Him whom we thus conciliate? If life be a mischance, Why this continuance? Such, Moon, serene in thy virginity, Is mortal life. But mortal thou art not, Yet, lone and eternal wanderer, So meditative on the path thou wendest, This earthly wilderness Wherein we err, Our tears and our distress; And death, this later blending Of everything in nothing, this Evanishment of all we cherish here, Thou seest on whom the Spring Smiles lovingly, to whom some profit Comes with the summer's heat and winter's cold; A thousand things thou knowest, Hast seen and solved, To simple shepherd yet untold. Oft when I gaze on thee, So silent in yon desert plain, Where thou art set aloft and must remain, Or when my sheep are following me, And step for step with mine keep pace, And when I see the stars blaze in the sky, Such infinite space, This solitude immense; and what am I? Why this vast family, this measureless Sublime abode; these forms that turn and turn, Ever without repose? Why all this toil and stress? No fruit, no use can I discern. But doubtless thou, in thy immortal youth, Discernest better, know'st all truth! The death of all sources of happiness-not physical death-seems here intended. Yet this I know and feel: Whatever in the eternal round of things To me life sorrow brings. My flock reposing, happy, happy flock- Of thine own misery How much I envy thee! Not that I know thee free, almost, from want, To come; but that no tedious hours are thine. On the soft grass, composed, content, Under long shadows; but, alas, At once upon my mind intrude, And strange incitements urge, and doubts displease, That, sitting thus, I'm ever least at ease; Yet have I nought to wish, nor cause of tears. What sweet contentment cheers Thy lot, my gentle flock, and in what measure With me small joy abides, Yet therefore, solely, do I not complain. Perhaps, if I had wings to cleave the sky And number every star suspended there, It would be agreeable to finish here and leave the last word to this sad shepherd of Recanati, who pipes not to make others dance; but a little yet remains to be said. Notwithstanding the inadequate consideration entertained for Leopardi among us, his influence at second hand has been considerable. The few lines freely rendered by J. A. Symonds in his school journal, 'The Cliftonian,' 1872, show how early the historian of the Renaissance fell under this influence; and, in the posthumous 'Essay on Nature,' Mill makes himself to a great extent the mouthpiece of Leopardi's ideas. We have here a curious instance of an education conducted by a materialist, and one presided over by Jesuits, leading to similar conclusions. Unfortunate as a man, Leopardi had every qualification fitting him, as a writer, to achieve greatness, and, with the exception of the founder of Italian literature, has no absolute superior among his countrymen. In the sphere of conduct, high principle and conscientiousness few records are fairer; rank and wealth awaited him in an ecclesiastical career, but he sacrificed all to retain his intellectual freedom. His example also teaches absolute fearlessness in the pursuit of truth-sorely needed in this age of political shams---and contempt for the current Omar Khayyám doctrine, that we should drown disquietude in dissipation. In spite of his disbelief in accepted forms of Christianity, a more reverent mind than his, or one more prompt to give praise where he considered it due, has never contemplated with unflinching gaze the mystery of existence. In his case also it is well to remember that among Latin races Christianity and Catholicism are practically identical; and rejection of the doctrines of Rome implies very commonly a 'conversion to philosophy.' Moreover, we cannot tell what form his views would eventually have taken. This great poet and philosopher died young, at about the age when Dante himself found 'Chè la diritta via era smarrita.' HENRY CLORISTON. Art. 2.-A NEW ENGLAND PURITAN. 1. Diary of Cotton Mather. Massachusetts Historical Society Collections. Seventh Series. Vols VII, VIII. Boston: Published by the Society, 1911, 1912. 2. Cotton Mather, the Puritan Priest. By Barrett Wendell. New York: Dodd, Mead and Co., 1891. 3. Cotton Mather et la fin de la théocratie au Massachusetts. By Louis Chevalley. Paris: Imprimerie Coopérative Angevine, 1909. 4. Cotton Mather's Election into the Royal Society. By G. L. Kittredge. Boston: Publications of the Colonial Society of Massachusetts, XIV, 1912. 5. Some Lost Works of Cotton Mather. By G. L. Kittredge. Boston: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, XLV, 1912. COTTON MATHER lived and died in the colonial city of Boston, in Massachusetts. Just after his sixty-fifth birthday, in February 1728, they laid him to rest there, in his father's tomb on Copp's Hill. Yet his name remains faintly familiar wherever his native English language is spoken; between 1891 and 1909 he has been the subject of three extensive biographies; and any discussion of him among students of American history is apt still to flush into perilous warmth. He was the last and the stoutest defender of New England theocracy-the principle that political suffrage should be confined to members of the New England churches. In his own day his cause, which he passionately believed to be that of the New England fathers, was already lost. From that time forward the progress of liberal principles has been little interrupted. The traditions of victorious liberalism are merciless. Those who cherish them deride and condemn him still, almost as if he were a living political opponent. To such as these, his lately published diary may probably seem refreshingly dull, confirmatory of their worst opinions. Read aright, it burns with the devout fervour which animated his untiring life. He was born at Boston, on February 12, 1662/3, the son of Increase Mather, and the grandson of Richard Mather, Minister of Dorchester in New England, and of John Cotton, who, after many years in charge of the church of St Botolph at Boston in Lincolnshire, closed his venerable career as Minister of the First Church of Boston in Massachusetts. When the boy, thus born in theocratic purple, was only two years old, his father, who had taken degrees at Harvard College and at Trinity College, Dublin, became Minister of the Second Church of Boston. Like the sound theocrat he was, the sturdy Puritan divine did not allow clerical duties to absorb his energies, but concerned himself also both with political matters and with the administration of Harvard College. In 1684, after nine years' consideration, the Court of Chancery cancelled the Charter of Massachusetts; without legal government, without a single secured legal right, the Colony lay at the mercy of the Crown. With the Charter fell all rights granted under it, among which was the Charter of Harvard College, an institution then about fifty years old. In these straits Increase Mather proved his quality. In 1685 he became President of Harvard College, with the firm purpose of holding it loyal to the faith of the fathers. In 1688 he was semi-officially dispatched to England, for the purpose of negotiating a new charter for the Colony, and incidentally a new charter for the College as well. In the latter effort he failed; in the former, and by far the more important, he succeeded. After four years of diplomacy rivalling that of Franklin, he procured for the Province, as it was thereafter called, the admirable instrument of government under which it flourished till the Revolution of 1776. It was during this auspicious period of his father's career that Cotton Mather grew to maturity. In 1678 he took the Bachelor's degree at Harvard College-until this day only two men have taken it younger. Three years later, though not yet twenty years old, he was made assistant to his father at the Second Church of Boston. While his father was in England, from 1688 to 1692, the full charge of the pastorate fell on the son, who seems to have won general admiration. Meanwhile he was incessantly interested and influential in public affairs and in those of Harvard College; he was an omnivorous reader; his curiosity concerning natural phenomena was insatiable; and he was well started on that career of authorship which made him what he remains the most voluminous of American writers. Vol. 218.-No. 434. D |