CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Cornell University Library PS 2504. A8 1889 Art, literature 3 1924 022 500 486 DATE DUE SAYLORD PRINTED IN U.SA Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tlie Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924022500486 ART, LITERATURE, AND THE DRAMA. BY MARGARET FULLER OSSOLI, AUTHOR OP "AT HOME AND ABROAD," "WOMAN IN THE NINBTBSIITH CBNTUBY," "life WITHOUT AND LIFE WITHIN," ETC EDITED BY HER BROTHER, i/^V, ARTHUR B: FULLER. BOSTON: ROBERTS BROTHERS. 1889. 4zs6y{^ ?s :ornell\ ^<5-o4. UNiV:iF:SiTY A-s . Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by AKTHDR B. FULLER, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. Cambridge: Fresswork by yoha Wilson and Son. PREFACE, BY THE EDITOR. In preparing a new edition of " Papers on Literature and Art " for the press, no essential change in the body of the -vrork has been deemed requisite. This was the last volume my sister sent forth into the world. It was issued from the press just previous to her sailing for Europe on that eventful journey which ended only on the shores of that better land, "the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveller returns." It contained some of Margaret's best thoughts on Art and Literature, and has been, perhaps, the most popular of the volumes she published. For some years it has been out of print, and is now again made accessible to the gen- eral reader, together with the other volumes from her pen which are now for the first time published in a uniform series, accompanied by her suggestive memoirs. To increase the value of this work I have added a third part, containing her metrical translation of Goethe's drama, Tasso. This latter has never before been published, though (3) i PREFACE. she had prepared it for publication many years previous to her departure from this life. It contains numerous pas- sages of singular beauty. This addition of material made requisite some change in the title of the work ; and it now appears under the designation of " Art, Literature, and the Drama." In the preface to this volume Margaret expressed a de- sire and intention to publish, at some future period, further literary criticisms, together with some original essays. That purpose she did not remain on earth to execute ; but, in the new volume, " Life Within and Life Without," issued from the press simultaneously with this, and prepared by me from my sister's unpublished manuscripts, the reader will find an endeavor to carry out her original intention. Arthur B. Fuller. Watebtown, Mass., 1859 PREFACE. In the original plan for publishing a selection from my essays in different kinds which have appeared in periodicals, I had aimed at more completeness of arrangement than has been attained in these two volumes. Selections had been made from essays on English literature, on Continental and American literature, and on Art. I had wished, beside, for a department in which to insert sketches of a miscellaneous character, in prose and verse. It was proposed, in the critical pieces, to retain the extracts with which they were originally adorned, as this would give them far more harmony and interest for the general reader. The translation, however, of the matter from a more crowded page to its present form has made such a differ- ence, that I have been obliged to drop most of the extracts fiom several of the pieces. Moreover, in approaching the end of the first number, I found myself obliged to omit more than half the essays I had proposed on the subject of English literature, the greater part of those on Art, and those on Continental literature and of a miscellaneous kind entirely. I find, indeed, that the matter which I had . 1* (SJ Q PREFACE. supposed could be comprised in two of these numbers would fill six or eight. Had I been earlier aware of this, I should have made a different selection, and one which would do more justice to the range and variety of subjects which have been before my mind during the ten years that, in the intervals allowed me by other engagements, I have written for the public. To those of my friends, who have often expressed a wish that I " could find time to write," it will be a satisfaction to know that, though the last twenty months is the first period in my life when it has been permitted me to make my pen my chief means of expressing my thoughts, yet I have written enough, if what is afloat, and what lies hid in man- uscript, were put together, to make a little library, quite large enough to exhaust the patienc6 of the collector, if not of the reader. Should I do no more, I have at least sent my share of paper missives through the world. The present selection contains some of my earliest and some of my latest expressions. , I have not put dates to any of the pieces, though, in the earlier, I see much crudity, which I seem to have outgrown now, just as I hope I shall think ten years hence of what I write to-day. But I find an identity in the main views and ideas, a substantial har- mony-- among these pieces, and I think those who have been interested in my mind at all, will take some pleasure in reading, the youngest and crudest of these pieces, and will readily disown for me what I would myself disown. Should these volumes meet with a kind reception, a more PREFACE. complete selection from my miscellajaies will be offered to the public in due time. Should these not seem to be objects of interest I shall take the hint, and consign the rest to the peaceful seclusion of the garret. I regret omitting some pieces explanatory of foreign authors, that would have more interest now than when those authors become, as I hope they will, familiar friends to the youth of my country. It has been one great object of my life to introduce here the works of those great geniuses, the flower and fruit of a higher state of development, which might give the young who are soon to constitute the state, a higher standard in thought and ac- tion than would be demanded of them by their own time. I have hoped that, by being thus raised above their native sphere, they would become its instructors and the faithful stewards of its best riches, not its tools or slaves. I feel with satisfaction that I have done a good deal to extend the influence of the great minds of Germany and Italy among my compatriots. Of our English contemporaries, as yet but partially known here, I have written notices of Milnes, Landor, and Julius Hare, which I regret being obliged to omit, as these writers are yet but little known. Bailey and Tennyson have now a fair chance of circulation, therefore my notices may sleep with the occasion that gave them birth. Tennyson, especially, needs no usher. He has only to be heard to command the audience of that " melodious thunder." Of the essays in the second volume, that on American lit 8 PREFACE. erature is the only one, which has not, before, appeared in print. It is a very imperfect sketch ; the theme was great and difficult, the time to be spared for its consideration was brief. It is, however, written with sincere and earnest feel ings, and from a mind that cares for nothing but what is permanent and essential. It should, then, have some merit, if only in the power of suggestion. A year or two hence, I hope to have more to say upon this topic, or the interests it represents, and to speak with more ripeness both as to the matter and the form. M. F. CONTENTS. PART I. Paga A Shobt Essat on Cbiticb 3 A SlALOQTTE 21 ThB T-vrO HtlKBERTS 25. The Fbosb Woeks of Milton 45 Tee Life of Sir James MAOStirtoaH. 53 Modern British Foets. . 63° The Modern Drama 110- DlALOOrS, CONTAININO SUNDRY GlORSEB ON POETIO TeXTB. ... 