
 greater Hawthorne. — Pancoast, Henry 
 S., 1898, An Introduction to American 
 Literature, p. 110. 
 
CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 
 
 555 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Brown owes his reputation to his novels. 
 He wrote them indeed principally for his 
 amusement, and preferred publishing them 
 when unfinished to labouring upon them 
 after they had lost their interest to him- 
 self : they are proofs or signs of power 
 rather than the result of its complete and 
 steady exertion ; but they shew the char- 
 acter of his mind and will justify our curi- 
 osity to examine it. In attempting 
 this, we do not feel as if we were bringing 
 forward a deserving but neglected author ; 
 he has received honourable notice from 
 distinguished men abroad, and his country- 
 men discerned his merits without waiting 
 till a foreign glory had shone on and re- 
 vealed them. Still he is very far from 
 being a popular writer. There is no call, 
 as far as we know, for a second edition of 
 any of his works. He is rarely spoken of 
 but by those who have an habitual curios- 
 ity about everything literary, and a becom- 
 ing pride in all good writing which appears 
 amongst ourselves. They have not met with 
 the usual success of leaders, in matters of 
 taste, since, with all their admiration, 
 they have not been able to extend his 
 celebrity much beyond themselves. . . . 
 We should not pronounce Brown a man of 
 genius, nor deny him that distinction, 
 from his style. It might have been ac- 
 quired by care and study, but it is the re- 
 sult only and never betrays the process. — 
 Verplanck, Gulian Crommelin, 1819, 
 Charles Broekden Brown, North American 
 Review, vol. 9, pp. 63, 76. 
 
 The very want of variety has given such 
 an air of truth to what he is about, show- 
 ing such an earnest singleness of purpose, 
 that perhaps no writer ever made his 
 readers more completely forget that they 
 were not reading a statement of some 
 serious matter of fact ; and so strong is 
 this impression, that we even become half 
 reconciled to improbabilities which so vex 
 us in fiction, though often happening in 
 daily life. This enables us, also, to bear 
 better with his style; for, along with 
 something like a conviction that the man 
 who had vivacity of genius enough for 
 such inventions could never have delivered 
 himself with such dull poverty and pedantry 
 of phrase, we at last are almost driven to 
 the conclusion, that, however extraordi- 
 nary they may be, they are nevertheless 
 facts ; for the man never could have made 
 
 them, and things must have happened 
 pretty much as he tells us they did. — 
 Dana, Richard Henry, 1827-50, The 
 Novels of Charles Broekden Brown, Poems 
 and Prose Writings, vol. ii, p. 329. 
 
 He may be rather called a philosophical 
 than a poetical writer ; for, though he 
 has that intensity of feeling which con- 
 stitutes one of the distinguishing attri- 
 butes of the latter, yet in his most 
 tumultuous bursts of passion we frequently 
 find him pausing to analyze and coolly 
 speculate on the elements which have 
 raised it. This intrusion, indeed, of 
 reason, la raison froide, into scenes of the 
 greatest interest and emotion, has some- 
 times the unhappy effect of chilling them 
 altogether. — Prescott, William H., 1834, 
 Charles Broekden Brown, Biographical and 
 Critical Miscellanies, p. 38. 
 
 We have long been ashamed that one 
 who ought to be the pride of the country, 
 and who is, in the highest qualities of tho 
 mind, so far in advance of our other 
 novelists, should have become almost inac- 
 cessible to the public. It has been the 
 custom to liken Brown to Godwin. But 
 there was no imitation, no second-hand in 
 the matter. They were congenial natures, 
 and whichever had come first might have 
 lent an impulse to the other. Either mind 
 might have been conscious of the posses- 
 sion of that peculiar vein of ore without 
 thinking of working it for the mint of 
 the world, till the other, led by accident, 
 or overflow of feeling, showed him how 
 easy it was to put the reveries of his soli- 
 tary hours into words and upon paper for 
 the benefit of his fellow men. . . . 
 Brown is great as ever human writer was 
 in showing the self-sustaining force of 
 which a lonely mind is capable. He takes 
 one person, makes him brood like the bee, 
 and extract from the common life before 
 him all its sweetness, its bitterness, and its 
 nourishment.— OssoLi, Margaret Fuller, 
 1845-59, Papers on Literature and Art, 
 ed. Fuller, pp. 322, 324. 
 
 He had more genius than talent,, and 
 more imagination than fancy. It has been 
 said that he outraged the laws of art by 
 gross improbabilities and inconsistencies, 
 but the most incredible of his incidents had 
 parallels in true history, and the meta- 
 physical unity and consistency of his 
 novels are apparent to all readers famil- 
 iar with psychological phenomena. His 
 
556 
 
 CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 
 
 works, generally written with great rapid- 
 ity, are incomplete, and deficient in method. 
 He disregarded rules, and cared little for 
 criticism. But his style was clear and 
 nervous, with little ornament, free of 
 affectations, and indicated a singular sin- 
 cerity and depth of feeling. — Griswold, 
 RUFUS WiLMOT, 1845, ed.. Intellectual 
 History, Condition and Prospects of the 
 Country, The Prose Writers of America, 
 p. 29. 
 
 So deficient, indeed, in constructive de- 
 sign and unity of purpose, are his writ- 
 ings, that, with the exception of his essays 
 and other argumentative papers, they 
 resemble the sketches that litter an artist's 
 studio more than elaborate and finished 
 works. His fictions might aptly be desig- 
 nated as studies in Romance. He left 
 many fragmentary narratives, scenes and 
 dialogues —some founded upon history, 
 some upon observation, and others ap- 
 parently the result of an inventive mood. 
 At one time he had no less than five novels 
 commenced, sketched out, or partially 
 written. — Tuckerman, Henry T., 1857, 
 Essays Biographical and Critical, p. 372. 
 
 In romantic narrative. Brown was often 
 successful, but he failed in the delinea- 
 tion of character. — Chambers, Robert, 
 1876, Cyclopcedia of English Literature, 
 ed. Carruthers. 
 
 Some of his novelshave been republished 
 in this country, but copies of these it is 
 now difficult to meet with. Yet a public 
 which so liberally admired Hawthorne, 
 ought to know something about a writer 
 of kindred and more potent genius. If 
 Hoffmann's Night-pieces and Fancy Pieces 
 after the manner of Jacques Callot must 
 rank first in the literature of the Weird, 
 Brockden Brown comes second, and he 
 adds to the weird such elements of psy- 
 chological subtlety as give him a place to 
 which Hoffmann had no claim in the litera- 
 ture of spiritual analysis. To a daring 
 imagination — the most singular and flex- 
 ible, perhaps, yet witnessed amongst 
 American writers — Charles Brockden 
 Brown united a placid temperament and a 
 contemplative intellect. Such a com- 
 bination of seeming discordant, and yet 
 sharply defined qualities, is almost unique. 
 Deep-rooted melancholy, and the pathos 
 of an apparently disordered mind, distin- 
 guish the works of this author, and yet few 
 men were happier in their lives, or more 
 
 profoundly enjoyed the simple fact of ex- 
 istence. He coveted no complex pleas- 
 ures or recreations; his greatest solace 
 was Nature ; and he extracted happiness 
 from those commonplace pursuits which 
 by most men of genius would have been 
 deemed monotonous and insupportable. 
 His creations are dire, astounding, terrible 
 — his life was sedate, tranquil, serene. — 
 Smith, George Barnett, 1878, Brockden 
 Brown, Fortnightly Review, vol. 30, p. 399. 
 
 In 1800 he was the best writer of fiction 
 of his time ; he led the way to the general 
 diffusion of the novel. His scenery was 
 all American : he loved to paint sometimes 
 the golden air of autumn, the evening 
 sinking over the Schuylkill, rich in un- 
 rivalled colors, the splendors of a clime 
 to which Europe offered no parallel ; but 
 of tener the city street, the plague-stricken 
 homes, the stately mansion. In this rare 
 setting his sombre, mysterious characters 
 move dark and dreadful, scarcely human 
 in their objects, always governed by some 
 immutable law. ... He was the 
 morning-star that beckoned in the day. — 
 Lawrence, Eugene, 1880, A Primer of 
 American Literature, pp. 48, 49. 
 
 Brown, in his depth of insight into the 
 morbid phenomena of the human mind, 
 really anticipated Hawthorne ; but hurried 
 as he was by that most malignant of liter- 
 ary devils, the printer's, he produced no 
 such masterpieces of literary art as *'The 
 Scarlet Letter," **The Bltthedale Ro- 
 mance, " and ' ' The Marble Faun. ' ' Brown 
 is one of the most melancholy instances of 
 a genius arrested in its orderly develop- 
 ment by the pressure of circumstances. 
 In mere power his forgotten novels rank 
 very high among the products of the 
 American imagination. And it should be 
 added that though he is unread, he is by 
 no means unreadable. . . . With all 
 his faults. Brown does not deserve to be 
 the victim of the bitterest irony of criti- 
 cism, that, namely, of not being considered 
 worth the trouble of a critical examina- 
 tion. His writings are contemptuously 
 classed among dead books, interesting to 
 the antiquary alone. Still, they have that 
 vitality which comes from the presence of 
 genius, and a little stirring of the ashes 
 under which they are buried would reveal 
 sparks of genuine fire. — Whipple, Edwin 
 Percy, 1886, American Literature and 
 Other Papers, ed. Whittier, pp. 28, 29. 
 
CHARLES BROCKDEN BROWN 
 
 557 
 
 Brockden Brown introduced the weird, 
 the romantic, the appalling, the ''native 
 American," and made a failure, on the 
 whole.— Richardson, Charles F., 1887, 
 American Liter ature, 1607-1885, vol. i, 
 p, 263. 
 
 Charles Brockden Brown, of Philadel- 
 phia, had all the qualities which would 
 have recommended him to Goethe's par- 
 ticular detestation, being slipshod in style 
 and exhibiting a sovereign disregard of 
 reality. His works abound in psycho- 
 logical curiosities and super-ingenious 
 mysteries, exulting, like those of his 
 romantic compeers, in all the calamities 
 from which in the Prayer Book we ask God 
 to deliver us. — Boyesen, Hjalmar 
 Hjorth, 1892-94, Literary and Social 
 Silhouettes^ p. 59. 
 
 Brown's romances are not wanting an 
 inventive power ; in occasional situations 
 that are intensely thrilling, and in subtle 
 analysis of character ; but they are fatally 
 defective in art. The narrative is by turns 
 abrupt and tiresomely prolix, proceeding 
 not so much by dialogue as by elaborate 
 dissection and discussion of motives and 
 states of mind, interspersed with the 
 author's reflections. The wild improba- 
 bilities of plot and the unnatural and even 
 monstrous developments of character are 
 in startling contrast with the old-fashioned 
 preciseness of the language ; the conversa- 
 tions, when there are any, being conducted 
 in that insipid dialect in which a fine 
 woman was called an ''elegant female." 
 — Beers, Henry A., 1895, Initial Studies 
 in American Letters, p. 65. 
 
 Judged by the standards set by Poe and 
 Hawthorne, his work is crude and defect- 
 ive in art. The story is at times tediously 
 spun out ; character is dissected with dis- 
 gusting minuteness ; the plots are glaring- 
 ly improbable ; the characters either mon- 
 sters or angels. He is not even a ' ' clumsy 
 Poe," as some have called him, so vastly 
 inferior is his art to his who produced the 
 "Fall of the House of Usher." Brown's 
 excellences are his graphic portrayals of 
 action and his descriptions of wild nature. 
 He had the art of stimulating expecta- 
 tions ; — it is hard to lay down one of his 
 romances unfinished ; one reads on and on 
 in a sort of ghastly dream until at length 
 the end of the book completes the hideous 
 nightmare. — Pattee, Fred Lewis, 1896, 
 A History of American Literature, p. 104. 
 
 The first imaginative writer worth men- 
 tioning in America. ... He was also 
 the first to exert a positive influence, 
 across the Atlantic, upon British litera- 
 ture, laying thus early a few modest 
 strands towards an ocean-cable of thought. 
 As a result of this influence concealed 
 doors opened in lonely houses, fatal epi- 
 demics laid cities desolate, secret plots 
 were organized, unknown persons from 
 foreign lands died in garrets leaving large 
 sums of money; the honor of innocent 
 women was occasionally endangered, 
 though usually saved in time ; people were 
 subject to somnambulism and general 
 frenzy ; vast conspiracies were organized 
 with small aims and smaller results. His 
 books, published between 1798 and 1801, 
 made their way across the ocean with a 
 promptness that now seems inexplicable ; 
 and Mrs. Shelley inhernovelof "The Last 
 Man" founds her description of an epidemic 
 on ' ''the masterly delineations of the author 
 of 'Arthur Mervyn.' " Shelley himself 
 recognized his obligations to Brown ; and 
 it is to be remembered that Brown himself 
 was evidently familiar with Godwin's 
 philosophical writings, and that he may 
 have drawn from those of Mary Wollstone- 
 craft his advanced views as to the rights 
 and education of women, a subject on 
 which his first book, "Alcuin," provided 
 the eariest American protest. . . . There 
 is so much of monotony in the general 
 method, that one novel seems to stand for 
 all ; and the same modes of solution reap- 
 pear so often — somnambulism, ventrilo- 
 quism, yellow fever, forged letters, con- 
 cealed money, secret closets — that it not 
 only gives a sense of puerility, but makes 
 it very difficult to recall, as to any par- 
 ticular passage, from which book it came. 
 — HiGGiNSON, Thomas Wentworth,1898, 
 American Prose, ed. Carpenter, pp. 84,88. 
 
 The style, also, is a combination of 
 crudeness and power. It is often stiflt and 
 sometimes ludicrously stilted ; but every- 
 where it has strength ; and in passages of 
 exciting description and narration it rises 
 to a very high degree of power. In these 
 scenes of horror — the maniac Wieland 
 about to kill his sister; Huntly groping 
 about in the black pit; the midnight 
 burial of Watson in the cellar; Ormond's 
 deliberate and gloating assault upon his 
 trembling victim in the lonely house ; the 
 loathsome scenes in the pestilence-stricken 
 
558 
 
 BRO WN~ CUMBERLAND 
 
 city — Brown is in his element, and by them 
 he has made a permanent contribution to 
 the literature of terror. Inferior to 
 Hawthorne in subtle spiritual suggestive- 
 ness, to Poe in brilliancy, intensity, and 
 enveloping atmosphere of poetic gloom, he 
 
 is perhaps superior to them and to the 
 whole contemporary English school of 
 terror in Defoe-like sense of reality and in 
 sheer mass of overwhelming horror. — ■ 
 Bronson, Walter C, 1900, A Short His- 
 tory of American Literature, p. 99. 
 
 Richard Cumberland 
 
 1732-1811 
 
 Born, at Trinity Coll., Dublin, 19 Feb. 1732. Educated at a school at Bury St. 
 Edmunds, 1738-44; at Westminster School, 1744-46. To Trinity Coll., Cambridge, 
 1747; B. A., 1750; Fellowship, 1752; M. A., 1754. Private Secretary to Lord 
 Halifax in Board of Trade ; and afterwards Crown Agent to Nova Scotia. Married 
 Elizabeth Ridge, 19 Feb. 1759. Ulster Secretary to Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, 1761. 
 Clerk of Reports in Board of Trade, 1762. Began to write plays. *'The Summer's 
 Tale" produced, 1765; ''The Brothers" at Covent Garden, 1769; ''The West Indian," 
 1771 ; "The Fashionable Lover," Jan. 1772; "The Choleric Man," 1774; "The Battle 
 of Hastings, " 1778. Secretary to Board of Trade, 1776. On secret mission to Spain, 
 1780-81. On abolition of Board of Trade, he retired to Tunbridge Wells. Great 
 literary activity; many plays produced, including: "The Walloons," 20 April 1782; 
 *'The Jew," 1794; "The Wheel of Fortune," 1795, etc. Edited "The London Re- 
 view" 1809. Died, at Tunbridge Wells, 7 May 1811. Buried in Westminster Abbey. 
 Works: "An Elegy, written on St. Mark's Eve" (anon.), 1754; "The Banishment of 
 Cicero," 1761; "The Summer's Tale" (anon.), 1765; "A Letter to the Bishop of 
 0-d," (anon.), 1767; "Amelia" (anon.), 1768; "The Brothers" (anon.), 1770; 
 "The West Indian" (anon.), 1771; "Timon of Athens, altered from Shakespeare," 
 1771; "The Fashionable Lover" (anon.), 1772; "The Note of Hand" (anon.), 1774; 
 ^'The Choleric Man," 1775; "The Widow of Delphi" (anon.), 1775; "Odes," 1776; 
 "The Battle of Hastings," 1778; "Calypso," 1779; "Anecdotes of Eminent Painters 
 in Spain," 1782; "A Letter to Richard, Lord Bishop of Landaff," 1783; "The 
 Mysterious Husband," 1783; "The Carmelite," 1784; "Character of the late Lord 
 Viscount Sackville," 1785; "The Natural Son," 1785 ; "The Observer" (anon.), 1785; 
 "An accurate . . . Catalogue of the several Paintings in the King of Spain's 
 Palace at Madrid," 1787; "Arundel" (anon.), 1789; "The Impostors," 1789; "A 
 Volume of Comedies," 1791; "Curtius rescued from the Gulph" (anon.), 1792; 
 "Calvary," 1792; "The Armourer" (anon.), 1793; "The Box-Lobby Challenge," 
 1794; "The Jew," 1794; "First Love," 1795; "Henry," (anon.), 1795; "The Wheel 
 of Fortune, "1795; "False Impressions," 1797; "The Days of Yore," 1798; "Joanna 
 of Montfaucon" (adapted from Von Kotzebue,) 1800; "A Poetical Version of certain 
 Psalms of David," 1801; "A Few Plain Reasons why we should believe in Christ," 
 1801; "The Tailor's Daughter," 1804; "A Melo-Dramatic Piece" (1805); "A Hint 
 to Husbands," 1806; "Memoirs," 1806; "The Jew of Mogadore," 1808; "John de 
 Lancaster," 1809; "Retrospection," 1811. Posthumous: "Posthumous Dramatic 
 Works" (2 vols.), 1813. He translated: Lucan's "Pharsalia," 1760 ; "Aristophanes' 
 €louds," 1797. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, 
 p. 71. 
 
 with which he seduces you to give a free 
 opinion on any of his works; can only be ex- 
 ceeded by the petulant arrogance with 
 which he is sure to reject your observa- 
 tions. . . . Then his affected contempt of 
 all the newspapers strictures ; though, at 
 the same time, he is the sorest man alive, 
 and shrinks like scorched parchment from 
 the fiery ordeal of true criticism ; yet is 
 he so covetous of popularity, that he had 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Mr. Cumberland is unquestionably a man 
 of very great abilities ; it is his misfortune 
 to rate them greatly above their value; 
 and to suppose that he has no equal. — 
 Davies, Thomas, 1780, Memoirs of the 
 Life of David Garrick, vol. n, p. 275. 
 
 Sneer — "He is envious as any old maid 
 verging on the desperation of six-and- 
 thirty; and then the insidious humility 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND 
 
 559 
 
 rather be abused than not mentioned at all." 
 — Sheridan, Richard Brinsley, 1781, 
 The Critic. 
 
 It is a delicate and ardous task I have 
 had in hand, and I trust that now, as 
 heretofore, I shall be read and judged with 
 candour. I have not knowingly trans- 
 gressed, or even strained, the truth, to 
 which I pledged myself; but fairly and 
 sincerely stated how I have employed my 
 faculities, what I have been and what I 
 am. Man hath no need, no right, no in- 
 terest to know of man more than I have 
 enabled every one to know of me. I have 
 no undivulged evil in my heart ; but with 
 unabated affection for my friends, and 
 good will towards my fellow creatures, I 
 remain the reader's most devoted servant. 
 — Cumberland, Richard, 1806, Memoirs 
 Written by Himself, vol. ii, p. 405. 
 
 The person you now see deposited, is 
 Richard Cumberland, an author of no small 
 merit; his writings were chiefly for the 
 stage, but of strict moral tendency — they 
 were not without their faults, but these 
 were not of a gross description. He wrote 
 as much as any, and few wrote better; 
 and his works will be held in the highest 
 estimation, so long as the English language 
 is understood. He considered the theatre 
 as a school for moral improvement, and 
 his remains are truly worthy of mingling 
 with the illustrious dead which* surround 
 us. In his subjects on Divinity, you find 
 the true Christian spirit ; and may God, 
 in his mercy, assign him the true Christian 
 reward! — Vincent, Dr., Dean of West- 
 minster, 1811, Funeral Sermon, 
 
 In youth, Mr. Cumberland must have 
 been handsome; in age, he possessed a 
 pleasing external appearance, and the 
 polite ease of a gentleman accustomed to 
 the best company. In society he was elo- 
 quent, well-informed, and full of anecdote ; 
 a willing dealer in the commerce of praise, 
 or — for he took no great pains to ascertain 
 its sincerity — we should rather say, of 
 flattery. His conversation often showed 
 the author in his strong and in his weak 
 points. ... In the little pettish sub- 
 acidity of temper which Cumberland some- 
 times exhibited, there was more of humor- 
 ous sadness than of ill-will, either to his 
 critics or his contemporaries. — Scott, Sir 
 Walter, 1824, Richard Cumberland. 
 
 Richard Cumberland put forth occasion- 
 ally metrical compositions, but they were 
 
 vapid stuff. He had a vast memory, and a 
 great facility of feeble verbiage ; but his 
 vanity, his self-conceit, and his supercili- 
 ous airs, offended everybody. He was a 
 tall, handsome man, with a fair, regular- 
 featured face, and the appearance of good 
 birth. For many years he resided at 
 Tunbridge Wells, where he affected a sort 
 of dominion over the Pantiles, and paid 
 court, a little too servile, to rank and title. 
 He wrote some good comedies, and was a 
 miscellaneous writer of some popularity ; 
 but in every department he was of a 
 secondary class, — in none he had original- 
 ity. He was one of Johnson's literary 
 club, and therefore could render himself 
 amusing by speaking of a past age of 
 authors and eminent men. Sheridan rep- 
 resented him as Sir Fretful Plagiary. He 
 was a most fulsome and incontinent flat- 
 terer of those who courted him. — Brydges, 
 Sir Samuel Egerton, 1834, Autobiogra- 
 phy, vol. I, p. 189. 
 
 Cumberland was a most agreeable com- 
 panion, and a very entertaining converser. 
 His theatrical anecdotes were related with 
 infinite spirit and humour. . . . When 
 Cumberland was composing any work, he 
 never shut himself in his study : he always 
 wrote in the room where his family sat, 
 and did not feel the least disturbed by the 
 noise of his children at play beside him. — 
 Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollections of 
 Table-Talk, ed. Dyce, pp. 36, 37. 
 
 His sensitiveness to criticism made Gar- 
 rick call him a man without a skin," but 
 he explains that there was then ^'a filthy 
 nest of vipers" in league against every 
 well-known man. —Stephen, Leslie, 1888, 
 Dictionary of National Biography, vol. 
 XIII, p. 291. 
 
 To the last Cumberland is described as 
 an agreeable and even fascinating com- 
 panion, though he was so fond of flattery 
 himself that he supposed it to be accept- 
 able to others, even in the most exuberant 
 proportions. Certain it is that, although 
 he was not altogether happy in his tem- 
 perament, he made many friends; and 
 though time has dealt hardly with his 
 reputation, one piece of good fortune can 
 never be taken from him, namely, the 
 prospect of going down to posterity astride 
 the epitaph in Goldsmith's Retaliation" 
 as "The Terence of England, the mender of 
 hearts." — Paston, George, 1901, Little 
 Memoirs of the Eighteenth Century, p. 1. 
 
560 
 
 RICHARD CUMBERLAND 
 
 GENERAL 
 Here Cumberland lies, having his part, 
 The Terence of England, the mender of 
 hearts ; 
 
 A flattering painter, who made it his care 
 To draw men as they ought to be, not as 
 they are. 
 
 His gallants are all faultless, his women 
 divine, 
 
 And comedy wonders at being so fine ; 
 Like a tragedy -queen he has dizen'd her out, 
 Or rather, like tragedy giving a rout. 
 His fools have their follies so lost in a crowd 
 Of virtues and feelings, that folly grows 
 proud, 
 
 And coxcombs alike in their failings alone, 
 Adopting his portraits, are pleas 'd with their 
 own. 
 
 Say, where has our poet this malady caught, 
 Or, wherefore his characters thus without 
 fault ? 
 
 Say, was it that vainly directing his view, 
 To find out men's virtues, and finding them 
 
 few, • 
 Quite sick of pursuing each troublesome elf, 
 He grew lazy at last, and drew from himself? 
 — Goldsmith, Oliver, 1774, The Retalia- 
 tion. 
 
 Withal] the merit which "The Brothers" 
 possesses, and which is of no small ac- 
 count, it is instructive to observe with 
 how much judgment Mr. Cumberland cor- 
 rected in his second play all those faults 
 he had committed in the first. The 
 language of "The West Indian" is wholly 
 refined, and every idea it contains per- 
 fectly delicate. The youthful parts are 
 there rendered brilliant, as well as inter- 
 esting ; and wit and humour are not con- 
 fined, as here, to the mean or the vulgar, 
 but skilfully on persons of pleasing forms 
 and polite manners. — Inchbald, Mrs. 
 Elizabeth, 1806-9, The Brothers, A Com- 
 edy ; The British Theatre^ Remarks. 
 
 We will pronounce no general judgment 
 on the literary merits of Mr. Cumberland ; 
 but our opinion of them certainly has not 
 been raised by the perusal of these Mem- 
 oirs." There is no depth of thought, 
 nor dignity of sentiment about him ; — he is 
 too frisky for an old man, and too gossiping 
 for an historian. His style is too negligent 
 even for the most familiar composition ; 
 and though he has proved himself, upon 
 other occasions, to be a great master of 
 good English, he has admitted a number of 
 phrases into this work, which, we are in- 
 clined to think, would scarely pass cur- 
 rent even in conversation. . . . Upon 
 the whole, however, this volume is not the 
 
 work of an ordinary writer ; and we should 
 probably have been more indulgent to its 
 faults, if the excellence of some of the 
 author's former productions had not sent 
 us to its perusal with expectations per- 
 haps somewhat extravagant. — Jeffrey, 
 Francis Lord, 1806-1844, Memoirs of 
 Cumberland, Contributions to the Edinburgh 
 Review, vol. iv, p. 413. 
 
 The ''Observer," though the sole labour 
 of an individual, is yet rich in variety, both 
 of subject and manner; in this respect, 
 indeed, as well as in literary interests, and 
 in fertility of invention, it may be classed 
 with the '' Spectator" and ''Adventurer ;" 
 if inferior to the latter in grandeur of 
 fiction, or to the former in delicate irony 
 and dramatic unity of design, it is wealthier 
 in its literary fund than either, equally 
 moral in its views, and as abundant in the 
 creation of incident. I consider it, 
 therefore, with the exception of the pa- 
 pers just mentioned, as superior, in its 
 powers of attraction, to every other period- 
 ical composition.— Drake, Nathan, 1810, 
 Essays Illustrative of the Rambler, Adven- 
 turer and Idler, vol. ii, p. 393. 
 
 He could not easily endure a rival in any 
 branch of literature, but, without enter- 
 ing into his failings, it may easily be con- 
 ceded that he had not in his time many 
 equals. His talents were so various, his 
 productions so numerous, and of many of 
 them it may truly be asserted, that they 
 were so valuable and so instructive, that 
 who can call to memory without a sigh 
 that his latter hours were darkened by 
 poverty. — Beloe, William, 1817, The 
 Sexagenarian, vol. ii, p. 222. 
 
 It ["West Indian"] is a classical com- 
 edy; the dialogue spirited and elegant; 
 the characters well conceived, and pre- 
 senting bold features, though still within 
 the line of probability ; and the plot regu- 
 larly conducted, and happily extricated. 
 . . . The drama must have been Cumber- 
 land's favourite style of composition, for 
 he went on, shooting shaft after shaft at 
 the mark which he did not always hit, and 
 often elfacing by failures the memory of 
 triumphant successes. His plays at last 
 amounted to upwards of fifty, and inter- 
 cession and flattery were sometimes neces- 
 sary to force their way to the stage. . . . 
 He had a peculiar taste in love affairs, 
 which induced him to reverse the usual 
 and natural practice of courtship, and to 
 
RICHARD CUMBERLAND 
 
 561 
 
 throw upon the softer sex the task of 
 wooing, which is more gracefully, as well 
 as naturally, the province of the man. — ■ 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 1824, Richard Cum- 
 berland. 
 
 Cumberland was the last, and the best 
 of the Sentimental School. His Genius 
 was of too masculine a character to submit 
 entirely to the fetters which the popular 
 prejudices would impose upon it ; and his 
 taste too pure, to relish the sickly viands 
 with which the public appetite was palled. 
 — Neele, Henry, 1827-29, Lectures on 
 English Poetry, p. 153. 
 
 Cumberland's worthless epics of Cal- 
 vary,'' ''Richard the First," ''The Ex- 
 odiad." — Craik, George L., 1861, A Com- 
 pendious History of English Literature and 
 of the English Language, vol. ii. p. 415. 
 
 He aimed without success at Fielding's 
 constructive excellence, and imitated that 
 great master's humor, only to reproduce 
 his coarseness.— Tuckerman, Bayard, 
 1882, A History of English Prose Fiction, 
 p. 247. 
 
 There were few departments of litera- 
 ture in which this worthy writer did not 
 do fair journeyman's work, and amid;other 
 work he employed himself as a writer of 
 comedies. He who shoots often must hit 
 sometimes. The ' ' West Indian' ' has merit 
 in it ; but his characters are all endowed 
 with a superhuman morality. Cumberland 
 understood stage effect, — particularly of 
 the emotional kind. But he was over- 
 emotional. — Crawfurd, Oswald, 1883, 
 ed.y English Comic Dramatists, p. 256. 
 
 Were 1 to be discovered on Primrose 
 Hill, or any other eminence, reading 
 "Henry, " I should blush no deeper than if 
 the book had been "David Grieve." . . . 
 Cumberland has, of course, no place in 
 men's memories by virtue of his plays, 
 poems, or novels. Even the catholic 
 Chambers gives no extracts from Cumber- 
 land in the ' ' Encyclopedia. ' ' What keeps 
 him for ever alive is — first, his place in 
 Goldsmith's great poem, "Retaliation;" 
 secondly, his memoirs to which Sir Walter 
 refers so unkindly ; and thirdly, the tradi- 
 tion, the well-supported tradition — that 
 he was the original ' ' Sir Fretful Plagiary. ' ' 
 On this last point we have the authority 
 of Croker, and there is none better for 
 anything disagreeable. Croker says he 
 knew Cumberland well for the last dozen 
 years of his life, and that to his last day 
 
 36 C 
 
 he resembled "Sir Fretful."— Birrell, 
 Augustine, 1894, Essays about Men, 
 Women and Books, pp. 51, 52. 
 
 A rather curious person, and better 
 known to literature as Sir Fretful Plagiary, 
 but a scholar, a skilful playwright, £ind no 
 contemptible man of letters. — Saints- 
 bury, George, 1898, A Short History of 
 English Literature, p. 639. 
 
 As a writer, Cumberland was not great ; 
 he was not even of the second rank, 
 if we count men like Goldsmith and 
 Sheridan in that degree; but he fre- 
 quently wrote with effect, and invariably 
 as a scholar and a gentleman. Like 
 too many people, he tried to succeed in 
 too many things, and has in consequence 
 just missed high distinction, alike as a 
 poet, a novelist, and a dramatist. Gold- 
 smith's comparison of him with Terence 
 might pass muster as a compliment, but cer- 
 tainly could not be defended on the score 
 of accuracy. No doubt the later dramatist's 
 methods were framed on those of Terence 
 but in all the latter's great literary quali- 
 ties Cumberland was but a shadow of him. 
 Where is that pure and perfect style which 
 have caused some eminent critics to class 
 Terence with Cicero, Caesar, and Lucre- 
 tius ? Where the fine individualisation of 
 character, the cosmopolitanism, the 
 metrical skill, the coruscating wit, the 
 exquisite pathos? Cumberland's "Mem- 
 oirs" are garrulous, but interesting, 
 though some of his stories and recollec- 
 tions require taking with a considerable 
 grain of salt. But he is so overshadowed 
 by his contemporaries, that something less 
 than justice has been done to his literary 
 powers. In private life he was all that 
 was excellent and sincere, he had varied 
 stores of information, which he was never 
 backward in imparting ; and he was ever 
 moved by a genuine consideration for the 
 claims and feelings of others. — Smith, 
 George Barnett, 1900, The English Ter- 
 ence, Fortnightly Review, vol. 73, p. 256. 
 
 Richard Cumberland, playright, novel- 
 ist, poet, essayist, and editor, civil servant 
 and amateur diplomatist, belongs to that 
 numerous body of authors who have had to 
 pay for temporary popularity by perma- 
 nent neglect. His comedies have not held 
 the stage like those of his contemporaries, 
 Sheridan and Goldsmith : his novels are no 
 longer read like those of his model, Henry 
 Fielding; his " Observer" essays have not 
 
562 
 
 CUMBERLAND— PERCY 
 
 become a classic like the ''Spectator" and place they deserve in the biographical 
 
 the "Rambler;" his poems are dead; his literature of his period. — Paston, George, 
 
 pamphlets are forgotten ; and even his de- 1901, Little Memoirs of the Eighteenth 
 
 lightful "Memoirs" have hardly taken the Century, p. 57. 
 
 Thomas Percy 
 
 1729-1811 
 
 Bishop of Dromore, 1729-1811. Born, at Bridgnorth, Shropshire, 13 April, 1729. 
 Early education at Bridgnorth Grammar School. Matric, Christ Church, Oxford, 7 
 July 1746; B. A., 1750; M. A., 1753. Vicar of Easton-Maudit, Northamptonshire, 
 1753-82. Rector of Wilby, 1756-82. Married Anne Gutteridge, 1759. Active 
 literary life. Chaplain to George II., 1769. D. D., Camb., 1770. Dean of Carlisle, 
 1778-82. Bishop of Dromore, 1782. Suffered from blindness in last years of life. 
 Died at Dromore, 30th Sept. 1811. Buried at Dromore Cathedral. Works: **Hau 
 Kiou Choaun;or, the Pleasing History" (from the Chinese; 4 vols., anon.), 1761; 
 ''Miscellaneous Pieces relating to the Chinese" (2 vols., anon.), 1762; "Five Pieces 
 of Runic Poetry from the Islandic Language" (anon.), 1763; "The Song of Solomon, 
 newly translated" (anon.), 1764; "Reliques of Ancient English Poetry" (3 vols.), 
 1765; "A Letter describing the ride to Hulme Abbey from Alnwich" (anon.), [1765]; 
 "Four Essays" (anon.), 1767; "A Key to the New Testament," 1769; "A Sermon" 
 [on John xiii, 35], 1769; "Northern Antiquities" (anon.), 1770; "The Hermit of 
 Warkworth" (anon.), 1771; "The Matrons" (anon.), 1772; "Life of Dr. Oliver Gold- 
 smith" (anon.), 1774; "A Sermon" [on Prov. xxii, 6], 1790; "An Essay on the 
 Origin of the English Stage," 1793. He translated: P. H. Mallet's "Northern 
 Antiquities," 1770; and edited: Surrey's "Poems," 1763; the "Household Book of 
 the Earl of Northumberland," 1768.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary 
 of English Authors, p. 226. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 He is a man very willing to learn, and 
 very able to teach ; a man out of whose 
 company I never go without having learned 
 something. It is sure that he vexes me 
 sometimes, but I am afraid it is by making 
 me feel my own ignorance. So much ex- 
 tention of mind, and so much minute ac- 
 curacy of inquiry, if you survey your whole 
 circle of acquaintance, you will find so 
 scarce, if you find it at all, that you will 
 value Percy by comparison. Lord Hailes 
 is somewhat like him; but Lord Hailes 
 does not, perhaps, go beyond him in re- 
 search ; and I do not know that he equals 
 him in elegance. Percy's attention to 
 poetry has given grace and splendour to 
 his studies of antiquity. A mere antiqua- 
 rian is a rugged being. — Johnson, Sam- 
 uel, 1778, Letter to Boswell, April 23; 
 BoswelVs Life of Johnson. 
 
 No bishop in this kingdom exercises the 
 various functions of his office with more 
 ability, diligence, and universal approba- 
 tion — Sturrock, R. W., 1787, Letter to 
 James Macpherson, Aug, 21 ; Nicholses 
 Literary Illustrations, vol. vni, p. 241. 
 
 I have had a letter from the Bishop of 
 
 Dromore of seven sides of paper, the ob- 
 ject of which was, to induce me to add to 
 my "Noble Authors" some meditations by 
 a foolish Countess of Northumberland, and 
 to set me to inquire after a MS. Tract of 
 Earl Algernon; with neither of which I 
 have complied or shall. The Bishop hav- 
 ing created himself a Percy, is gone mad 
 about that family, tho' the Percys are 
 more remembered for having lost their 
 heads, than for ever having had a head that 
 was a loss to lose. — Walpole, Horace, 
 1793, Letter to Miss Berry, Oct. 16 ; Berry 
 Correspondence, ed. Lewis, vol. i, p. 398. 
 
 His episcopal functions were most faith- 
 fully and efficiently discharged, securing 
 him (as we are told) the respect and love 
 of all denominations ; but this is no more 
 than might have been expected from a man 
 of his integrity of character and genuine 
 religious feelings — one who was, in a 
 word, actuated by a high sense of duty. — 
 PiCKPORD, J., 1867, Bishop Percy's Folio 
 Manuscript, Life, p. I. 
 
 Percy had natually a hot temper, but 
 this cooled down with time, and the trials 
 of his later life were accepted with Chris- 
 tian meekness. One of his relations, who 
 
THOMAS PERCY 
 
 563 
 
 as a boy could just recollect him, told Mr. 
 Pickford *'that it was quite a pleasure to 
 see even then his gentleness, amiability, 
 and fondness for children. Every day 
 used to witness his strolling down to a 
 pond in the palace garden, in order to feed 
 his swans, who were accustomed to come 
 at the well-known sound of the old man's 
 voice. ' ' He was a pleasing companion and 
 a steady friend. His duties, both in the 
 retired country village and in the more 
 elevated positions of dean and bishop, 
 were all performed with a wisdom and 
 ardour that gained him the confidence of 
 all those with whom he was brought in 
 contact. The praise given to him in the 
 inscription on the tablet to his memory in 
 Dromore Cathedral does not appear to 
 have gone beyond the truth. It is there 
 stated that he resided constantly in his 
 diocese, and discharged ''the duties of his 
 sacred office with vigilance and zeal, in- 
 structing the ignorant, relieving the 
 necessitous, and comforting the distressed 
 with pastoral affection." He was re- 
 vered for his piety and learning, and be- 
 loved for his universal benevolence, by all 
 ranks and religious denominations. — 
 Wheatley, Henry B., 1891, ed. Percy's 
 Reliques of Ancient English Poetry^ Gen- 
 eral Introduction^ vol. I, p. Ixxix. 
 
 RELIQUES OF ANCIENT ENGLISH 
 POETRY 
 
 1765 
 
 You have heard me speak of Mr. Percy. 
 He was in treaty with Mr. James Dodsley 
 for the publication of our best old ballads 
 in three volumes. He has a large folio 
 MS. of ballads which he showed me, and 
 which, with his own natural and acquired 
 talents, would qualify him for the purpose 
 as well as any man in England. I pro- 
 posed the scheme to him myself, wishing 
 to see an elegant edition and good collec- 
 tion of this kind. — Shenstone, William, 
 1761, Letter to Graves, March 1. 
 
 The reader is here presented with select 
 remains of our ancient English Bards and 
 Minstrels, an order of men, who were once 
 greatly respected by our ancestors, and 
 contributed to soften the roughness of a 
 martial and unlettered people by their 
 songs and by their music. The greater 
 part of them are extracted from an ancient 
 folio manuscript, in the Editor's posses- 
 sion, which contains near two hundred 
 Poems, Songs, and Metrical Romances. 
 
 This MS. was written about the middle of 
 the last century ; but contains composi- 
 tions of all times and dates, from the age 
 prior to Chaucer, to the conclusion of the 
 reign of Charles 1. This manuscript was 
 shown to several learned and ingenious 
 friends, who thought the contents too 
 curious to be consigned to oblivion, and 
 importuned the possessor to select some of 
 them and give them to the press. As 
 most of them are of great simplicity, and 
 seem to have been merely written for the 
 people, he was long in doubt, whether, in 
 the present state of improved literature, 
 they could be deemed worthy the attention 
 of the public. At length the importunity 
 of his friends prevailed, and he could re- 
 fuse nothing to such judges as the Author 
 of the Rambler and the late Mr. Shen- 
 stone.— Percy, Thomas, 1765, Reliques 
 of Ancient English Poetry, Preface. 
 
 This ingenious work, which revived the 
 taste for our old poets, is too well known 
 to require being here particularized. — 
 Brydges, Sir Samuel Egerton, 1800, 
 ed. Phillips's Theatrum Poetarum Angli- 
 canorum. Preface, p. Ixx. 
 
 I remember well the spot where I read 
 these volumes for the first time. It was 
 beneath a huge platanus tree, in the ruins 
 of what had been intended for an old- 
 fashioned arbor in the garden I have 
 mentioned. The summer-day sped onward 
 so fast, that notwithstanding the sharp ap- 
 petite of thirteen,! forgot the hour of din- 
 ner, was sought for with anxiety, and was 
 still found entranced in my intellectual 
 banquet. To read and to remember was 
 in this instance the same thing, and hence- 
 forth I overwhelmed my school-fellows, 
 and all who would hearken to me, with 
 tragical recitations from the ballads of 
 Bishop Percy. The first time, too, I could 
 scrape a few shillings together, which were 
 not common occurrences with me, I bought 
 unto myself a copy of these beloved 
 volumes ; nor do I believe I ever read a 
 book half so frequently, or with half the 
 enthusiasm. — Scott, Sir Walter, 1808, 
 Autobiography, Life by Lockhart, vol. I, 
 ch. i. 
 
 The late Bishop of Dromore, if he merit 
 no other distinction, is entitled to the 
 proud praise of being the Father of Poet- 
 ical Taste, in that department of literature 
 which he has the exclusive merit of having 
 first brought into public notice. His 
 
564 
 
 THOMAS PERCY 
 
 "Reliques" is a publication that reflects 
 lasting honor upon his name ; and it has 
 proved the germ of a rich harvest in the 
 same field of the muses. — Dibdin, Thomas 
 Frognall, 1817, The Bibliographical De- 
 cameroriy vol, ill, p. 339. 
 
 A collection singularly heterogeneous, 
 and very unequal in merit, but from the 
 publication of which, in 1765, some of 
 high name have dated the revival of a 
 genuine feeling for true poetry in the 
 public mind. — Hallam, Henry, 1837-39, 
 Introduction to the Literature of Europe^ 
 pt. ii, eh. v, par. 78. 
 
 I never take up these three heavily- 
 bound volumes, the actual last edition, at 
 which Dr. Johnson was wont to scoff, with- 
 out feeling a pleasure quite apart from 
 that excited by the charming book itself ; 
 although to that book, far more than to any 
 modern school of minstrelsy we owe the re- 
 vival of the taste for romantic and lyrical 
 poetry, which had lain dormant since the 
 days of the Commonwealth. This pleasure 
 springs from a very simple cause. The 
 associations of these ballads with the 
 happiest days of my happy childhood. — 
 MiTPORD, Mary Russell, 1851, Recollec- 
 tions of a Literary Life^ p. 1. 
 
 Perhaps the publication which was as 
 yet at once the most remarkable product of 
 this new taste, and the most effective agent 
 in its diffusion, was Percy's celebrated 
 '^Reliques of Ancient English Poetry,'' 
 which first appeared in 1765. The recep- 
 tion of this book was the same that what 
 is natural and true always meets with 
 when brought into fair competition with 
 the artificial. — Craik, George L., 1861, 
 A Compendious History of English Litera- 
 ture and of the English Language, vol. ii, 
 p. 308. 
 
 The publication of the ^'Reliques,'* 
 then, constitutes an epoch in the history 
 of the great revival of taste, in whose 
 blessings we now participate. After 1765, 
 before the end of the century, numerous 
 collections of old ballads, in Scotland and 
 England, by Evans, by Pinkerton, Herd, 
 Ritson, were made. The noble reforma- 
 tion, that received so great an impulse in 
 1765, advanced thenceforward steadily. 
 The taste that was awakened never slum- 
 bered again. The recognition of our old 
 life and poetry that the ''Reliques" gave, 
 was at last gloriously confirmed and estab- 
 lished by Walter Scott.— Hales, John W., 
 
 1868, Bishop Percy^s Folio Manuscript , 
 The Revival of Ballad Poetry in the Eight- 
 eenth Century, vol. Ii, p. xxix. 
 
 The ''Reliques of Ancient English 
 Poetry,'' published in 1765 by Bishop 
 Thomas Percy, produced a purer and more 
 lasting effect than Macpherson' s ' ' Ossian. ' ' 
 They are the fruit of the industry of a 
 loving and careful collector, and proved to 
 every susceptible mind that the essence of 
 poetry is not to be found in formalism, and 
 in sober reflection, but in true and strong 
 feelings. In Percy's ' ' Religues' ' we again 
 meet with undisguised nature, with simple 
 feeling, and with energetic action; they 
 are the poetic reflection of an age of 
 national heroes and whose traditions are 
 closely interwoven with English thought 
 and feeling. Hence the powerful and 
 rapid influence these ancient relics of 
 minstrelsy acquired in England and Scot- 
 land, an influence which may be traced in 
 the development of English poetry down to 
 our own days. — Scherr, J., 1874, A His- 
 tory of English Literature, tr. M. F., p. 167. 
 
 So ready and inflammable was the 
 material prepared for these living coals, 
 unraked from the ashes of departed years. 
 The^'Reliques" were largely composed of 
 the lyrics of earlier and later writers. The 
 ballads yielded the key-note, and then gave 
 place to the melody of more modern verse, 
 the most free and national in its charac- 
 ter. Lyric poetry, less ambitious than 
 other forms, more close to the individual 
 sentiment, is wont to be the refuge of 
 the most genuine, simple and passionate 
 strains; to be most deeply infused with 
 the national temper. — Bascom, John, 
 1874, Philosophy of English Literature, 
 p. 224. 
 
 Percy's **Reliques" is commonly men- 
 tioned as the turning-point in the taste of 
 the last century, but it was quite as much 
 the result, as the cause, of the renewed 
 interest in old ballads. Percy did more 
 completely what had been done feebly be- 
 fore. Still, it is well to bear in mind the 
 date of the publication, 1765, as mnemonic 
 point, for this was by far the most im- 
 portant of the collections. A copy of 
 the book fell into the hands of Biirger 
 (1748-94), who translated many of the 
 ballads into German, and was inspired by 
 it to write his own *'Lenore." ... It 
 would be fair to say that Percy's '*Re- 
 liques" had more influence in Germany than 
 
THOMAS PERCY 
 
 565 
 
 in England. Burger and his fellow-poets 
 of the ''Hainbund, " who were all young 
 men with a confused hatred of tyrants and 
 great affection for the full moon, took 
 to writing more ballads after the old 
 pattern, as illustrated by Percy's ''Re- 
 liques" and explained by Herder, and soon 
 Herder established the new lines in which 
 German thought was destined to run, sub- 
 stituting the intelligent study of the past 
 for the faithful following of academic 
 rules. — Perry, Thomas Sergeant, 1883, 
 English Literature in the Eighteenth Cen- 
 tury, pp. 422,- 423. 
 
 In undertaking the supervision of a new 
 edition of the* ' Reliques of Ancient English 
 Poetry," I felt that no safer or better 
 guidance could be followed than that of 
 Bishop Percy himself ; and as he always 
 strove, in the several editions published 
 by himself, to embody therein the sum of 
 the knowledge of his times, so I, following 
 at a distance, have endeavoured, by gather- 
 ing from many quarters particulars pub- 
 lished since his death, to make his book 
 still more worthy of the great reputation 
 it has acquired. — Wheatley, Henry B., 
 1891, ed. Percy's Reliques of Ancient Eng- 
 lish Poetry^ Preface, vol. I, p. ix. 
 
 It was an epoch-making book, and is 
 usually spoken of as one of the chief causes 
 of the great re-awakening in English 
 poetry. But the course of our studies in 
 the ballad revival proves that Percy's book 
 was fully as much a result as it was a 
 cause of the Romantic movement. — 
 Phelps, William Lyon, 1893, The Begin- 
 nings of the English Romantic Movement^ 
 p. 129. 
 
 Percy was a critic of admirable poetical 
 taste and literary skill, but he was not 
 altogether proof against the temptations 
 to which these qualities exposed him. In 
 the collection of ballads which he ' ' edited' ' 
 from the MS. in his possession, he did not 
 scruple to alter and supplement the origi- 
 nal text whenever he thought that by so 
 doing he could improve the general effect. 
 By these practices he roused the wrath of 
 an able and relentless antagonist. — Court- 
 hope, W. J., 1895, A History of English 
 Poetry, vol. i, p. 428. 
 
 Percy not only rescued, himself, a num- 
 ber of ballads from f orgetfulness ; what 
 was equally important, his book prompted 
 others to hunt out and publish similar 
 relics before it was too late. It was the 
 
 occasion of collections like Herd's (1769), 
 Scott's (1802-03), and Motherwell's 
 (1827), and many more, resting on purer 
 texts and edited on more scrupulous prin- 
 ciples than his own. Furthermore, his 
 ballads helped to bring about a reform in 
 literary taste and to inspire men of original 
 genius. Wordsworth, Coleridge, Southey, 
 Scott, all acknowledged the greatest ob- 
 ligations to them. Wordsworth said that 
 English poetry had been ''absolutely re- 
 deemed" by them. *'I do not think there 
 is a writer in verse of the present day who 
 would not be proud to acknowledge his 
 obligations to the 'Reliques.' I know 
 that it is so with my friends; and for 
 myself, I am happy in this occasion to 
 make a public avowal of my own." With- 
 out the "Reliques," "The Ancient 
 Mariner," "The Lady of the Lake," "La 
 Belle Dame sans Merci," "Stratton 
 Water, "and "The Haystack in the Floods" 
 might never have been. Perhaps even the 
 "Lyrical Ballads" might never have been, 
 or might have been something quite unlike 
 what they are.— Beers, Henry A., 1898, 
 A History of English Romanticism in the 
 Eighteenth Century, p. 299. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Dr. Percy was so abashed by the ridicule 
 flung upon his labours from the ignorance 
 and insensibility of the persons with whom 
 he lived, that, though while he was writing 
 under a mask he had not wanted resolution 
 to follow his genius into the regions of 
 true simplicity and genuine pathos (as is 
 evinced by the exquisite ballad of "Sir 
 Cauline," and by many other pieces), yet 
 when he appeared in his own person and 
 character as a poetical writer, he adopted, 
 as in the tale of the "Hermit of Wark- 
 worth," a diction scarcely in any one of 
 its features distinguishable from the 
 vague, the glossy, and unfeeling language 
 of his day. I mention this remarkable 
 fact with regret, esteeming the genius of 
 Dr. Percy in this kind of writing superior 
 to that of any other man by whom in 
 modern times it has been cultivated. — 
 Wordsworth, William, 1815, Poems, Es- 
 say Supplementary to the Preface. 
 
 Percy was not, perhaps, a man of much 
 originality of genius, or great strength, or 
 richness of mind. Johnson was probably 
 right when he said, "He runs about with 
 little weight upon his mind. " Yet he was 
 unquestionably endowed with certain rare 
 
566 
 
 PERCY— GRAHAME 
 
 qualities. He had ardent enthusiasm, an 
 enthusiasm which, like that of Scott, was 
 the same in kind, although different in 
 direction, from that of his warlike ances- 
 tors ; he had a vivid sympathy with the old 
 writers, and could think their thoughts, 
 feel their passions, and talk their language ; 
 
 he had invincible diligence, an enormous 
 memory, and had written some ballads of 
 his own, such as ''Sir Cauline," which 
 entitle him to an independent and consid- 
 erable poetical reputation. — Gilfillan, 
 George, 1858, ed. Reliques of Ancient Eng- 
 lish Poetry, Life of Thomas Percy, p. 9. 
 
 James G-rahame 
 
 1765-1811 
 
 Born at Glasgow, April 22, 1765. His father was a successful lawyer, and, by a 
 very common error, he conceived that no other profession could be so suitable or so 
 advantageous for his son. James, dutiful, and shrinking from opposition, as he did 
 all through life, obeyed the parental wish, and after completing his literary course at 
 the university of his native city, went in 1784 to Edinburgh, where he studied law, 
 first to qualify himself for the business of writer to the signet, and subsequently for 
 the Scottish bar, of which he was elected a member in 1795. His inclinations, how- 
 ever, were all for retirement and literature; and finally, when he had reached the 
 mature age of forty-four, he took orders in the English Church, and became curate 
 first at Shipton, Glouchestershire and then at Sedgefield in the county of Durham. He 
 did not long enjoy an office which he adorned by his pious and eloquent ministrations. 
 Ill health compelled him to try the renovating effects of his native air, but he died 
 shortly after his return, September 14, 1811. The works of Grahame consist of a 
 dramatic poem ''Mary Queen of Scots" (published in 1801), "The Sabbath" (1804), 
 "British Georgics'' (1804), "The Birds of Scotland" (1806), and "Poems on the 
 Abolition of the Slave Trade" (1810).— Baynes, Thomas Spencer, ed., 1880, Encyclo- 
 pcedia Britannica, Ninth Edition, vol. XI, p. 31. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Yet, well I loved thee, even as one might love 
 An elder brother, imaged in the soul 
 With solemn features, half -creating awe, 
 But smiling still with gentleness and peace. 
 Tears have I shed when thy most mournful 
 voice 
 
 Did trembling breathe forth that touching air, 
 By Scottish shepherd haply framed of old. 
 Amid the silence of his pastoral hills, 
 Weeping the flowers on Flodden-field that 
 died. 
 
 Wept too have I, when thou didst simply read 
 From thine own lays, so simply beautiful. 
 Some short pathetic tale of human grief. 
 Or orison or hymn of deeper love, 
 That might have won the skeptic's sullen 
 heart 
 
 To gradual adoration, and belief 
 
 Of Him who died for us upon the cross. 
 
 — Wilson, John, 1811, Lines Sacred to 
 
 the Memory of the Rev. James Grahame. 
 
 Poor Grahame, gentle, and amiable, and 
 enthusiastic, deserves all you can say of 
 him ; his was really a hallowed harp, as he 
 was himself an Israelite without guile. 
 How often have I teazed him, but never 
 out of his good-humour, by praising Dun- 
 dee and laughing at the Covenanters ! — 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 1811, Letter to Joanna 
 Baillie ; Life by Lockhart, ch. xxiii. 
 
 I propose to send to one of the periodical 
 works a biographical notice of the life and 
 writings of my poor friend Grahame. But 
 so small a part of James's value lay in his 
 poetry, that I feel it difficult to express my 
 real sentiments about it. . . . One of the 
 most endearing circumstances which I 
 remember of Grahame was his singing. 
 I shall never forget one summer evening 
 that we agreed to sit up all night, and go 
 together to Arthur's Seat, to see the sun 
 rise. We sat, accordingly, all night in 
 his delightful parlor — the seat of so many 
 happy remembrances ! We then went and 
 saw a beautiful sunrise. I returned home 
 with him, for I was living in his house at 
 the time. He was unreserved in all his 
 devoutest feelings before me; and from 
 the beauty of the morning scenery, and 
 the recent death of his sister, our con- 
 versation took a serious turn, on the 
 proofs of infinite benevolence in the crea- 
 tion, and the goodness of God. As I re- 
 tired to my own bed, I overheard his 
 devotions — not his prayer, but a hymn 
 which he sung, and with a power and in- 
 spiration beyond himself, and everything 
 else. At that time he was a strong 
 voiced and commanding-looking man. 
 
JAMES GRAHAME 
 
 567 
 
 The remembrance of his large, expressive 
 features when he climbed the hill, and of 
 his organ-like voice in praising God, is yet 
 fresh, and ever pleasing in my miud. But 
 it is rendered a sad recollection from con- 
 trasting his then energy with the faltering 
 and fallen man which he afterwards be- 
 came.— Campbell, Thomas, 1812, Life 
 and Letter Sy ed., Beattie, vol. I, ch. xxv. 
 
 Tall, solemn, large-featured, and very 
 dark, he was not unlike one of the in- 
 dependent preachers of the commonwealth. 
 He is styled "sepulchral Grahame" by 
 Byron. Neither the bar, at which he 
 practised a few years, nor Whig principles, 
 in the promotion of which he was most 
 ardent (but with which he meant only the 
 general principles of liberty), were the 
 right vocation of a pensive nature, whose 
 delight was in religion and poetry. . . . 
 With the softest of human hearts, his in- 
 dignation knew no bounds when it was 
 roused by what he held to be oppression, 
 especially of animals or the poor, both of 
 whom he took under his special protection. 
 He and a beggar seemed always to be old 
 friends. The merit of his verse consists 
 in its expressing the feelings of his own 
 heart. It all breathes a quiet, musing 
 benevolence, and a sympathy with the 
 happiness of every living creature. Con- 
 tention, whether at the bar or in the 
 church, had no charms for one to whom a 
 Scotch tune was a pleasure for a winter 
 evening, and who could pass the whole 
 summer days in cultivating the personal 
 acquaintance of birds in their own haunts, 
 and to whom nothing was a luxury that 
 excluded the etherial calm of indolence. 
 Yet his virtue was by no means passive. 
 He was roused into a new nature by ab- 
 horrence of cruelty, and could submit to 
 anything in the cause of duty — ^CocK- 
 BURN, Henry Thomas Lord, 1852, Life 
 of Lord Jeffrey. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 We have a new poet come forth amongst 
 us — James Graham, author of a poem 
 called the "Sabbath, " which I admire very 
 much.— Scott, Sir Walter, 1805, To Miss 
 Seward, March 21 ; Life by Lockhart,ch.xm. 
 
 The greater part of it ["The Sabbath"] 
 is written in a heavy and inelegant man- 
 ner. The diction throughout is tainted 
 with vulgarity, and there is no selection 
 of words, images, or sentiments, to con- 
 ciliate the favour of the fastidious reader. 
 
 The author has evidently some talents for 
 poetical compositions, and is never abso- 
 lutely absurd, tedious, or silly; but he has 
 no delicacy of taste or imagination; he 
 does not seem to feel the force of the 
 sanction against poetical mediocrity, and 
 his ear appears to have no perception of 
 the finer harmony of versification. If he 
 be a young man, we think there are con- 
 siderable hopes of him : but if this be the 
 production of maturer talents, we cannot 
 in our conscience exhort him to continue to 
 the service of the muses. . . It 
 contains a good deal of doctrine and 
 argumentation, indeed, both in the text 
 and in the notes ; but nothing that is not 
 either very trite or very shallow and ex- 
 travagant. . . . The whole publica- 
 tion, indeed, though not entitled to stand 
 in the first rank of poetical excellence, is 
 respectably executed, and may be con- 
 sidered as very creditable, either to a 
 beginner, or to one who does not look 
 upon poetry as his primary vocation. — 
 Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 1805, The Sabbath, 
 Edinburgh Review , vol. 5, pp. 441, 442. 
 Sweet are thy Sabbath lays, my gentle 
 Grahame, 
 
 Pure as thy mind, and spotless as thy fame ! 
 — Grant, Anne, 1808, Inscribed in ''The 
 Sabbath/* Memoir and Correspondence, 
 ed. Grant, vol. I, p. 137. 
 Moravians, rise ! bestow some meet reward 
 On dull devotion — ^Lo I the Sabbath bard, 
 Sepulchral Grahame, pours hisnotes sublime, 
 In mangled prose, nor e'en aspires to rhyme. 
 Breaks into blank the Gospel of St. Luke, 
 And boldly pilfers from the Pentateuch ; 
 And, undisturb'd by conscientious qualms, 
 Perverts the Prophets and purloins the 
 Psalms. 
 
 — Byron, Lord, 1809, English Bards and 
 Scotch Reviewers. 
 
 While the criticasters of his own coun- 
 try were pronouncing sentence of con- 
 demnation upon it, for its pious dulness 
 and inanity, the ''Sabbath" had found its 
 way from one end of Great Britain to the 
 other ; — it was in the mouths of the young, 
 and in the hearts of the aged. — Southey, 
 Robert, 1810, Grahame' s British Georgics, 
 Quarterly Review, vol. 3, p. 457. 
 O Bard of sinless life and holiest song ! 
 
 Thou didst despise 
 
 To win the ear of this degenerate age 
 By gorgeous epithets, all idly heaped 
 On theme of earthly state, or, idler still, 
 By tinkling measures and unchastened lays. 
 Warbled to pleasure and her syren-train. 
 
568 
 
 JAMES GRAHAME 
 
 Profaning the best name of poesy. 
 With loftier aspirations, and an aim 
 More worthy man's immortal nature, Thou 
 That holiest spirit that still loves to dwell 
 In the upright heart and pure, at noon of night 
 Didst fervently invoke, and, led by her 
 Above the Aonian mount, sent from the stars 
 Of heaven such soul-subduing melody 
 As Bethlehem-shepherds heard when Christ 
 was born. 
 
 — Wilson, John, 1811, Lines Sacred to 
 the Memory of the Rev. James Grahame. 
 
 His taste was singular, and his manner 
 correspondent. The general tenor of his 
 style is homely, and frequently so prosaic 
 that its peculiar graces appear in their 
 full lustre from the contrast of meanness 
 that surrounds them. His readers may 
 be few ; but whoever does read him will 
 probably be of tener surprised into admira- 
 tion, than in the perusal of any one of his 
 contemporaries. The most lively, the 
 most lovely sketches of natural scenery, 
 of minute imagery, and of exquisite 
 incident, unexpectedly developed, occur 
 in his compositions, with ever- varying, yet 
 ever-assimilating features. — Montgom- 
 ery, James, 1833, Lectures on General 
 Liter aturCy Poetry, etc., p. 159. 
 
 The blank verse of Grahame has some 
 resemblance in structure to that of Cowper 
 and of Wordsworth ; but as an artist, he 
 was much inferior to and wants the cor- 
 rectness of either. Whether this arose 
 from deficiency of ear — which could not 
 well be, as he is said to have sung the 
 ballads and songs of our native land 
 mellifluously, and with a touching tender- 
 ness — ^or from some preconceived convic- 
 tion of its effect in preventing monotony, 
 we have ever, here and there, a line that 
 halts, or that grates prosaically on the ear, 
 like an instrument out of tune. His pages 
 are never lighted up with wit or humour ; 
 and it has been objected to him, that he 
 is too uniformly tender or solemn. — MoiR, 
 D. M., 1850-51, Sketches of the Political 
 Literature of the Past Half-Century, p. 26. 
 
 It [''British Georgics"] does not exhibit 
 any particular system of husbandry; it 
 amuses rather than instructs, and recom- 
 mends the study of the science rather 
 than teaching of it. The work embraces 
 a mixed description, and is lavish on rural 
 modes and manners; the poetry is both 
 lame and tame, and never rises beyond a 
 feebleness of conception, and a descriptive 
 halt. The portion of practical knowledge 
 
 is very minute, with incidental notes of 
 new introductions. — Donaldson, John, 
 1854, Agricultural Biography. 
 
 Grahame' s genius was limited in its 
 range but within that range was exquisitely 
 true and beautiful. He had no dranfatic 
 power, has written no lyrics of merit, and 
 his vein of thought is far from profound. 
 He has been called the Cowper of Scot- 
 land, and resembles him in tenderness of 
 feeling, truth of natural description, and 
 ardent piety, but is vastly inferior in 
 strength of mind, force and continuity of 
 style, and, whatever he might do in 
 private, has in his poetry given no evidence 
 of possessing a particle of Cowper's re- 
 fined and inimitable humour. — Gilfillan, 
 George, 1856, ed., The Poetical Works of 
 Henry Kirke White and James Grahame. 
 
 We may add, before we leave these 
 northern scenes, to which for a time the 
 high flood of intellectual activity seemed 
 to have been transferred, the gentle name 
 of James Grahame, the author of the 
 ''Sabbath." He was not a great poet, 
 nor is that a great poem, but it is very 
 national, and full of a tender sweetness — 
 and echo of Cowper on Scottish soil. 
 Grahame came to light among the early 
 band of the Edinburgh Reviewers, a 
 spectator and sympathiser, if no more — 
 adding a mild enthusiasm for the work of 
 his stronger and more daring friends to 
 his own gentle faculty. . . . His 
 poems are full of the atmosphere of a pure 
 and retired existence, with something, 
 however, that reminds the reader more of 
 a Scottish manse than an English parson- 
 age ; and he was always intensely national. 
 — Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1882, 
 The Literary History of England XVIHth- 
 XlXth Century, vol. n, pp. 169, 170. 
 
 When married, Grahame discovered that 
 his wife thought but meanly of his poetry, 
 and this, no doubt, was his main reason 
 for publishing "The Sabbath" anonymously 
 in 1804. It charmed him to find Mrs. 
 Grahame in raptures over the descriptive 
 beauty, the vivid historical illustrations, 
 the moving, sentimental pictures, and the 
 deep religious earnestness of a poem that 
 is Scottish to the core ; and he then avowed 
 the authorship. Three new editions were 
 called for in a year, and to these Grahame 
 added descriptive and thoughtful ' ' Sabbath 
 Walks."— Bayne, Thomas, 1890, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography, vol. xxn, p. 366. 
 
569 
 
 John Horne Tooke 
 
 1736-1812 
 
 Born [John Horne ; adopted additional name of Tooke in 1782 as a compliment to a 
 patron] at Westminster, 25 June 1736. Early educations at schools in Soho and in 
 Kent. At Westminster School, 1744-46; at Eton, 1746-53. Matric. St. John's 
 Coll., Camb., 1755; B. A., 1758; M. A., 1771. Ordained Vicar of New Brentford in 
 1760; but gave up orders in 1773, and took up pursuit of law. Imprisoned for libel, 
 1777-78. Tried on charge of high treason, but acquitted, 1794. M. P. for Old 
 Sarum, Feb. 1801 to 1802. Died, at Wimbledon, 18 March 1812. Buried at Ealing. 
 Works: ''The Petition of an Englishman" (anon.), 1765; *'A Sermon," 1769; ''An 
 Oration delivered at a . . . Meeting of the Freeholders of Middlesex" [1770] ; 
 ''Letter to John Dunning, Esq.," 1778; "Letter to Lord Ashburton," 1782; " 'Enea 
 Urepoevra^" 1786 ; "Letter to a Friend on the Reported Marriage of the Prince of Wales," 
 1787; "Two Pair of Portraits," 1788; "Letter on the Meeting at the Crown and 
 Anchor Tavern," 1791; "Proceedings in an Action for Debt," 1792; "Letter on Parlia- 
 mentary Reform," 1794; "Speeches . . . during the Westminster Election, 1796" 
 [1796] ; "Letter to the Editor of 'The Times,' " 1807. Life, by J. A. Graham, 1828. 
 —Sharp, R. Farquh arson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 281. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 There is abundance of proof that Mr. 
 Horne was now considered an admirable 
 preacher, and that his eloquence only 
 wanted cultivation to place him among the 
 most successful of our English divines. 
 But it was in orthodox and doctrinal dis- 
 courses that he chiefly excelled, and he is 
 accordingly reported to have distinguished 
 himself greatly by his exhortations before 
 confirmation, on which occasion, by min- 
 gling sound argument with kind and affec- 
 tionate persuasion, he never failed to make 
 a suitable impression on all who heard 
 him. In short, he might not only have 
 been greatly respected as a popular 
 pastor, but was still in a fair way to become 
 one of the pillars of the Anglican church, 
 when a memorable event occurred in the 
 political world, and proved an insur- 
 mountable, though not, perhaps, an unex- 
 pected obstacle to his future preferment. 
 — Stephens, Alexander, 1813, Memoirs 
 of John Horne Tooke. 
 
 It would be but impertinent, however, 
 to effect to call such a character as that 
 of John Horne Tooke to account for this 
 or the other particular culpability. It 
 would be something like attending to 
 criticize the transactions of a pagan 
 temple, and excepting to one rite as un- 
 graceful, perhaps, and to another practice 
 as irreverent ; like as if the substance of 
 the service were of a quality to deserve 
 that its particular parts should be cor- 
 rected. His whole moral constitution was 
 unsound, from the exclusion ... of 
 all respect to a future account, to be given 
 
 to the Supreme Governor. Towards the 
 conclusion of his life, he made calm and 
 frequent references to his death, but not 
 a word is here recorded expressive of 
 anticipations beyond it. — Foster, John, 
 1813, Home Tooke, Critical Essags, ed. 
 Ryland, vol. n, p. 191. 
 
 Mr. Horne Tooke was one of those who 
 may be considered as connecting links 
 between a former period and the existing 
 generation. His education and accom- 
 plishments, nay, his political opinions, were 
 of the last age ; his mind, and the tone of 
 his feeling were modern. There was a 
 hard, dry materialism in the very texture 
 of his understanding, varnished over by 
 the external refinement of the old school. 
 Mr. Tooke had great scope of attainments, 
 and great versatility of pursuits ; but the 
 same shrewdness, quickness, cool self- 
 possession, the same literalness of per- 
 ception, the absence of passion and en- 
 thusiasm, characterised nearly all he did, 
 said or wrote. He was without a rival 
 (almost) in private conversation, an expert 
 public speaker, a keen politician, a first- 
 rate grammarian, and the finest gentleman 
 (to say the least) of his own party. He 
 had no imagination (or he would not have 
 scorned it!)— no delicacy of taste, no 
 rooted prejudices or strong attachments : 
 his intellect was like a bow of polished 
 steel, from which he shot sharp-pointed 
 poisoned arrows at his friends in private, 
 at his enemies in public. His mind (so to 
 speak) had no religion in it, and very 
 little even of the moral qualities of genius ; 
 but he was a man of the world, a scholar 
 
570 
 
 JOHN HORNE TOOKE 
 
 bred, and a most acute and powerful 
 logician. He was also a wit and a for- 
 midable one: yet it may be questioned 
 whether his wit was anything more than 
 an excess of his logical faculty : it did not 
 consist in the play of fancy, but in close 
 and cutting combinations of the under- 
 standing. —Hazlitt, William, 1825, The 
 Spirit 0/ the Age. 
 
 While the compositions of Junius have 
 furnished a model of style, as bold and 
 brilliant as it is classical, the Author has 
 eluded discovery, and to this moment, as 
 if disdaining applause, the motto embla- 
 zoned on the escutcheon of his fame, ap- 
 plies, "Statnominis umbra." This, it 
 must be admitted, is an appalling circum- 
 stance, not only checking ambition, but 
 assailing the enquirer at the entrance; 
 like some ancient sepulchral inscription, 
 at once rebuking the curiosity of the pro- 
 fane intruder, and sternly prohibiting his 
 further advance. Knowing, however, 
 that the avenues to the temple of truth 
 are ever open, and that its votaries are 
 not to be deterred from fair and manly 
 discussion, the Author of the following 
 Essay has ventured upon a disclosure of 
 facts and circumstances, which will not 
 suffer himself, at least, to doubt as to the 
 identity of Junius. He had the honor of 
 the acquaintance of John Horne Tooke ; 
 and from the opportunities which this 
 afforded, aided by other circumstances, 
 he has been enabled to furnish facts 
 hitherto unknown ; and to present others 
 in a light so new, as to induce a probability 
 that Tooke and Junius are the same. — ■ 
 Graham, John A., 1828, Memoirs of 
 John Horne Tooke, together with His Valu- 
 able Speeches and Writings ; also contain- 
 ing Proofs Identifying Him as the Author 
 of the Celebrated Letters of Junius, Pref- 
 ace, p. V. 
 
 Horne Tooke was always making a butt 
 of Mr. Godwin; who nevertheless, had 
 that in him which Tooke could never have 
 understood. 1 saw a good deal of Tooke 
 at one time : he left Upon me the impres- 
 sion of his being a keen, iron man. — • 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1830, Table- 
 Talk, ed. Ashe, May 8, p. 72. 
 
 I often dined with Tooke at Wimbledon ; 
 and always found him most pleasant and 
 most witty. There his friends would drop 
 in upon him without any invitation: 
 Colonel Bosville would come frequently, 
 
 bringing with him a dinner from London, 
 — fish, &c. — Tooke latterly used to expect 
 two or three of his most intimate friends 
 to dine with him every Sunday ; and I once 
 offended him a great deal by not joining 
 his Sunday dinner-parties for several 
 weeks. — Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollec- 
 tions of Table-Talk, ed. Dyce. 
 
 Had, for many years been the dread 
 of judges, ministers of State, and all con- 
 stituted authorities. He was that famous 
 Parson Horne who attacked the terrible 
 Junius, after statesmen, judges, and 
 generals had fled before him, and drove him 
 back defeated and howling with his 
 wounds. He it was who silenced Wilkes. 
 Some years afterwards he fastened a 
 quarrel on the House of Commons, which 
 he bullied and baffled with his usual cool- 
 ness and address. — Masse Y, William, 
 1855-63, History of England During the 
 Reign of George the Third. 
 
 Tooke 's change of name originated as 
 follows. When he was rising into celeb- 
 rity, the estate of Pur ley, near Croydon, 
 belonged to Mr. William Tooke, one of 
 four friends who joined in supplying him 
 with an income, when, after quitting the 
 Church, he studied for the Law. One of 
 Tooke's richer neighbours, in wresting 
 from him his manorial rights by a lawsuit, 
 had applied to Parliament, and nearly suc- 
 ceeded in effecting his purpose by means 
 of an inclosure bill, which would have 
 grealty depreciated the Purley estate. 
 Tooke despondingly confided his aprehen- 
 sions to Home, who resolved at once to 
 avert the blow, which he did in a very bold 
 and very singular manner. The third 
 reading of the Bill was to take place the 
 next day, and Horne immediately wrote a 
 violent libel on the Speaker of the House 
 of Commons, in reference to it, and ob- 
 tained its insertion in the Public Adver- 
 tiser. As might be expected, the first 
 Parliamentary proceeding the next day was 
 the appearance of the adventurous libeller 
 in the custody of the Serjeant-at-Arms. 
 When called upon for his defence, he de- 
 livered a most remarkable speech, in which 
 he pointed out the injustice of the Bill in 
 question with so much success, that it 
 was reconsidered, and the clauses which 
 affected his friend's property expugned. 
 In gratitude for his important service, Mr. 
 Tooke, who had no family, made Horne his 
 heir ; and on his death in 1803, the latter 
 
JOHN HORNE WOKE 
 
 571 
 
 became proprietor of Purley as one of 
 the conditions of inheritance, he added 
 the name of Tooke to his own, and from 
 this time was known as John Home Tooke. 
 — TiMBS, John, 1860, A Century of Anec- 
 dote, p. 177. 
 
 John Horne had a great and varied 
 reputation while he lived, and long enough 
 afterwards to be honoured with the most 
 florid, and far from the least amusing, of 
 those biographies of sixty years ago, 
 which were adulatory, but never uncandid ; 
 absurd, but never dull. There we learn 
 that though, like Pericles, he rarely 
 laughed, like Alcibiades he could suit 
 himself to the humors of other men ; that 
 he could enjoy his wine with Homer and 
 Ennius, could draw a character with 
 Tacitus, and was as ready to accept money 
 from his friends as Pliny and Cicero ; that 
 during his career he was as artful in 
 counsel as Ulysses, as cool in action as the 
 Duke of Marl borough, and as self-confident 
 as Michael Angelo ; and that, when the end 
 came, he was as ready to die, and as desir- 
 ous to have a simple funeral, as Titus 
 Pomponius Atticus. But, in truth, his 
 character and powers were not of the 
 heroic order; and the people who had 
 parallel histories and similiar dispositions 
 with Horne were to be found in his own 
 country and his own half-century. He 
 was the earliest, and for practical business 
 by far the ablest, of a class of men to 
 whom Englishmen owe a debt of gratitude 
 which they are, not inexcusably, somewhat 
 unwilling to acknowledge. Among the 
 most lamentable results of a system of 
 coercion and repression is the deteriora- 
 ting effect which it produces upon those 
 who brave it. When to speak or write 
 one's mind on politics is to obtain the 
 reputation, and render one's self liable to 
 the punishment, of a criminal, social dis- 
 credit, with all its attendant moral dan- 
 gers, soon attaches itself to the more 
 humble opponents of a ministry. . . . 
 Honest, impracticable, insatiably conten- 
 tious, and inordinately vain, he had thrown 
 away almost all his chances and his 
 friends.— Trevely AN, George Otto, 1880, 
 The Early History of Charles James Fox, 
 pp. 439, 441. 
 
 The man who appears to have contributed 
 most largely to its formation was Horne, 
 the Vicar of Brentford, afterwards better 
 known as Horne Tooke, who had now 
 
 thrown aside the clerical profession, for 
 which he was utterly unsuited, and flung 
 himself unreservedly into political agita- 
 tion. The great contributions to grammar 
 and the science of language which have 
 given him a permanent place in English 
 literature belong to a later period of his 
 life, and at this time he was known chiefly 
 as one of the most violent agitators among 
 the City politicians. He possessed some 
 literary and still greater forensic ability, 
 and was a man of undoubted energy, cour- 
 age, honesty, and independence, but at the 
 same time turbulent, vain, and quarrel- 
 some, and very unscrupulous about the 
 means he employed. — Lecky, William 
 Edward Hartpole, 1882, A History of 
 England in the Eighteenth Century, vol. Ill, 
 ch. xi, p. 189. 
 
 THE DIVERSIONS OF PURLEY 
 
 1786-1798-1805 
 The distance between what he has 
 proved and what he wishes us to believe 
 that he has proved, is enormous. — Dudley, 
 Earl, 1812, Reed's Memoirs of the Life of 
 John Horne Tooke, Quarterly Review, vol. 
 7, p. 321. 
 
 Horne Tooke's is certainly a wonderful 
 work ; but the great merit was the origi- 
 nal thought. The light which shines 
 through such impenetrable words as 
 articles and pronouns is admirable, — 
 '^the" and *Mt." No single book, per- 
 haps, ever so much illustrated language : 
 yet, how much more might he have done, 
 if he had known the collateral languages ! 
 Adelung's Dictionary" alone would have 
 yielded great assistance. — Mackintosh, 
 Sir James, 1812. Life, vol. ii, ch. iii. 
 
 The great thing which Mr. Horne Tooke 
 has done, and which he has left behind him 
 to posterity, is his work on Grammar, oddly 
 enough entitled *'The Diversions of 
 Purley." Many people have taken it up 
 as a description of a game — others sup- 
 posing it to be a novel. It is, in truth, 
 one of the few philosophical works on 
 Grammar that were ever written. The 
 essence of it (and, indeed, almost all that 
 is really valuable in it) is contained in his 
 Letter to Dunning," published about the 
 year 1775. Mr. Tooke's work is truly 
 elementary. . . . It is also a pity 
 that Mr. Tooke spun out his great work 
 with prolix and dogmatical dissertations on 
 irrelevant matters ; and after denying the 
 old metaphysical theories of language, 
 
572 
 
 JOHN HORNE WOKE 
 
 should attempt to found a metaphysical 
 theor}^ of his own on the nature and mech- 
 anism of language. — Hazlitt, William, 
 1825, The Spirit of the Age. 
 
 Home Tooke was pre-eminently a ready- 
 witted man. He had that clearness which 
 is founded on shallowness. He doubted 
 nothing ; and, therefore, gave you all that 
 he himself knew, or meant, with great 
 completeness. His voice was very fine, 
 and his tones exquisitely discriminating. 
 His mind had no progression of. develop- 
 ment. All that is worth anything (and 
 that is but little) in the ''Diversions of 
 Purley" is contained in a short pamphlet- 
 letter which he addressed to Mr. Dunning ; 
 then it was enlarged to an octavo, but 
 there was not a foot of progression beyond 
 the pamphlet; at last, a quarto volume, 
 I believe, came out ; and yet, verily, ex- 
 cepting newspaper lampoons and political 
 insinuations, there was no addition to the 
 argument of the pamphlet. It shows a 
 base and unpoetical mind to convert so 
 beautiful, so divine a subject as language 
 into the vehicle or make-weight of political 
 squibs. All that is true in Home Tooke's 
 book is taken from Lennep, who gave it 
 for so much as it was worth, and never 
 pretended to make a system of it. Tooke 
 affects to explain the origin and whole 
 philosophy of language by what is, in fact, 
 only a mere accident of the history of one 
 language, or one or two languages. — 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1830, Table 
 Talk, ed. Ashe, May 7, p. 69. 
 
 He has made one of the driest subjects in 
 the whole range of literature or science 
 one of the most amusing and even lively of 
 books ; nor did any one ever take up the 
 ''Diversions of Purley" (as he has quaintly 
 chosen to call it) and lay it down till some 
 other avocation tore it from his hands. 
 The success of this system has been such 
 as its great essential merits, and its more 
 superficial attractions combined, might 
 have led us to expect. All men are con- 
 vinced of its truth; and as every thing 
 which had been done before was superseded 
 by it, so nothing has since been effected 
 unless in pursuing its views and building 
 upon its solid foundations. — Brougham, 
 Henry Lord, 1839-43, Lives of States- 
 men of the Time of George III. 
 
 Whatever may be Home Tooke's short- 
 comings (and they are great), whether in 
 details of etymology, or in the philosophy 
 
 of grammar, or in matters more serious 
 still, yet, with all this, what an epoch in 
 many a student's intellectual life has been 
 his first acquaintance with "The Di- 
 versions of Purley." — Trench, Richard 
 Chenevix, 1851, On the Study of Words, 
 Preface. 
 
 It is a matter of sincere regret with all 
 who know the real merits of Home Tooke, 
 that his spleen and causticity of temper 
 should have prevented him from becoming 
 what his talents and labors might easily 
 have made him — the father of modern 
 English. Darwin says very truly of him, 
 that he first let in light upon the chaos of 
 English etymology, and displayed the 
 wonders of formation in language — at 
 least in the particles. His mistaken voca- 
 tion was the eternal bar to real greatness : 
 the life-long struggle with it embittered 
 his life and his mind, already too fond of 
 paradox, and made him the very Ishmael 
 of literature and politics — his hand against 
 every man's hand, and every man's hand 
 against his. -De Vere, M. Schele, 1853, 
 Outlines of Comparative Philology, p. 192. 
 
 Dire have been the disappointments in- 
 curred by the "Diversions of Purley," — 
 one of the toughest books in existence. 
 It has even cast a shade over one of our 
 best story-books, "The Diversions of 
 Hollycot," by the late Mrs. Johnston. — 
 Burton, John Hill, 1860, His Functions, 
 The Book-Hunter, pt. ii. 
 
 Him who yet remains the greatest 
 philologist that has made the English 
 language his peculiar study. Home Tooke. 
 —White, Richard Grant, 1870, Words 
 and Their Uses. 
 
 The main interest of the "Diversions" 
 to the general reader lies in the witty in- 
 termixture of political thrusts and decla- 
 mations. — Minto, William, 1872-80, 
 Manual of English Prose Literature, p. 487. 
 
 The philology is eccentric and old- 
 fahioned, and the book "diverting" to its 
 author rather than its readers : but it is 
 very unlike a work on which a revolution- 
 ary accused of high treason was likely to 
 have been engaged. — Oliphant, Marga- 
 ret 0. W., 1882, The Literary History of 
 England, XVUIth-XIXth Century, vol. II, 
 V. 225. 
 
 As a philologist. Home Tooke deserves 
 credit for seeing the necessity of studying 
 Gothic and Anglo-Saxon, and learnt enough 
 to be much in advance of Johnson in that 
 
TOOKE— BARLOW 
 
 573 
 
 direction ; although his views were inevit- 
 ably crude as judged by a later standard. 
 His philology was meant to subserve a 
 characteristic philosophy. Locke, he said, 
 had made a happy mistake when he called 
 his book an essay upon human understand- 
 ing, instead of an essay upon grammar. 
 Home Tooke, in fact, was a thorough 
 nominalist after the fashion of Hobbes; 
 he especially ridiculed the ''Hermes" of 
 Harris, and Monboddo, who had tried to 
 revive Aristotelean logic ; held that every 
 word meant simply a thing; and that 
 reasoning was the art of putting words 
 together. Some of his definitions on this 
 principle befcame famous; as that truth 
 means simply what a man ''troweth," and 
 that right means simply what is ruled, 
 whence it follows that right and wrong 
 are as arbitrary as right and left, and may 
 
 change places according to the legisla- 
 tor's point of view.— Stephen, Leslie, 
 1899, Dictionary of National Biography, 
 vol. LVii, p. 46. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Justice has scarcely been done to Horne, 
 as a mob politician and political writer. 
 With all his violence he was generally in 
 the right ; and the best testimony to his 
 sincerity is that he withdrew from active 
 politics when he found that he was not 
 likely to gain attention. In these City 
 struggles it is plain that he was ''pulling 
 the strings," yet without any attempt to 
 make himself conspicuous. In his appeals 
 to the throne and the public there is an 
 earnest ring, with a sarcastic, vigorous 
 power, which excites admiration. ^ — Fitz- 
 gerald, Percy, 1888, The Life and Times 
 of John Wilkes, vol. ii, p. 164. 
 
 Joel Barlow 
 
 1754-1812 
 
 Born at Reading, Conn., 1754: died near Cracow, Poland, Dec. 24, 1812. An 
 American poet and politician, one of the ' ' Hartford Wits. ' ' He resided abroad, chiefly 
 in France, 1788-1805, where he identified himself with the Girondist party ; was consul 
 to Algiers 1795-97; and was United States minister to France 1811-12. Author of 
 "The Vision of Columbus" (1787: enlarged as "The Columbiad," 1807), "Hasty 
 Pudding," and "Advice to the Privileged Orders" (Parti. 1791, Part IL 1795).— 
 Smith, Benjamin E., ed., 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia of Names, p. 121. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 In private life, our author was highly 
 esteemed for his amiable temperament, 
 and many social excellences. His man- 
 ners were generally grave and dignified, 
 and he possessed but little facility of 
 general conversation; but with his inti- 
 mate friends he was easy and familiar, and 
 upon topics which deeply interested him 
 he conversed with much animation. His 
 mind was rather of a philosophical than a 
 poetical cast, and better adapted to those 
 studies which require patient investigation 
 and profound thought than to the lighter 
 and more fanciful labors of the Muse. 
 Still, as a poet, he held no humble place 
 among the authors of his day ; while, as 
 an ardent patriot, a sincere philanthropist, 
 a zealous republican, and a friend and 
 patron of science and art, he must ever 
 stand among the most distinguished men 
 of his age and country. — Everest, 
 Charles W., 1843, Poets of Connecticut, 
 p. 80. 
 
 We had in Paris at this period a few 
 
 Americans. ... In order to reach 
 the apartment of Mr. Barlow, I was obliged 
 to pass through the door of a great gamb- 
 ling establishment that occupied the floor 
 immediately below his. This door was 
 attended by a porter, who kept it locked, 
 so that to get admittance I had to announce 
 myself as a visitor to Mr. Barlow. A 
 man ought to be cheaply lodged to be in- 
 duced to reside behind such a barrier. 
 The poet's poverty consented rather than 
 his Will. Barlow was a very estimable 
 man, and I am happy to say that prosper- 
 ous circumstances soon removed him from 
 this attic prison to comfortable quarters, 
 and a few years after he was enabled to 
 display the suitable magnificence of an 
 ambassador in one of the best hotels in 
 the city when he represented our republic 
 at Bonaparte's court. — Breck, Samuel, 
 1862-77, Recollections, ed. Scudder, p. 171. 
 
 The life of Joel Barlow is still unwrit- 
 ten. Political prejudice may have some- 
 thing to do with this, but to one who has 
 pored over his private papers, read the 
 
574 
 
 JOEL BARLOW 
 
 letters written to him, by him, and 
 about him, by all the celebrated people 
 of his time, there is something ludicrous 
 in opening an Encyclopaedia and read- 
 ing ''Joel Barlow was an American poet." 
 Barlow was a poor poet, but a very 
 great man, and so posterity will one day 
 rate him. Impracticable he may have 
 been, for his wishes and aspirations were 
 far before the possibilities of his time ; yet 
 in hurrying to Wilna, that he might force 
 from the reluctant Napoleon some ac- 
 knowledgement of the rights and suffer- 
 ings of impoverished American citizens, 
 he laid down his life for his people as de- 
 liberately as if, like Warren, he had exposed 
 it upon the first battle-field. The record 
 of the terrible privations and sufferings 
 which led to his death in a peasant's hut 
 near Zarnovitch, Dec. 26, 1812, still sur- 
 vives, and will one day justify my words. 
 — Dall, Caroline H., 1876, A Centennial 
 "Posie/^ The Unitarian Review, vol. 6, 
 p. 158. 
 
 Barlow left Paris for Wilna on the 26th 
 of October in his private carriage, yet 
 travelling night and day and with relays of 
 horses at the post-towns to expedite his 
 progress. . . . The perilous journey 
 had been made in vain, and the treaty was 
 doomed to still further delay. It now only 
 remained for Barlow to extricate himself 
 from his dangerous position and to reach 
 the frontiers before the fleeing army and 
 the pursuing Cossacks should close every 
 avenue of escape. . . . On reaching 
 Zarrow, an obscure village near Cracow, 
 the poet was seized with a sudden and 
 fatal attack of pneumonia, the result, no 
 doubt, of privation and exposure. He was 
 borne to a little Jewish cottage, the only 
 inn that the village afforded, and there 
 died December 26, 1812. His remains 
 were interred in the little churchyard of 
 the village where he died. It is rarely 
 that an American visits his grave, and the 
 government has never taken interest 
 enough in its minister to erect a memorial 
 slab above his dust : but wifely devotion 
 has supplied the omission, and a plain 
 monument of marble, on which are in- 
 scribed his name, age and station and the 
 circumstances of his death, marks the 
 poet's place of sepulture. — Todd, Charles 
 Burr, 1880, A Forgotten American Wor- 
 thy, LippincotVs Magazine, voL 26, pp. 
 77, 78. 
 
 This Barlow is memorable as the only 
 one of our countrymen who has been guilty 
 of the folly of attempting to produce an 
 American epic poem. But a better title 
 to immortality is the infamous part he bore 
 in enticing innocent Frenchmen to buy and 
 settle the lands of the Scioto Company on 
 the Ohio. Towards Adams, Barlow felt the 
 same contempt which any man who admires 
 poetry must feel towards the scribbler who 
 defiled the English language by writing 
 the ''Columbiad," and, when he heard 
 that John Adams was chosen President he 
 poured out his thoughts on the political 
 position in a letter to Abraham Baldwin, a 
 brother-in-law and a Member of Congress. 
 The letter abounded in obscure passages, 
 but the one selected by the prosecutors of 
 Lyon contained an expression of surprise 
 that the answer of the House to the Presi- 
 dent's speech of April third, 1797, had not 
 been *'an order to send him to a mad- 
 house."— McMaster, John Bach, 1885, 
 History of the People of the United States, 
 vol. II, p. 399. 
 
 THE COLUMBIAD 
 
 1787-1807 
 
 America. — An epic poet has already ap- 
 peared in that hemisphere. Barlow, author 
 of the '^Columbiad, " — not to be compared 
 with the works of more polished nations. 
 —Byron, Lord, 1807, Memoranda of 
 Readings, Nov. 30 ; Life, Letters and Jour- 
 nals, ed. Moore, ch. v. 
 
 The author's talents are evidently re- 
 spectable ; and, severely as we have been 
 obliged to speak of his taste and his diction 
 in a great part of the volume, we have no 
 hesitation in saying, that we consider him 
 as a giant, in comparison with many of the 
 puling and paltry rhymsters, who dis- 
 grace our English literature by their occa- 
 sional success. As an Epic poet, we do 
 think his case is desperate; but, as a 
 philosophical and moral poet, we think he 
 has talents of no ordinary value ; and, if 
 he would pay some attention to purity of 
 style, and simplicity of composition, and 
 cherish in himself a certain fastidiousness 
 of taste, — which is not yet to be found, 
 we are afraid, even among the better 
 educated of the Americans, — we have no 
 doubt that he might produce something 
 which English poets would envy, and Eng- 
 lish critics applaud. In the meantime, we 
 think it quite certain, that his present 
 work will have no success in this country. 
 
JOEL BARLOW 
 
 575 
 
 Its faults are far too many, and too glaring, 
 to give its merits any chance of being dis- 
 tinguished ; and indeed no long poem was 
 ever redeemed by the beauty of particular 
 passages— especially if its faults were 
 owing to affectation, and its beauties ad- 
 dressed rather to the judgment than to the 
 heart or the imagination. — Jeffrey, 
 FraxXCIS Lord, 1809, Barlow's Columbiad, 
 Edinburgh Review, vol. 15, p. 39. 
 
 The ''Columbiad" is not, in our opinion, 
 so pleasing a poem in its present form as 
 in that in which it was originally written. 
 . . . Barlow, in his later poetry, at- 
 tempted to invigorate his style, but, in- 
 stead of drawing strength and salubrity 
 from the pure wells of ancient English, he 
 corrupted and debased it with foreign in- 
 fusions. The imposing but unchaste glit- 
 ter which distinguished the manner of 
 Darwin and his imitators, appears likewise 
 to have taken strong hold on his fancy, 
 and he has not scrupled to bestow on his 
 poem much of this meretricious decoration. 
 But, notwithstanding the bad taste in 
 which his principal work is composed, not- 
 withstanding he cannot be said to write 
 with much pathos or many of the native 
 felicities of fancy, there is yet enough in 
 the poetry of Mr. Barlow to prove that, had 
 he fixed his eye on purer models, he might 
 have excelled, not indeed in epic or narra- 
 tive poetry nor in the delineation of passion 
 and feeling, but in that calm, lofty, sus- 
 tained style, which suits best with topics 
 of morality and philosophy, and for which 
 the vigor and spirit of his natural manner, 
 whenever he permits it to appear, show 
 him to have been well qualified. — Bryant, 
 William Cullen, 1818-84, Early Amer- 
 ican Verse, Prose Writings, ed. Godwin, 
 vol. I, p. 51. 
 
 The strangest epic composition ever 
 issued from the press.— Montgomery, 
 James, 1833, Lectures on General Litera- 
 ture, Poetry, etc., p. 144. 
 
 The poem, having no unity of fable, no 
 regular succession of incidents, no strong 
 exhibition of varied character, lacks the 
 most powerful charms of a narrative ; and 
 has, besides, many dull and spiritless pas- 
 sages, that would make unpopular a work 
 of much more faultless general design. 
 The versification is generally harmonious, 
 but mechanical and passionless, the lan- 
 guage sometimes incorrect, and the similes 
 often inappropriate and inelegant. Yet 
 
 there are in it many bursts of eloquence 
 and patriotism, which should preserve it 
 from oblivion. The descriptions of nature 
 and of personal character are frequently 
 condensed and forceful ; and passages of 
 invective, indignant and full of energy. — 
 Griswold, Rufus W., 1842-46, The 
 Poets and Poetry of America, p. 25. 
 
 It may safely be affirmed that there is 
 more genuine poetry in the bare con- 
 ception of the -Columbiad than is to be 
 found in all the works of many preten- 
 tious bards of considerable note ; and 
 our author may well be pardoned for some 
 imperfections in the execution of his plan. 
 —Baldwin, A. C, 1873, Joel Barlow, 
 The New Englander, vol. 32, p. 430. 
 
 It is composed in a florid, declamatory 
 style, and has little real poetic merit to 
 recommend it. — Baldwin, James, 1882, 
 English Literature and Literary Criticism, 
 Poetry, p. 202. 
 
 All the poets of the United States were 
 threatened with extinction or subordina- 
 tion when Joel Barlow appeared. He was, 
 according to all accounts, an estimable 
 man, cursed with the idea not only that 
 he was a poet, but the greatest of Ameri- 
 can poets ; and in 1808 he published, in a 
 surperb quarto volume, ''The Columbiad." 
 It was also published in Paris and London. 
 The London "Monthly Magazine" tried to 
 prove not only that it was an epic poem, 
 but that it was surpassed only by the Iliad, 
 the JEneid, and "Paradise Lost." Joel 
 Barlow is fairly entitled to the praise of 
 raising mediocrity to dimensions almost 
 colossal. "Columbia is, thank Heaven, 
 still alive;" "The Columbiad" is, thank 
 Heaven, hopelessly dead. There are some 
 elderly gentlemen still living who declare 
 that they have read "The Columbiad, " and 
 have derived much satisfaction from the 
 perusal of the same ; but their evidence 
 cannot stand the test of cross-examination. 
 They cannot tell what the poem is, what it 
 teaches, and what it means. No critic 
 within the last fifty years has read more 
 than a hundred lines of it, and even this 
 effort of attention has been a deadly fight 
 with those merciful tendencies in the hu- 
 man organization which softly wrap the 
 overworked mind in the blessedness of 
 sleep. It is the impossibility of reading 
 "The Columbiad" which prevents any 
 critical estimate of its numberless de- 
 merits. — Whipple, Edwin Percy', 1886, 
 
576 
 
 JOEL BARLOW 
 
 American Literature and Other Papers^ 
 ed. Whittier, p, 24. 
 
 Belton. Did you ever read Barlow's 
 "Columbiad," the great epic of the 
 American Revolution ? 
 
 Mallett. All of it? Gott bewahr ! I 
 have read a good deal of it, however, in 
 pure amusement, but it has all gone out 
 of my memory. But there is no foolish- 
 ness which is not to be found in verse, and 
 there is no verse so bad that it does not 
 find readers.— Story William Wetmore, 
 1890, Conversations in a Studio, vol. i, 
 p. 265. 
 
 Better would it have been, both for the 
 poem and for the poet, if, in his later revi- 
 sion of the work, he had attempted no 
 change in its essential character. ... Of 
 course, never upon any plan could the poem 
 have taken the rank as a work of genius, 
 or have escaped the penalties of the 
 author's great literary defects. Under 
 any character, it would have had no tender 
 or delicate qualities, no lightness of touch, 
 no flashes of beauty, not a ripple of humor, 
 no quiet and dainty charm; a surfeit, 
 rather, of vehemence and proclamation, — • 
 sonorous, metalic, rhetorical ; forced de- 
 scription, manufactured sentiment, sub- 
 limity generated of pasteboard and starch ; 
 and ever -rolling tattoo of declamation, 
 invective, eulogy ; big, gaudy flowers of po- 
 etry which are also flowers of wax. More- 
 over, not even genius could have saved this 
 poem from the literary disaster involved in 
 its adoption of that conventional poetic 
 diction and of that worn-out metrical 
 form from which, after a whole century 
 of favor, English literature was just then 
 turning away in a recoil of weariness and 
 disgust. And yet, with all his limitations 
 as a poet, the author of ''The Columbiad" 
 is entitled to the praise due to a sturdy 
 and effective ethical teacher in verse. 
 In didactic expression, the poem is often 
 epigrammatic, trenchant, and strong ; nay, 
 in strenuous moral expositions and en- 
 forcement, it is at times even noble and 
 impressive. — Tyler, Moses Coit, 1895, 
 Three Men of Letters, pp. 167, 168. 
 
 From a literary point of view, however, 
 it ranks among the curiosities of Ameri- 
 can literature. There are here and there 
 beautiful passj- s. ' --t the poem is un- 
 wieldy, full of ' ^^.i* ' onsand curious ex- 
 pressions. — P/Tn:; , 'red Lewis, 1896, 
 A History of Aniericari, Literature, p. 97. 
 
 Barlow's epic was thus a great and 
 serious labor, into which he put his life- 
 thought ; but unfortunately it is a serious 
 labor for the reader too. ... In 
 brief, ''The Columbiad" is a stage-coach 
 epic, lumbering and slow. It is valuable 
 chiefly as a courageous attempt at greater 
 things in American literature ; and it failed, 
 not because its author had no talent (for 
 he had a great deal), but because epics 
 demand genius. — Bronson, Walter C, 
 1900, A Short History of American Liter- 
 ature, pp. 62, 63. 
 
 Even in its first form this turgid epic, 
 which few mortals now living have more 
 than glanced at, was the most ambitious 
 attempt at serious literature which had 
 appeared in the United States. To this 
 day, furthermore, a quarto edition of "The 
 Columbiad' ' is among the most impressive 
 books to look at in the world. — Wendell, 
 Barrett, 1900, A Literary History of 
 America, p. 127. 
 
 THE HASTY PUDDING 
 
 The most amusing and, perhaps, upon 
 the whole, the most popular poem he ever 
 composed, "Hasty-pudding," a mock 
 heroic in three cantos, which no genuine 
 Yankee ever read or ever can read without 
 interest. ... In the whole poem, 
 there is such a commingling of stately, 
 grandiloquent diction, and ludicrous, rus- 
 tic simplicity, as constitutes the soul of 
 wit, and the attention of the reader is 
 enchained from the beginning to the end. 
 — Baldwin, A. C, 1873, Joel Barlow, 
 The New Englander, vol. 32, pp. 424, 425. 
 
 Of Barlow the poet a good deal may be 
 said. He sought to build his eternal fame 
 on "The Columbiad," an epic, but by the 
 irony of fate he is known in literature 
 only by an unambitious poem on hasty 
 pudding. . . . Deserves a rank among 
 mock heroics and pastorals, and every 
 New Englander ought to read it occasion- 
 ally. The bard had the national fondness 
 for the national dish, and after seeking it in 
 the old world for many years in vain, sud- 
 denly unpromised joy expands his heart to 
 meet it in Savoy. His soul is soothed, his 
 cares have found an end. He greets his 
 long lost, unforgotten friend, and makes 
 both self and friend forever famous. Still 
 no part of "The Hasty Pudding, ' ' or any of 
 Barlow's poems, has proved sufficiently 
 worthy to gain a place in any of the popular 
 
BARLO W—M ALONE 
 
 collections of poetry.— Whitney, Ernest, 
 1886, Joel Barlow, New Englander, vol. 45, 
 pp. 825, 828. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The critic, after a careful analysis of 
 the character of Joel Barlow, would prob- 
 ably rank him, first, as philanthropist; 
 second, as statesman; third, as Philoso- 
 pher ; and fourth, as poet. His philanthropy 
 crops out in every line of his writings, in 
 every act of his life. His letters to 
 Washington, to the citizens of the United 
 States, to Monroe, while abroad on the 
 French mission, and his Fourth of July 
 
 oration at Washington, give evidence of 
 broad and liberal statesmanship. His 
 philosophical turn was most apparent in 
 his private letters and intercourse with 
 familiar friends. As a poet he was cer- 
 tainly respectable. His ' ' Hasty-Pudding' ' 
 would be an addition to any literature, and 
 in all his poems are passages that show 
 the inspiration of the true poet. It is as 
 the pioneer of American poetry, however, 
 that he is worthy of the highest honor. 
 He was not a voluminous writer. — Todd, 
 Charles Burr, 1886, Life and Letters of 
 Joel Barlow, p. 289. 
 
 Edmond Malone 
 
 1741-1812 
 
 Born, in Dublin, 4 Oct. 1741. Early education at private school in Dublin. To Trin. 
 Col., Dublin, 1756; scholar, 1760; B. A., 1762. [Visit] To England, 1759. Student 
 of Inner Temple, 1763. Friendship with Dr. Johnson begun, 1765. Travelled in 
 France, 1766-67. Called to Irish Bar at King's Inns, 1767. Contrib. to Irish peri- 
 odicals. Settled in London, May 1777. Resided there till his death. Mem. of Literary 
 Club, 1782. Friendship with Boswell begun, 1785; assisted him in preparing ''Life of 
 Johnson" for press. Engaged in Shakespearean criticism. Hon. D. C. L., Oxford, 5 
 July 1793. Hon LL.D., Dublin, 1801. Unmarried. Died, in London, 25 May 1812. 
 Buried in Kilbixy Churchyard. Works; ''Attempt to ascertain the order in which the 
 Plays of Shakespeare were written," 1778; "Supplement to Johnson's edn. of Shakes- 
 peare" (anon.), 1780; "Cursory Obseravtions on the Poems attributed to Thomas 
 Rowley" (anon.), 1782. "A Second Appendix to Mr. Malone's Supplement," 1783; 
 "A Dissertation on the three parts of 'King Henry VL,'" 1787. "Letter to the Rev. 
 R. Farmer," 1792; "An Enquiry into the Authenticity of certain papers" [the Ireland 
 Forgeries], 1796; "An Account of the incidents from which the title and part of the 
 story of Shakespeare's Tempest was derived" (priv. ptd.), 1808. "Biographical 
 Memoir of W. Windham" (anon.), 1810. Posthumous: "Correspondence . . , 
 with the Rev. J. Davenport," ed. by J. 0. Halliwell, 1864; "Original Letters 
 . . . to J. Jordan," ed. by J. 0. Halliwell, 1864. He edited: "The Tragicall 
 Hystory of Romeus and Juliet, ' ' 1780 ; Goldsmith's Works, 1780 ; Shakespeare's Works 
 (11 vols.), 1790; Sir Joshua Reynolds' "Writings," 1797; Dryden's Works (4 vols.), 
 1800; the 1807 edn. of Boswell's "Life of Johnson;" Hamilton's "Parliamentary 
 Logick," 1808. Life: by Sir James Prior, 1860. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, 
 A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 184. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I have just dipped far enough into Mr. 
 Malone's edition of Shakspeare to find he 
 has not been sparing of his epithets when- 
 ever he has occasion to introduce me to 
 the notice of his readers. In fact, I 
 believe I originally gave him some little 
 provocation. But I thought your country- 
 men had been remarkable rather for the 
 suddenness of their anger than the dura- 
 tion of their malignity. Have the morals 
 of this worthy editor been corrupted by 
 his long residence amongst us ? — Ritson, 
 Joseph, 1790, To Mr. Walker, Dec. 14; 
 Letters, ed. Nicolas, vol. i, p. 181. 
 
 37 C 
 
 I had the melancholy task of announcing 
 to him the death of our excellent friend, 
 Mr. Malone. I am unable to name in the 
 large circle of Mr. Kemble's acquaintance, 
 any gentleman for whom he had a more 
 perfect esteem. He frequently alluded, in 
 conversation to the elegance of his man- 
 ners ; and delighted to quote him, as one 
 of the best illustrations of the old school. 
 As a commentator upon Shakespeare, Mr. 
 Kemble greatly preferred Mr. Malone; 
 because he saw in him unwearied diligence 
 and most scrupulous accuracy ; with an 
 utter rejection of that impertinent self- 
 display which had discredited, on too many 
 
578 
 
 EDMOND MALONE 
 
 occasions, the wit, the learning, and the 
 labour of some of his rivals. — Boaden, 
 James, 1825, Memoirs of the Life of John 
 Philip Kemble^ vol. ii, p. 544. 
 
 EDITIONS OF SHAKESPEARE 
 The heaviest of all books, Mr. Malone's 
 **Shakspeare," in ten thick octavos, with 
 notes, that are an extract of all the opium 
 that is spread through the works of all the 
 bad play-wrights of that age : mercy on the 
 poor gentleman's patience ! — Walpole, 
 Horace, 1791, To the Miss BerrySy June 
 14; Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. ix, 
 p. 326. 
 
 His pages abound with profound ignor- 
 ance, idle conjectures, crude notions, 
 feeble attempts at jocularity. — Ritson, 
 Joseph, 1792, Cursory Criticism. 
 
 Hylador means a dog with a clear and 
 strong voice : One would think that ' ' this 
 dog" was one of Canidia's breed, which 
 called from the sepulchre the actual re^ 
 mains of the dead to enchant and stupefy 
 the living. This dog has been scratching 
 up the earth about Doctors Commons," 
 and has torn up all "the Wills" of the 
 actors who lived in Shakspeare'stime, and 
 carried them in his mouth to the printer 
 of a late edition of that author. — Ma- 
 THiAS, Thomas James, 1794, The Pur- 
 suits of Literature, p. 97. 
 
 Rival editors have recourse to necro- 
 mancy to know from Shakspere himself 
 who of them is the fittest to edit and 
 illustrate him. Describe the meeting, the 
 ceremonies of conjuration, ^the appearance 
 of the spirit, the effect on the rival invok- 
 ers. When they have resumed courage, 
 the arbiter appointed by them asks the 
 question. They listen, — Malone leaps up 
 while the rest lay their heads at the same 
 instant that the arbiter reechoes the 
 words of the spirit, ''Let Malone!" The 
 spirit shudders, then exclaims in the dread 
 and angry utterance of the dead, ' ' No ! no ! 
 Let me alone, I said, inexorable boobies !" 
 0 that eternal bricker-up of Shakspere! 
 Registers, memorandum-books — and that 
 Bill, Jack, and Harry; Tom, Walter, and 
 Gregory ; Charles, Dick, and Jim, lived at 
 that house, but that nothing more is known 
 of them. But, oh ! the importance when 
 half a dozen players'-bills can be made to 
 stretch through half a hundred or more of 
 pages, though there is not one word in 
 them that by any force can be made either 
 to illustrate the times or life or writings 
 
 of Shakspere, or, indeed, of any time. 
 And yet, no edition but this gentleman's 
 name burs upon it — burglossa with a 
 vengeance. Like the genitive plural of a 
 Greek adjective, it is Malone, Malone, 
 Malone, MaAwi/, MaXcui/^ MaAwv. — Cole- 
 ridge, Samuel Taylor, 1804, Anima 
 Poetce, p. 74:. 
 
 Allied to this library in the general com- 
 plexion of its literary treasures is that of 
 Marcellus; while in the possession of 
 numberless rare and precious volumes re- 
 lating to the drama, and especially his be- 
 loved Shakespeare, it must be acknowl- 
 edged that Marcellus hath somewhat the 
 superiority. Meritorious as have been his 
 labours in the illustration of our immortal 
 bard, he is yet as zealous, vigilant, and 
 anxious as ever to accumulate everything 
 which may tend to the further illustration 
 of him. — DiBDiN, Thomas Frognall, 
 1811, Bibliomania. 
 
 Malone and Steevens were two laborious 
 commentators on the meaning of words 
 and phrases; one dull, the other clever; 
 but the dulness was accompanied by can- 
 dor and a love of truth ; the cleverness, 
 by a total absence of both. Neither seems 
 to have had a full discernment of Shaks- 
 peare's genius. — Hallam, Henry, 1837- 
 39, Introduction to the Literature of Europe, 
 pt. iii, ch. vi, par. 54. 
 
 Malone professes the same anxiety to 
 adhere to the genuine text of Shakspere 
 as Steevens had professed before him ; but 
 he opened a wide field for editorial licence, 
 in his principle of making up a text out 
 of the folio edition and the previous 
 quartos ; and, to add to the apparent value 
 of his own labours, he exaggerated, as 
 others have since done, the real value of 
 these quartos. — Knight, Charles, 1845, 
 Studies of Shakspere, p. 548. 
 
 Though not highly accomplished, he was 
 a scholar, a man of good judgment, and, 
 for his day, of good poetical taste. He 
 was patient, indefatigably laborious, and 
 modest — that is, as modest as it was pos- 
 sible for a Shakesperian critic and editor 
 of the last century to be. Above all, he 
 was honestly devoted to his task; he 
 sought the glory of his author, not his 
 own^except in so far as the latter was in- 
 volved in the former. We of to-day can 
 see that he committed many and great 
 blunders ; but he saved the text of Shakes- 
 peare from wide and ruthless outrage, and 
 
EDMOND MALONE 
 
 579 
 
 by painful and well-directed investigation 
 into the literature and manners contem- 
 porary with his author, cast new light upon 
 his pages. To Edmund Malone the read- 
 ers of Shakespeare during the last decade 
 of the last century, and the first quarter 
 of this, were indebted for the preservation 
 of his works in a condition nearly ap- 
 proaching their original integrity. — 
 White, Richard Grant, 1854, Shake- 
 speare's Scholar, p. 19. 
 
 In the eighteenth century the persistent 
 raillery of Voltaire ended in producing in 
 England a certain waking up. Garrick, 
 whilst correcting Shakespeare, played 
 him, and acknowledged that it was Shakes- 
 peare that he played. They reprinted him 
 at Glasgow. An imbecile, Malone, made 
 commentaries on his plays, and, as a 
 logical sequence, whitewashed his tomb. 
 There was on this tomb a little bust, of a 
 doubtful resemblance, and moderate as a 
 work of art; but, what made it a sub- 
 ject of reverence, contemporaneous with 
 Shakespeare. It is after this bust that 
 all the portraits of Shakespeare have been 
 made that we now see. The bust was 
 whitewashed. Malone, critic and white- 
 washer of Shakespeare, spread a coat of 
 plaster on his face, of idiotic nonsense 
 on his work. — Hugo, Victor, 1864, Wil- 
 liam Shakespeare, tr. Baillot, p. 26. 
 
 He depended with greater fidelity than 
 any of his predecessors on the early 
 editions ; and in Shakespearean biography 
 and theatrical history he brought together 
 more that was new and. important than 
 any predecessor or successor. But when 
 he attempted original textual emendation, 
 his defective ear became lamentably ap- 
 parent. His intellect lacked the alertness 
 characteristic of Steevens or Gilford. — 
 Lee, Sidney, 1893, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. xxxv, p. 437. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 From the perusal of Mr. Malone's In- 
 quiry, it must appear evident to the mean- 
 est capacity that the commentator never 
 dreamed of an opponent, although he 
 ventured to peep into the court of Apollo 
 during his drowsy fit : for after his con- 
 clusions are drawn upon each topic of dis- 
 cussion, his pages are so conceitedly inter- 
 larded with ''Let us no longer hear of 
 this" — ''I trust we shall hear no more of 
 that," and an hundred et-ceterce of the 
 same nature, that it should appear as if 
 
 Mr.Malone's fiat was irrevocable ; whereas, 
 from the perusal of Mr. Chalmer's Apology 
 and Supplement, the facts in them ex- 
 hibited and the just conclusions drawn, it 
 is obvious that Malone was not only 
 dreaming of Parnassus, but absolutely in 
 a doze from the beginning to the termina- 
 tion of his boasted inquiry. — Ireland, 
 William-Henry, 1805, Confessions, p. 288. 
 
 In Malone was exhibited the character 
 of all our dull and tasteless Life writers, 
 editors, and critics for half a century past. 
 — Hurd, Richard, 1808? Commonplace 
 Book, ed. Kilvert, p. 248. 
 
 Malone forms a striking example of a 
 life devoted almost to one literary pursuit. 
 The object indeed was not personal but na- 
 tional, having employed more pens and 
 given birth to more readers and admirers 
 in our island than any other literary topic 
 whatever. For this he forsook law, wealth, 
 and probably station for unprofitable lit- 
 erature; and proved beyond most other 
 men fitted for the occupation. ... A few, 
 not acquainted with the peculiarities of 
 his line of studies, deemed them little more 
 than dalliance with letters — a kind of 
 agreeable disporting over the green fields 
 of literature. They knew not the labours 
 it involved ; the occasional diflQculties of 
 access to the places where deposited ; the 
 interminable research, the exhausted 
 patience, eyes, and frames of which I have 
 in him endeavoured to depict an outline. 
 None of his predecessors had attempted 
 what he accomplished. Few of his suc- 
 cessors have, on most points, added 
 materially to our knowledge. When as- 
 sailed for excess of accuracy by the idle 
 or superficial, he disdained reply. He was 
 studious, and selected an object of popular 
 study; inquiring, and left nothing unex- 
 plored likely to afford information; re- 
 flective, and therefore usually accurate in 
 drawing conclusions where positive testi- 
 mony was at fault. His talents were 
 steady and practical ; his learning exten- 
 sive; his critical judgments, as we have 
 seen in the preceding pages, sound. He 
 who could throw light upon the career of 
 Shakspeare and Dryden — give us the first 
 and best history of the Stage — and leave, 
 for our study and guidance volumes at 
 Oxford which no other spot supplies, must 
 be considered no small benefactor to let- 
 ters.— Prior, Sir James, 1860, Life of 
 Edmond Malone, pp. 322, 331. 
 
580 
 
 Henry James Pye 
 
 1745-1813 
 
 Born, in London, 20 Feb. 1745. Early education at home. Matric, Magdalen Coll., 
 Oxford, 12 July 1762 ; created M. A. 3 July 1766. Married (i) Mary Hook, 1766. 
 Created D. C. L., Oxford, 9 July 1773. M. P. for Berkshire, 1784-90. Appointed 
 Poet Laureate, 1790. Police Magistrate for Westminster, 1792. Play ''The Siege of 
 Meaux'' produced at Covent Garden, 19 May 1794; ''Adelaide," Drury Lane, 25 Jan. 
 1800. "A Prior Claim'' (written with S. J. Arnold), Drury Lane, 29 Oct. 1805. 
 Wife died, 1796. Married (ii) Martha Corbett, Nov. 1801. Died at Pinner, 11 Aug. 
 1813. Works: "the Rosciad of Covent Garden" (anon.; attrib. to Pye), 1762; 
 "Beauty" (anon.), 1766; "Elegies (anon.), 1768; "The Triumph of Fashion" (anon.), 
 1771; "Farringdon Hill" (anon.), 1774. "The Progress of Refinement," 1783; 
 "Shooting" (anon.), 1784; "Aeriphorion," 1784; "Poems" (collected), 1787; 
 "Amusement" 1790; "The Siege of Meaux," 1794; "The Democrat" (anon.), 1795; 
 "War Elegies of TyrtaBus imitated," 1795; "Sketches on Various Subjects, " (anon.), 
 1796; "Naucratia" 1798; "The Inquisitor" (with J. P. Andrews), 1798; "The 
 Aristocrat" (anon.), 1799; "Carmen Seculare" 1800; "Adelaide," 1800; "Alfred," 
 1801; "Verses on Several Subjects," 1802; "A Prior Claim" (with S. J. Arnold), 
 1805; "Comments on the Commentators of Shakespeare," 1807; "Summary of the 
 Duties of a Justice of the Peace out of Sessions," 1808. He translated: "Six Olym- 
 pic Odes of Pindar," 1775; Aristotle's "Poetics," 1788; Biirger's "Lenore," 1796; 
 Homer's "Hymns and Epigrams," 1810; and edited: Francis's translation of the 
 Odes of Horace, 1812. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English 
 Authors, p. 234. 
 
 the announcement of his appointment was 
 received. . . . Every year on the king's 
 birthday he produced an ode breathing the 
 most irreproachable patriotic sentiment, 
 expressed in language of ludicrous tame- 
 ness. His earliest effort was so crowded 
 with allusions to vocal groves and 
 feathered choir that George Steevens, on 
 reading it, broke out into the lines : 
 And when the pie was opened 
 
 The birds began to sing ; 
 And wasn't that a dainty dish 
 To set before the king? 
 — Lee, Sidney, 1896, Dictionary of Na- 
 tional Biography f vol. XLVii, pp. 68, 69. 
 
 GENERAL 
 I have been rhyming as doggedly and as 
 dully as if my name had been Henry James 
 Pye.— Southey, Robert, 1814, Letter to 
 G. C. Bedford, Life and Correspondence, 
 ch. xix. 
 
 The monarch, mute till then, exclaimed, 
 
 "What! what! 
 Pye come again? No more — no more of that!" 
 — Byron, Lord, 1824, The Vision of 
 Judgment. 
 
 We must admit that, as a poet, his Muse's 
 chief attributes are Mediocrity and Moral- 
 ity. ... An industrious student, a well- 
 informed, cultivated, graceful writer ; but a 
 poet he assuredly was not. Weighed in the 
 balance of contemporaneous criticisms. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 ''Mr. Pye" — a celebrity whom even the 
 encyclopaedias scorn, and of whom we 
 know nothing save that he was Poet- 
 Laureate (!) before Southey took and vin- 
 dicated the office. He was ''a master of 
 correct versification," Lord Beaconsfield 
 says. — Oliphant, Margaret 0. W.,1882, 
 The Literary History of England, XVIIIth- 
 XlXth Century, vol ii, p. 313. 
 
 Byron said of him that he was eminently 
 respectable in everything but his poetry. 
 This, indeed, appears to have been the 
 case, but certainly affords no reasonable 
 explanation of his appointment to the 
 office of Laureate. ... As Pye was 
 a pleasant, convivial man, it was some- 
 what peculiar that the Laureate's annual 
 perquisite of a tierce of canary from the 
 Royal cellar, should, during his tenure of 
 the office, have been commuted for an an- 
 nual payment of £27.— Hamilton, Wal- 
 ter, 1879, The Poets Laureate of England, 
 pp. 203, 214. 
 
 He doubtless owed his good fortune to 
 the support he had given the prime min- 
 ister, Pitt, while he sat in the House of 
 Commons. No selection could have more 
 effectually deprived the post of reputable 
 literary associations, and a satire, ''Epistle 
 to the Poet Laureate," 1790, gave voice 
 to the scorn with which, in literary circles, 
 
P YE— WILSON 
 
 581 
 
 he was found wanting ; and Time has sanc- 
 tioned the severe decree. — Austin, Will- 
 shire Stanton, Jr., and Ralph, J., 1853, 
 Lives of the Poets-Laureate, pp. 333, 345. 
 
 He was always made fun of as a poet, 
 and, unfortunately for him, there was 
 another poet in the House at the same 
 time called Charles Small Pybus; hence 
 the jest, 'Tye et Parvus Pybus," which 
 was in everyone's mouth. He was a 
 voluminous author and diligent translator, 
 but I do not recollect ever seeing a single 
 book of his in a shop, or on a stall, or in 
 a catalogue. Great Pye is dead— as dead 
 as Parvus Pybus, M. P.— Birrell, Au- 
 gustine, 1894, Essays about MeUy Women 
 and Books, p. 165. 
 
 Pye was devoted to the stage, and he 
 tried his hand at writing some plays, but 
 they are wholly forgotten. For a complete 
 list of these we have to go to a foreign 
 dictionary : English encyclopaedias ignore 
 this industrious, conscientious worker. 
 
 Pye's most ambitious work was an epic 
 poem on King Alfred, but even he himself 
 did not speak highly of his effort, and he 
 had no hope that it would live. Indeed, 
 Pye was as modest as Eusden had been 
 egotistical. The contrast between them 
 in this respect is well illustrated in their 
 portraits. . . . Many of Pye's minor 
 poems show graceful fancy and have con- 
 siderable melody of versification and 
 sparkle of style ; but there is no originality 
 of thought in them, no eloquent fervour, 
 no imaginative strength. They are rhetor- 
 ical efforts merely. His laureate odes are 
 ardent and enthusiastic, even if they do 
 not soar very high. He shows in them 
 an earnest patriotism ; and earnestness of 
 itself is a form of strength and power. 
 But Pye, with all his brilliancy of mind and 
 his perseverance and industry, had not the 
 making of a true poet, and his work has 
 passed into oblivion.— Howland, Frances, 
 1895, The Laureates of England, p, 142. 
 
 Alexander Wilson 
 
 1766-1813. 
 
 Born at Paisley, Scotland, July 6, 1766 ; died at Philadelphia, Aug. 23, 1813, A 
 Scotch- American ornithologist. In early life he was a weaver ; was prosecuted and 
 imprisoned for writing lampoons (in the dispute between the weavers and manufac- 
 turers at Paisley) ; emigrated to the United States in 1794 ; labored as a peddler, 
 schoolmaster, and editor of an edition of ^'Rees's Cyclopaedia ;" and made many pedes- 
 trian and other expeditions through the country. He published "American Orni- 
 thology" (7 vols. 1808-1813; vols. 8 and 9 edited after his death; supplement by 
 C. L. Bonaparte, 1825), poems (1791), ''The Foresters" (1805), etc. His collected 
 works were edited by Grosart (1876). — Smith, Benjamin E., 1894-97, The Century 
 Cyclopcedia of Names, p. 1065. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 This Monument 
 covers the Remains of 
 Alexander Wilson, 
 Author of the 
 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY, 
 He was born in Renfrewshire, Scotland, 
 on the 6th of July, 1766? 
 Emigrated to the United States 
 in the year 1794 j 
 and died in Philadelphia, 
 of the Dysentery, 
 on the 23d of August, 1813, 
 Aged 47. 
 
