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Sprat began authorship precisely as the writer of Wat Tyler or M. Chateaubriand might have done with a flaming eulogy on Oliver Cromwell, for which he apologizes to that extraordinary man, as unequal to the renown" of the Prince" on whom it was written, “ such great actions and lives deserving to be the subject of the noblest pens and most divine phansies." After the Restoration, the hopeful poet took orders, and became chaplain to that "most puissant" and pious personage, the second George Villiers, Duke of Buckingham. Under such godly patronage and influence, it was impossible not to rise; and at the expiration of some years the panegyrist of Cromwell became Bishop of Rochester and Dean of Westminster. In the latter capacity -how inseparable is apostacy and rancour-he refused to admit of line in an epitaph on Phillips, because he was praised as second only to Milton, and the name of Milton must not disgrace the abbey walls! This glorious fact is mentioned by Dr. Johnson with seeming approba tion, nor can he even find in his heart to censure the most flaming, nay profane adulation, from the same exalted purity and disinterestedness, of the manifold virtues of that quintessence of royal profligacy, King Charles II. "In consequence of his preferment," says the Doctor in the sincerity of his Toryism," the court having a claim upon his diligence, he was required to write the history of the Rye-house Plot, which he did with such an utter neglect of honour and veracity-[bravo, Bishop!]-that in the succeeding reign he found it convenient to extenuate and excuse it." This was precisely the man for that miserable and stupid designer, James II.; so that the protegé of Buckingham, the lauder of Cromwell, the abhorrer of Milton, and the eulogist of Charles II. became a member of the famous, or rather infamous, ecclesiastical commission, which office he held until the storm whistled about his ears, when he found it convenient a second time to beg pardon of the nation, that is to say, after the Revolution. Lastly, he was one of those who did not think the crown vacated by James, and yet he complied with the then order of things, and died Bishop of Rochester.

Such was the man who was inspired with a transport of indignation at the name of Milton, and such has ever been Apostacy. Change in these men is not conviction, but temper; not folly, but baseness. Το atone for foolish writing on the side they abandon, nothing more is necessary, in their opinion, than to write warmly and abusively in favour of that which they espouse. It would be absurd to say that men never change their opinions from sound causes; but we certainly utterly distrust those who do so vehemently and rapidly. Principles are never thus speedily obliterated, but are worn away, as the rock is hollowed out by the ceaseless waves of the ocean. Even when satisfied of the superiority of the new opinions to the old, when thus hastily adopted with power or emolument in sight-a not unfrequent Parliamentary spectacle-we are involuntarily tempted, in allusion to the very despicable subject of this article, to exclaim-a Sprat-a Sprat! Q.

[To be continued occasionally.]

LONDON:--Printed for and published by H. L. HUNT, 38, Tavistock-street, Covent garden, by C. W. REYNELL, Broad-street, Golden square.-Price 5d.

THE

LITERARY EXAMINER.

No. V.-SATURDAY, AUGUST 2, 1823.

REVIEW OF BOOKS.

Don Juan. Cantos IX. X. XI.

WE observed in a note to our account of the three preceding Cantos of Don Juan, that several additional volumes would soon follow. We shall endeavour in our present and succeeding numbers to convey some notion of the first of them, consisting of the Cantos enumerated in our heading. The task is difficult, for in no previous portion of this indescribable production is the sarcasm more caustic, the wit more pungent and volatile, or the general taxing more uncircumscribed. In the course of these Cantos, too, the all-conquering Juan is brought to our own best of all possible countries, and introduced to the haut ton and Blues of London-a field altogether uncultivated by the Society for the Suppression of Vice, and therefore peculiarly demanding the attention of an inflexible and impartial moralist like the author of Don Juan. Moreover, if the physician be able, the benefit is always in proportion to the docility of the patient in respect to the prescription; and notwithstanding the doubts of the Chancellor, and the pious deprecation of various less eminent personages, there is much reason to fear, that people of quality swallow doses of Don Juan with more avidity than religious tracts, or even Mr. Irving's sermons.