161 PART II. Poets of the People 177 Miss Barrett's Poems 198 ^ROwNiNo's Poems 207 Lives of the great Composers — Haydn, Mozart, Handel, Baoh, Beethoten 223 A Becobd of Impressions frodttced bt the Exhibition of Mr. Allston's Pictures, in the SuiiMEK of 1839 284 American Literature; its Position in the Present Time and Prospects for the Future ^293 SWEDENBpROIANISM ...••...•.... 336 Methodism at the Fountain. .....•••••... • 342 PART III. A Rhythmical Translation of Gcethe's Tasso 355 (9) PART I. ART AND LITERATURE. an PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. A SHORT ESSAY ON CRITICS. An essay on Criticism were a serious matter ; for, though this age be emphatically critical, the writer would still find it neces- sary to investigate the laws of criticism as a science, to settle its conditions as an art. Essays, entitled critical, are epistles ad- dressed to the public, through which the mind of the recluse re- lieves itself of its impressions. Of these the only law is, " Speak the best word that is in thee." Or they are regular ar- ticles got up to order by the literary hack writer, for the literary mart, and the only law is to make them plausible. There is not yet deliberate recognition of a standard of criticism, though we hope the always strengthening league of the republic of letters must ere long settle laws on which its Amphictyonic council may act. Meanwhile let us not venture to write on criticism, but, by classifying the critics, imply our hopes and thereby our thoughts. First, there are the subjective class, (to make use of a conve- nient term, introduced by our German benefactors.) These are persons to whom writing is no sacred, no reverend employment. They are not driven to consider, not forced upon investigation by the fact, that they are deliberately giving their thoughts an inde- pendent existence, and that it may live to others when dead to them. They know no agonies of conscientious research, no tim- idities of self-respect. They see no ideal beyond the present hour, which makes its mood an uncertain tenure. How things 2 (13) 14 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. affect them now they know ; let the ftiture, let the whole take care of itself. They state their impressions as they rise, of other men's spoken, written, or acted thoughts. They never dream of going out of themselves to seek the motive, to trace the law of another nature. They never dream that there are statures which cannot he measured from their point of view. They love, ■ they like, or they hate ; the book is detestahle, immoral, absurd, or admirable, noble, of a most approved scope ; — ^these statements they make with authority, as those who bear the evangel of pure taste and accurate judgment, and need be tried before no human synod. To them it seems that their present position commands the universe. Thus the essays on the works of others, which are called criti- cisn^s, are often, in fact, mere records of impressions. To judge of their value you must know where the man was brought up, under what influences, — his nation, his church, his family even. He himself has never attempted to estimate the" value of these circumstances, and find a law or raise a standard above all cir- cumstances, permanent against all influence. He is content to be the creature of his place, and to represent it by his spoken and written word. He takes the same ground with a savage, who does not hesitate to say of the product of a civilization on which he could not stand, " It is bad," or " It is good." The value of such comments is merely reflex. They charac- terize the critic. They give an idea of certain influences on a certain act of men in a certain time or place. Their absolute, essential value is nothing. The long review, the eloquent arti- cle by the man of the nineteenth century, are of no value by themselves considered, but only as samples of their kind. The writers were content to tell what they felt, to praise or to de- nounce without needing to convince us or themselves. They sought not the divine truths of philosophy, and she proflers them not if unsought. A SHORT ESSAV ON CRITICS. 15 Then there are the apprehensive. These can go out of them- selves "and enter fully into a foreign existence. They breathe its life ; they live in its law ; they tell what it meant, and why it so expressed its meaning. They reproduce the work of which they speak, and make it better known to us in so far as two statement? are better than one. There are beautiful specimens in this kind They are pleasing to us as bearing witness of the genial sympa thies of nature. They have the ready grace of love with some- what of the dignity of disinterested friendship. They some- times give more pleasure than the original production of which tbey treat, as melodies will sometimes ring sWeetlier in the echo. Besides there is a peculiar pleasure in a true response ; it is the assurance of equipoise in the universe. These, if not true crit- ics, come nearer the standard than the subjective class, and th' value of their work is ideal as well as historical. Then there are the comprehensive, who must also be appre- hensive. They enter into the nature of -another being and judge his work by its own law. But having done so, having ascer- tained his design and the degree of his success in fulfilling it, thus measuring his judgment, his energy, and skill, they do also know how to put that aim in its place, and how to estimate its re- lations. And this the critic can only do who perceives the anal- ogies of the universe, and how they are regulated by an absolute, invariable principle. He can see how far that work expresses this principle, as well as how far it is excellent in its details. Sustained by a principle, such as can be girt within no rule, no formula, he can walk around the work, he can stand above it, he can uplift it, and try its weight. Finally, he is worthy to judge it. Critics are poets cut down, says some one by way of jeer ; but, in truth, they are men with the poetical temperament to appre- hend, with the philosophical tendency to investigate. The maker is divine ; the critic sees this divine, but brings it down to hu- 16 PAPEKS ON LITERATURE AND ART. manity by the analytic process. The critic is the historian who records the order of creation. In vain for the maker, who knows without learning it, but not in yain for the mind of his race. The critic is beneath the maker, but is his needed friend. What tongue could speak but to an intelligent ear, and every noble work demands its critic. The richer the work, the more severe should be its critic ; the larger its scope, the more com- prehensive must be his power of scrutiny. The critic is not a base caviller, but the younger brother of genius. Next to in- vention is the power of interpreting invention ; next to beauty the power of appreciating beauty. And of making others appreciate it ; for the universe is a scale of infinite gradation, and, below the very highest, every step is explanation down to the lowest. Religion, in the two modulations of poetry and music, descends through an infinity of waves to the lowest abysses of human nature. Nature is the literature and art of the, divine mind ; human literature and art the criticism on that ; and they, too, find their criticism within their own sphere. The critic, then, should be not merely a poet, not merely a philosopher, not merely an observer, but tempered of all three. If he criticise the poem, he must want nothing of what constitutes the poet, except the power of creating forms and speaking in music. He must have as good an eye and as fine a sense ; but if he had as fine an organ for expression also, he would make the poem instead of judging it. He must be inspired by the phi- losopher's, spirit of inquiry and need of generalization, but hp must not be constrained by the hard cemented masonry of method to which philosophers are prone. And he must have the organic acuteness of the observer, with a love of ideal perfection, which forbids him to be content with mere beauty of details in the work or the comment upon the work. There are persons who maintain, that there is no legitimate A SHORT ESSAY ON CRITICS. 