Графични страници
PDF файл

make friends with the tribe. Miss Bar-lcome to their senses about them; complete in reit thus continues,

| beauty of sentiment and subtlety of criticism.

His general style is highly scholastic and ele. Ile writes criticism for critics, and poetry

S, and poetry gant ; his sentences have articulations, if such for poets ; his drama, when he is dramatic, l an expression may be permitted, of very excelwill suppose neither pit nor gallery, nor critics, lent proportions. And, abounding in striking nor laws. He is not a publican among poets images and thoughts, he is remarkable for mak- he does not sell his Amreeta cups upon the ling clear ground there, and for lifting them, highway. He delivers them rather with the like statues to pedestals, where they may be dignity of a giver to ticketed persons; ana- seen most distinctly, and strike with the most lyzing their flavour and fragrance with a enduring, though often the most gradual, imlearned delicacy, and an appeal to the esoteric. pression. This is the case, both in his prose His very spelling of English is uncommon

works and his poetry. It is more conspicuand theoretic. And as if poetry were not, in

ously true of some of his smaller poems, English, a sufficiently unpopular dead lan

which for quiet classic grace and tenderness, guigc, he has had recourse to writing poetry and exquisite care in their polish, may best be in Latin; with dissertations on the Latin compared with beautiful cameos and vases of tongue, to fence it out doubly from the popu- l the antique. lace. Odi profanum vulgus et arcco.

There are two of Landor's works which In a private note to me, in acknowledg-lare

ag: are probably known to less than half-aing the reception of a copy of my one-action

one-actdozen people of the present day. One of tragedy (" The Death of Marlowe')) be them

we ? ne them is entitled “ Poems from the Arawrote, “I had redil it before with greater bic and Persian.” They are as full of pleasure than," &c.; but nobody must orna

ornate fancy, grace, and tenderness, as imagine from this that he favoured the the origin

the originals from which they appeared adoption of a phonetic system of spelling,

to be translated, and were accompanied rational as such a system would be. As

by a number of erudite critical notes, to the word “redd,” its adoption would likely to cause much searching among really be an advantage.

| Oriental scholars. And the search, after Mr. Landor is classical in the highest sense. all, was certain to be in vain, as no such His conceptions stand out clearly cut and fine, poems really existed in the Arabic or in a magnitude and nobility as far as possible Persian. The other brochure was “A removed from the small and sickly vagueness Satire upon Satirists,” a copy of which common to this century of letters. If he Mr. Landor sent to me. It was a scathscems obscure at times it is from no infirmity in

Ying piece of heroic verse, and a brief exor inadequacy of thought or word, but from extreme concentration and involution in brev- aca, may, perhaps, be given at the close ity; for a short string can be tied in a knot as 01

is of this series. well as a long one. He can be tender, as the Allusion having been made to Landor strong can best be; and his pathos, when it with reference to “ Napoleon the First," comes, is profound. His descriptions are full an extract from one of Miss Barreti's and startling ; his thoughts self-produced and private Letters will prove interesting in bold ; and he has the art of taking a common- the shape of a fragment of literary venplace under a new aspect, and of leaving the geance which the poet bequeathed to the Roman brick, marble. In marble, indeed, hec

Conqueror :seems to work; for there is an angularity in the workmanship, whether of prose or verse, Your [ Life of 1" Napoleon” touched me which the very exquisiteness of the polish very much; and what I estimated was that we renders more conspicuous. You may com- are not suffered in this, as in some other animatplain, too, of hearing the chisel ; but after all ed narratives, to be separated from our higher you applaud the work - it is a work well done. feelings without our consciousness. I like the The elaboration produces no sense of heavi. I tone of thought distinguishable through, and ness; the severity of the outline does not from, the cannonading, - the half sarcasm militate against beauty ; if it is cold, it is also dropped, as unaware, among the pseudo glonoble ; if not impulsive, it is suggestive. As ries which are the subjects of description. a writer of Latin poems he ranks with our “ The dead say nothing." There are fine most successful scholars and poets ; having things, too, more than I can count, particularly less harmony and majesty than Milton had — with the book out of sight. The Duke d'Enwhen he aspired to that species of “ Life in ghien's death has haunted me, with the conDeath” – but more variety and freedom of cluding words on human power - that “ettluutterance. Mr. Landor's English prose writ-ence of mortality already beginning to decay.” ings possess most of the characteristics of his The book's fault is its inequality of style ; in poetry, only they are more perfect in their fact, that you didn't write it all ; and I am class. His “ Pericles and Aspasia " and consistent enough not to complain of that. “ Pentameron ” are books for the world and Did you ever see Mr. Landor's epigram upon for all time, whenever the world and time shall Napoleon ? He was so kind as to give it to

