I LIBRARY Of^CONirRESS, ^UNITEDISTATHS OF AMEIM ENGLISH LITERATURE NINETEENTH CENTURY: ON THE PLAN OF THE AUTHOR'S "COMPENDIUM OF ENGLISH LITERATURE, AND SUPPLEMENTARY TO IT. DESIGNED FOR AS WELL AS FOR BY CHAKLES DEXTEr'^CLEVELAND, LL.D. THOROUGHLY REVISED AND GREATLY ENLARGED. 1867 ^: C. PUBLISHED BY>of •// ^s.'.^r*.\0^ J. A. BANCROFT & CO., 512 ARCH ST., PHILADELPHIA. J. W. SCHERMERIIORN & CO., NEW YORK. CYRUS G. COOKE, Boston. HENDRICKS & POTTER, St. Louis. SPEAKMAN & PROCTOR, Chicago. 1867. V 4^ ^^■^:.^ Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by CHARLES DEXTER CLEVELAND, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Eastern District of Pennsylva SERIES OF COMPENDIUMS OF GENERAL LITERATURE CONSISTS OF Compendium of SnglisJi Z,ite7'attire. 762 pp., large 12mo. Comprising English Authors from the 14th to the 18th century inclusive. Ungtish Lileraiure of the J\''ineieenih Century. 800 pp., large 12mo. Comprising living English authors, and those who have died in the 19th century. Compendium of American Ziierature. Comprising American authors from the earliest period of American literature to the present time. Compendium of Ctassicat Xiterature. Consisting of choice extracts translated from the Greek and Latin Prose Writers and Poets, STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON & CO. PHILADELPHIA. PREFACE. The present edition of this work is such a thorough remodel- ling of the former editions, the alterations of scheme are so funda- mental and of detail so numerous, that it devolves upon me to state my reasons for changing, in these respects, a book with which the public had seemed satisfied for fourteen years, and of which there have been printed above twenty thousand copies. Such reasons are owing, mainly, to the progress and revolution of events, the changes in public opinion, and the shaping of lite- rary history, since 1852, — the date of the publication of the first edition. First : At the period named, a system of human slavery existed in our land, not only absorbing a large part of its practical energies, and spreading like a miasma through our entire social and political life, but poisoning the very centres of the nation's moral life, and giving bent to all its sentimental expressions ; for it seemed as if the newspaper press, the educational press, and the religious press, as well as hundreds of pulpits, had challenged each other in a shameless eagerness to deny or ignore the essen- tial rights of man. The principles not only of republican free- dom, but of vital Christianity, being thus threatened, my duty, in the preparation of my work, seemed to me very plain, — to do what I could, appropriately, in my humble way, to counteract 3 4 PREFACE. the pernicious influences thus undermining the moral sense of the nation, by showing to all, and especially to our youth, that the highest minds of England, her greatest poets, essayists, orators, and divines, had ceaselessly labored to contribute their best in- tellectual wealth to the cause of liberty and righteousness. I therefore gave considerable margin to those general sentiments of justice and philanthropy as connected with the " inalienable rights" of man, which, if applied to the condition of our own nation, would tend to arrest its impending decay. I acknow- ledge that some of the purely literary claims of my work were thus subordinated in the first editions, by the course then pur- sued, as they may be said to be in the present, — though in a much less degree, — by the record I have now felt bound to make of the apostasy of a few leading English minds, who, during our recent struggle for " Union and Liberty," falsified their former noble record as champions for the right, by throwing the w^eight of their influence on the side of the slaveholding rebels. If the trial of storm shook these men from faith in those great prin- ciples which they proclaimed clearly enough in the sunshine, justice can know but the single duty of exposing the weakness and making it stand as a warning ; and, though widely and bit- terly denounced for my former course, and censured as I may be in some quarters for my present, I am more than willing to let both the records stand, verily believing that the views thus advocated are applicable not only to the phases of a transient time, but are founded on the basis of eternal truth. But, thanks be to God! the moral necessity that thus con- strained me to the course I took in 1852 exists no longer in these days of 1866. Human slavery, with its awful catalogue of crimes, has been swept away. The little band that, through every calumny of speech and every villany of persecution, bore PREFACE. 5 its testimony against the foulest wrong that can be perpetrated upon man, has swelled into a mighty host, and is now moulding the policy of the nation whose governmental and moral integrity it has equally saved. I have therefore felt at liberty to drop from this new edition of my book most of the protests against the barbaric past, and to give the room thus gained to excerpts of a more strictly literary character. The second marked change in my book results, of course, from the necessity of keeping abreast with the intellectual progress of the age, — the busiest-brained generation the world has ever known. During the last fourteen years, a large number of authors have emerged, from greater or less obscurity of reputa- tion, into assured prominence in their several departments of literature ; and one of my most delicate tasks has been to set forth in these pages a just record of such developments; and no effort has been spared to determine fairly, as far as I could, the comparative attitude, as well as the absolute literary status, of every prominent writer. That this has been, all along, a work of great and constant difficulty and embarrassment, I need hardly say ; that I shall secure a unanimous verdict in favor of my suc- cess upon this point, it would be idle to hope ; but of this I feel sure, that the most lenient criticism will be extended to me from those who have most widely viewed and critically examined this illimitable field. There is one new feature of the present edition which, I am confident, will be universally acceptable, — the "Supplementary Lists" of secondary authors, alphabetically arranged and ap- pended to each decade, with short notices of their chief works. They are classed as " secondary" only in a comparative sense ; for, though they are writers of greater or less acknowledged excel- 6 PREFACE. lence in their particular paths, they have not yet won such gene- rally established repute as to justify my representing them in selections. Of course not one-fourth part of the possible illustrious roll is given ; but those names have been assigned a place which in the judgment of the author possessed some element of interest that would make them generally sought for. Of these supplementary writers there are in the first decade twenty-one ; in the second, nineteen ; in the third, twenty-five ; in the fourth, thirty ; in the fifth, forty-one; in the sixth, thirty-nine; in the seventh, one hundred and eighty-nine ; in all, three hundred and sixty- four, with here and there a gem from one of them ; while there are thirty new authors, with more extended biographical sketches and selections.^ But the chief embarrassment that attended me, from the beginning to the end of my labors, was not so much whom and what to insert, as whom and what to leave uninserted. The very difficult — I might almost say the impracticable — problem given for solution was, to present, in a volume of this size, a fair and adequately full view of the literary genius and products of the nineteenth century ; and no one can fully appre- ciate the perplexity attending such a task unless he has gained some experimental knowledge of it. Conflicting claims of rank, of value, and of influence, both of authors and of selections, were continually forced upon me ; and there was no court of ultimate appellate jurisdiction but my own taste and judgment: their decisions, therefore, however deficient, must be accepted. Often 1 They are — Archibald Alison, Jr., Matthew Arnold, Anne Barnard, Horatius Bonar, Charlotte Bronte, Robert Browning, Charles Dickens, James Anthony Froude, Thomas Guthrie, Henry Hallam, Arthur Helps, Douglas Jerrold, John Keats, Charles Kings- ley, James Sheridan Knowles, Austin Henry Layard, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Hugh Miller, Winthrop Mackworth Praed, Adelaide Anne Procter, Frederick W. Robertson, Henry Rogers, John Ruskin, Percy Bysshe Shelley, Alexander Smith, Thomas Noon Tal- FOURD, Isaac Taylor, William Makepeace Thackeray, Richard Chenevix Trench, and Nicholas Wiseman. PREFACE. 7 have I earnestly desired some higher and better authority on which to throw the responsibility ; but none appeared to my re- lief, and I was forced to rely upon what I hope has been some- what fitted for the expression of ripened opinion by long and ex- tended study in this chosen and beloved field. But, while I have given to my work the distinct impress of my own studies and convictions, I have subjoined extracts from the most eminent critics, — especially where I could find an able presentation of a view opposite to my own. As regards the arbitrary temporal division between the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, — which, notwithstanding some exceptions taken to it, I have still preserved, — I can only say that I see not how in a work of this kind it would be possible to draw any other line. Without doubt, the literary temper of the eighteenth century was projected for some distance into our own; but who can say with what author or in what year it ceased ? Some boundary line must be made ; and, since this book *does not profess to trace the infinitely subtle grada- tions by which one influence rose and another disappeared, it is compelled to take its stand upon some arbitrary point. Even general history has been reduced to this necessity, and, dis- regarding the relatedness and inner sequence of events, has assumed a certain chronological point of departure. I have assumed the same ; and the question has simply been with me, in all cases, — Did such or such an author die this side of 1800 ? — an affirmative answer always bringing him within my clas-si- ■fication. In conclusion, I will only say that I can wish no greater favor shown to this edition than the former editions received ; and, having taken every pains to make it, not to please any particular clique or sect or party, but, in connection with a fair and full 8 PREFACE. representation of the authors comprised in its period, to promote the cause of sound learning and education, in harmony with pure Christian morals, the best interests of humanity, and the cause of universal truth, I now commit it to the judgment of that intelligent public, to which a work of such a nature must always appeal. Charles Dexter Cleveland. Philadelphia, June 21, IS 67, CONTENTS. Page JOSEPH WARTON 17 Ode to Liberty 18 Ode to Content 20 Pope as a Poet 20 HUGH BLAIR 21 Ou the Cultivation of Taste 23 Delicacy and Correctness of Taste 24 Preparation necessary for Old Age 25 JAMES BEATTIE 25 Love of Nature 27 Opening Stanzas of The Minstrel 29 The Poet's Childhood 30 Morning 32 The Humble Wish 32 The Charms of Nature 33 The Hermit 33 WILLIAM PALEY 34 The World was made with a BeneA'olent Design 36 Prayer 38 MUNGO PARK 39 Kindness of a Woman to him 40 The Moss in the Desert 42 HENRY KIRKE WHITE 43 Sonnet in his Sickness 45 Sonnet to Consumption.. 45 My Mother 45 Ode to Disappointment 46 To an Early Primrose 47 The Star of Bethlehem 48 CHARLOTTE SMITH 48 To the Moon 49 The Departure of the Nightingale 50 The Happiness of Childhood 50 The Cricket 50 Supplementary authors of the First Decade 51 MARY TIGHE 55 Love must be cherished 55 On receiving a Branch of Mezereon 57 Paob RICHARD CUMBERLAND 58 Progress of Poetry 59 .^schylus and Shakspeare 61 JAMES GRAHAME 63 Sabbath Morning 6i A Summer Sabbath Walk 65 The Poor Man's Funeral 66 HERBERT KNOWLES 67 Lines written in the Churchyard of Richmond 67 JOHN WOLCOTT 68 To James Boswell 69 May-Day 70 The Razor-Seller 70 The Pilgrims and the Peas 71 Supplementary Authors of the Second Decade 72 THOMAS BROWN 76 The Power of Habit 77 The Changefulness of Woman 79 JOHN KEATS 79 Address to Autumn 80 Ode to a Nightingale 81 Permanence of Beauty 82 Saturn and Thea 83 VICESIMUS KNOX 85 The Periodical Essayists 85 On Simplicity of Style 88 PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 89 The Return of Spring 91 Characteristics of Autumn 92 A Calm Winter Night 92 The Cloud 92 The Eagle and Serpent 94 The Skylark 95 The Sensitive Plant 97 CHARLES WOLFE 98 Burial of Sir John Moore 99 Song,— To Mary 100 10 CONTENTS. Page CHARLES WOLFE: Blindness of Milton 101 ROBERT BLOOMFIELD 102 Milking 103 The Skylark 104 The Blind Child 104 The Distracted Female 105 THOMAS ERSKINE 106 Principles of the Law of Libel 108 Christians the Ornaments of our Race... 109 JANE TAYLOR Ill The Philosopher's Scales 112 Life 114 The Present Moment only Ours 114 GEORGE GORDON BYRON 115 The Dying Gladiator 117 Apostrophe to the Ocean 118 Farewell 118 Night at Corinth 119 A Calm Night at Lake Geneva 119 An Alpine Storm at Lake Geneva 120 Liberty 120 Modern Gi-eece 121 Solitude 122 Destruction of Sennacherib 123 The East 123 The Eve of the Battle 124 The Coliseum by Moonlight.. 125 Thermopylas 126 A Shipwreck 126 She walks in Beauty 127 Man's Immortality 128 To the Memory of Henry Kirke White... 