17 criticism, except the reproductive; that we have only to say what the work is or is to us, never what it is not. But the mo- ment we look for a principle, we feel the need of a criterion, of a standard ; and then we say what the work is not, as well as what it is j and this is as healthy though not as grateful and gracious an operation of the mind as the other. We do not seek to degrade but to classify an object by stating what it is not. We detach the part from the whole, lest it stand between us and the whole. When we have ascertained in what degree it manifests the whole, we may safely restore it to its place, and love or ad- mire it there ever after. The use of criticism, in periodical writing is to sifl, not to stamp a work. Yet should they not be " sieves and drainers for the use of luxurious readers," but for the use of earnest in- quirers, giving voice and being to their objections, as well as stimulus to their sympathies. But the critic must not be an in- fallible adviser to his reader. He must not tell him what books are not worth reading, or what must be thought of them when read, but what he read in them. Wo to that coterie wliere some critic sits despotic, intrenched behind the infallible " We." Wo to that oracle who has infused such soft sleepiness, such a gentle dulness into his atmosphere, that when he opes his lips no dog will bark , It is this attempt at dictatorship in the reviewers, and the mdolent acquiescence of their readers, that has brought them into disrepute. With such fairness did they make out their statements, with such dignity did they utter their verdicts, that the poor reader grew all too submissive. He learned his lesson witli such docility, that the greater part of what will be said at any public or private meeting can be foretold by any one who has read the leading periodical works for twenty years back. Schol- ars sneer at and would fain dispense with them altogether ; and the public, grown lazy and helpless by this constant use of props and stays, can now scarce brace itself even to get through a 2* 18 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. magazine article, but reads in the daily paper laid beside the breakfast plate a short notice of the last-number of the long es- tablished and popular review, and thereupon passes its judgment and is content. Then the partisan spirit of many of these journals has made it unsafe to rely upon them as guide-books and expurgatory indexes. They could not be content merely to stimulate and suggest thought, they have at last become powerless to supersede it. From these causes and causes like these, the journals have, lost much of their influence. There is a languid feeling about them, an inclination to suspect the justice of their verdicts, the value of their criticisms. But their golden age cannot be quite past. They afford too convenient a vehicle for the transmission of knowledge ; they are too natural a feature of our time to have done all their work yet. Surely they may be redeemed from their abuses, they may be turned to their true uses. But how ? It were easy to say what they should not do. They should not have an object to carry or a cause to advocate, which obliges them either to reject all writings which wear the distinctive traits of individual life, or to file away what does not suit them, till the essay, made true to their design, is made false to the mind of the writer. An external consistency is thus produced, at the expense of all salient thought, all genuine emotion of life, in short, and all living influence. Their purpose may be of va- lue, but by such means was no valuable purpose ever furthered long. There are those, who have with the best intention pursued this system of trimming and adaptation, and thought it well and best to " Deceive their country for their country's good." But their country cannot long be so governed. It misses the pure, the full tone of truth ; it perceives that the voice is modu- lated to coax, to persuade, and it turns from the judicious man ot A SHORT ESSAY ON CRITICS. 19 the world, calculating the effect to be produced by each of hia araooth sentences, to some earnest voice which is uttering thoughts, crude, rash, ill-arranged it may be, but true to one human breast, and uttered in full faith, that the God of Truth will guide them aright. And here, it seems to me, has been the greatest mistake in the conduct of these journals. A smooth monotony has been at- tained, an uniformity of tone, so that from the title of a journal you can infer the tenor of all its chapters. But nature is ever various, e*er new, and so should be her daughters, art and lite- rature. We do not want merely a polite response to what we thought before, but by the freshness of thought in other minds .to have new thought awakened in our own. We do not want stores of information only, but to be roused to digest these into knowl- edge. Able and experienced men write for us, and we would know what they think, as they think it not for us but for them- selves. We would live with them, rather than be taught by them how to live ; we would catch the contagion of their mental activity, rather than have them direct us how to regulate our own. In books, in reviews, in the senate, in the pulpit, we wish to meet thinking men, not schoolmasters or pleaders. We wish that they should do full justice to their own view, but also that they should be frank with us, and, if now our superiors, treat us as if we might some time rise to be their equals. It is this true manliness, this firmness in his own position, and this power of ap- preciating the position of others, that alone can make the critic our companion and friend. We would converse with him, se- cure that he will tell us all his thought, and speak as man to man. But if he adapts his work to us, if he stifles what is dis- tinctively his, if he shows himself either arrogant or mean, or, above all, if he wants faith in the healthy action of free thought, and the safety of pure motive, we will not talk with him, for we cannot confide in him. We will go to the critic who trusts Genius 20 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. and trusts us, who knows that all good writing must be sponta< neous, and who will write out the bill of fare for the public as he read it for himself, — " Forgetting vulgar rules, with spirit free To judge each author by his own intent, Nor think gne standard for all minds is meant." Such an one will not disturb us with personalities, with sectarian prejudices, or an undue vehemence in favour of petty plans or temporary objects. Neither will he disgust us by smooth obse- quious flatteries and an inexpressive, lifeless gentleness. He will be free and make free from the mechanical and distorting influences we hear complained of on every side. He will teach us to love wisely what we before loved well, for he knows the difference between censoriousness and discernment, infatuation and reverence ; and while delighting in the genial melodies of Pan, can perceive, should Apollo bring his lyre into audience, that there may be strains more divine than those of his native groves. A DIALOGUE POET. CRITIC. Poet. Approach me not, man of cold, steadfast eye and com- pressed lips. At thy coming nature shrouds herself in dull mist ; fain would she hide her sighs and smiles, her buds and fruits even in a veil of snow. For thy unkindly breath, as it pierces her mystery, destroys its creative power. The. birds draw back into their nests, the sunset hues into their clouds, when vou are seen in the distance with your tablets all ready to write them into prose. Ckitic. O my brother, my