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CONTEN T S. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Oxford 1 
 
 Notes 105 
 
 A Biographical Summary of Eminent Characters 
 
 connected with the University 164 
 
 The Stage Coach 203 
 
 Fragments of Satire : 
 
 Death of a Libertine 231 
 
 Entrance into a Literary Life in London : its Diffi- 
 culties 234 
 
 House on Fire 236 
 
 Present Condition of the English Peasantry con- 
 trasted with that of Former Days 237 
 
PREFACE 
 
 TO 
 
 THE THIRD EDITION. 
 
 “ Oh ! none whose souls have felt a mighty name 
 Thrill to their centre with its sound of fame, 
 
 Whose hearts have warmed at wisdom, truth, or worth, 
 And half that makes the heaven we meet on earth, 
 
 Can tread the ground by genius often trod, 
 
 Nor feel a nature more akin to God !” 
 
 A third edition of the present work having been 
 
 required, the Author has endeavoured to correct 
 
 some inaccuracies which prevailed in the first, and 
 
 to remove those verbal innovations 
 
 “ quas aut incuria fudit 
 Aut hum ana parum cavit natura.” 
 
 The writer needs no oracle to remind him of the 
 many imperfections in this work which yet remain, 
 or to convince him how unequal it is to the dignity 
 
X 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 and interest of his subject. Oxford is indeed a city 
 of intellectual romance, and hallowed by memories 
 
 i 
 
 of surpassing worth in every sphere which science, 
 learning, and imagination command. Her past 
 teems with the proudest records of genius, and you 
 cannot unfold the great volume of mental biography 
 without finding its pages starred with the bright 
 names of those whose minds were cradled in her 
 ancient University. If Cicero could feel a fine glow 
 of classical enthusiasm on the haunted ground of 
 Athens, and say, “ quacunque ingredimur in ali- 
 quam historiam vestigium ponimus,” surely we may 
 look on Oxford with the triumph of patriots, and 
 the sympathy of scholars ; and imagine every grove 
 to be peopled with the forms of sages, poets, and 
 philosophers ; — 
 
 “ And tread the sacred walks 
 Where, at each step, imagination burns !” 
 
 For himself, without assuming a more than ordi- 
 nary love of the past, the Author cannot bid fare- 
 well to Oxford without deep and unaffected emotion. 
 Though he entered College at an age when experi- 
 ence had chilled those local excitements which he 
 would otherwise have felt, and though his days there, 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 XI 
 
 for the most part, have glided away in solitude and 
 anxiety, still he has to thank her for many an hour 
 of pure and elevated delight, and, above all, for the 
 unseen presence of those associations which hang 
 like a spell round her walls. Oxford 
 “ Has many a worthier son than he 
 
 but none who entered on her scenes with more en- 
 thusiasm, or who will leave them with more regret. 
 Often, from the loud turmoil of the world, will 
 memory look back on the quiet of her sacred retreats, 
 and hear 
 
 “ The many-mingled chimes 
 Swell into birth, like sounds of other times !” 
 
 Long may her venerable spires point to heaven; 
 long may she be the nursing mother of the wise, the 
 good, and the great; and still continue, from age to 
 age, to enrich the annals of mind with the names of 
 those who adorn the world, 
 
 “ When thrones are crush’d, and kings forgot !” 
 
 Lincoln College, 
 j December, 1833 . 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 % 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 B 
 
ANALYSIS OF PART I. 
 
 Intellectual greatness — the homage due to any establish- 
 ment tending to promote it — Oxford — feelings and associa- 
 tions awakened by its first appearance — its mental quiet — its 
 literary Past — studies — ancient and modern learning — classi- 
 cal bigots — system of study and examination — the necessity 
 of one general standard — reason why men of genius have 
 often contemned it — mind independent of circumstance — the 
 University — present appearance — view from the Radcliffe — 
 New College Chapel and service — Biographical associations — 
 Illustrations of the same in Addison, Steele, Collins, Johnson, 
 
 Sir Philip Sydney, Ben Jonson, and Locke Origin of 
 
 Locke’s famous Essay — intellectual society — a Contrast — 
 Canning — Davenant — Wesley — Hervey — Denham — Chat- 
 ham — Thomas Warton — Lisle Bowles — Country clergymen — 
 their seclusion how fondly anticipated — a scene suggesting 
 such anticipation — Blenheim — Balliol — Ridley and Lati- 
 mer — their martyrdom — Evelyn — Southey — the wisdom of 
 literary retirement, contrasted with the rivalries of the literary 
 world — female authorship — a characteristic sketch — return to 
 biographical associations, which conclude with Heber — his 
 early life — collegiate course — pastoral character and death in 
 India. 
 
OXFORD, 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Prevailing glory of triumphant mind! 
 
 Around thee ring the praises of mankind; 
 
 For what though empires spread their vast control 
 Far as the winds exult, or waters roll; 
 
 Though Tyrian merchandise their ports bedeck, 
 And navies thunder at their awful beck! 
 
 The pride of commerce and the awe of power 
 Melt into dreams, at desolation’s hour: 
 
 Then, what remains of kingdoms that have been? 
 Lo! deserts wave, where capitals were seen! 
 
 The wild-grass quivers o’er each mangled pile, 
 And winter moans along the archless aisle; 
 
 Where once they flourish’d ruins grimly tell, 
 
 And shade the air with melancholy spell, 
 
 While from their wreck a tide of feeling rolls 
 In awful wisdom through reflective souls ! 
 
 What then alone omnipotently reigns, 
 
 When Empires grovel on deserted plains, 
 
4 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART I. 
 
 In morning lustre, to outdare the night 
 That time engenders o’er their vanish’d might? 
 
 ’Tis mind! — an immortality below, 
 
 That gilds the past, and bids the future glow; 
 
 ’Tis mind! — heroic, pure, devoted mind, 
 
 To God appealing for corrupt mankind, 
 
 Reflecting back the image that He gave 
 Ere sin began, or earth became a slave ! 
 
 If then from Intellect supremely rise 
 The standing worth a Nation’s heart may prize, 
 
 In tow’ry dimness, gothic, vast, or grand, 
 
 Behold her palaces of learning stand! 
 
 When day was dying into sunset glow 
 I first beheld them in their beauteous show, 
 
 The solemn turrets of «ach ancient pile, 
 
 And thought — how noble is our native Isle! 
 
 A silent worship o’er my spirit came, 
 
 While feelings, far too exquisite for name, 
 Exultingly began their rapt control, 
 
 And flutter’d, like faint music, in the soul. 
 
 Where Greatness trod, is hallow’d ground to me; 
 There can I lift the heart, and bow the knee, 
 
 # Awake the past to all its living might, 
 
 And feed my fancy with unearthly sight, 
 
 * Sapiens nunquam solus esse potest ; habet secum oranes 
 qui sunt, quique unquam fuerunt boni; et animum liberum 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 5 
 
 Restore tlie features of the famous dead, 
 
 Nor take a kingdom for the tear I shed! 
 
 And how poetic is the haunted spot 
 Where life is mental, and the world forgot ! 
 
 A spirit wafted from collegiate bow’rs 
 And the dim shadow of her ancient tow’rs 
 To Alma Mater holy calm impart, 
 
 And make her scene harmonious with the heart. 
 
 The very air seems eloquently fraught 
 With the deep fulness of devoted thought; 
 
 While all around her, famed as eye desires, 
 
 The mind ennobles, or the heart inspires.* 
 
 And here, how many a youthful soul began 
 To sketch the drama of the future man; 
 
 How many an eye o’er coming years hath smiled, 
 And sparkled, as incessant hope beguiled! 
 
 The star-like spirits, whose enduring light 
 Beams on the world, and turns her darkness bright, 
 
 quocunque vult transfert: quod corpore non potest, cogitatione 
 complectitur ; et si hominum inops fuerit, loquitur cum Deo. 
 Nunquam minus solus erit, quam cum solus fuerit. — Hier. adv. 
 Jovin. I. 28 . 
 
 * How admirably does a sentiment of the philosophical 
 Reynolds (“ Discourse at the Royal Academy”) harmonize with 
 what the scenery of Oxford suggests ! — “ Every seminary of 
 learning is surrounded with an atmosphere of floating know- 
 ledge, where every mind may imbibe somewhat congenial to 
 its own original conceptions.” 
 
 b 2 
 
6 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part I. 
 
 In radiant promise here began to rise, 
 
 And glow ambitious for eternal skies! 
 
 Oh! none whose souls have felt a mighty name 
 Thrill to their centre with its sound of fame ; 
 
 Whose hearts have warm’d at wisdom, truth, or worth, 
 And half that makes the heaven we meet on earth, 
 Can tread the ground by genius often trod, 
 
 Nor feel a nature more akin to God! 
 
 Here in their blended magic float along 
 Pindaric rapture and Yirgilian song; 
 
 Still Homer charms as when he first prevail’d 
 And honour’d Greece her idol poet hail’d: 
 
 See Athens in her classic bloom revive, 
 
 Her sages worshipp’d, and her bards alive! 
 
 See Rome triumphant, but with banner furl’d, 
 Awake her genius to enchant a world! 
 
 There are who see no intellectual rays 
 Flash from the spirit-light of other days; 
 
 Who deem no age transcendent as their own, 
 
 And high the present o’er the past enthrone, 
 
 Yet, net in vain the world hath aye adored 
 The treasured wisdom ages gone afford; 
 
 Or loved the freshness of that youthful time 
 When Nature thrill’d, as man became sublime! 
 
 For then the elements of mind were new, 
 
 And fancy from their unworn magic drew; 
 
PART I.] OXFORD. 7 
 
 Creation’s self was one unrifled theme 
 To fire a passion, or to frame a dream; 
 
 As yet unliaunted by inquiring thought, 
 
 Each track of mind with mental bloom was fraught ; 
 The first in nature were the first to feel 
 Impassion’d wonder and romantic zeal; 
 
 Hence matchless vigour nerved their living page, 
 That won the worship of a future age; — 
 
 From ancient lore see modern learning rise, 
 
 The last we honour, but the first we prize. 
 
 Then long enshrined in this august retreat 
 May Greece and Rome for high communion meet ; 
 Long may their forceful page and free-born style 
 From year to year enamour’d youth beguile; 
 
 The judgment form, uncertain taste direct, 
 
 Teach truth to feel, and fancy to reflect; 
 
 And Learning, hallow’d by immortal fame, 
 
 See England glory in her Oxford name ! 
 
 Yet not forsaken be the proud career 
 
 That circles through the realm of thought severe; 
 
 The studies vast which measure earth and sky, 
 
 Or open worlds on the undaunted eye! 
 
 Which more offends? — the bigot who can read 
 No volume from the dust of ages freed; 
 
 Or he who owns no intellectual grace, 
 
 But makes a cargo of the human race, 
 
8 OXFORD. [PART I. 
 
 And values man like produce from the ground? 
 
 ’Tis hard to say, — yet both, alas! are found. 
 
 The dark idolater of ancient time, 
 
 And solemn epicure in prose or rhyme, 
 
 The groping pedant with a gloomy eye, 
 
 Who whines an elegy o’er days gone by, — 
 
 Oh ! still from Oxford be the race removed, 
 
 And nobler far her gifted scions proved. 
 
 What soul so vacant, so profoundly dull, 
 
 What brain so wither’d in a barren skull, 
 
 As his who, dungeon’d in the gloom of eld, 
 
 From all the light of living mind withheld, 
 
 Can deem it half an intellectual shame 
 
 To glow at Milton’s worth, or Shakspere’s name! 
 
 Farewell to bigots!* whatsoe’er their hue, 
 
 Who darken learning, and disgrace it too; 
 
 Another charge let Alma Mater own 
 By frequent sages on her wisdom thrown :f 
 
 * Eruditum vulgus. — Plin. Nat. Hist., lib. 2. 
 f Since the second edition of this work, the Author has 
 met with the “ Oxford Spy,” a poem in five dialogues, the first 
 of which was published in 1818, and has been generally attri- 
 buted to the pen of Mr. Boone. As the “ Spy” touches on 
 many local topics which the present writer has chosen not to 
 introduce in the body of the poem, he will venture to enlarge 
 on them in the more convenient form of a note. Mr. Boone’s 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 9 
 
 Alike one standard for the great and small 
 Her laws decree, by which she judges all; 
 
 work is pregnant with poetical beauty, and exhibits great 
 energy of expression, in unison with much fine sentiment and 
 elevated thought, while here and there flashes forth a line of 
 exquisite satire ; but the writer was evidently charmed with 
 an Utopian dream of some heaven -like University, where 
 wisdom was to be perfect, education complete, prejudice anni- 
 hilated, — youth, just budding into manhood, philosophically 
 sage, — and every trait of local bigotry extinct ! Now, such a 
 University as this maybe founded in poetry, but, alas! for 
 him who thinks that while human nature, human means, and 
 human prejudices, remain unaltered, that reality will ever pre- 
 sent us with the like. “ Paulatim” is the motto to the Academy 
 of Science at St. Petersburgh, and this may be considered as 
 the one most applicable to the spirit and system of our Uni- 
 versity. The “ Spy” seems to have forgotten that every man 
 receives (or ought to receive) two educations, (vide Boling- 
 broke ') — the first he receives from others, the second he must 
 give himself. The course of study pursued at College is but 
 preliminary, and if not followed up by future reflection, has 
 effected little for the real expansion of the mind ; and hence 
 it is, that many who have tasked health and time to a most 
 dangerous excess, in order to enjoy the brief laurels of a class, 
 after they have gained distinction, relapse into their original 
 mediocrity, and gradually subside into oblivion. Now, let a 
 right estimate of the aim and end of the collegiate studies and 
 honours be duly made, and much unsound speculation would 
 be avoided. The author of the “Spy” speaks of the time 
 spent in the University as if it were the “ be-all and end-all” 
 of a man’s life, and seems to hint that it might embrace the 
 whole circle of the sciences, and comprehend the acquisition 
 of both ancient and modern languages, in addition to the in- 
 ductive philosophy of Bacon, and the metaphysics of Locke ! 
 Perhaps there may be some truth in his censure on the absurd 
 
10 OXFORD. [part I. 
 
 Hence in one mould must oft confound at once 
 The daring thinker with the plodding dunce; 
 
 devotion paid to classical literature, and the mechanical struc- 
 ture of verse and prose; but, since his work appeared, the 
 system of examination has been much liberalized ; more room 
 is allowed the candidates for originality and reflection in their 
 essays, while in divinity, history, ethics, poetry, and criticism, 
 more profound analysis and holder inquiry are allowed. The 
 plan of introducing the study of living languages is very ques- 
 tionable; they are best acquired in their several countries, 
 and would only tend to embarrass the mind, by overtasking 
 its powers with a multitude of exercises and attainments. It 
 is easy to libel the classics, and pen severe remarks on the 
 nothingness of mere verbal science ; but no man who is capable 
 of imbibing the true spirit of ancient literature will ever la- 
 ment that during his residence at Oxford it formed the prime 
 and essence of his studies. That love for severe accuracy 
 which scholarship promotes, becomes a valuable habit in after 
 life ; and a fine taste for ancient learning, acquired in youth, 
 seldom fails to adorn the language and enrich the style of the 
 future man, in whatever sphere of literature he may reveal his 
 powers. — The “ Spy,” in a dialogue which professes to ex- 
 amine, with an impartial eye, the imperfections and advan- 
 tages of a University, ought not to have forgotten the gene- 
 rous spirit of emulation which a collegiate course awakens. 
 “ There is,” says Johnson, in allusion to Oxford, “ such a 
 progressive emulation ; the students are anxious to appear 
 well to their tutors ; the tutors are anxious to have their pupils 
 appear well in the College ; the Colleges are anxious to have 
 their students appear well in the University ; and there are 
 excellent rules of discipline in every College. That the rules 
 are sometimes ill observed, may be true, but is nothing against 
 the system.” 
 
 We shall now take the liberty of commenting on a few ex- 
 tracts from the “ Spy,” which allude to some “ Oxford Abuses ,” 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 11 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 The soaring Mind must sink into a plan, 
 
 Forget her wings, and crawl where dulness can; 
 
 which occasionally enliven the dulness of a Review, or awake 
 the groans of a radical press, whose clamours so often remind 
 us of the man who cried out “ fire !” in Noah’s flood ! 
 
 The “ Spy,” it appears, entered the shades of Oxford 
 
 “ To find 
 
 Peace for the soul and wisdom for the mind,” 
 
 yet found it not ! — and here he pours out his vial on the heads 
 of those vehicles for a young man’s laugh — the “ Dons.” We 
 fear few of them darkened the High-street, and that some of 
 them were confined to their beds after reading the following : — 
 
 “ What bade these feelings ebb, ye pedants, say? 
 
 What broke the dream, and rent the veil away ? 
 
 What dash’d these hopes to nothing? — ’Twas to see 
 Such folly cloth’d in such solemnity ; 
 
 To see, amid the foldings of the gown, 
 
 Lurk the same failings which disgrace the town ; 
 
 Spleen, envy, meanness, pride but ill represt, 
 
 And all the meaner passions of the breast, 
 
 Mix’d with the calm, which leaves no trace behind, 
 
 The sullen, sad monotony of mind.” 
 
 And then we are savagely informed — 
 
 “ Oh ! though remote from Isis, toil, and strife, 
 
 And all the deeper interests of life, 
 
 Ye souls to feeling, and to nature true, 
 
 Who love retirement, — ’tis no place for you.” 
 
 And why, forsooth? — because the dull pomposity of some be- 
 nighted Don annoys them ! Really this is a complimentary 
 allusion to the power of “ brief authority !” What though a 
 “ Don” should cross them with arrogant strut and unmeaning 
 stare, or a Proctor be inconveniently peremptory, or a Dean 
 annoy them with the intrusiveness of his petty dominion, can 
 
12 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part I. 
 
 Those bolder traits, original and bright, 
 
 Fade into dimness when they lose the light 
 Of open, free, and self-created day, 
 
 Where all the tints of character can play. 
 
 these “ souls to nature and to feeling true ,” when they breathe 
 the intellectual air of Oxford, and commune with the shadows 
 of her glorious past, allow themselves to be deprived of all 
 her local magic, because bigotry and dulness, robed in awful 
 gowns, occasionally interrupt their delights ? 
 
 Mr. “ Spy” is no admirer of “ Convocation,” and verily he 
 ought to have been knocked down with one of those golden 
 maces we lately beheld in that sepulchral domain, for the 
 impertinence of the following passage : — 
 
 “ Hail, Synod grave, which Heads of Houses keep, 
 
 To talk, and legislate, — 4 perchance to sleep !’ 
 
 Hail, Heads of Houses, whom your stars have made 
 To seem philosophers in masquerade ! 
 
 I hail you all, ye Dons of high degree, 
 
 Puff’d with the conscious pride of dignity ; 
 
 Solemn, and sage, and portly, to a man, 
 
 The worthy semblance of the Turk’s Divan !” 
 
 In reference to the magisterial powers of the Proctor, 
 the “ Spy” has introduced a description of a scene where the 
 privacy of a sick-room was broken by the bear-like intrusion 
 of those cloaked mysteries (as Mr. Galt w r ould term them), 
 yclept “ bull-dogs” We do not deny the fact ; but it was a soli- 
 tary case ; and we will venture to add, that no office in the 
 University is generally executed with more urbanity than 
 that of the Proctor : — to arrest the progress of imposing 
 young dandies, gownless and capless, who delight to brave 
 authority, however wholesome, and to fumigate the High- 
 street with the “ spicy gales” of a cigar, is a task of responsi- 
 bility, and not to be irreverently mocked. 
 
 In his fourth dialogue, Mr. “ Spy” examines the course oi 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 13 
 
 PART 1.] 
 
 Yet, what could Education’s art provide 
 
 For countless minds by varying standard tried ? 
 
 study pursued at Oxford, and moans over the barren result, 
 which he attributes to 
 
 “ Dates, places, names, a valley, or a plain,” 
 
 and 
 
 “ Little points, where still suspicions lurk, 
 
 That some old women must have been at work.” 
 
 We have no space to analyze his sentiments, but they all 
 tend to one point— viz., the necessity of introducing more 
 science, history, and modern philosophy, into the examinations 
 for degrees — and then he adds — 
 
 “ For must we only Aristotle quote, 
 
 And all his treatises be learnt by rote ?” 
 
 also 
 
 “ Can aught be found, 
 
 To strengthen reason, in itself more sound, 
 
 While Bacon, Paley, pour their flood of light, 
 
 To shame the doctrine of the Stagyrite ?” 
 
 Now all this is very crabbed, and by no means philosophical. 
 Aristotle was as great an original in his profound analysis of 
 the mind, as Shakspere was in his poetical interpretations of 
 the heart ; and surely no one who has accurately studied those 
 matchless treatises, the “ Ethics” and “ Rhetoric,” but has 
 (though unconsciously, perhaps) strengthened and expanded 
 his reasoning powers. It really is a noisome infliction to 
 read the raw and ignorant remarks which appear in certain 
 publications of the day, about the “ gloom of the Stagyrite,” 
 the “ fetters of Aristotle,” & c., &c., as if the mind that has 
 reigned triumphantly over nearly two thousand years, were 
 suddenly to be unthroned by the windy nonsense of a modern 
 scribbler! — Neither Locke, nor Paley, underrated the vast 
 
 C 
 
14 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part I. 
 
 For public weal, not individual mind,* 
 
 As mental nurse was Oxford first design’d ; 
 
 intellect of Aristotle ; and though we can now enjoy the 
 cloudless noon of Gospel truth, yet may we not disdain to 
 look back from time to time on the dawn of reason, as emerg- 
 ing gradually into the glorious morn of revelation. The fate 
 of Aristotle has indeed been strange. In the early ages of the 
 church, the writings of Aristotle were condemned as allowing 
 too much to reason and sensef — and now we are informed that 
 they allow too little ! Having tilted at the Stagyrite, the 
 author proceeds to annihilate poor Aldrich ! Now, if our Ju- 
 venal had told us that the Dean’s Latin was by no means 
 Ciceronian, and that “ red-hot syllogisms” were frequently 
 overrated — there would have been some truth, if no discovery, 
 in his statement, — but it is mistaken irony to satirize logic 
 as a science 
 
 “ Where, in the maze of subtle jargon lost, 
 
 The strongest reason could but err the most.” 
 
 After the admirable defence accompanying Archbishop 
 Whateley’s “ Logic,” it would he absurd presumption to offer 
 any remarks on its tendency to promote argumentative accu- 
 racy, and arm the mind against the sophistry and dogmatism 
 of opinion ; — so far from hoping that the sciences of Aristotle 
 and Logic may cease to he prominent in the studies of Oxford, 
 we ought to desire that every term should extend their legiti- 
 mate sway over the intellectual character of the University. 
 
 And here, candide lector ! we terminate a rambling note, for 
 which you may conceive an apology, framed after your own 
 delightful style— and furthermore, should you be in the am- 
 phibious state of an Under- graduate, we devoutly wish that 
 
 * II est bon de frotter et limer notre cervelle contre celle 
 d’autrui. — Montaigne. 
 
 f Herschel’s “ Preliminary Discourse,” &c. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 15 
 
 And blindly wrong would be her guardian eye, 
 
 To love the great, but pass the lesser by ; 
 
 From each due toil impassion’d genius save, 
 
 And crown for merit what mere nature gave. 
 
 Not all alike discerning Heav’n endows, 
 
 Nor equal mind to equal heart allows : 
 
 Full oft th’ ingenuous pang, the noble tear, 
 
 Or modest doubt, the phantom child of fear, 
 
 To humble Worth a consecration lends, 
 
 That proves for lost renown sublime amends ; — 
 
 Let mind be nursed, though doom’d a narrow sphere, 
 And what his Maker gives, let man revere ! 
 
 Allow that genius feels a curbless soul, 
 
 That chafes in fetters, and defies control; 
 
 And, haughty as the mountain eagle chain’d, 
 
 Hath ev’ry empire but her own disdain’d : — 
 Though customs old, like ancient roots, are found 
 With stubborn grasp to cling to native ground, 
 Fain would her boldness to herself be rule. 
 
 And Energy her own majestic school! 
 
 you may never personally explain that definition of man, so 
 quaintly given by a sapient wag* — in other words, may you 
 never be “ a two-legged animal without feathers /” — a species 
 of zoological curiosity occasionally issuing from the schools ! 
 
 * In explanation of this definition, it is recorded that a rival 
 sage plucked a cock bare, and placing it in a philosopher’s 
 school, observed, — “ Behold a philosophic man !” 
 
16 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART 1. 
 
 But when hath Mind such education lost, 
 
 However cabin’d, and however cross’d ? 
 
 Alike triumphant over college wall, 
 
 The mouldy cellar, and plebeian stall, 
 
 We mark the soul of Inspiration rise, 
 
 Expand her wings, and revel in the skies !* 
 
 Then vainly let the pow’rless sophist frown, 
 
 To hide one ray of Oxford’s fair renown, 
 
 * It was in prison that Boethius composed his excellent 
 work on the Consolations of Philosophy; it was in prison 
 that Goldsmith wrote his “ Vicar of Wakefield it was in 
 prison that Cervantes wrote “ Don Quixote,” which laughed 
 chivalry out of Europe ; it was in prison that Charles I. com- 
 posed that excellent work, the “ Portraiture of a Christian 
 King ;” it was in prison that Grotius wrote his “ Commentary 
 on St. Matthew ;” it was in prison that Buchanan composed 
 his excellent “ Paraphrase on the Psalms of David it was 
 in prison that Daniel de Foe wrote his “ Robinson Crusoe 
 (he offered it to a bookseller for ten pounds, which that 
 liberal encourager of literature declined giving ;) it was in 
 prison that Sir W. Raleigh wrote his “ History of the World 
 it was in prison that Voltaire sketched the plan and composed 
 most of the poem of “ The Henriade ;” it was in prison that 
 Howel wrote most of his “ Familiar Letters it was in 
 prison that Elizabeth of England and her victim, Mary 
 Queen of Scots, wrote their best poems ; it was in prison that 
 Margaret of France (wife of Henry IV.) wrote an “ Apology 
 for the irregularities of her conduct it was in prison that 
 Sir John Pettas wrote the book on metals, called “ Fleta 
 Minor;” it was in prison that Tasso wrote some of his most 
 affecting poems. With the fear of a prison how many works 
 have been written ! 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 1 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 Or quote some verse to vindicate his cause, 
 
 Of scornful meaning at her ancient laws. 
 
 Spirits have lived, who could not suffer chains ; 
 The fire that fever’d their electric veins 
 Burn’d all too restless for obedient thought, 3 
 And hence the solace indignation brought. 
 
 Yet when was order known, or due control, 
 
 To force divinity from out the soul ? 
 
 Oh ! little think they, how sublimely pure, 
 
 In godlike state above the world secure, 
 
 That earthless nature which they genius call; 
 
 In vain the tides of circumstance appal, — 
 
 Though clouds repress, and darksome wo detain, 
 The Soul remounts, and is herself again ! 
 
 Go, ask of Ages what made dungeons bright, 
 
 Vile suff’rance sweet, and danger a delight, 
 Created thunders to o’erawe the sky, 
 
 Unloosen’d storms, and let the whirlwinds fly ? — 
 ’Twas Spirit, independently sublime, 
 
 The King of nature, and the Lord of time! 
 
 The Sun is up ! behold a princely day, 
 
 And all things glorious in its glorious ray; 
 Ascend the Radcliffe’s darkly -winding coil 
 Of countless steps, nor murmur at the toil ; 
 
 For lo ! a scene, when that ascension’s o’er, 
 Where few can feel as they have felt before : — 
 c 2 
 
18 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part I. 
 
 There, from the base of her commanding dome 
 O’er many a mile the feasting eye may roam, 
 
 While music-winged, the winds of freshness sound, 
 Like airy haunters of the region round. 
 
 Yon heav’n is azured to one dazzling die, 
 
 Beneath, a splendour that surpasses sky! 
 
 Spire, tow’r, and steeple, roofs of radiant tile, 
 
 The costly temple, and collegiate pile, 
 
 In sumptuous mass of mingled form and hue, 
 
 Await the wonder of thy ling’ring view. 
 
 Far to the west, autumnal meadows wind, 
 
 Whose fading tints fall tender on the mind ; 
 
 And near, a hoary tow’r with dial’s side, 
 
 And nearer still, in many-window’d pride, 
 
 All Souls’, — with central tow’rs superbly grand; 
 But see ! the clouds are borne, — they break, — expand ! 
 And sunshine, welcomed by each ancient pile, 
 
 Like Past and Present when they meet to smile, 
 With tinting magic beautifully falls 
 On fretted pinnacles, and fresco’d walls, 
 
 Till dark St. Mary, with symmetric spire, 
 
 Swells into glory as her shades retire, 
 
 And Maudlin trees, that wave o’er Cherwell 
 stream, 
 
 Flash on the view and flutter in the beam : — 
 
 In yellow faintness, lo ! that sun-burst dies, 
 
 The vision changes with the change of skies ; 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 19 
 
 Again have centuries their dominion won, 
 
 And shadows triumph o’er the failing sun. 
 
 And ev’ry where time-hallow ’d temples rise. 
 Whose classic pomp corroding age defies. 
 
 What solemn beauty by the spirit felt! 
 
 While feelings into adoration melt, 
 
 As in their depth of Gothic gloom we tread 
 Amid the hush of ages which are dead ! 
 
 I well remember, when a stranger, first, 
 
 A stately vision on my senses burst; 
 
 From tow’ring lamps a noon-like radiance shone 
 O’er pavement mottled with mosaic stone, 
 
 And white -robed choristers in due array, 
 
 Whose vestments glitter’d like the sheen of day. 
 There, silver-voiced, in many a heav’nward note, 
 
 I heard rich music in soft billows float, 
 
 Now faintly ebb, then loudly swell again, 
 
 And grow resistless as the organ strain 
 Came river-like, in one impassion’d roll 
 From the deep harmony of Handel’s soul! 
 
 And tell me, thou whose wand’ring feet have 
 trod, — 
 
 Like his who trembled on the ground of God, — 
 The hallow’d earth, where classic glories shine 
 Back on thy spirit with their beam divine, — 
 
20 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part I. 
 
 Hath Oxford, haunted by her long array 
 Of memories that cannot glide away, 
 
 No local magic to entrance thy mind, 
 
 And make it prouder of thy human kind? 
 
 Whate’er of good and glorious, learn’d or grand, 
 Delighted ages and adorn’d the land, 
 
 Was foster’d here : — the senate, pulpit, bar, 
 
 The scenes of ocean, and the storms of war, — 
 Wherever Mind hath high dominion shewn, 
 
 To counsel kingdoms, or secure a throne, — 
 
 There may Oxonia sons of glory hail, 
 
 And see the spirit which she nursed, prevail!* 
 Forget awhile the fever of the hour, 
 
 Wake her dim gloom, and lo ! the Past hath pow’r : 
 Around thee Bards or Sages muse or stray, 
 
 And wind the garden that is walk’d to-day. 
 
 The pilgrim clouds, the time-worn trees that wave 
 On banks whose beauty constant waters lave, 
 
 Their eyes beheld : — do burning thoughts begin? 
 Then dare to rival what you dream within! 
 
 Too vast her list, might pen achieve it all, 
 
 Each form of mem’ry into life to call ; 
 
 Yet fain would fondness with some imaged few 
 Partake a moment, and believe it true. 
 
 * See “ Biographical Summary” at the end of the volume. 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 21 
 
 Adown yon path, beside the grassy sweep 
 Of Maudlin park, where light deer couch and 
 leap, 
 
 And giant elms the haughty winds delay, 
 
 There gentle Addison was wont to stray : — 
 
 And where the mill-stream turns the restless wheel, 
 As writhing on the broken waters steal, 
 
 His tree-lined walk of beauteous length began, 
 
 For ever hallow’d by that holy man! 
 
 In many a whirl hath autumn’s driving blast 
 From these fond trees their summer foliage cast, 
 And leafy show’rs now mournfully abound, 
 
 In sallow redness scatter’d o’er the ground ; 
 
 Yet here full oft, the branches waving green, 
 
 And heav’n’s blue magic smiling in between, — 
 
 The pensive rambler dream’d an hour away, 
 
 Or wove the music of his Attic lay, 
 
 Saw b Cato’s grandeur on his soul arise, 
 
 And heav’n half open to a heathen’s eyes : — 
 
 Or, happier themes, whose ethic pureness glows 
 With ev’ry tint that character bestows, 
 
 From ancient lore his tender heart beguiled, 
 
 And lit his features when his fancy smiled! 
 
 Nor be forgot who all his worth could feel, 
 
 The friend of Addison, delightful Steele, 
 
 Whose classic morn let Merton’s annals claim, 
 Where first the drama woo’d him on to fame : 
 
22 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part I. 
 
 More roughly hewn than his Athenian friend, 
 
 And vent’ring oft where virtues never tend; 
 
 Yet warm of soul, and child-like to a tear, e 
 As when it dropp’d upon a parent’s bier ; 
 
 Now madly sunk in passion’s deep excess, 
 
 Now high in wisdom which a saint might bless ; 
 
 A mixture wild of all that man admires, 
 
 Whose faults may warn him, while his fame inspires. 
 
 Ere Steele began what Addison pursued, 
 
 A path still fresh with England’s gratitude, 
 
 Those day-born graces, whose refinement blends 
 The charm of manner with the soul of friends, 
 
 La Casa first in Italy awoke, 
 
 And sketch’d the courtier with a master stroke ; 
 
 But next the Gallic Theophrastus* threw 
 A playful archness o’er the scene he drew, 
 
 Dissected truth with satire’s keenest knife, 
 
 And mirror’d nature on the glass of life: 
 
 Then rose on English ground the gifted pair, 
 
 Who taught to either sex a softer air, 
 
 Proved elegance to virtue’s self allied, 
 
 And laugh’d at Dulness, till her follies died! 
 
 O’er weeds and thorns that social life beset, 
 
 And tease their martyr into vain regret, 
 
 La Bruyere. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 23 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 Their morning smile satirically pass’d, 
 
 Till fools turn’d wise, and fops were cured at last ! 
 Nor small the debt Society should pay 
 To him who flaps her buzzing flies away; 
 
 Those noisome insects on eternal wflng, 
 
 That hum at banquets, or in ball-rooms sting, 
 Which, though they cannot heart or mind o’erpower, 
 May fret the smoothness of the calmest hour. 
 
 Here Collins, too, whose wizard numbers roll d 
 An earthless music o’er the dreaming soul, 
 
 In melancholy loneness pined and thought 
 Amid the darkness which his genius brought : 
 
 E’en now the curse was breeding in his brain, — 
 
 A nerveless spirit, and a soul insane ! 
 
 While moon-born fairies would around him throng, 
 And genii haunt him in the hush of song : 
 
 Ill-fated bard ! like Chatterton’s thy doom, 
 
 To seek for fame, and find it in the tomb ! 
 
 To Pembroke turn, and what undying charm, 
 Breathed from the past, shall there thy spirit warm ! 
 There Johnson dwelt! the dignified and sage, 
 
 The noblest honour of a noble age ; 
 
 Whose mien and manners, though of graceless 
 kind, 
 
 Were all apart from his heroic mind ; 
 
24 OXFORD. [part I. 
 
 They were the bark around some royal tree, 
 
 Whose branches towering in the heav’ns we see ! 
 Here lived and mused that unforgotten man! e 
 Might language speak, what only feeling can, 
 
 As here I view these venerable walls, 
 
 And slow, as in some fane, my footstep falls, 
 
 Young hearts would echo to a welcome strain, 
 
 And feel, as I do, — Johnson live again! 
 
 O’er Time’s vast sea a cen’try’s waves have roll’d, 
 And many a knell hath unregarded knoll’d, 
 
 Since, fondly wrapt in meditative gloom,* 
 
 The sage of England sat in this lone room : 
 
 Yet, well may Fancy, at yon ev’ning fire, 
 
 Behold him seated ; and when moods inspire, 
 
 (As Sorrow droop’d, or Hope her wings unfurl’d,) 
 His spirit hover through the varied world 
 Of life and conduct, fortune, truth, or fate, 
 
 His future glory, and his present state : 
 
 Or when the noonshine reign’d in golden power, 
 And dimly smiled some melancholy tower, 
 
 Muse at his window with far-wand’ring eye, 
 
 And drink the freshness of the open sky ; 
 
 Or round the gateway woo admiring ears 
 To listen, while he charm’d beyond his years, 
 
 * Quis enim est cui non interdum obrepat moeror ac 
 tsedium quoddam intuenti mala quibus undique plena sunt 
 omnia ? — Erasmus. 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 25 
 
 By spoken magic, or electric wit* 
 
 That flash’d severe, yet sparkled where it hit : — 
 
 A bright deception ! far too often seen 
 To hide the heart where agony has been : 
 
 Oh ! hideous mockery the mind endures, 
 
 To forge the smile whose merriment allures, 
 
 To gild a moment with fictitious ray, 
 fYet feel a viper on the spirit prey! 
 
 Departed Soul ! how oft when laughter fed 
 Upon the frolic which thy fancy bred, 
 
 And happy natures, as they saw thee smile, 
 
 Seem’d mingling with thy sunny heart awhile, 
 
 Back to thy chamber didst thou darkly steal, 
 
 And there the blight of thine own bosom feel ! 
 
 Then sink to slumber with a heated brain, — 
 
 To morrow wake, and wear that smile again ! f 
 
 I know not why, but since a dream of fame, 
 
 My heart hath gloried in great Johnson’s name, 
 
 * Johnson was a classical punster, and used to assert that 
 his conversational rival, Burke, could not accomplish the en- 
 viable art of manufacturing puns — yet is not Burke’s pun on 
 Wilkes being carried on the shoulders of the mob — transcen- 
 dent ? — e, g “ numeris que fertur Lege solutis” — i. e a lawless 
 mob ! 
 
 | A plague of the sense, a convulsion of the soul, an epi- 
 tome of hell — I say of the melancholy man, he is the cream 
 and quintessence of human adversity ! — Burton's Anat. 
 
26 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part I. 
 
 And deeper worship to his spirit vow’d 
 Than others have to loftier worth allow’d. 
 
 In what a mould was his high nature cast, 
 
 Who never ventured, but he all surpass’d! 
 
 And reign’d amid the realms of thought alone, 
 Nor left an equal to ascend his throne. 
 
 How truly deep, how tenderly divine! 
 
 The lofty meaning, the majestic line ! 
 
 A moral sweetness, a persuasive flow 
 Of happy diction, whether joy or wo 
 Call’d energies from his unfathom’d mind, 
 Where’er they muse, delighted myriads find; 
 And though the bleakness of his spirit threw 
 Round earth’s rare sunshine too severe a hue, 
 How Life and Character before him stand, 
 Their myst’ries open, and their scenes expand ! 
 And well for wisdom, could the loud pretence 
 Of puny language with profoundest sense, 
 
 Such massy substance in the meaning shew, 
 
 As that which ages to a Johnson owe! 
 
 Descend from learning to the nearer view, 
 Where Man appears in vital colours true; 
 
 And where was piety more deeply shrined, 
 Than in the temple of his awful mind, 
 
 Whence day and night eternal incense rose 
 To Him from whom the tide of being flows! 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 27 
 
 That self-respect, around whose constant sway 
 The purest beams of happiness must play, 
 
 He ever felt; the same proud dream it gave 
 To hours that wither’d in the toils of Cave, 
 
 And him, in aidless fortune high and free, 
 
 Who taught a lord how mean a lord could be!* 
 
 And, mix’d with harshness, irritably loud, 
 
 That came like thunder from the social cloud 
 Which pride or pertness round the moment threw, — 
 His faith, how firm! — his tenderness, how true! 
 
 For Goldsmith’s worth, or Garrick’s lighter grace, 
 The tears of fondness trembled down his face ; 
 
 And when did Want or Wo to him appeal, 
 
 Nor find a hand to give, a heart to feel? 
 
 While Truth he worshipp’d with severest awe, — 
 
 Of fame the glory, and to life the law . 8 
 So great he lived; yet round the greatest soul 
 How weakness hovers with a vile control ! 
 
 A grinning demon, whose contrasted sway 
 Supremer wisdom cannot scorn away. 
 
 As when some organ of the frame appears 
 In matchless strength beyond the mould of years, 
 
 A weakness balancing that strength is found; 
 
 So oft in mind, where miracles abound, 
 
 The lying pettiness of nature seems 
 Revenged in mocking what perfection dreams. 
 
 * Lord Chesterfield. 
 
28 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part I. 
 
 In Johnson thus: the piety that trod 
 Each path of life, communing with his God, 
 
 In gloomy hours could childish phantoms see, 
 
 And give to penance what was due to tea! h 
 The mind that reason’d on the fate of man, 
 
 And soar’d as high as wingless nature can, 
 
 Would oft descend, the petty bigot shew, 
 
 And wrench his spirit to out-talk a foe ! 
 
 Or else, in whirlwind fury sweep along, 
 
 And risk the right, to prove a victor wrong. 
 
 The soul that spake angelically wise 
 When Truth and he were throned amid the skies, 
 In human life his Rasselas forgot 
 To wear the meanness of our common lot, 
 
 By passion bow’d, each prejudice obey’d, 
 
 And grew ferocious when a smile was made! 
 
 Yet peace to such! of all by men adored, 
 
 Than Johnson, who could better, faults afford? 
 
 Let earth exult that such a man hath been, 
 
 And England follow where his steps are seen! 
 
 To swell the records of collegiate fame, 
 
 See Lincoln rise, and claim her Daven ant’s name; 1 
 Within her walls the minstrel student wove 
 Poetic dreams of melody and love. 
 
 On him, as yet a verse-enchanted child, 
 
 The prince of nature, Shakspere’s self, had smiled! 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 29 
 
 Oli! to have listen’d to that glorious tongue, 
 
 And* seen the man on whom a world has hung, 
 
 Till admiration, too intensely wrought, 
 
 Became a worship, and adored in thought! 
 
 And, Wesley ! k often in thy room I see 
 A holy shadow that resembles thee; 
 
 Let others laugh at that o’erheated mind, 
 
 Which never gloried but to bless mankind ; 
 
 Be ours the tribute to as pure a soul 
 As Fame recordeth in her sacred roll. 
 
 A kindred line to pious Hervey 1 pay, 
 
 Whom Lincoln boasted in his morning day: 
 
 When night begins, and starry wonders teem, 
 
 My fancy paints him in some holy dream, 
 
 With eye upturn’d to where th’ Almighty shone, 
 While vision’d angels warbled round His throne! 
 
 From Christ Church, lo ! a dazzling host ap- 
 pears, 
 
 Whom time has hallow’d, and the world reveres, 
 
 Of prelates, orators, and statesmen high, 
 
 To be forgotten, — when the world shall die! 
 
 ’Twas here the muse of tragedy divine 
 Bade m Jonson rise, and picture Catiline; — * 
 
 * T rjg (pvatiog ypafjifjLaTevg rjv , tov KoXa/iov ctnofipsxwv tig 
 vo v v — ( Suidas . ) 
 
30 OXFORD. [PART I. 
 
 Immortal Ben! to Selden dear, and fraught 
 With all that Homer loved, or Plato taught. 
 
 A later age, and Locke’s eternal mind 
 Here soar’d to reason, such as Heav’n design’d, 
 Help’d Understanding to redeem her sway, 
 
 And out of night call’d intellectual day! n 
 
 One ev’ning, when delightful converse glow’d, 
 
 As friend on friend his gleam of thought bestow’d, 
 A spark was struck that set the soul on fire, 0 
 Whence sprang the work fond ages shall admire! 
 Hours worthy Heav’n! when cultured spirits meet 
 Within the chamber of divine retreat; 
 
 There friendship lives, there mental fondness reigns, 
 And hearts oblivious of their lonely pains, 
 
 By feeling blended, one communion make, 
 
 To keep the brightness of the soul awake! 
 
 But who can languish through the leaden hour 
 When heart is dead, and only wine hath pow’r? 
 
 That brainless meeting of congenial fools, 
 
 Whose highest wisdom is to hate the Schools, 
 Discuss a tandem, or describe a race, 
 
 And curse the Proctor with a solemn face, 
 
 Swear nonsense wit, and intellect a sin, 
 
 Loll o’er the wine, and asininely* grin! 
 
 * That asinine feast of sow-thistles and brambles. — Milton’s 
 Prose Works. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 31 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 Hard is the doom when awkward chance decoys 
 A moment’s homage to their brutal joys. 
 
 What fogs of dulness fill the heated room, 
 Bedimm’d with smoke, and poison’d with perfume! 
 Where now and then some rattling tongue awakes 
 In oaths of thunder, till the chamber shakes ! 
 
 Then Midnight comes, intoxicating maid! 
 
 What heroes snore, beneath the table laid! 
 
 But, still reserved to upright posture true, 
 
 Behold! how stately are the sterling few: — 
 
 Soon o’er their sodden nature wine prevails, 
 Decanters triumph, and the drunkard fails: 
 
 As weary tapers at some wondrous rout, 
 
 Their strength departed, winkingly go out, 
 
 Each spirit flickers till its light is o’er, 
 
 And all are darken’d, who were drunk before! 
 
 Oh! thou, whose eloquence and wit combined 
 To make their throne the heart of all mankind; 
 Whom Mem’ry visions in his wonted place 
 Where passions lighten’d o’er a speaking face, 
 
 And sounds of feeling from the soul were heard, 
 While music hung on ev’ry magic word, — 
 Regretted Canning ! oft has Christ Church seen 
 Thy glance of lustre sparkle round her scene ; 
 From p Eton famed, where dazzling merit shone 
 In each young theme thy genius smiled upon, 
 
32 OXFORD. [part I. 
 
 Her walls received thee; where thy talents grew, 
 Bright in the welcome of her fost’ring view, 
 
 Till glowing Senates mark’d thy spirit rise, 
 
 And England hail’d it with applauding eyes ! 
 
 Alas ! that in thy manhood’s noble bloom, 
 
 The shades of death hung grimly o’er thy doom, 
 Thy frame, too weak, a fiery spirit wore, 
 
 Though mind prevail’d till life’s last pulse was o’er ! 
 
 Thy funeral knell, — oh! when I heard it moan 
 Like the deep echo of a nation’s groan, 
 
 Beheld the sky, where Sorrow loves to gaze 
 When myst’ry wraps us, or the world betrays, 
 
 And thought how soon thy glorious sun had set ! 
 
 I felt a sadness, that doth linger yet: 
 
 But had I, demon -like, e’er wing’d the dart 
 Whose poison fed upon thy feeling heart, 
 
 Inflicted pangs where only praise was due, 
 
 And vilely thwarted ev’ry soaring view; 
 
 A more than melanch’ly for him who died, 
 
 Slain by the weapons which renown supplied, 
 
 My soul had borne; and, wrung with inward 
 shame, 
 
 Cursed the dark hour that wounded Canning’s fame ! 
 