128 ANNA L^TITIA BARBAULD 129 On Education 130 Against Inconsistency in Expectations.. 133 Ye are the Salt of the Earth 136 Her Sacred Lyrics 137 ANNE BARNARD 137 Auld Robin Gray 137 REGINALD HEBER 138 Nations responsible to God 140 Palestine 141 The Israelites delivered 141 To his Wife 142 On the Death of his Brother 143 Epiphany 143 ROBERT POLLOK 144 Happiness 145 The Miser 145 Paob ROBERT POLLOK: Friends 146 An Autumn Evening 146 JONATHAN DYMOND 148 Love the Test of Christian Principle.... 149 Human subordinate to Divine Law 149 Slavery 150 HUMPHRY DAVY 152 Pleasures of Fishing 152 Blessings of Religious Faith 153 The Tempest 154 Supplementary Authors of the Third Decade 155 WILLIAM HAZLITT 1.58 Literature of the Age of Elizabeth 159 Macbeth and Richard Third 162 ROBERT HALL 164 Homer and Milton 166 A Patriot's Duty to his Country 167 The Bible 169 HENRY MACKENZIE 170 The Homespun Family 171 WALTER SCOTT 175 Death of Lord Marmion 179 Love of Country, — Scotland 182 Rebecca's Hymn 183 Paternal Affection 184 An Hour with Thee 184 Necessity and Dignity of Labor 185 Education of the Heart 185 Raleigh's Interview with Elizabeth 186 The Young Fisherman's Funeral 190 GEORGE CRABBE 192 The Parish Workhouse 194 Tlie Almshouse Physician 195 Hardships of the Poor , 195 A Betrothed Pair in Humble Life 196 JAMES MACKINTOSH 198 Johnson's Lives of the Poets 199 Rebellion 201 The Progressiveness of the Race 201 Blessings of a Free Press 202 HANNAH MORE 203 Quakers, — their Faith and Works 205 Wisdom 206 The Two Weavers 206 Proper Education for Females 207 Qualities preferable to Genius 209 CONTENTS. Page 11 HANNAH MORE: God rules Nations . 210 WILLIAM WILBERFORCE 212 Abolition of the Slave-Trade 213 The Hope for one's Country 215 Supports of Religion 215 SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE 216 Hymn in the Vale of Chamoiini 219 Qualities essential to the Teacher 221 To an Infant 221 Youth and Age 222 Reflections on leaving Retirement 223 Importance of the Correct Use of Terms 223 Qualities necessary for a Good Style 224 Advantages of Method 225 Truth will prevail 226 Duty 228 Hypocritical Example 228 Books of Moses 229 Milton 229 Effects of Novel-Reading 230 EDWARD IRYING 230 Character of David 231 CHARLES LAMB^. 235 The Housekeeper\. 237 On the Family Nam\, 238 The Sabbath Bells.... !^\.. 238 To his Mother .\. 238 Shakspeare cannot be acted 239 Quakers,— Oaths 240 Cowper 242 Libraries 242 The Two Races of Men 242 Filial Affection 245 JAMES HOGG 246 Kilmeny's Return from Fairy-Land 247 Queen Mary's Return to Scotland 248 The Skylark 249 Yirtue 249 Music 250 Blessed be Thy Name forever 250 FELICIA HEMANS 250 The Hebrew Mother 252 The Stranger's Heart 254 The Hour of Death 254 The Hour of Prayer 255 Bring Flowers 255 Evening Prayer at a Girls' School 256 Sunday Sonnet 257 NATHAN DRAKE 257 Character of Addison's Writings 258 NATHAN DRAKE: Character of Dr. Johnson 260 SIR EGERTON BRYDGES 264 Sir Walter Raleigh 265 John Milton 268 Echo and Silence 270 ARCHIBALD ALISON 271 Pleasure of acquiring Knowledge 271 Use and Abuse of Amusements 273 L^TITIA ELIZABETH MACLEAN 274 Success alone Seen 276 The Widow's Mite 276 Time arresting the Career of Pleasure... 277 The Wrongs of Love 277 Love's Last Words 278 The Poet 278 THOMAS HAYNES BAYLY 278 Verses to his Wife 279 I never was a Favorite 280 My Married Daughter 281 Why don't the Men pronose ? . WINTHROP MACKWORTH PRAED 283 My Mother's Grave 283 A Windlass , 284 A Footpad 284 A Great Poet 285 y.i To Helen 2^ Fuimus 286 The Sabbath 286 JAMES SMITH 287 The Baby's Debut 288 The Theatre 290 The Upas-Tree 291 Blue Ink 291 Masculine and Feminine 292 The Shower-Bath 292 Westminster Bridge 292 Supplementary Authoks of the Fourth Decade 292 LANT CARPENTER 297 Regulation of the Sensible Pleasures 297 THOMAS ARNOLD 301 From his Journal 303 Dominion of Napoleon 303 The Siege of Genoa 305 Encouragements of the Schoolmaster.... 306 True Gospel Preaching 307 Intercourse with the Poor 307 Popish and Oxford View of Christianity 308 12 CONTENTS. Page THOMAS ARNOLD: Liveliness essential to a Teacher 309 Old English Divines 309 ALLAN CUNNINGHAM 310 Influence of Scotland and her Songs 310 The Town and Country Child 312 The Poet^s Bridal Song 313 A Wet Sheet and a Flowing Sea 314 ROBERT SOUTHEY 315 Battle of Blenheim 316 Immortalitj' of Love 318 To a Spider 318 Complaints of the Poor 319 The Scholar 320 For a Monument at Oxford 321 The Old Man's Comforts 321 The March to Moscow 322 True Mission of England 325 Death of Lord Nelson 325 Etymological Discoveries 328 Chief Object of Life 329 JOHN FOSTER 329 Changes from Youth to Age 330 Decision of Character 331 Character of Franklin 332 Where will you leave your Glory? 333 THOMAS CAMPBELL 334 Mother and her Child 336 Advancement of Society 337 Man made to be Free 337 Hope beyond the Grave 338 Wyoming — Gertrude 339 The Soldier's Dream 341 The River of Life 341 Ilohenlinden 342 Ye Mariners of England 343 THOMAS HOOD 344 Ode to my Infant Son 344 Song of the Shirt 346 The Death-Bed 347 The Lady's Dream 348 The Bridge of Sighs 350 Sally Simpkins's Lament •. 351 The Art of Book-Keeping 352 SYDNEY SMITH .4 354 Foundation of the Edinburgh Review... 354 Modern Sermons 357 Female Education 357 Cost of Militai-y Glory 360 The Curse of War 361 A Soporific Sermon 362 Stage-Coach Travelling 363 Pass SYDNEY SMITH: Dress and Beauty 363 Blue Stockings 364 Dogs 364 Conspiracy of the Pope 364 The French Invasion 365 Fireplaces 366 Anti-Melancholy 366 The Passions 366 American Freedom.....' 367 Progress of Reform 367 Witty Sayings 368 THOMAS CHALMERS 369 Insignificance of the World 370 Telescope and Microscope 372 Barbarities of War 373 Sympathy of Christ 374 Affliction 375 HARTLEY COLERIDGE 375 Night 376 A Vision 376 Prayer 377 Pins 377 Hamlet— Ophelia .". 378 BERNARD BARTON 379 Spiritual Worship 380 A Christian the Highest Style of Man... 381 To a Friend on her Marriage 382 Sonnet to his Wife 383 To a Grandmother 383 Friends of the Anti-Slavery Cause 384 MARIA EDGEWORTH 384 Love 385 Irish Bulls 387 Prudence 389 Education of Females 390 Economy 390 Music as an Accomplishment 391 HORACE SMITH 391 A Tale of Drury Lane 391 Doctor Johnson's Ghost 394 Fine Brown Stout , 394 Address to a Mummy 395 EBENEZER ELLIOTT 397 Poor Andrew 398 The Home of Taste 399 Pictures of Native Genius 400 Saturday 401 Rubor Rust 402 Supplementary Authors of the Fifth Decade 402 CONTENTS. la Pack FRANCIS JEFFREY 407 Perishable Nature of a Poefs Fame 410 Landscape Beauty 412 Shakspeare 414 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 418 Tintern Abbey 422 To a Skylark : 424 Portrait 425 Ode to Duty 425 We are Seven 426 Our Immortality 428 The World is too much with us 430 Scorn not the Sonnet 430 Milton 430 To Thomas Clarkson 431 WILLIAM LISLE BOWLES 431 Sonnet at Ostend 433 Sonnet on the Rhine 433 Sonnet to Time 433 Sonnet to Summer 434 Sonnet to Hope.... 434 To his Early Beloved 434 Lines on a Poor Blind Man 4.35 The Bells of Ostend 435 JOANNA BAILLIE 436 Description of Jane de Montfort ;.. 437 The Kitten 437 Morning Song 439 The Old Soldier 439 Fame 440 DAVID MACBETH MOIR 441 Casa Wappy 442 Weep not for Her 445 Spring Hymn 446 Hebrew Poetry 447 Finest Poetry,— What 447 Mystical Poetry 448 THOMAS MOORE 448 Moore and Genius Self-Painted 451 Paradise and the Peri 451 Is it not Sweet to Think Hereafter 454 'Tis the Last Rose of Summer 455 I saw thy Form 455 Those Evening Bells 455 Come, ye Disconsolate 456 The Light of Other Days 456 Like Morning when her Early Breeze ... 457 The Bird let Loose 457 This World is all a Fleeting Show 457 Thou art, God, the Life 458 FREDERICK W. ROBERTSON 458 Things Worse than War 469 Paqk FREDERICK W. ROBERTSON: Work our Duty 460 Kindliness 461 Charles Dickens 462 AMELIA OPIE 463 Forget me not 463 There's not a Leaf within the Bower 464 Lies of Benevolence 46i A Tale of Potted Sprats 465 THOMAS NOON TALFOURD 467 But One Homer 468 Variety of Characters in the Iliad 469 The Effect of Christianity on Poetry 470 Sympathy 470 JOHN WILSON 471 The Head-Stone 472 A Morning Picture 476 The Children's Dance 476 Meditations on Spring 477 A Night at Sea 477 To the Memory of Grahame 478 The Evening Cloud 479 CAROLINE ANNE SOUTHEY 479 Mariner's Hymn 480 Sanctified Afflictions 480 The Young Grey-Head 481 JAMES MONTGOMERY 483 Love of Country and of Home 485 Night 486 Aspirations of Youth 487 The Common Lot 488 Friend after Friend Departs 489 Humility , 489 Superiority of Poetry over Painting 490 Characteristics of Prose and Verse 491 Permanence of Words 493 THE BROTHERS HARE 495 What Youth should Learn 495 Physical and Moral Power 495 A Christian Gentleman 497 Despise not Small Things 497 Coming of Age 498 Mirth 498 How we may inherit the Earth 600 Cloud— Sunshine 600 CHARLOTTE BRONTE .* 501 Death of Emily and Anne Bronte 501 Helen Burns 602 SAMUEL ROGERS 606 Early Recollections 508 14 CONTENTS. Page I SAMUEL ROGERS: Historic Associations 509 Conclusion 511 Human Life 511 Ginevra 512 A Wish 513 HUGH MILLER 514 Turning Point of his Life 514 Pentecostal Gift 516 Traces of the Ocean 516 True Happiness of Working-Men 517 Last Day of Creation 518 THOMAS DICK 519 Tendency of Knowledge 520 Evil Tendency of Covetousness 522 The Throne of God 523 DOUGLAS JERROLD 524 Repartees and Puns 525 Mrs. Caudle's Lectures— Introduction... 526 Lecture First 527 Lecture Sixth 529 Lecture Eighth 530 Winter in London 531 fiENRY HALLAM 532 The Feudal System 533 Magna Charta 533 Houses, &c. of the Nohles in the Middle Ages 535 LEIGH HUNT 537 George the Fourth 537 Epigram on the Georges 537 The Author in Prison 538 Funeral of the Loves of Rimini 540 Dirge 540 Flowers 541 Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel 541 Sultan Mahmoud 541 The Poet's Mission 543 THOMAS DE QUINCEY 544 Meditative Poetry (note) 545 Dream of the Opium-Eater 546 Three Ladies of Sorrow 547 Lord Rosse's Telescope 549 Scripture Teachings 550; TH0MA9«»BABINGT0N MACAULAY 552 Milton 554 The Puritans 556 Bunyan's Pilgrim's Progress 558 Execution of Monmouth 560 The Blessings of Liberty 561 The Empire that is Lasting 563 Pass THOMAS BABINGTON MACAULAY: Influence of the Romish Church... 564 Supplementary Authors of the Sixth Decade 565 ANNA JAMESON 569 Her Aims in Writing 569 Portia 570 GEORGE CROLY 576 Progress of European Civilization 577 Poetry 578 Political Economy 578 Metaphysics 579 Purposes of Prayer 579 Christianity 579 The Jews 580 Man (Poetry) 580 Hymn to the Universe 581 Energy 581 ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.... 582 Duties and Joys of Woman 583 Portraits of the Poets 584 Superiority of the Spiritual over the Material 585 The Sleep 586 Comfort ! 587 Consolation 588 Substitution 588 Cowper's Grave 588 JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES 590 William Tell and his Son 690 Emblems of Liberty in Nature 592 RICHARD WHATELY 594 Miracles 595 A Primitive Bishop 596 What is a Christian ? 598 Science and Scripture 598 Friendships in Heaven 599 Consistency and Inconsistency 601 Objections to Christianity 601 Duty of Private Judgment 602 IVILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY 602 Lady Clara Newcome 604 Women,— the Bad,— the Good 605 Last Days of George Third 607 Loyalty to Truth 608 ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER 609 One by One 610 Life and Death 610 Cradle Song of the Poor 6U I Words..... 612 CONTENTS. 15 Page WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR 612 Roger Ascham and Lady Jane Grey 613 Queen Elizabeth and Cecil 616 Profession versus Practice 617 Ending of Paradise Lost 617 Friendship 618 Gambling 618 Wisdom 618 Sculpture, Painting, and Poetry 618 Goodness 618 Founders of Families 619 NICHOLAS WISEMAN 619 Different Languages as fit for Different Designs 619 ISAAC TAYLOR 621 Dangers of the Religion of the Imaginar tion 622 John Wesley 623 Founders of Methodism 624 JOHN KEBLE 625 Morning 626 Evening 627 The Dove on the Cross 627 The Flowers of the Field 628 Brotherly Love 629 HENRY, LORD BROUGHAM 630 Duke of Wellington and the School- master 632 " Man over Men He made not Lord" 632 Happy Effects of Education 633 Aptitude of Youth for Knowledge 634 The Schoolmaster and the Conqueror.... 