 — Inscription on Monument in the Cem- 
 etery OF THE Swedish Church, South- 
 wark, Philadelphia. 
 The library of Wilson occupied but a 
 
 small space. On casting my eyes, after 
 his decease, over the ten or a dozen vol- 
 umes of which it was composed, I was 
 grieved to find that he had been the owner 
 of only one work on Ornithology, and that 
 was Bewick's "British Birds.'' For the 
 use of the first volume of Turton's ''Lin- 
 naeus," he was indebted to the friendship 
 of Mr. Thomas Say; the Philadelphia 
 Library supplied him with ''Latham." — 
 Ord, George, 1825, Life of Wilson. 
 
 One fair morning I was surprised by the 
 sudden entrance into our counting-room, 
 at Louisville, of Mr. Alexander Wilson, 
 the celebrated author of the "American 
 Ornithology," of whose existence I had 
 never until that moment been appraised. 
 This happened in March 1810. How well 
 do I remember him, as then he walked up 
 
582 
 
 ALEXANDER WILSON 
 
 to me ! His long, rather hooked nose, the 
 keenness of his eye, and his prominent 
 cheek-bones, stamped his countenance 
 with a peculiar character. His dress, too, 
 was of a kind not usually seen in that 
 part of the country ; a short coat, trow- 
 sers, and a waistcoat of gray cloth. His 
 stature was not above middle size. He 
 had two volumes under his arm ; and, as 
 he approached the table at which I was 
 working, I discovered something like as- 
 tonishment in his countenance. — Audu- 
 bon, John James, 1839? American Or- 
 nithological Biography. 
 
 Mr. Bradford, the same liberal patron 
 who enabled me to study painting, enabled 
 Wilson to publish the most interesting ac- 
 count of birds, and to illustrate it with the 
 best representations of their forms and 
 colours, that has ever appeared. Wilson 
 was engaged by Mr. Bradford as tutor to 
 his sons, and as editor of the American 
 edition of Rees's ''Cyclopaedia,'^ while at 
 the same time he was advancing his ''Or- 
 nithology" for publication. I assisted 
 him to colour some of its first plates. We 
 worked from birds which he had shot and 
 stuffed, and I well remember the extreme 
 accuracy of his drawings, and how care- 
 fully he had counted the number of scales 
 on the tiny legs and feet of his subject. 
 He looked like a bird ; his eyes were pierc- 
 ing, dark, and luminous, and his nose shaped 
 like a beak. He was of a spare bony form, 
 very erect in his carriage, inclining to be 
 tall ; and with a light elastic step, he 
 seemed perfectly qualified by nature for his 
 extraordinary pedestrian achievements. — 
 Leslie, Charles Robert, 1860, Autobio- 
 graphical Recollections, ed. Taylor, ch. xii. 
 
 His personal appearance was that of a 
 modest, rather retiring man, of good 
 countenance, not decidedly Scotch, but 
 still with a cast of it, rather more like a 
 New England Congregational clergyman 
 in his black dress than any other descrip- 
 tion I can give. He was held in great 
 esteem for probity, gentle manners, and 
 accomplishments in his special branch of 
 natural science. —BiNNEY, Horace, 1873, 
 Letter to James Grant Wilson, Feb. 8 ; The 
 Poets and Poetry oj Scotland, vol. i, p. 420. 
 
 Thus closed a life and a work which, it 
 is no exaggeration to say, are without a 
 parallel. When Wilson's deprivations are 
 borne in mind, — that his early instruction 
 was scant and contemptible ; that, as a boy. 
 
 he was put at an uncongenial occupation, 
 which formed his means of livelihood 
 through nearly half his days ; that his was 
 a lifelong struggle with difficulties, which 
 only the sheer indomitable resolution of a 
 man never cheerful or sanguine enabled 
 him to surmount ; that he was thirty years 
 of age when, in a strange land, he effected 
 his own education by becoming the in- 
 structor of others ; that he was thirty- 
 three when he began the study of ornithol- 
 ogy, with scarcely any resources beyond 
 his own powers of observation, and the 
 practice of drawing without any previously 
 suspected aptitude; that he was forty 
 years old before an opportunity disclosed 
 itself for the commencement of his work, 
 forty-two when he first accomplished 
 publication, and only forty-seven when his 
 life was closed, — it must be admitted that 
 few careers so brief have been equally 
 productive.— Gardner, Dorset, 1876, 
 Wilson the Ornithologist,Scribnefs Monthly 
 vol. 11. pp. 702. 
 
 POEMS 
 
 In his humor and feeling Wilson, as a 
 poet, belongs to the family of Burns. He 
 addresses his friends in verse with the 
 old loving feeling of Scottish brotherhood, 
 has his song for love and beauty, and his 
 similar choice of subject in ludicrous tale 
 or ballad, with a smarting sense of wrong 
 and poverty ; while an early observation in 
 natural history, and his pursuit of descrip- 
 tive poetry, belong especially to Wilson 
 the naturalist. ... In that fine de- 
 scriptive poem of the "Foresters," in 
 which he describes an October journey 
 through Pennsylvania, and across the Alle- 
 ghanies from Philadelphia to Niagara, the 
 reader may have. a true enjoyment of his 
 poetic tastes and of his ardent love of 
 nature and adventure.— Duyckinck,Evert 
 A., and George L., 1855-65-75, Cyclo- 
 pcedia of American Literature, ed. Simons, 
 vol. I, pp. 570, 571. 
 
 I have placed "Watty and Meg, or the 
 Wife Reformed: a Tale" in the fore-front 
 of the "Poems." It is unique in our lit- 
 erature. ' ' Christ's Kirk on the Green' ' and 
 the "Midden Fecht" have bits perhaps as 
 effective in homely portraiture. But as a 
 whole it stands alone for rough, coarse, 
 realistic painting. It isn't altogether 
 such a scene or incident as many would 
 elect to paint, any more than one would 
 those drinking groups which in Ostade and 
 
ALEXANDER WILSON 
 
 583 
 
 Teniers give renown to a gallery; but 
 having been chosen I know not where to 
 look for such raciness, vigour, genuine- 
 ness. Only a native-born Scotchman can 
 take in the flavour of its thoroughly Scotch 
 wording and motif. But he is an emascu- 
 lated Scot who does not relish it all 
 through. Hector Macneil's '*Will and 
 Jean" is a thin, vapid, namby-pamby pro- 
 duction beside it. — Grosart, Alexan- 
 der B., 1876, ed., The Poems and Liter- 
 ary Prose of Alexander Wilson, Essay, 
 vol. II, p. X. 
 
 More famous though he certainly is in 
 other fields, the great American ornithol- 
 ogist is also a claimant for a place of 
 honour among the poets of his native coun- 
 try. . . . "Watty and Meg,'' from 
 the popularity of its subject — the reform 
 of a scolding wife by a threat of leaving 
 her — has generally been placed first among 
 Wilson's compositions. Nothwithstand- 
 ing its high merits, however, of vividness 
 and realism, it is handicapped heavily by 
 the four-line trochaic measure in which it 
 is written, and it does not appear unjust to 
 say that it contains nothing which might 
 not have been as well expressed in prose. 
 The best qualities of Wilson's genius — the 
 graphic touches by which whole scenes of 
 the peasant life in Scotland are brought 
 vividly before the eye, and a happiness of 
 epithet which gives the freshness in in- 
 dividuality to its work — are to be found, 
 with a higher quality of art, in his slightly 
 longer piece, "The Laurel Disputed." — • 
 Eyre-Todd, George, 1896, Scottish Poetry 
 of the Eighteenth Century, vol. ii, pp, 
 284, 285. 
 
 He commended his wares even in poetic 
 broadsides, and dealt not ungraciously 
 with Scottish dialect at a time when Burns 
 was singing ; indeed his longest dialect 
 poem was for some time attributed to 
 Burns — only by the unwary, however. 
 'Tis hard to listen contentedly to the chirp- 
 ing of a sparrow, when a thrush (like Burns) 
 fills the air with melody. But Wilson's 
 verses, written on this side of the water, 
 after he had made a tramp across the Alle- 
 ghanies, are not to be scorned, and are 
 without the grossness which belongs to 
 many of his dialect poems. — Mitchell, 
 Donald G., 1897, American Lands and 
 Letters, The Mayflower to Rip-Van-Win- 
 kle, p. 199. 
 
 In Alexander Wilson's "The Foresters" 
 
 (1809),the humble home of a Pennsylvania 
 Dutch farmer is pictured with courageous 
 truth of detail. ... In its neat per- 
 spective this sketch of a landscape as seen 
 from a mountain-top resembles passages 
 from Cowper. — Bronson, Walter C, 
 1900, A Short History of American Liter- 
 ature, p. 84. 
 
 AMERICAN ORNITHOLOGY 
 
 1808-13 
 
 "The Ornithology" of this naturalist, 
 we look upon as quite a magnificent affair 
 for America. The plates are good; 
 colouring fine ; typography capital ; edi- 
 torial matter excellent. — Neal, John, 
 1825, American Writers, Blackwood's 
 Magazine, vol. 17, p. 204. 
 
 All his pencil or pen has touched is 
 established incontestably : by the plate, 
 description, and history he has always de- 
 termined his bird so obviously as to defy 
 criticism and prevent future mistake. . . . 
 We may add, without hesitation, that such 
 a work as he has published in a new 
 country is still a desideratum in Europe. 
 — Bonaparte, Charles Lucien, 1825- 
 33, Wilson's American Ornithology. 
 
 It is as an ornithologist that Wilson's 
 fame will last for after ages. . . . Wilson 
 was an observing naturalist ; and, perhaps. 
 Nature never had a more ardent pursuer. 
 His object was to illustrate the different 
 birds in their various states, as closely to 
 the truth as possible, and to describe 
 those parts of their manners which he 
 could from actual observation, throwing 
 aside all hearsay evidence and seldom in- 
 dulging in any theories of classification, 
 or the scale they hold in Nature. It is 
 from these circumstances that his work 
 derives its worth ; the facts can be confi- 
 dently quoted as authentic, and their 
 value depended on in our reasonings upon 
 their history — their migrations — their 
 geographical distribution. — Jardine, Sir 
 William, 1832, ed. Wilson's American 
 Ornithology, Life. 
 
 There are few examples to be found in 
 literary history of resolution equal to that 
 of Wilson. Though he was made fully 
 aware, both by his friends and his own 
 reflections, of the difficulty of the enter- 
 prise in which he was engaged, his heart 
 never for a moment failed him. By his 
 agreement with his publisher, he bound 
 himself to furnish the drawings and de- 
 scriptions for the work, indeed everything. 
 
584 
 
 ALEXANDER WILSON 
 
 except the mechanical execution. To 
 procure the materials, he was obliged to 
 encounter heavy expenses ; and the money 
 which he received for coloring the plates, 
 was the only revenue from which he de- 
 frayed them. It is easy to imagine the 
 difficulties which he must have encoun- 
 tered ; but his success was complete ; and 
 though he did not live to enjoy, he cer- 
 tainly anticipated, what has come to pass ; 
 that his work would always be regarded as 
 a subject of pride by his adopted country, 
 and w^ould secure immortal 'honor for him 
 whose name it bears. — Peabody, William 
 B. 0., 1834, Alexander Wilson, Sparks^ 
 Library of American Biography, vol. Ii, 
 p. 168. 
 
 Alexander Wilson was the great pioneer 
 in this branch of American science ; and 
 who that appreciates his chaste and 
 eloquent style, his accurate and happy 
 delineation of a class of the most lovely 
 objects in nature, can fail to experience 
 the greatest delight in reviewing the pages 
 of the "American Ornithology?" — Town- 
 send, John K., 1839, Ornithology of the 
 United States, Introduction, 
 
 One of the most splendid works of Nat- 
 ural History ever produced. ... No 
 learned society gave it encouragement; 
 no distinguished name in the world of 
 science was its author. A poor Scotch 
 peddler, who had left his native country in 
 the hope of bettering his fortune, was the 
 writer and the artist who, unaided except 
 by the general public support, produced 
 the most superb book of its class that the 
 world had then seen. . . . Well 
 did he deserve his hard-earned fame. As 
 a writer he has a merit which seldom be- 
 longs to systematic naturalists ; his de- 
 scriptions are at once accurate and bril- 
 liant. He looks at Nature with the eye of 
 a poet ; he describes with an exactness 
 which might satisfy the most rigid 
 classifier. — Knight, Charles, 1847-48, 
 Half-Hours with the Best Authors, vol, ii, 
 pp.'lSl, 138. 
 
 The types, which were very beautiful, 
 were cast in America ; and though at that 
 time paper was largely imported, he (Mr. 
 Bradford) determined that the paper 
 should be of American manufacture; 
 and I remember that Amies, the paper- 
 maker, carried his patriotism so far 
 that he declared that he would use 
 only American rags in making it. The 
 
 result was that the book far surpassed 
 any other that had appeared in that coun- 
 try, and I apprehend, though it may have 
 been equalled in typography, has not be- 
 fore or since been equalled in its matter 
 or its plates. Bewick comes nearest to it ; 
 but his accounts of birds are not so full 
 and complete, and his figures, admirably 
 characteristic and complete as they are in 
 form, have not the advantage of the 
 much larger scale of Wilson's, or of colour. 
 Unfortunately Wilson's book was neces- 
 sarily expensive, and therefore not remu- 
 nerative ; but nothing discouraged him. — 
 Leslie, Charles Robert, 1860, Autobio- 
 graphical Recollections, ed. Taylor, ch. xii. 
 
 Like Audubon, and like every great 
 Ornithologist worthy of the name, Wilson 
 was a poet as well as a man of science. 
 He had an eye to see the beauty of the bird's 
 life as well as of his plumage, and records 
 the doings and ways of his little friends 
 with the fondness of a lover and the 
 imagination of an artist. Wilson's intense 
 love for his subject and the intrinsic 
 beauty of the theme itself seem to have 
 had a transforming and educating influence 
 on the man. When writing on some 
 favorite bird he is no longer the mere 
 scientific naturalist, but rises into the 
 region of poetic fancy. There is nothing 
 in Irving or Goldsmith finer, as mere lit- 
 erary efforts, than some of Wilson's de- 
 scriptions of the birds of his acquaintance. 
 — Hart, John S., 1872, A Manual of 
 American Literature, p. 118. 
 
 His labors were not merely in a field in 
 which he had to open a new path, but where 
 the steps that had been taken were false 
 and misleading, and in which there were 
 but few fellow-travelers. His journeys, 
 largely performed on foot, exceeded ten 
 thousand miles. His work was unappre- 
 ciated by those to whom he had the clearest 
 right to appeal, and patronage was with- 
 held by almost every incumbent of exalted 
 position. Nevertheless, though discour- 
 aged by neglect, and hampered not merely 
 by poverty, but by the necessity of succor- 
 ing those in still deeper need than himself, 
 he both laid the foundation for the study 
 of natural history on this continent and 
 bequeathed to his successors the outlines 
 for its subsequent development; and he 
 described the habits of American birds 
 with fidelity to truth, graphic vigor, and a 
 poetical realization of the beauties of 
 
WILSON— DIBDIN 
 
 585 
 
 nature.— Gardner, Dorsey, 1876, Scrib- 
 nefs Monthly, vol. 11, p. 703. 
 
 Wilson was no compiler ; he took his facts 
 from his own observations, or the accounts 
 of those who had known the birds for a 
 lifetime.— YouMANS, William Jay, 1896, 
 ed.y Pioneers of Science in America, p. 98. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 In the strictest sense of the term, 
 Wilson was a man of genius , his percep- 
 tions were quick, his impressions vivid ; a 
 bright glow of feeling breathes through 
 his compositions. In the professed walks 
 of poetry his attempts were not often 
 fortunate, but his prose writings partake 
 of the genuine poetic spirit; a lively 
 fancy, exuberance of thought, and minute 
 observation of the natural world, are 
 strongly indicated in whatever has flowed 
 from his pen.— Sparks, jARED,1827,A^ori^ 
 American Review, vol. 24, p. 116. 
 
 Alexander Wilson was a remarkable 
 man. He was a great naturalist, a fair 
 poet, and an honest, upright gentleman, 
 bearing his hard won, tardy honors and 
 fame as gracefully as he had borne poverty 
 and obscurity. His ''American Ornithol- 
 ogy" must ever remain a classic. — Coyle, 
 Henry, 1893, Alexander Wilson, The 
 Chautauquan, vol. 18, p. 184. 
 
 Wilson's life and writings will always 
 appeal to the general reader. Even to the 
 ornithologist, the personality of the man 
 and the vitality of his work are the chief 
 charms. The poem on the '' Fish-Hawk" 
 is full of the strong, fresh breeze and 
 local color of the beaches, and that on 
 ''The Bluebird"— "Wilson's Bluebird"— 
 breathes the free, open air of the coun- 
 try-side. — Trotter, Spencer, 1897, 
 Library of the WorWs Best Literature, 
 ed. Warner, vol. xxvii, p. 16018. 
 
 Charles Dibdin 
 
 1745-1814 
 
 Charles Dibdin was born in Southampton, England, in 1745. His mother was fifty 
 years old at the time of his birth, and he was her eighteenth child. He studied music, 
 and in 1761 went to London, where he composed ballads and tuned pianos. He also 
 wrote at this time an opera entitled "The Shepherd's Artifice," which was put upon 
 the stage at Covent Garden Theatre in 1763. He then became a professional actor 
 and composer, and produced "The Padlock," "The Deserter," "The Waterman," 
 "The Quaker," and other pieces, all of which were brought out at Drury Lane Theatre 
 under Garrick's management, and in several of which Dibdin himself took part. In 
 1778 he became musical manager at Covent Garden, and a few years afterwards he 
 built the Surrey. In 1788 he published his "Musical Tour;" and in 1789 he began an 
 entertainment called "The Whim of the Moment," in which he was the sole author 
 and performer. It was immensely successful, and in 1796 a small theatre, called 
 Sans Souci, was built for it. Here he performed for nine years, retiring from the 
 boards in 1805. In spite of his professional success, and a pension of £200 a year 
 which was awarded him in 1805, he was poor to the end of his days. He died on July 
 25, 1814. Dibdin wrote "A Complete History of the Stage," published in 1795, an 
 autobiography, from fifty to a hundred dramatic pieces, and something like a thousand 
 songs. His fame now rests upon his sea-songs, some of which, it is said, have been 
 quoted with good effect in cases of mutiny. "Poor Tom Bowling" was written on the 
 death of his eldest brother, captain of an Indiaman. A fine edition of the songs, 
 illustrated by Cruikshank, with a memoir by Thomas Dibdin, was published in 1850. — 
 Johnson, Rossiter, 1875, Little Classics, Authors, p. 76. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 His form was of the manliest beauty, 
 
 His heart was kind and soft, 
 Faithful, below, he did his duty, 
 
 But now he's gone aloft. 
 
 —Inscription on Tomb, St. Martin's, 
 Camden Town. 
 
 Charles Dibdin's method of composition, 
 or rather the absence of it, is illustrated 
 
 in the story of his lamenting his lack of a 
 new subject, while under the hairdresser's 
 hand, in a cloud of powder, in his rooms 
 in the Strand, preparing for his night's 
 "entertainment." The friend that was 
 with him suggested various topics— but all 
 of a sudden the jar of a ladder sounded 
 against the lamp-iron, and Dibdin ex- 
 claimed, *'The lamplighter ! a good notion,'* 
 
586 
 
 CHARLES DIBDIN 
 
 — and at once began humming and finger- 
 ing on his knee. As soon as his head was 
 dressed, he stepped to the piano, finished 
 ofi: both music and words, and that very 
 night sang "Jolly Dick, the Lamplighter" 
 at the theatre, nor could he, we are assured, 
 on critical authority, have well made a 
 greater hit if the song had been the de- 
 liberate work of two authors — one for the 
 words, another for the air — and had taken 
 weeks to finish it, and been elaborated in 
 studious leisure, instead of the distraction 
 of dressing-room din. — Jacox, Francis, 
 1872, Aspects of Authorship^ p. 19. 
 
 He was popular with the public, but, 
 thanks to the close monopoly which theat- 
 rical aifairs were then subject to, he could 
 not reach that public in the ordinary way. 
 . . . Dibdin had quite as ill treatment as 
 Burns, although his follies were not so 
 great or so gross ; but he was of tougher 
 material, and did not drink, and so lived 
 his evil days down ; while the other per- 
 ished miserably in the flower of his man- 
 hood. — Dibdin, Edward Rimbault, 1886, 
 Dibdin at Sea, Temple Bar, vol. 78, p. 348. 
 
 Dibdin' s ambition seems to have been 
 not so much in the direction of future 
 fame as of universal recognition during his 
 life-time. His appears to have been the 
 kind of nature which is spurred on better 
 by the shout of the multitude than by the 
 **well done" of the conscience . . . 
 Perhaps Dibdin might have been more con- 
 tent to work and live for posterity if the 
 nation had only been capable of supplying 
 him with funds for the needs of the present. 
 Poet though he was, he had strong leanings 
 towards the practical. If he had been 
 asked to decide between the cabbage and 
 the rose, he would have undoubtedly voted 
 for the cabbage. While other composers 
 might feel flattered by having their songs 
 echoed through the streets on barrel 
 organs and other mediums of musical tor- 
 ture, he only regretted that there could be 
 no tangible participation in the popularity. 
 His sea-songs had undoubtedly been a 
 powerful influence for good, yet, with a 
 depth of sarcasm, which he had always at 
 command, he tells us that before 1802 the 
 only symptom of acknowledgment he ever 
 received was a hearty shake of the hand 
 from Admiral Gardner, ''when I gave him 
 my vote for Westminster." — Hadden, J. 
 CuTHBERT, 1889, Charles Dibdin, Gentle- 
 man's Magazine, vol. 267, pp. 567, 568. 
 
 GENERAL 
 These "Songs" have been the solace of 
 sailors in long voyages, in storms, in 
 battles; and they have been quoted in 
 mutinies to the restoration of order and 
 discipline.— Dibdin, Thomas, 1850, erf., 
 Sea-Songs, Memoir. 
 
 One man — a man without any great 
 musical or nautical knowledge — has given 
 poetic and musical utterance to the deep 
 passion of the English nation for the sea, 
 and done more to set up a standard type 
 for the British sailor than any number of 
 navy regulations. Wherever an English 
 ship is found, beneath the tropical sun or 
 in the ice of the poles, while an English 
 sailor crosses the rolling deep, or English- 
 men delight to speak of their country as 
 the empress of the ocean, the name of 
 Charles Dibdin will be known. His songs 
 portray the sailor's strength and weakness, 
 his valour afloat and his joviality ashore, 
 the warmth of his heart and the force of 
 his hand, his fidelity to King and flag, — in 
 short, they lay open every throb of Eng- 
 land's hearts of oak. — Tompkins, W. 
 Earp, 1865, Charles Dibdin the Ocean 
 Minstrel, St. James's Magazine, vol. 13, 
 p. 480. 
 
 As a ballad writer, and as a composer 
 of sea songs, Dibdin has made himself a 
 name which will last as long as English 
 poetry is read. ... No man knew 
 better how to please the popular taste. — 
 — Bellew, J. C. M., 1866, Poets' Corner, 
 p. 630. 
 
 The insertion of these ["Anchorsmiths"] 
 grandly — simply, almost Homeric stanzas 
 is due to the suggestion of Mr. W. E. 
 Gladstone. — Palgrave, Francis Tur- 
 ner, 1875, ed.. The Children's Treasury 
 of English Song, p. 292, note. 
 
 Dibdin's fine ''Anchorsmiths" I inserted 
 in consequence of your praise of it some 
 years ago. It is truly so much grander in 
 style than his sea-songs, and so different 
 in manner, that, except yourself, I have 
 met with no one who knew it. — Palgrave, 
 Francis Turner, 1875, Letter to Mr. 
 Gladstone, Oct.; Journals and Memories, 
 ed. Palgrave, p. 143. 
 
 The great merit of Dibdin's best songs, 
 his sea-songs especially, words and music, 
 in undeniable. His autobiography is 
 dreary and egotistical in the extreme, and 
 he is loose and inaccurate, whether by 
 
DIBDIN—BURNEY 
 
 587 
 
 defect of memory or by intentional distor- 
 tion of truth. His sea-sonpjs are full of 
 generous sentiment and manly honesty. 
 Somehow he cared less for a practical ful- 
 fillment of the ethics that he preached so 
 well. He invented his own tunes, for the 
 most part spirited and melodious, and in 
 this surpassed Henry Carey beyond all com- 
 parison. They were admirably suited to 
 his words. He boasted truly : My songs 
 have been the solace of sailors in long 
 voyages, in storms, in battle; and they 
 have been quoted in mutinies to the 
 restoration of order and discipline.'' 
 He brought more men into the navy 
 in war time than all the press-gangs 
 could. Exclusive of the ''entertainments 
 sans souci," commenced in 1797, with 
 their 360 songs, he wrote nearly seventy 
 dramatic pieces, and set to music produc- 
 tion of other writers. He claimed nine 
 hundred songs as his own, of which two 
 hundred are repeatedly encored, ninety of 
 them being sea-songs, and undoubtedly his 
 master-work. He was a rapid worker. 
 No one of his entertainments cost him 
 more than a month ; his best single songs 
 generally half an hour, e. g. his "Sailor's 
 Journal. ' ' Music and words came together. 
 — Ebsworth, J. W., 1888, Dictionary of 
 National Biography^ vol. XV, p. 5. 
 
 Charles Dibdin — the author of half a 
 hundred plays, and no less than fourteen 
 hundred songs, to say nothing of a dozen 
 or more novels, and a history of the stage. 
 . . . In his day, his ballads and plays 
 delighted countless thousands of his fellow 
 countrymen; they stimulated good feel- 
 ings, and were of immeasurable pleasure 
 to our soldiers and sailors. — Brereton, 
 Austin, 1888, Tom Bowling, The Theatre, 
 vol. 20, pp. 136, 138. 
 
 There is perhaps a touch of cant and also 
 
 of political purpose in it ["Tom Bowling"], 
 here and there, but "The little cherub that 
 sits up aloft" has grown into our litera- 
 ture, and embedded in it and in the popu- 
 lar estimation is the couplet — 
 "For my heart is my Poll's, and my rhino's 
 
 my friend's, 
 And as for my life, 'tis the king's." 
 It is the philosophy of the true fighting 
 British sailor now as it was in King 
 George's day. Then again there are two 
 verses which to the serious student of 
 literature deserve all attention, for they 
 show how the real, at times, trancends 
 the ideal and the artificial, even in the 
 most conventional periods of our liter- 
 ature. 
 
 "What argufies snivelling and piping your 
 
 eye? 
 
 Why, what a damned fool you must be!" 
 — Crawfurd, Oswald, 1896, ed., Lyrical 
 Verse from Elizabeth to Victoria, p. 433, 
 note. 
 
 In all of these songs, whether the theme 
 be his native land or the wind-swept seas 
 that close it round, love is the poet's real 
 inspiration ; love of old England and her 
 sovereign, love of the wealth-bringing 
 ocean, love of the good ship that sails its 
 waves. This fundamental afliection for 
 the things of which he sings has endeared 
 the songs of Dibdin to the heart of the 
 British sailor ; and in this lies the proof of 
 their genuineness. His songs are simple 
 and melodious ; there is a manly ring in 
 their word and rhythm; they have the 
 swagger and the fearlessness of the typical 
 tar ; they have, too, the beat of his true 
 heart, his kindly waggery, his sturdy 
 fidelity to his country and his king. There 
 is nothing quite like them in any other 
 literature. — Warner, Charles Dudley, 
 ed.y 1897, Library of the World's Best 
 Literature, vol. viii, p. 4621. 
 
 Charles Bnrney 
 
 1726-1814 
 
 Born, at Shrewsbury, 12 April 1726. Educated at Free School, Chester. To 
 Shrewsbury, to study music, 1741 [?]. Articled as pupil to Dr. Arne, 1744; with him 
 in London, 1744-47. Taken under patronage of Fulke Greville, 1747. Taught and 
 composed music. Married Esther Sleepe, 1749. Organist of St. Dionis, Backchurch, 
 1749. Mem. of Roy. Soc. of Musicians, 3 Dec. 1749. Organist of Lynn Regis, 1751-60. 
 Returned to London, 1760. Wife died, 1761. Married (privately) Mrs. Stephen Allen, 
 1767. Mus. Doc. degree, Oxford, June 1769. Travelled on Continent, 1770 and 1772. 
 F. R. S., 1773. Organist of Chelsea Hospital, 1783. Mem. of Literary Club, 1784. 
 Contrib. to ''Monthly Review," 1790-93. Second wife died, Oct. 1796. Contrib. to 
 Rees's ''Encyclopeedia," 1800-05. Crown pension granted, 1806. Foreign Member 
 
588 
 
 CHARLES BURNEY 
 
 of Institut de France, 1810. Died, at Chelsea, 12 April 1814; buried in churchyard of 
 Chelsea Hospital. Works : Essay toward the History of the principal Comets, etc.,'* 
 (anon.), 1769; -'The Present State of Music in France and Italy," 1771; ''The Present 
 State of Music in Germany, the Netherlands, and the United Provinces, " 1773 ; "History 
 of Music," vol. i., 1776; vol. ii., 1782; vols, iii., iv., 1789; "Account of an Infant 
 Musician," 1779; "An Account of the Musical Performances ... in 1784 in 
 Commemoration of Handel," 1785; "Memoir of the Life and Writings of Metastasio" 
 (3 vols.), 1796. Life ; by his daughter Frances, 1832. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 
 1897, A Dictionary of English Author s^ p, 40. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 See next, happy contrast ! in Burney combine 
 Every power to please, every talent to shine. 
 In professional science a second to none, 
 In social if second, through shyness alone. 
 So sits the sweet violet close to the ground, 
 Whilst holy-oaks and sunflowers flaunt it 
 around. 
 
 His character formed free, confiding, and 
 kind. 
 
 Grown cautious by habit, by station confined : 
 Though born to improve and enlighten our 
 days, 
 
 In a supple facility fixes his praise ; 
 And contented to soothe, unambitious to 
 strike, 
 
 Has a faint praise from all men, from all 
 men alike. 
 
 While thus the rich wines of Frontiniac im- 
 part 
 
 Their sweets to our palate, their warmth to 
 our heart. 
 
 All in praise of a liquor so luscious agree, 
 From the monarch of France to the wild 
 Cherokee. 
 
 — Piozzi, Hester Lynch, 1773? The 
 Streatham Portraits, Autobiography, ed. 
 Hayward, p. 256. 
 
 I never met with any person who had 
 more decided talents for conversation, 
 eminently seasoned with wit and humour, 
 and these talents were so at command that 
 he could exert them at will. He was re- 
 markable for some sprightly story or witty 
 bon mot just when he quitted a company, 
 which seemed as much as to say, There 
 now, I have given you a dose which you 
 may work upon in my absence." His 
 society was greatly sought after by all 
 classes, from the first nobility to the mere 
 homme de lettres. He dressed expensively, 
 always kept his carriage, and yet died 
 worth about 15,000/, leaving a most capital 
 library of curious books. His second wife 
 was my wife's sister. — Young, Arthur, 
 1820? Autobiography, ed., Betham-Ed- 
 wards, p. 101. 
 
 Where the life has been as private as 
 that of Dr. Burney, its history must 
 necessarily be simple, and can have little 
 
 further call upon the attention of the 
 world, than that which may belong to a 
 wish of tracing the progress of a nearly 
 abandoned child, from a small village of 
 Shropshire, to a man allowed throughout 
 Europe to have risen to the head of his 
 profession; and thence, setting his pro- 
 fession aside, to have been elevated to an 
 intellectual rank in society, as a man of 
 letters. Though not first in the very 
 line" with most of the eminent men of his 
 day. Dr. Johnson and Mr. Burke, soaring 
 above any contemporary mark, always, 
 like senior wranglers excepted. And 
 this height, to which, by means and re- 
 sources all his own, he arose, the genius 
 that impelled him to fame, the integrity 
 that established his character, and the 
 amiability that magnetized all hearts, — in 
 the phrase of Dr. Johnson, — to go forth to 
 meet him, were the only materials with 
 which he worked his way. — D'Arblay, 
 Mme. (Fanny Burney), 1832, Memoirs 
 of Doctor Burney, Preface, p. vii. 
 
 His mind, though not very powerful or 
 capacious, was restlessly active; and, in 
 the intervals of his professional pursuits, 
 he had contrived to lay up much miscel- 
 laneous information. His attainments, 
 the suavity of his temper, and the gentle 
 simplicity of his manners, had obtained for 
 him ready admission to the first literary 
 circles.— Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 
 1842, Madame D^Arblay, Critical and 
 Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 His place in social life was unique, being 
 due to what Dr. Johnson implied to be an 
 almost unique blending of a happy temper 
 of mind, an affectionate disposition, gentle 
 and attractive manners (having dignity in 
 reserve should it be needed), with a very 
 active and versatile intellect, and con- 
 siderable acquirements. The charm of 
 character and of manners, the vivacity 
 and readiness of wit," which made him 
 the man of the eighteenth century who 
 gained and kept the greatest number of 
 
B URNEY—R UMFORD 
 
 589 
 
 friends, can now be brought before us only 
 by the warmth of the praise of those 
 friends ; and of the love (rising to enthu- 
 siasm) of his children, to which the diaries 
 that follow bear continuous testimony. — 
 Ellis, Annie Raine, 1889, ed., The Early 
 Diary of Frances Burney, Preface, vol, I, 
 p. vii. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 He [Johnson], gave much praise to his 
 friend, Dr. Burney's elegant and entertain- 
 ing "Travels," and told Mr. Seward that 
 he had them in his eye, when writing his 
 
 Journey to the Western Islands of Scot- 
 land." — BoswELL, James, 1791-93, Life 
 of Samuel Johnson, ed. Hill, vol. iv, p. 215. 
 
 Dr. Burney's "History" is one continu- 
 ous misrepresentation of English music 
 and musicians, only rendered plausible by 
 misquotation of every kind. . . . 
 Burney carries his depreciation of English 
 authors systematically throughout his 
 work. ... It is sufficient for my 
 present purpose to say that Dr. Burney's 
 "History" is written throughout in this 
 strain. What with mistake, and what 
 with misrepresentation, it can but mislead 
 the reader as to English music or musi- 
 cians ; and from the slight search I have 
 made into his early Italian authorities, I 
 doubt whether even that portion is very 
 reliable. — Chappell, William, 1855-59, 
 Popular Music of the Olden Time, Intro- 
 duction, vol. I, pp. vii, viii, ix. 
 
 Between the two rival histories, the pub- 
 lic decision was loud and immediate in 
 favour of Dr. Burney. Time has modified 
 
 this opinion, and brought the merits of 
 each work to their fair and proper level — 
 adjudging to Burney the palm of style, 
 arrangement, and amusing narrative, and 
 to Hawkins the credit of minuter accuracy 
 and deeper research, more particularly in 
 parts interesting to the antiquary and the 
 literary world in general. — Rimbault, 
 Edward F., 1879, A Dictionary of Music 
 and Musicians, ed. Grove, vol. I, p. 284. 
 
 The work was from the outset very suc- 
 cessful, and was generally pronounced 
 superior to the similar undertaking of Sir 
 John Hawkins. . . . Both works are of the 
 highest value, and form the foundation of 
 nearly every English work on musical his- 
 tory which has appeared since; but 
 Burney's is disfigured by the undue promi- 
 nence he gives to the fashionable music of 
 his own day, and the lack of appreciation 
 he displays toward the compositions of the 
 English schools of the preceding centuries. 
 — Squire, W. Barclay, 1886, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography, vol. vii, p. 417. 
 
 No list of his musical compositions is 
 known to exist. His daughter admits that 
 they were out of date even in her own day. 
 No list of his many articles in the ' ' Monthly 
 Review," and the Cyclopaedia of Abraham 
 Rees, has ever been compiled ; his " Tours' ' 
 are less read than they might well be, and 
 his "History of Music" has, in the very 
 course and progress of Music, been super- 
 seded. The repute of his reputation sur- 
 vives. — Ellis, Annie Raine, 1889, ed.. 
 The Early Diary of Frances Burney, Pref- 
 ace, vol. I. p, vi. 
 
 Count Rumford. 
 
 Sir Benjamin Thompson 
 1753-1814 
 
 Benjamin Thompson, Count Rumford. Born at Woburn, Mass., March 26, 1753: 
 died at Auteuil, near Paris, Aug. 21, 1814. An American scientist and Bavarian ad- 
 ministrator. Having been refused a commission in the Continential army, he offered 
 his services to the British, and in 1776 was sent to England with despatches from 
 General William Howe. Here he was given a place in the administrative service by 
 Lord George Germaine, secretary of state for the colonies, and rose to the post of 
 under-secretary of state (1780). He was elected a fellow of the Royal Society in 1779. 
 On the retirement of his patron, he returned in 1781 to America, and raised in New York 
 the ''King's American Dragoons," of which he was commissioned lieutenant-colonel. 
 He returned to England before the close of the war, and in 1784 accepted a confidential 
 appointment with the rank of aide-de-camp and chamberlain at the Court of the Elector 
 of Bavaria. He reorganized the military establishment of Bavaria, and introduced 
 important economic and other reforms, with the result that he was rapidly promoted to 
 the highest ofl[ices in the state, including those of commander-in-chief of the general 
 Staff, minister of war, and superintendent of the police. He was created a count in 
 
590 
 
 COUNT RUMFORD 
 
 the Holy Roman Empire in 1791. Owing to ill health he quitted Bavaria about 1798, 
 and was for a time a private agent of Bavaria in England. He removed to Paris in 
 1802, and in 1804 married as his second wife the widow of the French chemist Lavoisier. 
 The rest of his life was spent at his wife's villa in Auteuil. He gave $5,000 to the 
 American Academy of Arts and Sciences and a like amount to the Royal Society of 
 London to found prizes bearing his name for the most important discoveries in heat and 
 light. He left to Harvard the funds with which the Rumford professorship of the 
 physical and mathematical sciences as applied to the useful arts has been erected. — 
 Smith, Benjamin E., ed., 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia of Names, p. 993. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Knight of the Dishclout, whereso'er I walk 
 I hear thee, Rumford, all the kitchen talk: 
 Note of melodious cadence on the ear, 
 Loud echoes, Rumford here, and Rumford 
 there! 
 
 Lo, every parlour, drawing-room I see. 
 Boasts of thy stoves, and talks of nought 
 but thee. 
 
 — WoLCOTT, John (Peter Pindar), 1801, 
 A Poetical Epistle to Benjamin Count 
 Rumford. 
 
 From this general view of the conduct 
 of Major Thompson and his manner of 
 leaving America, some may have received 
 unfavorable impressions of his character. 
 But he had never made politics his study, 
 and never perhaps seriously considered the 
 origin and progress of the contest ; and if 
 he had sought for employment against his 
 countrymen, he had sufficient opportuni- 
 ties of being gratified. But he wished not 
 to build his fame upon his exploits and 
 dexterity in warlike achievements. He 
 wished not to sacrifice his countrymen, 
 that he might thereby become the hero of 
 the British arms. But, believing that the 
 benevolent plans which he has since 
 adopted could never be executed but under 
 the fostering hand of well-directed power, 
 he sought a field for the exercise of his 
 goodness and ingenuity where they could 
 be executed, and where there was the most 
 obvious demand. In doing this, success 
 has attended his steps, and he has erected 
 in the bosom of every poor man a temple 
 to gratitude which will endure as long as 
 benevolence and charity shall be con- 
 sidered Christian virtues. — Baldwin, Lo- 
 AMMI, 1805, Literary Miscellany, vol. i. 
 
 I am almost afraid to tell you the story, 
 my good child, lest in future you should 
 not be good ; lest what I am about relat- 
 ing should set you a bad example, make 
 you passionate, and so on. But I had been 
 made very angry. A large party had been 
 invited I neither liked nor approved of, 
 and invited for the sole purpose of vexing 
 
 me. Our house being in the centre of the 
 garden, walled around, with iron gates, I 
 put on my hat, walked down to the porter's 
 lodge, and gave him orders, on his peril, 
 not to let any one in. Besides I took away 
 the keys. Madame went down, and when 
 the company arrived, she talked with them 
 — she on one side, they on the other, of 
 the high brick wall. After that she goes 
 and pours boiling water on some of my 
 beautiful flowers. — Rumford, Count, 
 1806, Letter to his Daughter. 
 
 I wish here and now only to recall to 
 your minds those of his most directly use- 
 ful and beneficient works which have made 
 his name known in every part of Europe. 
 Who is ignorant of what he has done for 
 relieving the scarcity in food ; of his multi- 
 plied efforts for making food more health- 
 ful, more agreeable, and, above all, more 
 economical ; what service he has rendered 
 to humanity in introducing the general use 
 of the soups which go by his own name, and 
 which have been so invaluable to so many 
 thousands of persons exposed to the 
 horrors of the prevailing scarcity ? Who 
 has not been made acquainted with his 
 effective methods for suppressing mendic- 
 ity ; with his Houses of Industry, for work 
 and instruction; with his means for im- 
 proving the construction of chimneys, of 
 lamps, of furnaces, of baths, of heating by 
 steam ; and, in fine, with his varied under- 
 takings in the cause of domestic economy ? 
 In England, in France, in Germany, in all 
 parts of the continent, the people are en- 
 joying the blessings of his discoveries; 
 and, from the humble dwelling of the poor 
 even to the palaces of sovereigns, all will 
 remember that his sole aim was to , be 
 always useful to his fellow-men. — Deles- 
 SERT, Benjamin, 1814, Address Pro- 
 nounced over the Grave of Count Rumford, 
 Aug. 24. 
 
 We have seen him here, in fact, for ten 
 years honored by Frenchmen and foreign- 
 ers, held in high regard by the lovers of 
 
COUNT RUMFORD 
 
 591 
 
 science, sharing their labors, aiding with 
 his advice the humblest artisans, and nobly 
 serving the public by a constant succes- 
 sion of useful inventions. Nothing would 
 have been lacking to the perfect enjoyment 
 of his life, if the amenity of his manners 
 had equalled his ardor in promoting the 
 public welfare. But it must be confessed 
 that he exhibited in conversation and in- 
 tercourse, and in all his demeanor, a feel- 
 ing which would seem most extraordinary 
 in a man who was always so well treated by 
 others, and who had himself done so much 
 good to others. It was as if while he had 
 been rendering all these services to his 
 fellow-men he had no real love or regard 
 for them. It would appear as if the vile 
 passions which he had observed in the 
 miserable objects committed to his care, 
 or those other passions, not less vile, which 
 his success and fame had excited among 
 his rivals, had imbittered him towards 
 human nature. So he thought it was not 
 wise or good to intrust to men in the mass 
 the care of their own^ well-being. — 
 CuviER, Baron, 1815, Eloge on Count 
 Rumfordy Jan. 9. 
 
 The sight of him very much reduced our 
 enthusiasm. We found him a dry, precise 
 man, who .spoke of beneficence as a sort 
 of discipline, and of the poor as we had 
 never dared to speak of vagabonds. It 
 was necessary, he said, to punish those 
 who dispensed alms ; we must compel the 
 poor to work, etc. Our amazement was 
 great on hearing such maxims. M. de 
 Rumford established himself in Paris, 
 where he married Madame Lavoisier, the 
 widow of the celebrated chemist. I had 
 relations with each of them, and never saw 
 a more bizarre connection. Rumford was 
 cold, calm, obstinate, egotistic, prodig- 
 iously occupied with the material element 
 of life and the very smallest inventions of 
 detail. He wanted his chimneys, lamps, 
 coffee-pots, windows, made after a certain 
 pattern, and he contradicted his wife a 
 thousand times a day about the household 
 management. Madame Lavoisier-Rumf ord 
 (for so she was called during his life, and 
 did not begin to bear the name of Rumford 
 till after his death) was a woman of a reso- 
 lute and willful character. A widow during 
 twelve or fifteen years, she had the habit 
 of following her own inclination, and 
 with difficulty bore opposition. Her spirit 
 was high, her soul strong, her character 
 
 masculine. Her second marriage was very 
 soon vexed by the most grotesque scenes. 
 Their separation was more of a blessing to 
 both of them than was their union. — De 
 Candolle, Augustin-Pyramus, 1842-62, 
 Memoires et Souvenirs. 
 
 His true character is rather to be in- 
 ferred from his useful and philanthropic 
 labors, and his numerous useful and scien- 
 tific discoveries, than from the report of 
 those who only knew him after his energy 
 was impaired, and he had experienced dis- 
 appointment and ingratitude. We, how- 
 ever, draw from the report of his French 
 eulogist one prominent trait, which may 
 not have been developed in the preceding 
 pages; this was the love of order, and the 
 strictest observance of method, in all his 
 pursuits. This he called ''the necessary 
 auxiliary of genius, the only possible in- 
 strument of true happiness, and almost a 
 subordinate divinity in this lower world." 
 It is to this feature in his character, that 
 we are to ascribe all his scientific attain- 
 ments, and the high reputation he must 
 ever hold in the eyes of posterity. From 
 the time he landed in England, except a 
 single short interval, until he bade adieu 
 to Bavaria, he had been engaged in one 
 continued series of important and engross- 
 ing employments, civil, military, and diplo- 
 matic ; and yet, by a wise and skillful dis- 
 tribution of his time, he found leisure not 
 only to devote himself to the most minute 
 objects of domestic economy, but to enter 
 into and accomplish philosophic investiga- 
 tions, that have become a portion of 
 physical science, which no future dis- 
 coveries can obliterate. — Ren wick, James, 
 1845, Count Rumford, Sparks' Library of 
 American Biography, vol. XV, p. 200. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say that there 
 was no ground whatever for the morbid 
 fancy which the Countess connected with 
 the loss of her father, nor was there any 
 extraordinary circumstance attending his 
 death. He was a lonely, and he was not 
 a happy man. Having spent years of most 
 thoughtful, wise, arduous labour for his 
 fellow-men, and having advanced the wel- 
 fare and comfort and happiness of millions 
 of his race, — especially of the poor, the 
 abject, and the forlorn among them, — he 
 did not himself find serenity of heart, or 
 satisfaction in society, or peace in his own 
 fragment of a home. A fever came upon 
 him which, after a rapid course of three 
 
592 
 
 COUNT RUMFORD 
 
 days, ended fatally. — Ellis, George E., 
 1871, Memoir of Sir Benjamin Thompson^ 
 Count Rumford, p. 613. 
 
 Men find pleasure in exercising the 
 powers they possess, and Rumford pos- 
 sessed, in its highest and strongest form, 
 the power of organization. In him flexible 
 wisdom formed an amalgam with despotic 
 strength. He held undoubtingly that 
 arrangement, method, provision for the 
 minutest details, subordination, co-opera- 
 tion, and a careful system of statistics, 
 will facilitate and make effective any 
 undertaking, however burdensome and 
 comprehensive." Pure love of humanity 
 would at first sight seem to be the motive 
 force of his action. Still, it has been 
 affirmed by those who knew him that this 
 was not the case. Fontenelle said of 
 Dodard, that he turned his rigid obser- 
 vance of the fasts of the Church into a 
 scientific experiment on the effects of ab- 
 stinence, thereby taking the path which 
 led at once to heaven and into the French 
 Academy. In Rumford' s case the pleasure 
 of the administrator outweighed, it was 
 said, that of the philanthropist. — Tyn- 
 DALL, John, 1883, Count Rumford, Con- 
 temporary Review, vol. 44, p. 48. 
 
 In the Maximilian Strasse, the finest 
 street in Munich, there stands the bronze 
 statue of an American who won renown in 
 three countries of Europe, — England, 
 Germany, and France. Born in Woburn, 
 Mass., marrying in Concord, N. H., he was 
 made a baronet by George III., and Count 
 of the Holy Roman Empire by the Elector 
 of Bavaria. He often dined with Napoleon, 
 he corresponded with the Czar of Russia, 
 and the Emperor of Austria, and he was 
 on intimate terms with all the scientific 
 men of his time. In London he founded 
 the Royal Institution, and cured five 
 hundred smoking chimneys. In Bavaria 
 he suppressed the system of beggary and 
 reformed the army. He taught the world 
 how to cook, he discovered the principle of ^ 
 the correlation of forces, and he invented 
 porcelain kettles. — Abbott, Frances M., 
 1893, Count Rumford arid his Daughter, 
 New England Magazine, vol. 15, p. 463. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 This most valuable and important work, 
 whose truly philosophick and benevolent 
 author must feel a joy and self-satisfac- 
 tion far superior to any praise which man 
 
 can bestow. — Mathias, Thomas James, 
 1794-8, The Pursuits cf Literature, J9.224. 
 
 We profess to be of the daily increasing 
 number of those who do not think very 
 highly of Count Rumford' s talents as a 
 philosopher ; and if our former preposses- 
 sion required any confirmation (which it 
 certainly did not), he has taken very great 
 pains, in the elaborate performance now 
 before us, to supply a variety of new 
 proofs. . . . The merits of Count 
 Rumford, too, have been so much a theme 
 of conversation, and have had such an 
 active influence in the fashionable world 
 of science, that it is proper his preten- 
 sions should at length be sifted. But, 
 above all, a paper filled with theoretical 
 matter, abounding in pulses, vibrations, 
 internal motions, and ethereal fluids, de- 
 serves to be exposed ; the more, because 
 these chimeras are mingled with a portion 
 of induction, and have received the ill- 
 deserved honour of a place in the Philo- 
 sophical Transactions. — Brougham,Henry 
 Lord, 1804, Count Rumford on the Nature 
 of Heat, Edinburgh Review, vol. 4, pp. 
 399, 400. 
 
 The uncommon popularity which the 
 Count enjoyed for some years seems to have 
 produced a bad effect upon his disposition, 
 or perhaps rather induced him to display 
 without reserve those dispositions which 
 he had hitherto been at some pains to con- 
 ceal. Pomposity, and a species of literary 
 arrogance quite unsuitable to the nature 
 of experimental philosophy, for some 
 years characterized his writings and in- 
 jured their value, feut in some of the last 
 essays with which he favoured the world 
 we find much valuable and curious in- 
 formation, respecting the heat evolved by 
 different combustibles while burning, — a 
 subject of great interest, which he prose- 
 cuted for many years,and at last elucidated 
 with considerable success. — Thomson, 
 Thomas, 1815, Count Rumford, Annals of 
 Philosophy, vol. 5, p. 243. 
 
 His ''Essays on Pauperism," and his 
 plans for its relief and prevention, would 
 alone entitle him to the blessings of man- 
 kind. Almost everything which is valu- 
 able in our modern systems of charity may 
 be traced in his writings. When we add 
 all that he did for science, and for the 
 advancement of science, at the Royal In- 
 stitution in London, and at Harvard, and 
 at our American Academy, his claim to a 
 
RUMFORD— SHERIDAN 
 
 593 
 
 statue seems to be far less equivocal, to 
 say the least, than that of many of those 
 who have lately received such commemora- 
 tion. I trust we shall have a portrait of 
 him, one of these days, in the gallery of 
 our Historical Society, if nowhere else. — 
 WiNTHROP, Robert C., 1867, Letter to 
 George E. Ellis, Aug. 19 ; Memoir of Count 
 Rumfordy Preface, p. vi. 
 
 We enter into the labors of Count Rum- 
 ford every day of our lives, without know- 
 ing it or thinking of him. And he had his 
 exceeding great reward. His homely 
 efforts for the daily comfort of mankind 
 led him to the discoveries which have 
 made his name illustrious as a philosopher. 
 His great contributions to science in the 
 development of the correlation and inde- 
 structibility of forces, of the relations or 
 rather the identity of force and heat, place 
 him among the foremost discoverers in 
 the world of science. By his experiments 
 he overthrew the theories as to the nature 
 of heat, which had been taken for granted 
 by natural philosophers from the time of 
 Aristotle, and established the true doctrine 
 upon which every succeeding advance of 
 knowledge in that direction rests, and 
 without which none could have been made. 
 The mighty and beneficent agents of light 
 and heat were the objects of his intense 
 study, that he might ascertain how they 
 could best be made to answer the benevo- 
 lent intentions of the Creator in promoting 
 the happiness of mankind. And his fore- 
 casting mind provided fit honors to be 
 
 bestowed, on either continent, after his 
 death, on his successors in the same line 
 of investigation and discovery. — Quincy, 
 Edmund, 187], Count Rumford, Atlantic 
 Monthly, vol 27, p. 521. 
 
 In spite of all the progress we have 
 made in physical science, these essays, 
 written for the most part during the last 
 century, contain a great deal that is still 
 suggestive and worthy of thoughtful read- 
 ing both by popular students and experts 
 in physical and social science. — Williams, 
 W. Mattieu, 1875, Count Rumford's Com- 
 plete Works, Nature, vol. 11, p. 206. 
 
 The name and fame of Rumford, which 
 were resonant in Europe at the beginning 
 of this century, have fallen in England 
 into general oblivion. To scientific men, 
 however, his figure presents itself with 
 singular impressiveness at the present day. 
 This result is mainly due to the establish- 
 ment, in recent times, of the grand scien- 
 tific generalisation known as the Mechan- 
 ical Theory of Heat. Boyle, and Hooke, and 
 Locke, and Leibnitz, had already ranged 
 themselves on the side of this theory. But 
 by experiments conducted on a scale un- 
 exampled at the time, and by reasonings, 
 founded on these experiments, of singular 
 force and penetration, Rumford has made 
 himself a conspicuous landmark in the his- 
 tory of the theory. His inference from his 
 experiments was scored in favour of those 
 philosophers who held that heat is a form 
 of motion. — Tyndall J., 1883, Count Rum- 
 ford, Contemporary Review, voL 44, p. 38. 
 
 Richard Brinsley Sheridan 
 
 1751-1816 
 
 Born, in Dublin, 30 Oct. 1751. Parents removed to London, 1758. Educated at 
 Harrow, 1762-68. Parents removed to Bath, 1771. Eloped with Elizabeth Linley, 
 1772; secretly married to her at Calais. Formally married in London, 13 April 1773. 
 Settled in London, spring of 1774. "The Rivals" produced at Covent Garden, 17 Jan. 
 1775; ''St. Patrick's Day; or, The Scheming Lieutenant," Covent Garden, May 1775; 
 "The Duenna," Covent Garden, 21 Nov. 1775. Purchased a share in Drury Lane 
 Theatre, June 1776; Manager, Sept. 1776 to Feb. 1809. "A Trip to Scarborough" 
 (adapted from Vanbrugh's "The Relapse") produced at Drury Lane, 24 Feb. 1777; 
 "The School for Scandal," Drury Lane, 8 May 1777; "The Critic," Drury Lane, 
 30 Oct. 1779. M. P. for Stafford, 1780. Under Secretary of State, 1782. Con- 
 cerned in impeachment of Warren Hastings, 1787-88. Intimacy with Prince of Wales 
 begun, 1787. Wife died, 1792. Drury Lane Theatre rebuilt, 1792-94 ; new house 
 opened, 21 April 1794. Married (ii.) Esther Ogle, 27 April 1795. "Pizarro" (adapted 
 from Kotzebue's "Spaniards in Peru") produced at Drury Lane, 24 May 1799. Privy 
 Councillor and Treasurer of Navy, 1799. Receiver of Duchy of Cornwall, 1804. 
 Drury Lane Theatre burnt down, 24 Feb. 1809. Died, in London, 7 July 1816. Buried 
 in Westminster Abbey. Works : "Clio's Protest" (under pseud. ; " Asmodeo") [1771] ; 
 
 38 C 
 
594 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 **The Rivals," 1775; '*St. Patrick's Day; or. The Scheming Lieutenant/' 1775; **The 
 General Fast'* (anon.) [1775?]; **The Duenna," 1775; "A Trip to Scarborough," 
 1777; ''The School for Scandal," (anon.), 1777; ''Verses to the Memory of Garrick," 
 1779; "The Critic," 1781; "The Legislative Independence of Ireland" (a speech), 
 1785; "Speech . . . against Warren Hastings, " 1788; "A Comparative State- 
 ment of the two Bills for the better Government of the British Possessions in India," 
 1788; "Dramatic Works" [1795?] ; "Pizarro," 1799;' "Speech ... on the 
 Motion to address His Majesty" [1798]; "Speech ... on the Union with Ireland," 
 1799; "Speech ... on the Army Estimates," 1802. Posthumous: "Speeches" 
 (5 vols.), 1816; "An Ode to Scandal," 2nd edn. 1819; "Speeches in the Trial of 
 Warren Hastings," ed. by E. A. Bond (4 vols.), 1859-61. He translated : "The Love 
 Epistles of Aristasnetus" (with N. B. Halhed), 1771. Collected Works: ed. by F. 
 Stainforth, 1874. Life : by T. Moore, 1825 ; by Mrs. Oliphant, 1883 ; by W. F. Rae, 
 1896. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 255. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 . Mr. Sheridan has a very fine figure, and 
 a good though I don't think a handsome 
 face. He is tall, and very upright, and 
 his appearance and address are at once 
 manly and fashionable, without the small- 
 est tincture of foppery or modish graces. 
 In short, I like him vastly, and think him 
 every way worthy his beautiful companion. 
 . . . He evidently adores her, and 
 she as evidently idolises him. The world 
 has by no means done him justice. — 
 D'Arblay, Mme. (Fanny Burney), 1779, 
 Diary and Letters, vol. i, ch. iv. 
 
 It was some Spirit, Sheridan ! that breathed 
 O'er thy young mind such wildly-various 
 power ! 
 
 My soul hath marked thee in her shaping 
 hour, 
 
 Thy temples with Hymettian flow'rets 
 wreathed : 
 
 And sweet thy voice, as when o'er Laura's 
 bier 
 
 Sad music trembled through Vauclusa's 
 
 glade ; 
 
 Sweet, as at dawn the love-lorn serenade 
 That wafts soft dreams to Slumber's listen- 
 ing ear. 
 
 Now patriot Rage and Indignation high 
 Swell the full tones! And now thy eye- 
 beams dance 
 Meanings of Scorn and Wit's quaint revelry! 
 
 — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1795, To 
 Richard Brinsley Sheridan. 
 
 Sheridan is very little consulted at 
 present; and it is said, will not have a 
 seat in the cabinet. This is a distressing 
 necessity. His habits of daily intoxica- 
 tion are probably considered as unfitting 
 him for trust. The little that has been 
 confided to him he has been running about 
 to tell; and since Monday, he has been 
 visiting Sidmouth. At a dinner at Lord 
 Cowper's on Sunday last, where the Prince 
 
 was, he got drunk as usual, and began to 
 speak slightingly of Fox. From what 
 grudge this behsJviour proceeds I have not 
 learned. The whole fact is one to in- 
 vestigate with candour, and with a full 
 remembrance of Sheridan's great services, 
 in the worst times, to the principles of 
 liberty.— Horner, Francis, 1806, Mem- 
 oirs and Correspondence, vol. i, p. 357. ' 
 
 I find things settled so that £150 will 
 remove all difficulty. I am absolutely un- 
 done and broken-hearted. I shall negotiate 
 for the Plays successfully in the course 
 of a week, when all shall be returned. I 
 have desired Fairbrother to get back the 
 Guarantee for thirty. They are going to 
 put the carpets out of window, and brake 
 into Mrs. S. 's room and take me — for God's 
 sake let me see you. — Sheridan, Richard 
 Brinsley, 1816, Letter to Samuel Rogers, 
 May 15 ; Moore's Memoirs of Sheridan, vol. 
 II, p. 454. 
 
 Richard Brinsley Sheridan 
 Born, 1751. 
 Died, 7th July, 1816. 
 tms marble is the tribute of an attached 
 Friend, 
 Peter Moore. 
 —Inscription on Grave, 1816, West- 
 minster Abbey. 
 
 Sheridan's worst can effect but few ; his 
 best will redound to the good of his coun- 
 try, and to the delight of thousands to 
 come.— Hunt, Leigh, 1816, The Exam- 
 iner, July 14. 
 
 Long shall we seek his likeness — long in 
 vain. 
 
 And turn to all of him which may remain. 
 Sighing that Nature form'd but one such 
 man, 
 
 And broke the die — in moulding Sheridan. 
 — Byron, Lord, 1816, Monody on the Death 
 of the Rt. Hon. R. B. Sheridan, Spoken 
 at Drury-Lane Theatre. 
 
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 595 
 
 The orator, — dramatist, — minstrel, — who ran 
 Thro' each mode of the lyre and was master 
 of all; — 
 
 Whose mind was an essence compounded 
 with art 
 
 From the finest and best of all other men's 
 powers; — 
 
 Who ruled, like a wizard, the world of the 
 heart. 
 
 And could call up its sunshine or bringdown 
 
 its showers; — 
 Whose humor, as gay as the fire -fly's light. 
 Played round every subject and shone as it 
 
 played;— 
 
 Whosejwit in the combat, as gentle as bright. 
 Ne'er carried a heart-stain away on its 
 blade ; — 
 
 Whose eloquence — brightening whatever it 
 tried. 
 
 Whether reason or fancy, the gay or the 
 grave, — 
 
 Was as rapid, as deep and as brilliant a tide, 
 As ever bore Freedom aloft on its wave ! 
 
 — Moore, Thomas, 1816, Lines on the 
 Death of Sheridan. 
 
 I must differ from Moore in his view of 
 Sheridan's heart. Notwithstanding his 
 passion for Miss Linley and his grief for 
 his father's death, who used him ill, I 
 question his having a ''really good heart." 
 His making love to Pamela, Madame de 
 Genlis's daughter, so soon after his lovely 
 wife's death, and his marriage, in two 
 years, with a young girl as a compliment 
 to her remembrance, renders one very sus- 
 picious of the real depth of his passion. No 
 man of wit to the full extent of the word 
 can have a good heart, because he has by 
 nature less regard for the feelings of 
 others than for the brilliancy of his own 
 sayings. There must be more mischief 
 than love in the hearts of all radiant wits. 
 Moore's life of him wants courage. — Hay- 
 don, Benjamin Robert, 1825, To Miss 
 Mitford, Dec. 10; Life, Letters and Table 
 Talk, ed. Stoddard, p. 226. 
 
 Sheridan was a man of quick but not 
 deep feelings ; of sudden but not lasting 
 excitements. He was not one of those 
 who suffer a single passion to influence 
 the whole course of their lives. Even the 
 desire to dazzle by his wit, great as was 
 its power over him, was not always awake, 
 for we are told that he would sometimes 
 remain silent for hours in company, too 
 lazy to invent a smart saying for the 
 occasion, but idly waiting for the oppor- 
 tunity to apply some brilliant witticism 
 already in his memory. . . . His 
 
 griefs might have been violent, but they 
 were certainly brief, and he quickly 
 forgot them when he came to look again 
 at the sunny side of things. Even his 
 political disappointments do not seem in 
 the least to have soured his temper, or 
 abated his readiness to adopt new hopes 
 and new expedients. — Bryant, William 
 CULLEN, 1826-84, The Character of Sher- 
 idan, Prose Writings, ed. Godwin, voL li, 
 p. 368. 
 
 I was present on the second of Hasting's 
 trial in Westminster Hall ; when Sheridan 
 was listened to with such attention that 
 you might have heard a pin drop. — Dur- 
 ing one of those days, Sheridan, having 
 observed Gibbon among the audience, took 
 occasion to mention ''The luminous author 
 of 'The Decline and Fall.' " After he had 
 finished one of his friends reproached him 
 with flattering Gibbon. "Why, what did 
 I say of him?" asked Sheridan. — ''You 
 called him the luminous author," &c., — 
 "Luminous! oh, I meant — voluminous." 
 . . . Sheridan did not display his ad- 
 mirable powers in company till he had been 
 warmed by wine. During the earlier part 
 of dinner he was generally heavy and silent ; 
 and I have heard him, when invited to drink ' 
 a glass of wine, reply, "No, thank you; 
 I'll take — a little small beer." After 
 dinner, when he had had a tolerable 
 quantity of wine, he was brilliant indeed. 
 Put when he went on swallowing too much, 
 he became downright stupid : and I once, 
 after a dinner-party at the house of 
 Edwards the bookseller in Pall Mall, walked 
 with him to Brookes's, when he had 
 absolutely lost the use of speech. . . . 
 Sheridan had very fine eyes, and he was 
 not a little vain of them. He said to me 
 on his death-bed, "Tell Lady Besborough 
 that my eyes will look up to the coffin-lid 
 as brightly as ever. " . . . In his deal- 
 ings with the world, Sheridan certainly 
 carried the "privileges of genius" so far 
 as they were ever carried by man. — 
 Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollections of 
 Table- Talk, pp. 65, 69, 70, 71. 
 
 Poor Sherry! poor Sherry! drunkard, 
 gambler, spendthrift, debtor, godless and 
 worldly as thou wert, what is it that 
 shakes from our hand the stone we would 
 fling at thee? Almost, we must confess 
 it, thy very faults ; at least those qualities 
 which seem to have been thy glory and thy 
 ruin ; which brought thee into temptation ; 
 
596 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 to which, hadst thou been less brilliant, less 
 bountiful, thou hadst never been drawn. 
 What is it that disarms us when we review 
 thy life, and wrings from us a tear when 
 we should utter a reproach ? Thy punish- 
 ment ; that bitter, miserable end ; that long 
 battling with poverty, debt, disease, all 
 brought on by thyself ; that abandonment 
 in the hour of need, more bitter than them 
 all ; that awakening to the terrible truth 
 of the hoilowness of man and rottenness 
 of the world ! — Thomson, Katherine and 
 J. C. (Grace and Philip Wharton), 1860, 
 The Wits and Beaux of Society^ p. 329. 
 
 The account of Sheridan's death-bed is 
 as nearly fabulous as any narration can be ; 
 but- it is the current "copied" account, 
 and passes muster with the rest. And 
 now, we may fairly ask, if such "biog- 
 raphies" be true, how came this man, so 
 abused, so run down, whose faults were 
 so prodigious, whose merits were nil^ to 
 occupy the position he did when living? 
 . . . How did it happen, then, that a 
 man labouring under such a disadvantage 
 of birth, and also described as a common- 
 place swindler, drunkard, and driveller, 
 excelled in everything he attempted, and, 
 from the obscure son of the Bath actor and 
 schoolmaster, became minister of state and 
 companion of princes ? What dazzled fools 
 does it make all his contemporaries that 
 they admitted him unquestioned to a 
 superiority which is now denied to have 
 existed ! What an extraordinary anomaly 
 does that famous funeral in Westminster 
 Abbey present, amid a crowd of onlookers 
 so dense that they seemed "like a wall 
 of human faces," if it was merely the 
 carrying of a poor old tipsy gentleman to 
 his grave by a group of foolish lords ! — 
 Norton, Hon. Caroline, 1861, Sheridan 
 and His Biographers, Macmillan^s Maga- 
 zine, vol. 3, p. 177. 
 
 When Sheridan was dying, in the ex- 
 tremity of poverty, an article appeared 
 from a generous enemy in the "Morning 
 Post," saying that relief should be given be- 
 fore it was too late : "Prefer ministering 
 in the chamber of sickness" to minister- 
 ing at "the splendid sorrows that adorn the 
 hearse" — "life and succor, against West- 
 minster Abbey and a funeral. ' ' But it was 
 too late ; and Westminster Abbey and the 
 funeral, with all the pomp that rank could 
 furnish, was the alternative. It was this 
 which suggested the remark of a French 
 
 journal : "France is the place for a man 
 of letters to live in, and England the place 
 for him to die in." — Stanley, Arthur 
 Penrhyn, 1867-96, Historical Memorials 
 of Westminster Ahhey^ p. 317. 
 
 He was the contemporary of Beaumar- 
 chais, and resembled him in his talent and 
 in his life. The two epochs, the two 
 schools of drama, the two characters cor- 
 respond. Like Beaumarchais, he was a 
 lucky adventurer, clever, amiable, and 
 generous, reaching success through scan- 
 dal, who flashed up and shone in a moment, 
 scaled with a rush the empyrean of politics 
 and literature, settled himself, as it were, 
 among the constellations, and, like a bril- 
 liant rocket, presently went out in the 
 darkness. Nothing failed him ; he attained 
 all at the first leap, without apparent 
 effort, like a prince who need only show 
 himself to win a place. All the most sur- 
 passing happiness, the most brilliant in 
 art, the most exalted in worldly position, 
 he took as his birthright. The poor un- 
 known youth, wretched translator of an 
 unreadable Greek sophist, who at twenty 
 walked about Bath in a red waistcoat and 
 a cocked hat, destitute of hope, and ever - 
 conscious of the emptiness of his pockets, 
 had gained the heart of the most admired 
 beauty and musician of her time, and car- 
 ried her off from ten rich, elegant, titled 
 adorers, had fought with the best-hoaxed 
 of the ten, beaten him, had carried by 
 storm the curiosity and attention of the 
 public. Then, challenging glory and 
 wealth, he placed successively on the stage 
 the most diverse and the most applauded 
 dramas, comedies, farce, opera, serious 
 verse; he bought and worked a large 
 theatre without a farthing, inaugurated a 
 reign of success and pecuniary advantages, 
 and led a life of elegance amid the enjoy- 
 ments of social and domestic joys, sur- 
 rounded by universal admiration and won- 
 der. Thence, aspiring yet higher, he 
 conquered power, entered the House of 
 Commons, showed himself a match for the 
 first orators. . . . Whatever the busi- 
 ness, whoever the man, he persuaded; none 
 withstood him, every one fell under his 
 charm. What is more difficult than for 
 an ugly man to make a young girl forget 
 his ugliness? There is one thing more 
 difficult, and that is to make a creditor 
 forget you owe him money. There is 
 something more difficult still, and that is, 
 
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 597 
 
 to borrow money of a creditor who has 
 come to demand it. . . . In the 
 morning, creditors and visitors filled the 
 rooms in which he lived ; he came in smil- 
 ing, with an easy manner, with so much 
 loftiness and grace, that the people forgot 
 their wants and their claims, and looked 
 as if they had only come to see him. His 
 animation was irresistible ; no one had a 
 more dazzling wit ; he had an inexhaustible 
 fund of puns, contrivances, sallies, novel 
 ideas. Lord Byron, who was a good judge, 
 said that he had never heard nor conceived 
 of a more extraordinary conversation. 
 Men spent nights in listening to him. — 
 Taine, H. a., 1871, History of English 
 Literature^ tr. Van Laun, vol. I, hk. iii, 
 ch. i, pp, 524, 525. 
 
 He had been born in obscurity — he died 
 in misery. Out of the humblest, unpro- 
 vided, unendowed poverty he had blazed 
 into reputation, into all the results of 
 great wealth, if never to its substance; 
 more wonderful still, he had risen to public 
 importance and splendour, and his name 
 can never be obliterated from the page of 
 history ; but had fallen again, down, down 
 into desertion, misery, and the deepest 
 degradation of a poverty for which there 
 was neither hope nor help : till death wiped 
 out all possibilities of further trouble or 
 embarrassment, and Sheridan became once 
 more in his coffin the great man whom his 
 party delighted to honour — a national 
 name and credit, one of those whose glory 
 illustrates our annals. It may be per- 
 mitted now to doubt whether these last 
 mournful honours were not more than his 
 real services to England deserved ; but at 
 the moment it was, no doubt, a fine thing 
 that the poor, hopeless Sherry" whom 
 everybody admired and despised, whom no 
 one but a few faithful friends would risk 
 the trouble of helping, who had sunk away 
 out of all knowledge into endless debts, 
 and duns, and drink, should rise at an 
 instant as soon as death had stilled his 
 troubles into the Right Honourable, bril- 
 liant, and splendid Sheridan, whose en- 
 chanter's wand the stubborn Pitt had 
 bowed under, and the noble Burke ac- 
 knowledged with enthusiasm. It was a fine 
 thing ; but the finest thing was that death 
 which in England makes all glory possible, 
 and which restores to the troublesome 
 bankrupt, the unfortunate prodigal, and 
 all stray sons of fame, at one stroke, their 
 
 friends, their reputation, and the abundant 
 tribute which it might have been danger- 
 ous to alford them living, but with which 
 it is both safe and prudent to glorify their 
 tomb.— Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 
 1883, Sheridan {English Men of Letters), 
 p. 194. 
 
 Perhaps Sheridan was never a wise man, 
 he can hardly be called a good one, yet he 
 was free from the worse vices of his con- 
 dition and craft. He never exhibited envy 
 of his favoured rivals; his temper was 
 never soured by misfortune. People said 
 he had stolen his wit and borrowed his 
 plots, that his fertile soil was capable of 
 one crop and no more. But he was too 
 well versed in the infirmities of hujnan 
 nature to look for generosity where he was 
 more likely to meet with malice, and too 
 sensible or too indolent to be angry when 
 his experience justified his insight. Sheri- 
 dan's own infirmities were inconvenient 
 certainly, but not noxious. . . . Sheridan 
 had just that minimum of selfishness which 
 perforce adheres to the profligate ; he had 
 few or none of the higher virtues which 
 belong to the chivalrous spirit ; but force 
 of character lie certainly possessed. It is 
 a grave error to say that either the middle 
 or the end of life found him deficient in 
 strength. — Caine, Hall, 1883, Sheridan, 
 The Academy, vol, 24, pp. 171, 172. 
 
 Doubtless, in any attempt to judge of 
 Sheridan as he was apart from his works, 
 we must make considerable deductions 
 from the mass of floating anecdotes that 
 have gathered round his name. It was not 
 without reason that his granddaughter Mrs. 
 Norton denounced the unfairness of judg- 
 ing of the real man from unauthenticated 
 stories about his indolent procrastination, 
 his wrecklessness in money matters, his 
 drunken feats and sallies, his wild gam- 
 bling, his ingenious but discreditable shifts 
 in evading and duping creditors. The real 
 Sheridan was not a pattern of decorous 
 respectability, but we may fairly believe 
 that he was very far from being as dis- 
 reputable as the Sheridan of vulgar legend. 
 Against the stories about his reckless 
 management of his affairs we must set the 
 broad facts that he had no source of in- 
 come but Drury Lane theatre, that he 
 bore from it thirty years all the expenses 
 of a fashionable life, and that the theatre 
 was twice burnt to the ground during his 
 proprietorship. Enough was lost in those 
 
598 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 fires to account ten times over for all his 
 debts. His biographers always speak of 
 his means of living as a mystery. Seeing 
 that he started with borrowed capital, it 
 is possible that the mystery is that he ap- 
 plied much more of his powers to plain 
 matters of business than he affected or got 
 credit for. — Minto, William, 1886, En- 
 cyclopoedia Britannicay Ninth edition, vol. 
 XXI, p. 836. 
 
 No man has ever lived in more worlds 
 than Sheridan, or has ever shone with such 
 brilliancy in all. In the world of fashion, 
 in the company of wits, among authors, 
 painters and poets, in the House of Com- 
 mons, at the Court of the Prince Regent, — 
 whatever society he frequented, — he moved 
 a star. His charming manners, his hand- 
 some person, his gaiety, and, above all, his 
 good nature, which was one of his principal 
 characteristics, rendered him universally 
 popular. But these engaging qualities 
 were sometimes marred by the foibles and 
 peculiarities which are most apt to attract 
 attention and to serve as weapons in the 
 hands of a man's enemies. In early man- 
 hood he became one of the chiefs of a 
 political party when party strife ran high, 
 and when virulent calumny and abuse, in 
 an age more coarse than ours, were con- 
 sidered legitimate means of offence, and 
 his memory has suffered accordingly. 
 Moreover, from his youth, two impediments 
 clogged and embarrassed his every step, — 
 his poverty and his Irish origin. . . . 
 Sheridan's conviviality has been more 
 rigorously denounced than many a con- 
 temporary toper's sodden and unredeemed 
 intemperance. Wine quickly disordered 
 his high-strung nervous system ; and, while 
 delighting the harder-headed drinkers 
 around him with the sallies of his wit, two 
 or three glasses were sufficient to overset 
 the delicate poise of his brain. As a con- 
 sequence, his cheerful and comparatively 
 innocent indiscretions over the bottle have 
 been more frequently in men's mouths 
 than the results of deeper potations of his 
 more stolid boon companions. In later 
 life, alas ! for a certain period, grief and 
 accumulated misfortunes drove him into 
 more serious lapses, but from the dominion 
 of these, to his great credit be it said, he 
 eventually redeemed himself. — Dufferin, 
 Marquess 0F,lSd6y Sheridan, A Biography 
 by Rae, Introduction, vol. I, pp. viii, xi. 
 
 He appears to have entered the world to 
 
 demonstrate by his example and conduct 
 the utter and contemptible absurdity of 
 proclaiming that all men can remain equal, 
 or ought to rest satisfied with their lot. It 
 is unhappily true that a dead level in hu- 
 manity does exist; but it can only be 
 found within che walls of an asylum for 
 idiots. Sheridan's confidence in himself 
 could not be repressed by penury, nor 
 deadened by the predominance of those 
 who were elevated above him by the 
 accident of high birth or inherited wealth. 
 When a boy he had resolved to rise to the 
 top ; he neither flinched nor failed in his 
 upward course, and he lived to look down 
 with serenity from the pinnacle of fame 
 upon the applauding multitude below. It 
 is inspiring to follow his steps ; it is in- 
 structive to contemplate how he always 
 despised the aid of unworthy means, and 
 disdained employing any of the despicable 
 tricks to which such men as his own Joseph 
 Surface frequently resort for the attain- 
 ment of their miserable ends. He was 
 always dissatisfied and he was often im- 
 prudent ; but there is an imprudence which 
 is sublime as well as a discontent which is 
 noble, and their manifestation in his per- 
 son constitutes one of his titles to esteem. 
 — Rae, W. Fraser, 1896, Sheridan, A 
 Biography, vol. I, p. 346. 
 
 It is impossible to close this rapid and 
 slight sketch without one word at least on 
 Mrs. Sheridan. One of the strong titles 
 of Sheridan to the favour of posterity is 
 to be found in the warm attachment of his 
 family and his descendants to his memory. 
 The strongest of them all lies in the fact 
 that he could attract, and could retain 
 through her too short life, the devoted 
 affections of this admirable woman, whose 
 beauty and accomplishments, remarkable 
 as they were, were the least of her titles 
 to praise. Mrs. Sheridan was certainly 
 not strait-laced : not only did she lose at 
 cards fifteen and twenty-one guineas on 
 two successive nights, but she played cards, 
 after the fashion of her day, on Sunday 
 evenings. I am very far from placing such 
 exploits among her claims on our love. 
 But I frankly own to finding it impossible 
 to read the accounts of her without pro- 
 foundly coveting, across the gulf of all 
 these years, to have seen and known her. 
 Let her be judged by the incomparable 
 verses (presented to us in these volumes) 
 in which she opened the floodgates of her 
 
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 599 
 
 bleeding heart at a moment when she 
 feared that she had been robbed, for the 
 moment, of Sheridan's affections by the 
 charms of another. Those verses of loving 
 pardon proceed from a soul advanced to 
 some of the highest Gospel attainments. 
 She passed into her rest when still under 
 forty ; peacefully absorbed for days before 
 her departure, in the contemplation of the 
 coming world. — Gladstone, William 
 EwART, 1896, Sheridan, Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury, vol. 39, p. 1041. 
 
 It might indeed be said that the low 
 opinion of Sheridan's character is so gen- 
 eral that hardly a single respectable man 
 of his time is found to mention him with- 
 out contempt or reproach. In every direc- 
 tion we hear of some trickeries and faith- 
 lessness. — Fitzgerald, Percy, 1897, The 
 Real Sheridan, p. 41. 
 
 Richard Brinsley Sheridan was the most 
 distinguished member of a distinguished 
 family. His grandfather was Dr. Sheridan, 
 the friend and correspondent of Swift. 
 His father was Thomas Sheridan, elocu- 
 tionist, actor, manager, and lexicographer. 
 His mother was Frances Sheridan, author 
 of the comedy of ''The Discovery'* (acted 
 by David Garrick), and of the novel "Miss 
 Sidney Biddulph" (praised by Samuel 
 Johnson). His three granddaughters, 
 known as the beautiful Sheridans, became, 
 one the Duchess of Somerset, another the 
 Countess of Dufferin, and the third the 
 Hon. Mrs. Norton (afterward Lady Stir- 
 ling-Maxwell). His great-grandson is 
 Lord Dufferin, author and diplomatist. 
 Thus, in six generations of the family, re- 
 markable power of one kind or another has 
 been revealed. — Matthews, Brander, 
 1897, Library of the World's Best Liter- 
 ature, ed. Warner, vol. xxiii, p. 13317. 
 
 SPEECHES 
 If you could bring over Mr. Sheridan, 
 he would do something : he talked for five 
 hours and a half on Wednesday, and turned 
 everybody's head. One heard everybody 
 in the streets raving on the wonders of that 
 speech ; for my part, I cannot believe it was 
 so supernatural as they say — do you believe 
 it was, xMadam ? I will go to my oracle, who 
 told me of the marvels of the pamphlet, 
 which assures us that Mr. Hastings is a 
 prodigy of virtue and abilities; and, as 
 you think so too, how should such a fellow 
 as Sheridan, who has no diamonds to 
 bostow, fascinate all the world?— Yet 
 
 witchcraft no doubt, there has been, for 
 when did simple eloquence ever convince a 
 majority?— Walpole, Horace, 1787, To 
 the Countess of Ossory, Feb. 9; Letters, 
 ed. Cunningham, vol. ix, p. 93. 
 
 Mr. Sheridan, I hear, did not quite 
 satisfy the passionate expectation that had 
 been raised ; but it was impossible he could, 
 when people had worked themselves into 
 an enthusiasm of offering fifty — ay, fifty 
 guineas for a ticket to hear him. — Wal- 
 pole, Horace, 1788, To Thomas Barrett, 
 June 5 ; Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. ix, 
 p. 127. 
 
 Yesterday the august scene was closed 
 for this year. Sheridan surpassed himself 
 and though I am far from considering him 
 as a perfect orator, there were many 
 beautiful passages in his speech on justice, 
 filial love, &c. ; one of the closest chains 
 of argument I ever heard, to prove that 
 Hastings was responsible for the acts of 
 Middleton; and a compliment, much ad- 
 mired, to a certain historian of your ac- 
 quaintance. Sheridan, in the close of his 
 speech, sunk into Burke's arms ; but I 
 called this morning, he is perfectly well. 
 A good Actor ! — Gibbon, Edward, 1788, 
 To Lord Sheffield, June 17 ; Private Let- 
 ters, ed. Prothero, vol. ii, p. 172. 
 
 Burke caught him in his arms as he sat 
 down. ... I have myself enjoj^ed 
 that embrace on such an occasion, and 
 know its value. — Elliot, Sir Gilbert, 
 1788, Letter to His Wife. 
 
 He possessed a ductility and versatility 
 of talents, which no public man in our time 
 has equalled; and these intellectual en- 
 dowments were sustained by a suavity of 
 temper, that seemed to set at defiance all 
 attempts to ruffle or discompose it. Play- 
 ing with his irritable or angry antagonist, 
 Sheridan exposed him by sallies of wit, 
 or attacked him by classic elegance of 
 satire ; performing this arduous task in the 
 face of a crowded assembly, without losing 
 for an instant either his presence of mind, 
 his facility of expression, or his' good 
 humour. He wounded deepest, indeed, 
 when he smiled ; and convulsed his hearers 
 with laughter, while the object of his 
 ridicule or animadversion was twisting 
 under the lash. Pitt and Dundas, who pre- 
 sented the finest marks for his attack, found 
 by experience, that though they might re- 
 pel, they could not confound, and still less 
 could they silence or vanquish him. In 
 
600 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 every attempt that they made by introduc- 
 ing personalities, or illiberal reflections on 
 his private life, and literary or dramatic 
 occupations, to disconcert him, he turned 
 their weapons on themselves. Nor did he, 
 while thus chastising his adversary alter 
 a muscle of his own countenance ; which, 
 as well as his gestures, seemed to partici- 
 pate and display the unalterable serenity 
 of his intellectual formation. Rarely 
 did he elevate his voice, and never except 
 in subservience to the dictates of his judg- 
 ment, with a view to produce a correspond- 
 ing effect on his audience. Yet he was 
 always heard, generally listened to with 
 eagerness, and could obtain a hearing at 
 almost any hour. Burke, who wanted 
 Sheridan's nice tact, and his amenity of 
 manner, was continually coughed down; 
 and on those occasions lost his temper. 
 Even Fox often tired the House by the 
 repetitions which he introduced into his 
 speeches. Sheridan never abused their 
 patience. Whenever he rose they antici- 
 pated a rich repast of wit without 
 acrimony, seasoned by allusions and cita- 
 tions the most delicate yet obvious in their 
 application. — Wraxall, Sir Nathaniel 
 William, 1784-1836, Posthumous Mem- 
 oirs of His Own Time. 
 
 The most deliberate criticism must allow 
 his eloquence to be distinguished by strong 
 sense and brilliant wit ; by a vigour of ar- 
 gument not too ingenious for business, nor 
 too subtle for conviction ; by a great com- 
 mand of pure English words, and by a 
 vivid power of imagination in those pas- 
 sages which aimed at grandeur and pathos, 
 though they must be owned to be too 
 artificial and ostentatious to produce the 
 highest effect, and to be approved by a 
 severe taste. — Mackintosh, Sir James, 
 1812, Journal, Feb. 7 ; Memoir s, ed. Mack- 
 intosh, vol. II, p. 204. 
 
 From the charm' d council to the festive 
 board, 
 
 Of human feelings the unbounded lord ; 
 In whose acclaim the loftiest voices vied, 
 The praised — the proud — who made his praise 
 
 their pride. 
 When the loud cry of trampled Hindostan 
 Arose to Heaven in her appeal from man, 
 His was the thunder — his the avenging rod, 
 The wrath — the delegated voice of God ! 
 Which shook the nations through his lips — 
 
 and blazed 
 
 Till vanquish' d senates trembled as they 
 praised. 
 
 — Byron, Lord, 1816, Monody on the 
 
 Death of the Rt. Hon. R. B. Sheridan, 
 Spoken at Drury-Lane Theatre. 
 
 His reputation as an orator may be said 
 to rest substantially on his two speeches 
 against Mr. Warren Hastings ; and it unfor- 
 tunately happens,as we have already hinted, 
 that both of these are miserably reported 
 in the parliamentary debates. When he 
 delivered those far-famed philippics, he 
 was a new man in St. Stephens' — the ex- 
 tent of his genius and the truth of his 
 character were yet to be developed ; and 
 we must be permitted to doubt whether, if 
 he had spoken the same words a few years 
 later, the world would ever have heard so 
 much about the matter. — Croker, John 
 Wilson, 1826, Memoirs oj Sheridan, Quar- 
 terly Review, vol. 33, p. 593. 
 
 His most celebrated speech was certainly 
 the one upon the ''Begum Charge" in the 
 proceedings against Hastings ; and nothing 
 can exceed the accounts left us of its un- 
 precedented success. ... All men 
 on all sides vied with each other in ex- 
 tolling so wonderful a performance. 
 Nevertheless, the opinion has now become 
 greatly prevalent that a portion of this suc- 
 cess was owing to the speech having so 
 greatly surpassed all the speaker's former 
 efforts; to the extreme interest of the 
 topics which the subject naturally pre- 
 sented, and to the artist-like elaboration 
 and beautiful delivery of certain fine pas- 
 sages, rather than to the merits of the 
 whole. Certain it is, that the repetition of 
 great part of it, presented in the short-hand 
 notes of the speech on the same charge 
 in Westminster Hall, disappoints every 
 reader who has heard of the success of the 
 earlier effort. In truth, Mr. Sheridan's taste 
 was very far from being chaste, or even 
 moderately correct ; he delighted in gaudy 
 figures; he was attracted by glare, and 
 cared not whether the brilliancy came 
 from tinsel or gold, from broken glass or 
 pure diamond; he overlaid his thoughts 
 with epigrammatic diction ; he ''played to 
 the galleries," and indulged them, of 
 course, with an endless succession of clap- 
 traps. His worst passages by far were 
 those which he evidently preferred himself. 
 —Brougham, Henry Lord, 1839-43, Lii;es 
 of Statesmen of the Time of George III. 
 
 The charge touching the spoliation of 
 the Begums was brought forward by Sheri- 
 dan, in a speech which was so imperfectly 
 reported that it may be said to be wholly 
 
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 601 
 
 lost; but which was, without doubt, the 
 most elaborately brilliant of all the pro- 
 ductions of his ingenious mind. The im- 
 pression which it produced was such as has 
 never been equalled. He sat down, not 
 merely amidst cheering, but amidst the 
 loud clapping of hands, in which the Lords 
 below the bar, and the strangers in the 
 gallery, joined. The excitement of the 
 House was such that no other speaker 
 could obtain a hearing, and the debate was 
 adjourned. The impression made by this 
 remarkable display of eloquence on severe 
 and experienced critics, whose discernment 
 may be supposed to have been quickened 
 by emulation, was deep and permanent. 
 Mr. Windham, twenty years later, said 
 that the speech deserved all its fame, and 
 was, in spite of some faults of taste, such 
 as were seldom wanting either in the liter- 
 ary or in the parliamentary performances 
 of Sheridan, the greatest that had been 
 delivered within the memory of man. Mr. 
 Fox, about the same time, being asked by 
 the late Lord Holland what was the best 
 speech ever made in the House of Com- 
 mons, assigned the first place, without 
 hesitation, to the great oration of Sheridan 
 on the Oude charge. — Mac aula Y, Thomas 
 Babington, 1841, Warren Hastings, Crit- 
 ical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 There was, undoubtedly, some bombast 
 in Mr. Sheridan's speeches; but they 
 were marked by glowing eloquence, and not 
 unfrequently by brilliant wit. Although 
 some of his jokes were the result of great 
 study, yet, as they were perfect in their 
 kind, and that kind of the very highest, 
 we may forgive the labour. Few men have 
 possessed the power to make such a speech 
 as that which dazzled the House of Com- 
 mons on the Begum Charge; few ever 
 wrote so good a comedy as "The School 
 for Scandal." It is melancholy to reflect 
 that the possessor of such talents should, 
 as it were in mere wantonness, have 
 thrown away the influence which he was so 
 well qualified to exercise over the destiny 
 of his country. — Russell, Lord John, 
 1853, ed., Memoirs, Journal and Corre- 
 spondence of Thomas Moore, vol. ii, p. 187, 
 note. 
 
 Sheridan, like Whitefield, was a great 
 rhetorician, not a great orator. — Dicey, 
 A. v., 1884, Sheridan, The Nation, vol. 
 39, p. 137. 
 
 He cannot be called a classic orator. 
 
 His oriental exuberance of imagination is 
 Asiatic rather than Greek. With a Celtic 
 intellect that was always in extremes, 
 joined to a native sense of humor he could 
 not be reckoned with the grand orators of 
 the Demosthenean type. Impetuous and 
 heedless he plunged into the very errors 
 he was quick to detect and expose. But for 
 conjouring up a storm of eloquence that 
 should bear his' hearers away from their 
 sober sense, stirring their emotions and 
 moving their will his magnetic and impul- 
 sive oratory was surpassed by none and 
 equalled by fevv^.— Sears, Lorenzo, 1895, 
 The History of Oratory, p. 295. 
 
 THE RIVALS 
 
 1775 
 
 I prefer Sheridan's ''Rivals" to his 
 ''School for Scandal:" exquisite humour 
 pleases me more than the finest wit. — 
 Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollections of 
 Table-Talk. 
 
 In such a play as "The Rivals" the 
 reader is kept in a state of continual 
 hilarious delight by a profusion of sallies, 
 rejoinders, blunders, contrasts, which 
 seem to exhaust all the resources of the 
 ludicrous. Mrs. Malaprop's "parts of 
 speech" will raise the laughter of unborn 
 generations, and the choleric generous old 
 father will never find a more perfect repre- 
 sentative than Sir Anthony Absolute. — 
 Arnold, Thomas, 1868-75, Chaucer to 
 Wordsworth, p. 371. 
 
 After the lapse of a hundred years, 
 "The Rivals" still remains, next to its 
 author's greater work, the most popular 
 comedy of the last century. — Baker, H. 
 Barton, 1878, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, 
 Gentleman's Magazine, vol. 243, p. 308. 
 
 "The Rivals" is artificial comedy, in- 
 clining on one side to farce, and, in the 
 parts of Falkland and Julia, to the senti- 
 mental. But it is, on its own rather 
 artificial plan, constructed with remark- 
 able skill and tightness ; and the characters 
 of Sir Anthony Absolute, Mrs. Malaprop, 
 Sir Lucius O'Trigger, and Bob Acres, with 
 almost all the rest, combine fun with at 
 least theatrical verisimilitude in a very 
 rare way. Indeed, Sir Anthony and Mrs. 
 Malaprop, though heightened from life, 
 can hardly be said to be false to it, and 
 though in the other pair the license of 
 dramatic exaggeration is pushed to its 
 farthest, it is not exceeded. The effect 
 
602 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 could not have been produced without the 
 sparkling dialogue, but this alone could 
 not have given it.— Saintsbury, George, 
 1898, A Short History of English Litera- 
 ture, p. 641. 
 
 ''The Rivals," from the date of its first 
 night's failure, has neither merited nor 
 enjoyed a like measure of success as, 
 throughout the world, has followed the 
 ''School for Scandal;" while I venture to 
 think the incidents of the comedy are too 
 fragile and farcical to bear such elaborate 
 scenic treatment as we endeavoured to 
 depict of last-century life, when Beau 
 Nash reigned in the pumproom at Bath. — 
 Bancroft, Sir Squire Bancroft, 1896, 
 Sheridan, A Biography by Rae, vol. ii, 
 p. 321. 
 
 THE DUENNA 
 
 1775 
 
 This drama has a charm for the public 
 beyond its own intrinsic worth — it was 
 written by Richard Brinsley Sheridan. If 
 that name has no power over the reader's 
 imagination, so as to give to every sentence 
 a degree of interest, let him throw aside 
 the book, and forbear to seek after literary 
 pleasures, for he has not the taste to en- 
 joy them. Although "The Duenna's" 
 highest claim to notice depends, now, upon 
 the reputation of its author, yet the author 
 was first indebted to "The Duenna" for 
 the honour of ranking among poets, and of 
 receiving from the fashionable world all 
 those animating caresses, so dear to a 
 poet's heart. . . . Divested of all 
 adventitious aid, the value of the opera 
 consists in the beautiful poetry of many 
 of the songs ; for though it is a production 
 of much ingenuity and skill, it does not 
 give a presage, either in wit or incident, 
 of such a work, from the same hand, as 
 "The School for Scandal." — Inchbald, 
 Mrs. Elizabeth, 1806-9, The British 
 Theatre, vol. ii. 
 
 The "Duenna" is a perfect work of art. 
 It has the utmost sweetness and point. . 
 The plot, the characters, the dialogue, 
 are all complete in themselves, and they 
 are all his own ; and the songs are the best 
 that ever were written, except those in 
 the "Beggar's Opera." They have a joy- 
 ous spirit of intoxication in them, and a 
 strain of the most melting tenderness. — 
 Hazlitt, William, 1818, Lectures on the 
 English Comic Writers, Lecture viii. 
 
 One of the very few operas in our 
 
 language, which combines the merits of 
 legitimate comedy with the attractions of 
 poetry and song.— Moore, Thomas, 1825, 
 Memoirs of the Life of the Right Honour- 
 able Richard Brinsley Sheridan, vol. i, 
 p. 169. 
 
 The "Duenna" is partly a pasticcio, con- 
 sisting of original music mingled with 
 popular airs, glees, &c., adapted to new 
 words; and it appears from the above 
 passages in Sheridan's letters, that he 
 himself had a hand in the selection and 
 adaptation of the old music. Several of 
 the original pieces were contributed by 
 Thomas Linley, the composer's eldest son. 
 These were, the overture; the songs, 
 "Could I each fault remember," "Friend- 
 ship is the bond of reason," and "Sharp 
 is the woe ;" the duet, "Turn thee round, 
 I pray thee ;" and the trio which concludes 
 the first act. These are all charming 
 things, and do honour to the genius of a 
 young musician, who, but for his untimely 
 fate, would undoubtedly have achieved the 
 highest triumphs in his art. — Hogarth, 
 George, 1838, Memoirs of the Musical 
 Drama, vol. ii, p. 433. 
 
 The songs in his opera of the "Duenna" 
 are as superior to the productions of the 
 century before, as they are inferior to 
 those of the Elizabethan age. They have 
 the sharpness and the grace of a fine in- 
 taglio: Ovid might have been proud of 
 them: they have as much tenderness as 
 the best portions of his "Amores," and 
 the tour de malice of his epigrammatic 
 couplets. If Sheridan had turned his at- 
 tention to the writing of lyrical dramas. 
 Gay would have had a formidable rival for 
 his "Beggar's Opera."— Donne, William 
 BoDHAM, 1854-58, Essays on the Drama, 
 p. 117. 
 
 Not only in the drawing of character, 
 but also in dialogue, is "The Duenna" in- 
 ferior to Sheridan's better-known plays. 
 In spite of all its brightness and lightness, 
 it is impossible not to acknowledge that it 
 does not contain his best work. It has 
 few specimens of the recondite wit and 
 quaint fancy which make "The School for 
 Scandal" so brilliant and unequalled a 
 comedy. If Sheridan's wit, like quick- 
 silver, is always glistening, perhaps at 
 times, like mercury it seems a little heavy. 
 Now and again the dialogue vies in sparkle 
 and point with the talk of its author's 
 other plays, but not as often as might be 
 
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 603 
 
 wished.— Matthews, Brander, 1880, 
 Pinafore's" Predecessor, Harpefs Maga- 
 zine, vol. 60, p, 504. 
 
 A lyric poet of somewhat limited 
 powers.— Crawfurd, Oswald, 1896, ed.. 
 Lyrical Verse from Elizabeth to Victoria, 
 p. 434, note. 
 
 With the progress of musical composi- 
 tions, especially in connexion with the 
 Drama, ''The Duenna," greatly admired 
 as it was on its first production, passed 
 out of fashion ; and in spite of the simplic- 
 ity and the charm of many of the melodies 
 composed for the work by Linley, in spite, 
 above all, of the ingenuity, wit and humour 
 of the piece, it may be doubted whether 
 Sheridan's ''Duenna," will ever be played 
 again in its original form. ... A 
 justly admired composer of our time, Mr. 
 J. L. Roeckel, has set to music Sheridan's 
 ancient opera-book with such lyrical addi- 
 tions as the taste and fashion of the day 
 seemed to render necessary, but with no 
 change whatever in the origihal dialogue, 
 and "The Duenna" with music by Roeckel 
 will probably supersede "The Duenna" 
 with music by Linley, just as the operatic 
 version of Beaumarchais' "Barber of 
 Seville" with music by Rossini has dis- 
 placed the older operatic version of the 
 same work with music by Paisiello. — ■ 
 Edwards, Sutherland, 1896, Sheridan, 
 A Biography by Rae, vol. I, p. 305. 
 
 SCHOOL FOR SCANDAL 
 
 1777 
 
 How is the Saint to-day ? A gentleman 
 who is as mad as myself about y^ School 
 remark' d, that the characters upon the 
 stage at y^ falling of the screen stand too 
 long before they speak ; — I thought so too 
 y^ first night : — he said it was the same 
 on y^ 2""^, and was remark'd by others ; — 
 tho' they should be astonish'd, and a little 
 petrify'd, yet it may be carry'd to too 
 great a length. — All praise at Lord 
 Lucan's last night. — Garrick, David, 
 1777, Letter to Mr. Sheridan, May 12. 
 
 I have seen Sheridan's new comedy, and 
 liked it much better than any I have seen 
 since "The Provoked Husband." There 
 is a great deal of wit and good situations ; 
 but it is too long, has two or three bad 
 scenes that might easily be omitted, and 
 seemed to me to want nature and truth of 
 character ; but I have not read it, and sat 
 too high to hear it well. — Walpole, 
 
 Horace, 1778, To Rev. Wm. Mason, May 
 16; Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. vn, 
 p. 67. 
 
 The "School for Scandal" is, if not the 
 most original, perhaps the most finished 
 and faultless comedy which we have. 
 When it is acted you hear people all around 
 you exclaiming: "Surely it is impossible 
 for anything to be cleverer." The scene 
 in which Charles sells all the old family 
 pictures but his uncle's, who is the pur- 
 chaser in disguise, and that of the dis- 
 covery of Lady Teazle when the screen 
 falls, are among the happiest and most 
 highly wrought that comedy, in its wide 
 and brilliant range, can boast. Besides 
 the wit and ingenuity of this play, there 
 is a genial spirit of frankness and gener- 
 osity about it that relieves the heart as 
 well as clears the lungs. It professes a 
 faith in the natural goodness as well as 
 habitual depravity of human nature. 
 While it strips off the mask of hypocrisy 
 it inspires a confidence between man and 
 man. As often as it is acted it must serve 
 to clear the air of that low, creeping, 
 pestilent fog of cant and mysticism, which 
 threatens to confound every native im- 
 pulse, or honest conviction, in the nauseous 
 belief of a perpetual lie, and the laudable 
 profession of systematic hypocrisy. — 
 Hazlitt, William, 1818, Lectures on the 
 English Comic Writers, Lecture viii. 
 
 Amidst the mortifying circumstances at- 
 tendant upon growing old, it is something 
 to have seen the "School for Scandal" in its 
 glory. This comedy grew out of Congreve 
 and Wycherley, but gathered some allays 
 of the sentimental comedy which followed 
 theirs. It is impossible that it should be 
 now acted, though it continues, at long 
 intervals, to be announced in the bills. 
 Its hero, when Palmer played it at least, 
 was Joseph Surface. When I remember 
 the gay boldness, the graceful solemn 
 plausibility, the measured step, the in- 
 sinuating voice — to express it in a word — 
 the downright acted villainy of the part, so 
 different from the pressure of conscious 
 actual wickedness, — the hypocritical as- 
 sumption of hypocrisy, — which made Jack 
 so deservedly a favourite in that charac- 
 ter, I must needs conclude the present 
 generation of playgoers more virtuous than 
 myself, or more dense. I freely confess 
 that he divided the palm with me with his 
 better brother ; that, in fact, I liked him 
 
604 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 quite as well. . . . You did not believe 
 in Joseph with the same faith with which 
 you believed in Charles. The latter was a 
 pleasant reality, the former a no less 
 pleasant poetical foil to it. The comedy, 
 I have said is incongruous; a mixture 
 of Congreve with sentimental incompati- 
 bilities: the gaiety upon the whole is 
 buoyant ; but it required the consummate 
 art of Palmer to reconcile the discordant 
 elements. — Lamb, Charles, 1824? On 
 the Artificial Comedy of the Last Century. 
 
 The beauties of this Comedy are so uni- 
 versally known and felt, that criticism may 
 be spared the trouble of dwelling upon 
 them very minutely. With but little in- 
 terest in the plot, with no very profound 
 or ingenious development of character, 
 and with a group of personages, not one of 
 whom has any legitimate claims upon either 
 our affection or esteem, it yet, by the ad- 
 mirable skill with which its materials are 
 managed, — the happy contrivance of the 
 situations, at once both natural and strik- 
 ing, — the fine feeling of the ridiculous 
 that smiles throughout, and that perpetual 
 play of wit which never tires, but seems, 
 like running water, to be kept fresh by 
 its own flow, — by all this general anima- 
 tion and effect, combined with a finish of 
 the details almost faultless, it unites the 
 suffrages, at once, of the refined and the 
 simple, and is not less successful in minis- 
 tering to the natural enjoyment of the 
 latter, than is satisfying and delighting the 
 most fastidious tastes among the former. 
 —Moore, Thomas, 1825, Memoirs of the 
 Life of the Right Honourable Richard 
 Brinsley Sheridan, vol. I, p. 245. 
 
 Many of the situations are so exquisitely 
 comic, though a large portion of the piece 
 is passed in talk which does not advance 
 the action, the habit of scandal and tale- 
 bearing is so admirably ridiculed, and the 
 tone of the whole is so brilliant and re- 
 fined, that it is equally delightful when read 
 or when acted.— Shaw, Thomas B., 1847, 
 Outlines of English Literature, p. 404. 
 
 The surpassing merits of the ''School 
 for Scandal" become the more brilliant, 
 the more minutely they are scanned, and 
 the more fairly the faults of the play are 
 in juxtaposition with its beauties. Its 
 merits are not so much to be sought in the 
 saliency of any predominating excellence 
 as in the harmonious combination of great 
 varieties of excellence, in a unity of 
 
 purpose sufficiently philosophical for the 
 intellect of comedy, but not so metaphys- 
 ical as to mar the airy playfulness of comic 
 mirth. The satire it conveys is directed, 
 not to rare and exceptional oddities in vice 
 or folly, but to attributes of human society 
 which universally furnish the materials 
 and justify the ridicule of satire. It is 
 one of the beauties of this great drama, 
 that its moral purpose is not rigidly nar- 
 rowed into the mere illustration of a 
 maxim — that the outward plot is indeed 
 carried on by personages who only very 
 indirectly serve to work out the interior 
 moral. — Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lord, 
 1863-68, Caxtoniana, Miscellaneous Prose 
 Works, vol. HI, p. 457. 
 
 Seems fairly to deserve the character 
 generally given to it of being the most per- 
 fect comedy which has been composed 
 since the time of Shakespeare. . . . 
 The justice of the general verdict of its 
 pre-eminent excellence is sufficiently con- 
 firmed by its remaining undisturbed after 
 the lapse of little less than a century. — 
 YoNGE, Charles Duke, 1872, Three Cen- 
 turies of English Literature, p. 78. 
 
 Is perhaps the best existing English 
 comedy of intrigue. — GossE, Edmund, 
 1888, A History of Eighteenth Century 
 Literature, p. 337. 
 
 Since the ''School for ScandaF' no Eng- 
 lish drama has been produced which has 
 anything like the same hold on the stage. 
 — Harrison, Frederic, 1894, Early Vic- 
 torian Literature, p. 21. 
 
 Sheridan is not of course to be likened 
 to Moliere : the Frenchman had a depth and 
 a power to which the Irishman could not 
 pretend. But a comparison with Beaumar- 
 chais is fair enough, and it can be drawn 
 only in favor of Sheridan ; for brilliant as 
 the "Marriage of Figaro" is, it lacks the 
 solid structure and the broad outlook of 
 the "School for Scandal." Both the 
 French wit and the Irish are masters of 
 fence, and the dialogue of these comedies 
 still scintillates as steel crosses steel. 
 Neither of them put much heart into his 
 plays; and perhaps the "School for Scan- 
 dal" is even more artificial than the "Mar- 
 riage of Figaro," — but it is wholly free 
 from the declamatory shrillness which to- 
 day mars the masterpiece of Beaumar- 
 chais. — Matthews, Brander, 1897, Li- 
 brary of the World's Best Literature^ ed. 
 Warner, vol. xxiii, p. 13320. 
 
^ ^ RICHARD BRIK 
 
 THE CRITIC 
 
 177<J-81 
 
 I have read Sheridan's Critic," but, 
 not having seen it, for they say it is admira- 
 bly acted, it appeared wondrously flat and 
 old, and a poor imitation: it makes me 
 fear I shall not be so much charmed with 
 *'The School for Scandal" on reading, as 
 I was when I saw it. — Walpole, Horace, 
 1779, To Rev. Wm. Mason, Dec, 11 ; Let- 
 ter ed. Cunningham, vol. vii, p. 291. 
 
 In some of its most admired passages 
 little better than an exquisite cento of the 
 wit of the satirists before him. Sheridan 
 must have felt himself emphatically at 
 home in a production of this kind, for 
 there was every call in it upon the powers 
 he abounded in, — wit, banter, and style, 
 — and none upon his good nature. — Hunt, 
 Leigh, 1841, ed. Sheridan's Dramatic 
 Works, Critical Sketch. 
 
 Sir Fretful, between his twatormenters, 
 and the cheerful bustle and assured con- 
 fidence of Mr. Puff, have held their ground 
 when hundreds of sensational dramas have 
 drooped and died. Never was a more 
 wonderful literary feat. The art of puffing 
 has been carried to a perfection unsus- 
 pected by Mr. Puff, and not one person in 
 a thousand has the most remote idea who 
 Cumberland was; but ''The Critic" is as 
 delightful as ever, and we listen to the 
 gentlemen talking with as much relish as 
 our grandfathers did. Nay, the simpJest- 
 minded audience, innocent of literature, 
 and perhaps not very sure what it all 
 means, will still answer to the touch and 
 laugh till they cry over the poor author's 
 wounded vanity and the woes of Tilburina. 
 Shakspeare, it is evident, found the ma- 
 chinery cumbrous, and gave up the idea 
 of making Sly and his mockers watch the 
 progress of the ''Taming of the Shrew," 
 and Beaumont and Fletcher lose our in- 
 terest altogether in their long-drawn-out 
 by-play, though the first idea of it is 
 comical in the highest degree. Nor could 
 Fielding keep the stage with his oft- 
 repeated efforts, notwithstanding the wit 
 and point of many of his dialogues. But 
 Sheridan at last, after so many attempts, 
 found out the right vein. — Oliphant, 
 Margaret 0. W., 1883, Sheridan (Eng- 
 lish Men of Letters), p. 97. 
 
 "The Critic" is perhaps the highest 
 proof of Sheridan's skill as a dramatist, 
 for in it he has worked out, with perfect 
 
 LEY SHERIDAN 605 
 
 success for all time, a theme which, often 
 as it has been attempted, no other dram- 
 atist has ever succeeded in redeeming 
 from tedious circumstantiality and ephem- 
 eral personalities. The laughable infirmi- 
 ties of all classes connected with the stage, 
 — authors, actors, patrons, and audience, 
 — are touched off with the lightest of 
 hands ; the fun is directed, not at individ- 
 uals, but at absurdities that grow out of 
 the circumstances of the stage as naturally 
 and inevitably as weeds in a garden. — 
 MiNTO, William, 1886, Encyclopcedia Bri- 
 tannica. Ninth edition, vol. xxi, p. 835, 
 GENERAL 
 
 At the same age with Congreve, he com- ' 
 posed comedies of similar, and one of 
 almost equal, merit : like his great master, 
 he neglected incident and character, and 
 sought only brilliancy of dialogue : what 
 he sought, he attained, even to excess ; and 
 his wit was fertile enough to betray him 
 into the splendid fault of rendering his 
 dialogue more dazzling and poignant than 
 suited his own personages, or, indeed, any 
 human conversation. — Mackintosji, Sir 
 James, 1812, Journal, Feb. 7; Memoirs, 
 ed. Mackintosh, vol. ii, p. 203. 
 
 Lord Holland told me a curious piece of 
 sentimentality in Sheridan. The other 
 night we were all delivering our respective 
 and various opinions on him and other 
 hommes marquans, and mine was this: 
 "What ever Sheridan has done or chosen 
 to do has been, par excellence, always the 
 best of its kind. He has written the best 
 comedy ('School for Scandal'), the best 
 drama (in my mind, far before that St. 
 Giles's lampoon, 'The Beggar's Opera,') 
 the best farce ('the Critic' — it is only too 
 good for a farce), and the best Address 
 ('Monologue on Garrick'), and, to crown 
 all, delivered the very best Oration (the 
 famous Begum Speech) ever conceived or 
 heard in this country." Somebody 
 told S. this the next day, and on hearing 
 it he burst into tears ! Poor Brinsley ! if 
 they were tears of pleasure, I would rather 
 have said these few, but most sincere, words 
 than have written the Iliad or made his 
 own celebrated Philippic. Nay, his own 
 comedy never gratified me more than to 
 hear that he had derived a moment's 
 gratification from any praise of mine, 
 humble as it must appear to "my elders 
 and my betters."— Byron, Lord, 1813, 
 Journal, Dec. 17, 18. 
 
606 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 V 
 
 The comedy of the fourth period is 
 chiefly remarkable for exhibiting "The 
 Rivals" and ''The School for Scandal." 
 Critics prefer the latter ; while the general 
 audience reap, perhaps, more pleasure 
 from the former, the pleasantry being of 
 a more general cast, the incident more 
 complicated and varied, and the whole plot 
 more interesting. In both these plays, the 
 gentlemanlike ease of Farquhar is united 
 with the wit of Congreve. Indeed, the 
 wit of Sheridan, though equally brilliant 
 with that of his celebrated predecessor, 
 flows so easily, and is so happily elicited 
 by the tone of the dialogue, that in admir- 
 ing its sparkles, we never once observe the 
 stroke of the flint which produces them. 
 Wit and pleasantry seemed to be the 
 natural atmosphere of this extraordinary 
 man, whose history was at once so bril- 
 liant and so melancholy. — Scott, Sir 
 Walter, 1814-23, The Drama, 
 
 There is too much merely ornamental 
 dialogue, and, with some very fine rhetor- 
 ical situations, too much intermission in the 
 action and business of the play ; and, above 
 all, th&re is too little real warmth of feel- 
 ing, and too few indications of noble or 
 serious passion, thoroughly to satisfy the 
 wants of English readers and spectators — 
 even in a comedy. Their wit [that of 
 ''The Rivals" and "The School for Scan- 
 dal"] is the best of them. —Jeffrey, 
 Francis Lord, 1826, Moore's Life of 
 Sheridan, Edinburgh Review^ vol, 45, p, 7. 
 
 The dramas of Sheridan . . . have 
 placed him at the head of the genteel 
 comedy of England ; and while truth of 
 character and manners, chastised brilliancy 
 of wit, humour devoid of the least stain of 
 coarseness, exquisite knowledge of stage- 
 effect, and consummate ease and elegance 
 of idiomatic language are appreciated, 
 there can be no doubt that the name of 
 Sheridan will maintain its place. — Cro- 
 KER, John Wilson, 1826, Memoirs of 
 Sheridan, Quarterly Review, vol. 33,^9.592. 
 
 No writers have injured the Comedy of 
 England so deeply as Congreve and Sheri- 
 dan. Both were men of splendid wit and 
 polished taste. Unhappily they made all 
 their characters in their own likeness. 
 Their works bear the same relation to the 
 legitimate drama which a transparency 
 bears to a painting ; no delicate touches ; 
 no hues imperceptibly fading into each 
 other; the whole is lighted up with a 
 
 universal glare. Outlines and tints are for- 
 gotten, in the common blaze which illumi- 
 nates all. The flowers and fruits of the 
 intellect abound ; but it is the abundance 
 of a jungle, not of a garden — unwholesome, 
 bewildering, unprofitable from its very 
 plenty, rank from its very fragrance. 
 Every fop, every boor, every valet is a man 
 of wit. The very butts and dupes. Tattle, 
 Urkwould, Puff, Acres, outshine the whole 
 Hotel de Rambouillet. To prove the whole 
 system of this school absurd, it is only 
 necessary to apply the test which dissolved 
 the enchanted Florimel — to place the true 
 by the false Thalia, to contrast the most 
 celebrated characters which have been 
 drawn by the writers of whom we speak, 
 with the Bastard in King John, or the 
 Nurse in Romeo and Juliet. — Macaulay, 
 Thomas Babington, 1827, Machiavelli 
 Edinburgh Review, Critical and Miscella- 
 neous Essays, 
 
 Sheridan is, indeed, a golden link which 
 connects us with the Author j of better 
 days. He has wit ; pure, polished, genuine 
 wit. He has humour; not, perhaps, of 
 quite so pure an order, a little forced and 
 overstrained, but its root is in Nature, 
 whatever aberrations it may spread into in 
 its branches. His dialogue is of matchless 
 brilliancy ; so brilliant as to enchain the 
 attention, and to blind us to the grand 
 defect of his Plays, their want of action, 
 and'Of what is technically called, business. 
 This defect alone shuts out Sheridan from 
 taking his place by the side of the elder 
 Dramatists, and assigns him his situation 
 a step lower among the writers of the age 
 of Charles. He is, however, free from 
 their impurities of thought and language ; 
 their equal in wit, and their superior in 
 genuine humour. — Neele, Henry, 1827- 
 29, Lectures on English Poetry , p. 155. 
 
 Sheridan's defects as a dramatist answer 
 to the defects of his mind and character. 
 Acute in observing external appearance^ 
 and well informed in what rakes and men 
 of fashion call life, he was essentially 
 superficial in mind and heart. A man of 
 great wit and fancy, he was singularly 
 deficient in the deeper powers of humor 
 and imagination. All his plays lack or- 
 ganic life. In plot, character, and inci- 
 dent, they are framed by mechanical, not 
 conceived by vital, processes. They evince 
 no genial enjoyment of mirth, no insight 
 into the deeper springs of the ludicrous. 
 
RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 607 
 
 The laughter they provoke is the laughter 
 of antipathy, not of sympathy. It is wit 
 detecting external inconsistencies and 
 oddities, not humor representing them in 
 connection with the inward constitution 
 whence they spring. — Whipple, Edwin 
 P., 1848, Essays and Reviews^ vol. Ii, 
 p. 306. 
 
 The close of the last century gave birth 
 to the finest prose comedy in the English, 
 or perhaps any other language. In ab- 
 stract wit, Congreve equals, and, in the 
 opinion of some critics, even surpasses, 
 Sheridan ; but Congreve's wit is disagree- 
 ably cynical ; Sheridan's wit has the divine 
 gift of the Graces — charm. The smile it 
 brings to our lips is easy and cordial ; the 
 smile which Congreve brings forth is 
 forced and sardonic. In what is called vis 
 comica, Farquhar, it is true, excels Sheri- 
 dan by the rush of his animal spirits, by 
 his own hearty relish of the mirth he 
 creates. Sheridan's smile, though more 
 polished th n Farquhar's, has not less 
 ease; but his laugh, though as genuine, 
 has not the same lusty ring. It is scarcely 
 necessary, however, to point out Sheri- 
 dan's superiority to Farquhar in the 
 quality of the mirth excited. If in him 
 the vis comica has not the same muscular 
 strength, it has infinitely more elegance 
 of movement, and far more disciplined 
 skill in the finer weapons at its command ; 
 and whatever comparison may be drawn 
 between the general powers of Sheridan 
 for comic composition and those of Far- 
 quhar and Congreve, neither of the two 
 last-named has produced a single comedy 
 which can be compared to the School for 
 Scandal . " — L ytton, Edward Bulwer 
 Lord, 1863-68, Caxtoniana, Miscellaneous 
 Prose Works, vol. iii, p. 454. 
 
 His comedies were comedies of society, 
 the most amusing ever written, but merely 
 comedies of society. — Taine, H. A., 1871, 
 History of English Literature, tr. Van 
 Laun, vol. i, bk. iii, ch. i, p. 526. 
 
 Sheridan's Irish birth and Celtic tem- 
 perament must be largely credited with the 
 brightness and permanent attractiveness 
 of his plays.— Arnold, Thomas, 1878, 
 English Literature, Encyclopcedia Britan- 
 nica, Ninth edition. 
 
 His comedies are a continual running 
 fire of wit ; not true to nature and utterly 
 destitute of that highest kind of humour 
 which approaches pathos, but full of happy 
 
 turns of expression and admirably con- 
 structed with a view to stage representa- 
 tion. He is the last of our playwriters 
 who have produced works both excellent 
 as literature and also good acting dramas. 
 NicoLL, Henry J., 1882, Landmarks of 
 English Literature, p. 152. 
 
 He had a fit of writing, a fit of oratory, 
 but no impulse to keep him in either path 
 long enough to make anything more than 
 the dazzling but evanescent triumph of a 
 day. His harvest was like a Southern 
 harvest, over early, while it was yet but 
 May ; but he sowed no seed for a second 
 ingathering, nor was there any growth or 
 richness left in the soon exhausted soil. — ■ 
 Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1883, Sher- 
 idan (English Men of Letters), p. 199. 
 
 Sheridan's was a brilliant, shallow intel- 
 lect, a shifty, selfish nature ; his one great 
 quality, his one great element of success 
 as a dramatist, as an orator and as a man, 
 was mastery of effect. His tact was ex- 
 quisitely nice and fine. He knew how to 
 say and how to do the right thing, at the 
 right time, in the right way. This was 
 the sum of him; there was no more. 
 Without wisdom, without any real insight 
 into the human heart, without imagina- 
 tion, with a flimsy semblance of fancy, 
 entirely devoid of true poetic feeling, even 
 of the humblest order, incapable of philo- 
 sophic reflection, never rising morally 
 above the satirizing of the fashionable 
 vices and follies of his day, to him the 
 doors of the great theatre of human life 
 were firmly closed. His mind flitted lightly 
 over the surface of society, now casting a 
 reflection of himself upon it, now making 
 it sparkle and ripple with a touch of his 
 flashing wing. He was a surface man, and 
 the name of the two chief agents in the 
 plot of his principal comedy is so suitable 
 to him as well as to their characters, that 
 the choice of it would seem to have been 
 instinctive and intuitive. He united the 
 qualities of his Charles and Joseph Sur- 
 face ; having the wit, the charming man- 
 ner, the careless good-nature of the one, 
 with at least a capacity of the selfishess, 
 the duplicity, the crafty design, but with- 
 out the mischief and the malice, of the 
 other.— White, Richard Grant, 1883, 
 ed.y The Dramatic Works of Richard 
 Brinsley Sheridan, Introduction. 
 
 Compared even with Congreve himself, 
 he stands high as a dialoguist, for though 
 
608 
 
 RICHARD BRINSLEY SHERIDAN 
 
 his wit is not quite so keen or so nimble, 
 or his style quite so polished, his epigrams 
 and jests seem to grow more naturally and 
 unforcedly out of the circumstances of the 
 play ; his geniality, too, is much greater, 
 and is contagious. After a play of Sheri- 
 dan's we feel on better terms with human 
 nature. His plots are admirable — not 
 solutions of any of the problems of social 
 life as, according to some critics, comedies 
 should be, but easy, pleasant, and fluent, 
 and full, as such ease and pleasantness 
 implies, of much concealed art. The spirit 
 of Sheridan's plays is so thoroughly 
 modern, they are salted with so good and 
 true a wit, have so much of honest stage- 
 craft in them, and are so full of a humour 
 which is wholly that of the present period, 
 that a play of his adequately put upon the 
 stage will hold its own to this day trium- 
 phantly against the most successful of mod- 
 ern pieces.— Crawfurd, Oswald, 1883, 
 sd., English Comic Dramatists, p. 262. 
 
 There is more freedom, more freshness 
 of impulse, more kindness, more joy, more 
 nature in "The Rivals" than there is in the 
 
 School for Scandal;" but both are arti- 
 ficial ; both reflect, in a mirror of artistic 
 exaggeration, the hollow, feverish, cere- 
 monious, bespangled, glittering, heart- 
 breaking fashionable world, in which their 
 author's mind was developed and in which 
 they were created. The ' ' School for Scan- 
 dal," indeed, is completely saturated with 
 artificiality, and the fact that it was in- 
 tended to satirise and rebuke the faults of 
 an insincere, scandal-mongering society 
 does not — and was not meant to — modify 
 that pervasive and predominant element of 
 its character. — Winter, William, 1892, 
 Old Shrines and Ivy, p. 225. 
 
 His wit was an incessant flame. — He 
 sometimes displayed a kind of serious and 
 elegant playfulness, not apparently arising 
 to wit, but unobservedly saturated with it, 
 which was unspeakably pleasing. — His 
 wit is the wit of common sense. — Grace 
 of manner, charm of voice, fluency of 
 language, and, above all, a brilliancy of 
 sarcasm, a wit and a humour ; and again 
 a felicity of statement that made him the 
 delight of every audience and that excited 
 the admiration of his very opponents them- 
 selves. — The wit displayed by Sheridan in 
 Parliament was perhaps, from the suavity 
 of his temper, much less sharp than 
 brilliant. — Jerrold, Walter, 1893, ed., 
 
 Bon-Mots of R. Brinsley Sheridan, Intro- 
 duction, p. 12. 
 
 Can any one see such plays acted, for 
 instance, as Sheridan's, without being 
 forcibly struck by the total absence of 
 spontaneity and the absolute submission to 
 social routine of the average society man 
 and woman of those days. Sheridan's 
 comedies are undoubtedly as true to their 
 times on the one hand as they are to human 
 nature on the other, but the humanity of 
 them is thrown into vivid and strong relief 
 by the artificiality of the elements in the 
 midst of which the chief actors have their 
 being. As for the literature, it is hardly 
 necessary for me to defend the statement 
 that it was conventional. — ^ Crawford, 
 F. Marion, 1893, The Novel, What it is, 
 p. 100. 
 
