And yet not so. Thanks to Him who made us as we are, goodness is never utterly unloved; and in his greatest days he had not been received with more real honor, than in setting out upon this his last journey. As he rode through Cawood, three thousand people crowded about the gates to take leave of him; and when he came out, shouted round him, "God save your Grace: the foul evil take them that hath taken your Grace from us; we pray God, vengeance may light on them!" Thus Cavendish heard them "run crying after him, they loved him so well: for surely they had great loss of him, both the poor and the rich." A similar scene took place at Pomfret, and at Doncaster; wherever he passed, he was received with cries, God save your Grace-God save your Grace, my good Lord Cardinal!" All this must have been something to him, if, indeed, his illness did not make every thing alike indifferent; and on arriving at Sheffield Park he must have found himself relieved of the worst of his anxieties. Lord Shrewsbury, with the countess and his household, were waiting at the lodge-gate to receive him; Henry having himself written to desire that he might not be treated as a prisoner, but should be entertained with every honor and respect. Henry, it is certain, believed nothing of this new accusation. Whatever were his faults, hypocrisy was not one of them; and Lord Shrewsbury told the old man, at Henry's request, that he had nothing to fear. He was accused; and again, for the satisfying of "some persons," some persons," it was necessary to put him upon his trial; but the king himself had no mistrust of him at all. Unfortunately the persons in question had gained all they required, in having compelled him in the state in which he was to undertake such a journey. He remained nearly three weeks at Sheffield, too ill to be moved, the king writing every day with fresh instructions for his good treatment. As he grew a little better, he became possessed with a notion that when he went on, Anne Boleyn would attempt to have him murdered on the road; his words are curious and worth recording: of mental decrepitude; but so anxious had the king become for him, that he was tender even of his fears; Lord Shrewsbury had no sooner informed him of the notion with which Wolsey was possessed, than, with the most considerate kindness, he sent down Sir William Kingston to Sheffield with an escort for him, composed entirely of his own old followers. But a summons had gone out against Wolsey to appear before another tribunal, where no Sir William Kingston with royal escort could attend him, and no Anne Boleyn's hatred follow him. His work upon this earth, with all its nothingness of splendor, and iron reality of suffering, was drawing to a close: and a life, unexampled alike either in the extent of labor which had been accomplished in it, or in the treatment which the world considered a due payment of such labor, was now to end. A few painful days of ineffectual effort to proceed finished the matter, and Wolsey died at the Abbey of Leicester, on the 29th of November, 1530, four weeks exactly after the day of his arrest. Of his words upon his death-bed enough has been said; Shakspeare, following Cavendish literally, has given them, we suppose, pretty much as they were spoken; and those among us who desire to believe evil of him, will find in them an acknowledgment of that forgetfulness of man's highest duties which they affirm to have characterized his life. Since, however, a confession of shortcoming is no more than what has fallen often from the lips of dying saints, and since in general our sense of being what we ought not to be, is in proportion to our endeavors to become what we ought to be; it is wiser not to build too much on self-accusing expressions, and to look for what he was in a fair estimate of his actions. Maturely weighing these, we should say that there is no great man in English history against whom so many accusations have been heaped, and against whom so few can be proved, or who excited against himself so bitter an hostility, having done so little to deserve it. With his vast talent for business, and his never-wearied industry, he accomplished more actual good for England than perhaps any single minister ever did, except Lord Burghley: his faults were an intolerance of opposition, a passionate vehemence and rudeness of language, and, perhaps, an unwisely prodigal magnificence; traits of character all of them provoking to those with whom he came in collision; and espeIt was probably an exaggerated suspicion cially provoking, when displayed by one The enemy that never sleepeth, he said, but studieth and continually imagineth my utter destruction, perceiving the contentedness of mind, doubteth that their cruel and malicious dealings would at length grow to their shame and rebuke, and goeth about therefore to prevent the same with shedding my blood. meanly born in the presence of persons who | would not willingly have acknowledged