Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]

from the things of this world, and brings tears into the eyes, and sobriety into the heart. We may, to be sure, think of him too much, and fear him too much; and this is commonly the case, near the close of life, with those who have, in time past, heeded him too little. He is inAnd deed a very singular character, and a good Professor of Morals! a great gain would it be, if we would do every thing, as before his reading-desk, and under his very eyes.

[To be continued.]

THE PULLEY.

BY GEORGE HERBERT.

WHEN God at first made man,

Having a glass of blessing standing by;
Let us (said he) pour on him all we can:
Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie,
Contract into a span.

So strength first made a way;

Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure:
When almost all was out, God made a stay,
Perceiving that, alone, of all his treasure,
Rest in the bottom lay.

For if I should (said he)

Bestow this jewel also on my creature,
He would adore my gifts instead of me,
And rest in nature, not the God of nature:
So both should losers be.

Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness:
Let him be rich and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast.

A BLESSED SPIRIT TO HIS FRIENDS IN THE WORLD.

FROM THE GERMAN OF CLAUDIUS.

HERE, all is holy, all is pure and high !

Earth's joys concern us not; earth's sorrows now
Disturb our peace no more. Yet, even here,

We think full oft of dear ones left behind,

And still we love them, oh how tenderly!

But with a purer, more exalted love.

LITERARY NOTICE.

The Autobiography, Times, Opinions, and Contemporaries of Sir Egerton Brydges, Bart.: (per legem terra) Baron Chandos of Sudeley, etc. 2 vols. 8vo. London: Cochrane & M'Crone, 1834

We resume our extracts from this work.

"In October, 1810, I removed to my son's house at Lee Priory, in the parish of Ickham, four miles from Canterbury, he having then come of age. Two years afterwards, I was elected M. P. for Maidstone, after a severe contest, thinking the right of peerage did not seclude me from a seat in the Lower House, while a writ of summons to the Upper House was denied me. I was now on the verge of fifty years, when men can rarely hope to attain for the first time the powers of oratory. My natural shyness and timidity were overcome with so much difficulty that I seldom spoke, but hundreds of times sat with a palpitating heart till I lost my turn, and let others in succession rise before me till it was too late. But, altogether, I have no reason to complain of the treatment I received in the House."

"During this parliament of six years-1812 to 1818,-I did not give up my literary pursuits. I edited many things from the private press of Lee Priory; and wrote the 'Sylvan Wanderer,' a set of moral essays; a poem called 'Bertram;' and several pamphlets on the poor laws and copyright act. But I had not much leisure for calm thought, and the pressure of my private affairs added to the distraction of my mind. I made strenuous efforts to amend the cruel burdens of the copyright act, and had advanced some way through an organized opposition, when the dissolution of parliament, in June, 1818, put an end to farther proceedings, and undid all which had been done."

"In my 'Recollections of Foreign Travel,' (in two volumes, 8vo. 1825,) I have given an account of my movements, opinions and feelings, which it would be improper to repeat here, and which must be taken as a part of my life. I went over nearly the same ground which Rogers went over almost at the same date. Those Recollections' bring my diary down to about November, 1924, when I arrived at Paris from Geneva. I remained at Paris till June, 1826, when I returned to England, and remained till the 1st of November, 1828. Í then passed again to Paris, and arrived once more at Geneva on the 15th November following."

"I have since passed my time not altogether idly-I have written many things; with what success, others must judge. The Lake of Geneva,' in seven books, 1831, is my principal poem. It consists of about 6400 lines in blank verse, written in May and June, 1831. Very few copies have reached England, where I understand all poetry is now out of fashion. I am content to wait, and to let this memorial of my feelings speak for me when I am dead. Some things I have also written for the public journals, which my friends have been pleased to speak well of. While my health will allow my mind to work at all, I work strenuously; and the more I work, the less unhappy I am."

"One more work I have printed since my return to Geneva, which, though miscellaneous, may give perhaps some slight information or amusement to critical and biographical readers. I entitled it 'The Anglo-Genevan Journal, for 1831,' (two vols. small 8vo.,) meaning to continue it; but I found the trouble and expense of sending the copies to England too great, and there could be no sale here for an English work sufficient to pay any part of the expenses.”—“ At one time I amused myself with French literature, and at another with Italian, and made myself tolerably acquainted with the bibliography of each country, as I had formerly done of English-but I have given over all those things now; and as my memory is very fugitive, I remember but little about them."

"My mind will not endure idleness; and when left to its thoughts on individual concerns, it preys upon its own vitals. Intellectual employment therefore I must always have, even though I incur the censure of the cacoethes scribendi. My health is various, and has been at times for months together in a very dangerous state. I am at this moment well, and can take my daily walks, though of course somewhat feeble under the weight of years. I am now a re

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SIR EGERTON BRYDGES.

61

cluse, thinking myself entitled to consult my own ease and tranquil habits, and to throw off all the vanities of the world; leaving others to make such comments on my appearance and my peculiarities as they choose, without feeling any annoyance on my part. I dress as I like, keep my own hours, and conform to the world in nothing."

