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developed and the aspect of the head and passed away, crowding the graves with face was darker, more concentrated than their honored remains. But a few days either ; and then I compared the eyes of ago Allan himself was amongst us; at his Cunningham and Sadler, having great faith post during the day to fulfil Chantry's in eyes, which are, according to my belief, wishes, and at night poring over his last the irue indexes of a poetic temperament, great work. No man was ever more just and the most expressive of all the features. or more unflinching than the poet Cunning. After their discussion was ended, so quickly ham. He was a brave and sincere Conserwere my ears attuned to catch their words, vative, firm to Church and State. Sir Robert that I heard the deep, monotonous voice of Peel proved his respect for the man by prothe author of “The Excursion” reciting viding for one of his sons. But, though some lines that forced his friends, who Allan Cunningham was proud and grateful gathered in his words with bended heads, for such a distinction, he craved no favors to exchange glances of admiration, until at —HE WORKED-and must have died with the last Allan could not help exclaiming, “Ah! comfort that his family were what the world but that is nature !”

calls “ settled” by the fruits of his honora. Those were brilliant hours—brilliant and ble industry. I have often heard it said that full of pleasant memories. I often please he had good friends; and so he had, be. myself by fixing my mind upon them with cause he commanded respect; nor would oot suffering it to dwell upon the interme. Allan have admitted any person to his house diate times, when so few remain of those whom he did not think entitled to this diswho enjoyed with me that and other eve-tinction. It is difficult to portray any nings as full of wit as mirth, and all that human being more perfect in all the rela. gives a relish to the realities of life. tions of private life than Allan Cunningham;

Where are they all now? Of the five as a husband, a father, a friend, he was perliterary ladies who were present on that fection. And, great as is his loss to the evening only two survive. (Miss Edge republic of letters, it is as nought, when com. worth and Mrs. S. C. Hall.) The other pared to what his family and friends must three died prematurely in foreign lands— suffer. Some of his fugitive poems are Miss Landon in Africa, Miss Jewsbury in unrivalled for purity of composition; they India, and Miss Roberts in India too. Miss are delicate and exquisite in their delineaJewsbury's fate was, it is said, not much tions, and at the same time healthy and happier than poor Miss Landon's. Be that vigorous. His “Lives," I think, will in. as it may, there was no one to tell the tale crease in value. I should like to see a col. to those who loved them in their native lected edition of his works; but whether England. “They died and made no sign.” such a publication would succeed during Miss Landon's existence was replete with the present depression is uncertain. performance. Miss Jewsbury's was certain Another link of the chain is brokento bring forth a late, but abundant, fruitage. another of our great ones passed into eterHer mind was a treasure-house of things as nity, the eternity we all hope for. I shall rich as rare. But now all is over for time long miss his cheerful voice, and the pres. in this world. The heather blooms upon sure of his friendly hand, for he was indeed, the grave of the Ettrick Shepherd; Michael for truth, talent, and uprightness, one Thomas Sadler died at Belfast; Wallace, amongst a thousand. He LOVED NATURE. the amiable and kind-hearted barrister, (We copy the above from the Britannia, and

are especially interested in it, from the supposi. bardly be called “literary,” was so much lion that it is written by Mrs. S. C. Hall; and with literary persons as to be so called, he that at the evening party which it describes we is dead, and would, perhaps, have slept be- had the lively pleasure, for the first time, of look. neath a nameless grave, but for the gene. ing at and listening to many with whose names rosity, as deep as it is true, of his friend and works we had long been familiar. E. L.). Macready, who erected a monument to him at his own expense. John Banim, also, was there ; poor Banim! his accent was a sa- IMAGINARY CONVERSATION. BY WALvory of the Irish as llogg's of the Scotch;

TER SAVAGE LANDOR. and when he lighted up he could be as racy

From Blackwood's Magazine. as the best of them, and as original. He is

SOUTHEY AND PORSON. gathered to his fathers in his own land. Porson.—Many thanks, Mr. Southey, for Wilkie found a grave amid the billows of this visit in my confinement. I do believe the ocean-Michael Thomas Sadler died a you see me on my last legs; and perhaps linen-manufacturer at Belfast; others have you expected it.