All the world knows by this time* that the termination of Canto VIII. left Don Juan in his way to St. Petersburgh, with the dispatches of Suwarrow, announcing the storm and capture of Ismail. As every

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*This is a great grievance, considering the variety of disinterested and candid criticism which is elicited by every succeeding publication. One Aristarchus discovers, that" all the attic fire is fled," owing doubtless to the predilection of his Lordship (the Lord cannot be altogether got over) for low company! A second laments so injurious an application of fine powers; and recommends the poet, in respect to sentiment and subject, to follow the lead of Mrs. Hemans! A third is shocked by a singular sort of compound rhymes, never having discovered any thing of the kind in Hudibras!---and ALL protesting against so much licence, and, in a kind of chorus, Mother Cole-ing on the subject, with uplifted hands and eyes, supply copious extracts! Is it not in the Siege of Belgrade, that an old hypocritical Turkish Cadi thus soliloquises over a supper table, to which he had found his way uninvited

Useph. Oh, the Christian dogs!-eat pork!

(Dangling a slice of ham on a fork and swallowing it) And drink wine too!

((Holding up the bottle, and tipping off a bumper.)

That son of drollery, Suett, used to represent this Turkish vice-suppressor with infinite humour, but after all with less onction and gravity than the devout and critical scribes, to whom we have been especially alluding.

VOL I.

5

body in this philosophical age has studied the laws which govern the association of ideas, no surprise will be experienced when we add that Canto IX. commences with an address to the Duke of Wellington. The Muse is by no means in a good humour with his Grace, who it must be confessed is in rather higher favour with the governors than the governed of every country-and with Mars (some say Fortune) than with Apollo. A part of the poet's opinion is expressed thus:Though Britain owes (and pays you too) so much,

Yet Europe doubtless owes you greatly more:
You have repaired Legitimacy's crutch,

A prop not quite so certain as before:
The Spanish, and the French, as well as Dutch,
Have seen, and felt, how strongly you restore;
And Waterloo has made the world your debtor-
(I wish your bards would sing it rather better.)

A somewhat too great an anxiety to keep a profitable Dr. and Cr. account with his country, is also mentioned :

Great men have always scorned great recompenses:
Epaminondas saved his Thebes, and died,

Not leaving even his funeral expenses:

George Washington had thanks and nought beside,
Except the all cloudless Glory (which few men's is)
To free his country: Pitt too had his pride,

And as a high-soul'd Minister of State is
Renown'd for ruining Great Britain gratis.
Never had mortal man such opportunity,
Except Napoleon, or abused it more:

You might have freed fall'n Europe from the Unity
Of Tyrants, and been blest from shore to shore;
And now-what is your fame ?

The answer is summed up in the following couplet :

You did great things; but not being great in mind,
Have left undone the greatest-and mankind.

Nine or ten stanzas follow in the way of digression, upon Life, and Death, and Doubt, and Existence, which not being very extractable we shall pass over, with the exception of two, which bespeak their author and nobody else:--

Oh! ye immortal Gods! what is theology?

Oh! thou too mortal Man! what is philanthropy?
Oh! World, which was and is, what is Cosmogony?
Some people have accused me of Misanthropy;

And yet I know no more than the mahogany

That forms this desk, of what they mean;-Lykanthropy
I comprehend, for without transformation

Men become wolves on any slight occasion.

But I, the mildest, meekest of mankind,

Like Moses, or Melancthon, who have ne'er

Done any thing exceedingly unkind,

And (though I could not now and then forbear

Following the bent of body or of mind)

Have always had a tendency to spare,

Why do they call me misanthrope? Because

They hate me, not I them:-And here we'll pause.

We now take up Don Juan, who proceeds to St. Petersburgh, certainly not by the nearest road; a fact which induces the author thus to correct himself:

But I am apt to grow too metaphysical:

"The time is out of joint,"-and so am I;
I quite forget this poem's merely quizzical,
And deviate into matters rather dry.

I ne'er decide what I shall say, and this I call
Much too poetical: Men should know why
They write, and for what end; but, note or text,
I never know the word which will come next.

Juan however finally reaches that pleasant capital of painted snows," and proceeds to court :—

Suppose him in a handsome uniform ;

A scarlet coat, black facings, a long plume
Waving, like sails new shivered in a storm,
Over a cocked hat, in a crowed room,
And brilliant breeches, bright as a Cairn Gorme,
Of yellow cassimere we may presume,
White stockings drawn uncurdled as new milk
O'er limbs whose symmetry set off the silk.