"The reader may want to know a little more of my intercourse with foreign manners and habits. But of late I have been an almost entire recluse: I am calmest and happiest in solitude; I can command my own hours, and can sleep in the day, and toil by the lamp at night. The day I write this I have worked for seventeen hours uninterruptedly; and, having begun at sunrise, may probably prolong my vigils till midnight, of which there wants little more than two hours. My eyes, on the verge of seventy-one, are good, and I have never used spectacles. This day I have not quitted my bed. Usually I take a walk of six miles in the morning amid this magnificent scenery. The gales of the Lake blow freshness upon me and brace me."-" As to the climate of Geneva, it agrees with my constitution far better than England; nor do I find the winters more severe. To live among snow-clad, sky-touching mountains, and broad, blue, mighty lakes, does not with me lose its stirring effect by its familiarity. Grandeur of scenery gives enduring impulses to the mind. But there are wanting some features of landscape and nature which England exhibits-large, old, forest-like parks, and meadows and plains cropped by immense herds and flocks and however fine a lake is, it is not like the ocean."

:

"There are many deductions from the pleasures afforded by a long residence on the remote and most picturesque parts of the continent. The distance of communication, the forgetfulness of friends, the advantages taken by the dishonesties of agents, the difficulty of intercourse with domestic literature, the loss of all interest in the state, or in society at home; the opportunities given to enemies to spend their calumnies without fear of being refuted,-all these are grave mischiefs."-" I have been in England for only twenty-eight months since June, 1818; and my spirits were so low during that time, that I could not bring myself to visit my most intimate friends in London or elsewhere. I know not what there was in the air of England, but I found it so heavy that it destroyed my health. The 'comfortless despair' that I then felt was more frightful even than eloquent poets have described,-

'And forms of woe, as evening's veil appear'd,-
More horrible and huge their giant shadows rear'd.'

I could find no enjoyment in any thing; I could not write; I could not read a page of a book; I could not take exercise; I could not enjoy the air; I could not dictate a common note. It was, no doubt, bodily disease. I was in a stupor, but it was not an insensible stupor; it was full of pain. It is not necessary to describe the diseased phantoms of the brain. I came abroad again, but I have ever since felt the sad effects of so inconvenient and destructive a distance from England."

"In these closing chapters, I may be expected to give a summary of the features I would wish to convey from the long rambling pages of matter which have preceded:-now that I have arrived at this point, I am inclined to shrink from the attempt. No one will take me at my word for any praise of myself; on the other hand, it is my duty not to be suicidal. So far I may venture to say, that no man ever pursued literature through a long life with more fervour, or with less mercenary views."--" Can one analyze his own mind better than another? I think he can. I mean that one who has been habituated to turn his thoughts and observations inward, can. From the age of eighteen, I have drawn from my own sources and a keen watchfulness of my own emotions. The poems which I published at twenty-two prove that I thought and felt then in the same tenor as I think and feel now. But I could not write then with so much facility as I write now,-it cost me much more toil; and I persuade myself that my compositions are now more mellow. Rapidity is now charged against me as a fault; but I cannot feel that the charge is just. I do not blame others for a different mode; I only ask them to leave me to my own." "There are few things of my life which I regret more than having suffered myself, by the ascendency of bad criticism, to be restrained from entering at

ful lliberty into the genuine paths of the Muse. Imagination should have been given her ample and unchecked range."—" I think that there are certain critics who mistake what is the true principle of poetical imagination. I continue to contend that it does not lie in flowery language, gandy images, and unnatural combinations; but that it lies in invented exemplifications of high, and beautiful, and affecting truths. Under this definition, I have a calm confidence that I am not deficient in true poetical imagination. This claim will be deemed by many very arrogant. But I observe that many think the plainness of my language, and the absence of attempts to surprise by marvels and monstrosities, a proof of my want of poetical invention. I set myself against all buckram strength, artificial polish, and technical beauties."-"If I had adopted more glare, and had had more violent colours, more violent imagery, and more extravagant incidents, thoughts, and reflections, I might, and am convinced I should, have attracted more notice; but I could only write what my heart dictated, and could never lash myself into foam."

"By the endeavour through a long life to embody in language elevated thoughts, and refined and pathetic sentiments,—which others may have equally thought and felt, yet have not had the courage or practice to bring out,-I consider that I have contributed 'to raise the fancy and to mend the heart.' I aim to strengthen the hopes of younger minds against the fear of the approaches of old age, by assuring them, with the utmost sincerity, that in the midst of privations, neglects, calumnies, and tremendous injuries, I have the conviction that life is yet altogether joyous to me,-perhaps more satisfactory and even delightful than in the effervescence of youth and strength of mature manhood. My eye is as delighted with the grandeur and variety of inanimate nature, and my heart is as open to all the virtues and friendships of human society."" Of the little passions which tormented me in my junior days, in common with the multitude, I have overcome the greater part. I believe that I am mild, well-wishing, still warm and energetic, with a glowing imagination and a trembling heart; not unenlarged in my views of society and human nature; ready to be pleased; melting to kindness; visionary as a child, yet not unskilled in life; more ductile than becomes my years; more solitary than is consistent with worldly wisdom. 'Oh!' my traducers will exclaim, what a fanciful picture he has drawn of himself!-how unlike the original!-Surly, stern, misanthropic, captious, contradictory, furious, confused, moody, melancholy, querulous, arrogant, vain, awkward, dull, pusillanimous, a lover of show, recklessly expensive, avid of titles and rank, and aspiring to all employments without any regard to his fitness for them;'-and all sorts of other degrading epithets. Some day, these calumnies will be forgotten."