Southey.-Indeed, Mr. Professor, I exo their boneless and bloodless flaccidity, pected to find you unwell, according to re- struggle and wriggle and die the moment port ; but as your legs have occasionally they tumble out of the nutshell and its comfailed you, both in Cambridge and in Lon. fortable drowth. Shakspeare was assailed don, the same event may happen again on every side by rude and beggarly rivals, many times before the last. The cheerful- but he never kicked them out of his way. ness of your countenance encourages me Southey.--Milton was less tolerant; he to make this remark.

shrivelled up the lips of his revilers by the Porson.—There is that soft, and quiet, austerity of his scorn. In our last converand genial humor about you, which raises sation, I remember, I had to defend against my spirits and tranquillizes my infirmity. you the weaker of the two poets you just Why (I wonder) bave we not always been now cited, before we came to Milton and friends?

Shakspeare. I am always ready to underSouthey.-Alas, my good Mr. Professor! take the task ; Byron wants no support or how often have the worthiest men asked setting off, so many workmen have been the same question—not indeed of each employed in the construction of his throne, other, but of their own hearts-when age and so many fair hands in the adaptation of and sickness have worn down their asperi- his cushion and canopy. But Wordsworth, ties, when rivalships have grown languid, in his poetry at least, always aimed at * animosities tame, inert, and inexcitable, and when they have become aware of approach. Porson.—My dear Mr. Southey! there ing more nearly the supreme perennial foun- are two quarters in which you cannot extain of benevolence and truth?

pect the will to be taken for the deed: I Porson.-Am I listening to the language mean the women and the critics. Your and to the sentiments of a poet? I ask the friend inserts parenthesis in parenthesis, question with this distinction; for I have and adds clause to clause, codicil to codicil, often found a wide difference between the with all the circumspection, circuition, wasentiments and the language: Generally riness, and strictness, of an indenture. His nothing can be purer or more humane than client has it hard and fast. But what is an what is exhibited in modern poetry; but I axiom in law is none in poetry. You canmay mention to you, who are known to be not say in your profession, plus non vitiat; exempt from the vice, that the nearest plus is the worst vitiator and violator of the neighbors in the most romantic scenery, Muses and the Graces. where every thing seems peace, repose and Be sparing of your animadversions on harmony, are captious and carping one at Byron. He will always have more partianother. When I hear the song of the sans and admirers than any other in your nightingale, I neglect the naturalist ; and confraternity. He will always be an espein vain does he remind me that his aliment cial favorite with the ladies, and with all is composed of grubs and worms. Let po- who, like them, have no opportunity of com. ets be crop-full of jealousy ; let them only paring him with the models of antiquity. sing well-that is enough for me.

He possesses the soul of poetry, which is Southey.--I think you are wrong in your energy; but he wants that ideal beauty supposition that the poet and the man are which is the sublimer emanation, I will not usually dissimilar.

say of the real, for this is the more real of Porson.—There is a race of poets-not, the two, but of that which is ordinarily subhowever, the race of Homer and Dante, ject to the common senses. With much Milton and Shakspeare—but a race of poets that is admirable, he has nearly all that is there is, which nature has condemned to a vicious; a large grasp of small things, withSiamese twinship. Wherever the poet is, out selection and without cohesion. This there also must the man obtrude obliquely likewise is the case with the other, without his ill-favored visage. From a drunken the long hand and the strong fist." connection with Vanity this surplus off. Southey.--I have heard that you prefer spring may always be expected. In no two Crabbe to either. poets that ever lived do we find the fact so! Porson.-Crabbe wrote with a twopenny remarkably exemplified as in Byron and nail, and scratched rough truths and rogues? Wordsworth. But higher power produces | facts on mud walls. There is, however, an intimate consciousness of itself; and much in his poetry, and more in his moral this consciousness is the parent of trancharacter, to admire. Comparing the smartquillity and repose. Small poets (observe, nesses of Crabbe with Young's, I cannot I do not call Wordsworth and Byron small help thinking that the reverend doctor must poets) are as unquiet as grubs, which, in I have wandered in his Night Thoughts rather

