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business of Malone's life-his magnum opus, the edition of Shaks peare. His long course of preliminary training pointed to this as the natural result of the thought and research devoted to the study of the poet and his age. Much obscurity rested upon the subject of Shakspeare and his times, which a steady persevering advance into the mists of antiquity alone could remove. Each topic touched upon naturally led to another, so that the enterprise grew in extent as it approached. Antiquarian reading became a daily duty, but zeal made it a labour of love. No sportsman ever followed the chase with more spirit than Malone did black-letter authorities. He particularly dreaded being misled by careless predecessors. In the true spirit of such as write for the future, no second-hand statements satisfied him where original authorities were known to exist. The labour thus incurred became extreme. He travelled from library to repository: from private papers to public records; from universities to the British Museum and Stationers' Hall, in order to be exact. His heart yearned to the theme. The subject of inquiry might in a thousand cases be unimportant, but it was always important to be correct. Malone was evidently cut out for the work, and the work for him. Meanwhile, he published "A Second Appendix to Mr. Malone's Supplement to the Last Edition of the Plays of Shakspeare." His acquaintance with Horace Walpole during this period of labour, brings out the following anecdote of Sir Robert from his gossiping son, which is too good not to extract :

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"In the height of Pulteney's opposition, an old gentleman had constantly voted with the minister, and often attended his levee; but never asked him for any favour. Sir Robert, who was plagued with daily solicitations, felt some surprise at this, and at length observed to him that he was much obliged by his support, and should be happy to know how he could serve him. The other replied that he wanted nothing. Sir Robert, who believed that every man acted from interested motives, exclaimed, 'How then, dear sir, comes it to pass that I am honoured with your support ?' Why, I'll tell you,' said the old gentleman, I have lived a great deal in foreign countries, where an arbitrary government prevails. I hold such a government to be the best that ever was devised; and all your measures appear to me admirably well calculated to render this government arbitrary, and the King at the head of it despotic. On this principle, as long as ever you continue minister, you may rely on my voice.'

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"Toward the end of 1790, appeared "The Plays and Poems of William Shakspeare," in ten volumes, by Edmond Malone-the best and fullest edition of the Bard of Avon which had yet appeared; full of research, learning, and critical sagacity, leaving a deep conviction on the reader's mind that if accuracy were attainable, the Editor had exerted every means within his reach to attain it. All England bestowed its warm approval upon the completed work, and chiefly the most devoted Shakspearians. It is pleasant to find Edmund Burke owning, amid domestic cares and engrossing politics,

"Though I have had many little arrangements to make, both of a public and private nature, my occupations were not able to override my curiosity, nor to prevent me going through almost the whole of your able, exact, and interesting history of the stage." So Boswell, the politician, said at the club, "I shall now read all 'Shakspeare through in a very different manner from what I have yet done, when I have got such a commentator." Ritson, indeed, published his "Cursory Criticisms," and perhaps others; but Malone, in his reply, completely crushed the former, by showing that the lines of Shakspeare collected by himself were nearly one hundred thousand; that in these Ritson alleged only thirteen errors, and as five of these were Ritson's own mistakes, the number of allowed errors, if allowed, was reduced to eight. So enormous a tax on industry has rarely secured such accurate results.

After the Shakspeare was published, Malone relaxed a little by running over to Ireland, visiting Oxford for research, and by attendance at his club. Unfortunately, the condition of his eye-sight, from continuous and minute annotation and study, was such as to render rest imperative. From one of the club-meetings, he brings back an anecdote of Bishop Burnet, on the authority of Bishop Douglas, his informant:

"Burnet was extremely passionate and violent in resentments. He piqued himself on preaching without book. Some of his sermons, however, are in print. At one of his visitations, when the name of a very old clergyman was called over (of whom a private complaint had been made that the parish could not endure him, he gave such bad sermons), he gravely chided the poor parson. 'I am told, Mr. —, that your parish is very well satisfied with you in many respects, but they are much discontented with your sermons. Now, there is no excuse for this; for instead of preaching extempore, as I am told you sometimes do, or giving them your own compositions, you have only to preach good printed sermons, and they will have no cause of complaint.' May it please your lordship,' replied the clergyman, 'you are wholly misinformed. I have been long in the habit of preaching printed sermons, and those I have preferred are your lordship's !'"