me, the only evening I ever spent in his com- right way of viewing the matter is that Mr. pany, — and here it is :

Carlyle intends to teach us something, and not Tic Tore, Narółsov, tù où tpūta kai űrtara everything; and to direct us to a particular γράψει

instrument, and not to direct us in its specific 'Epya ; Xpivoç téxvwv aiuatı tepTÓLEVOS.

application. It would be a strange reproach

to offer to the morning star, that it does not Receiving this epigram while on a visit shine in the evening.' with a mutual lady.friend in the country, For the rest, we may congratulate Mr. Car. I requested her the next time she lyle and the dawning time. We have observed called on Miss Barrett to hand her the that individual genius is the means of popular following paraphrastic translation, —

advancement. A man of genius gives a

thought to the multitude, and the multitude Napoleon ! thy deeds beyond compeers,

spread it out as far as it will go, until another Who shall write, thrillingly? –

man of genius brings another thought, which The Father of Years!

attaches itself to the first, because all truth is And — with the blood of children — will

assimilative, and perhaps even reducible to ingly.

that monadity of which Parmenides discoursed. Feeling that there was another side to Mr. Carlyle is gradually amassing a greater

Todos reputation than might have been looked for at the question, I requested the same lady

the hands of this Polytechnic age, and has the to hand also another epigram to the fair

satisfaction of witnessing with his living eyes secluded classic,

the outspread of his thought among nations. Holy Alliance !— Time can scarcely tell

That this Thought — the ideas of this prose To heaven or hell,

poet, should make way with sufficient rapidity What blood and treasure gank into the void

for him to live to see the progress, as a fact Of husht-up night,

full of hope for the coming age; even as the For “ Divine Right,” –

other fact, of its first channel furrowing Which that one man destroyed !

America (and it is a fact that Carlyle was gen

erally read there before he was truly recog. This subject naturally leads to recol- | nized in his own land), is replete with favourlections of the first great French Revolu-able promise for that great country, and tion, - to Carlyle's wonderfully graphic indicative of a noble love of truth in it passing work on that subject, — and to several

the love of dollars. Letters from Miss Barrett concerning

The following fragment of a Letter was Carlyle, which were printed in the critical not intended for

not intended for the work previously menwork previously mentioned. But the fol- I tioned but,

tioned, but might very well have been inlowing Letter was not printed, having cluded in it — although I should have arrived some days too late. The refer- proposed here and there to interpolate an ences to theological dogmas are charac

adverse word:terized by the writer's usual independence of thought, and force of expres

FRAGMENT. sion :

I have been reading Carlyle's “ Past and

Present." There is nothing new in it, even of It is impossible to part from this subject Carlyleism – but almost everything true. But without touching upon a point of it we have tell me, why should he call the English people already glanced at by an illustration, when we a silent people, whose epics are in action, and said that his object was to discover the sun, 'whose Shakespeare and Milton are mere acci. and not to specify the landscape. He is, in dents of their condition? Is that true? Is fact. somewhat indefinite in his ideas of not this contrary — most extremely, to truth? “faith” and “truth.” In his ardour for the [Indeed, I do think it very true.] This Eng. quality of belief, he is apt to separate it from lish people — has it not a nobler, a fulier, a its objects: and although in the remarks on! more abounding and various literature than all tolerance in his “ Hero Worship” he guards the peoples of the earth, “past or present,” himself strongly from an imputation of lati- | dead or living, all except one -- the Greek tudinarianism, yet we cannot say but that he ! people? It is “ fact," and not “sham," that sometimes overleaps his own fences, and sets

our literature is the fullest, and noblest, and us wondering whither he would be speeding.