benefactor, do not thus repel me. Interpret me rather to our common mother ; let her not avert her eyes from a younger child. I know I can never be dear to her as thou art, yet I am her child, nor would the fated revolutions of existence be fulfilled without my aid. Poet. How meanest thou ? What have thy measurements, thy artificial divisions and classifications, to do with the natural revolutions ? In all real growths there is a " give and take" of unerring accuracy ; in all the acts of thy life there is falsity, for all are negative. Why do you not receive and produce in your kind, like the sunbeam and the rose ? Then new light would be brought out, were it but the life of a weed, to bear witness to the healthful beatings of the divine heart. But this perpetual ana. lysis, comparison, and classification, never add one atom to the sum of existence. Critic. I understand you. 21j 22 PAPERS ON LITERATURE ANO ART. Poet. Yes, that is always the way. • Yo u unders tand me, w ho never have the arroganc eja prRtp.nd that I understapd my. sel£__ Critic. .Why should you ? — that is my province. I am the rook which gives you back the echo. 1 am the tuning-key, which harmonizes your instrument, the regulator to your watch. Who would speak, if no ear heard ? nay, if no mind knew what the ear heard 1 Poet. I do not wish to be heard in thought but in love, to be recognised in judgment but in life. I would pour forth my melodies to the rejoicing winds. I would scatter my seed to the tender earth. I do not wish to hear in prose the meaning of my melody. 1 do not wish to see my seed neatly put away beneath a paper label. Answer in new pceans to the soul of our souls. Wake me to sweeter childhood by a fresher growth. At pres- ent you are but an excrescence produced by my life ; depart, self-conscious Egotist, I know you not. Ceitic. Dost thou so adore Nature, and yet deny me? Is not Art the child of Nature, Civilization of Man ? As Religion into Philosophy, Poetry into Criticism, Life into Science, Love into Law, so did thy lyric in natural order transmute itself into my review. Poet. Review ! Science ! the very etymology speaks. What is gained by looking again at what has already been seen ? What by giving a technical classification to what is already as- similated with the mental life ? Critic. What is gained by living at all ? Poet. Beauty loving itself, — Happiness ! Critic. Does not this involve consciousness 1 Poet. Yes ! consciousness of Truth manifested in the indi- vidual form. Critic. Since consciousness is tolerated, how will you littiit it 1 A DIALOGUE. 23 Poet. By the instincts of my nature, which rejects yours as arrogant and superfluous. Critic. And the dictate of my nature compels me to the processes which you despise, as essential to my peace. My brother (for I will not be rejected) I claim my place in the order of nature. The word descended and became flesh for two pur- poses, to organize itself, and to take cognizance of its organiza- tion. When the first Poet worked alone, he paused between the cantos to proclaim, " It is very good." Dividing himself among men, he made some to create, and others to proclaim the merits of what is created. Poet. Well ! if you were content with saying, " it is very good ;" but you are always crying, " it is very bad," or igno- rantly prescribing how it might be better. What do you know of it ? Whatever is good could not, be otherwise than it is. Why will you not take what suits you, and leave the rest ? True communion of thought is worship, not criticism. Spirit will not flow through the sluices nor endure the locks of canals. Critic. There is perpetual need of protestantism in every church. If the church be catholic, yet the priest is not infalli ble. Like yourself, I sigh for a perfectly natural state, in which the only criticism shall be tacit rejection, even as Venus glides not into the orbit of Jupiter, nor do the fishes seek to dwell in fire. But as you soar towards this as a Maker, so do I toil to- wards the same aim as a Seeker. Your pinions will not upbear you towards it in steady flight. I must often stop to cut away the brambles from my path. The law of my being is on me, and the ideal standard seeking to be realized in my mind bids me demand perfection from all I see. To say how far each object answers this demand is my criticism. Poet. If one object does not satisfy you, pass on to another and say nothing. Critic. It is not so that it would be well with me. I must 24 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. penetrate the secret of my wishes, verify the justice of my rea- soniugs. I must examine, compare, sift, and winnow ; what can bear this ordeal remains to me as pure gold. I cannot pass on till I know what I feel and why. An object that Jefies my ut- most rigor of scrutiny is a new step on the stair I am making to the Olympian tables. Poet. I think you will not know the gods when you get there, if I may judge from the cold presumption I feel in your version of the great facts of literature. Critic. Statement of a part always looks like ignorance, when compared with the whole, yet may promise the whole. Consider that a part implies the whole, as the everlasting No the everlasting Yes, and permit to exist the shadow of your light, the register of your inspiration. As he spake the word he paused, for with it his companion vanished, and left floating on the cloud a starry banner with the inscription " Afflatue Numine." The Critic unfolded one on whose flag-staff he had been leaning. Its heavy folds of pearly gray satin slowly unfolding, gave to view the word Notitia, and Causarum would have followed, when a sudden breeze from the west caught it, those heavy folds fell back round the poor man, and stifled him probably, — at least he has never since been heard of. THE TWO HERBERTS. The following sketch is meant merely to mark some prominent features in the minds of the two Herberts, under a form less elaborate and more reverent than that of criticism. A mind of penetrating and creative power could not find a better subject for a masterly picture. The two figures stand as representatives of natural religion, and of that of the Son of Man, of the life of the philosophical man of the world, and the secluded, contemplative, though beneficent existence. The present slight efibrt is not made with a view to the great and dramatic results so possible to the plan. It is intended chiefly as a setting to the Latin poems of Lord Herbert, which are known to few, — a year ago, seemingly, were so to none in this part of the world. The only desire in translating them has been to do so literally, as any paraphrase, Or addition of words impairs their profound meaning. It is hoped that,^ even in their present repulsive garb, without rhyme or rhythm, stripped, too, of the majestic Roman mantle, the greatness of the thoughts, and the large lines of spiritual experience, will attract readers, who will not find time misspent in reading them many times. George Herbert's heavenly strain is better, though far from generally, known. There has been no attempt really to represent these persons speaking their own dialect, or in their own individual manners. The writer loves too well to hope to imitate the sprightly, fresh, and varied style of Lord Herbert, or the quaintness and keen sweets of his brother's. Neither have accessories been given, 3 (25) 26 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. such as might easily have been taken from their works. But the thoughts imputed to them they rhight have spoken, only in better and more concise terms, and the facts — are facts. So. let this be gently received with the rest of the modern tapestries. We can no longer weave them of the precious materials princes once furnished, but we can give, in our way, some notion of the original design. It