635 BRYAN WALLER PROCTER 636 A Paupers Funeral 636 A Petition to Time 637 A Prayer in Sickness 637 The Sea 637 The Stormy Petrel 638 The Sexes 639 HENRY HART MILMAN 639 Jerusalem before the Siege 640 The Firmness of Faith 640 A Hebrew Wedding 642 The Burial Anthem 643 ARCHIBALD ALISON 644 Napoleon and Wellington 645 The Railway Mania 647 The Present Times 649 THOMAS CARLYLE 650 Ilias Americana (note) 651 Faob THOMAS CARLYLE: Marie- Antoinette 652 Work 654 Personal Appearance of Cromwell 655 Honest Study 656 WILLIAM HOWITT 657 Politics and Christianity 658 The True Dignity of Labor 660 ALARIC ALEXANDER WATTS 662 Death of the First-Born 662 To a Child Blowing Bubbles 663 My Own Fireside 6^4 THOMAS GUTHRIE 665 Juvenile Ignorance and Misery 665 MARY HOWITT 667 The Sale of the Pet Lamb 668 Mountain Children 669 The Unregarded Toils of the Poor 670 Father is Coming 670 JOHN MOULTRIE 671 My Brother's Grave 671 Here's to Thee, my Scottish Lassie 673 EDWARD BULWER LYTTON 674 Death of Gawtrey, the Coiner 676 Pompeii 677 Conversion to Christianity 678 The Olympic Festival 679 HENRY ROGERS 680 The Character of Christ 680 SAMUEL WARREN 682 Life 683 Fruits of Christianity 683 Death at the Toilet 683 RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH 687 Earth a Pilgrimage 687 "The Path of the Just" 687 Repining — Thanksgiving 688 Prayer 688 Self-Loathing 688 Lost Opportunities 689 The Best Interpreter of Scripture 689 The Power of a Word 689 The Beauty and Force of Proverbs 691 HORATIUS BONAR 692 The Two Prophets 693 CAROLINE E. S. NORTON 694 To the Duchess of Sutherland 695 16 CONTENTS. CAROLINE E. S. NORTON: Sonnet,— To my Books Sonnet,— The Weaver Common Blessings Hope, Despair RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES 698 Youth and Manhood 698 Labor 699 Rich and Poor 700 The Brook-Side 700 The Worth of Hours 701 ALFRED TENNYSON 701 New-Year's Eve 703 Break, Break, Break 704 The Lord of Burleigh 704 The Slain Warrior 705 The Bugle Song 706 In Memoriam 706 Godiva 708 MARTIN FARQUHAR TUPPER 709 Of Compensation 710 Forgive and Forget 711 ARTHUR HELPS 712 Contentment 713 Our Pleasures 713 Art of Living with Others 713 Advantages of Foreign Travel 714 ROBERT BROWNING 715 Paracelsus on his Death-Bed 716 CHARLES DICKENS 718 Death of Paul Doiiibey 720 Pickwick and the Cab-Driver 722 Tim Linkinwater's Window 724 The Death of Little Nell 726 Yirtues of the Poor 729 CHARLES MACKAY 730 The Good Time Coming 731 The Watcher on the Tower 731 Pagb CHARLES MACKAY: The Three Preachers 732 JOHN RUSKIN 733 Tyre, Venice, and England 734 Truth 735 God's Rewards, Great Rewards 735 The Fields 735 The Sky 737 The Term "Gentleman" 738 AUSTIN HENRY LAYARD 739 The Great Lions at Nimroud 739 ELIZA COOK 742 The Old Arm-Chair 742 The World 743 Home in the Heart 744 Nature's Gentleman 744 The Loved One was not There 745 JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE 745 Character of Henry VIII 746 Execution of Sir Thomas More 748 ALEXANDER SMITH 749 The Library— The Garden 750 CHARLES KINGSLEY 752 Words versus Works 752 Science not the Greatest 753 The Poets of the Eighteenth and Nine- teenth Centuries 753 The World's Age 754 A Farewell 755 MATTHEW ARNOLD 755 Homer's Translators 755 Homer and Milton 756 Desire 758 Supplementary Authors of the Seventh Decade 759 Index 785 ENGLISH LITERATURE NINETEENTH CENTURY, JOSEPH WART ON, 1722-1800. In entering upon the subject of English literature of the present century, it is gratifying to begin with the name of one who, to the character of a pleasing poet, a profound scholar, a tasteful and judicious critic, and a successful and venerated schoolmaster, unites that of a pure Christian, in so eminent a degree as Joseph Warton. He was the son of the Rev. Thomas Warton, Professor of Poetry in Oxford University, and was born at Dunsfold, county of Surrey, April, 1722. When fourteen, he entered Winchester school, and, while there, so dis- tinguished himself for his poetical talents that he became a contributor to the poetry of the Gentleman's Magazine.^ In 1740 he removed to Oxford University, and in 1744 he took his degree of A.B., was immediately ordained, and officiated as his father's curate in the church of Basingstoke, in Hampshire, till February, 1746. In this year he published a small volume of Odes on Various Subjects, which are characterized by a fine taste and fancy, and much ease of versifi- cation.2 The year after the publication of this volume of odes, he obtained the rectory of Wynslade, and thereupon married a Miss Daman, to whom he had been long engaged. He now devoted all his leisure hours to the translation of Virgil's Eclogues and Georgics, which were to be accompanied by Pitfs version of the ^neid, and the original Latin of the whole. In 1753 this ele- gant and valuable accession to classical literature was completed and pub- lished, accompanied by notes, dissertations, commentaries, and essays. The work was well received, and Warton's version of the Georgics and Eclogues was pronounced far superior to any that had preceded it. It was at this time that Dr. Johnson, in a letter dated March 8, 1753, applied to him, from Hawkesworth, to assist in the Adventurer. " Being desired," says he, '' to look out for another hand, my thoughts necessarily fixed upon you. 1 His first contribution was in October, 1739, and may be found in vol. ix. p. 545. In the Bame month appeared, in this magazine, Aken- side's Hymn to Science; in the next page, a juvenile sonnet by Collins, signed Delicatulus ; and in the next month, p. 599, is Mrs. Carter's beautiful Ode to Melancholy. So much has this periodical done to usher the first productions of genius into the world ! 2 Read a well-written biographical sketch of Warton, in Drake's Essays, vol. v. p. 112; and another in Sir Egerton Brydges's Censura Lite^ raria, vol. iv. p. §40, of the 2d edition. 2* 17 18 WARTON. whose fund of literature will enable you to assist them, with very little interrup- tion of your studies, &c. : the province of criticism and literature they are very desirous to assign to the commentator on Virgil."^ His first paper is No. 49, dated April 24, 1753, containing a Parallel between Ancient and Modern Learn- ing. His communications are among the very best of the whole work, and are written " with an extent of erudition, and a purity, elegance, and vigor of lan- guage, which demand very high praise."^ In the year 1755, Warton was chosen second master of Winchester school, for which high office he was peculiarly qualified by his talents and character, as he united to his great learning a peculiar aptness to impart instruction, and the rare art of exciting in his scholars an enthusiasm for literature and a love and respect for himself. The next year he published the first volume of his Essay on the Genius and Writings of Pope, which must ever be ranked as one of the most elegant and interesting productions in the department of criticism. " It abounds," says Dr. Drake, " with literary anecdote and collateral disquisition, is written in a style of great ease and purity, and exhibits a taste refined, chaste, and classical. In short, it is a work which, however often perused, affords fresh delight, and may be considered as one of the books best adapted to excite a love of literature." In 1766 he succeeded to the head-mastership of Winchester school, which he held till 1793, when, being seventy-one years old, he resigned this position, and retired to the Rectory of Wickham, in Hants. He did not, however, sink into literary idleness. In 1797 he edited the works of Pope, in nine volumes, octavo. The notes to this edition, which necessarily include the greatest part of his cele- brated Essay, are highly entertaining and instructive.^ But he was censured for introducing some pieces of Pope's which Warburton had very properly omitted. Still, he was not deterred by the blame he thus suffered from entering upon an edition of Dryden, which, alas! he did not live to finish, though he left two volumes ready for the press. He died February 23, 1800, leaving behind him a widow, one son (the Rev. John Warton), and three daughters. Such is a brief outline of the life of this most excellent man, — one of the ripest scholars and soundest critics England has produced. ODE TO LIBERTY. O Goddess, on whose steps attend Pleasure, and laughter-loving Health, White-mantled Peace with olive-wand, Young Joy, and diamond-scepter' d Wealth, Blithe Plenty, with her loaded liorn, With Science bright-ey'd as the morn; In Britain, which for ages past Has been thy choicest darling care, Who madest her wise, and strong, and fair, May thy best blessings ever last ! 1 See the whole letter in Croker's Boswell, vol. i. 302. 2 Sir Egerton Brydges. Of the 140 numbers of the Adventurer, Hawkesworth*, wrote 73, Johnson 29, Warton 24, Bathnrst 7, Mrs. Cha- pone 3, Coleman 1, and 3 are anonymous. 3 Roscoe has incorporated most of Warton'8 notes in his — now the best — edition of Pope, 8 vols. 8vo. * For an account of Hawkesworth, se9 CtTfiPPn^iurn of English Literature, p. 609. WARTOK 19 For thee, the pining prisoner mourns, Depriv'd of food, of mirth, of light ; For thee pale slaves to galleys chain'd, That ply tough oars from morn to night ; Thee the proud Sultan's beauteous train, By eunuchs guarded, weep in vain, Tearing the roses from their locks ; And Guinea's captive kings lament, By Christian lords to labor sent, Whipt like the dull, unfeeling ox. Inspir'd by thee, deaf to fond Nature's cries, Stem Brutus, when Kome's genius loudly spoke, Gave her the matchless filial sacrifice. Nor turn'd, nor trembled at the deathful stroke! And he of later age, but equal fame. Dared stab the tyrant, though he loved the friend. How burnt the Spartan^ with warm patriot flame, In thy great cause his valorous life to end ! How burst Gustavus from the Swedish mine ! Like light from chaos dark, eternally to shine. When Heaven to all thy joys bestows, And graves upon our hearts — be free — Shall coward man those joys resign. And dare reverse this great decree? Submit him to some idol-king, _ Some selfish, passion-guided thing. Abhorring man, by man abhorr'd. Around whose throne stands trembling Doubt, Whose jealous eyes still roll about, And Murder with his reeking sword? Where trampling Tyranny with Fate And black Eevenge gigantic goes. Hark, how the dying infants shriek ! How hopeless age is sunk in woes ! Fly, mortals, from that fated land. Though birds in shades of cassia sing. Harvests and fruits spontaneous rise. No storms disturb the smiling skies, ^ And each soft breeze rich odors bring. Britannia, watch ! — remember peerless Kome, Her high-tower'd head dash'd meanly to the ground; Eemember, Freedom's guardian, Grecia's doom, Whom, weeping, the despotic Turk has bound : May ne'er thy oak-crown' d hills, rich meads, and downs (Fame, Virtue, Courage, Poverty, forgot,) Thy peaceful villages, and busy towns, Be doom'd some death-dispensing tyrant's lot; On deep foundations may thy freedom stand. Long as the surge shall lash thy sea-encircled land. 1 Leonidas. 20 WARTON. ODE TO CONTENT. Welcome Content ! from roofe of fretted gold, From Persian sofas, and the gems of Ind, From courts, and camps, and crowds, Fled to my cottage mean. Meek Virgin, wilt thou deign with me to sit In pensive pleasure by my glimmering fire, And with calm smile despise The loud world's distant din ? As from the piny mountain's topmost cliff Some wandering hermit sage hears unconcem'd, Far in the vale below, The thundering torrent burst I Teach me, good Heaven, the gilded chains of vice To break ; to study independent ease ; Pride, pomp, and power to shun, — Those fatal Sirens fair, That, rob'd like Eastern queens, sit on high thrones, And, beckoning every thirsty traveller, ^ Their baleful cups present With pleasing poisons fraught. O let me dwell in life's low valley, blest With the dear Nymph I love, true, heartfelt joy, With chosen friends to turn The polish' d Attic page; Nor seldom, if nor Fortune damp my wings, Nor dire Disease, to soar to Pindus' hill, My hours, my soul devote To Poesy and Love ! POPE AS A POET. Thus have I endeavored to give a critical account, with free- dom, but, it is hoped, with impartiality, of each of Pope's works ; by which review it will appear that the largest portion of them is of the didactic, moral, and satiric kind ; and, consequently, not of the. most poetic species of poetry; whence it is manifest that good sense and judgment were his characteristical excellencies, rather than fancy and invention ; riot that the author of the Rape of the Loch, and Eloisa, can be thought to want imagina- tion, but because his imagination was not his predominant talent ; because he indulged it not ; and because he gave not so many proofs of this talent as of the other. He gradually became one of the most correct, even, and exact poets that ever wrote ; polish- ing his pieces with a care and assiduity that no business or avoca- tion ever interrupted : so that, if he does not frequently ravish and transport his reader, yet he does not disgust him with un- expected inequalities and absurd improprieties. Whatever poeti- cal enthusiasm he actually possessed, he withheld and stifled. BLAIR. 