a common bumanity with him. But they are not faults which should weigh with posterity against so much genuine excellence; still less will they justify an indiscriminate license of imagination to invent evil of him at will. We are taught to regard him as morally depraved; it were well if such lessons could be reserved till the truth of them can be proved. There is no evidence of his depravity whatever. He was temperate in his personal habits, and careful in the observance of those formal duties which were then essentials of religion: even in his most labo rious days he never missed the stated services, and at his death, a hair shirt was found upon him. Of his want of nobleness we shall judge variously, according to our own dispositions; for the same traits which to one man are an evidence of meanness, to another will seem an evidence of something very different indeed. ferent indeed. This, at least, we should remember that those who knew him best loved him best; and that Henry the Eighth, of whom it is said that he never was mistaken in the character of a man, was, of all men in England, the truest mourner for the loss of a minister who had crossed him in the purpose nearest to his heart. From Fraser's Magazine. LIGHTS OF DUTCH LITERATURE FOURTH PAPER. Ir is always a difficult matter to "curdle a long life into one hour," except in a dream, and it is almost impossible to do so in a satisfactory manner when we are confined to paper, and to a very limited space for our narration-a narration, too, not of the life and deeds of a single individual, but of the intelligence and cultivation of a whole nation. Such a narrative must necessarily become fragmentary and incomplete; it must make seven-league strides over much of the ground, and often just skim the surface of the waters without stopping to fathom the depths below. In our former papers we have brought down our sketch of the history of Dutch literature to the beginning of the eighteenth century; we shall endeavor, in the present one, to reach the time of the French Revolution. During the whole of this period, two adverse principles were actively at work on the literature of the nation. The influx of French immigrants crowded the Netherlands with the fellow-countrymen and admirers of Racine and Corneille, and the rest of the French school, who soon obtained an almost despotic sway over the Dutch poets; whilst the influence of the English sentimentalists and humorists was equally powerful on the prose writers. Hence, we may trace in the eighteenth century two distinct schools in the republic of Dutch letters; and, as in a former period, we saw the poets ruling the literary world, we shall now find the prose writers acquiring, for the first time, due popularity and esteem. The reasons are evident; peace and prosperity, undisturbed passions, the want of stirring incidents, are scarcely ever conducive to the divinus afflatus of the poet; but they are, on the other hand, most decidedly favorable to the calmer and more reflective studies of the prose writer. Nations, like individuals, have their periods of relaxation after over-excitement; they sit down quietly to talk and philosophize over past events; they fancy themselves, too, at such moments greatly changed, when, in fact, they are only temporarily fatigued, and the smouldering fire, instead of being extinguished, is only smothered for the day. Such was decidedly the case with the Dutch poetasters (they scarcely deserve a better name) at the commencement of this period. They felt no inspirations themselves, so they quietly set to work to criticise the productions of their predecessors, and, like Sterne's censor, these "most excellent critics" made an immense noise in the literary world with their rules and measures, and were quite horror-stricken at the discovery of the many inches by which such giants as Vondel, Hooft, and Huijgens exceeded their own pigmy standard. Foremost among these worthy gentlemen was Andrew Pels, whb, after sacrificing (like a second Brutus) his own first-born, (“Dido," | a tragedy, in three acts,) for nonconformation to all the rules of Aristotle, published in 1681 his "6 Use and Abuse of the Stage," as De Clercq remarks,* in his day, the only ars poetica-except Vondel's "Aanleiding tot de Dichtkunst," ("An Introduction to the Art of Poetry,") and Castelyn's "Art of Rhetoric" to be found in Dutch litera ture. would be of very little interest to the English reader to find here an enumeration of the names and works of these worthies;* we shall thus leave them to the oblivion into which they are fast sinking, even in their own country; only mentioning a few honorable exceptions, whose productions are still regarded with favor and esteem, we hasten on to the prose writers of this period. As an epic poet, Rotgans, who died in 1710, has gained fame by his "William IĻI.,” a poem somewhat in the style of the "Henriade," replete with great beauties and striking absurdities, in