was an afternoon of one of the longest summer days. The sun had showered down his amplest bounties, the earth put on her richest garment to receive them. The clear heavens seemed to open themselves to the desire of mortals ; the day had been long enough and bright enough to satisfy an immortal. In a green lane leading from the town of Salisbury, in Eng- land, the noble stranger was reclining beneath a tree. His eye was bent in the direction of the town, as if upon some figure ap- proaching or receding ; but its inward turned expression showed that he was, in fact, no longer looking, but lost in thought. " Happiness !" thus said his musing mind, " it would seem at such hours and in such places as if it not merely hovered over the earth, a poetic presence to animate our pulses and give us courage for what must be, but sometimes alighted. Such fulness of expression pervades these fields, these trees, that it excites, not rapture, but a blissful sense of peace. Yet, even were this per- manent in the secluded lot, would I accept it in exchange for the bitter sweet of a wider, freer life ? I could not if I would; yet, methinks, I would not if I could. But here comes George, I will argue the point with him." He rose from his seat and went forward to meet his brother, who at this moment entered the lane. The two forms were faithful expressions of their several lives. There was a family likeness between them, for they shared ic that beauty of the noble English blood, of which, in these days, THE TWO HERBERTS. 27 few types remain : the Norman tempered by the Saxon, the fire of conquest by integrity, and a self-contained, inflexible habit of mind. In the times of the Sydneys and Russells, the English body was a strong and nobly-proportioned vase, in which shone a steady and powerful, if not brilliant light. The chains of convention, an external life grown out of pro- portion with that of the heart and mind, have destroyed, for the most part, this dignified beauty. There is no longer, in fact, an aristocracy in England, because the saplings are too puny to rep. resent the old oak. But that it once existed, and did stand for what is best in that nation, any collection of portraits from the sixteenth century will show. The two men who now met had character enough to exhibit in their persons not only the stock from which they sprang, but what was special in themselves harmonized with it. There were ten years betwixt them, but the younger verged on middle age ; and permanent habits, as well as tendencies of character, were stamped upon their persons. Lord Edward Herbert was one of the handsomest men of his day, of a beauty alike stately, chivalric and intellectual. His person and features were cultivated by all the disciplines of a time when courtly graces were not insignificant, because a mon- arch mind informed the court, nor warlike customs, rude or me- chanical, for individual nature had free play in the field, except as restrained by the laws of courtesy and honor. The steel glove became his hand, and the spur his heel ; neither can we fancy him out of his place, for any place he would have made his own. But all this grace and dignity of the man of the world was in him subordinated to that of the man, for in his eye, and in the brooding sense of all his countenance, was felt the life of one who, while he deemed that his present honour lay in playing well the part assigned him by destiny, never forgot that it was 28 PAPERS 'ON LITERATURE AND ART. but a part, and fed steadily his forces on that within that passes show. It has been said, with a deep wisdom, that the figure we most need to see before us now is not that of a saint, martyr, sage, poet, artist, preacher, or any other whose vocation leads to a se- clusion and partial use of faculty, but " a spiritual man of the world," able to comprehend all things, exclusively dedicate to none. Of this idea we need a new expression, peculiarly adapted to our time ; but in the past it will be difficult to find one more adequate than the life and person of Lord Herbert. George Herbert, like his elder brother, was tall, erect, and with the noble air of one sprung from a race whose spirit has never been broken or bartered ; but his thin form contrasted with the full development which generous living, various exercise, and habits of enjoyment had given his brother. Nor had his features that range and depth of expression which tell of many-coloured experiences, and passions undergone or vanquished. The depth, for there was depth, was of feeling rather than experience. A penetrating sweetness beamed from him on the observer, who was rather raised and softened in himself than drawn to think of the being who infused this heavenly fire into his veins. Like the violet, the strong and subtle odour of his mind was arrayed at its source with such an air of meekness, that the receiver blessed father the liberal winds of heaven than any earth-born flower for the gift. Raphael has lifted the transfigured Saviour only a little way from the ground ; but in the forms and expression of the feet, you see that, though they may walk there again, they would tread far more naturally a more delicate element. This buoy- ant lightness, which, by seeking, seems to tread the air, is indi- cated by the text : " Beautiful upon the mountains are the feel of those who come with glad tidings." And such thoughts were suggested by the gait and gesture of George Herbert, especially THE TWO HERBERTS. 29 as he approached you. Through the faces of most men, ever of geniuses, the soul shines as through a mask, or, at best, a crystal ; we look behind a shield for the heart. But, with those of seraphic nature, or so filled with spirit that translation may be near, it seems to hover before or around, announcing or enfold- ing them like a luminous atmosphere. Such an one advances like a vision, and the eye must steady itself before a spiritual light, to recognize him as a reality. Some such emotion was felt by Lord Herbert as he looked on his brother, who, for a moment or two, approached without ob- serving him, but absorbed and radiant in his own happy thoughts. They had not met for long, and it seemed that George had grown from an uncertain boy, often blushing and shrinking eithei from himself or others, into an angelic clearness, such as the noble seeker had not elsewhere found. But when he was seen, the embrace was eager and affectioiiate as that of the brother and the child. " Let us not return at once," said Lord Herbert. " I had al- ready waited for you long, and have seen all the beauties of the parsonage and church." " Not many, I think, in the eyes of such a critic," said George, as they seated themselves in the spot his brother had before chosen for the extent and loveliness of prospect. " Enough to make me envious of you, if I had not early seen enough to be envious of none. Indeed, I know not if such a feeling can gain admittance to your little paradise, for I never heard such love and reverence expressed as by your people foi you." George looked upon his brother with a pleased and open sweet- ness. Lord Herbert continued, with a little hesitation — " To tell the truth, I wondered a little at the boundless affection they de dared. Our mother has long and often told me of your pure and beneficent life, and I know what you have done for this place 3* 30 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. and people, but, as I remember, you were of a choleric tem. per." " And am so still !" " Well, and do you not sometimesj by flashes of that, lose all you may have gained ?" " It does not often now," he replied, " find open way. My Master has been very good to me in suggestions of restraining / prayer, which come into my mind at the hour of temptation." Lord H. — Why do you not say, rather, that your own discern- ing mind and