 The yew-tree’d walk, and wilderness of shade, 
 Where rosily the twilight hues have play’d, 
 
PART I.] OXFORD. 33 
 
 By q Denham haunted, — Trinity! revere; 
 
 There wander’d he, no step invasive near, 
 
 The world forgot, to frame a poet ? s skill, 
 
 And dream’d the melodies of Cooper’s Hill. 
 
 And haughty r Chatham, at whose humbling word 
 E’en Walpole trembled, when its pow’r was heard; 
 Who baffled Spain, America, and Gaul, 
 
 To throne his England like a Queen o’er all, — 
 
 Thy paths have echo’d his immortal feet, 
 
 Thy shades enjoy’d him in sublime retreat. 
 
 Here s Warton’s soul emparadised his hours, 
 
 And strew’d antiquity with classic flow’rs;* 
 Where’er he went, saw dim cathedrals rise, 
 
 Or Gothic windows in their sunset dyes. 
 
 And thou, whose ever-gentle page is fraught 
 With the sweet lore poetic sadness taught, 
 
 Not unremember’d let thy name be found, 
 c Where Genius hallows an enchanted ground. 
 
 Upon that brow the seal of time hath set 
 A mournful grace, but left no dark regret 
 For wither’d years, — whose flow’ry bloom remains 
 In the pure" fresh ness of Aonian strains. 
 
 Yet oft thy mem’ry, in creative gloom, 
 
 May fondly sigh o’er many a distant tomb, 
 
 * Nor rude, nor barren, are the winding ways 
 Of hoar antiquity, but strewn with flowers. — Warton. 
 
34 OXFORD. [part I. 
 
 Where moulder forms that brighten’d other days, 
 Whose eyes have glisten’d o’er thy youthful lays ! 
 Thy noontide spent, serener twilight glows 
 Around thy spirit, like a soft repose, 
 
 And oft I turn, when fancy wanders free, 
 
 Romantic Bowles! to spend a thought with thee: 
 Oh ! long in Bremhill may the village chime 
 Sound the sweet music of departing time. 
 
 And fairy echoes, as they float along, 
 
 Awaken visions that were born in song, 
 
 Of hope and fame, when first thy feeling youth 
 Their beauty painted on a world of truth. u 
 
 Thy pleasing life, in past’ral quiet spent, 
 
 Where lieav’n and earth comminglingly are blent, 
 
 A pray’r evokes, that England long may see 
 In wood -hung vales, from city murmur free, 
 
 Her landscape charm in varied shadow drest — 
 
 The village steeple with its tow’ry crest, 
 
 When dimly taper’d to romantic height, 
 
 Or grayly melted into morning light. 
 
 Not Windsor vast, with battlemented tow’rs, 
 
 With charm so deep a pensive gaze o’erpow’rs, 
 
 As village spires, in native valleys seen, 
 
 And nature all around them, hush’d and green: 
 
 How oft some eye, as o’er the wheel-track’d road 
 The whirling coach conducts her motley load, 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 3 5 
 
 Hath wistful gazed where neat the pars’nage rose, 
 With Church behind it in revered repose. 
 
 Ah! little know they, whom the harsh declaim 
 Of Folly leads to scorn a Curate’s name, 
 
 *In hamlets lone what lofty minds abound, 
 
 To spread the smiles of charity around! — 
 
 * “For about three quarters of a century, the public la- 
 boured under the delusion that Pope was a poet, and, more- 
 over, a man of tolerable morals, till an amiable clergyman 
 took upon himself to disabuse the world of its errors.” — Such 
 is the lame sarcasm with which Dr. Madden, in his “ Infirmi- 
 ties of Genius ” (vol. i.), introduces the name of Bowles. 
 Having some years ago been enabled to offer a few critical 
 remarks on the “ Pope controversy,” in a periodical since 
 defunct, we may be permitted, perhaps, to recover our senti- 
 ments on the present occasion. Now, has Dr. Madden really 
 perused Bowles’ edition of Pope ? or has he merely quoted 
 the article which appeared in the “ Quarterly” on this subject? 
 We suspect the latter, from the style in which he alludes to 
 Mr. Bowles’ edition, which, in fact, so far from aiming to 
 impress the reader with a dark idea of Pope’s moral character, 
 breathes throughout of generous appreciation, and candid in- 
 quiry. True, Pope is not imaged forth to our imagination as 
 a sun without a spot, but there is no mean tendency in the 
 occasional remarks on various and somewhat dubious passages 
 in his life. It is a mock generosity, and a miserable desertion 
 of the high and peerless cause of truth, to deify the dead at 
 the expense of the living ; and we may recal to Dr. Madden 
 a passage which he himself has quoted with singular com- 
 placency : — “ Truth is to be sought only by slow and painful 
 progress ; but error is, in its nature, flippant and compendious ; 
 
36 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART I. 
 
 It was not that a frowning chance denied 
 An early wreath of honourable pride: 
 
 hops with airy and fastidious levity over proofs and arguments , 
 and perches upon assertion , which it calls conclusion .” 
 
 With reference to the question of Pope’s rank and height 
 on the dehateable Mount of Parnassus, Dr. Madden luxuriates 
 in the idea that Lord Byron fired off one or two epistles to 
 his publisher which were intended to annihilate Mr. Bowles 
 and his creed altogether. But, after the contrast exhibited 
 between Lord Byron’s private opinion of poets, as expressed 
 in the correspondence edited by Moore, and his public senti- 
 ments on the same authors, men will estimate at its due 
 worth the aristocracy of taste. For instance, in various parts 
 of his “ Letters,” it appears that his lordship did think very 
 highly of Southey and Wordsworth — and yet with what sa- 
 vage and ungenerous contempt does he ever allude to these 
 men in his poetry ? Yes, he could lavish unneeded eulogies 
 on Pope, who was beyond his praise, and, from his peculiar 
 style, utterly removed from rivalship with him — but for 
 Wordsworth, at the fountain of whose intellect he had taken 
 so many clandestine draughts, there was no epithet too 
 mean, and no ridicule too coarse, which he did not employ to 
 underrate his worth ! For our own part, we are free to con- 
 fess, that the perversion of his popularity to blind the public 
 against the genius of Wordsworth, Southey, &c., was an 
 odious trait in Lord Byron’s life. But these times are over, 
 and, in the increasing popularity of Wordsworth, is to be 
 recognised the dawn of nobler taste, and higher appreciation 
 for philosophic poetry. 
 
 As to the “ Letters” to Murray, no one can read them 
 without being amused by their animation, point, and drollery ; 
 but, we believe, it is generally allowed that the advantage of 
 argument and solid criticism was on Bowles’ side. Bowles 
 considered Pope as the first in the second rank of poets, that 
 is, next to Shakspere and Milton I — was this depreciation ? 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 37 
 
 In College rolls triumphantly they shine, 
 
 And proudly Alma Mater calls them, mine! 
 
 Were we to place his exquisite but artificial verse beside the 
 sublime revealings of Milton, or the dramatic creations of 
 Shakspere ? We believe no man but Lord Byron would do 
 so, if, indeed, he actually felt all he wrote about Pope, for 
 there is much vanity in applause, and Lord Byron began to 
 consider himself as the sole defence and support of Pope’s im- 
 mortality ! But, had not the genius of Pope animated, as it 
 were, the poetical life-blood of the country long before his 
 lordship became illustrious? And though the heretics of 
 Cockneyism presumed to invalidate the claims of the bard of 
 Twickenham, and (as at the present) pale-faced young gen- 
 tlemen, panting to be “ Corsairs” enamoured of the “ dark- 
 blue sea,” and prating, in parrot-like tones, of 44 passion,” 
 44 pride,” and 44 discontent,” — uttered their puerile nonsense, 
 on the subject and sources of Pope’s muse, — still there was 
 not a leaf withered in the laurel of his fame. 
 
 We shall not conclude without an allusion to one or two 
 more passages in Dr. Madden’s 44 Infirmities.” He remarks,— 
 44 There is a paradox in the conduct of literary men, which 
 makes it necessary to draw a distinction between their actions 
 and their sentiments, between the author with a pen in his 
 hand, and the man without it.” Is not the 44 paradox” the 
 Doctor’s own charming property ? — Does he expect a poet to 
 come into drawing-rooms, and be the incarnation of his 
 poetry ? and wonder why the glow, the exultation, and purity 
 of his mind, while composing, are so rarely visible in the in- 
 tercourse and social morals of daily life ? We suspect Dr. 
 Johnson has unravelled the mystery in that pithy sentence— 
 44 It is easy to despise death when there is no danger, and to 
 glow with benevolence when there is nothing to be given.” 
 Here is the difference between the abstract and concrete ! — 
 44 Poetry,” says de Stael, 44 is the apotheosis of sentiment !” — 
 it is a love and a veneration for the ideal, a passion for the 
 E 
 
38 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART I. 
 
 But heavenlier dreams than ever fame inspired 
 Their spirit haunted, as the world retired ; 
 
 beautiful and unearthly — a consciousness and belief of the 
 “ immortal powers that lie folded up in man !” And surely 
 it is no unfathomable paradox that a poet should be able to 
 know, feel, and express all this, and, while surrounding him- 
 self with dreams of loveliness in the hush of retirement, pic- 
 ture forth the noblest specimens of man’s mind — and yet, 
 when the power of inspiration is past, come forth with all the 
 imperfections of prose, and flesh, and blood. 
 
 Dr. Madden’s work is not devoid of interest, and in its 
 main tendency is benevolent ; but he has attributed too much 
 to the moral influence of malady. Indigestion has been admir- 
 ably defined as “ the remorse of the stomach and, doubtless, 
 under its various inflictions, the most amiable hearts may for 
 a while do injustice to their nature, and the most musical of 
 tongues be out of tune ; but this does not apply to all those 
 cases cited by the author of “ The Infirmities.” He says, 
 (vol. 2,) “ Who knows under what paroxysm of disease he 
 (Pope) might have written those bitter sarcasms which he 
 levelled against his literary opponents ?” (he might have added, 
 “ and against his old friends and acquaintances.”) And does 
 Dr. Madden believe that poets compose under “ paroxysms of 
 disease !” Horace thought far differently, and so did Juve- 
 nal,* who was no mean judge in these matters ; but, allowing 
 that Pope did commit his poetical vengeance to verse under 
 “ paroxysms,” — was he obliged to publish it? The elabora- 
 tions which his poems underwent are well known ; they were 
 not written by steam, nor published immediately after their 
 
 * Sed vatem egregium, cui non sit publica vena, 
 
 Qui nihil expositum soleat deducere, 
 
 Hunc 
 
 Anxietate carens animus facit , omnis acerbi 
 Impatiens , cupidus silvarum , Sfc., Sfc. — Sat 7, /. 5. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 39 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 The fameless quiet of parochial care, 
 
 And sylvan home, their fancy stoop’d to share; 
 
 And when arrived, no deeper bliss they sought 
 Than that which undenying Heaven had brought. 
 On such, perchance, renown may never beam, 
 Though oft it glitter’d in some College dream ; 
 
 But theirs the fame no worldly scenes supply, 
 
 Who teach us how to live, and how to die! 
 
 In life so calm, unworldly, and refined, 
 
 What pictured loveliness allures the mind ! 
 
 Hast thou forgot that balmy summer noon 
 That glow’d so fair, and fled, alas ! so soon, 
 
 My chosen friend ! in whose fond smile I see 
 A spirit noble, and a nature free, 
 
 production ; consequently Pope had time to recover from his 
 paroxysms, and to soften down the maledictions of his rhyme 
 — if he thought them unjust or undeserved. In regard to 
 Lord Byron’s physical “ infirmities,” whatever they may have 
 been, the disposition of heart which would enable any man to 
 compose such atrocious stanzas as those lately published on 
 Rogers — for whom he professed the deepest regard, and on 
 the altar of whose genius he had often laid the gift of his 
 praise — is not to be explained by dyspepsia, or indigestion. 
 Dr. Madden’s practice must have taught him, that genius is 
 not the only thing which undergoes infirmities ; and though 
 there are some mental “ infirmities” which are peculiar to the 
 temperament of literary men, — to refer a moral obliquity of 
 mind and meanness of heart to such cause, is frail and im- 
 perfect philosophy. 
 
40 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 L PART I. 
 
 When Blenheim woo’d us to her proud domain, 
 Where Ilist’ry smiles, and Marlb’rough lives 
 again. 
 
 And on the way how sweet retirement threw 
 A shade of promise o’er life’s distant view? 
 
 How wildly beautiful the bending sky, 
 
 Like heaven reveal’d, burst radiant on the eye! 
 
 A spirit, bosom’d in the winds, appear’d 
 To chant noon -hymns, where’er a sound career’d, 
 While ev’ry leaf a living gladness wore, 
 
 And bird-like flutter’d as the breeze pass’d o’er; 
 
 The lark made music in the golden air, 
 
 The green earth, yellow’d by a sunny glare, 
 
 In twinkling dyes beheld her flow’ry race 
 Dance to the wind and sparkle o’er her face; 
 
 Faint, sweet, and far, we heard the sheep -bell 
 sound, 
 
 While insect happiness prevail’d around. 
 
 And green monotony of hill and glade, 
 
 Where viewless streams, by verdure oft betray’d, — 
 (Like Charity, who walks the world unseen, 
 
 Yet leaves a light where’er her hand hath been,) 
 
 By bank and mead roll’d windingly away, 
 
 ’Twas ours to witness in superb array. 
 
 Noon glided on, till day’s declining glow 
 Beheld us sweeping o’er the verdant flow 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 41 
 
 Of meadowy vales, to where the village hill 
 In garden bloom we welcomed, bright and still. 
 That sunny eve in smiling converse fled 
 Around a banquet generously spread, 
 
 Beneath a roof where elegance combined 
 The pure in taste with fancy the refined: — 
 
 The x church antique, whose ivied turret won 
 The dying changes of departing sun, 
 
 And gleam’d upon us at our parting hour, 
 
 I still remember in its beauteous power. 
 
 Then home we sped beside romantic trees 
 Whose leaf-pomp glitter’d to the starting breeze, — 
 And fondly view’d in symmetry of shade 
 The mimic branches on the meadows laid. 
 
 In wave-like glory burn’d the sunset sky! 
 
 Where rosy billows seem’d to swell and lie 
 Superbly vast; — as if that haughty day, 
 
 Ere yet th’ horizon saw him sink away, 
 
 His clouds and colours, vassal-like, would see 
 Once more awake, and own their Deity ! 
 
 Where Balliol frowns along her ancient road, 
 By Evelyny hallow’d, his endear’d abode, — 
 
 I never pass, nor think of them who died — 
 
 Heroic martyrs, burning side by side! 
 
 Upon her walls there hung a crimson glare, 
 
 And red fires raven’d on the breezeless air; 
 
 e 2 
 
42 OXFORD. [part I. 
 
 But thou, false bigot!* in that murd’rous hour, 
 Couldst look to Heaven, and on thy victims lour, 
 Then feed thy gaze with agonies of fire, 
 
 As, limb by limb, the tortured saints expire ! — 
 
 In serpent writhings, lo! the flames awake, 
 
 Hiss as they whirl, and riot round the stake, 
 
 While mitred fiends, as they behold them rise, 
 
 Glare on the martyrs with their wolfish eyes! 
 
 Yet firm they stand: — behold! what glories smile 
 Above the fury of that savage pile; 
 
 Ten thousand harps, ten thousand anthems swell, 2 
 And Heav’n is worshipp’d in a scene of hell! 
 
 Here Southey, a in the spring-like morn of youth, 
 His feeling, conduct, — and his fancy, truth, — 
 Beheld the orb of Liberty arise 
 To gild the earth with glory from the skies; 
 
 What w onder, then, if his Chaldean gaze 
 With glowing worship met her morning rays, 
 Beheld them bright as freedom’s rays should be, 
 And thought they darted from a Deity? 
 
 Who did not feel, when first her shackles fell, 
 
 The truth sublime that France inspired so well? 
 
 * Doctor Smith, the apostate, who recanted in King Ed- 
 ward’s time. In perusing the dark volume of ecclesiastical 
 history, how frequently is that sound maxim of Fenelon veri- 
 fied: — “ La force ne peut jamais persuader les hommes ; elle 
 ne fait que des hypocrites !” 
 
PART I.J 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 43 
 
 There is a freedom in the soul of man, 
 
 No tyrant quenches, and no torture can ! 
 
 But when high Virtue from her throne was hurl’d, 
 And Gaul became the dungeon of the world, 
 
 No mean deserter was the patriot proved, 
 
 Whose manhood censured what his youth had loved. 
 
 In bloom of life he sought domestic shade, 
 Devoting hours a world had not betray’d, 
 
 In deep affection to delightful lore, 
 
 Which feeling loves, and wisdom may adore. 
 
 While others linger’d in the restless town 
 To wear the thorny wreath of young renown; 
 
 Or, spirit-worn, see rivals mount above, 
 
 With few to honour, and with none to love; 
 
 Afar to Keswick’s mountain calm he hied, 
 
 And found a haven which a home supplied. 
 
 There nature pure to his pure soul appeals, 
 
 With her he wanders, and with her he feels, 
 
 While earth and sky for poesy unite, 
 
 And the hush’d mountains awe the heart’s delight ! 
 Thus flowingly the fairy hours depart, 
 
 And each day adds a virtue to the heart. 
 
 Ah, blissful lot! which few have lived to share, 
 Who haunt the world, and seek to find it there ; 
 Forgetful that one day of life is fraught 
 With years of meaning for inductive thought, 
 
44 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART I. 
 
 In baffled hope the mind exhales away, 
 
 Their each to-morrow a renewed to-day; 
 
 Too fiercely kindled by some loud applause, 
 They burn for Glory, but betray her cause. 
 True fame is feeling, in its earthless hour, 
 
 Sent from the soul with world-subduing power, 
 From heart to heart electrically known, 
 
 Till realms admire, and ages are its own! 
 
 Oh! blest resolve, that consecrates a life, 
 
 To leave for studious calm the noisome strife 
 Of London’s everlasting round of self, 
 
 Pursued by learning, or career’d for pelf. 
 
 In wise seclusion heaven-ward thoughts incline 
 To form in man the elements divine; 
 
 From day to day their semblance nearer grows, 
 Till kindred mind a kindred Maker knows; 
 And then, what beautiful accordance seen 
 In all that truth has taught, or time hath been! 
 What once was dark becomes divinely clear, 
 And earth itself a heaven-reflecting sphere. 
 
 The living principle of Power above 
 That issued forth in this fair world of love, 
 
 The Spirit feels within herself abide, 
 
 The will direct, and o’er each thought preside; 
 In man or nature, whatso’er befall, 
 
 Her faith can fathom and interpret all! 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 45 
 
 Turn from the calm secluded life bestows, 
 
 A life which Evelyn loved and Southey knows, 
 
 To London ; where a world of living mind 
 In one dark fever of excess we find; 
 
 Where talent sparkles with incessant rays, 
 
 And authors* perish — for the want of praise! 
 Though minds there be, whose magical control, 
 
 Like sounds from heaven, beatifies the soul, 
 
 Too rapidly our soaring authors teem, 
 
 For each to fill the circle of his dream. 
 
 Though high the hope which energy awakes, 
 
 And far the flight a free-wing’d spirit takes, 
 
 A thousand hearts o’er disappointment bleed, 
 
 The many venture, but the few succeed. 
 
 Hence of all crimes the last to be forgiven, 
 
 Eternal barrier to some critic’s heaven, 
 
 Success is proved; — that hour her star appears, 
 
 In daring brightness to outdazzle years, 
 
 The fogs of hate, the clouds of dulness rise, 
 
 To quench her lustre, and deface her skies; 
 
 Hence martial pens in pugilistic rage, 
 
 And venom oozing from each vulgar page, 
 
 * “ Stat contra, dicitque tibi tua pagina — fur est !” — Mart. 
 
 There came by chance into my company a fellow not very 
 spruce to look on. I asked him what he was ? He answered, 
 a poet. I demanded why he was ragged ? He told me, this kind 
 of learning never made any man rich ! — Burton's Anat. 
 
46 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART I. 
 
 Slander abroad on her exulting wings 
 To frighten fools, or flap the face of kings, 
 
 While faded authors, overcome with bile, 
 
 Turn into villains, and lampoon the isle!* 
 
 But, hark! to sounds so musically dear, 
 
 By flatt’ry melted into folly’s ear; 
 
 Behold a Lion that doth roar to-night, 
 
 And doubt if homage be not man’s delight! 
 
 Amid the sweet, soft words, that come and go,f 
 From lord to lady, and from belle to beau, 
 
 There in thyself a night-throned idol see, 
 
 ’Tis all thou art, and all a fool should be 4 
 Enamour’d thus, nonsensically dream 
 Thy mental worth a supernat’ral theme; 
 
 Yet, look around thee ere the night be o’er, 
 
 Thy heart is free, and thou a fool no more! 
 
 Thy mien, thy manners, and thy person tend 
 To make no charm Politeness could commend; 
 
 And, lest they should not quite sufficient see, 
 
 The faults of others are bestow’d on thee ; 
 
 * II n’y a point au monde un si penible metier que celui de 
 se faire un grand nom. — Bruyere. 
 
 f The pregnant brevity of one of Montaigne’s sayings is 
 applicable to these artificial scenes — “ Combien est le language 
 faux moins sociable que le silence l” 
 
 } ’Tis all thou art, and all the proud should be ! — Pope. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 47 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 Thus on, till all that once was glory thought 
 From tongue to tongue is whisper’d into nought ; 
 While each is conscious, as thy fame’s o’erthrown, 
 To wound another’s, is to heal his own.* 
 
 Yet oft ambiguous Hate her truth beguiles, 
 
 And Envy wriggles into serpent smiles ! 
 
 Some cringing, cawing, sycophantic sneak, 
 
 With heart as hollow as his head is weak, 
 
 In smother’d voice will chance a rival sue 
 To feed the pages of a starved Review: 
 
 “ Dear Sir! I think your genius quite divine,” 
 To-morrow, turn, and lash it line by line ! 
 
 And can it be, to such ignoble life 
 Of ceaseless longing, and chicaning strife, 
 
 Where fever’d passion frets the hour along, 
 
 That woman’s gentler soul would fain belong? 
 
 Oh! deem not the assuming pride of man 
 Would claim a glory which no woman can; 
 
 Nor think to her soft nature is not given 
 The dame of genius with the form of heaven ! 
 
 * “ The life of a celebrated man was more glorious in an- 
 cient times : but that of an obscure individual is more happy 
 in this modern period.” — T>e Stael. In allusion to the same 
 subject, this acute writer remarks in another place — “ The 
 most glorious triumph the Greeks could obtain excited much 
 less hatred than the limited applause resulting from the nig- 
 gard hand of modern criticism.” 
 
48 
 
 OXFORD. [PART I. 
 
 Her tenderness hath made our harshness weep, 
 
 And hush’d our passions into child-like sleep; 
 
 Her dewy words fall freshly on the soul, 
 
 Her numbers sweet as seraph music roll; 
 
 And beautiful the morn-like burst of mind, 
 
 When first her spirit wakens o’er mankind! 
 
 Now painting clouds, now imaging the sea, 
 
 Bloom on the flower, and verdure on the tree ! 
 
 But diff’rent far a genius thus display’d, 
 
 From mind corrupted into menial trade, 
 
 When reputation is the theme adored, 
 
 And pilfer’d learning* all its charms afford, 
 
 Those hues divine that delicately please, 
 
 The smile unfashion’d, and the soul at ease, 
 
 All, all that language is too frail to tell, 
 
 Which forms in woman what we feel so well, 
 
 In public life too often dies' away, 
 
 Like dreams forgotten in the flush of day. 
 
 There, taunting pens dissect her dubious claim, 
 
 Or jeering coxcombs jest away her fame. 
 
 Behold the beauty of yon garden flower 
 In lovely bloom beside its native bower; 
 
 What winning freshness in its healthful dye, 
 
 Pure as the spring, and radiant as the sky! 
 
 * One is almost tempted to suppose that human invention 
 is limited, like a barrel-organ, to a specific number of tunes. — 
 Dugald Stewart. For an illustration, vide one-half of modern 
 literature. 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 49 
 
 Transplant it thence to some o’erheated room, 
 Where hands profane it, — and, alas ! the bloom ! 
 
 Let man his intellectual sceptre wield; 
 
 To him have Ages in their march appeal’d 
 To shape the elements of mind and power 
 Through the vast scene of Life’s unrestful hour. 
 *But thou, fond woman! on affection’s throne, 
 Behold a kingdom of the heart thine own ! 
 
 Their feelings form the subjects of thy sway, 
 And all is Eden where thy glances play ! 
 
 ’Tis thine to brighten far from public strife, 
 
 The daily windings of domestic life, 
 
 The thousand hues that sprinkle ev’ry scene, 
 Where Time betray eth that his touch hath been. 
 
 * Bishop Newton’s idea of a “ substantial wife” would ap- 
 pear very prosaic to the super-sentimental ideas of a modern 
 Miss — here it is, reader! — “ Some clever, sensible woman, who 
 would lay out his money to the best advantage, and be careful 
 and tender of his health ; a friend and companion at all hours, 
 and who would be happier in staying at home , than be perpe- 
 tually gadding abroad !” — In Burnet’s account of the unfortu- 
 nate Queen Catherine, ( Reformation , vol. i. p. 387,) a touch 
 of homely truth occurs, delightfully illustrative of her domes- 
 tic character — “ She was a devout and pious princess ; — in 
 her greatness she wrought much with her own hands, and 
 kept her women well employed about her, as appeared when 
 the two legates came once to speak to her. She came out to 
 them with a skein of silk about her neck , and told them she had 
 been at work with her women” 
 
50 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part I. 
 
 A magic deeper than Creation pours 
 Full on the spirit from unfathom’d stores, 
 
 An ecstasy beyond each art divine, 
 
 The painter’s vision, or the poet’s line, 
 
 ’Tis thine to kindle, when the soul is free 
 To form an idol, and confess it thee ! b 
 
 Pleasant is Morning, when her radiant eye 
 Opes on the world, enchanting all the sky; 
 
 And Ev’ning, with her balmy glow of light, 
 
 The beauteous herald of romantic night: 
 
 And pleasant oft to some poetic mind 
 The sound of water, and the sweep of wind, 
 
 A friend renew’d in some heart-welcomed place, 
 With years of fondness rising in his face; 
 
 The tear that answers to a tale of wo; 
 
 And happy feelings in their heavenward flow. 
 
 But sweeter far proves his revengeful lot 
 Whom Fame hath slighted, or the World forgot, 
 In printed bile to let his spirit vent, 
 
 And mangle volumes to his heart’s content; 
 Corrupt what style, create what fault he please, 
 Laugh o’er the truth, and lie with graceful ease! 
 Thus envy lives, and disappointment heals 
 The gangrened wounds a tortured memory feels ; 
 Thus wither’d hopes delightful vengeance wreak, 
 While pages thunder more than scorn could speak. 
 
PART I.] OXFORD. 51 
 
 And thus with thee, whose life I now recall;* 
 Malignant trash, — ’twas thine to scorn it all! 
 
 Each reptile started from his snug review 
 To spit out poison, — as most reptiles do; 
 
 Oh! how they feasted on each faulty line, 
 
 And generously made their dulness thine! 
 
 From page to page they grinn’d a ghastly smile, 
 
 Yet seem’d to look so heaven-like all the while: 
 Then talk’d of merit to the world unknown, 
 
 Ah! who could doubt them, for they meant their 
 ownS 
 
 Religion, too! — what right had he to scan 
 The scheme of glory which she wove for man ; 
 
 Or paint around him, wheresoe’er he trod, 
 
 The glowing fulness of eternal God? 
 
 Indeed, ’twas hinted, — hoped it was untrue, — 
 
 His heart had worn an atheistic hue; 
 
 And still religion, though its hallow’d name 
 Had lent a freshness to his early fame, 
 
 Had not alike both heart and head inspired; 
 
 In short, the world was sick, and they were tired; 
 And then, to prove his verse had made it vile, 
 
 They mouth’d it in their own sweet monthly style ! 
 
 * This passage, with others of a kindred tone, alludes to a 
 state of feeling long passed away. It is not the only place in 
 the volume over which, in all sincerity, the writer need ex- 
 claim — “ cnaag ovap !” — (1839.) 
 
52 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART I. 
 
 Next, Paternoster* hired a serpent too, 
 
 To sound his rattle in the Scotch review ; d 
 And yet, alas! that such a menial end 
 Should wait on all who noble taste defend, 
 
 Though much was thought, and more divinely 
 said, 
 
 The poet triumph’d, and the public read; 
 
 And when abuse herself had ceased to pay, 
 
 That public hooted, and she slunk away! 
 
 The faded past my fancy haunts again; 
 
 And lo! thine image shadow’d o’er my strain, 
 
 Thou lovely Spirit of celestial worth! 
 
 Whose saint-like pureness so adorn’d the earth, 
 And, when it vanish’d, thrill’d a world with wo, 
 And thoughts, that never into language flow, 
 
 But silently within the soul retire, 
 
 And all the majesty of grief inspire! 
 
 Yet, words and tears have minglingly adored, 
 Deep, warm, and true, as feeling hearts afford, 
 Those angel attributes that good men prize, 
 Lamented Heber! when they leave the skies, 
 
 Awhile some spirit pure as thine array, 
 
 Smile on the world, and heaven -like pass away! 
 
 * Subaud. Row. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 53 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 There is a shadow round the holy dead: 
 
 A mystery, wherein we seem to tread; 
 
 As oft their lineaments of life awake, 
 
 And sorrowing thoughts their hallow’d semblance 
 take. 
 
 What once they dreamt, when mortal nature threw 
 Phantasmal dimness round their soaring view, 
 
 Now, all unearth’d, beatified, and free 
 From toil and tears, — the unsealed eye can see: 
 
 No more on them the fitful whirl of things, 
 
 From joy to gloom, eternal trial brings; 
 
 Array’d in light, before the Throne they shine, 
 
 And fathom mysteries of Love Divine: 
 
 Why tears were shed, why pangs of wo prevail’d, 
 Why Goodness mourn’d, and Virtue often fail’d, 
 
 No longer now a with’ring shadow throws, 
 
 Like that which hovers round the world’s repose. 
 
 The holy dead! of earth and heaven the dear! 
 Whene’er the darkness of our troubled sphere 
 ’Twixt God and Man will demon -like arise, 
 
 Deject the soul, and doubt away the skies; 
 
 Then Mem’ry points to where their feet have 
 trod, 
 
 Redeems our nature, and recalls her God! 
 
 Creation’s debt to discontented Time 
 They help’d to cancel, by excess sublime 
 f 2 
 
54 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART I. 
 
 Of worth and wisdom, magically great 
 Above the meanness of our mortal state; 
 
 The smile that withers in its cynic play 
 Each hope of earth when budding into day, 
 
 By merit awed, in forceless meaning falls, 
 Whenever mind exalted mind recalls; 
 
 And era’s bright of holiness and love 
 Their spirits promise from a world above! 
 
 And such was he, whose toiling virtues won 
 A tomb of fame beneath a foreign sun. 
 
 In childhood, ev’ry dawning sweetness made 
 A tender magic which no truth betray’d; 
 
 While, fond as feeble, blendingly began 
 Those mental traits that ripen into man. 
 
 Romance and fairies, red Crusades, inspired 
 The poesy which deeper years admired: 
 
 Heaven’s awful book for ever would he read, 
 
 And mourn to see the great Redeemer bleed; 
 
 In all he did, benevolence prevail’d, 
 
 And when entreated, — never kindness fail’d; 
 
 Nor form of wo, nor face of grief, he pass’d, 
 
 But pitied all, and pitied to his last ! e 
 
 From Neasden fresh, lo ! Oxford hails him 
 now/ 
 
 And fancies new are bright’ning o’er his brow : 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 55 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 Too warmly toned, too feelingly endow’d, 
 Companionless to linger in the crowd, 
 
 A brother’s fame around him lives and blooms, 
 
 His mind awakes, — and magic fills his rooms! 
 Where souls have listen’d as he charm’d the hour, 
 And young eyes sparkled to confess his power. 
 
 Still, unentangled by the social net, 
 
 Though smile and banquet of the heart beset, 
 
 Each dawn beheld him at his classic tome, 
 
 And pure, as in his unforgotten home ! g 
 
 Scarce enter’d yet, and honours flower’d his way ! 
 And soon the music of his master-lay 
 From circling thousands woke a thrill divine, h 
 While England wept o’er weeping Palestine ! 
 
 There are, that still in this cold world remain, 
 Whose ears are haunted by that holy strain, 
 
 Whose eyes dejected Salem still behold, 
 
 As scene on scene the vision was unroll’d, 
 
 When invocation with her sweetest sound 
 Woo’d angel forms, — and angels watch’d around! 
 While grandly swelling into giant view, 
 
 4 6 Like some tall palm the noiseless fabric grew!” 
 Then Israel harping by her willow’d streams, 
 
 And prophets bright with more than prophet dreams, 
 The poet vision’d in his pictured strain 
 Amid the glory of Millenium’s reign : 
 
56 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART I. 
 
 Then bade his thunders tell of time no more, 
 
 Till Nature shudder’d at their dooming roar! 
 
 Fond eyes were fix’d upon the minstrel now, 
 
 A raptured Sire beheld his laurell’d brow, 
 
 And blest his boy with all that tears bestow, 
 
 When Heaven seems by, and human hearts o’erflow: 
 And where was he? — escaped the glowing throng, 
 In the proud moment of triumphant song, 
 
 He sought his chamber; — silent and alone, 
 
 A mother saw him at his Maker’s throne ! 1 
 
 That hour hath pass’d: — a village curate made, 
 How nobly seen amid retirement’s shade! 
 
 Parochial cares his cultured mind employ, 
 
 Domestic life, and intellectual joy. 
 
 The old men cry — a blessing on his head! 
 
 And angels meet him at the dying bed; 
 
 Let fever rage, disease or famine roll 
 Tormenting clouds, that madden o’er the soul, 
 Where life exists, there Heber’s love is found, 
 
 And heaven created by its welcome sound! 
 
 None are all blest; without some mental strife 
 To ripple, not destroy, the calm of life: 
 
 That heart for ever open to the poor, 
 
 Who weeping came, but smiling left his door, 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 57 
 
 Was all unapt, when mean annoyments rose 
 From rustic fools or mercenary foes, 
 
 By happy lightness to o’erleap them all, 
 
 And melt the clouds which daily life befall. 
 
 For wiser oft, where common nature guides, 
 
 Th’ ungifted spirit of the world presides, 
 
 Than he, whose loftiness of feeling fails 
 To stoop or wind where subtlety prevails. 
 
 Nor could that soul, though high its lot had been, 
 Forget to paint a more expanded scene, 
 
 An atmosphere wherein the mind could sway 
 O’er wider realms of intellectual day. 
 
 They dawn’d at length! — a not unclouded dream, 
 From golden climes by Ganga’s idol stream. 
 
 That Indian soil poetic fancy knew, 
 
 Her sculptured wreck, and mountain’s roseate view, 
 Her palmy mead by banks of radiant green, 
 
 And dusky cots where cooling plantains lean. 
 
 But when he felt a meek -eyed mother’s gaze, 
 
 And thought how soon might end her lonely 
 days! 
 
 Beheld his child in cradled hush asleep, 
 
 Too frail to dare the thunders of the deep; 
 
 His books deserted, friendship’s riven chain, 
 
 And he, — afar upon the boundless main! 
 
 That strife of soul might well forbid him roam, 
 
 And softly hue the tenderness of home! 
 
58 OXFORD. [PART I. 
 
 Those shading doubts a Providence dispell’d; 
 Each home-born fear aspiring goodness quell’d: 
 
 The parting o’er, behold! the billows sweep 
 In rushing music as he rides the deep, 
 
 That wafts him onward to his Indian clime, 
 
 While mused his heart on future toil sublime, 
 Whereby Redemption and her God would smile 
 On heathen lands, and many a lonely isle, 
 
 Where stinted Nature, in her soulless gloom, 
 
 From age to age had wither’d to the tomb! 
 
 And haply, too, when rose the twilight star, 
 
 And billows flutter’d in a breezy war, 
 
 At that dim hour regretted England came, 
 
 Familiar walks, and sounds of early fame, 
 
 And village steeple, with the lowly race, 
 
 Whose fondness brighten’d to behold his face ! 
 
 The Land was reach’d ; and, oh ! too fondly known 
 How Heber made that sunny land his own, 
 
 Till heathen hearts a Christian nature wore, 
 
 And feelings sprang which never bloom’d before, 
 
 As toil’d he there with apostolic truth, 
 
 Redeem’d her Aged, and reform’d her Youth, 
 
 For praise to honour with a powerless line 
 
 A heart so deep, a spirit so divine ! k 
 
 He lived; he died; in life and death the same, — 
 
 A Christian martyr! — whose majestic fame 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 59 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 In beacon glory o’er the world shall blaze, 
 And lighten empires with celestial rays; 
 While Virtue throbs, or human hearts admire 
 A poet’s feeling with a prophet’s fire; 
 
 While pure Religion hath a shrine to own, 
 
 Or Man can worship at his Maker’s throne! 
 

OXFORD. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 “ The still air of delightful studies.” — Milton. 
 
 “ To range 
 
 Where silver Isis leads the stripling feet ; 
 
 Pace the long Avenue, or glide adown 
 
 The stream-like windings of that glorious street !” 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 G 
 
ANALYSIS OF PART II. 
 
 The proud feelings arising from a survey of the past — com- 
 mencement of College life — entrance into Oxford — first morn- 
 ing in the University — Chapel service — a walk through the 
 town — the new Clarendon — circulation of the Scriptures — 
 sublime hopes — picture of the Indian reading his Bible — re- 
 turn to Oxford life — the freshman — acquaintances — characters 
 — difficulty and danger of selection — importance of the first 
 step in College life — the pure associations of Home— advance- 
 ment and triumph — the reprobate — Tutors — Fellowships — 
 collegiate retirement considered in reference to happiness — 
 reflections on the same — chime of evening hells — the student 
 — fascinations of midnight study — mental and physical effects 
 — Night scene — moonlight — its splendours — reflective con- 
 clusion — time — youth — retrospections and anticipations — 
 thirst for fame and struggles for renown — the evanescent nature 
 of human glory — a farewell view, and apostrophe to Heaven. 
 
PART II, 
 
 And thus o’er visions of thy matchless few 
 Hath fancy revell’d in her fleet review ; 
 
 And, oh my country! glorious, brave, and free, 
 Soul of the world! what spirits hallow thee! 
 There is a magic in thy mighty name, 
 
 A swell of glory, and a sound of fame ; 
 
 And myriads feel upon thy hills and plains 
 The patriot blood rush warmer to their veins, 
 As all thou wert, and art, the mind surveys 
 With burning wonder and enchanted gaze! 
 
 To this proud scene of architect’ral pride, 
 
 To all but her, the ocean-famed, denied, 
 
 A parent sends, with many a bosom’d fear, 
 
 His child, to arm him for the world’s career. 
 Nor deem unawful that remember’d hour, 
 
 When Fate and Fortune, with seductive power, 
 To Inexperience urge their blended claim, 
 
 And lead to honour, or allure to shame. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 64 
 
 [part II. 
 
 At length, young Novice! comes that fond farewell 
 Which words deny, but tears as truly tell; 
 
 The distance won, — behold! at evening hour 
 Thine eye’s first wonder fix’d on Maudlin tower, 
 Then, gothic structures, as they swell to view 
 In steepled vastness, dark with ages’ hue: 
 
 And on thine ear when first the morn-bells wake, 
 As o’er the wind their jangling echoes shake, 
 Delighted fancy will illume thy brow, 
 
 To feel thyself in ancient Oxford now ! 
 
 Collegiate life* next opens on thy way, 
 
 Begins at morn, and mingles with the day; 
 
 * A Sermon preached at “ Poulis Cross, the xiii. day of 
 December, 1550,” contains the following description of Uni' 
 versity discipline at that period: — “ There be diuers which 
 rise dailie betwixt three and fyve of the clock in the mornyng, 
 and from fyve until syxe of the clock use common prayer, 
 with an exhortation of God’s Word, in a common chapelle, 
 and from syxe untoo tenne use euer eyther private studie or 
 commune lectures. At tenne of the clock they go to dyner, 
 where as they be contente with a feme piece of befe amongest 
 iiii, having a few potage of the brothe made of the same befe, 
 with salt and oatmeal, and nothing elles. After this slender 
 dyner, they be eyther teachinge or learninge until fyve of the 
 clocke in the euyning, when as they have a supper not much 
 better than their dyner, immediately after which they go 
 eyther to learninge in problems, or to some other studie, until 
 the nyne or tenne of the clocke, and there being without fire, 
 are faine to walk or runne up and down half a heure to get a 
 hete on their fete when they go to bed.” 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 65 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 The pillar'd cloister, in whose twilight gloom 
 Pale dreams arise, like shadows from the tomb, 
 Now hears thy step: and well at first I ween, 
 The stately Chapel, with her sculptured screen, 
 The windows dim, where Bible dramas live 
 For ages in the glow which colours give, — 
 (Till, when the sunbeams mellowingly pass 
 Through vested figures in the tinted glass, 
 Priest, saint, and prophet, all are glowing there, 
 With kneeling martyrs at their dying prayer!) 
 The graven fretwork on the gothic wall, 
 
 And flowery roof, that over-arches all, — 
 
 Unite for thee, with young amazement warm, 
 
 In the blent fulness of their varied charm. 
 
 And now the walk of wonder through the town 
 In the stiff foldings of a new -bought gown!* 
 
 * The scholars are supposed in their dress to have imitated 
 the Benedictine monks, who were the chief restorers of litera- 
 ture. Their gowns at first reached not much lower than the 
 knees. The shoulders were hut a little, or not all gathered ; 
 neither were the sleeves much wider than those of an ordinary 
 coat, hut were afterwards enlarged. When degrees became 
 more frequent in the reigns of Bichard I. and John, other 
 fashions were invented, both with respect to degrees and 
 faculties. The wide sleeves are still worn by bachelors, and 
 by those undergraduates who are on the foundation. The 
 gowns were originally black ; afterwards of different colours. 
 In the chancellorship of Archbishop Laud, all were confined 
 
66 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part II. 
 
 From cap and robe what awkward shyness steals! 
 How wild a truth the dazzled Novice feels! 
 
 Restless the eye, his voice a nervous sound, 
 
 While laughing echoes are evoked around; 
 
 Each look he faces seems on him to leer, 
 
 And fancied giggles are for ever near! 
 
 Through High-street then, — the town’s majestic 
 pride, 
 
 Array’d with palaces on either side, 
 
 He roams: him tradesmen’s greedy eyes behold, 
 Each pocket gaping for a freshman’s gold. 
 
 The Clarendon may next a look beguile, 
 
 Theatric dome, and Ashmolean pile; 
 
 Or Bodley’s chambers,* where, in dusky rows, 
 
 The volumed wondersf of the past repose; 
 
 to black, except the sons of noblemen, who were permitted to 
 select their colour. The present gown of the Masters of 
 Arts is not ancient, and was not known before the time of 
 John Calvin, who is recorded as the first who wore it. The 
 primitive gown had the sleeve longways, and the facing lined 
 with fur. 
 
 * The Bodleian. 
 
 f King James, in his visit to the magnificent library of 
 Sir Thomas Bodley, is recorded to have said : — “ If I were 
 doomed to be a prisoner, and the choice were given me of my 
 prison, this library should be my dungeon ; I would desire to 
 be chained by no other bonds than the clasps which incarce- 
 rate these pages, and to have no other companions in my cap- 
 tivity than these volumes.” 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 67 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 Or some bold thought a wayward fancy rules, 
 
 To take a freeze of horror from the Schools,* 
 
 From lofty benches send a downward gaze, 
 
 Hear awful sounds, and dream of future days ! 
 
 But lo ! in towering pride, with massy gate, 
 
 The Clarendon f uprears its modern state; — 
 
 There pause, and think; — for then a sense sublime, 
 How proud a victor over Space and Time, 
 
 When Mind hath wielded her undaunted power, 
 
 Is man, — both slave and monarch of an hour! 
 
 Comes o’er the spirit with unutter’d thought, 
 
 Like melody with years of feeling fraught. 
 
 * In the statute, “ De Exercitiis proestandis pro gradu Bacca- 
 laurei in Artibus,” the exercises required are “ Disputation es 
 in Farvisiis.” Chaucer, in the prologue to the Canterbury 
 Tales, says, — 
 
 “ A seargant at law, ware and wise, 
 
 That often had been at the Pervise.” 
 
 And in the glossary at the end of an ancient edition, the word 
 Pervise is explained, a church- porch, contracted from Para- 
 disus — i. e., locus porticibus et deambulationibus _ circumdatus ; 
 and Spelman says that our lawyers formerly used to walk in 
 such a place to meet their clients. Before the schools were 
 erected, they held their disputations in Parvisiis in the porch 
 of St. Mary’s church. There they sat, vis-a-vis . This might, 
 in the Norman-French of those times, perhaps be expressed by 
 Par-vis, which, in barbarized Latin, would become Parvisiis. 
 
 f This refers, of course, to the new building, denominated 
 “ The University Press.” 
 
68 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part II. 
 
 Yet, not the miracles of England’s Press, 
 
 That mighty Oracle to curse or bless ! 
 
 Alone the worship of high thought demand; 
 
 Lo! earth-wide dreams around the soul expand, 
 
 As dwells thy gaze on yon enormous piles 
 Of hallow’d books, for heathen lands and isles;* 
 
 A godlike present for benighted man 
 
 Where Truth hath wander’d, or where Mercy can ! 
 
 Transcendent thought! — when changing years 
 have flown, 
 
 These Bibles speak to every clime and zone! 
 
 The hut, the hovel, or the cottage wild, 
 
 Where Sorrow shudders o’er her weeping child, — 
 Their living voice of holiness and love, 
 
 Like angel tones, shall visit from above. 
 Omnipotence is there! — a power to be 
 The God on earth, salvation’s deity. 
 
 Thou Infidel! in tomb-like darkness laid, 
 
 By Heaven deserted, and by earth betray’d; 
 
 * What a glorious contrast does this immense collection of 
 Bibles suggest, between the past and present state of Christian 
 philosophy, when we read that — “ So little were the Scrip- 
 tures used in the time of Wickliff, that some secular priests 
 of Armagh, who were sent by Archbishop Fitzralph (the 
 translator of the Bible into Irish) to study divinity at Oxford, 
 about a.d. 1357, were obliged to return, because they could 
 nowhere find a Latin Bible ! The clergy were then seldom 
 able to read Latin .” — Bishop Gray. 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 69 
 
 And thou, pale mutterer in some midnight cell, 
 Whose sad to-morrow is a dream of hell! 
 