We have thus extracted for our readers, those passages in this work which contain an account of the prominent events in the author's life, and of his principal literary pursuits; together with a few of the many passages in which he speaks of his own genius and character, his hopes, fears, and feelings. In a list of his works at the close of the second volume, we find, besides those men tioned in the preceding extracts," Letters on Lord Byron," 8vo. 1824—" Gnomica: Detached Thoughts," 8vo. 1824-" Odo, Count of Lingen," a poem, 1824-" Imaginative Biography," 3 vols. 1834; and other works which it is unnecessary to mention. It seems, moreover, that since the publication of his Autobiography our author has not been idle, as we find his name in an edition of Milton's poetical works, (published in London, in 1835,) as editor, and as author of a life of the poet which forms the first volume of the series.

We subjoin a few miscellaneous extracts from these volumes, in order to give a specimen of the author's manner of writing on other subjects besides himself.

"Johnson had an acute and gigantic understanding; but little imagination, and still less sensibility. I am afraid that his piquant bitterness was among the attractions which common readers find in him. He examined the personal

AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF SIR EGERTON BRYDGES.

63

characters of those of whom he wrote with a dissecting knife, which searched for inward deformities and morbid humours. He was himself a mingled character; he had great moral virtues, but also great and repulsive faults. His unfeeling rudeness to others, his sensitive non-endurance of contradiction himself, were scarcely pardonable moral failures. His childish jealousy was a contemptible littleness; his superstition was folly; his pedantic pomp was often disgusting, if not laughable: but his keenness was mighty, and his discrimination like a flash of lightning."

"To generalize shows a great power of mind; but Johnson's generalization often extends to vagueness. In this there is sometimes a delusive sort of ingenuity, in which there is more of show than of instruction and deep thought. The Rambler' is full of this; and stale truisms are often dressed in a pompous rotundity of words, which are mistaken for the oracles of original wisdom. They form a strong contrast to the simple style of Cowper, who is full of observation and precision of ideas. Compare them also with the style of Gray's 'Letters'-who, when he carelessly describes the scenery of nature, gives distinctly, in a few brief touches, every leading feature."

"That Johnson, with all his acuteness and force of talent, has done more harm than good to our national poetry cannot, I think, be doubted. The predominant result of all his doctrines is this—that the school of Dryden and Pope is the best. He has admirably described the characteristics of that school, and conferred upon them all the praise that his powerful language could give; but I do not admit that he has made out the pre-eminence which he wished to demonstrate. Before I can admit that, I must admit that observance is better than invention, and ratiocination than sentiment. If it could be proved that the imaginative faculty is of a lower grade than reason, and less conducive to the discovery of truth, then Johnson's poetical canons would be unanswerable." "There are many who will ask whether all the intense feelings expressed by Byron were not factitious extravagancies in which he was not sincere, and which his life belied: I say, sternly, no! it is a mean and stupid mind which can suspect so; no one can feign such intensities as Byron expresses: when he wrote, he was sincere, but his feelings were capricious, and not always the same. If it can be contended that inconsistency destroys merit, woe be to human frailty!"

"A large portion of what is called poetry is, it must be confessed, useless and childish. It is essentially defective, because it is not an embodiment and exemplification of truth. I do not mean a particular truth which has actually occurred, but abstract truth. To this great design a poet should give his days and nights: there are inexhaustible subjects for such grave and instructive inventions. A minor poet, however, deals in trifles which bring the art into disrepute. He has no invention, but merely attempts to supply the ornaments of a glittering dress. But the multitude are too apt to love these gewgaws and sweetmeats, rather than solid matter and substantial food, and the trickery of false poetry, rather than the eloquence of true. If it is not buckramed, and gemmed, and harmonized into an insipid polish, it does not strike them.".

"We do not live in an age of high enthusiasm; a cold philosophy has damped and extinguished it. There is an attempt to bring down every thing to a matter-of-fact sort of utility; but things must not be tried by their mere material fruits. Even the common labourer for his daily bread could not solace his existence, and go through his toils, but by the aid of some pleasures of mind."

"The public now, perhaps, read a great deal, but in so confused and immethodical a manner that they retain no impressions; it is like an evanescent stamp upon moist sand. All they learn is to deface what they once had been taught, and to have no opinions at all,-except that every one may think after his own fashion, and that all old received principles are narrow and unenlightened prejudices."

We may be expected, in conclusion, to give some opinion of this work, but we do not see that any important end would be answered thereby-and so, instead thereof, we will conclude with a few extracts from some letters of Southey to the author, which we find in the second volume. These letters are five in num

« PreviousContinue »