maturer will show you more and more the folly and wrong of such outbreaks. George H. — Because that would not be saying all that I think. At such times I feel a higher power interposed, as much as I see that yonder tree is distinct from myself Shall I repeat to you some poor verses in which I have told, by means of various like- nesses, in an imperfect fashion, how it is with me in this matter ? Lord H. — Do so ! I shall hear them gladly ; for I, like you, though with less time and learning to perfect it, love the delibe- rate composition of the closet, and believe we can better under- stand one another by thoughts expressed so, than in the more glowing but hasty words of the moment. George H. — Player — the church's banquet ; angel's age ; God's breath in man returning to his birth ; The soul in paraphrase ; heart in pilgrimage ; The Christian plummet, sounding heaven and earth. Engine against th' Almighty ; sinner's tower ; Reversed thunder ; Christ's side-piercing spear ; The six-days' world transposing in an hour; A kind of tune, which all things hear and fear. Softness, and peace, and joy, and love, and bliiMj Exalted manna ; gladness of the beat ; THE TWO HERBERTS. 31 Heaven in oidinaiy; man well dreet; The milky way ; the bird of paradise ; Church bells beyond the stars heard ; the soul's blood ; The land of spices ; something understood. Lord H. — (who has listened attentively, after a moment's thought.) — Tttere is something in the spirit of your lines which pleases me, and, in general, I know not that I should differ j yet you have expressed yourself nearest to mine own knowledge and feeling, where you have left more room to consider our prayers as aspirations, rather than the gifts of grace ; as — " Heart in pilgrimage ;" " A kind of tune, which all things hear ajid fear.", " Something understood." In your likenesses, you sometimes appear to quibble in a way unworthy the subject. George H. — It is th^ nature of some minds, brother, to play with what they love best. Yours is of a grander and severer cast I it can only grasp and survey steadily what interests it. My walk is different, and I have always admired you in yours without expecting to keep pace with you. Lord H. — I hear your swfeet words 'with the more pleasure, George, that I had supposed you were now too much of the churchman to value the fruits of my thought. George H. — God forbid that I should ever cease to reverence the mind that was, to my own, so truly that of an elder brother ! I do lament that you will not accept the banner of my ]\Iaster, and drink at what I have found the fountain of pure wisdom. ' But as I would not blot from the book of life the prophets and priests that came before Him, nor those antique sages who knew all That Reason hath from Nature borrowed, Or of itself, like a good housewife spun. In laws and policy : what the stars conspire : 32 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. What willing Nature speaks; what, freed by fire: Both th' old discoveries, and the new found seas : The stock and surplus, cause and history, — As I cannot resign and disparage these, because they have not what I conceive to be the pearl of all knowledge, how could I you ? Lord H. — You speak wisely, George, and, let me add, re- ligiously. Were all churchmen as tolerant, I had never assailed the basis of their belief. Did they not insist and urge upon us their way as the one only way, not for them alone, but for all, none would wish to put stumbling-blocks before their feet. George H. — Nay, my brother, do not misunderstand me. None, more than I, can think there is but one way to arrive finally at truth. Lord H. — I do not misunderstand you ; but, feeling that you are one who accept what you do from love of the best, and not from fear of the worst, I am as much inclined to tolerate your conclusions as you to tolerate mine. George H. — I do not consider yours as conclusions, but only as steps to such. The progress of the mind should be from natu. ral to revealed religion, as there must be a sky for the sun to give light through its expanse. Lord H. — The sky is — ^nothing ! George H. — Except room for a sun, and such there is in you. Of your own need of such, did you not give convincing proof, when you prayed for a revelation to direct whether you should publish a book against revelation ?* • The following narration, published by Lord Herbert, in his life, has often been made use of by his opponents. It should be respected as an evidence of his integrity, being, like the rest of his memoir, a specimen of absolute truth and frankness towards himself and all other beings : — Having many conscientious doubts whether or no to publish his book Dc Veritate, (which was against revealed religion, on the ground that it was im- probable that Heaven should deal partially with men, revealing its will to one THE TWO HERBERTS. 33 Lord, H. — You borrow that objection from the crowd, George ; but I wonder you have not looked into the matter more deeply. Is there any thing inconsistent with disbelief in a partial plan of salvation for the nations, which, by its necessarily limited work- ing, excludes the majority of men up to our day, with belief that each individual soul, wherever born, however nurtured, may re- ceive immediate response, in an earnest hour, from the source of :ruth. George H. — But you believed the customary order of nature to be deranged in your behalf. What miraculous record does more ? Lord H. — It was at the expense of none other. A spirit asked, a spirit answered, and its voice was thunder ; but, in this, there was nothing special, nothing partial wrought in my behalf, more than if I had arrived at the same conclusion by a process of reasoning. George H. — I cannot but think, that if your mind were al- race and nation, not to another,) " Being thus doubtful in m; chamber, one fair day in the summer, my casement being opened to the south, the sun shining clear and no wind stirring, I took my book, De Veritaie, in my hand, and kneel- ing on my knees, devoutly said these words : — O, thou eternal God, author of the light which now shines upon me, and giver of all inward illuminations, I do beseech thee, of thy infinite goodness, to pardon a greater request than a sinner ought to make. I am not satisfied enough whether I shall publish this book, De Veritaie. If it be for thy gloiy, I beseech thee give me some sign from heaven ; if not, I shall suppress it. — I had no sooner spoken these words, but a loud, though yet gentle noise came from the heavens, (for it was like no- thing on earth,) which did so comfort and cheer me, that I took my petition as granted, and that I had the sign I demanded, whereupon, also, I resolved to print my book. This, how strange soever it may seem, I protest before the Eternal God, is true; neither am I any way superstitiously deceived herein, since I did not only clearly hear the noise, but in the serenest sky that ever 1 saw, being vrithout all cloud, did, to my thinking, see the place from whence it came." Lord Orford observes, with his natural sneer, "How could a man who doubted of partial, believe individual revelation ?" 