His presentation at court, and the manner in which the Empress received the good news of which he was bearer, are in excellent keeping:

Catherine, I say, was very glad to see

The handsome herald, on whose plumage sat
Victory; and, pausing as she saw him kneel
With his dispatch, forgot to break the seal.

Then recollecting the whole Empress, nor
Forgetting quite the woman (which composed
At least three parts of this great whole) she tore
The letter open with an air which posed

The Court, that watched each look her visage wore,
Until a Royal smile at length disclosed

Fair weather for the day. Though rather spacious,
Her face was noble, her eyes fine, mouth gracious.

Great joy was her's, or rather joys; the first
Was a ta'en city-thirty thousand slain.
Glory and triumph o'er her aspect burst,

As an East Indian Sunrise on the main.
These quenched a moment her Ambition's thirst-
So Arab Deserts drink in Summer's rain:
In vain!-As fall the dews on quenchless sands,
Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands!

Her next amusement was more fanciful;

She smiled at mad Suwarrow's rhymes, who threw

Into a Russian couplet rather dull

The whole gazette of thousands whom he slew.

Her third was feminine enough to annul

The shudder which runs naturally through

Our veins, when things called Sovereigns think it best

To kill, and Generals turn it into jest.

The important result of this interview is pleasantly related in the fol

lowing extract:—

Her Majesty looked down, the Youth looked up

And so they fell in love :-She with his face,

His grace, his God-knows-what: for Cupid's cup
With the first draught intoxicates apace,

A quintessential laudanum or “black drop,"
Which makes one drunk at once, without the base
Expedient of full bumpers; for the eye

In love drinks all life's fountains (save tears) dry.

He, on the other hand, if not in love,

Fell into that no less imperious passion,
Self-love-which, when some sort of Thing above
Ourselves, a singer, dancer, much in fashion,
Or duchess, princess, Empress, " deigns to prove"
('Tis Pope's phrase) a great longing, tho' a rash one,
For one especial person out of many,

Makes us believe ourselves as good as any.

*

**

The whole Court melted into one wide whisper,
And all lips were applied unto all ears!
The elder ladies wrinkles curled much crisper

As they beheld; the younger cast some leers
On one another, and each lovely lisper

Smiled as she talked the matter o'er; but tears

Of rivalship rose in each clouded eye
Of all the standing army who stood by.

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All this ends in the formal appointment of Don Juan to a official situation," with which intimation, Canto IX. concludes.

"high

The Orlando Furioso. Translated into English Verse, with Notes. By William Stewart Rose.

Italian Literature is re-assuming in Great Britain the predominance which it bore previously to the invasion of the French School, and the almost total reversal of English taste that followed the "Happy Restoration." From Chaucer down to Milton the Italian Muses indisputably took the lead in the literary associations of Englishmen; and it is only necessary to study Spenser, and all our older dramatists, not excepting Shakespear himself, to be satisfied that we followed modern Italy even more than Greece or Rome. The long reign and truly Gallic ascendancy of Louis XIV, the Emperor Alexander of his day in respect to the monarchical principle and legitimacy, naturally made French literary ideas prevail in a country, whose kings and ministers were his pensioners. We scarcely need add, that French conquest universally implies impoverishment, whether it be over national prosperity or national intellect; and such it proved in England. We are by no means satisfied, that the prevalence of any national school is desirable; but it cannot be denied that in getting beyond the frigid pale of French criticism, and returning to our own more native culture, we seem materially to have recovered our decayed relish of the leading Italian originals. Secondary causes have no doubt assisted this result, especially the reopening of the continent after so long an interdiction; but whether it be a natural revival or the hot-bed growth of temporary circumstances, Italian classics were never more diligently cultivated than at this moment. Two obvious consequences have arisen from this; an innumerable quantity of English composition upon the model of the Italian; and an ambition to produce competent versions of Italian originals. It was not in the nature of things that Hoole should remain the English gentleman-usher of Ariosto for ever, or that with Italian quotation eternally on our lips, we should not aim at translations more worthy of the genius of the country which produced, and of the poetical character of that which adopted.

Among the great Italian originals, Ariosto has undoubtedly fared the worst in the important article of English translation; for in reference

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