21 The perusal of him affects not our minds with such strong emo- tions as we feel from Homer and Milton, so that no man of a true poetical spirit is master of himself while he reads them. Hence, he is a writer fit for universal perusal ; adapted to all ages and stations ; for the old and for the young ; the man of business and the scholar. He who would think the Faerie Queenej Palamon and Arcite, the Tempest, or Comus, childish and romantic, might relish Pope. Surely it is no narrow and niggardly enco- mium to say he is the great Poet of Reason, the First of Ethical authors in verse. And this species of writing is, after all, the surest road to an extensive reputation. It lies more level to the general capacities of men than the higher flights of more genuine poetry. We all remember when even a Churchill was more in vogue than a Gray. He that treats of fashionable follies and the topics of the day, that describes present persons and recent events, finds many readers whose understandings and whose pas- sions he gratifies. Where, then, according to the question proposed at the begin- ning of this Essay, shall we with justice be authorized to place our admired Pope? Not, assuredly, in the same rank with Spenser, Shakspeare, and Milton; however justly we may applaud the Eloisa and Rape of the Lock. But, considering the correct- ness, elegance, and utility of his works, the weight of sentiment, and the knowledge of man they contain, we may venture to assign him a place next to Milton, and just above Dryden. Yet, to bring our minds steadily to make this decision, we must forget for a moment the divine Music Ode of Dryden, and may perhaps then be compelled to confess that, though Dryden be the greater genius, yet Pope is the better artist. The preference here given to Pope above other modern Eng- lish poets, it must be remembered, is founded on the excellencies of his works in general, and taken all together ; for there are parts and passages in other modern authors — in Young and in Thom- son, for instance — equal to any of Pope ; and he has written nothing in a strain so truly sublime as the Bard of Gray, HUGH BLAIR, 1718-1800. Dr. Hugh Blair was born in Edinburgh, in 1718. After having gone through the usual grammatical course at the High School, he entered the University of Edinburgh in 1730, where he spent eleven years in the study of literature, philosophy, and divinity. In 1739 he received the degree of A.M.; and in 1741 he was licensed to preach by the Presbytery of Edinburgh. In the fol- lowing year he was settled in the parish of Colessie, in Fifeshire, but was not permitted to remain long in this rural retreat; for, a vacancy occurring in the 22 BLAIR. Canongate Church, in Edinburgh, he was elected its minister. In this station Dr. Blair remained eleven years, discharging with great fidelity the various duties of the pastoral office, and attracting general admiration for the chaste eloquence of his pulpit discourses. In 1754 he was transferred from the Canongate to Lady Tester's Church, and in 1758 was promoted to the High Cliurch of Edinburgh, — the most important ecclesiastical charge in the kingdom. Hitherto his attention was devoted almost exclusively to the attainment of eminence in his own profession; but in 1759 he delivered a course of Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres with such success that the University instituted a rhetorical class under his direc- tion, and the king founded a professorship, to the chair of which Dr. Blair was appointed. In 1763 he published a Dissertation on the Poems of Ossian, which, though much overrated, evinced critical taste and learning.i In 1777 appeared the first volume of his sermons, which were received with great favor and had a very extensive circulation. In 1783 he resigned his professorship, and pub- lished his celebrated Lectures on Rhetoric, which have been a text-book in most of our colleges for half a century. The latter years of his life he spent in literary leisure, giving to the public three more volumes of sermons, and in the summer of 1800 began to prepare an additional volume; but he did not live to complete it, — his death occurring December 27 of that year. He had married in 1748 his cousin. Miss Bannatine, by whom he had a son and a daughter; but he survived them all. Although the sermons of Dr. Blair have not the popularity they once en- joyed, they are still very pleasing compositions of the kind: but they are rather didactic treatises than sermons. They are written with great taste and ele- gance, and, by inculcating Christian morality, without any allusion to contro- versial topics, are suited to all classes of Christians.^ But it is by his Lectures on Rhetoric and Belles-Lettres that Dr. Blair is now chiefly known ; and they are deservedly popular. Though not equal to Campbell's Philosophy of Rhetoric in depth of thought or in ingenious original research, they are written in a pleasing style, convey a large amount of valuable information, suggest many very useful hints, and contain an accurate analysis of the principles of lite- rary 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 cultivating the taste of youth; arid 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 education. 1 The question as to the genuineness of Os- sian, or, rather, of the poems which Mac- pherson attributed to that traditionary per- sonage, has been placed in its true light b}' Sir James Mackintosh {History of England, vol. i. 86, 87), who remarks, however, that " no other imposture in literary history approaches them in the splendor of their course."- But the searching investigations and keen analysis of Mr. Laing, in his History of Scotland, had, befdie Sir .Tames wrote, stripped these poems of all tiioir pretensions to genuineness. 2 Dining with a select company at Mrs. Gar- rick's, Dr. Johnson said, " I love Blair's Ser- mons, though the dog is a Scotchman, and a Presbyterian, and every thing he should not be. I was the first to praise them. Such was my candor" (smiling). Mrs. Boscawen. — " Such his great merit, to get the better of all your prejudices." Johnson. — " Why, madam, let us compound the matter: let us ascribe it to my candor and his merit." — Croker's Boswdl, BLAIR. 23 ON THE CULTIVATION OF TASTE. Belles-lettres and criticism chiefly consider man as a being endowed with those powers of taste and imagination which were intended to embellish his mind and to supply him with rational and useful entertainment. They open a field of investigation peculiar to themselves. All that relates to beauty, harmony, grandeur, and elegance ; all that can soothe the mind, gratify the fancy, or move the affections, belongs to their province. They present human nature under a different asjftct from that which it assumes when viewed by other sciences. They bring to light various springs of action, which without their aid might have passed unobserved, and which, though of a delicate nature, frequently exert a powerful influence on several departments of human life. Such studies have also this peculiar advantage, that they exer- cise our reason without fatiguing it. They lead to inquiries acute, but not painful ; . profound, but not dry nor abstruse. They strew flowers in the path of science ; and, while they keep the mind bent in some degree, and active, they relieve it at the same time from that more toilsome labor to which it must sub- mit in the acquisition of necessary erudition or the investigation of abstract truth. The cultivation of taste is further recommended by the happy effects which it naturally tends to produce on human life. The most busy man, in the most active sphere, cannot be always occu- pied by business. Men of serious professions cannot always be on the stretch of serious thought. Neither can the most gay and flourishing situations of fortune afford any man the power of fill- ing all his hours with pleasure. Life must always languish in the hands of the idle. It will frequently languish even in the hands of the busy, if they have not some employments subsidiary to that which forms their main pursuit. How, then, shall these vacant spaces, those unemployed intervals, which more or less occur in the life of every one, be filled up ? How can we contrive to dispose of them in any way that shall be more agreeable in itself, or more consonant to the dignity of the human mind, than in the entertainments of taste, and the study of polite literature ? He who is so happy as to have acquired a relish for these has always at hand an innocent and irreproachable amusement for his leisure hours, to save him from the danger of many a perni- cious passion. He is not in hazard of being a burden to himself He is not obliged to fly to low company, or to court the riot of loose pleasures, in order to cure the tediousness of existence. Providence seems plainly to have pointed out this useful purpose to which the pleasures of taste may be applied, by interposing them in a middle station between the pleasures of sense and those 24 BLAIR. of pure intellect. We were not designed to grovel always among objects so low as the former, nor are we capable of dwelling con- stantly in so high a region as the latter. The pleasures of taste refresh the mind after the toils of the intellect and the labors of abstract study; and they gradually raise it above the attach- ments of sense, and prepare it for the enjoyments of virtue. So consonant is this to experience, that, in the education of youth, no object has in every age appeared more important to wise men than to tincture them early with a relish for the entertain- ments of tastef The transition is commonly made with ease from these to the discharge of the higher and more important duties of life. Good hopes may be entertained of those whose minds have this liberal and elegant turn. It is favorable to many vir- tues. Whereas to be entirely devoid of relish for eloquence, poetry, or any of the fine arts, is justly construed to be an unpro- mising symptom of youth, and raises suspicions of their being prone to low gratifications, or destined to drudge in the more vulgar and illiberal pursuits of life. DELICACY AND CORRECTNESS OF TASTE. The characters of taste, when brought to its most improved state, are all reducible to tAVO, — Delicacy and Correctness. Delicacy of taste respects principally the perfection of that natural sensibility on which taste is founded.. It implies those finer organs or powers which enable us to discover beauties that lie hid from a vulgar eye. One may have strong sensibility, and yet be deficient in delicate taste. He may be deeply impressed by such beauties as he perceives ; but he perceives only what is in some degree coarse, what is bold and palpable; while chaster and simpler ornaments escape his notice. In this state taste generally exists among rude and unrefined nations. But a person of delicate taste both feels strongly and feels accurately. He sees distinctions and differences where others see none ; the most latent beauty does not escape him, and he is sensible of the smallest blemish. Delicacy of taste is judged of by the same marks that we use in judging of the delicacy of an external sense. As the goodness of the palate is not tried by strong flavors, but by a mixture of ingredients, where, notwithstanding the confusion, we remain sensible of each ; in like manner delicacy of internal taste appears by a quick and lively sensibility to its finest, most compounded, or most latent objects. Correctness of taste respects chiefly the improvement which that faculty receives through its connection with the understanding. A man of correct taste is one who is never imposed on by counterfeit beauties ; who carries always in his mind that standard of good sense which he employs in judging of every thing. He estimates with propriety the comparative merit of the several beauties which he meets with in any work of genius ; refers them to their proper BEATTIE. 25 classes ; assigns the principles, as far as they can be traced, whence their power of pleasing flows ; and is pleased himself precisely in that degree in which he ought, and no more. It is true that these two qualities of taste, delicacy and correct- ness, mutually imply each other. No taste can be exquisitely delicate without being correct, nor can be thoroughly correct without being delicate. But still a predominancy of one or other quality in the mixture is often visible. The power of delicacy is chiefly seen in discerning the true merit of a work ; the power of correctness, in rejecting false pretensions to merit. Delicacy leans more to feeling ; correctness, more to reason and judgment. The former is more the gift of nature ; the latter, more the product of culture and art. Among the ancient critics, Longinus possessed most delicacy ; Aristotle, most correctness. Among the moderns, Mr. Addison is a high example of delicate taste ; Dean Swift, had he written on the subject of criticism, would perhaps have afforded the example of a correct one. PREPARATION NECESSARY FOR OLD AGE. A joyless and dreary season will old age prove, if Ave arrive at it with an unimproved or corrupted mind. For this period, as for every thing, certain preparation is necessary ; and that prepara- tion consists in the acquisition of knowledge, friends, and virtue. Then is the time when a man would especially wish to find him- self surrounded by those who love and respect him, — who will bear with his infirmities, relieve him of his labors, and cheer him with their society. Let him, therefore, now in the summer of his days, while yet active and flourishing, by acts of seasonable kind- ness and benevolence, insure that love, and, by upright and honor- able conduct, lay the foundation for that respect which in old age he would wish to enjoy. In the last place, let him consider a good conscience, peace with God, and the hope of heaven, as the most effectual consolations he can possess when the evil days shall come. JA3IES BEATTIE, 17S5-180S. " We drew our childhood's first poetic pleasures from ' Beattie's Minstrel.' " — Mrs. Browning. James Beattie, a much admired poet and a distinguished moral philosopher, was born in Lawrence Kirk, Kincardineshire, in the northeast of Scotland, on the 20th of October, 1735. His father, who was poor, died when the poet was only ten years old; but his elder brother kept him at school till he obtained a "bursary" (a kind of benefaction for poor scholars) at the Marischal College, Aberdeen, where he remained four years. Having received his degree of A.M. in 1753, he took a small school at Fordoun, near his native village. Here he employed his time chiefly in studying the classics, and in composing various 3 26 BEATTIE. small poetical pieces, which appeared from time to time in the Scot's Magazine, and drew him more and more into notice, until, in 1758, he was appointed usher in the grammar-school at Aberdeen, and in two years after he was elected Professor of Moral Philosophy and Logic in the Marischal College. He immediately prepared a course of lectures for the students, and in 1761 pub- lished a small volume of poems, consisting chiefly of those which had already appeared anonymously in the Scots Magazine. In 1765 he published his poem The Judgment of Paris, which has but little merit. In June, 1767, he married Miss Mary Dun, daughter of the rector of the grammar-school at Aberdeen. In the same year he began to prepare his cele- brated Essay on Truth, which appeared in 1770; and so much interest did it excite that in less than four years it went through five editions and was translated into several foreign languages. Its chief aim was to refute the skej)- tical writings of Hume, or, in Dr. Beattie's own words, "to overthrow skep- ticism and establish conviction in its place."