which all the deities of Olympus and the Archangel Michael are introduced by turns, to the glorification of the sagacious prince and hero of the day. Then there was Poot, (1689-1733,) a really admirable pastoral and lyric poet,-one of the old school, and, perhaps, a rather too servile imitator of Hooft and his contemporaries, and Jan de Merre, who produced in 1738 a tragedy, "Jacqueline of Bavaria," which has maintained itself to the present day on the Dutch stage. But the greatest poets of the times were undoubtedly two Friesland gentlemen of ancient descent, William and his brother, Onno Zwier van Haren. Both of them took an active part in the portical events of the day, and William, styled by Voltaire a Demosthenes in council, and a Pindar on Parnassus, has left numerous proofs of his talents as a lyric, didactic, and epic poet. His chief work-he began to write in 1740-is an epic, "The Adventures of King Friso," in many instances sublime and bold in conception, but crude in style and versification-a fault common to both the brothers. Onno Zwier earned a well-deserved popular The chief aim of Pels was to restore the drama, which had declined in dignity since the stage had been profaned by the indecent writings of some of the later poets, who, without the beauties, displayed all the defects of the earlier dramatists. Besides, the government had taken umbrage at frequently-recurring political allusions; and the Church had declaimed against the introduction of sacred subjects. All these complaints, just or unjust, offered rich matter to our reformer, and he attacked them with due virulence. He condemns Vondel's plots, taken, as we have stated, mostly from the Old Testament, and vehemently inveighs against the dramatization of any subject from modern history-such as the death of Charles I., Mary Stuart, Coligny, and even the story of Massaniello. Having thus narrowly confined the limits of the dramatists, this inge-ity nious gentleman gravely states, that, as all former writers cribbed from their predeces sors, and that as Corneille, Racine, and Molière, in particular, belong to this lightfingered class of gentry, it is but fair that, in their turn, the Dutch should borrow from them." Antonides and his friends were, of course, vehement in opposing this ingenious doctrine, but their efforts were almost unavailing, and a set of poets appeared, on the one hand, servile imitators of the French, and on the other, sticklers for their nationality, but devoid of real inspiration, and rather seeking by smooth and insipid verses than by sublime thoughts or graceful conceptions, to uphold the fame of the national muse. *De Clercq, p. 244. It by his patriotic muse, and a collection of lyrics first published in 1769, and afterwards again in 1772, and called "De Geusen," (the Beggars,) gives, in eloquent and glowing language, the history of the bloody struggle against the Spanish tyranny. About the same time, too, Winter wrote his "Jaargetijden," an imitation of Thomson's "Seasons;" and the Baroness de Lannoy, (1738-1784,) greatly distinguished herself by her minor poems and dramatic writings. But the fame of these authors was eclipsed by the rising genius of Feith and Bilderdijk, (whom we shall mention, as belonging to the latest period of Dutch literature, in our next and last paper); and before * One of them, Feitema, born 1694, spent, or wasted, thirty years in translating Fenélon's "Télémaque" into verse, and got through twenty years more in rendering the "Henriade" into Dutch. turning to the more pleasant task of noticing the prose writers of the eighteenth century, we have but to note the names of Van Alphen and Bellamy, as two popular poets of their times. The former (1746-1803,) was the well-known Pensionary of Leyden, afterwards Treasurer-General of the Union; his patriotic songs, and "Poems for Children," are still deservedly praised, and the latter delightful little productions belong, perhaps, to the most beautiful of the sort ever penned; they are still the unwearying delight of the Dutch nursery, and have besides been translated into French and German. The latter, Bellamy, was a baker's son; he was born in 1757, and only lived till the age of twentyeight; his talents attracted in his boyhood the attention of a worthy divine, who managed to send him to the University of Utrecht, where he fell into the hands of a furious democrat, who incited his muse against the English; but his fame now rests on his ballads and other lyrics, which breathe an eloquent simplicity, strongly reminding the reader of Wordsworth's poetry. And now for an entirely new scene and set of characters. In the year 1714, a young Dutchman, in his thirtieth year, and by name, Justus van Effen, the son of a poor subaltern, but who had studied at Leyden, where he gained his livelihood, as tutor to his richer fellow-students, accompanied the ambassador of the States, as secretary, to London. Van Effen was not only a learned and