34 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. lowed, by the nature of your life, its free force to search, il would survey the subject in a different way, and draw inferences more legitimate from a comparison of its own experience with the gospel. Lord H. — My brother does not think the mind is free to act in courts and camps. To me it seems that the mind takes its own course everywhere, and that, if men cannot have outward, they can always mental seclusion. None is so profoundly lonely, none so in need of constant self-support, as he who,, living in the crowd, thinks an inch aside from, or in advance of it. The her- mitage of such an one is still and cold ; its silence unbroken to a degree of which these beautiful and fragrant solitudes give no hint- These sunny sights and sounds, promoting reverie rather than thought, are scarce more favourable to a great advance in the intellect, than the distractions of the busy street. Beside, we need the assaults of other minds to quicken our powers, so easily hushed to sleep, and call it peace. The mind takes a bias too easily, and does not examine whether from tradition or a native growth intended by the heavens. George H. — But you are no common man. You shine, you charm, you win, and the world presses too eagerly on you to leave many hours for meditation. Lord H. — It is a common error to believe that the most pros- perous men love the world best. It may be hardest for them to leave it, because they have been made eSeminate and slothful by want of that exercise which difficulty brings. But this is not the case with me ; for, while the common boons of life's game have been too easily attained, to hold high value in my eyes, the goal which my secret mind, from earliest infancy, prescribed, has been high enough to task«all my energies. Every year has helped to make that, and that alone, of value in my eyes ; and did I be- lieve that life, in scenes like this, would lead me to it more Bpeedily than in my accustomed broader way, I would seek it THE TWO HERBERTS. 35 to-morrow — nay, to-day. But is it worthy of a man to make him a cell, in which alone he can worship ? Give me rather the al- ways open temple of the universe ! To me, it seems that the only course for a tnan ia that pointed out by birth and fortune. Let him take that and pursue it with clear eyes and head erect, secure that it must point at last to those truths which are central to us, wherever we stand ; and if my road, leading through the busy crowd of men, amid the clang and bustle of conflicting in- terests and passions, detain me longer than would the still path through the groves, the chosen haunt of contemplation, yet I in- cline to think that progress so, though slower, is surer. Owing no safety, no clearness to my position, but so far as it is attained to mine own effort, encountering what temptations, doubts and lures may beset a man, what I do possess is more surely mine, and less a prey to contingencies. It is a well-tempered wine that has been carried over many seas, and escaped man}' ship, wrecks. George H. — ^I can the less gainsay you, my lord and brother, that your course would have been mine could I have chosen. Lord H. — Yes ; I remember thy verse : — Whereas my birth and spirits rather took The way that takes the town ; Thou didst betray me to a lingering book, And wrap me in a gown. It was not my fault, George, that it so chanced. George H. — I have long learnt to feel that it noway chanced ; that thus, and no other, was it well for me. But how I view these matters you are, or may be well aware, through a little book I have writ. Of you I would fain learn more than can be shown me by the display of your skill in controversy in your printed works, or the rumors of your feats at arms, or success With the circles of fair ladies, which reach even this quiet nook. Rather let us, in this hour of intimate converse, such as we have 36 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. not had for years, and may not have again, draw near in what Is nearest ; and do you, my dear Lord, vouchsafe your friend and brother some clear tokens as to that goal you say has from child, hood been mentally prescribed you, and the way you have taken to gain it. Lord H. — I will do this willingly, and the rather that I have with me a leaf, in which I have lately recorded what appeared to me in glimpse or flash in my young years, emd now shines upon my life with steady ray. I brought it, with some thought that I might impart it to you, which confidence I have not shown to any yet ; though if, as I purpose, some memoir of my life and times should fall from my pen, these poems may be interwoven there as cause and comment for all I felt, and knew, and was. The first contains my thought of the beginning and progress of life :— {From the haiin of Lord Herbert.') LIFE. First, the life stirred within the genial seed, Seeking its properties, whence plastic power Was horn. Chaos, with lively juice pervading, External form in its recess restraining, While the conspuing causes might accede, And full creation safely be essayed. Next, movement was in the maternal field ; Fermenting spirit puts on tender limbs, And, earnest, now prepares, of wondrous fabric, The powers of sense, a dwelUng not too mean for mind contiiriiur That, sUding fi-om its heaven, it may put on These faculties, and, prophesying future fate, Correct the slothful weight (of matter,) nor uselessly be manifested. A third stage, now, scene truly great contains The solemn feast of heaven, the theatre of earth, Kindred nnd species, varied forms of things THE TWO HERBERTS. 37 Are here discerned, — and, from its own impulse, It is permitted to the soul to circle. Hither and thither rove, that it may see Laws and eternal covenants of its world, And stars returning in assiduous course, The causes and the bonds of life to leam. And from afar foresee the highest will. How he to admirable harmony Tempeis the various motions of the world, And Father, Lord, Guardian, and Builder-up, And Deity on every side is styled. Next, ^om this knowledge the fourth stage proceeds : Cleansing away its stains, mind daily grows more pure. Enriched with various learning, strong in virtue, Extends its powers, and breathes sublimer aii: A secret spur is felt within the inmost heart. That he who will, may emerge from this perishable state. And a happier is sought By ambitious rites, consecrations, religious worship, And a new hope succeeds, conscious of a better fate. Clinging to things above, expanding through all the heavena, And the Divine descends to meet a holy love. And unequivocal token is given of celestial Ufe. That, as a good servant, I shall receive my reward ; Or, if worthy, enter as a son, into the goods of my father, God himself is my surety. When I shall put off this life, Confident in a better, ftee in my own will. He himself is my surety, that a fifth, yet higher state shall ensue, And a sixth, and all, in fine, that my heart shall know how to ask. CONJECTURES CONCERNING THE HEAVENLY LIFE. Purified in my whole genius, I congratulate myself Secure of fate, while neither am I downcast by any tenors, Nor store up secret griefs in my heart. But pass my days cheerfully in the midst of mishaps. Despite the evils which engird the earth. Seeking the way above the stars with ardent virtue. I have received, beforehand, the first fruits of heavenly life— 4 SH PAPERS 0^ LITERATURE AND ART. I now seek the later, sustained by dWina love, Through ■which, conquering at once the scoffs of a gloomy destiny, I leave the barbarous company of a frantic age, Breathing out for the last time the infernal air — breathing in the supernal, I enfold myself wholly in these sacred fiames, And, sustained by them, ascend the highest dome. And fer and wide survey the wonders of a new sphere, And see well-known spirits, now beautiiul in their proper light, And the chous of the higher powers, and blessed beings With whom I desire to mingle fires and sacred bonds — Passmg from joy to joy the heaven of all, What has been given to ourselves, or sanctioned by a common vow. God, in the meantime, accumulating his rewards. May at once increase our honour and illustrate his own love. Nor heavens shall be wanting to heavens, nor numberless ages to life Nor new joys to these ages, such as an Eternity shall not diminish, nor the infinite bring to an end. Nor, more than all, shall the fair favour of the Divine be wanting— Constantly increasing these joys, varied in admirable modes, And making each state yield only to one yet happier. And what we never even knew how to hope, is given to us Nor is aught kept back except what only the One can conceive, And what in their own nature are by far most perfect In VB, at least, appear embellished. Since the sleeping minds which heaven prepares from the beginning- Only our labor and industry can vivify, Polishing them with learning and with morals. That they may return all fair, bearing back a dowry to heaven, When, by use of our free will, we put to rout those ills Which heaven has neither dispelled, nor will hereafter dispel. Thus through us is magnified the gloiy of God, And our glory, too, shall resound throughout the heavens, And what ar<> the due rewards of virtue, finally Must render the Father himself more happy than his wont. Whence still more ample grace shall be showered upon us. Each and all yielding to our prayer. For, if liberty be dear, it is permitted To roam through the loveliest regions obvious to innumerable heaveoi, And gather, as we pasSj the delights of each. THE TWO HERBERTS. 