! In 1771 he gave to the world the first book of his celebrated poem The Minstrel. It was received with uni- versal approbation. Honors flowed in upon him from every quarter. He visited London, and was admitted to all its brilliant and distinguished circles; and Goldsmith, Johnson, Garrick, and Reynolds were soon numbered among his friends. On a second visit, in 1773, he had an interview with the king and queen, which resulted in his receiving a pension of two hundred pounds per annum. In 1774, Beattie published the second book of The Minstrel, the success of which quite equalled that of the former. A new edition of his Essay on Truth appeared in 1776, together with three other essays, — on Poetry and Music; on Laughter and Ludicrous Composition; and on the Utility of Classical Learn- ing. In 1786 he published his Evidences of Christianity; and in the year fol- lowing appeared his Elements of Moral Science. In 1790 he lost his eldest son,' 1 A very able article on this essay may be found in the Edinburgh Eevieiv, x. 171. 2 In the early training of his eldest and be- loved son, Dr. Beattie adopted an expedient of a romantic and interesting description. His object was to give him the first idea of a Su- preme Being; and his method, as Dr. Porteus, Bishop of London, remarked, "had all the imagination of Rousseau, without his folly and extravagance." "He had," says Beattie, "reached his fifth (or sixth) year, knew the alphabet, and could read a little, but had received no particular information with respect to the Author of his being, because I thought he could not yet un- derstand such information, and because I had learned, from my own experience, that to be made to repeat words not understood is ex- tremely detrimental to the faculties of a young mind. ' In the corner of a little garden, with- out informing any person of the circumstance, I wrote in the mould, with my finger, the three initial letters of his name, and, sowing garden-cresses in the furrows, covered up the seed and smoothed the ground. Ten days after, he came running to me, and, with asto- nishment in his countenance, told me that his name was growing in the gardon. 1 smiled at the report, and seemed inclined to disregard it; but he insisted on my going to see what had happened. 'Yes,' said I, carelessly, on coming to the place, 'I see it is so; but there is nothing in this worth notice: it is mere chance;' and I Avent away. He followed me, and, taking hold of my coat, said, with some earnestness, ' It could not be mere chance, for that somebody must have con- trived matters so as to produce it.' I pretend not to give his words or my own, for I have forgotten both ; but I give the substance of what passed between iis in such language as we both understood. 'So you think,' I said, ' that what appears so regular as the letters of your name cannot be by chance?' 'Yes,' said he, with firmness, 'I think so!' 'Look at yourself,' I replied, ' and consider your hands and fingers, your legs and feet, and other limbs: are they not regular in their appear- ance, and useful to you?' He said they were. 'Came you, then, hither,' said I, 'by chance?' ' No,' he answered, ' that cannot be : some- thing must have made me.' ' And who is that something?' I asked. He said he did not know. (I took particular notice that he did not say, as Rousseau fancies a child in like circumstances would say, that his parents made him.) I had now gained the point I aimed at, and saw that his reason taught him (though he could not so express it) that what begins to be must have a cause, and that what BEATTIE. 27 and in 1796 his only remaining one. These afflictions, together with the in- sanity of his wife, of which there were some indications even a few years after they were married, seriously affected bis health. In April, 1799, he suffered a stroke of the palsy, — a repetition of which, in 1802, deprived him of the use of his limbs ; and death finally ended his sufferings, in the sixty-eighth year of bis age, on the 18th of August, 1803.. He was buried beside his two sons in the churchyard of St. Nicholas, Aberdeen. The fame of Dr. Beattie rests chiefly upon The Minstrel. It is a didactic poem, in the Spenserian stanza, designed "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." The character of Edwin, the Minstrel (in which Beattie embodied his own early feelings and poetical aspirations), is very finely drawn, and a vein of pathetic moral reflection runs through the whole of the poem, which is of the purest kind, and highly elevating in its influence. The character of Dr. Beattie is delineated in his writings, of which the most prominent features are purity of sentiment and warm attachment to the prin- ciples of religion and morality. He was the friend of every good cause, and was one of the earliest advocates for the suppression of the slave-trade and for the abolition of slavery .^ All his treatises, critical, philosophical, and moral, are very able as well as very instructive, and are written in a style of classic purity ; and it may with truth be said that no one cai^read his works with a candid mind and rise from the perusal of them unimproved, — which is the highest praise an autlior can receive.^ LOVE OF NATURE. It is strange to observe the callousness of some men, before whom all the glories of heaven and earth pass in daily succession, without touching their hearts, elevating their fancy, or bearing any durable remembrance. Even of those who pretend to sensi- bility, how many are there to whom the lustre of the rising or setting sun, the sparkling concave of the midnight sky, the moun- tain forest tossing and roaring to the storm, or warbling with all the melodies of a summer evening ; the sweet interchange of hill and dale, shade and sunshine, grove, lawn, and water, which an extensive landscape oifers to the view ; the scenery of the ocean, so lovely, so majestic, and so tremendous, and the many pleasing varieties of the animal and vegetable kingdom, could never afford is formed with regularity must have an intel- ligent cause. I therefore told him the name of the Great Being who made him and all the world, concerning whose adorable nature I gave him such information as I thought he could in some jneasure comprehend. The lesson affected him deeply, and he never for- got eitlier it or the circumstance that intro- duced it." 1 In his Elements of Moral Science., he de- votes a considerable space to the subject of slavery, refuting the arguments then adduced by its supporters with the triumph of a clear- headed logician; while the virtuous indigna- tion which he pours forth against the ini- quitous S3'stem shows what were his feelings as a man. 2 "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 acc(un- plishments; for he was an excellent classical scholar, a veritable poet, a scientific as well as practical musician, an indefatigable student, and, as a metaphysician, unsurpassed at that epoch, unless it were by his friend and col- league, Dr. Reid." — Gillies' Literary Veteran. 28 BEATTIE. so much real satisfaction as the steam and noise of a ball-room, the insipid fiddling and squeaking of an opera, or the vexations and wranglings of a card-table ! But some minds there are of a different make, who, even in the early part of life, receive from the contemplation of nature a species of delight which they would hardly exchange for any other, and who, as avarice and ambi- tion are not the infirmities of that period, would, with equal sin- cerity and rapture, exclaim, — '* I care not, Fortune, what you me deny ; You cannot rob me of free Nature's grace ; You cannot shut the windows of the sky, Through which Aurora shows her brightening face ; You cannot bar my constant feet to trace The woods and lawns by living streams at eve : Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, And I their toys to the great children leave ; Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave."^ Such minds have always in them the seeds of true taste, and fre- quently of imitative genius. At least, though their enthusiastic or visionary turn of mind, as the man of the world would call it, should not alwaysJncline them to practise poetry or painting, w^e need not scruple to affirm that without some portion of this enthusiasm no person ever became a true poet or painter ; for he who would imitate the works of nature must first accurately ob- serve them, and accurate observation is to be expected from those only who take great pleasure in it. To a mind thus disposed, no part of creation is indifferent. In the crowded city and howling wilderness, in the cultivated pro- vince and solitary isle, in the flowery lawn and craggy mountain, in the murmur of the rivulet and in the uproar of the ocean, in the radiance of summer and gloom of winter, in the thunder of heaven and in the whisper of the breeze, he still finds something to rouse or to soothe his imagination, to draw forth his affections, or to employ his understanding. And from every mental energy that is not attended with pain, and even from some of those that are, — as moderate terror and pity, — a sound mind derives satis- faction; exercise being equally necessary to the body and the soul, and to both equally productive of health and pleasure. This happy sensibility to the beauties of nature should be cherished in young persons. It engages them to contemplate the Creator in his wonderful works ; it purifies and harmonizes the soul, and prepares it for moral and intellectual discipline; it supplies a never-failing source of amusement ; it contributes even to bodily health ; and, as a strict analogy subsists between material and moral beauty, it leads the heart by an easy transition from the 1 Castle of Indolence, canto ii. stanza 3. BEATTIE. 29 one to the other, and thus recommends virtue for its transcendent loveliness, and makes vice appear the object of contempt and abomination. OPENrNG STANZAS OF ''THE MINSTREL." Ah ! who can tell how hard it is to climb^ The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar I Ah ! who can tell how many a soul sublime Has felt the influence of malignant star, And waged with Fortune an eternal war ; Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown, And Poverty's unconquerable bar, In life's low vale remote has pined alone, Then dropp'd into the grave, unpitied and unknown ! And yet the languor of inglorious days Not equally oppressive is to all ; Him who ne'er listen'd to the voice of praise The silence of neglect can ne'er appal. There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call. Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Fame ; Supremely blest, if to their portion fall Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim. The rolls of fame I will not now explore ; Nor need I here describe, in learned lay. How forth the Minstrel fared in days of yore, Bight glad of heart, though homely in array. His waving locks and beard all hoary gray ; While from his bending shoulder, decent hung His harp, the sole companion of his way. Which to the whistling wind responsive rung : And ever as he went some merry lay he sung. Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, That a poor villager inspires my strain : With thee let Pageantry and Power abide ; The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign. Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain Enraptur'd roams, to gaze on Nature's charms. They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain ; The parasite their influence ne'er warms, Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms. 1 " The conception of the commencement of the Minstrel is fine, and highly poetical, and it is beautifully and vigorously executed ; but he already falls off in the second canto, both in invention and expression." Read a very genial critique on Beattie's Poems in Sir Egerton Brydges's Imaginative Biography, i. 153-173. Lord Lyttelton (author of Dialogues of the Dead, and of a Dissertation on the Conversion and Apostlesfiip of Paul) thus wrote to Mrs. Montagu, March, 1771 : — " 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 min- strel, 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." 3* 30 BE AT TIE. THE POET'S CHILDHOOD. There lived in Gothic days, as legends tell, A shepherd swain, a man of low degree, Whose sires, perchance, in Fairyland might dwell, Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady ; But he, I ween, was of the north countrie !