too near the future vicar's future mother, Southey.—Methinks it smells of his own so striking is the resemblance. But the favorite beverage, gin and water. vicar, if he was fonder of low company, has Porson.-No bad perfume after all. greatly more nature and sympathy, greatly «Nought of life left, save a quivering more vigor and compression. Young mo. When his limbs were slightly shivering." ralized at a distance on some external ap- Pray, what does the second line add to the pearances of the human heart; Crabbe en- first, beside empty words? tered it on all fours, and told the people Around a slaughter'd army lay." what an ugly thing it is inside. Southey.---This simple-minded man is to

What follows? tally free from malice and animosity.

“No more to combat or to bleed." Porson.-Rightly in the use of these two / Verily! Well; more the pity than the powers have you discriminated. Byron is wonder. According to historians, (if you profuse of animosity; but I do believe him doubt my fidelity, I will quote them,) to be quite without malice. You have lived slaughtered armies have often been in this among men about the Lakes, who want the condition. vigor necessary for the expansion of animo- “We sat down and wept by the walers

Of Babel, and thought of the day, sity; but whose dunghills are warm enough

When our foe, in the hue of his slaughters, to hatch long egg-strings of malice, after al Made Salem's high places his prey. season.

A prey " in the hue of his slaughters." Southey.-It may be so; but why advert| This is very pathetic ; but not more so to them? In speaking of vigor, surely you than the thought it suggested to me, which cannot mean vigor of intellect? An animal is plainer: that has been held with lowered nostrils in We sat down and wept by the waters the Grotto del Cane, recovers his senses Of Camus, and thought of the day, when he is thrown into the Agnano ; but When damsels would show their red garters there is no such resuscitation for the writer

In their hurry to scamper away.” whose head has been bent over that poetry. Let us see what we can find where this other which, while it intoxicates the brain, slip of paper divides the pages. deadens or perverts the energies of the

“Let he who made thee.” heart. In vain do pure waters reflect the Some of us at Cambridge continue to say, heavens to him: his respiration is on the “Let him go.” Is this grammatical form earth and earthly things, and it is not the grown obsolete? Pray, let I know. Some whispers of wisdom, or the touches of all of us are also much in the habit of profection-it is only the shout of the multi-nouncing real as if it were a dissyllable, and tude—that can excite him. It soon falls, ideal as if it were a trissyllable. All the and he with it.

Scotch deduct a syllable from each of these Porson.—Do not talk in this manner with words, and Byron's mother was Scotch. the ladies, young or old; a little profligacy! What have we here? is very endearing to them.

"And spoil'd her goodly lands to gild his waste." Southey.-Not to those with whom I am I profess my abhorrence at gilding even a likely to talk.

few square leagues of waste. Porson.-Before we continue our discus.

Thy fanes, thy lemples." sion on the merits of Mr. Wordsworth, and

| Where is the difference? there are many great ones, I must show my inclination to impartiality, by adducing a

"Rustic plough." few instances of faultiness in Byron. For

There are more of these than of city ploughs you must bear in mind that I am counsel

or court ploughs. for the crown against your friend, and that Have flung a desolate cloud o'er Venice' lovely it is not my business in this place to call witnesses to his good character.

What think you of a desolate cloud Southey.--You leave me no doubt of that.

“O'er Venice' lovely walls ?" But do not speak in generalities when you Where poets have omitted, as in this inspeak of bim. Lay your finger on those stance, the possessive s, denoting the geni. places in particular which most displease tive case, as we are accustomed to call it, you.

they are very censurable. Few blemishes Porson.-It would benumb it-neverthe-in style are greater. But here, where no less, I will do as you bid me; and, if ever I letter s precedes it, the fault is the worst. am unjust in a single tittle, reprehend me In the next line we find instantly. But at present, to Byron as I pro

“Athens' armies." posed. Give me the volume. Ay, that is it. Further on, he makes Petrarca say that his