most suggestive - do you not think so? I This is the occasion of some disquiet to such wish I knew Mr. Carlyle, to look in his face, of his readers as discern with any clearness

and say, “ We are a most singing people - a that the truth itself is a more excellent thing most eloquent and speechful people — we are than our belief in the truth; and that, à priori, none of us silent, except the undertaker's our belief does not make the truth. But it is the mutes." effect, more or less, of every abstract consid

Most truly and loquaciously yours, eration that we are inclined to hold the object

E. B. BARRETT. of abstraction some moments longer in its state of separation and analysis than is at all! Had I been challenged so stoutlynecessary or desirable. And, after all, the l nay, charged home, at the point of the pen - in our present day, I should cer- | marry him ; and considering marriage tainly have taken side with Thomas Car- from an abstract point of view, as one lyle. By a “singing people ” must be naturally does when it does not concern meant either poets or vocalists, and in one's self, this was entirely true. In poboth cases, especially the former, the men sition, in character, in appearance, and in of genius have always been exceptions. principles he was everything that could We all know how Shakespeare and Mild be desired : a good man, just, and never ton were regarded in their own day; and consciously unkind; nay, capable of genif such men now lived, we see clearly erosity when it was worth his while and how they would be treated by managers he had sufficient inducement to be generof theatres, and by nearly every living ous. A man well educated, who had been publisher – for the good business-reason much about the world, and had learned that “they wouldn't sell.” Meantime a the toleration which comes by experinoble Duke the other day gave £2,000 ence; whose opinions were worth hearing for a bull! To keep up our breed. Most on almost every subject; who had read a cattle-spirited and praiseworthy, of course. great deal, and thought a little, and was The epics in action, alluded to by Carlyle, as much superior to the ordinary young would find their audience in the sedulous man of society in mind and judginent as readers of Abyssinian wars, and Ashan- he was in wealth. That this kind of man tee wars, – not to speak of the insatiate often fails to captivate a foolish girl, when and inexhaustible readers of the deeds of her partner in a valse, brainless, beardthe “hero" of the late Tichborne wars ! less, and penniless, succeeds without any For speechful eloquence, are not Mr. trouble in doing so, is one of those mysDisraeli and Mr. Bright remarkable ex- teries of nature which nobody can peneceptions among English people; - Mr. trate, but which happens too often to be Gladstone also, standing upon a waggon doubted. Even in this particular, howfor a couple of hours without his hat-ever, Mr. Incledon had his advantages. and allowed by twenty thousand people He was not one of those who, either by to stand thus uncovered - on a pitiless contempt for the occupations of youth or windy day pouring out “speech” like any by the gravity natural to maturer years, “Christiom child” – who shall say that allow themselves to be pushed aside from such things, because they are the common the lighter part of life - he still danced, property of England, are the common though not with the absolute devotion of capacities of the English people ? As to twenty, and retained his place on the side 6. silentness,' even among each other, , of youth, not permitting himself to be does not everybody know this at home shelved. More than once, indeed, the and abroad?

young officers from the garrison near, and With reference to Miss Barrett's claim the young scions of the county families, ing for us so full, and noble, and varied a had 'looked on with puzzled noncompregeneral literature, it is no doubt a just hension, when they found themselves aleulogy, although one might demur to the together distanced in effect and popularterın “ suggestive," as it would seem farity by a mature personage whom they more applicable to the literature of Ger- I would gladly have called an old foyie hid many. Yet, again, the exceptions among they dared.' These young gentlemen of us are undoubted, even in the face of course consoled their vanity by railing German idealities, - one striking in- against the mercenary character of women stance of which, among many that could who preferred wealth to everything. But be adduced, will be manifest when I place it was not only his wealth upon which before the reader Miss Barrett's sugges- Mr. Incledon stood. No girl who martions for the lyrical drama of “ Psyche,” | ried him need have felt herself withpreviously mentioned.

| drawn to the grave circle in which her R. H. HORNE. elders had their place. He was able to

hold his own in every pursuit with men ten years bis juniors, and did so. Then, too, he had almost a romantic side to his

character ; for a man so well off does not From The Cornhill Magazine.