 There is a voice to wake, a word to spread, 
 
 Deep as the thunders that arouse the dead! 
 
 That sound is heard! — a welcome from the skies! 
 Despair is vanquish’d, and Dejection flies; 
 
 Hope fills a heart where agonies have been, 
 
 The dungeon brightens, and a God is seen ! 
 
 Immortal pages! may your spirit pour 
 Unceasing day, till savage night be o’er. 
 
 In fiery lands, where roving Ganga reigns, 
 Eternal pilgrim of a thousand plains! 
 
 The tawny Indian, — (when the day is done, 
 
 And basking waters redden in the sun, 
 
 While shadow’d branches, in their boundless play 
 Of leafy wantonness, the earth array,) 
 
 Behold him seated, with his babes around, 
 
 To fathom myst’ries where a God is found ! 
 
 The book is oped, a wondrous page began, 
 
 Where heaven is offered to forgiven man; 
 
 Lo! as he reads, what awe-like wonder steals 
 On all he fancies, and on all he feels ! 
 
 Till o’er his mind, by mute devotion wrought, 
 
 The gleaming twilight of celestial thought 
 Begins, and heaven-eyed Faith salutes above 
 The God of glory, and the Lord of love! 
 
70 OXFORD. [PART II. 
 
 “ Thou dread Unknown! Thou unimagined Whole! 
 The vast Supreme, and Universal Soul, 
 
 Oft in the whirlwind have I shaped Thy form, 
 
 Or throned in thunder heard Thee sway the storm ! 
 And when the ocean’s heaving vastness grew 
 Black with Thy curse, — my spirit darken’d too ! 
 
 But when the world beneath a sun -gaze smiled, 
 
 And not a frown the sleeping air defiled, 
 
 Then I have loved Thee, Thou parental One, 
 
 *Thy wrath a tempest, and Thy smile a sun! 
 
 But if there be, as heaven-breathed words relate, 
 
 A seraph -home in some hereafter state, 
 
 Almighty Power! thy dark-soul’d Indian see, 
 
 And grant the mercy that has bled for me!” a 
 
 f O’er Oxford thus the staring freshman roves 
 By solemn temples, or secluded groves; 
 
 * In matters of faith and religion we raise our imagination 
 above our reason, which is the cause why religion sought ever 
 access to the mind by similitudes, types, parables, visions, 
 dreams, &c. — Bacon , Adv. Learn ., p. 128 . 
 
 f “ A Companion to the Guide , and a Guide to the Com- 
 panion” Ajeu d’ esprit, under the above title, was attributed 
 to Tom Warton; his account of the libraries and schools is 
 thus humorously sketched : — “ The prevailing notion is 
 equally erroneous with regard to the number of our libraries . 
 Besides those of Radcliffe, Bodley, and private colleges, there 
 have of late years been many libraries founded in our coffee- 
 house s, for the benefit of such academics as have neglected, or 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 71 
 
 Then, introduced, — the social charms begin 
 By tongues that flatter, or by hearts that win; 
 
 lost, their Latin and Greek. In these useful repositories, 
 grown gentlemen are accommodated with the Cyclopaedia. The 
 Magazines afford history, divinity, &c. The Reviews form 
 the complete critic, without consulting the dry rules of Aris- 
 totle, Quintilian, and Bossu, and enable the student to pass 
 his judgment on volumes which he never read — [what a pro- 
 phetic description of the railroad style of criticism that now 
 prevails !] Novels supply the place of experience, and give 
 lectures of intrigue and gallantry. Occasional Poems diffuse 
 the itch of rhyming, and happily tempt away a young fellow 
 to forsake logic, turn smart , and commence author, either in 
 the pastoral, lyric, or elegiac way. As there are here books 
 suited to every taste, so are there liquors adapted to every 
 species of reading. Amorous tales may be perused over arrack 
 punch and jellies ; insipid elegies over orgeat or capilaire ; 
 politics over coffee ; divinity over port ; and defence of bad 
 generals and bad ministers over whipt syllabubs . In a word, 
 we may pronounce that learning is no longer a dry pursuit. 
 The schools of this university are more numerous than is 
 commonly supposed, among which we must reckon three 
 spacious and superb edifices, situated to the south of the High- 
 street, one hundred feet long, by thirty in breadth, vulgarly 
 called Tennis Courts , where exercise is regularly performed 
 both morning and afternoon. Add to these certain schools, 
 familiarly denominated Billiard Tables , where the laws of 
 motion are exemplified, and which may be considered as a 
 necessary supplement to our courses of experimental philoso- 
 phy. Nor must we omit the many Nine-pin and Skittle-Alleys , 
 open and dry, for the instruction of scholars in geometrical 
 knowledge, and particularly for proving the centripetal prin- 
 ciple. Other schools and places of academical discipline, not 
 generally known as such, may be mentioned. • The Peripa- 
 tetics execute the courses proper to their system upon the 
 
72 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 Mien, mind, and manner, — all in varied style 
 Now woo his fortune, or reflect his smile. 
 
 For here, as in the world’s unbounded sphere, 
 
 The countless traits of character appear. 
 
 In some proud youth, of feeling soul, we find 
 The winning magic of a noble mind; 
 
 Truth, taste, and sense through all he does per- 
 vade, 
 
 No virtue lost, no principle betray’d; 
 
 Another, — wildness marks his mien and tone ! 
 
 His hand extends — and honours are his own; 
 Eternal plaudits in his ear resound; 
 
 He rides on wings, while others walk the ground! 
 
 A contrast see, whom hearts nor dreams inspire, — 
 The booby offspring of a booby sire, 
 
 With leaden visage passionlessly cold, 
 
 And ev’ry feeling round himself enroll’d. 
 
 Then, happy Pertness, how sincerely vain! 
 
 And, sour Perfection, — what sublime disdain! 
 
 For ever in detraction’s art employ’d, 
 
 No virtue welcomed, and no book enjoy’d: 
 
 parade ; navigation is learnt on the Isis ; gunnery on the ad- 
 jacent hills ; horsemanship on Port-Meadow, Ballingdon-Green, 
 the Henley, Wyecombe, Woodstock, Abingdon, and Banbury 
 roads. The Axis in Peritrochio is admirably illustrated by a 
 scheme in a phaeton. The doctrine of the screw is practically 
 explained most evenings in the private rooms, together with 
 the motion of fluids.' 1 ' 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 73 
 
 Then, pompous Learning, deeply read and skill’d 
 In pages which profoundest heads have fill’d, 
 
 Yet harsh and tasteless, and but rarely fraught 
 With knowledge sprung from self-created thought. * 
 But, save me, Heav’n! from what no words can tell, 
 A human Nothing, made to strut and swell, 
 
 Who thinks no University contains 
 Sufficient wisdom to employ his brains, — 
 
 Yet, frothy Creature! what a vacant skull! 
 
 In all but falsehood villanously dull; 
 
 Big words and oaths in one wild volley roll, 
 
 And Nature blushes for so mean a soul. 
 
 Begirt by these, how oft may heart-warm Youth 
 Grow blindly fond, and misinterpret truth, 
 
 When feelings in their flush’d dominion lend 
 To fancied kindness what completes a friend ! 
 
 Now dawns the moment, doom’d in future years 
 To waken triumph, or be born in tears; 
 
 When morals sway, religion lives or dies, 
 
 And cited principles to action rise, — 
 
 Oh! thou, o’er whom a mother’s eye hath wept, 
 
 Or round thy cradle frequent vigils kept; 
 
 * Gilbert Wakefield, in his correspondence with Fox, ob- 
 serves, that “ his custom was multum potlus quam multa legere ” 
 and Hobbes, with a pithy sarcasm, said, “ if I had read as 
 much as some others, I should have been as ignorant as they 
 are.” 
 
 H 
 
74 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part II. 
 
 Whose infant soul a father’s love survey’d, 
 
 And oft for thee with Heav’n communion made; 
 
 Be thine the circle where true Friendship lives 
 In the pure light exalted spirit gives ; b 
 And far from thee the infamous and vile, 
 
 Who murder feeling with a Stoic smile, 
 
 Blaspheme the innocence of early days, 
 
 Make virtue vice, impiety a praise, 
 
 Disease the health of unpolluted mind, 
 
 And call it glory to disgrace mankind! 
 
 What though the eye may sparkle o’er the glass, 
 
 Or fondling words for fascination pass, 
 
 While flowers of friendship oft appear to bloom, 
 Born in the sunshine of a festive room, — 
 
 A day will come when sterner truths prevail, 
 
 *And friendship dwindles into folly’s tale! 
 
 But shouldst thou waver, when the awful hour 
 Of pleasure tempteth with a demon’s power, 
 
 And time and circumstance together seem 
 To dazzle nature with too bright a dream, — 
 
 * Hunc quem ccena tibi, quem mensa paravit amicum 
 Esse putas fidse pectus amicitiae ? — 
 
 ****** 
 
 Jam bene si ccenem noster amicus erit ! — Martial. 
 
 For a crowd is not company, and faces are but a gallery of 
 pictures, and talk but a tinkling cymbal, where there is no 
 love. — Bacon's Essays , 27 th. 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 75 
 
 Let home and virtue, what thou wert and art, 
 
 A mother’s feeling, and a father’s heart, 
 
 Full on thy mem’ry rise with blended charm, 
 
 And all the serpent in thy soul disarm! 
 
 For who shall say, when first temptations win 
 A yielded mind to some enchanting sin. 
 
 What future crime, that once appear’d too black 
 For life to wander o’er its hell- ward track, 
 
 May lead the heart to some tremendous doom, 
 Whose midnight hovers round an early tomb? 
 
 Let home be vision’d where thy budding days 
 Their beauty open’d on a parent’s gaze : 
 
 For there, what memories of thee abound! 
 
 Your chamber echoes with its wonted sound; 
 
 The flow’r you reared, a sister’s nursing hand 
 Still fondly guards, and helps each leaf expand; 
 The page you ponder’d with delighted brow 
 Was ever dear, — but oh! far dearer now; 
 
 The walk you loved with her sweet smile to 
 share, 
 
 She oft repeats, and paints your image there; 
 
 And when a glory hath array’d the sky, 
 
 Her fancy revels in your fav’rite dye; 
 
 While oft at evening, when domestic bloom 
 Hath flung a freshness round a social room, 
 
 When hearts unfold, and music’s winged note 
 Can waft a feeling wheresoe’er it float, 
 
76 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part II. 
 
 Some chord is touch’d, whose melodies awake 
 The pang of fondness for a brother’s sake; 
 
 And eyes are conscious, as they gaze around 
 Where looks are falling, there a son was found! 
 
 Let home begird thee like a guardian dream, 
 
 And time will wander an unsullied stream, 
 
 Whose wildest motion is the rippled play 
 Of rapid moments as they roll away! 
 
 Meanwhile, delightful studies, deep and strong, 
 
 To graduate honours waft thy soul along; 
 
 They come at length! and high in listed fame 
 A college hails, a country reads thy name; 
 
 And in that list when first thy name appears, 
 
 What triumph sparkles in those happy tears ! 
 
 In after-life, when Oxford’s ancient towers 
 Thy mem’ry visions in creative hours, 
 
 Or college friends a college scene restore, 
 
 Thy heart will banquet on the bliss of yore ! 
 
 Now mark a contrast, in whose meanness lies 
 What purer thought should soaringly despise. 
 From careless boyhood to uncultured man 
 Indulged to act, ere principle began; 
 
 With just enough of spirit for excess, 
 
 And heart, which nothing, save a vice, can bless, 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 77 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 In Oxford, see the reprobate appear! 
 
 Big with the promise of a mad career. 
 
 With cash and consequence to lead the way, 
 
 A fool by night and more than fop by day, 
 
 What happy vileness doth his lot reveal! 
 
 How Folly burns with imitative zeal, 
 
 Whene’er the shadows of his greatness fall 
 In festive chamber, or collegiate hall! 
 
 Romantic lot! — to vegetate secure 
 From all that might to mental paths allure; 
 
 To wake each morning with no deeper thought 
 Than that which yesterday’s excess hath brought; 
 Then, wing’d by impulse, as the day proceeds, 
 
 To follow where coxcombic fashion leads, 
 
 Hark! Woodstock rattles with eternal wheels, 
 
 And hounds are ever barking at his heels, 
 
 The Chapel, voted a terrific bore,* 
 
 The “ Dons,” — head-pieces for the college door! 
 
 * When Hooker was at Corpus “ enriching his quiet and 
 capacious soul with the precious learning of the philosophers, 
 casuists, and schoolmen,” Isaak Walton thus describes his 
 chapel conduct ; — “ In four years he was but twice absent from 
 the chapel prayers; and his behaviour there ivas such as shewed 
 an awful reverence of that God which he then worshipped and 
 prayed to; giving all outward testimonies that his affections 
 were set on heavenly things — O/q si sic omnesl 
 
 Before concluding this note, the reader will not find the 
 following anecdote of Hooker tedious or uninteresting : — 
 When, by his marriage with her “ who brought to him neither 
 H 2 
 
78 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 The lecture scouted, the degree reviled, 
 
 And Alma Mater all save alma styled! 
 
 Thus on; till night advance, whose reign divine 
 Is chastely dedicate to cards and wine, 
 
 beauty nor portion,” the good man was drawn from the tran- 
 quillity of his college, into those corroding cares that attend a 
 married priest and a country parsonage, — which was Drayton 
 Beauchamp , in Bucks, not far from Aylesbury, — his two 
 pupils, Edwin Sandys and George Cranmer, took a journey 
 to see their tutor, where they found him with a book in his 
 hand (the Odes of Horace), he being then, like humble and 
 innocent Abel, tending his small allotment of sheep in a com- 
 mon field, which he told his pupils he was forced to do then, 
 for that his servant was gone home to dine, and assist his 
 wife to do some necessary household business. But when 
 his servant returned and released him, then his two pupils 
 attended him unto his house, where their best entertainment 
 was his quiet company, which was presently denied them, for 
 Richard was called to rock the cradle ! Having paraphrased 
 on many of the innocent recreations of their younger days, 
 and other like diversions, and thereby given him as much 
 comfort as they were able, they were forced to leave him to 
 the company of his wife, Joan, and seek themselves a quieter 
 lodging for the next night ; but at their parting from him, 
 Mr. Cranmer said, “ Good tutor, I am sorry your lot is fallen 
 in no better ground as to your parsonage, and more sorry that 
 your wife proves not a more comfortable companion after you 
 have wearied yourself in your restless studies.” To whom 
 the good man replied, “ My dear George, if saints have usually 
 a double share in the miseries of this life, I that am none 
 ought not to repine at what my wise Creator hath appointed 
 for me, but labour, as indeed I do daily, to submit mine to his 
 will, and possess my soul in patience and peace.” 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 79 
 
 Where modest themes amusive tongues excite, 
 
 And faces redden with the soul’s delight; 
 
 A Roman banquet! with Athenian flowers 
 Of festive wit, to charm the graceful hours ! 
 
 Alas ! that Truth must fling a doleful shade 
 On the bright portrait which her hand hath made! 
 Few years have fled,* — and what doth now remain 
 Of him the haughty, who but smiled disdain 
 On all that Virtue in her meekness dared, 
 
 Ambition hoped, or principle declared? 
 
 His friends are dead; his fortune sunk away 
 In midnight Hells, where midnight demons play; 
 
 A wither’d skeleton of sin and shame, 
 
 With nought but infamy to track his name, 
 
 The wreck of fortune, with despairing sighs, 
 
 Fades from the world, and like a felon dies! 
 
 A nobler theme! ere yet my strain conclude, 
 
 The learn’d and gifted, dignified and good; 
 
 Those tasteful guides, by whose directing hand 
 The seeds of learning ripen or expand ; 
 
 And if one task there be the soul to try, 
 
 Whose with’ring toils a due reward defy, 
 
 * In general, the foundations of a happy old age must be 
 laid in youth : and, in particular, he who has not cultivated 
 his reason young, will be utterly unable to improve it old. — 
 Bolingbroke . 
 
80 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 On them it falls whom Merit ranks her own, 
 
 And Talent seats on Education’s throne. 
 
 Each mode of mind, — the stubborn, wise, or stern, 
 The headstrong wit that cannot stoop to learn, 
 
 The dunce or drone, the freshman or the fool, 
 
 ’Tis their’s to counsel, teach, o’erawe, and rule! 
 Their only meed, — some execrating word 
 To blight the hour when first their voice was heard, 
 Too often paid, when puny coxcombs dare 
 To prove the nothingness of what they are ! 
 
 Yet well may such a doom be nobly faced; 
 
 There comes a scene by no dark cloud disgraced, 
 An hour when Genius, borne aloft to fame, 
 
 On Oxford sheds the brightness of her name, 
 Whence first her wings that eagle height explored, 
 Where now she reigns, adoring and adored! 
 
 Then he who taught her, shares with proud surprise, 
 And dewy gladness of delighted eyes, 
 
 That hour triumphant, when a world repays 
 The toilful dulness of collegiate days. 
 
 Ah! who forgets the parents of the mind?* 
 
 What heart so dead, as no deep bliss to find 
 
 * Di majorum umbris tenuem, et sine pondere terrain, 
 Spirantesque crocos, et in urna perpetuum ver, 
 
 Qui prseceptorum sancti voluere parentis 
 Esse loco. — Juv. Sat. 7, 207. 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 81 
 
 In thoughts which wander to their school-day scene, 
 Though years and distance darkly intervene? 
 
 The foot-worn mead, the playmate, wood, and 
 walk, 
 
 So sweetly shared in tenderness and talk, 
 
 The feats and pranks of undejected youth, 
 
 When fancy wore a fairy mask of truth, 
 
 Dull, drear, and worldly is the soul that sees 
 No smile reflected from such joys as these! 
 
 And they who haunt, from year to year content, 
 The sacred home where studious hours were spent, 
 There are who think their stormless life must be 
 One still romance of mental liberty. 
 
 Yet mind alone, whate’er the lot or state, 
 
 Her true delight must fancy or create; 
 
 From her the sunshine and the shadows fall, 
 
 That brighten, tint, and overs way it all. 
 
 The daily clockwork of collegiate life, 
 
 Where nought is new, but Convocation strife; 
 
 The bigotry which olden times beget, 
 
 A sickly dulness, and a stale regret 
 
 For aught that seems of reformation sprung, 
 
 To let in light where ancient cobwebs hung, 
 
 If such combine, where weaker traits are found, 
 Who would not mourn that fellowships abound? 
 The mighty brothers of the Sun and Moon, 
 
 Who tremble, lest a lip should smile too soon; 
 
82 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part II. 
 
 Nor treat their mouths except with college twang, 
 Where heavy words in heavy speeches hang; 
 
 Who hate the present, but adore the past, 
 
 And think their world the only one to last, — 
 
 How pitiful! should such a race be seen, 
 
 Where all the monarchs of the mind have been! 
 
 Retirement, classic love, and studious ease, 
 
 A heart that deems it no disgrace to please, 
 
 With retrospections fond of other days 
 When minds were nursed, that now repeat their 
 praise — 
 
 A lot so calm no virtue will destroy, 
 
 But season life for solitary joy. 
 
 And yet, let shades of accident unite 
 In happy union for its best delight, 
 
 A life of learning is a life forlorn: — 
 
 Be mine the world which social scenes adorn, 
 Where Woman’s heart the central bliss is found, 
 And happiness — the smile it sheds around! c 
 
 But Night is throned; and full before me frown 
 The dusky steeples that o’ertop the town; 
 
 High in the midst, a dark-domed shadow see, — 
 
 The Radcliffe, pile of unworn majesty; 
 
 Around it, silver’d by some window ray, 
 
 Whirls many a smoke-wreath in ascending play: 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 83 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 Beneath, what massy roofs immingled lie, 
 
 Misshaped by fancy, till they awe the eye; 
 
 Hush’d are the groves, in leafy dimness veil’d, 
 
 The winds unheard, as though they ne’er had 
 rail’d, — 
 
 But hark! — the booming sounds of Wolsey’s d bell 
 Float o’er the city like his last farewell, 
 
 While answ’ring temples, with obedient sound, 
 
 Peal to the night, and moan sad music round; 
 
 But dread o’er all, like thunder heard in dreams, 
 The warning spirit of that echo seems ! 
 
 Now gates are barr’d; and, faithful to his stand, 
 
 The crusty porter, with his key- worn hand. 
 
 Yet not with day, the day-born studies end; 
 
 Wan cheeks, and weary brows, — I see them bend 
 O’er haughty pages breathing ancient mind, 
 
 For Man and Immortality design’d: 
 
 The brain may burn, the martyr’d health may 
 fail, 
 
 And sunken eyelids speak a mournful tale 
 Of days protracted into hideous length, 
 
 Till mind is dead, and limbs deny their strength! 
 Still, honours woo! — and may they smile on thee, 
 Whoe’er thou art, that hopest their smile to see; 
 Hours, days, and years severer far than thine, 
 
 In toil, and gloom, and loneliness, are mine! 
 
84 OXFORD. [part II. 
 
 The Day is earth, but holy Night is heav’n!* 
 
 To her a solitude of soul is given, 
 
 Within whose depth, how beautiful to dream, 
 
 And fondly be, what others vainly seem! 
 
 Oh! ’tis an hour of consecrated might, 
 
 For Earth’s Immortals have adored the night; 
 
 In song or vision yielding up the soul 
 To the deep magic of her still control. 
 
 My own loved hour! there comes no hour like thee, 
 No world so glorious as thou form’st for me! 
 
 The fretful ocean of eventful day, — 
 
 To waveless nothing how it ebbs away! 
 
 As oft the chamber, where some haunted page 
 Renews a poet, or revives a sage 
 In pensive Athens, or sublimer Rome, 
 
 To mental quiet woos the Spirit home. 
 
 * That theoretic paradise in which imagination delights to 
 roam and gather hues of glory, wherewith to invest the bleak 
 realities of life, beautiful as it is, has met with little respect 
 from ethical writers. — Foster ( vide Essays) appears by no 
 means enamoured of it, in the following passage: — “ If a tenth 
 part of the felicities that have been enjoyed, the great actions 
 that have been performed, the beneficent institutions that have 
 been established, and the beautiful objects that have been seen 
 in that happy region, could have been imported into this ter- 
 restial place, what a delightful thing it would have been to 
 awake each morning to see such a world once more !” Aber- 
 crombie has also touched on the illusive danger of such dreams 
 in his work on “ The Intellectual Powers ,” p. 155, 3rd ed. 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 85 
 
 There stillness reigns, — how eloquently deep ! 
 
 And soundless air, more beautiful than sleep. 
 
 Let Winter sway, — her dream-like sounds inspire: 
 The social murmur of a blazing fire; 
 
 The hail-drop, hissing as it melts away 
 In twinkling gleams of momentary play; 
 
 Or wave-like swell of some retreated wind, 
 
 In dying sadness echo’d o’er the mind, — 
 
 But gently ruffle into varied thought 
 
 The calm of feeling blissful night has brought. 
 
 How eyes the spirit, with contented gaze, 
 
 The chamber mellow’d into social haze, 
 
 And smiling walls, where, rank’d in solemn rows, 
 The wizard volumes of the mind repose! 
 
 Thus, well may hours like fairy waters glide, 
 
 Till morning glimmers o’er their reckless tide; 
 While dreams, beyond the realm of day to view, 
 Around us hover in seraphic hue; 
 
 Till Nature pines for intellectual rest, — 
 
 When home awakens, and the heart is blest; 
 
 Or, from the window reads our wand’ring eye 
 The starry language of Chaldean sky; 
 
 And gathers in that one vast gaze above, 
 
 A bright eternity of awe and love! 
 
 So heav’nly seems the visionary night: 
 
 But, ah! the danger in its deep delight. 
 
 i 
 
86 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part II. 
 
 The Mind, then beautified to fond excess, 
 
 With all things dare to brighten, or to bless: 
 
 A world of sense more spiritual is made 
 Than the stern eye of nature hath survey’d; 
 
 Some false perfection which hath never been, 
 
 By fancy woven, lives through ev’ry scene; 
 
 But morn awakes, — and lo, the spells unwind, 
 
 As daylight melts like darkness o’er the mind! 
 
 The worldly coarseness of our common lot 
 Recalls the shadows which the night forgot; 
 
 *Each dream of loftiness then dies away, 
 
 And heav’n -light withers in the frown of Day ! 
 
 And then, the languor of each parching vein, 
 
 And the hot weariness of heart and brain ; 
 
 That hideous shade of something dread to be, — 
 
 Oh, fatal midnight! these are doom’d for thee. 
 
 Each breeze comes o’er us with tormenting wing, 
 Each pulse of sound an agony can bring, t 
 
 * The heroism of morals, the enthusiasm of eloquence, and 
 the ambition of fame, are supernatural enjoyments necessary- 
 only to those minds which, at once exalted and melancholy, are 
 weaned and disgusted with everything transitory . — De Stael. 
 
 f The wasting effect of excessive and protracted study did 
 not escape the observation of Rousseau — “ Les rends delicats, 
 affoiblit leur temperament; et que l’ame garde difficilement sa 
 vigueur, quand le corps a perdu la sienne ; que l’etude use la 
 machine, epuise les esprits, detruit les forces enerves le cou- 
 rage, rend pusillanime, incapable de resister egalement a la 
 peine, et aux passions.” In Lord King’s “ Life of Locke,” 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 87 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 Let Chatterton thy deathful charm reveal, 
 
 And mournful White, who from thy depth would 
 steal 
 
 A placid sense of some unvision’d Pow’r, 
 
 Around prevailing at thine earthless hour: c 
 And oft, methinks, in loneliness of heart, 
 
 As noons of night in dreaming calm depart, 
 
 My room is sadden’d with the mingled gaze 
 Of those who martyr’d their ambitious days ; 
 
 The turf-grass o’er their tombs, — I see it wave, 
 
 And visions waft me to a kindred grave! 
 
 But lo! the yielding dark hath gently died, 
 
 And stars are sprinkled o’er the azure tide 
 Of lustrous air, that high and far prevails, 
 
 Where now the night-enchanting glory sails. 
 
 City of fame ! when Morn’s first wings of light 
 Have waved in beauty o’er thy mansions bright, 
 Have I beheld thee; but a moonrise seems, 
 
 Like hues that wander from a heaven of dreams, 
 
 To hallow thee, as there thy temples stand 
 Sublimely tender, or serenely grand; 
 
 Spire, tower, and pinnacle, a dim array, 
 
 Whose wizard shadows in the moonlight sway! 
 
 there is an admirable “ Essay on Study,” which ought to be 
 perused by every man who deems the martyrdom of health an 
 interesting accompaniment to the acquirement of learning ! 
 
88 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part II. 
 
 The stony muteness of thy massive piles, 
 
 Now silver’d o’er by melancholy smiles, 
 
 With more than language, spirit-like appeals 
 To the high sense impassion’d nature feels 
 Of all that gloriously, in earth or sky, 
 
 Exacts the worship of her gazing eye ! 
 
 There is a magic in the moonlit hour 
 Which day hath never in his deepest pow’r 
 Of light and bloom, when bird and bee resound, 
 And new-born flow’rs imparadise the ground! 
 And ne’er hath city, since a moon began 
 To hallow nature for the soul of man, 
 
 Steep’d in the freshness of her fairy light, — 
 More richly shone, than Oxford shines to-night! 
 No lines of harshness on her temples frown, 
 
 But all in one soft magic melted down, — 
 Sublimer grown, through mellow air they rise, 
 And seem with vaster swell to awe the skies! 
 
 On arched windows how intensely gleams 
 The glassy whiteness of reflected beams! 
 
 Whose radiant slumber on the marble tomb 
 Of mitred founders, in funereal gloom, 
 
 Extends; or else in pallid shyness falls 
 On gothic casements, or collegiate walls. 
 
 The groves in silver-leaf ’d array repose; 
 
 And, Isis!— how serene thy current flows, 
 
 With tinted surface by the meadowy way, 
 Without a ripple, or a breeze at play: 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 89 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 Yet, once again shall summer barks be seen, — 
 And furrow’d waters, where their flight has been; 
 While sounding Rapture, as her heroes speed 
 From Iflly locks, flies glorying o’er the mead, 
 Hails from the bank as up the river ride, 
 
 In oary swiftness and exulting pride, 
 
 Her barks triumphal, — let the flag be rear’d, 
 
 And thousands echo, when the colour ’s cheer’d ! 
 
 Again, upon the wind a wafted swell 
 Of ebbing sound, proclaims a midnight bell ! 
 
 Lo ! phantom clouds come floating by the moon, 
 Then melt away, like happiness, too soon!* 
 
 And as they glide, an overshadowing smile 
 Of moving light is mirror’d on each pile. 
 
 Farewell the scene! Farewell the fleeting song! 
 Wherein my spirit hath been borne along 
 In light and gloom through many a lonely hour, 
 With nought to gladden but its own weak pow’r. 
 In morning youth far brighter dreams have play’d 
 Around a heart which hope has oft betray’d, 
 
 Than those which hover o’er this dying strain; 
 But, — faded once, they never form again! 
 
 Farewell to Oxford! — soon will flying years 
 The word awaken that is spoke by tears: — 
 
 * So calm the waters, scarce they seem to stray, 
 
 And yet they glide, like happiness, away. — Lara, 
 i 2 
 
90 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 When scheming boyhood plann’d my future lot, 
 
 No scene arose where Oxford centred not; 
 
 And now, as oft her many-mingled chimes 
 Swell into birth, like sounds of other times, 
 Prophetic life a woven myst’ry seems, 
 
 Unravell’d oft by consummated dreams! 
 
 Farewell! — if when I cease to haunt her scene, 
 Some gentle heart remember I have been, 
 
 As Oxford, with her palaces and spires, 
 
 The mind ennobles, or the fancy fires, 
 
 No vain reward his chosen theme attends, 
 
 Howe’er the fate of him who sung it, ends ! 
 
 Oh! fearful Time, the fathomless of thought, 
 With what a myst’ry is thy meaning fraught! 
 
 Thy wings are noiseless in their rush sublime 
 O’er scenes of glory, as o’er years of crime; 
 
 Yet comes a moment when thy speed is felt, 
 
 Till past and future through our being melt, 
 
 And a faint awfulness from worlds unknown, 
 
 In shadowy darkness gathers round our own! 
 
 A moment! — well may that a moral be, 
 
 Whoe’er thou art, ’tis memory to thee: 
 
 A tomb it piled, a mother bore to heaven, 
 
 Or, like a whirlwind o’er the ocean driven, 
 
 Push’d on thy fate with desolating sway, 
 
 And flung a desert o’er thy darken’d way ! 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 91 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 A moment ! — midnight wears her wonted hue, 
 
 And orbs of beauty speck yon skyward view ; 
 
 Deep, hush’d, and holy is the world around, 
 
 But yet, what energies of Life abound; 
 
 Fermenting through the mighty womb of space, 
 'Where Time and Nature multiply their race, — 
 What hearts, whose awful destinies awake, 
 
 Till Heav’n and Hell some daring impulse make! 
 And thou! far universe, to sight unknown, 
 
 Crown’d with thy God, and centred by His throne, 
 Man cannot soar, but dreams would fain expand 
 Their winged pow’rs o’er thine unclouded land, 
 Where Glory circles from the mystic Three, 
 Where Life is Love, and Love is Deity! 
 
 Who breathes, in good and ill must bear his part, 
 And each can tell a history of heart, 
 
 How Time hath tinged the moral of his years, 
 Through gloom or glory, triumph, pangs, or tears. 
 And yet, howe’er the spirit prove her right, 
 
 To give it voice is deem’d a vain delight; 
 
 And far too deeply is my mem’ry fraught 
 With the cold lesson blighted hours have taught, 
 
 To think a life so valueless as mine 
 
 With the stern feelings of a world may twine. 
 
 But words will swell from out excited mind, 
 
 As heave the waters to the helmless wind, 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 92 
 
 [part II. 
 
 In some fond mood, when dreaming thoughts control 
 Departed years that slumber in the soul! 
 
 * * # * 
 
 Life still is young, but not the world, with me; 
 For where the freshness I was wont to see? 
 
 A bloom hath vanish’d from the face of things; 
 Nor more the syren of enchantment sings 
 In sunny mead, or shady walk, or bower, 
 
 Like that which warbled o’er my youthful hour. 
 Let reason laugh, or elder wisdom smile 
 On the warm phantasies which youth beguile; 
 There is a pureness in that glorious prime 
 That mingles not with our maturer time. 
 
 All earth is brighten’d from a sun within, 
 
 As yet unshaded by a world of sin, 
 
 While mind and nature blendingly array 
 In light and love, whate’er our dreams survey; — 
 Though perils darken from the distant years, 
 They vanish, cloud-like, when a smile appears! 
 And the light woes that flutter o’er the mind 
 Are laugh’d away, as foam upon the wind. 
 
 Thou witching Spirit of a younger hour! 
 
 *Did I not feel thee in thy fullest pow’r? 
 
 * Rousseau, when dying, ordered his attendant to place him 
 before the window, that he might view the declining glow of 
 day, and bid farewell to the worshipped countenance of Nature ! 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 93 
 
 Attest, ye glories! flash’d from clouds and skies 
 On the deep wonder of adoring eyes, 
 
 As oft, school-free, I worshipp’d, lone and still, 
 The rosy sunset from some haunted hill; 
 
 Or oped my lattice, when the moonshine lay 
 In sleep-like beauty on the brow of day, 
 
 To watch the mystery of moving stars 
 Through ether gliding on melodious cars, 
 
 Or musing wander’d, ere the hectic morn, 
 
 To see how beautiful the sun was born ! 
 
 A reign of glory from my soul hath past, 
 
 And each Elysium proved mere Earth at last; 
 Yet mourn I not in mock or puling strain, 
 
 For joys are left which never beam in vain! 
 
 The voice of friends, the changeless eye of love, 
 And, oh! that bliss all other bliss above, 
 
 To know, if shadow frown, or sunshine fall, 
 There is One Spirit who pervadeth all! 
 
 And is that Fame, for which our feelings pine 
 With yearning fondness, not indeed divine? 
 
 Are lofty impulses of soul and sense, 
 
 For ever teaching her omnipotence, 
 
 A mimicry of fine emotions? born 
 From the gay wildness of a youthful morn? 
 
94 OXFORD. [part II. 
 
 Time, Truth, and Nature speak a nobler tale! 
 
 Her pomp may perish, and her brightness fail, 
 
 But all that verdure which the spirit laid 
 O’er the dry wilderness the world display’d, 
 
 In living freshness shall outbloom the hour, 
 
 And scatter earth with many a secret flower. 
 
 Oh! ’tis not fame to form the midnight show,* 
 Where Vice and Vanity alike may go; 
 
 It is not fame, to hear the shallow prate 
 Of busy fondness, or intriguing hate, 
 
 To feast on sounds of patronising pride, 
 
 And wring from dulness what the world denied, 
 
 A high-soul’d Nature is its own renown! 
 
 Whate’er the jewels that compose the crown. 
 
 For ’mid the barrenness of mortal strife, 
 
 And daily nothings of uneasy life, 
 
 The spirit thirsteth for a purer world; 
 
 O’er this the wings of fancy are unfurl’d; 
 
 Hence painter’s hue and poet’s dream are brought, 
 And the rich paradise of blooming thought: 
 
 To quench that thirst, let heaven-born feelings 
 flow, 
 
 Let genius wake ! let inspiration glow ! 
 
 * Fame begets favour, and one talent, if it be rubbed a little 
 bright by use and practice, will procure a man more friends 
 than a thousand virtues. — Cowper’s Letters. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 95 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 Why thus we panted for a world like this 
 May form a knowledge in our future bliss.* 
 
 All are not framed alike: Love, Hope, and Truth, 
 That guard our age, and glorify our youth, 
 
 To various minds a varied tone impart; 
 
 What this man freezes, — fires another’s heart ! 
 
 The words that waken melodies of soul, 
 
 In tuneless ears monotonously roll; 
 
 The shapes and shadows which Creation forms, 
 
 And fancy moulds from seasons and from storms 
 To living beauty, or to lovely hue, 
 
 And waves them phantom-like before our view, 
 Will rouse the life-blood into fresher play 
 Of him who visions what the words array : 
 
 Another, eyeless save to sterner things, 
 
 Will frown them back as false imaginings! 
 
 * There are some exquisite allusions to the philosophy of 
 poetry, in “ Schiller’s Lectures on Dramatic Poetry;” and 
 Bacon has comprehended in one eloquent paragraph a world 
 of criticism — e. g Videtur Poesis haec humanae naturae lar- 
 giri, quae Historia denegat; atque animo umbris rerum ut- 
 cunque satisfacere. * * * Firmum ex Poesi sumitur 
 
 argumentum, magnitudinem rerum magis illustrem, ordinem 
 magis perfectum, et varietatem magis pulchram animae hu- 
 maiiae complacere, quam in natura ipsa post lapsum reperire 
 ullo modo possit. * * * Adeo ut Poesis ista non solum 
 ad delectationem, sed etiam ad animi magnitudinem et ad 
 mores conferat.” — T)e Aug. Scient lib. 2, cap. 13. 
 
96 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 And thus in nature, as her vales reply 
 To voices wafted where the echoes lie, 
 
 Our spirits answer to appeals alone, 
 
 When tuned accordant with some inward tone.* 
 
 I’ve stood entranced beneath as bright a sun, 
 
 As Poet’s dream hath ever gazed upon, 
 
 In the warm stillness of that wooing hour 
 When skies are floating with seraphic power, 
 
 The gales expiring in melodious death, 
 
 The waters hushed, the woods without a breath, 
 And worshipp’d, till dissolving sense away 
 Seem’d gently dying in the soul of day ! 
 
 But when I look’d where lay immingled forms 
 Of fairy mountains or refulgent storms, 
 
 And cloud-born phantoms, delicately bright, 
 Laugh’d in the paleness of departing light, 
 
 Each fainting into each, a long array, 
 
 Like lovely echoes when they glide away, 
 
 Another babbled in that beauteous hour, 
 
 Light as the leaf, and mindless as the flower! 
 
 Thou young aspirer! darest thou dream of fame, 
 And hope another Age will read thy name? 
 
 * The action of mind on mind is an unfathomable mystery, 
 yet as beautiful as it is deep. It is recorded by Fontenelle, 
 that when Malebranche first read Descarte’s “ Treatise on 
 Man,” he was sometimes compelled to lay aside the work “ till 
 the palpitation of his heart had subsided!” 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 97 
 
 The hidden stirrings of each voiceless pride, 
 
 The pangs unutter’d, by the soul supplied, 
 
 The ghastly dimness of dejected hope, 
 
 By dreams assail’d with which no pride can cope; 
 Those nameless thoughts of venom’d fierceness, 
 sent 
 
 From the dark lieavings of our discontent; 
 
 And, dreader still, — the clouds of daily life 
 That welter round us in disease or strife, 
 
 And the cold atmosphere of worldly sway, 
 
 Where Life is self, and self the life of day, 
 
 In mingled power will oft thy soul appal; 
 
 Too well I picture, for I felt them all! 
 
 Yet bear thou on! — and when some breathing page 
 Of godlike poet or divinest sage, 
 
 And secret energies of soul begin 
 To feed the passion that is formed within, 
 
 Then let thy Spirit in her power arise, 
 
 And dare to speak the language of the skies! 
 
 Her voice may fail, in deathlike muteness lost, 
 
 Her hopes be visions, and those visions cross’d; 
 
 But, pure and noble if thy song began, 
 
 And pour’d high meaning in the heart of man, 
 
 Not echoless perchance a note hath been 
 In some lone heart, or unimagin’d scene. 
 
 How many a breeze that wings a noiseless way, 
 
 How many a streamlet unbeheld by day, 
 
 K 
 
98 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [part II. 
 
 How many a sunbeam lights a lonely flower, 
 
 Yet works unseen in its creative power! 
 
 Then highly soar, whene’er thy spirit feels 
 The vivid light impassion’d thought reveals; 
 Unchill’d by scorn, undarken’d by despair, 
 
 So martyrs lived, and such the mighty were! 
 
 There is a pleasure in a praise denied, 
 
 It feeds a folly, or protects a pride, 
 
 It teaches dulness what no wit can say, 
 
 “ I don’t approve, — let no one write to-day.” 
 
 Thou narrow-minded, petty, pompous thing! 
 
 What lent a feather to the boldest wing 
 Of soaring fancy, — but a praise when due? 
 
 And wouldst thou hive it for the darling few ? 
 Though Shakspere sang, and Milton’s soul aspired, 
 Must Gray be scorn’d, nor Goldsmith be admired? 
 As well might Ocean of the Earth demand 
 To let no river roll, no stream expand; 
 
 As well might mountains that embrace the skies 
 Entreat the heav’ns to let no ills arise! 
 
 Eternal Spirit! while thy day-beams smile 
 Around my path in many a sunny wile, 
 
 Their shining truth, oh! let my gaze deny, 
 
 Ere merit sickens on mine envious eye: 
 
 As ocean kindles to her native sun, 
 
 As waters freshen when the wind’s begun, 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 99 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 So brightening, quick’ning, let my soul confess, 
 When genius wakens her almightiness ! 
 
 Such dimming shades, thou young aspirer! wait 
 On all who seek to glorify their state. 
 
 But shouldst thou, wafted by a fearless gale, 
 
 Ascend a height no vulgar clouds assail; 
 
 Should fame encrown thee, and thy mind infuse 
 O’er other minds its vivifying hues; 
 
 Wake feeling, passion, and the pow’r sublime 
 That bids eternity o’ershadow time, 
 
 The sunny raptures of renown enjoy, 
 
 But deem, oh! deem them not without alloy. 
 
 The smile of nations may illume thy fame, 
 
 The good repeat, the glorious love thy name, 
 
 Still, tongues of scorn, and words of venom’d pow’r 
 To be the vipers of a secret hour, 
 
 The petty tribute, and unfeeling phrase, 
 
 That nought but iciness of soul betrays, 
 
 Demand forgiveness in thy brightest reign; 
 
 On ev’ry pleasure frowns the demon, pain ! 
 
 But deeper peril is the praise that gives 
 That very light in which young genius lives. 
 
 A tyrant weakness is the worst to see, 
 
 All men are vain, yet all hate vanity;* 
 
 * It has been said, that Heaven, which gave great qualities 
 only to a small number of its favourites, gave vanity to all, as 
 a full compensation. — Brown's Philosophy. 
 
100 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [fart II. 
 
 When safely felt, most insecurely shewn, 
 
 For who endures it, — save it prove his own? 
 
 Yet should that energy, whose quenchless ray 
 Burns through the blackest and the brightest day, 
 Intensely pure within thy spirit glow, 
 
 And colour dreams beyond the world to know; 
 
 If, eagle-like, thy spirit dares to soar 
 On bolder wing than it had waved before; 
 
 If virtue loves, and wisdom greets thy strain, 
 
 If this be vanity, — then still be vain ! 
 
 Oh! Life, and Fame, to which our natures cling, 
 And Glory! with thine archangelic wing, 
 
 Fleeter than sunshine is the mocking sway 
 Of all that kindles your enchanted day, 
 
 Thou mighty Fathomer of all we feel! 
 
 If I have worshipp’d with intenser zeal 
 Their fading brightness, than became a mind 
 For some eternity of thought design’d, 
 
 In the deep sadness of a midnight hour, 
 
 Oh ! breathe a spirit of sublimer power ! 
 
 When I reflect on all that man hath been, 
 
 When god-like throned o’er some majestic scene, 
 
 Or prison’d in the pettiness of life, 
 
 And torn from goodness by each tort’ring strife, 
 Then feel Hereafter rushing o’er my soul 
 In light or gloom, as conscience may control, 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 101 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 The shadowy nothingness of earth I see, 
 
 And find the world one gorgeous vanity! 
 
 Oh! never has some haunting sense of gloom, 
 From the dark certainty of coming doom, 
 
 My spirit freed from its enthralling sway; 
 
 By night a presence, and a power by day 
 To garb each vision with an awful hue 
 Of more than midnight, in its blackest view ! 
 
 Oh! for a nobler and a deeper sense 
 Of all that forms our true pre-eminence; 
 
 For high-born energies of heav’nly sway, 
 
 And flowers of charity to strew the way, 
 
 That Sin no longer may the world defile, 
 
 And Nature glory in a good man’s smile, 
 
 As on we hasten to that dreamless shore 
 Where Passion sleeps, and Prejudice is o’er! 
 
 The days of fever, and the nights of fire, 
 Felt in the blood, till health and hope expire; 
 The ghastly slumber, and the spectral tomb, 
 For ever yawning in the spirit’s gloom; 
 
 And that most agonizing waste of soul 
 Where all the billows of excitement roll, 
 Morn, noon, and night, in one eternal play, 
 Are thine, ambition! — till thou wear’st away, 
 k 2 
 
102 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [PART II. 
 
 And, mix’d with agonies of outward state, 
 
 That inward torment which thy dreams create, 
 
 By thirst within for some perfection made 
 By thought alone, or never yet display’d 
 Like the pure model which the mind surveys — 
 ’Tis thine to suffer through uncounted days! 
 
 Yet, welcome all! — If ever thought of mine 
 Hath woo’d a spirit into calm divine, 
 
 Expanded feelings, purified their flow, 
 
 Or shed a sunbeam o’er an hour of wo, — 
 
 My soul shall triumph o’er exhaustless pain, 
 
 And dare to think it has not lived in vain! 
 
 Ye midnight heav’ns! magnificently hung, 
 
 In ev’ry age, by ev’ry poet sung, 
 
 One parting glance, oh! let my spirit take, 
 
 Ere dawn-light on your awful beauty break. 
 
 With what intensity the eye reveres 
 
 Your starry legions, when their pomp appears! 
 
 As though the glances centuries have given, 
 
 Since dreams first wander’d o’er the vast of heav’n, 
 Had left a magic where a mystery shone, 
 Enchanting more, the more ’tis gazed upon! 
 
 Stars, worlds, or wonders ! — whatsoe’er ye shine, 
 The home of angels, or the haunts divine, 
 
 Wherein the bodiless, from earth set free, 
 
 Shine in the blaze of present Deity! 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 103 
 
 No eyes behold your ever-beaming ray, 
 
 But think, while earthly visions roll away, 
 
 In placid immortality ye glow, 
 
 Above the chaos of terrestrial wo ! 
 