^ A nation fam'd for song, and beauty's charms ; Zealous, yet modest ; innocent, though free ; Patient of toil ; serene amidst alarms ; Inflexible in faith ; invincible m arms. The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made, On Scotia's mountain fed his little flock ; The sickle, scythe, or plough he never sway'd ; An honest heart was almost all his stock ; His drink the living water from the rock ; The milky dams supplied his board, and lent Their kindly fleece to baflle winter's shock ; And he, though oft with dust and sweat besprent. Did guide and guard their wanderings, wheresoe'er they went From labor health, from health contentment springs : Contentment opes the source of every joy : He-envied not, he never thought of kings ; Nor from those appetites sustain'd annoy. That chance may frustrate, or indulgence cloy ; Nor fate his calm and humble hopes beguiled ; He mourn' d no recreant friend, nor mistress coy. For on his vows the blameless Pho?be smiled. And her alone he loved, and loved her from a child. No jealousy their dawn of love o'ercast, Nor blasted were their wedded days with strife ; Each season look'd delightful, as it past. To the fond husband and the faithful wife. Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life They never roam'd ; secure beneath the storm Which in Ambition's lofty land is rife, Where peace and love are canker' d by the worm Of pride, each bud of joy industrious to deform. The wight, whose tale these artless lines unfold. Was all the ofispring of this humble pair : His birth no oracle or seer foretold ; No prodigy appear' d in earth or air, Nor aught that might a strange event declare. You guess each circumstance of Edwin's birth ; The parent's transport, and the parent's care ; The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and worth ; And one long summer-day of indolence and mirth. And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy : Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye ; 1 There is hardly an ancient ballad or ro- mance wherein the minstrel or harper who appears is not declared, by way of eminence, to have been " of the north countrie." It is probable that under this appellation were for- merly comprehended all the provinces to the north of the Trent. BEATTIE. 31 Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy, Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy : Silent Avhen glad ; afiectionate, though shy ; And now his look was most demurely sad ; And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew Avhy. The neighbors stared, and sigh'd, yet bless'd the lad:^ Some deeni'd him wondrous wise, and some believed liim mad. But why should I his childish feats display ? Concourse, and noise, and toil he ever fled ; Nor cared to mingle in the clamorous fray Of squabbling imps ; but to the forest sped, Or roara'd at large the lonely mountain's head; Or, when the maze of some bewilder'd stream To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led, There would he wander wild, till Phoebus' beam, Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team. Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed To him nor vanity nor joy could bring; His heart, from cruel sport estrang'd, would bleed To work the wo of any living thing, By trap or net, by arrow, or by sling; These he detested, those he scorn' d to wield; He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king, Tyrant far less, or traitor, of the field. And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield. Lo ! where the stripling, rapt in wonder, roves Beneath the precipice o'erhung with pine ; And sees on high, amidst th' encircling groves. From cliff to cliff the foaming torrents shine ; While waters, woods, and winds in concert join. And Echo swells the chorus to the skies: Would Edwin this majestic scene resign For aught the huntsman's puny craft supplies? Ah ! no : he better knows great Nature's charms to prize. And oft he traced the uplands, to survey,_ When o'er the sky advanced the kindling dawn. The crimson cloud, blue main, and mountain gray, And lake, dim-gleaming on the smoky lawn : Far to the west the long, long vale withdrawn, Where twilight loves to linger for awhile ; And now he faintly kens the bounding fawn. And villager abroad at early toil : But, lo ! the Sun appears, and heaven, earth, ocean, smile. And oft the craggy cliff he loved to climb. When all in niist the world below was lost. What dreadful pleasure! there to stand sublime. Like shipwreck'd mariner on desert coast. And view th' enormous waste of vapor, toss'd In billows, length'ning to th' horizon round, Now scoop'd in gulfs, with mountains now emboss'd! And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound. Flocks, herds, and waterfalls, along the hoar profound. 32 BEATTIE. In truth lie was a strange and wayward wight, Fond of each gentle and each dreadful scene. In darkness and in storm, he found delight: Nor less than when on ocean-wave serene The southern Sun diffused his dazzling sheen.^ E'en sad vicissitude amused his soul : And if a sigh would sometimes intervene, And down his cheek a tear of pity roll, A sigh, a tear, so sweet, he wish'd not to control. 3I0RNlNG.'i But who the melodies of morn can tell? The wild-brook babbling down the mountain side ; The lowing herd; the sheepfold's simple bell; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide; The hum of bees, and linnet's lay of love, And the full choir that wakes the universal grove. The cottage-curs at early pilgrim bark ; Crown'd with her pail the tripping milkmaid sings; The whistling ploughman stalks afield ; and, hark ! Down the rough slope the ponderous wagon rings; Thro' rustling corn the hare astonish'd springs; Slow tolls the village-clock the drowsy hour ; The partridge bursts away on whirring wings ; Deep mourns the turtle in sequester'd bower, 4-nd shrill lark carols clear from her aerial tour. THE HUMBLE WISH. The end and the reward of toil is rest. Be all my prayer for virtue and for peace. Of wealth and fame, of pomp and power possess' d, Who ever felt his weight of wo decrease? Ah ! what avails the lore of Rome and Greece, The lay heaven-prompted, and harmonious string, The dust of Ophir, or the Tyrian fleece. All that art, fortune, enterprise, can bring, If envy, scorn, remorse, or pride the bosom wring ! Let vanity adorn the marble tomb With trophies, rhymes, and scutcheons of renown, In the deep dungeon of some Gothic dome. Where night and desolation ever frown. Mine be the breezy hill that skirts the down ; Where a green grassy turf is all I crave. With here and there a violet bestrown. Fast by a brook, or fountain's murmuring wave; And many an evening sun shine sweetly on my grave. 1 Brightness, splendor. The word is used 1 you to acquire the habit. This will very much by some late writers, as well as by Milton. contribute towards rendering your life long, a " Do you rise early ? If not, let nie conjure \ useful, and happy." — Lord Chatham, Letters. BEATTIE. 33 And thither let the village swain repair; And light of heart, the village maiden gav, To deck with flowers her half-dishevell'd hair, And celehrate the merry morn of May. There let the she])herd's pipe the livelong day Fill all the grove with love's bewitching wo ; And when mild evening comes in mantle gray, Let not the blooming band make haste to go; No ghost nor sj)ell my long and last abode shall know. THE CHARMS OF NATURE. Oh, how canst thon renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields ! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields; All that the genial ray of morning gilds, And all that echoes to the song of even, All that the mountain's fostering bosom shields, And all the dread magnificence of Heaven, — Oh, how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?^ THE HERMIT. At the close of the day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill. And nought but the nightingale's song in the grove, 'Twas thus, by the cave of the mountain afar, While his harp rung symphonious, a hermit began ; No more with himself or Avith nature at war. He thought as a sage, though he felt as a man. "Ah ! why, all abandon' d to darkness and woe. Why, Tone Philomela, that languishing fall? For spring shall return, and a lover bestow. And sorrow no longer thy bosom inthrall. But, if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay. Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to mourn; Oh, soothe him, whose pleasures like thine pass away : Full quickly they pass — but they never return. " Now gliding remote on the verge of the sky,_ The moon, half extinguish'd, her crescent displays ; But lately I mark'd when majestic on high She shone, and the planets were lost in her blaze. EoU on, thou fair orb, and with gladness pursue The path that conducts thee to splendor again : But man's faded glory Avhat change shall renew? Ah, fool ! to exult in a glory so vain ! '"Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you ; 1 This is the verse of the Minstrel which I almost to tears. See Gillies' Literary Veteran^ Dugald Stewart could never, by any chance, re- i. 124. cite without a faltering voice and being moved ! 34 PALEY. For morn is approaching, your charms to restore, Perfiim'd with fresh fragrance, and glittering with dew: Nor yet for the ravage of winter I mourn ; Kind Nature the embryo blossom will save: But when shall Spring visit the mouldering urn? Oil, when shall it dawn on the night of the grave ?* "'Twas thus, by the glare of false science betray'd — That leads to bewilder; and dazzles, to blind — My thoughts wont to roam, from shade onward to shade, Destruction before me, and sorrow behind. ' Oh, pity, great Father of Light,' then I cried, * Thy creature, who fain would not wander from thee ; Lo, humbled in dust, I relinquish my pride : From doubt and from darkness thou only canst free !' "And darkness and doubt are now flying away; No longer I roam in conjecture forlorn : So breaks on the traveller, faint and astray, The bright and the balmy effulgence of morn. See Truth, Love, and Mercy in triumph descending, And Nature all glowing in Eden's first bloom ! On the cold cheek of death smiles and roses are blending, And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." WILLIAM PALEY, 17J^S-1805. " No writers are rewarded with a larger share of immediate celebrity than those who address themselves to the understandings of general readers, who investigate truths, develop principles, and convey instruction in that popular style and that plain, expressive language which all read with pleasure and comprehend with ease."^ Such was eminently the characteristic of Dr. Wil- liam Paley. He was the son of the head-master of Giggleswick grammar- school, in Yorkshire, and was born in 1743. In November, 1758, he was ad- mitted as a sizer of Christ's College, Cambridge. For some time he attracted notice only as an uncouth but agreeable idler. " I spent," he says, " the first two years of my under-graduateship happily, but unprofitably. I was con- stantly in society, where we were not immoral, but idle and rather expensive. At the commencement of my third year, however, after having left the usual 1 There is a tradition, and the internal evi- dence certainly confirms its truth, that Dr. Eeattie wrote Tlie Hermit to the end of the fourth stanza, when under the influence of skep- tical opinions. He had not then attained his majority, and he put the piece aside, never in- tending to publish it, — ending as it did with a doubt concerning the soul's immortality: — " Oh, when shall Spring dawn on the night of the grave?" But when, iij^ few years after, he became a con- verted man, and embraced with his whole mind and heart the great truths of the Christian re- ligion, he sought out his neglected piece, and finished it with that fine burst of Christian feeling and poetic splendor with which it pro- ceeds and ends : — "And beauty immortal awakes from the tomb." "^ Read two articles on Dr. Paley in the "Qiiar- terly Review," ii. 75, and ix. 388; and another in the " Edinburgh Review," i. 287. PALEY. 35 partj at rather a late hour in the evening, I was awakened, at five in the morning, by one of my companions, who stood at my bedside, and said, * Paley, I have been thinking what a fool you are. J could do nothing profit- ably were I to try, and can afford the life I lead: you could do every thing, and cannot afford it. I have had no sleep during the whole night on account of these reflections, and I am now come solemnly to inform you that if you persist in your indolence I must renounce your society.' I was so struck with the visit and the visitor, that I lay in bed a great part of the day and foi'med my plan." The result was that he changed his whole habits, became a close student, and at the close of his college course was the first in his class. Soon after taking his degree, he obtained the situation of usher at a private school at Greenwich; but being elected, in June, 1766, a fellow of the college to which he belonged, he fixed his residence at the university, became a tutor of his college, and delivered lectures on metaphysics, morals, and the Greek Testament. In 1775 he was presented to the rectory of Musgrove, in "West- moreland; and in the following year he vacated his fellowship by marrying. He was soon advanced by his friend Dr. Law, then Bishop of Carlisle, to various preferments, until he was finally, in 1782, made archdeacon and chancellor of that diocese. Here he digested and prepared his celebrated work the Prin- ciples of Moral and Political Philosophy, which appeared in 1785. His HorcE Paulince followed in 1790, and his Evidences of Christianity in 1794. Soon after this he became so infirm as to be incapable of preaching, and he devoted his attention almost exclusively to the preparation of his Natural Theology, or Evi- dences of the Existence and Attributes of a Deity, collected from the Appearances of Nature, which was published in 1802. He died on the 25th of May, 1805, leaving a wife and eight children. '* Dr. Paley was, in private life, a cheerful, social, unassuming character, and of an equable temper. As a writer, he did not possess a comprehensive and grasping genius, nor was he endowed with a rich and sparkling imagination. His mind was well informed, but not furnished with deep, extensive, pon- derous erudition. His distinguishing characteristic is a penetrating under- standing and a clear, logical head : what he himself comprehends fully, that he details luminously. He takes a subject to pieces with the nice skill of a master, presents to us distinctly its several parts, and explains them with accuracy and truth."i Few writers have obtained greater popularity than Dr. Paley. Ten editions of his Moral Philosophy were sold during his lifetime ; his Evidences of Chris- ■ anity was reprinted seventeen times in twenty-seven years ; and his Natural fheology reached a tenth edition in the short space of three years from the lime of its first publication. His Horoe Paulince^ — decidedly his most ingenious and original work — was not so popular, though exceedingly valued by scholars and students of divinity. Its object is to open a new department of evidence in favor of Christianity, by comparing the Epistles of Paul with his history as recorded by Luke in the Acts, and by marking what he designates as the " undesigned coincidences" of the one with the other. In this way he shows the genuineness of both, and thus furnishes a novel and ingenious, and at the 1 Quarterly Review, ii. 86. I Apostle Paul incidentally states of himself in 2 Literally, "Pauline Hours;" that is, lioui-s his Epistles, with what is narrated of him in spent in comparing numerous facts which the | the Acts of the Apostles. 