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passion for Laura was a guilty one. If it which is at all times the pleasanter. Poets, was, Petrarca did not think it so, and still I find, are beginning to hold critics cheap, less would he have said it.

and are drilling a company out of their own Southey.-- This arises from his ignorance, body. At present, in marching they list up that reo in Italian poetry, means not only their legs too high, and in firing they shut guilty, but cruel and sorrowful.

their eyes. Porson.-He fancies that Shakspeare's Southey. There is little use in arguing Forest of Arden is the Belgian Forest of with the conceited and inexperienced, who, the same name, differently spelt, Ardennes; immersed in the slough of ignorance, cry whereas it began near Stratford upon Avon, out, “ There you are wrong ; there we differ," and extended to Red-ditch and the Ridge- &c. Wry necks are always stiff, and hot way, the boundary of Warwickshire and heads are still worse when they grow cool. Worcestershire, having for its centre the Porson.—Let me ask you, who, being little town Henley, called to this day Hen- both a poet and a critic, are likely to be ley in Arden.

impartial, whether we, who restore the no. Southey.—You will never find in Words- ble forms which time and barbarism have worth such faults as these.

disfigured, are not more estimable than Porson.—Perhaps not; but let us see. I those artisans who mould in coarse clay, am apprehensive that we may find graver, and cover with plashy chalk, their shepand without the excuse of fightiness or in herds and shepherdesses for Bagnigge. citation. We will follow him, if you please, Wells ? where you attempted (as coopers do in their Southey.--I do not deny nor dispute it; business more successfully) to draw to but, awarding due praise to such critics, of gether the staves of his quarter-cask, by whom the number in our own country is putting a little fire of your own chips in it. extremely small, bishoprics having absorbed Yet they start and stare widely; and even and suffocated half the crew, I must, in your practised hand will scarcely bring it defence of those particularly whom they into such condition as to render it a sound or have criticised too severely, profess my saleable commodity. You are annoyed, 1 opinion that our poetry, of late years, perceive, at this remark. I honor your sensi. hath gained to the full as much as it hath bility. There are, indeed, base souls which I lost. genius may illuminate, but cannot elevate. Porson.—The sea also, of late years, and "Struck with an ear-ache by all stronger lays, all other years too, has followed the same

They writhe with anguish at another's praise.' law. We have gained by it empty cockleMeantime, what exquisite pleasure must shells, dead jelly-fish, sand, shingle, and you have felt, in being the only critic of voluminous weeds. On the other hand, we our age and country, laboring for the ad. have lost our exuberant meadow-ground, vancement of those who might be thought slowly abraded, stealthily bitten off, morsel your rivals! No other ventured to utter a after morsel; we have lost our fat saltsyllable in behalf of your friend's poetry. marshes; we have lost our solid turf, be. While he “ wheeled his downy Aight,” sprinkled with close flowers; we have lost it lay among the thread-papers and patch- our broad umbrageous fences, and their work of the sedater housewifes, and was trees and shrubs and foliage of plants innuapplied by them to the younger part of the merably various; we have lost, in short, family, as an antidote against all levity of every thing that delighted us with its inex. behavior. The last time we met, you not haustible richness, and aroused our admi. only defended your fellow-soldier while he ration at its irregular and unrepressed was lying on the ground, trodden and luxuriance. wounded, and crying out aloud, but you Southey. I would detract and derogate lifted him up on your shoulders in the from no man; but pardon me if I am more middle of the fight. Presently we must try inclined towards him who improves our own our strength again, if you persist in oppos- literature, than towards him who elucidates ing him to the dramatists of Athens. any other.