Rogers, the poet of the "Pleasures of Memory," charges Malone with black-balling him, when proposed as a candidate for the club. It is most likely untrue; but, if true, was owing to Rogers's obnoxious political opinions. Rogers's claims at that day, at any day, must have been small indeed for admission to that coterie of literary men, if the fruit of his hoarded store of intercourse with all the intellectual men for upwards of half a century, is that smallest of all collections of " Ana," published since the banker-poet's death. Never was anything so disproportioned to the reputation of the man as a wit and professed Diseur des mots.

As in the case of the Chatterton forgeries, so in that of the Ireland fraud, Malone was naturally looked to to furnish detection and award the sentence. The mode chosen by him was that of a letter to

Lord Charlemont, "An Inquiry into the Authenticity of Certain Papers Attributed to Shakspeare." It formed a volume of 400 pages. Nothing can be more complete than the exposure. Not a point is neglected— not one remains doubtful. Not the least compliment paid the author was that of his jealous rival-editor, Steevens, who thanks him for his "elegant present, which exhibits one of the most decisive pieces of criticism that was ever produced." If Hamiltons and Maddens now-a-days are sorely abused for their services to the public in a case of kindred character, these gentlemen need not wonder, since Malone met with little gratitude from many of the dupes of the deception. Even after critical proof, and the open confession of the forger no longer left a peg to hang a doubt upon, pamphlets appeared dealing freely with Mr. Malone's critical pretensions, and endeavouring to prove that the documents ought to have been genuine, although unhappily they were not.

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In 1797, during a run down to Brighton, for relaxation, we get a glimpse of his life and opinions, in a letter to his sister Catherine:"I dined one day with the Prince of Wales (not at his own house), and had a great deal of talk with him. But this is an old story, as you have probably heard it all from Dick (Lord Sunderlin). His simple object is the payment of his debts; and, as Pitt will not do that, he has thrown himself upon Fox. Yet the latter and his party are not very willing to have anything to do with him. He retailed all the common cant about the grievances of the Irish Catholics with sufficient dexterity and address. But I did not let them pass, and fairly told him that they were merely imaginary, and that the people were worked up into discontent and clamour about grievances by wicked and artful men for factious purposes. I shall be, therefore, certainly no favourite at Carlton House.

"I was two or three times at the Rooms, but I can scarcely see anything in large lighted apartments. It is surprising how little beauty or attraction there is in the world, at least to a prepossessed mind."

In 1799, a letter remains conveying George Canning's request that Malone will take the chair at the Club, as his substitute on a particular occasion, should he himself find it impossible to attend.

In the spring of 1800 came out in four volumes, "The Critical and Miscellaneous Prose Works of John Dryden: with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author," marked by the same studious diligence of investigation that he ever showed in his literary tasks. No source of information was left untried. Still literary men agree that none but Malone could have accomplished so much. To his pages those must turn who want accurate information upon the works and life of Dryden, although much may still remain requiring elucidation. Bell's new life of the poet in part supplies the want, but even now there is much left to desiderate respecting the fortunes and inner life of "glorious John."

In 1802 we find Malone dyspeptic and hypochondriacal-as well he might be an incessant toiler over books at sixty-one. Disap