 Thy wings, Almighty ! may they still o’ershade 
 A clime by Thee a matchless empire made; 
 
 Here in meek glory may Thine altars stand, 
 
 While smiles from heav’n fall brightly o’er the land! 
 And those pure worlds, that have for ages roll’d 
 O’er these grand temples, still their gloom behold, 
 Till Time be dead, eternity begun, 
 
 And darkness blacken round the dying sun; 
 
 The toils of fate, the pangs of being o’er, 
 
 Our doom completed, and the world no more! 
 
NOTES TO PART I. 
 
 Note a , Page 17. 
 
 “ Consider me very seriously here in a strange country, 
 inhabited by things that call themselves Doctors and Masters 
 of Arts ; a country flowing with syllogisms and ale, where 
 Horace and Virgil are equally unknown ; consider me, I say, 
 in this melancholy light ; and then think if something be not 
 due to yours,” & c. 
 
 Christ Church , Nov. 14, 1735. 
 
 Such is the amusive pertness with which West, Gray’s 
 friend, alludes to this university. In another letter, he talks 
 about “ half a dozen new little proctorlings.” — This rebellious 
 description of his Alma Mater is more than matched by the 
 sarcasm of Gray, in speaking of Cambridge. “ Surely it was 
 of this place, now Cambridge, but formerly known by the 
 name of Babylon, that the prophet spoke when he said ‘ the 
 wild beasts of the desert shall dwell there, and their houses 
 shall be full of doleful creatures, and owls shall build there, 
 and satyrs shall dance there ; their forts and towers shall be 
 a den for ever, a joy of wild asses,’ &c. & c. You must know 
 that I do not take degrees, and after this term shall have no- 
 thing more of college impertinences to undergo. I have en- 
 dured lectures daily and hourly since I came last. — Must I 
 plunge into metaphysics ! Alas ! I cannot see in the dark ; 
 
106 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 nature has not furnished me with the optics of a cat. Must I 
 pore upon mathematics? Alas! I cannot be in too much 
 light ; I am no eagle. — It is very possible that two and two 
 make four, but I would not give four farthings to demonstrate 
 this ever so clearly.” — Letters. 
 
 “ To Oxford,” says Gibbon, “ I brought a stock of erudi- 
 tion that might have puzzled a doctor, and a degree of ignor- 
 ance of which a schoolboy might have been ashamed.” 
 
 Lord King, in his “ Life of Locke,” remarks, “ That 
 Locke regretted his education at Oxford, is stated upon the 
 authority of his friend Le Clerc.” He adds, however, “ Per- 
 haps too much stress has been laid upon some accidental ex- 
 pressions; or rather, that the regrets expressed by Locke 
 ought to have been understood by Le Clerc to apply to the 
 plan of education then generally pursued at English univer- 
 sities ; for to Oxford , even as Oxford was in the days of Locke , 
 he must have been considerably indebted. If the system of edu- 
 cation did not offer assistance, or afford those directions so 
 useful to a young student, the residence of Oxford did no 
 doubt confer ease, leisure, and the opportunity of other 
 studies; it afforded also the means of intercourse with persons 
 from whose society and conversation we know that the idea 
 of his great work arose.” 
 
 “ Too much stress” has indeed been laid upon ebullitions 
 of peevishness against the system pursued at our universities, 
 which occur in the works and correspondence of a few cele- 
 brated men. With regard to Gray’s opinion, it has been 
 justly remarked, “ At the time when he was admitted, Jaco- 
 bitism and hard drinking prevailed still at Cambridge, much 
 to the prejudice not only of good manners, but of good letters. 
 But we see (as was natural enough to a young man) he laid 
 the blame rather on the mode of education than the mode of 
 the times.” In allusion to Gibbon’s taunts, a biographer ob- 
 serves ; “ By his course of desultory reading he seems uncon- 
 sciously to have been led to that particular branch in which 
 he was afterwards to excel. But whatsoever connexion this 
 had with his more distant life, he was exceedingly deficient 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 107 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 in classical learning, and went to Oxford without either the 
 taste or preparation which could enable him to reap the ad- 
 vantages of academical education. This may possibly ac- 
 count for the harshness with which he speaks of the univer- 
 sities. His fourteen months at Magdalen were idle and pro- 
 fitless ; and he describes himself as ‘ gay, and disposed to late 
 hours/ When he sat down to write his memoirs — the me- 
 moirs of an eminent and accomplished scholar— he found a 
 blank which is seldom found in the biography of English 
 scholars ; the early display of genius, the laudable emulation, 
 and the well-earned honours ; he found that he owed no fame 
 to his academical residence , and therefore determined that no 
 fame should be desirable from an university education.” — Ex 
 uno disce omnes. 
 
 Note b , Page 21. 
 
 Addison was entered at Queen’s, 1687. — In 1689, his Latin 
 verses, Inauguratio Regis Gulielmi , procured him the patron- 
 age of Dr. Lancaster, by whose recommendations he was 
 elected a demy at Magdalen. While a student here, he wrote 
 parts of “ Cato,” and forwarded them to Dry den, who admired 
 them as poetry, but doubted their dramatical success. 
 
 Note c, Page 22. 
 
 Steele was removed in 1692 from the Charter-house to 
 Merton. In 1695, his first production, a poem on Queen 
 Mary, appeared. The Tatler was commenced on April 12th, 
 1709. Addison discovered its author by the insertion of a criti- 
 cism on a passage in Virgil, which he had formerly communi- 
 cated to him. The passage alluded to in the text is quoted by the 
 elegant essayist, Dr. Drake, as a beautiful example of his 
 pathetic powers: — “ The first sense of sorrow I ever knew,” 
 says he, “ was upon the death of my father, at which time I 
 was not quite five years of age ; but was rather amazed at 
 
108 OXFORD. [NOTES, 
 
 what all the house meant, than possessed with a real under- 
 standing why nobody was willing to play with me. I re- 
 member I went into the room where his body lay, and my 
 mother sat weeping alone by it. I had my battledore in 
 my hand, and fell a beating the coffin, and calling ‘ Papa !’ for, 
 I know not how, I had some slight idea that he was locked 
 up there. My mother catched me in her arms, and, trans- 
 ported beyond all patience of the silent grief she was before 
 in, she almost smothered me in her embrace ; and told me, 
 in a flood of tears, ‘ Papa could not hear me, and would play 
 with me no more, for they were going to put him under 
 ground, whence he could never come to us again.’ ” 
 
 Note d , Page 23. 
 
 In 1740, Collins stood first in the list of Winchester 
 scholars to be received in succession at New College ; but 
 there being no vacancy, he became a commoner of Queen’s ; 
 from whence, in half a year, he was elected a demy of Mag- 
 dalen. His early life appears to have been one continued 
 scene of melancholy, want, and obscurity; and, contrasting 
 his present fame with his once unnoticed merit, we may well 
 recall an observation made by Goldsmith, in his Life of Par- 
 nell : — “ A poet, while living, is seldom an object sufficiently 
 great to attract much attention ; his real merits are known 
 but to a few, and these are generally sparing in their praises. 
 When his fame is increased by time, it is then too late to in- 
 vestigate the peculiarities of his disposition ; the dews of the 
 morning are past, and we vainly try to continue the chase by 
 the meridian splendour !” 
 
 The most touching anecdote in his life is thus related by 
 Johnson : — “ He had withdrawn from study, and travelled 
 with no other book than an English Testament, such as 
 children carry to the school : when his friend took it into his 
 hand, out of curiosity, to see what companion a man of letters 
 had chosen, 4 I have but one book,’ said Collins, ‘ but that is 
 the best.’ ” 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 109 
 
 For biographical illustration of the morbid sensibilities and 
 melancholies to which men of genius are peculiarly subject, 
 the reader is referred to D’ Israeli’s interesting work on the 
 Literary Character. Allan Cunningham, in his Life .of 
 Sir Christopher Wren, has the following allusion : — “ The 
 wives of men of genius, in our earlier biographies, are treated 
 with a sort of masculine indifference ; but a gentler and a 
 juster feeling has of late shewn itself. The man of genius and 
 sensibility is pretty sure to have his moments of doubt and fear , 
 when his noblest works seem weak or absurd ; nay , even his 
 days of despondency , when , exhausted by mental exertions , he 
 can no longer think with clearness, and believes that his mental 
 powers are forsaking him ; and he is not unlikely, moreover, 
 to be acquainted with those worldly miseries, sad enough to 
 all hearts, but doubly so to his, whom a wise one of the tribe 
 pronounces to be 
 
 ‘ A thing unteach able in worldly skill.’ ” 
 
 Note e , Page 24. 
 
 Johnson’s rooms, with some slight alteration in their divi- 
 sion, and the substitution of a Gothic window for the plainer 
 one of his own time, remain as he left them. On entering 
 them, who does not remember his own lofty sentence? — “ To 
 abstract the mind from all local emotion would be impossible, 
 if endeavoured, and would be foolish, if it were possible ! 
 Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses — what- 
 ever makes the past, the distant, or the future, predominate 
 over the present, advances us in the dignity of thinking 
 beings. Far from me, and from my friends, be such frigid 
 philosophy as may conduct us indifferent and unmoved over 
 any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or 
 virtue. That man is little to be envied, whose patriotism 
 would not gain force upon the plain of Marathon, or whose 
 piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona,” 
 There is nothing romantic in their appearance, distinct from 
 L 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 110 
 
 [notes, 
 
 other collegiate chambers ; but the sombre hue which per- 
 vades them is not uncongenial with the associations which 
 arise when we enter their hallowed precincts. Here, as the 
 pensive shades of twilight closed around him, and the loneli- 
 ness of his fate darkened on his mind, we can easily imagine 
 him retired from the scene his gay hypocrisy had enlivened, 
 to nurse those moods of feeling which afterwards revealed 
 themselves in the melancholy wisdom of “ Rasselas,” and the 
 moral gloom of the “ Rambler.” 
 
 Johnson was entered a commoner of Pembroke, on the 
 31st of Oct., 1728, in his 19th year. The following are the 
 principal anecdotical allusions to his collegiate life, as re- 
 corded by his worshipper and biographer. 
 
 “ The Rev. Dr. Adams, who afterwards presided over Pem- 
 broke college, gave me some account of what passed on the 
 night of Johnson’s arrival at Oxford. His father seemed very 
 full of the merits of his son, and told the company he was a 
 good scholar, and a poet, and wrote Latin verses. His figure 
 and manner appeared strange to them ; but he behaved mo- 
 destly, and sat silent, till upon something which occurred in 
 the course of conversation he suddenly struck in, and quoted 
 Macrobius. Johnson gave the following account of his tutor, 
 Mr. Jorden, — 4 He was a very worthy man, but a heavy man, 
 and I did not profit much by his instructions. Indeed, I did 
 not attend him much. The first day I came to college I 
 waited on him, and then stayed away four. On the sixth, 
 Mr. Jorden asked me why I had not attended. I answered, 
 I had been sliding in Christ Church Meadow. And this I 
 said with as much nonchalance as I am now talking to you. I 
 had no notion that I was wrong or irreverent to my tutor. — 
 ‘ That, sir, was great fortitude of mind.’ ‘ No, sir, stark in- 
 sensibility.’ 
 
 “ What he read solidly at Oxford was Greek ; not the Gre- 
 cian historians, but Homer and Euripides, and now and then 
 a little epigram. One day, while sitting in his apartment 
 quite alone, Dr. Panting, then master of the college, over- 
 heard him uttering this soliloquy, in his strong emphatic voice . 
 
PART 1.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 Ill 
 
 4 Well, I have a mind to see what is done in other places of 
 learning ; I’ll go and visit the universities abroad ; I’ll go to 
 France and Italy ; I’ll go to Padua ; and I’ll mind my own 
 business. For an Athenian blockhead is the worst of all 
 blockheads.’ ” 
 
 Note f Page 25. 
 
 44 Dr. Adams told me, that Johnson, while he was at Pem- 
 broke college, was caressed and loved by all about him, was 
 a gay and frolicksome fellow, and passed there the happiest 
 time of his life. When I mentioned this account of Dr. 
 Adams, he said, 4 Ah, sir, I was mad and violent ; it was 
 bitterness which they mistook for frolic; I was miserably 
 poor, and thought to fight my way by my literature and my 
 wit ; so I disregarded all power and authority.’ The bishop 
 of Dromore observes to me in a letter, — 4 1 have heard from 
 some of his contemporaries, that he was generally seen loung- 
 ing at the college gate with a circle of young students round 
 him, whom he was entertaining with wit, and keeping from 
 their studies, if not spiriting them up to rebellion against the 
 college discipline, which in his maturer years he so much 
 extolled.’ 
 
 44 He contracted a love and regard for Pembroke, which he 
 retained to the last. A short time before his death he sent to 
 that college a present of all his works, to be deposited in their 
 library. He took a pleasure in boasting of the many emi- 
 nent men who had been educated at Pembroke.” Dr. Johnson 
 delighted in his own partiality for Oxford : and one day at 
 her (Mrs. Thrale’s) house, entertained five members of the 
 other university with various instances of the superiority of 
 Oxford, enumerating the gigantic names of many men whom 
 it had produced, with apparent triumph. At last Mrs. Thrale 
 said to him— 44 Why, there happen to be no less than five 
 Cambridge men in the room now.” 44 I did not,” said he 
 44 think of that till you told me ; but the wolf don’t count the 
 sheep.” — Piozzi , p. 27, 28. 
 
112 OXFORD. [NOTES, 
 
 Johnson, it seems, (Hawkins’ Life, p. 9,) would oftener risk 
 the payment of a small fine than attend his tutor’s (Mr. 
 Jorden’s) lectures. On receiving an imposition, he said, — 
 “ Sir, you have sconced me twopence for a lecture not worth 
 a penny !” We should like to see the expressive ugliness of 
 certain living faces undergoing a similar reply ! Mrs. Piozzi 
 (p. 27) remarks, that “ when he made his first declamation, 
 he wrote hut one copy, and that coarsely ; and having given 
 it into the hand of the tutor, who stood to receive it as he 
 passed, was obliged to begin by chance and go on how he 
 could, for he had got but little of it by heart ; so, fairly trust- 
 ing to his present powers for immediate supply, he finished 
 by adding astonishment to the applause of all who knew how 
 little was owing to study.” 
 
 The urbanity of the Rev. Dr. Hall, (now Master of Pem- 
 broke College) has enabled Croker, in his annotated edition 
 of Boswell’s Life, to afford his readers a specimen of Johnson’s 
 college exercises, preserved in his college — e. g ., 
 
 EXERCISE. 
 
 “ Mea nec Falernce 
 
 Temperant vites , neque Formiani 
 
 Pucula Colies. 
 
 “ Quid mirum Maro quod digne canit arma virumque, 
 Quid quod putidulum nostra Camoena sonat ? 
 
 Limosum nobis Promus dat callidus haustum, 
 
 Virgilio vires uva Falerna dedit. 
 
 Carmina vis nostri scribant meliora Poetae ? 
 
 Ingenium jubeas purior haustus alat !” 
 
 Pemb. MSS. 
 
 Note g , Page 27. 
 
 Mr. Tyers, who knew Johnson intimately, observed, “ that 
 he always talked as if he were talking upon oath.” 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 113 
 
 Note h , Page 28. 
 
 A solitary cup of milkless tea was one of his domestic pe- 
 nances ! 
 
 Note i . Page 28. 
 
 “ William D’Avenant made his first entry on the stage of 
 this vain world in the parish of St. Martin, in the month of 
 February, and on the third of the following March, an. 1605-6, 
 he received baptism in the church of that parish. His father, 
 John D’Avenant, was a sufficient vintner, a very grave and dis- 
 creet citizen, yet an admirer and lover of plays and play- 
 makers, especially Shakspeare, who frequented his house in 
 his journies between Warwickshire and London. William, 
 ‘ the sweet swan of Isis,’ was educated in grammar learning 
 under Edward Sylvester, and in academical, in Lincoln Col- 
 lege, under the care of Mr. Daniel Hough, and obtained there 
 some smattering in logic. But his geny, which was opposite 
 to it, led him into the pleasant paths of poetry.” — Athence. 
 
 Shakspere, in his frequent journeys between London and 
 his native place, used to lie at Davenant’s, the Crown, in Ox- 
 ford. He was well acquainted with Mrs. Davenant, and her 
 son was supposed to be more nearly related to him than a 
 godson only ! One day, when Shakspere was just arrived, and 
 the boy sent for from school to him, a Head of one of the 
 colleges met the child running home, and asked him whither 
 he was going in so much haste? — The boy said, “ To my 
 godfather Shakspere.” “ Fie! child,” says the old gentle- 
 man, “why are you so superfluous? Have you not learned 
 yet not to use the name of God in vain ?” — Pope — as related by 
 Spence . 
 
 Note k , Page 29. 
 
 This wonderful man in the course of his itinerancy is sup- 
 posed to have travelled nearly 300,000 miles, and to have 
 'L 2 
 
114 OXFORD. [NOTES, 
 
 preached above 40,000 sermons ! Well, indeed, as Southey 
 remarks, would it be for the world, if every man of equal cele- 
 brity had left a diary such as Wesley’s ! From the Charter- 
 house in 1720 he was removed to Christ Church, and from 
 thence in 1726 he was elected fellow of Lincoln. “ Though 
 Wesley was not yet eccentric in the habits of his life, the 
 strictness of his religious principles was sufficiently remarkable 
 to afford subject for satire ; and his opponents hoped to pre- 
 vent his success by making him ridiculous. On this occasion 
 his father told him it was a shallow virtue that could not bear 
 being laughed at. His mother encouraged him in a different 
 manner. ‘ If,’ said she, ‘ it be a weak virtue that cannot bear 
 being laughed at, I am sure it is a strong and well-confirmed 
 virtue that can stand the test of a brisk buffoonery.’ On his 
 election, which was greatly indebted to the good-wili of Dr. 
 Norley, then rector, his father thus congratulates him : — • 
 ‘ What will be my own fate before the summer is over, God 
 knows ! sed passi graviora. — Wherever I am, my Jack is 
 Fellow of Lincoln.’ 
 
 “ While he was an undergraduate, his manners were free 
 and easy ; and that activity of disposition, which bore him 
 afterwards through such uninterrupted labour, displayed itself 
 in wit and vivacity.” 
 
 The rise of methodism is thus traced by his able biogra- 
 pher : — “ His disposition, his early education, the example of 
 his parents, and of both his brethren, were in unison; not 
 knowing how or when he woke out of his lethargy, he im- 
 puted the change to the efficacy of another’s prayers, most 
 likely, he said, his mother’s ; and meeting with two or three 
 undergraduates, whose principles resembled his own, they 
 associated together for the purpose of religious improvement, 
 lived by rule, and received the sacrament. The greatest pru- 
 dence would not have sufficed to save men from ridicule, who, 
 at such an age, and in such a scene, professed to make religion 
 the great business of their lives ; and prudence is rarely united 
 with enthusiasm. They were called, in derision, Bible-bigots, 
 Bible-moths, the Hoy, or the Godly Club. One person, with 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 115 
 
 less irreverence and more learning, observed, in reference to 
 their methodical manner of life, that a new sect of methodists 
 was sprung up, alluding to the ancient School of Physicians 
 known by that name.” 
 
 Note /, Page 29. 
 
 James Hervey, author of “ Meditations among the Tombs/’ 
 written while he held the curacy of Bedford, in Devonshire. 
 He was one of Wesley’s earliest religious associates at Oxford. 
 
 Note m, Page 29. 
 
 “Benjamin Jonson, a poet as soon as he was born, after- 
 wards the father of our poetry, and most admirably well versed 
 in classical authors, and therefore beloved of Camden, Selden, 
 Hoskins, Martin, & c., made his first entry on the stage of this 
 vain world within the city of Westminster, (being the son of 
 a grave minister,) educated in the college school there, while 
 Camden was master ; thence his silly mother, who had mar- 
 ried to her second husband, a bricklayer, took him home, and 
 made him, as ’tis said, work at her husband’s trade. At length, 
 being pitied by some generous gentleman, Camden got him a 
 better employment, which was to accompany a son of Sir 
 Walter Raleigh in his adventures. After their return, they 
 parted, not, I think, in cold blood, and thereupon Ben went to 
 Cambridge, and was statutably elected into St. John’s College ; 
 but what continuance he made there, I find not ; sure it is, 
 that his geny being most poetical, he did afterwards recede to 
 a nursery, or obscure playhouse, called the Green Curtain. 
 Dr. Rich Corbet, of Christ Church, and other poets of the 
 University, did, in reverence to his parts, invite him to Oxon, 
 where, continuing for some time in Christ Church, writing 
 and composing plays, he was, as a member thereof, actually 
 created Master of Arts in 1619; and therefore I put him 
 among the Oxford writers. At length, B. Jonson, after he 
 
116 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes 5 
 
 had arrived at the sixty-third year of his age, marched off 
 from the stage of this vain world, on the 16th of August, 
 1637.” — Atlience . 
 
 Note w, Page 30. 
 
 Locke was sent to Christ Church in 1651, and was speedily 
 distinguished among his fellow collegians. He resided partly 
 in Exeter House, and partly at Oxford. 
 
 Note o, Page 30. 
 
 “ In 1670, his great work, the Essay on the Understanding, 
 was sketched out. It arose from the meeting, as the author 
 says, of five or six friends at his chambers.” — Lord King’s Life 
 of Locke. 
 
 We may add to this, that in 1694, Mr. Wynne, fellow of 
 Jesus, first recommended his Essay to the study of the Uni- 
 versity. 
 
 Note p , Page 31. 
 
 From Eton, Canning was removed to Christ Church, where 
 he gained several prizes. From Oxford he went to the Temple, 
 and studied the law ; but being patronized by Sheridan, he 
 was brought forward into political life, and returned member 
 of Parliament for Newtown, in the Isle of Wight. Canning 
 made his first speech, equally distinguished for its modesty 
 and eloquence, on the treaty between his Majesty and the King 
 of Sardinia, on the 31st of January, 1794. 
 
 As a statesman and a patriot, the world can do justice to 
 Canning’s fame ; as the fascinating companion in private life, 
 the memory of those who were honoured with his regard can 
 alone enjoy him. They may truly apply to themselves, with 
 a slight alteration, the words of a great historian, on the death 
 of his revered friend,* “ Finis vitae ejus nobis luctuosus, patriae 
 
 * Tacit, in Agricol. c. 43. 46. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 117 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 tristis, extraneis etiam ignotisque non sine cura fuit.” “ Quic- 
 quid ex Agricola amavimus, quidquid mirati sumus, manet 
 mansururaque est in animis hominum, in seternitate temporum, 
 fama rerum.” 
 
 The following extracts are taken from a short account of 
 the “ Early Days of Canning,” which was published by Mr. 
 Newton : — 
 
 “ Mr. Canning quitted Mr. Richard’s school at Winchester 
 in 1782, and in the same year, at about twelve years old, was 
 sent to Eton. He is described to have made a considerable 
 progress at Winchester, such as sufficiently to account for the 
 distinguished rank which he held at Eton, where he was at 
 once placed in the fourth form, and was never, therefore, in 
 the lower school. He obtained the post of honour in the public 
 speeches of 1787, by being made the last speaker, and he 
 must consequently have been very high in the school, when 
 he quitted it for the University. Mr. Robert Smith, the late 
 representative in Parliament for Lincoln, who alone, of all 
 the Etonians at that period, rivalled Mr. Canning in abilities, 
 delivered, in 1788, a speech antecedently spoken by his friend, 
 and this occasioned a warm discussion among the boys on 
 their comparative merits. These two, together with Mr. 
 Smith’s brother, and Mr. John Hookham Frere, who was, 
 during the late war, our envoy at Madrid, were the authors, 
 while at school, of the Microcosm, to which periodical work a 
 few other Etonians contributed papers occasionally. Dr. Pett, 
 canon of Christ Church, who lately declined a bishopric which 
 was offered to him with circumstances of peculiar grace and 
 favour, was Mr. Canning’s tutor, as he was mine ; and, in our 
 various walks of life, we have seldom found a person who 
 united, with literary acquirements, qualities more amiable, 
 more considerate, and more estimable : he would have adorned 
 the mitre. When I heard that Mr. Canning had only left 
 behind him a small fortune, it did not at all surprise me, for 
 he possessed from his youth a most liberal spirit in pecuniary 
 matters. At college, his habits were uniformly studious. 
 Enter his rooms in Peckwater when you would, you were 
 
118 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 almost sure to find him occupied with a pen or a hook. 
 Superior to all idle amusements, improvement was his con- 
 tinual object. He did not even keep a horse, and I have no 
 recollection that he ever hired one. 
 
 “ In the year 1787, a speaking society was established at 
 Christ Church, the members of which were the Hon. Robert 
 Banks Jenkinson, now Lord Liverpool, George Canning, Lord 
 Henry Spencer, Sir William Drummond, sometime British 
 ambassador at Constantinople, Charles Goddard, and myself. 
 Most of these names are well known in the world, and are 
 connected with the history of the country. 
 
 “ Mr. Goddard, soon after he quitted Oxford, was the pri- 
 vate secretary of Lord Grenville, at whose house in St. James’s 
 Square, Mr. Canning, Lord Liverpool, and myself, were in 
 the habit of visiting him. I remember him with pleasure as 
 a very instructive and agreeable companion. He is at present 
 archdeacon of Lincoln, and has been long distinguished for 
 the active and zealous discharge of the arduous duties of his 
 profession, and station in the church. This club, in which 
 were heard the first speeches ever composed or delivered by 
 Lord Liverpool and Mr. Canning, met every Thursday even- 
 ing at the rooms of the members, who were, at its first establish- 
 ment, limited to the number of six. Before our separation at 
 night, or frequently at one or two o’clock in the morning, we 
 voted and recorded the question which we were to debate on 
 the ensuing Thursday. Sometimes we appeared at dinner in 
 the hall, dressed in our uniform, which was a brown coat, of 
 rather an uncommon shade, with velvet cuffs and collar. The 
 buttons bore the initials of Demosthenes, Cicero, Pitt, and 
 Fox. 
 
 “ Thus habited, and much the object of notice to every pass- 
 ing observer, we pleased ourselves with the excessive curiosity 
 which our dress excited. As secret were we as the grave on 
 all that concerned our oratorical institution, and it would be 
 difficult to give an idea of the anxiety evinced by our fellow 
 collegians to discover the meaning of this brown coat and 
 velvet cuffs. 
 
TART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 119 
 
 “ These, indeed, were boyish feelings, nor should I have 
 entered so much into the particulars, were it not that, whether 
 the questions debated by us were trivial or profound, this club 
 cannot remain in obscurity, since it is the leading subject of 
 Mr. Canning’s letter, to which these remarks are introductory. 
 Those who have been educated at public schools, which are 
 the world in miniature, must have observed that boys are apt 
 to exhibit themselves there very much in the same characters 
 which they afterwards maintain on the more important theatre 
 of life. 
 
 “ I was the lowest boy in the list at Harrow, when I first 
 went to that school, the only one at which I ever was placed ; 
 and having gradually ascended to the highest forms, many are 
 the instances I could recollect in support of this observation. 
 No example, however, of an early and decisive display of cha- 
 racter could be more peculiarly striking than that which is 
 exhibited in Mr. Canning’s letter. Hr. Cyril Jackson, at that 
 time dean of Christ Church, entertained the most favourable 
 opinion of Mr. Canning’s abilities, and foresaw his high destiny 
 in those glances into futurity in which the dean w r as accus- 
 tomed to indulge his contemplative and deeply penetrating 
 mind, and frequently with an accuracy which was extraordi- 
 nary ; he had probably seated Mr. Canning on the woolsack. 
 
 “ There was one member of our club at Christ Church, 
 Lord Liverpool, whom it would be unbecoming in me to pass 
 over without a more particular notice. When at the univer- 
 sity, he was not only a first-rate scholar, but he had confessedly 
 acquired a greater share of general knowledge than perhaps 
 any undergraduate of that day. He was an excellent his- 
 torian, and his attention had been directed so early, by his 
 father, to the contending interests of the European nations, 
 that intricate political questions were already familiar to his 
 mind. Lord Liverpool’s public career is now, alas ! consum- 
 mated. We have a complete view, and the world is able to 
 make a full estimate of his transcendent abilities. These, we 
 know, were extensively operative in the conduct of the last 
 war, which was brought to its glorious termination by the 
 
120 OXFORD. [NOTES, 
 
 prowess of our British hero, whose mode of warfare was 
 marked in its superiority by so much of genius, that had his 
 Grace continued to range his forces, from the year 1815 to 
 the present hour, against the most celebrated captains in 
 Europe, there is a moral certainty, or, to say the least, a strong 
 conviction in those who had the best means of appreciating 
 his talents in the East Indies, in the Peninsula, and in Flan- 
 ders, that a succession of battles would have been to the Duke 
 of Wellington a succession of victories. To return to Lord 
 Liverpool. After dedicating himself for nearly forty years to 
 the service of his king and country, his merit is universally 
 acknowledged, and never did any man go through a long and 
 arduous life less reproached, or more irreproachable. His 
 temper was extremely conciliating, and all who reflect on the 
 trying scenes in which he bore a distinguished part, and are 
 happy enough to recollect the benignity of his personal inter- 
 course, will feel the truth, and even the moderation, of this 
 friendly testimony to his virtues. There was, perhaps, in all 
 England, but one individual who was formed to compete suc- 
 cessfully with Lord Liverpool, at that inexperienced age of 
 academic life of which we have been speaking, and that was 
 George Canning. He accidentally entered at Oxford about 
 the same time with Lord Liverpool. The vivacity of Mr. Can- 
 ning’s conversation was invaluable to those of his fellow-col- 
 legians who enjoyed his intimacy. It sweetened the severity 
 of our studies, just as the sallies of his vigorous imagination 
 have since delighted the House of Commons, and cheered 
 their midnight hours.” 
 
 “ Brighton , Sept, the 1st , 1788. 
 
 “ My dear Newton, 
 
 “ That the idleness of a long vacation should not have af- 
 forded you an answer to your two very deserving letters before 
 this, to a mere contemplater of events might perhaps seem 
 extraordinary ; but to a philosopher, who is well convinced of 
 the truth of the observation, that 4 we are never more taken 
 up than when we have nothing to do,’ there will not be much 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 121 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 room for surprise. Believe me, however, that I feel myself 
 very highly, very sincerely obliged by your punctual per- 
 formance of your kind promise, and that absence has not in 
 the smallest degree weakened the desire I have always felt of 
 proving to you in how high esteem I hold you, and how great 
 a value I set upon your friendship. You will be a good deal 
 surprised at the answer which your questions relative to our 
 club will receive. That club, Newton, is no more. ‘ And by 
 what dread event ? what sacrilegious hand?’ you will exclaim. 
 Newton, mine ! My reasons I never gave to any of the mem- 
 bers, but I will open them to you. What my reasons for first 
 becoming a part of the institution were, I protest I cannot at 
 present call to mind. Perhaps I was influenced by the novelty 
 of the plan ; perhaps influenced by your example ; perhaps I 
 was not quite without an idea of trying my strength with 
 Jenkinson. Connected with men of avowed enmity in the 
 political world, professing opposite principles, and looking 
 forward to some distant period when we might be ranged 
 against each other on a larger field, we were perhaps neither 
 of us without the vanity of wishing to obtain an early ascen- 
 dancy over the other. 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 “ So long as the purport and usage of the club were a secret, 
 I was very well contented to be of it ; but when it became 
 notoriously known — when the dean to me (and to me only), in 
 private, recommended some reasons against its propriety to 
 my serious consideration — (for had he presumed to interpose 
 authoritatively, that single circumstance, ‘ albeit considera- 
 tions infinite did make against it,’ would have been sufficient 
 to determine me upon its continuance) — when he represented 
 it to me in a very strong light, as being almost an absolute 
 avowal of parliamentary views — to a professional man an 
 avowal the most dangerous — this representation made me re- 
 solve to abandon an undertaking which I saw evidently could 
 neither promise eventual advantage, nor maintain a temporary 
 respectability. Thus resolved, at my return after the Easter 
 vacation, without any previous confidential communication of 
 M 
 
122 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 my reasons or intentions, I sent my resignation by Lord Henry 
 on the first night of their meeting. William Spencer was now 
 come, and was that night to take his seat. The message 
 which Lord Henry brought occasioned, as it were, a combus- 
 tion , which ended in the moving of some very violent resolu- 
 tions. Among others, I was summoned to the bar; of course, 
 refused to obey the summons. A deputation was then sent 
 to interrogate me respecting the causes of my resignation, 
 which, of course, I refused to reveal ; and they were at last 
 satisfied by my declaring that the reasons of my resignation 
 did not affect them collectively or individually. I, of course, 
 was anxious that everybody should know that I was no longer 
 a member of the club ; and, therefore, whenever it was a sub- 
 ject of conversation, disavowed any connexion with it. Lord 
 Henry I with much difficulty prevented from resigning at the 
 same time that I did. He, however, attended but two more 
 debates, and then formally ‘ accepted the Chiltern hundreds/ 
 to use a parliamentary phrase. They all now unanimously 
 gave out that there had been a complete dissolution, and that 
 the thing was no longer in existence ; altered their times and 
 modes of meeting, abolished the uniform, and suspended their 
 assemblies for a time. This, it seems, was intended to punish 
 me, by carrying the face of a common, and not a particular 
 secession. It was not long, however, before the truth came 
 out ; and their nightly debates are again renewed, not undis- 
 covered, but with less pomp, regularity, numbers, and vo- 
 ciferation. This, then, is a full and true account of the decline 
 and fall, and of the revival also, of the society. I do not think 
 you can blame my conduct, when you recollect that the impu- 
 tation of parliamentary prospects, already too much fixed upon 
 me, is what of all others a person in my situation ought to 
 avoid. I am already , God knows , too much inclined , both by 
 my own sanguine wishes , and the connexions with whom I am 
 most intimate , and whom I above all others revere , to aim at the 
 House of Commons , as the only path to the only desirable thing 
 in this world , the gratification of ambition ;* while, at the same 
 
 * The child is father of the man ! — Wordsworth. 
 
PART I.] OXFORD. 123 
 
 time, every tie of common sense, of fortune, and of duties, 
 draws me to the study of a profession. The former propensity, 
 I hope, reflection, necessity, and the friendly advice and very 
 marked attentions of the dean, will enable me to overcome ; 
 and to the law I look as the profession which, in this country, 
 holds out every enticement that can nerve the exertions and 
 give vigour to the powers of a young man. The way, indeed, 
 is long, toilsome, and rugged, but it leads to honours solid and 
 lasting — to independence, without which no blessings of for- 
 tune, however profuse, no distinctions of station, however 
 splendid, can afford a liberal mind true satisfaction — to power, 
 for which no task can be too hard, no labours too trying. I 
 look round the world, and even in the comparatively confined 
 circle of my own acquaintance, I see an infinite number start- 
 ing forward to the same goal ; all fired with the same hopes, 
 and animated with a like ardour. That your health may 
 permit you to join us in our career — that the elasticity of your 
 mind may spring from under that habitual indolence (pardon 
 me for speaking in such a term) of philosophic pursuits, is 
 very much my wish ; though, with your heart and intentions, 
 I do not doubt but you may be employed with equal, and, 
 perhaps, better founded satisfaction to yourself, and with bene- 
 fits to mankind, more real and more widely diffused, by put- 
 ting into execution, where you have the will and the power, 
 those systems which I have often admired you for forming, 
 of useful beneficence and practical Christianity. Theories are 
 easily formed, and plans easily laid down for the cultivation 
 of the human mind, for the cure of those evils incident to a 
 state of perpetual subjection, and the diffusion of those bless- 
 ings of which every state is capable. Be it your work, as far 
 as lies within the circle of your influence, to give life to the 
 inactivity of philosophy, and energy and eflicience to the idle- 
 ness of speculation. I am much pleased with the idea of seeing 
 you in England ; for if in England you are, I trust you will 
 not leave it without seeing me. The return you mention to 
 me with you is a pleasing fairy scheme, but which, then at 
 least, will not be put in execution. My plans for next sum- 
 
124 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 NOTES, 
 
 mer are fixed, and I think will be improving and agreeable. 
 You may know that I am shamefully ignorant of French, and 
 though I have fifty times formed the intention of learning it, 
 I never yet have brought my intention to the maturity of 
 practical application. By this time twelvemonth, I intend to 
 procure a smattering sufficient to call a coach, or swear at a 
 waiter ; and then to put in execution a plan formed long ago, 
 in happier days, of going abroad with my three fellow scribes, 
 the Microcosmopolitans. One of them you know and ad- 
 mire ; the other two, though not equal to him in abilities, are 
 not behind him in qualities to conciliate -affection and secure 
 esteem. Our idea is not that of scampering through France 
 and ranting in Paris; but a sober sort of thing, to go and 
 settle for some months in some provincial town, remarkable 
 for the salubrity of its climate, the respectability of its inhabi- 
 tants, and the purity of its language ; there to improve our 
 constitutions by the first, to extend our acquaintance with men 
 and manners by the second, and to qualify ourselves for a fur- 
 ther extension of it by perfecting ourselves in the third. I 
 have taken it into my head that I shall receive * * * * into 
 favour again. The truth about him is, that he is not without 
 good points ; his heart has some worth, his abilities very 
 considerable eminence. 
 
 ****** 
 
 “ His character is far above that most nauseous of all things, 
 insipidity, and negative good or evil. As a competitor, he 
 was troublesome, and worth crushing; but that once done, 
 and I can assure you it cost me some pains to accomplish it, 
 
 ‘ his good now blazes ; all his bad is in the grave,’ as Zanga 
 says. W. S. has again left Oxford, and I fancy for ever ; he 
 is, I hear, gone abroad, but whither I know not. Pity that 
 abilities so great should be rendered useless to himself and to 
 society, by such an eccentricity of temper, and unaccountable- 
 ness of behaviour, as characterize him. 
 
 “ Lord have mercy upon you, who have, in addition to the 
 natural heat of the climate, such a letter as this to labour 
 through ! Grant you patience, good Heaven ! with eyes to 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 125 
 
 make out my scrawl ; perseverance to unravel my meaning ; 
 comprehension to understand my allusions ; good nature to be 
 interested in my narrative ; a heart to profit by my instruc- 
 tions ; and, moreover, to believe me, 
 
 “ With very great truth and affection, yours, 
 
 “ G. CANNING. 
 
 “ My direction is Oxford, of course.” 
 
 D’Alembert, in his JEloge de Montesquieu , has the following- 
 passage, which appears so happily fraught with the social 
 traits of Canning’s character, that they may be quoted here 
 without intrusion. 
 
 “ II etoit, dans le commerce, d’une douceur et d’une gaiete. 
 Sa conversation etoit legere, agreable, et instructive, par le 
 grand nombre d’hommes et de peuples qu’il avoit connus : elle 
 etoit coupee, comme son style, pleine de sel et de saillies, 
 sans amertume...Le feu de son esprit, le grand nombre d’idees 
 dont il etoit plein, les faisoient naitre. II etoit sensible a la 
 gloire ; mais ilne vouloit y parvenir qu’en la meritant. Jamais 
 il n’a cherche a augmenter la sienne par ces manoeuvres 
 sourdes, par ces voies obscures et honteuses, qui deshonorent 
 la personne, sans aj outer au nom.” 
 
 Note q , Page 33. 
 
 Denham became gentleman commoner at Trinity in Mi- 
 chaelmas term, 1631, in the sixteenth year of his age. An- 
 thony Wood, in the delightful quaintness of his usual style, 
 observes, — “ Being looked upon as a slow and dreaming 
 young man by his seniors and contemporaries, they could 
 never then in the least imagine that he could ever enrich the 
 world with his fancy, or issue of his brain, as he afterwards 
 did — Cooper’s Hill: a Poem, Oxon, 1643, in one sheet and a 
 half, in quarto. A poem it is, which for the majesty of the 
 style is, and ever will be, the exact standard of good writing. 
 It was translated into Latin verse by Moses Pengrey, as I 
 shall elsewhere tell you.” 
 
 M 2 
 
126 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 Of Denham’s person, Aubrey gives the following account : 
 “ Denham was of the tallest, but a little in curvetting at the 
 shoulders, not very robust. His haire was but thin and flaxen, 
 with a moist curie. His gate was slow, and was rather a 
 stalking, (he had long legges,) which was wont to put me in 
 mind of Horace, de Art. Poet. 
 
 Hie, dum sublimes versus ructatur, et errat, 
 
 Si veluti merulis intentus decidit auceps 
 In puteum foveamque ; 
 
 His eie was a kind of light goose-gray, not big, but it had a 
 kind of strange piercingness, not as to shining and glory, 
 but (like a Momus) when he conversed with you he look’t into 
 your very thoughts.” 
 
 Note r, Page 33. 
 
 “ William Pitt was born November 15th, 1708, and educated 
 at Eton, whence, in January 1726, he went as a gentleman 
 commoner to Trinity college. When he quitted the univer- 
 sity, Pitt was for a time in the army, and served as a cornet : 
 but he quitted the life of a soldier for that of a statesman, 
 and became member for the borough of Old Sarum, in Fe- 
 bruary, 1735.” — Alex. Chalmers. 
 
 Note s , Page 33. 
 
 “ Thomas Warton became a scholar of Trinity in 1743, 
 where in 1750 he took his master’s degree, and the next year 
 succeeded to a fellowship. In 1785 he was chosen Camden 
 Professor of History. His Triumph of Isis, written as a reply 
 to Mason’s Isis , contains a spirited invocation to his beloved 
 Alma Mater:” 
 
 Hail, Oxford, hail ! of all that’s good and great, 
 
 Of all that’s fair, the guardian and the seat ; 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 127 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 Nurse of each brave pursuit, each gen’rous aim, 
 
 By truth exalted to the throne of fame ! 
 
 Like Greece in science and in liberty, 
 
 As Athens learned, as Lacedsemon free ! 
 
 Note t , Page 33. 
 
 No living writer must have a memory more delightfully 
 stored with recollections of the past than Lisle Bowles. From 
 youth to old age associating with the learned, the good, and 
 the great of his country, devoted to literature, poetry, and 
 criticism, and finally reposing in the calm seclusion of pas- 
 toral life, — to few is it permitted to say with greater truth, 
 “ Innocuas amo delicias, doctamque quietem.” This quota- 
 tion may be appropriately followed by his own beautiful sen- 
 tence, in the Life of Kenn, which he has lately published. 
 The contrast between the domestic quiet of Isaak Walton’s 
 home, and the puritanic broils of the day, he compares to 
 “ passing through the tumult and din of the crowd at Hyde 
 Park corner to Holland House, the seat of poetry and kindred 
 taste, where, opening the garden door, in contrast to the noise 
 through which you have passed, you hear only with intense 
 delight the ancient pines murmuring in the still repose of a 
 summer evening, and the nightingales contending in their 
 solitary harmony.” 
 
 Note u, Page 34. 
 
 It must he no slight gratification to Lisle Bowles, that Cole- 
 ridge (see his Biog. Lit.) has recorded the inspiration his 
 youthful mind caught from the perusal of some early sonnets 
 by the reverend poet. The pure, the gentle, and the pathetic, 
 abound in his poetry ; and to no ear is “ the dream of a 
 village chime” more harmonious than his own. In his His- 
 tory of Bremhill he gives an interesting account of church 
 hells. “ Bells, it has been said, were a late introduction into 
 the Christian church ; but respecting the common idea of 
 
128 OXFORD. [notes, 
 
 their being introduced by Paulinus, bishop of Nola, in Cam- 
 pania, (from whence the words Noll and Campana,) it is not 
 entitled, I imagine, to much credit ; nor can it be admitted 
 that their introduction was of a very late period, when bap- 
 tizing them was so frequent in the eighth century, that 
 Charlemagne, by a public ordinance, forbid — 4 ne clocos bap- 
 tisent.’ In Alet’s ritual, the various mysterious applications 
 to which they gave rise are minutely recorded. Their early 
 introduction may be inferred from one circumstance. Epi- 
 phanius, describing the Gnostic heresy, speaks expressly of 
 the powers and princes of the air. Now, in the Roman 
 church, one mystical use of bells was to keep 4 these demon- 
 iacal powers of the air at a distance!’ The ceremony of 
 papal benediction is very curious. Holy water, salt, oil, in- 
 cense, cotton, myrrh, and a crumb of bread, are prepared ; a 
 procession is then made from the vestry, and the priest, in- 
 structing the people in the holiness of the art he is going to 
 perform, sings a Miserere , blessing the holy water, &c. & c. 
 After many ceremonies the bell-baptism is performed, by the 
 finger dipt in oil, and the sign of the cross being made on its 
 middle : it is then perfumed with incense, and another prayer 
 to the Holy Spirit is read.” - 
 
 Note x, Page 41. 
 
 Combe Longa is in the patronage of Lincoln College. The 
 curacy is held by the Rev. Charles Rose, B.D., fellow and 
 tutor of Lincoln, whose delightful cottage residence adjoins 
 the church. 
 
 Note y, Page 41. 
 
 John Evelyn became gentleman commoner of Balliol Col- 
 lege in January, 1637. By his interest, Lord Howard’s an- 
 cient Marbles, the Arundeliana Marmora , were, in 1667, pre- 
 sented to Oxford, for which he received the 44 solemn thanks” 
 of the university, and (1669) the degree of D.C.L. The 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 129 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 famous old annalist thus sums up his character : — “ This Mr. 
 Evelyn is an ingenious and polite person, and, most of all, 
 affects a private and studious life ; and was the first of those 
 gentlemen who earliest met for the promotion and establish- 
 ment of the Royal Society.” 
 
 Note z , Page 42. 
 
 The following is the narrative of Foxe, in the third volume 
 of his Ecclesiastical History, respecting 
 
 “ The behaviour of Dr. Ridley (bishop of London) and 
 Master Latimer (bishop of Worcester) at the time of their 
 death, which was the 16th of October, 1555. 
 
 “ Upon the north side of the town (of Oxford) in the ditch 
 over against Balliol College, the place of execution was ap- 
 pointed ; and for fear of any tumult that might arise to hinder 
 the burning of them, the Lord Williams (of Thame) was 
 commanded by the queen’s letters, and the householders of 
 the city, to be there assisting, sufficiently provided with 
 guards ; and, when everything was in readiness, the pri- 
 soners were brought forth by the mayor and bailiffs. 
 
 “ Master Ridley had a fair black gown, furred, and faced 
 with foins (fur of the ferret), such as he was wont to wear, 
 being bishop, and a tippet of velvet furred likewise about his 
 neck, a velvet nightcap upon his head, and a corner-cap upon 
 the same, going in a pair of slippers to the stake, and going 
 between the mayor and an alderman, &c. 
 
