he undertook, at the instance of the Tonsons, to edit an edition of the works of the Duke of Buckingham; and two years after, he superintended an edition of Surrey's poems. Neither of these works was ever published, although both were printed. He proposed, besides, to have republished all the undramatic blank verse preceding the "Paradise Lost," including Tuberville, Gascoigne, Chapman, Christopher Marlowe, &c.

In 1763 he published five pieces of Runic poetry, with translations into Latin prose, which met with only moderate success. In 1764 appeared a "Key to the New Testament" -a work which proved that he was not neglecting his professional studies, and which became popular. This year Johnson visited him at his vicarage, and remained most part of three months in the highest enjoyment-now poring over the old Spanish romance of "Felixmarte of Hyrcania," now helping Mrs Percy to "feed her ducks," and now talking learnedly to her learned lord. Percy had before this commenced the work which was destined to make him immortal-the collection of old ballads. He had himself a large folio MS. of ballads, and he set to work to procure others from every part of the British empire-from Derbyshire, Wales, Ireland, and even the West Indies. In these researches he was either aided or encouraged by the most eminent men of his day-by Goldsmith, Garrick, Thomas Warton, Shenstone, and Gray, as well as by such professed antiquarians as Birch, Farmer, and Stevens. Percy seems to have been personally popular with all of these; and most of them, besides, admired old poetry. Grainger, too, author of the forgotten "Sugar Cane,” and of the beautiful ode to "Solitude," was a warm friend and an efficient ally to Percy.

appeared. Percy Their reception at

In February 1765 the "Reliques" received 100 guineas for the first edition. first was not specially flattering. Johnson, Warburton, and Hurd coalesced for once in treating contemptuously a style of poetry which, not from weakness, but from strong prejudice and want of imagination, they were unable to appreciate. Warburton, with his usual fertility of coarse figure, spoke of antiquarian ballads, as "specious funguses, compared to the

oak." No expression could be more unlike the reality. These ballads, in their hirsute strength and rich native tang, may be compared rather to oak or beech mast, containing in them the germ of a thousand forests. Think of the "grand old ballad of Sir Patrick Spence" as a "specious fungus?" It is rather strange how scholars like Warburton, Hurd, and Johnson did not descry in some of these old strains the genuine spirit of Homer and the ancient rhapsodists. It is probable that Johnson never took the trouble of reading them, partly from indolence, and partly from the foregone conclusion to which he had come against their class. When, six years later, the "Hermit of Warkworth "-which was a feeble imitation, by Percy, of the old ballad-appeared, Johnson did read it, and, by a ludicrous parody on one of its verses, turned the laugh of the literary world against the author. Our readers will remember the incidents connected with the quarrel between Percy and Johnson about Pennant, recorded in Boswell, and how it was soldered up by the sage exclaiming, "I am willing you shall hang Pennant!" Johnson had a sincere regard for Percy, although very little sympathy with his special literary path.

In a letter dated March 1765, Grainger wrote Percy, "I hope you will sing yourself at least into a stall, if not into a throne." Promotion was not very long in following this prediction. In 1769 Percy, who had previously been appointed chaplain to the Duke of Northumberland, was made chaplain in ordinary to the King. In 1778 he became Dean of Carlisle; and in 1782 Bishop of Dromore, in Ireland-a bishopric which, a century before, had been administered by Jeremy Taylor, who held the neighbouring see of Down and Connor.

This was the triumph-the slave in the chariot was now to succeed. An adversary to the ingenious bishop appeared in the shape of the notorious Joseph Ritson. He was one of those Ishmaelites who stand up ever and anon in the world of letters, and are distinguished still more by their fierce passions and ungovernable temper than by their powers. Such an one in criticism was Dennis in England; such in Scotland were Gilbert Stuart and Whitaker, in history; such, more lately,

and with a higher range of talent, was Cobbett, in politics, and such, in antiquarianism, was Ritson. This furious author fell foul of Percy, for what he chose to call "forgery," by which he meant the emendations he, as editor, judged it proper to make upon some of the ancient ballads. These Ritson regarded as so many acts of fraud, which he thought he had a right to treat more severely, because perpetrated by a clergyman and bishop. He charged him, besides, with misrepresenting the character of the "Ancient Minstrel." Percy bowed to this accusation, and afterwards modified his statement; but indignantly repelled the charge of fraud, asserting that his " emendations of old and mutilated ballads were open and avowed." Ritson practised a peculiar style of spelling, and had a violent horror at the use of flesh, fish, or fowl. Our readers will find, in one of the first volumes of the Edinburgh Review, a severe and pungent attack on his vegetarianism. He ultimately crossed the slender line which existed in his brain between talent and derangement, and died insane in 1803. Leyden-who delighted in tormenting him, and once in his presence ate a beefsteak raw, to deepen his disgust at the use of animal food—thus ludicrously describes him in an imitation ballad :

"That dwarfe, he ben beardless and bare,

And weasel flowen ben al his hair

Like an ympe or elfe.