36 PALEY. same time a very conclusive, species of testimony in behalf of revealed reli- gion. The most exceptionable of all Paley's works is his Moral Philosophy.^ In it he takes the ground that "whatever is expedient is right," — a doctrine true, indeed, if man could see all things and look into futurity; but a most dan- gerous one to a being to whom the future is unknown. Indeed, in many parts of this work may be found sentiments altogether too loosely expressed, and princij)les of action laid down of a character far too compromising; which at once remind us of his remark, when he was a felloAV at Cambridge, and had been requested to sign a petition for relief in the matter of subscription to the ''Thirty-Nine Articles" of the Church of England, that he "was too poor to keep a conscience;" in other words, that, where his conscience and his worldly interests came in conflict, the former must give way to the latter. So also, about the same time, he offered, as a subject which he intended to discuss, " The Eternity of Future Punishment contradictory to the Divine Attributes ;" but, finding that it would be very displeasing to the master of his college, he concluded to insert the word " not" before " contradictory." Such facts reveal a character lacking in moral firmness, certainly, if not in moral principle.^ THE WORLD WAS 3IADE WITH A BENEVOLENT DESIGNS It is a liappy world, after all. The air, the earth, the water, teem with delightful existence. In a spring noon or a summer evening, on whichever side I turn my eyes, myriads of happy beings crowd upon my view. " The insect youth are on the wing." Swarms of new-born flies are trying their pinions in the air. Their sportive motions, their wanton mazes, their gratuitous activity, their continual change of place without use or purpose, testify their joy and the exultation which they feel in their lately 1 For a triumphant reftitation of the dan- gerous doctrines of his Moral Philosophy, read the Essays an Morality, by that clear-headed, conscientious Christian moralist, Jonathan Dymond, — one of the best works upon the sub- ject. But a clergyman of the Churcli of Eng- land has come to the rescue of Paley, in a work with the following title: — A Vindica- timi of Dr. Paley's Theory of Morals from the Objections of Dugald Stewart, Mr. Gishorne, Br. Pierson, and Dr. Thomas Brown, dc, by the Rev. Latham Wainewright, M.A. His argu- ments, if not conclusive, are certainly very ingenious. 2 A writer in the London Athenmim of Au- gust, 1848, has shown very conclusively that Dr. Paley's Natural Theology is, in the outline of its argument and in its most striking illus- trations (especially in the well-known story of the watch), a stupendous plagiarism, taken from a work of Dr. Nieuwentyt, of Holland, and translated into English and published by Longman, in 1718, under the title of I'he Christian Philosopher. A writer in the Church and State Gazette, in reviewing this article in the Athenieum, remarks, "In the annals of literary corsairship we never heard of any thing equalling piracy like this; and, unless the friends and relatives of Paley can submit satisfactory evidence before the tribunal of the public that he has had foul wrong done unto him, his reputation as an honest writer sinks forever beneath the sea of contemptuous ob- livion. He is no moj-e the author of th.e Na- tural Theology than of any other work which he did not write." In a subsequent number of the Athenseum a writer comes to the vindi- cation of Paley, and partially excuses him on the ground that his Natural Theology was originally lectures delivered to his students, in which he embodied all he had read, without giving credit to the sources whence he bor- rowed ; and that when these lectures were published in the form in which we now have them, he was unable to cite his authorities. On this defence the editor of the Athenieum remarks, " We think the letter of our corre- spondent gives the most satisfactory solution of this matter that has yet been offered, and the best, probably, that can be given. To our view, then, the most satisfactory is a most un- satisfactory one." 3 " The common course of things is in favor of happiness: happiness is the rule, misery the excejjtion. Were the order reversed, our attention would be called to examples of health and competency, instead of disease and want."— Butler's Analogy. PALEY. 37 discovered faculties. A bee amongst the flowers, in spring, is one of the most cheerful objects that can be looked upon. Its life appears to be all enjoyment, so busy and so pleased ; yet it is only a specimen of insect life, Avith which, by reason of the ani- mal being half domesticated, w^e happen to be better acquainted than we are with that of others. The whole winged insect tribe, it is probable, are equally intent upon their proper employments, and, under every variety of constitution, gratified, and perhaps equally gratified, by the oflices which the Author of their nature has assigned to them. But the atmosphere is not the only scene of enjoyment for the insect race. Plants are covered with aphides, greedily sucking their juices, and constantly, as it should seem, in the act of sucking. It cannot be doubted but that this is a state of gratification : what else should fix them so close to the operation, and so long? Other species are running about with an alacrity in their motions which carries with it every mark of pleasure. Large patches of ground are sometimes half covered with these brisk and sprightly natures. If we look to what the waters produce, shoals of the fry of fish frequent the margins of rivers, of lakes, and of the sea itself. These are so happy that they know not what to do wdth themselves. Their attitudes, their vivacity, their leaps out of the water, their frolics in it (which I have noticed a thousand times with equal attention and amusement), all conduce to show their excess of spirits, and are simply the effects of that excess. Walking by the sea-side, in a calm evening, upon a shady shore and with an ebbing tide, I have frequently remarked the appearance of a dark cloud, or, rather, very thick mist, hanging over the edge of the w^ater, to the height, perhaps, of half a yard, and of the breadth of two or three yards, stretching along the coast as far as the eye could reach, and always retiring with the w^ater. When this cloud came to be examined, it proved to be nothing else than so much space filled with young shrimps in the act of bounding into the air from the shallow margin of the water or from the w^et sand. If any motion of a mute animal could express delight, it was this : if they had meant to make signs of their happiness, they could not have done it more intelligibly. Suppose, then, what I have no doubt of, each individual of this number to be in a state of positive enjoyment : what a sum, collectively, of gratification and pleasure have we here before our view ! The young of all animals appear to me to receive pleasure simply from the exercise of their limbs and bodily faculties, with- out reference to any end to be attained or any use to be answered by the exertion. A child, without knowing any thing of the use of language, is in a high degree delighted with being able to speak. Its incessant repetition of a few articulate sounds, or perhaps of the single word whieh it has learned to pronounce, 38 PALEY. proves this point clearly. Nor is it less pleased with its first suc- cessful endeavors to walk, or, rather, to run (which precedes walking), although entirely ignorant of the importance of the attainment to its future life, and even without applying it to any present purpose. A child is delighted with speaking, without having any thing to say, and with walking, without knowing Avhere to go. And, prior to both these, I am disposed to believe that the waking hours of infancy are agreeably taken up with the exercise of vision, or, perhaps, more properly speaking, with learning to see. But it is not for youth alone that the great Parent of creation hath provided. Happiness is found with the purring cat no less than with the playful kitten ; in the arm-chair of dozing age, as well as in either the sprightliness of the dance or the animation of the chase. To novelty, to acuteness of sensation, to hope, to ardor of pursuit, succeeds what is in no inconsiderable degree an equivalent for them all, "perception of ease." Herein is the exact difference between the young and the old. The young are not happy but when enjoying pleasure ; the old are happy when free from pain. And this constitution suits with the degrees of animal power which they respectively possess. The vigor of youth was to be stimulated to action by impatience of rest ; whilst, to the imbecility of age, quietness and repose become positive gratifications. In one important step the advantage is with the old. A state of ease is, generally speaking, more attainable than a state of pleasure. A constitution, therefore, which can enjoy ease is preferable to that which can taste only pleasure. This same perception of ease oftentimes renders old age a condition of great comfort, especially when riding at its anchor after a busy or tempestuous life. It is well described by Rousseau to be the interval of repose and enjoyment between the hurry and the end of life. How far the same cause extends to other animal natures cannot be judged of with certainty. The appearance of satis- faction with which most animals, as their activity subsides, seek and enjoy rest affords reason to believe that this source of grati- fication is appointed to advanced life under all or most of its various forms. In the species with which we are best acquainted, namely, our own, I am far, even as an observer of human life, from thinking that youth is its happiest season, much less the only happy one. — Natural Theology. PR A YER. We find our Lord resorting to prayer in his last extremity, and with an earnestness, I had almost said a vehemence, of devotion, proportioned to the occasion. As soon as he came to the place, he bade his disciples pray. When he was at the place, he said unto them, Pray ye, that ye enter not into temptation. This did PARK. 39 not content liim ; this was not enough for the state and sufferings of his mind. He parted even from them. He withdrew about a stone's cast, and kneeled down. Hear how his struggle in prayer is described ! Three times he came to his disciples, and returned again to prayer; thrice he kneeled down at a distance from them, repeating the same words. Being in an agony, he prayed more earnestly ; drops of sweat fell from his body, as if it had been great drops of blood : yet, in all this, throughout the whole scene, the constant conclusion of his prayer was, " not my will, but thine be done." It was the greatest occasion that ever was ; and the earnestness of our Lord's prayer, the devotion of his soul, corre- sponded with it. Scenes of deep distress await us all. It is in vain to expect to pass through the world without falling into them. But, whatever may be the fortune of our lives, one great extremity at least, the hour of approaching death, is certainly to be passed through. What ought then to occupy us ? What can then support us ? Prayer. Prayer with our blessed Lord w^as a refuge from the storm : almost every word he uttered during that tremendous scene was prayer, — prayer the most earnest, the most urgent ; repeated, continued, proceeding from the recesses of the soul ; private, solitary ; prayer for deliverance ; prayer for strength ; above every thing, prayer for resignation. — Sermon viii. MTJNGO PARK, 1771-1806. MuNGO Park, the renowned African traveller, was born at Fowlshiels, in Selkirkshire, Scotland, 1771, and was the seventh of thirteen children. Being