39 \tjtetd eontemplaiion be chosen rather in the mind, All the mysteries of the high regions shall be laid open to us, And the joy will be to know the methods of God, — Then it may be permitted to act upon earth, to have a care Of the weal of men, and to bestow just laws. If we are more delighted with celestial hme, We are dissolved into flames which glide about and excite one another ■ Mutually, embraced in sacred ardours, Spring upwards, enfolded together in firmest bonds, In parts and wholes, mingling by turns. And the ardour of the Divine kindles (in them) still new ardours, It will make us happy to prabe God, while he commands us, The angelic choir, singing together with sweet modulation. Sounds through heaven, publishing our joys, And beauteous spectacles are put forth, hour by hour. And, as it were, the whole fabric of heaven becomes a theatre, Till the divine energy pervades the whole sweep of the world, And chisels out from it new forms. Adorned with new faculties, of larger powers. Our forms, too, may then be renewed — Assume new forms and senses, till our Toys again rise up consummate. If trustmg thus, I shall have put off this mortal weed, ♦Vhy may not then still greater things be disclosed 1 Ge(yrge H. — (who, during his brother's reading, has listened, \\yfh head bowed down, leaned on his arm, looks up after a few nicfinents'' silence) — Pardon, my lord, if I have not fit words to answei you. The flood of your thought has swept over me like music, and like that, for the time, at least, it fills and satisfies. I am conscious of many feelings which are not touched upon there, — of the depths of love and sorrow made known to men, through One whom you as yet know not. But of these I will not speak now, except to ask, borne on this strong pinion, have you never faltered till you felt the need of a friend ? strong in this clear vision, have you never sighed for a more homefelt assu- ranee to youi tilth ? steady in your demand of what the soul re- 40 PAPERS ON LITERATURE AND ART. quires, have you never known fear lest you want purity to re. ceive the boon if granted ? Lord H. — ^1 do not count those weak moments, George ; they are not my true life. George H. — ^It suffices that you know them, for, in time, I doubt not that every conviction which a human being needs, to be reconciled to the Parent of all, will be granted to a nature so ample, so open, and so aspiring. Let me answer in a strain which bespeaks my heart as truly, if not as nobly as yours an. swers to your great mind, — My joy, my life, my crown 1 My heart was meaning all the day Somewhat it fain would say ; And still it runneth, muttering, up and down, With only this — my joy, my life, my crown. Yet slight not these few words ; If truly said, they may take part Among the best in art The fineness which a hymn or psalm affords, Is, when the soul unto the lines accords. He who craves all the mind And all the soul, and strength and time; If the words only rhyme, Justly complains, that somewhat is behind To make his verse or vfrite a hymn in kind. Whereas, if the heart be moved. Although the verse be somewhat scant, Grod doth supply the want — As when the heart says, sighing to be approved, " Oh, could I love !" and stops; God writeth, loced. Lord H. — I cannot say to you truly that my mind replies to this, although I discern a beaut}' in it. You will say I lack hu< mility to understand yours. THE TWO HERBERTS. 41 George H. — ^I will say nothing, but leave you to time and th^ care of a greater than I. We have exchanged our verse, let us now change our subject too, and walk homeward ; for I trust you, this night, intend to make my roof happy in your presence, and the sun is sinking. Lord H. — ^Yes, you know I am there to be introduced to my new sister, whom I hope to love, and win from her a sisterly re- gard in turn. George H. — ^You, none can fail to regard ; and for her, even as you love me, you must her, for we are one. Lord ll. — (smiling) — Indeed j two years wed, and say that. George H. — Will your lordship doubt it ? From your muse I took my first lesson. With a look, it seem'd denied All eaithly powers but heis, yet so As if to her breath he did owe This borrow'd life, he thus replied — And shall our love, so far beyond That low and dying appetite, And which so chaste desires unite, Not hold in an eternal bond 1 O no, belov'd ! I am most sure Those virtuous habits we acquire, As being with the soul entire, Must with it evermore endure. Else should our souls in vain elect ; And vainer yet were heaven's laws When to an everlasting cause They gave a perishing effect. Lord H. — (sighing) — ^You recall a happy season, when my thoughts were as delicate of hue, and of as heavenly a perfume as the flowers of May. 4* 42 PAPERS ON LITERATTRE AND ART. George H. — Have those flowers borne no fruit ? Lord 11. — My experience of the world and men had made me believe that they did not indeed bloom in vain, but that the fruit would be ripened in some future sphere of our existence. What my own marriage was you know, — a family arrangement made for me in my childhood. Such obligations as such a marriage could imply, I have fulfilled, and it has not failed to bring me some benefits of good-will and esteem, and far more, in the hap- piness of being a parent. But my observation of the ties formed, by those whose choice was left free, has not taught me that a higher happiness than mine was the destined portion of men. They are too immature to form permanent relations ; all that they do seems experiment, and mostly fails for the present. Thus I had postponed all hopes except of fleeting joys or ideal pictures. Will you tell me that you are possessed already of so much more ? George H. — I am indeed united in a bond, whose reality I can- not doubt, with one whose thoughts, affections, and objects every way correspond with mine, and in whose life I see a purpose so pure that, if^we are ever separated, the fault must be mine. I believe God, in his exceeding grace, gave us to one another, for we met almost at a glance, without doubt before, jar or repent- ance after, the vow which bound our lives together. Lord H. — Then there is indeed one circumstance of your lot I could wish to share with you. (Afler some moments' silence on both sides) — They told me at the house, that, with all your en- gagements, you go twice a- week to Salisbury. How is that ? How can you leave your business and your happy home, so much and often ? George H. — I go to hear the music ; the great solemn church music. This is, at once, the luxury and the necessity of iny life. I know not how it is with others, but, with me, there is a frequent drooping of the wings, a smouldering of the inward fires, a Ian- THE TWO HERBERTS. 43 guor, almost a loathing of corporeal existence. Of this vi.