put off marrying for so long without a A ROSE IN JUNE.

reason, and though nobody knew of any

previous story, any “entanglement," CHAPTER X.

which would have restrained him, vaMR. INCLEDON was a man of whom 'rious picturesque suggestions were afloat ; people said that any girl might be glad to and even failing these, the object of his choice might have laid the flattering unc-I had fully persuaded himself that to speak tion to her soul that his long waiting had to the mother first was the most delicate been for the realization of some perfect and the most wise thing he could do. ideal which he found only in her.

For one thing, he could say so much This model of a marriageable man more to her than he could to Rose; he took his way from the White House in a could assure her of his goodwill and of state of mind less easily described than his desire to be of use to the family most of his mental processes. He was should he become a member of it. Mr. not excited to speak of, for an interview Incledon did not wish to bribe Mrs. between a lover of thirty-five and the Damerel to be on his side. He had inmother of the lady is not generally ex- deed a reasonable assurance that no such citing ; but he was a little doubtful of his bribe was necessary, and that a man like own perfect judiciousness in the step he himself must always have a reasonable had just taken. I can no more tell you ; mother on his side. This he was perfectwhy he had set his heart on Rose than I ly aware of, as indeed any one in his can say why she felt no answering incli- senses would have been. But as soon Lation towards him – for there were as he had made his declaration to Mrs. many other girls in the neighbourhood Damerel, and had left the White House who would in many ways have been behind, his thoughts began to torment more suitable to a man of his tastes and him with doubts of the wisdom of this position. But Rose was the one woman proceeding. He saw very well that there in the world for him, by sheer caprice of was no clinging of enthusiastic love, no nature ; just as reasonable, and no more absolute devotedness of union, between $0, as that other caprice which made him, this mother and daughter, and he began with all his advantages and recommen- to wonder whether he might not have dations, not the man for her. If ever a done better had he run all the risks and man was in a position to make a deliber- broached the subject to Rose herself, ate cuoice, such as men are commonly shy and liable to be startled as she was. sopposed to make in matrimony, Mr. It was perhaps possible that his own lacledon was the man ; yet be chose just avowal, which must have had a certain as much and as little as the rest of us do. degree of emotion in it, would have He saw Rose, and some power which he found better acceptation with her than the knew nothing of decided the question at passionless statement of his attentions cace for him. He had not been thinking which Mrs. Damerel would probably of marriage, but then he made up his make. For it never dawned upon Mr. had to marry; and whereas be had on Incledon's imagination that Mrs. DamVarious occasions weighed the qualities erel would support his suit not with calm200 the charms of this one and the other, ness, but passionately — more passionDe never asked himself a question about ately, perhaps, than would have been posher, nor compared her with any other sible to himself. He could not have di

nja, nor considered whether she was vined any reason why she should do so, suted for him, or anything else about and naturally he had not the least idea ber. This was how he exercised that in of the tremendous weapons she was estimable privilege of choice which wow about to employ in his favour. I don't Den sometimes envy. But having once/think, for very pride and shame, that he received this conviction into his mind, would bave sanctioned the use of them be had never wavered in his determina- had he known. $09 to win her. The question in his It happened, however, by chance that IT:nd Dow was, not whether his selection as he walked home in the wintry twilight Wis the best he could have made, but he met Mrs. Wodehouse and her friend wbetier it was wise of him to have en- | Mrs. Musgrove, who were going the same trasied his cause to the mother rather way as he was, on their way to see the

. :o have spoken to Rose herself. Northcotes, who had lately come to the He had remained in the background dur- neighbourhood. He could not but join

thryse dreary months of sorrow. He them so far in their walk, nor could he tad sent flowers and game and messages avoid the conversation which was inevikitoquiry; but he did not thrust himself table. Mrs. Wodehouse indeed was

in the notice of the women, till their very eager for it, and began almost be(iege of residence gave token that they fore he could draw breath. 2 bave begun to rouse themselves for “Did you see Mrs. Damerel after all ? " treencounter with the world. When he she asked. “You remember I met you 2 on lis way to the White House he / when you were on your way?"