early placed in the grammar-school at Selkirk, he distinguished himself for his ready talents, as well as for great perseverance and application. He had an early desire to study medicine, and, after qualifying himself in his pro- fession at Edinburgh, he went to London in search of employment, and was speedily appointed assistant surgeon on board the Worcester, East Indiaman, through the interest of that world-renowned patron of enterprising and scien- tific men. Sir Joseph Banks. Mr. Park showed himself every way worthy of this appointment; and shortly after his return from the East Indies he entered the service of the "Association for the Promotion of Discovery through the Interior of Africa," and sailed from Portsmouth on the 22d of May, 1795, in the brig Endeavour. His instructions were to proceed to the Niger by the nearest and most con- venient route, and endeavor to trace its course from its rise to its termination, and visit as many of the principal cities on its banks as possible. His vessel arrived at the mouth of the Gambia on the 21st of June, and after sailing up the river as far as Jonkakonda, he quitted her, and made preparations to pro- ceed into the interior of the country by land. It would be, of course, out of the question, in this short notice, to go into any of the details of the dangers he encountered and the sufferings he endured, full of perilous interest as they 40 PARK. were : suffice it to say that on the 21st of July, 1796, weak and almost ex- hausted, Mr. Park had the inexpressible gratification of coming in sight of Sego, the capital of Bambarra, situated on the long-wished-for river, which the natives teriu Joliba, or the " Great Water." He had not travelled far, however, in the exploration of the Niger before the rainy season set in, and he felt compelled to hasten his return, in which he suffered quite as much by sickness and encountered as many perils as in his advance. Once he was beset by banditti, who stripped him of almost every thing he had. Finally he reached the coast, took passage in an American ship for the West Indies, and thence to England, and landed at Falmouth on the 22d of December, 1797, after an absence of two years and seven months. He was received with distinguished honor by the African Association, and by almost all the other scientific bodies and eminent literary characters of London. He made arrangements to publish his travels, and the next year went to Scot- land, where in August he married Miss Anderson, the eldest daughter of his old teacher at Selkirk. He commenced practice as a physician at Peebles, but soon another expedition was planned for him, and on the 30th of January, 1806, he set sail from England with a party of forty-four for a second explora- tion of the Niger. But so severe were the fevers of the country that when Park reached Sego, the capital of Bambarra, on the 19th of September, but nine out of the forty-four were left, and most of these were sick. At length, by his unwearied perseverance, a large boat was constructed for the navigation of the Niger, and Mr. Park and the weak remnants of his party set sail. They had proceeded as far as Boosa, when the king of the country, angry at not having received any presents as a fee to pass through his domains,^ assembled a large body of men on the top of a high bluiF at a very narrow place of the river, and, as Mr. Park and his companions were about to pass, assailed them furiously with lances, pikes, arrows, stones, and missiles of every description. A number were killed at once, and Mr. Park, seeing all resistance vain, jumped into the river to swim ashore, and was drowned. Thus perished Mungo Park, in the thirty-fifth year of his age; a man whose natural enthusiasm, scientific acquirements, undaunted intrepidity, patience of suffering, and inflexible perseverance — in short, every quality requisite for a traveller in the path he adopted — have never been surpassed, 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 cha- racter it is pleasing to be able to add those of amiable simplicity of manners, constancy of affection, and sterling integrity in private life.^ KINDNESS OF A WOMAN TO HIM, AND A SONG OVER HIS DIS- TRESS. I waited more than two hours without having an opportunity of crossing the river; during which time the people who had crossed carried information to Mansong, the king, that a white man was waiting for a passage, and was coming to see him. He immediately sent over one of his chief men, who informed me 1 Mr. Park did in fact send presents, but the treacherous and dishonest bearer kept them himself instead of giving them to the king. * Read an interesting sketch of his life in Chambers's " Biographical Dictionary of Emi • nent Scotsmen," vol. iv. PARK. 41 that the king could not possibly see me until he knew what had brought me into this country, and that I must not presume to cross the river without the king's permission. He therefore advised me to lodge at a distant village, to which he pointed, for the night, and said that in the morning he would give me further instructions how to conduct myself. This was very discouraging. However, as there was no remedy, I set off for the village, where I found, to my great mortification, that no person would admit me into his house. I was regarded with astonishment and fear, and was obliged to sit all day without victuals in the shade of a tree ; and the night threatened to be very uncomfortable, for the wind rose, and there was great appearance of a heavy rain ; and the wild beasts are so very numerous in the neighborhood that I should have been under the necessity of climbing up the tree and resting among the branches. About sunset, however, as I was preparing to pass the night in this manner, and had turned my horse loose that he might graze at liberty, a woman returning from the labors of the field stopped to observe me, and, perceiving that I was weary and dejected, inquired into my situation, which I briefly explained to her ; whereupon, with looks of great com- passion, she took up my saddle and bridle, and told me to follow her. Having conducted me into her hut, she lighted up a lamp, spread a mat on the floor, and told me I might remain there for the night. Finding that I was very hungry, she said she would procure me something to eat. She accordingly went out, and re- turned in a short time with a very fine fish, which, having caused to be half broiled upon some embers, she gave me for supper. The rites of hospitality being thus performed towards a stranger in distress, my worthy benefactress (pointing to the mat, and tell- ing me that I might sleep there without apprehension) called to the female part of the family, who had stood gazing on me all the while in fixed astonishment, to resume their task, of spinning cotton, in which they continued *to employ themselves great part of the night. They lightened their labor by songs, one of which was composed extempore, for I was myself the subject of it. It was sung by one of the young women, the rest joining in a sort< of chorus. The air was sweet and plaintive, and the words, lite- rally translated, were these : — " The winds roared and the rains fell. The poor white man, faint and weary, came and sat under our tree. He has no mother to bring him milk ; no wife to grind his corn. Chorus. — Let us pity the white man ; no mother has he," &c. &c. &c. Trifling as this recital may appear to the reader, to a person in my situation the circumstance was afiect- ing in the highest degree ; I was oppressed bv such unexpected kindness, and sleep fled from my eyes. In the morning I pre- sented my landlady with two of the four brass buttons which 4* 42 PARK. remained on my waistcoat, the only recompense I could make her.^ THE 31 OSS IN THE DESERT.'^ After the robbers had gone,^ I sat for some time looking around me with amazement and terror ; whichever way I turned, nothing appeared but danger and difficulty. I saw myself in the midst of a vast wilderness in the depth of the rainy season, naked and alone, surrounded by savage animals and men still more savage. I was five hundred miles from the nearest European settlement. All these circumstances crowded at once on my recollection ; and I confess that my spirits began to fail me. I considered my late as certain, and that I had no alternative but to lie down and perish. The influence of religion, however, aided and supported me. I reflected that no human prudence or foresight could pos- sibly have averted my present sufierings. I was indeed a stranger in a strange land, yet I was still under the protecting eye of that Providence who has condescended to call himself the stranger's friend. At this moment, painful as my reflections were, the ex- traordinary beauty of a small moss in fructification, irresistibly caught my eye. I mention this to show from what trifling cir- cumstances the mind wdll sometimes derive consolation; for, though the whole plant was not larger than the tip of one of my fingers, I could not contemplate the delicate conformation of its roots, leaves, and capsule without admiration. Can that Being (thought I) who planted, watered, and brought to perfection in this obscure part of the world a thing which appears of so small importance, look with unconcern upon the situation and sufler- ings of creatures formed after his own image ? Surely not. Ke- flections like these would not allow me to despair : I started up, and, disregarding both hunger and fatigue, travelled forwards, assured that relief was at hand ; and I was not disappointed. In a short time I came to a small village, at the entrance of which 1 Our own Ledyard, who possessed every qualification of a traveller of the highest order, thus speaks in praise of women : — "I have observed among all nations that the women ornament themselves more than the men ; that, wherever found, they are the Bame civil, kind, obliging, humane, tender beings; that they are ever inclined to be gay and cheerful, timorous and modest. They do not hesitate, like man, to perform a hospitable or generous action; not haughty, nor arro- gant, nor supercilious, but fuU of courtesy and fond of society ; industrious, economical, in- genuous; more liable, in general, to err than man, biit in general, also, more virtuous, and performing more good actions, tlian he. I never addressed myself in the language of decency and friendship to a woman, whether civilized or savage, without receiving a decent and liiendly answer. With man it has often been otherwise. In wandering over the barren plains of inhospitable Denmark, through hon- est Sweden, frozen Lapland, rude and churlish Finland, unprincipled Russia, and the wide- spread regions of the wandering Tartar, if hungry, dry, cold, wet, or sick, woman has ever been frienelly to me, and uniformly so; and, to add to this virtue, so worthy of the appellation of benevolence, these actions have been performed in so free and so kind a man- ner, that, if I was dry, I drank the sweet draught, and, if hungry, ate the coarse morsel, with a double relish." "* Read some beautiful verses on this tonch- ing Incident by the Rev. Robert Mui-ray Mc- Clieyne, in his Memoir and Remains, p. 390. S He had beei^ waylaid and stripped of every thing he t(ad on by a savage baud of Man- dipgoeS; KIRKE WHITE. 43 I overtook the two shepherds who had come with me from Kooma. They were much surprised to see me, for they said they never doubted that the Foulahs, when they had robbed, had murdered me. HENRY KIRKE WHITE, 1785-1806, Unhappy White; while life was in its spring, And thy young Muse just waved her joyous wing, The spoiler came, — and all thy promise fair Has sought the grave, to sleep fore.ver there. Oh! what a noble heart was here undone. When science' self-destroy'd her favorite son 1 Yes! she too much indulg'd thy fond pursuit. She sow'd the seeds, — but death has reap'd the fruit. 'Twas thine own genius gave the final blow, And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low : So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, No more through rolling clouds to soar again, View'd his own feather on the fatal dart That wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart: Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel He nurs'd the pinion which impell'd the steel; While the same plumage that had warm'd his nest, Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast. So sang Lord Byron of that most gifted youth, Henry Kirke White, whose sincere and ardent piety was equalled only by his genius, his learning, and his uncommon ardor in the pursuit of knowledge. He was the son of John White, a butcher of Nottingham, and was born at that place in 1785. From his very early years he showed a strong thirst for knowledge, and at the age of seven tried his hand at prose composition. At school he greatly distin- guished himself among his companions, displaying wonderful powers of ac- quisition. But his father intended to bring him up to his own business; and one whole day in every week, and his leisure hours on other days, were employed in carrying the butchers basket. This, however, proved so irksome to him that, at the request of his mother, he was apprenticed to a stocking- weaver, to prepare himself for the hosiery line. This was scarcely more satis- factory to him than his former occupation; and, after a year, his mother, a woman of superior intelligence, who early perceived his genius and sym- pathized with his spirit, found means to place him in the office of Coldham