excellent man of business, but at the same time a distinguished linguist, who wrote with equal facility in his own and the French language; besides being perfectly acquainted with English. In 1711, he had already given proofs of his talents by the publication of his "Misanthrope," and other French writings, in imitation of our own "Spectator;" and on returning home, (after an intermediate excursion to Sweden,) and establishing his name in England, where he had been elected Fellow of the Royal Society, he wrote and published from 1731 to 1735 his Dutch "Spectator," in which he displayed the various talents of Steele, Addison, Tickell, and Budgell, united in his own person. There are six volumes of his " Spectator before us, and we can scarcely turn a leaf without finding ample justification of the praise bestowed on him; and, indeed, the influence his writings had on the public mind, and the popularity they have enjoyed, not only in his own, but even in later times, tell more eloquently in his favor than any eulogiums we could pen. He was the first, too, not only in name but in fact, of those numerous imitators of the English essayists who sprang up in the Netherlands; he inspired his countrymen with a taste for, and the knowledge of our best writers; and soon, all that grew popular in England was adopted by our neighbors, and even the lengthy productions of Richardson, and the sentimental works of Mackenzie, found numerous admirers, and gave birth to writings of a similar sort in the Netherlands. It is our intention, as far as our space allows, to give some extracts from these authors. Our readers will thus be enabled to judge for themselves, and we shall be greatly disappointed if they do not find it equally amusing and instructive, to see how, amidst evident traces of imitation and adaptation, the national originality of thought and purpose has always been retained. We begin with an extract from Van Effen's "Spectator," and quote his paper of 20th April, 1733. The first lines refer to his description of a "Courtship in the lower classes;" three little scenes, so delightfully sketched and feelingly written, that they are justly considered the pearls of the whole collection; unfortunately, they are too long for insertion here : Mr. SPECTATOR,-Your paper of the 9th March has not only obtained the approbation of young persons, who are still in the hands of their parents, and who would wish "to settle" before the old people die, but likewise of married couples of fashion, blessed with a numerous offspring, forts. On my own part, I must frankly confess whose happiness they prefer to their own commyself so much delighted by the force of your arguments, that in order to support them by positive proof, I was induced to take up my pen and send you the following tale, the events of which came, for the greater part, under my own obser vation. Lucretia, the only daughter of one of the richest merchants of this city, was richly endowed with all the qualities which render a young lady generally esteemed and beloved. Her fine figure, blushing complexion, ready wit, numerous virtues, and engaging good-humor, made her an honor to her sex. Add to this a thorough acquaintance with music, and all other womanly accomplishments, set off by a modesty that (without affectation) was insensible to flattery, and you will be enabled to form some idea of this lovely but unfortunate young lady. She had scarcely attained the age of seventeen when she was surrounded by a crowd of lovers, seeking to win her; one by a splendid equipage and magnificent liveries; and the other, by the excellence of his stud, a yacht, and the like variewho made any impression on the heart of this ties; but among all her suitors there was only one sensible maiden, and that was Damon, a young man of good family, and neither deficient in understanding nor in any other recommendable quality. But his father, a military man, who fell in the prime of life on the field of battle, had not left him a fortune sufficiently large to allow of his living in the same luxury and idleness as his equals in birth and rank, and having applied himself to study from his boyhood, he took his degree with high honors, at the University, and then lived on his moderate means, about twelve hundred florins a-year, (1007.,) very respectably indeed, endeavoring by application to his books to fit himself for any situation he might be enabled to obtain through the influence of his friends. He had often met Lucretia at the house of one of his female cousins, who perceiving him to be smitten with her charms, frequently invited his fair one, in order to give him an opportunity of declaring his passion, for which reason, too, she often left the young people together, pretending to be called away on some urgent business, and he pressed his suit so well that the young lady accepted his addresses, on condition that her father could be induced to grant his consent; but she very much