 The real risk to which ''The School for 
 Scandal" is more and more exposed as the 
 years roll by, is lest it may be found tres- 
 passing on the borderlands of truth and 
 reality, and evoking genuine feeling ; for 
 as soon as it does this, the surroundings 
 must become incongruous and therefore 
 painful. Too long ago, when Miss Ellen 
 Terry used to act Lady Teazle at the 
 Vaudeville with a moving charm still hap- 
 pily hers, I remember hearing behind me a 
 youthful voice full of tears and terror (it 
 was of course when Joseph Surface was 
 making his insidious proposals to Lady 
 Teazle) exclaim, *'0h, mother, I hope she 
 won't yield!" and I then became aware of 
 the proximity of some youthful creature 
 to whom all this comic business (for one 
 knew the screen was soon to fall) was 
 sheer tragedy. It made me a little un- 
 comfortable. To Sheridan, nearer to Con- 
 greve than we are now to Sheridan, it was 
 all pure comedy. We see this from the 
 boisterous laughter with which Charles 
 Surface greets the denouement. Charles 
 was no doubt a rake, but he was not meant 
 to be a heartless rake after the fashion of 
 the Wildairs of an earlier day. Had he 
 not refused five hundred pounds for a 
 trumpery picture of his uncle, for whose 
 fortune he was waiting ? It was all comedy 
 to Sheridan, and if it ever ceases to be all 
 comedy to us, it will be the first blow this 
 triumphant piece has ever received.— 
 Birrell, Augustine, 1896, The School 
 for Scandal and the Rivals, Introduction. 
 
 Sheridan brought the comedy of man- 
 ners to the highest perfection, and ''The 
 
SHERIDAN— FERGUSON 
 
 609 
 
 School for Scandal" remains to this day 
 the most popular comedy in the English 
 language. Some of the characters both 
 in this play and in ''The Rivals" have be- 
 come so closely associated with our current 
 speech that we may fairly regard them as 
 imperishable. No farce of our time has 
 so excellent a chance of immortality as 
 ''The Critic." A playwright of whom 
 these things are commonplaces must have 
 had brilliant qualities for his craft ; but 
 the secret in this case, I think, lies in the 
 pervading humanity of Sheridan's work. 
 That is the only preservative against de- 
 cay. — Irving, Sir Henry, 1896, Sheri- 
 dan, A Biography by Rae, vol. ii, p, 322. 
 
 As a dramatist Sheridan carried the 
 comedy of manners in this country to its 
 highest pitch, and his popularity as a 
 writer for the stage is exceeded by that 
 of Shakespeare alone. — Rae, Fraser, 
 1897, Dictionary of National Biography y 
 vol. Lii, p. 84. 
 
 The fact that Sheridan has held the 
 stage, while his far greater predecessor, 
 Congreve, has disappeared from it, is due 
 to an accident of time. Luckily for 
 Sheridan's permanence, he began to write 
 when that wave of squeamishness and ret- 
 icence in regard to certain things . . . 
 had fairly washed over England. . . . 
 No one who knows them both can doubt 
 that Sheridan helped himself from Con- 
 greve with a generous hand. It is prob- 
 able that he consciously "refined" him : it 
 is certain that he unconsciously vulgarised 
 him. ... In this matter of breeding 
 Sheridan comes off ill. In the more im- 
 portant matter of intellect he comes off 
 
 worse. Epigrams and witty remarks 
 apart, in which Congreve can beat the 
 whole of Sheridan with one act of "The 
 Way of the World," there is a meaning, 
 a thought, in Congreve's characters and 
 oppositions of characters which Sheridan 
 never approaches. In this respect, at 
 least, Sheridan is by far the coarser of the 
 two. . . . Congreve's plays are more 
 genuine comedies than Sheridan's. Sheri- 
 dan had an eye for fantastic accessories 
 and little more in his plays: Congreve 
 was concerned, not primarily perhaps, but 
 because he could not help using his intel- 
 lect and his knowledge of life, with essen- 
 tials of character and human relations. 
 . . . Sheridan, then, is popularly re- 
 garded as the great and permanent ex- 
 emplar of witty old English comedy by an 
 accident. He does not deserve this pre- 
 eminence, which should have been Con- 
 greve's. But he does deserve to hold the 
 stage, and to be revived at the expense of 
 contemporary dramatists. His wit is 
 superficial and intellectually coarse, but 
 there is plenty of it. His characters are 
 rather thin and farcical, but they are dis- 
 tinct and act funnily on one another. A 
 few lapses excepted, he is gay and lively. 
 He has a style and a manner. Above all, 
 he is an ingenious and effective crafts- 
 man, and therefore a good friend and a 
 stimulus to the players. He is a fair task 
 master to them. If they act well, they are 
 sure of their due effect: he does not 
 stultify them with inconsistencies or nega- 
 tions. — Street, G. S., 1900, Sheridan and 
 Mr. Shaw, Blackwood's Magazine, vol. 167, 
 pp. 832, 833, 834. 
 
 Adam Fergnson 
 
 1723-1816 
 
 Philosopher and historian, was born 20th June 1723, at Logierait in Perthshire, 
 where his father was parish minister. He studied at St. Andrews and Edinburgh, and 
 as chaplain to the Black Watch was present at Fontenoy (1745). In 1757 he succeeded 
 David Hume as keeper of the Advocate's Library in Edinburgh, and was next professor, 
 first of Natural Philosophy (1759), and subsequently (1764) of Moral Philosophy. He 
 accompanied the young Earl of Chesterfield (1774) on his travels on the Continent, and 
 acted as secretary to the commission sent out by Lord North to try to arrange the 
 disputes with the North American colonies (1778-79). Ill health compelled him in 
 1785 to resign his professorship, in which he was succeeded by Dugald Stewart. He 
 next travelled on the Continent, then lived at Neidpath Castle, and latterly at St. 
 Andrews, where he died 22nd of February 1816. His works are an "Essay on Civil 
 Society" (1766), "Institutes of Moral Philosophy" (1772), "History of the Roman 
 Republic" (1782; long a standard authority), and "Moral and Political Science" (1792). 
 — Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p. 360. 
 
 39 c 
 
610 
 
 ADAM FERGUSON 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 He had the manners of a man of the 
 world, and the demeanor of a high-bred 
 gentleman, insomuch that his company 
 was much sought after ; for though he con- 
 versed with ease, it was with a dignified 
 reserve. If he had any fault in conversa- 
 tion, it was of a piece with what 1 have 
 said of his temper, for the elevation of his 
 mind prompted him to such sudden transi- 
 tions and dark allusions that it was not 
 always easy to follow him, though he was 
 a very good speaker. He had another 
 talent, unknown to any but his intimates, 
 which was a boundless vein of humour, 
 which he indulged when there were none 
 others present, and which flowed from his 
 pen in every familiar letter he wrote. He 
 had the faults, however, that belonged to 
 that character, for he was apt to be jealous 
 of his rivals, and indignant against assumed 
 superiority. His wife used to say that it 
 was very fortunate that I was so much in 
 Edinburgh, as I was a great peacemaker 
 among them. She did not perceive that 
 her own husband was the most difficult of 
 them all. — Carlyle, Alexander, 1753- 
 56-1860, Autobiography, p. 229. 
 
 His hair was silky and white ; his eyes 
 animated and light-blue; his cheeks 
 sprinkled with broken red, like autumnal 
 apples, but fresh and healthy; his lips 
 thin, and the under one curled. A severe 
 paralytic attack had reduced his animal 
 vitality, though it left no external ap- 
 pearance, and he required considerable 
 artificial heat. His raiment, therefore, 
 consisted of half-boots, lined with fur; 
 cloth breeches; a long cloth waistcoat, 
 with capacious pockets ; a single-breasted 
 coat ; a cloth greatcoat, also lined with fur, 
 and a felt hat, commonly tied by a ribbon 
 below the chin. His boots were black; 
 but, with this exception, the whole cover- 
 ings, including the hat, were of a quaker- 
 gray color, or of a whitish-brown ; and he 
 generally wore the furred greatcoat even 
 within doors. When he walked forth, he 
 used a tall staff, which he commonly held 
 at arm's length out towards the right side ; 
 and his two coats, each buttoned by only 
 the upper button, flowed open below, and 
 exposed the whole of his curious and 
 venerable figure. His gait and air were 
 noble ; his gestures slow ; his look full of 
 dignity and composed fire. He looked like 
 a philosopher from Lapland.— Cockburn, 
 
 Henry Lord, 1830-54, Memorials of his 
 Time, ch. i. 
 
 He was none the less, in affection as 
 well as in character, a thorough Celt, with 
 all the impulsiveness and dash that 
 belonged to the race ; and in later days, 
 when Jacobitism was only a romantic 
 memory, he was wont to delight his friends 
 by his singing of Jacobite songs. Alone 
 amongst the philosophers he spoke the 
 language, and was stirred by the traditions 
 of Gaul, and retained for that race to the 
 end of his life the passionate attachment 
 which it never fails to inspire. . . . 
 Amongst a galaxy of men — none of the 
 first rank in intellect, but all of more than 
 respectable calibre — he has a place all his 
 own. He achieved it partly by his wide 
 and varied experience of life. But it was 
 aided by his Celtic temperament, which 
 gave a freedom and a verve to his specu- 
 lation which was lacking to others of his 
 school. Morality was to him essentially a 
 thing of great deeds upon a great stage. 
 The type he sought for was that of Aris- 
 totle's great-souled man. The subtleties 
 of free thinking would have vexed his soul 
 as much as the subleties of doctrine ; but 
 he was more than any of them — however 
 little he would have avowed it — the type 
 of a purely pagan morality. His stoicism 
 was a picturesque fiction, indeed, and none 
 confessed more frankly than he that in the 
 affairs of ever day life he was nervous and 
 irritable to the last degree. — Craik, Sir 
 Henry, 1901, A Century of Scottish His- 
 tory, vol. II, pp. 210, 216. 
 
 At ninety-three there was still wondrous 
 freshness in the venerable face, with 
 the ribstone-pippin complexion, the mild 
 blue eyes, the soft, humorous mouth, the 
 silvery hair. There was the old mental 
 alertness about everything that was new, 
 and the aged philosopher listened eagerly 
 when the divinity student who attended 
 him read out to him the newspapers. He 
 was a young man when the Rebellion of '45 
 broke out, lived to read the bulletins of the 
 battle of Waterloo. At last, in 1816, he 
 died, his final words as he turned to his 
 daughters by the bedside being the excla- 
 mation of bright assurance: There is 
 another world," and in a few minutes he 
 was gone to see it. One of the best of a 
 brilliant company of literary comrades, he 
 was the last to die. He had seen his old 
 friends pass away one by one, in fame, 
 
ADAM FERGUSON 
 
 611 
 
 honour, and old age. After having lived 
 in the bright old days of Scottish litera- 
 ture, he survived to see with unjealous 
 eyes another brilliant day dawn which 
 should rival the past.— Graham, Henry 
 Grey, 1901, Scottish Men of Letters of the 
 Eighteenth Century, p. 120. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 It was provoking to hear those who 
 were so ready to give loud praises to very 
 shallow and imperfect English productions 
 — to curry favor, as we supposed, with the 
 booskellers and authors concerned, — tak- 
 ing every opportunity to undermine the 
 reputation of Ferguson's book. *'It was 
 not a Roman history," said they (which 
 it did not say it was). **This delineation of 
 the constitution of the republic is well 
 sketched; but for the rest, it is any- 
 thing but history, and then it is so 
 incorrect that it is a perfect shame.'' 
 All his other books met with the same 
 treatment, while, at the same time, there 
 were a few of us who could not re- 
 frain from saying that Ferguson's was the 
 best history of Rome ; that what he had 
 omitted was fabulous or insignificant, and 
 what he had wrote was more profound in 
 research into characters, and gave a more 
 just delineation of them than any book now 
 extant. The same thing was said of his 
 book on Moral Philosophy, which we held to 
 be the book that did the most honor of any 
 to the Scotch philosophers, because it 
 gave the most perfect picture of moral 
 virtues, with all their irresistible attrac- 
 tions. His book on Civil Society ought 
 only to be considered as a college exercise, 
 and yet there is in it a turn of thought and 
 a species of eloquence peculiar to Fergu- 
 son.— Carlyle, Alexander, 1753-56- 
 1860, Autobiography, p. 230. 
 
 Read the first, and half the second, 
 volume, quarto, of Dr. Ferguson's *Trinci- 
 ples of Moral and Political Philosophy." 
 He was Dugald Stewart's predecessor, 
 and, as I attended his lecture, I heard the 
 substance of his book. He has, in some 
 degree, the Scotch fault of expressing 
 common ideas in a technical form. He 
 had adopted the very just, stoical principle, 
 "that the state of the mind is of more im- 
 portance to happiness than outward cir- 
 cumstances;" but he is so entirely and 
 constantly occupied with it, as to forget 
 everything else. There is something not 
 unbecoming a moral teacher in his austere, 
 
 dogmatic, sententious manner ; and he con- 
 templates human life with a cold sternness 
 worthy of those magnanimous moralists 
 whom he professes to follow. ... It is 
 not a pleasing, but it is an improving book ; 
 it elevates the moral sentiments. — Mack- 
 intosh, Sir James, 1812, Journal, April 
 10; Memoirs, ed. Mackintosh, vol. II, pp. 
 243, 244. 
 
 Ferguson's History of the Roman 
 Republic" is not only well written, but 
 meritorious for its researches into the 
 constitution of Rome. — Spalding, Wil- 
 liam, 1852-82, A History of English Lit- 
 erature, p. 347. 
 
 In Roman history, Hooke, the friend of 
 Pope, was first in the field; and to him 
 succeeded Dr. Ferguson, with his dry book 
 on the Roman republic. — Arnold, ThOxMAS, 
 1862-87, A Manual of English Literature, 
 p. 486. 
 
 Ferguson's style and manner are not so 
 subdued as those of the Scottish metaphy- 
 sicians who preceded him. He has more 
 of a leaping mode of composition, as if he 
 had an audience before bim, and is at 
 times eloquent or magniloquent. I have 
 an idea that, as Dugald Stewart drew his 
 philosophy mainly from Reid, so he got his 
 taste for social studies from Ferguson, 
 who may also have helped to give him a 
 livelier style, — the academic dignity, 
 however, being entirely Stewart's own. — 
 McCosh, James, 1874, The Scottish Phi- 
 losophy, p. 260. 
 
 Ferguson's book has the superficial 
 merits which were calculated for the ordi- 
 nary mind. He possessed the secret of 
 that easy gallicised style, which was more 
 or less common to the whole Scott school, 
 including Hume, Robertson, and Adam 
 Smith. He makes elegant and plausible 
 remarks, and the hasty reader does not 
 perceive that the case is gained by the 
 evasion, instead of the solution, of dif- 
 ficulties. Here and there we come across 
 an argument or an illustration which seems 
 to indicate greater acuteness. . . . 
 Ferguson was in politics what Blair was in 
 theology — a facile and dexterous de- 
 claimer, whose rhetoric glides over the 
 surface of things without biting into their 
 substance. He expounds well till he comes 
 to the real difficulty, and then placidly 
 evades the dilemma. — Stephen, Leslie, 
 1876, History of English Thought in the 
 Eighteenth Century, vol. II, p. 215. 
 
612 
 
 FERGUSON— A USTEN 
 
 A work History of the Roman Repub- politics, with a strong leaven of stoicism, 
 lie"] which under the guise of history is — Craik, Sir Henry, 1901, A Century of 
 in truth a series of lectures on ethics and Scottish History^ vol. ii, p, 216. 
 
 Jane Ansten 
 
 1775-1817 
 
 No other English woman of letters ever lived a life so entirely uneventful. . . . 
 Born on the 16th of December, 1775. In the year 1796 and '97, before she was twenty- 
 three years old, she wrote the novel **Pride and Prejuduce;" in 1797, and '98, "Sense 
 and Sensibility," and "Northanger Abbey." These works, however, waited fifteen 
 years for a publisher ; and Jane, who wrote merely for her own amusement, seems to 
 have possessed her soul in patience. In ISOIr^fee-family removed to Bath ; in 1805 the 
 Rev. George Austen died, and they again removed to Southampton. In 1809 they 
 settled at Chawton, Hampshire; and in 1811 Jane was at length enabled to publish 
 **Sense and Sensibility." It was followed in 1813 by Pride and Prejudice." Mans- 
 field Park" appeared in 1814, and "Emma" in 1816. Jane Austen died on the 18th 
 of July, 1817. After her death her early novel "Northanger Abbey," and "Persua- 
 sion," a mature work which has the same mellower quality as "Emma," together with 
 a pathos peculiarly its own, were published. — Cone, Helen Gray, and Gilder, Jean- 
 NETTE L., 1887, Pen-Portraits of Literary Women, vol. i, p. 195. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 There were twenty dances, and I danced 
 them all, and without fatigue. I was glad 
 to find myself capable of dancing so much 
 and with so much satisfaction as I did; 
 from my slender enjoyment of the Ashford 
 balls, I had not thought myself equal to 
 it, but in cold weather and with few 
 couples I fancy I could just as well dance 
 for a week together as for half an hour. 
 — Austen, Jane, 1799, To her Sister, Dec, 
 24 ; Letters, ed. Brabourne. 
 
 A friend of mine, who visits her now, 
 says that she has stiffened into the most 
 perpendicular, precise, taciturn piece of 
 "single blessedness" that ever existed, 
 and that, till * * Pride and Prejudice' ' showed 
 what a precious gem was hidden in that 
 unbending case, she was no more regarded 
 in society than a poker or a fire-screen, or 
 any other thin upright piece of wood or 
 iron that fills its corner in peace and quiet- 
 ness. The case is very different now ; she 
 is still a poker, but a poker of whom every 
 one is afraid. It must be confessed that 
 this silent observation from such an ob- 
 server is rather formidable. . . . After all, 
 I do not know that I can quite vouch for 
 this account, though the friend from whom 
 I received it is truth itself ; but her family 
 connections must render her disagreeable 
 to Miss Austen, since she is the sister-in- 
 law of a gentleman who is at law with Miss 
 A.'s brother for the greater part of his 
 fortune.— MiTFORD, Mary Russell, 1815, 
 
 Letter to Sir Wm- Elford, April 3 ; Life, 
 ed. UEstrange. 
 
 I remember Jane Austen, the novelist, a 
 little child. . . . When I knew Jane 
 Austen, I never suspected that she was an 
 authoress ; but my eyes told me she was 
 fair and handsome, slight and elegant, but 
 with cheeks a little too full. The last 
 time I think that I saw her was at Rams- 
 gate in 1803 : perhaps she was then about 
 twenty-seven years old. Even then I did 
 not know she was addicted to literary com- 
 position.— Br ydges. Sir Samuel Eger- 
 TON, 1834, Autobiography, vol. ii, p. 41. 
 
 In person she was very attractive ; her 
 figure was rather tall and slender, her step 
 light and firm, and her whole appearance 
 expressive of health and animation. In 
 complexion she was a clear brunette with 
 a rich colour ; she had full round cheeks, 
 with mouth and nose small and well 
 formed, bright hazel eyes, and brown h-air 
 forming natural curls close round her face. 
 If not so regularly handsome as her sister, 
 yet her countenance had a peculiar charm 
 of its own to the eyes of most beholders. 
 . . . She was not highly accomplished 
 according to the present standard, . . . 
 was fond of music, and had a sweet voice, 
 both in singing and in conversation; in 
 her youth she had received some instruc- 
 tion of the pianoforte ; and at Chawton she 
 practised daily, chiefly before breakfast. 
 . . . She read French with facility, 
 and knew something of Italian. In those 
 
m ViBHAKt 
 
JANE AUSTEN 
 
 613 
 
 days German was no more thought of than 
 Hindostanee, as part of a Lady's educa- 
 tion. . . . She was well acquainted 
 with the old periodicals from the "Spec- 
 tator" downwards. Her knowledge of 
 Richardson's works was such as no one is 
 likely again to acquire, now that the multi- 
 tude and the merits of our light literature 
 have called off the attention of readers 
 from that great master. — Leigh, J. E. 
 Austen, 1870, A Memoir of Jane Austen, 
 by her Nephew, pp. 82, 83, 84. 
 
 During her whole life she remained 
 to a great extent engrossed by the in- 
 terests of her family and their limited 
 circle of old and intimate friends. This 
 was as it should be — so far, but there may 
 be too much of a good thing. The tend- 
 ency of strictly restricted family parties 
 and sets — when their members are above 
 small bickerings and squabblings — when 
 they are really superior people in every 
 sense, is to form ''mutual admiration'* 
 societies, and neither does this more re- 
 spectable and amiable weakness act bene- 
 ficially upon its victims. . . . Fondly 
 loved and remembered as Jane Austen has 
 been, with much reason, among her own 
 people, in their considerable ramifications, 
 i cannot imagine her as greatly liked, or 
 even regarded with anything save some 
 amount of prejudice, out of the immediate 
 circle of her friends, and in general 
 society. . . . What I mean is, that 
 she allowed her interests and sympathies 
 to become narrow, even for her day, and 
 that her tender charity not only began, but 
 ended, in a large measure, at home. — Ked- 
 DiE,* Henrietta (Sarah Tytler), 1880, 
 Jane Austen and Her Works, pp. 15, 16. 
 
 Jane is described as tall, slender, and 
 remarkably graceful ; she was a clear bru- 
 nette with a rich colour, hazel eyes, fine 
 features, and curling brown hair. Her 
 domestic relations were delightful, and 
 she was specially attractive to children. 
 A vague record is preserved of an attach- 
 ment for a gentleman whom she met at the 
 seaside, and who soon afterwards died' 
 suddenly. ' But there is no indication of 
 any serious disturbance of her habitual 
 serenity. — Stephen, Leslie, 1885, Dic- 
 tionary of National Biography, vol. ii, 
 p. 259. 
 
 The precise locality of the gravestone 
 is in the pavement of the fifth bay of the 
 north aisle, counting from the west. It 
 
 is a slab of black marble with the follow- 
 ing inscription: — ''In memory of JANE 
 AUSTEN, youngest daughter of the late 
 Revd. George Austen, formerly Rector of 
 Steventon in this Gounty. She departed 
 this life on July 18, 1817, aged 41, after 
 a long illness, supported with the patience 
 and hope of a Christian. The benevolence 
 of her heart, the sweetness of her temper, 
 and the extraordinary endowments of her 
 mind, obtained the regard of all who knew 
 her, and the warmest love of her immediate 
 connexions. Their grief is in proportion 
 to their affection ; they know their loss to 
 be irreparable, but in their deepest afflic- 
 tion they are consoled by a firm, though 
 humble, hope that her charity, devotion, 
 faith, and purity have rendered her soul 
 acceptable in the sight of her Redeemer. " 
 —Adams, Oscar Fay, 1891-96, The Story 
 of Jane Austen^ s Life, p. 220. 
 
 All the time that she was writing her 
 three best novels she had no private study : 
 she wrote in the general sittingroom at 
 her little mahogany desk, and when visitors 
 interrupted, a handkerchief or a news- 
 paper was tnrown over the tell-tale MSS. 
 Very often her nephews and nieces rushed 
 in, and she was always ready to break off 
 from her writing to tell them long delight- 
 ful fairy stories. . . . She was essentially 
 a womanly woman. Everything that she 
 did with her fingers was ^\ jll done. She 
 wrote a clear, firm hand, as easy to read 
 as print. — Hamilton, Catherine J., 1892, 
 Women Writers, First Series, pp. 203, 204. 
 
 May we not be well content with Jane 
 Austen as we have her, the central figure 
 of a little loving family group, the dearest 
 of daughters and sisters, the gayest and 
 birghtest of aunts, the most charming and 
 incomparable of old maids? — Repplier, 
 Agnes, 1892-95, Essays in Miniature, 
 p. 170. 
 
 No book published in Jane Austen's 
 lifetime bore her name on the title-page ; 
 she was never lionized by society ; she was 
 never two hundred miles from home ; she 
 died when forty-two years of age, and it 
 was sixty years before a biography was 
 attempted or asked for. She sleeps in the 
 cathedral at Winchester, and not so very 
 long ago a visitor, on asking the verger 
 to see her grave, was conducted thither, 
 and the verger asked, "Was she anybody 
 in particular? so many folks ask where 
 she's buried, you know!" But this is 
 
614 
 
 JANE AUSTEN 
 
 changed now, for when the verger took 
 me to her grave and we stood by that plain 
 black marble slab, he spoke intelligently 
 of her life and work. And many visitors 
 now go to the cathedral only because it is 
 the resting-place of Jane Austen, who 
 lived a beautiful, helpful life and produced 
 great art, yet knew it not. — Hubbard, 
 Elbert, 1897, Little Journeys to the Homes 
 of Famous Women, p. 353. 
 
 PRIDE AND PREJUDICE 
 
 1796-1813 
 
 Read again, and for the third time at 
 least, Miss Austen's very finely written 
 novel of ''Pride and Prejudice." That 
 young lady had a talent for describing the 
 involvements, and feelings, and characters 
 of ordinary life, which is to me the most 
 wonderful I every met with. The Big 
 Bow-wow strain I can do myself like any 
 now going ; but the exquisite touch, which 
 renders ordinary commonplace things and 
 characters interesting, from the truth of 
 the description and the sentiment, is denied 
 to me. What a pity such a gifted creature 
 died so early! — Scott, Sir Walter, 1826, 
 Diary, March 14 ; Memoirs, ed. Lockhart, 
 ch. Ixviii. 
 
 Why do you like Miss Austen so very 
 much ? I am puzzled on that point. What 
 induced you to say that you would rather 
 have written "Pride and Prejudice,'' or 
 *'Tom Jones," than any of the Waver ly 
 Novels? I had not seen 'Tride and Prej- 
 udice" till I read that sentence of yours— 
 then I got the book. And what did I find ? 
 An accurate daguerreotyped portrait of a 
 commonplace face; a carefully fenced, 
 high-cultivated garden, with neat borders 
 and delicate flowers ; but no glance of a 
 bright, vivid physiognomy, no open coun- 
 try, no fresh air, no blue hill, no bonny 
 beck. I should hardly like to live with her 
 ladies and gentlemen, in their elegant but 
 confined houses. . . . She (George Sand) 
 is sagacious and profound — Miss Austen is 
 only shrewd and observant. . . . You 
 say I must familiarize my mind with the 
 fact that ''Miss Austen is not a poetess, 
 has no 'Sentiment,' no eloquence, none of 
 the ravishing enthusiasm of poetry, "—and 
 then you add, I must ' ' learn to acknowledge 
 her as one of the greatest artists, of the 
 greatest .painters of human character, and 
 one of the writers with the nicest sense of 
 means to an end that ever lived. ' ' The last 
 point only will I ever acknowledge. Can 
 
 there be a great artist without poetry ? — 
 Bronte, Charlotte, 1848, Letters to G. 
 H. Lewes, Life of Bronte by GaskeJl, pp. 
 313, 319. 
 
 She was only about twenty in her shel- 
 tered and happy life at home in the end of 
 the old century, when she wrote what might 
 have been the outcome of the profoundest 
 prolonged observation and study of man- 
 kind — what is, we think, the most perfect 
 of all her works — "Pride and Prejudice. " 
 — Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1882, 
 Literary History of England, XVUI and 
 XIX Centuries, vol. iii, p. 184. 
 
 To say nothing of the supreme excel- 
 lence of the dialogue, there is scarcely a 
 page but has its little gem of exact and 
 polished phrasing; scarcely a chapter 
 which is not adroitly opened or artistically 
 ended ; while the whole book abounds in 
 sentences over which the writer, it is 
 plain, must have lingered with patient and 
 loving craftsmanship. . . . Criticism 
 has found little to condemn in the details 
 of this capital novel.— Dobson, Austin, 
 1895, ed., Pride and Prejudice, Introduc- 
 tion. 
 
 Never was there a book written which 
 has given more harmless pleasure to those 
 who have come under its spell. As we 
 open its pages, we bid adieu to a world of 
 sordid cares and troublesome interests, and 
 though we do not wander into fairy-land, 
 for Miss Austen's world is always matter- 
 of-fact, we do catch a breath of an air less 
 severe than that which we habitually draw, 
 and find, if not fairy-land, at least a 
 touch of the lightness of fairy-land 
 brought down to us. — Jack, Adolphus 
 Alfred, 1897, Essays on the Novel, p. 254. 
 
 "Pride and Prejudice" is realistic in its 
 narrowness of scope, in its lack of com- 
 plicated plot, and in that it sets forth 
 clearly and fully a limited section of life. 
 It attempts to hold up no ideals ; it deals 
 for the most part with middle-class people ; 
 it has in it no literary atmosphere sug- 
 gested either by the characters or by the 
 author's allusions. And yet one forgets 
 that he is reading a book ; he feels as if 
 he were making a visit among people in 
 whom he had a human interest. He finds 
 himself scheming with the fond mother 
 in her matchmaking interests for her 
 daughters five.— Dye, Charity, 1898, 
 The Story-Tellefs Art, p. 71. 
 
 Perhaps "Pride and Prejudice^* is the 
 
 1 
 
JANE AUSTEN 
 
 615 
 
 only one where the general design can be 
 almost unreservedly praised, but even in 
 this, which is undoubtedly the finest of 
 her novels, there is one serious defect that 
 is absent in none of them, namely, an in- 
 adequate sense of dramatic climax. It 
 may be ungenerous to find fault with the 
 author for the perfunctory manner in 
 which she disposes of the minor figures in 
 her story after the main interest has been 
 exhausted. ... It was entirely in- 
 excusable that she should invariably fail 
 to realise the opportunity of making 
 emotional capital out of the supreme 
 psychological moment of her denoument — 
 Oliphant, James, 1899, Victorian Novel- 
 ists, pp. 26, 27. 
 
 It is a dated society, and it is a dated 
 woman, not the woman of all time, that 
 we have portrayed ; but it is a society and 
 a woman portrayed with marvellous per- 
 fection. . . . Moreover, if we had a 
 complete novel-form, we Kave an equally 
 complete method. One can use the style 
 of Jane Austen as a model for study in 
 the schoolroom. There is repression in 
 every detail ; the plot is made simple ; the 
 adjective is cut out of the sentences; 
 every detail of finish is subordinated to a 
 requirement of sincerity, to a limited and 
 selected variety. The humor is cultivated, 
 genial ; it is the humor of an observer — of 
 a refined, satisfied observer — rather than 
 the humor of a reformer ; it is the humor 
 of one who sees the incongruities, but 
 never dreams of questioning the general 
 excellence of the system as a whole. All 
 this is the method of a completed ideal ; a 
 method of manifest limits, but within its 
 limits absolutely true. Still further we 
 may claim that this novel is not only an 
 expression of a complete novel form ; it 
 is not only an expression of a complete 
 literary method ; it is also an embodiment 
 of completed ideals. — Stoddard, Francis 
 HovEY, 1900, The Evolution of the Eng- 
 lish Novel, pp. 53, 55. 
 / May lay claim to being the most enjoy- 
 able book any woman ever wrote. — Grey, 
 •Rowland, 1901, The Bores of Jane Aus- 
 (ten, Fortnightly Review, vol. 76, p. 43. 
 
 SENSE AND SENSIBILITY 
 
 1797-1811 
 
 I think the title of the book is mislead- 
 ing to modern ears. Sensibility in Jane 
 Austen's day meant warm, quick feeling, 
 not exaggerated or over keen, as it really 
 
 does now ; and the object of the book, in 
 my belief, is not to contrast the sensibility 
 of Marianne with the sense of Elinor, but 
 to show how with equally warm, tender 
 feelings the one sister could control her 
 sensibility by means of her sense when the 
 other would not attempt it. These quali- 
 ties come still more prominently forward 
 when Mrs. Dashwood and her daughters 
 have found a home at Barton Cottage. 
 . . . There can be little doubt that in 
 Sense and Sensibility" we have the first 
 of Jane Austen's revised and finished 
 works, and in several respects it reveals 
 an inexperienced author. The action is 
 too rapid, and there is a want of dexterity 
 in getting the characters out of their 
 difficulties. Mrs. Jennings is too vulgar, 
 and in her, as in several of the minor char- 
 acters, we see that Jane Austen had not 
 quite shaken off the turn for caricature, 
 which in early youth she had possessed 
 strongly. — Malden, Mrs. Charles, 1889, 
 Jane Austen {Famous Women), pp. 60, 77. 
 
 To contend, however, for a moment that 
 the present volume is Miss Austen's great- 
 est, as it was her first published, novel, 
 would be a mere exercise in paradox. 
 There are, who swear by "Persuasion;" 
 there are, who prefer * ' Emma' ' and ' ' Mans- 
 field Park there is a large contingent for 
 Pride and Prejudice;" and there is even 
 a section which advocates the pre-emi- 
 nence of Nor thanger Abbey." But no 
 one, as far as we can remember, has ever 
 put Sense and Sensibility" first, nor can 
 I believe that its author did so herself. 
 And yet it is she herself who has furnished 
 the standard by which we judge it, and it 
 is by comparison with ''Pride and Prej- 
 udice," in which the leading characters 
 are also two sisters, that we assess and 
 depress its merit. The Elinor and 
 Marianne of Sense an Sensibility" are 
 only inferior when they are contrasted 
 with the Elizabeth and Jane of Pride and 
 Prejudice;" and even then, it is probably 
 because we personally like the handsome 
 and amiable Jane Bennet rather better 
 than the obsolete survival of the senti- 
 mental novel represented by Marianne 
 Dashwood. Darcy and Bingley again are 
 much more ''likeable" (to use Lady 
 Queensberry's word) than the colourless 
 Edward Ferrars and the stiif-jointed 
 Colonel Brandon.— DoBSON, Austin, 1896, 
 Sense and Sensibility, Introduction. 
 
616 
 
 JANE AUSTEN 
 
 NORTHANGER ABBEY 
 1797-1818 
 
 The behaviour of the General in North- 
 anger Abbey," packing off the young lady 
 without a servant or the common civilities 
 which any bear of a man, not to say gentle- 
 man, would have shown, is quite outra- 
 geously out of drawing and out of nature. 
 — Edgeworth, Maria, 1818, Letters, vol. 
 I, p. 246. 
 
 I read Dickens' "Hard Times. One 
 excessively touching, heartbreaking pas- 
 sage and the rest sullen socialism. The 
 evils which he attacks he caricatures 
 grossly, and with little humor. Another 
 book of Pliny's letters. Read ''North- 
 anger Abbey ;" worth all Dickens and Pliny 
 together. Yet it was the work of a girl. 
 She was certainly not more than twenty- 
 six. Wonderful creature! — Macaulay, 
 Thomas Babington, 1854, Journal, Aug. 
 12 ; Life and Letters, ed. Trevelyan. 
 
 Her style deserves the highest com- 
 mendation. It has all the form and finish 
 of the eighteenth century, without being 
 in the least degree stilted or unnatural. 
 It has all the tone of good society without 
 being in the least degree insipid. For a 
 specimen of crisp, rich English, combining 
 all the vigour of the masculine with all the 
 delicacy of the feminine style, we suggest 
 the opening chapter of ''Northanger 
 Abbey" as a model for any young lady 
 writer of the present age. — Kebbel, T. 
 E., 1870, Jane Austen, Fortnightly Re- 
 view, vol. 13, p. 193. 
 
 MANSFIELD PARK 
 
 1814 
 
 It is certainly not incumbent on you to 
 dedicate your work now in the press to His 
 Royal Highness ; but if you wish to do the 
 Regent that honour either now or at any 
 future period I am happy to send you that 
 permission, which need not require any 
 more trouble or solicitation on your part. 
 Your late works. Madam, and in particular 
 ''Mansfield Park," reflect the highest 
 honour on your genius and your principles. 
 In every new work your mind seems to in- 
 crease its energy and power of discrimina- 
 ^■ion. The Regent has read and admired 
 all your publications. — Clarke, J. S., 
 5; Letter to Miss Austen, 
 
 i ix.- . ansfield Park," which hur- 
 ries with a Vbry inartificial and disagree- 
 ^le rapidity to its conclusions, leaving 
 
 some opportunities for most interesting 
 and beautiful scenes, particularly the de- 
 tailed expression of the "how and the 
 when" Edward's love was turned from 
 Miss Crawford to Fanny Price. The great 
 merit of Miss Austen is in the finishing of 
 her characters ; the action and conduct of 
 her stories I think frequently defective. — 
 Macready, W. C, 1836, Diary, July 10; 
 Reminiscences, ed. Pollock, p. 393. 
 
 The longest, and, we think, least valuable 
 of her books. — Oliphant, Margaret, 0. 
 W., 1882, Literary History of England, 
 XVIII and XIX Centuries, 'vol. iii, y. 192. 
 
 How well I recall the greatest literary 
 pleasure of my life, its time and place ! A 
 dreary winter's day without, within a gen- 
 erous heat and glow from the flaming 
 grate, and I reclining at my ease on the 
 library lounge, "Mansfield Park" in hand. 
 Then succeed four solid hours of literary 
 bliss, and an absorption so great that when 
 I mechanically close the book at the last 
 page it is only by the severest eff'ort that 
 I come back to the real world of pleasant 
 indoors and bleak outdoors. I was amazed 
 that I, a hardened fiction reader, should 
 be so transported by this gentle tale of 
 Miss Austen's, and yet I enjoyed to the 
 full the after-taste of her perfect realistic 
 art. This first enthusiasm, however, soon 
 abated, and I began to see flaws, to note 
 the prolixity and unevenness of the work, 
 and to feel that it was almost school-girlish 
 in tone and sentiment. While the verisi- 
 militude is, indeed, fascinating, the realiza- 
 tion is far from profound. And the char- 
 acters are too one-sided for full human 
 beings — are only puppets, each pulled by 
 a single string. Edmund Bertram is, per- 
 haps, the most woodeny of these marion- 
 ettes. Lady Bertram, the languid beauty, 
 seems often overdrawn. Mrs. Norris is a 
 perfect busybody, but a pettiness so abso- 
 lutely consistent at length rouses our sus- 
 picions and irritates us. We feel that 
 human nature, outside of the madhouse, 
 does not fulfill the single types so com- 
 pletely. But in Fanny Price we find no 
 flaw or artistic presentment. Here comes 
 before our eyes a real, a free, a complex 
 human being. ... I am acquainted with 
 no more charming figure in fiction than 
 Fanny ; she is so completely, perfectly, de- 
 liciously feminine in instinct, feeling, man- 
 ner and intelligence. — Stanley, Hiram 
 M., 1897, Essays on Literary Art, p. 47. 
 
JANE AUSTEN 
 
 G17 
 
 EMMA 
 1816 
 
 We, therefore, bestow no mean compli- 
 ment upon the author of ' ' Emma," when we 
 say that, keeping close to common inci- 
 dents, and to such characters as occupy the 
 ordinary walks of life, she has produced 
 sketches of such spirit and originality, 
 that we never miss the excitation which 
 depends upon a narrative of uncommon 
 events, arising from the consideration of 
 minds, manners and sentiments, greatly 
 above our own. In this class she stands 
 almost alone ; for the scenes of Miss Edge- 
 worth are laid in higher life, varied by 
 more romantic incident, and by her re- 
 markable power of embodying and illus- 
 trating national character. But the author 
 of ''Emma'' confines herself chiefly to the 
 middling classes of society ; her most dis- 
 tinguished characters do not rise greatly 
 above well-bred country gentlemen and 
 ladies ; and those which are sketched with 
 most originality and precision, belong to a 
 class rather below that standard. — Scott, 
 Sir Walter, 1815, Emma, Quarterly Re- 
 view, vol. 14, p. 193. 
 
 Finished Miss Austen's* 'Emma," which 
 amused me very much, impressing me with 
 a high opinion of her powers of drawing 
 and sustaining character, though not 
 satisfying me always with the end and aim 
 of her labours. She is successful in 
 painting the ridiculous to the life, and 
 while she makes demands on our patience 
 for the almost intolerable absurdities and 
 tediousness of her well-meaning gossips, 
 she does not recompense us for what we 
 suffer from her conceited and arrogant 
 nuisances by making their vices their 
 punishments. We are not much better, 
 but perhaps a little more prudent for her 
 writings. She does not probe the vices, 
 but lays bare the weaknesses of character ; 
 the blemish on the skin, and not the cor- 
 ruption at the heart, is what she examines. 
 Mrs. Brunton's books have a far higher 
 aim ; they try to make us better, and it is 
 an addition to previous faults if they do 
 not. The necessity, the comfort, and the 
 elevating influence of piety is continually 
 inculcated throughout her works— which 
 never appears in Miss Austen's. — Mac- 
 ready, W. C, 1834, Diary, Feb. 15; 
 Reminiscences, ed. Pollock, p. 312. 
 
 I have likewise read one of Miss 
 Austen's works — "Emma" — read it with 
 
 interest and with just the degree of ad- 
 miration which Miss Austen herself would 
 have thought sensible and suitable. 
 Anything like warmth or enthusiasm — 
 anything energetic, poignant, heart-felt 
 is utterly out of place in commending these 
 works : all such demonstration the author- 
 ess would have met with a well-bred sneer, 
 would have calmly scorned as outre and 
 extravagant. She does her business of 
 delineating the surface of the lines of 
 genteel English people curiously well. 
 There is a Chinese fidelity, a miniature 
 delicacy in the painting. She rufl^es her 
 reader by nothing vehement, disturbs him 
 by -nothing profound. The passions are 
 perfectly unknown to her ; she rejects even 
 a speaking acquaintance with that stormy 
 sisterhood. Even to the feelings she 
 vouchsafes no more than an occasional 
 graceful but distant recognition — too fre- 
 quent converse with them would ruffle the 
 smooth elegance of her progress. Her 
 business is not half so much with the 
 human heart as with the human eyes, 
 mouth, hands, and feet. What sees 
 keenly, speaks aptly, moves flexibly, it 
 suits her to study ; but what throbs fast 
 and full, though hidden, what the blood 
 rushed through, what is the unseen seat of 
 life and the sentient target of death— 
 this Miss Austen ignores. She no more, 
 with her mind's eye, beholds the heart of 
 her race than each man, with bodily vision, 
 sees the heart in his heaving breast. 
 Jane Austen was a complete and most 
 sensible lady, but a very incomplete and 
 rather insensible (not senseless) woman. 
 If this is heresy, I cannot help it. — 
 Bronte, Charlotte, 1850, Letter to W. 
 S. Williams, April 12; Charlotte Bronte 
 and her Circle, by Shorter, p. 399. 
 
 "Emma," perhaps, is the work upon 
 which most sufl^rages would meet as the 
 most perfect of all her performances. — 
 Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1882, Lit- 
 erary History of England, XVIII and XIX 
 Centuries, vol. iii, p. 192. 
 
 I have a great liking, witnessed by a 
 periodical re-reading, for the pleasant 
 scampishness and easy, go as you please 
 narrative of "Gil Bias;" and I humbly 
 claim to share in the learned 's appreciation 
 of Miss Austen, taking "Emma" as my 
 first choice among the fruits of a genius so 
 great and yet so ladylike, so almost young 
 ladylike. — Hawkins, Anthony Hope, 
 
618 
 
 JANE AUSTEN 
 
 1897, My Favorite Novelist and His Best 
 Book, Munsey's Magazine^ vol. 18, jo. 351. 
 
 PERSUASION 
 1818 
 
 Persuasion" — excepting the tangled, 
 useless histories of the family in the first 
 fifty pages — appears to me, especially in 
 all that relates to poor Anne and her lover, 
 to be exceedingly interesting and natural. 
 The love and the lover admirably well 
 drawn: don't you see Captain Wentworth, 
 or rather don't you in her place feel him 
 taking the boisterous child off her back as 
 she kneels by the sick boy on the sofa? 
 And is not the first meeting after their 
 long separation admirably well done? — 
 Edgeworth, Maria, 1818, Letters, vol. i, 
 p. 247. 
 
 The book shows broader sympathies, 
 deeper observation, and perhaps more per- 
 fect symmetry, balance, poise, than the 
 others. The always flexible, unobtrusive 
 style, in which reduction of emphasis is 
 carried sometimes to the verge of equivo- 
 cation, concealing the author, yet instinct 
 with her presence, in none of her books 
 approximates more nearly to Cardinal 
 Newman's definition — ''a thinking out into 
 language." In general, the qualities that 
 appear in the others are in Persuasion" 
 perhaps more successfully fused than be- 
 fore.— Clymer, W. B. Shubrick, 1891, 
 A Note on Jane Austen, Scribnefs Maga- 
 zine, vol. 9, p. 384. 
 
 'Tersuasion" represents the ripest de- 
 velopment of Jane Austen's powers, that 
 latest phase of her thoughts and feelings. 
 It is a novel which, while not wanting in 
 the several excellences of those which pre- 
 ceded it, has a mellower tone and a more 
 finished grace of style than any of the 
 others. It was written at a time when 
 bodily strength had given place to weak- 
 ness; and although her mind was more 
 active than ever, her physical condition 
 insensibly influenced her thought, giving 
 this latest of her books that deeper note 
 of feeling, that finer touch of sympathy 
 and tenderness, which make Persuasion" 
 the greatest of all her works. — Adams, 
 Oscar Fay, 1891-96, The Story of Jane 
 Austen's Life, p. 254. 
 
 It was Miss Austen's last story, and has 
 more depth of feeling and pathos than 
 most of hers. . . . The delicate miniature 
 painting of the characters in these tales is 
 apt not to be appreciated by the young, 
 
 and the tone of county society of that day 
 disgusts them; but as they grow older 
 they perceive how much ability and insight 
 is displayed in the work, and esteem the 
 forbearance, sweetness, and self-restraint 
 of such a heroine as Anne. — Yonge, 
 Charlotte M., 1893, Anne Elliot, Great 
 Characters of Fiction, ed. Townsend, pp, 
 18, 19. 
 
 Of Anne Elliot, the heroine of Persua- 
 sion," she wrote to a friend, **You may 
 perhaps like her, as she is almost too good 
 for me. ' ' She is too good for most of us, 
 but not the less charming, and even the bril- 
 liancy of Elizabeth Bennet pales a little 
 before the refined womanliness of this de- 
 lightful English lady. Whether the future 
 of Catherine Morland and Henry Tilney 
 was wholly ideal may be doubted ; we may 
 even have secret reservations as to the 
 absolute bliss of Emma and her Knightley ; 
 but there can be no sort of question as to 
 the ultimate and unalloyed happiness of 
 Anne Elliot and Captain Wentworth, who 
 is another of those pleasant manly naval 
 officers whom Miss Austen, drawing no 
 doubt from material in her own family 
 circles, depicts so sympathetically. — 
 DoBSON, Austin, 1897, Northanger Abbey 
 and Persuasion, Introduction, p. xii. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Miss Austin's works may be safely rec- 
 ommended, not only as among the most un- 
 exceptionable of their class,but as combin- 
 ing, in an eminent degree, instruction with 
 amusement, though without the direct 
 effort at the former, of which we have com- 
 plained as sometimes defeating its object. 
 For those who cannot or will not learn any- 
 thing from productions of this kind, she 
 has provided entertainment which entitles 
 her to thanks ; for mere innocent amuse- 
 ment is in itself a good, when it interferes 
 with no greater; especially as it may oc- 
 cupy the place of some other that may not 
 be innocent. The Eastern monarch who 
 proclaimed a reward to him who should 
 deserve a new pleasure, would have de- 
 served well of mankind had he stipulated 
 that it should be blameless. Those, again, 
 who delight in the study of human nature, 
 may improve in the knowledge of it, and 
 in the profitable application of that knowl- 
 edge by the perusal of such fictions as 
 those before us. — Whately, Archbishop, 
 1821, Northanger Abbey and Persuasion, 
 Quarterly Review, vol. 24, p. 375. . 
 
JANE AUSTEN 
 
 619 
 
 ;y the way, did you know Miss Austen, 
 authoress of some novels which have a 
 great deal of nature in them ? — nature in 
 ordinary and middle life, to be sure, but 
 valuable from its strong resemblance and 
 correct drawing. I wonder which way 
 she carried her pail. — Scott, Sir Wal- 
 ter, 1822, Letter to Miss Joanna Bailliey 
 Memoirs, ed. Lockhart, ch. Iv. 
 
 All -perfect Austen. Here 
 Let one poor wreath adorn thy early bier, 
 That scarce allowed thy modest yoath to 
 claim 
 
 Its living portion of thy certain fame. 
 Oh, Mrs. Bennet-! Mrs. Norris, too! 
 While memory survives we'll dream of you, 
 And Mr. Woodhouse, whose abstemious lip 
 Must thin, but not too thin, his gruel sip ; 
 Miss Bates, our idol, though the village bore ; 
 And Mrs. Elton, ardent to explore : 
 While the dear style flows on without pre- 
 tence, 
 
 With unstained purity, and unmatched sense. 
 — Carlisle, Earl of, 1825, The Keepsake. 
 
 Our dinner-party this evening was like 
 nothing but a chapter out of one of Miss 
 Austen's novels. What wonderful books 
 those are ! She must have written down 
 the very conversations she heard verbatim, 
 to have made them so like, which is Irish. 
 — Kemble, Frances Ann. 1831, Records 
 of a Girlhood, July 31, p. 441. 
 
 My idol.— Mitford, Mary Russell, 
 1832, Letter to Mrs. Trollope; What I 
 Remember, by T. A. Trollope, p. 496. 
 
 The delicate mirth, the gently hinted 
 satire, the feminine, decorous humor of 
 Jane Austen, who, if not the greatest, is 
 surely the most faultless of female novel- 
 ists. My Uncle Southey and my father 
 had an equally high opinion of her merits, 
 but Mr. Wordsworth used to say that 
 though he admitted that her novels were 
 an admirable copy of life, he could not be 
 interested in productions of that kind ; un- 
 less the truth of nature were presented to 
 him clarified, as it were, by the pervading 
 light of imagination, it had scarce any at- 
 tractions in his eyes.— Coleridge, Sara, 
 1834, Letter to Miss Emily Trevenen, A^ug.; 
 Memoirs and Letters, ed. by her Daughter, 
 p. 11. 
 
 It is the constant manner of Shakspeare 
 to represent the human mind as lying, not 
 under the absolute dominion of one do- 
 mestic propensity, but under a mixed 
 government, in which a hundred powers 
 balance each other. Admirable as he was 
 
 in all parts of his art, we most admire him 
 for this, that, while he has left us a greater 
 number of striking portraits than all other 
 dramatists put together, he has scarcely 
 left us a single caricature. Shakspeare 
 has had neither equal nor second. But 
 among the writers who, in the point which 
 we have noticed, have approached nearest 
 to the manner of the great master, we 
 have no hesitation in placing Jane Austen, 
 a woman of whom England is justly proud. 
 She has given us a multitude of characters, 
 all, in a certain sense, commonplace, all 
 such as we meet every day. Yet they are 
 all as perfectly discriminated from each 
 other as if they were the most eccentric 
 of human beings.— Macaulay, Thomas 
 Babington, 1842, Madame UArblay, Crit- 
 ical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 We should say that Fielding and Miss 
 Austen are the greatest novelists in our 
 language. . . . Miss Austen has been 
 called a prose Shakspeare; — and, among 
 others, by Macaulay. In spite of the sense 
 of incongruity which besets us in the words 
 prose Shakspeare, we confess the great- 
 ness of Miss Austen, her marvelous dra- 
 matic power, seems more than anything 
 in Scott, akin to the greatest quality in 
 Shakspeare. — Lewes, George Henry, 
 1847, Recent Novels, Eraser's Magazine, 
 vol. 36, p. 687. 
 
 Home, and finished Persuasion." I 
 have now read over again all Miss Austen's 
 novels. Charming they are, but I found a 
 little more to criticise than formerly. 
 Yet there are in the world no compositions 
 which approach nearer to perfection. — 
 Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 1851, 
 Journal, May 1 ; Life and Letters, ed. 
 Trevelyan. 
 
 She [Miss MilfordJ never taught me 
 anything but a very limited admiration of 
 Miss Austen, whose people struck me as 
 wanting souls, even more than is neces- 
 sary for men and women of the world. The 
 novels are perfect as far as they go — 
 that's certain. Only they don't go far, I 
 think. It may be my fault. — Browning, 
 Elizabeth Barrett, 1855, To Mr. Rus- 
 kin, Nov. 5 ; Letters, ed. Kenyon, vol. ii, 
 p. 217. 
 
 All in all, as far as my information goes, 
 the best judges unanimously prefer Miss 
 Austen to any of her contemporaries of 
 the same order. They reckon her ''Sense 
 
620 
 
 JANE AUSTEN 
 
 and Sensibility/' her 'Tride and Prej- 
 udice," her "Mansfield Park" and her 
 ''Emma" (which novels were published in 
 her lifetime), and also her ''Northanger 
 Abbey" and her "Persuasion" (which were 
 published posthumously) as not only better 
 than anything else of the kind written in 
 her day, but also among the most perfect 
 and charming fictions in the language. I 
 have known the most hard-headed men in 
 ecstasies with them ; and the only objec- 
 tion I have heard of as brought against 
 them by ladies is, that they reveal too 
 many of their secrets. — Masson, David, 
 1859, British Novelists and Their Styles, 
 p. 189. 
 
 Miss Austen is, of all his successors, the 
 one who most nearly resembles Richardson 
 in the power of impressing reality upon 
 her characters. There is a perfection in 
 the exhibition of Miss Austen's characters 
 which no one else has approached; and 
 truth is never for an instant sacrificed in 
 that delicate atmosphere of satire which 
 pervades her works. . . . She has 
 been accused of writing dull stories about 
 ordinary people. But her supposed ordi- 
 nary people are really not such very ordi- 
 nary people. Let any one who is inclined 
 to criticize on this score, endeavour to con- 
 struct one character from among the ordi- 
 nary people of his own acquaintance that 
 shall be capable of interesting any reader 
 for ten minutes. It will then be found 
 how great has been the discrimination of 
 Miss Austen in the selection of her charac- 
 ters and how skillful is her treatment in 
 the management of them. — Pollock, W. 
 F., 1860, British Novelists, Eraser's Mag- 
 azine, vol. 61, pp. 30, 31. 
 
 By those who have studied character 
 distinct from its outward manifestations, 
 as expressed in conformity to uses and 
 customs, there will be found in Miss 
 Austen's novels an expression of firm and 
 original courage as clear as if she had 
 braved society, whether theoretically or 
 practically. The boldness which will vin- 
 dicate for persons of mediocre intellect 
 souls to be saved and feelings to be tor- 
 tured, and which by such vindication can 
 interest and compel a jaded, hurrying pub- 
 lic, eager for changing excitements, to 
 pause and to listen — is surely no common 
 quality ; but it has within itself a promise 
 and an assurance of enduring reputation. 
 — Chorley, G. F., 1870, Miss Austen 
 
 and Miss Mitford, Quarterly Review, vol. 
 128, p. 203. 
 
 Jane Austen was the flower of a stock, 
 full, apparently, through all its branches, 
 of shrewd sense and caustic humour, which 
 in her were combined v;ith the creative 
 imagination. . . . She possessed a 
 real and rare gift, and she rendered a good 
 account of it. If the censer which she 
 held among the priests of art was not of 
 the costliest, the incense was of the 
 purest. If she cannot be ranked with the 
 very greatest masters of fiction, she has 
 delighted many, and none can draw from 
 her any but innocent delight. — Smith, 
 GoLDWiN, 1870-81, Austen-Leigh's Mem- 
 oir of Jane Austen, Lectures and Essays. 
 
 She was always very careful not to 
 meddle with matters which she did 
 not thoroughly understand. She never 
 touched upon politics, law, or medicine; 
 but with ships and sailors she felt herself 
 at home, or at least could always trust to 
 a brotherly critic to keep her right. It 
 is said that no flaw has ever been found in 
 her seamanship either in ''Mansfield Park" 
 or in "Persuasion."— Con ANT, S. S., 1870, 
 Jane Austen, Harper's Magazine, vol. 41, 
 p. 227. 
 
 I am equally sure that Miss Austen can- 
 not be third, any more than first or second : 
 I think you were rather drawn away by a 
 fashion when you put her there : and really 
 old Spedding seems to me to have been the 
 Stag whom so many followed in that fash- 
 ion. She is capital as far as she goes: 
 but she never goes out of the Parlour ; if 
 but Magnus Troil, or Jack Bunce, or even 
 one of Fielding's Brutes, would but dash 
 in upon the Gentility and swear a round 
 Oath or two ! I must think the "Woman 
 in White," with her Count Fosco, far be- 
 yond all that. Cowell constantly reads 
 Miss Austen at night after his Sanskrit 
 Philology is done : it composes him, like 
 Gruel: or like Paisiello's Music, which 
 Napoleon liked above all other, because he 
 said it didn't interrupt his Thoughts. — 
 Fitzgerald,. Edward, 1871, Letters, vol. 
 I, p. 335. 
 
 Miss Austen is without a rival in the 
 field she occupied. . . . It was a mere 
 fragment of human life that Miss Austen 
 saw with a clearness and an intelligence 
 and a reproductive power that defy pane- 
 gyric. —Hales, John W., 1873, Notes 
 and Essays on Shakespeare, p. 72. 
 
JANE AUSTEN 
 
 621 
 
 The extraordinary skill which Miss 
 Austen displayed in describing what Scott 
 called *'the involvements and feelings and 
 characters of ordinary life, " places her as 
 a novelist above her predecessor, Miss 
 Burney. But it is more doubtful whether 
 she is entitled to rank above her contem- 
 porary Miss Edge worth. In Macaulay's 
 opinion Madame de Stael was certainly the 
 first woman of her age ; Miss Edgeworth 
 the second; and Miss Austen the third. 
 Yet Miss Austen has one advantage over 
 Miss Edgeworth which is very important. 
 In reading Miss Austen no one ever thinks 
 of the moral of the story, everyone becomes 
 insensibly the better person for perusing 
 it.— Walpole, Spencer, 1878, ^ History 
 of England from the Conclusion of the 
 Great War in 1815, vol. i, p. 378. 
 
 A distinguished English scholar said to 
 a lecturer who had extolled the tales of 
 Charlotte Bronte, "I am afraid you do not 
 know that Miss Austen is the better novel- 
 ist.'' If the scholar had explained doubt- 
 less he would have said, in comparing Miss 
 Bronte or George Eliot with Miss Austen, 
 — and the three are the chief of their sex 
 in this form of English literature — that 
 her distinction and superiority lie in her 
 more absolute artistic instinct. She 
 writes wholly as an artist, while George 
 Eliot advocates views, and Miss Bronte's 
 fiery page is often a personal protest. In 
 Miss Austen, on the other hand, there is 
 in kind, but infinitely less in degree, the 
 same clear atmosphere of pure art which 
 we perceive in Shakespeare and Goethe. 
 It is a thread of exceeding fineness with 
 which she draws us, but it is spun of pure 
 gold. There are no great characters, no 
 sweep of passion, no quickening of soul 
 and exaltation of purpose and sympathy, 
 upon her page, but there is the pure 
 pleasure of a Watteau. . . . Miss 
 Austen's art is not less in the choice than 
 in the treatment. She does not, indeed, 
 carve the Moses with Michael Angelo, 
 but she moulds the delicate cup, she 
 cuts the gem.— Curtis, George William, 
 1881, Editor's Easy Chair, Harper's Maga- 
 zine, vol. 62, p. 309. 
 
 Like Wordsworth, she sought to show 
 the charm that lies under the common 
 things about us, and with a fine feminine 
 humour, under sentences clear, simple, and 
 exactly fitted to expression of a shrewd 
 good sense, she came nearer to Fielding 
 
 than any novelist who vvTote before the 
 reign of Queen Victoria. — Morley, 
 Henry, 1881, Of English Literature in 
 the Reign of Victoria, With a Glance at 
 the Past, p. 111. 
 
 Her humour flows gentle and spontane- 
 ous; it is no elaborate mechanism nor 
 artificial fountain, but a bright natural 
 stream, rippling and trickling over every 
 stone and sparkling in the sunshine. . . . 
 Her picnics are models for all future and 
 past picnics. . . . Her machinery is 
 simple but complete ; events group them- 
 selves so vividly and naturally in her mind 
 that, in describing imaginary scenes, we 
 seem not only to read them, but to live 
 them, to see the people coming and going : 
 the gentlemen courteous and in top-boots, 
 the ladies demure and piquant ; we almost 
 hear them talking to one another. — 
 PiTCHiE, Anne Isabella Thackeray, 
 1883, A Book of Sibyls, pp. 200, 201. 
 
 To-day, more than seventy long years 
 have rolled away since the greater part of 
 them [''Letters"] were written ; no one now 
 living can, I think, have any possible just 
 cause of annoyance at their publication, 
 whilst, if I judge rightly, the public never 
 took a deeper or more lively interest in all 
 that concerns Jane Austen than at the pres- 
 ent moment. Her works, slow in their 
 progress towards popularity, have achieved 
 it with the greater certainty, and have 
 made an impression the more permanent 
 from its gradual advance. The popularity 
 continues, although the customs and man- 
 ners which Jane Austen describes have 
 changed and varied so much as to belong 
 in a great measure to another age. — 
 Brabourne, Edward Lord, 1884, ed.. 
 Letters of Jane Austen, Introduction, vol. 
 I, p. xii. 
 
 She never exhausts a scene by what is 
 called word-painting. She indicates its 
 main features, and describes the general 
 effect it produces upon the spectator, 
 rather than recapitulates the size, weight, 
 and colour of its various component ele- 
 ments. To say that she has a strong 
 insight into female character is almost 
 superfluous. George Eliot does not enter 
 more deeply into the workings of the 
 female mind and heart than she does. Add 
 to all these claims that our author's novels 
 are perfectly unexceptionable from every 
 point of view, and that they combine 
 rational amusement with no small degree 
 
622 
 
 JANE AUSTEN 
 
 of instruction, and we have advanced 
 tolerably sufficient grounds for the con- 
 tinuous favour with which they have been 
 and are still regarded. The critic who 
 said that these novels added a new pleasure 
 to existence was not wide of the mark. 
 In Miss Austen's later books, the most 
 exacting may discover a maturity of 
 thought and a felicity of expression seldom 
 attained by members of her craft; and 
 these augured still greater achievements 
 in the future had her life been spared. — 
 Smith, George Barnett, 1885, More Views 
 of Jane Austen, Gentleman's Magazine, 
 vol. 258, p, 44. 
 
 Even Jane Austen's novels, which 
 strangely retain their hold on the public 
 taste, are tedious to those who dare to 
 think for themselves and forget Macaulay's 
 verdict.— Sanborn, Kate, 1885, The Wit 
 of Women, p. 33. 
 
 As to your own works (immortal, as I 
 believe), I have but little that is wholly 
 cheering to tell one who, among women 
 of letters, was almost alone in her freedom 
 from a lettered vanity. You are not a 
 very popular author : your volumes are not 
 found in gaudy covers on every bookstall ; 
 or, if found, are not perused with avidity 
 by the Emmas and Catherines of our gen- 
 eration. . . . Your admirers, if not 
 very numerous, include all persons of 
 taste. . . . Your volumes neither 
 excite nor satisfy the curiosities provoked 
 by that modern and scientific fiction, which 
 is greatly admired, I learn, in the United 
 States as well as in France and at home. 
 — Lang, Andrew, 1886, To Jane Austen, 
 Letters to Dead Authors, pp. 75, 76, 79. 
 
 The great literary artist to whom we are 
 indebted, among other things, for a gal- 
 lery of those clerical portraits, destined 
 to last as long as the English language. 
 . . . I am one of the regular Austen 
 vassals, and consider her as without a 
 rival among English writers, in her own 
 line and within her own limits. I should 
 not say, as Macaulay says, that she ranks 
 next to Shakspeare, any more than I 
 should put a first-rate miniature painter 
 on the same level with Raphael or Titian. 
 It is enough for me that she stands alone 
 as a first-rate miniature painter in her own 
 particular school of design. — Doyle, Sir 
 Francis Hastings, 1886, Reminiscences 
 and Opinions, p. 353. 
 
 It is a curious fact that Paris, to which 
 
 the works of Jane Austen were lately as 
 unknown as if she were an English painter, 
 has just discovered her existence. More- 
 over, it has announced that she, and she 
 only, is the founder of that realistic school 
 which is construed to include authors so 
 remote from each other as the French Zola 
 and the American Howells. The most 
 decorous of maiden ladies is thus made to 
 originate the extreme of indecorum ; and 
 the good loyal Englishwoman, devoted to 
 Church and King, is made sponsor for the 
 most democratic recognition of persons 
 whom she would have loathed as vulgar. 
 There is something extremely grotesque in 
 the situation ; and yet there is much truth 
 in the theory. It certainly looked at one 
 time as if Miss Austen had thoroughly 
 established the claim of her sex to the 
 minute delineation of character and man- 
 ners, leaving to men the bolder school of 
 narrative romance. . . . But the 
 curious thing is that of the leading novel- 
 ists in the English tongues to-day it is the 
 men, not the women, who have taken up 
 Miss Austen's work, while the women 
 show more inclination, if not to the ' ' big 
 bow-wow style" of Scott, at least to the 
 novel of plot and narrative. Anthony 
 Trollope among the lately dead, James and 
 Howells among the living, are the lineal 
 successors of Miss Austen. Perhaps it is 
 an old-fashioned taste which leads me to 
 think that neither of these does his work 
 quite so well as she. — Higginson, Thomas 
 Wentworth, 1887, Women and Men, 
 pp. 156, 157. 
 
 I very early enjoyed Jane Austen's 
 novels. I can sustain a competitive ex- 
 amination upon them now, having probably 
 read each of the more important ones at 
 least fifty times in my life. — Hale, Ed- 
 ward Everett, 1888, Books That Have 
 Helped Me, p. 8. 
 
 Miss Austen is likely to remind the 
 average reader more of Cowper than of 
 Shakspeare. Her books seem redolent of 
 the aroma of tea mixed in just the right 
 proportion. They are comfortable — 
 steeped in comfort. If there is no word 
 in them that can bring a blush to the cheek 
 of a young girl, there is likewise no word 
 in them to "catch us by the throat" and 
 to force us to acknowledge there are better 
 things in the world than a comfortable 
 income, a bright grate, and pleasant 
 acquaintances. Nevertheless she was an 
 
JANE AUSTEN 
 
 G23 
 
 artist of the highest type.— Egan, Mau- 
 rice Francis, 1889, Lectures on English 
 Literature, p. 146. 
 
 Her work displays creative imagination, 
 wonderful power of observing, fine feeling 
 for dramatic situation, and perfect com- 
 mand of her literary vehicle ; but we can- 
 not help feeling conscious of a certain lack 
 of weight which comes of her steady 
 avoidance of the heights and the depths of 
 human nature. We are charmed always, 
 but seldom, if ever, deeply moved. 
 Though in various respects Jane Austen 
 may be compared favourably with George 
 Sand, George Eliot, and Charlotte Bronte, 
 we feel that these writers have spells of 
 which she knew not the secret. It is in 
 virtue of their combination of veracious 
 and uncompromising realism with unfail- 
 ing vivacity and ever-present grace that 
 the novels of Jane Austen are unique in 
 literature. — Noble, James Ashcroft, 
 1889, Jane Austen, The Academy, vol. 36, 
 p. 96. 
 
 Criticism is becoming the art of saying 
 fine things, and there are really no fine 
 things to be said about Jane Austen. — 
 Smith, Gold win, 1890, Jane Austen 
 (Great Writers). 
 
 Realism is nothing more and nothing less 
 than the truthful treatment of material, 
 and Jane Austen was the first and the 
 last of the English novelists to treat 
 material with entire truthfulness. Be- 
 cause she did this, she remains the most 
 artistic of the English novelists, and alone 
 worthy to be matched with the great 
 Scandinavian and Slavic and Latin artists. 
 — HowELLS, W. D., 1891, Criticism and 
 Fiction, p. 73. 
 
 Nobody can read any of Miss Austen's 
 works without admiring her wonderful 
 closeness and keenness of humorous obser- 
 vation, the skill with which she displays 
 every turn in the motives of commonplace 
 character, and the exquisite quality of the 
 ridicule with which her fancy dances round 
 and round them as she holds them up to 
 our inspection. If you once make the 
 acquaintance of the Bennet family in 
 'Tride and Prejudice," you can never for- 
 get them, so distinctly is each individual 
 marked, and so keen and exquisite is the 
 revelation of their foibles. In mere art 
 of humorous portraiture, in a quieter and 
 less farcical style than Miss Burney's, Miss 
 Austen is an expert of classical finish. 
 
 But somehow, speaking for myself, I must 
 confess to a certain want of interest in 
 the characters themselves. Unless one is 
 really interested in the subjects of such 
 an elaborate art of portraiture, the gradual 
 revelation of them, touch after touch, is 
 apt to become tedious, however much one 
 may enjoy for a time the quick and delicate 
 play of the writer's gently malicious 
 humor. But this want of interest in the 
 characters of English middle-class provin- 
 cial life is of course a personal defect. 
 — MiNTO, William, 1894, The Literature 
 of the Georgian Era, ed. Knight, p. 281. 
 
 The perfection of Miss Austen's work- 
 manship has been seized upon by unfavour- 
 able critics and used as a weapon of 
 offence. She is perfect, they allege, only 
 as some are virtuous, because she has no 
 temptation ; she lives in an abject world, 
 dead to poetry, visited by no breath of 
 romance, and is placidly contented with 
 her ant-hill, which she describes with 
 great accuracy and insight. It w^ould be 
 unjust to this type of criticism to interpret 
 it merely as a complaint that one w^ho 
 was of unsurpassed power in comedy and 
 satire did not forego her gifts and take 
 up with romance and tragedy. If it has 
 a meaning worth considering, it means 
 that even the comedy of life has in it 
 shades of pathos and passion to which she 
 is constitutionally blind. And this is to 
 mistake her art. The world of pathos and 
 passion is present in her work by implica- 
 tion ; her delicious quiet mirth, so quiet as 
 to be inaudible to gross ears, is stirred by 
 the incongruity between the realities of 
 the world, as she conceives them, and 
 these realities as they are conceived by 
 the puppets. The kingdom of Lilliput has 
 its meaning only when it is seen through 
 the eyes of Gulliver. A rabbit fondling 
 its own harmless face affords no matter of 
 amusement to another rabbit, and Miss 
 Austen has had many readers who have 
 perused her works without a smile. 
 Sympathy with her characters she fre- 
 quently has, identity never. Not in the 
 high-spirited Elizabeth Bennet, not in that 
 sturdy young patrician Emma, not even in 
 Anne Elliot of ''Persuasion," is the real 
 Jane Austen to be found. She stands for- 
 ever aloof. Those who wish to enjoy her 
 art must stand aloof too, and must not ask 
 to be hurried through her novels on a 
 personally conducted tour, with their 
 
624 
 
 JANE AUSTEN 
 
 admirations and dislikes prepared for 
 them. — Raleigh, Walter, 1894, The Eng- 
 lish Novel, p. 263. 
 
 She makes you slip into easy acquaint- 
 ance with the people of her books as if 
 they lived next door, and would be pulling 
 at your bell to-morrow, or to-night. And 
 you never confound them; by the mere 
 sound of their voices you know which is 
 Ellinor, and which is Marianne ; and as for 
 the disagreeable people in her stories, 
 they are just as honestly and naturally 
 disagreeable as any neighbor you could 
 name — whether by talking too much, or 
 making puns, or prying into your private 
 affairs. — Mitchell, Donald G., 1895, 
 English Lands Letters and Kings, Queen 
 Anne and the Georges, p. 266. 
 
 One indeed of the most wonderful things 
 about her is her earliness. . . . Irony 
 is by no means a frequent feminine gift ; 
 and as women do not often possess it in 
 any great degree, so they do not as a rule 
 enjoy it. Miss Austen is only inferior 
 among English writers to Swift, to Field- 
 ing, and to Thackeray— even if it be not 
 improper to use the term inferiority at all 
 for what is after all not much more than 
 difference — in the use of this potent but 
 most double-edged weapon. Her irony 
 indeed is so subtle that it requires a cer- 
 tain dose of subtlety to appreciate it, and 
 it is not uncommon to find those who con- 
 sider such personages as Mr. Collins in 
 
 Pride and Prejudice" to be merely farci- 
 cal, instead of, as they are in fact, preach- 
 ers of the highest and most Shakespearian 
 comedy. . . . the important thing for the 
 purposes of this history is to observe again 
 that she '*set the clock," so to speak, of 
 pure novel writing to the time which was 
 to be nineteenth century time to this pres- 
 ent hour. She discarded violent and ro- 
 mantic adventure. She did not rely in the 
 very least degree on describing popular or 
 passing fashions, amusements, politics; 
 but confined herself to the most strictly 
 ordinary life. Yet she managed in some 
 fashion so to extract the characteristics 
 of that life which are perennial and human, 
 there can never be any doubt of fit 
 readers in any age finding themselves at 
 home with her, just as they find themselves 
 at home with all the greatest writers of by- 
 gone ages. And lastly, by some analogous 
 process she hit upon a style which, though 
 again true to the ordinary speech of her 
 
 own day, and therefore now reviled as 
 "stilted" and formal by those who have 
 not the gift of literary detachment, again 
 possesses the universal quality, and, save 
 in the merest externals, is neither an- 
 cient nor modern. — Saintsbury, George, 
 1896, A History of Nineteenth Century 
 Literature, pp. 129, 130. 
 
 The one prose-writer of this period 
 whose genius has proved absolutely per- 
 durable, who holds no lower a place in her 
 own class than is held in theirs by Words- 
 worth, Coleridge, and Scott — for that 
 impeccable Jane Austen, whose fame 
 becomes every day more inaccessible to 
 the devastating forces of time and shifting 
 fashion. It has long been seen, it was 
 noted even by Macaulay, that the only 
 writer with whom Jane Austen can fairly 
 be compared is Shakespeare. It is obvious 
 that she has nothing of his width of range 
 or sublimity of imagination; she keeps 
 herself to that two-inch square of ivory 
 of which she spoke in her proud and simple 
 way. But there is no other English writer 
 who possesses so much of Shakespeare's 
 inevitability, or who produces such evi- 
 dence of a like omniscience. Like Balzac, 
 like Tourgenieff at his best, Jane Austen 
 gives the reader an impression of knowing 
 everything there was to know about her 
 creations, of being incapable of error as 
 to their acts, thoughts, or emotions. She 
 presents an absolute illusion of reality ; she 
 exhibits an art consummate that we mis- 
 take it for nature. She never mixes her 
 own temperament with those of her char- 
 acters, she is never swayed by them, she 
 never loses for a moment her perfect, 
 serene control of them. Among the 
 creators of the world, Jane Austen takes 
 a place that is with the highest and that is 
 purely her own. — Gosse, Edmund, 1897, 
 Short History of Modern English Litera- 
 ture, p. 295. 
 
 Her conditions and temperament con- 
 spired to impose limitations which make 
 her art perhaps more enduring than that 
 of her great successors, since from very 
 scarcity of material she was forced to 
 individualize after much our present man- 
 ner. But on account of these very limita- 
 tions, her work has slight value as social 
 evidence to the wider phases of contem- 
 porary life. — Scudder, Vida D., 1898, 
 Social Ideals in English Letters, p. 130. 
 
 The style of Jane Austen cannot be 
 
AUSTEN— DWIGHT 
 
 625 
 
 separated from herself or her method. It 
 is the natural easy flowing garment of her 
 mind, delighting in inconsistencies and 
 infinite detail. It is so peculiarly her own 
 that one cannot trace in it with any degree 
 of certainty the course of her reading. 
 . . . The matter of observation, in 
 passing through Jane Austen's imagina- 
 tion, was, never violently disturbed; the 
 particular bias it received was from a 
 delicate and delightful irony ; there was 
 precisely that selection and recombination 
 and heightening of incident and character 
 that distinguish the comedy of manners 
 from real life. — Cross, Wilbur L., 1899, 
 The Development of the English Novel, pp. 
 121, 124. 
 
 No doubt the quibs and cranks and 
 trickeries of literary fashion will go on 
 and on so long as printing is not one of the 
 lost arts ; but there will always be many, 
 among whom I count myself one, to believe 
 that Jane Austen's genius will assert itself 
 triumphantly, however many these vacilla- 
 tions and counterchanges in literary taste, 
 and however long they n)ay last. — Pol- 
 lock, Walter Herries, 1899, Jane Aus- 
 ten, Her Contemporaries and Herself, p. 1. 
 
 After considering the short, feverish, 
 genius-filled lives of such people as Marie 
 Bashkirtseff or Aubrey Beardsley, what a 
 rest it is to go back to the contemplation 
 of a peaceful, homely, healthy existence 
 like that of Jane Austen ! It is, indeed, 
 this peaceful, homely element in her writ- 
 ings that gives them the place they are 
 rightfully reclaiming in English litera- 
 ture. — Harper, Janet, 1900, The Renas- 
 cence of Jane Austen, Westminster Re- 
 view, vol. 153, p. 442. 
 
 It has sometimes occurred to me that it 
 would be a very delightful thing if a 
 magazine could be started which should be 
 
 devoted entirely to Miss Austen, and to 
 which only her sincere admirers should be 
 allowed to contribute. We are never tired 
 of talking about her ; should we ever grow 
 weary of reading or writing about her? 
 For my own part 1 read every book or 
 article that relates to her with the utmost 
 eagerness, provided that the author dis- 
 plays a due sense of worship ; but any 
 criticism which is not of the most loving 
 character is irritating, and, like other 
 follies, it should be avoided. . . . The 
 great men in literature have always appre- 
 ciated her. The praise given her by Scott 
 and Macaulay has been often quoted, and 
 I recollect my mother telling me of a con- 
 versation with Lord Beaconsfield, who 
 certainly expressed his admiration of the 
 authoress, and who, I think, said that 
 ''Emma" was his favourite among the 
 novels. But since I was young, Miss 
 Austen's popularity with the general pub- 
 lic has increased in a quite remarkable 
 manner. Some thirty years ago I was 
 starting on a journey with two compan- 
 ions, one of them about my own age, the 
 other an older man. My contemporary 
 went to the book-stall and proposed to buy 
 ''Emma," but his senior interposed and 
 told him it was ' ' awfully stupid. " I looked 
 upwards, but no lightning struck the 
 impious head, nor did we even encounter 
 a railway smash. Fate may have been 
 merciful because 'the intending purchaser 
 proved himself worthy, and "Emma" was 
 after all properly honoured. There are 
 not now, one may hope, many who can 
 read the novel and decide that it is 
 "awfully stupid," but my friend, though 
 undoubtedly an extravagant sinner, was 
 not altogether peculiar in his generation. 
 — IDDESLEIGH, Earl OF, 1900, A Chat 
 about Jane Austen's Novels, The Nineteenth 
 Century, vol. 47, p. Sll. 
 
 Timothy Dwight 
 
 1752-1817 
 
 Was born in Northampton, Massachusetts, in 1752. After graduating at Yale College, 
 he was chosen tutor, which oflfice he held for six years. In 1783 he was ordained over 
 the Congregational church in Greenfield, Connecticut, and in 1795 was chosen presi- 
 dent of Yale College, which post he held until his death, which occurred January 11, 
 1817. Dr. Dwight's published works are, ' ' The Conquest of Canaan, ' ' a poem ; ' ' Green- 
 field Hill," a poem; "Travels in New England," four volumes; "Theology Explained 
 and Defended," five volumes; and some versions of the Psalms. His "Theology" has 
 passed through numerous editions in England as well as in our own country, and is very 
 highy esteemed.— Cleveland, Charles Dexter, 1868, Lyra Sacra Americana, p. 308. 
 
 40C 
 
626 
 
 TIMOTHY DWIGHT 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Of this American poet I am sorry to be 
 able to give the British reader no account. 
 I believe his personal history is as little 
 known as his poetry on this side of the 
 Atlantic. — Campbell, Thomas, 1819, 
 Specimens of the British Poets. 
 
 As a poet President Dwight was little 
 inferior to any of his contemporaries in 
 America ; but it was not on his poetry that 
 his claims to the respect of mankind were 
 based. As an instructor probably he was 
 never surpassed in this country, and as a 
 theologian he had no equal among the men 
 of his time. An eloquent preacher, with 
 a handsome person, an expressive counte- 
 nance, polished and affable manners, bril- 
 liant conversational abilities, and vast 
 stores of learning, — it was almost impos- 
 sible that he should fail of success in any 
 effort, and least of all in the administra- 
 tion of the important office which he so 
 long and so honourably filled. When he 
 died, the country was bereaved of a great 
 and good man. — Griswold, Rufus W., 
 1842-46, The Poets and Poetry of Amer- 
 ica, p. 14. 
 
 Stately and majestic, and every way well 
 proportioned. His features were regular ; 
 his eye black and piercing, yet benignant ; 
 and his countenance altogether indicative 
 of a high order of mind. His voice was rich 
 and melodious, adapted alike to music and 
 oratory. — Sprague, William B., 1844, 
 Life of Timothy Dwight, Library of Ameri- 
 can Biography, ed. Sparks, vol. 14, p. 230. 
 
 Pleasing as Dr. Dwight is as a poet, and 
 learned and eloquent as he was as a divine, 
 it is as President of Yale College that he 
 was most valued, and honoured, and loved 
 while living, and as such is embalmed in 
 the hearts of the large number of scholars, 
 divines, and statesmen still living, who 
 were instructed by him in their collegiate 
 course. He had the remarkable faculty 
 of winning the affections and commanding 
 the most profound respect of the young 
 men who came under his influence, while 
 he poured forth his instructions in a most 
 impressive eloquence, from a mind stored 
 with the treasures of ancient and modern 
 learning. And knowing, as we do, that 
 for the last twenty years of his life he 
 could scarcely use his eyes at all, our 
 wonder increases that he accomplished so 
 much.— Cleveland, Charles D., 1859, A 
 Compendium of American Literature, p. 103. 
 
 His influence was extensive and bene- 
 ficent beyond that of any other man in 
 New England; indeed, his enemies called 
 him ' 'old Pope Dwight.'' . . . Whenever 
 he came to my house, the family thought 
 it a privilege to gather round him to listen 
 to his conversation. We sat round, and 
 he talked. A question now and then would 
 be asked, but nobody ever thought of 
 talking much, only of hearing. He loved 
 to talk, and we loved to listen. When- 
 ever I wanted advice, I went to him as 
 to a father, and told him everything. — 
 Beecher, Lyman, 1863, Autobiography, 
 vol. I, p. 328. 
 
 He was himself greater than anything 
 he ever said or did; and for those who 
 came near him, all that he did or said had 
 an added import and fascination as pro- 
 ceeding from one so overpoweringly com- 
 petent and impressive. — Tyler, Moses 
 CoiT, 1895, Three Men of Letters, p. 99. 
 
 GENERAL 
 In his fictions he discovers much 
 warmth of conception, and his numbers 
 are very harmonious. His numbers, in- 
 deed, imitate pretty closely those of Pope, 
 and therefore cannot fail to be musical ; 
 but he is chiefly to be commended for the 
 animation with which he writes, and which 
 rather increases as he proceeds, than suffer 
 any abatement. . . . The composi- 
 tion, however, is not without a fault ; and 
 as we have candidly praised, we will cen- 
 sure with fidelity. By the motto which the 
 author has chosen, we are led to suspect 
 that he is young, and the chief blemish of 
 his poem is one into which hardly anything 
 but youth could have betrayed him. A 
 little mature consideration would have 
 taught him, that a sub-ject nearly four 
 thousand years old could not afford him a 
 very fair opportunity for the celebration 
 of his contemporaries. — Cowper, W^il- 
 liam, 1788, The Conquest of Canaan, Ana- 
 lytical Review ; Works, ed. Southey, vol. iv, 
 pp. 355, 356. 
 
 Of Dr. Dwight we would speak with all 
 the respect due to talents, to learning, to 
 piety, and a long life of virtuous useful- 
 ness, but we must be excused from feeling 
 any high admiration of his poetry. It 
 seems to us modelled upon a manner 
 altogether too artificial and mechanical. 
 There is something strained, violent, and 
 out of nature in all his attempts. His 
 
TIMOTHY D WIGHT 
 
 627 
 
 "Conquest of Canaan" will not secure 
 immortality to its author. In his work he 
 has been considered by some critics as by 
 no means happy in the choice of his fable. 
 However this may be, he has certainly 
 failed to avail himself of the advantages 
 it offered him ; his epic wants the creations 
 and colorings of an inventive and poetical 
 fancy — the charm which, in the hands of 
 a genius, communicates an interest to the 
 simplest incidents, and something of the 
 illusion of reality to the most improbable 
 fictions. The versification is remarkable 
 for its unbroken monotony. Yet it con- 
 tains splendid passages, which, separated 
 from the body of the work, might be ad- 
 mired, but a few pages pall both on the 
 ear and the imagination. It has been 
 urged in its favor that the writer was 
 young. The poetry of his maturer years 
 does not, however, seem to possess greater 
 beauties or fewer faults. — Bryant, Wil- 
 liam CuLLEN, 1818-84, Early American 
 Verse, Prose Writings^ ed, Godwin^ vol, L 
 p. 49. 
 
 Corresponding with the laws which the 
 author prescribed to himself, in his "Con- 
 quest of Canaan," he made every thing 
 too common. There is little that is really 
 distinctive, little that is truly oriental 
 about any of his persons or scenes. A 
 certain equable current of unexception- 
 able, and oftentimes pleasing thoughts and 
 expressions, flows through the poem. It 
 is occasionally animated, and in descrip- 
 tion, sometimes picturesque and poetical. 
 The versification, though generally monot- 
 onous, having too little variety in the 
 pauses, is for the most part uncommonly 
 smooth. In the expression of strong emo- 
 tion, there is an avoidance of all offensive 
 extravagance, if it do not reach the genu- 
 ine ardour or pathos of the highest order 
 of poetry. Having said thus much, we 
 fear we have said all that is due to this 
 poetical work ; nor do we say this to deduct 
 any thing from the high and well-deserved 
 reputation of President Dwight. It is not 
 the lot of a single man to excel in every 
 thing ; and it is often our misfortune to 
 make a false estimate of our own powers, 
 and to stake too much of our intellectual 
 wealth on the race, in which we are unable 
 to reach the goal. — Willard, S., 1818, 
 Life and Writings of President Dwight, 
 North American Review, vol. 7, p. 352. 
 
 The work before us [''Travels"] though 
 
 the humblest in its pretences, is the most 
 important of his writings, and will derive 
 additional value from time, whatever may 
 become of his poetry and of his sermons. 
 . . . A wish to gratify those who, a 
 hundred years hence, might feel curiosity 
 concerning his native country, made him re- 
 solve to prepare a faithful description of its 
 existing state. He made notes, therefore, 
 and collected information on the spot. . . . 
 The remarks upon natural history are those 
 of an observant and sagacious man who 
 makes no pretentions to science ; they are 
 more interesting, therefore, than those of 
 a merely scientific traveller ; and, indeed, 
 science is not less indebted to such observ- 
 ers, than history to the faithful chroni- 
 clers and humbler annalists of former 
 times. — SouTHEY, Robert, 1823, Quar- 
 terly Review, vol. 30, pp. 1, 2. 
 
 No production of the transatlantic press 
 has met with so favourable a reception in 
 this country, and experienced so extensive 
 a circulation, as this work ["Theology 
 Explained" ] of President Dwight. Nor is 
 its popularity likely to be ephemeral. It 
 bears the impress of a most powerful 
 mind, and will pass down to posterity, both 
 in the Old and New World, as the work of 
 one of the master-spirits of the Christian 
 Church.— Orme, Robert, 1824, Bibli- 
 otheca Biblica. 
 
 In Dwight's early poems we see a heat 
 of honest enthusiasm sufficient to warm the 
 faculties through life. These productions 
 have been hardly dealt with. They are 
 worth something more than to furnish a 
 dull jest at epic failures. The "Conquest 
 of Canaan," it should be remembered, was 
 the production of a youth hardly out of 
 college, and should be looked at as a series 
 of poetic sketches, not over nice in rhet- 
 orical treatment or obedience to the laws 
 of Aristotle. In that view it contains 
 much pleasing writing, but the word epic 
 should never be brought in contact with 
 it. . . . "Greenfield Hill" is an idyllic 
 poem of rare merit. A little more nicety 
 of execution and a better comprehension 
 of the design at the outset, would doubt- 
 less have improved it; but the spirit is 
 there. — Duyckinck, Evert A., and 
 George L., 1855-65-75, Cyclopcedia of 
 American Literature, ed. Simons, vol. i, 
 pp. 373, 375. 
 
 Dr. Dwight was a well-meaning, amiable, 
 indefatigable man, of remarkable talent, 
 
628 
 
 DWIGHT— HORNER 
 
 but distinctly falling short of genius. — 
 NiCHOL, John, 1880-85, American Liter- 
 ature, p. 93. 
 
 He wrote America,'* **The Conquest 
 of Canaan" (an epic), Greenfield Hill,*' 
 and "The Triumph of Infidelity." These 
 poems are not properly subjects of critic- 
 ism, because they are hopelessly forgotten, 
 and no critical resurrectionist can give 
 them that slight appearance of vitality 
 which would justify an examination of 
 their merits and demerits. Yet they are 
 reasonably good of their kind, and ''Green- 
 field Hill," especially, contains some de- 
 scriptions which are almost worthy to be 
 called charming. Dwight, as a Latin 
 scholar, occasionally felt called upon to 
 show his learning in his rhymes. Thus in 
 one of his poems he characterizes one of 
 the most delightful of Roman lyrists as 
 * * desipient " Horace. After a diligent ex- 
 ploration of the dictionary the reader finds 
 that desipient comes from a Latin word 
 signifying "to be wise, " and that its Eng- 
 lish meaning is "trifling, foolish, playful." 
 It might be supposed that in the whole 
 range of English poetry there was no 
 descriptive epithet so ludicrously pedantic. 
 — Whipple, Edwin Percy, 1886, Amer- 
 ican Literature and Other Papers, ed. 
 Whittier, p. 21. 
 
 Surely, "The Conquest of Canaan, " with 
 its eleven dreadful books of conventional 
 rhymed pentameters, — all tending more or 
 less to disarrange and confuse the familiar 
 facts of Biblical history, as well as to 
 dilute, to render garrulous, and to cheapen, 
 the noble reticence, the graphic simplicity, 
 of the antique chronicle, — is such an epic 
 as can be grappled with, in these degener- 
 ate days, by no man who is not himself as 
 heroic as this verse assumes to be. . . . 
 A satire in verse, entitled "The Triumph 
 of Infidelity." . . . From title-page 
 to colophon, the intended method of the 
 satire is irony, — a method calling, of 
 
 course, for delicacy of movement, for arch 
 and mocking sprightliness, for grace and 
 levity of stroke, and obviously beyond the 
 quality of one who being, in the first place, 
 always dead-in-earnest, emphatic, and even 
 ponderous, and secondly quite guiltless of 
 humor, was above all things an intellectual 
 gladiator, and could hardly think of any 
 other way of dealing with an antagonist 
 than by the good old-fashioned one of 
 felling him to the fioor. Probably there 
 can now be left for us on this planet few 
 spectacles more provocative of the melan- 
 choly and pallid form of mirth, than that 
 presented by these laborious efforts of the 
 Reverend Doctor Timothy Dwight to be 
 facetious at the expense of David Hume, 
 or to slay the dreadful Monsieur de Voltaire 
 in a duel of irony. . . . "Greenfield 
 Hill, " — that one of his larger poems which 
 almost attained to popular favor, and fairly 
 deserved to do so.— Tyler, Moses Coit, 
 1895, Three Men of Letters, pp. 86, 91, 92. 
 
 In scholarship and force of character, 
 Dwight has had few superiors since 
 Edwards.— Pattee, Fred Lewis, 1896, 
 A History of American Literature, p. 96. 
 
 "The Conquest of Canaan" is an honest, 
 respectable piece of work, but of genius 
 or even of high talent it has not a glimmer. 
 The worst defect of this poem, next to its 
 hopeless mediocrity, is the incongruity 
 between the early, rude times depicted and 
 the conventional eighteenth-century man- 
 ner throughout. — Bronson, Walter C, 
 1900, A Short History of American Litera- 
 ture, p. 61. 
 
 Dwight also wrote a poem called 
 "Greenfield Hill," of which the name is 
 remembered. It is long, tedious, formal, 
 and turgid ; but it indicates, like the good 
 President's travels, that he was touched 
 by a sense of the beauties of nature in his 
 native country. — Wendell, Barrett, 
 1900, A Literary History of Americay 
 p. 123. 
 
 Francis Horner 
 
 1778-1817 
 
 Francis Horner was born at Edinburgh, 29th August 1778, a merchant's son of 
 mixed English and Scottish ancestry. From the High School he passed at fourteen to 
 the university; and, after three years there, spent two more with a clergyman in 
 Middlesex, to "unlearn" his broad native dialect. On his return (1797) he was called 
 to the Scottish bar, from which in 1802 he removed to the English ; in 1806 he became 
 Whig member for St. Ives. He had made his mark in the House as a political econo- 
 mist, when, at thirty-eight, he died of consumption at Pisa, 8th February 1817. He 
 
FRANCIS HORNER 
 
 629 
 
 left little to preserve his name, beyond some contributions to the** Edinburgh Review," 
 of which he was one of the founders. Yet, in Lord Cockburn's words, he ^as *' pos- 
 sessed of greater public influence than any other private man." See his "Memoir and 
 Correspondence" (1843).— Patrick and Groome, eds.^ 1897, Chambers's Biographical 
 Dictionary^ p. 504. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Horner — the Horner, an Edinburgh Re- 
 viewer, an excellent speaker in the ** Hon- 
 ourable House," very pleasing, too, and 
 gentlemanly in company, as far as I have 
 seen.— Byron, Lord, 1813, Journal, Nov. 
 30; Life, Letters and Journals of Lord 
 Byron, ed. Moore. 
 
 He had, indeed, qualifications eminently 
 calculated to obtain and to deserve suc- 
 cess. His sound principles — his enlarged 
 views — his various and accurate knowl- 
 edge — the even tenour of his manly and 
 temperate eloquence — the genuineness of 
 his warmth, when into warmth he was 
 betrayed— and, above all, the singular 
 modesty with which he bore his faculties, 
 and which shed a grace and lustre over 
 them, all ; these qualifications, added to the 
 known blamelessness and purity of his 
 private character, did not more endear 
 him to his friends, than they commanded 
 the respect of those to whom he was 
 opposed in adverse politics ; they ensured 
 to every effort of his abilities an attentive 
 and favouring audience ; and secured for 
 him, as the result of all, a solid and un- 
 envied reputation. — Canning, George, 
 1817, Proceedings in the House of Com- 
 mons, March 3. 
 
 The only event which now appears inter- 
 esting to me, is the scene in the House of 
 Commons on Monday. Lord Morpeth 
 opened it in a speech so perfect, that it 
 might have been well placed as a passage 
 .in the most elegant English writer ; it was 
 full of feeling; every topic was skillfully 
 presented, and contained, by a sort of 
 prudence which is a part of taste, within 
 safe limits ; he slid over the thinnest ice 
 without cracking it. Canning filled well 
 what would have been the vacant place of 
 a calm observer of Horner's public life and 
 talents. Manners Sutton's most affecting 
 speech was a tribute of affection from a 
 private friend become a political enemy ; 
 Lord Lascelles, at the head of the country 
 gentlemen of England, closing this affect- 
 ing, improving, and most memorable scene 
 by declaring, ''that if the sense of the 
 House could have been taken on this 
 occasion, it would have been unanimous." 
 
 I may say without exaggeration, that 
 never were so many words uttered without 
 the least suspicion of exaggeration ; and 
 that never was so much honour paid in any 
 age or nation to intrinsic claims alone. A 
 Howard introduced, and an English House 
 of Commons adopted, the proposition of 
 thus honouring the memory of a man of 
 thirty-eight, [?] the son of a shopkeeper, 
 who never filled an office, or had the power 
 of obliging a living creature, and whose 
 grand title to this distinction was the 
 belief of his virtue. How honourable to 
 the age and to the House! A country 
 where such sentiments prevail is not ripe 
 for destruction. — Mackintosh, Sir James, 
 1817, Journal, March 6; Memoirs, ed. 
 Mackintosh, vol. ii, p. 343. 
 
 Nor do I believe that there is or ever 
 was, a great divided political assembly 
 where so generous and just a testimony 
 would have been borne unanimously "to 
 personal merit, joined especially as it was 
 in that individual, with a stern and unac- 
 commodating disdain of all sorts of base- 
 ness or falsehood. — Jeffrey, Francis 
 Lord, 181 7, Letter to John Allen, March 14. 
 
 I thought his knowledge various, cor- 
 rect, and ready for use. In his language, 
 he united the precision of a philosopher 
 with the elegance of a scholar. He had 
 cheerfulness without levity, and serious- 
 ness without austerity. He was sincere 
 in his principles and steady in his attach- 
 ments. But his manners were mild, his 
 temper was benevolent, and, with a becom- 
 ing zeal in the support of his own opinions, 
 he was perfectly exempt from intolerance 
 to those who thought differently from him- 
 self.— Parr, Samuel, 1817, Letter to Mr. 
 L. Horner, July 25. 
 
 Francis Horner was a rising speaker, 
 when he was taken off in the flower of his 
 age. He was calm, rational, strong, and 
 so argumentative and clear, as to fix the 
 attention, and carry with him very fre- 
 quently the conviction of a part of his 
 audience against their will ; yet he never 
 rose to eloquence, and had always some- 
 thing of a professional manner. — Brydges, 
 Sir Samuel Egerton, 1824, Recollections 
 of Foreign Travel, July 23. 
 
630 
 
 FRANCIS HORNER 
 
 It was the force of his character that 
 raised him; and this character not im- 
 pressed upon him by nature, but formed, 
 out of no peculiarly fine elements, by him- 
 self. There were many in the House of 
 Commons of far greater ability and elo- 
 quence. But no one surpassed him in the 
 combination of an adequate portion of 
 these w ith moral worth. Horner was born 
 to show what moderate powers, unaided 
 by any thing whatever except culture and 
 goodness, may achieve, even when these 
 powers are displayed amidst the competi- 
 tion and jealousy of public life. — Cock- 
 burn, Henry Lord, 1830-54, Memorials 
 of His Time, p. 296. 
 
 There was something very remarkable 
 in his countenance — the commandments 
 were written on his face, and I have often 
 told him there was not a crime he might 
 not commit with impunity, as no judge or 
 jury who saw him, would give the smallest 
 degree of credit to any evidence against 
 him : there was in his look a calm settled 
 love of all that was honourable and good 
 — an air of wisdom and of sweetness ; you 
 saw at once that he was a great man, 
 whom nature had intended for a leader of 
 human beings; you ranged yourself wil- 
 lingly under his banners, and cheerfully 
 submitted to his sway. — Smith, Sydney, 
 1842, Letter to Mr, L. Horner, Aug. 26. 
 
 Francis Horner's was a short and 
 singular life. He was the son of an Edin- 
 burgh shopkeeper; he died at thirty- 
 nine : and when he died, from all sides of 
 the usually cold House of Commons great 
 statesmen and thorough gentlemen got up 
 to deplore his loss. Tears are rarely 
 parliamentary ; all men are arid towards 
 young Scotchmen : yet it was one of that 
 inclement nation whom statesmen of the 
 species Castlereagh and statesmen of the 
 species Whitbread — with all the many 
 kinds and species that lie between the 
 two — rose in succession to lament. The 
 fortunes and superficial aspect of the man 
 make it more singular. He had no wealth, 
 was a briefless barrister, never held an 
 office, was a conspicuous member of the 
 most unpopular of all Oppositions, — the 
 opposition to a glorious and successful 
 war. He never had the means of obliging 
 any one. He was destitute of showy 
 abilities : he had not the intense eloquence 
 or overwhelming ardor which enthrall and 
 captivate popular assemblies ; his powers 
 
 of administration were little tried, and 
 may possibly be slightly questioned. In 
 his youthful reading he was remarkable 
 for laying down, for a few months of 
 study, enormous plans, such as many years 
 would scarcely complete; and not espe- 
 cially remarkable for doing anything won- 
 derful towards accomplishing those plans. 
 Sir Walter Scott, who, though not illiberal 
 in his essential intellect, was a keen par- 
 tisan on superficial matters, and no lenient 
 critic on actual Edinburgh Whigs, used to 
 observe, "I will not admire your Horner : 
 he always put me in mind of Obadiah's 
 bull, who, though he never produced a 
 calf, went through his business with such 
 a grave demeanor that he always main- 
 tained his credit in the parish.'' It is 
 no explanation of the universal regret, 
 that he was a considerable political econo- 
 mist: no real English gentleman, in his 
 secret soul, was ever sorry for the death 
 of a political economist. ... He may 
 be useful, as drying machines are useful, 
 but the notion of crying about him is 
 absurd. The economical loss might be 
 great, but it will not explain the mourning 
 for Francis Horner. The fact is, that 
 Horner is a striking example of the ad- 
 vantage of keeping an atmosphere. — 
 Bagehot, Walter, 1855-89, The First 
 Edinburgh Reviewers, Works, ed. Morgan, 
 vol. I, pp. 21, 22. 
 
 The plodding assiduity and eminent re- 
 spectability of Horner enabled him to 
 carry away from Edinburgh a well-earned 
 esteem, although even his friends were 
 obliged to admit that he owed nothing to 
 talent or genius, and we are painfully 
 struck by the truth of Scott's passing jibe, 
 which found in Horner's solemn earnest- 
 ness a certain reminiscence of Obadiah's 
 bull. — Craik, Sir Henry, 1901, A Cen- 
 tury of Scottish History, vol. ii, p. 252. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I cannot say that I thought Mr. Horner 
 a man of genius. He seemed to me to be 
 one of those men who have not very ex- 
 tended minds, but who know what they 
 know very well — shallow streams, and 
 clear because they are shallow. — Cole- 
 ridge, Samuel Taylor, 1832, Table-Talk, 
 ed. Ashe, May 2, p. 162. 
 
 His object was not to acquire fame for 
 himself, but to confer benefits on his fellow- 
 men; and his journals and correspond- 
 ence not only afford evidence the most 
 
HORNER— LEWIS 
 
 631 
 
 conclusive of his abilities, his public 
 services, and his virtues, but as it were 
 revive and continue, even after death, the 
 exercise of his active duties. They in- 
 struct and benefit mankind, and more 
 especially that country which he ever 
 warmly loved. — Monteagle, Lord, 1843, 
 Memoirs and Correspondence of Francis 
 Horner, Edinburgh Review, vol. 78, p. 299. 
 
 Mr. Horner is entitled to a high rank 
 as a political economist. But he was more 
 than this; he was a diligent student of 
 intellectual philosophy, a man of great 
 elevation of character, and unblemished 
 purity in private life. — Allibone, S. 
 Austin, 1854-58, A Critical Dictionary 
 of English Literature, vol, i, p. 892. 
 
 He was a correct and forcible speaker, 
 
 and though without the gift of eloquence 
 or humour, exercised a remarkable influ- 
 ence in the House of Commons, owing to 
 his personal character. Few men, with 
 such small advantages at the outset of 
 their career, ever acquired in such a short 
 space of time so great a reputation among 
 their contemporaries. As a political 
 economist Horner ranks deservedly high, 
 and though the bullion report, with which 
 his name is identified, produced no im- 
 mediate legislative results, its effect upon 
 public opinion was so great that Peel was 
 enabled to pass his bill for the gradual 
 resumption of cash payments by the bank 
 a few years afterwards.— Barker, G. 
 P. Russell, 1891, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. xxvii, p. 370. 
 
 Matthew Gregory Lewis 
 
 1775-1818 
 
 Born, in London, 9 July 1775. At Westminster School, June 1783 to 1790. Matric, 
 Ch. Ch., Oxford, 27 April 1790; B. A., 1794; M. A., 1797. Visit to Paris, 1791 ; to 
 Weimar, autumn 1792-93. Attache to British Embassy at the Hague, 1794. M. P., 
 for Hindon, 1796-1802. Play, ''The Castle Spectre," produced at Drury Lane, 14 
 Dec. 1797; "The East Indian" (afterwards called ; ''Rich and Poor"), Drury Lane, 
 24 April 1799; "Adelmorn," Drury Lane, 4 May 1801; "Alphonso," Covent Garden, 
 15 Jan. 1802; "The Captive," Covent Garden, 1803; "The Harper's Daughter," 
 Covent Garden, 4 May 1803; "Rugantino," Covent Garden, 1805; "Adelgitha," 
 Drury Lane, 1807; "The Wood Demon" (afterwards called "One o'clock"), Covent 
 Garden, 1807; "Venoni," Drury Lane, 1 Dec. 1808; "Timour the Tartar," Covent 
 Garden, 29 April, 1811. In West Indies, Jan. to March 1816. In Italy, May 1816 to 
 Dec. 1817. In West Indies, Feb. to May 1818. Sailed for England, 4 May; died at 
 sea, 14 Mavl818. Works: "The Monk," (anon.), 1796: "Village Virtues" (anon.), 
 1796; "The Castle Spectre," 1798; "Tales of Terror," 1799 [?J; "The Love of 
 Gain" (from Juvenal), 1799; "The East Indian," 1799; "Adelmorn," 1801 (2nd 
 edn. same year) ; "Alfonso, King of Castile," 1801 ; "Tales of Wonder" (with Scott 
 and Southey), 1801 ; "Adelgitha," 1806; "Feudal Tyrants," 1806 ; "Romantic Tales" 
 1808; "Venoni," 1809; "Oneo'clock," 1811; "Timour the Tartar," 1812 ; "Poems," 
 1812; "Koenigsmark the Robber" [1815]?. Posthumous: "Raymond and Agnes" 
 [1820?]; "The Isle of Devils," 1827; "Journal of a West Indian Proprietor," 1834; 
 "My Uncle's Garret Window," 1841. He translated: Schiller's "The Minister" 
 ("Kabale and Liebe"), 1798; Kotzebue's "Rolla," 1799; Zschokke's "The Bravo of 
 Venice" (Abellino), 1805. Life ; "Life and Correspondence" (2 vols.), 1839.— Sharp, 
 R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 168. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Talked of poor Monk Lewis : his death 
 was occasioned by taking emetics for sea- 
 sickness, in spite of the advice of those 
 about him. He died lying on the deck. 
 When he was told all hope was over, he 
 sent his man down below for pen, ink, and 
 paper ; asked him to lend him his hat ; and 
 upon that, as he lay, wrote a codicil to 
 his will. Few men, once so talked of, 
 have ever produced so little sensation by 
 
 their death. He was ruining his Negroes 
 in Jamaica, they say, by indulgence, for 
 which they suffered severely as soon as his 
 back was turned ; but he has enjoined it 
 to his heirs, as one of the conditions of 
 holding his estate, that the Negroes were to 
 have three additional holidays in the year. 
 — Moore, Thomas, 1818, Diary, Sept. 7 ; 
 Memoirs, Journal and Correspondence, ed. 
 Russell, vol. 11, p. 183. 
 
 Lewis was a good man, a clever man, 
 
632 
 
 MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS 
 
 but a bore. ... My only revenge or con- 
 solation used to be, setting him by the ears 
 with some vivacious person who hated 
 bores, especially, de Stael or Hobhouse, 
 for example. But I liked Lewis: he 
 was a jewel of a man had he been better 
 set. 1 don't mean personally, but less 
 tiresome, for he was tedious, as well as 
 contradictory to every thing and every 
 body. — Byron, Lord, 1821, Detached 
 Thoughts. 
 
 He did much good by stealth, and was 
 a most generous creature. . . . Lewis 
 was fonder of great people than he ought 
 to have been, either as a man of talent or 
 as a man of fashion. He had always dukes 
 and duchesses in his mouth, and was 
 pathetically fond of any one who had a 
 title. You would have sworn he had been 
 a parvenu of yesterday, yet he had lived 
 all his life in good society. . . . Mat 
 had queerish eyes — they projected like 
 those of some insects, and were flattish on 
 the orbit. His person was extremely 
 small and boyish — he was indeed the least 
 man I ever saw, to be strickly well and 
 neatly made. . . . This boyishness 
 went through life with him. He was a 
 child, and a spoilt child, but a child of 
 high imagination ; and so he wasted himself 
 on ghost-stories and German romances.' 
 He had the finest ear for rhythm I ever 
 met with — finer than Byron's. — Scott, 
 Sir Walter, 1825, Lockharfs Life of 
 Scott, ch. ix. 
 
 This good-natured fopling, the pet and 
 plaything of certain fashionable circles. — 
 LocKHART, John Gibson, 1836, Life of 
 Sir Walter Scott, ch. ix. 
 
 A very odd fellow ! One of the best of 
 men, if he had not had a trick of writing 
 profane and indecent books. Excellent 
 son; excellent master; and in the most 
 trying circumstances ; for he was the son 
 of a vile brace of parents, and the master 
 of a stupid, ungrateful gang of negroes. — 
 Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 1854, 
 Journal, Feb. 16; Life and Letters, ed. 
 Trevelyan. 
 
 Monk Lewis was a great favourite at 
 Oaklands. One day after dinner, as the 
 Duchess was leaving the room, she whis- 
 pered something into Lewis's ear. He 
 was much affected, his eyes filling with 
 tears. We asked what was the mat- 
 ter. '*0h," replied Lewis, *'the Duchess 
 spoke so very kindly to me!" — **My dear 
 
 fellow," said Colonel Armstrong, **pray 
 don't cry; I daresay she didn't mean it." 
 —Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollections 
 of Table-Talk, ed. Dyce. 
 
 In poetry he is a good imitator of the 
 worst style of a very ingenious but fan- 
 tastic school of Germans. To many even 
 then it was a matter of astonishment how 
 a ludicrously little and overdressed manni- 
 kin (the fac-simile of Lovel in Evelina"), 
 **with eyes projecting like those of some 
 insects, and flattish in the orbits," should 
 be the lion of London literary society, and 
 how the Prince of Dandies should have a 
 taste for the weird and wonderful, and be 
 the first to transfer to English the spirit 
 of some of the early German bards. — 
 Gilfillan, George, 1870, Life of Sir 
 Walter Scott, p. 45. 
 
 When he was still a schoolboy, quarrels 
 arose in his home, which resulted in a 
 separation between his parents, and the 
 pretty, proud, frivolous mother, left her 
 husband's house. Henceforward, the 
 precocious boy became her affectionate 
 friend, protector, and champion, dividing 
 his schoolboy means with her, when her 
 thoughtless expenditure had exhausted her 
 own, writing her long tender letters about 
 all that was going on, sympathising, guid- 
 ing, deferring to her opinion, confiding all 
 his plans, literary and otherwise, to her. 
 A more touching picture could not be than 
 that of this curious pair, in themselves so 
 imperfect, the faded, extravagant, foolish, 
 but loving mother, and her fat little under- 
 graduate, so sensible, so tender, so con- 
 stant, so anxious to anticipate all her 
 wants, scarcely betraying the conscious- 
 ness that these wants are sometimes un- 
 reasonable, and while he pours out all his 
 heart to her, still remaining loyally just 
 and faithful to the father, whose liberality 
 he will not hear, impugned. — Oliphant, 
 Margaret 0. W., 1882, Literary History 
 of England, XVUI-XIX Century y vol. ill, 
 V. 136. 
 
 THE MONK 
 
 There is one publication at the time too 
 peculiar, and too important to be passed 
 over in a general reprehension. There is 
 nothing with which it may be compared. 
 A legislator in our own parliament, a 
 member of the House of Commons of Great 
 Britain, an elected guardian and defender 
 of the laws, the religion, and the good man- 
 ners of the country, has neither scrupled 
 
MATTHEW GREGORY LEWIS 
 
 633 
 
 nor blushed to depict, and to publish to 
 the world, the arts of lewd and system- 
 atick seduction, and to thrust upon the 
 nation the most open and unqualified blas- 
 phemy against the very code and volume of 
 our religion. And all this, with his name, 
 style, and title, prefixed to the novel or 
 romance called ''The Monk.'' And one 
 of our publick theatres has allured the 
 publick attention still more to this novel, 
 by a scenick representation of an Episode 
 in it. — Mathias, Thomas James, 1797, The 
 Pursuits of Literature, Eighth ed., v. 239. 
 
 Himself (Lewis) a poet of no mean cali- 
 bre. The ballads and little pieces, scattered 
 throughout his novel of the ''Monk," were, 
 in their day, the most popular things 
 known. They were chanted in the street 
 and in the drawing-room ; while the sub- 
 ject of the most terrific ("Alonzo and 
 Imogene"), and many episodes in the novel, 
 were represented on the stage. — Dibdin, 
 Thomas Frognall, 1824, The Library 
 Companion, p. 746, note. 
 
 The brushwood splendour of *'The 
 Monk's" fame. — Lockhart, John Gib- 
 son, 1836, Life of Sir Walter Scott, ch. ix. 
 
 We should be disposed to say now that it 
 is hardly up to the mark of a "penny 
 dreadful, " even in point of literary merit. 
 The horrors are of the crudest descrip- 
 tion, and there is neither character nor 
 force of writing to redeem them. Mrs. 
 Radcliff e is incomparably superior. There 
 must have been something in the contrast 
 between the fat little boyish person, blub- 
 ber lips and beady eyes, of the author and 
 the atrocites he lisped forth so innocently, 
 which tickled Society. It is scarcely pos- 
 sible to conceive any more serious reason 
 for his fame. — Oliphant, Margaret 
 0. W., 1882, Literary History of England, 
 XVni-XIX Century, vol ni, p. 138. 
 
 Lewis's acquaintance with literature, 
 and especially with the German resuscita- 
 tions of feudalism, monasticism, ghosts, 
 and hobgoblins, enabled him to fill his 
 museum of atrocities with a large variety 
 of articles of vertu, including the Inquisi- 
 tion, the wandering Jew, and the bleeding 
 nun . But his imagination is gross, boyish, 
 and vulgar, and his horrors rests mainly 
 on a physical basis. He was foolish enough 
 to throw over all the restraints that Mrs. 
 Radcliffe had observed, and to attempt 
 explicit climax. — Raleigh, Walter, 1884, 
 The English Novel, p. 234. 
 
 "The Monk" used, and abused, the now 
 familiar apparat.us of Gothic romance. It 
 had Spanish grandees, heroines of dazzling 
 beauty, bravoes and forest banditti, foolish 
 duennas and gabbling domestics, monks, 
 nuns, inquisitors, magic mirrors, enchanted 
 wands, midnight incantations, sorcerers, 
 ghosts, demons ; haunted chambers, wain- 
 scoted in dark oak ; moonlit castles with 
 ruined towers and ivied battlements, whose 
 galleries rang with the shrieks and blas- 
 phemies of guilty spirits, and from whose 
 portals issued, when the castle clock tolled 
 one, the spectre of a bleeding nun, with 
 dagger and lamp in hand. There were 
 poisonings, stabbings, and ministrations of 
 sleeping portions ; beauties who masquer- 
 aded as pages, and pages who masqueraded 
 as wandering harpers ; secret springs that 
 gave admittance to winding stairs leading 
 down into the charnel vaults of convents, 
 where erring sistes were immured by cruel 
 prioresses and fed on bread and water 
 among the loathsome relics of the dead. 
 With all this, "The Monk" is a not wholly 
 contemptible work. There is a certain 
 narrative power about it which puts it 
 much above the level of "The Castle of 
 Otranto. ' ' And though it partakes of the 
 stilted dialogue and false conception of 
 character that abound in Mrs. Radcliffe's 
 romances, it has neither the excess of 
 scenery nor of sentiment which distin- 
 guishes that very prolix narrator. — Beers, 
 Henry A., 1898, A History of English 
 Romanticism in the Eighteenth Century, 
 p. 410. 
 
 GENERAL 
 O! wonder-working Lewis ! Monk or Bard, 
 Who fain would 'st make Parnassus a church- 
 yard; 
 
 Lo! \vreaths of yew, not laurel, bind thy 
 brow, 
 
 Thy muse a sprite, Apollo's sexton thou; 
 Whether on ancient tombs thou tak'st thy 
 stand, 
 
 By gibbering spectres hailed, thy kindred 
 band, 
 
 Or tracest chaste descriptions on thy page, 
 To please the females of our modest age ; 
 All hail, M. P. , from whose infernal brain 
 Thin-sheeted phantoms glide, a grisly train; 
 At whose command "grim women" throng 
 in crowds, 
 
 And kings of fire, of water and of clouds. 
 With "small gray men," "wild yagers" and 
 what not, 
 
 To crown with honor thee and Walter Scott ! 
 — Byron, Lord, 1809, English Bards and 
 Scotch Reviewers, 
 
634 
 
 LEWIS— ROMILLY 
 
 As a man of truly original powers, 
 .M. G. Lewis was far behind either Godwin 
 or Coleridge, and stood much on the level 
 of his successor Maturin : but what his 
 imagination lacked in grandeur was made 
 up by energy : he was a high-priest of the 
 intense school. Monstrous and absurd in 
 many things, as were the writings of 
 Lewis, no one could say that they were 
 deficient in interest. Truth and nature, 
 to be sure, he held utterly at arm's-length ; 
 but, instead, he had a lif e-in-death vigour, 
 a spasmodic energy, which answered well 
 for all purposes of astonishment. — Mom, 
 D. M., 1850-51, Sketches of the Poetical 
 Literature of the Past Half-Century, p. 18. 
 
 One of his best novels was "The Bravo 
 of Venice," published in 1804. . . . 
 He contrives to make this hero respected, 
 even admired to a degree ; and artfully em- 
 ploys the poetry and witchery of Venice, 
 that unique city in the world, — half land, 
 half sea, — to give a tinge of appropriate- 
 ness and even congruity to his wild 
 romance. The ' ' Bravo' ' is as good a speci- 
 men of the improbable and yet conceivable 
 as any work of fiction earlier than Scott. 
 — SiMONDS, William Edward, 1894, An 
 Introduction to the Study of English Fiction. 
 
 As Crabbe may serve to represent the 
 extreme of naturalism in art, so ''Monk" 
 Lewis may serve to represent the other 
 extreme, the extravagance of the romantic 
 tendency.— Do WDEN, Edward, 1895, iVcw; 
 Studies in Literature, p. 337. 
 
 Nothing can be worse in kind, and 
 nothing, of its kind, can well be better 
 than " Alonso the Brave. " It was Lewis's 
 role to fling the orts and refuse of German 
 Romanticism about the soil of England. 
 It was his luck rather than merit to have 
 once or twice thrown them where they 
 nourished good seed, and now and then to 
 have grasped a flower among his handfuls 
 of treasured weeds. His false ballads 
 helped to elicit the true ones of Scott, 
 and the respectable ones of Southey, and 
 he introduced to the author of "Manfred" 
 what he doubtless regarded as that capital 
 "Tale of Wonder," Goethe's "Faust."— 
 Herford, C. H., 1897, The Age of IVords- 
 worth, p. 94. 
 
 It is a part of the irony of things that 
 so robust a muse as Walter Scott's should 
 have been nursed in infancy by a little 
 creature like Lewis. — Beers, Henry A., 
 1898, A History of English Romanticism 
 in the Eighteenth Century, p. 404. 
 
 Sir Samuel Romilly 
 
 1757-1818 
 
 Born at London, March 1, 1757 : committed suicide Nov. 2, 1818. An English lawyer 
 and philanthropist, of Huguenot descent. At 21 years of age he entered Gray's Inn. 
 In 1806 he was appointed solicitor-general of the Grenville administration. He is 
 famous from his labors for the reform of the criminal law, commencing in 1807. His 
 plans were not realized during his lifetime. His speeches were published in 1820, and 
 his autobiography in 1840. — Smith, Benjamin E., ed., 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia 
 of Names, p. 865. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Some women use their tongues — she look 'd a 
 lecture, 
 
 Each eye a sermon and her brow a homily. 
 An all -in -all -sufficient self-director, 
 
 Like the lamented late Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 The Law's expounder, and the State's cor- 
 rector, 
 
 Whose suicide was almost an anomaly — 
 One sad example more that, "All is vanity," 
 (The jury brought their verdict in "In- 
 sanity.") 
 
 — Byron, Lord, 1818-24, Don Juan, 
 Canto L 
 
 In person. Sir Samuel Romilly was tall 
 and justly proportioned, with a counte- 
 nance regular and pleasing; but tinged 
 
 with deep shades of thought, and suscept- 
 ible of the greatest or tenderest emotions. 
 His manners were distinguished by singular 
 modesty, unaffected simplicity, and the 
 kindest attention and regard to the wishes 
 and feelings of others. His habits were 
 temperate, studious, and domestic. No 
 man ever indulged less in those pursuits 
 which the world calls pleasure. He rose 
 regularly at six o'clock; and was oc- 
 cupied, during the greater part of the 
 day, and frequently to a late hour at night, 
 either in study or laborious attendance to 
 his professional and parliamentary duties. 
 What little intervals of leisure could be 
 snatched from his toils he anxiously 
 
SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY 
 
 635 
 
 devoted to domestic intercourse and enjoy- 
 ments. Moderate in his own expences, he 
 was generous, without ostentation, to the 
 want of others ; and the exquisite sensibil- 
 ity of his nature was never more strik- 
 ingly displayed than in the fervent zeal 
 with which his professional knowledge 
 was always ready to be exerted for the 
 destitute and oppressed, for those who 
 might seem, in their poverty, to have been 
 left without a friend. Even to the last, 
 when sinking under the weight of domestic 
 affliction, when anticipating as its probable 
 result a wretched life of mental malady 
 and darkness, he was still intent on the 
 welfare and happiness of those around 
 him. The religion of Sir Samuel Romilly 
 was, like his life, pure, fervent, and en- 
 lightened. Unclouded by superstition or 
 intolerance, it shone forth in pious grati- 
 tude to God, and in charity to all man- 
 kind — Peter, William, 1820, Memoirs of 
 the Life of Sir Samuel Romilly. 
 
 Sir Samuel Romilly was a very effective 
 speaker on the topics which he handled : he 
 was a most acute reasoner, — of extraor- 
 dinary penetration and subtlety, — with 
 occasional appeals to sentiment, and ad- 
 dresses to the heart ; but still his manner 
 was strictly professional (which is never 
 a popular manner in parliament), and it 
 had also something of a Puritan tone, 
 which, with a grave, warm, pallid, puri- 
 tanic visage and attitude, took off from 
 the impression of a perfect orator, though 
 it never operated to diminish the great 
 attention and respect with which he was 
 heard. The veneration for his character, 
 the admiration of him as a profound 
 lawyer, the confidence in the integrity of 
 his principles, and his enlightened, as well 
 as conscientious study of the principles of 
 the constitution of his country, procured 
 for all he said the most submissive atten- 
 tion ; and they who thought him in politics 
 a stern and bigoted republican, whose 
 opinions were uncongenial to the mixed 
 government of Great Britain, and there- 
 fore dissented toto corde from his positions, 
 deductions, and general views of legisla- 
 tion and of state, never dared to treat 
 lightly whatever came from his lips. He 
 had a cold reserved manner, which repelled 
 intimacy and familiarity ; and, therefore, 
 whatever he did, he did by his own sole 
 strength. — Brydges, Sir S. E., 1824, Rec- 
 ollection of Foreign Travel^ July 23. 
 
 He was, in the highest sense of the 
 word, a philanthropist, loving mankind with 
 wise and constant affection, not misled by 
 any false sensibility, yet trembling alive 
 to their best and truest interests. With- 
 out displacing for a moment the beautiful 
 affections of domestic life, the welfare of 
 his fellow creatures ever lay next to the 
 heart of Sir Samuel Romilly ; and the feel- 
 ings which in weaker and meaner minds 
 extend only round the small circle which 
 blood or friendship draws, were in him 
 diffused with undiminished warmth over 
 the wide orbit of human existence. — Ros- 
 COE, Henry, 1830, Eminent British Law- 
 yers ; The Cabinet Cyclopcedia, Biography, 
 p, 404. 
 
 It is fit that no occasion on which Sir 
 Samuel Romilly is named should ever be 
 passed over without an attempt to record 
 the virtues and endowments of so great 
 and so good a man, for the instruction of 
 after-ages. Few persons have ever at- 
 tained celebrity of name and exalted 
 station, in any country, or in any age, with 
 such unsullied purity of character, as this 
 equally eminent and excellent person. — 
 Brougham, Henry Lord, 1839-43, 
 Lives of Statesmen of the Time of George 
 III vol I, p. 363. 
 