And in this world beth al and hale,

Ben nothing that he loveth and dele
Safe his owen selfe."

Scott looked on Ritson with a more generous eye, and did justice to his indomitable perseverance, his courage, and the vast stores of recondite lore discovered in his "Life of Arthur" and his "Essay on Romance and Minstrelsy."

In his Irish retreat, Percy, although under considerable disadvantages, prosecuted his literary studies. Sometimes his letters, or those of his friends, were lost in their passage; sometimes he was, through the miscarriage of the Gentleman's Magazine, visited for months with a famine of literary news,

and sometimes new books had become old, ere they reached his Dromore hermitage. Still his tastes continued as fresh as ever; and, as "absence makes the heart grow fonder," and distance lends enchantment to the view, perhaps his residence, so far removed from the great centre, served even to increase his enthusiasm for literature. His letters published by John Bowyer Nichols, under the title of "The Percy Correspondence," prove that he pursued his studies with unabated energy till the close. Nor was he, meanwhile, neglectful of his clerical duties. If not so eloquent in the pulpit as Jeremy Taylor had been, he was quite as distinguished, we are told, by liberality to the poor, attention to both the sacred and civil interests of his diocese, piety, hospitality, and benevolence. The penalty incident to many scholars, he did not escape. Poring on old print and MS. cost him his eyesight, a calamity which, along with the growing infirmites of age, he bore with exemplary patience, and at last, on the 30th of Sept. 1811, he expired in Christian hope. He was in his eighty-third year. He boasted, it may be mentioned, of being the last male descendant of the ancient house of Percy, and it was fitting that he should have edited "Otterbourne" and "Chevy Chase."

Percy was not, perhaps, a man of much originality of genius, or great strength, or richness of mind. Johnson was probably right when he said, "He runs about with little weight upon his mind." Yet he was unquestionably endowed with certain rare qualities. He had ardent enthusiasm, an enthusiasm which, like that of Scott, was the same in kind, although different in direction, from that of his warlike ancestors; he had a vivid sympathy with the old writers, and could think their thoughts, feel their passions, and talk their language; he had invincible diligence, an enormous memory, and has written some ballads of his own, such as "Sir Cauline," which entitle him to an independent and considerable poetical reputation. It has been objected to him, that his ballads are, in style and spelling, more ancient than the ancients. This is an error into which a poet of much greater power-namely Chatterton— also fell. In private, Percy was distinguished, like Scott, chiefly by the profusion of his anecdotes, and his easy good

humour. The great praise of Percy, and of the Percy Reliques, however, lies in the stimulus that his work gave to the flagging interests of poetry, as well as to the minds of many youthful men of genius. The "Minstrel " of Beattie, the finest if not the most forcible poem Scotland has yet produced, was inspired by a perusal of Percy's Essay on the Ancient Minstrels; indeed, Beattie and Percy seem to bear a striking resemblance in enthusiasm of spirit, and in pathetic tenderness. Wordsworth, Southey, and Coleridge, vie with each other in commending the "Reliques," and in acknowledging poetical obligations to their collector. Scott describes with fondest gusto the spot under the shadow of a plane-tree where he first read the fascinating volumes, forgetting his dinner and all sublunary things till the perusal was over; and need we say that the influence of Percy has told on all the works of the "Last Minstrel," from his "Eve of St John" and "Glenfinlas," down to his "Talisman" and his "Fair Maid of Perth.” Miss Mitford, when drawing near the close of her career, records having read sixty years before, when she was a child of five, with infinite delight the Percy Ballads. And to crown all, Burns-himself next to these ancient minstrels, the finest of song writers-thought "O Nanny!" the most beautiful ballad in the English language, although in our judgment it is not to be compared to "Highland Mary" or "Mary Morrison" in the Scotch.

Apart from an inspiring effect on individuals, the Percy Reliques exerted on poetry in general a most healthful influence. The book seemed a fresh well, a "Diamond of the Desert," newly opened amidst the dry sandy wastes and brackish streams of a wilderness of literature. Percy, not by the force of his genius, but chiefly by the truth of his sympathies, struck out an entirely new vein of poetry. Imaginative literature was at a very low ebb in Britain. Johnson and Goldsmith had both abandoned poetry for prose. Gray was nursing his fine genius amidst the shades of Cambridge. No new poet of much power or originality was rising. It was not surprising that, in such a dreary dearth, a small bunch of wild flowers, culled, as it were, from the walls of