pointment added its stings to ill health, for he had hoped for some Government sinecure about this time, which political changes placed out of his grasp. The old gentleman had love besides to plague him, for he hoped to marry till the very last, though he died a bachelor. He was a person of strong affections, and had had the malady of an exclusive attachment in a violent form two or three times in the course of his life. Writing, at the mature age of fiftysix, to his sister Kate, he says, "How therefore should I ever get a wife? or what ground have I to expect after all that has happened, that any but a mere dowdy will accept my hand? Yet I still keep on hoping that something may happen, and, unless it does, the new peerage will be quite thrown away." This last was in allusion to the Sunderlin title, the patent of which included the provision, "with remainder to his brother, Edmond Malone, Esq., of Shinglas." To Gifford, the kindly bachelor critic and editor, he lent his services, solacing his solitude with study, as freely as to other literary men; his library, his stores of knowledge, his counsel, being at the disposal of any applicant. Never was there student more liberal in the distribution of his acquisitions; one had but to ask, in order to receive all the aid Malone could render. He seemed incapable of the feeling of jealousy. His hand was open as day to melting charity. Pursuing his literary course and correspondence, we find him in later years half blind, and depressed in spirits, glad to lean upon the sympathy and society of the Rev. J. Jephson, incumbent of Kilbixy, near Baronston, who came to London to be with him in his loneliness. Frequent remonstrances were addressed to him by his friends, upon the undue labours he continued to give to his eyes. Lord Charlemont, who suffered from a severe infirmity, while Percy had gone quite blind, often remonstrated with him :-" Five hours a day employed in transcribing from obscure manuscripts! How in the name of wonder do your eyes hold out ?"

Other publications and projects filled up his leisure, and passed away our author's time; amongst others, the superintendence of six successive editions of Boswell's Johnson, down to the year 1811. He annotated largely the books in his own library; he jotted down memoranda of his literary acquaintance; he frequented book sales; he corresponded freely with his friends. The pen was rarely out of his hands. He sought to improve all he had published, and so late as March, 1812, is profuse in acknowledgment of the courtesy which procured for him copies of some of Dryden's letters. But by this time the destroyer had made such ravages in his frame, that his prolonged existence was a matter of weeks and days, rather than of months and years. His digestive powers were completely destroyed by the continued pressure on the brain. In consequence of a letter he wrote to Ireland on the 4th of May, Lord Sunderlin and his sister Kate hurried over to Foley-place where the dying man resided, but only to witness his decease three weeks afterwards, on the 25th May, in the seventy-first year of his age. Thus died at a good old age one of Ireland's most meritorious

sons-a man of real learning, of varied accomplishments, of unwearied industry, of suave disposition, and gentlemanly manners. Of his own free-will, he wrought harder with his pen than those who depend on it to earn their bread. Had he done less, he might have lived longer: but life prolonged at the expense of enforced idleness, would have been to Malone a protracted treadmill. A true worker, work was his element, and work his reward. Malone was a credit to his name and nation; and Sir James Prior has done well to perpetuate the recollection of his merits. Those who would revive and enlarge their acquaintance with the Boswellean circle, will do well to read the present Memoir, with its budget of anecdotes-an appropriate supplement to the biographer's previous labours on Goldsmith and Burke.

IX.

JOHN WYCLIFFE.*

In these sketches of the rise of the Reformation in England, and of the early history of Protestantism in France, Dr. Hanna exhibits a comprehensive grasp of his subject, intimate acquaintance with its details, a clear and pleasing style, and that spirit of impartiality so difficult to preserve when one is drawn within the vortex of ecclesiastical controversy. About half of his volume is devoted to the career of the great English reformer, who, a century and a half before Luther, and when the great sacerdotal system of Rome had attained its fullest strength, was the first to denounce, openly and boldly, the doctrines and claims of the papacy as unscriptural, unreasonable, and degrading to the human spirit, and to present in their stead the simple doctrines of the Redeemer, and the simple institute of the Church as set forth in Holy Writ. We propose to follow Dr. Hanna for a little in his sketch of this great and good man, the least egotistical and most faultless of all our reformers.

John Wycliffe was born in 1324, in the small parish of Wycliffe, situated on the banks of the Tees, in Yorkshire, a few miles above Rokeby, and about as many below Bernard Castle. His infancy is lost in obscurity, and of the character of his parents nothing is known. Not even an anecdote of his boyhood remains, and his life at Oxford, extending over a period of forty years, presents us with but one illustrative incident. The last six years of his life, from

"Wycliffe and the Huguenots." By the Rev. William Hanna, LL.D. Edinburgh: Thomas Constable and Co. 1860.

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