 There are circumstances in Sir Samuel's 
 history that render the state of his mind 
 on the subject of religion so important — 
 particularly as the editors profess to pub- 
 lish this work for the purposes of "example 
 and instruction" — that we feel ourselves 
 reluctantly obliged to say that, with our 
 best diligence, we have not been able to 
 discover throughout these volumes — his 
 own share written, he says, for the in- 
 struction of his children — any distinct 
 evidence that he was a Christian though 
 there is abundant proof that he was a man 
 of the kindest social and domestic feel- 
 ings, and of the purest morality, that he 
 believed in a future state of retribution, 
 and had a full and well-reasoned conviction 
 of the existence and transcendent at- 
 tributes of the Deity. ... In all 
 other respects we willingly offer our 
 testimony — valeat quantum — to his great 
 talents, large acquirements, and deserved 
 success — to his social and domestic virtues 
 — to his integrity, benevolence, and 
 honour — and, in short, to the most essential 
 qualities that constitute the character of 
 a virtuous man. — Croker, John Wilson, 
 
636 
 
 SIR SAMUEL ROMILLY 
 
 1840, Life of Sir Samuel Romilly, Quar- 
 terly Review, vol. 66, pp. 574, 626. 
 
 SPEECHES 
 
 As Saturday drew near, my anxiety for 
 Romilly's first public appearance had 
 swallowed up every other concern. . . . 
 Romilly's success was as great as his 
 friends predicted. He spoke for three 
 hours and a half, and his speech might be 
 named as the model of the simple style. 
 . . . The fact is, he kept every one 
 chained in attention, and made the whole 
 case (impeachment of Lord Melville) dis- 
 tinct to the dullest. — Horner, Francis, 
 1806, Memoirs and Correspondence, May 
 12, 13. 
 
 From the tenderness of his feelings, and 
 from an anger never roused but by cruelty 
 and baseness, as much as from his genius 
 and his pure taste, sprung that original 
 and characteristic eloquence which was 
 the hope of the afflicted as well as the 
 terror of the oppressor. If his oratory 
 had not flowed so largely from this moral 
 source, which years do not dry up, he 
 would not perhaps have been the only 
 example of an orator who, after the age 
 of sixty, daily increased in polish, in 
 vigour, and in splendour. — Mackintosh, 
 Sir James, 1830, Second Preliminary 
 Dissertation, Encyclopcedia Britannica. 
 
 As a speaker, Romilly habitually ad- 
 dressed himself rather to the reason than 
 the passions, though he by no means lacked 
 eloquence. He marshalled his premises, 
 and deduced his conclusions with mathe- 
 matical precision, and his diction was as 
 chaste as . his logic was cogent. The 
 unerring instinct with which he detected 
 and the unfailing felicity with which he 
 exposed a fallacy, united to no small powers 
 of sarcasm and invective, made him formid- 
 able in reply, while the effect of his easy 
 and impressive elocution was enhanced by 
 a tall and graceful figure, a melodious 
 voice, and features of classical regularity. 
 As an adept not only in the art of the advo- 
 cate, but in the whole mystery of law and 
 equity, he was without a superior, perhaps 
 without a rival, in his day. He was also 
 throughout life a voracious and omnivor- 
 ous reader, and seized and retained the 
 substance of what he read with unusual 
 rapidity and tenacity. He was an inde- 
 fatigable worker, rising very early and 
 going to bed late. His favourite relaxa- 
 tion was a long walk. From intensity of 
 
 conviction, aided perhaps by the melan- 
 choly of his temperament, he carried 
 political antagonism to extreme lengths, 
 even to the abandonment of a friendship 
 with Perceval, which had been formed on 
 circuit, and cemented by constant and 
 confidential intercourse. — RiGG, J. M. 
 1897, Dictionary of National Biography, 
 vol. XLix, p. 190. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 A charm, too, is spread over the whole 
 work, and it leaves in the mind a feeling 
 of afl!ection for the author; and this 
 because he displays himself without pre- 
 tention, and because the picture he draws 
 relates only to those moral feelings, those 
 private virtues, which every one can imi- 
 tate, and to that domestic life, the happi- 
 ness of which, as it is derived from the 
 purest and most amiable feelings, creates 
 ■ jealousy in the breast of no one. Mere 
 men of the world will probably disbelieve 
 it : in their eyes it will appear a romance, 
 but one that will not offend them ; and, 
 by the middling ranks, the most numerous 
 class of society, these memoirs will be read 
 with the same feeling as that which dic- 
 tated their composition. ... To me, 
 these Memoirs appear a precious monu- 
 ment : and when I reflect that this labori- 
 ous undertaking was the work of a man 
 always occupied to the utmost extent, who 
 gave up to it, as well as to all his legisla- 
 tive labours, that time from whence he 
 might have derived very considerable pro- 
 fessional advantages, it seems to me that 
 it cannot fail to produce a lasting effect 
 upon 'those who know how to profit by a 
 great example, and to reflect upon what 
 may be done with life by him who chooses 
 to employ it.— Dumont, Pierre Etienne 
 Louis, 1829, Letter in Memoirs of the 
 Life of Sir Samuel Romilly, ed. by His 
 Sons, Preface, vol. I, pp. xi, xii. 
 
 Romilly is one of the few lawyers 
 who have left any thing like an autobiog- 
 raphy. His sketch of his life is slight, 
 designed only for his children, but suffices 
 to disclose his modesty, his candor, his 
 sincerity, his self scrutiny and the purity 
 of his motives. ... It has always 
 been conceded that Romilly was the leader 
 of the equity bar in his day. . . . 
 Romilly's fame mainly depends on his 
 efforts to reform the criminal code. — 
 Browne, Irving, 1878, Short Studies of 
 Great Lawyers, pp. 121, 122, 124. 
 
ROMILL Y— FRANCIS 
 
 637 
 
 At this period of his life, Romilly^s 
 ambition was to follow his profession just 
 as far as was necessary for his subsistence, 
 and to aspire to fame by his literary pur- 
 suits. Accordingly, he began to exercise 
 himself in prose composition, and, judging 
 translation to be the most useful exercise 
 for forming a style, he rendered into Eng- 
 lish the finest models of writing that the 
 Latin language afforded. With the same 
 view of improving his style, he read and 
 
 studied the best English writers — Addison, 
 Swift, Bolingbroke, Robertson, and Hume 
 — noting down every peculiar propriety 
 and happiness of expression which he met 
 with, and which he was conscious he 
 would not have used himself. Komilly's 
 method of improving himself in English 
 composition bears a very close resem- 
 blance to that adopted by Buckle, the his- 
 torian. — NicoLL, Henry J., 1881, Great 
 Movements and Those Who Achieved Them. 
 
 Sir Philip Francis 
 
 1740-1818 
 
 Sir Philip Francis, was born in Dublin, 22d October 1740. Leaving Ireland at 
 twelve, he entered St. Paul's School in London, and at sixteen became a junior clerk 
 in the secretary of state's office. In 1758 he was a secretary in the expedition against 
 Cherbourg; in 1760 he was secretary on a mission to Portugal; in 1761 he acted as 
 amanuensis to the elder Pitt ; and in 1762 he was made first-clerk in the War Office. 
 In 1773 Lord North made him a member of the Council of Bengal ; in 1780 he fought 
 a duel with Warren Hastings (with whom he was always at enmity), and was seriously 
 wounded. In 1781 he returned home with a fortune largely acquired by playing whist. 
 He entered parliament in 1784. He was energetic in the proceedings against Hastings, 
 wrote many pamphlets, was eager to be governor-general of India, and was made a 
 K. C. B. in 1806. He was devoted to the prince-regent and a warm supporter of the 
 Friends of the People." In 1816 Mr. John Taylor wrote a book identifying Francis 
 with "Junius," but Francis never acknowledged having written the seventy "Letters," 
 which appeared in the "Public Advertiser" (21st Jan. 1769— 21st Jan. 1772), and 
 were reprinted in 1812 with 113 additional letters. His young second wife, whom he 
 married when seventy-four, was convinced that he must be Junius. — Patrick and 
 Groome, eds.f 1897, Chambers's Biographical Dictionary, p, 379. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Nature had conferred on Francis talents 
 such as are rarely dispensed to any individ- 
 ual — a vast range of ideas, a retentive 
 memory, a classic mind, considerable com- 
 mand of language, energy of thought and 
 expression, matured by age, and actuated 
 by an inextinguishable animosity to Hast- 
 ings. Francis indeed uniformly dis- 
 claimed any personal enmity to the man, 
 only reprobating the measures of the 
 ruler of India; and perhaps he might 
 sincerely believe his assertion. But he 
 always appeared to me, like the son of 
 Livia, to deposit his resentments deep in 
 his own breast ; from which he drew them 
 forth, if not augmented by time, at least 
 in all their original vigour and freshness. 
 Acrimony distinguished and characterized 
 him in everything. Even his person, tall, 
 thin, and scantily covered with flesh ; his 
 countenance, the lines of which were acute, 
 intelligent, and yet full of meaning ; the 
 tones of his voice, sharp, distinct and son- 
 orous; his very gestures, impatient, and 
 
 irregular — eloquently bespoke the forma- 
 tion of his intellect. I believe I never saw 
 him smile. . . . Bursting with bile, which 
 tinged and pervaded all his speeches in 
 Parliament, yet his irascibility never 
 overcame his reason; nor compelled his 
 friends, like those of Burke, to mingle re- 
 gret with their admiration, and to condemn 
 or to pity the individual whom they ap- 
 plauded as an orator. Francis, however 
 inferior he was to Burke in all the flowers 
 of diction, in exuberance of ideas borrowed 
 from antiquity, and in the magic of elo- 
 quence, more than once electrified the 
 house, by passages of pathos or of interest 
 which arrested every hearer. — Wraxall, 
 Sir Nathaniel, 1784-90, Posthumous 
 Memoirs of his own Time, p. 49. 
 
 I was alone with him in his last moments. 
 . . . Never was a death so worthy of 
 such a life : his spirits composed, tranquil, 
 and even cheerful, his mind apparently as 
 strong as ever and his perception as quick. 
 He expressed his gratitude for all my 
 little attentions and cares during the last 
 
638 
 
 FRANCIS— JUNIUS 
 
 sad, solemn night, in the most touching 
 manner. I was not aware at the time, 
 though I now am, that he knew how short 
 his time was. He showed great anxiety 
 that I should not leave him for a moment, 
 no doubt he anticipated my future regrets 
 had I done so ; but he never expressed fear 
 or anxiety on any other subject. Towards 
 morning he fell into a trance, from which 
 he revived and spoke to me, and took some 
 refreshment. About ten he fell into a 
 deep sleep, which lasted four hours. I 
 was flattering myself with the hope of his 
 waking much restored ; Mrs. Cholmondeley 
 had just left me, when, on a sudden, the 
 breathing I had been listening to so con- 
 tentedly stopped. I undrew the curtain 
 . . . not a sigh, not a motion, not a 
 change of countenance. Heart, pulses and 
 breath stopped at once without an effort. 
 — Francis, Lady, 1818, Letter to a 
 Friend, Francis Letters, vol. ii, p. 691. 
 
 Sir Philip Francis is best known to the 
 public as the supposed author of the let- 
 ters signed Junius. Whether he would 
 deserve notice or respect if he were the 
 real Junius, is a question which any one 
 can answer who is intimately acquainted 
 with Francis's career. . . . Yet, 
 irrespective of the assumed connexion 
 between Francis and Junius, there is much 
 
 in Francis's life which deserves more at- 
 tention than many readers may suppose. 
 Though not one of the great men whose 
 names shine in the annals of the eight- 
 eenth century, and though his place is in 
 the second rank, yet Francis's career was 
 as varied and interesting as that of many 
 whose names precede and overshadow his 
 on the roll of fame. — Rae, W. Fraser, 
 1889, Sir Philip Francis^ Temple Bar, vol. 
 87, p. 171. 
 
 Francis, whether Junius or not, was a 
 man of great ability and unflagging in- 
 dustry ; arrogant and vindictive in the ex- 
 treme; unscrupulous in gratifying his 
 enmities by covert insinuations and false 
 assercions, yet courageous in attacking 
 great men ; rigid and even pedantic in his 
 adherence to a set of principles which had 
 their generous side; really scornful of 
 meanness and corruption in others ; and 
 certainly doing much to vindicate the power 
 of public opinion, although from motives 
 which were not free from selfishness and 
 the narrowest personal ambition. There 
 may have been two such men, whose careers 
 closely coincided during Francis's most 
 vigorous period; but it seems more prob- 
 able that there was only one. — Stephen, 
 Leslie, 1889, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. XX, p. 179. 
 
 Junius 
 
 The signature appended to a famous series of letters on political subjects, which 
 appeared in The Public Advertiser," at various intervals between 1769 and 1772. 
 They were 44 in number; to which must be added 15 signed Philo-Junius, 113 under 
 various signatures, and 72 privately addressed to Woodfall, the publisher of the* 'Ad- 
 vertiser," and to Wilkes. The first of those signed Junius appeared on January 21, 
 1769. — Adams, W. Davenport, 1877, Dictionary of English Literature, p. 356. 
 
 AUTHORSHIP. 
 The following list of 51 names, embraces 
 the personages to whom these celebrated 
 letters have been attributed : 
 
 Adair f James, M. P.; Allen, Captain; Barre, 
 Lieut. -Col. Isaac, M. P ; Bentinck, William 
 Henry Cavendish; Bickerton, Mr.; Boyd, Hugh 
 M'Aulay; Burke, Rt. Hon. Edmund; Burke^ 
 William ; Butler, John; Camden, Charles, I^ord; 
 De Lolme, John Lewis; Dunning, John, after- 
 wards Lord Ashburton; Dyer, Samuel; Flood, 
 Henry; Francis, Sir Philip ; George III. ; 
 Gibbon, Edioard ; Glover, Richard ; Grattan, 
 Henry; Greatrakes, William; Grenville, George; 
 Grenville, James; Hamilton, William Gerard ; 
 Hollis, James ; Hollis, Thomas ; Jackson, Sir 
 George ; Jones, Sir William ; Kent, JoJtn ; Lee, 
 
 Maj.-Gen. Charles; Lloyd, Charles; Lyttleton, 
 Thomas ; Maclean, Laughlin ; Marshall, Rev. 
 Edmund; Paine, Thomas; Pitt, William; Port- 
 land, William, Duke of ; Pownall, Thomas; Rich, 
 Lieut. -Col. Sir Robert ; Roberts, John; Rosen- 
 hagen. Rev. Philip ; Sackville, George, Viscount ; 
 Shelburne, Earl of; Stanhope, Philip Dormer; 
 Sueit, Richard ; Temple, Richard, Earl ; Tooke, 
 John Home ; Walpole, Horatio ; Wedderburn, 
 Alexander; Wilkes, John; Wilmot, James, D.D.; 
 Wray, Daniel. 
 
 — Frey, Albert R., 1885, Initials and 
 Pseudonyms by William Gushing. 
 
 Boswell: ''Supposing the person who 
 wrote Junius were asked whether he was 
 theauthour, might he deny it?" Johnson: 
 "I don't know what to say to this. If you 
 
JUNIUS 
 
 639 
 
 were sure that he wrote Junius^ would you, 
 if he denied it, think as well of him after- 
 wards ? Yet it may be urged, that what 
 a man has no right to ask, you may refuse 
 to communicate; and there is no other 
 effectual mode of preserving a secret and 
 an important secret, the discovery of 
 which may be very hurtful to you, but a flat 
 denial ; for if you are silent, or hesitate, 
 or evade, it will be held equivalent to a 
 confession. But stay, Sir, here is another 
 case. Supposing the authour had told me 
 confidentially that he had written Junius, 
 and I were asked if he had, I should hold 
 myself at liberty to deny it, as being under 
 a previous promise, express or implied, to 
 conceal it. Now what I ought to do for 
 the authour, may I not do for myself?— 
 JoHx\soN, Samuel, 1784, Life by Boswell, 
 ed. Hill, vol. iv., p. 353. 
 
 It has long been a question who was the 
 author of the letters which appeared under 
 the signature of * 'Junius" in 1769 and 
 1770. Many have ascribed them to Mr. 
 Wm. Gerard Hamilton, who is certainly 
 capable of having written them, but his 
 style is very different. He would have had 
 still more point than they exhibit, and cer- 
 tainly more Johnsonian energy. Besides, 
 he has all his life been distinguished 
 for political timidity and indecision. 
 Neither would he, even under a mask, have 
 entered into such decided warfare with 
 many persons whom it might be necessary 
 afterwards to have as colleagues. What 
 is still more decisive, he could not have 
 divested himself of the apprehension of a 
 discovery, having long accustomed his 
 mind to too refined a policy, and being 
 very apt to suppose that many things are 
 brought about by scheme and machination 
 which are merely the offspring of chance. 
 He would have suspected that even the 
 penny post could not be safe ; and that Sir 
 W. Draper or any other antagonist would 
 have managed so as to command every one 
 of those offices within the bills of mortality. 
 Many have supposed'' Junius" to have been 
 written by Mr. Hamilton's old friend, the 
 well-known and deservedly celebrated 
 Edmund Burke. Dr. Johnson being once 
 asked whether he thought Burke capable 
 of writing "Junius," said he thought him 
 fully equal to it; but that he did not 
 believe him the author because he himself 
 had told him so ; and he did not believe he 
 would deliberately assert a falsehood. 
 
 Mr. Burke, however, it is extremely prob- 
 able, had a considerable share in the pro- 
 duction of those papers in furnishing 
 materials, suggesting hints, constructing 
 and amending sentences, &c., &c. He 
 has 'acknowledged to Sir Joshua Reynolds 
 that he knew the author. Sir Joshua with 
 very great probabilty thinks that the 
 late Mr. Samuel Dyer was the author, 
 assisted by Mr. Burke and by Mr. Wil- 
 liam Burke, his cousin, now in India. — 
 Malone, Edmond, 1791, Maloniana, ed. 
 Prior, p. 419. 
 
 Sir, — I frankly assure you that I know 
 nothing of Junius, except that I am not 
 the author. When Junius began I was a 
 boy, and knew nothing of politics or the 
 persons concerned in them. I am. Sir, 
 not Junius, but your very good wisher and 
 obedient servant. — Grattan, Henry, 
 1805, Letter to Mr. Almon, Nov. 4. 
 
 The question respecting the author of 
 Junius' s Letters, is thought, we believe, 
 by philosophers, to be one of more curios- 
 ity than importance. We are very far 
 from pretending that the happiness of 
 mankind is materially interested in its 
 determination; or that it involves any 
 great and fundamental scientific truths. 
 But it must be viewed as a point of literary 
 history; and, among discussions of this 
 description, it ranks very high. After all, 
 are there many points of civil or military 
 history really more interesting to persons 
 living in the present times? Is the guilt 
 of Queen Mary — the character of Richard 
 III. — or the story of the Man in the Iron 
 Mask, very nearly connected with the 
 welfare of the existing generation? 
 Indeed, we would rather caution, even the 
 most profound of philosophers, against 
 making too nice an inquiry into the prac- 
 tical importance of scientific truths ; for 
 assuredly there are numberless proposi- 
 tions, of which the curiosity is more 
 easily described than the utility, in all the 
 branches of science, and especially in the 
 severer ones — the professors of which 
 are the most prone to deride an inquiry 
 like that about Junius. . . . That 
 it proves Sir Philip to be Junius, we 
 will not affirm ; but this we can safely 
 assert, that it accumulates such a mass 
 of circumstantial evidence as renders it 
 extremely difficult to believe he is not; 
 and that, if so, many coincidences shall 
 be found to have misled us in this case. 
 
640 
 
 JUNIUS 
 
 our faith in all conclusions drawn from 
 proofs of a similiar kind may henceforth 
 be shaken. — Brougham, Henry Lord? 
 1817, Junius f Edinburgh Review, vol. 29, 
 pp. 94, 96. 
 
 xA. cause, however ingeniously pleaded, is 
 not therefore gained. You may remember 
 the neatly-wrought chain of circumstantial 
 evidence so artificially brought forward to 
 prove Sir Philip Francis's title to the 
 Letters of Junius" seemed at first irre- 
 fragable ; yet the influence of the reasoning 
 has pased away, and Junius, in the general 
 opinion, is as much unknown as ever. — 
 Scott, Sir Walter, 1822, Fortunes of 
 Nigel, Introductory, Epistle. 
 And several people swore, from out the press, 
 They knew him perfectly; and one could 
 swear 
 
 He was his father : upon which another 
 Was sure he was his mother's cousin's 
 brother. 
 
 I've an hypothesis — 'tis quite my own ; 
 
 I never let it out till now, for fear 
 
 Of doing people harm about the throne, 
 
 And injuring some minister or peer, 
 
 On whom the stigma might perhaps be blown ; 
 
 It is — my gentle public, lend thine ear! 
 
 'Tis that what Junius we are wont to call 
 
 Was really, truly, nobody ai; all. 
 
 — Byron, Lord, 1824, The Vision of 
 
 Judgment 
 
 I will just state here, en passant, that I 
 have strong reason to suspect that Lord 
 George Sackville was the author of 
 Junius." He may have had a literary 
 assistant, but I am convinced by a great 
 variety of reasons, that he v;as substan- 
 tially Junius.— Croker, John Wilson, 
 1824, Letter to Lord Liverpool, Oct. 13 ; 
 Correspondence, ed. Jennings, vol. i, 
 p. 273. 
 
 I persist in thinking that neither Mr. 
 Burke nor Philip Francis was the author 
 of the letter under the signature of 
 Junius. I think the mind of the first so 
 superior, and the mind of the latter so in- 
 ferior, to that of Junius, as to put the sup- 
 position that either of them was Junius 
 wholly out of the question. — Butler, 
 Charles, 1828, Letter to E. H. Barker, 
 June 14. 
 
 A new knight entered the lists with his 
 vizor down, and with unreal devices on his 
 shield, but whose arm was nerved with in- 
 born vigour, and whose lance was poised 
 with most malignant skill. Even now the 
 
 dark shadow of Junius looms across that 
 period of our annals with a grandeur no 
 doubt much enhanced and heightened by 
 the mystery. To solve that mystery has 
 since employed the most patient industry, 
 and aroused the most varied conjectures. 
 . . . Strong as this, the ''Franciscan," 
 theory appears when separately viewed, it 
 becomes, I think, far stronger still when 
 compared with the other claims that have 
 been urged. In no other can many 
 strained inferences and many gratuitous 
 assumptions fail to be observed. In no 
 other do the feelings and the circumstances 
 which must be ascribed to Junius, or the 
 dates applying to the cessation of his let- 
 ters, admit on all points, or even on most 
 points, of simple explanations from the 
 theory adduced. Even the claim on behalf 
 of Lord George Sackville, which at first 
 sight has dazzled many acute observers, 
 will not, as I conceive, endure the light of 
 a close and critical examination. — Stan- 
 hope, Philip Henry Earl (Lord Mahon), 
 1836-54, History of England from the Peace 
 of Utrecht to the Peace of Versailles, vol. V, 
 pp. 211, 225. 
 
 Before your last volume is published, I 
 am desirous of stating to you some of the 
 considerations which, more than seventeen 
 years ago, led me to the belief I still 
 entertain, that Walpole had a principal 
 share in the composition and publication 
 of the Letters of Junius : though I think 
 it likely that Mason, or some other friend 
 corrected the style, and gave precision and 
 force to the most striking passages. . . . 
 If we turn from a recollection of the words 
 to a consideration of the peculiarities of 
 the style of Junius, I think it will be 
 agreed that the most remarkable of all is 
 that species of irony which consists in 
 equivocal compliment. Walpole also ex- 
 celled in this ; and prided himself upon do- 
 ing so. Are we not justified in saying, that 
 of all who, in the eighteenth century, cast 
 their thoughts on public occurrences into 
 the form of letters, Junius and Walpole 
 are the most distinguished? That the 
 works of no other prose writer of 
 their' time exhibit a zest for political 
 satire equal to that which is displayed in 
 the Letters of Junius, and the Memories 
 and Political Letters of Walpole ? and that 
 the sarcasm of equivocal praise was the 
 favourite weapon in the armoury of each, 
 though it certainly appears to have been 
 
JUNIUS 
 
 641 
 
 tempered, and sharpened, and polished 
 with additional care for the hand of 
 Junius? — Grey, Charles Edward, 1840, 
 To the Editor of Letters of Horace Walpole. 
 
 The external evidence is, we think, such 
 as would support a verdict in a civil, nay, 
 in a criminal proceeding. The hand-writ- 
 ing of Junius is the very peculiar hand- 
 writing of Francis, slightly disguised. As 
 to the position, pursuits, and connexions of 
 Junius, the following are the most impor- 
 tant facts which can be considered as 
 clearly proved : first, that he was acquainted 
 with the technical forms of the Secretary 
 of State's office; secondly, that he was 
 intimately acquainted with the business of 
 the war-office ; thirdly, that he, during the 
 year 1770, attended debates in the House 
 of Lords, and took notes of speeches, 
 particularly of the speeches of Lord 
 Chatham; fourthly, that he bitterly 
 resented the appointment of Mr. Chamier 
 to the place of Deputy Secretary at War ; 
 fifthly, that he was bound by some strong 
 tie to the first Lord Holland. Now, 
 Francis passed some years in the Secretary 
 of State's office. He was subsequently 
 chief clerk of the war -office. He repeat- 
 edly mentioned that he had himself, in 
 1770, heard speeches of Lord Chatham; 
 and some of those speeches were actually 
 printed from his notes. He resigned his 
 clerkship at the war-office from resent- 
 ment at the appointment of Mr. Chamier. 
 It was by Lord Holland that he was first 
 introduced into the public service. Now 
 here are five marks, all of which ought to 
 be found in Junius. They are all five found 
 in Francis. We do not believe that more 
 than two of them can be found in any other 
 person whatever. If this argument does 
 not settle the question, there is an end of 
 all reasoning on circumstantial evidence. 
 The internal evidence seems to us to point 
 the same way. The style of Francis bears 
 a strong resemblance to that of Junius ; nor 
 are we disposed to admit, what is generally 
 taken for granted, that the acknowledged 
 compositions of Francis are very decidedly 
 inferior to the anonymous letters. The 
 argument from inferiority, at all events, 
 is only which may be urged with at least 
 equal force against every claimant that has 
 ever been mentioned with the single ex- 
 ception of Burke, who certainly was not 
 Junius. ... To go no further than the let- 
 ters which bear the signature of Junius ; — 
 
 41 c 
 
 the letter to the king and the letters to 
 Horne Tooke have little in common, except 
 the asperity ; and asperity was an ingredi- 
 ent seldom wanting either in the writings 
 or in the speeches of Francis. — Macaulay, 
 Thomas Babington, 1841, Warren Hast- 
 ings, Critical and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 It is here proper to remark that so far 
 from having any theory of our own on 
 Junius's identity, we are as entirely free 
 from bias on the subject, and confess our- 
 selves as profoundly ignorant of the au- 
 thorship of those celebrated Letters, as 
 if, instead of having for many years con- 
 stantly had the question in our mind, and 
 having read, we believe, nearly everything 
 that has been written on the point, we had 
 never bestowed a thought on the matter. 
 We have indeed a strong impression that 
 Junius was not any one of the numerous 
 persons heretofore so confidently brought 
 forward. — Nicolas, Sir Harris, 1843, 
 Junius and His Works. 
 
 It is my firm and deliberate conviction, 
 that if Lord Temple were not the author of 
 Junius, then the author has never yet been 
 publicly named, and that he will still re- 
 main that mysterious Umbra sine Xomine, 
 to exercise the ingenuity of some more suc- 
 cessful inquirer. — Smith, William James, 
 1852, ed.y The Grenville Papers. 
 
 If not a member of the peerage, Junius 
 must have had men of rank and station as 
 his allies, and, as he himself confesses, 
 persons about him who supplied him with 
 the information he required, and whose 
 importunities he was bound to obey. 
 Among the political writers who may be 
 considered as having played the principal 
 part in this combination, Sir Philip Francis 
 and Colonel Lachlan Macleane have the 
 highest claims. We leave it to a jury of 
 our readers to decide between them from 
 the evidence which is now within their 
 reach. — Brewster, Sir David, 1853, The 
 Grenville Papers, North British Review, 
 vol. 19, p. 517. 
 
 We think more highly of Lord Temple 
 than Mr. Smith does. He was a man of 
 humour, energy, sense, and we think of 
 sound judgment, — but no genius. There 
 never was a Grenville who had a particle 
 of genius : — not even my Lord, the most 
 plausible of the family, nor Thomas Gren- 
 ville, the best of them. Lord Temple 
 would not if he could, and could not if he 
 would, have written the Letters of Junius. 
 
642 
 
 JUNIUS 
 
 Junius, with twenty times the ability of 
 Temple, wanted his nobleness and gener- 
 osity. — DiLKE, Charles Wentworth, 
 1853, Junius, Papers of a Critic^ vol. ii, 
 p. 219. 
 
 My own impression is, that the ''Letters 
 of Junius" were written by Sir Philip 
 Francis. In a speech, which I once heard 
 him deliver, at the Mansion House, con- 
 cerning the Partition of Poland, I had a 
 striking proof that Francis possessed no 
 ordinary powers of eloquence. — Rogers, 
 Samuel, 1855, Recollections of Table-Talk, 
 ed. Dyce. 
 
 Wonder has been expressed at the 
 manner in which the secret has been kept. 
 But has it been so closely kept ? May not 
 an accurate guess, or a genuine betrayal, 
 have been too hastily disregarded ? Burke 
 told Reynolds that he knew Junius. Boyd, 
 according to Almon, as good as let out 
 the secret to him. Lord Grenville and Mr. 
 Thomas Grenville knew, or believed that 
 they knew, Junius, and declared that he was 
 neither of the persons to whom the letters 
 have been popularly ascribed. The tradi- 
 tion in the Woodfall family is decidedly 
 anti-Franciscan. Dr. Parr invariably 
 stood out for Lloyd. Rosenhagen claimed 
 the authorship. Burke has always been a 
 favourite. . . . The name of Francis 
 was never so much as suggested for the 
 authorship for forty years. It is not 
 mentioned by Almon, who, in his edition 
 of 1806, passes seventeen claimants in 
 review. It only occurs incidentally in 
 Woodfa^l's complete edition of 1812, in 
 the letter of ''Veteran," March 23,1772, 
 publicly calling on D'Oyly and Francis to 
 "declare their reasons for quitting the 
 War Office," to which (we now know) 
 Francis would have been the last to direct 
 public attention at the time. This edition 
 revived inquiry, and led eventually to the 
 "Junius Identified" of 1814. The credit 
 of first starting the Franciscan theory is 
 certainly due to Mr. Taylor, but its general 
 acceptance to this hour is owing to its 
 unhesitating adoption and eager advocacy 
 by Earl Stanhope and Lord Macaulay, who 
 agree in resting their case on similarity of 
 handwriting and style.— Hayward, Abra- 
 ham, 1867, More About Junius, Frasefs 
 Magazine, vol. 76, pp. 809, 810. 
 
 As to the Junius question in general, 
 there is a little bit of the philosophy 
 of horse-racing which may be usefully 
 
 applied. A man who is so confident of his 
 horse that he places him far above any 
 other, may nevertheless, and does, refuse 
 to give odds against all the field : for many 
 small adverse chances united make a big 
 chance for one or other of the opponents. 
 I suspect Mr. Taylor has made it at least 
 20 to 1 for Francis against any one com- 
 petitor who has been named : but what the 
 odds may be against the whole field is more 
 diflScult to settle. What if the real Junius 
 should be some person not yet named ? — 
 De Morgan, Augustus, 1871, A Budget 
 of Paradoxes, p. 312. 
 
 During the whole of the present century 
 the public mind of England has been con- 
 stantly inquiring by whom the Junius let- 
 ters were written. The claims of all the 
 competitors, with one exception, have been 
 disproved. However strong the circum- 
 stantial evidence has borne at different 
 times in favor of different aspirants, some 
 fatal fact would thrust itself forward to 
 overthrow the claimants one by one, until 
 all have dropped out of the controversy. 
 . . . If Sir Philip Francis were now 
 living, and on trial for libelling the Duke 
 of Grafton, and all the facts and circum- 
 stances that sixty years of earnest and 
 enlightened scrutiny had developed had 
 been given to an intelligent jury, the 
 probabilities are that that jury would be 
 unable to agree upon a verdict which 
 pronounced Francis guilty of writing the 
 libel. No jury would hesitate to find that 
 the libel itself was the most scorching 
 and atrocious to be found in any language 
 in the world's history. —Weed, Thurlow, 
 1873, The Letters of Junius, The Galaxy, 
 vol. 15, p. 609. 
 
 Probably no English book, except the 
 plays of Shakespeare, has been submitted 
 to such a minute and exhaustive criticism 
 as the "Letters of Junius;" and although 
 the sufl[iciency of the evidence tracing 
 them to Francis is still much disputed, it 
 may, I think, be truly said that rival 
 candidates have almost disappeared from 
 the field. — Lecky, William Edward 
 Hartpole, 1882, A History of England in 
 the Eighteenth Century, vol. iii, ch.x\,p.2Ql. 
 
 England has hitherto had her mystery in 
 "Junius;" but she will enjoy it no more, 
 for there can be no longer any shadow of 
 doubt that the "Letters" were written by 
 Sir Philip Francis. — Smith, Goldwin, 
 1894, Junius Revealed, Sketch, May 16. 
 
JUNIUS 
 
 643 
 
 I do not venture to identify Amyand 
 with Junius; but the facts which I am 
 about to set forth deserve consideration. 
 . . . I have written more than once 
 that I do not know who Junius was ; as 
 my ignorance still continues, I will not 
 affirm that Claudius Amyand ever used 
 ''Junius" as a signature. In six articles 
 on ''The Franciscan Myth," the first of 
 which appeared in the Athenceum for 
 December 25th, 1897, I have proved that 
 Francis could not be Junius, unless he 
 were the same man who denounced George 
 III. and Lord Mansfield as Junius, and 
 defended them in his own person as 
 Britannicus in the Public Advertiser, 
 I am unable to admit that when Henry 
 Sampson Woodfall, William Pitt, and Lord 
 Grenville stated, from personal knowledge, 
 that Junius was not Francis, they are un- 
 worthy of belief. ... It certainly 
 requires no ordinary courage or the excuse 
 of invincible ignorance to reject conclu- 
 sions at which Macaulay, Mr. Leslie 
 Stephen, and Mr. Lecky have arrived ; yet 
 the critic who is neither over-weighted nor 
 misled by prepossessions or forgone con- 
 clusions may decline to admit the infalli- 
 bility of any writer. — Rae, W. Fraser, 
 1899, JwTims, Athenceum, pt. i, pp. 434,435. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 How comes this Junius to have broke 
 through the cobwebs of the law, and to 
 range uncontrolled, unpunished, through 
 the land? The myrmidons of the Court 
 have been long, and are still, pursuing him 
 in vain. They will not spend their time 
 upon me, or you, or you : no ; they disdain 
 such vermin, when the mighty boar of the 
 forest, that has broke througR all their 
 toils, is before them. But, what will all 
 their efforts avail? No sooner has he 
 wounded one, than he lays down another 
 dead at his feet. For my part, when I saw 
 his attack upon the King, I own my blood 
 ran cold. ... In short, after carrying 
 away our Royal Eagle in his pounces, and 
 dashing him against a rock, he has laid 
 you prostrate. King, Lords, and Com- 
 mons are but the sport of his fury. Were 
 he a member of this house, what might 
 not be expected from his knowledge, his 
 firmness, and integrity ! He would be easily 
 known by his contempt of all danger, by 
 his penetration, by his vigour. Nothing 
 would escape his vigilance and activity. 
 Bad ministers could conceal nothing from 
 
 his sagacity; nor could promises nor 
 threats induce him to conceal any thing 
 from the public— Burke, Edmund, 1770, 
 Speech in the House of Commons, Nov. 27. 
 
 Junius bursts into notice with a blaze of 
 impudence which has rarely glared upon 
 the world before, and drew the rabble 
 after him as a monster makes a shov/. 
 When he had once provided for his safety 
 by impenetrable secrecy, he had nothing 
 to combat but truth and justice, enemies 
 whom he knows to be feeble in the dark. 
 Being then at liberty to indulge himself in 
 all the immunities of invisibility, out of 
 the reach of danger, he has been bold; 
 out of the reach of shame he has been 
 confident. As a rhetorician, he has the 
 art of persuading when he seconded desire ; 
 as a reasoner, he has convinced those who 
 had no doubt before ; as a moralist, he has 
 taught that virtue may disgrace ; and as a 
 patriot, he has gratified the mean by in- 
 sults on the high. . . . It is not by his 
 liveliness of imagery, his pungency of 
 periods, or his fertility of allusion, that 
 he detains the cits of London and the boors 
 of Middlesex. Of style and sentiment they 
 take no cognizance. — Johnson, Samuel, 
 1771, Thoughts on the Late Transactions 
 Respecting Falkland's Islands. 
 
 1 dedicate to you a collection of letters, 
 written by one of yourselves for the com- 
 mon benefit of us all. They would never 
 have grown to this size, without your con- 
 tinued encouragement and applause. To 
 me they originally owe nothing, but a 
 healthy sanguine constitution. Under 
 your care they have thriven. To you they 
 are indebted for whatever strength or 
 beauty they possess. When kings and 
 ministers are forgotten, when the force 
 and direction of personal satire is no 
 longer understood, and when measures are 
 only felt in their remotest consequences, 
 this book will, I believe, be found to con- 
 tain principles worthy to be transmitted 
 to posterity. When you leave the unim- 
 paired, hereditary freehold to your chil- 
 dren, you do but half your duty. Both 
 liberty and property are precarious, unless 
 the possessors have sense and spirit 
 enough to defend them. This is not the 
 language of vanity. If I am a vain man, 
 my gratification lies within a narrow circle. 
 I am the sole depositary of my own secret, 
 and it shall perish with me. — Junius, 1772, 
 Letters, Dedication to the English Nation. 
 
644 
 
 JUNIUS 
 
 The classic purity of their language, the 
 exquisite force and perspicuity of their 
 argument, the keen severity of their re- 
 proach, the extensive information they 
 evince, their fearless and decisive tone, 
 and, above all, their stern and steady at- 
 tachment to the purest principles of the 
 constitution, acquired for them, with an 
 almost electric speed, a popularity which 
 no series of letters have since possessed, 
 nor, perhaps, ever will; and, what is of 
 far greater consequence, diffused among 
 the body of the people a clearer knowledge 
 of their constitutional rights than they 
 had ever before attained, and animated 
 them with a more determined spirit to 
 maintain them inviolate. Enveloped in 
 the cloud of a fictitious name, the writer 
 of these philippics, unseen himself, beheld 
 with secret satisfaction the vast influence 
 of his labours, and enjoyed, though, as we 
 shall afterwards observe, not always with- 
 out apprehension, the universal hunt that 
 was made to detect him in his disguise. 
 He beheld the people extolling him, the 
 court execrating him, and ministers and 
 more than ministers trembling beneath the 
 lash of his invisible hand. — Good, John 
 Mason, 1812, Essay on Junius and His 
 Writings. 
 
 It is a signal testimony to the eminence 
 of the powers displayed in these Letters, 
 that, at the distance of nearly half a cen- 
 tury from their first coming forth — that 
 after a great number of subsequent 
 political censors had each had his share of 
 attention, and perhaps admiration, and are 
 now in a great measure forgotten — and 
 that in times like the present, superabound- 
 ing with strange events, and fiagrant ex- 
 amples of political depravity of their own 
 — they should still hold such a place in 
 public estimation, that the appearance of 
 an edition enlarged and illustrated from 
 the store of materials left by the original 
 publisher, will be regarded as an interest- 
 ing event in the course of our literature. 
 An interest that has thus continued to 
 subsist in vigour after the loss of all 
 temporary stimulants, and that is capable 
 of so lively an excitement at this distant 
 period, by a circumstance tending to make 
 us a little better acquainted with the 
 author's character, and to put us in 
 more complete possession of his writings, 
 gives assurance that this memorable work 
 may maintain its fame to an indefinite 
 
 period, and will go down with that portion 
 of our literature, which, in the language 
 of pride and poetry, we call immortal. — 
 Foster, John, 1813, Junius, Critical Es- 
 says, ed. Ryland, vol. ii, p. 72. 
 
 The author is now considered as an Eng- 
 lish classic : yet, if we reflect on his very 
 intemperate language, the virulence of his 
 abuse, and the unsupported nature of some 
 of the charges which he has adduced, we 
 should rather be disposed to exclude him 
 from ordinary perusal, as one who would 
 mislead his admirers. He certainly writes 
 with animation, frequently with elegance, 
 generally with force and perspicuity. He 
 argues plausibly, but does not always im- 
 press conviction : he evinces a knowledge 
 of the constitution, though he sometimes 
 misrepresents its principles : he is an ad- 
 vocate for liberty, but occasionally carries 
 it to the verge of licentiousness. A minis- 
 terial author says, *'If w^e allow him only 
 his merit, where will be his praise ?' ' We 
 answer, that his praise will be that of an 
 ingenious and able writer, and an intelli- 
 gent politician. At the same time he de- 
 serves severe censure for his seditious 
 spirit, the foulness of his reproaches, and 
 his transgression of the bounds of truth. 
 — CooTE, Charles, 1823, Goldsmith's 
 History of England, Continuation, vol. ni, 
 p. 190. 
 
 The style of Junius is a sort of metre, 
 the law of which is a balance of thesis and 
 antithesis. When he gets out of this 
 aphorismic metre into a sentence of five or 
 six lines long, nothing can exceed the 
 slovenliness of the English. Horne Tooke 
 and a long sentence seem the only two 
 antagonists that were too much for him. 
 Still the antithesis of Junius is a real 
 antithesis of images or thought, but the 
 antithesis of Johnson is rarely more than 
 verbal. — Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 
 1833, Table Talk, ed. Ashe, July 3, p. 238. 
 
 The style of this writer, it is true, has 
 many faults, and grave ones. It has point 
 without aim, and vigour without agility. 
 Wit alone can long bear up the shafts of 
 sarcasm ; and the wit of Junius had only 
 one leg to stand on, a stiff and swollen 
 one. His flashy and figured invectives, 
 like court-dresses, would fit half the court 
 as well as they fitted the person they were 
 made for; if, indeed, like the prefaces 
 of Sallust and Cicero, they were not 
 kept ready until the author had found or 
 
JUNIUS 
 
 645 
 
 contrived a place for their exhibition. — 
 Landor, Walter Savage, 1839, The Exam- 
 iner, June 30 ; Letters, ed. Wheeler, p. 250. 
 
 No man can read a page of any letter 
 without perceiving that the writer has 
 but one way of handling every sub- 
 ject, and that he constructs his sentences 
 with the sole design of saying the most 
 bitter things he can in the most strik- 
 ing way, without ever regarding in the 
 least degree their being applicable or 
 inapplicable to the object of the attack. 
 The consequence is, that the greater part 
 of this invective will just suit one bad man 
 or wicked minister as well as another. It is 
 highly probable that whoever he may be, 
 he had often attacked those with whom he 
 lived on intimate terms, or to whom he 
 was under obligations. This alfords an 
 additional reason for his dying unrevealed. 
 That he was neither Lord Asburton, nor 
 any other lawyer, is proved by what we 
 have said of his gross ignorance of law. 
 To hold that he was Mr. Francis is libelling 
 that gentlemen's memory; and although 
 much external evidence concurs in point- 
 ing towards him, he certainly never wrote 
 anything of the same kind in his own 
 character. — Brougham, Henry Lord, 
 1839-43, Lives of Statesmen of the Time 
 of George III, vol. i, p. 207. 
 
 The passage of time has had no very 
 favorable effect upon the reputation of 
 that writer, particularly since it has given 
 to anothefr and impartial generation the 
 opportunity to estimate the value of his 
 patriotism, and to weigh the motives of 
 his censures. It may be doubted, whether 
 the same sort of papers, if written at the 
 present day, would produce one half of the 
 effect they did when the novelty and bold- 
 ness of the manner contributed so large a 
 share to their success. — Adams, Charles 
 Francis, 1842, The Elder Pitt, North 
 American Review, vol. 55, p. 419. 
 
 As Wilkes was one of the worst speci- 
 mens of a popular leader, so was Junius of 
 a popular political writer. One is ashamed 
 to think of the celebrity so long enjoyed 
 by a publication so worthless. No great 
 question of principle is discussed in it ; it 
 is remarkable that on the subject of the 
 impressment of seamen, which is a real 
 evil of the most serious kind, and allowed 
 to be so even by those who do not believe 
 that it is altogether remediable, Junius 
 strongly defends the existing practice. 
 
 All the favourite topics of his letters are 
 purely personal or particular ; his appeals 
 are never to the best part of our nature, 
 often to the vilest. If I wished to prej- 
 udice a good man against popular princi- 
 ples, I could not do better than to put into 
 his hands the letters of Junius. — Arnold, 
 Thomas, 1842, Introductory Lectures on 
 Modern History, p. 333. 
 
 At last ''the great boar of the forest,'* 
 who had gored the King and almost all his 
 Court, and seemed to be more formidable 
 than any "blatant beast," was conquered, 
 —not by the spear of a knight-errant, but 
 by a little provender held out to him, and he 
 was sent to whet his tusks in a distant land. 
 This certainly was a very great deliverance 
 for Lord Mansfield, who had long been 
 afraid at breakfast to look into the Daily 
 Advertiser, less he should find in it some 
 new accusation, which he could neither 
 passively submit to nor resent without dis- 
 credit; and although he might call the 
 mixture of bad law and tumid language 
 poured out upon him ribaldry it had an 
 evident effect in encouraging his oppo- 
 nents in parliament, and in causing shakes 
 of the head, shrugs of the shoulders, 
 smiles and whispers in private society, 
 which could not escape his notice. — 
 Campbell, John Lord, 1849, Lives of the 
 Chief Justices of England, vol. ii, p. 492. 
 
 That Junius can only be described with 
 truth as a political adventurer there is no 
 doubt. It is plain enough that his own 
 personal success in life was involved in 
 that of the party whose cause he adopted, 
 or, to speak still more accurately, in the 
 fall of the party which he attacked. And 
 it is equally true that he was utterly un- 
 scrupulous in his use of means ; that his 
 sincerity, even when he was sincere, was 
 apt to assume the form of the most ignoble 
 rancor, and that no ties of friendship, or 
 party, or connection, seem to have re- 
 strained his virulence. All this is but too 
 deducible from the published anonymous 
 writings only. . . . But when all this 
 has been said, there remains a residue of 
 a higher order, which must in justice to 
 him be fairly weighed in the balance. 
 Notwithstanding all his sins against 
 justice and truth, Junius was assuredly 
 actuated at bottom by a strong and 
 ardent public spirit. He was throughout 
 a genuine lover of his country. He was 
 earnest in behalf of her honor and of her 
 
646 
 
 JUNIUS 
 
 liberties. He saw clearly that her road 
 to the accomplishment of a higher destiny 
 lay through the maintenance of that honor 
 and the extension of those liberties. He 
 hated with an honest hatred the meanness 
 of principle and venality of conduct which 
 characterized but too strongly the govern- 
 ments against which he fought, and tar- 
 nished the political genius of his time. 
 And very remarkable v/as the success 
 which attended his struggle against them. 
 Great indeed were the practical victories 
 achieved by the efforts of this nameless, 
 obscure agitator. Freedom of the press 
 and the personal freedom of the subject 
 owe probably more to the writings of 
 Junius than to the eloquence of Chatham 
 or Burke, the law of Camden and Dunning. 
 It is not too much to say that after the 
 appearance of those writings, a new tone 
 on these great subjects is found to prevail 
 in our political literature. — Parkes, J., 
 AND Merivale, H., 1852-67, Memoirs of 
 Sir Philip Francis, 
 
 Sir Philip Francis, who, under his early 
 disguise of Junius, had such a success as 
 no writer of libels ever will have again. 
 It is our private opinion that this success 
 rested upon a great delusion which has 
 never been exposed. The general belief is 
 that Junius was read for his elegance ; we 
 believe no such thing. The pen of an 
 angel would not, upon such a theme as 
 personal politics, have upheld the interest 
 attached to Junius, had there been no other 
 cause in co-operation. Language, after 
 all, is a limited instrument ; and it must 
 be remembered that Junius, by the ex- 
 treme narrowness of his range, which went 
 entirely upon matters of fact and personal 
 interests, still further limited the compass 
 of that limited instrument. For it is only 
 in the expression and management of gen- 
 eral ideas that any room arises for con- 
 spicuous elegance. The real truth is this : 
 the interest in Junius travelled down- 
 wards ; he was read in the lower ranks, 
 because in London it speedily became 
 known that he was read with peculiar in- 
 terest in the highest. This was already a 
 marvel ; for newspaper patriots, under the 
 signatures of Publicola, Brutus, and so 
 forth, had become a jest and a byword to 
 the real practical statesman ; and any man 
 at leisure to write for so disinterested a 
 purpose as ''his country's good" was pre- 
 sumed of course to write in a garret. But 
 
 here for the first time a pretended patriot, 
 a Junius Brutus, was read even by states- 
 men, and read with agitation. Is any man 
 simple enough to believe that such a con- 
 tagion could extend to cabinet ministers 
 and official persons overladen with public 
 business on so feeble an excitement as a 
 little reputation in the art of constructing 
 sentences with elegance, — an elegance 
 which, after all, excluded eloquence and 
 every other positive quality of excellence ? 
 That this can have been believed shows the 
 readiness with which men swallow marvels. 
 The real secret was this : — Junius was read 
 with the profoundest interest by members 
 of the cabinet, who would not have paid 
 half-a-crown for all the wit and elegance 
 of this world, simply because it was most 
 evident that some traitor was amongst 
 them, and that, either directly by one of 
 themselves, or through some abuse of his 
 confidence by a servant, the secrets of 
 office were betrayed. — De Quincey, 
 Thomas, 1859, Rhetoric, Collected Writ- 
 ings, ed. Masson, vol. X, p. 117. 
 
 Attacked the Government in letters 
 which, rancorous and unscrupulous as was 
 their tone, gave a new power to the litera- 
 ture of the Press by their clearness and 
 terseness of statement, the finish of their 
 style, and the terrible vigor of their in- 
 vective.— Green, John Richard, 1874, 
 A Short History of the English People, 
 p. 738. 
 
 Though containing occasional passages 
 of weighty invective and of brilliant epi- 
 gram, these early letters are, I think, of 
 very little value, and it was only by slow 
 degrees that the writer learnt the secret 
 of true dignity of style, and exchanged the 
 tone of simple scurrility for that measured 
 malignity of slander in which he after- 
 wards excelled. ... As a popular 
 political reasoner he was truly admirable. 
 He introduced, indeed, little or nothing 
 new or original into controversy, but he 
 possessed to supreme perfection the art of 
 giving the arguments on his side their 
 simplest, clearest, and strongest expres- 
 sion ; disengaging them from all extraneous 
 matter, making them transparently evident 
 to the most cursory reader. In this, as 
 in most other respects, he is a curious 
 contrast to Burke, who is always re- 
 dundant, and who delights in episodes, 
 illustrations, ramifications, general reflec- 
 tions, various lights, remote and indirect 
 
JUNIUS— WOLCOT 
 
 647 
 
 consequences. Junius never for a moment 
 loses sight of the immediate issue, and he 
 flies swift and direct as an arrow to its 
 heart. The rapid march of the eight- 
 eenth century is apparent in his style, 
 and it is admirably suited for a class 
 of literature which, if it impresses at 
 all, must impress at a glance. He pos- 
 sessed the easy air of good society, 
 and his letters, if not those of a great 
 statesman, are at least unquestionably 
 those of a man who had a real and experi- 
 mental knowledge of public business, who 
 had mixed with active politicians, who 
 knew the anecdotes which circulated in 
 political society. ... A reader who knows 
 Junius as we know him now, must indeed 
 have an extraordinary estimate of the value 
 of a brilliant style if he can regard him 
 with the smallest respect. He wisely at- 
 tacked for the most part men whose rank 
 and position prevented them from descend- 
 ing into the arena, and who were at th« 
 same time intensely and often deservedly 
 unpopular. His encounter with Horne was 
 the one instance in which he met a really 
 able and practised writer; and although 
 the character of Horne was a very vulner- 
 able one, he appears to me to have had in 
 this controversy a great advantage over 
 his opponent. — Lecky, William Edward 
 Hartpole, 1882, A History of England in 
 the Eighteenth Century^ vol. ill, ch. xi, pp. 
 253, 257, 264. 
 
 The Letters of Junius," with which 
 he is credited, are perhaps more famous 
 than excellent, but still excellent. — ■ 
 Saintsbury, George, 1886, Specimens of 
 English Prose Style, p. 242. 
 
 If Junius could have exercised a greater 
 command of his feelings, he might have 
 provided a still better feast of malignity. 
 
 This he could have done by well-contrived 
 admissions, palliations and excuses; and 
 by keeping within the ordinary limits of 
 human nature in his attributing of vices. 
 In that case, we might have had no com- 
 punctions in going along with him ; our 
 pleasure of malignity would have been un- 
 alloyed.— Bain, Alexander, 1888, Eng- 
 lish Composition and Rhetoric, Part Sec- 
 ond, p. 251. 
 
 The literary value of Junius seems to 
 have been absurdly overrated. The letters 
 are vigorous, of course, but their malignity 
 is atoned for or relieved by no philosoph- 
 ical enthusiasm, while the indignation 
 itself appears to be personal first and 
 patriotic afterwards. It is an instance of 
 the difficulty which attends contemporary 
 criticism that Johnson, so eminent a judge 
 of language, thought that Junius was 
 Burke. To us it seems amazing that brass 
 should thus be mistaken for gold. At the 
 same time the Letters have "polish," a 
 quality for which Francis preserved an 
 exaggerated affection; the balance and 
 modulation of their merciless sentences 
 may still please the ear.— GossE, Edmund, 
 1888, A History of Eighteenth Century 
 Literature, p. 363. 
 
 They are the work of a man who was a 
 practical politician first and a man of 
 letters afterwards, and his writings are 
 distinguished by a political sagacity and 
 precision of criticism which only a close 
 acquaintance with the practice of politics 
 can give. His motives indeed were not of 
 a high order; personal spite entered 
 largely into them, and many of his letters 
 were written merely to revenge real or 
 fancied wrongs. —Pollard, A. F., 1897, 
 ed.. Political Pamphlets, Introduction, 
 p. 22. 
 
 John Wolcot 
 
 Peter Pindar 
 1738-1819 
 
 Born, at Dodbrooke, Devonshire, 1738 ; baptized, 9 May. Educated at Kingsbridge 
 Free School ; at Bodmin Grammar School, and in France. For seven years assistant 
 to his uncle, an apothecary in practice in Cornwall. M. D., Aberdeen, 1767. In 
 Jamaica, practising as surgeon and physician, 1767-69. Returned to England, 1769. 
 Ordained Deacon and Priest, 1769 ; returned to Jamaica. Vicar of Vere, Jamaica, 
 1772. Returned to England, Dec. 1772. Practised medicine in Truro, 1773-79. 
 Settled in London, 1781. Prolific writer of satires, under pseudonym Peter Pindar." 
 Died, in London, 14 Jan. 1819. Buried in St. Paul's, Covent Garden. Works: ''Per- 
 sian Love Elegies," 1773; [the following all pubd. under pseud. ''Peter Pindar:''] "A 
 
648 
 
 JOHN WOLCOT 
 
 Poetical . . . Epistle to the Reviewers," 1778; Poems on various Subjects, " 
 1778; ''Lyric Odes to the Royal Academicians," 1782; "Lyric Odes for the Year," 
 1785; ''The Louisad," 1785-95; "Farewell Odes," 1786; "APoetical and Congratu- 
 latory Epistle to James Boswell," 1786; "Bozzy and Piozzi," 1786; "Ode upon Ode," 
 1787; "An Apologetic Postscript to 'Ode upon Ode,' " 1787; "Congratulatory Epistle 
 to Peter Pindar, " 1787 ; " Instructions to a Celebrated Laureat, " 1787 ; " Brother Peter 
 to Brother Tom," 1788; "Peter's Pension," 1788; "Sir Joseph Banks and the Emperor 
 of Morocco," 1788; "Epistle to his pretended Cousin Peter," 1788; "The King's 
 Ode,"(anon.), 1788; "Peter's Prophecy," 1788; "Lyric Odestotlie Academicians," 
 1789; "Subjects for Painters," 1789; "A Poetical Epistle to a Falling Minister, " 
 1789; "Expostulatory Odes," 1789; "Works" (2 vols.), 1789-92; "A Benevolent 
 Epistle to Sylvanus Urban," 1790; "Advice to the Future Laureat," 1790; "Letter 
 to the Most Insolent Man alive, " 1790 ; "Complimentary Epistle to James Bruce, 1790 ; 
 "The Rights of Kings," 1791; "Odes to Mr. Paine," 1791; "The Remonstrance," 
 1791; "A Commiserating Epistle to G. Lowther, " 1791 ; "More Money," 1792; "The 
 Tears of St. Margaret," 1792; "Odes of Importance," 1792; "Odes to Kien Long," 
 1792 ; " A Pair of Lvric Epistles, " 1792 ; " A Poetical . . . Epistle to the Pope, " 
 1793; "Pathetic Odes," 1794; "Pindariana," 1794; "Celebration; or, the Academic 
 Procession to St. James's," 1794 ; "Works" (4 vols.), 1794-96 ; "Hair-Powder," 1795 ; 
 ^'The Convention Bill," 1795; "The Cap," 1795; "The Royal Visit to Exeter," 1795; 
 "Liberty's Last Squeak," 1795; "The Royal Tom," 1795; "An Admirable Satire on 
 Burke's Defence of his Pension," 1796; "One Thousand, Seven Hundred, and Ninety- 
 six" 1797; "An Ode to the Livery of London," 1797; "Tales of the Hoy" [1798]; 
 "Nil Admirari," 1799; "Lord Auckland's Triumph," 1800; "Out at Last," 1801; 
 "Odes to Inns and Outs," 1801; "A Poetical Epistle to Benjamin, Count Rumford," 
 1801; "Tears and Smiles," 1801; "The Island of Innocence," 1802; "Pitt and his 
 Statute," 1802; "The Middlesex Election," 1802; "The Horrors of Bribery," 1802; 
 "Great Cry and Little Wool," 1804; "An Instructive Epistle to the Lord Mayor," 
 1804; "Tristia,"1806; "One More Peep at the Royal Academy, " 1808; "The Fall of 
 Portugal, "1808; "Works" (4 vols.), 1809; "Carlton House Fete," 1811; "Works" 
 (5 vols.), 1812; "An Address to be spoken at the Opening of Drury-Lane Theatre" 
 (anon.), 1813; "Royalty Fog-bound," 1814; "The Regent and the King," 1814; 
 "Midnight Dreams," 1814; "Tom Halliard," [1815?J. He edited: Pilkington's 
 "Dictionary of Painters," 1799; "The Beauties of English Poetry," 1804.— Sharp, 
 R. Farquh ARSON, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 302. 
 
 PERSONAL And dare the utmost of thy tongue and hand ; 
 
 The concealed author of ' ' Lyrick Odes, ' ' Prepared each threat to baffle or to spurn, 
 by Peter Pindar, Esquire, is one Woolcot, ^^^^ ^^^^ with tenfold vigour to return, 
 a clergyman, who abjured the gown, and William, 1800, Epistle to 
 
 now lives in Great Queen Street, Lincoln's ^^^^^ ^mdar. 
 
 Inn Fields, under the character of a Dined with Thelwall. A large party, 
 physician. He is likewise author of a The man whom we went to see, and, if we 
 scurrilous epistle lately published, ad- could, admire, was Dr. Wolcott, better 
 dressed to James Boswell, Esq., March known as Peter Pindar. He talked about 
 4th, 1786. He is noted for impudence, the artists, said that West could paint 
 lewdness, and almost every species of neither ideal beauty nor from nature, 
 profligacy. — Malone, Edmond, 1783, called Opie the Michael Angelo of old age, 
 Maloniana, ed. Prior, p. 364. complained of the ingratitude of certain 
 
 A bloated mass, a gross, blood -boltered clod, artists who owed everything to himself, 
 A foe to man, a renegade from God, spoke contemptuously of Sir Walter Scott, 
 
 From noxious childhood to pernicious age, who, he said, owed his popularity to hard 
 Separate to infamy in every stage. . . . ^ames. He also declaimed against rhyme 
 Come, then, all filth all venom, as thou art, general, which he said was fit only for 
 Rage m tliy eye, and rancour m thy heart ; hiir le^nue A^ Peter Pindar was 
 
 Come with thy boasted arms, spite, malice, burlesque. . . . As 1 eter 1 maar \\ as 
 lies, blmd, I was requested to help him to his 
 
 Smut, scandal, execrations, blasphemies: wine, which was in a separate pint bottle, 
 I brave them all! Lo, here I fix my stand, and was not wine at all, but brandy. . . . 
 
JOHN WOLCOT 
 
 649 
 
 I referred to his own writings. He said 
 he recollected them with no pleasure. 
 "Satire is a bad trade." — Robinson, 
 Henry Crabb, 1811, Diary, May 9, pp. 
 210, 211. 
 
 He always sat in a room facing the 
 south. Behind the door stood a square 
 piano-forte, on which there generally lay 
 his favourite Cremona violin ; on the left, 
 a mahogany table with writing materials. 
 Everything was in perfect order. . . . 
 Facing him, over the mantlepiece, hung a 
 fine landscape by Richard Wilson. . . . 
 In writing, except a few lines haphazard, 
 the Doctor was obliged to employ an 
 amanuensis. Of all his acquisitions, music 
 to him remained alone unaltered. . . . 
 He even composed light airs for amuse- 
 ment. — Redding, Cyrus, 1856, Fifty 
 Fears' Recollections. 
 
 He was as little fitted for a doctor of 
 medicine as for a doctor of divinity. He 
 could better epigrammatize than pre- 
 scribe, preferred ridiculing to healing, 
 and had a keener eye for mental or 
 personal obliquities than for corporal in- 
 firmities. . . . Woicot's vanity is 
 irrepressible. Peter is always the promi- 
 nent picture. He writes to everybody 
 about himself, and he is the central orb 
 round which kings and subjects, and indeed 
 the whole creation, move. His pension, 
 his prophecy, his paintings, his praise, his 
 censure, and his criticisms are to annihilate 
 all other topics. The desire to silence 
 such a critic was quite natural. Nobody 
 likes to be laughed at, and it is not all 
 laughter, for he sometimes uses a whip of 
 scorpions, and lashes sore places with the 
 delight of a Mephistopheles. That in 
 those libel-hunting days he should have 
 escaped unscathed can only be attributed 
 to the fear of giving wider circulation to 
 his incisive jokes, many of which remain 
 indelibly associated with the blunderings 
 and stutterings of the ''Good King 
 George."— Bo wring, Sir John, 1872, 
 Autobiographical Recollections, pp. 360,363. 
 
 Wolcot was buried in the Church of St. 
 Paul, Covent Garden, at his own request 
 that he might ''lie as near as possible to 
 the bones of old Hudibras Butler." His 
 grave is believed to be under the floor of 
 the vestry-room ; but there is no tablet to 
 his memory. — Hutton, Laurence, 1885, 
 Literary Landmarks of London, p. 321. 
 
 In appearance Wolcot was "a thick squat 
 
 man with a large dark and flat face, and 
 
 no speculation in his eye. " He possessed 
 considerable accomplishments, being a fair 
 artist and good musician, and, despite the 
 character of his compositions, his friends 
 described him as of a "kind and hearty 
 disposition. ' ' He was probably influenced 
 in his writings by no real animosity 
 towards royalty, and himself confessed 
 that "the king had been a good subject 
 to him, and he a bad one to the king." — 
 Carr, William, 1900, Dictionary of Na- 
 tional Biography, vol. LXli, p. 292. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 There is an obscure person, stiling him- 
 self Peter Pindar, of whom I shall say a 
 few words. This man certainly possesses 
 a mind by no means uninformed, and a 
 species of humour ; but it is exhausted by 
 a repetition of the same manner, and nearly 
 the same ideas, even to disgust. He has 
 the power of rhyming ludicrously, and is 
 sometimes even gifted with poetry; and 
 finally, he is puffed up with a vanity and 
 self-conceited importance, almost without 
 a parallel. This obscure man has con- 
 trived, by these qualifications, to thrust 
 himself upon the publick notice, and 
 become the scorn of every man of char- 
 acter and of virtue. Such is the blas- 
 phemy, such is the impiety, the obscenity, 
 the impudence and the contempt of all 
 decent respect, which pervade his numer- 
 ous pamphlets in verse, that the reader is 
 ill repaid by the lively sallies of humour 
 which frequently animate this mass of 
 crudities. I form my judgment from his 
 works, and not from any acquaintance 
 whatever with the man. . . . Posterity 
 (if it can be supposed that such trash 
 should exist) will be astonished, that the 
 present age could look with patience 
 on such malignant ribaldry. — Mathias, 
 Thomas James, 1794-96, The Pursuits of 
 Literature, pp. 51, 52. 
 
 I cannot tell you how much I admire 
 and despise Peter ; he is every way origi- 
 nal, and most original in this respect, that 
 I know not that ever any other object at 
 once excited my contempt and admiration. 
 His humour is most peculiar, most un- 
 afltected, most irresistible. Yet, for what 
 end Providence intrusted a weapon so 
 dangerous in the hands of one who avows 
 his disregard of everything sacred and 
 venerable, is very difficult for us to con- 
 jecture. I am the more fully convinced 
 
650 
 
 JOHN WOLCOT 
 
 of the bad tendency of his writings, from 
 the amusement I derive from them, fore- 
 armed as I am by a disgust at his want 
 of principle and decency. *'Bozzy and 
 Piozzi," however, is above praise and be- 
 yond censure : there the satire is so just, 
 so pointed, so characteristic, that one 
 can laugh without self-reproach. The 
 "Lousiad," however, I regard with a 
 mixture of contempt and disgust. — Grant, 
 Anne, 1802, To Miss Dunbar, May 4 ; Let- 
 ters from the Mountains, ed. Grant, vol. II. 
 
 The most unsparing calumniator of his 
 time. — Scott, Sir Walter, 1827, Diary, 
 Jan. 17, Memoirs, ed. Lockhart, ch. Ixxiii. 
 
 There are a few fables of Peter Pindar 
 in the exact style of La Fontaine, and I 
 think them among the best in the language. 
 — Adams, John Quincy, 1829, Memoirs, 
 vol. 8, p. 133. 
 
 Wolcot had an eye for little that was 
 grave in life, except the face-makings of 
 absurdity and pretension; but these he 
 could mimic admirably, putting on at one 
 and the same time their most nonchalant 
 and matter-of-course airs, while he fetched 
 out into his countenance the secret non- 
 sense. He echoes their words, with some 
 little comment of approval, or change in 
 their position; some classical inversion, 
 or exaltation, which exposes the preten- 
 sion in the very act of admitting it, and has 
 an irresistibly ludicrous effect. — Hunt, 
 Leigh, 1846, Wit and Humour, p. 
 
 Dr. Wolcot was certainly one of the 
 most original poets England has produced ; 
 his production displaying not merely wit 
 and smartness, but a profound knowledge 
 of the world and of the human heart, 
 combined with a sound and cultivated un- 
 derstanding. His serious poems evince 
 the same command of language and 
 originality of ideas as are displayed in his 
 satires, though he excelled in the latter. — 
 Cleveland, Charles D., 1853, English 
 Literature of the Nineteenth Century, p.lll. 
 
 I am not sure that I do not prefer Wol- 
 cot (Peter Pindar) to Churchill. — Rogers, 
 Samuel, 1855, Recollections of Tahle-Talk. 
 
 The most voluminous, and one of the 
 best, of the humourous poets who have 
 written in the English language. — Par- 
 ton, James, 1856, ed.. The Humorous 
 Poetry of the English Language, p. 687. 
 
 Wolcot was equal to Churchill as a 
 satirist, as ready and versatile in his 
 powers, and possessed of a quick sense of 
 
 the ludicrous, as well as a rich vein of 
 fancy and humour. Some of his songs and 
 serious effusions are tender and pleasing ; 
 but he could not write long without sliding 
 into the ludicrous and burlesque. His 
 critical acuteness is evinced in his "Odes 
 to the Royal Academicians,'' in various 
 passages scattered throughout his works ; 
 while his ease and felicity, both of expres- 
 sion and illustration, are remarkable. — 
 Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopcedia of 
 English Literature, ed. Carruthers. 
 
 At this distance the fun and sport and 
 spontaneous overflowing laughter of the 
 satirist, and the perfect and laughable 
 distinctness of the figure he sets before 
 us, are far more conspicuous than any 
 political mischief that could have been in 
 them. The story of the Dumpling, over 
 which the inquisitive king puzzled his 
 brains to know how the apples got into it, 
 and the visit of his Majesty to Whitbread's 
 brewery, are still as amusing as when they 
 were written ; and few of the personages 
 in grave historical biography stand out 
 with half the force which characterises 
 this careless lighthearted picture, in which 
 the fun is so much more prominent than 
 the satire. — Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 
 1882, The Literary History of England, 
 XVnith—XIXth Century, vol. ii, p. 184. 
 
 Neither Charles the Second at the hands 
 of Marvell, nor George the Fourth at the 
 hands of Moore, received anything like the 
 steady fire of lampoon which Wolcot for 
 years poured upon the most harmless and 
 respectable of English monarchs. George 
 the Third had indeed no vices, — unless a 
 certain parsimony may be dignified by that 
 name, — but he had many foibles of the 
 kind that is more useful to the satirist 
 than even vice. Wolcot's extreme coarse- 
 ness, his triviality of subject, and a 
 vulgarity of thought which is quite a 
 difl^erent thing from either, are undeniable. 
 But ''The Lousiad" (a perfect triumph of 
 cleverness expended on what the Greeks 
 called rhyparography), the famous pieces 
 on George and the Apple Dumplings and 
 on the King's visit to Whitbread's Brew- 
 ery, with scores of other things of the 
 same kind (the best of all, perhaps, being 
 the record of the Devonshire Progress), 
 exhibit incredible felicity and fertility 
 in the lower kinds of saty:e. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1896, A History of Nineteenth 
 Century Literature, p. 22. 
 
651 
 
 William Hayley 
 
 1745-1820 
 
 The friend and biographer of Cowper, and grandson of William Hayley, dean of 
 Chichester, was born in that city on the 9th November, 1745. . . . After some 
 years' private tuition he pursued his studies at Eton and at Trinity College, Cam- 
 bridge. In 1766 he procured a certificate of admission to the Middle Temple, London, 
 but a short trial of legal studies was sufficient to dissipate the unexperienced prefer- 
 ence which he had cherished for the profession of law. After his marriage in 1769, 
 he stayed for some years chiefly in London, but in 1774 he retired to his patrimonial 
 estate of Eartham in Sussex, resolved to spend the remainder of his days in rural quiet, 
 with only such an amount of literary activity as might defy ennui and give a zest to 
 life. Hayley made more than one attempt to succeed as a dramatic author, but first 
 won fame by his poetical "Essays on Painting," "History and Epic Poetry," and by his 
 poem the "Triumph of Temper." ... On the death of Warton, Hayley was 
 offered the laureateship, but declined it. In 1792 he made the acquaintance of the 
 poet Cowper ; and this acquaintance ripened into a friendship which remained unbroken 
 until Cowper' s death in 1800. This bereavement was separated by only a week from 
 that caused by the death of Hayley's natural son Thomas Alphonso, who had given 
 great promise of excellence as a sculptor ; and, shrinking from the associations now 
 connected with Eartham, Hayley retired to what he called a "marine hermitage," 
 which he had built at Feltham, and there resided till his death, November 20, 1820. 
 Besides the "life of Cowper," published in 1803, Hayley was the author of a number 
 of works in prose, which were not, however, so successful as his early poetical pro- 
 ductions. . . . The "Memoirs of Hayley," 2 vols., for writing which, to be pub- 
 lished posthumously, he received a considerable allowance during the last twelve years 
 of his life, appeared in 1823. — Baynes, Thomas Spencer, ed., 1880, Encyclopcedia 
 Britannica, Ninth edition, vol. xi, p. 484. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 He was considerably above the middle 
 stature, had a countenance remarkably 
 expressive of intellect and feeling, and a 
 commanding air and deportment that re- 
 minded the beholder rather of a military 
 oflScer, than of the character he assumes 
 in the close of his epistolary addresses (he 
 used to sign himself the Hermit). The 
 deplorable infirmity, however, of his early 
 years, had left a perceptible lameness, 
 which attended him through life, and in- 
 duced a necessity of adventitious aid, 
 towards procuring him the advantage of a 
 tolerably even walk. As to his personal 
 qualities, of a higher order, these were 
 cheerfulness and sympathy in a very 
 eminent degree ; so eminent, indeed, that 
 as no afflictions of his own could divest 
 him of the former, so neither could the 
 afflictions of others find him destitute of 
 the latter. His temper also was singularly 
 sweet and amiable, being not only free 
 from ebullitions of anger, but from all 
 those minor defects which it is needless to 
 enumerate, and to which social peace and 
 harmony are so repeatedly sacrificed.— 
 Johnson, John, 1823, ed.. Memoirs of the 
 Life and Writings of William Hayley. 
 
 The book [Hayley's "Memoirs"] itself 
 is to me the most miserable, meagre, 
 affected, ill-arranged string of common- 
 places I ever yawned over. You are more 
 tenderhearted and indulgent than I am. 
 I cannot give Hayley credit for all the 
 feeling he pretends to. Feeling does not 
 thrust itself into notice so perpetually: 
 feeling does not flow into verse, or even 
 words, at the first moment of excitement, 
 though I know that, when it subsides into 
 calm melancholy, poetry is its natural 
 language. Hayley wrote epitaphs upon 
 his dearest friends before their eyes were 
 well closed — a sort of poetical carrion 
 crow ! I never could have endured that 
 man, with all his tender epitaphs. I dare- 
 say he helped to drive his poor wife mad 
 — ' ' his pitiably irritable Eliza. ' ' There is 
 something very unsatisfactory even in his 
 attention to the poor youth, his son. How 
 strange that he should choose only to visit 
 him in the day-time, making Felpham his 
 own residence. But all the particulars 
 of Hayley's life did not bear telling. — 
 Bowles, Caroline A., 1824, To Robert 
 Southey, June 20; The Correspondence of 
 Robert Southey with Caroline Bowles, ed. 
 Dowden, p. 64. 
 
652 
 
 WILLIAM HAYLEY 
 
 He made this residence a delightful spot. 
 Gibbon called it the little Paradise of 
 Eartham. **His place (said the historian) 
 though small, is as elegant as his mind, 
 which I value much more highly and 
 communicating to Lord Sheffield a wish 
 which Hayley had expressed to become 
 acquainted with him; he adds, that this 
 was ''no vulgar compliment." Hayley is 
 now estimated only by his writings, and 
 these, because they were greatly overrated 
 in their day, have perhaps, been depre- 
 ciated since in proportion. But the per- 
 son of whom Gibbon could speak thus, 
 must have been no ordinary man. Liter- 
 ary acquirements like his were rare at 
 that time, and are not common now ; and 
 these were not his only accomplishments. 
 All who knew him, concur in describing 
 his manners as in the highest degree win- 
 ning, and his conversation as delightful. 
 It is said that few men have ever ren- 
 dered so many essential acts of kind- 
 ness to those who stood in need of them. 
 His errors were neither few nor trifling ; 
 but his good qualtities greatly pre- 
 ponderated. He was a most affection- 
 ate father, a most warm and constant 
 friend ; and his latter days of infirmity and 
 pain were distinguished by no common 
 degree of cheerful fortitude and Christian 
 resignation.— SouTHEY, Robert, 1836-7, 
 The Life of William Cowper^ vol. ii, p. 45. 
 
 If Hayley was always romancing, as it 
 were, which his position in life allowed ; 
 always living in a fool's paradise of ever- 
 dispelled, ever-renewed self-deceptions 
 about the commonest trifles; seeing all 
 men and things athwart a fog of amiabil- 
 ity ; it was not in the main a worse world 
 than common, and sometimes it was a use- 
 ful life to others. The pension his bustling 
 energy obtained for Cowper outweighs 
 many an absurdity and inanity. He was 
 surely an endurable specimen, for variety 
 sake, among corn-law and game-preserving 
 squires. A sincere, if conventional love 
 of literature, independence of the great 
 world, and indifference to worldly distinc- 
 tions, are, after all, not criminal foibles. 
 Pertinacious, wrongheaded, and often 
 foolish in his actions ; weakly, greedy of 
 applause, as ready to lavish it ; prone to 
 exaggeration of word and thought ; with- 
 out reticence ; he was also an agreeable 
 companion, really kind-hearted and gener- 
 ous ; though vanity mixed itself with all 
 
 he did ; for ever going out of his way to 
 befriend some one, to set in motion some 
 well-intended, ill-considered scheme. For 
 Blake, — let us remember, to the hermit's 
 honour, — Hayley continued to entertain 
 unfeigned respect. And the self-tutored, 
 willful visionary must have been a startling 
 phenomenon to so conventional a mind. 
 During the artist's residence at Felpham 
 his literary friend was constantly on the 
 alert to advance his fortunes. — Gilchrist, 
 Alexander, 1861-63, Life of William 
 Blake, vol. I, p. 156. 
 
 Hayley was a mediocre poet, who had 
 for a time obtained distinction above his 
 merits. Afterwards his star had decl ined, 
 but having an excellent heart, he had not 
 been in the least soured by the downfall of 
 his reputation. He was addicted to a 
 pompous rotundity of style; perhaps he 
 was rather absurd ; but he was thoroughly 
 good-natured, very anxious to make him- 
 self useful, and devoted to Cowper, to 
 whom, as a poet, he looked up with an ad- 
 miration unalloyed by any other feeling. 
 —Smith, Goldwin, 1880, Cowper {Eng- 
 lish Men of Letters), p. 120. 
 
 Hayley, though a bad poet, was a good 
 friend. — Stephen, Leslie, 1887, Diction- 
 ary of National Biography, vol. xii, p. 400. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 There are just appeared three new 
 **Epistles on History," addressed to Mr. 
 Gibbon by Mr. Hayley. They are good 
 poems, I believe, weight and measure, but, 
 except some handsome new similes, have 
 little poetry and less spirit. In short, 
 they are written by Judgment, who has set 
 up for herself, forgetting that her business 
 is to correct verses, and not to write them. 
 — Walpole, Horace, 1780, To Rev. Wil- 
 liam Mason, May; Letters, ed, Cunnnig- 
 ham, vol. vii, p. 361. 
 
 Who is this Mr. Hayley? His poetry 
 has more merit than that of most of his 
 contemporaries; but his whiggism is so 
 bigoted, and his Christianity so fierce, that 
 he almost disgusts one with two very good 
 things.— Robertson, William, 1781, Lef- 
 ter to Gibbon. 
 
 I hope you like Mr. Hayley 's poem ; he 
 ' rises with the subject, and since Pope's 
 death, I am satisfied that England has not 
 seen so happy a mixture of strong sense 
 and flowing numbers. Are you not de- 
 lighted with his address to his mother ? I 
 
WILLIAM HAYLEY 
 
 653 
 
 understand that she was, m plain prose, 
 every thing that he speaks her inverse. — 
 Gibbon, Edward, 1782, To his Stepmother , 
 Private Letters, ed. Prothero, vol. ii, p. 17. 
 
 The epistles of Mr. Hayley on Painting, 
 History, and Epic Poetry, would perhaps 
 more properly have been thrown under the 
 title Historical, had I thought it worth 
 while thus to designate a column for the 
 admission of a single writer. They in- 
 culcate however so much elegant and 
 judicious criticism, and diffuse so much 
 light over their respective subjects, that 
 they may not unaptly find a place in the 
 didactic compartment. The versification 
 of these pieces is peculiarly smooth, cor- 
 rect, and flowing, but not unfrequently 
 deficient in energy and compression. The 
 characters are in general justly drawn, and 
 several display a warmth of fancy and ctf 
 beauty in illustration highly worthy of 
 applause. — Drake, Nathan, 1798-1820, 
 Literary Hours, vol. Ii, No. xxix, p. 114. 
 Behold! — ye tarts! one moment spare the 
 text — 
 
 Hayley's last work, and worst — until his 
 next; 
 
 Whether he spin poor couplets into plays, 
 Or damn the dead with purgatorial praise, 
 His style in youth or age is still the same, 
 For ever feeble and for ever tame. 
 Triumphant first see "Temper's Triumphs" 
 shine ! 
 
 At leasi I'm sure they triumph'd over mine. 
 Of "Music's Triumphs," all who read may 
 swear 
 
 That luckless music never triumph'd there. 
 — Byron, Lord, 1809, English Bards and 
 Scotch Reviewers. 
 
 As Hayley was too much extolled at the 
 beginning of his poetical course, so was he 
 undeservedly neglected or ridiculed at the 
 close of it. The excessive admiration he 
 at first met with, joined to that flattering 
 self-opinion which a solitary life is apt to 
 engender, made him too easily satisfied 
 with what he had done. Perhaps he wrote 
 worse after his acquaintance with Cowper ; 
 for, aiming at a simplicity which he had 
 not power to support, he became flat and 
 insipid. He had at no time much force of 
 conception or language. Yet if he never 
 elevates he frequently amuses his reader. 
 His chief attraction consists in setting off 
 some plain and natural thought or observa- 
 tion, by a sparkling and ingenious simili- 
 tude, such as we commonly find in the 
 Persian poets. To this may be added a 
 certain sweetness of numbers peculiar to 
 
 himself, without the spirit and edge of 
 Pope, or the boldness of Dryden, and 
 fashioned as 1 think to his own recitation, 
 which though musical, was somewhat too 
 pompous and monotonous. He was desir- 
 ous that all his rhymes should be exact ; 
 but they are sometimes so only according 
 to his own manner of pronouncing thenL 
 He holds about the same rank among our 
 poets that Bertaut does among the French ; 
 but differs from him in this ; that, whereas 
 Bertaut was the earliest of a race anal- 
 ogous to the school of Dryden and Pope, 
 so Hayley was the* latest of the corre- 
 spondent class among ourselves. — Gary, 
 Henry Francis, 1821-24-45, Lives of 
 English Poets, p. 344. 
 
 The vain and silly egotism, and the tire- 
 some load of epithets which clogs his style 
 with sickly affectation, revolt me so much, 
 that I have barely candour enough left to 
 give Hayley credit for kindness of heart, 
 and steadiness of attachment. — Grant, 
 Anne, 1823, Letters, Sept. 2 ; Memoir and 
 Correspondence, ed. Grant, vol. ill, p. 16. 
 
 On the 18th of the month, the tragedy 
 of '*Lord Russel," by Mr. Hayley, was 
 also represented at this theatre. He had 
 written this, and one other tragedy, 
 "Marcella," for a private theatre, and it 
 remained to be tried how compositions, so 
 very sober and regular, would gratify the 
 taste of a public auditory. I believe it 
 answered the most sanguine expectations. 
 The characters interested by their virtue : 
 but the muse of Hayley was not, I think, 
 vigorous enough for tragedy ; his verses 
 were too uniform in their structure, and 
 his diction rather feeble and flat. — Boa- 
 den, James, 1825, Memoirs of the Life of 
 John Philip Kemble, vol. i, p, 182. 
 
 If Hayley had not a high invention and 
 forcible intellect, his mind was copiously 
 enriched with multifarious acquisitions 
 from study, a retentive memory, and a 
 susceptible heart. He wanted compres- 
 sion ; but his moral sentiments were always 
 amiable and abundant, though languid ; and 
 surely the range of literature he had 
 mastered, alone entitled him not only to 
 respect but to distinction. — Brydges, Sir 
 Samuel Egerton, 1834, Autobiography, 
 vol. I, p. 131. 
 
 Whether or not any of Hayley's 
 ' ' Essay s"have had the specific effect which 
 he hoped to produce, they imparted, by 
 help of the copious notes wherewith he 
 
654 
 
 HAYLEY— YOUNG 
 
 elucidated them, much information in an 
 agreeable form : his translated specimens 
 of Dante, which were introduced in these 
 notes, revived among us a taste for the 
 Italian poets ; and Spanish literature had 
 been so long and so utterly neglected in 
 this country, that he may be truly said to 
 have introduced the knowledge of it to his 
 contemporaries. . . . Perhaps the 
 "Essays" were read more for the sake of 
 the notes than of the poetry; but the 
 poetry was praised in the highest terms. 
 — SouTHEY, Robert, 1836-7, The Life of 
 William Cowper, vol. ii, p. 25. 
 
 If Hayley was formerly over-rated, he 
 is now under- valued. — Rogers, Samuel, 
 1855, Recollections of Table-Talk, ed. Dyce. 
 
 Hayley's masterpiece, "The Triumphs 
 of Temper," published in 1781, was the 
 "hit" of the day. Its author was a man 
 of considerable culture and intellectual 
 refinement, and, as his "Epistle to 
 Romney" shows, of no contemptible 
 artistic taste. It is impossible to read 
 his warblings, with whatever amount of 
 critical disdain for the warbler, without 
 conceiving a genuine liking for the man. 
 His nature had all the simplicity in which 
 his art was so lamentably to seek, and his 
 disposition was as modest as his Muse was 
 pretentious. His geniality and good 
 nature break out irresistibly even in his 
 
 metrical attack upon Hume, and even in 
 his letters to the egregious Miss Anna 
 Seward he cannot heartily abuse even his 
 rough Johnson, but is continually slipping 
 in admiring epithets which his fair but 
 fiercer correspondent amusingly entreats 
 him to recall. But Johnson, omnivorous 
 reader though he was, declared himself 
 unable to get beyond the first two pages 
 of "The Triumphs of Temper," and pos- 
 terity perhaps has never got so far. Its 
 readability even to a seasoned critic is 
 strictly limited to its interest as a deliber- 
 ate imitation, sometimes declining into a 
 downright parody, of its illustrious model. 
 . . . Hayley is always faultlessly smooth 
 in his versification, and careful in his 
 workmanship, never slovenly, never in- 
 elegant. The errors of his poetic creed 
 stand therefore conclusively proved in the 
 hopeless reprobation of one, who, if poets 
 could be saved by "correctness" alone, 
 would occupy a high position among the 
 blest. — Traill, Henry Duff, 1896, Social 
 England, vol. v, pp. 440, 441. 
 
 His verse itself is impossible and in- 
 tolerable to any but the student of literary 
 history, who knows that all things are 
 possible, and finds the realisation of all in 
 its measure interesting. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1896, A History of Nineteenth 
 Century Literature, p. 18. 
 
 Arthur Young 
 
 1741-1820 
 
 Writer on agriculture, was born at Whitehall, but spent his boyhood, as indeed most 
 of his life, at Bradfield near Bury St. Edmunds, his father being rector and a prebendary 
 of Canterbury. In 1763 he rented a small farm of his mother's, on which he made 
 3,000 unsuccessful experiments; during 1766-71 held a good-sized farm in Essex (ruin 
 the result) ; from 1776 to 1778 was in Ireland ; resumed farming at Bradfield ; and in 
 1793 was appointed secretary to the Board of Agriculture, with a salary of £600. 
 Blind from 1811, he died in London, and was buried at Bradfield. Young, by his 
 writings, was one of the first to elevate agriculture to a science. They include "A 
 Tour through the Southern Counties" (1768), "A Tour through the North of England" 
 (1771), "The Farmer's Tour through the East of England" (1770-71), "Tour in Ire- 
 land" (1780), "Travels in France during 1787-88-89-90" (a very memorable 
 view of the state of France just before the Revolution, 1792-94), "The Farmer's 
 Kalendar" (215th ed. 1862), and "Agricultural Surveys" of eight English counties, 
 besides many papers in "The Annals of Agriculture," which he edited. See A. W. 
 Hutton's edition of the "Tour in Ireland" with bibliography by J. P. Anderson (1892) ; 
 M. Betham-Edwards's edition of the "Travels in France" (1890); and her edition 
 of his "Autobiography" (1897).— Patrick and Groome, eds., 1897, Chambers's 
 Biographical Dictionary, p. 990. 
 
 PERSONAL and affectionate man of flesh and blood. 
 
 He was not a walking blue-book, but a whose acquaintance one would have been 
 highly sensitive, enthusiastic, impulsive, glad to cultivate. . . . Young's devoted 
 
ARTHUR YOUNG 
 
 655 
 
 and unflagging zeal, and his sanguine con- 
 fidence in his principles is equally attract- 
 ive, whatever the inconsistencies or rash- 
 ness of his speculations. — Stephen, Les- 
 lie, 1896, Arthur Young, National Re- 
 view, vol. 27, pp. 489, 499. 
 
 Whilst Arthur Young's famous Travels 
 in France" have become a classic, little is 
 known of the author's life, a life singularly 
 interesting and singularly sad. Whether 
 regarded as the untiring experimentalist 
 and dreamer of economic dreams, as the 
 brilliant man of society and the world, or 
 as the blind, solitary victim of religious 
 melancholia, the figure before us remains 
 unique and impressive. . . . The 
 religious melancholia of his later years is 
 explicable on several grounds : to the in- 
 fluence of his friend, the great Wilber- 
 force ; to the crushing sorrow of his be- 
 loved little daughter Bobbin's" death; 
 lastly, perhaps, to exaggerated self-con- 
 demnation for foibles of his youth. Few 
 lives have been more many-sided, more 
 varied; few, indeed have been more 
 fortunate and . unfortunate at the same 
 time. — Betham-Edwards, M., 1898, ed., 
 The Autobiography of Arthur Young, In- 
 troductory Note. 
 
 Young was a great favourite in society. 
 Vivacious, high-spirited, and well in- 
 formed, he was an agreeable companion. 
 His characteristics are abundantly mani- 
 fested in his writings, and there is no lack 
 of material for forming a mental picture 
 of his personality. . . . His tall slim 
 figure, thin features, aquiline nose, and 
 hawk eyes are in keeping with the restless 
 activity of his character. He rose at 
 5 A. M., bathed in the open air; on one 
 occasion — undaunted experimentalist — he 
 broke the ice in the pond to bathe, and 
 rolled his body in the snow to test the 
 effect. — HiGGS, Henry, 1900, Dictionary 
 of National Biography, vol. LXiii, p. 362. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 To the works of Arthur Young the world 
 is more indebted for the diffusion of agri- 
 culturial knowledge than to any writer who 
 has yet appeared. If great zeal, inde- 
 fatigable exertions, and an unsparing ex- 
 pense in making experiments can give a 
 man a claim to the gratitude of agricul- 
 turists, Arthur Young deserves it more 
 than most men. We will not assert that 
 in all cases his conclusions were correct, 
 or his judgment unimpeachable ; but even 
 
 his blunders, if he committed any, have 
 tended to the benefit of agriculture, by 
 exciting discussion and criticism. — Kir- 
 wan, Richard, 1808 ? Transactions of the 
 Irish Academy. 
 
 The works of Arthur Young did incom- 
 parably more than those of any other in- 
 dividual to introduce a taste for agricul- 
 ture and to diffuse a knov/ledge of the art 
 in this and other countries. They are 
 written in an animated, forcible, pure 
 English style, and are at once highly 
 entertaining and instructive. Though 
 sometimes rash and prejudiced, his state- 
 ments and inferences may in general be 
 depended upon. His activity, persever- 
 ance, and devotedness to agriculture were 
 unequalled. His Tours, especially those 
 in Ireland and in France, w^hich are both 
 excellent, are his most valuable publica- 
 tions.— McCulloch, John Ramsay, 1845, 
 Literature of Political Economy. 
 
 I am a worshipper of Arthur Young's, 
 and from me you will hear only his praises. 
 I think him the most truthful writer and 
 fuller of information upon any subject 
 than any other author. In his 150 volumes 
 that he wrote and edited, like Shakes- 
 peare, and another book, you find every- 
 thing, or something d propos to every sub- 
 ject. He is the only man of eminence of 
 my time that I unfortunately w^as not 
 acquainted with ; I did not then appreciate 
 his merits. Since I have turned my at- 
 tention to agriculture, I look upon him as 
 the real source of information upon all 
 matters ; his correctness, his accuracy, has 
 never been impunged. I have a duplicate 
 of his works, one at Lowther and another 
 in London, and some odd ones both at 
 Barnes and Whitehaven. His agricultural 
 tours in France and Italy I consider the 
 only works that give an intelligible account 
 of those countries. His tour in Ireland 
 has given me the idea that his views of 
 Ireland were nearer the truth than any 
 other work. — Lonsdale, Earl of, 1849, 
 Letter to Mr. Croker, Sept. 4 ; Correspond- 
 ence and Diaries of John Wilson Croker, 
 ed. Jennings, vol. ill, p. 201. 
 
 He projected nothing new or original, 
 nor devised any different scheme of agri- 
 culture in any point; but he collected a 
 huge mass of miscellaneous information, 
 which had no small efliect on the progress 
 of agriculture.— Donaldson, John, 1854, 
 Agricultural Biography. 
 
656 
 
 ARTHUR YOUNG 
 
 It is a somewhat remarkable fact, that 
 a man so distinguished in agriculture, so 
 full of information, so earnest in advocacy 
 of improved methods of culture, so 
 doggedly industrious, should yet never 
 have undertaken farming on his own 
 account save at a loss. I attribute this 
 very much to his zeal for experiments. If 
 he could establish, or controvert, some 
 popular theory by the loss of his crop, he 
 counted it no loss, but a gain to husbandry. 
 Such men are benefactors ; such men need 
 salaries ; and if any such are afloat with 
 us, unprovided for, I beg to recommend 
 them for clerkships in the Agricultural 
 Bureau at Washington; and if the Com- 
 missioner shall hit upon one Arthur Young 
 among the score of his proteges, the coun- 
 try will be better repaid than it usually is. 
 — Mitchell, Donald G., 1864, Wet Day^ 
 at Edgewoody p. 254. 
 
 But the substantial and decisive reply 
 to Burke came from his former corres- 
 pondent, the farmer at Bradfield in Suffolk. 
 Arthur Young published his "Travells in 
 France" some eighteen months after the 
 Reflections'' (1792), and the pages of the 
 twenty-first chapter in which he closes his 
 performance, as a luminous criticism of 
 the most important side of the Revolution, 
 are worth a hundred times more than 
 Burke, Mackintosh, and Paine all put 
 together. Young afterwards became panic- 
 stricken, but his book remained. There 
 the writer plainly enumerates without 
 trope or invective the intolerable burdens 
 under which the great mass of the French 
 people had for long years been groaning. 
 MoRLEY, John, 1888 Burke (English Men 
 of Letters), p. 236. 
 
 It is as a social and political observer that 
 Young is now best known to the reading 
 public, and the books which have established 
 his reputation in these departments — his 
 ''Tour in Ireland" and ''Travels in 
 France" — are still full of interest and in- 
 struction. . . . His master passion 
 was the devotion of agriculture, which 
 constantly showed itself. He strongly 
 condemned the metayer system then widely 
 prevalent in France, as "perpetuating 
 poverty and excluding instruction, " as, in 
 fact, the curse and ruin of the country. 
 Some of his phrases have been often quoted 
 by the advocates of peasant proprietorship 
 as favoring their view. "The magic of 
 property turns sand to gold. " Give a man 
 
 the secure possession of a bleak rock, asd 
 he will turn it into a garden ; give him a 
 nine years' lease of a garden, and he will 
 convert it into a desert. But these 
 sentences, in which the epigrammatic form 
 exaggerates a truth, and which might 
 seem to represent the possession of capital 
 as of no importance in agriculture, must 
 not be taken as conveying his approbation 
 of the system of small properties in gen- 
 eral. He approved it only when the subdi- 
 vision was strictly limited, and even then 
 with great reserves ; and he remained to 
 the end what J. S. Mill calls him, "the 
 apostle of la grande culture." — Ingram, 
 John Kells, 1889, Encyclopaedia Britan- 
 nica, vol. xxiv, pp. 793, 794. 
 
 His "Survey of France" has permanent 
 attraction for its picture of the state of 
 that country just before, and in the 
 earliest days of the Revolution. And 
 though his writing is extremely incorrect 
 and unequal, though its literary effect is 
 much injured by the insertion of statistical 
 details which sometimes turn it for pages 
 together into a mere set of tables, he has 
 constant racy phrases, some of which have 
 passed into the most honourable state of 
 all — that of unidentified quotation — while 
 more deserve it. — Saintsbury, George, 
 1896,^ History of Nineteenth Century Lit- 
 erature, p. 28. 
 
 A« a writer Young contributed nothing 
 of permanent importance towards the ad- 
 vancement of political economy; but he 
 remains the greatest of English writers on 
 agriculture. ... He was indefatigable 
 in observation, inquiries, researches, and 
 experiments, collecting by hand the seeds 
 of artificial grasses and sowing them him- 
 self, pointing out to the country as a whole 
 practices which were successful in particu- 
 lar neighbourhoods at home and abroad, 
 endeavouring, with the aid of Priestley, to 
 discover the chemistry of soils and to 
 apply science to practice, incessantly at- 
 tempting new methods, new rotations of 
 crops, and stirring up a widespread and 
 intelligent interest in the development of 
 agricultural science. He thought the 
 most useful feature of his tours was his 
 teaching upon the correct courses of 
 crops. His works were much esteemed at 
 home and abroad, and especially in the two 
 great agricultural countries of Europe — 
 France and Russia.— HiGGS, Henry, 1900, 
 Dictionary of National Biography. 
 
657 
 
 Thomas Brown 
 
 1778-1820 
 
 Born at Kilmabreck, Kirkcubrightshire, Scotland, Jan. 9, 1778 : died at Brompton, 
 near London, April 2, 1820. A noted Scottish physician, philosopher, and poet, col- 
 league of Dugald Stewart from 1810. His works include "An Inquiry into the Relation 
 of Cause and Effect" (1818), ''Lectures on the Physiology of the Human xMind" (1820), 
 "Poems" (1804), "Paradise of Coquettes" (1814), "The War-fiend" (1817), "Agnes" 
 (1818), "Emily" (1819), etc. He is chiefly notable from his support of Hume's theory 
 of causation.— Smith, Benjamin E., ed.y 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia of Names, 
 p. 187. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I see Dr. Thomas Brown now and then, 
 who is as witty, amusing, and metaphy- 
 sical, and as good a son and brother, as 
 ever. — Grant, Anne, 1813, To Mrs. 
 Lowell, May 23; Memoirs and Corre- 
 spondence, ed. Grant, vol. ii, p. 18. 
 
 He seldom began to prepare any of his 
 lectures till the evening of the day before 
 it was delivered He was often writing at 
 his desk, when he heard the hour of 
 twelve. When he hurried off to deliver 
 what he had written. When his lecture 
 was over, if the day was favourable, he 
 generally took a walk, or employed his 
 time in light reading, till his favorite 
 beverage, tea, restored him again to a 
 capacity for exertion. — Welsh, David, 
 1825, Account of the Life and Writings of 
 Thomas Brown, p. 194. 
 
 Even those who have never seen him can 
 form a pretty lively image of him at this 
 time, when his talents have reached all the 
 maturity of which they are capable, and 
 his reputation is at its height. In person, 
 he is about the middle size ; his features 
 are regular, and in the expression of his 
 countenance, and especially of his eye, 
 there is a combination of sweetness and 
 calm reflection. His manner and address 
 are somewhat too fastidious, not to say 
 finical and feminine, for a philosopher ; but 
 the youths who wait on his lectures are 
 disposed to overlook this, when they fall 
 under the influence of his gentleness, so 
 fitted to win, and of the authority which 
 he has to command. Expectation was on 
 the tip-toe, and he fully met and gratified 
 it. His amiable look, his fine elocution, 
 his acuteness and ingenuity, his skill in 
 reducing a complex subject into a few 
 elements, his show of originality and 
 independence, the seeming comprehensive- 
 ness of his system, and, above all, his 
 fertility of illustration, and the glow, like 
 that of stained glass, in which he set forth 
 
 42 c 
 
 his refined speculations, did more than 
 delight his youthful audience, — it en- 
 tranced them ; and, in their ecstasies, they 
 declared that he was superior to all the 
 philosophers who had gone before him, 
 and, in particular, that he had completely 
 superseded Reid, and they gave him great 
 credit, in that he generously refrained 
 from attacking and overwhelming Stewart. 
 He had every quality fitted to make him a 
 favourite with students. His eloquence 
 would have been felt to be too elaborate 
 by a younger audience, and regarded 
 as too artificial and sentimental by an 
 older audience, but exactly suited the 
 tastes of youths between sixteen and 
 twenty.— McCosH, James, 1874, The Scot- 
 tish Philosophy, p. 322. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 We must ackowledge that, in the writ- 
 ings of Dr. Brown, there are too many 
 obscure and difficult passages. After 
 making due allowance for the imperfect 
 state in which his manuscripts may have 
 been left, for the abstruse and shadowy 
 nature of many of his topics, and even for 
 an occasional mysticism and unattainable 
 aim in some of his thoughts, there still 
 remain too many sentences to remind us, 
 by contrast, of the unabating transparency 
 of Mr. Stewart's elocution. On the whole, 
 we must allow, that our author's is often 
 a hard style to read, and, as we should 
 have thought, a much harder one to hear. 
 He seems frequently not to have adapted 
 his sentences to the capacity of the ear. 
 The attention is stormed and borne along, 
 rather by the force and brilliancy of the 
 expressions, by the earnest energy of the 
 writer, and by the novelty, splendour, and 
 importance, of his well selected topics, 
 than by the clearness and distinctness of 
 each successive position, and a certain 
 smooth and resistless current of diction, 
 of which Adam Smith, Paley, and Godwin 
 in his philosophical works, occur to us just 
 
658 
 
 THOMAS BROWN 
 
 now as three of the most remarkable in- 
 stances. — GiLMAN, S., 1825, Character 
 and Writings of Dr. Brown, North Amer- 
 ican Review, vol. 21, p. 45. 
 
 His first tract on Causation appeared to 
 me the finest model of discussion in Mental 
 Philosophy since Berkeley and Hume : with 
 this superiority over the latter, that its 
 aim is that of a philosopher who seeks to 
 enlarge knowledge, not that of a skeptic, 
 the most illustrious of whom have no 
 better end than that of displaying their 
 powers in confounding and darkening every 
 truth ; so that their very happiest efforts 
 cannot be more leniently described than 
 as brilliant fits of debauchery. — Mackin- 
 tosh, Sir J AMESylSSOy Second Preliminary 
 Dissertation Encyclopcedia Britannica. 
 
 Thomas Brown was an intimate friend 
 of mine, and used to dine with me regularly 
 every Sunday in Edinburgh. He was a 
 Lake poet, a profound metaphysician, 
 and one of the most virtuous men 
 that lived. As a metaphysician, Dugald 
 Stewart was a humbug to him. Brown 
 had real talents for the thing. You must 
 recognize in reading Brown, many of 
 those arguments with which I have so often 
 reduced you to silence in metaphysical dis- 
 cussions. Your discovery of Brown is 
 amusing. Go on ! You will detect Dryden 
 if you persevere; bring to light John 
 Milton, and drag William Shakspeare from 
 his ill-deserved obscurity! — Smith, Syd- 
 ney, 1836, Letter to Sir George Philips, 
 Feb. 28 ; Memoir, ed. Lady Holland. 
 
 Neither his poetry nor his lectures, 
 however, are destined to any permanent 
 fame ; and the latter, as might have been 
 anticipated from his hasty preparations, 
 have already lost the place they for a short 
 time obtained among the text-books of our 
 colleges and universities. — Parkman, F., 
 1840, Life and Writings of Thomas Brown, 
 Christian Examiner, vol. 29, p. 217. 
 
 As a writer, Brown must be regarded 
 as eminently successful. Inferior to 
 Stewart in classic chasteness of diction, 
 and philosophic elegance of style, yet his 
 mind was of that poetic order which can 
 throw a luxuriance, perhaps we might say 
 a redundancy of imagery and illustration, 
 around every subject that it undertakes. 
 From this, mainly, has arisen the great 
 popularity of his lectures, which have not 
 only passed through many editions, but are 
 now, after more than twenty years, in 
 
 almost as great request as they were at 
 first. . . . That Brown possessed 
 splendid abilities, and that his writings 
 generally are marked with superior excel- 
 lence, every candid reader must admit. 
 The most distinctive feature of his mind is 
 generally allowed to have been the power 
 ofanalysis,m which he greatly transcended 
 all philosophers of the Scottish school who 
 preceded him. — Morell, J. D., 1846-53, 
 An Historical and Critical View of Spec- 
 ulative Philosophy of Europe in the Nine- 
 teenth Century. 
 
 Brown, in his great work, Cause and 
 Effect"] — one of the greatest which this 
 century has produced. — Buckle, Henry 
 Thomas. 1862-66, History of Civilization 
 in England, vol. iii, p. 333, note. 
 
 The psychology of Brown may be sum- 
 marily described as a combination of the 
 Scottish philosophy of Reid and Stewart, 
 and of the analyses by Condillac, Destutt 
 de Tracy, and the higher philosophers of 
 the sensational school of France, together 
 with views of the association of ideas 
 derived from a prevailing British school. 
 To Reid and Stewart he was indebted more 
 than he was willing to allow, and it would 
 have been better for his ultimate reputa- 
 tion had he imbibed more of their spirit, 
 and adhered more closely to their princi- 
 ples. He admits everywhere with them 
 the existence of principles of irresistible 
 belief ; for example, he comes to such a 
 principle when he is discussing the beliefs 
 in our personal identity, and in the invari- 
 ability of the relation between cause and 
 effect. But acknowledging, as he does, 
 the existence of intuitive principles, he 
 makes no inquiry into their nature and 
 laws and force, or the relation in which 
 they stand to the faculties. In this respect 
 so far from being an advance on Reid and 
 Stewart, he is rather a retrogression. 
 His method is as much that of Condillac, 
 Destutt de Tracy, and the ideologists of 
 France, as that of Reid and Stewart. — 
 McCosh, James, 1874, The Scottish Phi- 
 losophy, p. 325. 
 
 The fame achieved by the Lectures when 
 published surpassed even what they had 
 attained when delivered. It is no exag- 
 geration to say that never before or since 
 ihas a work of metaphysics been so popular. 
 In 1851 the book had reached its 19th 
 edition in England, and in America its 
 success was perhaps greater. Since that 
 
BROWN— DRAKE 
 
 659 
 
 time, however, its popularity has declined 
 with almost equal rapidity, judgments on 
 its merits are now as severe as they were 
 formerly favorable, and the name of 
 Brown may be said to be a dead letter in 
 the annals of philosophy. ... On 
 the whole, it will be seen from this brief 
 statement of what was new in Brown's 
 philosophy that it occupies an intermediate 
 place between the earlier Scottish school 
 and the later analytical or associational 
 psychology. To the latter Brown really 
 belonged, but he had preserved certain 
 doctrines of the older school which were 
 out of harmony with his fundamental view. 
 He still retained a small quantum of in- 
 tuitive beliefs, and did not appear to see 
 that the very existence of these could not 
 be explained by his theory of mental 
 action. This intermediate or wavering 
 position accounts for the comparative 
 neglect into which his works have now 
 fallen. They did much to excite thinking, 
 and advanced many problems by more than 
 one step, but they did not furnish a coher- 
 ent system, and the doctrines which were 
 then new have since been worked out with 
 greater consistency and clearness. — Ad- 
 AMSON, Robert, 1876, Encyclopcedia Brit- 
 annica, Ninth edition^ vol. iv, pp. 348, 349. 
 
 That he should have accomplished the 
 amount of literary work that he did during 
 his short life is amazing. Little of it can 
 
 be said now to live, with the exception, 
 perhaps, of his Lectures on the Philos- 
 ophy of the Human Mind," which are not 
 only to be valued as an elucidation of 
 mental science, but also as an interesting 
 monument of the brilliant genius and 
 indefatigable industry of a most amiable 
 and deserving man. The fault of the 
 work is its prolixity, and that the same 
 ground is traced over and over again, in 
 lecture after lecture, with tedious itera- 
 tion. However, the defect, so to call it, 
 has certainly this counterbalancing ad- 
 vantage, that it impresses what the writer 
 has to teach on the mind of the reader 
 with such singular clearness, that it is 
 well-nigh impossible to mistake his sense. 
 It should, too, in fairness be remembered 
 that the lectures were prepared merely for 
 oral delivery. They were never corrected 
 by the author for the press; but were 
 printed off from his manuscripts after his 
 death, with all their blemishes and mis- 
 takes, and published precisely as he wrote 
 them. — CoPNER, James, 1885, Sketches of 
 Celibate Worthies, p. 272. 
 
 In spite of his original and suggestive 
 work in detail. Brown thus failed to create 
 a perfectly coherent system of thought. 
 This defect impaired, and within a genera- 
 tion totally destroyed, his influence upon 
 the course of speculation. — Herford, C. 
 H., 1897, The Age of Wordsworth, p. b,note. 
 
 Joseph Rodman Drake 
 
 1795-1820 
 
 A native of New York, began to contribute poetical compositions to the periodicals 
 at a very early age. The first four of the Croaker Pieces (published in New York 
 Evening Post, March 10-20, 1819), were written by him ; after the fourth number, 
 Fitz-Greene Halleck was admitted as a partner, and the literary firm was henceforth 
 Croaker & Co. The lively satire of these sallies gave them a great reputation at the 
 time of their publication. Drake's longest poem is ''The Culprit Fay his best-known 
 composition, ''The American Flag.'' Their poetical merit is unquestionably of a high 
 order. In 1836 a collection of Drake's poetical pieces was published by Commodore 
 Dekay, son-in-law of the author. — Allibone, S. Austin, 1854-58, A Critical Diction- 
 ary of English Literature, vol. I, p. 519. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 I officiated as groomsman, though much 
 against my will. ... He is, perhaps, the 
 handsomest man in New York— a face like 
 an angel, a form like an Apollo, and, as I well 
 knew that his person was the true index of 
 his mind, I felt myself during the ceremony 
 as committing a crime in aiding and assist- 
 ing in such a sacrifice. — Halleck, Fitz- 
 Greene, 1817, Life and Letters. 
 
 Green be the turf above thee, 
 Friend of my better days ! 
 
 None knew thee but to love thee, 
 Nor named thee but to praise. 
 
 While memory bids me weep thee, 
 Nor thoughts nor words are free, 
 
 The grief is fixed too deeply 
 That mourns a man like thee. 
 
 —Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 1820, On the 
 Death of Joseph Rodman Drake. 
 
660 
 
 JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 
 
 The spirit, force, and at the same time 
 simplicity of expression, with his artless 
 manner, gained him many friends. He 
 had that native politeness which springs 
 from benevolence, which would stop to 
 pick up the hat or the crutch of an old 
 servant, or walk by the side of the horse 
 of a timid lady. When he was lost to his 
 friends one of them remarked that it was 
 not so much his social qualities which en- 
 gaged the affections as a certain inner 
 grace or dignity of mind, of which they 
 were hardly conscious at the time. . . . 
 Drake's person was well formed and 
 attractive; a fine head, with a peculiar 
 blue eye, pale and cold in repose, but 
 becoming dark and brilliant under excite- 
 ment. His voice was full-toned and 
 musical ; he was a good reader, and sang 
 with taste and feeling, though rarely. — 
 Lawson, James, 1855, Duyckinck's Cyclo- 
 pcedia of American Liter ature, vol. i, 
 p. 929. 
 
 There may be poetry as well as propriety 
 in hiding the remains of a departed Poet, 
 on the summit of a barren and useless 
 sandy knoll, in the midst of a wide-spread 
 salt marsh, with a lazy stream flowing in 
 the distance, and it may, by an amazing 
 stretch of imagination, be a very appro- 
 priate continuation of the imaginary com- 
 pliment, to let the grave which such a spot 
 contains, thenceforward take care of itself 
 and become obscured, in every direction, 
 by the bushes and weeds which surround 
 it.— Dawson, Henry B., 1865-72, The 
 Grave of J. Rodman Drake, M. D., Histor- 
 ical Magazine, Third Series, vol. I, p. 107. 
 
 He was buried at Hunt's Point ; and as 
 Halleck returned from the funeral, he said 
 to DeKay, "There will be less sunshine 
 for me hereafter, now that Joe is 
 gone.'* A low monument of marble, sur- 
 mounted by a quadrangular pyramid, rises 
 above the grave where the poet's remains 
 have reposed for sixty-five years. The 
 inscription is on one side, and reads thus : 
 ' ' Sacred to the memory of Joseph R. Drake, 
 M. D., who died September 21, 1820. 
 "None knew him but to love him, 
 None named him but to praise." 
 These lines were afterward slightly varied 
 and improved by their author. — Wilson, 
 James Grant, 1885, Bryant and His 
 Friends, p. 305. 
 
 For many years Drake's grave was waste 
 and neglected : the stone was overgrown, 
 
 lichened, disjointed, broken ; a fallen tree 
 had thrown the tapering shaft to the 
 ground. Now a Catholic club of the 
 vicinage has beneficently assumed care of 
 it, the monument is cleansed and reno- 
 vated, and the brush is cleared away from 
 its base. The steep little pathway is 
 evidently trodden by many pilgrim feet, 
 and we find a garland of myrtle crowning 
 the obelisk, while fresh field-flowers — 
 gathered, we hope, from the near-by 
 fields where he loved to roam — lie upon 
 the pedestal and are still aglitter with 
 the dew of the morning. The poet's 
 grave is fitly placed amid the scenes he 
 loved and sung. Yonder * ' his own roman- 
 tic Bronx" lazily skirts the ''green bank 
 side" where he wrote; southward stands 
 the venerable mansion he so often visited, 
 where we may see the room he and Halleck 
 habitually occupied ; and all about the old 
 place lie shores and scenes which inspired 
 portions of his charming "Culprit Fay" 
 and are portrayed in its imagery. Even 
 in the desolate old cemetery we realize 
 some of his poetic phrases : we feel the 
 breeze "fresh springing from the lips of 
 morn," we see the hum-bird with "his 
 sun-touched wings," we hear the carol of 
 the finch and the "winding of the merry 
 locust's horn" above the grave whe^e the 
 poet rests, reckless of these that once 
 thrilled his senses and stirred his soul to 
 song. — Wolfe, Theodore F., 1898, Lit- 
 erary Haunts and Homes, American 
 Authors, p. 102. 
 
 THE CULPRIT FAY 
 "The Culprit Fay" was written, begun, 
 and finished in three days. The copy you 
 have is from the original, without the 
 least alteration. It is certainly the best 
 thing of the kind in the English language, 
 and is more strikingly original than I had 
 supposed it possible for a modern poem to 
 be.— Halleck, Fitz-Greene, 1817, Life 
 and Letters, p. 183. 
 
 It is a well-versified and sufficiently 
 fluent composition, without high merit of 
 any kind. Its defects are gross and super- 
 abundant. Its plot and conduct, con- 
 sidered in reference to its scene, are 
 absurd. Itsoriginality isnone at all. Its 
 imagination (and this was the great 
 feature insisted upon by its admirers) is 
 but a "counterfeit presentment," — but 
 the shadow of the shade of that lofty 
 quality which is, in fact, the soul of the 
 
JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE 
 
 661 
 
 Poetic Sentiment, but a drivelling effort to 
 he fanciful, an effort resulting in a species 
 of hop-skip-and-go-merry rodomontade, 
 which the uninitiated feel it a duty to call 
 ideality, and to admire as such, while 
 lost in surprise at the impossibility of per- 
 forming at least the latter half of the duty 
 with anything like satisfaction to them- 
 selves. And all this we not only asserted, 
 but without difficulty proved. Dr. Drake 
 has written some beautiful poems, but "The 
 Culprit Fay" is not of them.— PoE, Ed- 
 gar Allan, 1842, Graham's Magazine; 
 Works, eds. Stedman and Woodherry, vol, 
 VIII, p. 264. 
 
 A poem of more exquisite fancy — as 
 happily conceived as it is artistically 
 executed — we have hardly had since the 
 days of Milton's "Comus." — Cleveland, 
 Charles D., 1859, A Compendium of 
 American Literature, p. 401. 
 
 Discovers exquisite fancy and rare 
 poetic beauty. — Saunders, Frederick, 
 1865, A Festival of Song, p. 124. 
 
 It does not by any labored structure re- 
 veal that its origin was deliberate and not 
 spontaneous. No poem done of set pur- 
 pose ever flowed more freely and more 
 easily ; and as we read its tuneful measures 
 we never think of denying the right of the 
 fairy folk to dwell on the beautiful banks 
 of the Hudson.— Matthews, Brander, 
 1896, An Introduction to the Study of 
 American Literature, p. 89. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 As an exercise of that delicate imagina- 
 tion which we term fancy, ''The Culprit 
 Fay," although the work of a youth 
 schooled in fairy-lore and the metres of 
 Coleridge, Scott, and Moore, boded well 
 for his future. ''The American Flag" is 
 a stirring bit of eloquence in rhyme. The 
 death of this spirited and promising writer 
 was justly deplored. His talent was 
 healthy; had he lived, American author- 
 ship might not so readily have become, in 
 Griswold's time, a vent for every kind of 
 romantic and sentimental absurdity. — 
 Stedman, Edmund Clarence, 1885, Poets 
 of America, p, 40. 
 
 Drake is, on the whole, less remembered 
 by his own poems than by the beautiful 
 tribute which Halleck made to his memory. 
 —Whipple, Edwin Percy, 1886, Amer- 
 ican Literature and Other Papers, ed. 
 Whittier, p. 61. 
 
 Drake's services to nascent American 
 poetry also included the composition of a 
 spirited lyric to "The American Flag," 
 familiar in the anthologies, and long a 
 favorite with the school-boys of the nation. 
 Its tropes are somewhat strained, and its 
 sensational scheme narrowly escapes bom- 
 bast; but on the whole — like a greater 
 poem, Shelley's "Cloud" — it avoids the 
 pathetic and produces an honest and 
 stirring effect upon the reader. — Rich- 
 ardson, Charles F., 1888, American 
 Literature, 1607-1888, vol. ii. p. 26. 
 
 A commonplace of American criticism 
 is to compare Keats with a certain Joseph 
 Rodman Drake. They both died at twenty- 
 five and they both wrote verse. The 
 parallel ends there. Keats was one of 
 the great writers of the world. Drake 
 was a gentle imitative bard of the fourth 
 or fifth order, whose gifts culminated in 
 a piece of pretty fancy called "The Culprit 
 Fay." Every principle of proportion is 
 outraged in a conjunction of the names of 
 Drake and Keats. To compare them is 
 like comparing a graceful shrub in your 
 garden with the tallest pine that fronts 
 the tempest on the forehead of Rhodope. 
 — Gosse, Edmund, 1889, Has America 
 Produced a Pott ? Questions at Issue, p. 76. 
 
 Drake's poety should not be read as if 
 it had been written in our day, when poets 
 are so plentiful that every versifier has 
 their art at his finger-ends : it should be 
 read as it was read when it was written, 
 in the first two decades of the century, 
 when poets were few among us, and their 
 skill so limited and uncertain as to dis- 
 concert and irritate later readers. He 
 had no American models whom he could 
 study to advantage, only such rude work- 
 men in verse as Dwight, Trumbull, and 
 Freneau; and the only English models 
 whom he knew, or for whom he seemed to 
 care, were Moore and Scott. He could 
 not have had a more manly master than 
 Scott, though he might have found a more 
 deliberate one, for Scott improvised rather 
 than composed. Like Scott, Drake wrote 
 too rapidly, and too carelessly ; for what- 
 ever its merits, and they are considerable, 
 since poetic invention is one of them, and 
 spirited metrical movement is another, 
 "The Culprit Fay" is an improvisation and 
 nothing more— an improvisation which 
 needed much, but never had any, correc- 
 tion. It is charming, however, for just 
 
662 
 
 DRAKE— KEATS 
 
 what it is, being one of the pillars upon 
 which the reputation of Drake rests, the 
 other being his lyric, **The American 
 Flag," which is still the standard sheet in 
 our Heaven of Song. No one but a poet 
 could have written these two poems, to 
 remember which is to remember Joseph 
 Rodman Drake. — Stoddard, Richard 
 Henry, 1895, Joseph Rodman Drake, The 
 Critic, vol. 27, p. 84. 
 
 He wrote several pretty things, among 
 them a poem published after his death, 
 entitled ^' The Culprit Fay. " This conven- 
 tional tale of some tiny fairies, supposed 
 to haunt the Hudson River, is so much bet- 
 ter than American poetry had previously 
 
 been that one is at first disposed to 
 speak of it enthusiastically. An obvious 
 comparison puts it in true perspective. 
 Drake's life happened nearly to coincide 
 with that of Keats. Both left us only 
 broken fragments of what they might have 
 done, had they been spared ; but the con- 
 trast between these fragments tells afresh 
 the story of American letters. Amid the 
 full fervour of European experience Keats 
 produced immortal work; Drake, whose 
 whole life was passed amid the national 
 inexperience of New York, produced only 
 pretty fancies. — Wendell, Barrett, 
 1900, A Literary History of America, 
 p. 195. 
 
 John Keats 
 
 1795-1821 
 
 Born, in London 31 Oct. 1795. At school at Enfield, at irregular periods between 
 1801 and 1810. His mother removed to Edmonton, 1806. Apprenticed to surgeon 
 at Edmonton, 1810. To London 1814. Studied medicine at St. Thomas's and Guy's 
 Hospitals. Appointed Dresser at Guy's, March 1816. Licentiate of Apothecaries' 
 Hall, 25 July 1816. Contrib. to ''The Examiner," 1816-17. Friendship with Leigh 
 Hunt and Haydon begun about this time. Abandoned medical career, 1817. Visit to 
 Oxford, Sept. to Oct. 1817. Contrib. poems to *'The Champion," 1817; wrote 
 dramatic criticism for it, Dec. 1817 to Jan. 1818. At this period resided mainly with 
 his brothers at Hampstead. Walking tour with Charles Armitage Brown in Northern 
 England and Scotland, June to Aug. 1818. Engaged to Fanny Brawne, Dec. 1818. , One 
 brother married and went to America, June 1818 ; the other died, Dec. 1818. Lived 
 at Shanklin and Winchester successively during early part of 1819 ; settled in West- 
 minster, Oct. 1819. Contrib. ''Ode to a Nightingale" to "Annals of the Fine Arts," 
 1819; "La Belle Dame Sans Merci" to "The Indicator," 1820. Consumption set in, 
 Feb. 1820. Sailed with Joseph Severn to Italy, Sept. 1820 ; arrived at Naples in Oct. ; 
 at Rome in Nov. Died, in Rome, 23 Feb. 1821. Buried in Old Protestant Cemetery 
 there. Works: "Poems," 1817; "Endymion," 1818; "Lamia; Isabella; the Eve 
 of St. Agnes," 1820. Posthumous: "Life, Letters and Literary Remains," ed. by 
 R. Monckton Milnes, 1848; "Letters to Fanny Brawne," ed. by H. Buxton Forman, 
 1878; "Letters," ed. by H. Buxton Forman, 1895. Collected Works: ed. by H. Buxton 
 Forman (4vols.), 1883. Life: by Lord Houghton, revised edn. 1867; by W. M. 
 Rossetti, 1887; by Sidney Colvin, 1887.— Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dic- 
 tionary of English Authors, p. 154. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 He is gone. He died with the most per- 
 fect ease — he seemed to go to sleep. On 
 the 23rd, about four, the approaches of 
 death came on.. "Severn — I — lift me 
 up. I am dying — I shall die easy. Don't 
 be frightened : be firm, and thank God it 
 has come." I lifted him up in my arms. 
 The phlegm seemed boiling in his throat, 
 and increased until eleven, when he gradu- 
 ally sunk into death, so quiet that I still 
 thought he slept. I cannot say niore 
 now. I am broken down by four nights' 
 watching, no sleep since, and my poor 
 
 Keats gone. Three days since the body 
 was opened: the lungs were completely 
 gone. The doctors could not imagine 
 how he had lived these two months. I 
 followed his dear body to the grave on 
 Monday [February 26th], with many Eng- 
 lish. . . . The letters I placed in the 
 coffin with my own hand. — Severn, 
 Joseph, 1821, Journal, Feb. 27. 
 