 “ After him came Master Latimer, in a poor Bristol frieze 
 (coarse woollen) frock, all worn, with his buttoned cap, and 
 a kerchief on his head, all ready for the fire ; a new long 
 shroud hanging over his hose, down to the feet ; which at first 
 stirred men’s hearts to rue upon them, (to repent of seeing 
 them so, to be much concerned for them, or to pity them,) 
 beholding on the one side the honour they sometime had ; on 
 the other the calamity whereinto they were fallen. 
 
 “ Master Dr. Ridley, as he passed (from the mayor’s house 
 
130 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 where he had lodged) towards Bocardo, (a gateway of the 
 city and a prison, over the street opposite to where now 
 stands the Three Goats Inn,) looked up where Master Cranmer 
 (archbishop of Canterbury) did lie, hoping belike to have seen 
 him at the glass window, and to have spoken unto him. But 
 then Master Cranmer was busy with friar Soto, and his 
 fellows, disputing together, so that he could not see him 
 through that occasion. Then Master Ridley, looking back, 
 espied Master Latimer coming after; unto whom he said, 
 ‘ Oh, be ye there?’ ‘Yea,’ said Master Latimer, ‘ have after 
 as fast as I can follow.’ So he, following a pretty way off, at 
 length they came both to the stake, the one after the other ; 
 where first Dr. Ridley, entering the place, marvellously earn- 
 estly holding up both his hands, looked towards heaven ; then 
 shortly after, espying Master Latimer, with a wondrous 
 cheerful look he ran to him, embraced and kissed him, and, 
 as they that stood near reported, comforted him, saying, “ Be 
 of good heart, brother ; for God will either assuage the fury 
 of the flame, or else strengthen us to abide it. 
 
 “ Then the smith took a chain of iron and brought the 
 same about both Dr. Ridley’s and Master Latimer’s middles ; 
 and as he was knocking in a staple, Dr. Ridley took the chain 
 in his hand, and shaked the same, for it did gird in his belly, 
 and looking aside to the smith, said, ‘ Good fellow, knock it 
 in hard, for the flesh will have its course.’ Then his brother 
 did bring him gunpowder in a bag, and would have tied the 
 same about his neck. Master Ridley asked what it was. 
 His brother said, ‘ Gunpowder !’ ‘Then,’ said he, ‘I will 
 take it to be sent of God, therefore I will receive it as sent of 
 him. And have you any,’ said he, ‘ for my brother?’ mean- 
 ing Master Latimer. ‘ Yea, sir, that I have,’ quoth his 
 brother. ‘ Then give it unto him,’ said he, ‘ betime, lest ye 
 come too late.’ So his brother went and carried of the same 
 gunpowder unto Master Latimer. 
 
 “ Then they brought a faggot, kindled with fire, and laid 
 the same down at Dr. Ridley’s feet. To whom Master La- 
 timer spake in this manner : — ‘ Be of good comfort, Master 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 131 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 Ridley, and play the man ; we shall this day light such a 
 candle, by God’s grace, in England, as I trust shall never be 
 put out.’ 
 
 “ And so the fire being given unto them, when Dr. Ridley 
 saw the fire flaming up towards him, he cried with a wonder * 
 ful loud voice, ‘ In manus tuas, Domine, commendo spiritum 
 meum ; Domine, recipe spiritum meum and after repeating 
 this latter part often in English, ‘ Lord, Lord, receive my 
 spirit.’ Master Latimer crying as vehemently on the other 
 side — 4 Oh, Father of Heaven, receive my soul who received 
 the flame as it were embracing of it. After that he had 
 stroked his face with his hands, and, as it were, bathed them 
 a little in the fire, he soon died, as it appeareth, with very 
 little pain, or none. And thus much concerning the end of 
 this old and blessed servant of God, Master Latimer ; for 
 whose laborious travels, fruitful life, and constant death, the 
 whole realm hath cause to give great thanks to Almighty 
 God. 
 
 “ But Master Ridley, by reason of the evil making of the 
 fire unto him, because the wooden faggots were laid about the 
 goss (furze) and over high built, the fire burned first under- 
 neath, being kept down by the wood. Which, when he felt, 
 he desired them for Christ’s sake to let the fire come unto 
 him, which, when his brother-in-law heard, but not well un- 
 derstood, intending to rid him out of his pains, (for the which 
 cause he gave attendance,) as one in such sorrow, not well- 
 advised what he did, heaped faggots upon him, so that he 
 clean covered him, which made the fire more vehement be- 
 neath, that it burned clean all his nether parts before it once 
 touched the upper; and that made him leap up and down 
 under the faggots, and often desire them to let the fire come 
 unto him, saying, ‘ I cannot burn ; which, indeed, appeared 
 well ; for after his legs were consumed by reason of his strug- 
 gling through the pain, (whereof he had no release, but only 
 his contentation in God,) he shewed that side towards us, 
 clean, shirt and all, untouched with flame. Yet, in all this 
 torment, he forgot not to call unto God, still having in his 
 
132 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 mouth, * Lord, have mercy upon me intermingling his cry, 
 
 ‘ Let the fire come unto me, I cannot burn.’ In which pains 
 he laboured, till one of the standers by with his bill pulled off 
 the faggots above, and where he saw the fire flame up, he 
 wrested himself unto that side. And when the flame touched 
 the gunpowder, he was seen to stir no more ; but burned on 
 the other side, falling down at Master Latimer’s feet.” 
 
 Note a, Page 42. 
 
 In 1792, Southey became a student at Balliol ; his political 
 enthusiasm at this period has never been forgotten by his op- 
 ponents. Yet, how happy may that man be deemed, whose 
 retrospections discover no greater crime than a change of 
 political principle ! “ The faults of great men are the conso- 
 
 lation of dunces,” a sentiment too often verified by Southey’s 
 foes. The late William Hazlitt has attempted a mental 
 portrait of this distinguished writer, in his Spirits of the Age ; 
 and a more curious specimen of bigotry, admiration, dislike, 
 truth, and falsehood, as employed by one man in analyzing the 
 merits of another, was never, perhaps, exhibited, than in his 
 critical development of Southey’s character. 
 
 Since the above remarks were written, Hazlitt is no more ; 
 “ we could well have spared a better man.” The obscure 
 way in which he was carried to his last home was a melan- 
 choly comment on an unhappy life. There are those who 
 think Voltaire’s sarcasm on Dante not inapplicate to Hazlitt, 
 “ his reputation will now be growing greater and greater, be- 
 cause there is now nobody who reads him,” and others who 
 estimate him in a nobler way, and that, as Napoleon, with his 
 code in his hand, so Hazlitt, with his life of that magnificent 
 despot, will go down to posterity ? Whatever may be said of 
 his biography, none will deny the freshness, originality, and 
 delightfulness, which often pervade his essays- With much 
 wordy paradox, enormous conceit, and ineradicable bigotry, 
 they reveal an intense love of the beautiful in the outward 
 world, with an acute sympathy for all the mental workings of 
 
PART I.] OXFORD. 133 
 
 the mind within. Party and politics were his ruin ; they 
 tainted the pureness of his thoughts, distorted his views, and 
 made him believe himself a philanthropist, when most he be- 
 came a bigot. To the oblique influence of politics, the con- 
 stitutional infirmity of a bad temper must be added, and from 
 these we may explain the unhealthy atmosphere in which his 
 mind appears to have lived and breathed. To define Hazlitt’s 
 rank in contemporary literature, is almost impossible : “ Two 
 voices are there ; the one, denying him all that learning can 
 respect, or virtue admire ; the other, a clamorous appeal for 
 undying fame. Time, “ the beautifier of the dead,” will be 
 Hazlitt’s best historian. If he has been the mere efferves- 
 cence of a frothy age, he will be forgotten ; if, on the con- 
 trary, he has strengthened the cause he affected to adore, 
 there will be after memories to brighten round his fame, 
 while 
 
 springs 
 
 From the Castalian fountain of the heart, 
 
 The poetry of life, and all that art 
 
 Divine of words, quickening insensate things. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 Note 6, Page 50. 
 
 The early poets are allowed to be the most original : but 
 whilst we admire the freshness with which their poetry is 
 imbued, we must remember that the refinements of life have 
 multiplied since their day, and consequently, that what was 
 then a single feeling, is now divided into a thousand shadowy 
 modifications, too delicate for the sympathies of olden time to 
 create. May we not, therefore, in some measure, console 
 ourselves for absence of originality, by the fascinations which 
 refined sentiment has produced ? It is to these that modern 
 times are indebted for a galaxy of female writers — stars that 
 never shone upon the ancient world. The social ascendancy 
 of Woman has advanced with the progress of Christianity ; 
 and truly, when we compare the spirit of modern with an- 
 N 
 
134 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 cient gallantry, we need not blush for the comparison. To 
 the grossness of mere animal passion has succeeded an ethe- 
 reality of sentiment, which, however perverted by sophism, 
 or degraded by affectation, has, on the whole, exercised a pu- 
 rifying influence over modern life. 
 
 An ethical writer remarks, “ The respect he feels for the 
 virtues of woman may thus be considered almost as a test of 
 the virtues of man.” Judged by such a test, it is to be feared 
 that both ancient and modern poets do not always appear to 
 bright advantage. Amid a profusion of stately compliments 
 and poetical gallantries, they have from time to time been 
 most uncourteously inspired. Two lords of Grecian tragedy, 
 iEschylus and Euripides, have profaned their dramas by some 
 ugly passages which might well have been omitted. Mrs. 
 iEschylus was evidently a virago, and the unmusical echoes 
 of her voice must have murmured in her husband’s ears, when 
 he composed some lines in the Agamemnon and the Septem : 
 both the Mistresses Euripides were addicted to flirtation, and 
 hence the exaggerated vileness of female character in the 
 Medea and Hippolylus. 
 
 There are thousands who admire Horace’s poetical style of 
 love, and echo his bacchanalian sentiments on women. Others 
 rejoice to feel themselves not amongst them. Horace, though 
 a splendid lyrist, was a great sensualist, and, unlike Anacreon, 
 has not always been very tasteful in his erotic allusions. A 
 woman and a mistress are synonymous meanings in his poems ; 
 and whenever the “ molle Calenum” affected his head, the 
 “ dulcium Mater sseva cupidinum” (lib. iv. ode 1.) invariably 
 polluted his heart- 
 
 No man of humane disposition would willingly annihilate 
 the Sabine bard ! — but the truth must not be concealed, — he 
 has fulminated many offensive remarks against old ladies, 
 which have not been duly considered by those commentators 
 who have indulged their tediousness in illustrating his style 
 and meaning. That the ancient matrons of Rome were not 
 so attractive as the mild old ladies in unassuming caps of the 
 present day, it is easy to imagine. But there are some ele- 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 135 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 mentary principles, from which we may form a judgment of 
 a man’s character in all ages and under all circumstances ; it 
 is to be regretted, therefore, that Horace has not evinced a 
 proper respect for the venerable glory of a grey head. A 
 wrinkle is anathematized as if it were an infamous defect, and 
 a dim eye pronounced an odious mockery of nature. “ May 
 you live to be an old woman!” appears to have been his 
 poetical curse towards offending damsels ; and truly, if it 
 were always fulfilled after his fashion, they must have become 
 as luxuriantly ugly as his fertile fancy could have desired. 
 
 If we might venture to account for this unamiable obli- 
 quity in Horace’s poetical creed, we should in some manner 
 refer it to the voluptuous example of his patron Maecenas. 
 From the first time we read this person’s name, to the present 
 hour, a suspicion has haunted us, that he is indebted for his 
 intellectual fame rather to the inflated adulation of poets than 
 to the substantial truth of real character. Seneca has satirized 
 his effeminacies ; and if our memory do not fail us, Gibbon 
 has ventured some observations which tend to demolish his 
 mountain of greatness. In all probability he was the Bufo of 
 his day, who gave good dinners, and therefore commanded 
 the attendance of good poets to eat them. 
 
 Proud as Apollo on his forked hill, 
 
 Sat full-blown Bufo, puff’d by every quill : 
 
 Fed with soft dedication all day long, 
 
 Horace and he went hand in hand in song. 
 
 We pass by the puny sarcasms against women, sprinkled 
 over the pages of Virgil, Ovid, Catullus, Tibullus, Propertius, 
 and others, to arrive at that ultima Thule of ferocious invec- 
 tive — the sixth satire of Juvenal. To us it appears neither 
 more nor less than an obscene libel on human nature, utterly 
 unworthy the high spirit which produced the third, tenth, 
 and thirteenth satires, in the latter of which the terrors of 
 conscience are so sublimely depicted. That we may not be 
 deemed arrogant in this opinion, we beg permission to quote 
 
136 OXFORD. [notes, 
 
 the words of one who lived at a period of no outrageous deli- 
 cacy. “ This satire (sixth) is a bitter invective against the 
 fair sex. ’Tis indeed a common place, from whence all the 
 moderns have notoriously stolen their sharpest railleries. In 
 his other satires, the poet has only glanced on some particular 
 women, and generally scourged the men. But this he re- 
 served wholly for the ladies. How they offended him I know 
 not: but upon the whole matter, he is not to be excused for 
 imputing to all the vices of some few amongst them. Neither 
 was it generously done of him, to attack the weakest as well as 
 the fairest part of creation : neither do I know what moral he 
 could reasonably draw from it. To bid us beware of their 
 artifices is a kind of silent acknowledgment that they have 
 more wit than men ; which turns the satire upon us, and par- 
 ticularly upon the poet, who thereby makes a compliment 
 where he meant a libel .” — Dry den. 
 
 Indeed, so revolting a picture does this satire exhibit, that 
 neither the world nor Juvenal’s fame would suffer by its 
 omission. It has all Swift’s impurity, without any of his re- 
 deeming wit; and, as a moral corrective, is utterly useless. 
 We might as reasonably expect that health would be pre- 
 served by a nauseous exposition of every disease in the na- 
 tional hospital, as hope that moral beauty would be protected 
 by parading the vilest of our depravities before the public 
 view. 
 
 Maxima debetur puero reverentia. — (xiv. 47.) 
 
 How did Juvenal reconcile this noble sentiment with his own 
 practice? — The sentence may be profitably remembered by 
 the instructors of youth in the present day. 
 
 It would be somewhat interesting to select the principal 
 allusions to female character from our English poets, and en- 
 deavour to prove, that in most cases they have been tinged 
 by the circumstances of each particular writer, whenever they 
 tend to deterioration. In the present case, however, we can 
 only presume on the reader’s patience by quoting a few. Let 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 137 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 us begin with Cowley, termed by Johnson “ the last of the 
 metaphysical race of poets.” He has uttered but few direct 
 impertinences against women ; but the cold indelicacy of his 
 style and the amorous absurdity of his sentiments, almost 
 amount to a want of gallantry. One can fancy mathematical 
 problems making love to each other, when we read the ima- 
 ginary colloquies of Cowley and his mistress. He has com- 
 pared her to every mystery above the earth, and every curi- 
 osity beneath the sun. Let the reader enjoy the following 
 morgeaitic. Here is a burning lover dried into Egyptian dust ! 
 
 The fate of Egypt I sustain, 
 
 And never feel the dew of rain 
 
 From clouds which in the head appear ! — 
 
 What a melancholy plight the lady alluded to in the follow- 
 ing lines must have been in : 
 
 Her sacrifice is found without an heart, 
 
 For the last tempest of my death 
 Shall sigh out that too with my breath ! 
 
 “ Once more upon the waters, yet once more.” Confusion 
 and fearful ruin are threatened : we should like to have seen 
 his mistress perusing the passage below : 
 
 Wo to her stubborn heart, if once mine come 
 Into the self-same room ; 
 
 ’Twill tear and blow up all within, 
 
 Like a grenado shot into a magazine ! ! — 
 
 Mr. Galt’s sublime description of Lord Byron’s genius is in 
 some measure applicable to Cowley ; — “ a mystery, dressed 
 in a winding sheet, and crowned with a halo !” 
 
 Who has equalled the heaven-like purity of Milton’s de- 
 scription ? — whether we approach the primeval loveliness of 
 her, who 
 
 down to the slender waist 
 
 Her unadorned golden tresses wore ; 
 
 N 2 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 138 
 
 [notes, 
 
 or the virgin majesty of “ that aidless, innocent lady,” whose 
 voice came floating 
 
 upon the wings 
 
 Of silence through the empty-vaulted night, 
 
 At ev’ry fall smoothing the raven down 
 Of darkness, till it smiled ! 
 
 Yet there are many ladies in the world who denounce Milton, 
 and allude unhandsomely to his wife, when they read that 
 Eve was 
 
 all but a rib 
 
 Crooked by Nature, bent as now appears, 
 More to the part sinister, — 
 
 and that Adam dared to ask, 
 
 why did God, 
 
 Creator wise, that peopled highest heaven 
 With spirits masculine, create at last 
 This novelty on earth, this fair defect 
 Of nature, and not fill the world at once 
 With men as angels, without feminine ? 
 
 We now arrive at the last of bye-gone English poets from 
 whose works we shall select instances of ungallant poetry — 
 Alexander Pope. Many bitter ironies against the “ fair sex” 
 occur in Pope’s writings ; but the principal are contained in 
 his celebrated “ Epistle” on “ the Characters of Women” — a 
 title, by the way, in queer opposition to a line in the Poem : — 
 Most women have no characters at all. 
 
 In allusion to this piece, Johnson remarks — “ The Charac- 
 ters of Men” are written with more, if not with deeper thought. 
 In the women’s part are some defects ; the character of 
 Atossa is not so neatly finished as that of Clodio ; and some of 
 the female characters may he found perhaps more frequently 
 among men ; what was said of Philomede was true of Prior. 
 The sarcastic maxims which have offended the “ ornaments 
 of creation” are these — viz., 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 139 
 
 Woman and fool are two hard things to hit. 
 
 In men we various* ruling passions find ; 
 
 In women two almost divide the kind : 
 
 Those, only fix’d, they first or last obey, — 
 
 The love of pleasure, and the love of sway. 
 
 And yet, believe me, good as well as ill, 
 
 Woman’s at best a contradiction still : 
 
 Heaven, when it strives to polish all it can, 
 
 Its last best work, but forms a softer man. 
 
 We conclude with that pert blasphemy against the purity 
 of woman which has enjoyed immortality on the lips of cox- 
 combs and seducers: — 
 
 Men — some to business, some to pleasure take, 
 
 But every woman is at heart a rake ! 
 
 These opinions are evidently imbued with sickliness and 
 disappointment, and arose, perchance, from a slight on the 
 part of Martha Blount, or from the colloquial tartness of Lady 
 Mary Wortley, who sadly discomfited our poet at the table 
 of their mutual friend, Lady Oxford. 
 
 C’est que l’enfant toujours este homme, 
 
 C’est que l’homme est toujours enfant. 
 
 Lord Byron’s admirers will, perhaps, admit that the general 
 spirit of his poetry does not tend to elevate the female cha- 
 racter. In nearly all his heroines there is a pervading glow 
 of sentimental wantonness, which, however attractive in the 
 page of poetry, is by no means desirable in the intercourse of 
 human life. His lordship evidently considered woman in no 
 spiritual light. This view, however, was the necessary result 
 of that misanthropic egotism which forms the soul of his 
 poetical system. To him the world revealed no prospect of 
 gradual progression to a better and brighter state of things : 
 as it had ever been, so it would ever remain — a blackened 
 wilderness of selfish gloom. There are many who concur 
 with him ; for, as Shelley says, — 
 
 In his Essay on Man he admits but one “ ruling passion . 1 
 
140 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 Many heartless things are said and done, 
 
 And many brutes and men live on. 
 
 Yet are there, from time to time, glimpses of moral beauty, 
 and loveliness, and lofty energies, and high-born hopes, and 
 human charities, to be enjoyed by all who live and breathe 
 the healthful air of existence. Croly has concentrated, in a 
 few words, more than we have read elsewhere, in illustration 
 of Lord Byron’s mind : — “ His moral system as a poet is 
 founded on the double error, that great crimes imply great 
 qualities, and that virtue is a slavery. Both maxims palpably 
 untrue ; for crime is so much within human means, that the 
 most stupendous crime may be committed by the most abject 
 of human beings, while the man of the wildest licence is only 
 so much the more fettered and bowed down.” This doctrine 
 was anticipated nearly two thousand years ago by one who is 
 called a heathen, but whose moral sentiments are often purer 
 than those of the nominal Christian : — 
 
 Nemo liber est, qui corpori servit. — Senec. Epis. 92. 
 
 Those who think that to assume a Cain-like attitude, and 
 wrestle with the Deity in words of doubt and defiance, is free- 
 dom, will deny the sentiment. Let us hope, however, that 
 there are many who echo the words which Croly has breathed 
 over the grave of Byron, “ that living long enough for fame, 
 he died too soon for his country.” 
 
 It was our intention to have concluded this long, and, we 
 fear, intrusive note, by a selection of passages relative to the 
 minds and characters of women, from the works of Southey, 
 Wordsworth, and Wilson — they whose fame 
 
 Must share in Nature’s immortality, 
 
 A venerable thing ! and so their song 
 Should make all nature lovelier, and itself 
 Be loved like nature. — Coleridge . 
 
 Who teach us to 
 
 recognise 
 
 A grandeur in the beatings of the heart. 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 141 
 
 Whose genius surrounds us with 
 
 A presence that disturbs us with the joy 
 Of elevated thoughts ; a sense sublime 
 Of something far more deeply interfused, 
 
 Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, 
 
 And the round ocean, and the living air, 
 
 And the blue sky, and in the mind of man. 
 
 And whose philosophy illustrates the sublime words of Rous- 
 seau, “ Si l’Auteur de la nature est grand dans les grandes 
 choses, il est tres-grand dans les petites.” But we will task 
 the reader’s kindness no farther, but conclude with 
 
 “ Thanks to the human heart by which we live, 
 
 Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears ; 
 
 To me, the meanest flower that blows can give 
 Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears !” 
 
 Note c , Page 51. 
 
 ( 1830 .) 
 
 During the last year, some twelve or fifteen periodicals, 
 beginning at the unambitious price of twopence, in graceful 
 ascent to the lofty height of six shillings, have edified the 
 public, and amused themselves, by discharging critical thun- 
 der at the head of the unfortunate transgressor alluded to in 
 our text. Now, the first thing that must strike a reader in 
 many of these reviews is the sincerity of the writers ; for who, 
 when an author is glowingly depicted as “ fool,” and “ ass,” 
 “ knave,” and “ hypocrite,” “ numskull,” and sundry other 
 pretty characters, can doubt a critic’s earnestness ! A few 
 fastidious people, here and there scattered over the face of the 
 literary globe, may, perchance, think these appellations a little 
 uncourteous ; and others compare the critics to those “ gro- 
 tesque faces' in a Gothic church, which grin and frown, and 
 make such horrible distortions of visage, that you would think 
 them the guardians of the whole building ; whereas they are 
 only excrescences, that add nothing to its strength, but dis- 
 
142 OXFORD. [notes, 
 
 figure it by their deformity.” Still, sincerity is a rare virtue, 
 and ought to be admitted into the very best society, however 
 rudely apparelled. 
 
 To the noisy candour of this class of reviewers, succeeds 
 the polite malignancy of more graceful criticism. By means 
 of this, an author’s poetry is anatomized into prose, meaning 
 screwed into nonsense, words distorted into trash, sentiments 
 conjured into bombast, and the usual flippancies of “ young 
 gentleman,” “ bardling,” “ poetaster,” &c. &c., are introduced 
 with becoming effect. But as the subject as well as the style 
 must be attacked, it is deemed proper to ruin the former by 
 blazoning forth the poetical impossibilities connected with it ; 
 or else by collecting its various parts into one ludicrous assem- 
 blage, after the manner of an auctioneer’s catalogue. It cannot, 
 however, be forgotten, that now and then a word of comfort 
 and a line of eulogy escape the reviewer ; but, ashamed of the 
 weakness, he soons returns to a more pleasing task. 
 
 There are others connected with this laudable undertaking, 
 acting in the double character of author and critic. Without 
 resorting to any ungenerous surmise, their hostility may thus 
 be explained, — a writer who had pleased the many could not 
 of course delight “ the few.” Doubtless, these “ few” are 
 difficult personages to define ; but as they are so frequently 
 mentioned by their admirers, they must enjoy a respectable 
 existence somewhere or other on the face of the earth. Happy 
 authors! who, undegraded by a vulgar passion for present 
 fame, fix their eyes on a bright futurity ; happy posterity ! 
 that is destined to receive instruction which living times are 
 unworthy to enjoy. Copies may remain in unsold obscurity 
 on booksellers’ shelves, and publishers’ accounts prove incon- 
 venient memorials, but they have that within that passeth 
 show. A few years hence, when the false idols of the day 
 are disenthroned and forgotten, “ the few” will swell into the 
 many, and then shall editions do justice to their fame. Thus, 
 under the weight of unpurchased volumes, are they enabled 
 to feel “ that a thousand years after their death, the Indian 
 on the banks of the Ganges, and the Laplander on his hills of 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 143 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 snow, will read their works, and envy the happy clime that 
 produced such extraordinary genius.”* 
 
 Amid such distressful circumstances, a writer endowed with 
 true delicacy would have faded into an elegant consumption, 
 and died young, in order to be tenderly remembered. Such, 
 however, was not the case ; his health was audaciously good, 
 and his pen as active as ever. To explain this tough perti- 
 nacity, we must suppose him to have been somewhat ac- 
 quainted with the history of criticism, and to have found that 
 from the days when Gray’s Elegy was pronounced a “ respect- 
 able piece of mediocrity ,” f to the time when Lord Byron was 
 advised “ forthwith to abandon poetry and betake him to 
 more profitable pursuits, similar afflictions had been constantly 
 endured. Popularity was “ vulgar fame praise, “ absurd 
 flattery,” and religious feeling “ mere cant” assumed for the 
 occasion. Then, as now, did the great unknown lament the 
 decline of taste, the dearth of genius, and the nothingness of 
 public opinion ; while every author, imprudent enough to suc- 
 ceed, was described as the mere idol of the day, beneath the 
 observation of the discerning “ few.” 
 
 May we not hope, then, that those gentlemen whose pens 
 are prepared to demolish the present unfortunate production, 
 seeing that they have as yet produced nothing new in critical 
 warfare, will devise some other means for effecting an honour- 
 able purpose ? For truly lamentable would it be, if, after ex- 
 hausting such noble energies in the defence of true taste and 
 feeling, a headstrong public should decide for itself! Since 
 mere critical blows, however violent and fierce, and con- 
 stantly repeated, fail in effecting an author’s annihilation, can 
 they not contrive to invent a few immoralities, and phillipize 
 against the hypocrisy, cant, and deceitfulness of the times? 
 Success appears to smile on this plan, since, whatever may be 
 the character of the critic himself, the morality of the author 
 
 * See Gibbon’s Essay on Polite Literature, 
 t See the London Magazine of that period. 
 | Vide Edinburgh Review. 
 
144 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 is indispensable. It is, doubtless, on the truth of this senti- 
 ment, that several religious periodicals have lately acted. 
 Being a little puzzled with the muse, they sneer at her mo- 
 rality, and, according to the creed of their gospel, insinuate 
 into the character of others what piety never admits in their 
 own. 
 
 Let us conclude this discussion by a survey of the principal 
 charges adduced against a writer whose volumes have sold. 
 First in the list of offences appears— a portrait without a neck- 
 cloth. Assuredly this is a melancholy affair, inasmuch as it 
 no more resembles the author than it does the face of Ali 
 Pasha! And vanity, that fault which is only agreeable in 
 ourselves, nothing but vanity, could have invented that up- 
 turned gaze / Here was a source of infinite martyrdom. One 
 gentleman, remarkable for Byronic deficiency of cravat, con- 
 sidered the portrait a rivalrous attempt; while every reviewer 
 who boasted an ugly face thought it a personal satire. It is 
 but fair, however, to add, that any gentleman who has the 
 misfortune to possess a copy of this portrait, by sending it to 
 Mr. Hobday, the artist, may have his money returned, or a 
 neckcloth supplied. 
 
 When we add to this circumstance that the author “ gives 
 no dinners,” writes no critiques, corresponds with no maga- 
 zine, haunts no coteries, and — owing to the study of astronomy 
 in early youth — holds his head very high when he walks, 
 together with the weakness of being rather young, can we 
 wonder that he has been lampooned in periodicals, or slan- 
 dered in reviews?* 
 
 * Lord Byron was fearfully alive to the annoyances of petty 
 reviewers. Indignant sarcasm against the meanest Dennis 
 who invaded his poetical renown is continually bursting forth 
 in his correspondence. Speaking of critics in one of his let- 
 ters to Murray, he says, after forbidding him to forward any 
 more of the reviews, “ These do not interrupt, but they soil 
 the current of my mind. I am sensitive enough, but not until 
 I am troubled.” To this remark Moore has appended a note, 
 evidently emanating from the smart which critical malignance 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 145 
 
 Note d , Page 52. 
 
 (1830.) 
 
 A few months since an order issued from proprietary head- 
 quarters, for a certain young writer to be immolated in the 
 next number of the venerable Blue and Yellow. In obedience 
 to this command, several articles were prepared, all of which 
 finally yielded to the one that was inserted, as combining a 
 due quality of venom, with affectionate candour towards an 
 ill-used public. 
 
 Major a canamus ; — let us, with modest gaze, approach the 
 “ bright excess” of this surpassing criticism. After a little un- 
 comfortable wriggling, the reviewer works his way into the 
 subject — Puffery. Here it is painful to add, that two or three 
 pages are pilfered from The Puffiad* without any acknow- 
 ledgment of the offence. After this follows a verbal analysis, 
 rather clumsy, and by no means original. The plagiarisms 
 are proved after the following learned manner : — A few lines, 
 selected from various parts of the guilty production, are ex- 
 
 produces : — “ The petty but thwarting obstructions which are 
 at present thrown across the path of men of real talent by that 
 swarm of minor critics and pretenders, with whom the want 
 of a seat in other professions has crowded all the walks in 
 literature.” Nor is it only the writers of the day who suffer 
 from this multifarious rush into the mart ; the readers, also, 
 from having “ the superficies of too many things presented to 
 them at once, come to lose by degrees their powers of discrimi- 
 nation ; and in the same manner as the palate becomes confused 
 in trying various wines, so the public taste declines in pro- 
 portion as the impressions to which it is exposed multiply.” 
 
 To such sentiments Bruyere’s remark applies : — “ Quand 
 une lecture vous eleve l’esprit, et qu’elle vous inspire des senti- 
 mens nobles, ne cherchez pas une autre regie pour juger de 
 l’ouvrage ; il est bon et fait de l’ouvrage. La Critique, apres 
 5a, peut s’exercer sur les petites choses, relever quelques ex- 
 pressions, corriger des phrases, parler de syntaxe,” &c. &c. 
 
 * A very unamiable production, concerning which the papers 
 maintained a most disinterested silence. 
 
146 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 hibited, in which the words “ ocean,” “ dew,” &c. &c. occur ; 
 some lines are also produced from Dryden and Lord Byron, 
 in v/hich similar expressions occur. Now, what is plainer 
 than that the former writer is convicted of plagiarism, since 
 neither the ocean nor the dew was discerned till Lord Byron 
 and Dryden perceived them one day, and patronized them in 
 their poems? This spirited hunt after plagiarisms extends 
 through several pages, when, with a gracious smile at his own 
 performance, the reviewer receives his pay, and bids us fare- 
 well. The hint to plagiarists, it is hoped, may prove service- 
 able. The advice given by a respectable old lady to her child 
 of iniquity, in Paul Clifford , ought not to be forgotten : 
 “ Never steal — ’specially when any body’s nigh !” Yet may 
 a question be put to this ingenious gentleman — If all he pil- 
 fered from his predecessors, distilled from old magazines and 
 encyclopaedias, gathered from indices, and squeezed from the 
 book itself under review, were combined, how much of any 
 article that he has composed may be called his own? His 
 critiques remind us of a circumstance in Armenia. When a 
 poor man appears with a new coat, he is suspected to have 
 stolen it ; but if it be cleverly patched by contributions from 
 old cloth, it is supposed to be his own ! 
 
 The reviewer had evidently seen better days ; though accus- 
 tomed, from the blushing dawn of his talents, to perform the 
 scrubwork of criticism, still he had occasionally spoken truth, 
 and slept soundly after praising an author. Here, however, 
 was a task of peculiar dirtiness, which threatened to soil even 
 his hands, ail accustomed as they were to menial offices. He 
 had to grope his way through sixteen pages of lying print, 
 and better men than he might be forgiven for not having 
 accomplished this tiresome duty without some awkward gri- 
 maces on the road. 
 
 The critic’s favourite metaphor is “a Turkey carpet:’’ 
 from this it may be concluded that he is an upholsterer, 
 haunted by the dreams of a shop ; not but that an upholsterer 
 may be a very excellent personage, though seldom, perhaps, 
 a good critic ; unless, indeed, after the manner of Addison’s 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 147 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 trunk-maker, who, it is recorded, could knock down an ox, 
 or write a comment on the Ars Poetica , with equal facility. 
 
 The article was a decided failure. There was, of course, a 
 chuckle of delight among authorlings, and a yelp of applause 
 from criticlings. Beyond this, nothing was effected. The 
 public has a good memory on these occasions, and recollected 
 that the same review, now employed in exposing the puff 
 system, had, from its infancy, invariably puffed its own coterie , 
 from the budding statesman down to the full-blown versifier. 
 It also appeared rather strange that no proofs were produced 
 to support an accusation, and that those who were notoriously 
 addicted to the paragraphic vice, were suffered to remain 
 “ unknell’d, uncoffin’d, and unknown.” 
 
 On a primary view of the matter, this treatment on the part 
 of the public towards the patronizing tenderness of a reviewer 
 may appear unmerited ; but when we remember that during 
 the last fifteen years there is not a solitary instance in which 
 the Edinburgh Review has guided public taste in conferring 
 eminence on a writer , the matter is explained. With respect 
 to poetry, this is especially true. All who have won reputa- 
 tion, it has endeavoured either to blast in their path to fame, 
 or allowed them to be unmentioned till years had procured a 
 popularity which required the aid of no reviewer to sustain it. 
 Besides, there is a little impolicy in a critic’s frontless asser- 
 tion, that the public is a mighty Ass, easily led by the nose, 
 wherever the popular impulse of an hour may conduct it ; 
 for who is it but this same stultified public that supports the 
 very review that contemns it? In this the critic sees profound 
 judgment and correct taste ; in every other respect, the judg- 
 ment of the many is altogether vain. Admirable logic ! and 
 urbane conclusion ! No doubt, some literary bubbles have 
 been puffed into popular favour, and that poetical unworthi- 
 ness has been occasionally overrated. A few months, how- 
 ever, have redeemed the truth, and conducted Taste to her 
 legitimate conclusions. He must, therefore, be a bigot of the 
 very first water, and on tolerable good terms with himself, 
 who condescends to patronize the public by assuming all 
 
148 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 judgment and taste as the inheritance of his own brains, while 
 the many are catalogued as blockheads and dunces, never to 
 be respected — except when they believe an oracular review ! 
 
 The reviewer is. we believe, still alive, and from time to 
 time employs himself in making mouths at distinguished men. 
 His style is peculiarly his own : — 
 
 For Appius reddens at each word you speak, 
 
 And stares tremendous with a threat’ning eye, 
 
 Like some fierce tyrant in old tapestry. 
 
 His darling topic is the decline of poetry, which means, that 
 some little abortion of his own not having sold, as a matter of 
 course, true poetry has ceased to exist. On this subject he is 
 known to crawl along in elegiac prose for several pages, till, 
 suddenly pouncing on some hapless author, he grins himself 
 into critical ecstasy : — 
 
 All books he reads, and all he reads, assails, 
 
 From Dryden’s fables down to Durfey’s tales : 
 
 With him, most authors steal their works, or buy : 
 
 Garth did not write his own Dispensary. 
 
 Let us, however, conclude this strange, eventful history ; 
 and let us likewise imitate the critic’s atoning kindness, by 
 expressing our regret, should any of these remarks be “ pain- 
 ful to his feelings.” Most heartily do we wish him a nobler 
 office than that of being the hired assassin of a bigoted re- 
 view.* 
 
 * The following extract from the second edition of Clark- 
 son’s pamphlet, entitled, “ Robert Montgomery and his Re- 
 viewers , ,” will unravel some allusions in the above note. After 
 all, the miserable hacks of a modern review are not worthy 
 notice ; every year sends some of them to their proper sphere — 
 either to the treadmill, or on a philosophical excursion to 
 Botany Bay ! — Vide Newgate Calendar. 
 
 “ ADDRESS TO THE PUBLIC. 
 
 “ The most illiberal attacks having of late been repeatedly 
 made upon me as a publisher by certain reviewers, who, in 
 their zeal to destroy the popularity, and with a view to account 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 149 
 
 Note e , Page 54. 
 
 See anecdotes of Heber’s early life, as recorded by his 
 widow. 
 
 for the extensive sale of Mr. R. Montgomery’s Poems, charged 
 me with having unduly raised that author into public favour 
 by a system of puffing, which they thus define: — 1st, By 
 the publisher having his own reviews; 2ndly, by his ex- 
 changing favours with other reviews ; 3rdly, by his influ- 
 encing the public opinion through the literary coteries ; and, 
 4thly, by his bribing the periodical press ; I feel myself called 
 upon to declare (and I defy any man living to disprove the 
 assertion), that this is a deliberate and malicious calumny. 
 1st, I have no review whatever ; 2ndly, I have not the power 
 of exchanging favours with other reviews, and should disdain 
 so to use it if I had ; 3rdly, I am not connected, either directly 
 or indirectly, with any of the coteries ; and, 4thly, I never 
 bribed, or paid, or offered to pay, any individual connected 
 with the periodical press, to praise the works of Mr. Mont- 
 gomery, or any other works in which I have an interest. 
 What others may do , who notoriously possess the above means , 
 and as notoriously use them , concerns not me. I shall , therefore, 
 make no comment on the motives which influence these gentlemen , 
 nor point to the corrupted sources whence the venom flows ; but 
 I appeal to the public whether it is not a gross abuse of critical 
 power, and a flagrant instance of critical injustice, thus to 
 invade my property, and impugn my conduct, on grounds 
 which, I repeat, are at once malicious, scandalous, and false. 
 
 “ Samuel Maunder.” 
 
 “ This is certainly manly and straightforward enough, and 
 written in a tone of such honest indignation, that if the anony- 
 mous gentlemen, thus inscribed and branded, can feel anything 
 lighter than a horsewhip, feel they must . That the shamefully 
 dishonest artifices resorted to by the j unta — who, chiefly hold- 
 ing their brief from the Great Arch Puffer , audaciously stig- 
 matize the whole town and country press with the charge of 
 being bribed like themselves — called for some notice from the 
 publisher and proprietor of Montgomery’s Poems, I am quite 
 ready to admit, nay, that a total silence on his part might 
 have even been regarded by the 4 miscellaneous rabble’ — who, 
 incompetent of comparative judgment, always consider the 
 o 2 
 
150 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 Note /, Page 55. 
 
 “ I am much amused with the preparation I see making for 
 furnishing me with household stuff, such as table-cloths, 
 sheets, &c. It is surely a luxurious age when a boy of seven- 
 
 last and noisiest buffoon to be the victor— as amounting to an 
 admission of the validity of these reiterated slanders. Other- 
 wise, the whole clique are only fit to be laughed at. But I 
 must say, he appears to me to have only half understood his 
 case. I should really have given him credit for knowing the 
 ‘ mysteries’ of his profession better. He not only disclaims all 
 connexion with the reciprocally reviewing coteries, and the 
 ‘ caw me, caw thee’ system, but he adds, with a naivete quite 
 amusing I should think to the gentlemen concerned (and con- 
 cerned they really are), ‘ I never bribed, or paid, or offered to 
 pay, any individual connected with the periodical press.’ 
 Ay, there’s the rub ! One of the secret motives of attack — 
 perhaps ‘ the very head and front of his offending,’ in the eyes 
 of the Burlingtonians. I respect Mr. Maunder’s feelings, but 
 I am at a loss to conjecture how he could pen the sentence 
 just quoted, and not be struck with the fact that his greatest 
 sin was a sin of omission (i. e., he never bribed or paid , &c.) 
 Now, if he had been well read in Burlingtoniana , or made 
 himself an adept in the arcana of Burlington -street ; if he had 
 ‘ bribed or paid,’ instead of expecting, ‘ good, easy man,’ to 
 reap honest fame or profit, in times like these, from honest 
 practices, neither he nor his author would have been the ob- 
 jects of half the rabid abuse which has been lavished on them. 
 Had he resorted to that golden system of puffing, befitting the 
 present golden age of literary morals, there would have been 
 no growling, no barking, no biting ; the jealous watch-dogs 
 of literature would have fawned and slavered on him like 
 spaniels, and he might have plundered ‘my public’ with im- 
 punity. Ay, had he * bribed or paid,’ &c., he might have 
 inundated the country with the veriest excrementitious trash 
 that ever exuded in a fashionable novel, foamed in Millena- 
 rian delirium, or piped and snivelled in libellous and penny- 
 trumpet imitation of the sonorous, enchanted horn of Walter 
 Scott. He might then have been lauded to the skies for his 
 ‘ public spirit and liberality,’ instead of being lampooned and 
 belied by the hungry descendants of Zoilus and Thersites.” 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 151 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 teen requires so much fuss to fit him out. Sat de nugis , ad 
 seria reverto. My studies go on as usual. Machiavel I rather 
 admire more than at first. My Greek studies will he soon, I 
 fear, gravelled , if I continue at home. My brother particularly 
 recommends me to attend to the public lectures on astronomy 
 and mathematics at Oxford, as he says they are at present 
 very clever.” — Life , by Mrs. Heber , vol. i. p. 22, 23. 
 
 Note g , Page 55. 
 
 “ Notwithstanding the miseries of Fellowships on which 
 you descant, I should like very well to have one. I cannot, 
 indeed, conceive how an excellent society, good rooms, and 
 the finest situation for study in the world, can have that effect 
 in benumbing the faculties which you ascribe to it. There 
 will, no doubt, be many illiberal men in these sort of societies ; 
 but I fear those men would have been still less gentlemen than 
 they are at present, had it not been for the advantages of a 
 college society. I was much entertained, my dear friend, 
 with the account you gave of time-passing at Cambridge. 
 ‘ The beef of yesterday is succeeded by the mutton of to-day,’ 
 are your words, when you shew me the manner in which the 
 Cantabs pass their time. You, indeed, who are clothed in 
 purple, and fare sumptuously every day at the Fellows’ table, 
 would have more reason to reckon by meals than I should ; 
 for the dinners we get here, at least the commoners, (for the 
 gentlemen commoners have a table to themselves, and fare 
 very well,) are the most beastly things that ever graced the table 
 of a poor-house , or house of correction, (ohe !) I write this 
 letter in a very ill humour at some circumstances I happen to 
 be engaged in, which are as follows : — It is thought expedient 
 that as I principally feel myself deficient in mathematics, I 
 should stay in Oxford during this next vacation, in order to 
 go through a course of lectures with the mathematical pro- 
 fessor. This is certainly very much for a man’s interest, but 
 it will be very dull, I fear, as few Brasen Nose men with whom 
 1 am acquainted will stay. If you could contrive to take the 
 
152 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 opportunity of this vacation at once to see Oxford, and make 
 an old school-fellow perfectly happy by your company for a 
 day or two, I need not say how glad I should be. If you 
 conveniently can, pray do come. Per hoc inane purpurce decus 
 precor . 
 
 “ I have fagged pretty hard since I have been here, on a 
 perfectly different plan, however, from my Neasden studies. 
 I was very closely engaged last week with a copy of verses, 
 as you will believe, when I tell you that I had literally no 
 time to shave, insomuch that my beard was as long and hoary 
 as that of the celebrated bearded king. I succeeded tolerably 
 well in my verses, and had to read them in the hall, the most 
 nervous ceremony I ever went through. 
 
 “ I agree with you on the subject of the fabled academical 
 leisure. We are, at Cambridge and Oxford, in the economy 
 of time, perfect Cartesian — we admit of no vacuum. I have 
 been through my Cheshire connexions, and, through the long 
 residence of my brother, introduced to a great many people, 
 and this has, of course, produced very numerous parties ; but, 
 I assure you, I shall preserve my character for sobriety : no 
 man is obliged to drink more than he pleases, nor have I seen 
 any of that spirit of playing tricks on freshmen, which we are 
 told were usual forty or fifty years ago at the universities. 
 Vale ; si possis, veni . You seem not much to like the concerts 
 at Cambridge ; I very much approve of ours here, both as it 
 is a rational scholarlike amusement, and as it affords a retreat, 
 if necessary, from the bottle.” — Life , vol. i. pp. 26 — 28. 
 
 Heber’s first university distinction was the prize for Latin 
 verse, gained by his “ Carmen Seculare.” This was followed, 
 in 1803, by “ Palestine,” to which the following notices inte- 
 restingly refer : — 
 
 “ I know not whether I told you in my last, it is a sort of 
 prize extraordinary for English verses — the subject, Palestine. 
 I was not aware till yesterday that the same subject had been 
 some time since given for the Seatonian prize. I think it, on 
 the whole, a fine one, as it will admit of much fancy, and 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 153 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 many sublime ideas. I know not whether it ought to have 
 been made exclusively sacred or not. Many men, whom I 
 have talked with, seem inclined to have made it so ; but I have 
 an utter dislike to clothing sacred subjects in verse, unless it 
 be done as nearly as possible in scriptural language, and intro- 
 duced with great delicacy. I could not, however, refrain from 
 mentioning and rather enlarging on the Messiah and the last 
 triumphs of Judea. The historical facts of scripture I of 
 course made great use of, as well as of the crusades, siege of 
 Acre, and other pieces of modern story. My brother, my 
 tutor, and Mr. Walter Scott, the author of the ‘ Border Min- 
 strels,’ whom I have no doubt you know by name, if not per- 
 sonally, give me strong hopes ; and I am, on the other hand, 
 I hope, pretty well prepared for a disappointment. Whether 
 the event be favourable or otherwise, I shall know in about 
 two days, and will not fail to communicate my victory or 
 defeat.” — Life , vol. i. pp. 29, 30. 
 