Southey.—You mistake me widely in im- Porson.-Our own is best improved by agining me to have ranked him with the the elucidation of others. Among all the Greek tragedians, or any great tragedians bran in all the little bins of Mr.Wordsworth's whatsoever. I only said that, in one single beer-cellar, there is not a legal quart of that poem, Sophocles or Euripides would pro stout old English beverage with which the bably have succeeded no better.

good Bishop of Dromore regaled us. The Porson.--This was going far enough. But buff jerkins we saw in Chevy Chase, please I will not oppose my unbelief to your belief, me better than the linsy-woolsy which en. wraps the puffy limbs of our worthy host at Southey.-I would have added, that each Grasmere.

resents in another any injustice; and re. Scuthey.-Really this, if not random ma- sents it indeed so violently, as to turn unlice, is ill-directed levity. Already you just on the opposite side. Wordsworth, in bave acquired that fame and station to whose poetry you yourself admit there are which nobody could oppose your progress; many and great beauties, will, I am afraid, why not let him have his?

be tossed out of his balance by a sudden Porson.-So he shall; this is the mark 1 jerk in raising him. aim at. It is a difficult matter to set a weak | Porson.-Nothing more likely. The re. man right, and it is seldom worth the trou. action may be as precipitate as the pull is ble ; but it is infinitely more difficult, when now violent against him. Injudicious friends a man is intoxicated by applauses, to per- will cause him less uneasiness, but will do suade him that he is going astray. The him greater mischief than intemperate opmore tender and coaxing we are, the oftener|ponents. is the elbow jerked into our sides. There Southey. You cannot be accused of are three classes of sufferers under criti- either fault ; but you demand too much, cism—the querulous, the acquiescent, and and pardon no remissness. However, you the contemptuous. In the two latter, there have at no time abetted by your example is usually something of magnanimity ; but the paltry pelters of golden fruit paled out in the querulous we always find the innbe- from them. cile, the vain, and the mean-spirited. I do Porson.-Removed alike from the crowd not hear that you ever have condescended and the coterie, I have always avoided, to notice any attack on your poetical works, with timid prudence, the bird-cage walk of either in note or preface. Meanwhile, your literature. I have withholden from Herman neighbor would allure us into his cottage and some others, a part of what is due to by setting his sheep-dog at us; which them; and I regret it. Sometimes I have guardian of the premises runs after and been arrogant, never have I been malicious. snaps at every pebble thrown to irritate Unhappily, I was educated in a school of him.

criticism where the exercises were too Southey.--Pray, leave these tropes and gladiatorial. Looking at my elders in it, metaphors, and acknowledge that Words- they appeared to me so ugly, in part from worth has been scornfully treated.

their contortions, and in part from their Porson.—Those always will be who show scars, that I suspected it must be a danger. one weakness at having been attacked on ous thing to wield a scourge of vipers; and another. I admire your suavity of temper, I thought it no very creditable appointment and your consciousness of worth; your to be linkboy or pandar at an alley leading disdain of obloquy, and your resignation to down to the Furies. Age and infirmity the destinies of authorship. Never did have rendered me milder than I was. I am either poet or lover gain any thing by com- loth to fire off my gun in the warren which plaining.

lies before us; loth to startle the snug little Southey.-Such sparks as our critics are creatures, each looking so comfortable at in general, give neither warmth nor light, the mouth of its burrow, or skipping about and only make people stare and stand out at short distances, or frisking and kicking of the way, lest they should fall on them. up the sand along the thriftless heath. You

Porson.-Those who have assaulted you have shown me some very good poetry in and Mr. Wordsworth are perhaps less mali. your author; I have some very bad in him cions than unprincipled ; the pursuivants of to show you. Each of our actions is an power, or the running footmen of faction. incitement to improve him. But what we Your patience is admirable ; his impatience cannot improve or alter, lies in the conis laughable. Nothing is more amusing stitution of the man: the determination than to see him raise his bristles and expose to hold you in one spot until you have his tusk at every invader of his brushwood, heard him through; the reluctance that every marauder of his hips and haws. any thing should be lost; the unconscious

Southey.-Among all the races of men, ness that the paring is less nutritious and we English are at once the most generous less savory than the core ; in short, the and the most ill-tempered. We all carry prolix, the prosaic ; a sickly sameness of sticks in our hands to cut down the heads color; a sad deficiency of vital heat. of the higher poppies.

Southey.- Where the language is subPorson.--A very high poppy, and sur. dued and somewhat cold, there may never. charged with Lethean dew, is that before theless be internal warmth and spirit. There us. But continue.

lis a paleness in intense fires; they do not

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