 The genius of the lamented person to 
 whose memory I have dedicated these un- 
 worthy verses was not less delicate and 
 fragile than it was beautiful ; and where 
 canker-worms abound, what wonder if its 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 663 
 
 young flower was blighted in the bud? 
 The savage criticism on his "Endymion" 
 which appeared in the ''Quarterly Review'' 
 produced the most violent effect on his 
 susceptible mind; the agitation thus 
 originated ended in a rupture of a blood- 
 vessel in the lungs ; a rapid consumption 
 ensued ; and the succeeding acknowledg- 
 ments from more candid critics of the 
 true greatness of his powers were in- 
 effectual to heal the wound thus wantonly 
 inflicted.— Shelley, Percy Bysshe,1821, 
 AdonaiSy Preface. 
 
 But now thy youngest, dearest one, has per- 
 ish'd, 
 
 The nursling of thy widowhood, who grew, 
 Like a pale flower by some sad maiden cher- 
 ish'd, 
 
 And fed with true love tears instead of dew. 
 Most musical of mourners, weep anew ! 
 Thy extreme hope, the loveliest and the last. 
 The bloom whose petals, nipt before they 
 blew. 
 
 Died on the promise of the fruit, is waste ; 
 The broken lily lies— the storm is overpast. 
 
 —Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1S21/ Adon- 
 ais, An Elegy on the Death cf John Keats. 
 
 I have just this moment heard of poor 
 Keats's death. We are unlucky in our 
 butts. It would appear very cruel if any 
 jokes now appeared on thepharmacopolical 
 part of '^Endymion." And indeed when 
 I heard that the poor devil was in a con- 
 sumption, 1 was something sorry that I 
 annoyed him at all of late. If I were able 
 I should write a dirge over him, as a kind 
 of amende honorable; but my Muse, I am 
 afraid, does not run in the mournful. If 
 you print my hymn strike out the hemistich 
 concerning him, substituting anything you 
 like— such as' Tale is the cheek of Leigh 
 Hunt, the tea-drinking king of the 
 Cockneys." I hope I am in time, for it 
 would annoy me if it appeared that we 
 were attacking any one who had it not in 
 his power to reply — particularly an old 
 enemy after his death. — Maginn, Wil- 
 liam, 1821, Letter to Blackwood, April 10 ; 
 William Blackwood and His Sons, ed. OH- 
 phant, vol. i, p. 375. 
 
 Keats was a victim to personal abuse and 
 the want of power to bear it. ... He be- 
 gan life full of hope. ... He expected 
 the world to bow at once to his talents, as 
 his friends had done. . . . Goaded by 
 ridicule, he distrusted himself and flew to 
 dissipation. For six weeks he was hardly 
 ever sober. ... He told me that he once 
 
 covered his tongue and throat, as far as he 
 could reach, with Cayenne pepper, in order 
 to enjoy "the delicious coolness of claret 
 in all its glory." ... He had great en- 
 thusiasm for me, and so had I for him, but 
 he grew angry latterly because 1 shook my 
 head at his proceedings. I told him, I 
 begged of him to bend his genius to some 
 definite object. I remonstrated on his 
 absurd dissipation, but to no purpose. The 
 last time I saw him was at Hampstead, 
 lying on his back in a white bed, helpless, 
 irritable, and hectic. He had a book, and 
 enraged at his own feebleness, seemed as 
 if he were going out of the world with 
 a contempt for this, and no hopes of a 
 better. He muttered as I stood by him' 
 that if he did not recover, he would "cut 
 his throat." I tried to calm him, but to no 
 purpose. . . . Poor dear Keats ! — Haydon, 
 Benjamin Robert, 1821, Letter to Miss 
 Mitford, Apr. 21 ; Life, Letters and Table 
 Talk, ed. Stoddard, pp. 207, 208, 209. 
 John Keats, who was kill'd off by one 
 critique 
 
 Just as he really promised something great. 
 If not intelligible, without Greek 
 
 Contrived to talk about the gods of late. 
 Much as they might have been supposed to 
 speak. 
 
 Poor fellow ! His was an untoward fate ; 
 'Tis strange the mind, that very fiery par- 
 ticle. 
 
 Should let itself be snuff 'd out by an article. 
 —Byron, Lord, 1823, Don Juan, Canto,x\. 
 
 It was nevertheless on the same day, 
 sitting on the bench in Well Walk at Hemp- 
 stead, nearest the heath (the one against 
 the wall), that he told me, with unaccus- 
 tomed tears in his eyes, that his "heart 
 was breaking." — Hunt, Leigh, 1828, Lord 
 Byron and Some of his Contemporaries, vol. 
 I, p. 440. 
 
 One night at eleven o'clock, he came 
 into the house in a state that looked like 
 fierce intoxication. Such a state in him, 
 I knew, was impossible ; it therefore was 
 the more fearful. I asked hurriedly, 
 "What is the matter? you are fevered." 
 "Yes, yes," he answered, "I was on the 
 outside of the stage this bitter day till I 
 was severely chilled — but now I don't feel 
 it. Fevered! — of course, a little." He 
 mildly and instantly yielded, a property in 
 his nature towards any friend, to my re- 
 quest that he should go to bed. I followed 
 with the best immediate remedy in my 
 power. I entered his chamber as he leapt 
 
664 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 into bed. On entering the cold sheets, 
 before his head was on the pillow, he 
 slightly coughed, an I heard him say, 
 ''That is blood from my mouth." I went 
 towards him ; he was examining a single 
 drop of blood upon the sheet. * * Bring me 
 the candle, Brown, and let me see this 
 blood. ' ' After regarding it steadfastly, 
 he looked up in my face with a calmness 
 of countenance that I can never forget, 
 and said, ''I know the colour of that blood 
 — it is arterial blood — 1 cannot be deceived 
 in that colour — that drop of blood is my 
 death-warrant — I must die." — Brown, 
 Charles Armitage, 1841 ? Houghton MSS. 
 
 And Keats the real 
 Adonis with the hymeneal 
 Fresh vernal buds half sunk between 
 His youthful curls, kissed straight and sheen 
 In his Rome -grave, by Venus queen. 
 
 — Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1844, 
 A Vision of Poets. 
 
 Jean Paul says that some souls fall from 
 heaven like flowers, but that ere the pure 
 and fresh buds have had time to open, they 
 are trodden in the dust of the earth, and 
 lie soiled and crushed beneath the foul 
 tread of some brutal hoof. It was the fate 
 of John Keats to illustrate, in some re- 
 spects, this truth. He experienced more 
 than the ordinary share of the world's' 
 hardness of heart, and had less than the 
 ordinary share of sturdy strength to bear 
 it. In him, an imagination and fancy of 
 much natural capacity, were lodged in a 
 frame too weak to sustain the shocks of 
 life, and too sensitive for the development 
 of high and sturdy thought. The great 
 defect of his nature was a lack of force. 
 — Whipple, Edwin P., 1845, English 
 Poets of the Nineteenth Century, American 
 Review, July ; Essays and Reviews. 
 
 He had a soul of noble integrity, and 
 his common sense was a conspicuous part 
 of his character. Indeed his character 
 was, in the best sense, manly. . . . 
 With his friends, a sweeter tempered man 
 I never knew than was John Keats. 
 Gentleness was indeed his proper charac- 
 teristic, without one particle of dulness, 
 or insipidity, or want of spirit. . . . 
 In his letters he talks of suspecting everyy 
 body. It appeared not in his conversa- 
 tion. On the contrary, he was uniformly 
 the apologist for poor frail human nature, 
 and allowed for people's faults more than 
 any man I every knew, and especially for 
 
 the faults of his friends. But if any act 
 of wrong or oppression, of fraud or false- 
 hood, was the topic, he rose into sudden 
 and animated indignation. — Bailey, Ben- 
 jamin, 1848, Letter to Lord Houghton, 
 Houghton MSS. 
 
 Keats, when he died, had just completed 
 his four-and-twentieth year. He was 
 under the middle height ; and his lower 
 limbs were small in comparison with the 
 upper, but neat and well-turned. His 
 shoulders were very broad for his size ; he 
 had a face in which energy and sensibility 
 were remarkably mixed up; and eager 
 power, checked and made patient by ill 
 health. Every feature was at once 
 strongly cut, and delicately alive. If 
 there was any faulty expression it was in 
 the mouth, which was not without some- 
 thing of a character of pugnacity. The 
 face was rather long than otherwise ; the 
 upper lip projected a little over the under ; 
 the chin was bold, the cheeks sunken ; the 
 eyes mellow and glowing ; large, dark, and 
 sensitive. At the recital of a noble action, 
 or a beautiful thought, they would suffuse 
 with tears, and his mouth trembled. In 
 this there was ill health as well as imagi- 
 nation, for he did not like these betrayals 
 of emotion ; and he had great personal as 
 well as moral courage. He once chastised 
 a butcher, who had been insolent, by a 
 regular stand-up fight. His hair, of a 
 brown color, was fine, and hung in natural 
 ringlets. The head was a puzzle for the 
 phrenologists, being remarkably small in 
 the skull ; a singularity which he had in 
 common with Byron and Shelley, whose 
 hats I could not get on. Keats was 
 sensible of the disproportion above noticed, 
 between his upper and lower extremities ; 
 and he would look at his hand, which was 
 faded and swollen in the veins, and say 
 that it was the hand of a man of fifty. 
 He was a seven months' child. — Hunt, 
 Leigh, 1850-60, Autobiography, vol. ii, 
 ch. xvi. 
 
 He had that fine compactness of person 
 which we regard as the promise of lon- 
 gevity, and no mind was ever more exultant 
 in youthful feeling. I cannot summon a 
 sufficient reason why in one short year he 
 should have been thus cut off, ''with all 
 his imperfections on his head." . . . 
 Those bright falcon eyes, which I had 
 known only in joyous intercourse, while 
 revelling in books and Nature, or while he 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 665 
 
 was reciting his own poetry, now beamed 
 an unearthly brightness and a penetrating 
 steadfastness that could not be looked at. 
 It was not the fear of death, — on the con- 
 trary, he earnestly wished to die, — but it 
 was the fear of lingering on and on, that 
 now distressed him ; and this was wholly 
 on my account. . . . There were few 
 Englishmen at Rome who knew Keats's 
 works, and I could scarcely persuade any 
 one to make the effort to read them, such 
 was the prejudice against him as a poet ; 
 but when his gravestone was placed, with 
 his own expressive line, ''Here lies one 
 whose name was writ in water," then a 
 host started up, not of admirers, but of 
 scoffers, and a silly jest was often repeated 
 in my hearing, "Here lies one whose name 
 was writ in water, and his works in milk 
 and water ; " and this I was condemned to 
 hear for years repeated, as though it had 
 been a pasquinade. — Severn, Joseph, 
 1863, On the Vicissitudes of Keats's Fame, 
 Atlantic Monthly, vol. 11, pp. 401,402,404. 
 
 A lady, whose feminine acuteness of per- 
 ception is only equalled by the vigour of her 
 understanding, thus describes Keats as he 
 appeared about this time (1818) at Haz- 
 litt's lectures: — "His eyes were large and 
 blue, his hair auburn ; he wore it divided 
 down the centre, and it fell in rich masses 
 on each side his face ; his mouth was full, 
 and less intellectual than his other feat- 
 ures. His countenance lives in my mind as 
 one of singular beauty and brightness ; it 
 had the expression as if he had been look- 
 ing on some glorious sight. The shape of 
 his face had not the squareness of a man's, 
 but more like some women's faces I have 
 seen — it was so wide over the forehead and 
 so small at the chin. He seemed in perfect 
 health, and with life offering all things 
 that were precious to him." — Milnes, 
 Richard Monckton,1869, ed., The Poetical 
 Works of John Keats, Memoir, p. xxvii. 
 The young Endymion sleeps Eudymion's 
 sleep ; 
 
 The shepherd-boy whose tale was left half 
 told! 
 
 The solemn grove uplifts its shield of gold 
 To the red rising moon, and loud and deep 
 The nightingale is singing from the steep ; 
 It is midsummer, but the air is cold ; 
 Can it be death? Alas, beside the fold 
 A shepherd's pipe lies shattered near his 
 sheep. 
 
 — Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, 
 1873, Keats, A Book of Sonnets. 
 
 In the early part of his school-life John 
 
 gave no extraordinary indications of intel- 
 lectual character; but it was remembered 
 of him afterwards, that there was ever 
 present a determined and steady spirit in 
 all his undertakings: I never knew it 
 misdirected in his required pursuit of 
 study. He was a most orderly scholar. 
 . . . Not the less beloved was he for 
 having a highly pugnacious spirit, which, 
 when roused, was one of the most pictur- 
 esque exhibitions — off the stage — I ever 
 saw. One of the transports of that 
 marvellous actor, Edmund Kean — whom, 
 by the way, he idolized — was its nearest 
 resemblance ; and the two were not very 
 dissimilar in face and figure. . . . His 
 passion at times was almost ungovernable ; 
 and his brother George, being considerably 
 the taller and stronger, used frequently to 
 hold him down by main force, laughing 
 when John was in one of his moods, and 
 was endeavoring to beat him. It was all, 
 however, a wisp-of-straw conflagration; 
 for he had an intensely tender affection 
 for his brothers, and proved it upon the 
 most trying occasions. He was not merely 
 the "favorite of all," like a pet prize- 
 fighter, for his terrier courage; but his 
 high-mindedness, his utter unconscious- 
 ness of a mean motive, his placability, his 
 generosity, wrought so general a feeling 
 in his behalf, that I never heard a word of 
 disapproval from any one, superior or 
 equal, who had known him. . . . The char- 
 acter and expression of Keats's features 
 would arrest even the casual passenger in 
 the street. . . . Reader, alter in your 
 copy of the'* Life of Keats," vol. i., page 
 103, ''eyes" light hazel, "hair" lightish 
 brown and wavy. — Clarke, Charles 
 Cowden, 1874-78, Keats, Recollections of 
 Writers, pp. 122, 123, 133, 154. 
 
 I confess there is something in the per- 
 sonality of Keats, some sort of semi-phys- 
 ical aroma wafted from it, which I cannot 
 endure; and I fear these letters will be 
 very redolent of this. AYhat a curious 
 thing is that undefinable flavour of person- 
 ality — suggestion of physical quality, 
 odour of the man in his unconscious and 
 spontaneous self-determination, which at- 
 tracts or repels so powerfull5% and is the 
 very root of love or dislike. ^ — Symonds, 
 John Addington, 1878, Letter to Edmund 
 Gosse, Feb. 16; Life by Brown, vol. n, 
 p. 147. 
 
666 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 So when I saw beside a Roman portal 
 
 "In this house died John Keats" — for tears 
 
 that sprung 
 I could no further read. O bard immortal ! 
 Not for thy fame's sake— but so young, so 
 
 young; 
 
 Such beauty vanished, spilled such heavenly 
 wine, 
 
 All quenched that power of deathless song 
 divine ! 
 
 —Gilder, Richard Watson, 1885, An 
 Inscription in Rome, Lyrics and Other 
 Poems, p. 101. 
 
 From this point (1819) forwards noth- 
 ing but misery remains to be recorded 
 of John Keats. The narrative becomes 
 depressing to write and depressing to read. 
 The sensation is like that of being confined 
 in a dark vault at noonday. One knows 
 indeed, that the sun of the poet's genius 
 is blazing outside, and that, on emerging 
 from the vault, we shall be restored to 
 light and warmth; but the atmosphere 
 within is not the less dark and laden, nor 
 the shades the less murky. In tedious 
 wretchedness, racked and dogged with the 
 pang of body and soul, exasperated and 
 protesting, raging now, and now ground 
 down into patience and acceptance, Keats 
 gropes through the valley of the shadow 
 of death.— RossETTi, William Michael, 
 1887, Life of John Keats (Great Writers), 
 p. 40. 
 
 Ah, grave of graves ! what pathos round it 
 clings ! 
 
 To this sad bourne from coming age to age. 
 While the tired earth endures its sufferings, 
 Will wandering feet make worship's pil- 
 grimage ! 
 Thou, hoary Rome, 
 
 In bosoming him hast higher glory won. 
 Although for Pantheon 
 Thou gav'st him naught, save that wherein 
 the sun 
 
 Beams morn by morn, an everlasting dome. 
 — ScoLLARD, Clinton, 1888, At the Grave 
 of Keats, Old and New World Lyrics, p. 5. 
 The new Endymion thou, enamored so 
 Of thy supernal themes, some goddess, 
 proud 
 
 And jealous, doomed thee to a deathless 
 swoon. 
 
 As he on myrtled Latmos long ago 
 Wast doomed. I will not think thee in 
 thy shroud. 
 But sleeping quietly and waking soon. 
 — Blanden, Charles G., 1889, Thoughts 
 of Keats. 
 
 Unluckily Keats died, and his death was 
 absurdly attributed to a pair of reviews 
 
 which may have irritated him, and which 
 were coarse and cruel even for that period 
 of robust reviewing. But Keats knew 
 very well the value of these critiques, and 
 probably resented them not much more 
 than a foot-ball player resents being 
 
 hacked" in the course of the game. He 
 was very willing to see Byron and Words- 
 worth ''trounced," and as ready as Peter 
 Corcoran in his friend's poem to ''take 
 punishment" himself. The character of 
 Keats was plucky, and his estimate of his 
 own genius was perfectly sane. He knew 
 that he was in the thick of a literary 
 "scrimmage," and he was not the man to 
 flinch or to repine at the consequences. — 
 Lang, Andrew, 1889, Letters on Litera- 
 ture, p. 197. 
 
 Although the legend as to the cause of 
 the premature death of Keats has thus to 
 be dismissed as an impassioned hallucina- 
 tion of Shelley's, perpetuated by Byron's 
 epigrammatic version of it, those two 
 articles on Keats' s "Endymion" on its first 
 appearance, — the Blackwood article of 
 August, 1818, and the Quarterly article 
 of September, 1818, — retain an infamous 
 kind of interest in English literary history, 
 and cannot be allowed to be forgotten. 
 The recollection of them suggests various 
 reflections. They exemplify for us, in the 
 first place, the horrible iniquity, the utter 
 detestability, of the practice of carrying 
 the rancour of party politics into the 
 business of literary criticism. Almost 
 avowedly, it was because young Keats was 
 a friend of Leigh Hunt, and was supposed 
 to share the political opinions of Hunt and 
 a few other Londoners of prominent 
 political notoriety at the time, that the 
 two periodicals in question made their 
 simultaneous onslaught on "Endymion." 
 They had vowed exterminating war against 
 Hunt and his political associates, and were 
 lying in wait for every new appearance in 
 the field of a straggler from that camp ; 
 and what did it matter to them who 
 emerged next, or in what guise? Keats 
 had emerged, — in reality no party politi- 
 cian at all, but in very fibre of his nature 
 a poet and that only, — Keats had emerged 
 and they bludgeoned him! — Masson, 
 David, 1892, The Story of Gifford and 
 Keats, The Nineteenth Century, vol. 31, 
 p. 603. 
 
 Of no other English poet has the popular 
 idea been so wide of the mark ; about no 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 667 
 
 other English poet have so many clouds of 
 misunderstanding gathered and hung to 
 the lasting concealment of the man. . . . 
 Above all English poets Keats has been the 
 victim of his feeble brethren, who mitigate 
 their own sense of baffled ambition with 
 the remembrance of his woes at the hands 
 of the Philistine reviewers, and of those 
 sentimental hangers on at the court of 
 poetry who mistake the king's robe for the 
 king's majesty, and whose solemn genu- 
 flections are the very mockery of homage. 
 Instead of the real Keats, virile, manly, 
 courageous, well-poised, and full of noble 
 ambitions, the world has fashioned for 
 itself a weakly sentimental, sensuous 
 maker of ovier-ripe verse, without large 
 ideas of his art, and sensitive to the very 
 death under the lash of a stupid and vulgar 
 criticism. It was no small offence against 
 the memory of this peculiarly rich and 
 sane nature that these misconceptions were 
 permitted to become traditions. Although 
 Lord Houghton, Mr. Arnold, Professor 
 Colvin, and other students and critics of 
 Keats have done much to rescue his fame 
 from the hands of those who have accom- 
 plished what blundering critics were unable 
 to effect, there is still much to be done 
 before the world, which takes its impres- 
 sions, rapidly and at second hand, is set 
 right concerning one of the most promis- 
 ing men of the age. — Mabie, Hamilton 
 Wright, 1892-93, Essays in Literary In- 
 terpretationy p. 138. 
 
 Let us suppose he does not sleep, but 
 wakes — wakes, and harkens to what sounds 
 soever of earthly detraction or praise may 
 reach him, throned among his fellow 
 inheritors of unfulfilled renown," whose 
 place is ' ' far in the unapparent. ' ' For he 
 died full of thwarted aims and balked 
 ambitions, his life a splendid fragment like 
 his own ''Hyperion ;" and perhaps it is not 
 wildly fanciful to think of the eager spirit 
 of Adonais as taking some posthumous 
 interest in the progress and consummation 
 of his own terrestrial fame. He will have 
 seen that fame gradually disentangled 
 from minor accidents and incidents which 
 at first did much to perplex it and hinder 
 it from having free way; disentangled 
 from ''Cockney Schools," real or imagi- 
 nary; from irrelevant prejudices arising 
 out of political and personal considera- 
 tions; from warring theories of literary 
 art. He will have seen his influence 
 
 operating as a potent factor in the artistic 
 evolution of the most eminent of present 
 day poets. He will have seen the main 
 and essential facts of his life laid before 
 the world by a distinguished and genial 
 dilettante, whose biography of him was not 
 indeed a work of high talent, but was in- 
 spired by sympathy and directed by good 
 taste. In a word, he will have seen almost 
 everything come to pass which, living, he 
 could have hoped for. Unfortunately, 
 however, this is not all ; would it were ! 
 He will have seen Haydon's "Journal" go 
 forth to posterity, perpetuating a slander 
 which went unrebuked and undenied till 
 yesterday. He will have seen the passion- 
 ate letters to his somewhat mundane god- 
 dess catalogued in sale lists, and knocked 
 down under the auctioneer's hammer. He 
 will have seen the eflfigy of his warm and 
 palpitating heart held up to the stare of a 
 world that with gaping mouth and craning 
 neck presses forward into every sanctuary 
 where there is a secret to be ravished and 
 a veil to be rent in twain. He will have 
 seen the yelping pack of scandal, never so 
 joyous as when they can scent some fallen 
 greatness, or run down any noble quarry. 
 He will have seen the yet uncleaner crea- 
 ture, the thing of teeth and claws, that 
 lives by scratching up the soil from over 
 the bones of the buried and laying corrup- 
 tion bare. He will have seen the injudi- 
 cious and uncritical worshipper. He will 
 have seen the painstaking modern editor. 
 —Watson, William, 1893, Excursions 
 in Criticism, p. 25. 
 
 FANNY BRAWNE 
 Mr. Severn tells me that Mrs. and Miss 
 Brawne felt the keenest regret that they 
 had not followed him and Keats to Rome ; 
 and, indeed, I understand that there was 
 some talk of a marriage taking place 
 before the departure. Even twenty years 
 after Keats's death, when Mr. Severn re- 
 turned to England, the bereaved lady was 
 unable to receive him on account of the 
 extreme painfulness of the associations 
 connected with him. — Forman, Harry 
 Buxton, 1877, Letters of John Keats to 
 Fanny Brawne, Introduction, p. Ixii. 
 
 Her ways and presence at first irritated 
 and after a little while completely fasci- 
 nated him. From his first sarcastic 
 account of her written to his brother, as 
 well as from Severn's mention of her like- 
 ness to the draped figure in Titian's picture 
 
668 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 of Sacred and Profane Love, and from the 
 full-length silhouette of her that has been 
 preserved, it is not difficult to realize her 
 aspect and presence. A brisk and bloom- 
 ing very young beauty, of the far from 
 uncommon English hawk blonde type, with 
 aquiline nose and retreating forehead, 
 sharp-cut nostril and gray-blue eye, a 
 slight, shapely figure, rather short than 
 tall, a taking smile, and good hair, car- 
 riage and complexion — such was Fanny 
 Brawne externally, but of her character 
 we have little means of judging. She was 
 certainly high-spirited, inexperienced, and 
 self-confident; as certainly, though kind 
 and constant to her lover, in spite of pros- 
 pects that before long grew dai:k, she did 
 not fully realise what mannei or\man he 
 was. Both his men and worsen mends, 
 without thinking unkindly of her, were 
 apparently of one opinion in holding her 
 no mate for him either in heart or mind, 
 and in regarding the attachment as un- 
 lucky.— Colvin, Sidney, 1887, Keats (Engi 
 lish Men of Letters), p. 129. 
 
 Though she was inexperienced and self- 
 confident, she was constant and kind to her 
 lover in spite of prospects which soon 
 grew very dark. She never, however, 
 fully realized what manner of man he was, 
 though some of the things said by his 
 friends, who did not approve of her or of 
 his frenzy of passion for her, were most 
 unkind and entirely unjustified. As I have 
 been guilty in previous writings of repeat- 
 ing at least one such unkind remark, I 
 most cheerfully acknowledge that better 
 evidence has convinced me that she loved 
 Keats dearly, and when he was dead 
 tenderly cherished his memory. — Speed, 
 John Gilmer,* 1895, The RealJohn Keats, 
 McClure^s Magazine, vol. 5, p. 468. 
 
 Fanny Brawne was a poor creature upon 
 which to stake love and life, and Keats 
 knew this to be true in the lucid intervals 
 of his infatuation. . . . These terrible 
 love-letters. Each is a drop of life-blood, ^ 
 and their leap from the anguished heart 
 actually appalls us. No eyes but hers 
 should ever have rested upon the pages. • 
 It was nothing short of vivisection for her 
 to turn them over to public examination 
 and judgment. And this was done, in effect, 
 by her preservation of them, aware as she 
 was, what use would be made of them 
 when they escaped from her keeping. We 
 
 *Grand'nephew of Keats. 
 
 cannot, and we do not care to, forgive 
 her. — Herrick, Mary Virginia Terhune 
 (Marion Harland), 1898, Where Ghosts 
 Walk, pp. 171, 179. 
 
 LOVE LETTERS 
 The thirty-seven letters of Keats to 
 Fanny Brawne I have read with great pain 
 inasmuch as from them I now understand 
 for the first time the sufferings and death 
 of the Poet. — He did not confide to me this 
 serious passion and it now seems to me 
 but for this cause he might have lived many 
 years — I can now understand his want of 
 courage to speak as it was consuming him 
 in body and mind. . . . Perhaps I 
 view the work more painfully as I was not 
 aware of such torment existing in the 
 Poet's mind and as I saw him struck down 
 from health and vigour to sickness and 
 death you will not wonder at my emotion 
 ,iij^w that I find the fatal cause. — Severn, 
 /Jo'SEPH, 1878, Letter to Harry Buxton 
 Forman, Feb. 5 ; The Poetical Works and 
 Other Writings of John Keats, vol. iv, pp. 
 218, 219. 
 
 The character of the letters is such as 
 obtains in similar productions, only it is 
 intensified a thousand-fold. I know of 
 nothing comparable with them in Eng- 
 lish literature— know nothing that is so 
 unselfish, so longing, so adoring — noth- 
 ing that is so mad, so pitiful, so ut- 
 terly weak and wretched. John Keats 
 was a great genius, but he had not one 
 particle of common-sense — for himself. 
 Few men of genius ever do have ; it is only 
 the Master Shakespeare and the Masters 
 Milton and Wordsworth, who are able to 
 cope with the world. Why, a boy might 
 have told Keats that the way to woo and 
 win a woman was not to bare his heart 
 before her, as he did before Fanny Brawne, 
 and not to let her know, as he did, that he 
 was her captive. If he had had the least 
 glimmer of common-sense, he never would 
 hafe surrendered at discretion. . . . 
 Miss Fanny Brawne made John Keats 
 ridiculous in the eyes of his friends in his 
 lifetime, and now she (through her repre- 
 sentatives) makes him ridiculous in the 
 eyes of the world. She (and they) have 
 had fifty-seven years in which to think 
 about it — she forty-four years as maid and 
 wife; they thirteen years as her children. 
 Why did she keep his letters all those 
 years ? What could she keep them for but 
 to minister to her vanity, and to remind 
 
JOHN 
 
 her that once upon a time a crazy young 
 English poet was desperately in love with 
 her, was her captive and her slave ? What 
 else could she keep them for? She re- 
 vered the memory of Keats, did she? This 
 is how she revered it ! — Stoddard, Rich- 
 ard Henry, 1878, John Keats and Fanny 
 Brawne, Appleton's Journal, vol. 19, pp, 
 381, 382. 
 
 What! shall thy heart's rich blood poured 
 out so deep 
 Be made a merchandise without redress, 
 Nor any voice the world's base deed confess 
 Which prints and sells a poet's love so cheap? 
 My curse upon this prying, prurient age ! 
 And curst the eyes not closed in angry 
 shame ! 
 
 For him whom English air and critic pen 
 Twice baffled, ere his splendid youthful gage 
 Had measured lialf the heaven of love and 
 fame, 
 
 This shameless book has murdered once 
 again ! 
 
 — Albee, John, 1878, Keats' Love- Letters, 
 
 A man who writes love-letters in this 
 strain is probably predestined, one may 
 observe, to misfortune in his love-affairs ; 
 but that is nothing. The complete enerva- 
 tion of the writer is the real point for re- 
 mark. We have the tone, or rather the 
 entire want of tone, the abandonment of 
 all reticence and all dignity, of the merely 
 sensuous man, of the man who ''is pas- 
 sion's slave. ' ' Nay, we have them in such 
 wise that one is tempted to speak even 
 as Blackwood or the Quarterly were 
 in the old days wont to speak, one is 
 tempted to say that Keats's love-letter is 
 the love-letter of a surgeon's apprentice. 
 It has in its relaxed self-abandonment 
 something underbred and ignoble, as of a 
 youth ill brought up, without the training 
 which teaches us that we must put some 
 constraint upon our feelings, and upon 
 the expression of them. It is the sort of 
 love-letter of a surgeon's apprentice which 
 one might hear read out in a breach of 
 promise case, or in the Divorce Court. 
 The sensuous man speaks in it, and the 
 sensuous man of a badly bred and badly 
 trained sort. That many who are them- 
 sleves, also, badly bred and badly trained 
 should enjoy it, and should even think it 
 a beautiful and characteristic production 
 of him whom they call their ''lovely and 
 beloved Keats," does not make it better. 
 — Arnold, Matthew, 1880, The English 
 Poets, ed. Ward, vol. iv, p. 429. 
 
 KEATS 669 
 
 7^ 
 
 ' While admitting that neither his love- 
 letters nor the last piteous outcries of his 
 wailing and shrieking agony would ever 
 have been made public by merciful or re- 
 spectful editors, we must also admit that, if 
 they ought never to have been published, 
 it is no less certain that they ought never 
 to have been written ; that a manful kind 
 of man or even a manly sort of boy, in his 
 love-making or in his suffering, will not 
 howl and snivel after such a lament- 
 able fashion. — Swinburne, Algernon 
 Charles, 1882-86, Keats, Encyclopaedia 
 Britannica, Miscellanies, p. 212. 
 
 Keats seems to me, throughout his love- 
 letters, unbalanced, wayard, and profuse ; 
 he exhibts great fervour of temperament, 
 and abundant caressingness, without the 
 inner depth of tenderness and regard. 
 He lives in his mistress, for himself. As the 
 letters pass further and further into the 
 harsh black shadows of disease, he abandons 
 all self-restraint, and lashes out right and 
 left ; he wills that his friends should have 
 been disloyal to him, as the motive of his 
 being disloyal to them. To make allow- 
 ance for all this is possible, and even 
 necessary ; but to treat it as not needing 
 that any allowance should be made would 
 seem to me futile. — Rossetti, William 
 Michael, 1887, Life of John Keats {Great 
 Writers), p. 45. 
 
 ENDYMION 
 1818 
 
 Knowing within myself the manner in 
 which this Poem has been produced, it is 
 not without a feeling of regret that I make 
 it public. What manner I mean, will be 
 quite clear to the reader, who must soon 
 perceive great inexperience, immaturity, 
 and every error denoting a feverish at- 
 tempt, rather than a deed accomplished. 
 — Keats, John, 1818, Endymion, Preface. 
 
 Reviewers have been sometimes accused 
 of not reading the works which they 
 affected to criticise. On the present 
 occasion we shall anticipate the author's 
 complaint, and honestly confess that we 
 have not read his work. Not that we 
 have been wanting in our duty — far 
 from it — indeed, we have made efforts 
 almost as superhuman as the story itself 
 appears to be, to get through it; but 
 with the fullest stretch of our persever- 
 ance, we are forced to confess that we 
 have not been able to struggle beyond the 
 first of the four books of which this Poetic 
 
670 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 Romance consists. We should extremely 
 lament this want of energy, or whatever 
 it may be, on our parts, were it not for one 
 consolation — namely, that we are no better 
 acquainted \^fith the meaning of the book- 
 through which we have so painf ully toiled, j 
 than we are with that ofjtlje three which- 
 we have net look^ed into. It is not that^ 
 Mr. Keats (if that be his* real name, for we 
 almost doubt that any-^ian in his senses 
 would put his real name to such a 
 rhapsody) it is not, we say, that the author 
 has not.po^ers of language, rays of fancy, 
 and gleams of genius : — he has all these ; 
 but he is unhappily a disciple of the new 
 school of what has been somewhere called 
 Cockney poetry ; which may be defined to 
 consist of the most incongruous ideas in 
 the most uncouth language. ... Of 
 the story we have been able to make out 
 but little ; it seems to be mythological, and 
 probably relates to the loves of Diana and 
 Endy^on ; but of this, as the scope of the 
 worE^s altogether escaped us, we cannot 
 speak with any degree of certainty ; and 
 must therefore content ourselves with 
 giving some instances of its diction and 
 versification. — Gifford, William, 1818, 
 Keats' s Endymion, Quarterly Review, voL 
 19, pp. 204, 205. 
 
 Warmly as I admire the poetry of Keats, 
 I can imagine that an intelligent man 
 might read the ''Endymion'' with care, yet 
 think that it was not genuine poetry ; that 
 it showed a sheer misuse of abundant fancy 
 and rhythmical power. For its range is 
 narrow ; like the artificial comedy it has 
 a world of its own, and this world is more 
 harmonious within itself, made up of light 
 rich materials ; but it is not deep enough 
 or wide enough to furnish satisfac-. 
 tion for the general heart and mind. 
 — Coleridge, Henry Nelson, 1843 ? ed^ 
 S. T. Coleridge^s Biographia Literaria, 
 Introduction. 
 
 As reasonably, and as hopefully in re- 
 gard to human sjmipathies, might a man 
 undertake an epic poem upon the loves of 
 two butterflies. The modes of existence'' 
 in the two parties to the love-fable of the 
 **Endymion, their relations to each other 
 and to us, their prospects finally, and the 
 obstacles to the instant realisation of these 
 prospects, — all these things are more 
 vague and incomprehensible than the 
 reveries of an oyster. Still, the unhappy 
 subject, and its unhappy expansion, must 
 
 be laid to the account of childish years 
 and childish inexperience. — De Quincey, 
 Thomas, 1845-57, Gilfillan's Literary 
 Portraits, Works, ed. Masson, vol. xi, 
 p. 392. 
 
 Let any man of literary accomplishment, 
 though without the habit of writing 
 poetry, or even much taste for reading it, 
 open ''Endymion" at random, (to say 
 nothing of the later and more perfect 
 poems), and examine the characteristics 
 of the page before him, and I shall be sur- 
 prised if he does not feel that the whole 
 range of literature hardly supplies a par- 
 allel phenomenon. As a psychological 
 curiosity, perhaps Chatterton is more 
 wonderful; but in him the immediate 
 ability displayed is rather the full compre- • 
 hension of and identification with the old 
 model, than the effluence of creative 
 genius. In Keats, on the contrary, the 
 originality in the use of his scanty 
 materials, his expansion of them to the 
 proportions of his own imagination, and 
 above all, his field of diction and ex- 
 pression extending so far beyond bis 
 knowledge of literature, is quite inexpli- " 
 cable by any of the ordinary processes ef 
 mental education. If his classical learn- 
 ing had been deeper^ his seizure of the^ , 
 full spirit of Grecian beauty would have 
 been less surprising; if his English read-^ 
 ing had been more extensive, his inex- 
 haustible vocabulary of picturesque and . 
 mimetic words could more easily b6 
 accounted for; but here is a surgeon's j 
 apprentice, with the ordinary culture of 
 the middle classes, rivalling in aesthetic 
 perceptions of antique life and thought 
 the most careful scholars of his time and 
 country, and reproducing these impres- 
 sions in a phraseology as complete and 
 unconventional as if he had mastered the 
 whole history and the frequent variations 
 of the English tongue, and elaborated a 
 mode of utterance commensurate with his 
 vast ideas.— MiLNES, Richard Monckton 
 (Lord Houghton), 1848-67, Life and 
 Letters of John Keats, p. 330. 
 
 **Endymion" bears us along in a whirl 
 of imaginative creation ; and the beauties 
 with which it is lavishly strewn scarcely 
 leave time for the thought that the con- 
 struction wants perspicacity — a thought 
 which will intrude at last. — Forman, 
 Harry Buxton, 1883, ed.. The Poetical 
 Works and other Writings of John Keats. 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 671 
 
 Luscious and luxuriant in intention — 
 for I cannot suppose that Keats aimed at 
 being exalted or ideal — the poem becomes 
 mawkish in result: he said so himself, 
 and we need not hesitate to repeat it. 
 Affectations, conceits, and puerilities, 
 abound, both in thought and in diction: 
 however willing to be pleased, the reader 
 is often disconcerted and provoked. The 
 number of clever things said cleverly, of 
 rich things richly, and of fine things 
 finely, is however abundant and super- 
 abundant; and no one who peruses "En- 
 dymion" with a true sense for poetic en- 
 dowment and handling can fail to see that 
 it is peculiarly the work of a poet. — 
 RossETTi, William Michael, 1887, Life 
 of John Keats {Great Writers), p. 178. 
 
 ''Endymion" discloses to the reader of 
 to-day the strength and the weakness 
 which Keats saw in it before the garish 
 light of criticism fell upon it. It has the 
 freshness of feeling and perception, the 
 glow of imagination, the profusion and 
 I riot of imagery, the occasional oVerripe- 
 I' ness, the occasional perfection of expres- 
 j sion, the lack of sustained and cumulative 
 ' power, which one" would expect from so 
 immature a mind : as a finished product it 
 has very great blemishes ; as the work of 
 a young poet it overflows with promise. 
 One wonders not so much at the brutality 
 of the critics as at their stupidity. — 
 Mabie, Hamilton Wright, 1892-93, Es- 
 says in Literary Interpretation, p. 159. 
 
 LAMIA 
 
 Perhaps there is no poet, living or dead, 
 except Shakspeare, who can pretend to 
 anything like the felicity of epithet which 
 characterizes Keats. One word "or phrase 
 is the essence of a whole description or 
 sentiment. It is like the dull substance 
 of the earth struck through by electric 
 fires, and converted into veins of gold and 
 diamonds. For a piece of perfect and 
 inventive description, that passage from 
 ''Lamia," where, Lycius gone to bid the 
 guests to his wedding, Lamia, in her un- 
 easy excitement, employs herself and her 
 demon powers in -adorning her palace, is 
 unrivaled. — Howitt, William, 1846, 
 Homes and Haunts of the Most Eminent 
 British Poets, vol. i, p. 482. 
 
 Is, on the V hole, the finest of his longer 
 poems.— Brooke, Stopford A., 1896, 
 English Literature, p. 242. 
 
 No one can deny the truth of Keats's 
 own criticism on "Lamia" when he says, 
 "1 am certain there is that sort of fire in 
 it which must take hold of people in some 
 way — give them either pleasant or un- 
 pleasant sensation." There is, perhaps, 
 nothing in all his writing so vivid, or that 
 so burns itself in upon the mind, as the 
 picture of the serpent-woman awaiting the 
 touch of Hermes to transform her, fol- 
 lowed by the agonized process of the 
 transformation itself. . . . This thrilling 
 vividness of narration in particular points, 
 and the fine melodious vigour of much of 
 the verse, have caused some students to 
 give *' Lamia" almost the first, if not the 
 first, place among Keats's narrative 
 poems. But surely for this it is in some 
 parts too feverish and in others too 
 unequal. It contains descriptions not 
 entirely successful, as, for instance, that 
 of the palace reared by Lamia's magic, 
 which will not bear comparison with other 
 and earlier dream-palaces of the poet's 
 building.— CoLViN, Sidney, 1887, Keats 
 {English Men of Letters), p. 166. 
 
 EVE OF ST. AGNES ^ 
 
 1820 
 
 To the description before us, it would 
 be a great injury either to add or di- 
 minish. It falls at once gorgeously and 
 delicately upon us, like the colours of the 
 painted glass. Nor is Madeline hurt by 
 all her encrusting jewlery and rustling 
 silks. Her gentle, unsophisticated heart 
 is in the midst, and turns them into so 
 many ministrants to her loveliness. — 
 Hunt, Leigh, 1820, The Indicator. 
 
 The glory and charm of the poem is in 
 the description of the fair maiden's antique 
 chamber, and of all that passes in that ' 
 sweet and angel-guarded sanctuary : every 
 part of which is touched with colours at 
 once rich and delicate — and the whole 
 chastened and harmonised, in the midst of 
 its gorgeous distinctness, by a pervading 
 grace and purity, that indicate not less 
 clearly the exaltation than the refinement 
 of the author's fancy. — Jeffrey, Fran- 
 cis Lord, 1820-44, Keats's Poems, Con- 
 tributions to the Edinburgh Review, vol. iii, 
 p. 116. 
 
 The loose versification of many of his 
 works has induced belief that he lacked 
 energy proportionate to the vividness of 
 his conceptions ; but the opinion is wrong. 
 Many of his sonnets possess a Miltonic 
 
672 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 vigour, and his* 'Eve of St. Agnes," is as 
 highly finishe'd, almost, as the masterpieces 
 of Pope.— Griswold, Rufus W., 1844, 
 The Poets and Poetry of England in the 
 Nineteenth Century, p. 302. 
 
 What a gorgeous gallery of poetic 
 pictures that ''Eve of St. Agnes" forms, 
 and yet how slim the tissue that lies below ! 
 How thin the canvas on which the whole 
 is painted ! For vigorous sense, one deep- 
 thoughted couplet of Dryden would make 
 the whole kick the beam. And yet what 
 can be more exquisite in their way than 
 those pictures of the young poet ! Even 
 the old worn out gods of Grecian mythology 
 become life-like when he draws them. 
 They revive in his hands, and become vital 
 once more. — Miller, Hugh, 1856-62, Es- 
 says, p. 452. 
 
 "The Eve of St. Agnes," aiming at no 
 doubtful success, succeeds in evading all 
 casual difficulty in the line of narrative ; 
 with no shadow of pretence to such interest 
 as may be derived from stress of incident 
 or depth of sentiment, it stands out among 
 all other famous poems as a perfect and 
 unsurpassable study in pure color and clear 
 melody — a study in which the figure of 
 Madeline brings back upon the mind's 
 eye, if not as moonlight recalls a sense 
 of sunshine, the nuptial picture of Mar- 
 low's Hero, and the sleeping presence of 
 Shakespeare's Imogen. Besides this poem 
 should always be placed the less famous 
 but not less precious "Eve of St. Mark" 
 a fragment unexcelled for the simple per- 
 fection of its perfect simplicity, exquisite 
 alike in suggestion and in accomplishment. 
 — Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1882- 
 86, Keats, Encyclopcedia Britannica, Mis- 
 cellanies, p. 213. 
 
 "The Eve of St. Agnes" is par excellence 
 the poem of "glamour." It means next 
 to nothing ; but means that little so exqui- 
 sitely, and in so rapt a mood of musing or 
 of trance, that it tells as an intellectual 
 no less than a sensuous restorative. Per- 
 haps no reader has ever risen from "The 
 Eve of St. Agnes" dissatisfied. After a 
 while he can question the grounds of his 
 satisfaction, and may possibly find them 
 wanting; but he has only to peruse the 
 poem again, and the same spell is upon 
 him.— RossETTi, William Michael, 1887, 
 Life of John Keats (Great Writers), p. 183. 
 
 Pure and passionate, surprising by its 
 fine excess of color and melody, sensuous 
 
 in every line, yet free from the slightest 
 taint of sensuality, is unforgettable and 
 unsurpassable as the dream of first love. 
 —Vandyke, Henry, 1895, The Influ- 
 ence of Keats, The Century, vol. 50, p. 912. 
 
 HYPERION 
 
 1830 
 
 His fragment of "Hyperion" seems 
 actually inspired by the Titans, and is as 
 sublime as ^schylus. — Byron, Lord, 
 1821, Observations upon an Article in 
 Blackwood's Magazine, note. 
 
 Keats 's new volume has arrived to us, 
 and the fragment called "Hyperion" 
 promises for him^ that he is destined to 
 become one of the first writers of the age. 
 — Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1820, Corre- 
 spondence of Leigh Hunt, vol. i, p. 158. 
 
 Though there are passages of some force 
 and grandeur. It is sufficiently obvious, 
 from the specimen before us, that the sub- 
 ject is too far removed from all the sources 
 of human interest, to be successfully 
 treated by any modern author. Mr. Keats 
 has unquestionably a very beautiful im- 
 agination, a perfect ear for harmony, and 
 a great familiarity with the finest diction 
 of English poetry ; but he must learn not 
 to misuse or misapply these advantages ; 
 and neither to waste the good gifts of na- 
 ture and study on intractable themes, nor 
 to luxuriate too recklessly on such as are 
 more suitable.— Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 
 1820-44, Keats' s Poems, Contributions to 
 the Edinburgh Review, vol. ill, p. 119. 
 
 The very midsummer madness of affecta- 
 tion, of false vapoury sentiment, and of 
 fantastic effeminacy, seemed to me com- 
 bined in Keats' s "Endymion," when I first 
 saw it, near the close of 1821. The 
 Italian poet Marino had been reputed the 
 •greatest master of gossamery affectation 
 in Europe. But his conceits showed the 
 palest of rosy blushes by the side of 
 Keats's bloody crimson. Naturally I was 
 discouraged at the moment from looking 
 further. But about a week later, by pure 
 accident, my eye fell upon his * ' Hyperion. ' ' 
 The first feeling was that of incre'dulity 
 that the two poems could, under change 
 of circumstances or lapse of time, have 
 emanated from the same mind. The 
 "Endymion" trespasses so strongly gfgainst 
 good sense and just feeling that, in order 
 to secure its pardon, we need the whole 
 weight of the imperishable 'Hyperion;" 
 which, as Mr. Gilfillan truly says, "is the 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 673 
 
 greatest of poetical torsos." The first 
 belongs essentially to the vilest collec- 
 tion of waxwork filigree or gilt ginger- 
 bread, the other presents the majesty, the 
 austere beauty, and the simplicity of 
 a Grecian temple enriched with Grecian 
 sculpture.— De Quincey, Thomas, 1845- 
 57, Gilfillan's Literary Portraits, Works, 
 ed. Masson, voL xi, p. 389. 
 
 One of the great disappointments in 
 Literature is the coming upon the stars 
 w'hich show that the ''Hyperion" of 
 Keats is a fragment.— Calvert, George 
 H., 1874, Brief Essays and Brevities, 
 p. 217. 
 
 As a story, **Endymion" deserves all 
 that its worst enemies ever said of it. 
 ''Hyperion" shows a remarkable advance, 
 but it is well that Keats left it a fragment, 
 for it is plain that, wit'i his effeminate 
 notion of Apollo, he could never have in- 
 vented any kind of action which would 
 have interested the reader in learning how 
 the old Titan Sun-God was turned out 
 of his kingdom.— Courthope, William 
 John, 1885, The Liberal Movement in 
 English Literature, p. 184. 
 
 But though Keats sees the Greek world 
 from afar, he sees it truly. The Greek 
 touch is not his, but in his own rich and 
 decorated English way he writes with a 
 sure insight into the vital meaning of 
 Greek ideas. . . . With a few slips 
 and inequalities, and one or two instances 
 of verbal incorrectness, "Hyperion," as 
 far as it was written, is indeed one of the 
 grandest poems in our language, and in 
 its grandeur seems one of the easiest 
 , and most spontaneous. — Colvin, Sidney, 
 1887, Keats (English Men of Letters), pp. 
 153, 155. 
 
 The opening promises well ; we are 
 conscious at once of a new musical blank 
 verse, a music both sweet and strong, alive 
 with imagination and tenderness. There 
 and throughout the poem are passages in 
 which Keats, without losing his own in- 
 dividuality, is as good as Milton, where 
 Milton is as good as Virgil; and such pas- 
 sages rank with the best things that Keats 
 ever did; but in other places he seems 
 a little overshadowed by Milton, while 
 definite passages of the "Paradise Lost" 
 are recalled, and in some places the imita- 
 tion seemB fpi^id. — Bridges,^ I^o^ert, 
 1894, Po^v ■ John Keats, ed, t)rury, 
 • IntroWt^ioi . I, p. xli. 
 
 43 c 
 
 ODES 
 
 1820 
 
 I have come to that pass of admiration 
 for him now, that I dare not read him, so 
 discontented he makes me with my own 
 work ; but others must not leave unread, 
 in considering the influence of trees upon 
 the human soul, that marvellous ode to 
 Psyche.— RusKiN, John, 1860, Modern 
 Painters, pt. vi, ch. ix. 
 
 If one may say a word obiter, out of the 
 fulness of one's heart — I am often inclined 
 to think for all-in-all, — that is, for 
 thoughts most mortally compacted, for 
 words which come forth, each trembling 
 and giving off light like a morning-star, 
 and for the pure beauty of the spirit and 
 strength and height of the spirit, — which, 
 I say, for all-in-all, I am often inclined to 
 think ["Ode on Melancholy"], reaches - 
 the highest height yet touched in the lyric 
 line.— Lanier, Sidney, 1881, The English 
 Novel, p. 95. 
 
 The "Ode to a Nightingale," one of the 
 finest masterpieces of human work in all 
 time and for all ages.— Swinburne, Al- 
 gernon Charles, 1882-86, Keats, Ency- 
 clopcedia Britannica, Miscellanies, p. 211. 
 
 I make bold to name one of our shorter 
 English lyrics that still seems to me, as it 
 seemed to me ten years ago, the nearest to 
 perfection, the one I would surrender last 
 of all. What should this be save the 
 "Ode to a Nightingale," so faultless in its 
 . varied unity and in the cardinal qualities 
 of language, melody, and tone ? A strain 
 that has a dying fall; music wedded to 
 ethereal passion, to the yearning that 
 floods all nature.— Stedman, Edmund 
 Clarence, 1884, Keats, The Century, vol 
 27, p. 600. 
 
 The "Ode on a Grecian Urn" wonder- 
 fully enshrines the poet's kinship with 
 Greece, and with the spirit of her worship. 
 There is all the Greek measure and modera- 
 tion about it also; a calm and classic 
 grace, with severe loveliness of outline. 
 In form it is perfect. There is an exquis- 
 iteness of expression — not that which is 
 often mistakenly so designated, but a 
 translucence, as of silver air, or limpid 
 water, that both reveals and glorifies all 
 fair plants, or pebbles, or bathing lights. 
 — Noel, Roden, 1886, Keats, Essays on 
 Poetry and Poets, p. 169. 
 
 In the five odes there is naturally some 
 'diversity in the degrees of excellence. 
 
674 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 , . . Considered intellectually, we might 
 form a kind of symphony out of them, and 
 arrange it thus — 1, ''Grecian Urn;" 2, 
 'Tsyche;" 3, ''Autumn;" 4, "Melan- 
 choly;" 5, "Nightingale;" and, if Keats 
 had left us nothing else, we should have 
 in this symphony an almost complete 
 picture of his poetic mind, only omitting, 
 or representing deficiently, that more in- 
 stinctive sort of enjoyment which partakes 
 of gaiety. Viewing all these wondrous 
 odes together, the predominant quality 
 which we trace in them is an extreme 
 susceptibility to delight, close-linked with 
 after thought — pleasure with pang — or 
 that poignant sense of ultimates, a sense 
 delicious and harrowing, which clasps the 
 joy in sadness, and feasts upon the very 
 sadness in joy. The emotion throughout 
 is the emotion of beauty. Beauty intensely 
 perceived, intensely loved, questioned of 
 its secret like the sphinx, imperishable and 
 eternal, yet haunted (as it were) by its 
 own ghost, the mortal throes of the human 
 soul. As no poet had more capacity for 
 enjoyment than Keats, so none exceeded 
 him in the luxury of sorrow. Few also 
 exceeded him in the sense of the one 
 moment irretrievable ; but this conception 
 in its fulness belongs to the region of 
 morals yet more than of sensation, and the 
 spirit of Keats was almost an alien in the 
 region of morals. — Rossetti, William 
 Michael, 1887, Life of John Keats (Great 
 Writers)^ p. 194. 
 
 When the young poet wrought so unaware 
 From purest Parian, washed by Grecian seas. 
 And stained to amber softness by the breeze 
 Of Attic shores, his Urn, antiquely fair,— 
 And brimmed it at the sacred fountain, where 
 The draughts he drew were sweet as Oast- 
 aly's,— 
 
 Had he foreseen what souls would there ap- 
 pease 
 
 Their purer thirsts, he had not known de- 
 spair ! 
 
 About it long processions move and wind, 
 Held by its grace, — a chalice choicely fit 
 For Truth's and Beauty's perfect interfuse. 
 Whose effluence the exhaling years shall find 
 Unwasted: for the poet's name is writ 
 (Firmer than marble) in Olympian dews! 
 
 —Preston, Margaret J., 1887, Keats' 
 Greek Urn, The Century, vol. 33, p, 586. 
 
 SONNETS 
 ^'Nature's Eremite:" like a solitary 
 thing in Nature. — This beautiful Sonnet 
 was the last word of a poet deserving the 
 
 title "marvellous boy" in a much higher 
 sense than Chatterton. If the fulfilment 
 may ever safely be prophesied from the 
 promise, England appears to have lost in 
 Keats one whose gifts in Poetry have 
 rarely been surpassed. — Palgrave, Fran- 
 cis Turner, 1861, The Golden Treasury. 
 
 Do you remember that last sonnet ? Let 
 us repeat it solemnly, and let the words 
 wander down with the waters of the river 
 to the sea. . . . How the star-sheen 
 on the tremulous tide, and that white 
 death-like ' ' mask, ' ' haunt the imagination ! 
 Had the poet, who felt the grass grow over 
 him ere he was five-and-twenty, been 
 crowned with a hundred summers, could 
 he have done anything more consummate ? 
 I doubt it.— Skelton, John (Shirley), 
 1862, Nugce Criticce, p. 236. 
 
 Though Keats has never been and prob- 
 ably never will be a really popular poet, 
 his influence on other poets and on poetic 
 temperaments generally has been quite 
 incalculable. Some of his sonnets are 
 remarkable for their power and beauty, 
 while others are indifferent and a few are 
 poor. With all his love for the beauty of 
 isolated poetic lines — music condensed 
 into an epigram more concise than the 
 Greeks ever uttered — as, for example, his 
 own splendid verse, ^ ^ ^' 
 There is a budding morrow in mid-night — 
 and with all that sense of verbal melody 
 which he manifested so remarkably in his 
 odes, it is strange that in his sonnets he 
 should so often be at fault in true harmony. 
 — Sharp, William, 1886, Sonnets of this 
 Century, Introduction, p. Iv. 
 
 The sonnet on Chapman's Homer stands 
 alone in its perfection among boyish pro- 
 ductions and high up among the great son- 
 nets of the language. — Lodge, Henry 
 Cabot, 1897, Certain Accepted Heroes and 
 Other Essays, p. 130. 
 
 As well rounded and compact a poetic 
 unit [''Chapman's Homer"] as our litera- 
 ture can show.— Johnson, Charles F., 
 1898, Elements of Literary Criticism, 
 p. 19. 
 
 GENERAL 
 Sir, — We regret that your brother ever 
 requested us to publish this book, or that 
 our opinion of its talent should have led 
 us to acquiesce in undertaking it. We 
 are, however, much obliged to you for 
 relieving us from the unpleap ^nt necessity 
 of declining any further connexion with 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 675 
 
 it, which we must have done, as we think 
 the curiosity is satisfied, and the sale has 
 dropped. By far the greater number of 
 persons who have purchased it from us 
 have found fault with it in such plain 
 terms, that we have in many cases offered 
 to take the book back rather than be 
 annoyed with the ridicule which has, time 
 after time, been showered upon it. In 
 fact, it was only on Saturday last that we 
 were under the mortification of having our 
 own opinionof its merits flatly contradicted 
 by a gentlem.an, who told us he considered 
 it * ' no better than a take in. ' ' These are 
 unpleasant imputations for any one in 
 business to labour under, but we should 
 have borne them and concealed their exist- 
 ence from you had not the style of your 
 note shewn us that such delicacy would be 
 quite thrown away. We shall take means 
 without delay for ascertaining the number 
 of copies on hand, and you shall be in- 
 formed accordingly. Your most, &c. — 
 Ollier, C. and J., 1817, Letter to George 
 Keats, April 29. 
 
 To witness the disease of any human 
 understanding, however feeble, is distress- 
 ing; but the spectacle of an able mind 
 reduced to a state of insanity is of course 
 ten times more afflicting. It is with such 
 sorrow as this that we have contemplated 
 the case of Mr. John Keats. This young 
 man appears to have received from nature 
 talents of an excellent, perhaps even of a 
 superior order — talents which, devoted to 
 the purposes of any useful profession, 
 must have rendered him a respectable if 
 not an eminent citizen. His friends, we 
 understand, destined him to the career of 
 medicine, and he was bound apprentice 
 some years ago to a worthy apothecary in 
 town. But all has been undone by a sudden 
 attack of the malady to which we have 
 alluded. . . . We venture to make 
 one small prophecy, that his bookseller 
 will not a second time venture SOL on 
 anything he can write. It is a better and 
 a wiser thing to be a starved apothecary 
 than a starved poet ; so back to the shop 
 Mr. John, back to plasters, pills, and 
 ointment-boxes,'' &c. But, for Heaven's 
 sake, young Sangrado, be a little more 
 sparing of extenuatives and soporifics in 
 your practice than you have been in your 
 poetry.— LocKHART, John Gibson? 1818, 
 The Cockney School of Poetry, No. 4; 
 Blackwood's Magazine, vol. 3, pp. 519, 524. 
 
 His feelings are full, earnest and 
 original, as those of the olden writers 
 were and are ; they are made for all time, 
 not for the drawing-room and the moment. 
 Mr. Keats always speaks of, and describes 
 nature, with an awe and a humility, but 
 with a deep and almost breathless affec- 
 tion. — He knows that Nature is better and 
 older than he is, and he does not put him- 
 self on an equality with her. You do not 
 see him, when you see her. The moon and 
 the mountainous foliage of the woods, and 
 the azure sky, and the ruined and magic 
 temple ; the rock, the desert, and the sea ; 
 the leaf of the forest, and the embossed 
 foam off the most living ocean, are the 
 spirits of his poetry ; but he does not bring 
 them in his own hand, or obtrude his person 
 before you, when you are looking at them. 
 . . . In the structure of his verse, and 
 the sinewy quality of his thoughts, Mr. 
 Keats greatly resembles old Chapman, the 
 nervous translator of Homer. His mind 
 has "thews and limbs like to its ances- 
 tors." Mr. Gifford, who knows something 
 of the old dramatists, ought to have paused 
 before he sanctioned the abuse of a spirit 
 kindred with them. If he could not feel, he 
 ought to know better.— Reynolds, John 
 Hamilton, 1818, West of England Jour- 
 nal and General Advertiser, Oct. 6. 
 
 No more Keats, I entreat: — flay him 
 alive ; — if some of you don't, I must skin 
 him myself. There is no bearing the 
 drivelling idiotism of the manikin. — By- 
 ron, Lord, 1820, Letter to Mr. Murray, 
 Oct. 12. 
 
 Mr. Keats, we understand, is still a very 
 young man ; and his whole works, indeed, 
 bear evidence enough of the fact. They 
 are full of extravagance and irregularity, 
 rash attempts at originality, interminable 
 wanderings, and excessive obscurity. 
 They manifestly require, therefore, all the 
 indulgence that can be claimed for a first 
 attempt : — But we think it no less plain 
 that they deserve it : For they are flushed 
 all over with the rich lights of fancy ; and 
 so coloured and bestrewn with the flowers 
 of poetry, that even while perplexed and 
 bewildered in their labyrinths, it is im- 
 possible to resist the intoxication of their 
 sweetness, or to shut our hearts to the 
 enchantments they so lavishly present. 
 — Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 1820-44, 
 Keats's Poems, Contributions to the Edin- 
 burgh Review, vol. ill, p. 102. 
 
676 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 . . . till the Future dares 
 Forget the Past, his fate and fame shall be 
 An echo and a light unto eternity ! . . . 
 He is made one with Nature: there is 
 heard 
 
 His voice in all her music, from the moan 
 Of thunder to the song of night's sweet 
 bird; 
 
 He is a presence to be felt and known 
 
 In darkness and in light, from herb and 
 
 stone, 
 
 Spreading itself where'er that Power may- 
 move 
 
 Which has withdrawn his being to its own ; 
 Which wields the world with never wearied 
 love. 
 
 Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it 
 above. . . . 
 . . . burning through the inmost veil of 
 Heaven, 
 
 The soul of Adonais, like a star, 
 Beacons from the abode where the Eternal 
 are. 
 
 —Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1821, Adon- 
 ais, An Elegy on the Death of John Keats, 
 st. i, xlii, Iv. 
 
 Mr. Keats is also dead. He gave the 
 greatest promise of genius of any poet of 
 his day. He displayed extreme tender- 
 ness, beauty, originality and delicacy of 
 fancy ; all he wanted was manly strength 
 and fortitude to reject the temptations of 
 singularity in sentiment and expression. 
 Some of his shorter and later pieces are, 
 however, as free from faults as they are 
 full of beauties. — Hazlitt, William, 
 1824, Select British Poets. 
 
 Thy clear, strong tones will oft bring sudden 
 bloom 
 
 Of hope secure, to him who lonely cries, 
 Wrestling with the young poet's agonies. 
 Neglect and scorn, which seem a certain 
 doom : 
 
 Yes! the few words which, like great thun- 
 der-drops. 
 
 Thy large heart down to earth shook doubt- 
 fully. 
 
 Thrilled by the inward lightening of its 
 might, 
 
 Serene and pure, like gushing joy of light, 
 Shall track the eternal chords of Destiny, 
 After the moon-led pulse of ocean stops. 
 —Lowell, James Russell, 1841, To the 
 Spirit of Keats. 
 
 Keats was born a poet of the most poet- 
 ical kind. All his feelings came to him 
 through a poetical medium, or were 
 speedily coloured by it. He enjoyed a 
 jest as heartily as any one, and sympathized 
 with the lowliest commonplace ; but the 
 next minute his thoughts were in a garden 
 
 of enchantment, with nymphs, ^nd fauns 
 and shapes of exalted humanity : ' 
 
 Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. 
 It might be said of him, that he never be- 
 held an oak-tree without seeing the Dryad. 
 His fame may now forgive the critics who 
 disliked his politics, and did not under- 
 stand his poetry. Repeated editions of 
 him in England, France, and America, 
 attest its triumphant survival of all 
 obloquy ; and there can be no doubt that 
 he has taken a permanent station among 
 the British Poets, of a very high, if not 
 thoroughly mature, description. — Hunt, 
 Leigh, 184:4, Imagination and Fancy,p.28S. 
 
 Had there been no such thing as litera- 
 ture, Keats would have dwindled into a 
 cipher. Shelley, in the same event, would 
 hardly have lost one plume from his crest. 
 It is in relation to literature, and to the 
 boundless questions as to the true and the 
 false arising out of literature and poetry, 
 that Keats challenges a fluctuating inter- 
 est,— sometimes an interest of strong 
 disgust, sometimes of deep admiration. 
 There is not, I believe, a case on record 
 throughout European Literature where 
 feelings so repulsive of each other have 
 centered in the same individual. — De 
 Quince Y, Thomas, 1S45-57,' Gilfillan's Lit- 
 erary Portraits, Works, ed. Masson, vol, 
 XI, p. 388. 
 
 By the by, beg, borrow, steal, or buy 
 Keats' Letters and Poems;'' most won- 
 derful bits of Poems, writ^n off hand 
 at a sitting, most of them : Aonly wonder 
 that they do not make a noise in the 
 world.— Fitzgerald, Edward, 1849, Let- 
 ters, vol. I, p. 195. 
 
 What was his record of himself, ere he 
 Went from us? "Here lies one whose name 
 was writ 
 
 In water." While the chilly shadows flit 
 Of sweet St. Agnes' Eve, while basil 
 springs — 
 
 His name, in every humble heart that sings ^ 
 Shall be a fountain of love, verily. 
 
 — RossETTi, Christina, 1849, On Keats, 
 New Poems, p. 23. 
 
 The song of a nightingale sent thro' a slum- 
 brous valley, 
 
 Low-lidded with twilight, and tranced with 
 the dolorous sound. 
 
 Tranced with a tender enchantment; the 
 yeai-ning of passion 
 
 That wins immortality even while panting 
 delirous with deatli. 
 
 — Meredith, George, 1851, Works, vol 
 
 XXXI, p. 140. 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 677 
 
 Keats, the most Grecian of all, rejected the 
 
 metre of Grecians ; 
 Poesy breathed over him, breathed constantly, 
 
 tenderly, freshly. 
 
 — Landor, Walter Savage, 1853, Eng- 
 lish Hexameters. 
 
 Every one of Keats's poems was a sacri- 
 fice of vitality ; a virtue went away from 
 him into every one of them ; even yet, as 
 we turn the leaves, they seem to warm and 
 thrill our fingers with the flush of his fine 
 senses, and the flutter of his electrical 
 nerves, and we do not wonder he felt that 
 what he did was to be done swiftly. . . . 
 Keats certainly had more of the penetra- 
 tive and sympathetic imagination which 
 belongs to the poet, of that imagination 
 which identifies itself with the momentary 
 object of its contemplation, than any man 
 of these later days. It is not merely that 
 he has studied the Elizabethans and caught 
 their turn of thought, but that he really 
 sees things with their sovereign eye, and 
 feels them with their electrified senses. 
 His imagination was his bliss and bane. 
 . . . To me one of the most interesting 
 aspects of Keats is that in him we have an 
 example of the renaissance going on almost 
 under our eyes, and that the intellectual 
 ferment was in him kindled by a purely 
 English leaven. He had properly no 
 scholarship, any more than Shakespeare 
 had, but like him he assimilated at a touch 
 whatever could serve his purpose. His 
 delicate senses absorbed culture at every 
 pore. — Lowell, James Russell, 1854- 
 90, Keats, Prose Writings, Riverside ed., 
 vol. I, 'pp. 232, 243, 244. 
 
 . . . The man who never stepped 
 In gradual progress like another man, 
 But, turning grandly on his central self. 
 Ensphered himself in tv^enty perfect years 
 And died, not young (the life of a long life 
 Distilled to a mere drop, falling like a tear 
 Upon the world's cold cheek to make it burn 
 For ever). 
 
 — Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1856, 
 Aurora Leigh, hk. i. 
 
 Keats drinks the beauty of nature 
 violently ; but has no more real sympathy 
 with her than he has with a bottle of 
 claret. His palate is fine ; but he * ' bursts 
 joy's grape against it,'' gets nothing but 
 misery, and a bitter taste of dregs out of 
 his desperate draught. — Ruskin, John, 
 1856, Modern Painters, pt. iv, ch. xvi. 
 
 Keats, both in verbal form and in the 
 higher qualities of poetry, is constantly 
 
 reminding us of the more imaginative 
 works of Chaucer.— Marsh, George P., 
 1859, Lectures on the English Language, 
 First Series, p. 23, note, 
 
 Spenser's manner is no more Homeric 
 than is the manner of the one modern in- 
 heritor of Spenser's beautiful gift; the 
 poet, who evidently caught from Spenser 
 his sweet and easy-slipping movement, and 
 who has exquisitely employed it; a 
 Spenserian genius, nay, a genius by natural 
 endowment, richer probably than even 
 Spenser ; that light which shines so unex- 
 pected and without fellow in our century, 
 an Elizabethan born too late, the early 
 lost and admirably gifted Keats. — Arnold, 
 Matthew, 1861, Lectures on Homer, p, 68. 
 While I sit in silence, 
 Comes from mile on mile hence. 
 From English Keats's Roman grave, a voice 
 that lightens toil. 
 
 — Buchanan, Robert, 1866, To David in 
 Heaven. 
 
 Wrote in a manner which carried the 
 reader back to the time when those charm- 
 ing passages of lyrical enthusiasm were 
 produced which we occasionally find in the 
 plays of Shakespeare, in those of Beaumont 
 and Fletcher, and in Milton's ''Comus." 
 The verses of Keats are occasionally dis- 
 figured, especially in his *'Endymion," by 
 a flatness almost childish, but in the finer 
 passages they clothe the thought in the 
 richest imagery and in words each of 
 which is a poem. Lowell has justly called 
 Keats *'over-languaged," but there is 
 scarce a word that we should be willing to 
 part with in his * * Ode to the Nightingale, ' ' 
 and that on a Grecian Urn," and the 
 same thing may be said of the greater part 
 of his Hyperion. "—Bryant, William 
 Cullen, 1870, A New Library of Poetry 
 and Song, Introduction, vol. l, p. 43. 
 
 Were it necessary, in this place, to 
 characterize Keats as a writer, I should 
 say that he was more intensely and ex- 
 clusively poetical than any other. No one 
 can read his poems (including "Endymion" 
 and all others subsequently published) 
 without feeling at once that he is com- 
 muning with a great poet. There can be 
 no mistake about his quality. It is above 
 all doubt ; and if, like Lucifer, he has not 
 drawn after him a third part of the 
 heavens, he has had a radiant train of 
 followers, comprising (with the exception 
 of the great name of Wordsworth) all who 
 
678 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 have since succeeded in distinguishing 
 themselves in the same sphere of art. — 
 Procter, Bryan Waller, 1874, Recollec- 
 tions of Men of Letters, p. 202. 
 
 He hath quaffed 
 Glory and Death in one immortal draught ; 
 Surely among the undying men of old 
 Numbered art thou, great Heart. 
 
 -De Vere, Aubrey, 1874, To Keats, 
 Alexander the Great and Other Poems, 
 p. 402. 
 
 Keats died at twenty-five, and yet, to 
 men past sixty he is fresh, freshening. — 
 Calvert, George H., 1874, Brief Essays 
 and Brevities, p. 216. 
 
 No one regards the poet's quivering string, 
 Since thine was hushed, who brought the 
 myrtle here 
 
 From perfect Arcadie, whose verse 
 
 Young earth's freshness could rehearse. 
 
 No eventide was thine, 
 But like the young athlete from the bath. 
 
 For one brief hour, 
 You stood in the arena yet uncrowned, 
 Doubtful, although beyond all venturers 
 strong : 
 
 Yes, strong to guide Hyperion's coursers 
 round 
 
 The love-inscribfed zodiac of all time : 
 Thou youth, who in the gardens Athenine, 
 The noblest sage had leant upon with pride > 
 And called thee Musagsetes, and thy lyre 
 
 Wreathed with the bay 
 
 Of the god of day. 
 — Scott, William Bell, 1875, To the 
 Memory of Keats. 
 
 The spirit of art was always vividly near 
 and precious to Keats. He fashioned it 
 exuberantly into a thousand shapes, now of 
 gem-like exquisiteness, now mere sightly 
 or showy trinkets; and of these the 
 scrupulous taste will even pronounce the 
 cheapest, and rightly pronounce them, to 
 be trumpery. Still, there is the feeling 
 of art, however provoking its masquerade ; 
 recognizable here as clearly as it is in the 
 formative fine art, wrought by a cunning 
 hand, in a period of great and overblown 
 development and impending decadence — 
 such as the late cinquecento or the earlier 
 French rococo. Not indeed that, in Keats's 
 case, there is any taint of decadence — 
 but on the contrary the wanton and tan- 
 gled wilfulnesses of a beautiful precocity, 
 and a beautiful immaturity. Clearer and 
 clearer did the true and high promptings 
 of art become to him as he advanced, and 
 more immediate and certain his response 
 
 to them. He might have said at the last 
 with Nero '^Qalis artifex pereo!'' — Ros- 
 
 SETTI, W^ILLIAM MiCHAEL, 1878, LiveS of 
 
 Famous Poets, p. 360. 
 Yet later, lingering briefly among men. 
 He dropt before the world's feet those few 
 flowers 
 
 Whose color and odor brave all blight 
 of years, 
 
 And the rare radiance of whose bloom, since 
 then. 
 
 Pathos, their sweet attendant, ever dowers 
 With the soft silver dews of pitying 
 tears ! 
 
 — Fawcett, Edgar, 1878, Fantasy and 
 Passion, p. 186. 
 
 His faults are numerous and glaring. 
 The mythology which supplied him with 
 his miseen scene is elementary and almost 
 puerile. His stories are lacking in human 
 interest. In fact, he does hardly anything 
 but describe, and he describes with an 
 exuberance which is unluckily not incom- 
 patible with the most painful monotony. 
 The enthusiasm for nature which is the 
 soul of his verse is certainly sincere, and 
 yet Keats writes with effort. His naivete 
 is not feigned, but there is something in t 
 it of deliberation, and therefore of ex-» 
 aggeration. In short, there is affectation • 
 in him, and I cannot regard as wholly un-» 
 just the reproach of cockneyism which 
 critics used to throw at this poet and his 
 friends. Yet, with all these faults, Keats 
 is very far from being an ordinary person ; 
 his posthumous popularity is very far 
 from being inexplicable, and the influence 
 which he still exercises is very far from 
 being a mere matter of coterie and engoue- 
 ment. He has a special feeling, a feeling 
 of extraordinary intensity, for nature and 
 for beauty. It seems as though he" saw 
 woods, streams, fields for the first time, 
 so full of novelty and of the marvellous Is 
 the spectacle to him. There is at once sen- 
 suousness and religion in his communion 
 with the life of all things. There would 
 seem to be a perfume which gets in his 
 head, an intoxication to which he gives 
 himself up, a ritual into whose mysteries 
 he is trying to break, a baptism, a whelm- 
 ing in the eternal natura naturans. 
 Wordsworth himself, as we shall see, can 
 lay claim to a deeper understanding of 
 nature : but it is easy to understand that 
 his idyllic piety, his patriarchal philoso- 
 phizing, must have at last seemed terribly 
 groveling to a generation which had drunk 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 679 
 
 the heady philtres of Keats's descriptive 
 poetry. — Scherer, Edmond, 1880-91, 
 Wordsworth and Modern Poetry in Eng- 
 land, Essays on English Literature, tr. 
 Saintsbury, p. 192. 
 
 O pang-dowered Poet, whose reverberant lips 
 And heart-strung lyre awoke the Moon's 
 eclipse, — 
 
 Thou whom the daisies glory in growing 
 o'er, — 
 
 Their fragrance clings around thy name, not 
 writ 
 
 But rumour 'd in water, while the fame of it 
 Along Time's flood goes echoing evermore. 
 
 — RossETTi, Dante Gabriel, 1881, John 
 Keats, Five English Poets, Ballads and 
 Sonnets. 
 
 Among the poets who appeared in the 
 first two decades of this century, as among 
 all poets, readers will choose their favour- 
 ites according to their sympathies. But 
 putting aside personal preferences, every 
 one must allow that none of the poets of 
 that time was more ' ' radiant with genius, ' ' 
 and more rich in promise, than the short- 
 lived Keats.— Shairp, John Campbell, 
 1881, Modern English Poetry, Aspects of 
 Poetry, p. 149. 
 
 In his first book there was little fore- 
 taste of anything greatly or even genuinely 
 good ; but between the marshy and sandy 
 flats of sterile or futile verse there were 
 undoubtedly some few purple patches of 
 floral promise. The style was frequently 
 detestable— a mixture of sham Spenserian 
 and mock Wordsworthian, alternately 
 florid and arid. His second book, *'En- 
 dymion," rises in its best passages to the 
 highest level of Barnfield and of Lodge, 
 the two previous poets with whom, had he 
 published nothing more he might have 
 probably have been classed; and this, 
 among minor minstrels, is no unenviable 
 place. His third book raised him at once 
 to a foremost rank in the highest class of 
 English poets. Never was any one of them 
 but Shelley so little of a marvellous boy 
 and so suddenly revealed as a marvellous 
 man. Never has any poet suffered so 
 much from the chaotic misarrangement of 
 his poems in every collected edition. The 
 rawest and the rankest rubbish of his fitful 
 spring is bound up in one sheaf with the 
 ripest ears, flung into one basket with 
 the richest fruits, of his sudden and 
 splendid summer. — Swinburne, Algernon 
 Charles, 1882-86, Keats, Encydopoedia 
 Britannica ; Miscellanies, p. 210. 
 
 He would have been among the very 
 greatest of us if he had lived. There is 
 something of the innermost soul of poetry 
 in almost everything he ever wrote. — 
 Tennyson, Alfred Lord, 1883, Criti- 
 cisms on Poets and Poetry, Memoir, ed. 
 by his Son, vol. ii, p. 286. 
 
 The sixth to come was like unto a droop- 
 ing flower, or a spirit among men that went 
 in and out none knew how. He, too, sang 
 a song, whereof no man could say certainly 
 whether it were his or the lark's. He 
 went forward with a wand in his hand, but 
 no helmet was on his head, and over his 
 heart no breast-plate. One blow from the 
 true-men he received, and it went in about 
 the third rib, near the heart, and for 
 awhile he fainted ; but presently recover- 
 ing himself he stood up and turned his eyes 
 wistfully to the path, and in a moment 
 disappearing was lost in a thicket, and was 
 seen again of none till he came forth at 
 the top.— Caine, Hall, 1883, The Fable 
 of the Critics, Cobwebs of Criticism, p. ix. 
 
 The genius of Greek poetry was alien to 
 the English mind until it revealed itself to 
 the young imagination of Keats, who wore 
 it in his heart of hearts, not because he 
 was a scholar, — for a scholar he was not, 
 — but because he was a Greek. There are 
 a thousand faults in "Endymion, " but the 
 unpardonable fault of falsehood is not one 
 of them. It is true, everywhere true to 
 the spirit of Greek pastoral poetry, of 
 which it was the first, and is the last, 
 example in English song. How thoroughly 
 the genius of Keats was possessed with 
 the beautiful mythology of Greece, and 
 how rapidly it matured his wonderful 
 genius, which in writing ''Endymion" out- 
 grew the lush luxuriance of manner which 
 is the worst defect of that poem, we see 
 in his Odes '*To Psyche," and ''On a 
 Grecian Urn," — exquisite productions in 
 the purest style of art, —and in the frag- 
 ment of Hyperion," wherein magnifi- 
 cence of conception and severity of expres- 
 sion are alike conspicuous, and where, for 
 the first time, the epical height of the 
 Greeks is attained by an English poet. 
 The secret of ''Hyperion" and "Endym- 
 ion" inhered in the temperament of 
 Keats, who was a Greek, as one of his 
 friends declared. — Stoddard, Richard 
 Henry, 1884, Selections from the Poetical 
 Works of A. C. Swinburne, Introduction, 
 p. ix. 
 
680 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 As regards verbal expression, a close 
 test of original power, he certainly out- 
 ranks any poet since Shakspere. — Sted- 
 MAN, Edmund Clarence, 1884, Keats, The 
 Century, vol. 21 y p. 600. 
 
 So far as the general reading public are 
 concerned, Hunt was the discoverer of 
 Keats, and not only his discoverer, but his 
 faithful interpreter, pointing out lovingly, 
 by means of his ''signpost criticism," 
 (as it has been called somewhat disparag- 
 ingly by those who » profess to need no 
 guidance the along byways of literature), 
 those magical facilities of insight and ex- 
 pression which even in his earliest and 
 crudest work testified that here was a poet 
 of the true royal line. — Noble, James 
 AsHCROFT, 1886, The Sonnet in England 
 and other Essays, p, 107. 
 
 By power, as well as by temperament 
 and aim, he was the most Shakspearean 
 spirit that has lived since Shakspeare. — 
 CoLViN, Sidney, 1887, Keats (English 
 Men of Letters), p, 215. 
 
 In no poetry is the personality of the 
 writer more manifest than in his : in none 
 does the ideal creation spring more 
 eivdently from introspection and self-con- 
 sciousness. His character determined his 
 method of compositioin, as his method of 
 composition imposed a limitation on his 
 genius. A certain morbidness of fancy — ■ 
 due, probably in great part, to physical 
 causes — haunted him, which did not, 
 indeed, like the imagination of Shelley, 
 force him to take ideas for facts, but 
 which, producing in him a kind of incessant 
 love-longing, drove him to shun the reali- 
 ties of life, and to find an asylum in the re- 
 gions of imagination. — Courthorpe, Wil- 
 LAM John, 1887, Keats' Place in English 
 Poetry, The National Review, vol, 10,p.l6. 
 A fair-formed image of immortal youth 
 
 Breasting the steep hillside of life's en- 
 deavor ; 
 
 A white -robed herald of eternal truth 
 
 Shouting a message from the gods forever. 
 —Wilson, Robert Burns, 1887, Keats, 
 The Century, vol. 84, p. 110. 
 
 Probably the ve- linest lyric ["La Belle 
 Dame san Mer' i. in the English la 
 guage.— Patmore, Coventry, 1889-98, 
 Principle in Art, p. 76. 
 
 Keats, *'the Elizabethan born out of due 
 time," as he has been called, kept him- 
 self indeed unspotted from the contagion 
 of science. Yet his passion for nature 
 
 moving though it did on u.ies traced by 
 Spenser, has a far greater intensity, a far 
 more fiery self-abandonment to the intoxi- 
 cation of earth, than would have been pos- 
 sible in the sixteenth century. — Symonds, 
 John Addington, IS90, Essays Speculative 
 and Suggestive, vol. ii, p. 270. 
 
 Thou silent singer 'neath the grass, 
 Still sing to me those sweeter songs unsung, 
 "Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone," 
 Caressing thought with wonderments of 
 phrase 
 
 Such as thy springtide rapture knew to win. 
 Ay, sing to me thy unborn summer songs, 
 And the ripe autumn lays that might have 
 been; 
 
 Strong wine of fruit mature, whose flowers 
 
 alone we know. 
 — Mitchell, S. Weir, 1891, The Grave of 
 Keats, Collected Poems, p. 307. 
 
 It was on the trinity of truth, beauty, 
 and pleasure that Keats built, and built 
 lastingly.— Cheney, John Vance, 1891, 
 The Golden Guess, p. 28. 
 
 Probably no English poet who has used 
 the Spenserian stanza, first assimilated so 
 fully the spirit of Spenser, before using 
 the stanza, as did Keats ; and to this fact 
 may be partly attributed his efl^ective use 
 of it as an organ for his imagination in 
 its ''lingering, loving, particularizing 
 mood. "—Corson, Hiram, 1892,^4 Primer 
 of English Verse, p, 124. 
 
 Not since Spenser had there been a 
 purer gift of poetry among English-speak- 
 ing peoples; not since Milton a line of 
 nobler balance of sound, thought, and 
 cadence. There is no magic of colour in 
 written speech that is not mixed in the 
 diction of *'The Eve of Saint Agnes," — 
 a vision of beauty, deep, rich, and glow- 
 ing as one of those dyed windows in which 
 the heart of the Middle Ages still burns. 
 While of the odes, so perfect in form, so 
 ripe with thought, so informed and irradi- 
 ated by the vision and the insight of the 
 imagination, what remains to be said save 
 that they furnish us with the tests and 
 standards of poetry itself ? They mark the 
 complete identification of thought with 
 form, of vision with faculty, of life with 
 art. — Mabie, Hamilton Wright, 1892-3, 
 Essays in Literary Interpretation, p. 164. 
 
 He was one of the greatest of English 
 poets ; he led a life in which there was no 
 doubt a vast deal of keen and exquisite 
 pleasure, but little or no happiness ; 
 thrown, for the most part, among a set of 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 681 
 
 clever, small men, he towers above them, 
 a man by no means clever but very 
 great; though not unfortunate in the 
 worst and bitterest sense of the word, 
 though he had no struggles with immediate 
 adversity and want, he yet suffered much ; 
 he lavished the strength of a tender and 
 noble heart upon a rather commonplace 
 young woman, who evidently had no 
 suspicion that she was worshipped — she, 
 ordinary little piece of pretty Eve's flesh 
 — by one of earth's immortal sons. 
 Among these clever, small men. Hunt, 
 Reynolds, and the rest, by whom he was 
 surrounded, and with whom in popular 
 estimation he was scarce distinguishably 
 merged, he held before his eyes a lofty 
 and splendid ideal of excellence in the art 
 which he had chosen, or which nature had 
 chosen for him. He saw this ideal at first 
 with blurred and faltering vision, but ever 
 more clearly as his eyes were purged with 
 the euphrasy and rue of human experience ; 
 he added to the store of the world's 
 beauty, he increased the sum of man's 
 happiness, and doing this was rewarded 
 with contempt and ribald mockery, was 
 condemned to read things written about 
 himself which if uttered in oral inter- 
 course would be recognised by everybody 
 as gross insult and brutal outrage ; spend- 
 ing himself in the service of man, his rec- 
 ompense was not seldom such scorn and 
 contumely as might appropriately be re- 
 served for an enemy of one's species. 
 Worn out by suffering and discouragement, 
 and perhaps in part by the yet more shat- 
 tering pangs of immoderate joy, he sinks 
 in premature death. — Watson, William, 
 
 1893, Excursions in Criticism, p. 23. 
 
 We honor in the lad who passed so long 
 unobserved among the inhabitants of 
 Hampstead, a poet, and nothing but a poet, 
 but one of the very greatest poets that the 
 modern world has seen. . . . Keats 
 lives, as he modestly assured his friends 
 would be the case, among the English 
 poets. Nor among them, merely, but in 
 the first rank of them — among the very 
 few of whom we instinctively think v^^hen- 
 ever the characteristic versemen of our 
 race are spoken of. — Gosse, Edmund, 
 
 1894, Address at the Keats Monument, 
 July 16. 
 
 i ,nn inclined to think that Mr. Matthew 
 Ar/»'"iid. a critic with whose judgments I 
 ra find myself in dissent, makes a 
 
 somewhat misleading remark when he 
 insists that Keats's master passion was not 
 the passion of the sensuous or sentimental 
 poet, but was an intellectual or spiritual 
 passion. If the words sensuous and senti- 
 mental were intended in an opprobrious 
 sense, the remark might be useful ; but if 
 they are used in the literal meaning, and 
 then contrasted with intellectual and 
 spiritual, their tendency is to withdraw 
 the reader of Keats from the main char- 
 acteristics of his poetry. — Minto, Wil- 
 liam, 1894, The Literature of the Georgian 
 Era, ed. Knight, p. 304. 
 Upon thy tomb 'tis graven, "Here lies one 
 Whose name is writ in water." Could 
 there be 
 
 A flight of Fancy fitlier feigned for thee, 
 A fairer motto for her favorite son? 
 For, as the wave, thy varying numbers run — 
 Now crested proud in tidal majesty. 
 Now tranquil as the twilight reverie 
 Of some dim lake the white moon looks upon 
 While teems the world with silence. Even 
 there, 
 
 In each Protean rainbow-tint that stains 
 The breathing canvas of the atmosphere, 
 
 We read an exhalation of thy strains. 
 Thus, on the scroll of Nature, everywhere, 
 
 Thy name, a deathless syllable, remains. 
 — Tabb, John B., 1894, Keats, Poems. 
 
 In spite of this earnestness and philos- 
 ophy, it is certainly true that Keats' mind 
 was of a luxurious habit ; and it must have 
 been partly due to this temperament that 
 he showed so little severity towards him- 
 self in the castigation of his poems, though 
 that was, as I said before, chiefly caused 
 by the prolific activity of his imagination, 
 which was always providing him with fresh 
 material to work on. In this respect he 
 is above all poets an example of what is 
 meant by inspiration : the mood which all 
 artists require, covet, and find most rare 
 was the common mood with him; and I 
 should say that being amply supplied with 
 this, what as an artist he most lacked was 
 self-restraint and self-castigation, — which 
 was indeed foreign tr his luxurious 
 temperament, unselfish d devoted to his 
 art as he was, — the p^ jnce of which was 
 most needful to watc '^hoose,and reject 
 tje images which ci n\u.d on him as he 
 thought or wrote. — Bridges, Robert, 
 1894, Poems of John Keats, ed. Drury, 
 Introduction, vol. I, p. ci. 
 
 One would like to know whether a first 
 reading in the letters of Keats does not 
 generally produce something akin to a 
 
682 
 
 JOHN KEATS 
 
 severe mental shock. It is a sensation 
 which presently becomes agreeable, being 
 in that respect like a plunge into cold 
 water, but it is undeniably a shock. Most 
 readers of Keats, knowing him, as he 
 should be known, by his poetry, have not 
 the remotest conception of him as he 
 shows himself in his letters. Hence they 
 are unprepared for this splendid exhibi- 
 tion of virile intellectual health. Not 
 that they think of him as morbid, — his 
 poetry surely could not make this impres- 
 sion, — but rather that the popular concep- 
 tion of him is, after all these years, a 
 legendary Keats, the poet who was killed 
 by reviewers, the Keats of Shelley's pref- 
 ace to the Adonais, the Keats whose story 
 is written large in the world's book of 
 Pity and of Death. When the readers are 
 confronted with a fair portrait of the real 
 man, it makes them rub their eyes. Nay, 
 more, it embarrasses them. To find them- 
 selves guilty of having pitied one who 
 stood in small need of pity is mortifying. 
 In plain terms, they have systematically 
 bestowed (or have attempted to bestow) 
 alms on a man whose income at its least 
 was bigger than any his patrons could 
 boast. Small wonder that now and then 
 you find a reader, with large capacity for 
 the sentimental, who looks back with 
 terror to his first dip into the letters. — 
 Vincent, Leon H., 1894, A Reading in 
 the Letters of John Keats, Atlantic Monthly, 
 vol. 14:, p. 399. 
 
 The perfection of Keats's art, the sure- 
 ness of success with which he translated 
 into words, feelings that but for him those 
 who underwent them would have abandoned 
 asinxepressible,make rather startling the 
 suggestion that there was anything to 
 which he was inadequate because for it 
 * * he was not ripe. ' ' Indeed it is the very 
 ripeness of Keats's art at its best that 
 distinguishes it above the work of so many 
 generations of his elders, and makes it so 
 astonishing as the work of a youth, so far 
 is it removed, in its security and ease of 
 mastery, from the struggles for expression 
 of immaturity, from the mere glibness of 
 precocity. It is the sense rather of over- 
 ripeness than of unripeness that it gives 
 of a sensibility hectic and excessive. — 
 Schuyler, Montgomery, 1895, The Cen- 
 tenary of Keats, The Forum, vol. 20, p. 
 362. 
 
 Setting aside his rapid progress, Keats 
 
 is the best illustration of the natural de- 
 velopment of a poet. Beginning and end- 
 ing his intemperate period with the too 
 ample verge and room, the trailing fringe 
 and sampler-like embroidery of "Endym- 
 ion," he was soon writing the most per- 
 fect odes in the language ; he elaborated 
 in a few months a style, the like of which 
 greater men have failed to achieve even in 
 half a century of uninterrupted work. — 
 Davidson, John, 1895, Sentences and 
 Paragraphs, p. 12. 
 
 He gave to that end the best that he had 
 to give, freely, generously, joyously pour- 
 ing himself into the ministry of his art. 
 He did not dream for a moment that the 
 gift was perfect. Flattery could not blind 
 him to the limitations and defects of his 
 early work. He was his own best and 
 clearest critic. But he knew that so far 
 as it went his poetic inspiration was true. 
 He had faithfully followed the light of a 
 pure and elevating joy in the opulent, 
 manifold beauty of nature, and in the 
 eloquent significance of old-world legends, 
 and he believed that it had already led him 
 to a place among the poets whose verse 
 would bring delight, in far-off' years, to 
 the sons and daughters of mankind. . . . 
 The poetry of Keats, small in bulk and 
 slight in body as it seems at first sight to 
 be, endures, and will endure, in English 
 literature, because it is the embodiment 
 of the spirit of immortal youth. — Van 
 Dyke, Henry, 1895, The Influence of 
 
 ^ Keats, The Century, vol. 50, pp. 911, 912. 
 
 His landscape seems to me of quite 
 equal importance with the human side of 
 his work; it was, indeed, the region in 
 which he felt that his art, as yet unquali- 
 
 . fied through youthful inexperience to deal 
 powerfully with human character and in- 
 terests, attained the highest mastery. 
 Keats, sharing with Shelley an intense ap- 
 preciation of Nature, has a music in his 
 verse more solemn, if less aerial. He 
 neither views the landscape through the 
 colours of personal feeling like Byron, 
 nor with Wordsworth thinks of it as allied 
 with human sympathy, or as penetrated by 
 spiritual life, nor, with Shelley, wearies 
 us with a crude pantheism. Hence his 
 pictures are more powerfully true to 
 actuality; he grasps the scene more 
 vividly, emblazons it more richly : the 
 object, seen in thought, has the salience, 
 the relief, of Nature; the melody never 
 
JOHN KEATS 
 
 683 
 
 pausing, and the word the inevitable'' 
 word. Hence, what Arnold named his 
 "fascinating felicity." — Palgrave, Fran- 
 cis Turner, 1896, Landscape in Poetry, 
 p. 210. 
 
 Nothing is more interesting, even in the 
 endless and delightful task of literary com- 
 parison, than to contrast the work of 
 Shelley and Keats, so alike and yet so differ- 
 ent. A little longer space of work, much 
 greater advantages of means and educa- 
 tion, and a happier though less blameless 
 experience of passion, enabled Shelley to 
 produce a much larger body of work than 
 Keats has to his name, even when this is 
 swollen by what Mr. Palgrave has justly 
 stigmatised as ''the incomplete and infe- 
 rior work" withheld by Keats himself, but 
 made public by the cruel kindness of ad- 
 mirers. And this difference in bulk prob- 
 ably coincides with a difference in the 
 volume of genius of the two writers. 
 Further, while it is not at all improbable 
 that if Shelley had lived he would have 
 gone on writing better and better, the 
 same probability is, I think, to be more 
 sparingly predicated of Keats. — Saints- 
 bury, George, 1896, A History of Nine- 
 teenth Century Literature, p. 87. 
 
 Short as was the life of John Keats, and 
 small as was the actual bulk of his pro- 
 duction, there is no one of his contempo- 
 raries who holds more distinctly or securely 
 his place as the legitimate successor of the 
 greatest among the English poets before 
 him and as the necessary precursor of 
 those who have followed. ... He 
 had in common with the poets of Greece 
 and of England at its greatest time a 
 certain enchanting directness and sim- 
 plicity of expression : while from both he 
 differed in his comparative indifference to 
 humanity. Keats shared with the Greeks 
 that pagan sensuousness which revels in 
 the delights of the senses untroubled by 
 moral meaning or responsibility ; like the 
 Elizabeth""^ possessed the perception 
 and appre -i t ; - 1 of natural beauty entirely 
 apart fron a roinistry to man ; while from 
 both he di —and in so far fell below 
 both — by t )ability to rest upon a pas- 
 sionate sat ion in sensuous beauty for 
 its own sak as an end sufficient in it- 
 self. . . re is no stronger link be- 
 tween the of the Elizabethan time 
 and that o Victorian school than 
 John Keatfe the more closely this 
 
 statement is examined the more suggestive 
 and the more accurate in substantial 
 effect it is found to be. — Bates, Arlo, 
 1896, ed., Poems by John Keats, Intro- 
 duction, pp. xxii, xxiv, xxviii. 
 
 I might cite page on page from Keats, 
 and yet hold your attention ; there is some- 
 thing so beguiling in his witching words ; 
 and his pictures are finished — with only 
 one or two or three dashes of his pencil. 
 —Mitchell, Donald G., 1897, English 
 Lands Letters and Kings, The Later 
 Georges to Victoria, p. 231. 
 
 Nearly all people who read poetry have 
 a favoritism for Keats; he is in many 
 respects the popular hero of English litera- 
 ture. He was young, and chivalrously 
 devoted to his art ; he has a mastery of 
 expression almost unparalleled; he is 
 neither obscure nor polemic ; and he has 
 had from the first a most fecundating in- 
 fluence on other minds : in Hood, in Tenny- 
 son, in Rossetti and Matthew Arnold, in 
 Lanier and Lowell, in Yeats and Watson, 
 one feels the breath and touch of Keats 
 like an incantation. . . . Now, what 
 is the outstanding extraneous feature of 
 Keats's poetry ? It is perhaps the musical 
 and sculptural effect which he can make 
 with words : a necromancy which he exer- 
 cises with hardly a rival, even "among the 
 greatest and among these he justly hoped 
 to stand. Observe that a facility of this 
 sort cannot be a natural endowment, since 
 we must still, as Sir Philip Sidney bewails, 
 "be put to school to learn our mother- 
 tongue;" and that it implies ascetic dili- 
 gence in the artist compassing it. More- 
 over, Keats's craftsmanship is no menace 
 to him. It is true that he carries, in 
 general, no such hindering burden of 
 thought along his lyre as Donne, Dryden, 
 Wordsworth, Browning ; but neither, once 
 having learned his strength, does he ever 
 fall into the mere teasing ecstasy of sym- 
 bolic sound, as Shelley does often, as Swin- 
 burne does more often than not. Keats, 
 unlike Shelley or a cherub, is not all 
 wing; he "stands foursquare" when he 
 wills, or moves like the men of the 
 Parthenon frieze, with a health and joyous 
 gravity entirely carnal. — Guiney, Louise 
 Imogen, 1897, Library of the World's 
 Best Literature, ed. Warner, vol. XV, pp. 
 8497, 8498. 
 
 It is enough for me that we find in Keats 
 some odes of exquisite passion and charm, 
 
684 
 
 KEATS— PIOZZI 
 
 a delight in glow and colour that touches 
 us like a canvas by Giorgione, a few short 
 lyrics which stand in the everlasting 
 lyrical triumphs of our tongue, a promise 
 of command over the melody of verse, a 
 power of painting in winged words which 
 (if he had lived another twenty or thirty 
 years) might have placed him well in the 
 rank of poets somewhere below Milton and 
 Shakespeare. Might have done this, if 
 only promise were always followed by per- 
 formance; if we could be sure that the 
 nature of Keats as a man, his brain, and 
 hold on truths and realities, equalled his 
 mastery over language ; if we did not too 
 often feel (even in his best and latest 
 work) that the instrument wherefrom he 
 wrung forth such luscious music, seemed 
 endowed with magic gifts to dash itself 
 free from the hands and consciousness of 
 him who held it. — Harrison, Frederic, 
 1899, Lamb and Keats, The Contemporary 
 Review, vol, 76, y, 67. 
 
 ''The Cap and Bells" is a melancholy 
 example of what a great poet can produce 
 who is consumed by a hopeless passion and 
 wasted by disease. ... In his first 
 sonnet on Fame, Keats, in a saner mood, 
 puts by the temptation which would with- 
 draw him from the high serenity of con- 
 scious worth. In the second, wherein he 
 seems almost to be seeing Fanny Brawne, 
 mocking behind the figure of Fame, he 
 shows a more scornful attitude. There is 
 little doubt that notwithstanding his close 
 companionship with poets living and dead 
 Keats never could long escape from the 
 allurements of this ''wayward girl," yet 
 it may surely be said that his escape was 
 most complete when he was fulfilling the 
 highest law of his nature and creating those 
 images of beauty which have given him 
 Fame while he sleeps. — Scudder, Horace 
 E., 1899, The Complete Poetical Works and 
 Letters of John Keats, Cambridge ed., Bio- 
 graphical Sketch, pp. xxiii, xxiv. 
 
 Hester Lyncli Piozzi 
 
 Mrs. Thrale 
 1740-1821. 
 
 Born [Hester Lynch Salusbury], at Bodvel, Carnarvonshire, 16 Jan. 1741. Contrib. 
 to "St. James's Chronicle" while still a young girl. Married to Henry Thrale, 11 
 Oct. 1763. Friendship with Johnson begun, 1764. Husband died, 4 April 1781. 
 Intimacy with Gabriel Piozzi begun, 1780; married to him in London (at Roman 
 Catholic Church), 23 July, in Bath (at Anglican Church), 25 July 1784. In Italy, 
 1784-87. Lived at Streatham, 1787-95 ; in Wales, 1795 to 1809. Husband died, 
 March 1809 ; after that she resided mainly in Bath. Died, 2 May 1821. Works : 
 "Anecdotes of the late Samuel Johnson, 1786; "Letters to and from the late Samuel 
 Johnson," 1788; "Observations and Reflections made in the course of a Journey 
 through France, Italy, and Germany" (2 vols. ), 1789 (another edn. same vear) ; 
 "British Synonymy," 1794; "Retrospection" (2 vols.), 1801. Posthumous: "Two 
 Letters . . . to W. A. Conway," 1843; "Autobiography, Letters, and Literary 
 Remains, " ed. by A. Hay ward (2 vols.), 1861 (2nd edn. same year). She edited : 
 "The Arno Miscellany," 1784. Life: by L. B. Seeley, 1891.— Sharp, R. Far- 
 QUH ARSON, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 228. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Madam, — If I interpret your letter 
 aright, you are ignominiously married : if 
 it is yet undone let us once more talk to- 
 gether. If you have abandoned your 
 children and your religion, God for- 
 give your wickedness ; if you have for- 
 feited your fame and your country, may 
 your folly do no further mischief. If the 
 last act is yet to do, I who have loved 
 you, esteemed you, reverenced you, and 
 served you ; I who long thought you the 
 first of womankind, entreat that, before 
 your fate is irrevocable, I may once more 
 
 see you. I was, I once was, Madam, most 
 truly yours. — Johnson, Samuel, 1784, 
 Letter to Mrs. Thrale, July 2. 
 
 The party was select and /ery agreeable, 
 but rendered especially interesting by the 
 announcement m the evening of "Mrs. 
 Piozzi. ' ' It seemed almost as if a portrait 
 by Sir Joshua had stepped out; of its frame, 
 when the little old lady, dressed point de 
 vice in black satin, with dark glossy ring- 
 lets under her neat black Jiat, highly 
 roughed, not the end of a ribDon or lace 
 out of its place, with an unf altering step 
 entered the room. And wap- this really 
 
HESTER LYNCH PIOZZI 
 
 685 
 
 "the Mrs. Thrale," the stage monitress 
 of "The Three Warnings," the indefati- 
 gable tea-maker of the Great Insatiable ? 
 She was instantly the center on which 
 every eye was fixed, engrossing the atten- 
 tion of all. I had the satisfaction of a 
 particular introduction to her, and was 
 surprised and delighted with her vivacity 
 and good-humour. The request that she 
 would read to us from Milton was readily 
 complied with, and I was given to un- 
 derstand she piqued herself on her superi- 
 ority in giving effect to the great poet's 
 verse. — Macready, W. C, 1815-75, Rem- 
 iniscences, ed. Pollock, p. 82. 
 
 She was, in truth, a most wonderful 
 character for talents and eccentricity, 
 for wit, genius, generosity, spirit, and 
 powers of entertainment. She had a great 
 deal both of good and not good, in com- 
 mon with Madame de Stael Holstein. 
 They had the same sort of highly superior 
 intellect, the same depth of learning, the 
 same general acquaintance with science, 
 the same ardent love of literature, the 
 same thirst for universal knowledge, and 
 the same buoyant animal spirits, such as 
 neither sickness, sorrow, nor even terror, 
 could subdue. Their conversation was 
 equally luminous, from the sources of 
 their own fertile minds, and from their 
 splendid acquisitions from the works and 
 acquirements of others. Both were zeal- 
 ous to serve, liberal to bestow, and grace- 
 ful to oblige ; and both were truly high- 
 minded in prizing and praising whatever 
 was admirable that came in their way. 
 Neither of them was delicate nor polished, 
 though each was flattering and caressing ; 
 but both had a fund inexhaustible of good 
 humour, and of sportive gaiety, that made 
 their intercourse with those they wished 
 to please attractive, instructive, and de- 
 lightful ; and though not either of them 
 had the smallest real malevolence in their 
 compositions, neither of them could ever 
 withstand the pleasure of uttering a re- 
 partee, let it wound whom it might, even 
 though each would serve the very person 
 they goaded with all the means in their 
 power. Both were kind, charitable, and 
 munificent, and therefore beloved; both 
 were sarcastic, careless, and daring, and 
 therefore feared. — D'Arblay, Mme 
 (Fanny Burney), 1821, Diary and 
 LetterSy ed. Barrett, vol. iv, p. 462. 
 
 The world was most wrong in blaming 
 
 Mrs. Thrale for marrying Piozzi ; he was a 
 very handsome, gentlemanly, and amiable 
 person, and made her a very good husband. 
 In the evening he used to play to us most 
 beautifully on the piano. Her daughters 
 never would see her after that marriage ; 
 and (poor woman) when she was at a very 
 great age, I have heard her say that "she 
 would go down upon her knees to them, 
 if they would only be reconciled to her." 
 —Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollections of 
 Table-Talk, ed. Dyce, p. 45. 
 
 She was a woman of great vivacity and 
 independence of character. She had a 
 sensitive and passionate, if not a very 
 tender nature, and enough literary culture 
 to appreciate Johnson's intellectual power, 
 and on occasion to play a very respectable 
 part in conversation. She had far more 
 Latin and English scholarship than fell to 
 the lot of most ladies of her day, and wit 
 enough to preserve her from degenerating 
 like some of the "blues," into that most 
 offensive of beings — a feminine prig. — 
 Stephen, Leslie, 1879, Samuel Johnson, 
 (English Men of Letters), p. 81. 
 
 The public sentiment of Great Britain 
 has never got over the sense of out- 
 rage it experienced when it was dis- 
 covered that the widow of an English 
 brewer had actually had the audacity to 
 take for her second husband an Italian 
 music master. — Lounsbury, Thomas R., 
 1892, The Nation, vol. 54, p. 415. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Two days ago appeared Madame Piozzi's 
 "Anecdotes of Dr. Johnson." — I am 
 lamentably disappointed— in her, I mean ; 
 not in him. I had conceived a favourable 
 opinion of her capacity. But this new 
 book is wretched ; a high-varnished preface 
 to a heap of rubbish,ina very vulgar style, 
 and too void of method even for such a 
 farrago. Her panegyric is loud in praise 
 of her hero; and almost every fact she 
 relates disgraces him. — Walpole, Hor- 
 ace, 1786, To Sir Horace Mann, March 28 ; 
 Letters, ed. Cunningham, vol. ix, p. 46. 
 See Thrale's grey widow withasatchel roam 
 And bring in pomp laborious nothings home. 
 
 —GiFFORD,. William, 1797, The Baviad 
 and Mceviad. 
 
 Read the first volume of Mrs. Piozzi 's 
 ''Travels in Italy." Tolerably amusing, 
 but for a pert flippancy and ostentation 
 of learning. — Green, Thomas, 1810, 
 Diary of a Lover of Literature. 
 
686 
 
 PIOZZI—INCHBALD 
 
 Her mind, despite her masculine ac- 
 quirements, was thoroughly feminine, 
 she had more tact than genius, more 
 sensibility and quickness of perception 
 than depth, comprehensiveness, or con- 
 tinuity of thought. But her very discur- 
 siveness prevented her from becoming 
 wearisome ; her varied knowledge supplied 
 an inexhaustible store of topics and illus- 
 trations ; her lively fancy placed them in 
 attractive lights ; and her mind has been 
 well likened to a kaleidoscope which, 
 whenever its glittering and heterogeneous 
 contents are moved or shaken, surprises 
 by some new combination of color or of 
 form. She professed to write as she 
 talked ; but her conversation was doubt- 
 less better than her books ; her main ad- 
 vantages being a well-stored memory, 
 fertility of images, aptness of allusion, 
 and apropos. — Hayward, A., 1861, ed., 
 Autobiography, Letters and Literary Re- 
 mains of Mrs. Piozzi {Thrale), p. 155. 
 
 There were no morbid sensibilities in 
 Mrs. Piozzi's composition. She can tell 
 all her sorrows without ever a tear. A 
 mark of exclamation looks better than a 
 blot. And yet she had suffered ; but it 
 had been with such suffering as makes the 
 soul hard rather than tender. The pages 
 with which she ends this narrative of her 
 life are curiously characteristic. — Nor- 
 ton, Charles Eliot, 1861, Original 
 Memorials of Mrs. Piozzi, Atlantic Monthly, 
 vol. 7, p. 621. 
 
 She was a minute and clever observer of 
 men and manners, but deficient in judg- 
 ment, and not particular as to the accuracy 
 
 of her relations. — Chambers, Robert, 
 1876, Cyclopcedia of English Literature, 
 ed. Carruthers. 
 
 Of Mrs. Piozzi's verses, by far the best- 
 known and best-written are to be found in 
 **The Three Warnings," a tale so neatly 
 told that Johnson was credited by some 
 with a share in its production. There 
 never was any real reason for thus robbing 
 the authoress of credit, and even Boswell 
 writes that he ''cannot withhold from 
 Mrs. Thrale the praise of being the author 
 of that admirable poem, 'The Three 
 Warnings.'" The piece first appeared 
 along with Johnson's fairy-tale called 
 "The Fountains," in the "Miscellanies" 
 published by Mrs. Williams in 1766. — 
 Robertson, Eric S., 1883, English Poet- 
 esses, p. 60. 
 
 Mrs Piozzi wrote wittily, describing 
 scenes vividly, relating anecdotes with 
 humor and point, never allowing her Eng- 
 lish prejudices to interfere with her judg- 
 ment or to spoil her enjoyment of the 
 scenes so new to her. Her knowledge of 
 Italian must have been very thorough, 
 she detected so readily the slightest differ- 
 ences in the dialect of each of the cities 
 she visited. Her book remains a most 
 valuable record of Italian society in the 
 eighteenth century. It is delightfully 
 written, and leaves an impression of ex- 
 treme accuracy. It still remains for our 
 nineteenth century to produce a book 
 which will read as well a hundred years 
 hence. — Stillman, M. S. , 1892, Mrs. 
 Piozzi in Italy, The Nation, vol. 54, 
 p. 343. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Inchbald 
 
 1753-1821. 
 
 Born [Elizabeth Simpson], at Stanningfield, Suffolk, 15 Oct. 1753. Left home in 
 April 1772, with intention of going on the London stage. Married to Joseph Inchbald, 
 9 June 1772. First appeared on the stage at Bristol, 4 Sept. 1772. Acting with her 
 husband in Scotland, 1772-76. In Paris, July to Sept. 1776. Acting with her 
 husband in England, 1776-79; he died, suddenly, 6 June 1779. Friendship with Mrs. 
 Siddons and J. P. Kemble. Continued to act at York till 1780. At Covent Garden, 
 Oct. 1780 to July 1782 ; at Haymarket, July to Sept, 1782 ; in Dublin, Nov. 1782 to 
 spring of 1783 ; returned to Covent Garden, i783. Play, ''The Mogul Tale, " produced 
 at Haymarket, 1784. Plays produced at Haymarket, Covent Garden, and Drury Lane, 
 1784-1805. Contrib. to "Edinburgh Review." Retired from stage, 1789. Died, 
 at Kensington House, 1 Aug 1821. Buried in Kensington Churchyard. Works : 
 "Appearance is against them" (anon.), 1785; "I'll Tell you What," 1786; "The 
 Widow's Vow" (anon.), 1786; "The Mogul Tale" (anon.), 1788; "Such Things Are," 
 1788 (2nd edn. same year) ; "The Midnight Hour" (from the French of Damaniant), 
 1787; "The Child of Nature" (from the French of Countess de Genlis), 1788; "Animal 
 
MRS. ELIZABETH INCHBALD 
 
 687 
 
 Magnetism" (anon.), 1788; ''The Married Man" (from the French of Nericault- 
 Destouches), 1789; ''Next Door Neighbours," 1791; "A Simple Story" (4 vols), 1791; 
 "Everyone has his Fault," 1793; "The Wedding Day," 1794; "Nature and Art" 
 (2 vols), 1796; "Wives as they Were, and Maids as they Are," 1797; "Lovers' 
 Vows" (from the German of Kotzebue), 1798; "The Wise Men of the East" (from 
 the German of Kotzebue), 1799; "To Marry or Not to Marry," 1805. She edited: 
 "The British Theatre" (25 vols.), 1808; "The Modern Theatre" (10 vols), 1811; 
 "A Collection of Farces" (7 vols.), 1815; and contributed "remarks" to plays by 
 Addison, Gibber, Colman, Lillo, Machlin, Norton, Otway, Ro we, Shakespeare, Southerne, 
 Thomson. Life: "Memoirs," by J. Boaden (2 vols.), 18e33.— Sharp, K. Farquhar- 
 SON, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 144. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 Gloria in Excelsis Deo# 
 Sacred to the Memory 
 of 
 
 ELIZABETH INCHBALD, 
 Whose writings will be cherished 
 While truth, simplicity and feeling 
 Command public admiration j 
 And whose retired and exemplary life 
 Closed, as it existed. 
 In acts of charity and benevolence. 
 She died August 1st, 1821, aged 68 years, 
 
 Requiescat in Pace. 
 — Inscription on Grave, 1821, Kensing- 
 ton Churchyard. 
 
 She was in truth a figure that could not 
 be seen without astonishment at its loveli- 
 ness — tall, slender, straight, of the purest 
 complexion and most beautiful features. 
 Her hair of a golden auburn, her eyes full 
 at once of spirit and sweetness ; a combi- 
 nation of delicacy that checked presump- 
 tion and interest that captivated the fancy. 
 — Boaden, James, 1833, ed.. Memoirs 
 and Correspondence of Mrs. Inchbald. 
 
 At all times Mrs. Inchbald seems to 
 have determined to retain her perfect in- 
 dependence, and to have chosen to have 
 her time and property at her own disposal. 
 She had an enthusiastic love of home, 
 although that home was often, indeed 
 generally, only a single, or at most a 
 couple of rooms up two or three pairs of 
 stairs, occasionally in the attic, where she 
 was waited on by the servant of the house, 
 or sometimes not waited on at all, for she 
 not unfrequently speaks of fetching her 
 own water, and dressing her own dinner ; 
 and she once kept a coroneted carriage 
 waiting whilst she finished scouring her 
 apartment. ... At one time she 
 took up her abode in a boarding-house ; but 
 she could not, she said, when there, com- 
 mand her appetite and be hungry at stated 
 periods, like the rest of the boarders; 
 
 so she generally returned to her attic, 
 her crust of bread, and liberty. — El- 
 wood, Mrs. a. K., 1842, Memoirs of the 
 Literary Ladies of England from the Com- 
 mencement of the Last Century, vol. I. 
 
 Living in mean lodgings, dressed with 
 an economy allied to penury, without con- 
 nections, and alone, her beauty, her tal- 
 ents, and the charm of her manners gave 
 her entrance into a delightful circle of 
 society. Apt to fall in love, and desirous 
 to marry, she continued single, because 
 the men who loved and admired her were 
 too worldly to take an actress and a poor 
 author, however lovely and charming for 
 a wife. Her life was thus spent in an in- 
 terchange of hardship and amusement, 
 privation and luxury. Her character 
 partook of the same contrast: fond of 
 pleasure, she was prudent in her conduct ; 
 penurious in her personal expenditure, she 
 was generous to others. Vain of her 
 beauty, we are told that the gown she 
 wore was not worth a shilling, it was so 
 coarse and shabby. Very susceptible to 
 the softer feelings, she could yet guard 
 herself against passion ; and though she 
 might have been called a flirt, her char- 
 acter was unimpeached. I have heard 
 that a rival beauty of her day pettishly 
 complained that when Mrs. Inchbald came 
 into a room, and sat in a chair in the 
 middle of it as was her wont, every man 
 gathered round it, and it was vain for any 
 other woman to attempt to gain attention. 
 Godwin could not fail to admire her : she 
 became and continued to be a favourite. 
 Her talents, herbeaut}^ her manners, were 
 all delightful to him. He used to describe 
 her as a piquante mixture between a lady 
 and a milkmaid, and added that Sheridan 
 declared she was the only authoress whose 
 society pleased him. — Shelley, Mary 
 WOLLSTONECRAFT, 1851, Fragmentary 
 Notes, PauVs Life of Goduin, vol. i, p. 73. 
 
 She was very beautiful, and gifted with 
 
688 
 
 MRS, ELIZABETH INCHBALD 
 
 original genius, as her plays and farces and 
 novels (above all, the "Simple Story") tes- 
 tify ; she was not an actress of any special 
 merit, but of respectable mediocrity. She 
 stuttered habitually, but her delivery was 
 never impeded by this defect on the 
 stage. . . . Mrs Inchbald was a per- 
 son of a very remarkable character, lovely, 
 poor, with unusual mental powers, and of 
 irreproachable conduct. . . . Mrs. 
 Inchbald had a singular uprightness and 
 unworldliness, and a childlike directness 
 and simplicity of manner, which, combined 
 with her personal loveliness, and halting, 
 broken utterance, gave to her conversa- 
 tion, which was both humorous and witty, 
 a most peculiar and comical charm. — 
 Kemble, Frances Ann, 1879, Records of 
 a Girlhood, pp. 212, 213. 
 
 Elizabeth Inchbald was an admirable 
 woman, a heroine in her way, not, indeed, 
 after the manner of Miss Pinkerton, the 
 Semiramis of Hammersmith, but a warm, 
 human personality, all the more lovable 
 for some feminine foibles. She was an 
 actress and authoress of no mean celebrity, 
 she attained competency and fame, but 
 the thought that remains with us, as we 
 rise from the perusal of her diary and 
 Memoirs,'^ is how ill fame and for- 
 tune supply the want of love in a woman's 
 life, what avoid they still leave unsatisfied ; 
 yet the prevailing note in her life is of 
 cheerfulness and bright vivacity. — Man- 
 son, Edward, 1897, Elizabeth Inchbald, 
 The Westminster Review, vol. 148, p. 346. 
 
 A SIMPLE STORY 
 
 1791 
 
 But there were no ''Waverly Novels'' 
 in those days, no Jane Austen, no Maria 
 Edgeworth; and the "Simple Story" was 
 highly prized by its contemporaries. . . . 
 But nobody now-a-days suggests of a fe- 
 male novelist that "it is as if Venus had 
 written books." The reader will remem- 
 ber how this Venus wrote to Godwin when 
 his wife lay yet unburied. — Oliphant, 
 Margaret 0. W., 1882, The Literary 
 History of England, XVIIIth-XlXth Cen- 
 tury, vol. II, p. 227. 
 
 The "Simple Story," appeared in Feb- 
 ruary and a second edition was ordered in 
 March. It has become a classic, and noth- 
 ing need here be said in praise of its 
 pathos, its knowledge of human nature, 
 and the epigrammatic touches in whicK^ it 
 abounds. The novel brought her not only 
 
 money and fame, but a flock of new 
 friends. . . . In literature, as in life, it is 
 not always the most famous or distin- 
 guished persons that are the most interest- 
 ing. Elizabeth Inchbald cannot claim high 
 rank in the former class, but her char- 
 acter, her letters, and her "Simple Story" 
 leave her with few rivals in the latter. 
 — Mayer, Gertrude Townshend, 1894, 
 Women of Letters, vol. ii, pp. 32, 58. 
 
 Built upon the unpromising motive of 
 displaying "the improper education of the 
 unthinking Miss Milner" is a powerful 
 picture of passion, even prophetic of 
 "Jane Eyre" than any other English novel 
 of the eighteenth century. — Herford, 
 C. H., 1897, The Age of Wordsworth, 
 p. 101. 
 
 Though marred by the author's anxiety 
 to attribute to the influence of early edu- 
 cation the gradual moral decay of her 
 heroine, it contains the strongest situation 
 that had yet appeared in the English 
 novel — the conflict between religious prej- 
 udice and love, such as we have on a 
 grander scale in Charles Reade's "Cloister 
 and the Hearth."— Cross, Wilbur L., 
 1899, The Development of the English 
 Novel, p. 87. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 If Mrs. Radclilf e touched the trembling 
 chords of the imagination, making wild 
 music there, Mrs Inchbald has no less 
 power over the spring of the heart. She 
 not only moves the affections, but melts 
 us into "all the luxury of woe." Her 
 "Nature and Art" is one of the most pa- 
 thetic and interesting stories in the world. 
 It is indeed too much so ; the distress is too 
 naked, and the situation hardly to be 
 borne with patience. — Hazlitt, William, 
 1818, Lecture on the English Novelists. 
 
 As a dramatist, she is distinguished for 
 a certain ingenuity and vivacity of dia- 
 logue ; her wit however is infrequent, and 
 the intrigues of her comedies often present 
 the unnatural combinations of farce. Her 
 plays, with few exceptions, still retain 
 the stage. Her talents as a novelist were 
 by no means inferior ; and had she devoted 
 her whole attention to this department of 
 literature she would undoubtedly have 
 produced works of lasting celebrity. — 
 Durivage, F. a., 1833, Memoirs of Mrs. 
 Inchbald, North American Review vol. 37, 
 p. 466. 
 
 In 1789, when she retired from the 
 
INCHB ALB— SHELLEY 
 
 689 
 
 stage, her reputation was at its highest. 
 She had published an edition of plays with 
 prefaces, and now she got fifty guineas 
 by merely looking over a catalogue of fifty 
 farces, drawing her pen across one or two, 
 and writing the names of others in their 
 places. The catalogue was then printed 
 with ''Selected by Mrs. Inchbald'' on 
 the title-page. — Hamilton, Catharine J., 
 1892, Women Writer Sy First Series^p. 41. 
 
 The scene where William [in ''Nature 
 and Art"], as a judge, condemns to death 
 the girl he had deceived and deserted is 
 great, not from the boisterous strength 
 of the situation, but from the strength of 
 its telling. That and the character of Miss 
 Milner in "A Simple Story" entitled Mrs. 
 Inchbald to a very high place among the 
 novelists proper of her day. —Raleigh, 
 Walter, 1894, The English Novel, p, 248. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley 
 
 1792-1822 
 
 Born, at Field Place, near Horsham, Sussex, 4 Aug. 1792. Educated privately, 
 1798-1802 ; at a school at Brentford, 1802-04 ; at Eton, July 1804 to 1809. Wrote 
 poetry while at Eton. Matric, University Coll., Oxford, 10 April 1810. Expelled 
 (with Hogg) from Oxford for publication of "The Necessity of Atheism," 25 March 
 1811. Married (i.) Harriet Westbrook, 28 Aug. 1811. Lived for a few weeks with 
 Hoggin Edinburgh; thence to Keswick, Nov. 1811. Friendship formed there with 
 Southey. Friendship with Godwin begun, Jan. 1812. In Dublin, spring of 1812 ; at 
 Lynmouth, June to Sept. 1812 ; in Carnarvonshire, Sept. 1812 to Feb. 1813 ; in Ireland, 
 Feb. to April 1813 ; to London, April 1813. Removed to Bracknell, July 1813 ; in 
 Edinburgh, winter 1813-14 ; returned to Bracknell, spring of 1814. On account of 
 his having been married in Scotland as a minor, he remarried his wife in London, 24 
 March 1814. Estrangement from his wife, and meeting with Mary Godwin, 1814. 
 To Continent with Mary Godwin, 28 July 1814 ; returned with her to England, Sept. 
 1814. Friendship with Byron begun, 1816. At Geneva with him, summer of 1816. 
 Mrs. Shelley committed suicide, Dec. 1816. He married (ii.) Mary Godwin, 30 Dec. 
 1816; settled with her at Marlow, spring of 1817. Friendship with Keats begun, 
 1817. Removed to Italy, March 1818. Drowned, 8 July 1822. His body cremated 
 on the shore near Via Reggio, 16 Aug. 1822. His ashes buried in old Protestant 
 Cemetery, Rome, Dec. 1822. Works: "Zastrozzi" (under initials: P. B. S.), 1810; 
 ^'Original Poetry : by Victor and Cazire" (no copy known [ ?] ),1810 ; ''Posthumous Frag- 
 ments of Margaret Nicholson," 1810 (priv. ptd., ed. by H. B. Forman, 1877); "St. 
 Irvyne" (anon.), 1811; "Poetical Essay on the Existing State of Things," 1811; 
 "The Necessity of Atheism," 1811 ; "An Address to the Irish People," 1812; "Pro- 
 posals for an Association," 1812; "Declaration of Rights," 1812; "Letters to Lord 
 Ellenborough" [1812J ; "The Devil's Walk," 1812; "Queen Mab," 1813 ;"A Vindica- 
 tion of Natural Diet" (anon.), 1813; "A Refutation of Deism" (anon.), 1814; 
 "Alastor," 1816; "Proposal for putting reform to the Vote" (anon.), 1817; "History 
 of a Six Weeks' Tour through a Part of France" (with his wife ; anon.), 1817 ; "Laon 
 and Cythna," 1818 [1817] (recalled; and reissued as "The Revolt of Islam," 1817) ; 
 "Address to the People on the Death of Princess Charlotte" [1818]; "Rosalind and 
 Helen," 1819; "The Cenci," 1819; "Prometheus Unbound," 1820; "(Edipus 
 Tyrannus" (anon.), 1820; "Epipsychidion" (anon.), 1821; "Adonais," 1821; 
 ."Hellas," 1822. Posthumous: "Posthumous Poems," ed. by Mrs. Shelley [1824] ; 
 "The Masque of Anarchy," ed. by Leigh Hunt, 1832; "The Shelley Papers" (from 
 "Athenaeum") 1833; "Essays, etc.," ed. by Mrs. Shelley, 1840; "The D^mon of the 
 World," ed. l3y H. B. Forman (priv. ptd.), 1876; "Notes on Sculptures in Rome 
 and Florence" (ed. by H. B. Forman; priv. ptd.), 1879. Collected Works; ed. by 
 H. Buxton Forman (8 vols.), 1880 [1876-80]. Life: by Prof. Dowden, 1886.— 
 Sharp, R. Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 254. 
 