 “ In the course of its composition, Sir Walter Scott hap- 
 pened to breakfast with him one morning, together with his 
 brother and one or two friends, previous to their joining a 
 party of pleasure to Blenheim ; Palestine became the subject 
 of conversation, and the poem was produced and read. Sir 
 Walter, to whom the editor is indebted for the anecdote, said, 
 ‘ You have omitted one striking circumstance in your account 
 of the building of the temple, that no tools were used in its 
 erection.’ Reginald retired from the breakfast-table to a 
 corner of the room, and before the party separated, produced 
 the beautiful lines which now form part of the poem, and 
 which were at a subsequent period, and alas ! on a far dif- 
 ferent occasion, quoted by Sir Charles Edward Grey, as illus- 
 trative of the manner in which he trusted the church of Asia 
 would arise, and in which the friend he then mourned was 
 so admirably qualified to hasten its growth. On mounting 
 the rostrum to recite his poem, Reginald Heber was struck 
 by seeing two young ladies of Jewish extraction sitting in a 
 conspicuous part of the theatre. The recollection of some 
 
154 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 lines* which reflect severely on their nation flashed across his 
 mind, and he determined to spare their feelings by softening 
 the passage, which he feared would give them pain, as he pro- 
 ceeded; but it was impossible to communicate this intention 
 to his brother, who was sitting behind him as prompter, and 
 who, on the attempt being made, immediately checked him, so 
 that he was forced to recite the lines as they were originally 
 written.” — Life , pp. 30, 31. 
 
 Note A, Page 55. 
 
 An eloquent article on Heber’s Hymns, in Blackwood’s 
 Magazine, and, from the beautiful diction that pervades it, 
 apparently written by Wilson, contains an affecting allusion 
 to the recitation of Palestine. 
 
 “ None who heard Reginald Heber recite his Palestine in 
 that magnificent theatre, will ever forget his appearance, so 
 interesting and impressive. It was known that his old father 
 was somewhere sitting among the crowded audience, when 
 his universally admired son ascended the rostrum ; and we 
 have heard that the sudden thunder of applause that then 
 arose so shook his frame, weak and wasted by long illness, 
 that he never recovered it, and may be said to have died of 
 the joy dearest to a parent’s heart. Reginald Heber’s recita- 
 tion, like that of all poets we have heard recite, was altogether 
 untrammelled by the critical laws of elocution, which were 
 not set at defiance, but either by the poet unknown or for- 
 gotten ; and there was a charm in his somewhat melancholy 
 voice, that occasionally faltered, less from a feeling of solem- 
 nity, and even grandeur of the scene of which he was himself 
 
 * Oh, lives there one who mocks his heartless zeal ! 
 Too proud to worship, and too wise to feel ? 
 
 Be his the soul with wintry reason blest, 
 
 The dull, lethargic sovereign of the breast ! 
 
 Be his the life that creeps in dead repose, 
 
 No joy that sparkles, and no tear that flows. 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 155 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 the conspicuous object, though that feeling did suffuse his 
 pale and ingenuous countenance, — than from the deeply felt 
 sanctity of his subject, comprehending the most awful mys- 
 teries of God’s revelations to man.” 
 
 ( 1830 .) 
 
 A Magazine, 
 
 “ That grins immensely at its own sagacity,” 
 
 some time since informed its readers, that the present writer 
 had “ written for the Newdigate, and failed.” It would be 
 needless to contradict this and similar atrocious absurdities, 
 were there not an imbecile race in the world of letters always 
 prompt to believe what is absurd, and to quote what is mali- 
 cious. For their benefit, be it remarked, — without the faintest 
 sneer at a poem which Heber consecrated, and Milman has 
 adorned, — that the glorious uncertainty of the “Newdigate” 
 has not been endured by the present author ; nor is it probable 
 that it ever will. 
 
 In the course of this volume incidental allusions have been 
 made to contemporary criticism : no candid reader will mis- 
 take or misapply them. It would be a censorious foppery for 
 any man, whatever his rank in literature, to express unlimited 
 contempt for an art in which many of the most accomplished 
 and profound scholars of the day are engaged ; and laughable 
 bigotry to deny the wit, eloquence, and brilliancy, from time 
 to time exhibited in our modern reviews. But while we allow 
 the excellences of criticism, we cannot be blind to the theo- 
 retic dulness, flimsy sarcasm, and monotonous twaddle, which 
 distinguish a great part of it. Of late, a new class of critics 
 has arisen, composed chiefly of bankrupt prosers, and miscel- 
 laneous rhymers, whom Pope has christened, “ Grub-street 
 poets run to seed.”* At present they are trying an ex- 
 periment with public taste, — whether “criticism,” diseased 
 
 * Bad poets become malevolent critics, just as weak wine 
 turns to vinegar. — Southey. 
 
156 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [FART I. 
 
 with prejudice, and bloated with vulgarity, will be popularly 
 relished, and meet with success. Their whole power con- 
 sists in noise and nonsense, and with these they make a most 
 industrious rattle from week to week and month to month. 
 
 But let no reader consider these remarks as intended to 
 excite indignation against a mournful race of men, who are 
 too often compelled to eat the bread of infamy, and, under the 
 name of critics, unite the double character of poltroons and 
 maligners. Rather let him change contempt into the Chris- 
 tian feeling of pity. For are they not to be pitied, who are 
 born — wretched — and die? He may indeed, on observing 
 the swagger of their style, and the mock -heroism exhibited in 
 their “ defence of public taste,” — imagine them to be the hap- 
 piest fellows alive. Yet were he to single one out of the herd 
 for minute observation, how often would he discover him to be 
 a shrivelled unfortunate, gnawed by disappointment, or jaun- 
 diced by despair ! — one who has indeed been a writer of all 
 work — the Helot of literature. Tragedies that were never 
 acted, poems that were never read, and novels that were never 
 sold, are his to claim. He has murdered for morning papers, 
 and set houses on fire for evening journals, and yet remains 
 unknown. Amid such disasters, let a generous mind pause 
 ere it condemn him whom circumstances have twisted into a 
 degenerate hireling. When the petty rivalries of the hour 
 are forgotten, and truth is alone remembered, the retrospec- 
 tions of such a character are by no means enviable. To him 
 belongs not the smile of the good, nor the friendship of the 
 great : as he has lived to be degraded, so will he die to be for- 
 gotten. 
 
 “ be one poet’s praise, 
 
 That not in fancy’s maze he wander’d long, 
 
 But stoop’d to truth, and moralized his song ; 
 
 Laugh’d at the loss of friends he never had, 
 
 The dull, the proud, the wicked, and the mad ; 
 
 The tale revived, the lie so oft o’erthrown, 
 
 Th’ imputed trash, and dulness not his own.” 
 
PART I.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 157 
 
 Note i, Page 56. 
 
 “ When Reginald Heber returned from the theatre, sur- 
 rounded by his friends, with every hand stretched out to con- 
 gratulate, and every voice raised to praise him, he withdrew 
 from the circle ; and his mother, who, impatient of his ab- 
 sence, went to look for him, found him in his room, on his 
 knees, giving thanks to God, not so much for the talents 
 which had, on that day, raised him to honour, but that those 
 talents had enabled him to bestow unmixed happiness on his 
 parents.” — Life , vol. i. p. 33. 
 
 The following sketch of Heber by a contemporary, while 
 residing in the university, after his political triumph, will be 
 read with deep interest. 
 
 “ At a time when, with the enthusiasm of the place, I had 
 rather caught by heart than learnt Palestine , and when it was 
 a privilege of any one of any age to know Heber, I had the 
 delight of forming his acquaintance, I cannot forget the feel- 
 ing of admiration with which, in the autumn of 1803, I ap- 
 proached his presence, or the surprise with which I con- 
 trasted my abstract image of him with his own simple, social, 
 every-day manner. He talked and laughed like those around 
 him, and entered into the pleasures of the day with them, and 
 with their relish ; but when any higher subject was intro- 
 duced, (and he was never slow to introduce literature at least, 
 and to draw from his exhaustless memory riches of every 
 kind,) his manner became his own. He never looked up at 
 his hearers, but with his eyes downcast and fixed, poured 
 forth in a measured intonation, which from him became 
 fashionable, stores of every age ; the old romances ; Spenser ; 
 some of our early prose writers ; of Scott’s published works ; 
 or verses of his own. I speak not of one day only, but of 
 my general recollection of his habits as after that day wit- 
 nessed often. Even at this time, however, he was a very 
 severe student, and made up in hard reading at night, the 
 time given to society and lighter pursuits in the evening.” — 
 Life , pp. 345 — 348. 
 
158 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 Note k , Page 68. 
 
 A beautiful letter, descriptive of Heber’s character in India, 
 must not be omitted in these biographical illustrations. 
 
 “ My Lord, — I know not how to refrain from venturing in 
 some allusion to the general sentiments of deep interest and 
 lively gratification excited by your lordship’s visit to this 
 place (Benares), and the very sincere regrets which have fol- 
 lowed your departure. Of all the pleasing impressions which 
 your lordship has left to commemorate your brief sojourn 
 amongst us, I will not here presume to speak ; but I may hope 
 your lordship will not be displeased with the brief assurance, 
 that your visit has been productive of much good in this 
 community, in points essentially connected with those high 
 and sacred interests which are so peculiarly under your 
 charge, and even so near to all the movements of your heart. 
 For the mention of my own individual share in the grateful 
 impressions your lordship has diffused amongst us, I will hope 
 to have found an admissible excuse with your lordship, while 
 I ascribe some portions of it to associations awakened by your 
 presence, recalling to my mind the days of other times, the 
 scenes of my youth, and of my native land ; and many a re- 
 collection of no light or ordinary interest, to one who has 
 wandered so far and so long from the dulce domum of his early 
 life. Your lordship will readily conceive how this might be ; and 
 thus it will hardly seem strange to you, that the strains of pious 
 and holy instruction, which fixed so impressive a record of our 
 first visitation by a protestant prelate on the minds of us all, 
 should have spoken with peculiar emphasis to one, who, after 
 many a year of toil and exile in a foreign clime, recognised 
 in the accents which now preached the word of the living 
 God, amid the favourite abodes of heathen idolatry, that self- 
 same voice, which in the days of youthful enthusiasm, and 
 ardent and undamped fancy, had poured on his delighted ear 
 the lay that sung the sacred theme of the Redeemer’s hand, 
 amid the long-loved haunts of his Alma Mater ; amid the 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 159 
 
 PART I.] 
 
 venerated temples of the religion of our fathers. But let me 
 not give a licence to my pen, which may seem to bespeak me 
 forgetful of the high value of your lordship’s time. Permit 
 me, my lord, to conclude with unfeigned and most fervent 
 wishes for your long enjoyment of health and vigour, for the 
 gratification of all the hopes with which you contemplate the 
 interesting journey before you, and for the success of every 
 plan which you may form for the advancement of those con- 
 cerns of eternal moment which have been so happily entrusted 
 to your lordship’s care. 
 
 “ I remain, my lord, 
 
 “ Most respectfully and sincerely yours, 
 
 “ Norman Macleod. 
 
 (Zz/e, pp. 242—244.) 
 
NOTES TO PART II. 
 
 Note a, Page 70. 
 
 The sublime hopes which are awakened by the circulation of 
 the scriptures suggest the name of one, whose pure spirit now 
 brightens in the presence of his Maker, but whose memory 
 lives in the hearts of all who revere the faith of an apostle, 
 and the devotion of a martyr, — Henry Martyn, late fellow of 
 St. John’s College, Cambridge. He who can peruse the 
 biography of his glorious mind — as exhibited amid fearful toils 
 and Christian labours, in a far and deathful clime — without 
 emotion, must be “ more or less than man.” 
 
 “ By him, and by his means, part of the Liturgy of the 
 Church of England, the Parables, and the whole of the New 
 Testament, were translated into Hindoostanee ! By him, and 
 by his means, also, the Psalms of David and the New Testa- 
 ment were rendered into Persian ! By him also the prophet 
 of Mecca was daringly exposed, and the truths of Christianity 
 openly vindicated, in the very heart and centre of a Maho- 
 metan empire ! — Surely, as long as England shall be cele- 
 brated for that pure and apostolical church, of which he was 
 so great an ornament, the name of the subject of this memoir 
 will not wholly be forgotten ; and whilst some shall delight to 
 gaze on the splendid sepulchre of Xavier, and others choose 
 rather to ponder over the granite stone which covers all that 
 is mortal of Schwartz ; there will not be wanting those who 
 will think of the humble and unfrequented grave of Henry 
 Martyn.” — Memoir , by Sargent. 
 
PART II.] 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 161 
 
 Note 6, Page 74. 
 
 To atone for the jealousies which too often disgrace the 
 annals of mind, a delightful train of literary friendships may 
 be adduced. Those familiar with intellectual biography will 
 recal the names of Scipio and Lselius, Erasmus and Sir 
 Thomas More, Montaigne and Charron, Petrarch and Boc- 
 cacio, Beaumont and Fletcher, Addison and Steele, West and 
 Gray. Cowley has a beautiful allusion to a literary friend- 
 ship : — 
 
 “ Say, for ye saw us, ye immortal lights ! 
 
 How oft unwearied have we spent the nights, 
 
 Till the Ledean stars, so famed for love, 
 
 Wonder’d at us from above. — 
 
 “We spent them not in toys, in lust, or wine, 
 
 But search of deep philosophy, 
 
 Wit, eloquence, and poetry ; 
 
 Arts which I loved, for they, my friend, were thine.” 
 
 This passage is matched by one in Persius : 
 
 “ Tecum etenim longos memini consumere soles, 
 
 Et tecum primas epulis decerpere noctes. 
 
 Unum opus, et requiem pariter disponimus ambo, 
 
 Atque verecunda laxamus seria mensa.” — Sat. v. 40 — 44. 
 
 Note c, Page 82. 
 
 “ Solitude and society may be illustrated by a lake and a 
 river. In the one, indeed, we can view the heavens more 
 calmly and distinctly ; but we can also see our image more 
 clearly, and are in danger of the sin of Narcissus ; while in 
 the river, the view both of the heavens and ourselves is more 
 broken and disturbed; but health and fertility is scattered 
 round .” — From Wolfe's Juvenile Papers. Removed from the 
 soft intercourse of domestic life, our feelings are not mellowed 
 unto that tendency which is so congenial to the spirit of 
 P 2 
 
162 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 [notes, 
 
 Christian love. Living in solitude, the undisputed lords of 
 our dwelling, and with no inclinations to consult but our own, 
 the harshness of our tempers is not worn down by collision, 
 nor the selfishness of our dispositions subdued by the habit of 
 our yielding to the wishes of others. — Benson's Hulsean Lec - 
 tures. — 20th. 
 
 Note d , Page 83. 
 
 “ At the dissolution, the great bell at Christ Church, com- 
 monly called ‘ Tom,’ was taken from the tower of the monas- 
 tery of Osney : it was then placed in the campanile of the 
 tower of Christ Church Cathedral, whence it was removed 
 to its present situation, after the completion of the tower by 
 Sir Christopher Wren. Prior to its being recast, it bore the 
 following inscription : ‘ In Thomse laude resona Bim Bom 
 sine fraude its present inscription is, ‘ Magnus Thomas 
 Oxoniensis.’ ” — Vide Skelton's Oxonia Antiqua Restaurata. 
 
 Note e 9 Page 87. 
 
 Chatterton, 
 
 “ The marvellous boy, 
 
 The sleepless soul that perish’d in its pride.” 
 
 Midnight studies and midnight agonies were not unknown 
 to him. Poor, proud, and persecuted, alone in the wilderness 
 of London, with a genius restless as it was extraordinary, — 
 how often did the daylight shine upon his sunken brow and 
 shattered frame ! Kirke White was equally a victim to the 
 fascinations of midnight study. Several pathetic allusions to 
 this fatal luxury are sprinkled over his productions. In a 
 poem entitled Time , he exclaims — 
 
 “ The night’s my own: they cannot steal my night ! 
 When ev’ning lights her folding star on high 
 I live and breathe; and in the sacred hours 
 Of quiet and repose, my spirit flies, 
 
 Free as the morning, o’er the realms of space.” 
 
OXFORD. 
 
 163 
 
 PART II.] 
 
 "While on the subject of Chatterton and Kirke White, may 
 we venture to add, that the mind of the former was of far 
 more original grasp than that of the latter ; yet how different 
 have been their poetical destinies ! The beauty of White’s 
 moral has reflected a brightness o’er his intellectual cha- 
 racter ; — and it is well for mankind that it has done so ; for 
 virtue is worth a thousand talents. 
 
 Lord Orford has thus appreciated the genius of Chatterton : 
 
 “ His life should be compared with the powers of his mind, 
 the perfection of his poetry, his knowledge of the world, 
 which, though in some respects erroneous, spoke quick intui- 
 tion ; his humour, his vein of satire, and, above all, the amaz- 
 ing number of books he must have looked into, though chained 
 down to a laborious and almost incessant service, and con- 
 fined to Bristol, except at most for the last five months of his 
 life, the rapidity with which he seized all the topics of con- 
 versation then in vogue, whether of politics, literature, or 
 fashion ; and when, added to all this mass of reflection, it is 
 remembered that his youthful passions were indulged to ex- 
 cess, faith in such a prodigy may be well suspended ; and we 
 should look for some secret agent behind the curtain, if it 
 were not as difficult to believe that any man who possessed 
 such a vein of genuine poetry would have submitted to lie 
 concealed, while he actuated a puppet ; or would have stooped 
 to prostitute his muse to so many unworthy functions. But 
 nothing in Chatterton can be separated from Chatterton. His 
 ablest flight, his sweetest strains, his grossest ribaldry, and 
 his most commonplace imitations of the productions of maga- 
 zines, were all the effervescences of the same ungovernable 
 impulse, which, chameleon-like, imbibed the colours of all it 
 looked on. It was Ossian, or a Saxon monk, or Gray, or 
 Smollett, or Junius ; and if it failed most in what it most af- 
 fected to be, a poet of the fifteenth century, it was because 
 it could not imitate what had not existed.” 
 
A 
 
 BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY 
 
 OF 
 
 EMINENT CHARACTERS CONNECTED WITH 
 THE UNIVERSITY. 
 
 In compiling the following summary, which, it is presumed, 
 will not be found useless as a literary reference, the author 
 was greatly indebted to Chalmer’s list, extracted from the 
 Athene ? , and other collegiate records. His acknowledgments 
 are also due to Mr. Skelton, whose magnificent work, Pietas 
 Oxoniensis, is alike honourable to his genius and his country. 
 
 MERTON COLLEGE * 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1264 . 
 
 Duns Scotus ; John WicklifFe ; Sir Thomas Bodley ; Sir 
 Henry Savile; the pious John Hales; William Harvey (dis- 
 coverer of the circulation of the blood); Bradwardine and 
 
 * Wood, in his “ Athence” mentions the following curious 
 customs as existing at this college in his time : — 
 
 “ There were fires of charcole made in the common Hall, 
 on All Saints’ Eve, &c. &c. At all these fires every night, 
 which began to be made a little after five of the clock, the 
 senior under-graduates would bring into the Hall the juniors, 
 or freshmen, and make them sit down on a forme in the middle 
 of the Hall, joining to the declaimer’s desk ; which done, every 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 165 
 
 Islip, Archbishops of Canterbury; Hooper, the martyred 
 Bishop of Gloucester ; Dr. Jewell, of Salisbury ; Dr. Carleton, 
 of Chichester ; and Grimoald, poet ; Heywood, do. ; Dr. Goul- 
 ston ; Sir Isaac Wake ; Dr. Bainbridge ; Devereux, Earl of 
 Essex; Farnaby; Francis Cheynell; Samuel Clarke, the 
 orientalist ; Hugh Cressy, the Roman-catholic historian ; 
 Anthony Wood, the Oxford historian ; Sir Richard Steele, at 
 one time postmaster here; Beresford, the author of that 
 amusing work, The Miseries of Human Life; and Dr. Edward 
 Nares, the Burghley historian, &c. 
 
 UNIVERSITY COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1280. 
 
 Prelates Walter Skirlaw, Bishop of Durham, ob. 1405 ; 
 
 Richard Flemming, Bishop of Lincoln, and founder of Lincoln 
 college; John Sherwood, Bishop of Durham; Ridley, the 
 
 one in order was to speak some pretty apothegme, or make a 
 jest, or bull, or speak some eloquent nonsense, to make the 
 company laugh ; but if any of the freshmen came off dull, or 
 not cleverly, some of the forward or pragmatical seniors would 
 tuck them — that is, set the nail of their thumb to their chin, 
 just under their lip, and, by the help of their other fingers 
 under the chin, would give them a mark, which would some- 
 times produce blood!” — On Shrove Tuesday, Feb. 15 (1647), 
 we are told that “ brass pots full of caudle, at the freshmen’s 
 charge, after the Hall was free from the fell owes, was brought 
 up and set before the fire. Afterwards, every freshman, accord- 
 ing to seniority, was to pluck off his gowne and band, and, if 
 possible, to make himself look like a scoundrell. This done, 
 they were conducted, each after the other, to the high table, 
 and there made to stand on a form placed thereon ; from 
 whence they were to speak their speech, with an audible voice, 
 to the company ; which, if well done, the person that spoke it 
 was to have a cup of caudle, and no salted drinke ; but if dull, 
 nothing was given him but salted drinke, or salt put in college 
 beer, with tucks to boot. Afterward, when they were to be 
 admitted into the fraternity, the senior fellow was to adminis- 
 ter to them an oath, over an old shoe, part of which runs 
 thus: — Item tu juratis quod Penniless Bench nan visiiudef 
 &c. &c. 
 
166 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 martyr, some time fellow here, afterwards of Cambridge; 
 Dr. Tobie Matthew, Archbishop of York ; Bancroft, Bishop 
 of Oxford ; Potter, Archbishop of Canterbury, and author of 
 Grecian Antiquities , &c. &c. ; Dr. C. Littleton, Bishop of 
 Carlisle, and President of the Society of Antiquaries ; Bishop 
 Jeremy Taylor. 
 
 Richard Stanny hurst, poet and critic ; the learned family 
 of the Digges ; Leonard and Thomas, mathematicians ; Sir 
 George Croke, chief-justice of England; Lord Herbert of 
 Cherbury ; General Langbaine, the first biographer of dra- 
 matic writers ; Dr. Dudley Loftus, the oriental scholar ; Dr. 
 John Hudson, keeper of the Bodleian library; Flavel, the 
 nonconformist ; Dr. Radcliffe, afterwards of Lincoln ; Rev. 
 Joseph Bingham, author of Origines Ecclesiasticce ; William 
 Elstob ; Carte, the historian, took his first degree here, pre- 
 viously to his removing to Cambridge; Jago, the poet, and 
 friend of Shenstone ; Sir Robert Chambers, Vinerian Professor 
 in 1777 ; Sir William Jones, whose monument by Flaxman 
 was presented to his college by Lady Flaxman ; Sir Roger 
 Newdigate, the founder of the Newdigate Prize ; Lord Eldon, 
 the late Lord High Chancellor of England ; Lord Stowell ; 
 and Shelley. 
 
 (1830.) 
 
 [Note. — Moore says that Shelley’s life was “ a bright but 
 erroneous dream.” Bright, indeed, as to what it hoped, but 
 dark and dismal in all that it experienced ! The writer of 
 this has obtained some biographical recollections relative to 
 Shelley’s character and conduct at Oxford ; and to the con- 
 clusion of this note is appended a sketch by his accomplished 
 friend and relative, Medwin, and also a record from the pen 
 of one thoroughly acquainted with Shelley’s life while at col- 
 lege. Those who admire genius, but lament its desecration, 
 will be gratified by a fact alluded to in Medwin’s remarks — 
 viz., that Shelley never intended the publication of “ Queen 
 Mab,” and that his maturer years regretted the deadly spirit 
 ot scepticism which polluted the notes of the first edition. A 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 167 
 
 late biographer (vide the memoir attached to the “ Beauties 
 of Shelley”) talks of his attacking “ the commonly received 
 notions of the being of a God” This may he charity , but is 
 by no means truth . The pamphlet here alluded to was en- 
 titled, “ The Necessity of Atheism,” and, in harmony with 
 some of the doctrines in the notes to “ Queen Mabf was im- 
 bued with odious and horrible sentiments. The university 
 has been unwisely and unjustly censured by certain writers, 
 for its expulsion of Shelley on the appearance of his pamphlet. 
 They have talked about liberality, but have shewn none. 
 Strange and unnatural as it may appear to their views, there 
 are many in Oxford who think that a university, based on the 
 immortal truths of the Gospel, ought not to license and en- 
 courage blasphemy, however gilded by genius. Had Shelley 
 privately consulted with his seniors, he might not have escaped 
 censure, yet he certainly would have received advice and 
 warning ; but when he openly dared the university, and vio- 
 lated the whole spirit of her discipline, by the publication of 
 an atheistic pamphlet, there remained but one course to be 
 promptly and peremptorily pursued. 
 
 With regard, however, to the reviews which afterwards 
 appeared on Shelley’s poems, there can be but one opinion 
 with an honest mind. 
 
 Periodicals were then in their mid-noon glory ; they held 
 a kind of papal dominion over the taste and poetical creed of 
 their readers ; they could shout nonsense into fame, or hiss 
 genius into obscurity, when and where they pleased. Shelley 
 was a fine subject for their abuse. Under the mask of saintly 
 enthusiasm, they could attack the man, and, by a mean and 
 merciless style of criticism, they could contrive to dissect his 
 poems into trash and absurdity. Shelley’s poetry has no flesh 
 and blood in it ; it is all ethereality and disembodied mind : 
 his utterances are those of a lone, lofty, and melancholy spirit, 
 too sublime for the many, and too obscure for the worshippers 
 of homely truth and external realities. It was easy, there- 
 fore, to distort his language, to cloud his meaning, and to 
 present the author of “ The Cenci” to the public eye as 
 
168 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 a mass of poetical deformity, only to be seen in order to be 
 shunned. 
 
 This was not the way to reclaim a great but erring soul — 
 the malice and envy of these writers were too palpable — yet 
 the effect on the public was prodigious. Shelley was exiled, 
 and his after works fell dead from the press. 
 
 But the time of re-action has come, and the venal tyranny 
 of reviews is over. It is no longer deemed requisite that in 
 order to be read, an author must be a member of a clique 
 which directs a review ; in short, it has been discovered that 
 critics, like the popes, are not infallible ; and the proscribed 
 Shelley has been brought back to the admiration of his 
 country, in glory and triumph. Lamenting, as all do, who 
 think that one ray of genuine Christianity will do more to 
 enlighten the hopes and destiny of man than all the blaze of 
 genius apart from this, they will peruse the pages of Shelley 
 with mixed and mournful thought; yet a benevolent spirit 
 will delight to gaze on the brightness rather than the darkness 
 of a genius, whose works are too far removed from the toil 
 and turbulence of daily life ever to be popular, or hold a 
 Shaksperian sway over the feelings of the general mind. 
 
 “ Like hues and harmonies of evening, 
 
 Like clouds in starlight widely spread, 
 
 Like memory of music fled, 
 
 Like aught that for its grace may be 
 Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.” 
 
 These lines, from his “ Hymn to Intellectual Beauty,” might 
 be said to describe the evanescent magic of Shelley’s poetry. 
 His soul dwelt apart from the coarseness and sternness of 
 actual life, amid the bright and exquisite conceptions of an 
 imagined world. Never was there a mind more enamoured 
 of the beautiful, or a heart more attuned to sympathy with all 
 that is sublime in nature, or profound in man. His odes rouse 
 the dead feelings into a glorious life, and many of his dramatic 
 passages reveal to us the gloom, the glory, and the agony of 
 human destiny, with a startling apocalypse, and with an awful 
 truth. Milton himself scarcely surpassed him in the full and 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 169 
 
 faultless harmony of his numbers, and the magical richness of 
 his language. But “ Adonais ” is 
 
 fled ! 
 
 Like some frail exhalation, which the dawn 
 Robes in its golden beams ;” — 
 
 and it were vain to speculate to what an exaltation and holy 
 change of sentiment a spirit like his might have arrived ; 
 many of his doubts might have been dispelled; many of the 
 harsh thoughts which occasionally jangled the melodious 
 chords of his mind might have vanished, and Shelley might 
 have stood forth in the unclouded majesty of genius, had it 
 pleased Him, to whom the fiat of life and death belongs, to 
 have spared him. As it is, we can only say, peace to the 
 young, the gifted, and the dead !] 
 
 The following is Medwin’s brief recollection of Shelley : — 
 
 “ Shelley was sent to University College because his father, 
 Sir Timothy, had been at that college, and Sir Philip Sidney 
 a benefactor of it. He was only seventeen when he went 
 there, and kept very few terms — not more than three, I think. 
 His studies were anything but academical — German, che- 
 mistry, electricity. He used to charge the lock of the door, 
 to give the scout a shock, laughing immoderately thereat. 
 Though a tolerably good Latin scholar, he knew at that time 
 little Greek, reading Plato (afterwards his constant companion) 
 through a French translation. Although there were many 
 Etonians of his standing at Oxford, he sought the acquaintance 
 of none. The only one of his fellow collegiates with whom 
 he was intimate was Hogg, who entertained congenial opinions 
 with him on metaphysical subjects, and was expelled with 
 him, for having been partly the author of a treatise called the 
 Necessity of Atheism. This silly work was enclosed by Shelley 
 to the heads of colleges, the examining masters, and, I believe, 
 the bench of bishops; the letter containing a challenge to 
 argue the non-existence of a God in the schools. The con- 
 sequence of such a step was obvious ; he was called before 
 his tutor, and, refusing to retract, was expelled. 
 
 a 
 
170 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 “ At Oxford he printed (I think at Parker’s) a volume of 
 poems, called the Posthumous Works of my Aunt Peg 
 Nicholson,* and wrote a Romance, entitled, ‘ St. Irvyn, or the 
 Rosicrucian,’ of which no copy, I imagine, exists. There are 
 several short poems interspersed in the volume ; I send you 
 one as a specimen. The first lines are imitated from Byron’s 
 lines, beginning ‘ Shades of the dead,’ &c., in the ‘ Hours of 
 Idleness.’ 
 
 “ Shelley also began Queen Mab at Oxford. 
 
 “ He never sanctioned the publication of this extraordinary 
 poem. It was, in fact, printed from the manuscript that fell 
 accidentally into the hands of the publisher ; and there exists 
 a copy of the first edition, corrected by the hand of Shelley 
 himself, containing most important alterations and corrections 
 and additions , which would shew how materially he had modified 
 his opinions . This revision was made at Marlow. 
 
 “ Shelley’s character has been much misunderstood. His 
 whole life was one aspiration for the good of his species. 
 Whether his writings have such a tendency is another ques- 
 tion ; but they are too sublimated and noble to make many 
 proselytes — they escape common understandings — however 
 the glittering veil of his poetry may render attraction to a 
 few of his abstractions. 
 
 “ I remember, as though I saw him yesterday, even at this 
 time, the fearlessness of his nature contrasted strangely with 
 his slight, boyish, almost feminine appearance. Shelley more 
 resembled Rousseau than any other writer. But Rousseau’s 
 object was to excite wonder by paradox. Not so Shelley. 
 However mistaken might be his philosophy, he was sincere 
 in it! 
 
 “ I copy the lines, as promised : — 
 
 ‘ Ghosts of the dead ! have I not heard your yelling 
 Rise on the night-rolling breath of the blast, 
 
 When o’er the dark ether the tempest is swelling, 
 
 And on eddying whirlwind the thunder-peal past? 
 
 * “ Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson.” Printed 
 and published by Munday and Slatter. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 171 
 
 ‘ For oft have I stood on the dark height of Jura, 
 
 Which frowns on the valley that opens beneath ; 
 
 Oft have I braved the chill night tempest’s fury, 
 
 Whilst around me, I thought, echo’d murmurs of death. 
 
 ‘ And now, whilst the winds of the mountain are howling, 
 
 O father ! thy voice seems to strike on mine ear ; 
 
 In air, whilst the tide of the night-storm is rolling, 
 
 It breaks on the pause of the element’s jar. 
 
 ‘ On the wing of the whirlwind which roars o’er the mountain, 
 Perhaps rides the ghost of my sire who is dead ; 
 
 On the mist of the tempest which hangs o’er the fountain, 
 Whilst a wreath of dark vapour encircles his head !’ 
 
 “ T. Medwin.” 
 
 “ Oxford , Dec. 18, 1833. 
 
 “ Dear Sir, — I at last sit down to give my long promised 
 sketch of Shelley at Oxford. The present is perhaps the 
 most fitting time, as it may serve to illustrate your third 
 edition of ‘ Oxford.’ 
 
 “ Mr. Percy Bysshe Shelley was brought to Oxford by his 
 father, now Sir Timothy Shelley, at a very tender age, ’tis 
 true, but with a highly cultivated understanding. He placed 
 him at his own college (University), and Sir Timothy himself, 
 not liking the accommodations of an inn, went to his old quar- 
 ters, and remained a few days at the house he had formerly 
 lodged at, when himself at the university, and near the Angel 
 inn. It was a house rendered remarkable from its having a 
 leaden horse,* and two large leaden ornaments, or flower-pots, 
 on the balcony, emblematical of the trade of a plumber, and 
 the last remnants of the sort in Oxford. While lodging there 
 with the son of his former host, he made anxious inquiries 
 respecting the family of his departed old friend, as he was 
 pleased to style him, and learned that one of the sons was 
 
 * This said horse has been the subject of frequent hoaxes 
 to unwary freshmen , many of whom have applied, booted and 
 spurred, anxious to ride a horse that has been so much extolled 
 for its beauty and gentleness. 
 
172 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 about embarking as partner with a bookseller and printer. 
 Thither Sir Timothy repaired with his son, and gave him a 
 particular injunction to buy whatever he required in books 
 and stationery of the aforesaid parties. Sir Timothy, more- 
 over, said, ‘ My son here/ pointing to him, ‘ has a literary 
 turn ; he is already an author, and do pray indulge him in his 
 printing freaks.’ One of the works alluded to was his Ro- 
 mance of ‘ St. Irvyn ; or, the Rosicrucian.’ He soon put the 
 parties to the test, by writing some fugitive poetry, entitled, 
 ‘ Posthumous Fragments of Margaret Nicholson,’ a work al- 
 most still-born, and directing the profits to be applied to Peter 
 Finnerty. The ease with which he composed many of the 
 stanzas therein contained, is truly astonishing. When surprised 
 with a proof from the printers in the morning, he would fre- 
 quently start off his sofa, exclaiming, that that had been his 
 only bed, and on being informed that the men were waiting 
 for more copy, he would sit down and write off a few stanzas, 
 and send them to the press, without even revising or reading 
 them. This I have myself witnessed.f 
 
 * * * * * * 
 
 “ About this same period he wrote a novel (in conjunction, 
 I have since learned, with Mr. Hogg, of the same college), 
 entitled, ‘ Leonora,’ which was commenced at the same press, 
 but the printers refused to proceed with it, in consequence of 
 discovering that he had interwoven his free notions through- 
 out the work, and at the same time strongly endeavoured to 
 dissuade him from its publication altogether ; but this was dis- 
 regarded, and he afterwards took the copy to Mr. King, the 
 printer at Abingdon, who had nearly completed the work, but 
 was stopped in its further progress, by the circumstance of 
 Mr. Shelley’s expulsion from Oxford, with his friend and asso- 
 ciate, Mr. Hogg. 
 
 “ Mr. Shelley’s various publications caused him frequently 
 
 f The asterisks here are intended to denote certain remarks, 
 which, as they related to pecuniary matters, may be wisely 
 omitted. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 173 
 
 to call on his printers, with whom he entered freely into con- 
 versation ; they therefore felt a most anxious solicitude for 
 his welfare, and used more than ordinary endeavours to re- 
 claim the waywardness of his imagination ; and, on one occa- 
 sion in particular, they applied to a literary friend,* then 
 residing in Oxford, to meet him, in order to canvass and 
 combat his extraordinary opinions. They appeared to make 
 a strong impression at the time ; but, as a well known writer 
 expresses, — 
 
 ‘ He that’s convinced against his will, 
 
 Is of the same opinion still.’ 
 
 The same gentleman also undertook to analyze his arguments, 
 and endeavour to refute them philosophically, which he after- 
 wards did at considerable length ; but Mr. Shelley said, 4 that 
 he would rather meet any or all the dignitaries of the church, 
 than one philosopher,’ and ultimately refused to reply in writing 
 to the philosophical arguments adduced by this writer. 
 
 “ The pamphlet for which Mr. Shelley was expelled his col- 
 lege was entitled, ‘ The Necessity of Atheism, ’f and he him- 
 self strewed the shop windows and counters of his booksellers 
 in Oxford, unknown to them, but gave instructions to their 
 shopman to sell them as fast as he could, and at the charge of 
 sixpence each. Shortly afterwards, a judicious friend of the 
 booksellers, a;, fellow of a college , % dropped in, and was at- 
 
 * Mr. Hobbes, author of “ The Widower,” a poem, 
 f Printed at Worthing, by C. and W. Phillips, to whom a 
 friendly hint was sent by Munday and Slatter, warning them 
 of the dangerous tendency of disseminating such vile prin- 
 ciples, and the liability they ran of a prosecution by the attor- 
 ney-general, at the same time advising the destruction of every 
 remaining copy, together with the MS. copy, types, &c. 
 
 J The Rev. John Walker, B.C.L., fellow of New College, 
 and afterwards vicar of Hornchurch, Essex, editor of the 
 “ Oxoniana,” 4 vols. ; “A Selection of Curious Articles from 
 the Gentleman’s Magazine 4 vols. ; and some other valuable 
 works : also, the author of a pamphlet, entitled, “ Curia Oxon- 
 iensis.” 
 
 a 2 
 
174 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 tracted, by the novelty of the title, to examine the contents of 
 the pamphlet. He immediately desired to see one or both the 
 principals, and at once inveighed against the dangerous ten- 
 dency of such a pamphlet, and advised the destruction of them 
 forthwith. This was immediately complied with, and they 
 proceeded into a back kitchen and burned them, in this gentle- 
 man’s presence. At the same time, these booksellers sent a 
 request to Mr. Shelley, to be allowed a few minutes’ conversa- 
 tion with him at their house ; he came instanter, and it so 
 happened that Councillor Clifford, of O.P. notoriety, was in 
 the house, and being made acquainted with the subject, and at 
 the earnest request of the booksellers, undertook, in conjunc- 
 tion with the parties above named, to use his best endeavours 
 by entreaties, till entreaty seemed of no avail, and next by 
 threats, to dissuade him from the error of his ways, for the 
 sake of himself, his friends, and connexions. All seemed of 
 no avail; he appeared to glory in the course he had adopted, 
 and said that he had sent a copy of his pamphlet to every 
 bishop in the kingdom, to the vice-chancellor, and the other 
 heads of houses in Oxford, and other dignitaries, addressing 
 them under the fictitious signature of ‘ Jeremiah Stukeley.’ 
 
 “ I am, Sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 “ Henry Slatter.” 
 
 BALLIOL COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1282 . 
 
 Prelates. — Morton, Archbishop of Canterbury, and second 
 perpetual chancellor of the university; Dr. John Douglas, 
 Bishop of Salisbury, who detected the impostures of Lauder 
 and Bower, and ably advocated the miracles of the Christian 
 faith, 
 
 Humphrey, Duke of Gloucester, founder of the Bodleian ; 
 John Tiptoft, Earl of Worcester, who presented some valuable 
 MSS. to the university ; the celebrated lawyers, Sir John 
 Popham, Lord Coventry, Sir Humphrey Davenport, and Sir 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 175 
 
 Robert Atkyns ; Dr. Thomas Holland; Tobias Crisp, founder 
 of the Antinomian sect ; John Evelyn ; Dr. Charles Davenant, 
 son of the poet ; Dr. David Gregory ; Keil and Bradley, the 
 Astronomers ; Dr. William King ; Hutchins, the historian of 
 Dorsetshire ; James West, President of the Royal Society ; 
 Robert Southey, Poet Laureate, &c. &c. ; Lockhart, editor 
 of the Quarterly, &c. &c. ; C. Girdlestone ; C. T. Collins ; 
 J. Campbell, & c, 
 
 EXETER COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1314. 
 
 Prelates. — Dr. Bayley, Bishop of Bangor, author of The 
 Practice of Piety ; Dr. Prideaux, Bishop of Worcester; Dr. 
 Bull, Bishop of St. David’s, one of the ablest champions of our 
 church ; and Archbishop Seeker. 
 
 John de Trevisa, translator of Higden’s Polychronicon ; Sir 
 John Fortescue, the eminent lawyer; Sir George More; 
 Browne, the poet, author of Britannia’s Pastorals ; Robert 
 Hay man, a poet of less renown ; Lord Falkland ; Sir John 
 Doddridge ; Sir William Noy, attorney-general ; Sir Anthony, 
 Nicholas, and Thomas Fitzherbert ; Diggory Wheare, first 
 Camden Professor ; James, Duke of Hamilton, beheaded for 
 his attachment to Charles I. ; Dr. Arthur Duck ; Lord Chief 
 Justice Rolle; Sir Simon Baskerville; Joseph Caryll, the 
 commentator on the book of Job ; John Poulett, Marquis of 
 Winchester, whose epitaph Dry den writ, as Miiton did that 
 of the Marchioness ; Thomas Brancker, mathematician ; Lord 
 Shaftesbury ; Quick, the ecclesiastical historian ; Dr. Gideon 
 Harvey; Anstis, the heraldist; Dr. Walker, historian of the 
 loyal clergy ; Maundrell, the traveller ; Samuel Wesley, father 
 of the founder of Methodism ; Dr. Borlace ; Sir Michael 
 Foster; Mr. Lewis, of Margate, the biographer; Norris, the 
 Platonist ; Upton, the editor of Epictetus; Toup, of classic 
 fame ; Tindal, the continuator of Rapin ; Hole, the poet ; and 
 Dr. Kennicot. 
 
176 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 ORIEL COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1326 . 
 
 Prelates. — Arundel, Archbishop of Canterbury ; Dr. Butler, 
 Bishop of Durham, author of the celebrated Analogy ; Bishop 
 Mant ; Dr. Whately, Archbishop of Dublin ; and Dr. Edward 
 Copleston, Bishop of LlandafF. 
 
 Robert Langlande, supposed author of Pierce Plowman ; 
 Alexander Barclay, translator of the Ship of Fools — Warton 
 thinks his five eclogues the first which appeared in the English 
 language ; Dr. Edgeworth, a Popish writer ; Morgan Philips, 
 the sophister ; Peter White, ejected Dean of Waterford ; Sir 
 Walter Raleigh ; Prynne, the republicanist and antiquary ; 
 Richard Brathwaite, a poet and wit; Sir William Scroggs, and 
 Sir John Holt, Lord Chief- Justices of the King’s Bench; 
 Dr. William Berriman ; Dr. Edward Bentham, originally of 
 Corpus ; Joseph Warton ; Keble, author of a beautiful collec- 
 tion of poems, deservedly popular, entitled the Christian Year ; 
 Drs. Hawkins, Arnold, and Hampden ; Baden Powell, Davison, 
 Heberden, Berens, and Newman. 
 
 QUEEN’S COLLEGE* 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1340 . 
 
 Prelates. — Cardinal Beaufort, brother to Hen. IV. ; Bishops 
 Bainbridge, Robinson, Potter, and Barlow ; Dr. Guy Carleton, 
 Bishop of Bristol, afterwards of Cirencester ; Dr. Compton, 
 
 * There is a custom at Queen’s College to serve up every 
 year a boar’s head, provided by the maniciple, against Christ- 
 mas-day. This boar’s head, being boiled or roasted, is laid in 
 a great charger, covered with a garland of bays or laurel, as 
 broad at bottom as the brims of the charger. When the first 
 course is served up in the refectory on Christmas-day, in the 
 said College, the maniciple brings the said boar’s head from 
 the kitchen up to the high table, accompanied with one of the 
 tarbarders, who lays his head on the charger. The tarbarder 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 177 
 
 Bishop of London ; Dr. William Nicholson, author of the 
 Historical Library ; Dr. Gibson, Bishop of London, founder 
 of the preacherships at Whitehall; Dr. Tanner, Bishop of 
 St. Asaph, author of Notitia and Bibliotheca ; Dr. Van Mildert, 
 Bishop of Llandaff, and of Durham in 1826 . 
 
 Henry V., whose character was over the great gate of the 
 old college, opposite to Edmund Hall ; Bernard Gilpin ; Sir 
 Thomas Overbury ; Wingate, an eminent lawyer and arith- 
 metician ; Burton, the commentator on Antoninus ; Dr. Holy- 
 oake, lexicographer ; Sir John Davies, poet ; Sir John Banks ; 
 Sir Edward Tumour, chief baron ; Dr. Samuel Annesley, an 
 eminent nonconformist ; Dr. Lancelot Addison, dean of 
 Lichfield ; Dr. Thomas Hyde ; Wycherley, the poet ; Dr. 
 John Mill, editor of the Greek Testament ; Sir John Floyer ; 
 
 sings a song, and when he comes to the chorus, all the scho- 
 lars that are in the refectory join together and sing it:* — 
 
 The boar’s head in hand bear I, 
 
 Bedeck’d with bays and rosemary, 
 
 And, I pray you, masters, merry be. 
 
 [Chorus. — Quot quot estis in convivio , 
 
 Caput Apri defero , 
 
 Reddens laudes Domino . 
 
 The boar’s head, as I understand, 
 
 Is the bravest dish in the land, 
 
 Being thus bedeck’d with a gay garland. 
 
 Let us Servire convivio , 
 
 Caput Apri, &c. 
 
 Our steward has provided this, 
 
 In honour of the King of bliss, 
 
 Which on this day to be served is. 
 
 In Reginensi Atrio 
 Caput Apri, &c. 
 
 * From a MS. in the Bodleian. Tradition refers this cere- 
 mony to a deliverance of a scholar of Queen’s from the attack 
 of a wild boar, which had rushed out of Shotover forest, and 
 which he stifled by thrusting a volume of Aristotle down his 
 throat ! 
 
178 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 Dr. Edmund Halley, an eminent philosopher, and Savilian 
 professor ; Addison, and his friend Tickell ; Dr. Hugh Todd, 
 antiquary ; Dr. Thomas Smith, biographer ; Dr. John Hud- 
 son ; Christopher Rawlinson and Edward Thwaites, Saxon 
 scholars ; Rev. Jeremiah Seed ; Dr. Shaw, the traveller ; 
 Collins, the poet ; Dr. John Dalton, the reviver of Milton’s 
 Comus ; Edward Row Mores, antiquary ; Thomas Tyrwhitt, 
 editor of Chaucer, afterwards fellow of Merton ; Dr. Richard 
 Eurn, author of the Justice of Peace ; Dr. George Fothergill ; 
 Mitford, the historian ; Jeremy Bentham ; Ireland, dean of 
 Westminster ; Dr. Meyrick, author of works on Arms and 
 Armour ; Lancaster, author of the Harmony of the Law and 
 Gospel 
 
 NEW COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1386. 
 