feared, as she said, that Damon's scanty means would prove an insurmountable obstacle. The lover was, of course, in ecstacies at having gained the heart of his mistress; but, terrified at the idea of her father's refusal, he applied to his own friends, and was so eloquent, but at the same time so modest, in his pleading, | that at last he obtained an excellent appointment. He believed now to have nothing more to fear from the father, to whom he presented himself, and who made no difficulty in granting the lover access to his daughter, so that the young people now enjoyed the liberty of seeing each other daily, and of discoursing on their mutual tenderness, in the hope of their approaching union. The report of their immediate betrothal was soon spread about town, and every one was loud in approving the sensible choice of the lover and his mistress; but, meanwhile, Florus, a man of forty, whose only recommendation was his immense fortune acquired in trade, gained over the young lady's father, who was dazzled by his wealth, and soon induced him to forbid poor Damon his house, and to threaten the severest measures if his daughter ever ventured to allow him to address her again. I leave to your imagination the misery of the two lovers when this cruel news, for which they were entirely unprepared, was first communicated. They left nothing untried to soften the old man, but neither tears nor entreaties, vows of eternal gratitude, nor the intercessions of kind friends, were of avail; the father remained deaf to every thing but the love of gold; he was neither to be moved by reason nor tenderness, and he even ordered his daughter to prepare to become Florus's bride within a very few weeks; whilst her new lover never ceased assuring her that she should lead a life of endless pleasures and delights. The unfortunate maiden endeavored to make him understand how ungenerous his conduct was, and that though he might obtain her hand, he never could obtain her heart; but his reply was, that all he desired was to possess her, and that in time she would learn to love him. She then shed a flood of tears, and exclaimed, "So be it, then, wretch! I cannot refuse you my hand, but never shall you have the least share in my affections; my father's commands, unreasonable as they are, must be obeyed, but Providence will protect me, and forgive the forced vows you oblige me to make." Whilst Lucretia was thus delivered up to her unworthy lover, and sacrificed to her father's avarice, Damon was imagining a hundred means of seeing his faithful mistress once more; but she was so narrowly watched that this was found to be impossible. At length he decided on going to church on her wedding-day, where he might gaze on her for the last time, and be seen by her himself. This he did, and stationed himself opposite her, with a countenance displaying deep traces of his unhappy passion and grief; and when she, by accident, raised her eyes, and met his glances, she was so overcome that she fainted away, and it lasted so long before she came to her senses, that it was found necessary to defer the completion of the interrupted ceremony and to carry her home, where she fell into a swoon, followed by a violent attack of fever. She was thus confined to her chamber, and though everything was done for her recovery, she soon grew so feeble that her life was despaired of. It was now, when too late, that her father began to fear he might be the cause of his daughter's death. He grew desperate when he remembered the barbarity with which he had treated his only child, for whose sake he had sought to amass such immense riches; he begged and prayed her to take courage, and promised, as soon as she was strong enough, to marry her to Damon, but in vain. The broken-hearted girl, feeling the hour of her death approaching, requested to speak to her father for the last time, forgave his former cruelty, and turning her thoughts to heaven, breathed her last in the arms of her beloved Damon, who fell into a consumption from the violence of his affliction, and a few months later was laid by the side of his mistress in the grave. P.S.-If this tale pleases you, I will send you very shortly the verses written by Damon on the death of his mistress, which have fallen by chance into my hands. We have selected the above specimen from the Dutch " Spectator," because Van Effen has repeatedly recurred to this and similar themes in his papers. And not unjustly. Prosperity in worldly matters is not unapt to blunt the finer feelings and loftier aspirations of mankind, and in Holland this was most decidedly the case during the most prosperous period of the Republic. Extravagance, a ridiculous display of wealth and imitation of foreign fashions, as ill-suited to the national peculiarities as to the homely virtues of the Dutch, roused the " Spectator's" ire, and his papers teem with welldirected satires against all that was ridiculous or immoral in the little world around him. |