 PERSONAL particularly in his voice, raised a pleasing 
 
 I went to Godwin's. Mr. Shelley was impression, which was not altogether 
 there had never seen him before, destroyed by his conversation, though it 
 His y >h and a resemblance to Southey, is vehement, and arrogant, and intolerant. 
 
 44C 
 
690 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 He was very abusive towards Southey, 
 whom he spoke of as having sold himself 
 to the Court. And this he maintained 
 with the usual party slang. . . . Shelley 
 spoke of Wordsworth with less bitterness, 
 but with an insinuation of his insincerity, 
 etc. — Robinson, Henry Crabb, 1817, 
 Diary, Nov. 6. 
 
 Midst others of less note, came one frail 
 Form, 
 
 A pliantom among men, companionless 
 As the last cloud of an expiring storm 
 Whose thunder is its knell; he, as I guess. 
 Had gazed on Nature's naked loveliness, 
 Actseon-like, and now he fled astray 
 With feeble steps o'er the world's wilderness. 
 And his own thoughts, along that rugged way 
 Pursued, like raging hounds, their father 
 and their prey. 
 
 He came at last, neglected and apart ; 
 
 A herd-abandoned deer struck by the hunter's 
 
 dart, 
 All stood aloof. 
 
 —Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1821, Adon- 
 ais, St. xxxi, xxxiii, xxxiv. 
 
 The author of the ''Prometheus Un- 
 bound," has a fire in his eye, a fever in his 
 blood, a maggot in his brain, a hectic 
 flutter in his speech, which mark out the 
 philosophic fanatic. He is sanguine -com- 
 plexioned, and shrill-voiced. As is often 
 observable in the case of religious enthu- 
 siasts, there is a slenderness of constitu- 
 tional stamina, which renders the flesh no 
 match for the spirit. His bending, flexi- 
 ble form appears to take no strong hold 
 of things, does not grapple with the world 
 about him, but slides from it like a river, — 
 
 "And in its liquid texture mortal wound 
 
 Receives no more than can the fluid air." 
 — Hazlitt, William, 1821, On Paradox 
 and the Commonplace^ Table-Talk, p. 355. 
 
 I cannot grieve for you, beloved Shelley ! 
 I grieve for thy friends — for the world — 
 for thy child— most for myself, enthroned 
 in thy love, growing wiser and better 
 beneath thy gentle influence, taught by you 
 the highest philosophy — your pupil, friend, 
 lover, wife, mother of your children! 
 The glory of the dream is gone. I am a 
 cloud from which the light of sunset has 
 passed. Give me patience in the present 
 struggle. Meum codium cor! Good-night ! 
 
 •'I would give 
 All that I am to be as thou now art ; 
 But I am chain 'd to time, and cannot thence 
 depart." 
 
 — Shelley, Mary Godwin, 1823, Jour- 
 nal, May 31. 
 
 Ten years ago the indiscretions of 
 Shelley had rendered his name an un- 
 mentionable one to ears polite. — Mad- 
 den, R. R., 1833, Infirmities of Genius, 
 vol. I, p. 5. 
 
 Jackson talks much of Shelley. He 
 knew him well ; says that he was a perfect 
 child in his habits. He remembers Shelley 
 telling him how fine a death he thought it 
 would be to be shipwrecked in the bay of 
 Spezzia. Poor lad ! He learned to know 
 too well.— Appleton, Thomas Gold, 1834, 
 Life and Letters, p. 194. 
 
 ''You should have known Shelley, said 
 Byron, "to feel how much I must regret 
 him. He was the most gentle, most 
 amiable, and least worldly-minded person 
 I ever met ; full of delicacy, disinterested 
 beyond all other men, and possessing a 
 degree of genius, joined to a simplicity as 
 rare as it is admirable. He had formed to 
 himself a beau-ideal of all that is fine, 
 high-minded, and noble, and he acted up 
 to this ideal even to the very letter. He 
 had a most brilliant imagination, but a 
 total want of worldly wisdom. I have 
 seen nothing like him, and never shall 
 again, I am certain. I never can forget 
 the night that his poor wife rushed into 
 my room at Pisa, with a face as pale as 
 marble, and terror impressed on her brow, 
 demanding, with all the tragic impetuosity 
 of grief and alarm, where was her husband ? 
 Vain were all our efforts to calm her ; a 
 desperate sort of courage seemed to give 
 her energy to confront the horrible truth 
 that awaited her; it was the courage pf 
 despair. I have seen nothing in tragedy 
 or on the stage so powerful, or so affect- 
 ing, as her appearance ; and it often, pre- 
 sents itself to my memory. I knew nothing 
 then of the catastrophe, but the vividness 
 of her terror communicated itself to me, 
 and I feared the worst, — which fears 
 were, alas! too soon fearfully realized.'' 
 — Blessington, Marguerite Countess, 
 1834, Conversations with Lord Byron, 
 ch. iv. 
 
 The qualities that struck any one newly 
 introduced to Shelley, were,— First, a 
 gentle and cordial goodness that animated 
 his intercourse with warm affection and 
 helpful sympathy. The other, the eager- 
 ness and ardour with which he was 
 attached to the cause of human happiness 
 and improvement; and the fervent 
 quence with which he discussed subjects. 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 691 
 
 His conversation was marked by its happy 
 abundance, and the beautiful language 
 with which he clothed his poetic ideas and 
 philosophical notions. To defecate life of 
 its misery and its evil was the ruling pas- 
 sion of his soul: he dedicated to it every 
 power of his mind, every pulsation of his 
 heart. He looked on political freedom as 
 the direct agent to affect the happiness of 
 mankind ; and thus any new-sprung hope 
 of liberty inspired a joy and an exultation 
 more intense than he could have felt for 
 any personal advantage. — Shelley, Mary 
 Godwin, 1839, Shelley's Poetical Works, 
 Preface. 
 
 Possessing one of the most richly gifted 
 minds ever framed by Providence to adorn 
 and bless the world, and a heart whose 
 sympathies comprehended all nature and 
 mankind in the broad sphere of its love, he 
 was still the most unpopular poet of his 
 time —although he indicated, perhaps, 
 more than any other, the tendencies of its 
 imaginative literature, and expressed with 
 more fulness, precision, and beauty, the 
 subtle spirituality of its tone of thought. 
 His character and his writings were 
 elaborately misrepresented. Persons in- 
 finitely inferior to him, we will not say in 
 genius, but in honesty, in benevolence, in 
 virtue, in the practice of those duties of 
 love and self-sacrifice which religion en- 
 joins, still contrived to experience for him 
 a mingled feeling of pity and aversion, 
 unexampled even in the annals of the 
 Pharisees. The same sympathizing apolo- 
 gists for the infirmities of ^genius, who 
 shed tears and manufactured palliatives for 
 Burns and Byron, fell back on the rigor 
 and ice of their morality when they 
 mentioned the name of Shelley. His ad- 
 versaries were often in ludicrous moral 
 contrast to himself. Venal politicians, 
 fattening on public plunder, represented 
 themselves as shocked by his theories of 
 government. Roues were apprehensive 
 that his refined notions of marriage would 
 encourage libertinism. Smooth, practical 
 atheists preached morality and religion to 
 him from quarterly reviews, and defamed 
 r,;m with an arrogant stupidity, and a 
 
 • ^dng injustice, unparalleled in the 
 i teries and fooleries of criticism. 
 1 )ure and pious poet, Thomas Moore, 
 Ci ved it incumbent on himself to warn 
 hi.' naculate friend Lord Byron, from 
 beirjg led astray by Shelley's principles. 
 
 . . . Men who could not write a single 
 sentence unstained with malignity, selfish- 
 ness or some other deadly sin, gravely 
 rebuked him for infidelity, and volunteered 
 their advice as to the manner by which he 
 might become a bad christian and a good 
 hypocrite. But Shelley happened to be 
 an honest man as well as a poet, and was 
 better contented with proscription, how- 
 ever severe, than with infamy, however 
 splendid. This was a peculiarity of his 
 disposition which made his conduct so 
 enigmatical to the majority of his enemies. 
 — Whipple, Edwin P., 1845, English 
 Poets of the Nineteenth Century, Essays 
 and Reviews, 
 
 Can we imagine the case of an angel 
 touched by lunacy ? Have we ever seen 
 the spectacle of a human intellect, ex- 
 quisite by its functions of creation, yet in 
 one chamber of its shadowy house already 
 ruined before the light of manhood had 
 cleansed its darkness? Such an angel, 
 such a man — if ever such there were — such 
 a lunatic angel, such a ruined man, was 
 Shelley whilst yet standing on the earliest 
 threshold of life. . . . Something of 
 a similar effect arises to myself w^hen re- 
 viewing the general abstract of Shelley's 
 life — so brief, so full of agitation, so full 
 of strife. When one thinks of the early 
 misery which he suffered, and of the inso- 
 lent infidelity which, being yet so young, 
 he wooed with a lover's passion, then the 
 darkness of midnight begins to form a 
 deep, impenetrable background, upon 
 which the phantasmagoria of all that is to 
 come may arrange itself in troubled phos- 
 phoric streams, and in sweeping proces- 
 sions of woe. Yet, again, when one recurs 
 to his gracious nature, his fearlessness, 
 his truth, his purity from all fleshlinessof 
 appetite, his freedom from vanity, his 
 diffusive love and tenderness, suddenly out 
 of the darkness reveals itself a morning of 
 May, forests and thickets of roses advance 
 to the foreground, and from the midst of 
 them looks out *'the eternal child," 
 cleansed from his sorrow, radiant with 
 joy, having power given him to forget the 
 misery which he suffered, power given him 
 to forget the misery which he caused, and 
 leaning with his heart upon that dove-like 
 faith against which his erring intellect had 
 rebelled. — De Quincey, Thomas, 1845- 
 57, Gilfillan's Literary Portraits, Works, 
 ed. Masson, vol. xi, pp. 358, 376. 
 
692 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 Innocent and careless as a boy, he pos- 
 sessed all the delicate feelings of a gentle- 
 man, all the discrimination of a scholar, 
 and united, in just degrees, the ardor of 
 the poet with the patience and forbearance 
 of the philosopher. His generosity and 
 charity went far beyond those of any man 
 (I believe) at present in existence. He 
 was never known to speak evil of any 
 enemy, unless that enemy had done some 
 grievous injustice to another; and he 
 divided his income of only one thousand 
 pounds with the fallen and the afflicted. 
 This is the man against whom such clamors 
 have been raised by the religious and the 
 loyal, and by those who live and lap under 
 their tables. — Landor, Walter Savage, 
 1846, Imaginary Conversations. 
 
 Shelley, indeed, was a good and noble 
 creature. He had, spite of his skepticism, 
 clearly and luminously stamped on his 
 front the highest marks of a Christian ; for 
 the grand distinction appointed by Christ 
 was — love. Shdjey was a Christian in 
 spite of himself?^ We learn from all who 
 knew him that 'tne Bible was his most 
 favorite book. He venerated the charac- 
 ter of Christ, and no man more fully carried 
 out his precepts. His delight was to do 
 good, to comfort and assist the poor. It 
 was his zeal for truth and for the good of 
 mankind which led him, in his indignation 
 against those who oppressed them and im- 
 posed upon them, to leap too far in his 
 attack on those enemies, and pass the 
 borders which divide truth from error. 
 For his conscientious opinion he sacrificed 
 ease, honor, the world's esteem, fortune, 
 and friendship. Never was there so gener- 
 ous a friend, so truly and purely poetical 
 a nature. Others are poets in their books 
 and closets ; the poet's soul in him was the 
 spirit of all hours and all occasions. — 
 HowiTT, William, 1846, Homes and 
 Haunts of the Most Eminent British Poets. 
 
 His features were small — the upper part 
 of his face not strictly regular — the eyes 
 unusually prominent, too much so for 
 beauty. His mouth was moulded after 
 the finest modelling of Greek art, and wore 
 an habitual expression of benevolence, and 
 when he smiled, his smile irradiated his 
 whole countenance. His hands were thin, 
 and expressed feeling to the fingers' ends ; 
 . . . his hair, profuse, silken, and 
 naturally curling, was at a very early 
 period interspersed with gray. . . . 
 
 He did not look so tall as he was, being 
 nearly five feet eleven, for his shoulders 
 were a little bent by study. . . 
 owing to his being near-sighted, and lean- 
 ing over his books, and which increased 
 the narrowness of his chest. — Med win, 
 Thomas, 1847, The Life of Percy Bysshe 
 Shelley. 
 
 Shelley, v/hen he died, was in his 
 thirtieth year. His figure was tall and 
 slight, and his constitution consumptive. 
 He was subject to violent spasmodic pains, 
 which would sometimes force him to lie on 
 the ground till they were over ; but he had 
 always a kind word to give to those about 
 him, when his pangs allowed him to speak. 
 . . . Though well-turned, his shoulders 
 were bent a little, owing to premature 
 thought and trouble. The same causes 
 had touched his hair with gray; and 
 though his habits of temperance and exer- 
 cise gave him a remarkable degree of 
 strength, it is not supposed that he could 
 have lived many years. . . . His eyes were 
 large and animated, with a dash of wild- 
 ness in them ; his face small, but well- 
 shaped, particularly his mouth and chin, the 
 turn of which was very sensitive and grace- 
 ful. His complexion was naturally fair 
 and delicate, with a color in the cheeks. 
 He had brown hair which, though tinged 
 with gray, surmounted his face well, being 
 inconsiderable in quantity, and tending to 
 a curl. His side-face upon the whole was 
 deficient in strength, and his features 
 would not have told well in a bust ; but 
 when fronting and looking at you atten- 
 tively, his aspect had a certain seraphical 
 character that would have suited John the 
 Baptist, or the angel whom Milton de- 
 scribes as holding a reed **tipt with fire." 
 — Hunt, Leigh, 1850, Autobiography. 
 
 Shelley's figure was tall and almost un- 
 naturally attenuated, so as to bend to the 
 earth like a plant that had been deprived 
 of its vital air; his features had an un- 
 natural sharpness, and an unhealthy pale- 
 ness, like a flower that has been kept from 
 the light of day ; his eyes had an almost 
 superhuman brightness, and his voice a 
 preternatural elevation of pitch and shrill- 
 ness of tone ; — all which peculiarities prob- 
 acy arose from some accidental circum- 
 stances connected with his early nur- 
 ture and bringing up. — Patmore, Peter 
 George, 1854, My Friends and Acquaint- 
 ances. 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 693 
 
 tiotii in appearance and in manners 
 Shelley was the perfect gentleman. — • 
 Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recollections of 
 Table- Talk, ed. Dyce, p. 236. 
 
 Brown's four novels, Schiller's Rob- 
 bers," and Goethe's ''Faust," were, of all 
 the works with which he was familiar, 
 those which took the deepest root in his 
 mind, and had the strongest influence in 
 the formation of his character. He was 
 an assiduous student of the great classical 
 poets, and among these his favourite 
 heroines were Nausicaa and Antigone. I 
 do not remember that he greatly admired 
 any of our old English poets, excepting 
 Shakspeare and Milton. He devotedly 
 admired Wordsworth and Coleridge, and 
 in a minor degree Southey: these had 
 great influence on his style, and Coleridge 
 especially on his imagination ; but admira- 
 tion is one thing and assimilation is 
 another ; and nothing so blended itself 
 with the structure of his interior mind as 
 the creations of Brown. Nothing stood 
 so clearly before his thoughts as a perfect 
 combination of the purely ideal and possibly 
 real, as Constantia Dudley. . . . He 
 had a prejudice against theatres which I 
 took some pains to overcome. I induced 
 him one evening to accompany me to a 
 representation of the ''School for Scan- 
 dal." When, after the scenes which ex- 
 hibited Charles Surface in his jollity, the 
 scene returned, in the fourth act, to 
 Joseph's library, Shelley said to me, — "I 
 see the purpose of this comedy. It is to 
 associate virtue with bottles and glasses, 
 and villainy with books." I had great 
 difficulty to make him stay to the end. 
 He often talked of "the withering and 
 perverting spirit of comedy." I do not 
 think he ever went to another. — Pea- 
 cock, Thomas Love, 1858, Memoirs of 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley, Frasefs Magazine, 
 vol. 57, pp, 657, 658. 
 
 After the fire was well kindled we re- 
 peated the ceremony of the previous day ; 
 and more wine was poured over Shelley's 
 dead body than he had consumed during 
 his life. This with the oil and salt made 
 the yellow flames glisten and quiver. The 
 heat from the sun and fire was so intense 
 that the atmosphere was tremulous and 
 wavy. The corpse fell open and the heart 
 was laid bare. The frontal bone of the 
 skull, where it had been struck with the 
 mattock, fell off ; and, as the back of the 
 
 head rested on the redhot bottom bars of 
 the furnace, the brains literally seethed, 
 bubbled, and boiled, as in a cauldron, for 
 a very long time. Byron could not face 
 this scene, he withdrew to the beach and 
 swam off to the Bolivar. Leigh Hunt re- 
 mained in the carriage. The fire was so 
 fierce as to produce a white heat on the 
 iron, and to reduce its contents co grey 
 ashes. The only portions that were not con- 
 sumed were some fragments of bones, the 
 jaw, and the skull ; but what surprised us 
 all was that the heart remained entire. In 
 snatching this relic from the fiery furnace, 
 my hand was severely burnt ; and had any 
 one seen me do the act I should have been 
 put into quarantine. — Trelawny, Ed- 
 ward John, 1858-78, Records of Shelley, 
 Byron and the Author, p. 144. 
 
 At the commencement of Michaelmas 
 term, that is, at the end of October, in 
 the year 1810, I happened one day to sit 
 next to a freshman at dinner ; it was his 
 first appearance in hall. His figure was 
 slight, and his aspect remarkably youth- 
 ful, even at our table, where all were very 
 young. He seemed thoughtful and absent. 
 He ate little, and had no acquaintance with 
 any one. . . . His figure was slight 
 and fragile, and yet his bones and joints 
 were large and strong. He was tall, but 
 he stooped so much, that he seemed of a 
 low stature. His clothes were expensive, 
 and made according to the most approved 
 mode of the day ; but they were tumbled, 
 rumpled, unbrushed. His gestures were 
 abrupt, and sometimes violent, occasion- 
 ally even awkward, yet more frequently 
 gentle and graceful. His complexion was 
 delicate and almost feminine, of the purest 
 red and white; yet he was tanned and 
 freckled by exposure to the sun, having 
 passed the autumn, as he said, in shoot- 
 ing. His features, his whole face, and 
 particularly his head, were, in fact, unusu- 
 ally small ; yet the last appeared of a re- 
 markable bulk, for his hair was long and 
 bushy, and in fits of absence, and in the 
 agonies (if I may use the word) of anxious 
 thought, he often rubbed it fiercely with 
 his hands, or passed his fingers quickly 
 through his locks unconsciously, so that it 
 was singularly wild and rough. . . . 
 His features were not symmetrical (the 
 mouth, perhaps, excepted), yet was the 
 effect of the whole extremely powerful. 
 They breathed an animation, a fire, an 
 
694 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 enthusiasm, a vivid and preternatural in- 
 telligence, that I never met with in any 
 other countenance. Nor was the moral 
 expression less beautiful than the intel- 
 lectual ; for there was a softness, a deli- 
 cacy, a gentleness, and especially (though 
 this will surprise many) that air of pro- 
 found religious veneration, that character- 
 ises the best works, and chiefly the frescoes 
 (and into these they infused their whole 
 souls), of the great masters of Florence 
 and of Rome.— Hogg, Thomas Jefferson, 
 1858, The Life of Percy Bysshe Shelley, 
 vol. I, pp. 51, 54, 55. 
 
 The ashes of Shelley were deposited in 
 the Protestant burial ground at Rome, by 
 the side of his son William, and of his 
 brother-poet Keats. An inscription in 
 Latin, simply setting forth the facts, was 
 written by Leigh Hunt, and Mr. Trelawny 
 added a few lines from Shakspeare's 
 
 Tempest' * (one of Shelley's favorite 
 plays) :— 
 
 "Nothing of him that doth fade, 
 But doth suffer a sea-change 
 Into something rich and strange." 
 The same gentleman also planted eight 
 cypresses round the spot, of which seven 
 were flourishing in 1844, and probably are 
 still. And so the sea and the earth closed 
 over one who was great as a poet, and 
 still greater as a philanthropist; and of 
 whom it may be said, that his wild, spirit- 
 ual character, seems to have fitted him for 
 being thus snatched from life under cir- 
 cumstances of mingled terror and beauty, 
 while his powers were yet in their spring 
 freshness, and age had not come to render 
 the ethereal body decrepit, or to wither 
 the heart which could not be consumed by 
 fire.— Shelley, Lady, 1859, ed. Shelley 
 Memorials from Authentic Sources, p. 219. 
 
 Shelley was a tall man, — ^nearly, if not 
 quite, five feet ten in height. He was 
 peculiarly slender, and ... his chest 
 had palpably enlarged after the usual 
 growing period. He retained the same 
 kind of straitness in the perpendicular 
 outline on each side of him ; his shoulders 
 were the reverse of broad, but yet they 
 were not sloping, and a certain squareness 
 in them was naturally incompatible with 
 anything feminine in his appearance. To 
 his last days he still sufl^ered his chest to 
 collapse ; but it was less a stoop than a 
 peculiar mode of holding the head and 
 shoulders, — the face thrown a little 
 
 forward, and the shoulders slightly ele- 
 vated ; though the whole attitude below 
 the shoulders, when standing, was unusu- 
 ally upright, and had the appearance of 
 litheness and activity. ... He had an 
 oval face and delicate features, not unlike 
 those given to him in the w^ell known 
 miniature. His forehead was high. His 
 fine, dark brown hair, when not cut close, 
 disposed itself in playful and very beauti- 
 ful curls over his brows and round the 
 back of his neck. He had brown eyes, 
 with a color in his cheek ''like a girl's;" 
 but as he grew older, his complexion 
 bronzed. So far the reality agrees with 
 the current descriptions; nevertheless 
 they omit material facts. The outline of 
 the features and face possessed a firmness 
 and hardness entirely inconsistent with a 
 feminine character. The outline was sharp 
 and firm; the markings distinct, and 
 indicating an energetic physique. The 
 outline of the bone was distinctly percep- 
 tible at the temples, on the bridge of the 
 nose, at the back portion of the cheeks, 
 and in the jaw, and the artist could trace 
 the principal muscles of the face. The 
 beard, also, although the reverse of strong, 
 was clearly marked, especially about the 
 chin.— Hunt, Thornton, 1863, Shelley, 
 Atlantic Monthly, vol. 11, pp. 202, 203. 
 
 The lovers of Shelley as a man and a 
 poet have done what they could to palliate 
 his conduct in this matter. But a question 
 of morals, as between man and society, 
 cannot be reduced to any individual 
 standard however exalted. Our partiality 
 for the man only heightens our detesta- 
 tion of the error. The greater Shelley's 
 genius, the nobler his character and im- 
 pulses, so much the more startling is the 
 warning. If we make our own inclinations 
 the measure of what is right, we must be 
 the sterner in curbing them. A woman's 
 heart is too delicate a thing to serve as a 
 fulcrum for the lever with which a man 
 would overturn any system, however con- 
 ventional. The misery of the elective- 
 affinity scheme is that men are not chemical 
 substances, and that in nine cases in ten 
 the force of the attraction works more 
 constantly and lasting upon the woman 
 than the man.— Norton, Charles Eliot, 
 1865, Shelley's Poetical Works, Memoir. 
 
 Poor Shelley — gentle, tender, ethereal, 
 and aspiring, sober and abstemious, a 
 pale student, an abstract and highly 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 695 
 
 metaphysical thinker, delicate as a woman 
 in his organization, sensitive as a woman 
 ' in his sympathies, loathing all that was 
 coarse and low with a woman's shrink- 
 ing, detesting all field-sports as barbarous 
 and brutal.— Greg, W. R., 1873, Kings- 
 ley and Carlyle, Literary and Social Judg- 
 ments, p. 131. 
 
 A more crystalline heart than Shelley's 
 has rarely throbbed in human bosom. He 
 was incapable of an untruth, or of deceit 
 in any form. . . . Shelley's figure 
 was a little above the middle height, 
 slender, and of delicate construction, 
 which appeared the rather from a loung- 
 ing or waving manner in his gait, as 
 though his frame was compounded barely 
 of muscle and tendon ; and that the power 
 of walking was an achievement with him 
 and not a natural habit. Yet I should 
 suppose that he was not a valetudinarian, 
 although that has been said of him on 
 account of his spare and vegetable diet : 
 for I have the remembrance of his scamper- 
 ing and bounding over the gorse-bushes on 
 Hampstead Heath late one night, — now 
 close upon us, and now shouting from the 
 height like a wild school-boy. He was 
 both an active and an enduring walker — ■ 
 feats which do not accompany an ailing 
 and feeble constitution. His face was 
 round, flat, pale, with small features; 
 mouth beautifully shaped; hair bright 
 brown and wavy ; and such a pair of eyes 
 as are rarely in the human or any other 
 head, — intensely blue, with a gentle and 
 lambent expression, yet wonderfully alert 
 and engrossing; nothing appeared to 
 escape his knowledge. Whatever pecul- 
 iarity there might have been in Shelley's 
 religions faith, I have the best authority 
 for believing that it was confined to the 
 early period of his life. The practical 
 result of its course of action, I am sure, 
 had its source from the ''Sermon on the 
 Mount." There is not one clause in that 
 Divine code which his conduct towards his 
 fellow mortals did not confirm and sub- 
 stantiate him to be — in action a follower of 
 Christ. — Clarke, Charles Cowden, 1874- 
 78, Recollections of Writers, pp. 151, 152. 
 
 Of all the poets who have illustrated 
 the Literature of England, there is no one 
 whose life presents so many difficulties to 
 the biographer as Percy Bysshe Shelley. 
 ... He was one of the most extraordi- 
 nary men that ever walked the earth, so 
 
 extraordinary, I think, that Shakespeare 
 alone could have plucked out the heart of 
 his mystery. He led at all times a dual 
 life, and at most times a life of contradic- 
 tions. To say that he was eccentric is to 
 say nothing. He was as much out of 
 place in this world as a being of another 
 world would be, and he moved among its 
 men and women like some strange creature 
 of the elements. He neither understood 
 himself, nor was understood by others, or 
 at most by very few. The saintly Byron 
 was warned against him by the clique in 
 Murray's back parlor ; but Byron defended 
 him — after he was dead. He had a passion 
 for reforming the world, and the world 
 never wants to be reformed. Of course, 
 it was too strong for him — the many are 
 always too strong for the one. He learned 
 the lesson which he states so tersely : 
 
 "Most wretched men 
 Are cradled into poetry by wrong : 
 They learn in suffering what they teach in 
 song." 
 
 —Stoddard, Richard Henry, 1876, ed., 
 Anecdote Biography of Percy Bysshe Shel- 
 ley, Preface, pp. xiii, xiv. 
 
 We must learn to think of Shelley not 
 merely as gentle, dreamy, unworldly, im- 
 prudently disinterested, and ideally opti- 
 mistic — though he was all this — but like- 
 wise as swift, prompt, resolute, irascible, 
 strong-limbed and hardy, often very prac- 
 tical in his views of politics, and endowed 
 with preternatural keenness of observa- 
 tion. There is but one formula for com- 
 bining and harmonizing these apparent 
 discrepancies : he was an elemental force 
 whose essence is simplicity itself, but 
 whose modes of operation are many and 
 various. If we study the divers ways in 
 which those who shared his society have 
 striven to express that which they have 
 felt to be inexpressible, w^e shall find that 
 in the last analysis all amount to this. — 
 Garnett, Richard, 1878, Shelley's Last 
 Days, Fortnightly Review, vol. 2d, p, 851. 
 Hush ! From the grave where I so oft 
 
 Have stood, 'mid ruined Rome, 
 I seem to hear a whisper soft 
 
 Wafted across the foam ; 
 
 Bidding justest wrath be still, 
 
 Good feel lovingly for ill, 
 As exiles for rough paths that help them to 
 
 their home. 
 — Austin, Alfred, 1882, Soliloquies in 
 Song, p. 145. 
 
 To prove that Shelley as a man was 
 
696 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 deficient in passion we need mention one 
 incident only in his life. Some time after 
 his separation from Harriett, he proposed 
 that she should return to him and take up 
 a place as a member of his household, not 
 as his wife, but side by side with the friend 
 for whom she had been abandoned, and 
 who still shared his bed. This extraor- 
 dinary proposal arose out of the most 
 self-oblivious generosity, but what a com- 
 mentary it affords on Shelley's masculinity ! 
 The man who had no more acute sense than 
 this implies of the beautiful relation of the 
 sexes that is determined by healthy nature 
 may have had the noblest heart, but he 
 was deficient in one attribute. And the 
 fractious men contemporary with him felt 
 this in some uncertain way, though they 
 could not realize it, and their slanderous 
 accusations of licentiousness were the 
 inapt and shameful speech in which their 
 vague feeling expressed itself. — Caine, 
 Hall, 1883, Cobwebs of Criticism, p. 229. 
 
 Shelley, however free his theories, 
 was a person on whose imagination a 
 licentious image had never left a stain. — 
 Froude, James Anthony, 1883, A Leaf 
 from the Real Life of Byron, The Nine- 
 teenth Century, vol. 14, p, 232. 
 
 Whilst Field Place and the Enthusiasts 
 have committed indiscretions, that provoke 
 remonstrance and demand correction, the 
 extreme Shelleyan Socialists have placed 
 his strongest title to social homage, on his 
 courageous avowal of sentiments, that are 
 unutterably distasteful to the great ma- 
 jority of conscientious and right-minded 
 people. When a man is taken from the 
 long roll of our mighty poets, and offered 
 to the world's admiration as a rare example 
 of all the human virtues, it is well for 
 people to examine the grounds of such 
 extraordinary commendation. Now that 
 ''Queen Mab," with its anti-matrimonial 
 note, is put into the hands of our boys ; 
 now that ''Laon and Cythna," with its 
 monstrous doctrine, is seen on our draw- 
 ing-room tables ; now that the author of 
 so reprehensible a book is proclaimed a 
 being of unqualified goodness, who, under 
 auspicious circumstances, ''Might have 
 been the Saviour of the World," it is time 
 for the world to be told, that the recent 
 efforts to win for Shelley a kind of regard, 
 to which he is in no degree whatever en- 
 titled, are only part of a social movement, 
 that, so far as the extreme Shelleyan 
 
 Socialists are concerned, is a movement for 
 the Abolition of Marriage, — in accordance 
 with the spirit and purpose of his Social 
 Philosophy. — Jeaffreson, John Cordy, 
 
 1885, The Real Shelley, vol. ii, p. 478. 
 Mary Shelley returned to England in the 
 
 autumn of 1823. On February 21, 1851, 
 she died. Shelley's son, Percy Florence, 
 succeeded to the baronetcy on the death of 
 his grandfather in April, 1844. In the 
 monument, by Weekes, which Sir Percy 
 and Lady Shelley have erected in the 
 noble parish church of Christchurch, 
 Hants, the feeling of Mary's heart, con- 
 fided to the pages of her journal after her 
 husband's death, is translated into monu- 
 mental marble. In Boscombe Manor, 
 Bournemouth, in an alcove devoted to that 
 purpose, the portraits, relics, journals, 
 note-books, and letters of Shelley and 
 Mary, duly ordered by Lady Shelley's 
 hands, are preserved with love and rever- 
 ence. The murmur of pine woods, and the 
 resonance and silvery flash of the waves of 
 our English sea, are near to solemnize and 
 to gladden the heart. — Dowden, Edward, 
 
 1886, Life of Percy Bysshe Shelley, vol, II, 
 p. 538. 
 
 * * Ariel ;"" The Atheist * * Glowry Scy- 
 throp;" "The Poet of Poets;" "The 
 Snake."— Frey, Albert R., 1888, Sobri- 
 quets and Nicknames, p. 463. 
 
 What a set ! what a world ! is the ex- 
 clamation that breaks from us as we come 
 to an end of this history of "the occur- 
 rences of Shelley's private life." I used the 
 French word bete for a letter of Shelley's; 
 for the world in which we find him I can 
 only use another French word, sale. God- 
 win's house of sordid horror, and God- 
 win preaching and holding the hat, and the 
 green-spectacled Mrs. Godwin, and Hogg 
 the faithful friend, and Hunt the Horace 
 of this precious world, and, to go up higher. 
 Sir Timothy Shelley, a great country 
 gentleman, feeling himself safe while 
 "the exalted mind of the Duke of Norfolk 
 [the drinking Duke] protects me with the 
 world," and Lord Byron with his deep 
 grain of coarseness and commonness, his 
 affectation, his brutal selfishness — what a 
 set ! . . . Mrs. Shelley, after her 
 marriage and during Shelley's closing 
 years, becomes attractive ; up to her mar- 
 riage her letters and journal do not please. 
 Her ability is manifest, but she is not 
 attractive. In the world discovered to us 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 697 
 
 by Professor Dowden as surrounding 
 Shelley up to 1817, the most pleasing 
 figure is poor Fanny Godwin ; after Fanny 
 Godwin, the most pleasing figure is Harriet 
 Shelley herself. — Arnold, Matthew, 
 1888, Shelley, The Nineteenth Century, 
 vol. 23, p. 34, Essays in Criticism, vol. ii. 
 
 Shelley's moral character was really no 
 better than Byron's ; but one was a cynic, 
 and the other a sentimentalist who perhaps 
 did not always carry his feelings into 
 action. Without going back to Shelley's 
 former life, it is sufficient to study his 
 relations to Emilia Viviani, to Jane Wil- 
 liams, and, indeed, to all the women whom 
 he met frequently, or to read his poem, 
 ''Epipsychidion," which inculcates the 
 necessity of loving more than one woman 
 in the interest of art and of the higher 
 spiritual culture. — Schuyler, Eugene, 
 1888-1901, Italian Influences, p. 143. ' 
 
 What Shelley was at first he remained 
 to the last : a beautiful, effeminate, arro- 
 gant boy — constitutionally indifferent to 
 money, generous by impulse, self-indulgent 
 by habit, ignorant to the end of all that it 
 most behooves a responsible being to 
 know, and so conceited that his ignorance 
 was incurable ; showing at every turn the 
 most infallible sign of a feeble intellect, a 
 belief in human perfectibility ; and rushing 
 at once to the conclusion, when he or 
 others met with suffering, that some one, 
 not the sufferer, was doing grievous 
 wrong.— Patmore, Coventry, 1889-98, 
 Principle in Art, p. 87. 
 
 He never could clearly realise the aspect 
 which his relations with Mary bore to the 
 world, who merely saw in him a married 
 man who had deserted his wife and eloped 
 with a girl of sixteen. He thought people 
 should understand all he knew, and credit 
 him with all he did not tell them ; that 
 they should sympathise and fraternise 
 with him, and honour Mary the more, not 
 the less, for what she had done and dared. 
 Instead of this, the world accepted his 
 family's estimate of its unfortunate eldest 
 son, and cut him. — Marshall, Mrs. Jul- 
 ian, 1889, The Life and Letters of Mary 
 Wollstonecraft Shelley, vol. I, p. 128. 
 
 Few, perhaps, if any, think of Shelley as 
 often as I do ; and to me his whole person- 
 ality seems the most spiritual and the most 
 sympathetic of the age. The personality 
 of Byron startles, captivates, entrances; 
 he flashes by us like a meteor — lover, 
 
 noble, man of pleasure and of the world, 
 solitary and soldier by turns, and a great 
 poet always, let the poetasters and sciolists 
 of the moment say what they will in their 
 efforts to decry and to deny him. Shelley's 
 has nothing of this dazzling and gorgeous 
 romance, as he has nothing in his portraits 
 of that haughty and fiery challenge which 
 speaks in the pose of the head, and the 
 glance of the eyes in every picture of 
 Byron. Shelley's eyes gaze outward with 
 wistful, dreamy tenderness ; they are the 
 eyes of contemplative genius, the eyes 
 which behold that which is not seen by the 
 children of men. That sweetness and 
 spirituality which are in his physiognomy 
 characterize the fascination which his 
 memory, like his verse, must exercise over 
 any who can understand his soul. Nothing 
 is more unfitting to him than those wrang- 
 lings over his remains which are called 
 studies of his life and letters. The 
 solemnity and beauty of his death and 
 burial should surely have secured him re- 
 pose in his grave. — Ramee, Louise de 
 LA (Quid a), 1890, A New View of Shelley, 
 North American Review, vol. 150, p. 247. 
 
 He cursed his father, deceived his 
 friend, and deserted his wife ; yet every 
 literary critic for sixty years has hesitated 
 to call him a bad man. His poetry is full 
 of a more subtle and perilous poison even 
 than Byron's; yet its latest editor has 
 declared Shelley one who possessed the 
 qualifications necessary for a saviour of the 
 world.— Dawson, W. J., 1892, Quest and 
 Vision, p. 21. 
 
 Proper critical appreciation of Shelley's 
 poetry, for example, does not involve any 
 such reckless eulogy of Shelley's character 
 as has been the recent vogue in America 
 and England. Charity covers faults, but 
 it never lies about them or excuses them. 
 Ethics draws no distinction between the 
 wife-murderer who cleans stables or keeps 
 a dive, and the wife-murderer who writes 
 a "Prometheus Unbound," or an '*Ode 
 to a Skylark." The right of the aristo- 
 crat is not available as a shield against 
 the operation of moral responsibility. The 
 glamour of genius cannot blind the eves 
 of God.— Thompson, Maurice, 1893, The 
 Ethics of Literary Art, p. 10. 
 
 At Shelley's birth, 
 The Lark, dawn -spirit, with an anthem lond 
 
 Rose from the dusky earth 
 
 To tell it to the Cloud, 
 
698 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 That, like a flower night-folded in the gloom 
 
 Burst into morning bloom. 
 
 At Shelley's death, 
 The Sea, that deemed him an immortal, saw 
 
 A god's extinguished breath, 
 
 And landward, as in awe. 
 Upbore him to the altar whence he came, 
 
 And the rekindling flame. 
 — Tabb, John B., ISM, To Shelley ^ Poems. 
 
 Shelley was nineteen. He was not a 
 youth, but a man. He had never had any 
 youth. He was an erratic and fantastic 
 child during eighteen years, then he 
 stepped into manhood, as one steps over 
 a door-sill. He was curiously mature at 
 nineteen in his ability to do independent 
 thinking on the deep questions of life and 
 to arrive at sharply definite decisions re- 
 garding them, and stick to them — stick to 
 them and stand by them at cost of bread, 
 friendships, esteem, respect, and approba- 
 tion. For the sake of his opinions he was 
 willing to sacrifice all these valuable 
 things, and did sacrifice them ; and went 
 on doing it, too, when he could at any 
 moment have made himself rich and sup- 
 plied himself with friends and esteem by 
 compromising with his father, at the 
 moderate expense of throwing overboard 
 one or two indifferent details of his cargo 
 of principles.— Clemens, Samuel Lang- 
 HORNE (Mark Twain), 1897, In Defence 
 of Harriet Shelley^ How to Tell a Story 
 and Other Essays, p. 24. 
 
 There is a clique which had made what 
 Mr. Rudyard Kipling would term * 'a little 
 tin god" of Shelley; and the members of 
 this absurd coterie, in affecting to raise 
 their idol above ordinary human nature, 
 really do his fame nothing but great dis- 
 service in depicting him as what that very 
 caustic and sarcastic lady Miss Clairmont 
 termed *'an insipid idiot." — Graham, 
 William, 1898, Last Links with Byron, 
 Shelley, and Keats, p, xii. 
 
 He was, in the obvious sense of the word, 
 a visionary, and his violent antagonisms 
 were far more caused by his disgust with 
 the contact of reality than by any genuine 
 appreciation of the relative values of good 
 and evil. He made no sane and conscious 
 effort to understand things. He did not 
 know how to strike injustice in its weakest 
 part, or how best to help on the down- 
 trodden. He wasted three-fourths of his 
 energy on side-issues. He was always 
 taking seriously the wrong people and the 
 wrong ideas. He held Harriet Westbrook 
 
 for a victim of social oppression, whereas 
 she was merely the average pretty girl in 
 search of *'bread-and-cheese and kisses." 
 He accepted Mary Godwin as a sort of 
 female seraph, and this essentially vulgar- 
 souled, small minded, sentimental poseuse 
 exploited him fifty times more ruthlessly 
 than the poor little Methodist. This did 
 not in the least prevent him from a still 
 wider, if only momentary, aberration over 
 the lovely nullity of Emilia Viviani, the 
 attitudinising Italian girl from whom he 
 was inveigled by the envious Mary, resolute 
 to retain the monopoly of exploitation 
 which she had won by the ruin of a better 
 woman than herself. Intellectually or 
 sexually — it makes little difference which 
 — Shelley was the born child of illusion. 
 To the very last he looked upon Godwin — 
 Godwin, the most sordid of mediocrities — 
 as a great thinker, and his conception of 
 Byron as a supreme artist is one of the 
 gems of criticism. Shelley's true brother 
 is Blake, the inspired Cockney. — Adams, 
 Francis, 1899, Essays in Modernity , 
 p. 171. 
 
 NECESSITY OF ATHEISM 
 1811 
 
 At a meeting of the Master and Fellows 
 held this day, it was determined that 
 Thomas Jefferson Hogg, and Percy Bysshe 
 Shelley, commoners, be publicly expelled 
 for contumaciously refusing to answer 
 questions proposed to them, and for also 
 repeatedly declining to disavow a publica- 
 tion entitled ''The Necessity qf Ath-eism." 
 — Records, University of Oxford, 1811. 
 
 The importance of "The Necessity of 
 Atheism" is rather biographical and illus- 
 trative than literary. It is true the little 
 tract is put together cleverly, and appar- 
 ently with perfect good faith ; but from 
 a strictly literary standpoint it could not 
 be said that an irreparable loss would be 
 sustained by its destruction. None the 
 less its recovery seems to me a matter for 
 great congratulation. So much hung 
 upon this tract, — Shelley's expulsion and 
 all its momentous issues, ^ — so much has 
 been said and written about it, — that to 
 have it before us exactly as it issued from 
 the Press at Worthing and was offered to 
 the Oxford worthies and undergraduates 
 was highly desirable. — Forman, Harry 
 Buxton, 1880, ed., The Prose Works of 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley, vol. i, p. xviii. 
 
 His ** Essay on Christianity" is full of 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 699 
 
 noble views, some of which are held at the 
 present day by some of the most earnest 
 believers. At what time of his life it was 
 written we are not informed ; but it seems 
 such as would insure his acceptance with 
 any company of intelligent and devout 
 Unitarians.— Macdonald, George, 1882, 
 The Imagination and Other Essays, p. 
 271, note. 
 
 QUEEN MAB 
 1813 
 
 An extravagant expression of his zeal 
 for the improvement of the world, full of 
 vague fantastic notions, but also, like all 
 his poems, replete with delicate, lofty, and 
 brilliant ideas. The book, published by a 
 treacherous bookseller against the poet's 
 wish, was condemned. Shelley had excited 
 persecution specially by the notes he had 
 added to the text. These notes, which 
 contain an argument against Christianity, 
 revealed great youthful incompetence ; he 
 forgot that it would %.e simple folly to 
 deny the effects of Christianity in the 
 history of the world. ... It does 
 not belong to a particular class ; it is a 
 series of sketches, lyrical, descriptive, 
 polemic, didactic, in changing metres. — 
 SCHERR, J., 1874, A History of English 
 Literature, tr. M. F., p. 246. 
 
 We cannot include Queen Mab,*' in 
 spite of its sonorous rhetoric and fervid 
 declamation, in the canon of his master- 
 pieces. It had a succes de scandale on its 
 first appearance, and fatally injured Shel- 
 ley's reputation. As a work of art it lacks 
 maturity and permanent vitality. — Sy- 
 MONDS, John Addington, 1879, Shelley 
 (English Men of Letters), p. 69. 
 
 The poem is such a marvel as the pro- 
 duction of youth of eighteen, it illustrates 
 so fully the starting point and direction of 
 Shelley's thought, it contains so many 
 ideas which were his controlling mental 
 qualities, it is on the whole so intensely 
 Shelleyan, that I do not see why it cannot 
 be regarded as one of his characteristic 
 poems.— Johnson, Charles F., 1885, 
 Three Americans and Three Englishmen, 
 p. 108. 
 
 Ridiculed in so far as it was not ignored 
 at the time of its appearance, it has in 
 later times and in some quarters been 
 absurdly overpraised ; but, with all its de- 
 fects and excesses of youth, an impartial 
 criticism can hardly hesitate to pronounce 
 it the most striking and powerful work of 
 
 imagination, and by far the richest in 
 promise, that has ever sprung from the 
 brain of a poet who had not yet passed his 
 twentieth year.— Traill, Henry Duff, 
 1896, Social England, vol. v, p. 586. 
 
 Despite the metaphysical speculations 
 which disfigure ''Queen Mab, " passages of 
 extraordinary beauty give no uncertain 
 promise of the coming glories. — Lodge, 
 Henry Cabot, 1897, Certain Accepted 
 Heroes and Other Essays, p. 130. 
 
 By it Shelley was long most widely 
 known, and it remains one of the most 
 striking of his works in popular apprehen- 
 sion. . . . The radical character of 
 Queen Mab," which was made a part of 
 the evidence against his character, on the 
 occasion of the trial which resulted in his 
 being deprived of the custody of his chil- 
 dren by Lord Eldon, was a main element in 
 the contemporary obloquy in which his 
 name was involved in England, though 
 very few persons could ever have read the 
 poem then ; but it may be doubted whether 
 in the end it did not help his fame by the 
 fascination it exercises over a certain class 
 of minds in the first stages of social and 
 intellectual revolt or angry unrest so wide- 
 spread in this century. — Woodberry, 
 George Edward, 1901, ed.. Complete 
 Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, 
 Cambridge ed., p. 2. 
 
 ALASTOR 
 
 1815 
 
 In "Alastor" we at last have the genu- 
 ine, the immortal Shelley. It may indeed 
 be said that the poem, though singularly 
 lovely and full— charged with meaning, 
 has a certain morbid vagueness of tone, a 
 want of firm human body : and this is true 
 enough. Nevertheless, ''Alastor" is pro- 
 portionately worthy of the author of 
 ' ' Prometheus Unbound' ' and ' ' The Cenci, ' ' 
 the greatest Englishman of his age. — 
 
 ROSSETTI, WlLLL\M MiCHAEL, 1870-78- 
 
 86, Memoir of Percy Bysshe Shelley, p. 57. 
 
 The first of his poems, which really was 
 worthy of his powers — ''Alastor" — was 
 written in the first year of this union. It 
 is the first real indication of the new voice 
 which had awakened in English literature. 
 It was like nothing else then existing.; nor 
 do we know to what to compare it in the 
 past. Shelley had no story to tell, no 
 character to disclose ; his was pure poetry, 
 music such as charmed the ear and filled 
 
700 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 the mouth with sweetness. Never was 
 poet so eager to teach, or with so many 
 wild assertions to make, or so strong a 
 conviction of the possibility of influencing 
 humanity and changing the world; but 
 the soul of his poetry was the same as that 
 of music, not definite, scarcely articulate, 
 only melodious, ineffably sweet. — Oli- 
 PHANT, Margaret 0. W., 1882, Literary 
 History of England, XVIH-XIX Century y 
 vol III, p. 46. 
 
 THE REVOLT OF ISLAM 
 1817 
 
 The Poem which 1 now present to the 
 world is an attempt from which I scarcely 
 dare to expect success, and in which a 
 writer of established fame might fail with- 
 out disgrace. It is an experiment on the 
 temper of the public mind as to how far a 
 thirst for a happier condition of moral and 
 political society survives, among the en- 
 lightened and refined, the tempests which 
 have shaken the age in which we live. I 
 have sought to enlist the harmony of 
 metrical language, the ethereal combina- 
 tions of the fancy, the rapid and subtle 
 transitions of human passion, all those ele- 
 ments which essentially compose a poem, 
 in the cause of a liberal and comprehensive 
 morality; and in the view of kindling 
 within the bosoms of my readers a virtuous 
 enthusiasm for those doctrines of liberty 
 and justice, that faith and hope in some- 
 thing good, which neither violence, nor 
 misrepresentation, nor prejudice, can ever 
 totally extinguish among mankind. — 
 Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1817, The Re- 
 volt of Islam, Preface, 
 
 Whatever its imperfections of plan and 
 execution, it is not alone a marvellous 
 well-head of poetry, but, in conception and 
 tone, and in its womanly ideal embodied 
 in Cythna, a remarkably original work : it 
 was greatly unlike any poem that had pre- 
 ceded (so far as I know), and even the 
 demon of imitation has left it solitary. — 
 RossETTi, William Michael, 1870-78-86, 
 Memoir of Percy Bysshe Shelley, p. 77. 
 
 Even in its amended form it probably 
 presents a better key to the poet's wild 
 opinions than any other of his works. It 
 is a protest against the ordinary usages 
 of society, which Shelley calls custom. 
 Cythna and Laon declare war against this 
 custom. The reader finds some difficulty 
 in following the fertile imagination of the 
 poet through the phases of alternate 
 
 suffering and victory which the hero and 
 the heroine experience. He fi^ils to com- 
 prehend the means whic 'i »-niV>'ed Cythna 
 to enthrone herself as oddess of 
 
 Liberty, or to appreciate the causes which 
 produced the sudden downfall of her 
 authority. Her flight with Laon on the 
 black Tartarian steed is absurdly un- 
 natural; and her subsequent conduct, or 
 the narrative of it, is grossly indecent. 
 Custom, in short, or, to speak more cor- 
 rectly, the custom which had made matri- 
 mony a necessity, was the tyranny against 
 which Shelley's eloquence is directed, and 
 the poem is thus fitly dedicated, in some 
 of the most beautiful verses Shelley ever 
 wrote, to the lady who, for his sake, had 
 broken the bands of custom. — Walpole, 
 Spencer, 1878, A History of England from 
 the Conclusion of the Great War in 1815, 
 vol. I, p. 366. 
 
 The storms are even better than the 
 sunsets and dawns. The finest is at the 
 beginning of the ''Revolt of Islam." It 
 might be a description of one of Turner's 
 storm-skies. The long trains of tremulous 
 mist that precede the tempest, the cleft 
 in the storm-clouds, and seen through it, 
 high above, the space of blue sky fretted 
 with fair clouds, the pallid semicircle of 
 the moon with mist on its upper horn, the 
 flying rack of clouds below the serene spot 
 — ^all are as Turner saw them ; but paint- 
 ing cannot give what Shelley gives— the 
 growth and changes of the storm. — 
 Brooke, Stopford A., 1880, Some 
 Thoughts on Shelley, Macmillan^s Maga- 
 zine, vol. 42, p. 129. 
 
 As a poet, in richness of language, 
 brilliancy of fancy, and natural melody of 
 versification, Shelley stands second among 
 English poets only to Shakespeare. Yet 
 so wedded was he to the wilfulness of his 
 own imagination, so negligent to the 
 sympathies of his readers, and, conse- 
 quently, of the true ends of the art of 
 poetry, that, beyond the circle of his ardent 
 admirers, his more ambitious compositions 
 have made little impression on the miud of 
 the nation. For one reader of ' ' The Revolt 
 of Islam," there are ten thousand readers 
 of ''Marmion." — CouRTHOPE, William 
 John, 1887, Thoughts on Dowden's "Life 
 of Shelley,'' National Review, vol. 8, p. 619. 
 
 ' ' The Revolt of Islam' ' is more genuinely 
 and intensely lyrical in its character than 
 is any other poem in which the stanza is 
 
PERCY BYSSHE ELLEY 
 
 701 
 
 used. The poem is the expression of a 
 lofty, aspiring, but feverish and much- 
 bewildered spirit, who, at times, brings 
 out of the instrument employed all its 
 capabilitiesof ''brilliancyand magnificence 
 of sound." But the reader of ''The Re- 
 volt of Islam" cannot but feel that the 
 instrument was constructed for the ex- 
 pression of other states and attitudes of 
 mind and feeling than are generally ex- 
 hibited in this poem. — Corson, Hiram, 
 1892, A Primer of English Verse, p. 111. 
 
 JULIAN AND MADDALO 
 
 1818 
 
 Is a Conversation or Tale, full of that 
 thoughtful and romantic humanity, but 
 rendered perplexing and unattractive by 
 that veil of shadowy or of glittering ob- 
 scurity, which distinguished Mr. Shelley's 
 writings. The depth and tenderness of 
 his feelings seems often to have interfered 
 with the expression of them, as the sight 
 becomes blind with tears. A dull, water- 
 ish vapour, clouds the aspect of his philo- 
 sophical poetry, like that mysterious gloom 
 which he has himself described as hanging 
 over the Medusa's Head of Leonardo de 
 Vinci. — Hazlitt, William, 1824, Shel- 
 ley^ s Posthumous Poems, Edinburgh Review, 
 vol. 40, p. 499. 
 
 The familiarity of "Julian andMaddalo" 
 is almost as foreign to that of *'Beppo" 
 as to that of the "Idiot Boy." It is a 
 high-bred, poetic familiarity, equally re- 
 mote from the cynicism verging on vulgar- 
 ity of the one, and from the rusticity 
 verging on ugliness of the other ; a manner 
 happily mediating between the abstract 
 intensity of Shelley's ordinary verse and 
 the rich concrete talk of Byron, under the 
 "intoxication" of which it arose. — Her- 
 FORD, C. H., 1897, The Age of Words- 
 worth, p. 245. 
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND 
 
 1819 
 
 PROMETHEUS UNBOUND. | A Lyrical 
 Drama | in four acts | with other Poems | 
 by 1 Percy Bysshe Shelley | Audisne hasc 
 amphiarae,sub terram abdite? | London | 
 C. and J. Oilier Vere Street Bond Street | 
 1820.— Title Page to First Edition, 
 1820. 
 
 To our apprehensions, Prometheus is 
 little else but absolute raving ; and were 
 we not assured to the contrary, we should 
 take it for granted that the author was a 
 
 lun«..c — as his principles are ludicrously 
 wicked, and his poetry a melange of non- 
 sense, cockneyism, poverty, and pedantry. 
 — Anon, 1820, Literary Gazette, Sept. 9. 
 Shelley styles his new poem "Prometheus 
 Unbound," 
 
 And 'tis like to remain so while time circles 
 round ; 
 
 For surely an age would be spent in the 
 finding 
 
 A reader so weak as to pay for the binding ! 
 — Hook, Theodore Edward, 1820? On 
 Shelley's ''Prometheus Unbound" 
 
 In short, it is quite impossible that there 
 shoud exist a more pestiferous mixture of 
 blasphemy, sedition, and sensuality, than is 
 visible in the whole structure and strain of 
 this poem— which, nevertheless, and not- 
 withstanding all the detestation its princi- 
 ples excite, must and will be considered 
 by all that read it attentively, as abound- 
 ing in poetical beauties of the highest 
 order — as presenting many specimens not 
 easily to be surpassed, of the moral sublime 
 of eloquence — as overflowing with pathos, 
 and most magnificent in description. 
 Where can be found a spectacle more 
 worthy of sorrow than such a man per- 
 forming and glorying in the performance 
 of such things ?— Anon, 1820, Prometheus 
 Unbound, Blackwood's Magazine, vol. 7, 
 p. 680. 
 
 In Mr. "Shelley's poetry, allis brilliance, 
 vacuity, and confusion. We are dazzled 
 by the multitude of words which sound as 
 if they denoted something very grand or 
 splendid : fragments of images , pass in 
 crowds before us ; but when the proces- 
 sion has gone by, and the tumult of it is 
 over, not a trace of it remains upon the 
 memory. The mind, fatigued and per- 
 plexed, is mortified by the consciousness 
 that its labour has not been rewarded 
 by the acquisition of a single distinct con- 
 ception ; the ear, too, is dissatisfied ; for 
 the rhythm of the verse is often harsh and 
 unmusical ; and both the ear and the under- 
 standing are disgusted by new and uncouth 
 words, and by the awkward and intricate 
 construction of the sentences. The pre- 
 dominating characteristic of Mr. Shelley's 
 poetry, however, is its frequent and total 
 want of meaning. — Anon, 1821, Shelley, 
 Quarterly Review, vol. 26, p. 169. 
 
 It contains passages of the sublimest 
 grandeur, and the most wonderful richness 
 of imagination ; but the efl^ect of the whole 
 
702 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 is so vaporous and unsubstantial, the im- 
 ages which he evokes are so unsolid, that 
 not even the unsurpassable purity, of the 
 diction, and the unequalled variety of the 
 lyric music, can preserve us from weari- 
 ness and a painful sense of dreamy con- 
 fusion. — Shaw, Thomas B., 1847, Out- 
 lines of English Literature, p. 367. 
 
 'Trometheus Unbound" is the most 
 ambitious of his poems. But it was 
 written too fast. It was writen, too, in 
 a state of over-excitement, produced by 
 the intoxication of an Italian spring, 
 operating upon a morbid system, and 
 causing it to flush over with hectic and 
 half -delirious joy. Above all, it was writ- 
 ten twenty years too soon, ere his views 
 had consolidated, and ere his thought and 
 language were cast in their final mould. 
 Hence, on the whole, it is a strong and 
 beautiful disease. Its language is loose 
 and luxuriant as a "Moenad's hair;" its 
 imagery is wilder and less felicitous than 
 in some of his other poems. The thought 
 is frequently drowned in a diarrhoea of 
 words ; its dialogue is heavy and prolix ; 
 and its lyrics have more flow of sound 
 than beauty of image or depth of senti- 
 ment ; — it is a false gallop rather than a 
 great kindling race. Compared with the 
 'Trometheus" of ^schylus, Shelley's 
 poem is wordy and diffuse; lacks unity 
 and simplicity ; above all, lacks whatever 
 human interest is in the Grecian work. 
 Nor has it the massive strength, the piled- 
 up gold and gems, the barbaric but kingly 
 magnificence of Keats' Hyperion." — 
 GiLFiLLAN, George, 1855, A Third Gal- 
 lery of Portraits, p. 431. 
 
 The greatest and most attractive of all 
 Shelley's longer poems. That dr^a is 
 from beginning to end a great lyrical 
 poem, or I should rather ^y a congeries 
 of lyrics, in which perhaps more than any- 
 where else Shelley's lyrical power has 
 highest soared. — Shairp, John Camp- 
 bell, 1881, Shelley as a Lyric Poet, As- 
 pects of Poetry, p. 245. 
 
 Of all Shelley's works, the ''Prometheus 
 Unbound" is that which combines the 
 greatest amount of individual power and 
 peculiarity. There is an airy grandeur 
 about it, reminding one of the vast masses 
 of cloud scattered about in broken, yet 
 magnificently suggestive forms, all over 
 the summer sky after a thunderstorm. 
 The fundamental ideas are grand, the 
 
 superstructure, in many parts, so ethereal, 
 that one hardly knows whether he is gazing 
 on towers of solid masonry, rendered dim 
 and unsubstantial by intervening vapour, 
 or upon the golden turrets of ^ cloudland, 
 themselves born of the mist which sur- 
 rounds them with a halo of glory. — Mac- 
 don ald, George, 1882, The Imagination 
 and other Essays, p. 278. 
 
 The "Prometheus Unbound" gives per- 
 haps the most perfect expression anywhere 
 to be found of the thought and passion of 
 a great period of English poetry. It fully 
 initiates the earnest student into the 
 ideals of the Revolution — those ideals 
 which, in their development, are determin- 
 ing the trend of our modern life. There 
 is no need to speak of the imaginative 
 fervor and pure lyricism of the drama: 
 few English poems can be more effective 
 to quicken and train aesthetic sensitive- 
 ness. So far as difficulty is concerned, the 
 student who can understand the "Faery 
 Queene" can understand the "Prometheus 
 Unbound." . . . The supreme aesthetic 
 glory of the' "Prometheus Unbound" is 
 not its nature-descriptions nor its color- 
 treatment, but its music. Never did 
 melody so enfold the spirit of a poet. The 
 form is transparent and supple as clear 
 flame. Blank verse rises into the long, 
 passionate swing of the anapaest, or is 
 broken by the flute -like notes of short 
 trochaic lines, or relieved by the half- 
 lyrical effect of rhymed endings. The 
 verse lends itself with equal beauty to the 
 grandeur of sustained endurance, to the 
 passionate yearning of love, to severe phil- 
 osophic inquiry, to the ethereal notes of 
 spirit-voices dying on the wind. The va- 
 riety of metres is marvellous. Thirty-six 
 distinct verse-forms are to be found, 
 besides the blank verse. These forms are 
 usually simple ; but at times the versifica- 
 tion-scheme is as complex as that of the 
 most elaborate odes of Dryden or Collins. 
 Yet the artificial and labored beauty of 
 the eighteenth century verse is replaced 
 in Shelley by song spontaneous as that of 
 his own skylark. The conventions, the 
 external barriers of poetry, are completely 
 swept away by the new democracy. — 
 SCUDDER, ViDA D., 1892, ed., Prometheus 
 Unbound, Preface and Introduction, pp. m,\. 
 
 In the seventy-six years that have 
 passed since Shelley conceived his "Prome- 
 theus," as he sat gazing over the sombre 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 703 
 
 ruins of the Campagna, no one has ever 
 ventured into that seventh heaven of 
 invention.— Harrison, Frederic, 1894, 
 English Literature of the Victorian Age, 
 The Forum, vol 16, p. 710, Early Victo- 
 rian Literature, p. 21. 
 
 "Prometheus Unbound" best combines 
 the various elements of Shelley's genius 
 in their most complete expression, and 
 unites harmoniously his lyrically creative 
 power of imagination and his ''passion for 
 ^-- reforming the world." It is the fruit of 
 an outburst of poetic energy under the 
 double stimulus of his enthusiastic Greek 
 studies, begun under Peacock's influence, 
 and of his delight in the beauty of Italy, 
 whither he had removed for health and 
 rest. It marks his full mastery of his 
 powers.— Woodberry, George Edward, 
 1901, ed. Complete Poetical Works of Percy 
 Bysshe Shelley, Cambridge ed., p. 160. 
 
 THE CENCI 
 
 1819 
 
 THE CENCI. I A Tragedy, | in five acts. 
 I By Percy B. Shelley. | Italy. | Printed 
 for C. and J. Oilier | Vere Street, Bond 
 Street. | London. | 1819.— Title Page 
 OF First Edition, 1819. 
 
 I have r-ead the tragedy of ' * Cenci, ' ' and 
 am glad to see Shelley at last descending 
 to what really passes among human crea- 
 tures. The story is certainly an unfortu- 
 nate one, but the execution gives me anew 
 idea of Shelley's powers. There are pas- 
 sages of great strength, and the character 
 of Beatrice is certainly excellent. — God- 
 win, William, 1820, Letter to Mrs. Shelley, 
 March 30 ; PauVs Godwin, vol ii, p. 272. 
 
 This is evidence enough that if Shelley 
 had lived the ''Cenci" would not now be 
 the one great play written in the great 
 manner of Shakespeare's men that our 
 literature has seen since the time of these. 
 The proof of power is here as sure and as 
 clear as in Shelley's lyric work ; he has 
 shown himself, what the dramatist must 
 needs be, as able to face the light of hell 
 as of heaven, to handle the fires of evil as 
 to brighten the beauties of things. This 
 latter work indeed he preferred, and 
 wrought at it with all the grace and force 
 of thought and word which give to all his 
 lyrics the light of a divine life ; but his 
 tragic truth and excellence are as certain 
 and absolute as the sweetness and the glory 
 of his songs. The mark of his hand, the 
 
 trick of his voice, we can always recognise 
 in their clear character and individual 
 charm ; but the range is yarious from the 
 starry and heavenly heights to the tender 
 and flowering fields of the world wherein 
 he is god and lord : with here such a flower 
 to gather as the spinners' song of Beatrice, 
 and here such a heaven to ascend as the 
 Prologue to Hellas, which the zealous love 
 of Mr. Garnett for Shelley has opened for 
 us to enter and possess for ever ; where 
 the pleadings of Christ and Satan alternate 
 as the rising and setting of stars in the 
 abyss of luminous sound and sonorous 
 light.— Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 
 1869, Notes on the Text of Shelley, Fort- 
 nightly Review, vol. 11, p. 561. 
 
 Is not only a poem of great beauty, but 
 a drama of true power, abnormally revolt- 
 ing in its theme, but singularly pure and 
 delicate in treatment. — Ward, Adol- 
 PHUS William, 1878, Drama, Encyclopce- 
 dia Britannica, Ninth edition, vol. vii, 
 p. 379. 
 
 The greatest tragedy composed in Eng- 
 lish since the death of Shakespere. — 
 Symonds, John Addington, 1879, Shelley 
 (English Men of Letters), p. 129. 
 
 Admiration is often expressed of his 
 dramatic ability, and "The Cenci" has 
 been spoken of as the greatest English 
 tragedy since Shakespeare. In truth there 
 seems to be little that is dramatic in it. 
 It is a nightmare of a drama. We are 
 plunged at once into the deepest gloom, 
 and kept at the highest pitch of excitement 
 all through till the final catastrophe. 
 There is no relief except in the very last 
 half-dozen lines, when we know that the 
 women are to be executed. In rapidity of 
 action ' ' The Cenci" much resembles ' ' Mac- 
 beth," but what a contrast in other re- 
 spects ! Every one must feel the extreme 
 beauty of the scene where Duncan is riding 
 towards the castle and is met by Lady 
 Macbeth, and Banquo tells us of the 
 "temple-haunting martlet, "and how it is 
 increased by contrast with the horrors 
 that are so soon to follow. The mutual 
 relations of Beatrice and Count Cenci are 
 wonderfully depicted, and Beatrice's char- 
 acter skilfully developed ; but who could 
 suppose that such a perfect monster as 
 Cenci ever existed ? His utter shameless- 
 nessand selfishness are superhuman. We 
 feel, too, the fatal want of humour, but 
 we are always on the solid ground, the 
 
704 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 sentiments are obvious enough, and the 
 play had consequently some success, being 
 the only one of Shelley's poems that 
 reached a second edition in his lifetime. — 
 Seaton, R. C, 1881, Shelley, The Temple 
 Bar, vol. 61, p. 234. 
 
 The greatest English dramatic poem of 
 the century. —Payne, William Morton, 
 1895, Little Leaders, p. 19. 
 
 ADONAIS 
 
 1821 
 
 ADONAIS I An Elegy on the Death of 
 John Keats, | Author of Endymion, Hy- 
 perion, etc. I By I Percy B. Shelley | 
 
 AcTTrjp Trplv [xkv eAa/XTres en ^(ootcriv eoios. j 
 Nvj/ Be 6avC)v^ Aa/XTrets €(rirepo<: ev (^dCfxevoi^. 
 
 I Plato. I Pisa | With the Types of 
 Didot I MDCCCXXI.— Title Page of 
 First Edition, 1821. 
 
 There is much in the **Adonais" which 
 seems now more applicable to Shelley 
 himself, than to the young and gifted poet 
 whom he mourned. The poetic view he 
 takes of death, and the lofty scorn he dis- 
 plays towards his calumniators, are as a 
 prophecy on his own destiny, when received 
 among immortal names, and the poisonous 
 breath of critics has vanished into empti- 
 ness before the fame he inherits. — Shel- 
 ley, Mary Wollstonecraft, 1839, ed. 
 Shelley's Poetical Works, p. 328. 
 
 There is, in reading his poem, a feeling 
 ^ of deeper sorrow for the poet that wrote 
 than for him that was lamented. — Reed, 
 Henry, 1850-55, Lectures on English Lit- 
 erature from Chaucer to Tennyson, p. 321. 
 
 An elegy only equalled in our language 
 by ''Lycidas,'' and in the point of passion- 
 / ate eloquence even superior to Milton's 
 youthful lament for his friend. — Sy- 
 MONDS, John Addington, 1879, Shelley 
 (English Men of Letters), p, 143. 
 
 As an utterance of abstract pity and 
 indignation, ^'Adonais" is unsurpassed in 
 literature; with its hurrying train of 
 beautiful spectral images, and the irresist- 
 ible current and thrilling modulation of its 
 verse, it is perhaps the most perfect and 
 sympathetic effect of Shelley's art ; while 
 its strain of transcendental consolation j 
 for mortal loss contains the most lucid] 
 exposition of his philosophy. But of^ 
 Keats as he actually lived the elegy pre- 
 sents no feature, while the general impres- 
 sion it conveys of his character and fate is 
 erroneous.— CoLviN, Sidney, 1887, Keats 
 (English Men of Letters), p. 207. 
 
 ''Adonais," perhaps the most widely 
 read of the longer poems of Shelley, owes 
 something of its charm to the fact noted 
 by Mrs. Shelley. . . . The elegy has 
 contributed much to the feeling that links 
 these two poets in one memory, though in 
 life they were rather pleasant than inti- j- 
 mate friends. — Woodberry, George Ed- 
 ward, 1901, ed. The Complete Poetical 
 Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley, Cambridge 
 ed., p. 307. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 There is no Original Poetry in this 
 volume: [''Original Poetry by Victor and 
 Cazire"] : there is nothing in it but down- 
 right scribble. It is really annoying to 
 see the waste of paper which is made by 
 such persons as the putters-together of 
 these 64 pages. There is, however, one 
 consolation for the critics who are obliged 
 to read all this sort of trash. It is that 
 the crime of publishing is generally fol- 
 lowed by condign punishment in the shape 
 of bills from the stationer and printer, and 
 in the chilling tones of the bookseller, 
 when, to the questions of the anxious 
 rhymer how the book sells, he answers that 
 not more than a half-a-dozen copies have 
 been sold. — Anon, 1810-11, The Poetical 
 Register and Repository of Fugitive Poetry. 
 
 I can no more understand Shelley than 
 you can. His poetry is ' ' thin-sown with 
 profit or delight." . . . For his theories 
 and nostrums, they are oracular enough, 
 but I either comprehend 'em not, or there 
 is ''miching malice" and mischief in 'em ; 
 but, for the most part, ringing with their 
 own 'emptiness. Hazlitt said well of 'em. 
 
 Many are the wiser or better for reading 
 Shakspeare, but nobody was ever wiser or 
 better for reading Shelley." — Lamb, 
 Charles, 1824, To Bernard Barton, Aug. 
 24 ; Life and Letters, ed. Talfourd. 
 
 Mr. Shelley's style is to poetry what 
 astrology is to natural science — a passion- 
 ate dream, a straining after impossibilities, 
 a record of fond conjectures, a confused 
 embodying of vague abstractions, — a fever 
 of the soul, thirsting and craving slUqx 
 what it cannot have, indulging its love of 
 power and novelty at the expense of truth 
 and nature, associating ideS by con- 
 traries, and wasting great powers by their 
 application to unattainable objects. — 
 Hazlitt, William, 1824, Shelley's Pos- 
 thumous Poems, Edinburgh Review, vol. 
 40, p. 494. 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 705 
 
 The disappearance of Shelley from the 
 world, seems, like the tropical setting of 
 that luminary {aside-1 hate that word) to 
 which his poetical genius can alone be com- 
 pared with reference to the companions of 
 his day, to have been followed by instant 
 darkness and owl-season; whether the 
 vociferous Darley is to be the comet, or 
 tender fullfaced L. E. L. the milk-and- 
 watery moon of our darkness, are questions 
 for the astrologers : if I were the literary 
 weather-guesser for 1825 I would safely 
 prognosticate fog, rain, blight in due suc- 
 cession for its dullard months. — Bed- 
 does, Thomas Lo yell, 1824, Letters, p.SS. 
 
 Percy Bysshe Shelley was a man of far 
 superior powers to Keats. He had many 
 of the faculties of a great poet. He was, 
 however, we verily believe it now, scarcely 
 in his right mind.— Wilson, John, 1826, 
 Blackwood's Magazine, Preface, V(j)L 19. 
 
 Shelley is one of the best artists of us 
 all : I mean in workmanship of /style. — 
 Wordsworth, William, 1827, Miscella- 
 neous Memoranda, Memoirs by Christopher 
 Wordsworth, vol. ii, p. 484. 
 
 The strong imagination of Shelley made 
 him an idolater in his own despite. Out 
 of the most indefinite terms of a hard, 
 cold, dark, metaphysical system, he made 
 a gorgeous Pantheon, full of beautiful, 
 majestic, and life-like forms. He turned 
 atheism itself into a mythology, rich with 
 visions as glorious as the gods that live in 
 the marble of Phidias, or the virgin saints 
 that smile on us from the canvass of 
 Murillo. The Spirit of Beauty, the 
 Principle of Good, the Principle of 'Evil, 
 when he treated of them, ceased to be 
 abstractions. They took shape and colour. 
 They were no longer mere words, but 
 ''intelligible forms;" ''fair humanities;'' 
 objects of love, of adoration, or of fear. 
 As there can be no stronger sign of a mind 
 destitute of the poetical faculty than that 
 tendency which was so common among the 
 writers of the French school to turn 
 images into abstractions, — Venus, for ex- 
 ample, into Love, Minerva into Wisdom, 
 Mars into War, and Bacchus into festivity, 
 — so ther^can be no stronger sign of a 
 mind trulr^poetical than a dispositi'on to 
 reverse this abstracting process, and to 
 make individuals out of generalities. 
 Some of the metaphysical and ethical 
 theories of Shelley were certainly most 
 absurd and pernicious. But we doubt 
 
 45 c 
 
 whether any modern poet has possessed in 
 ^n equal degree the highest qualities of 
 the great ancient masters. The words 
 bard and inspiration, which seems so cold 
 and affected when applied to other modern 
 writers, have a perfect propriety when 
 applied to him. He was not an author, 
 but a bard. His poetry seems not to have 
 been an art, but an inspiration. Had he 
 lived to the full age of man, he might not 
 improbably have given to the world some 
 great work of the very highest rank in 
 design and execution. But, alas, 
 
 6 Adcj^vtq tfia poov erjvae 8tVa 
 Ybv Mojcrats c{>lX.ov dvSpa^ tov 6v Nv//<^at(Ttv 
 oLTreKdrj 
 
 — Macaulay, Thomas Babingtox, 1831, 
 Southey's Edition of the Pilgrim's Progress, 
 Edinburgh Review, vol. 54, p. 454. 
 
 Read the "Prometheus Unbound. " How 
 gorgeous it is ! I do not think Shelley is 
 read or appreciated now as enthusiastically 
 as he was, even in my recollection, some 
 few years ago. ... At home spent 
 my time in reading Shelley. How wonder- 
 ful and beautiful the "Prometheus" is! 
 The unguessed heavens and earth and sea 
 are so many storehouses from which Shel- 
 ley brings gorgeous heaps of treasure 
 and piles them in words like jewels. I 
 read "The Sensitive Plant" and "Pvosa- 
 lind and Helen. " As for the latter — power- 
 ful enough, certainly — it gives me bodily 
 aches to read such poetry. — Kemble, 
 Frances Ann, 1832, Records of a Girl- 
 hood, Jan. 25, 27, pp. 496, 498. 
 Smi-treader, life and light be thine for ever! 
 Thou art gone from us; years go by and 
 spring 
 
 Gladdens and the young earth is beautiful, 
 Yet thy songs come not, other bards arise, 
 But none like thee : they stand, thy majesties 
 Like mighty works which tell some spirit 
 there 
 
 Hath sat regardless of neglect and scorn. 
 Till, its long task completed, it hath risen 
 And left us, never to return, and all 
 Rush in to peer and praise when all in vain. 
 
 But thou art still for me who have adored 
 Tho' single, panting but to hear thy name 
 Which I believed a spell to me alone. 
 Scarce deeming thou wast as a star to men ! 
 
 — Browning, Robert, 1833, Pauline. 
 
 The imaginative feelings ot Byron and 
 Shelley had but little similitude : those of 
 Shelley were mystical and clouded ; those 
 of Byron, clear, distinct, direct, and bold. 
 Shelley was more theoretical and abstract ; 
 
706 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 Byron, however imaginative, had it always 
 mixed up with humanity, — human passions 
 and human forms. Shelley had gleams of 
 poetry ; Byron was always poetical ; Shel- 
 ley never put a master's hand upon his 
 subject ; he could not mould it to his will. 
 — Brydges, Sir Samuel Egerton, 1834, 
 Autobiography J vol. i, p. 329. 
 • ''The Ode to the Skylark'' and ''The 
 >^loud," which, in the opinion of many orit- 
 ur ics, bear a purer poetical stamp than any 
 other of his productions. They were writ- 
 ten as his mind prompted, listening to the 
 carolling of the bird aloft in the azure sky 
 of Italy ; or marking the cloud as it sped 
 across the heavens, ^while he floated in his 
 boat on the Thames. No poet was ever 
 warmed by a more genuine and unforced 
 inspiration. His extreme sensibility gave 
 the intensity of passion to his intellectual 
 pursuits; and rendered his mind keenly 
 alive to every perception of outward 
 objects, as well as to his internal sensa- 
 tions. Such a gift is, among the sad 
 vicissitudes of human life, the disappoint- 
 ments we meet, and the galling sense of 
 our own mistakes and errors, fraught with 
 pain; to escape from such, he delivered 
 up his soul to poetry, and felt happy when 
 he sheltered himself from the influence of 
 human sympathies in the wildest regions 
 of fancy.— Shelley, Mary Godwin, 1839, 
 ed. Shelley's Poetical WorkSy Preface. 
 
 If Coleridge is the sweetest of our poets, 
 Shelley is at once the most ethereal and 
 most gorgeous ; the one who has clothed 
 his thoughts in draperies of the most 
 evanescent and most magnificent words 
 and imagery. Not Milton himself is more 
 learned in Grecisms, or nicer in etymo- 
 logical propriety; and nobody, through- 
 out, has a style so Orphic and primseval. 
 His poetry is as full of mountains, seas, 
 and skies, of light, and darkness, and the 
 seasons, and all the elements of our being, 
 as if Nature herself had written it, with 
 the creation and its hopes newly cast 
 around her; not, it must be confessed, 
 without too indiscriminate a mixture of 
 great and small, and a want of sufficient 
 shade, — a certain chaotic brilliancy, * ' dark 
 with excess of light." — Hunt, Leigh, 
 1844, Imagination and Fancy, p. 268. 
 And Shelley, in his white ideal 
 All statue-blind. 
 
 —Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1844, 
 Vision of Poets. 
 
 Had Shelley possessed humor, his might 
 have been the third name in English 
 poetry. — Whipple, Edwin P., 1845, Wit 
 and Humor, Literature and Life, p. 112. 
 
 If ever mortal wreaked his thoughts 
 upon expression, ' ' it was Shelley. If ever 
 poet sang (as a bird sings) impulsively, 
 earnestly, with utter abandonment, to 
 himself solely, and for the mere joy of his 
 own song, that poet was the author of the 
 * ' Sensitive Plant. ' ' Of art— beyond that 
 which is the inalienable instinct of genius 
 — he either had little or disdained all. He 
 really disdained that Rule which is the 
 emanation from Law, because his own soul 
 was law in itself. His rhapsodies are but 
 the rough notes, the stenographic memo- 
 randa of poems, — memoranda which, 
 because they were all-sufficient for his own 
 intelligence, he cared not to be at the 
 trouble of transcribing in full for mankind. 
 In his whole life he wrought not thoroughly 
 out a single conception. For this reason 
 it is that he is the most fatiguing of poets. 
 Yet he wearies in having done too little, 
 rather than too much ; what seems in him 
 the diffuseness of one idea, is the conglom- 
 erate concision of many ; and this concision 
 it is which renders him obscure. With 
 such a man, to imitate was out of the 
 question ; it would have answered no pur- 
 pose — for he spoke to his own spirit alone, 
 which would have comprehended no alien 
 tongue;— he was, therefore, profoundly 
 original.— Poe, Edgar Allan, 1845? 
 Miss Barretfs ''A Drama of Exile," Works 
 of Poe, ed. Stedman and Woodberry, vol. 
 VI, p. 317. 
 
 Most purely poetic genius of his age. 
 — Howitt, William, 1846, Homes and 
 Haunts of the Most Eminent British Poets, 
 vol. I, p. 494. 
 
 I turn to one whom I love still more than 
 I admire ; the gentle, the gifted, the ill- 
 fated Shelley. . . . Poor Shelley! 
 Thou were the warmest of philanthropists, 
 yet doomed to live at variance with thy 
 country and thy time. Full of the spirit of 
 genuine Christianity, yet ranking thyself 
 among unbelievers, because in early life 
 thou hadst been bewildered by seeing it 
 perverted, sinking beneath those precious 
 gifts which should have made a world 
 thine own, intoxicated with thy lyric en- 
 thusiasm and thick-coming fancies, adoring 
 Nature as a goddess, yet misinterpreting 
 her oracles, cut off from life just as thou 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 707 
 
 wert I ling to read it aright ; 0, most 
 musical, most melancholy singer ; who that 
 has a soul to feel genius, a heart to grieve 
 over misguided nobleness, can forbear 
 watering the profuse blossoms of thy too 
 early closed spring with tears of sympathy, 
 ^ of love, and (if we may dare it for one so 
 superior in intellect) of pity? — OssoLi, 
 Margaret Fuller, 1850? Art, Litera- 
 ture and the Drama, p. 78. 
 
 It is needless to disguise the fact, and 
 it accounts for all — his mind was diseased : 
 he never knew, even from boyhood, what 
 it was to breathe the atmosphere of 
 healthy life, to have the mens sana in cor- 
 pore sano. His sensibilities were over- 
 acute ;his morality was thoroughly morbid ; 
 his metaphysical speculations illogical, in- 
 congruous, incomprehensible — alike base- 
 less and objectless. The suns and systems 
 of his universe were mere nebulae ; his con- 
 tinents were a chaos of dead matter; 
 his oceans *'a world of waters, and with- 
 out a shore/' . . . It is gratuitous 
 absurdity to call his mystical speculations 
 a search after truth; they are no such 
 thing ; and are as little worth the atten- 
 tion of reasoning and responsible man as 
 the heterogeneous reveries of nightmare. 
 — MoiR, D. M., 1850-51, Sketches of the 
 Poetical Literature of the Past Half- Cen- 
 tury. 
 
 I would rather consider Shelley's poetry 
 as a sublime fragmentary essay towards a 
 presentment of the correspondency of the 
 universe to Diety, of the natural to the 
 spiritual, and of the actual to the ideal, 
 than I would isolate and separately ap- 
 praise the worth of many detachable por- 
 tions which might be acknowledged as 
 utterly perfect in a lower moral of view, 
 under the mere conditions of art. — 
 Browning, Robert, 1851, Letters of Percy 
 Bysshe Shelley, Introductory Essay. 
 
 See'st thou a Skylark whose glistening wing- 
 lets ascending 
 
 Quiver like pulses beneath the melodious 
 dawn ? 
 
 Deep in the heart-yearning distance of heaven 
 it flutters — 
 
 Wisdom and beauty and love are the treas- 
 ures it brings down at eve. 
 
 —Meredith, George, 1851, Works, vol. 
 XXXI, p. 140. 
 
 In a literary point of view, there is no 
 doubt but every succeeding poem showed 
 the gradual clearing away of the mists and 
 
 vapors with which, in spite of his exquisite 
 rhythm, and a thousand beauties of detail, 
 his fine genius was originally clouded. — 
 MiTFORD, Mary Russell, 1851, Recollec- 
 tions of a Literary Life, p. 315. 
 
 Nature baptized him in ethereal fire, 
 And Death shall crown him with a wreath 
 of flame. 
 
 — Holmes, Oliver Wendell, 1853, After 
 a Lecture on Shelley. ^ 
 
 And it is worth remarking, that it is 
 Shelley's form of fever, rather than 
 Byron's, which has been of late years the 
 prevailing epidemic. Since Shelley's 
 poems have become known in England, 
 and a timid public, after approaching in 
 fear and trembling the fountain which 
 was understood to be poisoned, has begun 
 first to sip, and then, finding the magic 
 water at all events sweet enough, to quench 
 its thirst with unlimited draughts, the 
 Byron's Head has lost its customers. 
 Well — at least the taste of the age is more 
 refined, if that be matter of congratula- 
 tion. And there is an excuse for pre- 
 ferring eau Sucre to waterside porter, 
 heady with grains of paradise and quassia, 
 salt and coccum indicum. . . . Among 
 the many good-going gentleman and ladies, 
 Byron is generally spoken of with horror — 
 he is *'so wicked," forsooth; while poor 
 Shelley, ''poor dear Shelley," is ''very 
 wrong, of course, " but "so refined," "so 
 beautiful," "so tender" — a fallen angel, 
 while Byron is a satyr and a devil. We 
 boldly deny the verdict. Neither of the 
 two are devils; as for angels, when we 
 have seen one, we shall be better able to 
 give an opinion ; at present, Shelley is in 
 our eyes far less like one of those old 
 Hebrews and Miltonic angels, fallen or 
 unfallen, than Byron is. And as for the 
 satyr, the less that is said for Shelley, on 
 that point, the better. If Byron sinned 
 more desperately and flagrantly than he, 
 it was done under the temptations of rank, 
 wealth, disappointed love, and under the 
 impulses of an animal nature, to which 
 Shelley's passions were 
 As moonlight unto sunlight, and as water 
 unto wine . 
 
 And, at all events, Byron never set to work 
 to consecrate his own sin into a religion, 
 and proclaim the worship of uncleanness 
 as the last and highest ethical development 
 of "pure" humanity. No — Byron may 
 be brutal, but he never cants. If at 
 
708 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 moments he finds himself in hell, he 
 never turns round to the world, and melo- 
 diously informs them that it is heaven, if 
 they could but see it in its true light. — ■ 
 KiNGSLEY, Charles, 1853, Thoughts about 
 Shelley and Byron, Eraser's Magazine, vol. 
 48, p. 570. 
 
 Melodious Shelley caught thy softest song, 
 And they who heard his music heard not 
 thine ; 
 
 Gentle and joyous, delicate and strong, 
 From the far tomb his voice shall silence 
 mine. 
 
 — Landor, Walter Savage, 1853, To the 
 Nightingale. 
 
 Through cloud and wave and star his insight 
 
 keen 
 
 Shone clear, and traced a God in each dis- 
 guise, 
 
 Protean, boundless. Like the buskined scene 
 All Nature rapt him into ecstasies : 
 
 In him, alas! had Reverence equal been 
 With Admiration, those resplendent eyes 
 
 Had wandered not through all her range 
 sublime 
 
 To miss the one great marvel of all time. 
 — De Vere, Aubrey, 1856, Lines Com- 
 posed Near Shelley's House at Lerici. 
 
 It is impossible to deny that he loved 
 with a great intensity ; yet it was with a 
 certain narrowness, and therefore a cer- 
 tain fitfulness. Possibly a somewhat 
 wider nature, taking hold of other char- 
 acters at more points, — fascinated as in- 
 tensely but more variously, stirred as 
 deeply but through more complicated 
 emotions, — is requisite for the highest 
 and most lasting feeling; passion, to 
 be enduring, must be many-sided. Eager 
 and narrow emotions urge like the gadfly 
 of the poet, but they pass away; they 
 are single; there is nothing to revive 
 them. Various as human nature must be 
 the passion which absorbs that nature into 
 itself. Shelley's mode of delineating 
 women has a corresponding peculiarity ; 
 they are well described, but they are 
 described under only one aspect. Every 
 one of his poems, almost, has a lady whose 
 arms are white, whose mind is sympathiz- 
 ing, and whose soul is beautiful. She has 
 many names, — Cythna, Asia, Emily; but 
 these are only external disguises ; she is 
 indubitably the same person, for her char- 
 acter never varies. No character can be 
 simpler ; she is described as the ideal 
 object of love in its most simple and ele- 
 mental form ; the pure object of the 
 essential passion. She is a being to be 
 
 loved in a single moment, with eager eyes 
 and gasping breath; but you feel that 
 in that moment you have seen the whole, — 
 there is nothing to come to afterwards. 
 The fascination is intense, but uniform; 
 there is not the ever-varying grace, the 
 ever-changing charm, that alone can at- 
 tract for all time the shifting moods of a 
 various and mutable nature. — Bagehot, 
 Walter, 1856, Percy Bysshe Shelley, 
 Works, ed. Morgan, vol. i, p. 117. 
 
 Let it not be supposed that I mean to 
 compare the sickly dreaming of Shelley 
 over clouds and waves with the masculine 
 and magnificent grasp of men and things 
 which we find in Scott.— Ruskin, John, 
 1856, Modern Painters, pt. iii, sec. ii. ch. 
 iv, note. 
 
 Intense as is his ethical spirit, his de- 
 sire to act upon man and society, his 
 imagination cannot work with things as 
 he finds them, with the actual stuff of 
 historical life. His mode of thinking is 
 not according to the terrestrial conditions 
 of time, place, cause and effect, variety 
 of race, climate, and costume. His per- 
 sons are shapes, winged forms, modernized 
 versions of Grecian mythology, or mortals 
 highly allegorized ; and their movements 
 are vague, swift, and independent of 
 ordinary physical laws. In the ''Revolt 
 of Islam,'' for example, the story is that 
 of two lovers who career through the 
 plains and cities of an imaginary kingdom 
 on a Tartar horse, or skim over leagues of 
 ocean in a boat whose prow is of moon- 
 stone. But for the Cenci, and one or two 
 other pieces, one would say that Shelley 
 had scarcely any aptitude for the historical. 
 — Masson, David, 1860-74, Wordsworth, 
 Shelley, Keats and Other Essays, p. 140. 
 
 Florence to the living Dante was not 
 more cruelly unjust than England to the 
 living Shelley. Only now, nearly forty 
 years after his death, do we begin to dis- 
 cern his true glory. It is well that this 
 glory is such as can afford to wait for rec- 
 ognition ; that it is one of the permanent 
 stars of heaven, not a rocket to be ruined 
 by a night of storm and rain. I confess 
 that I have long been filled with astonish- 
 ment and indignation at the manner in 
 which he is treated by the majority of our 
 best living writers. Emerson is serenely 
 throned above hearing him at all ; Carlyle 
 only hears him ''shriek hysterically;" 
 Mrs. Browning discovers him "blind with 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 709 
 
 his white ideal;" Messrs. Ruskin and 
 Kingsley treat him much as senior school- 
 boys treat the youngster who easily * ' walks 
 over their heads" in class — with reluctant 
 tribute of admiration copiously qualified 
 with sneers, pinches, and kicks. Even 
 Bulwer (who, intellectually worthless as 
 he is, now and then serves well as a straw 
 to show the way the wind blows among the 
 higher and more educated classes), even 
 Bulwer can venture to look down upon him 
 with pity, to pat him patronisingly on the 
 back, to sneer at him — in Earnest Mal- 
 travers" — with a sneer founded upon a 
 maimed quotation. . . . These dis- 
 tinctive marks of the highest poetry I find 
 displayed in the works of Shelley more 
 gloriously than in those of any other poet 
 in our language. As we must study Shake- 
 speare for knowledge of idealised human 
 nature, and Fielding for knowledge of 
 human nature unidealised, and Carlyle's 
 ' ' French Revolution' ' as the unappr cached 
 model of history, and Currer Bell's 
 
 Villette' ' tolearn the highest capabilities 
 of the novel, and Ruskin for the true philos- 
 ophy of art, and Emerson for quintessen- 
 tial philosophy, so must we study, and so 
 will future men more and more study 
 Shelley for quintessential poetry. — Thom- 
 son, James C'B. V."), 1860-96, Bio- 
 graphical and Critical Studies y pp. 21 0,2^0. 
 
 Since the seventeenth century, we have 
 had no poet of the highest order, though 
 Shelley, had he lived, would perhaps have 
 become one. He had something of that 
 burning passion, that sacred fire, which 
 kindles the soul, as though it came fresh 
 from the altar of the gods. But he was 
 cut off in his early prime, when his splen- 
 did genius was still in its dawn. — Buckle, 
 Henry Thomas, 1861, History of Civili- 
 zation in England, vol, ii, p. 397. 
 
 Emotion was found insufl5cient ; ideas 
 were called for. And so poor Shelley, 
 poor Shelley! so disdained and cried 
 down in his lifetime, succeeded Words- 
 worth in vogue. The amende honorable 
 was made to him ; he was proclaimed one 
 of the glories of England. Men be- 
 came passionately enamoured of his 
 ethereal, subtle, intangible poetry, and the 
 hoUowness of his humanitarian dreams was 
 forgiven him in virtue of the sublimity 
 and beauty of his imagination. After 
 which he shared the fate of his prede- 
 cessors. As time went on his defects 
 
 became more apparent. There was not 
 enough human heart-beat, not enough life, 
 not enough of the dramatic within him. 
 — ScHERER, Edmond, 1863-91, Taine's 
 History of English Literature, Essays on 
 English Literature, tr. Saintsbury, p. 87. 
 
 The master-singer of our modern poets. 
 — Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1869, 
 Notes on the Text of Shelley, Fortnightly 
 Review, vol. 11, p. 539. 
 
 Has anyone since Shakspeare and Spen- 
 ser lighted on such tender and such 
 grand ecstasies ?—Taine, H. A., 1871, 
 History of English Literature, tr. Van 
 Laun, vol. ii, hk. iv, ch. i, p. 267. 
 
 The most truly spiritual of all English 
 poets, Shelley. . . . That Shelley was 
 immeasurably superior to Byron in all the 
 rarer qualities of the specially poetic 
 mind appears to us so unmistakably as- 
 sured a fact, that diflference of opinion 
 upon it can only spring from a more funda- 
 mental difference of opinion as to what it 
 is that constitutes this specially poetic 
 quality. . . . We feel that Shelley 
 transports the spirit to the highest bound 
 and limit of the intelligible; and that 
 with him thought passes through one 
 superadded and more rarefying process 
 than the other poet is master of. — Mor- 
 LEY, John, 1871, Byron, Critical Miscel- 
 lanies, p. 259. 
 
 This uncritical negligence, the want of 
 minute accuracy in the details of his verse, 
 seems to us intimately connected with the 
 whole character of Shelley's mind, and 
 especially with the lyrical sweep and in- 
 tensity of his poetical genius. He had 
 an intellect of the rarest delicacy and 
 analytical strength, that intuitively per- 
 ceived the most remote analogies, and 
 discriminated with spontaneous precis- 
 ion the finest shades of sensibility, the 
 subtilest difl^erences of perception and 
 emotion. He possessed a swift soaring 
 and prolific imagination that clothed every 
 thought and feeling with imagery in the 
 moment of its birth, and instinctively read 
 the spiritual meanings of material sjTnbols. 
 His fineness of sense was so exquisite that 
 eye and ear and touch became, as it were, 
 organs and inlets not merely of sensitive 
 apprehension, but of intellectual beauty 
 and ideal truth. Every nerve in his slight 
 but vigorous frame seemed to vibrate in 
 unison with the deeper life of nature in 
 the world around him, and, like the 
 
710 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 wandering harp, he was swept to music by 
 every breath of material beauty, every 
 gust of poetical emotion. Above all, he 
 had a strength of intellectual passion and 
 a depth of ideal sympathy that in moments 
 of excitement fused all the powers of his 
 mind into a continuous stream of creative 
 energy, and gave the stamp of something 
 like inspiration to all the higher produc- 
 tions of his muse. His very method of 
 composition reflects these characteristics 
 of his mind. He seems to have been urged 
 by a sort of irresistible impulse to write, 
 and displayed a vehement and passionate 
 absorption in the work that recalls the old 
 traditions of poetical frenzy and divine 
 possession.— Baynes, Thomas S., 1871, 
 Rossetti's Edition of Shelley, Edinburgh 
 Review, vol 133, p. 428. 
 
 I heard of an enthusiastic American who 
 went about English fields hunting a lark 
 with Shelley's poem in his hand, thinking 
 no doubt to use it as a kind of guide-book 
 to the intricacies and harmonies of the 
 song. He reported not having heard any 
 larks, though I have little doubt they were 
 soaring and singing about him all the time, 
 though of course they did not sing to his 
 ear the song that Shelley heard. . . . 
 Shelley's poem is perhaps better known 
 and has a higher reputation among literary 
 folk than Wordsworth's, but 1 like the 
 latter best. Shelley's is too long, though 
 no longer than the lark's song; but the 
 lark cannot help it, and Shelley can. — 
 Burroughs, John, 1873, The Birds of the 
 Poets, Scrihnefs Monthly, vol. 6, p: 568. 
 
 Shelley balloons it too much. He ascends 
 easily, gracefully, and then is swayed by 
 scented breezes from an exuberant imagi- 
 nation. It had been a gain could he oftener 
 have dipped his mind deeper into the core 
 of common things. He has too much eleva- 
 tion and not enough depth, — that is, not 
 enough depth for his elevation. — Cal- 
 vert, George H., 1874, Brief Essays 
 and Brevities, p. 217. 
 
 One cannot help thinking that Shelley's 
 natural place in the world would be that of 
 a spiritualised Spenser ; and if that calm 
 could have come to him which alone can 
 furnish the poet with the opportunity he 
 ought to have, there is no knowing but he 
 might have given us a work rich enough 
 to justify this fancy of him. As it is, 
 between writhings and groanings, the par- 
 oxysms of a much- tried spirit, he wrote 
 
 those exquisite lyrics and poems, which we 
 should be indeed loth to loose from our 
 literature. — Smith, George Barnett, 
 1875, Elizabeth Barrett Browning, Poets 
 and Novelists, p. 84. 
 
 Chaucer, Shakespeare, Milton, Shelley — 
 these are, I believe, the four sublimest 
 sons of song that England has to boast of 
 among the mighty dead — say rather among 
 the undying, the never-to-die. Let us re- 
 member also two exceptional phenomena, 
 an inspired ploughman," Burns, and an 
 unparalleled poetess, Mrs. Browning, and 
 be thankful for .such a national destiny. 
 There are plenty of others : but those four 
 are, if 1 mistake not, the four. . . . 
 The poetic ecstacy took him constantly up- 
 wards ; and, the higher he got, the more 
 thoroughly did his thoughts and words 
 become one exquisite and intense unit. 
 With elevation of meaning, and splendour 
 and beauty of perception, he combined 
 the most searching, the most inimitable 
 loveliness of verse-music; and he -stands 
 at this day, and perhaps will always re- 
 main, the poet who, by instinct of verbal 
 selection and charm of sound, comes near- 
 est to expressing the half-inexpressible — 
 the secret things of beauty, the intolerable 
 light of the arcane. ... To sum up, 
 there is no poet — and no man either — in 
 whose behalf it is more befitting for all 
 natures, and for some natures more inevit- 
 able, to feel the privileges and the delights 
 of enthusiasm. The very soul rushes out 
 towards Shelley as an unapproached poet, 
 and embraces him as a dearest friend. — 
 Rossetti, William Michael, 1878, Lives 
 of Famous Poets, pp. 309, 327, 328. 
 
 Whether we consider his minor songs, 
 his odes, or his more complicated choral 
 dramas, we acknowledge that he was the 
 loftiest and the most spontaneous singer 
 of our language. In range of power he 
 was also conspicuous above the rest. Not 
 only did he write the best lyrics, but the 
 best tragedy, the best translations, and 
 the best familiar poems of his century. 
 As a satirist and humourist, I cannot place 
 him so high as some of his admirers do ; 
 and the purely polemical portions of his 
 poems, those in which he puts forth his 
 antagonism to tyrants and religions and 
 custom in all its myriad forms, seem to , 
 me to degenerate at intervals into poor 
 rhetoric— Symonds, John Addington, 
 1879, Shelley (English Men of Letters). 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 711 
 
 The materials with which he works are 
 impalpable abstractions where other poets 
 use concrete images. His poetry is like 
 the subtle veil woven by the witch of Atlas 
 from "threads of fleecy mist, ""long lines 
 of light, " such as are kindled by the dawn 
 and "starbeams." When he speaks of 
 natural scenery the solid earth seems to 
 be dissolved, and we are in presence of 
 nothing but the shifting phantasmagoria 
 of cloudland, the glow of moonlight on 
 eternal snow, or the "golden lightning of 
 the setting sun. ' ' The only earthly scenery 
 which recalls Shelley to a more material 
 mind is that which one sees from a high 
 peak at sunrise, when the rising vapours 
 tinged with prismatic colours shut out all 
 signs of human life, and we are alone with 
 the sky and the shadowy billows of the sea 
 of mountains. Only in such vague regions 
 can Shelley find fitting symbolism for those 
 faint emotions suggested by the most 
 abstract speculations, from which he alone 
 is able to extract an unearthly music. — 
 Stephen, Leslie, 1879, Hours in a Li- 
 brary, Cornhill Magazine, vol. 39, 294. 
 
 The title of "the poet's poet," which 
 has been bestowed for various reasons on 
 very different authors, applies perhaps with 
 a truer fitness to Shelley than to any of 
 the rest. For all students of Shelley must 
 in a manner feel that they have before them 
 an extreme, almost an extravagant, speci- 
 men of the poetic character; and the 
 enthusiastic love, or contemptuous aver- 
 sion, which his works have inspired has 
 depended mainly on the reader's sympathy 
 or distaste for that character when ex- 
 hibited in its unmixed intensity. — Myers, 
 Frederic W. H., 1880, The English Poets 
 ed. Ward, vol. iv, p. 348. 
 
 On flaming chariot Shelley soars 
 Through starry realms serene. 
 
 — Blackie, John Stuart, 1880, Lays 
 and Legends of Ancient Greece, Introduc- 
 tion. 
 
 By instinct, intuition, whatever we 
 have to call that fine faculty that feels 
 truths before they are put into definite 
 shape, Shelley was an evolutionist. He 
 translated into his own pantheistic lan- 
 guage the doctrine of the eternity of 
 matter and the eternity of motion, of the 
 infinite transformation of the diflierent 
 forms of matter into each other, without 
 any creation or destruction of either mat- 
 ter or motion. — Aveling, Edward and 
 
 Eleanor Marx, 1880, Shelley and Social- 
 ism, To- Day, April. 
 
 In choosing the Spenserian stanza for 
 his great visionary poem, Shelley chal- 
 lenges comparison with Spenser himself, 
 and with Byron ; and it cannot be said that 
 he appears to advantage in this compari- 
 son. . . . Compare the i mpet uous 
 rapidity and pale intensity of Shelley's 
 verse with the lulling harmony, the linger- 
 ing cadence, the voluptuous color of 
 Spenser's, or with the grandiose majesty 
 of Byron's. The stanzas of the "Faerie 
 Queene" have somethingof the wholesome 
 old-world mellowness of Haydn's music; 
 those of "Laonand Cythna" something of 
 the morbid fever of Chopin's. . . . 
 In "Adonais," indeed, a poem on which 
 he bestowed much labor, he handles the 
 stanza in a masterly manner, and endows 
 it with an individual music beautiful and 
 new; and even "Laon and Cythna" is full 
 of exquisite passages, in which the very 
 rhymes lend wings to his imagination, and 
 become the occasion of sweet out-of-the- 
 way modes of expression, full of ethereal 
 poetry of the most Shelley an kind. — Tod- 
 hunter, John A., 1880, A Study of 
 Shelley. 
 
 When that mist cleared, O Shelley ! what 
 dread veil 
 
 Was rent for thee, to whom far-darkling 
 Truth 
 
 Reigned soverign guide through thy brief 
 
 ageless youth? 
 Was the Truth % Truth, Shelley?— Hush ! 
 
 All-Hail, 
 
 Past doubt, thou gav'st it ; and in Truth's 
 
 bright sphere 
 Art first of praisers, being most praisfed here. 
 — Rossetti, Dante Gabriel, 1881, Five 
 English Poets, Ballads and Sonnets. 
 
 Of Shelley he said: "He is often too 
 much in the clouds for me. I admire his 
 ^Alastor,' 'Adonais,' 'Prometheus Un- 
 bound,' and 'Epipsychidion,' and some of 
 his short lyrics are exquisite. As for ' The 
 Lover's Tale, ' that was written before I 
 had ever seen a Shelley, though it is called 
 Shelleyan."— Tennyson, Alfred Lord, 
 1883, Some Criticisms on Poets, Memoir, 
 by his Son, vol. ii, p. 285. 
 
 Each poet gives what he has, and what 
 he can offer ; you spread before us fairy 
 bread and enchanted wine, and shall we 
 turn away, with a sneer, because, out of 
 all the multitudes of singers, one is spirit- 
 ual and strange, one has seen Artemis 
 
712 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 unveiled? — Lang, Andrew, 1886, Letters 
 to Dead Authors, p. 177. 
 
 After Milton, the next great poet who 
 is eminently musical is Shelley. . . . 
 In some of Shelley's lyrics no formal 
 quality seems to exist except the music ; a 
 clear intellectual meaning is always pres- 
 ent, but often there is scarcely any sug- 
 gestion of distinct imagery. The power 
 that he shows in these lyrics of giving 
 music of verse an existence apart from all 
 other formal qualities is what makes Shel- 
 ley more of a musical poet than Coleridge 
 or Keats ; and no other poet of the same 
 period can be compared with these in this 
 quality of verse.— Whittaker, Thomas, 
 1886, The Musical and the Picturesque 
 Elements vn Poetry, Essays and Notices, 
 p, 103. 
 
 Shelley wrote even fewer sonnets than 
 did Byron : but the few which Byron wrote 
 he wrote well, and this cannot be said of 
 Shelley. ... It is strange that Shelley, 
 the most poetic of poets, should have been 
 unable to write a good sonnet as a son- 
 net; but probably the restrictions of 
 the form pressed upon him with a special 
 heaviness. Chopin, the Shelley of musical 
 composers, wrote his beautiful mazurkas : 
 looked at strictly as mazurkas they are 
 unsatisfactory. In both instances, how- 
 ever, uncontrollable genius overbalanced 
 propriety of form. — Sharp, William, 
 1886, Sonnets of this Century, p. 312, note. 
 
 How shall we name the third class of 
 men, who live for the ideal alone, and yet 
 are betrayed into weakness and error, and 
 deeds which demand an atonement of re- 
 morse ; men who can never quite reconcile 
 the two worlds in which we have our 
 being, the world of material fact and the 
 spiritual world above and beyond it ; who 
 give themselves away for love or give 
 themselves away for light yet sometimes 
 mistake bitter for sweet, and darkness for 
 light ; children who stumble on the sharp 
 stones and bruise their hands and feet, 
 yet who can wing their way with angelic 
 ease through spaces of the upper air. 
 These are they whom we say the gods 
 love, and who seldom reach the four-score 
 years of Goethe's majestic old age. They 
 are dearer perhaps than any others to the 
 heart of humanity, for they symbolise, 
 in a pathetic way, both its weakness 
 and its strength. We cannot class them 
 with the exact and patient craftsmen; 
 
 they are ever half defeated and can have 
 no claim to take their seats beside their 
 conquerors. Let us name them lovers; 
 and if at any time they have wandered far 
 astray, let us remember their errors with 
 gentleness, because they have loved much. 
 It is in this third class of those who serve 
 mankind that Shelley has found a place. — 
 DowDEN, Edward, 1887, Last Words on 
 Shelley, Fortnightly Review, vol. 48, p. 481. 
 
 There is no longer, we imagine, any 
 room for discussion of the position of 
 Shelley as a lyric poet. He is second to 
 no one in our language. If we want an 
 exact definition of what we mean by 
 ''poetry," we turn to his. It was his 
 natural language. He wrote as a bird 
 flies. And his flights are only to be com- 
 pared to the strong-pinioned eagle, which 
 soars iii ever -widening spirals into the 
 empyrean. Both go out of mortal ken. 
 How prodigal he is! Image on image, 
 flight above flight, imagination on imagina- 
 tion, scaling the heavens, and when the 
 amazed reader thinks the climax is 
 reached, lo ! the unconscious ease with 
 which he soars to more aerial regions. If 
 you attempt to turn this verse into prose, 
 the meaning escapes. It is poetry. The un- 
 approachable melody of it, also ! It is as 
 untranslatable as music. It is possible 
 for a person, sensitive to harmony, to read 
 pages and pages of his poetry, with ex- 
 quisite delight, having only the vaguest 
 consciousness of the poet's meaning, with 
 that sense of enjoyment tbat one has in 
 listening to an orchestra. — Warner, 
 Charles Dudley, 1887, Shellei), The New 
 Princeton Review, vol. 4, p. 302. 
 
 I liked Shelley very much better, though 
 his qualities were too ethereal in their ex- 
 quisiteness to have any practical influence 
 on my own work. — Hamersqon, Philip 
 Gilbert, 1887, Books which Have Influ- 
 enced Me, p. 55. 
 
 I remember, at a very early age, falling 
 in with a little dumpy 16mo edition of 
 Shelley, and finding a kind of fearful 
 fascination in secretly reading it. Not 
 that his ideas anywise influenced my mind. 
 Shelley is a magician, not a thinker, and 
 his creations are chiefly a wondrous dream- 
 work set to the most exquisite music. 
 That music never ceased to charm me, and 
 for many months I carried the book about 
 in my pocket and read it whenever 1 
 found myself alone. I was already quite 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 713 
 
 as democratic as the poet, but rather 
 shuddered at his atheism. But I could 
 not read ' ' The Cloud, " or * ' The Skylark, ' ' 
 or ''The Lines to an Indian Air," or the 
 dedication of "The Revolt of Islam," 
 even when I only partly understood them, 
 without bringing a moisture into my eyes. 
 Yet the book did not do much for me, 
 for it did not properly give me any 
 thoughts. — Smith, Walter C.,1887, Books 
 which have Influenced Ife, 91. 
 
 Shelley, however, was not for long my 
 idol. He so often seems to be singing in 
 a falsetto voice ; and when a man does 
 that, he is pretty sure to shriek when he 
 gets excited. — Jessopp, Augustus, 1887, 
 Books that have Helped Me, The Forum, 
 vol. 4, p. 33. 
 
 Strange as it'may seem, Shelley has given 
 me very uniformly the delight of the 
 invisible, the spiritual, resolving itself, in 
 rapid, creative touch, into distinct, change- 
 able, evanescent, beautiful form. No 
 English poet quite equals him in making 
 way for his thought where no way is ; in 
 leaving a vivid trail of light behind him 
 where no light was. He completes the 
 illusion of his own sight with marvelous 
 facility, and leaves the distinct mirage of 
 his vision where the elements must almost 
 instantly swallow it up again. The gos- 
 samer web of the spider floats in the air, 
 invisible save from some one position, 
 from which it gleams through its whole 
 length, a fluctuating silver thread. No poet 
 ever cast in the air lighter conceptions, 
 or made them, from his own outlook, more 
 fascinatingly visible. To turn Nature, 
 in all her mailifold forms, into the inex- 
 haustible vocabulary of the spirit, so that 
 the image and the feeling it utters float off 
 together as a living thing, this is the un- 
 wearied iiiipiration of Shelley. Yet no 
 mind is more alien to me than that of 
 Shelley in some of its aspects. Of logical 
 incoherence, inconsequential narrative, 
 and thoroughly mistaken opinion, Shelley 
 is a supreme example. Deep and pure in 
 his own affections, he missed the first 
 principles of purity and strength in the 
 living world of men. He wandered like 
 a lost, not a fallen, angel among the evil 
 passions of his kind, and understood 
 nothing of their nature or their remedy. 
 In his sympathetic rehearsal of the en- 
 counter of the serpent and the eagle, he 
 takes part with the serpent, because the 
 
 facts symbolized are wholly misplaced in 
 his mind. An error so deep as this would 
 fatally have weakened another man — it 
 weakened Byron ; but Shelley escapes from 
 it constantly into a region pure, creative, 
 remote. In the freedom of his own free 
 spirit, he mistook unlicensed activity for 
 liberty, and resentfully struggled with, 
 and cast off, those social restraints which 
 are, after all, the flowing garments of 
 virtue.— Bascom, John, 1888, Books that 
 have Helped Me, p. 30. 
 
 It is his poetry, above everything else, 
 which for many people establishes that he 
 is an angel. Of his poetry I have not 
 space now to speak. But let no one sup- 
 pose that a want of humour and a self- 
 delusion such as Shelley's have no effect 
 upon a man's poetry. The man Shelley, 
 in very truth, is not entirely sane, and 
 Shelley's poetry is not entirely sane either. 
 The Shelley of actual life is a vision of 
 beauty and radiance, indeed, but availing 
 nothing, effecting nothing. And in poetry, 
 no less than in life, he is ''a beautiful and 
 ineffectual angel, beating in the void his 
 luminous wings in vain." — Arnold, Mat- 
 thew, 1888, Shelley, The Nineteenth Cen- 
 tury, vol. 23, p. 39, Esssays in Criticism^ 
 vol. II. 
 
 Behold I send thee to the heights of song, 
 My brother ! Let thine eyes awake as clear 
 As morning dew, within whose glowing 
 sphere 
 
 Is mirrowed half a world ; and listen long, 
 Till in thine ears, famished to keenness, throng 
 The bugles of the soul, till far and near 
 Silence grows populous, and wind and mere 
 Are phantom-choked with voices. Then be 
 strong — 
 
 Then halt not till thou seest the beacons flare 
 Souls mad for truth liave lit from peak to 
 peak. 
 
 Haste on to breathe the intoxicating air — 
 Wine to the brave and poison to the weak — 
 Far in the blue where angels' feet have trod, 
 Where earth is one with heaven and man 
 with God. 
 
 — Monroe, Harriet, 1889, With a Copy 
 of Shelley, The Century, vol. 39, p. 313. 
 
 With the exception of Shakespeare, no 
 English poet ever possessed a greater 
 wealth of language or a finer sense of 
 harmony. What he lacked was a general 
 idea of Nature, and a knowledge of the 
 manner in which the great majority of 
 mankind think and feel. Hence the 
 "Revolt of Islam." ' 'Prometheus Un- 
 bound," and the ''Witch of Atlas," fail 
 
714 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 in what is most essential to epic and 
 dramatic poets — design, action, manners, 
 character. Shelley formed his idea of 
 Nature and his conception of his subjects 
 in a solitary and purely capricious spirit. 
 Unless the reader is prepared to surrender 
 his own thought and judgment to his 
 author's imagination, and to reason, judge, 
 and believe, for the moment, as the poet 
 would have him, he cannot fail to perceive 
 that, in the poems I have mentioned, the 
 ''parts do not mutually support and explain 
 each other." — Courthope, William 
 John, 1889, The Life of Alexander Pope ; 
 Pope's Works, eds. Elwin and Courthope, 
 vol. V, p. 373. 
 
 His muse had only wings, and not feet. 
 It could soar into ideal heights, but it 
 could not walk on the earth. — Story, 
 William Wetmore, 1890, Conversations 
 in a StudiOy vol. I, p. 233. 
 
 Shelley is more truly a son of Italy than 
 any one of her own poets, for he had the 
 sentiment and passion of her natural 
 beauty, which cannot be said of the great- 
 est of them. I think that Shelley can 
 scarcely be well comprehended by those 
 who are not intimately acquainted with 
 Italian landscape. The exceeding truth- 
 fulness of his observation of and feeling 
 for it cannot certainly be appreciated ex- 
 cept by those who have lived amongst the 
 sights and sounds which took so close a 
 hold upon his imagination and his heart. 
 — Ramee, Louise de la (Ouida), 1890, 
 A New View of Shelley, North American 
 Review, vol. 150, p. 246. 
 
 A creature of impetuous breath, 
 
 Our torpor deadlier tlian death 
 
 He knew not; whatsoe'er he saith 
 Flashes with life : 
 
 He spurreth men, he quickeneth 
 To splendid strife. 
 
 And in his gusts of song he brings 
 
 Wild odours shaken from strange wings, 
 
 And unfamiliar whisperings 
 From far lips blown, 
 
 While all the rapturous heart of things 
 Throbs through his own. 
 — Watson, William, 1892, Shelley's Cen- 
 tenary, Poems, p. 142. 
 
 Shelley is none of those of whom we are 
 sometimes told in these days, whose mis- 
 sion is too serious to be transmitted with 
 the arts of language, who are too much 
 occupied with the substance to care about 
 the form. All that is best in his exquisite 
 collection of verse cries out against this 
 
 wretched heresy. With all his modernity, 
 his revolutionary instinct, his disdain of 
 the unessential, his poetry is of the highest 
 and most classical technical perfection. 
 No one, among the moderns, has gone 
 further than he in the just attention to 
 poetic form. — Gosse, Edmund, 1892, 
 Shelley in 1892, Questions at Issue, p. 213. 
 
 In Christ's own town did fools of old con- 
 demn 
 
 A sinless maid to burn in felon's fire ; 
 She looked above ; she spake from out the 
 pyre 
 
 To skies that made a star for Bethlehem, 
 When, lo! the flames touching her garment's 
 hem 
 
 Blossom' d to roses — warbled like a lyre — 
 Made every fagot-twig a scented brier, 
 And crowned her with a rose-bud diadem ! 
 Brothers in Shelley, we this morn are strong : 
 Our Heart of Hearts hath conquered— con- 
 quered those 
 Once fain to work the world and Shelley- 
 wrong : 
 
 Their pyre of hate now bourgeons with the 
 rose — 
 
 Their every fagot, now a sweet-brier, 
 throws 
 
 Love's breath upon the breeze of Shelley's 
 song! 
 
 —Watts, Theodore, 1892, For the Shel- 
 ley Centenary. 
 
 He could not solve the mystery of life 
 — its shame, its wrong, its anguish : and 
 like many another pure and ardent spirit 
 bruised himself in many a wild fluttering 
 against the iron bars of insoluble prob- 
 lems. And then he flew to Nature. In 
 her freshness and grandeur, in the hospi- 
 tality of her silence, and the friendliness 
 of her unchangingness,he took refuge, and 
 hid himself in her starry pavilion against 
 the windy tempest of life's futility and 
 malice. He becomes her high-priest and 
 confidant. He serves her with unquench- 
 able devotion and delight. He thirsts 
 for her beauty, and toils to mirror her 
 glory in fit and perfect speech. At thirty 
 he is gray-headed, and his face is lined and 
 furrowed like an old man's. The spirit of 
 sorrow never leaves him ; his verse is one 
 long lament, and underneath its utmost 
 triumph the voice sobs quietly and the sick 
 heart aches. Then suddenly the end comes, 
 and Nature weaves her blackest tempest 
 for a pall and opens the door of rest in 
 the dim green depths of that unresting 
 ocean he had loved so well. He dies with 
 purpose, character, and work alike un- 
 finished. We know what he did, but know 
 
PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 715 
 
 not what he might have done or been. 
 But life is only just begun at thirty, and 
 ended thus in its beginning, surely merits 
 the grace of charity, of sympathy, of pity. 
 That meed of reverent feeling has never 
 yet been denied by any who have drunk of 
 the magic stream of his poetry, and never 
 will be wanting so long as English litera- 
 ture endures, and with it the name of 
 Shelley.— Dawson, W. J., 1892, Quest 
 and Vision, p. 38. 
 
 Now a hundred years agone among us came 
 Down from some diviner sphere of purer 
 flame, 
 
 Clothed in flesh to suffer, maimed of wings 
 to soar, 
 
 One whom hate once hailed as now love 
 
 hails by name, 
 Chosen of love as chosen of hatred. Now 
 
 no more 
 
 ♦ Ear of man may hear or heart of man deplore 
 Aught of dissonance or doubt that mars the 
 strain 
 
 Raised at last of love where love sat mute 
 of yore. 
 
 —Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1892, 
 The Centenary of Shelley. 
 Be then the poet's poet still! for none 
 Of them whose minstrelsy the stars have 
 blessed 
 
 Has from expression's wonderland so won 
 
 The unexpressed, — 
 So wrought the charm of its elusive note 
 On us, who yearn in vain 
 To mock the paean and the plain 
 Of tides that rise and fall with sweet myste- 
 rious rote. 
 
 — Stedman, Edmund Clarence, 1892, 
 Ariely Atlantic Monthly, vol. 70, p. 146. 
 
 The cause Shelley served is still in its 
 struggle ; but those to whom social justice 
 is a watchword, and the development of 
 the individual everywhere in liberty, intel- 
 ligence, and virtue is a cherished hope, 
 must be thankful that Shelley lived, that 
 the substance of his work is so vital, and 
 his influence, inspiring as it is beyond that 
 of any of our poets in these ways, was, 
 and is, so completely on the side of the 
 century's advance. His words are sung 
 by marching thousands in the streets of 
 London. No poet of our time has touched 
 the cause of progress in the living breath 
 and heart-throb of men so close as that. 
 Yet, remote as the poet's dream always 
 seems, it is rather that life-long singing 
 of the golden age, in poem after poem 
 which most restores and inflames those 
 who, whether they be rude or refined, are 
 
 the choicer spirits of mankind, and bring, 
 with revolutionary violence or ideal im- 
 agination, the times to come. — Wood- 
 berry, George E., 1892, Shelley's Work, 
 The Century, vol. 44, p. 629. 
 The star tliat burns on revolution smote 
 Wild heats and change on thine ascendant 
 sphere, 
 
 Whose influence thereafter seemed to float 
 Through many a strange eclipse of wrath 
 and fear, 
 
 Dimming awhile the radiance of thy love. 
 
 But still supreme in thy nativity. 
 All dark, invidious aspects far above, 
 
 Beamed one clear orb for thee, — 
 The star whose ministrations just and strong 
 
 Controlled the tireless flight of Dante's 
 song. 
 
 —Roberts, Charles G. D., 1892-93, 
 Ave! An Ode for the Centenary of Shelley's 
 Birth, st. xiii. 
 
 The sovereign transmutation that the 
 dull, hard stuff of Godwin's doctrines 
 suffered in the crucible of Shelley's im- 
 agination is known to all readers of the 
 poems. In the ''Epipsychidion" the 
 nightingale pours forth a song suggested 
 to her by the croaking of the frog. — 
 Raleigh, Walter, 1894, The English 
 Novel, p. 251. 
 
 The common judgment of Shelley, at 
 least as expressed in literary organs, has 
 undergone a complete revolution since 
 he was a living man. Nobody now would 
 venture to publish an article about Shelley 
 without copious protestations of admira- 
 tion for the poet, whatever the opinion 
 might be expressed about his conduct as a 
 man. To acknowledge indifference to his 
 poetry would be to set one's self against 
 an overwhelming weight of authoritative 
 opinion. To deny him equal rank with any 
 poet of his generation would be heresy. 
 Enjoyment of Shelley is often put forward 
 as a test of poetic sensibility ; if Shelley 
 does not delight you, you are set down as 
 not being capable of knowing what poetry 
 is. He is now par excellence the poet's 
 poet. — MiNTO, William, 1894, The Lit- 
 erature of the Georgian Era, ed. Knight, 
 p. 292. 
 