 Prelates. — Cranley, Archbishop of Dublin ; Chichele, of 
 Canterbury ; Thomas Beckington, Bishop of Bath and Wells ; 
 John Russel, Bishop of Rochester and Lincoln, chancellor of 
 England; William Warham, archbishop of Canterbury, pa- 
 tron of Erasmus ; Sherborne, Bishop of Chichester: Bilson, 
 of Winchester; Lake, of Bath and Wells ; Gunning, of Ely ; 
 Turner, of Ely ; Kenn, of Bath and Wells ; Bisse, of Here- 
 ford ; Lavington, of Exeter ; and the illustrious Dr. Robert 
 Lowth,* of St. David’s, Oxford, and London ; George Isaac 
 
 * At one period of his life, this eloquent divine and exqui- 
 site scholar came under the critical fangs of the controversial 
 Warburton ; but the author of the “ Divine Legation,” in 
 Lowth, met with an antagonist who was not to be silenced by 
 sarcasm, or appalled by a sneer. In a pamphlet, entitled “ A 
 Letter to the Right Rev. Author of the Divine Legation, demon- 
 strated by a late Professor in the University of Oxford, 2nd Edi- 
 tion, London , 1766,” Lowth thus defends himself and his 
 University against the attack of Warburton : — “ But the abuse 
 is not merely personal: it goes farther ; it extends even to the 
 place of my education, — ‘But the learned professor , who has 
 been hardly brought up in the keen atmosphere of wholesome 
 severities , and early taught to distinguish between de facto and 
 dejure ,’ — Pray, my Lord, wliat is it to the purpose where I 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 179 
 
 Huntingford, Bishop of Hereford ; Hon. Henry Bathurst, of 
 Norwich ; and William Howley, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Grocyn, one of the revivers of learning ; Stanbridge, the 
 
 have been brought up? You charge me with principles of in- 
 tolerance, adding a gentle insinuation also of disaffection to 
 the present royal family and government ; you infer these 
 principles, it seems, from the place of my education. Is this 
 a necessary consequence ? Is it even a fair conclusion ? Had 
 I not your lordship’s example to justify me, I should think 
 it a piece of extreme impertinence to inquire, where you were 
 bred ; though we might justly plead, in excuse for it, a natu- 
 ral curiosity to know where and how such a phenomenon was 
 produced. It is commonly said, that your lordship’s educa- 
 tion was of that particular kind, concerning which, it is a re- 
 mark of that great judge of men and manners, Lord Clarendon, 
 (on whom you have conferred the unrivalled title of Chan- 
 cellor of Human Nature ,) that it peculiarly disposes men to be 
 proud, insolent, and pragmatical. Now, my Lord, as you 
 have, in your whole behaviour, remarkably distinguished 
 yourself by your humility, your levity, meekness, &c., &c., 
 this unpromising circumstance of your education is so far 
 from being a disgrace to you, that it highly redounds to your 
 praise. But I am wholly precluded from all such merit, for, 
 my Lord, I was educated in the University of Oxford ; I en- 
 joyed all the advantages, both public and private, which that 
 famous seat of learning so largely affords ; I spent many 
 happy years in that illustrious society, in a well-regulated 
 course of useful discipline and studies, and in the agreeable 
 and improving commerce of gentlemen and scholars ; in a so- 
 ciety where emulation without envy, ambition without jea- 
 lousy, contention without animosity, incited industry, and 
 awakened genius. I breathed the same atmosphere that the 
 Hookers , the Chilling worths, and the Lockes had breathed be- 
 fore me, who did not amuse their readers with empty declama- 
 tions and fine-spun theories of toleration, while they were 
 themselves agitated with a furious and inquisitorial spirit, seiz- 
 ing every one they could lay hold on, for presuming to dissent 
 from them in matters the most indifferent , and dragging them 
 through the fiery ordeal of abusive controversy,” Sfc. Sfc. 
 
 The last paragraph of this rejoinder contains a painful 
 truth ; and yet, amid all the harshness, petulance, and dogmatic 
 severity of Warburton, there was much that was often tender, 
 noble, and magnanimous; and even now, his paradoxes seem 
 more fascinating than other men’s truths ! 
 
180 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 grammarian; Philpot, civilian and linguist; Talbot, anti- 
 quarian ; Pullaine, poet and translator ; Harding, opposer of 
 Bishop Jewell ; Fowler, the learned printer ; Nicholas Saun- 
 ders ; Sir Henry Sydney, father of Sir Philip ; Thomas Neale ; 
 Dr. Baley ; Turberville, the poet ; Christopher Johnson, 
 Latin poet; Thomas Stapleton Lloyd, master of Winchester 
 school ; Pits, one of our early biographers ; Bastard and 
 Owen, the epigrammatists ; John Bond, the commentator; 
 Dr. Thomas James, first librarian at the Bodleian ; Herbert, 
 the poet ; Sir Henry Wotton ; Sir Henry Martin ; Dr. Zouch ; 
 Thomas Lydiat ; Sir Thomas Ryves ; Dr. Bruno By ves, dean 
 of Windsor, and writer of the first newspapers published in 
 England ; Dr. Edward Young, father of the poet ; Sir Ed- 
 ward Herbert ; Wood, author of the Institutes of the Laws of 
 England ; Dr. William Musgrave ; Somerville and Pitt, poets ; 
 Bev. Joseph Spence ; Dr. Gloster Ridley, the biographer of 
 his great ancestor, the martyr; Dr. William Smith, translator 
 of Thucydides and Longinus ; Dr. Robert Holmes, the learned 
 collator of the Septuagint ; Rev. Sydney Smith ; Rev. Philip 
 Smyth, collector and translator of the French Anas ; Rev. 
 John Walker, editor of Oxoniana , Selection of Curious Articles 
 from the Gentleman's Magazine , author of Curia Oxoniensis , 
 &c. ; Dr. Crotch, the celebrated composer of Palestine, 
 &c. &c. ; Dr. Bandinel, editor of Dugdale’s Monasticon, & c., 
 &c. : Dr. Shuttleworth, the learned head of this society, &c. ; 
 John Shute Duncan, and Philip Bury Duncan. 
 
 LINCOLN COLLEGE.* 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1427. 
 
 Prelates. — Dr. Edward Wetenhall, Bishop of Cork and 
 Ross, of Kildmore and Kildagh ; Dr. Clavering, Bishop of 
 
 * “ He looks as the Devil over Lincoln.” — Some 
 fetch the orginal of this proverb from a stone picture of the 
 devil, which doth (or lately did) overlook Lincoln Coledge. 
 Surely, the architect intended no farther than for an ordinary 
 antick, though beholders have since applied those ugly looks 
 to envious persons repining at the prosperity of their neigh- 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 181 
 
 Llandaff and Peterborough, many years Hebrew professor ; 
 Dr. Robert Sanderson, Bishop of Lincoln, the famous casuist. 
 Archbishop Potter was also a fellow of this college. 
 
 Robert Flemyng, nephew of the founder, author of an ele- 
 gant poem, entitled Lucubrationes Tiburtince. On his return 
 from the Continent, he deposited in the college library some 
 finely illuminated MSS,, and a Greek and Latin Dictionary 
 of his own writing, extant in Leland’s time, by whom it is 
 mentioned ; Sir Edmund Anderson, chief-justice of the king’s 
 bench ; Bolton, the puritan divine, afterwards of Brazen-Nose ; 
 Dr. Kelbye, one of the translators of the Bible ; Edward 
 Weston, champion of the Roman-catholic cause ; Richard 
 Brett, one of the translators of the Bible ; Dr. John Davies, 
 an eminent linguist and antiquary ; Thomas Hayne, the gram- 
 marian ; Dr. Christopher Bennet, physician and medical 
 writer; Arthur Hopton; Sir William Davenant, poet ; Cor- 
 nelius Burges, a distinguished parliamentary divine ; Henry 
 Foulis, ecclesiastical historian; John Kettle well and Dr. 
 George Hickes, nonjurors ; Sir George Wheler, traveller and 
 botanist ; Tindal, the Deist, afterwards of Exeter and All 
 Souls’ ; Dr. Richard Grey, and the pious James Hervey ; 
 John Wesley, founder of methodism; Dr. John Sibthorp, 
 author of the Flora Oxonie?isis , and the Flora Grceca. The 
 two greatest modern benefactors to this university were 
 fellows of this college, Lord Crewe and Dr. Radcliffe ; Dr. 
 Tatham, rector, author of Bampton Lectures entitled A Chart 
 and Scale of Truth , Oxonia Purgata , and many political 
 pamphlets of celebrity. 
 
 bours, and jealous to be over-topt by their vicinity. The 
 devil is the map of malice, and his envy (as God’s mercy) is 
 over all his works ; on which account he is supposed to have 
 overlooked this church, (viz., the cathedral at Lincoln,) when 
 first finished, with a savage countenance, as maligning men’s 
 costly devotion, and ihat they should be so expensive in God’s 
 service ; but it is suspicious, that some, who account them- 
 selves saints, behold such fabrics with little better looks ! — 
 Fuller's Worthies. 
 
 R 
 
182 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 ALL SOULS’ COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1437. 
 
 Prelates. — Among the most celebrated are, Goldwell, Bishop 
 of Norwich, and Bullingham, Bishop of Lincoln and Worces- 
 ter. Duppa of Winchester, and Archbishop Sheldon, were 
 elected fellows here, but educated, the first at Christ Church, 
 the second at Trinity : Jeremy Taylor, the illustrious di- 
 vine, Bishop of Down and Connor, became a fellow here in 
 1636, by the nomination of Archbishop Laud. 
 
 Linacre, the first person who taught Greek at Oxford ; he 
 was one of the founders of the College of Physicians ; Leland ; 
 Recorde ; Andrew Kingsmill, linguist and divine, formerly 
 of Corpus ; Dr. Key, or Cay, one of the earliest Oxford his- 
 torians ; Sir Anthony Sherley : Sir John Mason, privy coun- 
 cillor ; Sir William Petre ; Robert Heyrick, poet ; March- 
 mont Needham, one of the earliest newspaper hacks, who sup- 
 ported the Oliverian cause ; Joseph Keble, first of Jesus, a 
 law-writer of incredible industry, so diseased with fondness 
 for reporting, that he reported all the cases in the King’s 
 Bench from 1661 to 1710, and all the sermons preached in 
 Gray’s Inn Chapel, amounting to above 4000. Dr. Matthew 
 Tindal, equally famous for gluttony and deism ; John Norris, 
 rector of Bemerton ; Dr. Sydenham, improver of medical 
 science ; Sir William Trumbull, the friend of Pope ; Lord 
 Chancellor Talbot, first of Oriel ; Sir Christopher Wren ; and 
 Dr. Young, author of Night Thoughts. 
 
 In the departments of Law and Politics — Sir Robert Weston, 
 Lord Chancellor of Ireland, in Elizabeth’s time ; Sir Clement 
 Edmonds ; Sir Daniel Dunn ; Henry Coventry, secretary of 
 state to Charles II. ; Sir William Blackstone, formerly of 
 Pembroke. 
 
 MAGDALEN COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1456. 
 
 Prelates . — Fuller remarks that there is scarcely a bishopric 
 in England to which this college has not afforded a prelate. 
 Cardinals Wolsey and Pole were both educated here ; Pole 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 183 
 
 entered as a nobleman, and resided in the president’s lodgings ; 
 Lee and Frewin, Archbishops of York ; Boulter, Archbishop 
 of Armagh ; Longland, Bishop of Lincoln ; Cooper, of 
 Winchester ; Warner, of Rochester ; Nicholson, of Glou- 
 cester ; Hopkins, of Raphoe and Derry ; Hough, of Worcester ; 
 Smalbroke, of Lichfield and Coventry ; Horne, of Norwich ; 
 Philpotts, of Exeter. 
 
 Many of the scholars who studied here during the first half 
 century from the foundation, contributed greatly to the re- 
 vival of literature, which aided the advancement of the Refor- 
 mation. Of these, Dean Colet, and Lily, the grammarian, 
 Linacre, and Latimer, may be mentioned. It could after- 
 wards boast of Dr. John Roper, the famous theoiogist ; Dr. 
 Wotton, physician to Henry VIII. ; Robertson, one of the 
 compilers of the Liturgy, 1549 ; Fox, the celebrated author of 
 Acts and Monuments of the Church ; Sir Francis Knolis, 
 statesman ; Lily, dramatic poet ; Dr. Field ; Dr. Thomas 
 Godwyn, Hebrew antiquary ; Sir Thomas Roe, the ambassa- 
 dor; Hampden, the patriot; John Digby, Earl of Bristol; 
 Chilmead, critic and philologist; Theophiius Gale, noncon- 
 formist ; the pious Dr. Hammond ; Dr. Peter Heylin, eccle- 
 siastical historian ; George Withers, poet ; Harmar, the Greek 
 professor ; Elisha Coles, Latin lexicographer ; Sir Robert 
 Howard, dramatic poet ; Dr. Thomas Smith, the traveller ; 
 the illustrious Addison ; Dr. Sacheverell, the associate of Addi- 
 son; Collins, Yalden, and Holdsworth, poets; Horbery and 
 Waldgrave, divines; Gibbon, the historian; Dr. Townson 
 and Dr. Chandler ; John Wilson,* the distinguished poet, and 
 
 * To say nothing of the beauty of Wilson’s poetry, he has 
 exerted more influence over the periodical literature of the 
 day than any living writer. But, like all original minds, his 
 has been mimicked by small reviewers, who contrive to ape 
 the eccentricities of his style, but are utterly destitute of the 
 merit and fervour of his thoughts. Similar was the fate of 
 Lord Byron. His lordship felt, or fancied himself, an un- 
 happy being, and vented his feelings accordingly. Forthwith, 
 a sentimental paleness overspread the land, and poetical Wer- 
 terism became the fashion of the hour ! Such vulgar mimicry 
 
184 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 Professor of Moral Philosophy in the University of Edin- 
 burgh ; Dr. Hurdis, the poet ; Dr. Routh, president, author of 
 
 recalls to our mind a saying of Allan Cunningham, in refer- 
 ence to a certain writer’s Napoleon , when compared to Sir 
 Walter Scott’s — “ The braying of an ass after the sound of 
 a trumpet.” 
 
 The following note, relative to Wilson’s career at the Uni- 
 versity, is from the pen of the celebrated “ Opium-Eater,” — 
 De Quincey, himself an Oxford man. At a time when the 
 surly ignorance of mistaken writers is wont to sneer at our 
 Universities, it is gratifying to see an author of acknowledged 
 genius like De Quincey, looking back on the scenes of Alma 
 Mater with respectful love, and speaking of her greatness as 
 becomes his theme. 
 
 “ Vos, dulcissima mundi 
 
 Nomina, vos musse, libertas, lsetia, libri, 
 
 Hortique sylvseque, anima remanente relinquam ? 
 
 “ From the latter end of 1803 to the spring of 1808, Mr. 
 Wilson had studied at the University of Oxford. He had pre- 
 viously studied as a mere boy, according to the Scotch fashion, 
 at the University of Glasgow, chiefly under the tuition of the 
 late Mr. Jardine, (the professor, I believe, of Logic,) and Dr. 
 or Mr. Young, the professor of Greek.) At both Universi- 
 ties he had greatly distinguished himself ; but at Oxford, where 
 the distribution of prizes and honours of every kind is to the 
 last degree parsimonious and select, naturally it follows, that 
 such academical distinctions are really significant distinctions, 
 and proclaim an unequivocal merit in him who has carried 
 them off from a crowd of 1600 or 2000 co-rivals, to whom the 
 contest was open ; whereas, in the Scotch Universities, as I 
 am told by Scotchmen, the multiplication of prizes and medals, 
 and the almost indiscriminate profusion with which they are 
 showered abroad, neutralizes their whole effect and value. At 
 least, this was the case in Mr. Wilson’s time ; but lately, some 
 conspicuous changes have been introduced by a royal com- 
 mission (not yet, I believe, dissolved) into one, at least, of the 
 Scotch Universities, which have greatly improved it in this 
 respect, by bringing it much nearer to the English model. 
 When Mr. Wilson gained a prize of fifty guineas for fifty 
 lines of English verse, without farther inquiry it becomes evi- 
 dent, from the mere rarity of the distinction, which, for a 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 185 
 
 JReliquice S acres ; Dr. Faussett; Dr.Daubeny; Richard Walker, 
 author of Flora Oxoniensis , &c. ; and Sir Charles Wetherell, 
 the Chancery barrister. 
 
 University now nearly five thousand members, occurs but 
 once a year, and from the great over-proportion of that pecu- 
 liar class (the under-graduates) to whom the contest is open, 
 that such a victory was an indisputable criterion of very con- 
 spicuous merit. In fact, never in any place did Mr. Wilson 
 play off his Proteus variety of character and talent with so 
 much brilliant effect as at Oxford. In this great University, 
 the most ancient, and, by many degrees, the most magnificent 
 in the world, he found a stage for display perfectly congenial 
 with the native elevation of his own character. Perhaps you 
 are not fully aware of the characteristic differences which sepa- 
 rate our two English Universities of Oxford and Cambridge 
 from those of Scotland and the Continent ; for I have always 
 observed that the best-informed foreigners, even after a week’s 
 personal acquaintance with the Oxford system, still adhere to 
 the inveterate preconceptions which they had brought with 
 them from the Continent. For instance, they continue obsti- 
 nately to speak to the professors as the persons to whom the 
 students are indebted for tuition ; whereas, the majority of 
 these hold their offices as the most absolute sinecures ; and 
 the task of tuition devolves upon the tutors appointed in each 
 particular college. These tutors are called public tutors ; 
 meaning, that they do not confine their instructions to any one 
 individual, but distribute them amongst all the under-gradu- 
 ates of the college to which they belong ; and, in addition to 
 these, private tutors are allowed to any student who chooses 
 to increase his expenditure in that particular. But the main 
 distinction, which applies to our immediate subject, is the 
 more than regal provision for the lodging and accommodation 
 of the students by the system of colleges . Of these there are 
 in Oxford, neglecting the technical subdivision of halls , five 
 and twenty ; and the main use of all, both colleges and halls, 
 is not, as in Scotland and on the Continent, to lodge the head 
 of the University with suitable dignity, and to provide rooms 
 for the library and public business of the University. These 
 purposes are met by a separate provision, distinct from the 
 colleges : and the colleges are applied as follows : 1st, and 
 mainly, to the reception of the fellows, and of the undergra- 
 duate students ; 2ndly ,to the accommodation of the head (known 
 R 2 
 
186 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 BRAZEN-NOSE COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1509. 
 
 Prelates . — Hugh Curwin, or Coren, Archbishop of Dublin ; 
 Barnes, Bishop of Durham ; Wolton, of Exeter ; Miles Smith, 
 of Gloucester, one of the greatest scholars of his day, and 
 
 in different colleges by the several designations of provost, 
 principal, dean, rector, warden, &c.) ; 3rdly, to the accommo- 
 dation of the private library attached to that college, and to 
 the chapel, which is used at least twice every day for public 
 prayers ; 4thly, to the hall, and the whole establishment of 
 kitchen, wine-vaults, buttery, &c. &c., which may be supposed 
 necessary for the liberal accommodation at the public meals 
 of dinner (and in some colleges supper) of gentlemen and visi- 
 tors from the country, or from the Continent ; varying (we 
 will suppose) from twenty-five to five hundred heads. Every- 
 where else the great mass of the students are lodged in obscure 
 nooks and corners, which may or may not be respectable, but 
 are, at all events, withdrawn from the surveillance of the Uni- 
 versity. I shall state both the ground and the effect (or ten- 
 dency rather) of this difference. Out of England, Universities 
 are not meant exclusively for professional men : the sons of 
 great landholders, and a large proportion of the sons of noble- 
 men, either go through the same academic course as others, 
 or a shorter course, adapted to their particular circumstances. 
 In England, again, the church is supplied from the rank of 
 gentry — not exclusively, it is true, but in a much larger pro- 
 portion than anywhere else, except in Ireland. The corres- 
 ponding ranks in Scotland, from their old connexion with 
 France, have adopted (I believe) much more of the continental 
 plans for disposing of their sons at this period. At any rate, 
 it will not be contended by any man, that Scotland throws 
 anything like the same proportion with England of her gentry 
 and her peerage into her Universities. Hence a higher stan- 
 dard of manners and of habits presides at Oxford and Cam- 
 bridge ; and, consequently, a demand for much higher accom- 
 modations would even otherwise have arisen, had not such a 
 demand already been supplied by the munificence of our Eng- 
 lish princes and peers, both male and female ; and, in one in- 
 stance at least, of a Scottish prince, (Baliol.) The extent of 
 these vast caravanseras enables the governors of the various 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 187 
 
 principal translator of the Bible ; Reginald Heber, Bishop of 
 Calcutta. 
 
 Robert Nowell, attorney-general, and Lawrence Nowell, 
 
 colleges to furnish every student with a set of two rooms at 
 the least, often with a suite of three, — [I, who lived at Oxford 
 on no more than my school allowance, had that number,] — or 
 in many cases with far more. In the superior colleges, in- 
 deed, (superior, I mean, as to their purse and landed endow- 
 ments,) all these accommodations keep pace with the refine- 
 ments of the age ; and thus a connexion is maintained be- 
 tween the University and the landed noblesse — upper and lower 
 — of England, which must be reciprocally beneficial, and which, 
 under other circumstances, could scarcely have taken place. 
 
 “ Of these advantages you may be sure that Mr. Wilson 
 availed himself to the utmost extent. Instead of going to 
 Baliol College, he entered himself at Magdalen , in the class of 
 what are called ‘ Gentlemen Commoners.’ All of us (you 
 know) in Oxford and Cambridge wear an academic dress, 
 which tells at once our academic rank, with all its modifica- 
 tions. And the term Gentleman Commoner implies that he 
 has more splendid costumes, and more in number ; that he is 
 expected to spend a good deal more money ; that he enjoys a 
 few trifling immunities ; and that he has, in particular in- 
 stances, something like a king’s right of pre-emption, as in the 
 choice of rooms, &c. 
 
 “ Once launched in this orbit, Mr. Wilson continued to 
 blaze away for the four successive years, 1804-5-6-7, I be- 
 lieve, without any intermission. Possibly I myself was the 
 one sole gownsman who had not then found my attention fixed 
 by his most heterogeneous reputation. In a similar case, 
 Cicero tells a man that ignorance, so unaccountable, of an- 
 other man’s pretensions, argued himself to be a homo ignora - 
 bills ; or, in the language of the Miltonic Satan, 
 
 4 Not to know me, argues thyself unknown.’ 
 
 And that is true ; a homo ignorabilis most certainly I was. And 
 even with that admission it is still difficult to account for the 
 extent and duration of my ignorance. The fact is, that the 
 case well expresses both our positions ; that he should be so 
 conspicuous as to challenge knowledge from the most seques- 
 tered of anchorites, expresses his life ; that I should have 
 right to absolute ignorance of him who was familiar as day- 
 
188 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 Dean of Lichfield, an eminent antiquary, who revived the 
 study of the Saxon language ; Caldwell, president of the Col- 
 lege of Physicians ; William Whittingham, poetical coadjutor 
 of Sternhold and Hopkins in the translation of the Psalms ; 
 Fox, the martyrologist ; Sir John Savile, and his younger 
 brother, provost of Eton, where he printed his edition of St. 
 Chrysostom ; Barnaby Barnes, dramatic poet ; Ferdinand 
 Pulton, law-writer; Jeremiah Stephens, coadjutor of Sir 
 Henry Spelman in the publication of the Councils ; Sir John 
 Spelman, author of the Life of Alfred the Great ; Brere- 
 wood, mathematician ; Ralph Radcliffe ; Humphery Lluyd, 
 or Lloyd, the Welsh historian ; Sir John Stradling, poet ; 
 Sampson Erdeswick, the Staffordshire antiquary; Sir Peter 
 Leycester, the Cheshire ditto ; Lord Chancellor Egerton, 
 Baron Ellesmere, and Viscount Brackley ; Burton, author of 
 the Anatomy of Melancholy; Sir William Petty ; Elias Ashmole, 
 founder of the museum ; John Prince, author of the Worthies 
 of Devon ; Dr. W. Assheton ; Thomas Beconsall, defender of 
 revealed religion ; Thomas Church, D.D., whose degree was 
 presented to him by diploma, Feb. 23, 1749, for answering 
 Bolingbroke ; the Rev. John Watson, author of the History of 
 Halifax , &c. &c. ; Whitaker, the Manchester historian, after- 
 wards elected scholar of Corpus ; Milman, the late professor 
 of poetry ; Dr. Cardwell, since Principal of St. Alban Hall ; 
 and Lord Nugent, author of Memorials of John Hampden , Sfc. 
 
 light to all the rest of Oxford, expresses mine. Never, indeed, 
 before, to judge from what I have since heard upon in- 
 quiry, did a man, by variety of talents and variety of humours, 
 contrive to place himself as the connecting link between 
 orders of men so essentially repulsive of each other — as Mr. 
 Wilson in this instance. 
 
 ‘ Omnis Aristippum decuit color, et status, et res.’ 
 
 “ From the learned president of his college, Dr. Routh, the 
 editor of parts of Plato, and of some Theological Selections, 
 with whom Wilson enjoyed an unlimited favour — from this 
 learned academic doctor, and many others of the same class, 
 Wilson had an infinite gamut of friends and associates, run- 
 ning through every key.” 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 189 
 
 CORPUS CHRISTI COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1516. 
 
 Prelates. — Cardinal Pole, first of Magdalen; Jewell, Bishop 
 of Salisbury ; Webb, Bishop of Limerick, some time of Uni- 
 versity College ; Dr. Fowler, of Gloucester ; and Dr. Richard 
 Pococke, Bishop of Meath, the celebrated orientalist ; Burgess, 
 Bishop of Salisbury. 
 
 John Shepreve ; Redman, or Redmayne, afterwards first 
 master of Trinity College, Cambridge, one of the compilers of 
 the Liturgy; Morwen ; Nicholas Udal and Richard Edwards, 
 poets, the latter one of our earliest dramatists, whose Palcemon 
 and Arcite was acted before Queen Elizabethan Christ Church 
 Hall, on her visit here in 1566; Miles Windsor, the first 
 Oxford historian ; Hooker ; Sir Edward Sandys, statesman ; 
 Dr. Sebastian Benefield; Gill, master of St. Paul’s School; 
 Dr. Daniel Featly ; the illustrious Hales ; Sir J ohn Menis, 
 traveller, seaman, and poet; Edmund Chishul, divine and 
 antiquary ; Dr. Richard Fiddes, the biographer of Cardinal 
 Wolsey ; John Anstis, the herald ; Henry Hare ; Lord Cole- 
 raine ; Dr. Nathaniel Forster; Dr. John Rogers; Dr. John 
 Burton; Dr. Jeremiah Milles, Dean of Exeter; Sir Ashton 
 Lever, the collector of an immense museum of natural history, 
 dispersed by auction a few years, ago; Thomas Day, an eccen- 
 tric fellow, who never obtained a degree ; Lord Chief Justice 
 Tenterden ; Coleridge, the poet ; Professor Buckland, since 
 Canpn of Christ Church, author of Geological Evidences of the 
 Deluge , one of the Bridgwater Treatises, &c. ; Vaughan 
 Thomas, the distinguished divine; and Edward Greswell, 
 author of Harmonia Evangelica . 
 
 CHRIST CHURCH. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1532. 
 
 Prelates. — The Archbishops and Bishops educated here are 
 too numerous to be noticed. Among the most eminent we 
 
190 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 find Bancroft, Prideaux, Sanderson, Blanford, Dolben, Comp- 
 ton, Gastrell, Synge, Potter, Tanner, Benson, Robinson, and 
 Shipley. Among the names eminent in ecclesiastical history, 
 we find the reformer, Peter Martyr; M. Heton, Bishop of 
 Ely; Richard Edes, Dean of Worcester; Leonard Hutten ; 
 John Wall, prebendary of Salisbury ; Thomas Lockey, public 
 librarian; Dr. Edward Pocock; Dr. Robert South ; Dr. Richard 
 Allestree ; Dr. Roger Altham ; Archbishop Wake ; Dr. Robert 
 Friend ; Dr. Newton, founder of Hertford College ; Van Mil- 
 dert, Bishop of Durham ; Dr. Richard Laurence, Archbishop 
 of Cashel. 
 
 “ The scholars,” observes Chalmers, “ of other ranks, who 
 have added to the reputation of this college, are so numerous, 
 that a few only can be noticed. The literary history of Christ 
 Church might be extended to many volumes.” 
 
 In the list of Statesmen and Lawyers occur the names 
 of Sir Dudley Carleton; Sir William Godolphin; Sir W. Ellis ; 
 Edward Sackville, Earl of Dorset ; Sir Gilbert Dolben ; Henry 
 Mordaunt; Heneage Finch and Daniel Finch, Earls of Not- 
 tingham ; Henry Bennet, Earl of Arlington ; Sir J. Vaughan ; 
 Thomas Lutwyche; Trevor; Viscount Chetwynd; Wain- 
 wright ; Skinner ; Trelawny ; Henry Villiers ; Sir William 
 Wyndham ; Earl Granville ; Sir Thomas Hanmer ; Andrew 
 Stone ; Lord Littleton ; Earl Mansfield ; Lord Holland ; John 
 Mostyn; Sir Francis Bernard; Baron Mendip; Amyand; 
 Devisme ; Sir John Skinner ; Sir Gould Morgan ; Richard 
 Leveson Gower, & c. &c. 
 
 Poets and Orators. — Dr. James Calf hill ; Sir Philip Sid- 
 ney ; Stephen Gosson ; George Peele ; Thomas Storer ; Wil- 
 liam Gager; Thos. Goffe; BenJonson; Gomersal; Strode; 
 Warmstrey ; Hemmings ; Holyday ; Cartwright ; Randolph ; 
 Waring Maplet; Rhodes ; Owen ; Allestree; Nicholas Brady ; 
 Otway ; Villiers ; King ; Harrington ; Alsop ; Sam. Wesley ; 
 Philips; Edmund Smith; Gilbert West; Bramston; Thorn- 
 ton ; George Colman ; Dr. Butt. 
 
 During the 16 th century, among the scholars of this house 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 191 
 
 were, Hackluyt, the traveller; Mulcaster, master of Merchant 
 Taylor’s School ; Carew, the historian of Cornwall ; Camden ; 
 Torporley ; Caleb Willis *, Sir Humphrey Lynd ; Sir Thomas 
 Aylesbury; Edmund Gunter; Dr. John Owen, dean, and 
 eminent divine, in the time of the Commonwealth. 
 
 Of the 17th century are, Nicholas Grey; John Gregory, 
 astronomer ; the learned Meric Casaubon ; J ames Heath, the 
 historian ; Dr. Willis ; Penn, the founder of Pennsylvania ; 
 Stubbe, second keeper of the Bodleian; Lower; Locke;* 
 
 * The following is Dr. Gell’s letter to the Earl of Sunder- 
 land, respecting Locke’s expulsion : — 
 
 “ November 8th , 1684. 
 
 “ Right Honourable, — I received the honour of your 
 lordship’s letter, wherein you are pleased to inquire concern- 
 ing Mr. Locke’s being a student of this house, of which I 
 have this account to render: — That he being, as your lordship 
 is truly informed, a person who was much trusted by the late 
 Earl of Shaftesbury, and who is suspected to be ill affected to 
 the government, I have for divers years had an eye upon him ; 
 but so close has his guard been on himself, that after several 
 strict inquiries, I may confidently affirm, that there is not a 
 man in the college, however familiar with him, who has heard 
 him speak either a word against, or so much as concerning, 
 the government. And although very frequently, both in public 
 and private, discourses have been purposely introduced to the dis- 
 paragement of his master , the Earl of Shaftesbury , his party , 
 and his designs , he could never be provoked to take any notice, 
 or discover, in word or look, the least concern ; so that I be- 
 lieve there is not in the world such a masterpiece of taci- 
 turnity and passion. He has a physician’s place, which frees 
 him from the exercises of the college, and the obligations 
 which others have to residence in it ; and he is now abroad in 
 want of health. But notwithstanding that, I have summoned 
 him to return home, which is done with this prospect , that if he 
 comes not back , he will be liable to expulsion for contumacy ; and 
 if he do, he will be answerable to the law for that which 
 he shall be found to have done amiss, &c. & c. But if this 
 method seems not effectual nor speedy enough, and his Ma- 
 jesty, our founder and visitor, shall please to command his 
 
192 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 Francis Vernon, traveller and poet; Sparke, prebendary of 
 Lichfield, editor of Lactantius and Zosimus ; Dr. Hooke, 
 architect ; Sir Edward Hannes, professor of chemistry ; 
 Daniel Man ; Dr. Freind ; Sir Andrew Fountaine, Anglo- 
 Saxon scholar ; Temple Stanyan ; Ivie, translator of Epic- 
 tetus ; Frewen, professor of chemistry. 
 
 In the 18th century, Richard Ince, a writer in the Spectator ; 
 Eustace Budgell, a more considerable contributor to that work ; 
 George Wigan ; Robert Leybourne, Principal of Alban Hall ; 
 Lord Bolingbroke ; Desaguliers ; Charles Boyle, Bentley’s 
 antagonist ; John Wigan, editor of Aristseus ; Charles Wesley; 
 Browne Willis, antiquary ; Dr. William Drake, the historian, 
 of York ; Dr. W. Sharpe, Greek professor ; the Rev. Clayton 
 Mordaunt Crach erode, who left his valuable library to the 
 British Museum, books estimated at 30,000/. ; Dr. W. Burton, 
 
 immediate remove, upon the receipt thereof, directed to the 
 dean and chapter, it shall accordingly be executed by, my 
 Lord, yours, &c. 
 
 “ Joh. Oxon. 
 
 The revolting meanness and servility of character which 
 the above letter exhibits need no remark ! It seems that it 
 had the desired effect, for, in a few days afterwards, the fol- 
 lowing letter from his dictatorial Majesty was received : — 
 
 “ To the Right Reverend, &c. &c. — Right Reverend 
 Father in God, and trusty and well beloved, we greet you 
 well. Whereas we have received information of the factious 
 and disloyal behaviour of Locke, one of the students of that 
 our college, we have sought thereby to signify our will and 
 pleasure to you, that you forthwith remove him from his stu- 
 dent’s place, and deprive him of all rights and advantages 
 thereunto belonging, for which this shall be your warrant, and 
 so we bid you heartily farewell. 
 
 “ Given at our Court, at Whitehall, the 11th of November, 
 1684, by his Majesty’s command, 
 
 “ Sunderland.” 
 
 We need not state the result ; it stands on record, as a spe- 
 cimen of royal baseness and episcopal servility. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 193 
 
 historian of Yorkshire ; the present Sir Robert Peel, Bart. ; 
 Conybeare, professor of poetry; the illustrious Canning; 
 William Wyndham, Lord Grenville, the late Chancellor of 
 the university ; Dr. Cyril Jackson ; Dr. Gaisford, Greek pro- 
 fessor, and dean ; Dr. Henry Cotton ; Lord Henley ; Lord 
 Dover; Fynes Clinton, author of Fasti Hellenici; Thos. Vowler 
 Short ; Sir D. K. Sandford, Greek Professor at Glasgow ; Dr. 
 John Antony Cramer, since Principal of New Inn Hall, author 
 of works on Asia Minor, Ancient Italy, and Ancient Greece ; 
 James Shergold Boone, formerly one of the masters of the 
 Charter House, &c. ; Professor Burton ; Dr. Buckland ; 
 Professor Pusey; Dr.KiDD; Rev. John Jones (Tegid), M.A., 
 precentor, translator of the book of Isaiah from the Hebrew 
 text of Yander Hooght, also author of Prize Poems and Essays 
 in Welsh, &c. 
 
 TRINITY COLLEGE* 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1554. 
 
 Prelates. — Warton gives the following list of Bishops and 
 other eminent men, either educated at Trinity College, or 
 living in it, while Dr. Bathurst was fellow or president: — 
 Ironside, Bishop of Bristol ; Lucy, Bishop of St. David’s ; 
 
 * In the Computus of the bursars of Trinity College for the 
 year 1631, the following article occurs : — “ Solut pro fumi- 
 gandis chirothecis” Gloves make a constant and considerable 
 article of expense in the earlier accompt books of the college 
 here mentioned, and, without doubt, in those of many other 
 societies. They were annually given (a custom still subsist- 
 ing) to the college tenants, and often presented to guests of 
 distinction. But it appears (at least from accompts of the col- 
 lege in preceding years) that the practice of perfuming gloves 
 for this purpose was fallen into disuse, soon after the reign of 
 Charles I. — T. Warton. 
 
 These perfumed gloves are mentioned by Shakspere. Auto- 
 lycus, in the “ Winter’s Tale,” has among his wares, 
 
 “ Gloves as sweet as damask roses.” 
 
 s 
 
194 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 Skinner, of Worcester ; Glemhara, of St. Asaph ; Stafford, of 
 Chester ; Parker, of Oxford ; Archbishop Sheldon ; Selden ; 
 Chillingworth ; Gellibrand, mathematician ; Aubrey, anti- 
 quary ; Arthur Wilson, author of the Life of James I. ; Sir 
 John Denham, poet; Sir Henry Blount ; Sir James Harring- 
 ton, author of the Oceana; Dr. Derham, author of Phisico - 
 theology; Dr. D. Whitby ; John Evelyn ; Sir Edward Bysche, 
 the heraldist; Potter, mathematician; Dr. Warton, physician; 
 Anthony Farringdon, author of some learned sermons. To 
 these may be added, the first Lord Baltimore ; Charles Mon- 
 tague, Earl of Halifax ; Lord Somers ; Earl of Chatham ; 
 and the second Earl of Guildford, Lord North; the poets 
 Lodge, Settle, Glanville, Manning, Merrick, and Headley; 
 Allen, mathematician ; Gill, master of St. Paul’s school ; Lud- 
 low, the republican chief; Sir John Ford, hydraulist; Henry 
 Birkenhead, founder of the lecture on poetry in the Univer- 
 sity ; Chamberlaine ; Dr. Cobden ; Coxeter, the miscellanist ; 
 Lethieullier, antiquary ; F. Wise, ditto ; Thomas Warton ; 
 Lisle Bowles, poet ; Ingram, the president ; Kinsey, author 
 of Portugal , & c. &c. ; Medwin, the biographer of Byron, 
 translator of iEschylus, See. (In the opinion of some of our 
 first classical scholars, Medwin’s translation is the finest which 
 the English language contains.) Walter Savage Landor, author 
 of Gebir , a poem, Imaginary Conversations , &c. ; Henry Kett, 
 author of Elements of General Knowledge; Richard Duppa, 
 author of Life of Michael Angelo , and numerous botanical 
 works ; James Ford. 
 
 ST. JOHN’S COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1557. 
 
 Prelates . — Tobie Matthew, Archbishop of York ; Archbishop 
 Laud, elected the ninth president of this college; in 1603 he 
 was one of the proctors ; Dr. William Juxon, Bishop of Lon- 
 don ; Peter Mews, Bishop of Winchester ; Sir William Dawes, 
 Archbishop of York. 
 
 Among the scholars are Campian, the celebrated Jesuit ; 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 195 
 
 Dr. Case, the Aristotle commentator ; Blagrave, mathema- 
 tician ; Sir James Whitelocke, chief-justice; How, the botanist ; 
 Shirley, the dramatic poet ; Gayton, poet ; Whitelocke, the 
 annalist, one of Cromwell’s lords ; Marsham, the chronolo- 
 gist; Bernard, Savilian Professor; William Lowth, the 
 learned divine; Sherard, or Sherwood, botanist; Dillenius, 
 ditto ; Bevil Higgons, poet and historian ; Bonwicke, master 
 of Merchant Taylors’ School ; Sir William Trumbull, the 
 correspondent of Pope ; Dr. Robert James, discoverer of the 
 febrifuge powder ; Ducarel, antiquary ; Dr. Monro, one of 
 Radcliife’s travelling fellows ; Whalley, commentator on 
 Shakspere and Jonson ; Samuel Bishop, poet ; Dean Tucker, 
 author of sundry tracts on politics and commerce ; Dr. Bliss, 
 editor of Wood's Athena ; Dr. Dibdin, author of Bibliomania , 
 Bibliotheca Spencer iana, Bibliographical Decameron , Biblio- 
 graphical Tour in France and Germany , The Library Com- 
 panion , Introduction to the Classics , &c. &c. 
 
 JESUS COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1571. 
 
 Prelates. — Rider, Bishop of Killaloe ; Lloyd, of St. Asaph ; 
 Wynne, of ditto, father of Sir William Wynne. Archbishop 
 Usher was on the books, and resided here. 
 
 David Powel, the celebrated antiquary; John Davies, lexico- 
 grapher ; Rees Prichard, a popular Welsh poet ; James 
 Howell, the leading miscellanist of his time ; Sir Thomas 
 Herbert, an eminent traveller, and benefactor to the Univer- 
 sity ; Sir Wm. Williams, lawyer; Sir Leoline Jenkyns ; Dr. 
 Jonathan Edwards, Principal, an eminent controversial divine ; 
 the pious Dr. Richard Lucas ; Edward Lloyd, antiquary and 
 botanist, afterwards keeper of the Ashmolean Museum ; and 
 the learned divines and theological writers, Dr. Wm. Worthing- 
 ton, Dr. Henry Owen, and Dr. James Bandinel, the first 
 Bampton lecturer. 
 
196 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 WADHAM COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1613. 
 
 Prelates — Among the principal are the names of Gauden, 
 Bishop of Worcester ; Seth Ward, of Salisbury ; Thomas 
 Sprat, of Rochester ; and Samuel Parker, of Oxford. 
 
 Creech, editor and translator of Lucretius ; Walsh, the poet ; 
 Dr. J. Trapp, professor of poetry ; Thomas Baker, mathema- 
 tician ; Sir C. Sedley ; Earl of Rochester ; Admiral Blake ; 
 Mayow, physician; Dr. Hody ; Sir Christopher Wren;* 
 
 * “ In his fourteenth year, Christopher was admitted as a 
 gentleman commoner at Wadham College, Oxford. These 
 were tender years for acquiring any sort of notice in a learned 
 university, and still more so for gaining the friendship of such 
 men as John Wilkins, warden of Wadham, and Seth Ward, 
 Savilian Professor of Astronomy, two of the most distinguished 
 mathematicians of their day ; yet nothing is more certain than 
 that he obtained both. His talents, if their fame had not gone 
 before him, were soon discovered at Oxford. He loved, what 
 was fashionable in those days, to write Latin descriptions of 
 his studies and designs, in verse as well as prose.” 
 
 A proud memory is connected with Wren’s fame, from his 
 share in the original plan of the Royal Society. “ A young 
 gentleman,” says Allan Cunningham, “ thus remarkable for 
 talents and diligence, was a welcome addition to that little 
 band of scientific scholars, who, says Sprat, resorted, ‘ soon 
 after the civil wars, to the chamber of Dr. Wilkins, and laid 
 the foundation of the Royal Society for improving natural 
 knowledge.’ Amid the unsettled days of the Commonwealth, 
 these scholars pursued their inquiries with all the zeal which 
 genius brings to the aid of speculation ; drew up descriptions, 
 and made models and drawings of their inventions and dis- 
 coveries ; formed connexions with learned societies and indi- 
 viduals abroad ; and, looking forward to more settled or fortu- 
 nate times, prepared a draught of the present charter of the 
 Royal Society.” 
 
 None who have seen that majestic pile, the Theatre at Ox- 
 ford, will think the following reference devoid of interest: — 
 “ This, at all events, was the first of his designs which he saw 
 realized; for it was opened on the 9th of July, 1669, with 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 197 
 
 Arthur Onslow, for many parliaments Speaker of the House 
 of Commons; Chief-Justice Pratt ; Costard, linguist ; Harris, 
 the philosopher, of Salisbury ; Floyer Sydenham, the transla- 
 tor of Plato ; Kennicott, collator of the Hebrew MSS. ; Rich- 
 ardson, author of the Persian Dictionary; Anderson, who 
 translated the Arenarius of Archimedes ; Dr. Austen. The fa- 
 mous Bentley, of Cambridge, became a member of Wadham 
 College in 1689. 
 
 PEMBROKE COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1624. 
 
 Prelates . — Repingdon, Bishop of Lincoln in 1405, and car- 
 dinal, 1408 ; Bonner, of London, surnamed the Bloody ; Dr. 
 William Newcome, Archbishop of Armagh, the biblical critic ; 
 Dr. John Moore, Archbishop of Canterbury. 
 
 Camden, the illustrious historian and antiquary ; Sir Thomas 
 Browne ; Carew, Earl of Totness ; Sir James Dyer ; David 
 Baker, ecclesiastical historian ; Pym, the noted patriot. In 
 more recent times we find the celebrated names of Judge 
 Blackstone, who was first educated here ; Philip Morant, his- 
 torian of Essex ; Whitfield ; Dr. Durell, principal of Hertford 
 College ; the eccentric Henderson ; the poets Southern,* Shen- 
 
 great solemnity, and followed,” says the author of Parentalia, 
 “ by a most splendid act, such as had not been equalled in the 
 memory of man. The munificent founder (Gilbert Sheldon, 
 Archbishop of Canterbury) honoured the architect, on this 
 first essay of his skill, with the present of a golden cup, and 
 by his statutes appointed him, jointly with the vice-chancellor, 
 perpetual curator of the fabric.” The finished work, splendid 
 as it is, cannot, however, be compared to the original design. 
 Wren planned a structure bearing no small resemblance to 
 the theatre of Marcellus, yet exceedingly bold and original. 
 Nevertheless, the building is famous for a roof constructed out 
 of small pieces of timber, on the truest geometrical principles. 
 
 * Johnson delighted to mention the names of poets educated 
 at his own college; adding, (says that agreeable twaddler, 
 Boswell,) with a smile of sportive triumph, “ Sir, we are a 
 nest of singing birds.” 
 
 s 2 
 
198 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 stone, Graves, and Hawkins, the Professor of Poetry ; Dr. 
 Samuel Johnson, who was entered a commoner, Oct. 31, 
 1728. His apartment was the second floor over the gate- 
 way. 
 
 WORCESTER COLLEGE. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1714. 
 
 Gloucester Hall, afterwards St. John Baptist’s Hall, and now 
 Worcester College, was one of the most ancient houses belong- 
 ing to the Benedictines at the time of the dissolution. 
 
 Prelates . — Before the Reformation, occur the names of three 
 Bishops, educated in Gloucester Hall : John Langdon, Bishop 
 of Rochester, 1422 ; Mylling, of Hereford ; Dunstan, of Llan- 
 daff, 1545, who had been prior, but lived to the reign of Eliza- 
 beth, and acknowledged her supremacy. 
 