“ Yes ; she was good enough to see no longer blame Rose. Poor child! I me,” said Mr. Incledon.

am always very sorry for poor Rose." " And how do you think she is look- “Why should you be sorry for Miss ing? I hear such different accounts ; Damerel ? Was she one of those who some people say very ill, some just as slighted your son ? I hope Mr. Edward usual. I have not seen her myself,” | Wodehouse is quite well." said Mrs. Wodehouse, slightly drawing “ He is very well, I thank you, and get. herself up, “except in church.”

ting on so satisfactorily : nothing “ How was that ?” he said, half be more pleasant. Oh, you must not amused. “I thought you had always think Edward cared ! He has seen a been great friends."

great deal of the world, and he did not Upon this he saw Mrs. Musgrove give come home to let bimself be put down by a litile jerk to her friend's cloak, in warn- the family of a country clergyman. That ing, and perceived that Mrs. Wodehouse is not at all what I meant; I am sorry sor wavered between a desire to tell a griev- Rose, however, because of a great many ance and the more prudent habit of self- things. She ought to go out as a governrestraint.

ess or companion, or something of that “Oh!” she said, with a little hesita- sort, poor child! Mrs. Damerel may try; tion ; " yes, of course we were always but I am sure they never can get on as good friends. I had a great admiration they are doing. I hear that all they have for our late good Rector, Mr. Incledon. to depend on is about a hundred and fifty What a man he was ! Not to say a word a year. A family can never live upon thia, against the new one, who is very nice, not with their habits, Mr. Incledon; and he will never be equal to Mr. Damerel. therefore, I think I may well say poor What a fine mind he had, and a style, I Rose !” am told, equal to the very finest preachers !! “I don't think Miss Damerel will ever We must never hope to hear such ser require to make such a sacrifice," he said, mons in our little parish again. Mrs. hurriedly. Damerel is a very good woman, and I “Well, I only hope you are right," feel for her deeply ; but the attraction in said Mrs. Wodehouse. “Of course that house, as I am sure you must have you know a great deal more about busifelt, was not her, but him."

ness matters than I do, and perhaps their “I have always bad a great regard for money is at higher interest than we think Mrs. Damerel," said Mr. Incledon. for; but if I were Rose I almost think I

“Oh, yes, yes! I am sure – a good should see it to be my duty. Here we wife and an excellent mother and all that ; are at Mrs. Northcote's, dear. Mr. Inbut not the fine mind, not the intellectual cledon, I am afraid we must say goodconversation, one used to have with the / bye.” dear Rector," said good Mrs. Wodehouse, ' 'Mr. Incledon went home very hot and who had about as much intellect as would fast after this conversation. It warmed lie on a sixpence; and then she added, him in the misty cold evening, and .6 Perbaps I am prejudiced; I never can seemed to put so many weapons into his get over a slight which I am sure she hand. Rose, his Rose, go out as a govshowed to my son."

erness or companion ! He looked at the “Ah! what was that ? ”.

shadow of his own great house standing Mrs. Musgrove once more pulled her out against the frosty sky, and laughed .friend's cloak, and there was a great deal to himself as he crossed the park. She more eagerness and interest than the oc- a dependant, who might to-morrow if she casion deserved in Mr. Incledon's tone. pleased be virtual mistress of Whitton

“Oh, nothing of any consequence ! and all its wealth! He would have liked What do you say, dear? - a mistake ? to have said to these women, “In three Well, I don't think it was a mistake. months Rose will be the great lady of the They thought Edward was going to ; parish, and lay down the law to you and yes, that was a mistake, if you please. I the Green, and all your gossiping soam sure he had many other things in his ciety.” He would even, in a rare fit of mind a great deal more important. But generosity, have liked to tell them, on the they thought — ; and though common spot, that this blessedness was in Rose's civility demanded something different, power, to give her honour in their eyes and I took the trouble to write a note and whether she accepted him or not ; which ask it, I do think ; but, however, was a very generous impulse indeed, and after the words I had with her to-day, 1 one which few men would have been equal

« ПредишнаНапред »