 It Defence of Poetry"] expresses 
 Shelley's deepest thoughts about poetry, 
 and marks, as clearly as any writing of 
 the last hundred years, the width of the 
 gulf that separates the ideals of recent 
 poetry from those of the century preced- 
 ing the French Revolution. It may be 
 
716 
 
 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 
 
 compared with Sidney's *'Apologie" on the 
 one hand, and with Wordsworth's Preface 
 to the ''Lyrical Ballads," or the more ab- 
 stract parte of Carlyle's critical writings 
 upon the other. The fundamental con- 
 ceptions of Shelley are the same as those 
 of the Elizabethan critic and of his own 
 great contemporaries. But he differs from 
 Sidney and Wordsworth, and perhaps from 
 Carlyle also, in laying more stress upon 
 the outward form, and particularly the 
 musical element, of poetry ; and from Sid- 
 ney in laying less stress upon its directly 
 moral associations. He thus attains to a 
 wider and truer view of his subject; and, 
 while insisting as strongly as Wordsworth 
 insists upon the kinship between the mat- 
 ter of poetry and that of truth or science, 
 he also recognizes, as Wordsworth com- 
 monly did not, that there is a harmony 
 between the imaginative conception of 
 that matter and its outward expression, 
 and that beautiful thought must neces- 
 sarily clothe itself in beauty of language 
 and of sound. There is not in our litera- 
 ture any clearer presentment of the in- 
 separable connection between the matter 
 and form of poetry, nor of the ideal ele- 
 ment which, under different shapes, is the 
 life and soul of both. — Vaughan, C. E., 
 1896, ed.f English Literary Criticism, 
 p. 160. 
 
 Shelley was heart and soul a free- 
 thinker ; and free-thought is now in the 
 ascendant wherever men think at all. He 
 was an advocate of free love ; and the fail- 
 ure of marriage has become so notorious 
 as to be a commonplace of modern novel- 
 writers. He was a pioneer of communism ; 
 and the vast spread of socialist doctrines 
 is the every-day complaint of a capitalist 
 press. He was a humanitarian ; and human- 
 itarianism, having survived the phase of 
 ridicule and misrepresentation, is taking 
 its place among the chief-motive powers 
 of civilised society. — Salt, Henry S., 
 1896, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Poet and 
 Pioneer, p. 187. 
 
 He has had a vast influence ; but it has 
 been in the main the influence, the inspira- 
 tion of his unsurpassed exciting power. 
 No one has borrowed or carried further 
 any specially Shelleian turns of phrase, 
 rhythm, or thought. Those who have 
 attempted to copy and urge further the 
 Shelleian attitude towards politics, philos- 
 ophy, ethics, and the like, have made it 
 
 generally ludicrous and sometimes disgust- 
 ing. He is, in his own famous words, 
 ' ' something remote and afar. ' ' His poetry 
 is almost poetry in its elements, uncoloured 
 by race, language, time, circumstance, or 
 creed. He is not even so much a poet as 
 Poetry accidentally impersonated and 
 incarnate.— Saintsbury, George, 1896, 
 A History of Nineteenth Century Litera- 
 ture, p. 88. 
 
 Happily, Shelley's treatment of Nature 
 — his landscape would be too limiting a 
 word — in those instances where he has 
 concentrated his mind upon his object, I 
 should myself hold, as in the case of Keats, 
 on the whole, his most precious achieve- 
 ment in poetry. . . . Without adopting 
 M. Arnold's judgment that Shelley's prose 
 will prove his permanent memorial, 1 must 
 here (with all due respect and apology) 
 make the confession, probably unpopular, 
 reached after long reluctance, that no 
 true poet of any age has left us so gigantic 
 a mass of wasted effort, exuberance so 
 Asiatic, such oceans (to speak out) of 
 fluent, well-intended platitude — such in- 
 effectual beating of his wings in the per- 
 sistent effort to scale heights of thought 
 beyond the reach of youth ;— youth closed 
 so prematurely, so lamentably. Hence 
 the difference between Shelley's best and 
 what is not best is enormous ; the sudden 
 transition from mere prose rendered more 
 prosaic by its presentation in verse, to the 
 most ethereal and exquisite poetry, fre- 
 quent ; and hence, also, it is in his shorter 
 and mostly later lyrics that we find Shel- 
 ley's very finest, uniquest, most magically 
 delightful work. Yet even here at times 
 the matter is attenuated as the film of the 
 soap-bubble, gaining through its very 
 thinness its marvellous iridescent beauty. 
 — Palgrave, Francis Turner, 1896, 
 Landscape in Poetry, pp. 218, 219. 
 
 Shelley's love-poems may be very good 
 evidence, but we know well that they are 
 ''good for this day and train only." We 
 are able to believe that they spoke the 
 truth for that one day, but we know by 
 experience that they could not be depended 
 OH to speak it the next. That very sup- 
 plication for a rewarming of Harriet's 
 chilled love was followed so suddenly by 
 the poet's plunge into an adoring passion 
 for Mary Godwin that if it had been a 
 check it would have lost its value before a 
 lazy person could have gotten to the bank 
 
SHELLEY— RADCLIFFE 
 
 717 
 
 with it.— Clemens, Samuel Langhornb 
 (Mark Twain), 1897, In Defence of Har- 
 riet Shelley, How to Tell a Story and other 
 Essays, p. SI. 
 
 He took Parnassus by storm. His 
 poetical productiveness would have been 
 admirable as the result of a long life ; as 
 the work in the main of little more than 
 five years, it is one of the greatest marvels 
 in the history of the human mind. — 
 Garnett, Richard, 1897, Dictionary of 
 National Biography, vol. Lii, p. 38. 
 
 Shelley: — The early editions of Shelley's 
 Poems and Prose Treatises were amongst 
 the first of this class of books to attain 
 high prices. Some may be noted here in 
 chronological order: — "Zastrozzi: a Ro- 
 mance," 1810, was published at 5s. Bound 
 and cut copies have sold for £5, 15s., and 
 £12, 5s. An uncut copy, in calf, fetched 
 £12, 5s. in 1890, and an uncut copy in 
 morocco brought fifteen guineas in 1897 
 (Sir C. S. Forbes). The most interesting 
 of these pamphlets is the one which was 
 the cause of its author being expelled from 
 University College, Oxford. ' ' The Neces- 
 sity of Atheism. Worthing. Printed by 
 E. & W. Phillips. Sold in London and Ox- 
 ford," n. d. (1811) f. 8vo, p. 13. Nearly 
 all the copies were destroyed by the print- 
 ers, and Mr. Slater values a clean copy at 
 about £20, but probably it would realise 
 much more than that. "St. Irvyne," 
 1811, morocco uncut, Sir C. S. Forbes, 
 1897, £16, 10s. ' ' An Address to the Irish 
 People" (Dublin, 1812) was published at 
 5d. , and Mr. Slater values a copy at £8 to 
 £12, but one was sold at Alfred Cramp- 
 ton's sale, 1896, for £42. "Qu^enMab," 
 1813, in the original boards, was sold in 
 1891 for £22, 10s. "The Refutation of 
 Deism," 1814, fetched £33 at an auction 
 in 1887. The largest price, however, 
 given for one of these pamphlets was £130 
 for "CEdipus Tyrannus," 1820, at Cramp- 
 ton's sale. The entire impression was 
 destroyed except seven copies, only two or 
 three of which were known to exist, but 
 
 a reprint on vellum appeared in 1876. 
 The British Museum possesses a copy, 
 presented by Lady Shelley.— Wheatley, 
 Henry B., 1898, Prices of Books, p. 259. 
 
 Shelley was a true child of the Revolu- 
 tion ; he inherited its vehement temper, he 
 shared its impassioned illusions, he was 
 the apt pupil of its doctrines ; among his 
 brother poets he must therefore take prec- 
 edence. His radical spirit expressed 
 itself in two ways: in an unrestrained 
 denunciation of the past with its tyrannical 
 government of priests and kings, and in an 
 unshakable faith for a future with its per- 
 fect humanity and exemption from govern- 
 ment. Like Rousseau and his dreaming 
 disciples, he broke absolutely with a his- 
 toric method; he failed to connect the 
 gap between past and future with a 
 passable bridge. History for him was but 
 a record of human misery and depravity ; 
 he could read it only with a shudder. 
 From that his mind turned, with its incan- 
 descent idealism, to flash upon the screen 
 of the future the radiant panorama of the 
 Golden Age. Imagination bestrode his 
 reason, as Dean Swift would say; blind 
 faith and hope obscured his sense of fact ; 
 desire gave wings to his thoughts, and 
 they flew until, to use his own phrase, 
 they were "pinnacled dim in the intense 
 inane. ' ' Shelley was a true apostle of the 
 Revolution's method; he objectified his 
 own ideals and called them realities. — 
 Hancock, Albert Elmer, 1899, The French 
 Revolution and the English Poets, p. 50. 
 
 Shelley's was the passion of weakness, 
 but not the passion of strength Here is 
 the true cause of his essential inferiority 
 to Byron; here is the reason, as Mr. 
 Richard Holt Hutton well showed, why 
 Shelley's poetry is not sublime. There is 
 no sublimity without power and Shelley's 
 power was only the pseudo-power which 
 morbid and introspective people can dis- 
 cover in weakness. — Trent, William P., 
 1899, The Authority of Criticism and other 
 Essays, p. 80. 
 
 Ann Ward Radcliffe 
 
 1764-1823 
 
 Born [Ann Ward], in London, 9 July 1764. Married William Radcliffe, 1787. 
 Occupied with literature, 1789-1802. Spent last twenty years of her life practically 
 in retirement. Died, 7 Feb. 1823. Buried in St. George's Burial Ground, Bayswater 
 Road. Works : ' ' The Castles of Athlin and Dunbayne, ' ' 1789 ; " A Sicilian Romance, ' ' 
 
718 
 
 ANN WARD RADCLIFFE 
 
 1790; ''The Romance of the Forest'' (anon.), 1791; ''The Mysteries of Udulpho," 
 1794; "A Journey . . . through Holland," 1795; "The Italian," 1797; "Poems," 
 1816. Posthumous: "Gaston de Blondeville," 1826. — Sharp, R. Farquharson, 
 1897, A Dictionary of English Author Sy p. 235. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 The tenor of Mrs. Radcliffe's private 
 life seems to have been peculiarly calm 
 and sequestered. She probably declmed 
 the sort of personal notoriety, which, in 
 London society, usually attaches to persons 
 of literary merit ; and perhaps no author 
 whose works wer^ so universally read and 
 admired, was so little personally known 
 even to the most active of that class of 
 people of distinction, who rest their 
 peculiar pretensions to fashion upon the 
 selection of literary society. — Scott, Sir 
 Walter, 1821, Mrs. Ann Radcliffe. 
 
 A beautiful little woman of delicate 
 constitution and sequestered habits, as 
 fond, as her own heroines of lonely sea- 
 shores, picturesque mountains, and poet- 
 ical mediations.— HuiNT, Leigh, 1849, A 
 Book for a Corner, p. 104. 
 
 Mrs. Radclilfe appears to have possessed 
 a cheerful and equable temper, and to have 
 manifested no peculiarity except the sensi- 
 tive aversion to notice which she shared 
 with many other authoresses. For the 
 last twelve years of her life she suffered 
 from spasmodic asthma, and succumbed to 
 a sudden attack on 7 Feb. 1823. She was 
 interred at the chapel-of-ease in the Bays- 
 water Road (the resting-place of Laurence 
 Sterne and of Paul Sand by) belonging to 
 St. George's Hanover Square. — Garnett, 
 Richard, 1896, Dictionary of National 
 Biography y vol. XLVii, p. 121. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 I have read some of the descriptive 
 verbose tales, of which your Ladyship says 
 I was the patriarch by several mothers. 
 (Miss Reeve and Mrs. Radcliffe?) All I 
 car say for myself is that I do not think 
 my concubines have produced issue more 
 natural for excluding the aid of anything 
 marvellous.— Walpole, Horace, 1794, 
 To Countess of Ossory, Sept. 4 ; Letters^ ed. 
 Cunningham, vol. ix, p. 440. 
 
 Mrs. Charlotte Smith, Mrs. Inchbald, 
 Mrs. Mary Robinson, Mrs. &c., &c., though 
 all of them are very ingenious ladies, yet 
 they are too frequently whining or frisking 
 in novels, till our girls' heads turn wild 
 with impossible adventures, and now and 
 then are tainted with democracy. — Not so 
 
 the mighty magician of the Mysteries of 
 Udolpho, bred and nourished by the Floren- 
 tine Muses in their sacred solitary caverns, 
 amid the paler shrines of Gothick super- 
 stition, and in all the dreariness of inchant- 
 ment ; a poetess whom Ariosto would with 
 rapture have acknowledged, as the 
 La nudrita 
 Damigella Trivulzia al sacro speco. 
 — Mathias, Thomas James, 1795, The 
 Pursuits of Literature, p. 58. 
 
 In the productions of Mrs. Radcliffe, the 
 Shakspeare of Romance Writers, and who 
 to the wild landscape of Salvator Rosa has 
 added the softer graces of a Claude, may 
 be found many scenes truly terrific in their 
 conception, yet so softened down, and the 
 mind so much relieved, by the intermixture 
 of beautiful description, or pathetic inci- 
 dent, that the impression of the whole 
 never becomes too strong, never degener- 
 ates into horror, but pleasurable emotion 
 is ever the predominating result. — Drake, 
 Nathan, 1798-1820, Literary Hours, 
 vol. I, No. xvii, p. 273. 
 
 In the writings of this author there is a 
 considerable degree of uniformity and 
 mannerism, which is perhaps the case with 
 all the productions of a strong and original 
 genius. Her heroines too nearly resemble 
 each other, or rather they possess hardly 
 any shade of difference. They have all 
 blue eyes and auburn hair — the form of 
 each of them has "the airy lightness of a 
 nymph" — they are all fond of watching 
 the setting sun, and catching the purple 
 tints of evening, and the vivid glow or 
 fading splendour of the western horizon. 
 Unfortunately they are all likewise early 
 risers. I say unfortunately, for in every 
 exigency Mrs. Radcliffe's heroines are pro- 
 vided with a pencil and paper, and the sun 
 is never allowed to rise or set in peace. 
 Like Tilburina in the play, they are ' ' incon- 
 solable to the minuet in Ariadne," and in 
 the most distressing circumstances find 
 time to compose sonnets to sunrise, the 
 bat, a sea-nymph, a lily, or a butterfly. — 
 DuNLOP, John, 1814-42, The History of 
 Fiction, vol. ii, p. 412. 
 
 Her descriptions of scenery, indeed, are 
 vague and wordy to the last degree ; they 
 are neither like Salvator nor Claude, nor 
 
ANN WARD RADCLIFFE 
 
 719 
 
 nature nor art; and she dwells on the 
 effects of moonlight till we are sometimes 
 weary of them ; her characters are insipid, 
 — the shadows of a shade, continued on, 
 under different names, through all her 
 novels ; her story comes to nothing. But 
 in harrowing up the soul with imaginary 
 horrors, and making the flesh creep and 
 the nerves thrill with fond hopes and fears, 
 she is unrivalled among her fair country- 
 women. Her great power lies in describ- 
 ing the indefinable, and embodying a 
 phantom. She makes her readers twice 
 children. ... All the fascination 
 that links the world of passion to the world 
 unknown is hers, and she plays with it at 
 her pleasure: she has all the poetry of 
 romance, all that is obscure, visionary, 
 and objectless in the imagination. — Haz- 
 LiTT, William, 1818, Lecture on the Eng- 
 lish Novelists. 
 
 Indeed, the praise may be claimed for 
 Mrs. Radcliffe, of having been the first to 
 introduce into her prose fictions a beautiful 
 and fanciful tone of natural description and 
 impressive narrative, which had hitherto 
 been exclusively applied to poetry. Field- 
 ing, Richardson, Smollett, even Walpole, 
 though writing upon an imaginative sub- 
 ject, are decidedly prose authors. Mrs. 
 Radcliffe has a title to be considered as 
 the first poetess of romantic fiction, that 
 is, if actual rhythm shall not be deemed 
 essential to poetry. — Scott, Sir Walter, 
 1821, Mrs. Ann Radcliffe. 
 
 Up to the close of ''The Italian,'' her 
 mind seems gradually to have ascended ; 
 and perhaps she felt as if the next step 
 might be downward. It may be that she 
 was right. ''Gaston de Blondeville," — 
 not given to the world till after her death, 
 and written scarcely five years after "The 
 Italian," — though showing a surprising 
 improvement in style, discovers, at the 
 same time, a subsiding of those energies 
 by which she had held us with such fearful 
 mastery. — Dana, Richard Henry, 1827- 
 50, Radcliffe' s Gaston de Blondeville, Poems 
 and Prose Writings, vol. ii, p. 317. 
 
 Miss Edgeworth would scarcely venture 
 into the region of the picturesque, and 
 Mrs. Radcliffe is^ood for nothing out of 
 it, except, indeed, when she is in her 
 horrors. — Prescqtt, William Hickling, 
 1832, English Literature of the Ninteenth 
 Century, North American Review, vol. 35, 
 p. 188. 
 
 But all this, though impressive, and 
 sometimes grand, is unnatural : such 
 fictions could not last : they were not of 
 God, and so they failed. The authoress 
 lived long enough to see the fabric which 
 she had reared melt away, and Nature 
 resume her reign with the same ease and 
 quietness that the moon succeeds the 
 tempest.— Cunningham, Allan, 1833, 
 Biographical and Critical History of the 
 Literature of the Last Fifty Years. 
 
 We would not pass -over, without a 
 tribute of gratitude, Mrs. Radcliffe's wild 
 and wondrous tales. When we read them, 
 the world seems shut out, and we breathe 
 only in an enchanted region, where lovers' 
 lutes tremble over placid waters, moulder- 
 ing castles rise conscious of deeds of blood, 
 and the sad voices of the past echo through 
 deep vaults and lonely galleries. There is 
 always majesty in her terrors. She pro- 
 duces more effect by whispers and slender 
 hints than ever was attained by the most 
 vivid display of horrors. Her conclusions 
 are tame and impotent almost without 
 example. But while her spells actually 
 operate, her power is truly magical. — 
 Talfourd, Thomas Noon, 1842, On British 
 Novels and Romances, Critical and Miscel- 
 laneous Writings, p. 17. 
 
 Mystery is the whole spell. Nothing 
 can be poorer and more conventional than 
 the personages : they are not human beings, 
 nor even the types of classes ; they have 
 no more individuality than the pieces of a 
 chessboard; they are merely counters; 
 but the skill with which the author juggles 
 with them gives them a kind of awful 
 necromantic interest. The characters are 
 mere abstract algebraical expressions, but 
 they are made the exponents of such ter- 
 rible and intense fear, suffering and sus- 
 pense, that we sympathise with their fate 
 as if they were real. — Shaw, Thomas B., 
 1847, Outlines of English Literature, 
 p. 372. 
 
 In her verses, she is a tinselled nymph 
 in a pantomime, calling up commonplaces 
 with a wand. — Hunt, Leigh, 1847, Men, 
 Women and Books, vol. ii, p. 125. 
 
 Mrs. Radcliffe's romances are, indeed, 
 of a wholly fantastic kind of Gothic, with 
 no whit of foundation in actual knowledge 
 of mediaBval history. Her characters are 
 but vague melodramatic phantoms that 
 flit through her descriptions of scenery, 
 
720 
 
 ANN WARD RADCLIFFE 
 
 and serve as agents for her terrific situa- 
 tions. There is something like treachery 
 also to the true theory of her style in her 
 habit of always solving the mystery at the 
 end by purely natural explanations. — 
 Masson, David, 1859, British Novelists 
 and Their Styles^ p. 187. 
 
 Whose name everybody knows, but 
 whose works, great as their power and 
 effect was in their day, are less known 
 now than their merit deserves. The 
 ''Mysteries of Udolpho" is old-fahioned, 
 but it is fine reading for those who have 
 leisure to trace the meanderings of the 
 threads so carefully entangled, and to fol- 
 low the most ethereal of heroines through 
 the piled-up troubles which make her re- 
 ward all the sweeter when it comes : and 
 that reward aways does come. . . . 
 Her landscapes, even now, though litera- 
 ture has done a great deal since then in 
 the pictorial art, are full of an elaborate 
 and old-fashioned yet tender beauty. She 
 is not familiar with them, nor playful, but 
 always at the height of a romantic strain ; 
 not graphic, but refined and full of per- 
 ception. There are scenes that remind us 
 of the learned Poussin, and some that 
 have a light in them not unworthy of Claude 
 before he v/as put down from his throne by 
 the braggart energy and rivalship of 
 Turner — since when the modern spectator 
 has scarcely had eyes for those serene 
 horizons and gleaming moonlight seas. 
 Perhaps of all others Mrs. Radcliffe's art 
 is most like that of the gentle painter 
 whom people call Italian Wilson. There 
 is a ruined temple in the distance, a guitar 
 laid against a broken column; but the 
 lights, how mellow and soft, the skies how 
 full of tempered radiance, the pastoral 
 valleys unprofaned by ungracious foot — 
 full of the light that never was on sea or 
 shore ! — Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1882, 
 The Literary History of England, XVIIIth- 
 XlXth Century, ^ vol li, pp. 232, 233. 
 
 But what Mrs. Radcliffe attempted, she 
 carried out with a very great skill. — 
 TucKERMAN, Bayard, 1882, A History of 
 English Prose Fiction, p. 268. 
 
 A hundred years later, women touched 
 the novel of plot and adventure with a 
 bolder grasp, and Mrs. Radcliffe's romances 
 seemed the joint offspring of ''big bow- 
 bow" and nightmare parentage. But they 
 too moved with sweep and power ; she was 
 strong in description and invention ; she 
 
 bridged the interval between the mediaeval 
 and modern novel, and painted landscape 
 so well that even Byron sometimes bor- 
 rowed from her. — Higginson, Thomas 
 Wentworth, 1887, Women and Men, 
 p. 160. 
 
 Mrs. Radcliffe sometimes writes power- 
 fully and well, but sometimes she writes 
 very badly. Her style is stiff and inflated ; 
 she is fond of fine words and involved 
 sentences, and has a righteous detestation 
 of calling a spade a spade. Her forte is 
 description, she has a peculiar talent for 
 drawing link after lin-k of detail. She 
 brings us into a suite of mysterious rooms, 
 with high casements, a dagger eaten with 
 rust on the floor, an old bedstead, a heap 
 of lumber, and a dusty manuscript — each 
 completes a chain of horrors. — Hamilton, 
 Catharine J., 1892, Women Writers, 
 First Series, p. 152. 
 
 There is generally some mystery afloat ; 
 when one has been cleared up, we are not 
 suffered long to breathe freely before we 
 are caught in the toils of another. Yet 
 all the time only human agents are at 
 work; there is nothing improbable except 
 the extraordinary combination of circum- 
 stances, nothing supernatural except in 
 the superstitious imaginings of the person- 
 ages of the story. Every thing that 
 seemed as if it must be the work of spirits 
 is carefully and fully explained as the story 
 goes on. Mrs. Radcliffe has been censured 
 for these explanations, as if they were a 
 mistake in point of art, destroying the 
 illusion and making us ashamed of our- 
 selves for having been imposed upon. This 
 censure I can regard only as an affectation, 
 unless when it comes from a convinced 
 believer in ghosts. Such persons might 
 resent the explanation as casting doubts 
 upon their cherished belief. But for other 
 people I can see nothing that could be 
 gained by leaving the mysterious incidents 
 unexplained, except by the authoress, who 
 would undoubtedly have saved herself an 
 immense deal of trouble if she had made 
 free use of ghosts and other supernatural 
 properties, whenever she required them, 
 without taking any pains to explain how 
 the facts occurred. I read the story my- 
 self with a double interest ; I enjoy the 
 excitement of superstitious wonder and 
 awe while the illusion lasts, and when the 
 mystery is cleared up, and the excitement 
 is gently subsiding, I am in a mood to get 
 
ANN WARD RADCLIFFE 
 
 721 
 
 additional enjoyment from reflecting on 
 the ingenuity of the complication that 
 gave to the illusion for the moment the 
 force of truth. Yet it was no less a per- 
 son than Sir Walter Scott that set the 
 fashion of objecting to Mrs. Radcliffe' s 
 explanations.— MiNTO, William, 1894, 
 The Literature of the Georgian Era, ed. 
 Knight, p. 126. 
 
 Her ignorance of the world at the time 
 when she wrote was complete and many- 
 sided. Human character she knew, not 
 from observation but from dreams. The 
 landscapes for which she is so justly 
 famous are pictures of countries she never 
 saw. There is nothing in her books that 
 she did not create. And it is a testimony 
 to the power of her art that her fancy 
 first conceived a type of character that 
 subsequently passed from art into life. 
 The man that Lord Byron tried to be was 
 the invention of Mrs. Radcliffe. — Ral- 
 eigh, Walter, 1894, The English Novel, 
 p, 228. 
 
 The actual literary value is, on the 
 whole, low ; though Mrs. Radcliffe is not 
 without glimmerings. — Saintsbury, 
 George, 1896, A History of Nineteenth 
 Century Literature, p, 44. 
 
 It was, indeed, in the melodramatic 
 manipulation of landscape that this artist 
 was most original. *'The scenes that 
 savage Rosa dashed' ' seem to have been 
 her model, and critics who were fond of 
 analogy called her the Salvator Rosa of 
 fiction. It is here that her influence on 
 Byron and Chateaubriand is most apparent. 
 Mrs. Radcliffe's scenery is not quite to 
 our modern taste, any more than are Sal- 
 vator's paintings. Her Venice by moon- 
 light, her mountain gorges with their black 
 pines and foaming torrents, are not pre- 
 cisely the Venice and the Alps of Ruskin ; 
 rather of the operatic stage. Still they 
 are impressive in their way, and in this 
 department she possessed genuine poetic 
 feeling and a real mastery of the art of 
 painting in distemper. — Beers, Henry 
 A., 1898, A History of English Romanti- 
 cism in the Eighteenth Century, p. 255. 
 
 Mrs. Radcliffe wrote for the story, and 
 not for the characters, which are all 
 types, and soon became conventional. 
 There is always the young lover, a gentle- 
 man of high birth, usually in some sort of 
 disguise, who, without seeing the face of 
 
 46 0 
 
 the heroine, may fall in love with her 
 distinguished air of delicacy and grace" 
 or **the sweetness and fine expression of 
 her voice." The only variation in the 
 heroine is that she may be either dark or 
 fair. The beautiful creature is confined 
 in a castle or a convent because she re- 
 fuses to marry some one whom she hates. 
 She finally has her own way and marries 
 her lover. The tyrant is always the 
 same man under different names; add 
 to him a little softness, and he becomes 
 the Byronic hero.— Cross, Wilbur L., 
 1899, The Development of the English Novel, 
 p. 106. 
 
 Does any one now read Mrs. Radcliffe, 
 or am I the only wanderer in her windy 
 corridors, listening timidly to groans and 
 hollow voices, and shielding the flame of 
 a lamp, which, I fear, will presently flicker 
 out, and leave me in the darkness ? People 
 know the name of ''The Mysteries of 
 Udolpho ;" they know that boys would say 
 to Thackeray, at school, "Old fellow, draw 
 us Vivaldi in the Inquisition." But have 
 they penetrated into the chill galleries of 
 the Castle of Udolpho ? Have they shud- 
 dered for Vivaldi in face of the sable-clad 
 and masked Inquisition ? Certainly Mrs. 
 Radcliffe, within the memory of man, has 
 been extremely popular. The thick double- 
 columned volume in which I peruse the 
 works of the Enchantress belongs to a 
 public library. It is quite the dirtiest, 
 greasiest, most dog's-eared, and most 
 bescribbled tome in the collection. Many 
 of the books have remained, during the 
 last hundred years, uncut, even to this 
 day, and I have had to apply the paper 
 knife to many an author, from Alciphron 
 (1790) to Mr. Max Miiller,and Dr. Birkbeck 
 Hill's edition of Bozzy's ''Life of Dr. 
 Johnson." But Mrs. Radcliffe has been 
 read diligently, and copiously annotated. 
 . . . Mrs. Radcliffe does not always 
 keep on her highest level, but we must 
 remember that her last romance, "The 
 Italian, " is by far her best. She had been 
 feeling her way to this pitch of excellence, 
 and, when she had attained to it, she pub- 
 lished no more. . . . "The Italian" 
 is an excellent novel. The Prelude, "the 
 dark and vaulted gateway," is not un- 
 worthy of Hawthorne, who, I suspect, 
 had studied Mrs. Radcliffe. — Lang, An- 
 drew, 1900, Mrs. Radcliffe's Novels, Corn- 
 hill Magazine, vol, 82, pp. 23, 24, 33. 
 
722 
 
 Charles Wolfe 
 
 1791-1823 
 
 Born, in Dublin, 14 Dec. 1791. At school at Batli, 1801; at Salisbury, 1803-05; 
 at Winchester Col., 1806-09. To Dublin Univ., 1809; scholar, 1812; B. A., 1814. 
 Ordained, Nov. 1817. Curate of Ballyclog, Tyrone, Dec. 1817 to Jan. 1818; of Castle 
 Caulfield, Donoughmore, 1818-21. Ill-health from 1821. Died at Cove of Cork, 21 
 Feb. 1823. Works: ''The Burial of Sir John Moore; with other poems,'' 1825; 
 ''Remains," ed. by J. A. Russell, with memoir (2 vols.), 1825. — Sharp, R. Far- 
 QUHARSON, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 303. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 His habits and manner of life, as a 
 clergyman, were exceedingly simple and 
 primitive. He scarcely ever thought of 
 providing a regular meal. His small cot- 
 tage contained a few rushbottomed chairs, 
 a rickety table, and two trunks : one for 
 his papers and the other for his linen. 
 The trunks also did service by covering 
 the broken parts of the floor. The damp 
 paper hung in loose folds from the mouldy 
 walls of the closet where he slept. A 
 dangerous place for a man of a consump- 
 tive habit. Between the parlour and the 
 closet was the kitchen, the warmest and 
 most comfortable apartment of the three. 
 This was occupied by a disbanded soldier, 
 his wife, and a numerous band of children, 
 who kept house for the minister, whom 
 they entertained as a lodger, taking pos- 
 session of the "bit of potato garden" 
 (which went with the cottage) as lords of 
 the soil. — Gibson, Charles B., 1864, 
 Charles WoJfe^ Once a Week, vol. 11, 
 p. 504. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Charles Wolfe has been one of the few 
 who have gained probable immortality 
 from a casual gleam of inspiration thrown 
 over a single poem, consisting of only a 
 few stanzas, and these, too, little more 
 than a spiritual version from the prose of 
 another. But the lyric is indeed full of 
 fervor and freshness ; and his triumph is 
 not to be grudged. —Mom, D. M., 1850- 
 51, Sketches of the Poetical Literature of 
 the Past Half- Century. 
 
 The famous ode on "The Burial of Sir 
 John Moore." . . . Almost immediately 
 it took its place among the four or five 
 best martial poems in our language, pre- 
 eminent for simplicity, patriotic fervour, 
 and manly pathos. It was presently dis- 
 covered that this poem had been written 
 some years before it was printed, by a 
 young Irishman of much promise who died 
 of a decline in his thirty-second year. 
 
 When this fact became known, public 
 curiosity was attracted to his name, and 
 an attempt was made by one of his early 
 friends to collect what he had written. 
 Only twelve short pieces, besides the ode, 
 could be discovered; they were mostly 
 songs of love and friendship, full of ardour, 
 and not uninfluenced by the popular Irish 
 manner of Moore. — GossE, Edmund, 1880, 
 The English Poets, ed. Ward, vol, iv, p. 323. 
 
 The "single speech" accident of Charles 
 Wolfe, the author of the "Burial of Sir 
 John. Moore," which everybody knows, 
 and of absolutely nothing else that is 
 worth a single person's knowing. — Saints- 
 BURY, George, 1896, A History of Nine- 
 teenth Century Literature, p. 124. 
 
 The Rev. Charles Wolfe, an obscure Irish 
 clergyman, writes a short poem which a 
 friend who had learned it recites to a casual 
 travelling acquaintance. The latter pub- 
 lishes it in the "Newry Telegraph." Soon 
 it is on the lips of Shelley and Byron, and 
 now there is hardly a reader of the English 
 language who has not read the ' ' Burial of 
 Sir John Moore." Few indeed are the 
 "occasional" poems that possess so endur- 
 ing a power to move the heart. Its note 
 of pride and sorrow is tuned to that of all 
 the lofty sorrows of the world, and the 
 very music of the lines with their long, 
 deep vowel sounds, like the burst of solemn 
 passion in Beethoven's Funeral March, will 
 carry their meaning and emotion to read- 
 ers of many generations hence. Wolfe 
 wrote but little poetry in his short life, 
 and little of what he wrote can compare 
 with the ' ' Burial Ode. ' ' But the ' ' Song' ' 
 which he wrote under the influence of a 
 strain of Irish music, to which he was 
 keenly sensitive, has a remarkable inten- 
 sity of feeling and sweetness of melody. — 
 Rolleston, T. W., 1900, A Treasury of 
 Irish Poetry, eds. Brooke and Rolleston, 
 p. 51. 
 
 The poetical achievements of Wolfe fill 
 but a few pages in the memorial volumes. 
 
WOLFE— BLOOMFIELD 
 
 723 
 
 . . . Exclusive of some boyish produc- 
 tions, they number no more than fifteen 
 pieces, all of them written almost at ran- 
 dom, without any idea of publication, and 
 preserved almost by accident. These, 
 however, present the potentials of a poet 
 of no mean order. The testimony of 
 many contemporaries, afterwards eminent. 
 
 confirms the impression which his other 
 lyrics convey, that the lines on the burial of 
 Sir John Moore are not, as has been repre- 
 sented, a mere freak of intellect, but the 
 fruit of a temperament and genius es- 
 sentially poetic. — Falkiner, C. Litton, 
 1900, Dictionary of National Biography ^ 
 vol. LXii, p. 296. 
 
 Robert Bloomfield 
 
 1766-1823 
 
 Robert Bloomfield (1766-1823) — farmer's boy, and, through the influence of the 
 Duke of Grafton, government clerk, with a somewhat unhappy lot in both positions — 
 *'The Farmer's Boy" (1798), ^'Rural Tales" (1802), ^^Wild Flowers," and other 
 pieces ; volumes of cheerful description of rural life with much moral feeling and 
 smoothness of versification : his great fault is his want of passion — his great excellence, 
 the truth and reality of his delineations : some of his lines, those for example on the 
 Soldier's Home," Wilson thinks equal to Burns'. — Angus, Joseph, 1865, The Hand- 
 hook of English Literature, p. 265. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Bloomfield was dull in conversation ; but 
 humble, simple, mild, and unpretending. 
 ... I never saw a man more humble in 
 manner, without losing his dignity, than 
 Robert Bloomfield ; but he was not easy in 
 the company of men born and moving in a 
 rank of society much above him ; and I do 
 not think he gained anything by suffering 
 himself to be drawn into it. — Brydges, 
 Sir Samuel Egerton, 1834, Autobiogra- 
 phy, vol. II, pp. 46, 172. 
 
 It is little to the credit of the age, that 
 the latter days of a man whose name was 
 at one time so deservedly popular, should 
 have been past in poverty, and perhaps 
 shortened by distress, that distress having 
 been brought on by no misconduct or im- 
 prudence of his own. — Southey, Robert, 
 1836, Lives of Uneducated Poets, p. 163. 
 
 Having now become hypochondriacal 
 and half blind, he retired to Shefford, 
 where he died in great poverty on 19 Aug. 
 1823, leaving a widow and four children. 
 Had he lived longer, he would probably 
 have gone mad.— Bullen, A. H., 1886, 
 Dictionary of National Biography, vol. v, 
 p. 237. 
 
 No British poet ever had a harder life 
 than Robert Bloomfield, whose misfortune 
 it was to suffer from poetry and poverty 
 alike. He cannot be said to have been 
 worsened by his gift of verse, such as it 
 was, but he can hardly be said to have been 
 bettered by it, since it neither developed 
 his character nor strengthened his mind. 
 
 But perhaps it did all that could be ex- 
 pected, his mind being, as Lamb observed, 
 a poor one, and his character a weak one. 
 He was the creature of circumstances, 
 crushed by inherited poverty, and cursed 
 with a feeble constitution and constant 
 illness. Nature does not make heroes out 
 of sickly shoemakers only five feet four 
 inches long, still less great poets. — Stod- 
 dard, Richard Henry, 1892, Under the 
 Evening Lam,p, p. 116. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Such indeed are the merits of this work 
 [''The Farmer's Boy"] that, in true 
 pastoral imagery and simplicity, I do 
 not think any production can be put in 
 competition with it since the days of 
 Theocritus. To that charming rusticity 
 which particularises the Grecian are added 
 the individuality, fidelity, and boldness 
 of description which render Thomson so 
 interesting to the lovers of Nature. 
 Gresner possesses the most engaging 
 sentiment, and the most refined simplicity 
 of manners, but he wants that rustic wild- 
 ness and naivete in delineation character- 
 istic of the Sicilian and of the composition 
 before us. Warner and Drayton have 
 much to recommend them, but they are 
 very unequal, and are devoid of the 
 sweet and pensive morality which pervade 
 almost every page of the ''Farmer's Boy ;" 
 nor can they establish any pretentions to 
 that fecundity in painting the economy of 
 rural life, which this poem, drawn from 
 actual experience, so richly displays It 
 
724 
 
 ROBERT BLOOMFIELD 
 
 is astonishing, indeed, what various and 
 striking circumstances peculiar to the 
 occupation of the British Farmer, and 
 which are adapted to all the purposes of 
 the pastoral Muse, had escaped our poets 
 previous to the publication of Mr. Bloom- 
 field's work. — Drake, Nathan, 1798- 
 1820, Literary HourSy vol. ii, No. xxxix, 
 p. 308. 
 
 Don't you think the fellow who wrote 
 it (who is a shoemaker) has a poor mind ? 
 Don't you find he is always silly about poor 
 Giles, and those abject kind of phrases 
 which mark a man that looks up to wealth ? 
 None of Burns' poet dignity. What do 
 you think ? I have just opened him, but he 
 makes me sick. — Lamb, Charles, 1800, 
 Letter to Manning^ Nov. 3. 
 
 I have received many honourable testi- 
 monies of esteem from strangers ; letters 
 without a name, but filled with the most 
 cordial advice, and almost a parental anx- 
 iety, for my safety under so great a share 
 of public applause. I beg to refer such 
 friends to the great teacher. Time; and 
 hope that he will hereafter give me my 
 deserts, and no more. — Bloomfield, Rob- 
 ert, 1801, Rural Tales, Preface. 
 
 Bloomfield, thy happy -omen 'd name 
 Ensures continuance to thy fame ; 
 Both sense and truth this verdict give, 
 While fields shall bloom, thy name shall live ! 
 
 — White, Henry Kirke, 1803, Clifton 
 Grove. 
 
 How wise, how noble, was thy choice. 
 
 To be the Bard of simple swains ; 
 In all their pleasures to rejoice, 
 
 And soothe with sympathy their pains ; 
 To sing with feeling in thy strains 
 
 The simple subjects they discuss. 
 And be, though free from classic chains. 
 
 Our own more chaste Theocritus ! 
 — Barton, Bernard, 1823, To the Mem- 
 ory of Robert Bloomfield, London Magazine, 
 vol. 8, Memoir. 
 
 In his* 'Rural Tales," he has succeeded 
 in the patriotic attempt to render the 
 loves and joys, the sports and manners, of 
 English peasants interesting. I recollect 
 no poet before him who, by a serious, un- 
 affected delineation of humble life, as it 
 actually exists, had awakened strong 
 sympathy, in people more prosperously 
 circumstanced, towards the lower classes 
 of the community. — Montgomery, James, 
 1833, Lectures on General Liter aturCy 
 Poetry, etc., p. 165. 
 
 Beyond any example, save that of Clare, 
 Bloomfield seemed to be a poet almost by 
 intuition; for in point of taste, melody, 
 and accuracy, his early verses, composed 
 without almost a glimpse of education, 
 were never excelled by his after efforts. — 
 MoiR, D. M., 1850-51, Sketches of the 
 Poetical Literature of the Past Half-Cen- 
 tury, p. 32. 
 
 The success of the poem was immediate 
 and complete. It was warmly received by 
 the public, and praised in all quarters as 
 a masterpiece of natural poetic simplicity 
 and beauty. Twenty-six thousand copies 
 were sold in the first three years of its 
 issue, seven editions having been called 
 for. The position secured by the "Farmer's 
 Boy" on its first publication has been held 
 until the present day. All lovers of 
 poetry read it with delight. It is natural 
 and graceful as the song of a bird "warb- 
 ling his native woodnotes wild." When 
 the English song-bird sings in captivity 
 there seems to be a touch of pathos in his 
 note ; and one can hardly resist the same 
 impression in reading these sweet rustic 
 melodies in verse which came from the 
 lips of the shoemaker-poet imprisoned in 
 a London garret. Yet there is something 
 much more stimulating in Boomfield's lines 
 than this. They are sweet and joyous, 
 and full of that glowing enthusiasm for 
 beauty which all fine natures feel. Besides 
 the editions sent forth in this country, the 
 ''Farmer's Boy" was printed at Leipsic, 
 and was translated into French, Italian, 
 and Latin.— Winks, William Edward, 
 1SS2, Lives of Illustrious Shoemakers, p.9d. 
 
 It was not in the nature of a man like 
 Lamb to respect a man like Bloomfield. 
 There was nothing in common between 
 them, the one being a scholar and a thinker, 
 the other an unlettered rustic, with a 
 knack at versifying. The reputation of 
 Burns, who died four years before, pre- 
 pared the way for a self-made rhymester 
 like Bloomfield, whose temporary vogue 
 prepared the way in turn for a little school 
 of self-made rhymsters who sprung up 
 around him. There are tracts of litera- 
 ture wherein, as in old, neglected pastures, 
 mushrooms are sometimes found, and with 
 these mushrooms hundreds of other fungi 
 which are often mistaken for them by the 
 ignorant and the credulous. Byron de- 
 scribed Churchill as the comet of a season. 
 If I were to describe Bloomfield, it would 
 
BLOOMFIELD—RICARDO 
 
 725 
 
 be as a glow-worm, whose mild and fitful 
 raidance twinkled awhile, and then went 
 out in the darkness. — Stoddard, Richard 
 Henry, 1892, Under the Evening Lamp^ 
 p. 114. 
 
 We children who were used to the free 
 range of woods and fields were homesick 
 for the country in our narrow city yard, 
 and I associate with this longing the 
 ''Farmer Boy" of Bloomfield, which my 
 father got for me. It was a little book 
 in blue cloth, and there were some mild 
 woodcuts in it. I read it with a tempered 
 pleasure and with a vague resentment of 
 its trespass upon Thomson's ground in the 
 division of its parts under the names of 
 the seasons. I do not know why I need 
 have felt this. I was not yet very fond 
 of Thomson. I really liked Bloomfield 
 better ; for one thing, his poem was writ- 
 ten in the heroic decasyllables which I 
 preferred to any other verse. — Howells, 
 William Dean, 1895, My Literary Pas- 
 sions, p. 46. 
 
 Bloomfield's poetry is characterised by 
 a smoothness and ease of versification 
 which came quite natural to him. He had 
 
 an ear for music which guided him in the 
 formation of his verse. If his vocabulary 
 was not extensive it was quite large enough 
 for the themes upon which he wrote ; and 
 his choice of words is often felicitous. 
 . . . But it is as a poet of Nature rather 
 than of Humanity that Bloomfield claims 
 recognition. His descriptions of natural 
 scenery are both faithful and character- 
 istic. His pictures of the farmer's boy 
 engaged in various labours of the farm are 
 those of one who draws direct from 
 Nature, and who has himself experienced 
 the life that he depicts. These show both 
 minuteness of observation and fidelity of 
 description, which entitle him to an 
 honourable place among the earliest of 
 modern worshippers at the so long neg- 
 lected shrine of Nature.— Miles, Alfred 
 H., 1895, The Poets and the Poetry of the 
 Century^ Crahbe to Coleridge, pp. 155, 156. 
 
 One of those unfortunate ''prodigy" 
 poets whom mistaken kindness encourages. 
 . . . His "Farmer's Boy," an estimable 
 but much over-praised piece. — Saints- 
 bury, George, 1896, A History of Nine- 
 teenth Century Literature, p. 107. 
 
 David Ricardo 
 
 1772-1823 
 
 Born, in England, 19 April 1772. Early education in England ; in Holland, 1783-85. 
 Began to assist his father in business on Stock Exchange, 1786. Married Priscilla 
 Anne Wilkinson, 20 Dec. 1793. Mem. of newly founded Geological Soc, 1807. 
 Bought the estate of Gatcombe Park, Gloucestershire, 1813. Retired from business, 
 1814. Sherilf, 1818. M. P. for Portarlington, Ireland, 1819-23. Visit to Continent, 
 1822. Died, at Gatcombe Park, 11 Sept. 1823. Works: "The High Price of Bullion 
 a proof of the depreciation of Bank Notes, " 1810 (3rd edn., same year) ; "Observations 
 on some passages in . . . the Edinburgh Review," 1811 ; "Reply to Mr. Bosanquet's 
 Practical Observations, " 1811 ; "Essay on the Influence of a Low Price of Corn on the 
 Profits of Stock, ' ' 1815 (2nd edn. , same year) ; ' ' Proposals for an Economical and Secure 
 Currency," 1816 (2nd edn., same year) ; "On the Principles of Political Economy and 
 Taxation," 1817; "On Protection to Agriculture, " 1822 (4th edn., same year) ; "Plan 
 for the Establishment of a National Bank," 1824. Posthumous : Letters to T. R. 
 Malthus, 1887. Collected Works: ed. by McCulloch, 2nd edn., 1852.— Sharp, R. 
 Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 239. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 I do not remember that any public event 
 of our own times has touched me so nearly, 
 or so much with the feelings belonging to 
 a private affliction, as the death of Mr. 
 Ricardo. To me in some sense it was a 
 private affliction, and no doubt to all 
 others who knew and honoured his ex- 
 traordinary talents. For great intellectual 
 merit, wherever it has been steadily con- 
 templated, cannot but conciliate some 
 
 personal regard; and, for my part, I 
 acknowledge that, abstracting altogether 
 from the use to which a man of splendid 
 endowments may apply them — or even 
 supposing the case that he should deliber- 
 ately apply them to a bad one — I could no 
 more on that account withhold my good 
 wishes and affection from his person, than, 
 under any consideration of their terrific 
 attributes, I could forbear to admire the 
 power and the beauty of the serpent or the 
 
726 
 
 DAVID RICARDO 
 
 panther. . . . Mr. Ricardo, however, 
 stood in no need of a partial or indulgent 
 privilege ; his privilege of intellect had a 
 comprehensive sanction from all the pur- 
 poses to which he applied it in the course 
 of his public life ; in or out of Parliament, 
 as a senator, or as an author, he was 
 known and honoured as a public benefactor. 
 Though connected myself by private 
 friendship with persons of the political 
 party hostile to his, I heard amongst them 
 all but one language of respect for his 
 public conduct. — De Quincey, Thomas, 
 1823, The Services of Mr. Ricardo to the 
 Sciences of Political Economy, London 
 Magazine, 
 
 His speaking, his conduct, his manner, 
 were all exceptionable and all suited to 
 the man, — his high station among philos- 
 ophers, his known opinions on political 
 alfairs, his kindly nature, and his genuine 
 modesty. There was something about 
 him, chiefly a want of all affectation as 
 well as pretention in everything he said or 
 did, that won the respect of each party. 
 His matter was ever of high value. 
 Whether you agreed or differed with him, 
 you were well pleased to have it brought 
 out and made to bear upon the question, if 
 indeed the pursuit of right and truth was 
 your object. His views were often, indeed, 
 abundantly theoretical, sometimes too re- 
 fined for his audience, occasionally extrav- 
 agant, from his propensity to follow a right 
 principle into all its consequences, with- 
 out duly taking into account in practice 
 the condition of things to which he was 
 applying it, as if a mechanician were to 
 construct an engine without taking into 
 consideration the resistance of the air in 
 which it was to work, or the strength and 
 the weight and the friction of the parts 
 of which it was to be made. . . . But 
 while such were his errors, and those of a 
 kind to excite very strong feelings in cer- 
 tain large and important classes in the 
 House of Commons, he was uniformly and 
 universally respected for the sterling 
 qualities of his capacity and his charac- 
 ter, which were acknowledged by all. — 
 Brougham, Henry Lord, 1839-43, Lives 
 of Statesmen of the Time of George III. 
 
 His benignity of character and simple 
 but earnest manner in argument often 
 made converts where his books had failed 
 to do so. — Holland, Sir Henry, 1871, 
 Recollections of Past Life, p. 241. 
 
 During this first period of my life, the 
 habitual frequenters of my father's house 
 were limited to a very few persons, most 
 of them little known to the world, but 
 whom personal worth, and more or less of 
 congeniality with at least his political 
 opinions (not so frequently to be met 
 with then as since) inclined him to culti- 
 vate; and his conversations with them 
 I listened to with interest and instruction. 
 My being an habitual inmate of my father's 
 study made me acquainted with the dearest 
 of his friends, David Ricardo, who by his 
 benevolent countenence, and kindliness of 
 manner, was very attractive to young per-' 
 sons, and who, after I became a student 
 of political economy, invited me to his 
 house and to walk with him in order to 
 converse on the subject. — Mill, John 
 Stuart, 1873, Autobiography. 
 
 Miss Edgeworth visited the Ricardos at 
 Gatcombe in 1821, and gives an account 
 of his family and delightfully pleasant 
 house.'' She says that he was charming 
 in conversation ; perpetually starting new 
 game, and never arguing for victory. He 
 took part in charades, and represented a 
 coxcomb very drolly. Altogether she 
 thought him one of the most agreeable an(J 
 least formal persons she ever met. . . . 
 His family held, it appears, that any child 
 
 could impose upon him.'' — Stephen, 
 Leslie, 1896, Dictionary of National 
 Biography, vol. XLViii, p. 95. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Consolidating his views in one work, he 
 gave to the world his excellent treatise on 
 his favourite science, which, with Mr. 
 Malthus's Essay on the Principle of 
 Population, " divides the claim to a second 
 place after the ''Wealth of Nations," 
 among the books which this country has 
 produced upon the important science of 
 economics. — Brougham, Henry Lord, 
 1839-43, Lives of Statesmen of the Time 
 of George III. 
 
 This is a most able, original, and pro- 
 found work. Its appearance formed a 
 new era in the history of the science. 
 Exclusive of many valuable correlative 
 discussions, Mr. Ricardo has traced the 
 source and limiting principle of exchange- 
 able value, and has exhibited the laws 
 which determine the distribution of the 
 .various products of art and industry 
 among the various ranks and orders of 
 
DAVID RICARDO 
 
 121 
 
 society. . . . Mr. Ricardo was the 
 first to perceive the error into which Smith 
 had fallen, in supposing that the effects 
 consequent upon an increase or diminution 
 of the wages paid for the labour employed 
 in the production of commodities were the 
 same with those consequent upon an in- 
 crease or diminution of the quantity of 
 such labour. — McCulloch, John Ram- 
 say, 1845, Literature of Political Econ- 
 omy^ p. 16. 
 
 His book is the true manual of the dema- 
 gogue, — seeking power by means of agra- 
 rianism, war, and plunder. Its lessons 
 being inconsistent with those afforded by 
 the study of all well-observed facts, and 
 inconsistent even with themselves, the 
 sooner they shall come to be discarded the 
 better will it be, for the interests of land- 
 lord and tenant, manufacturer and me- 
 chanic, and mankind at large. — Carevt, 
 Henry C, 1858, Principles of Social 
 Science, vol. ill, p. 154. 
 
 He was an economist only, not at all a 
 social philosopher in the wider sense, like 
 Adam Smith or John Mill. He had great 
 acuteness, but little breadth. For any 
 large treatment of moral and political 
 questions he seems to have been alike by 
 nature and preparation unfitted ; and there 
 is no evidence of his having had any but 
 the most ordinary and narrow views of the 
 great social problems. His whole concep- 
 tion of human society is material and me- 
 chanical, the selfish principle being re- 
 garded, after the manner of the Bentham- 
 ites, as omnipotent, not merely in prac- 
 tical economy, but, as appears from his 
 speech on the ballot and his tract on 
 reform, in the whole extent of the social 
 field. Roscher calls him "ein tiefer Men- 
 schenkenner it would be diflScult to 
 characterize him more inaptly. The same 
 writer remarks on his capitalistic" tone, 
 which, he says, becomes, ''mammonistic'^ 
 in some of his followers; but the latter 
 spirit is already felt as the pervading 
 atmosphere of Ricardo's works. He 
 shows no trace of that hearty sympathy 
 with the working classes which breaks out 
 in several passages of the ''Wealth of 
 Nations;" we ought, perhaps, with Held, 
 to regard it as a merit in Ricardo that he 
 does not cover with fine phrases his defi- 
 ciency in warmth of social sentiment.— 
 Ingram, John Kells, 1886, Encyclopcedia 
 Britannica, Ninth ed., vol. xx, p. 550. 
 
 There are few writers so open to mis- 
 understanding, and few indeed whose real 
 merits have been so completely thrust out 
 of sight by other merits fancifully attrib- 
 uted to them. ''The Principles of Polit- 
 ical Economy and Taxation" has been 
 invested with the portentiously solemn 
 character of a complete scientific hand- 
 book, while its author has been praised 
 alike by friend and foe for rigid logic, 
 careful method, and an exactitude of 
 definition, almost mathematical in its 
 nature. To such an extent has this atti- 
 tude been assumed that till some few years 
 ago hardly any critic, however unfriendly, 
 hesitated to give his assent to the propo- 
 sition that Ricardo's conclusions, his 
 premises once granted, were irrefutable. 
 And yet it is hardly possible to doubt that 
 the eulogies thus lavishly if carelessly 
 bestowed are not those to which Ricardo 
 is best entitled. It is doubtful, perhaps, 
 whether he is entitled to some of them at 
 all. So far is the work under considera- 
 tion from being a perfect work that it is 
 disfigured by blemishes and defects of very 
 many kinds. Not only is it remarkable 
 for infelicity of language, with all its fatal 
 consequences of exaggeration and obscu- 
 rity, but the grammar itself is halting and 
 the accuracy often apparent, fallaciously 
 apparent, rather than real. — Gonner, E. 
 C. K., 1891, ed. Ricardo's Political Econ- 
 omy , Introductory Essay, p. xxiii. 
 
 English economists can hardly fail to be 
 proud of Ricardo ; and whether their pride 
 takes the form of treating him as an Angel 
 of Light or as the Prince of Darkness, 
 they will probably all assign to him much 
 greater influence than foreign economists 
 would allow. Besides, if, as we are told, 
 it is a pleasure to the young and vehement 
 to be heterodox and to scoff at great 
 names, it is a comfort to the staid and 
 academic "stare super antiquas vias, " to 
 feel that they are building on the founda- 
 tions that were laid by the fathers of their 
 church.— Ashley, W. J., 1891, The Re- 
 habilitation of Ricardo, Economic Journal, 
 vol. I, p. 475. 
 
 With Ricardo's name is associated a 
 progress in our science far more consider- 
 able than can be credited to Say. Ricardo 
 is in fact by general consent recognised 
 as the greatest economist of the nine- 
 teenth century. Like Malthus, he suffered 
 much from the misconceptions of his too 
 
728 
 
 mCARDO—ERSKINE 
 
 enthusiastic friends, but he had a still 
 larger number of adversaries who attacked 
 him when he wrote, and his recent adversa- 
 ries have not been few. Among them it is 
 grievous that we must mention two writers 
 of such conspicuous merit as Jevons and 
 Ferrara. . . . But after all, Ricardo's 
 chief title to fame rests upon the ''Princi- 
 ples of Political Economy'' (1817), a work 
 of originality and profundity so remark- 
 able that it marks an epoch in the history 
 of our science, though, to be sure, its good 
 points are overstated by such enthusiastic 
 partisans as MacCulloch and De Quincey. 
 That it has defects is obvious to any con- 
 scientious and critical reader, but these 
 are not often the ones which trivial-minded 
 or incompetent critics have stretched its 
 words and twisted its thoughts to fasten 
 upon it. Ricardo certainly never dreamt 
 of writing an exhaustive treatise, because, 
 as is definitely recorded by him again and 
 again in his letters, he was painfully aware 
 of his disqualifications as a writer, indeed 
 his modesty has overstated them. — Cossa, 
 LuiGi, 1891-93, An Introduction to the 
 Study of Political Economy, ed. Dyer. 
 
 Ever since the death of Ricardo there 
 has been an increasing interest in him and 
 his writings. For all deductive economists 
 his theories have had a charm which those 
 of no later writer possess. There are 
 
 many whose reasoning is more perfect, 
 many whose ideas are more clearly ex- 
 pressed ; but few have attained the com- 
 manding position of Ricardo in economic 
 theory. On the other hand, among a large 
 class of economists with inductive and 
 historical tendencies, any doctrine to 
 which Ricardo's name is attached is dis- 
 credited, and often treated with contempt. 
 I have no desire to enter this controversy, 
 which must rest as it is until a new spirit 
 causes men to interpret the history of 
 economic theory from a new standpoint. 
 I only desire to discuss the interpretation 
 of Ricardo 's writings which has grown up 
 among his followers and disciples, and 
 from a position friendly to him and them. 
 Few writers have a greater interest in 
 deductive economics than I, and no one 
 would be less willing to say anything that 
 would reflect any discredit or lower in any 
 way the high esteem in which Ricardo is 
 held. Yet it seems to me that his friends 
 in defending him have placed him in a 
 false light, and have distorted the history 
 of economic theory. Ricardo is too great 
 a man to need any false praise ; his merits 
 will only be magnified if he is placed in 
 his true historical position as an econo- 
 mist.— Pett an, Simon N., 1893, The In- 
 terpretation of Ricardo, The Quarterly 
 Journal of Economics, vol. 7, p. 322. 
 
 Thomas Erskine 
 
 1750-1823 
 
 Thomas, Baron Erskine. Born at Edinburgh, Jan. 21, 1750: died at Almondell, 
 near Edinburgh, Nov. 17, 1823. A British jurist and forensic orator. He was the 
 youngest son of the tenth Earl of Buchan. He attained celebrity as a pleader in sup- 
 porting charges of corruption advanced against Lord Sandwich, and subsequently dis- 
 tinguished himself especially in his defence of Stockdale (1789), Thomas Paine (1792), 
 and Hardy, Horne Tooke, etc. (1794). He represented Portsmouth in the House of 
 Commons from 1790 till raised to the peerage as Baron Erskine, of Restormel, on his 
 being made lord chancellor in Lord Grenville's administration (Feb., 1806, — April, 
 1807.)— Smith, Benjamin E., ed., 1894-97, The Century Cyclopedia of Names, p. 367. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Erskine. — Mr. Barrister Erskine is 
 famous for taking opium in great quanti- 
 ties (I have often heard him speak in praise 
 of it), and if he proceeds in this manner, it 
 is apprehended that his political faculties 
 will die of too large a dose, of which there 
 are many symptoms already. But all my 
 observations are confined to his political 
 conduct and career. They are not ex- 
 tended to his professional character, 
 which is great, or to his private life, which 
 
 no man is inclined to respect more than 
 myself. But his political doctrines are 
 plunging and dangerous. Mr. Erskine 
 has informed the publick, that He has not 
 the talents of a statesman, which, in common 
 with the kingdom at large, I readily admit 
 as part of my political creed ; though it is 
 so very plain, as hardly to be an article of 
 faith.— Mathias, Thomas James, 1794- 
 98, The Pursuits of Literature, p. 363. 
 
 Although the new administration has 
 been formed in general of the public men 
 
THOMAS ERSKINE 
 
 729 
 
 : the greatest talents and highest char- 
 acter of any in the country, yet there are 
 some few appointments which have been 
 received by the public with such dissatis- 
 faction, and none the more than that of 
 Erskine to be Lord Chancellor. The truth 
 undoubtedly is, that he is totally unfit for 
 the situation. His practice has never led 
 him into courts of equity ; and the doctrines 
 which prevail in them are to him almost 
 like the law of a foreign country. It is 
 true that he has a great deal of quickness 
 and is capable of much application ; but, 
 at his time of life, with the continual 
 occupations which the duties of his office 
 will give him, and the immense arrear of 
 business left him by his tardy and doubt- 
 ing predecessor. It is quite impossible 
 that he should find the means of making 
 himself master of that extensive and com- 
 plicated system of law, which he will have 
 to administer. — Romilly, Sir Samuel, 
 1806, Diary, Feb, 8 ; Memoirs by his Sons, 
 vol. II, p. 128. 
 
 The House of Commons was not his 
 theatre of glory ; he was perpetually losing 
 there the fame he won in Westminster 
 Hall. — Horner, Francis, 1810, Memoirs 
 and Correspondence, vol. ii, /?. 21. 
 
 Erskine, too ! Erskine was there ; good, 
 but intolerable. He jested, he talked, he 
 did every thing admirably, but then he 
 would be applauded for the same thing 
 twice over. He would read his own 
 verses, his own paragraph, and tell his 
 own story, again and again — Byron, 
 Lord, 1812, Detached Thoughts. 
 
 He was a most zealous and efficient 
 labourer in the cause of the Greeks, not 
 that he had much knowledge or judgment 
 — for what he wrote on the subject was 
 vague and declamatory — but there was a 
 charm about his name which was trans- 
 ferred to the cause, and the master-string 
 of his mind, vanity, had been touched, its 
 vibrations trembling to the very end of his 
 existence. — Bo wring. Sir John, 1823- 
 72, Autobiographical Recollections, p. 400. 
 
 At such a moment, Tom Sheridan came 
 up to me, and asked me, whether I had a 
 mind for a high treat ? ''I won't keep you 
 long," said he, ''you may rely upon that." 
 He then led a few of us, among whom was 
 George Gordon, the brother of Pryse Lock- 
 hart, a fellow of ''infinite jest and most ex- 
 cellent fancy," to the opposite end of the 
 building; where, standing in an armchair. 
 
 with the back foremost, we saw Thomas 
 Erskine, the prince of pleaders, but the 
 most unfortunate of politicians, with an 
 audience of about a dozen dry Scotch 
 Whigs, delivering, with almost insane ex- 
 pression, a whole Armata of political 
 oratory. The thing was irresistible. We 
 honoured the orator with the "Hear! 
 hear!" very exactly imitated, of several 
 well known voices in the House of Com- 
 mons ; and effected our retreat, undiscov- 
 ered by the learned and honourable gentle- 
 men. — Bo ADEN, James, 1831, The lAfe of 
 Mrs. Jordan, vol. ii, p. 139. 
 
 Latterly Erskine was very poor ; and no 
 wonder, for he always contrived to sell out 
 of the funds when they were very low, and 
 to buy in when they were very high. ' ' By 
 heaven," he would say, "I am a perfect 
 kite, all paper; the boys might fly me." 
 Yet, poor as he was he still kept the best 
 society. — Rogers, Samuel, 1855, Recol- 
 lections of Table-Talk, ed. Dyce, p. 53. 
 
 In singular contrast to Sir S. Romilly 
 came Lord Erskine ; of whom indeed I saw 
 much less, and at a time, when his facul- 
 ties had undergone a decay more obvious 
 to others than to himself. He was still 
 eager and eloquent in speech ; but with a 
 certain restless irritability, augmented, 
 as I believe, by narrow worldly circum- 
 stances, and by what he deemed the neglect 
 of his former political friends. His mind 
 too, when I knew him, was clouded by little 
 foibles and superstitions. I well recollect 
 a dinner at Sir S. Romilly' s, where his 
 agitation was curiously shown in his reluct- 
 ance to sit down as one of thirteen at 
 table, and by the relief he expressed when 
 the fourteenth guest came in. His life 
 had been one of meteoric kind throughout, 
 vanishing in mist as such lives are prone 
 to do.— Holland, Sir Henry, 1871, Rec- 
 ollections of Past Life, p. 243. 
 
 Erskine was a man of undoubted genius, 
 and yet was a great spendthrift of the 
 personal pronoun, so much so that Cobbett, 
 who was printing one of his speeches, 
 stopped in the middle, stating that the 
 remainder would be published when they 
 got a new font with sufficient I's, and that 
 it was proposed Erskine should take "the 
 title of Baron Ego of Eye, in the county 
 of Suffolk."— Morrill, Justin S., 1887, 
 Self-Consciousness of Noted Persons, p. 125. 
 
 At first his arguments and authorities 
 were laboriously prepared, and read from 
 
.780 
 
 THOMAS ERSKINE 
 
 a manuscript volume. Till his day there 
 were few classical allusions or graces of 
 rhetoric in the king's bench. His oratory, 
 never overloaded with ornament, but 
 always strictly relevant and adapted to 
 the needs of the particular case, set a new 
 example, as his courtesy and good humour 
 considerably mitigated the previous asper- 
 ities of nisi prius practice. — Hamilton, 
 J. A., 1889, Dictionary of National Biog- 
 raphy, vol. XVII, p. 438. 
 
 The life of Lord Erskine should exercise 
 a salutary influence on the younger mem- 
 bers of the legal profession. It should 
 constantly remind them of thenoble objects 
 of that noble profession, and impress 
 indelibly upon their minds the great truth, 
 that its highest rewards can only be at- 
 tained by the advocate who is honest and 
 strictly faithful to the interests of clients. 
 He should be, as Erskine was, imbued, 
 deeply, with the principles of patriotism 
 and a passionate love of his highly honour- 
 able profession. He should ever be, too, 
 keenly alive to human suffering, and reflect 
 that it often becomes his duty to remember 
 the forgotten, to attend the neglected, 
 and visit the forsaken. — Hardwicke, 
 Henry, 1896, History of Oratory and 
 Orator Sy ».235. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 The style of Lord Erskine's speeches 
 may be regarded as a model for serious 
 forensic oratory: it is clear, animated, 
 forcible, and polished ; never loaded with 
 meretricious ornament, never debased by 
 colloquial vulgarisms. It is throughout 
 sustained in a due and dignified elevation. 
 The illustrations which it exhibits are 
 borrowed rather from the intellectual than 
 the material world; and its ornaments are 
 rather those of sentiment than of diction. 
 It receives little assistance from the 
 quaintness of similes or the brilliancy of 
 metaphors ; and is addressed rather to the 
 reason and to the passions than to the 
 taste and imagination of the hearer. It 
 seldom displays any attempt at wit, or even 
 at humour; though occasional instances 
 of the latter quality are to be found in the 
 Speeches. Although the speeches of Lord 
 Erskine cannot be compared with those of 
 Mr. Burke, for the varied exposition of 
 philosophical principles in which those 
 extraordinary productions abound ; yet 
 they not unfrequently display a profound 
 acquaintance with human nature, and with 
 
 the springs of human action. — RoscoE, 
 Henry, 1830, Eminent British Lawyers, 
 p. 382. 
 
 Erskine's rapidity and lightness of wing 
 made him often take the first hasty view 
 of his own mind, than search in books for 
 technical knowledge and arbitrary author- 
 ity. His arguments, therefore, are com- 
 monly addressed rather to the general 
 condition of men's understandings than to 
 professional auditors. All these distinc- 
 tions may be exemplified and illustrated, 
 by a comparison of his speeches with those 
 of the other law lords in the Banbury case, 
 as reported by Le Marchant. — Brydges, 
 Sir Samuel Egerton, 1834, Autobiogra- 
 phy, vol, I, p. 296. 
 
 In considering the characteristics of his 
 eloquence, it is observable that he not only 
 was free from measured sententiousness 
 and tiresome attempts at antithesis, but 
 that he was not indebted for his success 
 to riches of ornament, to felicity of illus- 
 tration, to wit, to humour, or to sarcasm. 
 His first great excellence was his devotion 
 to his client, and in the whole compass of 
 his orations, there is not a single instance 
 of the business in hand, — the great work 
 of persuading, — being sacrificed to raise a 
 laugh or to excite admiration of his own 
 powers. He utterly forgot himself in the 
 character he represented. Through life he 
 was often ridiculed for vanity and egot- 
 ism, — but not from anything he ever said 
 or did in conducting a cause in a court of 
 justice. There, from the moment the jury 
 were sworn, he thought of nothing but the 
 verdict, till it was recorded in his favour. 
 Earnestness and energy were ever present 
 throughout his speeches — impressing his 
 argument on the mind of his hearer with 
 a force which seemed to compel convic- 
 tion. He never spoke at a tiresome 
 length; and throughout all his speeches 
 no weakness, no dulness, no flagging is 
 discoverable; and we have ever a lively 
 statement of facts, — or reasoning pointed, 
 logical, and triumphant. — Campbell, John 
 Lord, 1845-48, The Lives of the Lord 
 Chancellors and Keepers of the Great Seal 
 of England, vol. vi, p. 514. 
 
 Though not a poet in the highest sense 
 of the term, Mr Erskine was wont to in- 
 dite stanzas with more success than usually 
 inspires the gentle tinklings of orators and 
 statesmen. From the date of his residence 
 in college — when he wrote the clever 
 
OF THfc 
 
 UNiVF.Rsrry9f ILLINOIS. 
 
ERSKINE— BYRON 
 
 731 
 
 parody to his barl n Gray's ode, 
 ''Ruin seize thee, n king," to the 
 octo-syllabic stanzas Ach he would 
 fain in old age have wniled away farmers 
 from the cruel sport of shooting rooks — 
 he was never wholly innocent of rhyme. — 
 TowNSEND, William C, 1846, The Lives 
 of Twelve Eminent Judges^ vol. I, p. 469. 
 
 The published Speeches of Thomas, Lord 
 Erskine are among the finest specimens 
 we have of English forensic oratory. — 
 Chambers, Robert, 1876, Cyclopcedia of 
 English Literaturey ed. Carruthers. 
 
 In the long roll of names which have 
 shed lustre on the British bar, there is no 
 one about which clusters more of romance 
 and undying interest than about that of 
 Thomas Erskine. ... A profound 
 lawyer he was not, nor was he well equipped 
 with the learning of the schools. It was 
 not to its rhetorical qualities, to its beauty 
 of diction, its richness of ornament or 
 illustration, its wit, humor, or sarcasm, 
 that his oratory owed its power and charm, 
 but to its matchless strength and vigor. 
 His first great excellence was his devotion 
 
 to his client, to which all other considera- 
 tions were made secondary. Self was 
 forgotten in the character he personated. 
 From the moment the jury were sworn he 
 thought of nothing but the verdict till it 
 was recorded in his favor. The earnest- 
 ness, the vehemence, the energy of the 
 advocate were ever present throughout his 
 speeches, impressing the arguments upon 
 the mind of the hearer with a force which 
 seemed to compel conviction. He resisted 
 every temptation to mere declamation 
 which his luxuriant fancy cast in his path, 
 and won his verdicts not more by what he 
 said than by what he refrained from say- 
 ing. Even in the longest of his speeches 
 there is no weakness, no flagging ; but the 
 same earnestness of manner, the same 
 lively statement of facts, the same lumi- 
 nous exposition of argument, from begin- 
 ning to close. ... Of all the lawyers 
 that ever lived, Erskine seems to have 
 made the closest approach to the ideal 
 of a forensic advocate. — Mathews, Wil- 
 liam, 1878, Oratory and Orators, pp. 346, 
 354, 358. 
 
 G-eorge Gordon Lord Byron 
 
 1788-1824 
 
 Born, in London, 22 Jan. 1788. Lame from birth. Early years spent with mother 
 in Aberdeen. Educated at private schools there, and at Grammar School, 1794-98. 
 Succeeded to title on death of grand-uncle. May 1798. To Newstead with his mother, 
 autumn of 1799. Made ward in Chancery under guardianship of Lord Carlisle. To 
 school at Nottingham. To London for treatment for lameness, 1799. To Dr. Glennie's 
 school at Dulwich, 1799. At Harrow, summer of 1801 to 1805. To Trinity Coll., 
 Cambridge, Oct. 1805; M. A., 4 Julv 1808. On leaving Cambridge, settled at New- 
 stead. Took seat in House of Lords, 13 March 1809. Started on grand tour," 2 
 July 1809, to Spain, Malta, Turkey, Greece. Returned to England, July 1811. Settled 
 in St. James's Street, London, Oct. 1811. Spoke for first time in House of Lords, 27 
 Feb. 1812. Married Anne Isabella Milbanke, 2 Jan. 1815. Settled in Piccadilly Ter- 
 race, London, March 1815. Daughter born, 10 Dec. 1815. Separation from wife, 
 Feb. 1816. Left England, 24 April 1816. To Belgium, Germany, Switzerland, Italy. 
 Amour with Miss Clairmont, 1816-17. Daughter born by her, Jan. 1817 (died April 
 1822). Settled in Venice, 1817. Amour with Countess Guiccioli, April to Oct., 
 1819. To Ravenna, Christmas 1819. Prolific literary production. ' ' Marino Faliero' ' 
 performed at Drury Lane, spring of 1821. To Pisa, Oct. 1821. ''The Liberal" pub- 
 lished (4 nos. only), with Leigh Hunt and Shelley, 1823. Elected member of Greek 
 Committee in London, 1823. Sailed from Genoa for Greece, 15 July 1823. Raising 
 Suliote troops on behalf of Greeks against Turks at Missolonghi, Dec. 1823. Serious 
 illness, Feb. 1824. Died, 19 April 1824. Buried in England, at Hucknall Torkard. 
 Works: 'Tugutive Pieces" (privately printed, all destroyed except two copies), 1806 
 (a facsimile privately reprinted, 1886) ; 'Toems on Various Occasions" (anon., same 
 as preceding, with omissions), 1807; ''Hours of Idleness," 1807; "English Bards and 
 Scotch Reviewers" (anon.), 1809 (2nd edn. same year); Poems contrib. to J. C. 
 Hobhouse's "Imitations and Translations," 1809; "Childe Harold," cantos 1 and 2, 
 1812 (2nd-5th edns., same year); "The Curse of Minerva" (anon.), 1812; "The 
 
732 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 Waltz'* (under pseud, of ^'Horace Hornem'O, 1813 ; *'The Giaour," 1813; *'The Bride 
 of Abydos," 1813 (2nd-5thedns., same year) ; *^ The Corsair," 1814 ;**Ode to Napoleon 
 Buonaparte" (anon.), 1814; **Lara" (anon., with Rogers's Jacqueline"), 1814; 
 ^'Hebrew Melodies," 1815; '^Siege of Corinth" (anon.), 1816; *^Parisina," 1816 
 (second edn., with preceding work, same year); "Poems," 1816; *' Poems on his 
 Domestic Circumstances," 1816; "Prisoner of Chillon," 1816; "Childe Harold," 
 canto 3, 1816; "Monody on the Death of Sheridan" (anon.), 1816; "Fare Thee Well !" 
 1816y "Manfred," 1817 (2nd edn., same year); "The Lament of Tasso," 1817; 
 "Poems Written by Somebody" (anon.), 1818; "Childe Harold," canto 4, 1818; 
 "Beppo" (anon.), 1818; "Suppressed Poems," 1818; "Three Poems not included in 
 the Works of Lord Byron," 1818; "Don Juan," cantos 1 and 2 (anon.), 1819; 
 "Mazeppa,"1819; "Marino Faliero," 1820; "Don Juan," cantos 3-5 (anon.), 1821; 
 "Prophecy of Dante" (with 2nd. edn. of "Marino Faliero"), 1821; "Sardanapalus, 
 The Two Foscari, and Cain," 1821; "Letter ... on the Rev. W. L. Bowles's 
 Strictures on Pope," 1821; "Werner," 1822; "Don Juan," cantos 6-14 (anon.), 
 1823; "The Liberal, " with Leigh Hunt and Shelley (anon., 4 nos.), 1823; "The Age 
 of Bronze" (anon.), 1823; "The Island," 1823 (2nd. edn., same year) ; "The Deformed 
 Transformed," 1823; "Heaven and Earth" (anon.), 1824; "Don Juan," cantos 15, 
 16 (anon.), 1824 (canto 17 of "Don Juan," 1829, and "Twenty Suppressed Stanzas," 
 1838, are spurious); "Parliamentary Speeches," 1824; "The Vision of Judgment" 
 (anon., reprinted from pt. i. of "The Liberal"), 1824. Postomoi^s; "Correspondence 
 with a Friend" (3 vols.), 1825; "Letters and Journals," edited by T. Moore (2 vols.), 
 1830. Collected Works: in 8 vols., 1815-17; in5 vols., 1817; in 8 vols., 1818-20; in 
 4vols.,1828; "Life and Works" (17 vols.), 1832-35, etc. Life: "Lord Byron and his 
 Contemporaries," by Leigh Hunt, 1828; life by Moore, 1830; by Gait, 1830; by Jeaff- 
 reson, 1883; by Roden Noel ("Great Writers" series), 1890. — Sharp, R. Farquhar- 
 SON, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p, 45. 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Of Lord Byron I can tell you only that 
 his appearance is nothing that you would 
 remark. — Edge worth, Maria, 1813, Let- 
 ters, vol. I, p. 206. 
 
 I called on Lord Byron to-day, with an 
 introduction from Mr. Gifford. Here, 
 again, my anticipations were mistaken. 
 Instead of being deformed, as I had heard, 
 he is remarkably well built, with the ex- 
 ception of his feet. Instead of having a 
 thin and rather sharp and anxious face, 
 as he has in his picture, it is round, open, 
 and smiling; his eyes are light, and not 
 black ; his air easy and careless, not for- 
 ward and striking ; and I found his manners 
 affable and gentle, the tones of his voice 
 low and conciliating, his conversation gay, 
 pleasant, and interesting in an uncommon 
 degree.— TiCKNOR, George, 1815, Jour- 
 nal, June 20 ; Life Letters and Journals, 
 vol. I, p. 58. 
 
 A countenance, exquisitely modeled to 
 the expression of feeling and passion, and 
 exhibiting the remarkable contrast of very 
 dark hair and eye-brows, with light and 
 expressive eyes, presented to the physiog- 
 nomist the most interesting subject for 
 the exercise of his art. The predominat- 
 ing expression was that of deep and 
 
 habitual thought, which gave way to the 
 most rapid play of features when he en- 
 gaged in interesting discussion ; so that a 
 brother poet compared them to the sculpt- 
 ure of a beautiful alabaster vase, only 
 seen to perfection when lighted up from 
 within. The flashes of mirth, gayety, 
 indignation, or satirical dislike which fre- 
 quently animated Lord Byron's counte- 
 nance, might, during an evening's conver- 
 sation, be mistaken by a stranger, for the 
 habitual expression, so easily and happily 
 was it formed for them all; but those who 
 had an opportunity of studying his features 
 for a length of time, and upon various 
 occasions, both of rest and emotion, will 
 agree with us that their proper language 
 was that of melancholy. — ScoTT, Sir 
 Walter, 1816, Childe Harold Canto iii, 
 and Other Poems, Quarterly Review^ vol. 
 16, p. 176. 
 
 If you had seen Lord Byron, you could 
 scarcely disbelieve him. So beautiful a 
 countenance I scarcely ever saw — his teeth 
 so many stationary smiles, his eyes the 
 open portals of the sun — things of light 
 and for light — and his forehead so ample, 
 and yet so flexible, passing from marble 
 smoothness into a hundred wreaths and 
 lines and dimples correspondent to the 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 733 
 
 feelings ana sentiments he is uttering.— 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1816, Let- 
 ter ^ April 10 ; Life by Gillman. 
 
 I was introduced, at the theatre, to Lord 
 Byron. — What a grand countenance! — 
 it is impossible to have finer eyes ! — the 
 divine man of genius ! — He is yet scarcely 
 twenty-eight years of age, and he is the 
 first poet in England, probably in the 
 world ; when he is listening to music it is 
 a countenance worthy of the beau-ideal of 
 the Greeks. For the rest, let a man be 
 ever so great a poet, let him besides be 
 the head of one of the most ancient families 
 in England, this is too much for our age, 
 and I have learnt with pleasure that Lord 
 Byron is a wretch. When he came into 
 the drawing-room of Madame de Stael, at 
 Copet, all the English ladies left it. Our 
 unfortunate man of genius had the impru- 
 dence to marry, — his wife is very clever, 
 and has renewed at his expense the old 
 story of ' ' Tom Jones and Blifil. ' ' Men of 
 genius are generally mad, or at the least 
 very imprudent! His lordship was so 
 atrocious, as to take an actress into 
 keeping for two months. If he had been 
 a blockhead, nobody would have concerned 
 themselves with his following the example 
 of almost all young men of fashion ; but it 
 is well known that Mr. Murray, the book- 
 seller, gives him two guineas a line for all 
 the verses he sends him. He is absolutely 
 the counterpart of M. de Mirabeau; the 
 feodalists, before the Revolution, not 
 knowing how to answer the "Eagle of 
 Marseilles," discovered that he was a 
 monster. — Beyle, Henri (Count de 
 Stendhal), 1817, Rome, Naples and Flor- 
 ence, June 27. 
 
 Thou, whose true name the world yet knows 
 not, 
 
 Mysterious spirit, man, angel, or devil. 
 
 — Lamartine, Alphonse Marie Louis 
 DE, 1820, Meditation: L' Homme y A Lord 
 Byron. 
 
 I come at once to his lordship^s charge 
 against me, blowing away the abuse with 
 which it is frothed, and evaporating a 
 strong acid in which it is suspended. The 
 residuum, then, appears to be, that "Mr. 
 Southey, on his return from Switzerland 
 (in 1817), scattered abroad calumnies, 
 knowing them to be such, against Lord 
 Byron and others." To this I reply with 
 a direct and positive denial. If I had been 
 told in that country that Lord Byron had 
 
 turned Turk, or monk of La Trappe, — that 
 he had furnished a harem, or endowed a 
 hospital, I might have thought the report, 
 whichever it had been, possible, and re- 
 peated it accordingly, passing it, as it had 
 been taken, in the small change of con- 
 versation, for no more than it was worth. 
 In this manner I might have spoken of him 
 as of Baron Gerambe, the Green Man, the 
 Indian Jugglers, or any other figurante of 
 the time being. There was no reason for 
 any particular delicacy on my part in 
 speaking of his lordship; and, indeed, I 
 should have thought anything which might 
 be reported of him would have injured his 
 character as little as the story which so 
 greatly annoyed Lord Keeper Guilford— 
 that he had ridden a rhinoceros. He 
 may ride a rhinoceros, and though every 
 one would stare, no one would wonder. 
 But making no inquiry concerning him 
 when I was abroad, because I felt no 
 curiosity, I heard nothing, and had nothing 
 to repeat. — Southey, Robert, 1822, To 
 the Editor of the Courier, Jan. 5. 
 
 Saw Lord Byron for the first time. The 
 impression of the first few minutes disap- 
 pointed me, as I had, both from the por- 
 traits and descriptions given, conceived a 
 diflierent idea of him. I had fancied him 
 taller, with a more dignified and command- 
 ing air ; and I looked in vain for the hero- 
 looking sort of person with whom I had so 
 long identified him in imagination. His 
 appearance is, however, highly prepossess- 
 ing; his head is finely shaped, and the 
 forehead open, high, and noble ; his eyes 
 are gray and full of expression, but one is 
 visibly larger than the other ; the nose is 
 large and well shaped, but from being a 
 little too thick, it looks better in profile 
 than in front-face ; his mouth is the most 
 remarkable feature in his face, the upper 
 lip of Grecian shortness, and the corners 
 descending; the lips full and finely cut. 
 In speaking, he shows his teeth very much, 
 and they are white and even ; but I observed 
 that even in his smile — and he smiles fre- 
 quently — there is something of a scornful 
 expression in his mouth that is evidently 
 natural, and not, as many suppose, 
 afl^ected. This particularly struck me. 
 His chin "is large and well shaped, and 
 finishes well the oval of his face. He is 
 extremely thin ; indeed, so much so that his 
 figure has almost a boyish air ; his face is 
 peculiarly pale, but not the paleness of 
 
734 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 ill-health, as its character is that of fair- 
 ness, the fairness of a dark-haired person — 
 and his hair (which is getting rapidly gray) 
 is of a very dark brown, and curls natur- 
 ally: he uses a great deal of oil in it, 
 which makes it look still darker. His 
 countenance is full of expression, and 
 changes with the subject of conversation ; 
 it gains on the beholder the more it is 
 seen, and leaves an agreeable impression. 
 I should say that melancholy was its pre- 
 vailing character, as I noticed that when 
 any observation elicited a smile — and they 
 were many, as the conversation was gay 
 and playful — it appeared to linger but for 
 a moment on his lip, which instantly re- 
 sumed its former expression of serious- 
 ness. His whole appearance is remarkably 
 gentlemanlike, and he owes nothing of 
 this to his toilet, as his coat appears to 
 have been many years made, is much too 
 large — and all his garments convey the 
 idea of having been purchased ready-made, 
 so ill do they fit him. There is a gaucherie 
 in his movements, which evidently proceeds 
 from the perpetual consciousness of his 
 lameness, that appears to haunt him ; for 
 he tries to conceal his foot when seated, 
 and when walking has a nervous rapidity 
 in his manner. He is very slightly lame, 
 and the deformity of his foot is so little 
 remarkable that I am not now aware 
 which foot it is.— Blessington, Countess 
 OF, 1823, Conversations with Lord Byron, 
 Genoa, April 1. 
 
 Unlooked-for event! deplorable mis- 
 fortune! But a short time has elapsed 
 since the people of this deeply suffering 
 country welcomed, with unfeigned joy and 
 open arms, this celebrated individual to 
 their bosoms; to-day, overwhelmed with 
 grief and despair, they bathe his funeral 
 couch with tears of bitterness, and mourn 
 over it with inconsolable affliction. On 
 Easter Sunday, the happy salutation of 
 the day, Christ is risen,'' remained but 
 half pronounced on the lips of every Greek ; 
 and as they met, before even congratulat- 
 ing one another on the return of that 
 joyous day, the universal demand was, 
 **How is Lord Byron?'' Thousands, 
 assembled in the spacious plain outside of 
 the city to commemorate the sacred day, 
 appeared as if they had assembled for the 
 sole purpose of imploring the Saviour of 
 the world to restore to health him who was 
 a partaker with us in our present struggle 
 
 for the deliverance of our native land. 
 And how is it possible that any heart 
 should remain unmoved, any lip closed 
 upon the present occasion? Was ever 
 Greece in greater want of assistance than 
 when the ever-to-be-lamented Lord Byron, 
 at the peril of his life, crossed over to 
 Messolonghi? Then, and ever since he 
 has been with us, his liberal hand has been 
 opened to our necessities — necessities 
 which our own poverty would have other- 
 wise rendered irremediable. How many 
 and much greater benefits did we not ex- 
 pect from him ! — and to-day, alas ! to-day, 
 the unrelenting grave closes over him 
 and our hopes! ... All Greece, 
 clothed in mourning and inconsolable, 
 accompanies the procession in which it 
 is borne; all ecclesiastical, civil and 
 military honours attend it; all his 
 fellow-citizens of Messolonghi and fellow- 
 countrymen of Greece follow it, crowning 
 it with their gratitude and bedewing it 
 with their tears ; it is blessed by the pious 
 benedictions and prayers of our Arch- 
 bishop, Bishop, and all our Clergy. — Tri- 
 COUPi, M. Spiridion, 1824, Funeral Ora- 
 tion on Lord Noel Byron, April 10 ; Med- 
 win's Conversations of Lord Byron, pp. 
 xci, xcviii. 
 
 I was told it all alone in a room full of 
 people. If they had said the sun or the 
 moon was gone out of the heavens, it could 
 not have struck me with the idea of a 
 more awful and dreary blank in the crea- 
 tion than the words, **Byron is dead." — 
 Welsh, Jane, 1824, Letter to Thomas 
 Carlyle, Life by Froude, vol. I, p. 173. 
 
 Poor Byron ! alas, poor Byron ! the news 
 of his death came upon my heart like a 
 mass of lead ; and yet, the thought of it 
 sends a painful twinge through all my 
 being, as if I had lost a brother. 0 God ! 
 that so many souls of mud and clay should 
 fill up their base existence to its utmost 
 bound; and this the noblest spirit in 
 Europe should sink before half his course 
 was run. Late so full of fire and generous 
 passion and proud purposes ; and now for 
 ever dumb and cold. Poor Byron ! and but 
 a young man, still struggling amidst the 
 perplexities and sorrows and aberrations 
 of a mind not arrived at maturity, or 
 settled in its proper place in life. Had he 
 been spared to the age of three-score and 
 ten, what might he not have done ! what 
 might he not have been! But we shall 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 735 
 
 hear h "oice no more. I dreamed of 
 seeing : : - and knowing him ; but the cur- 
 tain of everlasting night has hid him from 
 our eyes. We shall go to him ; he shall 
 not return to us. Adieu. There is a 
 blank in your heart and a blank in mine 
 since this man passed away. — Carlyle, 
 Thomas, 1824, Letter to Jane Welsh, Life 
 by Froude, vol. I, p. 173. 
 
 I am extremely sorry I have not had it 
 in my power to answer the kind letter with 
 which you have honored me, before this, 
 being so very unwell, and so much hurt at 
 the severe loss of my much-esteemed and 
 ever-to-be-lamented lord and master. You 
 wish me, Sir, to give you some informa- 
 tion in respect to my lord's manner and 
 mode of life after his departure from 
 Cephalonia, which I am very happy to say 
 was that of a good Christian, and one who 
 fears and serves God, in doing all the good 
 that lay in his power, and avoiding all 
 evil. And his charity was always without 
 bounds ; for his kind and generous heart 
 could not see nor hear of misery, without 
 a deep sigh, and striving in which way he 
 could serve and soften misery, by his 
 liberal hand, in the most effectual manner. 
 . . . A greater friend to Christianity 
 could not exist, I am fully convinced, in 
 his daily conduct, not only making the 
 Bible his first companion in the morning, 
 but in regard to whatever religion a man 
 might be of, whether Protestant, Catholic, 
 friar, or monk, or any other religion, every 
 priest, of whatever order, if in distress, 
 was always most liberally rewarded, and 
 with larger sums than any one who was 
 not a minister of the gospel, I think, 
 (would give). I think every thing, com- 
 bined together, must prove, not only to 
 you, Sir, but to the public at large, that 
 my lord was not only a Christian, but a 
 good Christian. — Fletcher, William, 
 1824, Letter to Dr, Kennedy, May 19; 
 Kennedy's Conversations on Religion with 
 Lord Byron, pp. 369, 372. 
 
 I met Lord B. for the first time at 
 Metaxata, in Cephalonia, in the month of 
 October, 1823. On calling, I found his* 
 Lordship had ridden out with Count 
 Gamba ; I resolved to wait for his return, 
 and was shown his only public room, which 
 was small and scantily furnished in the 
 plainest manner. One table was covered 
 for dinner, another and a chair were 
 strewed wi ' ^ books, and many were ranged 
 
 in order on the floor. ... I presented a 
 letter of introduction, and he sat down 
 upon the sofa, still examining me ; I felt 
 the reception more poetical than agree- 
 able: but he immediately commenced his 
 fascinating conversation. . . . Whenever 
 he commenced a sentence which showed 
 that the subject had engaged his mind, and 
 that his thoughts were sublime, he checked 
 himself, and finished a broken sentence, 
 either with an indifferent smile, or with 
 this annoying tone. I thought he had 
 adopted it to conceal his feelings, when 
 he feared to trust his tongue with the 
 sentiments of his heart. Often, it was 
 evident, he did it to avoid betraying the 
 author, or rather the poet. In mere satire 
 and wit his genius ran wild, even in con- 
 versation. I left him quite delighted, 
 charmed to find so great a man so agree- 
 able, yet astonished that the author of 
 ''Childe Harold," the Corsair," and 
 Manfred," should have said so little 
 worth remembering. — Finlay, George, 
 1824, Letter to Colonel Stanhope, June; 
 Broughton's Recollections of a Long Life, 
 
 Honorable Lady, —After the ever to be 
 lamented loss of your illustrious brother, 
 with whose friendship I was so long 
 honoured, my sole aim was to fulfil my 
 duties towards his memory and towards 
 those whom I knew were nearest and 
 dearest to him when alive. ... I 
 collected all the words he uttered in those 
 few hours in which he was certain of his 
 danger. He said, 'Toor Greece! Poor 
 People ! my poor family ! Why was I not 
 aware of this in time? but now it is too 
 late." Speaking of Greece he said, 
 have given her my time, my money, and 
 my health — what could I do more ? Now 
 I give her my life." He frequently re- 
 peated that he was content to die, and 
 regretted only that he was aware of it too 
 late. He mentioned the names of many 
 people and several sums of money, but it 
 was not possible to distinguish clearly what 
 he meant. He named his dear daughter 
 — his sister — his wife— Hobhouse, and 
 Kinnaird. **Why did I not go to England 
 before I came here ? I leave those that I 
 love behind me — in other respects I am 
 willing to die." After six o'clock in the 
 evening of the 18th it is certain that he 
 suffered no pain whatever. He died in a 
 strange land and amongst strangers, but 
 more loved — more wept — he could not 
 
736 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 have been. . . . Those who are ac- 
 quainted only with his writings will lament 
 the loss of so great a genius : but I knew 
 his heart. If to have sincere companions of 
 your sorrows will at all alleviate them, be 
 assured that the grief of no one can be 
 more deeply, more truly felt than that of 
 — Gamba, Count Pietro, 1824, To the 
 Hon. Augusta Leigh, Aug. 17. 
 
 I never met with any man who shines so 
 much in conversation. He shines the 
 more, perhaps, for not seeking to shine. 
 His ideas flow without effort, without his 
 having occasion to think. As in his let- 
 ters, he is not nice about expressions or 
 words ; — there are no concealments in him 
 no injunctions to secresy. He tells every- 
 thing that he has thought or done with- 
 out the least reserve, and as if he wished 
 the whole world to know it ; and does not 
 throw the slightest gloss over his errors. 
 . . . He hates argument, and never 
 argues for victory. He gives every one 
 an opportunity of sharing in the conver- 
 sation, and has the art of turning it to 
 subjects that may bring out the person 
 with whom he converses. — Medwin, 
 Thomas, 1824, Conversations of Lord Byron 
 Noted During a Residence with his Lord- 
 ship at Pisa in the Years 1821 and 1822, 
 p. 334. 
 
 I have just finished Lord Byron's* 'Con- 
 versations." . . . Fifty years hence 
 our descendants will see which is remem- 
 bered best, the author of the ' ' Excursion, ' * 
 or of Childe Harold." But he seems to me 
 to have wanted the power of admiration, 
 the organ of veneration ; to have been a 
 cold, sneering, vain, Voltairish person, 
 charitable as far as money went, and 
 liberal so far as it did not interfere with 
 his aristocratic notions ; but very derisive, 
 very un-English, very scornful. Captain 
 Medwyn speaks of his suppressed laugh. 
 How unpleasant an idea that gives ! The 
 only thing that does him much credit in 
 the whole book is his hearty admiration of 
 Scott. . . . Well, I think this book 
 will have one good effect, it will disen- 
 chant the 'whole sex. — Mitford, Mary 
 Russell, 1824, Letter to B. R. Hay don, 
 Nov. 2. 
 
 It would be to little purpose to dwell 
 upon the mere beauty of a countenance in 
 which the expression of an extraordinary 
 mind was so conspicuous. What serenity 
 was sealed on the forehead, adorned with 
 
 the finest chestnut hair, light, curling, and 
 disposed with such art, that the art was 
 hidden in the imitation of most pleasing 
 nature! What varied expression in his 
 eyes ! They were of the azure colour of 
 the heavens, from which they seemed to 
 derive their origin. His teeth, in form, 
 in colour, in transparency, resembled 
 pearls; but his cheeks were too delicately 
 tinged with the hue of the pale rose. His 
 neck, which he was in the habit of keep- 
 ing uncovered as much as the usages of 
 society permitted, seemed to have been 
 formed in a mould, and was very white. 
 His hands were as beautiful as if they had 
 been the works of art. His figure left 
 nothing to be desired, particularly by those 
 who found rather a grace than a defect in 
 a certain light and gentle undulation of 
 the person when he entered a room, and 
 of which you hardly felt tempted to en- 
 quire the cause. Indeed it was scarcely 
 perceptible, — the clothes he wore were so 
 long. . . . His face appeared tran- 
 quil like the ocean on a fine spring morn- 
 ing; but, like it, in an instant became 
 changed into the tempestuous and terrible, 
 if a passion (a passion did I say?), a 
 thought, a word, occurred to disturb his 
 mind. His eyes then lost all their sweet- 
 ness, and sparkled so that it became diffi- 
 cult to look on them. . . What de- 
 lighted him greatly one day annoyed him 
 the next. — Albrizzi, Countess, 1826, 
 Character of Byron. 
 
 It appears, therefore, from a review of 
 Byron's private character, that it was a 
 common one, being mixed with many 
 virtues and stained with some fashionable 
 vices. We meet nothing in it to command 
 our veneration: we find many things to 
 pity and excuse, from the peculiarity of 
 his situation ; but we are not entitled to 
 call him a virtuous, pious man. . . . We 
 find, in fact, that he was like all those 
 nominal Christians who areunregenerate : 
 — he knew not its spirit. His conduct was 
 not regulated by it, and he differed simply 
 from many of those who hold in the world 
 a very respectable character, in his having 
 treated it with seeming ridicule in his 
 writings, while they, perhaps, have done 
 the same in conversation. — Kennedy, Dr. 
 James, 1827-30, Conversations on Reli- 
 gion with Lord Byron and Others, held in 
 Cephalonia, a Short Time Previous to his 
 Lordship^ s Death, pp. 340, 341. 
 
GEOBGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 737 
 
 Lord Byron's ia^^ /as handsome ; emi- 
 nently so in some respects. He had a 
 mouth and chin fit for Apollo ; and when 
 I first knew him, there were both lightness 
 and energy all over his aspect. But his 
 countenance did not improve with age, and 
 there were always some defects in it. 
 The jaw was too big for the upper part. 
 It had all the wilfulness of a despot in it. 
 The animal predominated over the intel- 
 lectual part of his head, inasmuch as the 
 face altogether was large in proportion to 
 the skull. The eyes also were set too 
 near one another; and the nose, though 
 handsome in itself, had the appearance 
 when you saw it closely in front, of being 
 grafted on the face, rather than growing 
 properly out of it. His person was very 
 handsome, though terminating in lame^ 
 ness, and tending to fat and effeminacy ; 
 which makes me remember what a hostile 
 fair one objected to him, namely, that h§ 
 had little beard. . . . His lameness 
 was only in one foot, the left ; and it was 
 so little visible to casual notice, that as 
 he lounged about a room (which he did in 
 such a manner as to screen it) it was 
 hardly perceivable. But it was a real and 
 even a sore lameness. Much walking upon 
 it fevered and hurt it. It was a shrunken 
 foot, a little twisted.— Hunt, Leigh, 
 1828, Lord Byron and Some of his Con- 
 temporarieSy vol. I, pp. 150, 151. 
 
 With the faults and foibles of Byron, 
 Greece had nothing to do; she knew 
 nothing of them; to her he was only* 'the 
 great and noble." . . . Crossing the Gulf 
 Salamis one day in a boat, with a rough 
 mountain Captain and his men, I pulled out 
 a volume of Byron's works and was read- 
 ing; the wind blowing open the leaves, the 
 Captain caught a glimpse of the portrait 
 and recognised it. He begged to take the 
 book, and looking for a moment, with 
 melancholy, at the face of the noble lord, 
 he kissed it and passed it to his men, who 
 did the same saying, **Eeton megalos kai 
 kalos" (''he was great and noble"). — 
 Howe, Samuel G., 1828, Historical Sketch 
 of the Greek Revolution, p. 198, and note. 
 
 Of his face the beauty may be pro- 
 nounced to have been of the highest order, 
 as combining at once regularity of features 
 with the most varied and interesting ex- 
 pression. The same facility, indeed, of 
 change observable in the movements of his 
 mind was seen also in the free play of his 
 
 47 C 
 
 features, as the passing thoughts within 
 darkened or shone through them. His 
 eyes, though of a light grey, were capable 
 of all extremes of expression, from the 
 most joyous hilarity to the deepest sad- 
 ness, from the very sunshine of benevolence 
 to the most concentrated scorn or rage. 
 . . . But it was in the mouth and chin 
 that the great beauty as well as expres- 
 sion of his fine countenance lay. . . . 
 His head was remarkably small,— so much 
 so as to be rather out of proportion with 
 his face. The forehead, though a little 
 too narrow, was high, and appeared more 
 so from his having his hair (to preserve it, 
 as he said), shaved over the temples; 
 while the glossy, dark-brown curls, 
 clustering over his head, gave the finish 
 to its beauty. When to this is added, 
 that his nose, though handsomely, was 
 rather thickly shaped, that his teeth were 
 white and regular, and his complexion 
 colourless, as good an idea perhaps as it 
 is in the power of mere words to convey 
 may be conceived of his features. In 
 height he was, as he himself has informed 
 us, five feet eight inches and a half, and 
 to the length of his limbs he attributed 
 his being such a good swimmer. His 
 hands were very white, and — according to 
 his own notion of the size of hands as 
 indicating birth— aristocratically small. 
 The lameness of his right foot, though an 
 obstacle to grace, but little impeded the 
 activity of his movements ; and from this 
 circumstance, as well as from the skill 
 with which the foot was disguised by means 
 of long trowsers, it would be difficult to 
 conceive a defect of this kind less obtrud- 
 ing itself as a deformity ; while the diffi- 
 dence which a constant consciousness of 
 the infirmity gave to his first approach 
 and address made, in him, even lameness 
 a source of interest. — Moore, Thomas, 
 1830-31, Life of Lord Byron, vol. n, pp. 
 534, 535. 
 
 The young peer had great intellectual 
 powers ; yet there was an unsound part in 
 his mind. He had naturally a generous 
 and tender heart ; but his temper was way- 
 ward and irritable. He had a head which 
 statuaries loved to copy, and a foot the 
 deformity of which the beggars in the 
 streets mimicked. Distinguished at once 
 by the strength and by the weakness of his 
 intellect, affectionate yet perverse, a poor 
 lord and a handsome cripple, he required 
 
738 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 if ever man required, the firmest and the 
 most judicious training. But, capriciously 
 as nature had dealt with him, the relative 
 to whom the office of forming his character 
 was intrusted was more capricious still. 
 She passed from paroxysms of rage to 
 paroxysms of fondness. At one time she 
 stifled him with her caresses, at another 
 time she insulted his deformity. He came 
 into the world, and the world treated him 
 as his mother treated him — sometimes with 
 kindness, sometimes with severity, never 
 with justice. It indulged him without 
 discrimination, and punished him without 
 discrimination. He was truly a spoiled 
 child ; not merely the spoiled child of his 
 parents, but the spoiled child of nature, 
 the spoiled child of fortune, the spoiled 
 child of fame, the spoiled child of society. 
 — Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 1830, 
 Moore's Life of Lord Byron, Critical and 
 Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 Perhaps the beauty of his physiogonomy 
 has been more highly spoken of than it 
 really merited. Its chief grace consisted, 
 when he was in a gay humour, of a liveliness 
 which gave a joyous meaning to every 
 articulation of the muscles and features ; 
 when he was less agreeably disposed, the 
 expression was morose to a very repulsive 
 degree.— Galt, John, 1830, The Life of 
 Byron, ch. xlix. 
 
 No petit maitre could pay more sedulous 
 attention than he did to external appear- 
 ance, or consult with more complacency 
 the looking glass. Even when en neglige 
 he studied the nature of the postures he 
 assumed as attentively as if he had been 
 sitting for his picture, and so much value 
 did he attach to the whiteness of his 
 hands, that, in order not to suffer ''the 
 winds of heaven to visit them too 
 roughly," he constantly, and even within 
 doors, wore gloves.— Millingen; Julius, 
 1831, Memoirs of Affairs of Greece. 
 
 Mrs. Arkwright is here. I know few 
 people as agreeable as she is, so fresh and 
 original. She told me a great deal of Mr. 
 Hodgson, Lord Byron's friend, and now the 
 clergyman at Bakewell, and who, she 
 says, is the most delightful man in the 
 world. He was warmly attached to Lord 
 Byron, and had lived with him in the 
 closest intimacy for twenty-six years. He 
 had no doubt that Lord Byron was insane ; 
 when Lady l>yron left Lord Byron he sent 
 for Mr. Hodgson, who found him perfectly 
 
 mad. — Greville, Henry, 1832. Leaves 
 from his Diary, p. 5. 
 
 It now remains to show how far the 
 character of Byron was influenced by 
 disease, and what the nature of that disease 
 was. ... In one place we read of 
 his being subject to an hysterical affection, 
 in another of his being carried out of a 
 theatre in a convulsive swoon ; elsewhere, 
 of an apoplectic tendency, attended with 
 temporary; deprivation of sense and motion ; 
 at another time, of nervous twitches of the 
 features, and the limbs following any 
 emotion of anger, and from trivial excite- 
 ment, and slight indisposition, of temporary 
 aberrations of intellect, and delirium ; but 
 no where do we find the cause of these 
 phenomena plainly and intelligibly pointed 
 out, nor the real name given to his dis- 
 order, till his last and fatal attack. The 
 simple fact is, he laboured under an epi- 
 leptic diathesis, and on several occasions 
 of mental emotion, even in his early years, 
 he had slight attacks of this disease. — 
 Madden, R. R., 1833, Infirmities of Gen- 
 ius, vol. II, pp. 128, 129. 
 
 Byron had the strangest and most per- 
 verse of all vanities — the desire to surprise 
 the world by showing, that, after all his 
 sublime and spiritual flights, he could, on 
 nearer inspection, be the lowest, the 
 coarsest, the most familiar, and the most 
 sensual of the low : and this, it is said, he 
 exhibited in the MS. autobiography which 
 was burnt. This is a most incomprehen- 
 sible fact,— even more incomprehensible 
 than some of the mad Confessions of 
 Rousseau. Byron's, perhaps, arose from 
 the vanity of wishing to be considered a 
 man of the world, and a man of fashion 
 — a very mean and contemptible wish. 
 I scorn hypocrisy ; but who in a sane 
 mind would blacken his own character 
 with disgraceful vice beyond the truth? 
 — Brydges, Sir Samuel Egerton, 1834, 
 Autobiography, vol. ii, p. 229. 
 
 England will one day feel how ill it is — 
 not for Byron but for herself — that the 
 foreigner who lands upon her shores 
 should search in vain in that Temple which 
 should be her national Pantheon, for the 
 Poet beloved and admired by all the 
 nations of Europe, and for whose death 
 Greece and Italy wept as if it had been 
 that of the noblest of their own sons. — 
 Mazzini, Joseph, 1839, Byron and Goethe, 
 Essays, ed. Clarke, p. 108. 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 739 
 
 Lord Byro failings — many failings 
 certainly, bu ^vas untainted with any 
 of the baser vices ; and his virtues, his 
 good qualities, were all of the higher 
 order. He was honourable and open in 
 all his dealings — he was generous, and he 
 was kind. He was affected by the dis- 
 tress, and rarer still he was pleased 
 with the prosperity of others. Tender- 
 hearted he was to a degree not usual with 
 our sex— and he shrunk, with feminine 
 sensibility, from the sight of cruelty. 
 . . . There was, indeed, something 
 about him, not to be definitely described, 
 but almost universally felt, which capti- 
 vated those around him, and impressed 
 them, in spite of occasional distrusts, with 
 an attachment not only friendly but fixed. 
 Part of this fascination may, doubtless, 
 be ascribed to the entire self-abandonment, 
 the incautious, it may be said the danger- 
 ous, sincerity of his private conversation ; 
 but his very weaknesses were amiable; 
 and, as has been said of a portion of his 
 virtues, were of a feminine character — so 
 that the affection felt for him was as that 
 for a favourite and sometimes froward 
 sister. — Broughton, Lord, 1844-55, 
 Travels in Albania, Appendix. 
 
 Byron may almost be said to have had no 
 character at all. Every attempt to bring 
 his virtues or his vices within the bound- 
 aries of a theory, or to represent his con- 
 duct as guided by any predominant princi- 
 ple of good or evil, has been accompanied 
 by blunders and perversions. His nature 
 had no simplicity. He seems an embodied 
 antithesis, — a mass of contradictions, — a 
 collection of opposite frailties and powers. 
 Such was the versatility of his mind and 
 morals, that it is hardly possible to discern 
 the connection between the giddy goodness 
 and the brilliant wickedness which he 
 delighted to exhibit. His habit of mysti- 
 fication, of darkly hinting remorse for 
 sins he never committed, of avowing virtues 
 he never practised, increases the difficulty. 
 — Whiffle, Edwin P., 1845, Byron, Es- 
 says and Reviews. 
 
 He died among strangers, in a foreign 
 land, without a kindred hand to close his 
 eyes ; yet he did not die unwept. With 
 all his faults and errors, and passions and 
 caprices, he had the gift of attaching his 
 humble dependents warmly to him. One 
 of them, a poor Greek, accompanied his 
 remains to England, and followed them to 
 
 the grave. I am told, that during the 
 ceremony, he stood holding on by a pew 
 in an agony of grief, and when all was over, 
 seemed as if he would have gone down into 
 the tomb with the body of his master. — 
 A nature that could inspire such attach- 
 ments, must have been generous and 
 beneficent. . . . His love for Miss 
 Chaworth, to use Lord Byron's own ex- 
 pression, was *Hhe romance of the most 
 romantic period of his life," and I think 
 we can trace the effect of it throughout 
 the whole course of his writings, coming 
 up every now and then, like some lurking 
 theme which runs through a complicated 
 piece of music, and links it all in a per- 
 vading chain of melody. — Irving, Wash- 
 ington, 1849, Newstead Abbey, The Crayon 
 Miscellany, pp, 296, 316. 
 
 Changeful ! how little do you kuow 
 
 Of Byron when you call him so ! 
 
 True as the magnet is to iron 
 
 Byron hath ever been to Byron. 
 
 His colour'd prints, in gilded frames, 
 
 Whatever the designs and names, 
 
 One image set before the rest, 
 
 In shirt with falling collar drest, 
 
 And keeping up a rolling fire at 
 
 Patriot, conspirator, and pirate. 
 — Landor, Walter Savage, 1853, Last 
 Fruit of An Old Tree. 
 
 In external appearance Byron realised 
 that ideal standard with which imagination 
 adorns genius. He was in the prime of 
 life, thirty-four; of middle height, five 
 feet eight and a half inches; regular 
 features, without a stain or furrow on his 
 pallid skin, his shoulders broad, chest 
 open, body and limbs finely proportioned. 
 His small highly-finished head and curly 
 hair had an airy and graceful appearance 
 from the massiveness and length of his 
 throat : you saw his genius in his eyes and 
 lips. In short. Nature could do little 
 more than she had done for him, both in 
 outward form and in the inward spirit she 
 had given to animate it. But all these 
 rare gifts to his jaundiced imagination 
 only served to make his one personal 
 defect (lameness) the more apparent, as a 
 flaw is magnified in a diamond when 
 polished ; and he brooded over that blemish 
 as sensitive minds will brood until they 
 magnify a wart into a wen. His lameness 
 certainly helped to make him sceptical, 
 cynical, and savage. There was no pecul- 
 iarity in his dress, it was adapted to the 
 climate : a tartan jacket braided — he said 
 
740 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 it was the Gordon pattern, and that his 
 mother was of that race. A blue velvet 
 cap with a gold band, and very loose 
 nankeen trousers strapped down so as to 
 cover his feet ; his throat was not bare, as 
 represented in drawings. ... He would 
 exist on biscuits and soda-water for days 
 together. — Trelawny, Edward John, 
 1858-78, Records of Shelley, Byron and 
 the Author, pp. 18, 51. ' 
 
 All who knew Lord Byron personally, 
 while thoroughly understanding the conse- 
 quence of a fickleness nurtured by an 
 excessively bad training, — that of a boy 
 of fortune, with an impulsive and passion- 
 ate nature, brought up among strangers, 
 with traditions of wild life in his family 
 — remember, also, that he had a strong 
 sympathy with all that was beautiful and 
 generous, strong tendencies of natural 
 affection, and unquestionably a desire to 
 do right. One of his besetting weak- 
 nesses was the excessive anxiety for ap- 
 proval. This betrayed him into impulsive 
 courses, which he afterwards found a 
 difficulty in sustaining, and his extravagant 
 disappointment exhibited itself in ways 
 which made him seem far more uncertain 
 and changeful than he really was at heart. 
 — Hunt, Thornton, 1862, ed., Correspond- 
 ence of Leigh Hunt, vol. i, p. 202. 
 
 The man in Byron is of nature even less 
 sincere than that of the poet. Under- 
 neath this Beltenebros there is hidden a 
 coxcomb. He posed all through his life. 
 He had every affectation — the writer's, 
 the roue's, the dandy's, the conspirator's. 
 He was constantly writing, and he pretends 
 to despise his writings. To believe him- 
 self, he was proud of nothing but his skill 
 in bodily exercises. An Englishman, he 
 affects Bonapartism ; a peer of the realm, 
 he speaks of the Universal Republic with 
 the enthusiasm of a schoolboy of fifteen. 
 He plays at misanthropy, at disillusion: 
 he parades his vices ; he even tries to make 
 us believe that he has committed a crime 
 or two. Read his letters — his letters 
 written nominally to friends, but handed 
 about from hand to hand in London. Read 
 his journal — a journal kept ostensibly for 
 himself, but handed over afterwards by 
 him to Moore with authority to publish it. 
 The littleness which these things show is 
 amazing.— ScHERER, Edmond, 1863-91, 
 Taine's History of English Literature, Es- 
 says on English Literature, tr. Saintsbury. 
 
 What helps it now, that Byron bore, 
 With haughty scorn which mock'd the smart 
 Through Europe to the ^tolian shore 
 The pageant of his bleeding heart ? 
 That thousands counted every groan. 
 And Europe made his woe her own? 
 —Arnold, Matthew, 1867, Stanzas from 
 the Grande Chartreuse. 
 
 Occasionally, indeed, the fervour of the 
 poet warmed his expression, and always 
 the fire of genius kindled his eye ; but in 
 general, an affection of fashion pervaded 
 his manner, and the insouciance of satiety 
 spread a languor over his conversation. 
 He was destitute of that simplicity of 
 thought and manner which is the attendant 
 of the highest intellect, and which was so 
 conspicuous in Scott. He was always 
 aiming at effect : and the effect he desired 
 was rather that of fashion than of genius ; 
 he sought rather to astonish than impress. 
 He seemed blase with every enjoyment of 
 life, affected rather the successful roue 
 than the great poet, and deprecated beyond 
 the cant of morality. The impression h^ 
 wished to leave on the mind was that of a 
 man who had tasted to the dregs of all the 
 enjoyments of life, and above all of high 
 life, and thought everything else mere 
 balderdash and affectation. — Alison, Sir 
 Archibald, 1867-83, Some Account of my 
 Life and Writings, vol. I, p. 142. 
 
 Personally, I know nothing but good of 
 him. Of what he became in his foreign 
 banishment, when removed from all his 
 natural ties and hereditary duties, I, per- 
 sonally, am ignorant. In all probability 
 he deteriorated ; he would have been more 
 than human if he had not. But when I 
 was in the habit of familiarly seeing him, 
 he was kindness itself. . " . . Byron 
 had one preeminent fault — a fault which 
 must be considered as deeply criminal by 
 every one who does not, as I do, believe 
 it to have resulted from monomania. He 
 had a morbid love of a bad reputation. 
 There was hardly an offence of which he 
 would not, with perfect indifference, 
 accuse himself. An old school-fellow, who 
 met him on the Continent, told me that he 
 would continually write paragraphs against 
 himself in the foreign journals, and delight 
 in their republication by the English news- 
 papers as in the success of a practical 
 joke. When anybody had related any- 
 thing discreditable of Byron, assuring me 
 that it must be true, for he had heard it 
 from himself, I have always felt that he 
 
GWRGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 741 
 
 could not have spoken with authority, and 
 that, in all probability, the tale was a pure 
 invention. If I could remember, and were 
 willing to repeat, the various misdoings 
 which I have from time to time heard him 
 attribute to himself, I could fill a volume. 
 But 1 never believed them. I very soon 
 became aware of this strange idiosyncrasy. 
 It puzzled me to account for it ; but there 
 it was— a sort of diseased and distorted 
 vanity. — Harness, William, 1869, Life 
 of Harness by UEstrange^ ed. Stoddard, pp. 
 189, 191. 
 
 We talked of Byron and Wordsworth. 
 '*0f course, said Tennyson, "Byron's 
 merits are on the surface. This is not the 
 case with Wordsworth. You must love 
 Wordsworth ere he will seem worthy of 
 your love. As a boy I was an enormous 
 admirer of Byron, so much so that I got a 
 surfeit of him, and now I cannot read him 
 as I should like to do. I was fourteen 
 when I heard of his death. It seemed an 
 awful calamity ; I remember I rushed out 
 of doors, sat down by myself, shouted 
 aloud, and wrote on the sandstone: 
 * Byron is dead!*'' — Tennyson, Alfred 
 Lord, 1869, Some Opinions on Poetry, 
 Memoir by his Son, vol. ii, p. 69. 
 O master, here I bow before a shrine ; 
 
 Before the lordliest dust that ever yet 
 Moved animate in human form divine. 
 
 Lo ! dust indeed to dust. The mould is set 
 
 Above thee, and the ancient walls are wet, 
 And drip all day in dark and silent gloom ; 
 
 As if the cold gray stones could not forget 
 Thy great estate shrunk to this sombre room, 
 But learn to weep perpetual tears above thy 
 tomb. 
 
 —Miller, Joaquin, 1870-84, At Lord 
 Byron's Tomb, Memorie and Rime, p. 15. 
 
 Byron was always mean. He could pre- 
 tend affection to Shelley in Italy, while he 
 was secretly joining in the cry against 
 him in England. He betrayed Leigh 
 Hunt ; he betrayed every hand that ever 
 touched his. The only good thing that 
 can be said of him is, that he finally came 
 to despise himself; and he probably 
 entered the Greek struggle, where he 
 fell, from sheer desperation at the glimpse 
 of his own degradation. As for this new 
 revelation by Mrs. Stowe, I don't see that 
 it should sink Byron another degree in the 
 opinion of any one were it proved true ; it 
 would suggest the plea of diseased in- 
 stincts, which is the best that can be 
 offered for his crimes ; but his cowardice, 
 
 his affectation, his deliberate meanness — ■ 
 pah!— Conway, M. D., 1870, South- 
 coast Saunterings in England, Harper's 
 Magazine, vol. 40, p. 525. 
 
 1 happened to be in London when Lord 
 Byron's fame was reaching its height, and 
 saw much of him in society. . . . 
 Though he was far from being a great or 
 ambitious talker, his presence at this time 
 made the fortune of any dinner or draw- 
 ing-room party for which it could be ob- 
 tained ; and was always known by a crowd 
 gathered round him, the female portion 
 generally predominating. I have seen 
 many of these epidemic impulses of fashion 
 in London society, but none more marked 
 than this. There was a certain haughti- 
 ness or seeming indifference in his manner 
 of receiving the homage tendered him, 
 which did not however prevent him from 
 resenting'its withdrawal — an inconsistency 
 not limited to the case of Lord Byron. 
 Though brought into frequent intercourse 
 by our common travels in the East, my 
 intimacy with him went little beyond this. 
 He was not a man with whom it was easy 
 to cultivate friendship. He had that 
 double or conflicting nature, well pictured 
 by Dante, which rendered difficult any 
 close or continued relations with him. — 
 Holland, Sir Henry, 1871, Recollections 
 of Past Life, p. 206. 
 
 Insincerity was the real darkness of 
 Byron's life ; he turned to the unholy love 
 of women to assuage the anguish of a 
 spirit, enraged, both with itself and the 
 world. — Smith, George Barnett, 1876, 
 Dean Swift, The International Review, vol. 
 3, p. 311. 
 
 Had he survived he might possibly have 
 become, as H. E. W. surmises. King of 
 Greece, and perhaps not altogether a bad 
 one. How strange a vista of the possi- 
 bilities of history is opened by such a sug- 
 gestion ! Against Byron's vices and misera- 
 ble affectations, and the false ring of his 
 whole character — which was so ludicrously 
 exemplified by his writing 'Tare thee 
 well, and if for ever" on the back of an 
 unpaid butcher's bill — must always be set 
 the honour of his self-devotion and heroism 
 in the Greek war. If he was somewhat of a 
 Sardanapalus, it was a Sardanapalus who 
 could fight for a noble cause not his own. 
 Expressing once to Mazzini my own sense 
 that Byron could scarcely take rank as a 
 poet, compared to Shelley, the Italian 
 
742 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 patriot replied: *'Ah! but you forgot 
 that Shelley was only a poet in words and 
 feeling ; Byron translated his poetry into 
 action, when he went to fight for Greece.'^ 
 — CoBBE, Frances Power, 1882, Letter to 
 the Temple Bar, vol. 64, p. 318. 
 
 Vehement in all things, Byron was 
 especially vehement in his friendships ; and 
 despite all that may be urged to the con- 
 trary, on the strength of cynical flippancies 
 uttered to astonish his hearers, and bitter 
 words spoken or written under the spur 
 of sudden resentments or the torture of 
 exasperating suspicions, it may be averred 
 stoutly that in choosing his friends and 
 dealing with them he was altogether con- 
 trolled by his heart. ... In the 
 domain of the affections he was, from boy- 
 hood till his hair whitened, a man of so 
 acute a sensibility that it may well be 
 termed morbid. To this excessive sensi- 
 bility, and the various kinds of emotional- 
 ity that necessarily attended it, must be 
 attributed the quickness with which his 
 ''passions" succeeded one another. . . . 
 With women he was what they pleased to 
 make or take him for. But he was most 
 pleased with them when they treated him 
 as nearly as possible like "a favorite and 
 sometimes froward sister." The reader 
 may smile, but must not laugh ; it was as 
 "a favorite and sometimes froward sister" 
 that he was thought of and treated by 
 Hobhouse and other men. What then 
 more natural for him to like to be thought 
 of and treated by women in the same way? 
 — .Jeaffreson, John Cordy, 1883, The 
 Real Lord Byron, pp. 4, 65, 172. 
 
 It is not too much to say that the char- 
 acter of Lord Byron, though untainted by 
 the baser vices attributed to it during the 
 poet's lifetime, consisted of a mass of 
 miserable weaknesses and transparent 
 affectations, relieved by certain amiable 
 traits and some generous impulses.— 
 Caine, Hall, 1883, Cobwebs of Criticism, 
 p. 101. 
 
 And lived he here? And could this sweet 
 
 green isle 
 Volcanic stuff to his hot heart afford, 
 That he might nurse his wrath, and vent his 
 
 bile 
 
 On gods and men, this proud, mistempered 
 lord? 
 
 Alas! poor lord, to this soft leafy nest, 
 Where only pure and heavenly thoughts 
 
 should dwell, 
 He brought, and bore and cherished in his 
 
 breast, 
 
 A home-bred devil, and a native hell. 
 Unhappy lord! If this be genius, then 
 
 Grant me, O God, a muse with sober sweep, 
 That I may eat and drink with common men, 
 
 Joy with their joys, and with their weep- 
 ing weep : 
 
 Better to chirp mild loves in lowly bower, 
 Than soar through stormy skies, with hatred 
 for my dower. 
 
 — Blackie, John Stuart, 1886, Lord 
 Byron and the Armenian Convent, Messis 
 Vitae, p. 164. 
 