 In the same hall were educated, and some time resided, the 
 celebrated traveller, Thomas Coryate ; Dr. Budden ; Thomas 
 Allen, the mathematician ; Richard Lovelace, poet and lin- 
 guist ; the learned Sir Kenelm Digby ; De Quincey, the 
 “ Opium Eater.” 
 
 HERTFORD COLLEGE.* 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1725. 
 
 Prelates . — James Cranlegh, Archbishop of Dublin; and 
 Morgan Owen, Bishop of Llandaff ; Dickson, Bishop of 
 Down and Connor; and Archbishop Newcome, already no- 
 ticed as belonging to Pembroke; are claimed by Hertford 
 College. 
 
 Nicholas Brigham, and Lord Buckhurst, poets ; the illus- 
 trious Selden; Sir John Glynn, an eminent lawyer; Dr. 
 Donne, afterwards of Cambridge; Nicholas Fuller, the great- 
 est Hebrew critic of his time ; Sir William Waller, the parlia- 
 
 * Dissolved in 1816, and its site now occupied by Mag- 
 dalen Hall. 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 199 
 
 mentary general ; Sir Richard Baker, author of the popular 
 Chronicle ; Edward Lye, the Saxon lexicographer ; Thomas 
 Hutchinson, the editor of Xenophon ; Dr. Hunt, Arabic Pro- 
 fessor ; Dr. Benjamin Blayney ; and the illustrious Charles 
 James Fox, educated here under the tuition of Dr. New- 
 combe. 
 
 THE HALLS. 
 
 Before the foundation of colleges, all education in the Uni- 
 versity was carried on in certain houses, and sets of build- 
 ings, called halls, inns, or hostels, which were the property of 
 the citizens of Oxford, who let them partially to individuals, 
 or generally to societies, connected under one roof, in which 
 case they were denominated halls. 
 
 ST. ALBAN’S HALL. 
 
 FOUNDED IN THE REIGN OF JOHN. 
 
 Prelates . — Hooper, Bishop of Gloucester, and martyr; 
 Lamplugh, Archbishop of York ; and Narcissus Marsh, pri- 
 mate of Ireland, were of this hall; which also enumerates 
 among its scholars, Massinger, the dramatic poet ; William 
 Lenthall, Speaker to the House of Commons during the Long 
 Parliament ; and Sir Thomas Higgons, an English writer of 
 some note, and ambassador at Vienna; the distinguished 
 scholar and critic, Elmsley ; Dr. Richard Whately, Arch- 
 bishop of Dublin; and Dr. Cardwell, the present learned 
 Principal. 
 
 EDMUND HALL. 
 
 FOUNDED IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 Carleton, Bishop of Chichester ; Kennet, of Peterborough ; 
 and Dr. Daniel Wilson, the fourth Bishop of Calcutta ; occur 
 among the prelates who were educated or resided some time 
 in Edmund Hall. Among its eminent scholars are, Sir W. 
 
200 
 
 OXFORD. 
 
 Jones, the law writer; Judge Jenkins; Dr. Bate; Dr. New- 
 ton, mathematician ; John Oldham, the poet ; Kettlewell, the 
 nonjuror, afterwards of Lincoln ; Blackmore, the poet; Cham- 
 berlaine, author of Anglia Notitia ; Humphrey Wanley, libra- 
 rian ; Hearne, the antiquary ; Dr. Kennet ; Felton, author 
 of a Dissertation on the Classics , Sfc. ; Mill, editor of the Greek 
 Testament ; and Dr. Grabe. 
 
 ST. MARY HALL. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1325. 
 
 The illustrious Sir Thomas More ; Sir Christopher Hat- 
 ton, George Sandys, and Fulwell, poets ; Hariot, an eminent 
 mathematician ; Marchmont Needham, the political writer ; 
 Dr. Phineas Pett, the tutor of Canning, Principal, &c., after- 
 wards canon of Christ Church; and Dr. Renn Dickson Hamp- 
 den, Bampton Lecturer, &c. 
 
 NEW INN HALL. 
 
 founded in 1391. 
 
 Twyne, the antiquary, and the Rev. Dr. Scott, author of 
 the Christian Life, $*c., were members of this hall. Dr. John 
 Antony Cramer is the present Principal, and the author of 
 works on Asia Minor, Ancient Italy, and Ancient Greece, 
 together with accurate maps of those countries. 
 
 ST. MARY MAGDALEN HALL. 
 
 FOUNDED IN 1480. 
 
 Among its Prelates , Magdalen Hall enumerates John Long- 
 land, Bishop of Lincoln ; Stokesley, Bishop of London ; and 
 Wilkins, of Chester. Among its scholars are, Warner and 
 Daniel, poets; Sir Harry Vane, the republican; Sir Julius 
 Caesar, a learned civilian ; Leigh, theologian ; Lord Claren- 
 don, the historian, who entered here in 1622 ; Tombes, whom 
 Wood calls the Coryphaeus of the Anabaptists ; Sir Matthew 
 
BIOGRAPHICAL SUMMARY. 
 
 201 
 
 Hale ; Dr. Godwin ; Theophilus Gale, author of the Court of 
 the Gentiles ; Dr. Sydenham ; Pococke, afterwards of Corpus ; 
 Dr. Hickes, afterwards of Lincoln ; Dr. Charleton ; Edward 
 Phillips, Milton’s nephew ; Dr. Plot, naturalist ; Dr. Tyson ; 
 Sir George Wheeler ; Dr. William Nichols, commentator on 
 the Liturgy ; Thomas Hobbes, the philosopher, of Malmes- 
 bury. 
 
 As an appendix to this Biographical Summary, may be 
 added, “ An exact account of the whole number of scholars 
 and students in the University of Oxford, taken anno 1612, 
 in the long vacation.”* 
 
 Totals. 
 
 JEdes Christi 240 
 
 Magdal. Coll 246 
 
 Novum Coll 130 
 
 iEnenasense Coll 227 
 
 Universit. Coll 72 
 
 Merton Coll 93 
 
 Reginense Coll 267 
 
 Omnium Anim. Coll 93 
 
 Eton Coll 206 
 
 S. Joannis Coll 128 
 
 Lincoln Coll 109 
 
 Balliolense Coll 127 
 
 Oriel Coll 79 
 
 Totals. 
 
 Trinitatis Coll 116 
 
 Jesu Coll 91 
 
 Corpus Christi Coll 94 
 
 Auld S. Maria 48 
 
 Auld Magdal 161 
 
 Auld Edmundi 47 
 
 Auld Latarum Port 131 
 
 Auld Glocteri 62 
 
 Auld Albani 52 
 
 Auld Cervini 71 
 
 Novum Hospitium 30 
 
 Sum. Totalis ... 2920 
 
 The author is fully aware that omissions may be discovered 
 in the preceding Summary, and that additions might be con- 
 ferred on it by many ornaments of later times. Should a 
 future occasion offer itself, together with the adequate records, 
 those additions will not be neglected. 
 
 * From Tanner’s MSS., in the Bodleian, quoted in “ Ox- 
 
 ONIANA.” 
 

 
THE STAGE COACH.— 1827. 
 
O’er the wheel-track’d road 
 
 The lab’ring coach conducts its motley load. 
 
 Oxford. 
 
 Jumenta vocant eundum est ; 
 
 Nam mihi commota jam dudam mulio virga 
 Adnuit. 
 
 Juv. Sat 3. 
 
ADVERTISEMENT TO FIRST EDITION. 
 
 The following Poem was written before the “ Omni - 
 presence of the Deity” appeared. The reader will, 
 of course, be candid enough to estimate the poem by 
 a right standard, nor expect a homely subject to be 
 treated in any but a homely style : — parvum parva 
 decent There is something peculiarly national in 
 the neatness, comfort, and rapidity of our stage- 
 coaches ; and the Author thought many of the feel- 
 ing reflections which a journey in England suggests, 
 might not be inappropriately described in a poetical 
 form. With this brief preface, the Author leaves 
 the work to the indulgence of his readers ; — happy 
 will he be, if, when steam has rendered our present 
 style of travelling almost extinct, an occasional pas- 
 senger will be old-fashioned enough to patronize him 
 by taking a place in his “ Stage Coach !” 
 
 April 25th , 1834. 
 
 T 
 
ANALYSIS. 
 
 Sunrise in an obscure village — Lowland described — Curate’s 
 abode — Breakfast scene before the journey — Coach arrives — 
 Its influence on the villagers, & c. — A respectful apostrophe 
 to the subject— Pleasure of a journey from town on a fine 
 day, or of a visit to a secluded friend — Schoolboy’s love of 
 travel — A coachman sketched — A farewell at the Parsonage — 
 Journey recommenced — Landscape scenery — Park mansions 
 — Country gentlemen — a homely man’s feeling on surveying 
 their comforts — Moral scenery on the road — Instruction often 
 derived from a casual acquaintance with passengers — Cha- 
 racters — Politician — Pleasure of a social temper — The quiet 
 demeanour of the curate contrasted with his loquacious friend 
 — A retrospect of the author’s — A sad but interesting passen- 
 ger is next described — then, two schoolboys, and their pleasant 
 glee — its effect on a sailor and an old soldier, who each relate 
 the story of their lives— Arrival at a town where the coach 
 stops for dinner — Comforts of an inn — scene described — 
 Journey recommenced — Evening scenery — Delight of re- 
 visiting the place of our boyish days — Sailor’s joy on his return 
 home after a long absence — Journey concluded — The passen- 
 gers part — And the poem concludes with a moral comparison. 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 The morn is up; in Lowland’s eastern sky 
 Masses of cloud in rich confusion lie; 
 
 Awhile they mingle, then apart they glide, 
 
 Like painted isles upon a far-off tide, 
 
 Till, orb’d with glory, see! the Sun appear, 
 
 To light the world, and lead the Day’s career. 
 
 Now from yon hamlet’s moss-grown chimneys rise 
 Wreaths of blue smoke that curl along the skies, 
 And far the stir of village life resounds, 
 
 And rings the morning air with merry sounds. 
 
 Ask ye of Lowland, — site of boyish days? 
 
 A village, such as Goldsmith’s verse might praise; — 
 A grey church glimm’ring through the dark elm-trees, 
 Whose sweet bells wander on the flying breeze; 
 
 A gothic mansion on the green withdrawn, 
 
 With freckled steps and smoothly levell’d lawn, 
 
208 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 Where priest and parish sages oft retire, 
 
 And bow obsequious to the ruddy squire; 
 
 An ocher’d inn behind a bench-girt tree, 
 
 Where chatt’ring statesmen kindly disagree; — 
 These are the proudest piles on Lowland’s plain, 
 
 To charm the pilgrim, or delight the swain. 
 
 Though barren now, not so when summer-bloom 
 Spreads a bright magic over winter’s gloom, 
 
 Fair Lowland looks, and every garden greets 
 The way-worn traveller with exulting sweets. 
 
 The gravel winding to the lilac bower 
 Where shaded friends beguile their sultry hour, 
 
 The guarded hives, where humming bees abound, 
 The well-rope creaking forth its homely sound, 
 
 The fairy babble of a road-side stream, 
 
 Where the brown urchin weaves his infant dream — 
 With many a charm, awake the wand’rer’s smile, 
 Tempting his eye to pause, and dream awhile. 
 
 But to our scene: — Beside yon beaten road 
 Behold the village curate’s neat abode; 
 
 Time-worn, it stands in unobtrusive state, 
 
 Behind the circling pales and ivy’d gate, 
 
 With gothic windows based by massy beams, 
 
 And grey porch welcom’d by the morning gleams: — 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 209 
 
 No fruits or flower-parterres in spruce array! 
 
 The night-beads glisten on the leafless spray, 
 
 And, safely housed within his pendent cote, 
 
 The plaintiff pigeon coos his winter note. 
 
 But in yon parlour, where a window blaze 
 Now flickers redly o’er the white-frost haze, 
 
 And the bold robin, fed by infant zeal, 
 
 Pecks from the scatter’d crumbs his morning meal, 
 How merrily resounds the mingled din, 
 
 Of social love and life, awake within ! 
 
 Bright on the pictured wall the fire-beams play; 
 There the loud tea-urn sings its bubbling lay, 
 
 And on the glossy table-cloth are spread 
 The glitt’ring china, and the cottage bread: 
 
 The parting hour — like death itself to meet — 
 
 Is come; — the curate from his calm retreat, 
 
 Doom’d by domestic care, awhile must roam, 
 
 And leave the heaven that virtue finds at home. 
 
 Around him now a darling group is met, 
 
 With faithful looks of fondness and regret; 
 
 Yon fair-brow’d child, the gentle, kind, the good, 
 And budding sweetly into womanhood, 
 
 With filial love the breakfast rite surveys, 
 
 While a meek sorrow dims her pensive gaze; 
 t 2 
 
210 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 One prattling cherub, with infantine grace, 
 
 Leaps on his knee, and pats his smiling face, 
 While elder boys within their hearts receive 
 The counsel pious fathers care to give. 
 
 But, ah ! what lovely dews of feeling rise, 
 
 Melt from the soul, and glitter in her eyes, 
 
 As moves the mother with a placid mien, 
 
 And fondly hovers round this parting scene ! 
 
 Full well the tender sire perceives the care, 
 
 And smiles it off with many a winning air; 
 
 Talks of his quick return, the news he’ll tell, 
 And looks what language could not speak so well 
 
 But, hark ! the merry bugle peals a sound, 
 
 Till the roused echoes ring the hills around ! 
 From doors half open’d peeps out many a face, 
 The grandam hobbles from her wonted place, 
 While noisy urchins scour the village through, 
 To hail the Stage-coach wheeling into view ! — 
 A thing of glory to a rustic throng, 
 
 Who shout and gambol as it whirls along; 
 
 Or, idly vent’rous, balance at its back, 
 
 Braving the guard, and whip’s repeated smack; 
 While at the blacksmith’s murky door preside, 
 With solemn eyes, and mouths all gaping wide, 
 A prying group — that pertinacious class 
 Who quiz profoundly as the coaches pass. 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 211 
 
 Triumph of art! thou swiftly-moving dome, 
 
 To every rank awhile convenient home, 
 
 Compactly fashion’d to a useful form, 
 
 To poise the burden, and defy the storm, — 
 
 Let Life and Commerce, Love and Pleasure, shew 
 What daily blessings to thy speed we owe: 
 
 Sure of thy succour, see the friend depart, 
 
 To press the absent to his faithful heart; 
 
 Swift as thy speed, behold the lover fly, 
 
 On Love’s warm breast to breathe his welcome 
 sigh; 
 
 The proud and mean, the hapless and the gay, 
 
 Thou waft’st them all, along their various way! 
 
 And pleasant ’tis when Winter’s flooding rains 
 Flash on the pools, and beat the rattling panes, 
 
 Snug in a coach’s padded nook to lie, 
 
 Stretch the free limb, and close the languid eye; 
 But sweeter far, on some auspicious day, 
 
 When lovely clouds the crystal sky inlay, 
 
 And choral breezes o’er the meadow spring, 
 
 Like uncaged birds, exultant on the wing, — 
 Throned on a coach to leave the smoke-dimm’d town, 
 And view the shining mead, and sloping down, 
 
 The wood-crown’d hills, and laughing streams that 
 glide, 
 
 While sunbeams gambol on their gurgling tide. 
 
212 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 How warms the spirit into young delight, 
 
 As views romantic greet the gladden’d sight, 
 
 While lip and brow partake the fresh-wing’d breeze, 
 Till fancy echoes to the warbling trees; 
 
 ’Tis now, — as slow and soft some distant bell 
 Dies on the air, with sound’s delicious spell, 
 
 That worldly feelings faint off, one by one, 
 
 Like ice-drops melting from the noontide sun; 
 
 Till, soften’d all, they mix in one soft sigh, 
 
 Or bask delighted in the beaming eye! 
 
 Be mine on such a morn to take my seat, 
 
 And leave the noise of life for some retreat, 
 
 Where haply dwells in his Arcadian cot, 
 
 Far from the world, and by the world forgot, 
 
 The tasteful friend, by genial fortune woo’d 
 To mental ease and classic solitude; 
 
 There, warm at heart, within his social room, 
 Where fragrant woodbines waft their mild per- 
 fume, 
 
 At eve’s soft hour to view the vesper star, 
 
 And talk of vanish’d scenes and friends afar; 
 
 Renew the hours of rapture and of pain, 
 
 Create the past, and be the boy again! 
 
 By moonlight, too, when vale and coppice gleam, 
 Like landscapes pictured in a poet’s dream, 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 213 
 
 How charming from the coach, with errant eye 
 To mark the glimm’ring meadows gliding by: — 
 The spectral valley, or the dark-brow’d hill, 
 
 The woods in dewy slumber, dark and still, 
 
 Or taper twinkling from some far abode, 
 
 Or waggon winding up the lonesome road, 
 
 While the meek night-bird’s melancholy lay 
 Melts like a wreath of woven sound away! 
 
 Not least the coach’s charm let schoolboys tell, 
 When to their prison walls they shout, farewell ! 
 Then through the joy- wing’d night glib tongues 
 display 
 
 The fairy visions of their homeward way; 
 
 And oft the ceaseless tongue would fain relate 
 What coach-wheels rattled at the school-yard gate ! 
 
 But who, emburied in his coat’s broad fold, 
 
 With triple kerchief round his neck enroll’d, 
 
 Stalks forth, with brindled waistcoat, full and 
 free, 
 
 And glossy boots, braced o’er his giant knee? 
 
 Our coachman! who, with smiling pomp and mien, 
 Full-blown and square, directs the road-machine. 
 Alike when winter wraps the world in snow, 
 
 Or o’er it summer sheds her sleepy glow; 
 
 Not unimportant is his busy post, 
 
 Or on the road, or parleying with my host, 
 
214 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 Or when, with merry eye and mottled face, 
 
 He twirls the whip with years’ collected grace! 
 
 Happy the traveller who on coachey’s throne 
 May sit, and make the country round his own; 
 
 Well pleased to hear him, with a tender pride, 
 
 To gentle strangers act the courteous guide, 
 
 Point with his whip to each patrician house, 
 Portray the owner, or depict his spouse; 
 
 Or, fraught with whisper’d tales of sly import, 
 Presume to paint a baron for his sport ! 
 
 Then, too, what puns and proverbs quaint he knows, 
 What ruddy humour on each feature glows, 
 
 When, gazing round him with theatric leer, 
 
 He tells the freaks of many a by-gone year! 
 
 But see, the fond farewells are said and o’er, 
 
 And, lo! the curate, at the coach’s door, 
 
 Smiles on the red-cloak’d dames and hoary men, 
 Who humbly wish him safe return’d again : 
 
 Up roll the steps — the echoes of the horn 
 Far on the breeze from hill to hill are borne, 
 
 And see! — along the road’s extended sweep, 
 
 Loud as the billows lording o’er the deep, 
 
 Again the bick’ring wheels their course renew, 
 
 And Lowland fades amid the distant view. 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 215 
 
 And now, while languid mists dissolve away, 
 
 And golden sun -tints o’er the landscape play, 
 
 Look round ! — the unpretending view admire, 
 
 From shady dingles peeps the taper spire, 
 
 And far around yon richly-wooded green 
 What still romance o’erveils the rural scene! 
 
 But most the pilgrim eye delights to see, 
 
 My country! monarch of the imperial sea! 
 
 Those ancient mansions where thy gentles dwell, 
 And grace the domes their fathers built so well. 
 
 Far on the lawn, amid the leafy shade, 
 
 Behold the porch and turret towers display’d. 
 
 Hark ! round the park, begirt with olden trees, 
 
 The sheep -bells shake their echoes on the breeze; 
 Fleet on his fairy foot, the timid deer, 
 
 With glancing eye, pursues his wild career; 
 
 While browsing cattle crop the stunted food, 
 
 And snuff the wind with conscious gratitude. 
 
 And long, fair England ! may such domes be seen, 
 In stately triumph frowning o’er the green; 
 
 Long may the country gentleman be found 
 The honour’d lord of his paternal ground; 
 
 Far from suburban toil, and meaner care, 
 
 No midnight brawls, no masquerading there, 
 
216 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 A bounteous fortune, and a feeling breast, 
 
 Loved by the good, and by the humble blest, — 
 How calm he marks the bloom of life decay, 
 
 How breeze-like float the fleeting hours away! 
 
 And, ah ! forgive the wand’rer, doom’d to roam 
 O’er life’s autumnal waste, without a home, 
 
 If chance an unforbidden wish should swell 
 For some dear haunt, where love and truth might 
 dwell ; 
 
 How blithely would he hail the welcome dawn, 
 
 And stroll enamour’d round his dew -bright lawn! 
 Or when pale twilight glanced the garden trees, 
 And the boughs twinkled in their vesper breeze, 
 Delighted stray, with heavenward feeling fraught, 
 And wind the mazes of immortal thought! 
 
 But from the road unnumber’d scenes transfuse 
 O’er the quick mind, reflection’s moral hues; 
 
 Each, as it passes, claims a sigh or tear, 
 
 For Want, and Wo, and all their offspring, here. 
 There, the blind beggar, led by faithful Tray, 
 Bareheaded, moans along his mournful way; 
 
 Here, a lean pedler winds his wintry track, 
 
 With wallet strapp’d upon his weary back; 
 
 And far withdrawn on yonder coppice green, 
 
 Like wood-born regents of the lonely scene, 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 217 
 
 The sun-brown gipsies o’er their caldron gaze, 
 And watch the faggots crackle as they blaze. 
 
 But lo! a livelier scene, — beside the wheel, 
 
 Wild urchins whirling round from head to heel; 
 Around, and round, and still around they turn, 
 Till lip and eye with bright suffusion burn, 
 
 Then mildly beg, with upward-looking face, 
 
 Some poor reward to crown their wheel-side race. 
 And oft to him, whose moral eye hath been 
 A quaint observer of life’s comic scene, 
 
 Hath social travel true instruction brought, 
 
 That form’d a theme for many an after thought ; 
 Abroad, our lines of character appear; 
 
 For who would crouch to affectation here, 
 
 Where all are free, unknown, and unrestrain’d, 
 And fashion profitless, however feign’d ? 
 
 A rapid meeting (like the glad surprise 
 Of nature, when a sun-burst brings the dies 
 Of verdure, wood, and water into life, 
 
 Each with a sudden power of freshness rife,) 
 
 Calls traits of mind and tones of feeling forth, 
 And bold opinion in its native worth ! 
 
 Within the compass of a hundred miles, 
 
 How vast a subject for our frowns, or smiles! 
 How much that opens like a scenic view 
 Of Nature’s drama, such as Shakspere drew! 
 
 u 
 
218 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 The selfish, vain, the volatile, and proud, 
 
 The pert, the spruce, the silent, and the loud, — 
 All, in their turn, some living truth impart, 
 
 To thread the lab’rinth that conceals the heart. 
 
 Meanwhile, our rumbling coach pursues its way, 
 Adorn’d with passengers — and who are they? 
 Inside, and warm’d with sympathy, recline 
 A politician and a plain divine; 
 
 The first can lay the cabinet quite bare, 
 
 And fathom all the well of wisdom there! 
 
 A smile of candour clothes his merry cheek, 
 
 And his eyes twinkle what his heart would speak: 
 Genteelly plain in periwig and vest, — 
 
 Let buckled shoes and snuff-box speak the rest ! 
 
 Within a coach, perchance we oft may find 
 Some choice companion with a kindred mind; 
 Here, unsubdued by ceremonious fear, 
 
 The sterling traits of character appear; 
 
 And thoughts, unmannacled by mean control, 
 Flash bright and clear, like sparkles from the soul. 
 Shame on the man! who drones himself away, 
 When conversation should have turn to play; 
 
 A soul so bare, companionless, and cold, 
 
 Can scarce be stamp’d in nature’s kindly mould, 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 219 
 
 Who bids the social flame to kindle, when 
 We meet, though strangers, with our fellow-men. 
 
 Commend me him, who, with colloquial art, 
 
 Can loose his tongue, and let out half his heart ; 
 Above suspicion, conscious of no end, 
 
 He turns the stranger to a passing friend, — 
 Refined or rude, no matter, if the mind 
 Be meet for converse, and to truth inclined. 
 
 With him a journey yields delightful ease, 
 
 His wit may gladden, and his wisdom please; 
 
 Long miles escape amid such talking charms, 
 
 The temper brightens, and acquaintance warms. 
 
 And such is he, whose glowing tongue hath sped 
 As if a parliament were in his head; 
 
 How well he weaves each patriotic plan, 
 
 And, like a minister, selects his man ! 
 
 Condemns a war, or conquers distant climes, 
 
 And paints the leading wonder of the times; 
 
 With fond remembrance turns to scenes of yore, 
 And mourns that mind will be revived no more, 
 
 As when, with eagle glance, great Chatham rose, 
 And flash’d defiance to his country’s foes; 
 
 As when, enrapt, the immortal Burke he saw 
 Astound the House, and give the world a law ! 
 
220 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 Meanwhile, the pensive curate, pleased to learn, 
 But ventures half an answer in his turn; 
 
 Remotely blest, his humble lot has been 
 To move through life unvalued and unseen; 
 
 To watch and weep beside the couch of woe, 
 
 And bid the tear of penitence to flow; 
 
 To woo immortal mercy from the throne, 
 
 Protect the poor, and make their griefs his own; — 
 His heart replete with heavenly love and truth, 
 The prop of age, and hallow’d guide of youth, 
 
 His home the bosom-spring of tranquil joy, — 
 
 Ah! who would mar him with the world’s alloy? 
 
 And here, oh! let one dreaming line renew 
 The hour when Lifers far ocean dawn’d in view, 
 And, fired by young Ambition’s inward flame, 
 
 To battle with its stormy scenes I came. 
 
 As o’er the winding street our coach-wheels roll’d, 
 And from the Abbey-dome the town-clock toll’d, 
 How ling’ringly my parting glance was cast 
 On each loved spot that hail’d me as we past! 
 
 Till, far behind, old Bladud’s hills were seen, 
 
 And glitt’ring uplands clad in forest-green, 
 
 And rocky woods enrapt in evening glow, 
 
 With beechen valleys, bathed in light below, — 
 Till dim and faint the city mansions grew, 
 
 Like domes of cloud that die in airy blue: 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 221 
 
 Then all the heart seem’d melting into tears, 
 
 And fancy hover’d o’er my future years ! 
 
 That time hath fled; and truth might well relate 
 The toiling woes of life’s eventful state ; 
 
 The tinge of circumstance that hued my hours, — 
 Not gently lost in academic bowers, 
 
 But roll’d away in energetic toil, 
 
 With friends to gather, and with foes to foil: — 
 But these are past; and that great Power alone, 
 
 To whom the history of hearts is known, 
 
 The fiery trace of anxious care can see, 
 
 That tracks the past, and will the years to be ! 
 
 Night roll’d away; and when, with weary eye, 
 We watch’d the dawn awaking in the sky, 
 
 London, the vast, the wonder of mankind, 
 
 The mart of commerce, and the fount of mind, 
 Like an immortal vision rose in view, 
 
 Sublimely dimm’d with morning’s clouded blue! 
 How did the startled feelings rush and roll 
 In pleasing tumult o’er the prostrate soul, 
 
 When timidly, as on enchanted ground, 
 
 I mark’d the giant domes uprear’d around, 
 
 And heard the waves of Life around me roar, 
 
 Like echoes wafted from a distant shore, 
 u 2 
 
222 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 While bands of glorious spirits that have been, 
 Sprang into life, and stalk’d the mighty scene ! 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 Still wheels the coach along the hoof- worn road, 
 Now crown’d and creaking with a human load; 
 The wintry sun pours forth his noontide glare, 
 And cheeks catch beauty from the bracing air, 
 While laughing glee and social voices sound, 
 
 And pleasure quickens as the tongues abound. 
 
 Amid the tumult of a crowded street, 
 
 In pensive walk who has not chanced to meet 
 Some unregarded wretch who seems alone, 
 
 Sad as an exile in a land unknown; 
 
 Some shape of woe upon whose mournful face 
 Compassion loves the line of thought to trace? 
 And such yon aged man, with haggard mien, 
 Who, all unconscious of the present scene, 
 
 His ev’ry feature with dejection fraught, 
 
 Sits in a shroud of melancholy thought: — 
 
 Upon that wintry brow and blighted cheek 
 Departed years their doleful hist’ry speak ! 
 
 For him no welcome by a cheering hearth, 
 
 No home of comfort, and no song of mirth; 
 
 No gentle heart to mingle with his own, 
 
 Pilgrim of life, he roams the world alone ! 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 223 
 
 On such a wither’d face and dim-worn eye, 
 
 The gay might look, and learn for once to sigh ! 
 
 Merriest of all whose bounding bosoms feel 
 The flush of joy their laughing eyes reveal, 
 
 Two schoolboys from the coach’s roof resound 
 Triumphantly, and hail the woods around; 
 
 Glad as the sunbeams when the storm is o’er, 
 
 That gild the wave, and gambol on the shore. 
 
 Oh! could the horses like their wishes speed, 
 Then short the road, and trav’lling swift indeed! 
 And mark yon blue-eyed rogue with daring brow, 
 Round his young heart what visions revel now ! 
 Restless and wild — all gaze and wonder he; 
 
 Sky, coach, and road, he fills them all with glee! 
 How dark a myst’ry to his infant mind, — 
 
 The wheels advance, the bushes glide behind! 
 
 Full oft a school-room dream hath pictured this, 
 A journey home, — the paragon of bliss! 
 
 This heal’d up many a birch-awaken’d smart, 
 
 Cut short the lesson, and relieved the heart: — 
 
 It comes at last ! — adieu to “ Propria quce ,” 
 Long-rooted verbs, and puzzling prosody, 
 
 The tame sky-blue, the task-recalling bell, 
 
 The stern infliction, and the piteous yell, — 
 
224 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 A month of joy each parted woe repays, 
 
 With nights of fun, and frolic-loaded days. 
 
 Not he who cross’d the Rubicon for Rome, 
 
 Plann’d more immensely than these rogues for home; 
 What feats immortal on the frozen lake! 
 
 What titt’ring mirth around the twelfth-night cake! 
 Then snugly seated by the parlour fire, 
 
 Hobgoblin tales shall Christmas eve inspire; 
 
 Or hand in hand by old affection led, 
 
 They’ll see the showman smoothe the lion’s head ! 
 
 A glad spectator of these roguish two, 
 
 Garb’d in a time-worn suit of woollen blue, 
 
 A plump-faced tar sits by, and joys to see 
 The heart-warm flow of boyish revelry; 
 
 His tiny hat of weather-beaten straw, 
 
 His twinkling eye, and look so fresh and raw, 
 
 The winning bluntness of a seaman’s guise, 
 
 Allure the urchins’ archly smiling eyes; 
 
 Looks grow to words — and kind, without delay, 
 With ocean-tales he charms the weary way. 
 
 Of wolf-howls wafted round the ice-clad cape, 
 
 And bellowing winds, and waves of mountain shape, 
 And billows thund’ring by the vessel’s side, 
 
 While mariners in swinging hammocks ride — 
 
 Of these he tells — till one, with wonder grave, 
 Uplifts his hand to meet a mountain wave; 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 225 
 
 Then, in a vision, views the shatter’d sail, 
 
 And starts and shivers at the seaman’s tale! 
 
 A veteran soldier, in his faded lace, 
 
 One-legg’d, with plumeless cap, and scar-worn face, 
 Upon whose furrow’d features, rough and plain, 
 
 Is mapp’d out many a fierce and far campaign ! 
 Smiling, obeys the elder boy’s behest, 
 
 To read the medal on his martial breast: 
 
 Though battle-roar, and moonlight bivouac, 
 
 And mounted breach, and city’s dreadful sack, 
 Return no more — his eye illumes to tell 
 Of foe and fight he loved to brave so well; 
 
 Once more in heart he marches to the sound 
 Of deep -roll’d drums and clarion’s echoing sound; 
 Front in the rank again he seems to be, 
 
 And o’er each feature flashes — victory! 
 
 And well the eager boy his rapture feels, 
 
 To hear of clarion’s voice, and cannon peals; 
 
 Or how the battle raged till setting sun, 
 
 Retreat and charge, — who vanquish’d, and who 
 won; 
 
 Till his heart triumphs with a warrior’s glow, 
 Rants for a sword, a charger, and a foe! 
 
 But hark ! the watchful guard, in champion state, 
 Twangs his shrill summons to the turnpike gate: 
 
226 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 And promptly coming from his spruce abode, 
 
 A grey-beard opes the barrier of the road: 
 
 ’Tis pass’d; — and, lo! beside yon chalky down, 
 
 The giant shadows of the distant town; 
 
 Till, brightly towering in the noontide blaze, 
 
 A city flashes on the eager gaze! 
 
 Brick walls and temples, domes, and mansions 
 dun, 
 
 And steeples whitening in the welcome sun, 
 
 And banners shivering in the smoke-dimm’d air, 
 And lofty house-roofs, slanting, broad, and bare, 
 With the faint windings of a clear canal, 
 
 Like a lone pilgrim, roaming far from all, — 
 Majestic spread beneath a cloudless sky, 
 
 In one full mass arrest the traveller’s eye. 
 
 Though sweet awhile the noisy world to leave, 
 Forsake its follies, and forget to grieve, 
 
 Pleasant the city-roar renew’d again, 
 
 When feeling flags, and solitude is pain ! 
 
 List to the clamour of the clatt’ring street, 
 
 The bickering car, and hoof, and patt’ring feet; 
 
 The rush — the stir — the deafening, struggling din 
 Of moving life! — but, lo! a stately inn. 
 
 Hail to the timely welcome of an inn; 
 
 Hail to the room where home and cheer begin; 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 227 
 
 Where all the frost-bound feelings melt away, 
 
 And soul-warm sympathies begin to play, 
 
 While Independence shews her careless mien, 
 
 And unforced traits of human life are seen. 
 
 The crackling blaze that dies the chimney red, 
 
 The gracious substance on the table spread, 
 
 The glowing wine-cup, and the fat ale’s foam, — 
 Partake them all, and dream thyself at home! 
 
 As round the festive board our travellers sit, 
 With appetites far sharper than their wit, 
 
 What busy knives and forks, what meats abound, 
 What hissing corks, and tinkling glasses sound! 
 Some, fiercely rapid, sheathe the gleaming blade 
 In joints that seem for hungry pilgrims made; 
 
 Some by the glitt’ring hearth- side sit and gaze, 
 
 And bathe their features in its welcome blaze; 
 
 Nor still the host, who waddles here and there, 
 
 Like a live barrel, come to take the air! 
 
 The time is past — the feast partaken, o’er; 
 
 Again the journey over hill and moor; 
 
 Fresh at the rein, behold the rapid steed 
 
 Roll his large eyes, and cleave the wind with speed; 
 
 Thus, unimpeded with its plenteous load, 
 
 The eager coach pursues the varying road, 
 
 Save when relays from thatchy barns are led, 
 
 And tired steeds loiter, steaming, to their bed. 
 
228 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 Now shadowy eve the fading woods hath crown’d, 
 And dew and darkness shed their spirit round; 
 
 Hark ! o’er the hills what bugle-echoes play, 
 
 And die in many a fractured note away! 
 
 Behold! the Mail in glimm’ring pomp appears; 
 And, as it onward speeds, what smiles and tears, 
 What shades of time, or accident, or scene, 
 
 And memories for all that life has been, 
 
 It brings, — to sadden, sweeten, or beguile 
 The myriad hearts within our noble isle! 
 
 Perchance the morrow will an orphan hail, 
 
 A wife be weeping o’er some funeral tale, 
 
 A friend be doom’d in distant isles to roam, 
 
 And music cease in many a happy home! 
 
 Where is the heart unmoved by more than glee, 
 Where is the eye that kindles not to see 
 That spot where first our beam of life began, 
 
 And youth put on the energies of man? 
 
 When far remote from youth’s regretted scene, 
 Imagination sped the way between, 
 
 And, hovering round each well-known spot, restored 
 All that the memory loved, and heart adored! 
 
 A Sabbath bell recall’d the street we trod 
 Each holy morn, to hymn the name of God. 
 
 A ballad-singer in his homely strain 
 Would thrill the bosom with delicious pain, 
 
THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 229 
 
 As oft, beneath the moon’s romantic ray, 
 
 We mused on home and friendship far away: — 
 Return’d at length, — again we glow to greet 
 Each fav’rite spot and unforgotten street; 
 
 Once more on haunted wood and stream to gaze, 
 And clasp the shadow of departed days. 
 
 And lo ! upon yon sailor’s swarthy brow 
 What home-born feeling is enkindled now? 
 
 What tear-drops gush from out his happy soul, 
 
 As up familiar lanes the coach-wheels roll, 
 
 Joy flies from lip to brow, — through heart and 
 limb, 
 
 The very houses seem to welcome him! 
 
 Though doom’d awhile a foreign deep to roam, 
 
 Each breeze and blast had wing’d a blessing home; 
 Where Hope and Mem’ry bade him oft retire, 
 
 And tell sea-tales around his winter fire. 
 
 But list! the schoolboys’ mingled shouts of glee, 
 Round a fond parent dancing merrily! 
 
 Such bliss to come, such pain and peril past — 
 
 Can their glib tongues unload the heart too fast? 
 The old man smiles, and mingles with their joy, 
 Pleased to remember he was once a boy; 
 
 And blandly paints the joyous scenes to come, 
 
 As hand in hand he leads the prattlers home. 
 
 x 
 
230 
 
 THE STAGE COACH. 
 
 Reader! a pensive moral ere we part, 
 
 And be its tablet thy persuaded heart; 
 
 Our vanish’d day like human life hath been, 
 
 An onward view of many a varied scene; 
 
 A changeful path, where faces come and go, 
 Friends meet, and part, — like all we love below; 
 Thus on, till Life’s eventful journey’s o’er, 
 
 And they who meet, are met to part no more! 
 
FRAGMENTS OF SATIRE.— 1827. 
 
/ 
 
 FRAGMENTS OF SATIRE.* 
 
 DEATH OF A LIBERTINE. 
 
 Contrast the scene of Fashion’s brief delight, 
 With the dark hour of Death’s unhallow’d night ; 
 When life and time are ebbing to their close, 
 
 And martyr’d pleasure dreads the tomb’s repose: — 
 Alone and fever’d on his sleepless bed, 
 
 Yon dying libertine supports his head; 
 
 * In publishing a uniform edition of these poems, it has 
 been deemed proper that at least a minute portion of the 
 Author’s Satires should appear. The above fragments 
 are from two volumes that have been long out of print, the 
 one entitled, u The Age Reviewed,” and the other, “ The 
 Puffiad,” both published some twelve years ago. In looking 
 back on those productions with altered feelings, and a 
 heart, he humbly hopes, fixed upon better designs than 
 those of acrimonious censure and ridicule, the writer is 
 free to confess that his Satires abound in specimens of bad 
 taste and rash opinion. He has, however, the gratification 
 of finding that in no one case did these unripe productions 
 offend against revealed truth, or tend to corrupt the prin- 
 ciples of virtue and sound morals. — R. M. 1839. 
 
 x 2 
 
234 
 
 FRAGMENTS OF SATIRE. 
 
 There is an awe — a silence in the gloom, 
 
 As if the fiend were cow’ring o’er the room; 
 
 A faintly glimm’ring taper flickers there, 
 
 Tinting his livid cheek with hectic glare: — 
 
 Days were when beauty, love, saloon, and ball, 
 Found him the gayest, wildest rake of all; 
 
 Unmanly wreck! all blanch’d and blighted now, 
 With hollow cheek, and anguish-moisten’d brow, 
 
 Oft turns he round, to feel his throbbing brain, 
 Grind his dark teeth, and root his locks for pain ; — 
 Then tears the garment from his heated breast, 
 
 And lifts, in vain, his pale clench’d hands, for rest; 
 No tears of sad remorse bedew his face, 
 
 No touch of feeling could Religion trace; 
 
 Those burning lips that breathe a dismal sigh, 
 
 The phrenzies flashing from his fretful eye, 
 
 That wild convulsion through each feature spread,— 
 All speak of pangful guilt, and hopeless dread! 
 
 ENTRANCE INTO A LITERARY LIFE IN LONDON: 
 ITS DIFFICULTIES. 
 
 To this huge capital, — the dream of youth, 
 
 That paradise till Fancy melt in truth, — 
 
 The young advent’rer, kindling for a name, 
 Repairs to offer at the shrine of Fame: 
 
FRAGMENTS OF SATIRE. 
 
 235 
 
 Parental lips have seal’d their parting kiss, 
 
 And fond farewells have omen’d future bliss, 
 Then proudly firm, his panting bosom glows, 
 While Hope around him all her magic throws; 
 Thus comes he to the crowded capital, 
 
 Where toil-worn genius fades, and talents fall; 
 And hate and rivalship alike conspire, 
 
 To crush the spirit and exhale its fire. 
 
 Deluding weakness! — here did Goldsmith roam, 
 And Chatterton could share no shelt’ring home; 
 Here, martyr’d Otway hunger’d to his grave, 
 And toiling Johnson drudged, a printer’s slave! 
 The lurking satire of each stranger’s eye, 
 
 The bribe-fed sycophants that swagger by, — 
 The knaves that cozen, and the fools that goad, 
 With all the thorns on life’s precarious road, — 
 Commingled, these oft balk the firstling thrown 
 On life, to steer his little bark alone : 
 
 How many a flower of dear domestic pride, 
 
 In wasted fragrance here has droop’d and died ! 
 Yet better far, to languish on and die, 
 
 Than live to pen the page of infamy. 
 
236 
 
 FRAGMENTS OF SATIRE. 
 
 HOUSE ON FIRE. 
 
 But list! huge wheels roll o’er the jarring stones, 
 
 I hear the clatt’ring hoofs, and rabble’s tones ! 
 Before yon dome the creaking engines wait, 
 Where shield-mark’d firemen empt their liquid 
 freight, 
 
 While, sternly awful to the startled sight, 
 
 Rear the red columns of resistless light! 
 
 The windows deepen into dreadful glow, 
 
 Till the hot glass bursts shatt’ring down below; 
 While darting fires around their wood-work blaze, 
 And lick the water, hissing as it plays; 
 
 Above the crackling roof fierce flames arise, 
 
 And whirl their sparks, careering to the skies; 
 Triumphantly the ravenous blazes mount, 
 
 As if they started from a fiery fount, 
 
 Now, cloud-like, piling up in billowy fire, 
 
 Now quiv’ring sunk, to re-collect their ire : — 
 
 But see! again whirl up the blood-red flames, 
 
 In vain the rushing flood their fury tames; 
 
 Like burning mountain -peaks, aloft they raise 
 Their jagged columns of unequal blaze, 
 
 Till the loose beams and flaking rafters fall, 
 
 And, like a thund’ring earthquake, bury all ! 
 
FRAGMENTS OF SATIRE. 
 
 237 
 
 PRESENT CONDITION OF THE ENGLISH 
 PEASANTRY 
 
 CONTRASTED WITH THAT OF FORMER DAYS. 
 
 Behold our peasantry! Britannia’s pride, 
 
 While baleful Luxury her boon denied; 
 
 The tyrant grasp of Desolation spoils 
 Each homely shelter for the lab’rer’s toils; 
 
 While sad and far the houseless peasant flies, 
 
 And mansions o’er his ruin’d hamlet rise : 
 
 For him no more shall bloom the garden flower, 
 No Sabbath guest shall greet his hazel bower, 
 
 No winter’s evening bring domestic bliss, 
 
 No laughing infants leap to share the kiss. — 
 Inhuman tyrants! whose destructive hand, 
 
 To grasp domain, would desolate the land; 
 
 Can barren pomp one joyous hour bestow, 
 
 While famine fills a thousand hearts with wo? 
 
 Can palisadoed lawns of wide extent 
 Please, like the rural homes of calm Content? 
 Sweeter by far, methinks, were wealth to pour 
 Diffusive blessings from her ample door; 
 
 And where the sick man pined, to visit there, 
 
 And with the smile of mercy, hush despair. — 
 
 And dear the scene that charm’d the pilgrim’s eye, 
 Ere Lux’ry rose, or Avarice peal’d her cry; 
 
238 
 
 FRAGMENTS OF SATIRE. 
 
 Where cottage homes, upon the green domain, 
 Were health and shelter to the toiling swain : 
 
 There many a way-worn traveler sighing stay’d, 
 And ask’d of Heaven some equal hamlet shade, 
 Where humble life flow’d undisturb’d away; 
 
 And happiness led on each new-born day. 
 
 The smoke enwreathing with the playful breeze, 
 The glowing produce ripening on the trees, 
 
 The laden bee low-humming in the flower, 
 
 Or pigeon cooing from his woody tower, 
 
 With all the nameless charms that nestle round 
 The cottage garden, and the pasture ground, — 
 Made every passing stranger stop awhile, 
 
 And lit his ling’ring eye with many a smile : 
 
 Here was the home, where toil-worn age, at last, 
 Might rest secure, and muse on labours past; 
 
 Here was the welcome round of rustic mirth, 
 
 The family supper, and the blazing hearth, 
 
 The happy converse, and the cheerful gaze, 
 
 With all that Gratitude to Mercy pays! — 
 
 Rare now a scene so simply pure as this, 
 
 The quiet plenty and the cottage bliss! 
 
 Oppressive Wealth usurps each lawny spot, 
 
 Where bloom’d the garden, and where rose the cot; 
 Mansions, and groves, and princely parks abound, 
 Stretch o’er the plain, and seize each rood of ground, 
 
FRAGMENTS OF SATIRE. 
 
 239 
 
 While Pomp frowns every meaner home away, 
 
 And leaves the peasant but a scanty pay ; 
 
 Doom’d through the day to bear the summer blaze; 
 Or mend, ’mid ice and snow, the public ways; 
 
 Or else, beneath the bleak autumnal showers, 
 
 In damp and pain to pass the tedious hours, — 
 
 A pittance from the tyrant of the soil 
 Is all that pays him for his dismal toil; 
 
 Then home he wanders to a cheerless shed, 
 
 With discontented heart, and aching head : 
 
 Here shall no rosy babes, nor smiling wife, 
 
 Attend, to make the sweetnesses of life ; 
 
 No social ease to keep the mind in tune, 
 
 And shed delight around life’s waning noon; 
 
 But starving infants, with imploring eyes, 
 
 Raising their little hands and piteous cries, 
 
 Till agony distract the parent’s brain, 
 
 Flame the wild thought, and rack the soul with pain, 
 When want bursts every tie of virtue free, 
 
 And Crime conducts him to the gallows-tree! 
 
 THE END. 
 
 T. C. Savill, Printer, 107, St. Martin’s Lane. 
 
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