 "The Balaam of Baron;" "Bard of Cor- 
 sair "The Comus of Poetry "Damsetas 
 "Don Jose;" "Don Juan ;" "A Literary 
 Vassal ;" "Lord Glenarvon ;" "The Mock- 
 ing Bird of our Parnassian Ornithology." 
 — Frey, Albert R., 1888, Sobriquets and 
 Nicknames, p. 395. 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Stevenson's Attwater 
 to Captain Davis, "you seem to me to be 
 a very twopenny pirate!" And to me, 
 Byron with all his pretensions and his 
 fame seems a very twopenny poet and a 
 farthing man. . . . His letters alone 
 reveal the man ; a man of malignant dis- 
 honour and declamatory affectation, and 
 poetising conceit; a man who could not 
 even act upon Luther's advice and "sin 
 boldly, " but must needs advertise his silly 
 obscenities. Despicable, that is the word 
 for him ; and it is no Philistine Puritanism 
 that so speaks. The vulgar aristocrat, 
 the insolent plebeian, that Byron was, looks 
 ludicrous by the side of his great contem- 
 poraries. Wordsworth, so impassioned, 
 awful, and august; Shelley and Keats; 
 Lamb, the well-beloved, that tragic and 
 smiling patient; miraculous Coleridge; 
 Landor, with his gracious courtesy and 
 Roman wrath; how does Byron show by 
 these? He did one thing well ; he rid the 
 world of a cad — by dying as a soldier. 
 There was a strain of greatness in the 
 man, and it predominated at the last. — 
 Johnson, Lionel, 1898, Byron, The 
 Academy, vol. 53, p. 489. 
 
 Byron and Napoleon are "in the air." 
 The cause is not far to seek. Ours is an 
 age of co-operation rather than of ascend- 
 ency ; "the individual withers ;" and public 
 interest naturally recurs to the overwhelm- 
 ing personalities of the past. Among 
 these there is none more original than 
 Byron. As a meteoric force he was rev- 
 olutionary; as a "human document" he 
 is at once perplexing and paramount. To 
 understand him aright it is needful to 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 743 
 
 watch the development of his weird char- 
 acter, to get close up to him, both in his 
 works and his letters — which are them- 
 selves literature. Such a study has, until 
 now, been rendered extremely difficult by 
 the mass of disordered material and the 
 dearth of digested information. It has, 
 practically, been confined to a few, the 
 chief of whom was Disareli the younger, 
 eminently qualified, alike by his poetic en- 
 dowment and by his aristocratic percep- 
 tions. In one passage of ''Vivian Grey," 
 throughout "Venetia," is a real interpre- 
 tation of Byron's nature. — Sichel, Wal- 
 ter, 1898, The Two Byrons, The Fort- 
 nightly Review, vol. 70, p. 231. 
 
 The real original reason of the outcry 
 against Byron was simply that the women 
 made such a ridiculous fuss about him that 
 the men grew jealous, and were not satis- 
 fied until he was hounded out of England. 
 —Graham, William, 1898, Last Links 
 with Byron, Shelley and Keats, Introduc- 
 tion, p. xii. 
 
 The more I read in his letters and in 
 the accounts of those who knew him best, 
 the more I am convinced that the popular 
 idea of Byron as a man whose life was 
 bound up in his love affairs, whate\^r their 
 nature, is the very reverse of the truth : 
 that, on the contrary, his heart was very 
 little concerned in them, and that his 
 strongest emotions were his friendships 
 with men whom he respected, whom he 
 took for his intellectual peers. He seems 
 to me to have longed to be understood, and 
 liked, and affectionately regarded by his 
 men friends with far more real feeling of 
 the heart than is shown in any one of his 
 affairs with women. He took women 
 lightly, just a trifle in the Mohammedan 
 way, and did not really care deeply about 
 them in any other. — Street, G. S., 1901, 
 Byron, 1816-1824, Blackwood's Magazine, 
 vol 170, p. 764. 
 
 LADY BYRON 
 She is a very superior woman, and very 
 little spoiled; which is strange in an 
 heiress, a girl of twenty, a peeress that 
 is to to be in her own right, an only child, 
 and a savante, who has always had her 
 own way. She is a poetess, a mathe- 
 matician, a metaphysician; yet, withal, 
 very kind, generous, and gentle, with very 
 little pretension. Any other head would 
 be turned with half her acquisitions and a 
 
 tenth of her advantages. — Byron, Lord, 
 1815, Journal. 
 Fare thee well ! and if for ever 
 
 Still for ever, fare thee well ; 
 Even though unforgiving, never 
 'Gainst thee shall my heart rebel. 
 
 Though my many faults defaced me, 
 
 Could no other arm be found, 
 Than the one which once embraced me, 
 To inflict a cureless wound? 
 —Byron, Lord, 1816, Fare Thee Well, 
 March 17. 
 
 Lord and Lady Byron are, you know, 
 separated. He said to Rogers that Lady 
 Byron had parted with him, apparently in 
 good friendship, on a visit to her father, 
 and that he had no idea of their being 
 about to part, when he received her decis- 
 ion to that effect. He stated that his own 
 temper, naturally bad, had been rendered 
 more irritable by the derangement of his 
 fortune, and that Lady Byron was entirely 
 blameless. The truth is, he is a very un- 
 principled fellow.— Smith, Sydney, 1816, 
 To Francis Jeffrey, A Memoir of Sydney 
 Smith by Lady Holland. 
 
 Of Lady Byron, — highly informed and 
 accomplished, richly endowed by both 
 nature and fortune, yet dwelling meekly 
 in the shade of retirement, — 
 "As mild and patient as the female dove, 
 When first her golden couplets are disclos'd ; ' ' 
 
 bearing with patience her own hard lot, 
 and the published sarcasm of her malig- 
 nant lord, devoting herself to her superior 
 duties, a blessing to all around by her pious 
 example, and liberal charity, — of her I 
 have neither time nor room to speak as 
 she deserves. Her injuries from him she 
 never did nor will disclose. It should be 
 observed that the most cordial intimacy 
 has always subsisted between her and Mrs. 
 Leigh, the half-sister of Lord Byron. — 
 Grant, Anne, 1827, Letters, Jan. 16; 
 Memoir and Correspondence, ed. Grant, 
 vol III, p. 86. 
 
 Lord Byron's was a marriage of con- 
 venience, — certainly at least on his own 
 part. ... He married for money, 
 but of course he wooed with his genius ; 
 and the lady persuaded herself that she 
 liked him, partly because he had a genius, 
 and partly because it is natural to love 
 those who take pains to please us. 
 Furthermore, the poet was piqued to ob- 
 tain his mistress, because she had a 
 
744 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 reputation for being delicate in such mat- 
 ters ; and the lady was piqued to become 
 his wife, not because she did not know the 
 gentleman previously to marriage, but 
 because she did, and hoped that her love 
 and her sincerity, and her cleverness, 
 would enable her to reform him. The 
 experiment was dangerous, and did not 
 succeed. ... The ''Farewell" that 
 he wrote, and that set so many tender- 
 hearted white handkerchiefs in motion, 
 only resulted from his poetical power of 
 assuming an imaginary position, and tak- 
 ing pity on himself in the shape of another 
 man. He had no love for the object of it, 
 or he would never have written upon her 
 in so different a style afterwards. — 
 Hunt, Leigh, 1828, Lord Byron and 
 Some of His Contemporaries^ vol. i, pp. 
 9, 11. 
 
 True Jedwood justice was dealt out to 
 him. First came the execution, then the 
 investigation, and last of all, or rather 
 not at all, the accusation. — Macaulay, 
 Thomas Babington, 1830, Moore's Life 
 of Lord Byrony Critical and Miscellaneous 
 Essays. 
 
 The accounts given me after I left Lord 
 Byron, by the persons in constant inter- 
 course with him, added to those doubts 
 which had before transiently occurred t(J 
 my mind as to the reality of the alleged 
 disease; and the reports of his medical 
 attendant were far from establishing the 
 existence of anything like lunacy. Under 
 this uncertainty, I deemed it right to 
 communicate to my parents, that, if I 
 were to consider Lord Byron's past con- 
 duct as that of a person of sound mind, 
 nothing could induce me to return to him. 
 It therefore appeared expedient, both to 
 them and myself, to consult the ablest 
 advisers. For that object, and also to 
 obtain still further information respecting 
 the appearances which seemed to indicate 
 mental derangement, my mother deter- 
 mined to go to London. She was em- 
 powered by me to take legal opinions on a 
 written statement of miie, though I had 
 then reasons for reserving a part of the 
 case from the knowledge even of my father 
 and mother. Being convinced by the re- 
 sult of these inquiries, and by the tenor of 
 Lord Byron's proceedings, that the notion 
 of insanity was an illusion, I no longer 
 hesitated to authorize such measures as 
 were necessary in order to secure me from 
 
 being ever again placed in his power. 
 Conformably with this resolution, my 
 father wrote to him on the 2d of February 
 to propose an amicable separation. Lord 
 Byron at first rejected this proposal ; but 
 when it was distinctly notified to him, 
 that, if he persisted in his refusal, re- 
 course must be had to legal measures, he 
 agreed to sign a deed of separation. — 
 Byron, Lady A. L Noel, 1830, Letter to 
 the Public, Feb. 19. 
 
 She brought to Lord Byron beauty, 
 manners, fortune, meekness, romantic 
 affection, and every thing that ought to 
 have made her to the most transcendent 
 man of genius — had he been what he should 
 have been — his pride and his idol. I speak 
 not of Lady Byron in the commonplace 
 manner of attesting character; I appeal 
 to the gifted Mrs. Siddons and Joanna 
 Baillie, to Lady Charlemont, and to other 
 ornaments of their sex, whether I am 
 exaggerating in the least when I say, that, 
 in their whole lives, they have seen few 
 beings so intellectual and well-tempered 
 as Lady Byron. I wish to be as ingenuous 
 as possible in speaking of her. Her man- 
 ner, I have no hesitation to say, is cool at 
 the first interview, but is modestly, and 
 not insolently, cool : she contracted it, I 
 believe, from being exposed by her beauty 
 and large fortune, in youth, to numbers of 
 suitors, whom she could not have other- 
 wise kept at a distance. But this manner 
 could have had no influence with Lord 
 Byron ; for it vanishes on nearer acquaint- 
 ance, and has no origin in coldness. All 
 her friends like her frankness the better 
 for being preceded by this reserve. This 
 manner, however, though not the slightest 
 apology for Lord Byron, has been inimical 
 to Lady Byron in her misfortunes. — Camp- 
 bell, Thomas, 1830, The New Monthly 
 Magazine. 
 
 Miss Milbank knew that he was reck- 
 oned a rake and a roue; and although 
 his genius wiped off, by impassioaned elo- 
 quence in love-letters that were felt to be 
 irresistible, or hid the worst stain of that 
 reproach, still Miss Milbank must have 
 believed it a perilous thing to be the wife 
 of Lord Byron. ... But still, by 
 joining her life to his in marriage, she 
 pledged her troth, and her faith, and her 
 love, under probabilities of severe, dis- 
 turbing, perhaps fearful trials in the 
 future. . . . But I think Lady Byron 
 
GEORGE GOl 
 
 ought not to have printed that Narrati^ 
 Death abrogates not the rights of a 
 husband to his wife's silence, when speech 
 is fatal ... to his character as a 
 man. Has she not flung suspicion over 
 his bones interred, that they are the bones 
 of a— monster ?— Wilson, John (Chris- 
 topher North), 1830, Nodes Ambro- 
 siance, Blackwood's Magazine, vol. 27, pp. 
 823, 824. 
 
 Many excellent reasons are given for 
 his being a bad husband; the sum of 
 which is, that he was a very bad man. I 
 confess I was rejoiced then, and am re- 
 joiced now, that he was driven out of Eng- 
 land by public scorn; because his vices 
 were not in his passions, but in his princi- 
 ples.— Webster, Daniel, 1833, Letter to 
 George Ticknor, April 8. 
 
 I have said enough to show him as he 
 was, a thoroughly spoilt man. Lady Byron 
 was equally spoilt in an opposite direction 
 — self-willed, intolerant, jealous, and 
 vindictive. She was a rigid Puritan: 
 they are a brave and undaunted sect in 
 self-reliance on their superiority over all 
 other people, and fear nothing. Saints 
 armed in righteousness prefer doing battle 
 with great sinners, confident of their 
 cause. Lady Byron, with the pertinacity 
 of a zealot, plied the poet with holy texts 
 from Scripture and moral maxims from 
 pious writers. . . . Any one could 
 live with him excepting an inflexible and 
 dogmatic saint; not that he objected to 
 his wife's piety, for he saw no harm in 
 that, but her inflicting it on him. The 
 lady's theory was opposed to this: her 
 mission was to reform him by her example 
 and teaching. She had a smattering of 
 science, mathematics, and metaphysics — 
 a toy pet from her childhood, idolized by 
 her parents, and considered as a phenom- 
 enon by her country neighbours. — Tre- 
 LAWNY, Edward John, 1858-78, Records 
 of Shelley, Byron and the Author, pp. ^0,41. 
 
 Never was a young creature led to the 
 altar more truly as a sacrifice. She was 
 rash, no doubt; but she loved him. and 
 who was not, in the whole business, more 
 rash than she? At the altar she did not 
 know that she was a sacrifice : but before 
 sunset of that winter day she knew it, 
 if a judgment may be formed from her 
 face and attitude of despair when she 
 alightjed from the carriage on the after- 
 noon of her marriage-day. It was not the 
 
 V LORD BYRON 745 
 
 traces of tears which won the sympathy 
 of the old butler who stood at the open 
 door. The bridegroom jumped out of the 
 carriage and walked away. The bride 
 alighted, and came up the steps alone, 
 with a countenance and frame agonized 
 and listless with evident horror and de- 
 spair. The old servant longed to offer his 
 arm to the young, lonely creature, as an 
 assurance of sympathy and protection. 
 From this shock she certainly rallied, and 
 soon. The pecuniary difiiculties of her 
 new home were exactly what a devoted 
 spirit like hers was fitted to encounter. 
 Her husband bore testimony, after the 
 catastrophe, that a brighter being, a more 
 sympathizing and agreeable companion, 
 never blessed any man's home. When he 
 afterwards called her cold and mathe- 
 matical, and over-pious, and so forth, it 
 was when public opinion had gone against 
 him, and when he had discovered that her 
 fidelity and mercy, her silence and magna- 
 nimity, might be relied on, so that he was 
 at full liberty to make his part good, as 
 far as she was concerned. . . . She 
 loved him to the last with a love which it 
 was not in his own power to destroy. She 
 gloried in his fame; and she would not 
 interfere between him and the public who 
 adored him, any more than she would ad- 
 mit the public to judge between him and 
 her. As we have said, her love endured 
 to the last. — Martineau, Harriet, 1860- 
 69, Biographical Sketches, pp. 284, 287. 
 
 She has been called, after his words, 
 the moral Clytemnestra of her husband. 
 Such a surname is severe : but the repug- 
 nance we feel to condemning a woman 
 cannot prevent our listening to the voice 
 of justice, which tells us that the com- 
 parison is still in favor of the guilty one 
 of antiquity ; for she driven to crime by 
 fierce passion overpowering reason, at 
 least only deprived her husband of physical 
 life, and, in committing the deed, exposed 
 herself to all its consequences ; while Lady 
 Byron left her husband at the very 
 moment that she saw him struggling amid 
 a thousand shoals in the stormy sea of 
 embarrassments created by his marriage, 
 and precisely when he more than ever 
 required a friendly, tender, and indul- 
 gent hand to save him from the tem- 
 pests of life. Besides, she shut herself 
 up in silence a thousand times more cruel 
 than Clytemnestra's poniard: that only 
 
746 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 killed the body; whereas Lady Byron^s 
 silence was destined to kill the soul, — and 
 such a soul! — leaving the door open to 
 calumny, and making it to be supposed 
 that her silence was magnanimity destined 
 to cover over frightful wrongs, perhaps 
 even depravity. In vain did he, feeling his 
 conscience at ease, implore some inquiry 
 and examination. She refused, and the 
 only favor she granted was to send him, 
 one fine day, two persons to see whether 
 he were not mad. — GuiccoLi, Countess, 
 1868-69, My Recollections of Lord ByroUy 
 tr. Jerningham, p. 540. 
 
 Supposing Mrs. Stowe's narrative to 
 have been really a ''true story,'* and that 
 we had meant to reveal the whole of our 
 grandmother's history, I do not see what 
 defence that is to Mrs. Stowe against the 
 charge of repeating what was told her in 
 a ''private, confidential conversation." 
 But it is not true that Lady Anne Blunt 
 and I ever intended to publish correspond- 
 ence of the nature mentioned. About 
 three years ago a manuscript in Lady Noel 
 Byron's handwriting was found among her 
 papers, giving an account of some circum- 
 stances connected with her marriage, and 
 apparently intended for publication after 
 her death ; but as this seemed not quite 
 certain, no decision as to its publication 
 was come to. In the event of a memoir 
 being written, this manuscript might, per- 
 haps, be included, but hitherto it has not 
 been proposed to publish any other matter 
 about her separation. This statement in 
 Lady Byron's own handwriting does not 
 contain any accusation of so grave a nature 
 as that which Mrs. Stowe asserts was told 
 her, and Mrs. Stowe 's story of thesepara- 
 stion is inconsistent with what I have seen 
 in various letters, &c., of Lady Byron's. 
 . . . I, for one, cannot allow that Mrs. 
 Stowe's statement is substantially correct. 
 — Wentworth, Lord, 1869, Pall Mall 
 Gazette, Sept. 3. 
 
 It appears by Dr. Lushington's state- 
 ments, that, when Lady Byron did speak, 
 she had a story to tell that powerfully 
 affected both him and Romilly, — a story 
 supported by evidence on which they were 
 willing to have gone to public trial. Sup- 
 posing, now, she had imitated Lord Byron's 
 example, and, avoiding public trial, had 
 put her story into private circulation ; as 
 he sent "Don Juan" to fifty confidential 
 friends, suppose she had sent a written 
 
 statement of her story to fifty judges as 
 intelligent as the two that had heard it ; 
 or suppose she had confronted his auto- 
 biography with her own, — what would 
 have been the result? The first result 
 would have been Mrs. Leigh's utter ruin. 
 The world may finally forgive the man of 
 genius anything ; but for a woman there 
 is no mercy and no redemption. This ruin 
 Lady Byron prevented by her utter silence 
 and great self-command. Mrs. Leigh 
 never lost position. Lady Byron never so 
 varied in her manner toward her as to ex- 
 cite the suspicions even of her confidential 
 old servant. To protect Mrs. Leigh 
 effectually, it must have been necessary 
 to continue to exclude even her own 
 mother from the secret, as we are assured 
 she did at first; for, had she told Lady 
 Milbanke, it is not possible that so high- 
 spirited a woman could have restrained 
 herself from such outward expressions as 
 would at least have awakened suspicion. 
 There was no resource but this absolute 
 silence. — Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 1870, 
 Lady Byron Vindicated, p. 73. 
 
 If the case is looked at calmly, a simple 
 explanation is not difficult to find. A 
 woman who could ask such a husband in a 
 voice of provoking sweetness "when he 
 meant to give up his bad habit of making 
 verses," a woman who never lost her 
 temper, never gave up her point, and in- 
 flicted the most malignant stabs in the 
 tenderest places with angelic coolness, 
 possessed the power of goading a sensitive, 
 impetuous man to frenzy. She had a 
 maid, for example, to whom Byron enter- 
 tained a violent aversion, because he sus- 
 pected her of poisoning his wife's mind 
 against him. Lady Byron listened to all 
 his furious tirades with unruffled meekness, 
 but never consented to send the woman 
 away. She was quite as jealous of her 
 dignity, quite as resentful of slights, real 
 or supposed, as himself; and in their 
 differences of opinion she had the inestima- 
 ble advantage of a temper perfectly under 
 control, and a command of all the sweet 
 resignation of a martyr, combined with 
 the most skilful ingenuity of provoking 
 retort. Byron, with his liability to fits of 
 uncontrollable passion, could never have 
 been an easy man to live with ; but if his 
 wife had been a loving, warm-hearted 
 woman, with the unconscious tact that such 
 women have, the result would probably 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 747 
 
 have been • different.— Minto, Wil- 
 liam, 1894, Literature of the Georgian 
 Era, ed. Kn p. 272. 
 
 HOURS OF IDLENESS 
 1807 
 
 The poesy of this young lord belongs to 
 the class which neither gods nor men are 
 said to permit. Indeed, we do not recol- 
 lect to have seen a quantity of verse with 
 so few deviations in either direction from 
 that exact standard. His effusions are 
 spread over a dead flat, and can no more 
 get above or below the level, than if they 
 were so much stagnant water. As an 
 extenuation of this offence, the noble 
 author is peculiarly forward in pleading 
 minority. We have it in the title-page, 
 and on the very back of the volume ; it 
 follows his name like a favourite part of 
 his style. Much stress is laid upon it in 
 the preface, and the poems are connected 
 with this general statement of his case, by 
 particular dates, substantiating the age at 
 which each was written. Now, the law 
 upon the point of minority we hold to be 
 perfectly clear. It is a plea available only 
 to the defendant ; no plaintiff can offer it 
 as a supplementary ground of action. . . . 
 Whatever judgment may be passed on the 
 poems of this noble minor, it seems we 
 must take them as we find them, and be 
 content; for they are the last we shall 
 ever have from him^ • • • What right 
 have we poor devils to be nice ? We are 
 well off to have got so much from a man 
 of this Lord's station; who does not live 
 in a garret, but ''has the sway" of 
 Newstead Abbey. Again, we say, let us 
 be thankful; and, with honest Sancho, bid 
 God bless the giver, nor look the gift 
 horse in the mouth. — Brougham, Henry 
 Lord, 1808, Lord Byron^s Poems, Edin- 
 burgh Review, vol. 11, pp. 285, 289. 
 
 Yet though there were many, and those 
 not the worst judges, who discerned in 
 these juvenile productions, a depth of 
 thought and felicity of expression which 
 promised much at a more mature age, the 
 errors did not escape the critical lash; 
 and certain brethren of ours yielded to the 
 opportunity of pouncing upon * a titled 
 author, and to that which most readily 
 besets our fraternity, and to which we 
 dare not pronounce ourselves wholly inac- 
 cessible, the temptation, namely, of shew- 
 ing our own wit, and entertaining our 
 readers with a lively article without much 
 
 respect to the feelings of the author, or 
 even to the indications of merit which the 
 work may exhibit. — Scott, Sir Walter, 
 1816, Childe Harold Canto iii, and other 
 Poems, Quarterly Review, vol. 16, p. 174. 
 
 The ''Hours of Idleness" were poorish 
 and pretentious verses, certainly with less 
 of promise in them than the first produc- 
 tions of most other great poets. Yet 
 they had some, and there was little excuse 
 for the smart but stupid "Edinburgh Re- 
 view" article upon them. However, this 
 had the good effect of rousing Byron to 
 put forth his power.— Noel, Roden,1896, 
 The Poets and the Poetry of the Century, 
 Southey to Shelley, ed. Miles, p. 375. 
 
 ENGLISH BARDS AND SCOTCH 
 REVIEWERS 
 1809 
 
 As to the Edinburgh Reviewers, it would 
 indeed require an Hercules to crush the 
 Hydra; but if the author succeeds in 
 merely "bruising one of the heads of the 
 serpent," though his own hand should suffer 
 in the encounter, he will be amply satis- 
 fied. — Byron, Lord, 1809, English Bards 
 and Scotch Reviewers, Preface. 
 
 If I could envy any man for success- 
 ful ill-nature, I should envy Lord Byron 
 for his skill in satirical momenclature. — 
 Smith, Sydney, 1810, To Lady Holland, 
 June; Memoir by Lady Holland. 
 
 It is very abusive ; but with few excep- 
 tions its satire is as weak as it is violent 
 and unjust.— Story, William Wetmore, 
 1890, Conversations in a Studio, vol. i, 
 p. 233. 
 
 A verse pamphlet clearly inspired. — 
 Rhys, Ernest, 1897, Literary Pamphlets, 
 vol. I, p. 32. 
 
 Is the last angry reverberation of the 
 literary satire of Dryden and Pope. It is 
 a kind of inverted "Dunciad ;" and novice 
 falls upon the masters of his day, as the 
 Augustan master upon the nonentities of 
 his, and emulates Pope's stiletto with a 
 vigorous bludgeon. Only those who, like 
 Rogers or Campbell, in some sort also 
 maintained the tradition of Pope, came off 
 without a gibe. But the invective, though 
 as a rule puerile as criticism, shows ex- 
 traordinary powers of malicious state- 
 ment, and bristles with the kind of epigram 
 which makes satire stick, when it is too 
 wildly aimed to wound. — Herford, C. H., 
 1897, The Age of Wordsworth, p. 222. 
 
748 
 
 GEORGE LORD GORDON BYRON 
 
 CHILDE HAROLD 
 
 1812-16-18 
 
 You have written one of the most 
 delightful poems 1 ever read. ... I 
 have been so fascinated with "Childe 
 Harold/' that I have not been able to lay 
 it down. I would almost pledge my life 
 on its advancing the reputation of your 
 poetical powers, and of its gaining you 
 great honour and regard, if you will do 
 me the credit and favour of attending to 
 my suggestions respecting some altera- 
 tions and omissions which I think indis- 
 pensable. — Dallas, R. C, 1811, Letter 
 to ByroUf July 16 ; Recollections of Lord 
 Byron, pp. 74, 75. 
 
 The Third Canto of *Thilde Harold'' 
 exhibits, in all its strength and in all its 
 peculiarities, the wild, powerful and 
 original vein of poetry which, in the pre- 
 ceding cantos, first fixed the public atten- 
 tion upon the author. If there is any 
 difference, the former seems to us to have 
 been rather more sedulously corrected and 
 revised for the publication, and the present 
 work to have been dashed from the 
 author's pen with less regard to the sub- 
 ordinate points of expression and versifica- 
 tion. Yet such is the deep and powerful 
 strain of passion, such the original tone 
 and colouring of description, that the want 
 of polish in some of its minute parts rather 
 adds to than deprives the poem of its 
 energy. — Scott, Sir Walter, 1816, 
 Childe Harold Canto iii, and other Poems, 
 Quarterly Review, vol. 16, p. 189. 
 
 The effect was, accordingly, electric; 
 his fame had not to wait for any of the 
 ordinary gradations, but seemed to spring 
 up, like the palace of a fairy tale, in a 
 night. As he himself briefly described it 
 in his memoranda, ''I awoke one morn- 
 ing and found myself famous." — Moore, 
 Thomas, 1830, Life of Lord Byron, vol. i, 
 p. 274. 
 
 The appearance of this admirable poem 
 placed the author, instantly and forever, 
 at the head of all the poets of his time. — 
 Shaw, Thomas B., 1847, Outlines of Eng- 
 lish Literature, p. 352. 
 
 Byron, who desired to please the public, 
 took care to mix a good deal of tall talk 
 in the most popular of his poems, Childe 
 Harold."— Pattison, Mark, 1872-89, 
 Pope and His Editors, Essays, ed. Nettle- 
 ship, vol. II, p. 355. 
 
 **Childe Harold," even in its complete 
 
 form, is no finished whole, -lo work of art 
 in the higher sense ; the requisite repose 
 and depth were wanting alike for the 
 creation and for the enjoyment of such a 
 work. It is a string of pearls of opinions 
 and thoughts on questions of philosophy 
 and politics in a brilliant and highly poet- 
 ical setting, and what many scarcely 
 ventured to think, they found there set 
 forth in bold and lofty expression. .The 
 dissatisfaction, so energetically uttered 
 by the poet, on the part which England 
 played in the affairs of the world, was felt 
 and recognised with especial earnestness 
 by a great part of the nation. — Elze, 
 Karl, 1870-72, Lord Byron, p. 125. 
 
 On taking up a fairly good version of 
 * 'Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" in French 
 or Italian prose, a reader whose eyes and 
 ears are not hopelessly sealed against all 
 distinction of good from bad in rhythm or 
 in style will infallibly be struck by the vast 
 improvement which the text has undergone 
 in the course of translation. The blunder- 
 ing, fioundering, lumbering and stumbling 
 stanzas, transmuted into prose and trans- 
 figured into grammar, reveal the real and 
 latent force of rhetorical energy that is 
 in them : the gasping, ranting, wheezing, 
 broken-winded verse has been transformed 
 into really effective and fluent oratory. 
 A ranter, of course, it is whose accents 
 we hear in alternate moan and bellow from 
 the trampled platform of theatrical mis- 
 anthropy : but he rants no longer out of 
 tune : and we are able to discern in the 
 thick and troubled stream of his natural 
 eloquence whatever of real value may be 
 swept along in company with much drift- 
 ing rubbish. It is impossible to express 
 how much ''Childe Harold" gains by being 
 done out of wretchedly bad metre into 
 decently good prose : the New Testament 
 did not gain more by being translated out 
 of canine Greek into divine English. — 
 Swinburne, Algernon Charles, 1886, 
 Wordsworth and Byron, Miscellanies, 
 p. 75. 
 
 But no English poet has -o l .-he 
 Spenserian stanza with the gi.- ■ i t;<./or 
 with which Byron has used it in h * ' Ch^" !de 
 Harold." His impetuous spirit I'-sa 
 character to the stanza quite dis ' 'm 
 
 its peculiar Spenserian charact 3n 
 the stanzas in which his gentler re 
 pensive moods are embodied, bea )r 
 no similarity to the manner of Spenser. 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 749 
 
 —Corson, Hiram, 1892, A Primer of 
 English Verse, p. 125. 
 
 Its cantos, here and there splendidly 
 ablaze with Nature— its storms, its 
 shadows, its serenities ; and the sentiment 
 — now morbid, now jubilant— is always 
 his own, though it beguiles with honeyed 
 sounds, or stabs like a knife. — Mitchell, 
 Donald G., 1897, English Lands Letters 
 and KingSy The Later Georges to Victoria, 
 p. 238. 
 
 The demerits of ''Childe Harold" lie on 
 the surface; but it is difficult for the 
 modern reader, familiar with the sight, if 
 not the texture, of "the purple patches," 
 and unattracted, perhaps demagnetized, 
 by a personality once fascinating and 
 always **pusissant," to appreciate the 
 actual worth and magnitude of the poem. 
 We are *'o'er informed;" and as with 
 Nature, so with Art, the eye must be 
 couched, and the film of association re- 
 moved, before we can see clearly. But 
 there is one characteristic feature of 
 "Childe Harold" which association and 
 familiarity have been powerless to veil or 
 confuse — originality of design. "By what 
 accident," asks the Quarterly Reviewer 
 (George Agar Ellis), "has it happened that 
 no other English poet before Lord Byron 
 has thought fit to employ his talents on 
 a subject so well suited to their display ?' ' 
 The question can only be answered by the 
 assertion that it was the accident of genius 
 which inspired the poet with a "new 
 song." "Childe Harold's Pilgrimage" 
 had no progenitors, and, with the excep- 
 tion of some feeble and forgotten imita- 
 tions, it has had no descendants. — Cole- 
 ridge, Ernest Hartley, 1899, ed., The 
 Works of Lord Byron, Poetry, vol. ii, p. 13. 
 
 THE GIAOUR 
 
 1813 
 
 I suppose you have read Lord Byron's 
 "Giaour," — and which edition? because 
 there are five, and in every one he adds 
 about fifty lines; so that the different 
 editions have rather the sisterly likeness 
 which Ovid says the Nereids had, than the 
 identity expected by the purchasers of the 
 same work. And pray do you say Lord 
 Byron, or Byron, in defiance of the y and 
 our old friend in Sir Charles Grandison ? 
 And do you pronounce Giaour hard g or 
 soft g ? And do you understand the poem 
 at first reading? — because Lord Byron and 
 the Edinburgh Reviewers say you are very 
 
 stupid if you don't; and yet the same 
 Reviewers have thought proper to prefix 
 the story to help your apprehension. All 
 these, unimportant as you may think them, 
 are matters of discussion here. — Bar- 
 bauld, Anna L^titia, 1813, Works, vol. 
 II, p. 96. 
 
 Poured forth for its amusement those 
 Oriental tales, of which "The Giaour" 
 alone retains sufficient vitality or perfume 
 of true poetry to make its perusal at the 
 present day desirable. — Symonds, John 
 Addington, 1880, The English Poets, ed. 
 Ward, vol. iv, p. 247. 
 
 The "Giaour" is, as he truly called it, 
 ' ' a string of passages, ' ' not a work moving 
 by a deep internal law of development to 
 a necessary end ; and our total impression 
 from it cannot but receive from this, its 
 inherent defect, a certain dimness and 
 indistinctness. But the incidents of the 
 journey and death of Hassan, in that poem, 
 are conceived and presented with a vivid- 
 ness not to be surpassed ; and our impres- 
 sion from them is correspondingly clear 
 and powerful. — Arnold, Matthew, 1881, 
 Poetry of Byron, Preface. 
 
 THE CORSAIR 
 
 1814 
 
 To me Byron's "Corsair" appears the 
 best of all his works. Rapidity of execu- 
 tion is no sort of apology for doing a thing 
 ill, but when it is done well, the wonder 
 is so much the greater. I am told he 
 wrote this poem at ten sittings — certainly 
 it did not take him more than three weeks. 
 —Dudley, Earl of, 1818, Letters. 
 
 His "Corsair" is marred by classic 
 elegancies : the pirates' song at the begin- 
 ning is no truer than a chorus at the Italian 
 opera ; his scamps propound philos^hical 
 antitheses as balanced as those of t^ope. 
 A hundred times ambition, glory, envy, 
 despair, and the other abstract person- 
 ages, whose images in the time of the 
 Empire the French used to set upon their 
 drawing-room clocks, break in amidst 
 living passions. The noblest passages are 
 disfigured by pedantic apostrophes, and 
 the pretentious poetic diction sets up 
 its threadbare frippery and conventional 
 ornaments. Far worse, he studies effect 
 and follows the fashion. — Taine, H. A., 
 1871, History of English Literature, tr. 
 Van Laun, vol. ii, bk. iv, ch. ii, p. 284. 
 
 Medora's song in the Corsair, "Deep in 
 
750 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 my soul that tender secret dwells, though 
 not flawless as a lyric, is one of his most 
 beautiful expressions of this mournful 
 sentiment in a subdued key. — Minto, Wil- 
 liam, 1876, Encyclopoedia Britannicaj vol. 
 IV, p. 540. 
 
 PRISONER OF CHILLON 
 
 1816 
 
 Next day beautiful drive to Vevay, as 
 you know. After visiting Chillon, where 
 Lord Byron's name and coat of arms are 
 cut upon Bonnivar's pillar, I read the poem 
 again, and think it most sublime and 
 pathetic. How can that man have per- 
 verted so much feeling as was originally 
 given to him !— Edgeworth, Maria, 1820, 
 Letters, vol. ii, p. 12. 
 
 Perhaps the first and most faultless of 
 his poems. — Reed, Henry, 1850-55, Lec- 
 tures on English Literature from Chaucer 
 to Tennyson, p. 290. 
 
 No one of Byron's poems is so purely 
 narrative, or has such a unity of lofty and 
 tender interest, uninterrupted by a single 
 distracting image. But this very perfec- 
 tion makes it tame and cold among the 
 heat and animation of the rest : it is the 
 only one in which Byron is left out. — 
 Oliphant, Margaret 0. W., 1882, Liter- 
 ary History of England, X VIII- XIX Cen- 
 tury, vol. Ill, p. 56. 
 
 Detained by bad weather at Ouchy, he 
 wrote in two days **The Prisoner of 
 Chillon," with its glorious introductory 
 sonnet to Liberty. This tale is a very beau- 
 tiful composition, having unity, graphic 
 description, tenderness, and pathos. — 
 Noel, Roden, 1890, Life of Lord Byron 
 (Great Writers), p. 120. 
 
 MANFRED 
 1817 
 
 There are great faults, it must be ad- 
 mitted, in this poem; — but it is un- 
 doubtedly a work of genius and originality. 
 Its worse fault, perhaps, is that it fatigues 
 and overawes us by the uniformity of its 
 terror and solemnity. Another is the 
 painful and offensive nature of the circum- 
 stance on which its distress is ultimately 
 founded.— Jeffrey, Francis Lord, 1817- 
 44, Contributions to the Edinburgh Review, 
 vol. II, p. 386. 
 
 His [Goethe's] 'Taust" I never read, for 
 I don't know German ; but Matthew Monk 
 Lewis, in 1816, at Coligny, translated 
 most of it to me irivd voce, and 1 was natur- 
 ally much struck with it ; but it was the 
 
 *'Staubach" and the ''Jungfrau," and 
 something else, much more than Faustus, 
 that made me write ''Manfred." — Byron, 
 Lord, 1820, Letter to Mr. Murray, June 7. 
 
 Last week, le sentiment de malediction 
 was upon me, about me, within me. I owe 
 that to Lord Byron; I read through his 
 ''Manfred," in English, twice. Never, 
 never shall I be so upset by any thing I 
 read as I was by that. It has fairly made 
 me ill. On Sunday I went out to see the 
 sun set ; it was as threatening as the fires 
 of hell. I went into the church where the 
 faithful were peacefully chanting the 
 Hallelujah ; 1 leaned against a pillar, and 
 gazed at them with envy and scorn. I 
 understood why Byron's Incantation ended 
 thus : — 
 
 "O'er thy heart and brain together 
 Hath the word been passed, — now wither! " 
 In the evening I dined with Edmond ; I had 
 to talk with Mrs. Morel about rooms and 
 wall-papers. At nine o'clock I could 
 stand it no longer; I was overcome by 
 bitter, violent despair; my eyes were 
 closed ; my head tipped back, and I was 
 consuming my own heart. To the gentle 
 Lydia's consolations I dropped a few words 
 of grief and irony. Adieu. — Ampere, 
 J. J., 1820, Letter, May 20, Correspondence. 
 
 Byron's tragedy, "Manfred," was to 
 me a wonderful phenomenon, and one that 
 closely touched me. This singular intel- 
 lectual poet has taken my Faustus to him- 
 self, and extracted from it the strangest 
 nourishment for his hypochondriac humour. 
 He has made use of the impelling principles 
 in his own way, for his own purposes, so 
 that no one of them remains the same ; and 
 it is particularly on this account that I 
 cannot enough admire his genius\ The 
 whole is in this way so completely formed 
 anew that it would be an interesting 
 task for the critic to point out, not only 
 the alterations he has made, but their 
 degree of resemblance with, or dissimilar- 
 ity to, the original ; in the course of which 
 I cannot deny that the gloomy heat of an 
 unbounded and exuberant despair becomes 
 at last oppressive to us. Yet is the dis- 
 satisfaction we feel always connected with 
 esteem and admiration. We find thus in 
 this tragedy the quintessence of the most 
 astonishing talent born to be its own tor- 
 mentor.— Goethe, JOHA J V" '^.FGANG, 
 1820, Review of Manfred, . • . <7' ner. 
 
 Lord Byron's "Manfrt n parts 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 751 
 
 intensely poetical ; yet the delicate mind 
 naturally shrinks from the spirit which 
 here and there reveals itself, and the basis 
 on which the drama is built. From a 
 perusal of it we should infer, according to 
 the above theory, that there was right and 
 fine feeling in the poet's mind, but that 
 the central and consistent character was 
 wanting. From the history of his life we 
 know this to be the fact.— Newman, 
 John Henry, 1829-71, Poetry with Ref- 
 erence to Aristotle's Poetics ; Essays Crit- 
 ical and Historical, vol. I, p. 22. 
 
 Into what mediocrity and platitude sinks 
 the 'Taust" of Goethe, compared to 
 '^Manfred!'— Taine, H. A., 1871, His- 
 tory of English Literature, tr. Van Laun, 
 vol. II, bk. iv, ch. ii, p. 295. 
 
 Byron's grandest poem is ''Manfred." 
 Henri Taine compares it with "Faust," 
 and says that "Manfred" is the poem of 
 individuality, and "Faust" the poem of 
 humanity. I should call "Manfred" the 
 poem of sentiment, and "Faust" the poem 
 of ideas; "Manfred" the poem of nature, 
 and "Faust" the poem of history. Both 
 poems represent the disenchantment which 
 is produced within the limits of human 
 existence. Faust himself is weary after 
 having thought, and Manfred after having 
 lived. The one dies, as becomes a German 
 doctor, after having studied medicine, 
 alchemy, the theological sciences and 
 philosophy, and having found them but 
 ashes. The other expires after having 
 felt, struggled, and loved in vain ; after 
 having ascended the gigantic ladder 
 formed by the Alps, without finding any- 
 thing more than the piercing wind eter- 
 nally moaning, the white frost falling, the 
 pines amid the snow-flakes, the cold desert 
 of crystal fatal to life, the profound abyss 
 where light is extinguished ; beneath, men 
 are like insects ; above, the eagles fly in 
 endless circles, breaking the immensity 
 and the silence by their cries of hunger ; 
 a spectacle which reminds him of another 
 desolation, the moonlight night in which 
 he trod the ground of the Colosseum, the 
 ruins overgrown with nettles, and heard 
 nothing but owls, whose melancholy cries 
 were an elegy over the ashes of the martyrs 
 and gladiators of the past. . . . Byron 
 feels the evil and Goethe thinks it. — Cas- 
 TELAR, Emilio, 1873-75, Life of Lord 
 Byron and other Sketches, tr. Arnold, pp. 
 169, 176. 
 
 We read Jeffrey's awe-stricken ap- 
 plause and Wilson's enthusiastic apprecia- 
 tion, and find that even such an authority 
 as Goethe declares Manfred's mouthings of 
 mock despair to be an improvement on 
 Hamlet's soliloquy, the extraordinary 
 mistake takes away our breath. . . . 
 The subject is one which only the most 
 exceptional merit in the poetry could 
 make tolerable ; and the poetry is not ex- 
 ceptional, but below the highest level of 
 Byron's power. To compare this diablerie 
 with that of Goethe, or the songs of the 
 spirits whom Manfred evokes, with the 
 melody of Shelley's responses in the "Pro- 
 metheus," is to put him at an extraor- 
 dinary disadvantage. — Oliphant, Mar- 
 garet 0. W., 1882, Literary History of Eng- 
 land,XVni-XIX Century, vol.iii, pp.60,6l. 
 
 DON JUAN 
 
 1819-1824 
 
 A foul blot on the literature of his 
 country, an act of high treason on Eng- 
 lish poetry.— SouTHEY, Robert, 1820, 
 Letter to Landor, Feb. 20. 
 
 I do most cordially agree with you that 
 I deserve quizzing for refusing to sell 
 "Don Juan," and should not be spared in 
 the article. The only apology I have to 
 offer to you is this, that it proceeded 
 partly from pique and partly from princi- 
 ple. When the book was published by 
 Murray, I was just on the point of breaking 
 with him. I had not had a letter from 
 him for some months. He sent me copies 
 of the book per mail, without either letter 
 or invoice, so that when I received them I 
 was not disposed to read it with a favour- 
 able eye. I did read it, and I declare- 
 solemnly to you, much as I admire the 
 talent and genius displayed in it, I never 
 in my life was so filled .with utter disgust. 
 It was not the grossne^sor blackguardism 
 which struck me, but it was the vile, heart- 
 less, and cold-blooded way in which this 
 fiend attempted to degrade every tender 
 and sacred feeling of the human heart. I 
 felt such a revolting at the whole book 
 after I had finished it, that I was glad of 
 the excuse I had, from Mr. Murray not 
 writing me, for refusing to sell it. I was 
 terribly laughed at by my friends here, 
 and I daresay you will laugh as much still 
 at my prudery and pique. — Blackwood, 
 William, 1821, Letter to Maginn ; Wil- 
 liam Blackwood and His Sons, by Oliphant, 
 vol. I, p. 380. 
 
752 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 How lamentably the art of versification 
 is neglected by most of the poets of the 
 present day ! — by Lord Byron, as it strikes 
 me, in particular, among those of eminence 
 for other qualities. IJpon the whole, I 
 think the part of "Don Juan" in which 
 Lambro's return to his home, and Lambro 
 himself, are described, is the best, that is, 
 the most individual, thing in all I know of 
 Lord B's. works. The festal abandonment 
 puts one in mind of Nicholas Poussin's 
 pictures.— Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 
 1824, Tahle-Talk, ed. Ashe, June 7, p. 39. 
 
 Lord Byron was the assassin of his own 
 fame, and seemed to glory in the deliber- 
 ate act of assassination. . . . Replete, it 
 is true, with passages -of extraordinary 
 splendour and power, but debased with a 
 far greater proportion of what was vulgar, 
 common-place, and indecent. Latterly, 
 indeed, these cantos became intolerably 
 dull, and found few readers. — Dibdin, 
 Thomas Frognall, 1824, The Library 
 Companioriy p. 744, note. 
 
 The most prodigal use did not exhaust 
 his powers, nay, seemed rather to increase 
 their vigour. Neither ''Childe Harold, " 
 nor any of the most beautiful of Byron's 
 earlier tales, contain more exquisite mor- 
 sels of poetry than are to be found scat- 
 tered through the cantos of ''Don Juan," 
 amidst verses which the author appears to 
 have thrown off with an effort as spontane- 
 ous as that of a tree resigning its leaves 
 to the wind. — Scott, Sir Walter, 1824, 
 Death of Lord Byron, The Edinburgh 
 Weekly Journal. 
 
 I passed some hours over *'Don Juan," 
 and saw no reason to change the opinion 
 which I formed twenty-five years ago. 
 The first two cantos are Byron's master- 
 piece. The next two may pass as not 
 below his average. Then begins the de- 
 scent, and at last he sinks to the level of 
 his own imitators in the Magazines. — 
 Macaulay, Thomas Babington, 1849, 
 Journal, Aug. 3 ; Life and Letters, ed. 
 Trevelyan. 
 
 No father would put *'Don Juan" into 
 his daughter's hands ; nor would he con- 
 sent that his son should read it until his 
 principles were fixed, and his judgment 
 clear and defined. It has received its 
 worst condemnation by being reprinted 
 and sold by certain booksellers who deal 
 with the most corrupting literature, and by 
 being found on the bookshelves of the rake 
 
 and the man of the world. And yet — 
 C But yet the pity of it, lago! Olago, the 
 pity of it, lago!")— it contains noble 
 poetry, most beautiful passages, and the 
 best literary work that its author in his 
 mature power was capable of. — Friswell, 
 James Hain, 1869, Essays on English 
 Writers, p. 322. 
 
 The admirable wit both of his letters, 
 and of pieces like the "Vision of Judg- 
 ment" and "Don Juan," where wit reaches 
 as high as any English writer has ever 
 ^carried it.— Morley, John, 1870, Byron, 
 Fortnightly Review, vol. 14, p. 656. 
 
 The poem, as will be remembered, begins 
 with the meanest and foulest attack on his 
 wife that ever ribald wrote, and put it in 
 close neighborhood with scenes which every 
 pure man or woman must feel to be the 
 beastly utterances of a man who had lost 
 all sense of decency. . . . Society 
 revolted, however, and fought stoutly 
 against the nauseous dose. Even his sister 
 wrote to him that she heard such things 
 said of it that she never would read it ; and 
 the outcry against it on the part of all 
 women of his acquaintance was such that 
 for a time he was quite overborne ; and 
 the Countess Guiccioli finally extorted a 
 promise from him to cease writing it. 
 Nevertheless there came a time when Eng- 
 land accepted ''Don Juan," — when Wil- 
 son, in the Noctes Ambrosianse, praised 
 it as a classic, and took every opportunity 
 to reprobate Lady Byron's conduct. — 
 Stowe, Harriet Beecher, 1870, Lady 
 Byron Vindicated, pp. 62, 64. 
 
 And then he wrote his masterpiece, 
 "Don Juan." . . . There is a derange- 
 ment of heart and mind in the style of 
 "Don Juan," as in Swift. When a man 
 jests amidst his tears, it is because he has 
 a poisoned imagination. This kind of 
 laughter is a spasm, and you see in one 
 man a hardening of the heart, or mad- 
 ness; in another, excitement or disgust. 
 Byron was exhausted, at least the poet 
 was exhausted in him. The last cantos 
 of "Don Juan" drag: the gaiety became 
 forced, the escapades became digressions; 
 the reader began to be bored. A new kind 
 of poetry, which he had attempted, had 
 given way in his hands : in the drama he 
 only attained to powerful declamation, his 
 characters had no life ; when he forsook 
 poetry, poetry forsook him ; he went to 
 Greece in search of action, and only found 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 753 
 
 ^ath.— Taine, H. a., 1871, History of 
 English Literature, tr. Van Laun^ vol. ii, 
 bk. iv, cL ii, pp. 301, 309. 
 
 In my opinion the poem of ''Don Juan" 
 could not have been written by any other 
 author of the present century. The jests 
 and turns which have been stigmatized as 
 so many blots and sins of the author, are 
 essentially portions of the poem, of its 
 nature and character, and could not have 
 been omitted or destroyed, except by 
 radically damaging the poem itself. — 
 Procter, Bryan Waller, 1874, Recollec- 
 tions of Men of Letters, p. 135. 
 
 The Immortal, the unprecedented and 
 unrivalled masterpiece. — Rossetti, Wil- 
 LL4M Michael, 1878, Lives of Famous 
 Poets, p. 301. 
 
 A sensitive man, and yet heroic, strong 
 in spirit, but without fixed ideals of life, 
 a rebel by nature who yet finds no greater 
 soul to lead him, no faithful band to follow 
 him in any definite effort for mankind, 
 Byron is a modern likeness of him that in 
 the legend afterwards became St. Chris- 
 topher. Only Byron seeks the strongest 
 without finding him, learns to despise the 
 devil, and never meets the devil's master. 
 Worn out with the search, the poet flings 
 himself down in the woods of doubt and 
 dreams ' ' Don Juan. ' ' We look in vain for 
 the right adjective with which to qualify 
 this poem: it is so full of strength, so 
 lavish of splendid resources, and yet in 
 sum so disappointing. It has no true 
 ending, and never could have had one. It 
 is a mountain stream, plunging down 
 dreadful chasms, singing through grand 
 forests, and losing itself in a lifeless gray 
 alkali desert. Here is romantic self- 
 criticism pushed to its farthest conse- 
 quences. Here is the self-confession of 
 an heroic soul that has made too high de- 
 mands on life, and that has found in its 
 own experience and in the world nothing 
 worthy of true heroism.— Royce, Josiah, 
 1885, Tke Religious Aspect of Philosophy, 
 p. 119. 
 
 He could exhibit only two squeaking and 
 disjointed puppets : there is, as far as I 
 can remember, just one passage in the 
 whole range of his writings which shows 
 any power of painting any phase of any 
 kind of character at all : and this is no 
 doubt a really admirable (if not wholly 
 original) instance of the very broadest 
 comedy— the harangue addressed by Donna 
 
 48C 
 
 Julia to her intruding husband. — Swin- 
 burne, Algernon Charles, 1886, Words- 
 worth and Byron, Miscellanies, p. 85. 
 
 Some of Byron's most powerful writing 
 is found in "Don Juan;" some of his 
 tenderest ; and the possible flexibility of the 
 English language is often fully realized. 
 But when he wrote this poem, his better 
 nature was more or less eclipsed; but 
 wherever it asserts itself, we feel its pres- 
 ence in the moulding of the verse, as 
 much as we do in the sentiments expressed. 
 — Corson, Hiram, 1892, A Primer of 
 English Verse, p. 29. 
 
 If a novel in verse is a novel all the 
 same, where is better reading (given 
 liberty to skip when you like) than in ' ' Don 
 Juan?" — Hawkins, Anthony Hope, 1897, 
 My Favorite Novelist and His Best Book, 
 Munsey's Magazine, vol. 18, p. 351. 
 
 MARINO FALIERO 
 
 1820 
 
 Marino Faliero," has, we believe, been 
 pretty generally pronounced a failure by 
 the public voice, and we see no reason to 
 call for a revision of their sentence. It 
 contains, beyond all doubt, many passages 
 of commanding eloquence and some of 
 genuine poetry, and the scenes, more 
 particularly, in which Lord Byron has 
 neglected the absurd greed of his pseudo- 
 Hellenic writers, are conceived and elabo- 
 rated with great tragic effect and dexter- 
 ity. But the subject is decidedly ill- 
 chosen. In the main tissue of the plot 
 and in all the busiest and most interesting 
 parts of it, it is, in fact, no more than 
 another "Venice Preserved," in which 
 the author has had to contend (nor has he 
 contended successfully) with our recollec- 
 tions of a former and deservedly popular 
 play on the same subject. — Heber, Regi- 
 nald, 1822, Lord Byron's Dramas, Quar- 
 terly Review, vol. 27, p. 487. 
 
 Notwithstanding his predominant per- 
 sonality, has sometimes had the power of 
 renouncing himself altogether, as may be 
 seen in some of his dramatic pieces, par- 
 ticularly in his "Marino Faliero. " In this 
 piece one quite forgets that Lord Byron, 
 or even an Englishman, wrote it. We live 
 entirely in Venice, and entirely in the time / 
 in which the action takes place. — Goethe, 
 Johann Wolfgang, 1830, Conversations, ' 
 ed. Eckermann, vol. u, p. 253. 
 
 A composition that abounds in noble 
 
754 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 passages and rests on a fine and original 
 conception of character. — Morley, John, 
 1870, Byron, Fortnightly Review, vol. 14, 
 p. 659. 
 
 **Marino Faliero," one of Byron's less 
 important works, may be cited as a fair 
 example of his eloquence and concentrated 
 passion. The theme of the drama is per- 
 fectly simple, — the conflict in Marino's 
 breast between aristocratic pride and the 
 love of liberty (predominant character- 
 istics, be it observed, of the poet himself) ; 
 and about this conflict the whole action of 
 the play revolves, without any minor issues 
 to dissipate the effect. The mind is held 
 gripped to one emotion and one thought ; 
 we seem to hear the mighty pleading of 
 a Demosthenes. There is no poem of 
 Shelley's (with the possible exception of 
 **The Cenci," where he resorts to mon- 
 strous and illegitimate means) which 
 begins to leave on the mind so distinct and 
 powerful an impression as this, yet the 
 whole drama contains perhaps not a single 
 line of the illusive charm to be found in 
 passages on every page of Shelley's works. 
 —More, Paul Elmer, 1898, The Whole- 
 some Revival of Byron, Atlantic Monthly, 
 vol. 82, p. 802. 
 
 CAIN 
 
 1821 
 
 **Cain, a Mystery," was worse and 
 worse. Byron dared to measure himself 
 with Milton, and came off as poorly as 
 Belial might have done from a contest with 
 Michael. Crude metaphysics, as old as 
 the hills, and as barren— bald, thread-bare 
 blasphemies, and peurile ravings, formed 
 the staple of the piece. The only toler- 
 able touches, those of domestic love and 
 the like, were visibly borrowed from 
 Gesner's ''Death of Abel:" and in short, 
 one of the most audacious of all the insults 
 that have ever been heaped upon the faith 
 and feelings of a Christian land, was also 
 one of the most feeble and ineffectual. 
 Thank God ! Cain was abandoned to the 
 Radicals— and thank God, it was too radi- 
 cally dull to be popular even among them. 
 — Maginn, William, 1822, Odoherty on 
 Werner, Blackwood's Magazine, vol. 12, 
 p. 711. 
 
 Though it abounds in beautiful passages, 
 and shows more power perhaps than any 
 of the author's dramatical compositions, 
 we regret very much that it should ever 
 have been published. It will give great 
 
 scandal and offence to pious persons in 
 general — and may be the means of suggest- 
 ing the most painful doubts and distress- 
 ing perplexities, to hundreds of minds that 
 might never otherwise have been exposed 
 to such dangerous disturbance. — Jef- 
 frey, Francis Lord, 1822-44, Contribu- 
 tions to the Edinburgh Review, vol. ii, p. 362. 
 
 I said that I had lately been reading 
 Byron's "Cain, " and had been particularly 
 struck by the third act, and the manner 
 in which the murder is brought about. 
 *'It is, indeed, admirable," said Goethe. 
 ''Its beauty is such as we shall not see a 
 second time in the world." "Cain," 
 said I, ' ' was at first prohibited in England ; 
 but now everybody reads it, and young 
 English travellers usually carry a com- 
 plete Byron with them." "It was folly" 
 said Goethe ; "for, in fact, there is nothing 
 in the whole of 'Cain' which is not taught 
 by the English bishops themselves." — 
 ECKERMANN, JoHN Peter, 1827, Conver- 
 sations of Goethe, vol. i, p. 419. 
 
 Like a lion impatiently beating against 
 the iron bars of his cage, so Byron 
 precipitates himself in this poem on the 
 mysteries of revealed faith. He never, 
 indeed, succeeds in bursting his cage; 
 rather he remains in a state of indecision, 
 and never comes to a positive conclusion 
 in either direction. To Englishmen this 
 scepticism was, with few exceptions, an 
 insurmountable stone of offence. In Eng- 
 land freedom of action is cramped by the 
 want of freedom in thought ; the converse 
 is the case with us Germans, freedom of 
 thought is restricted by the want of 
 freedom in action. To us this scepticism 
 presents nothing in the least degree fear- 
 ful ; we, like Faust, are afraid neither of 
 the devil nor of hell.— Elze, Karl, 1870- 
 72, Lord Byron, p. 415. 
 
 ' ' Cain' ' is the most complete and finished 
 work of the poet, and we cannot contradict 
 Shelley when he calls it the greatest of 
 Byron's poems. Cain is a Titanic Man- 
 fred, a creation similar to Job and Pro- 
 metheus. The spirit of ^schylus seems 
 to breath in the poem, and with the 
 exception of a few passages in "Paradise 
 Lost" and in "Faust," modern poetry has 
 produced nothing similar in boldness and 
 in grandeur to Cain's flight with Lucifer 
 through illimitable space, and the con- 
 versations of the two in Hades. In Eng- 
 land the poem was appreciated by few at 
 
GEORGE GOR: 
 
 Tirst, and Byron called it jestingly *'the 
 Waterloo of his popularity. ' ' But it is an 
 aesthetic truth that the creation of Satan 
 in "Cain" must be considered as one of the 
 greatest achievements of modern poetry. 
 There are altogether only four poets who 
 have succeeded in portraying Satan : Van- 
 del, Milton, Goethe, and Byron. Vandel's 
 satan was created fourteen years before 
 that of Milton ; it is a powerful concep- 
 tion, and undoubtedly the greatest poetical 
 figure which Holland has produced. 
 Goethe's Mephisto is such a peculiar im- 
 personation of the Satanic idea that he 
 cannot be compared to the others. Byron's 
 Satan ranks next to Milton's. Dante's 
 detailed delineation only produces a some- 
 what ridiculous monster which leaves us 
 perfectly indifferent, while Milton's and 
 Byron's Satan is a colossal extention of the 
 human form surrounded by a darkness as 
 of thunder-clouds, and exciting our terror 
 as well as a feeling of sympathy. — 
 SCHERR, J., 1874, A History of English 
 Literature, tr. M. F., p. 236. 
 
 It may be true, Basrandes observes, 
 that in Cain, Byron is dashing about like 
 a wild beast in the cage of dogma ; it may 
 be true that this poem is simply an expres- 
 sion of man's monotonous fate in this 
 world ; but the power of personal force, 
 the strength of the individual's will, must 
 have been an inspiring influence to that 
 younger generation whose fate it was to 
 stand firm against the efforts of the Holy 
 Alliance to crush out the spirit of liberty. 
 Certainly the poem is another revelation 
 of that fierce assertion of self-sufficiency 
 which enabled Byron, in the later days, to 
 take up the heritage of leadership left him 
 by Rousseau.— Hancock, Albert Elmer, 
 1899, The French Revolution and the Eng- 
 lish Poets f p. 117. 
 
 LETTERS 
 
 The Letters, at least those which were 
 sent from Italy, are among the best in our 
 language. They are less affected than 
 those of Pope and Walpole; they have 
 more matter in them than those of Cow- 
 per. Knowing that many of them were 
 not written merely for the person to whom 
 Ihey were directed, but were general 
 epistles, meant to be read by a large circle, 
 "ve expected to find them clever and 
 spirited, but deficient in ease. We looked 
 with vigilance for instances of stiffness in 
 the language, and awkwardness in the 
 
 LORD BYRON 755 
 
 transitions. We have been agreeably dis- 
 appointed; and we must confess, that if 
 the epistolary style of Lord Byron was 
 artificial, it was a rare and admirable in- 
 stance of that highest art which cannot be 
 distinguished from nature. — Macaulay, 
 Thomas Babington, 1830, Moore's Life of 
 Lord Byron, Edinburgh Review, Critical 
 and Miscellaneous Essays. 
 
 His letters from Italy, alone, — things 
 thrown off in every variety of mood, and 
 some of them bearing strong evidence of 
 the bottle, — display more genius than can 
 be found in all the first two cantos of 
 ^'Childe Harold."— Whipple, Edwl\ P., 
 1845, Byron, Essays and Reviews. 
 
 We are indebted to the poet'smisfortune 
 for all that series of delightful letters 
 which in themselves form one of the most 
 perfect biographies, and which reflect the 
 whole contemporary life like the literary 
 correspondence of Grimm. A slender 
 thread of criticism and by-play links them 
 together in Moore's Life, and with this are 
 blended corollary recollections of observ- 
 ers and travellers, critics, and intimates ; 
 never, however, obscuring the splendid 
 figure of the chief actor, embellishing his 
 surroundings like living coulisses, shifting 
 or shoving in landscapes or backgrounds, 
 stories, and scenes, and throwing right 
 upon him as he stands in the centre of the 
 stage the whole affluence of their light. 
 There is no better illuminated figure on the 
 whole canvas of history. Turning to the 
 memoirs of this man is like walking down 
 a corridor of the Louvre, where the Pagan 
 mythology shimmers before us in marble, 
 and far at the end, queen-like and alone, 
 stands the Venus of Milo. Turn down 
 what corridor you will, an excess of 
 illumination falls upon the head of Byron ; 
 it is cloudless save for one great cloud ; 
 it is put to the torture of endless light : 
 it is the story of Regulus and the Car- 
 thaginian sun ; it is the glare of the dog- 
 star upon the bald ruins of the Parthenon. 
 — Harrison, James Albert, 1875, A 
 Group of Poets and Their Haunts, p. 33. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 Byron, with eager indifference. — Hunt, 
 Leigh, 1814, The Feast of the Poets. 
 
 His verse, with all its lofty aspirations 
 and endowments, is lost in the mazes of 
 infidelity and despair; groping in a vast 
 crowd of strange unearthly shapes con- 
 jured up by midnight fancy, it deifies only 
 
756 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 a morbid heroism, which it invests with 
 the glomny spell of varie4-passion. --This" 
 atheistic inspiration was not altogether 
 alien to German poetry at an earlier epoch ; 
 but a purer sphere was soon attained, the 
 monstrosities of false tragic grandeur 
 being banished to the extreme confines of 
 the drama. In the higher regions of art 
 it was speedily discovered that modern 
 poetry cannot jflow in transparent stream 
 from the turbid eddy of forward passion;- 
 but founded on eternal hope, it must 
 become a glorified admixture of Faith and 
 Lov-e, radiant as the rainbow after the 
 storm, or the dawn of morn after the 
 shades of night. — Schlegel, Friedrich, 
 1815- 59, Lectures on the History of Liter- 
 ature. 
 
 *'Parisina," is the most interesting and 
 best conceived and best told story I ever 
 read. I was never more affected. — 
 Murray, John, 1815, William Black- 
 wood and His SonSy by Oliyhant, vol. i, p. 49. 
 
 He has not the variety of Scott — nor the 
 delicacy of Campbell — nor the absolute 
 truth of Crabbe — nor the polished spark- 
 ling of Moore; but in force of diction, 
 and inextinguishable energy of sentiment, 
 he clearly surpasses them all. — Jeffrey, 
 Francis Lord, 1816-44, Lord Byron's 
 Poetry^ Contributions to the Edinburgh Re- 
 view y vol. Ill, p. 164. 
 
 Lord Byron is a splendid and noble 
 egotist. — He vists Classical shores ; roams 
 over romantic lands, and wanders through 
 magnificent forests ; courses the dark and 
 restless waves of the sea, and rocks his 
 spirit on the midnight lakes^ but no spot 
 is conveyed to our minds, that is not 
 peopled by the gloomy and ghastly feelings 
 of one proud and solitary man. It is as if 
 he and the world were the only two things 
 which the air clothed. — His lines are 
 majestic vanities ;— his poetry always is 
 marked with a haughty selfishness; — he 
 writes loftily, because he is the spirit of 
 an ancient family ; — he is liked by most of 
 his readers, because he is a Lord. If a 
 common man were to dare to be as moody, 
 as contemptuous, and as misanthropical, 
 the world would laugh at him. There 
 must be a coronet marked on all his little 
 pieces of poetical insolence, or the world 
 would not countenance them. — Reynolds, 
 John Hamilton, 1818, West of England 
 Journal and General Advertiser, Oct. 6. 
 
 What, then, should be said of those for 
 
 whom the thoughtlessness and inebriety of 
 wanton youth can no longer be pleaded, 
 but who have written in sober manhood, 
 and with deliberate purpose? — men of 
 diseased hearts and depraved imagina- 
 tions, who, forming a system of opinions 
 to suit their own unhappy course of con- 
 duct, have rebelled against the holiest 
 ordinances of human society, and, hating 
 that revealed religion, which, with all their 
 efforts and bravadoes, they are unable 
 entirely to disbelieve, labour to make 
 others as miserable as themselves, by in- 
 fecting them with a moral virus that eats 
 into the soul ! The school which they have 
 set up may properly be called the Satanic 
 School; for, though their productions 
 breathe the spirit of Belial in their 
 lascivious parts, and the spirit of Moloch 
 in those loathsome images of atrocities 
 and horrors which they delight to repre- 
 sent, they are more especially character- 
 ized by a Satanic pride and audacious im- 
 piety, which still betrays the wretched 
 feeling of hopelessness wherewith it is 
 allied.— SouTHEY, Robert, 1821, The 
 Vision of Judgmenty Preface. 
 
 The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame 
 Over his living head like Heaven is bent, 
 An early but enduring monument, 
 Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song 
 In sorrow. 
 
 — Shelley, Percy Bysshe, 1821, Adon- 
 ais, st. XXX. 
 
 It seems, to my ear, that there is a sad 
 want of harmony in Lord Byro^i^p vh. 5es. 
 Is it not unnatural to be always Oimer i ing 
 very great intellectual power mt\\ utter 
 depravity? Does such a comhinat on 
 often really exist in rerum naturd ' — 
 Coleridge, Samuel Taylor, 1822, '> 'le 
 Talky ed. Ashe, Dee. 29, p. 16. 
 Even I— albeit I'm sure I did not kno^v n 
 
 Nor sought of foolscap subjects to bf) I ine— 
 Was reckon'd a considerable time, 
 The grand Napoleon of the realms o/ ' i 
 —Byron, Lord, 1823, Don Juan, Ca. 
 
 He has filled a leaf in the book ol . t 
 but it is a very blotted leaf. — Barb.^: ' 
 Anna L^titia, 1824, Works, vol. n, . 1 
 
 There are things in Byron's poe^r; 
 exquisite, that fifty or five hundred . •; 
 hence, they will be read, felt, and adni ' 
 throughout the world. . . . No, i. > ' 
 give me Byron, with all his spite, hatr'-d 
 depravity, dandyism, vanity, frankn'?' 
 passion, and idleness, to Wordsworth 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 with all his heartless communion with 
 woods and grass. — Haydon, Benjamin 
 Robert, 1824, Letter to Mary Russell Mit- 
 ford ; Life^ Letters and Table Talk, ed. Stod- 
 'dard, pp. 217, 218. 
 
 Lord Byron is to be regarded as a man, 
 as an Englishman, and as a great talent. 
 His good qualities belong chiefly to the 
 man, his bad to the Englishman and the 
 peer, his talent is incommensurable. . . . 
 He is a great talent, a born talent, and I 
 never saw the true poetical power greater 
 in any man than in him. In the appre- 
 hension of external objects, and a clear 
 penetration into past situations, he is quite 
 as great as Shakspeare. But as a pure 
 individuality, Shakspeare is his superior. 
 This was felt by Byron, and on this account, 
 he does not say much of Shakspeare, 
 although he knows whole passages by 
 heart. He would willingly have denied 
 him altogether; for Shakspeare's cheer- 
 fulness is in his way, and he feels that he 
 is no match for it. Pope he does not deny, 
 for he had no cause to fear him. On the 
 contrary, he mentions him, and shews him 
 respect when he can, for he knows well 
 enough that Pope is a mere foil to himself. 
 — Goethe, JoHANN Wolfgang, 1825, Con- 
 versations, ed. Eckermann, vol. I, p. 209. 
 
 We ought too to look back with late 
 repentance & remorse on our intoxicated 
 praise, now cooling, of Lord Byron — such 
 a man to be so spoken of when the world 
 possessed Goethe, Schiller, Shelley ! — 
 Beddoes, Thomas Lovell, 1825, Letters, 
 p. 58. 
 
 Byron — good generous hapless Byron! 
 And yet when he died he was only a Kraft- 
 mann {Powerman as the Germans call 
 them). Had he lived he would have been 
 a poet.— Carlyle, Thomas, 1826, Jour- 
 nal, Dec. 3 ; Life by Froude, vol. i, p. 304. 
 
 As a poet, he stands among the most 
 eminent that England has ever produced. 
 Few, indeed (and, among those who live, 
 we may say, fearless of contradiction, 
 none), have possessed at the same time 
 an energy and intellectual grasp like his, 
 together with his facility and graceful- 
 ness.— Clinton, George, 1826, The Life 
 and Writings of Lord Byron, p. 1. 
 
 Byron seems to me deficient in feeling. 
 Professor Wilson, I think, used to say that 
 **Beppo" was his best poem; because all 
 his faults were there brought to a height. 
 
 —Wordsworth, William, 1827, Miscel- 
 laneous Memoranda, Memoirs by Chris- 
 topher Wordsworth, vol. ii, p.. 483. 
 
 With joint acclaim 
 
 Let's hail the name 
 Of our great Bard, whose mighty fame 
 
 Must spread for aye, 
 
 Ne'er to decay 
 Till heaven and earth shall pass away. 
 —Hogg, James, 1827, Ode on the Death 
 of Lord Byron, Blackwood's Magazine, vol. 
 21, p. 521. 
 
 He, from above descending, stooped to touch 
 The loftiest thought ; and proudly stooped, 
 
 as though 
 It scarce deserved his verse. 
 — PoLLOK, Robert, 1827, The Course of 
 Time, bk. iv. 
 
 Byron has been extolled as the sublimest 
 of poets. There are passages in all his 
 poems which I have thought charming, but 
 mixed with so much that was disgusting 
 that I never believed his popularity would 
 be lasting. His versification is so desti- 
 tute of sustained harmony, many of his 
 thoughts are so strained, his sentiments 
 so unamiable, his misanthropy so gloomy, 
 his images so grossly indelicate, his 
 libertinism so shameless, his merriment 
 such grinning of a ghastly smile, that I 
 have always believed his verses would soon 
 rank with forgotten things. . . . This 
 person has now been seven years dead, and 
 the public interest in him has not abated. 
 He was one of the wonders of his age, and 
 was, like Napoleon Bonaparte, the torso 
 of a Hercules. A * * grand homme manque' ' 
 — a club-footed Apollo — in mind as in per- 
 son. There are sublime and beautiful pas- 
 sages of detail in his poetry ; and if he had 
 finished his "Don Juan" it would have been a 
 worthy companion to Voltaire's ''Pucelle," 
 in the Temple of Cloacina upon the summit 
 of Parnassus. — Adams, John Quincy, 
 1830, Memoirs, vol. viii, pp. 218, 248. 
 
 With Byron's own works in one's hand 
 his character cannot possibly be a riddle 
 to anybody. I dare say the devil may 
 sometimes be painted blacker than he is ; 
 but Byron has a fancy for the character 
 of Lucifer, and seems to me, on the con- 
 trary, tres pauvre diable. . . . Nobody 
 was ever a more fanatical worshipper of 
 his poetry than I was: time was that I 
 devoured his verses (poison as they were to 
 me) like raspberry tarts;" I still know, 
 and remember with delight, their exquisite 
 beauty and noble vigor, but they don't 
 
758 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 agree with me. And, without knowing 
 anything of his religious doubts or moral 
 delinquencies, 1 cannot at all agree with 
 Mr. Moore that upon the showing of his 
 own works Byron was a ''good man.*' — 
 Kemble, Frances Anne, 1831, Letter^ Jan. 
 12 ; Records of a Girlhood^ pp. 330, 331. 
 
 Byron was a paradox in every thing. 
 He was at once a cold-blooded satirist and 
 a man of sentiment ; an aristocrat and a 
 radical ; a Platonist and an Epicurean ; 
 the most sublime and the most sensual of 
 mortals; ''half dust, half diety,'' to 
 borrow his own phrase ; but the most bare- 
 faced paradox, was his ostentatious de- 
 fence in prose of Pope's poetical system, 
 which, in his poetry, he had been all his 
 life endeavoring to subvert. The key to 
 Byron's eccentricities is to be found in 
 his total want of principle, and his uncon- 
 trollable passions. To the last is to be 
 referred, moreover, much of what is grand 
 and striking in his poetry. Many were led 
 to charge him with affectation. The his- 
 tory of his life, however, which may be 
 calied passion j)ut into action, shows how 
 uniformly he sacrificed to his passions all 
 his worldly interests and better hopes. 
 His poetry gains somewhat in effect by our 
 conviction of this, for sincerity is essen- 
 tial to the full success of the poet as of 
 the orator ; and, in this point of view, the 
 exhibition of actual vice is less detrimental 
 to his interest than the affectation of it. 
 Much stress has been laid on the mischiev- 
 ous tendency of Byron's philosophy. But, 
 in truth, there is little in his writings to 
 deserve that name. He had no principles 
 to build on, and seems to have been incap- 
 able of forming any settled system, or 
 even a systematic attack on any thing. 
 He levelled his shafts pretty indiscrimi- 
 nately at whatever men prize most in this 
 life, or look forward to with hope in the 
 next. This sort of random aim was little 
 better than shooting in the dark. — Pres- 
 COTT, William Hickling, 1832, English 
 Literature of the Nineteenth Century^ North 
 American Review, vol. 35, p. 176. 
 
 No modern author who can lay claim to 
 the highest honors of Parnassus has writ- 
 ten a greater quantity of perishable, 
 perishing rhyme, than the noblest of them 
 all.— Montgomery, James, 1833, Lec- 
 tures on General Literature, Poetry, etc., 
 p. 313. 
 
 Byron's "Heaven and Earth," . . . 
 
 is full of passages which none but he could 
 have written; and it also affords some 
 instances of the facility with which the 
 noble bard could extract honey from any 
 flower, or weed, however humble. — Elli- 
 ott, Ebenezer, 1833, Spirits and Men, 
 Preface. 
 
 Lord Byron has abundance of \^ and 
 extremely diversified wit, but of a kind V 
 that agitates and has a baneful influence. 
 He has read Voltaire, and he frequently 
 imitates him. In following the great Eng- 
 lish poet step by step, we are forced to 
 acknowledge that he aims at effect, that 
 he rarely loses sight of himself, that he is 
 almost always in attitude ; that he looks 
 at himself with complacency; but the 
 affectation of eccentricity, singularity, 
 originality, belongs to the English char- 
 acter in general. If, however, Lord Byron 
 has atoned for his genius by certain 
 foibles, futurity will not concern itself 
 about such paltry matters, or rather it 
 will know nothing about them ; the poet 
 will hide the man, and will interpose talent 
 between the man and future generations : 
 through this divine veil posterity will dis- 
 cern nothing but the god. — Chateau- 
 briand, Franqois Rene Vicomte, 1837, 
 Sketches of English Literature, vol. ii, p. 344. 
 
 Byron and Goethe — the two names that 
 predominate, and, come what may, ever 
 will predominate, over our every recollec- 
 tion of the fifty years that have passed 
 away. They rule; — ^the master-minds, I 
 might almost say the tyrants, of a whole 
 period of poetry ; brilliant, yet sad ; 
 glorious in youth and daring, yet cankered 
 by the worm i' the bud, despair. They 
 are the two Representative Poets of two 
 great schools; and around them we are 
 compelled to group all the lesser minds 
 which contributed to render the era illus- 
 trious. The qualities which adorn and 
 distinguish their works are to be found, 
 although more thinly scattered, in other 
 poets their contemporaries ; still theirs are 
 the names that involuntarily rise to our 
 lips whenever we seek to characterise the 
 tendencies of the age in which they lived. 
 . . . The day will come when Democracy 
 will remember all that it owes to Byron. 
 England too, will, I hope, one day remem- 
 ber the mission — so entirely English, yet 
 hitherto overlooked by her — which Byron 
 fulfilled on the Continent ; the European 
 role given by him to English literature, 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 759 
 
 fir:' the appreciation and sympathy for 
 jLngland which he awakened amongst us. 
 Before he came, all that was known of Eng- 
 lish literature was the French translation 
 of Shakespeare, and the anathema hurled 
 by Voltaire against the ''intoxicated barba- 
 rian. " It is since Byron that we Continent- 
 alists have learned to study Shakespeare 
 and other English writers. From him 
 dates the sympathy of all the true-hearted 
 amongst us for this land of liberty, whose 
 true vocation he so worthily represented 
 among the oppressed. He led the genius 
 of Britain on a pilgrimage throughout all 
 Europe. — Mazzini, Joseph, 1839, Byron 
 and Goethe, Essays, ed. Clarke, pp. 84, 107. 
 And poor, proud Byron, sad as grave 
 And salt as life ; forlornly brave, 
 And quivering with the dart he drave. 
 
 —Browning, Elizabeth Barrett, 1844, 
 A Vision of Poets. 
 
 Few poets excel him in the instantane- 
 ous sympathy he creates, even among 
 minds having no natural affinity with his 
 own. He is eminently the poet of passion. 
 In almost all the changes of his mood, the 
 same energy of feeling glows in his verse. 
 The thought or emotion uppermost in his 
 mind at any one time, whether it be bad 
 or good, seems to sway, for the moment, 
 all the faculties of his nature. He has a 
 passionate love for evil, a passionate love 
 for nature, for goodness, for beauty, and, 
 we may add, a passionate love for himself. 
 When he sits in the place of the scoffer, 
 his words betray the same inspiration from 
 impulse, — the same passion, though con- 
 densed into bitterness and mockery. — 
 Whipple, Edwin P., 1845, Byron, Essays 
 and Reviews. 
 
 In Byron there is much to admire but 
 nothing to imitate : for energy is beyond 
 the limits of imitation. Byron could not 
 have written better than he did. Altho' 
 he seems negligent in many places, he was 
 very assiduous in correcting his verses. 
 His poetry took the bent of a wayward and 
 perverted mind often w^ak, but oftener 
 perturbed. Tho' hemp ''ax and cotton 
 are the stronger for > twisted, verses 
 and intellects certai iv are not. . . . 
 It is unfortunate . Ariosto did not 
 attract him (Byr- rst. Byron had not 
 in his nature ? ly enough for it, and 
 chose Berni in lerence, and fell from 
 Bern! to C? : But his scorching and 
 dewless ^ burnt up their flowery 
 
 meadows.— Landor, Walter Savage, 
 1845, To Mrs. Paynter, Aug. 3 ; Letter 8^ 
 ed. Wheeler, p. 146. 
 
 Lord Byron is altogether in my affection 
 again. ... I have read on to the 
 end, and am quite sure of the great quali- 
 ties which the last ten or fifteen years had 
 partially obscured. Only a little longer 
 life and all would have been gloriously 
 right again. I read this book of Moore's 
 too long ago ; but I always retained my 
 first feeling for Byron in many respects, 
 . . . the interest in the places he had 
 visited, in relics of him. I would at any 
 time have gone to Finchley to see a curl 
 of his hair or one of his gloves, I am sure 
 — while Heaven knows that I could not 
 get up enthusiasm enough to cross the 
 room if at the other end of it all Words- 
 worth, Coleridge and Southey were con- 
 densed into the little China bottle yonder, 
 after the Rosicrucian fashion . . . they 
 seem to ''have their reward" and want 
 nobody's love or faith. Just one of those 
 trenchant opinions which I found fault 
 with Byron for uttering, — as "proving 
 nothing!" — Browning, Robert, 1846, 
 Letters of Robert Browning and Elizabeth 
 Barrett, 1845-1846, vol. ii, p. 453. 
 
 Ever so unfortunate, a man's folding his 
 hands over it in melancholy mood, and 
 suffering himself to be made a puppet by 
 it, is a sadly weak proceeding. Most 
 thoughtful men have probably some dark 
 fountains in their souls, by the side of 
 which, if there were time, and it were 
 decorous, they could let their thoughts sit 
 down and wail indefinitely. That long 
 Byron wail fascinated men for a time, 
 because there is that in huamn nature. — 
 Helps, Sir Arthur, 1847, Friends in 
 Council. 
 
 The truth is, that what has put Byron 
 out of favour with the public of late, is not 
 his faults, but his excellencies. His artis- 
 tic good taste, his classical polish, his 
 sound shrewd sense, his hatred of cant, 
 his insight into humbug, above all, his 
 shallow, pitiable habit of being always 
 intelligible ; these are the sins which con- 
 demn him in the eyes of a mesmerizing, 
 table-turning, spirit-rapping. Spiritualiz- 
 ing, Romanizing generation, who read 
 Shelley in secret, and delight in his bad 
 taste, mysticism, extravagance, and vague 
 and pompous sentimentalism. The age is 
 an effeminate one ; and it can well afford 
 
760 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 to pardon the lewdness of the gentle and 
 sensitive vegetarian, while it has no mercy 
 for that of the sturdy peer, proud of his 
 bull-neck and his boxing, who keeps bears 
 and bull-dogs, drilled Greek ruffians at 
 Missolonghi, and *'had no objection to a 
 pot of beer;" and who might, if he had 
 reformed, have made a gallant English 
 gentleman. — Kingsley, Charles, 1853, 
 Thoughts about Shelley and Byroriy Eraser's 
 Magazine, vol. 48, p. 571. 
 
 It was not until the ''Siebengebirge" or 
 Seven Mountains rose to view, that the 
 glories of the Rhine were revealed in all 
 their matchless grandeur. No description 
 1 have ever read approaches the reality, 
 save the verses of the most impassioned of 
 poets. How wonderfully, how truthfully, 
 has Byron pictured in glowing words the 
 beauty of scenery which meets the eye on 
 every side.— Le Vert, Madame Octavia 
 Walton, 1853, Souvenirs of Travel, vol. 
 I, p. 130. 
 
 Had a larger amount of common sense 
 than any poet of his day. — Smith, Alex- 
 ander, 1863, Dreamthorp, p. 160. 
 
 Byron, doubtless, is no ordinary bard. 
 He possesses fecundity, eloquence, wit. 
 Yet these very qualites are confined within 
 pretty narrow limits. The wit of ' ' Beppo' ' 
 and of ''Don Juan" is of the kind that 
 consists in dissonance ; that is to say, in 
 the serio-comic, in an apparent gravity 
 which is contradicted every moment by 
 drollery of phrase. In the same way 
 Byron's fecundity is more apparent than 
 real. He wrote a great deal — poems 
 serious and poems comic, epics and dramas, 
 visions and satires ; but, speaking strictly, 
 he never had more than a single subject — 
 himself. No man has ever pushed egotism 
 farther than he. — Scherer, Edmond, 
 1863-91, Taine's History of English Lit- 
 erature, Essays on English Literature, tr. 
 Saintshury, p. 91. 
 
 This shallowness has no part in Byron 
 himself. His weariness was a genuine 
 outcome of the influence of the time upon 
 a character consumed by passion. His lot 
 was cast among spent forces, and while it 
 is no hyperbole to say that he was himself 
 the most enormous force of his time, he 
 was only half conscious of this, if indeed 
 he did not always inwardly shrink from 
 crediting his own power and strength, as 
 so many strong men habitually do, in spite 
 of noisy and perpetual self-assertion. 
 
 Conceit and persumption have not been 
 any more fatal to the world, than the 
 waste which comes of great men failing in 
 their hearts to recognise how great they 
 are.— Morley, John, 1870, Byron, Fort- 
 nightly Review, vol. 14, p. 664. 
 
 The genius of Byron was of a more 
 vigorous mould than that of Keats ; but 
 nothwithstanding his great popularity and 
 the number of his imitators at one time, 
 he made a less permanent impression on 
 the character of English poetry. His 
 misanthropy and gloom, his scoffing vein, 
 and the fierceness of his animosities, after 
 the first glow of admiration was over, had 
 a repellant effect upon readers, and made 
 them turn to more cheerful strains.— 
 Bryant, William Cullen, 1870, A New 
 Library of Poetry and Song, Introduction, 
 vol. I, p. 43. 
 
 Byron will be remembered longer by the 
 lyrical pearls, which are scattered so 
 copiously through his^ poems, gems which 
 are familiar to every reader of his works, 
 and can never be forgotten. It is in these 
 that his muse takes her noblest flight; 
 these are the portions of his poetry which 
 are instinct with the most exquisite beauty, 
 and exercise on us the most powerful 
 spell ; and we cannot imagine, that they 
 will ever fail to fill tbeir readers with 
 rapture. ... In Germany, Byron, 
 like almost all English poets, found a 
 second fatherland. His influence on our 
 literature was confined indeed to one 
 period only, nor has his poetry been inter- 
 woven, like Shakespeare's, for ever with 
 our own ; but if limited in duration, it was 
 widely propagated and intense during its 
 reign.— Elze, Karl, 1870-72, Lord By- 
 ron, pp. 402, 428. 
 
 His ideas were banned during his life ; 
 it has been attempted to depreciate his 
 genius since his death. To this day Eng- 
 lish critics are unjust to him. He fought 
 all his life against the society from which 
 he came ; and during his life, as after his 
 death, he suffered the pain of the resent- 
 ment which he provoked, and the repug- 
 nance to which he gave rise. A foreign 
 critic may be more impartial, and freely 
 praise the powerful hand whose blows he 
 has not felt. If ever there was a violent 
 and madly sensitive soul, but incapable of 
 being otherwise ; ever agitated, but in an 
 enclosure without issue; predisposed to 
 poetry by its innate fire, but limited by 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 7G1 
 
 its natural barriers to a single kind of 
 poetry,— it was Byron's. ... All 
 styles appear dull, and all souls sluggish 
 by the side of his. ... No such great 
 poet has had so narrow an imagination ; 
 he could not metamorphose himself into 
 another. They are his own sorrows, his 
 own revolts, his own travels, which, hardly 
 transformed and modified, he introduces 
 into his verses. He does not invent, he 
 observes; he does not create, he tran- 
 scribes — Taine, H. a., 1871, History of 
 English Literature, tr. Van Laun, vol. ii, 
 bk. iv, ch. ii, pp. 271, 274, 279. 
 
 The youth thus strangely educated, had 
 at least one fountain of inspiration — the 
 Bible. The study of the Prophets invigor- 
 ated the poetic character of his nature. 
 Their rugged genius is visible in some of 
 his works, severe and steady as the 
 simoom, monotonous as the desert, but 
 solemn as immensity, and sublime as the 
 idea of the Almighty; their semitical 
 genius, expressed by Isaiah in his admirable 
 works, is reproduced by Michael Angelo in 
 the majestic features of his Moses, whose 
 venerable beard, descending to his breast, 
 seems to be stirred by the breezes of Sinai. 
 — Castelar, Emilio, 1873-75, Life of 
 Lord Byron and other Sketches, tr. Ar- 
 nold, p. 10. 
 
 The^reat thing in Byron is genius, that 
 quality so perilous to define, so evanescent 
 in its aroma, so impossible to mistake. If 
 ever a man breathed whom we recognize 
 (athwart much poor and useless work, 
 when strictly tested) as emphatically the 
 genius, that man was Byron ; and, if ever 
 genius made poetry its mouthpiece, 
 covering with its transcendent utterances 
 a multitude of sins whether against art or 
 against the full stature of perfect man- 
 hood, Byron's is that poetry. — Rossetti, 
 William Michael, 1878, Lives of Famous 
 Poets, p. 307. 
 
 How to make a Satanic Poem like the late 
 Lord Byron. Take a couple of fine deadly 
 sins ; and let them hang before your eyes 
 until they become racy. Then take them 
 down, dissect them, and stew them for 
 some time in a solution of weak remorse ; 
 after which they are to be devilled with 
 mock-despair.— Mallock, W. H., 1878, 
 Every Man his own Poet, or the Inspired 
 Singer s Recipe Book, p. 28. 
 
 Byron is probably the greatest poet that 
 Britain has produced since the days of 
 
 Dryden. He is, perhaps, the most thorough 
 master of words that ever lived. His most 
 beautiful passages bear comparison with 
 the noblest poetry in the language ; and 
 his longest poems, full of faults as they 
 are, are mangnificent monuments to his 
 genius. — Walpole, Spencer, 1878, A 
 History of England from the Conclusion of 
 the Great War in 1815, vol. i, p. 362. 
 
 The refrain of Carlyle's advice during 
 the most active years of his criticism was, 
 ''Close thy Byron, open thy Goethe." We 
 do so, and find that the refrain of Goethe's 
 advice in reference to Byron is — ''Nocturnd 
 versate manu, versate diurnd.'" He urged 
 Eckermann to study English, that he might 
 read him; remarking, "A character of 
 such eminence has never existed before, 
 and probably will never come again. . . . 
 The English may think of him as they 
 please ; this is certain, they can show no 
 (living) poet who is to be compared to 
 him." . . . Dr. Elze ranks the author of 
 "Harold" and ''Juan" among the four 
 greatest English poets, and claims for him 
 the intellectual parentage of Lamartine 
 and Musset, in France, of Espronceda, in 
 Spain ; of Puschkin, in Russia ; with some 
 modifications, of Heine, in Germany, of 
 Berchet and others in Italy. So many 
 voices of so various countries cannot be 
 simply set aside : unless we wrap ourselves 
 in an insolent insularism, we are bound at 
 least to ask what is the meaning of their 
 concurrent testimony. . . . We may 
 learn much from him still, when we have 
 ceased to disparage, as our fathers ceased 
 to idolize, a name in which there is so 
 much warning and so much example. — 
 NiCHOL, John, 1880, Byron (English Men 
 of Letters), pp. 205, 206, 212. 
 
 Wordsworth has an Insight into perma- 
 nent sources of joy and consolation for 
 mankind which Byron has not ; his poetry 
 gives us more which we may rest upon than 
 Byron's, — more which we can rest upon 
 now, and which men may rest upon always. 
 I place Wordsworth's poetry, therefore, 
 above Byron's, on the whole, although in 
 some points he was greatly BjTon's in- 
 ferior, and although Byron's poetry will 
 always, probably, find more readers than 
 Wordsworth's, and will give pleasure more 
 easily. But these two, Wordsworth and 
 Byron, stand, it seems to me, first and 
 preeminent in actual performance, a glori- 
 ous pair, among the English poets of this 
 
762 
 
 GEORGR GOREON LORD BYRON 
 
 century. — Arnold, Matthew, 1881, 
 Poetry of Byron, Preface. 
 
 It is by the vast strength and volume of 
 his powers, rather than by any one perfect 
 work, that he is to be estimated. He 
 does not seem to have had any delicacy of 
 ear for the refinements of metre, or to 
 have studied the intricacies of it. But, 
 when the impulse came, he poured himself 
 forth with wonderful rapidity, home- 
 thrusting directness, and burning elo- 
 quence — eloquence that carries you over 
 much that is faulty in structure, and imper- 
 fect, or monotonous in metre. He him- 
 self did not stay to consider the way he 
 said things, so intent was he on the things 
 he had to say. Neither any more does the 
 reader. His cadences were few, but they 
 were strong and impressive, and carried 
 with them, for the time, every soul that 
 heard them. — Shairp, John Campbell, 
 1881, Modern English Poetry, Aspects of 
 Poetry, p. 146. 
 
 In early boyhood he had been possessed 
 by Byron's poetry, but he could not read 
 it in later life, except perhaps * 'The Vision 
 of Judgment,'.' and parts of ''Childe 
 Harold," and of *'Don Juan." He would 
 say: ''Byron is not an artist or a thinker, 
 or a creator in the higher sense, but a 
 strong personality: he is endlessly clever, 
 and is now unduly depreciated. ' ' — Tenny- 
 son, Alfred Lord, 1883, Some Criti- 
 cisms on Poets, Memoir by kis Son, vol. n, 
 p. 287. 
 
 Has stiri;ed England more deeply than 
 any other poet since the earlier years of 
 the seventeenth century, who has influ- 
 enced human kind outside England more 
 widely and profoundly than any writer of 
 our literature, and who, in whatever else 
 of his aspirations he failed, will be found 
 in the slowly moving ages to have achieved 
 his ambition to be "remembered in his 
 line with his land's language." — Jeaf- 
 freson, John Cordy, 1883, The Real 
 Lord Byron, p. 553. 
 
 The glory of Scott was the last red tints 
 of a setting sun, and the glory of Words- 
 worth the first mild radiance of a rising 
 moon, when Byron came like a comet, and 
 paled their ineffectual fires. — Stoddard, 
 Richard Henry, 1884, Selections from the 
 Poetical Works of A. C. Swinburne, Intro- 
 duction, p. X. 
 
 It is remarkable that the influence of 
 
 Byron's poetry has been far greater on the 
 Continent than it has been in England. 
 No English poet, except Shakespeare, has 
 been so much read or so much admired by 
 foreigners. His works, or parts of them, 
 have been translated into many European 
 languages, and numerous foreign writers 
 have been afl^ected by their ideas and style. 
 The estimate that has been formed of them 
 is extraordinarily high. Charles Nodier 
 said : "The appearance of Lord Byron in 
 the field of European literature is one of 
 those events the influence of which is felt 
 by all peoples and through all genera- 
 tions;" and his judgment in this respect 
 by no means stands alone. The chief 
 reason of this, independently of the 
 splendour of his compositions, is to be 
 found in his political opinions. Byron's 
 poetry, like that of most of his English 
 contemporaries — Wordsworth, Coleridge, 
 Southey, and Shelley — was the outcome of 
 the French Revolution ; but whereas the 
 three first-named of these poets, disgusted 
 with the excesses of that movement, went 
 over into the opposite camp, and the 
 idealism of Shelley was too far removed 
 from the sphere of practical politics to be 
 a moving force, Byron became, almost 
 unintentionally, the apostle of the princi- 
 ples which it represented. . . . Thus his 
 writings became a political power through- 
 out Europe, and more so on the Continent 
 than in England, in proportion as the loss 
 of liberty was more keenly felt by foreign 
 nations. Wherever aspirations for inde- 
 pendence arose, Byron's poems were read 
 and admired. — Tozer, H. F., 1885, ed. 
 Childe Harold's Pilgrimage. 
 
 Byron wrote, as easily as a hawk flies, 
 and as clearly as a lake reflects, the exact 
 truth in the precisely narrowest terms; 
 not only the exact truth, but the most 
 central and useful one. Of course I could 
 no more measure Byron's greater powers 
 at that time than I could Turner's; but I 
 saw that both were right in all things that 
 / knew right from wrong in ; and that they 
 must henceforth be my masters, each in 
 his own domain.— RusKiN, John, 1885, 
 Proeterita, vol. I, p. 258. 
 ^ Perhaps the most powerful factor in 
 Byron's poetical genius is his style. Alone 
 among his contemporaries he understood 
 how to swell the stream of English poetical 
 diction as it had come down to him from 
 the eighteenth century, so as to make 
 
' GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 763 
 
 it an adequate vehicle of expression for 
 romantic thought and feeling. Words- 
 worth speaks the language of philosophers, 
 Shelley of spirits, but Byron of men. — 
 CouRTHOPE, William John, 1885, The 
 Liberal Movement in English Literature, 
 p. 141. 
 
 May all the devastating force be spent? 
 Or all thy godlike energies lie shent? 
 Nay! thou art founded in the strength 
 
 Divine : 
 
 The Soul's immense eternity is thine ! 
 Profound Beneficence absorbs thy power, 
 While Ages tend the long-maturing flower: 
 Our Sun itself, one tempest of wild flame, 
 For source of joy, and very life men claim 
 In mellowing corn, in bird, and bloom of 
 spring, 
 
 In leaping lambs, and lovers dallying. 
 Byron ! the whirlwinds rended not in vain ; 
 Aloof behold they nourish and sustain ! 
 In the far end we shall account them gain. 
 — Noel, Roden, 1885, Byron's Grave, 
 Songs of the Heights and Deeps, p. 178. 
 
 The tragic power of Crabbe is as much 
 above the reach of Byron as his singularly 
 vivid though curiously limited insight into 
 certain shades of character. — Swinburne, 
 Algernon Charles, 1886, Wordsworth 
 and Byron, Miscellanies, p, 89. 
 ✓^he genius of Byron was not one from 
 which we might have expected good sonnet- 
 work. He is greater in mass than in 
 detail, in outlines than in delicate side- 
 touches — in a word, he is like a sculptor 
 who hews a Titan out of a huge block, one 
 whom we would never expect to be able, 
 or to care, to delicately carve a canoe. 
 That Byron could write sonnets, and that 
 he could even write an exceptionaly fine 
 one, is evident from that which I have 
 quoted. — Sharp, William, 1886, Sonnets 
 of tfiis Century, p. 281, note. j 
 ^/The next influence on my mind was that 
 of Byron, and his power over me was much 
 increased by the injudicious and unjust 
 hostility of one of my tutors, who hated 
 Byron as the clergy hated him during his 
 lifetime. My tutor was always expressing 
 contempt for the poet, whose works he 
 had not read and was incompetent to ap- 
 preciate. This only made me read them 
 more and think them more magnificent 
 than ever. At this day 1 am not aware 
 that Byron ever exercised any bad influence 
 over me. His gloom, which was in great 
 part unreal, did not prove to be infectious 
 in my case, but his clear, direct, and manly 
 
 use of the English language was very 
 valuable as a part of education. As to 
 his immorality, it was more in his life 
 than in his writings, and his enemies made 
 the most of it whilst they tolerated with- 
 out protest the immoralities of more 
 favoured authors. — Hamerton, Philip 
 Gilbert, 1887, Books which have Influ- 
 enced Me, p. 54. 
 
 His style is remarkable for its strength 
 and elasticity, for its immensely powerful 
 sweep, tireless energy, and brilliant illus- 
 trations.— Meiklejohn, J. M. D., 1887, 
 The English Language: Its Grammar, 
 History and Literature, p. 344. 
 y^^hich is the better and stronger is a 
 question that can hardly be determined 
 now. It is certain that Byron's star has 
 waned, and that Wordsworth's has waxed ; 
 but it is also certain that there are moments 
 in life when the "Ode to Venice" is almost 
 as refreshing and as precious as the ode 
 on the ''Intimations," and when the epic 
 mockery of ''Don Juan" is to the full as 
 beneficial as the chaste philosophy of "The 
 Excursion" and the "Ode to Duty." — 
 Henley, William Ernest, 1890, Views^ 
 and Reviews, p. 60. 
 
 The loose, the ungrammatical. — GossE, 
 Edmund, 1891, Is Verse in Danger? The 
 Forum, vol. 10, p. 521. 
 
 Now, at least two or three of these had 
 great genius ; Shelley and Villon especially 
 set a lasting fascination in their works, 
 and although Byron does not wear so well, 
 he compels a slowly relaxing attention as 
 he retreats in the romantic distance. — 
 Thompson, Maurice, 1893, The Ethics of 
 Literary Art, p. 75. 
 
 ^/Wordsworth tried the moral lesson and 
 spoiled some of his best work with botany 
 and the Bible. A good many smaller men 
 than he have tried the same thing since, 
 and have failed. Perhaps "Cain" and 
 "Manfred" have taught the human heart 
 more wisdom than "Matthew" or the un- 
 fortunate "idiot boy" over whom Byron was 
 so mercilessly merry. And yet Byron 
 probably never meant to teach any one 
 anything in particular, and Wordsworth 
 meant to teach everybody, including and 
 beginning with himself. — Crawford, 
 Marion, 1893, What is a Novel? The 
 Forum, vol. 14, p. 594. 
 
 One poet, and one alone, of that great 
 early group, can to-day reach our affec- 
 tions through our amusement. If Byron 
 
764 
 
 GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 lives, he lives by virtue of wit. The sorrow- 
 ful recklessness of his irony bears the 
 stamp of living power, unknown to his 
 heroics or his sentimental tears. Byron 
 alone among his comrades is great as a 
 humorist ; for alone among his comrades 
 he was a realist. What he saw was doubt- 
 less often unworthy ; but it had the merit 
 of existing.— SCUDDER, Vida D., 1895, 
 The Life of the Spirit in the Modern Eng- 
 lish Poets, p. 203. 
 
 Poor Byron showed in his life the 
 struggle for good as well as evil, even if 
 the evil predominated. He had so nursed 
 his weaknesses and enjoyed a selfish in- 
 dulgence in all coveted experiences, with 
 no detaining hand or gentle voice to draw 
 him back, that his passions, prejudices, 
 and viciousness overcame him. He was a 
 wanderer over the land, with a ''might 
 have been.'' There is little doubt that 
 Byron deeply loved Mary Chaworth, and 
 when fate placed her beyond his reach, his 
 whole future was embittered, and he had 
 not the strength of character to rise above 
 it. He was defiant, with a will that could 
 not be forced. . . . The originality 
 of his conceptions, the vigor of his 
 thoughts, the boldness of his imagination, 
 together with beauty and sublime harmony, 
 stand to-day unrivalled. — Warren, Ina 
 RussELLE, 1896, Magazine of Poetry y vol. 
 8, p. 168. 
 
 Byron's landscape style resembles that 
 of Scott in its direct painting, in its rapid 
 motion, but, as a rule, with very superior 
 though very unequal power. In fact, to 
 digress for a moment, perhaps no English 
 poet has equaled Byron, whether in his 
 grasp and sweep of subject, his free sym- 
 pathy with mankind, or in what we might 
 call his initial force. In narrative, how 
 straight to the mark does his energy go, 
 compared with the bewildering discursive- 
 ness of the ''Revolt o^ Islam," or "Endym- 
 ion," the tortuous progress, never end- 
 ing, still beginning, of the "Ring and the 
 Book !' ' In this movement, this directness 
 of power, and here only, Byron's style was 
 doubtless affected by Scott. . . . Even in 
 his early lines it is impossible not to 
 recognise the hand of a mighty master — 
 unless indeed we are enslaved and bound 
 to limit our taste by partisan favouritism 
 and coterie decrees : as if Parnassus could 
 not afford space for many styles ; — or as 
 if a man should worship crimson and 
 
 therefore despise blue. . . . When success- 
 ful, his work retains its original freshness, 
 its stimulating power, its largeness of senti- 
 ment, its humanity veiled under cynicism. 
 What has been condemned as mere calcu- 
 lated and spurious sensibility was, in truth, 
 the clumsy turbid expression of genuine 
 feeling, by an artist who could rarely put 
 in his deepest, finest tints with success— 
 who had little command of gradation. . . . 
 Byron's love of landscape was a passion, 
 deep and sincere perhaps as that of any 
 poet. — Palgrave, Francis Turner, 1896, 
 Landscape in Poetry y pp. 188, 189, 195. 
 
 Byron, then, seems to me a poet dis- 
 tinctly of the second class, and not even 
 of the best kind of second, inasmuch as 
 his greatness is chiefly derived from a sort 
 of parody, a sort of imitation, of the 
 qualities of the first. His verse is to 
 the greatest poetry what melodrama is to 
 tragedy, what plaster is to marble, what 
 pinchbeck is to gold. He is not indeed an 
 impostor ; for his sense of the beauty of 
 nature and of the unsatisfactoriness of 
 life is real, and his power of conveying 
 this sense to others is real also. He has 
 great, though uncertain, and never very 
 fine, command of poetic sound, and a con- 
 siderable though less command of poetic 
 vision. But in all this there is a singular 
 touch of illusion, of what his contempo- 
 raries had learnt from Scott to call grama- 
 rye. The often cited parallel of the false 
 and true Florimels in Spenser applies here 
 also. The really great poets do not injure 
 each other in the very least by comparison, 
 different as they are. Milton does not 
 "kill" Wordsworth; Spenser does not 
 injure Shelley ; there is no danger in read- 
 ing Keats immediately after Coleridge. 
 But read Byron in close juxtaposition with 
 any of these, or with not a few others, 
 and the effect, to any good poetic taste, 
 must surely be disastrous; to my own, 
 whether good or bad, it is perfectly fatal. 
 The light is not that which never was on 
 land or sea ; it is that which is habitually 
 just in front of the stage : the roses are 
 rouged, the cries of passion even some- 
 times (not always) ring false. I have 
 read Byron again and again; I have 
 sometimes, by reading Byron only and 
 putting a strong constraint upon myself, 
 got nearly into the mood to enjoy him. 
 But let eye or ear once catch sight or 
 sound of real poetry, and the enchantment 
 
GEORGE GORDON LORD BYRON 
 
 765 
 
 vanish .'vi. ..' intsbury, George, 1896, A 
 Historii 'J Nineteenth Century Litera- 
 ture, p. 80. 
 
 Byron had splendid powers of humour, 
 and the iv ^ ^etic satire that we have 
 example of, fusing at times to hard irony. 
 He had no strong comic sense, or he would 
 not have taken an anti-social position, 
 which is directly opposed to the Comic ; 
 and in his philosophy, judged by philoso- 
 phers, he is a comic figure, by reason of 
 this deficiency. —Meredith, George, 1897, 
 An Essay on Comedy and the Uses of the 
 Comic Spirit, p. 76. 
 
 Byron has always been, to many com- 
 petent judges, one of the greatest poets 
 of any age or country. To say that you 
 do not like his poetry because you do not 
 like the life he led is the same as saying 
 you dislike a house because you do not like 
 the architect who planned or the carpenter 
 or mason who built it. — Abbey, Henry, 
 1897, Byron — The Man and His Work, 
 Literary World, vol. 28, p. 126. 
 
 To acquire a right feeling for Byron and 
 his poetry is a discipline in equity. It is 
 easy to yield to a sense of his power, to 
 the force and sweep of his genius ; it is 
 easy to be repelled by his superficial insin- 
 cerity, his license, his cynicism, his poverty 
 of thought, his looseness of construction, 
 his carelessness in execution. To know 
 aright the evil and the good is difficult. 
 It is difficult to feel justly towards this 
 dethroned idol (presently, perhaps, to be 
 re-enthroned), an idol in whose composi- 
 tion iron and clay are mingled with fine 
 gold. . . . We must take him or leave 
 him as he is, — the immortal spoilt by his 
 age, great and petty, weak and strong, 
 exalted and debased. A glorious wave 
 that curls upon the sea-beach, though it 
 leave sea-wrack and refuse on the sands, 
 is more stimulating, more health-giving, 
 than a pitcher of such salt water in one's 
 dressing-room, even if it be free from 
 every floating weed. ... He was a 
 democrat among aristocrats and an aristo- 
 crat among democrats; a sceptic among 
 believers and a believer among sceptics. 
 And yet his line of advance was not a via 
 media, nor was it determined by a spirit of 
 moderation or critical balance. — Dowden, 
 Edward, 1897, The French Revolution 
 and English Literature, pp. 261, 262, 264. 
 
 There are still a few faithful, like the 
 well-known Greek scholar of whom it was 
 
 remarked in my hearing that he never 
 Quoted any English save Byron and the 
 Bible. — More, Paul Elmer, 1898, The 
 Wholesome Revival of Byron, Atlantic 
 Monthly, vol. 82, p. 801. 
 
 His poetry had no repose ; all is revolt. 
 He is inspired by no faith, human or divine. 
 There is passion, but little love, affection, 
 or tenderness. No large views of human 
 life or destiny soften the hard lines of his 
 horizon ; no enthusiasms, except it be for 
 liberty or for inanimate nature, pierce its 
 darkness. There is only the scorching 
 light of the volcano, whose eruptive fire 
 intensifies the blackness of the surround- 
 ing darkness, which in part is itself its 
 own product, and casts a lurid glare on a 
 narrow circle of the wilderness it has itself 
 bared and blasted. — Prothero, Rowland 
 Edmund, 1898, Childhood and School Days 
 of Byron, The Nineteenth Century, vol. 43, 
 p. 62. 
 
 As we should expect in a man "proud 
 as Lucifer and beautiful as Apollo," the 
 personal note in Byron is supreme. It 
 is the note of a struggling Titian's 
 tempest-anger, tempest-mirth ; and yet his 
 best work reached the very pinnacle of 
 poetic glory. He has the distinction of 
 having made English letters appreciated 
 in Europe.— George, Andrev/ J., 1898, 
 From Chaucer to Arnold, Types of Liter- 
 ary Art, p. 652. 
 
 But Byron the poet? Emphatically, he 
 was not a poet; not if Shakespeare and 
 Milton are poets. He was a magnificent 
 satirist; the ''Vision of Judgment," 
 ' ' Don Juan, "and ' ' Beppo" are very glories 
 of wit, indignation, rhetoric ; accomplished 
 to the uttermost, marvellous and immortal ; 
 filled with scathing laughter, rich with a 
 prodigal profusion of audacious fancy and 
 riot of rhyme. Here the man is himself, 
 eloquent and vehement of speech, alive 
 and afire. No coarseness, cruelty, inso- 
 lence, can blind us to the enduring excel- 
 lence of these writings, to their virility 
 and strength. This Byron is deathless. 
 But the Byron of love lyrics and tragedies, 
 and romantic tales, is a poet of infinite 
 tediousness in execrable verse ; in the 
 severely courteous French phrase, he 
 ''does not permit himself to be read." 
 And he is not read; no one now reads 
 ' ' Lara, " or " Par isina, " or " The Corsair, ' ' 
 or "The Giaour," or "The Bride of 
 Abydos," or "The Siege of Corinth," or 
 
766 
 
 BYRON— MATURIN 
 
 ''The Island,*' or the weary, weary plays. 
 They are dead, and past resurrection; 
 their passion is as poor and tawdry a thing 
 as that of ''Frankenstein" or "The 
 Mysteries of Udolpho;" their garish the- 
 atricality is laughable, and we can scarce 
 believe that these things of nought were 
 once preferred to the noble simplicities 
 and rough, true music of Scott. — John- 
 son, Lionel, 1898, ByroUy The Academy, 
 vol. 53, p. 489. 
 
 Mr. Swinburne may criticise his verbal 
 workmanship, but Byron will still remain 
 a great artist, inclining, perhaps, a little 
 too much to rhetorical force at the ex- 
 pense of poetico-musical form. His 
 affluence must be held to compensate for 
 his lack of finish. Byron's lack of philo- 
 sophical insight and of sane judgment is 
 balanced by great penetration and scope 
 in some particular directions. His attitude 
 towards nature is marked by sympathy 
 with all that is lonely, self-contained, and 
 vast. — Johnson, Charles F., 1898, Ele- 
 ments of Literary Criticismy p. 118. 
 
 On the continent of Europe there can 
 be no Byronic revival, for the reason that 
 there has never been a decline. English 
 
 critics might do what they would to 
 "bear" the market — our readers will per- 
 haps remember Mr. Saintsbury's exploit in 
 this line — Byron stock has always stood 
 well in the literary and academic bourses 
 of Germany and France. His poetry is 
 very seriously studied at the universities ; 
 dissertations on Byron and Shakspere, 
 treatsies on "Byron der Uebermensch," 
 and the like, have abounded. — Kittredge, 
 George Lyman, 1898, Two New Editions 
 of Byron, The Nation, vol. 67, p. 132. 
 
 There is very little truth in Byron's 
 work: his characters are nothing — mere 
 photographs of his own postures ; his action 
 is largely melodrama ; his workmanship is 
 often hurried and slovenly to the last 
 degree ; and yet Byron impressed himself 
 upon his generation as no oiie else could. 
 The sheer force of his personality, per- 
 verse, unhealthy, but intense, burned his 
 work into men's minds. The emotion 
 was for the most part not sane or well- 
 grounded, and his work, therefore, has 
 largely lost its interest ; but for a time it 
 had immense power. — Winchester, C. T., 
 1899, Some Principles of Literary Criti- 
 cism, p. 88. 
 
 Charles Robert Maturin 
 
 1782-1824 
 
 Born, in Dublin, 1782. To Trin. Coll., Dublin, as scholar, 1798; B. A., 1800. 
 Married Henrietta Kingsbury, 1802. Ordained Curate of Loughrea ; afterwards of St. 
 Peter's, Dublin. Kept a school, and also engaged in literature. Tragedy "Bertram" pro- 
 duced at DruryLane, 9 May 1816 ; "Manuel," DruryLane, 8 March 1817 ; "Fredolfo," 
 Covent Garden, 12 May 1817. Lived for some time in London. Died, in Dublin, 30 
 Oct. 1824; buried in St. Peter's, Dublin. Works: "The Fatal Revenge" (under 
 pseudonym: "Dennis Jasper Murphy"), 1807; "The Wild Irish Boy" (anon.), 1808; 
 ' ' The Milesian Chief ' (anon. ), 1812 ; " Bertram, "1816 (7th edn. same year) ; ' ' Manuel" 
 (anon.), 1817; "Women" (anon.), 1818; "Sermons," 1819; "Fredolfo," 1819; 
 "Melmoth the Wanderer" (anon.), 1820; "The Universe" (probably written by J. 
 Wills), 1821; "Six Sermons on the Errors of the Roman Catholic Church," 1824; 
 ''The Albigenses" (anon.), 1824. Life: in 1892 edn. of "Melmoth."— Sharp, R. 
 Farquharson, 1897, A Dictionary of English Authors, p. 191. 
 
 PERSONAL 
 
 Walter Scott, however, was the^rs^ who 
 mentioned him, which he did to me, with 
 great commendation, in 1815 ; and it is to 
 this casualty, and two or three other 
 accidents, that this very clever fellow owed 
 his first and well-merited public suc- 
 cess. — Byron, Lord, 1817, Letter to Mr. 
 Moore, March 31 ; Life by Moore. 
 
 Unhappy Maturin, — what a life was his ! 
 Of his death I fear to ask. What makes 
 
 me more particularly think of him just 
 now is a drawing in chalk that I saw of 
 him immediately before Mary's illness. A 
 young man of the name of Bewick, who is, 
 I think, from Ireland, came to town, wishing 
 to take portraits of people here who were 
 known to the public. The great Well- 
 known, the Arch-Critic, and many others 
 sat to him ; and when all more worthy sub- 
 jects were exhausted, he wrote to ask per- 
 mission to take a likeness of me, and 
 
ILES ROBERT MATURIN 
 
 767 
 
 brought all the portraits 
 me. Those of Maturin ^ 
 astonished me, — they wejr 
 pictures that existed in iti 
 those worthies. The eat 
 look of Maturin, while stjr 
 genius, is like that of c 
 only supped full of horroi 
 breakfasted on them : 1 h 
 ter more strongly port*; 
 nance. — Grant, Anne, t 
 23 ; Memoir and Correspjp 
 vol. Ill, p. 57. 
 
 The curate of St. pil 
 ingly vain both of his p 
 plishments ; and as his 
 allow him to attract 
 splendour of his dress 
 seldom failed to do so hf 
 Mr. Maturin was tall, f , 
 proportioned, and, on i 
 figure, which he took C ' 
 well-made black coat, 
 and some odd light-col> 
 pantaloons, surmounts 
 coat of prodigious din 
 thrown on, so as not t 
 metry it affected to j 
 Gentleman sang and i ' 
 himself on performing 
 evolutions of the quad i 
 to any other divine 
 Church, if not to an> 
 man of the three k 
 happened, too, that 
 laboured under an att 
 with some accident, v 
 use of a slipper or a ) 
 or one leg, and, by ai 
 gruity of mischances 
 compelled on these Of • 
 the public thoroughf j 
 the melancholy spec 
 limb in pain never 
 sighs and sympathies 
 persons who passed 
 their curiosity to r 
 or inquiries respect 
 Ryan, Richard, 18 
 vol. I, p. 64. 
 
 Could not endure 
 him during his houi 
 tion. At such tim< 
 sensitive, and pastt 
 head as a token t 
 family that he was 
 He said if he lost 
 
 .d to show 
 ly Morgan 
 )ry like the 
 rination of 
 nelancholy 
 marked by 
 10 had not 
 fc dined and 
 3aw charac- 
 n a counte- 
 [jetter, Mar. 
 e, ed. Grant, 
 
 vas exceed- 
 and accom- 
 3 would not 
 tion by the 
 manners, he 
 singularity. 
 . r, but well- 
 1-3 uhole, a good 
 ' to display in a 
 . 3ly buttoned, 
 3tocking-web 
 winter, by a 
 IS, gracefully 
 jure the sym- 
 . .*ct. The Rev. 
 ' ed, and prided 
 movements and 
 certainly equal 
 . le Established 
 ate lay gentle- 
 ms. It often 
 ilaturin either 
 f gout, or met 
 compelled th; 
 ge, on one f*" ■ 
 ^countable 
 was unifr ■ 
 •ns to ap 1 n 
 fDubh" ore 
 of a ; . dful 
 to e the 
 I t> resting 
 -J prompt 
 e remarks 
 ^jossessor. — 
 and Poets y 
 
 re children near 
 iterary composi- 
 was particularly 
 afer on his fore- 
 members of his 
 ) be interrupted, 
 read of his ideas 
 
 even for a moment, they were gone from 
 him altogether.— Ballou, Maturin M., 
 1886, Genius in Sunshine and Shadow^ 
 p. 110. 
 
 BERTRAM 
 
 18 h; 
 
 It is grand and powerful ; the language 
 most animated and poetical; and the 
 characters sketched with a masterly 
 enthusiasm.— Scott, Sir Walter, 18L 
 Letter to Daniel Terry, MemoirSy ed. Lo( 
 hart, ch. xxxiv. 
 
 I want words to describe the m' A 
 horror and disgust with which I w' sed 
 the opening of the fourth act, cr - ^ring 
 it as a melancholy proof of t' prava- 
 tion of the public mind. .nocking 
 spirit of jacobinism seemed nger con- 
 fined to politics. The ' larity with 
 atrocious events and ch jrs appeared 
 to have poisoned the ^ even where it 
 had not directly di^ .ized the moral 
 principles, and left - jelings callous to 
 all the mild appe- .d craving alone for 
 the grossest an'' .t outrageous stimu- 
 lants.— Coler: . . : . .Samuel Taylor, 1817, 
 Biographia T '■ ■fr-iria. 
 
 Cruditip absurdities abound, but 
 there ar^ arsts of wild poetry amidst 
 the V? Joleridge's critique brings 
 into : r-,aant juxtaposition the subtle 
 Rory .;' :ism of the poets, and the crude 
 Rr .an premonitions which here still 
 y . dd.— Herford, C. H., 1897, The 
 of Wordsworth, p. 97. 
 
 MELMOTH THE WANDERER 
 
 1820 
 
 **Melmoth" is not altogether so mad as 
 some reviewers pronounced it, yet suf- 
 ficiently so to excuse thousands for closing 
 their eyes against the poetic invention and 
 buoyancy of fancy everywhere visible. — 
 Cunningham, Allan, 1833, Biographical 
 and Critical History of the Literature of 
 the Last Fifty Years. 
 
 Although far too long, marvellously in- 
 volved with tales within tales, and dis- 
 figured in parts by the rant and the gush 
 of its class, *'Melmoth" is really a power- 
 ful book, which gave something more than 
 a passing shudder to its own generation 
 (it specially influenced Balzac), and which 
 has not lost its force even now. But the 
 usual novel of this kind, which was written 
 in vast numbers, was simply beneath con- 
 tempt.— Saintsbury, George, 1896, A 
 
768 
 
 CHARLES ROBEi MATl 
 
 History of Nineteenth Century Literature, 
 p. 126. 
 
 The work of renovation began with 
 Charles Robert Maturin, in his time a well- 
 known Irish clergyman and litterateur. 
 The tale in which he displayed his finer 
 imaginative power is ''Melmoth the 
 .Wanderer" (1820). He eliminated from 
 the Radcliffe romance the ''sentimental 
 Miss who luxuriates in the rich and weep- 
 ing softness of a watery landscape," and 
 depended on fear as his sole motive. In 
 many scenes, resembling the punishments 
 in the lower circles of Dante's Inferno," 
 he reached, if not terror, the borderland 
 w^here horror becomes terror. Such is the 
 incarceration of a young monk among 
 serpents, whose ''cold and bloating" forms 
 crawl over him, and the starvation and 
 madness of lovers in a subterranean prison. 
 But the incoherency and extreme length 
 of the romance have long since over- 
 whelmed it ; one of the last references to 
 it being Thackeray's, who compared 
 Goethe's eye to Melmoth's.— Cross, Wil- 
 bur, L., 1899, The Development of the Eng- 
 lish Novel, p. 159. 
 
 GENERAL 
 
 It ["Manuel"] is the absurd work of a 
 clever man. — Byron, Lord, 1817, Letter 
 to Mr. Murray, June 14. 
 
 We observe, with pleasure, that Mr. 
 Maturin has put his genius under better 
 regulation [in "Women"] than in his 
 former publications, and retrenched that 
 luxuriance of language, and too copious 
 use of ornament, which distinguishes the 
 authors and orators of Ireland, whose 
 exuberance of imagination sometimes 
 places them in the predicament of their 
 honest countrymen who complained of 
 being run away with by his legs. — Scott, 
 Sir Walter, 1818, Women; or Pour et 
 Contre, Edinburgh Review, vol. 80, p. 256. 
 
 The author of "Montorio" and of "Ber- 
 tram" is unquestionably a person gifted 
 with no ordinary powers. He has a quick 
 sensibility — a penetrating and intuitive 
 acuteness — and an unrivalled vigour and 
 felicity of language, which enable him at 
 one time to attain the happiest condensa- 
 tion of thought, and at others to pour forth 
 a stream of eloquence rich, flowing, and 
 deep, chequered with images of delicate 
 loveliness, or darkened by broad shadows 
 cast from objects of stern and adamantine 
 majesty. Yet, in common with many 
 
 o; li I potei rits of the present time, 
 he fails to '^e within us any pure and 
 lasting syn-; . . We do not, on reading 
 his works, hat we have entered on a 
 precious an perishable treasure. They 
 dazzle, the ight, they surprise, and 
 they weary ve lay them down with a 
 vague admi ni for the author, and try 
 to shake ofl thair influence as we do the 
 ?. feverish dream. — Tal- 
 ? Noon, 1842, Maturin, 
 cdlaneous Writings, p. 43. 
 
 indeed a man of ff'^nius. 
 Thomas, 1854, ^ 'o 
 y, Oct. ; Life aru 
 xviii. 
 
 impressions oi 
 
 FOURD, TH(i\' ' 
 
 Critical and Mi 
 
 Was verily 
 -De Quincl , 
 his Daughter E 
 ings, ed. Pay., 
 
 Above all 
 works of M 
 enthralling, ■ 
 fictions, whi» 
 art, and tas ^ 
 pose, lift tl 
 physical ager ' 
 imaginative g; 
 Novalis. Th 
 with its mast 
 people and i 
 Revenge, ' ' wi 
 convulsions oi 
 moth," with ii 
 malignity, ana 
 Indian seas — " 
 ception of yo 
 Bernard, Ba^ 
 uel Lover, p. \- 
 
 The name of Iiaturin has almost died 
 altogether froi te recollection of the 
 reader, and it ith difficulty that the 
 student can fin* .. y of the many works 
 which he poure( th, and which, indeed, 
 are little worth * 'rouble of looking for. 
 His high-flown i • ictions and romantic 
 theatrical figur- ght, however, have 
 thrown at least imusing tragi-comic 
 light upon his s ndings had any rec- 
 ord of them been inable. — Oliphant, 
 Margaret 0. W. '2, Literary History 
 of England, X V L X Century, vol. III. 
 
 He never ove i his tendency to 
 absurd extravap )f expression and 
 wild improbabilit;) igh we can under- 
 stand why it was he great critics of 
 the time continue ope that he would 
 tone down.— Mini lliam, 1894, The 
 Literature of the G . n Era, ed. Knight, 
 p. 286. 
 
 ^rever, there were the 
 i, — those startling and 
 .'er sombre and repellent 
 ith all their defects of 
 ;:id insufficiency of pur- 
 ystery and terror and 
 :)f Mrs. Radcliffe into an 
 ' 5ur worthy of Shelley or 
 'ere "The Albigenses," 
 contrasts of the hunted 
 hunters', "The Fatal 
 s terrible capacities and 
 human soul ; and ' ' Mel- 
 aazing pictures of guilt, 
 ering, and its girl of the 
 nimalee, loveliest con- 
 purity, and ardour. — 
 . 1874, The Life of Sam-