great proficiency in the pursuit. With what My mind into a better course to move : feelings he had left Hawthornden, we can Reason may chide her full, and oft reprove gather from the following extract :

Affection's power : but what is that to me,

Who ever think, and never think on anght “ What sweet delight a quiet life affords,

But that bright Cherubim, which thralls my And what it is from bondage to be free,

thought." Far from the madding worldling's hoarse discords,

The lover's imagination had not played him Sweet, flow'ry place, I first did learn of thee.

false in the estimate of the gifts and graces Ah! if I were mine own, your dear resorts with which it had adorned the fair girl ; her I would not change with prince's stateliest tastes and feelings were in such accordance courts."

with his own, that on a nearer acquaintance After his father's death he gave up the their intercourse.' Passionately in love, he

the most perfect sympathy lent its charms to study of the law, and returned to Hawthorn- sang her praises through the woods and den: when time softened the affliction oc

glens. His noble sentiments and varied accasioned by his loss, bis native scenery resumed its influence over his feelings, and to and his passionate devotion, soon found their

complishments; his exquisite skill in music, a mind so naturally reflective, the retirement way to her heart, and won its tenderest afin which he indulged was the highest enjoy- fection. Then what happy days were theirs, ment ;—he thus contrasts its calm repose in the full enjoyment of present felicity, and with the hollow pleasures of the Court:

in forming plans for future happiness. The “ Thrice happy be, who, by some shady grove,

wedding day was fixed, but ere it came she Far from the clamorous world, doth live his fell ill of a fever, and on its very eve she died.

An attempt to describe the grief of one of so Though solitary; who is not alone,

much sensibility would have been a vain task; But doth converse with that eternal love- but we learn that as soon as the stunning efOh, how more sweet is bird's harmonious moan, fects of the blow had in some measure passed Or the hoarse sobbings of the widow'd dove, Than those smooth whisp’rings near a prince's

away, he felt that some effort was absolutely throne,

necessary. The scenes, so much loved, reWhich good make doubtful, do the evil approve ! called but the visions of departed happiness, 0! how more sweet is Zephyr's wholesome mournfully contrasted with blighted hopes breath,

and unavailing regret; so he resolved to And sighs embalm'd with new-born flow'rs leave Hawthornden, and to seek in foreign unfold,

travel to give a new turn to his distracted That that applause, vain honor doth bequeath: thoughts. Poetry had been so long the How sweet are streams, to poison drunk in gold ! natural outlet for his feelings, that they again The world is full of horrors, troubles, slights ; Woods' harmless shades have only true de found vent in effusions of great pathos, effulights.”

sions which must have constantly opened the

deep springs of sorrow, but which we may He was soon to experience feelings more hope soothed them, at the same time, into a fervid than those which the sweet solitudes gentler current. He travelled through Gerof Hawthornden could inspire. It fell one many, France, and Italy, visiting, as he went, day that he saw the beautiful daughter of a their most celebrated universities. Years neighboring gentleman, of an ancient family passed on in these wanderings, before he and great worth. (Canningham of Barnes.) could bring himself to return to HawthornCaptivated at once by her charms, her image den. The emotion with which he found took possession of his imagination; but he himself there again may be conceived but not tells the story of his changed feelings far bet- described : that his early love was ever ter than we could give it so it is fitter to let cherished most passionately in his rememhim speak for himself :

brance is evinced by his constantly recurring

to her in the most affecting passages of his “Ah me, and am I now the man whose muse poetry. The wild burst of agony with which

In happier time was wont to laugh at love, he conjures her to look from heaven, to which
And those who suffer'd that blind boy abuse abode he believes her translated, and to have
The noble gifts were given them from above.- pity on his tears, is the true language of
What metamorphose strange is this I prove ?
Myself now scarce myself I find to be,

grief: few lines have ever fallen in our way And think no fable Circe's tyranny,

more touching than his “Address to Spring; And all the tales are told of changed Jove. and the “Apostrophe to his Lute," with Virtue hath laught, with her philosophy, which it concludes, awakens the sympathy


of all who know the powerful associations | weeks. Seated on the rocks in the midst of which are linked with music. The airs which the romantic scenery, these gifted men would we remember to have heard in company with converse for hours together. Notes of their one we loved, those which were the especial conversation are found in Drummond's works, favorites, or which may have responded to and are sufficiently curious ; in his confidentheir touch, or been accompanied by their tial intercourse, Jonson must have been voice, need not be recalled by sound, for they sensibly touched by the sympathy of the erer«float



memory in all their pa- poet, for he talked to him on the very subthetic sweetness. Part of the poem runs ject wbich interested him the most the thus :

early death of his eldest son, a child of great

promise, and inexpressibly dear to him. He “Sweet spring, thou com’st, but ah! my pleasant detailed the remarkable circumstances which hours

had occurred at the time of his loss; as the And happy days with thee come not again ; plague had broken out. in London, and he The sad memorials only of my pain

had left the boy exposed to the contagion of Do with thee come, which turn my sweets to fever, it is not strange that uneasy dreams Thou art the same which still thou wert before, and vivid imaginations should represent what Delicious, lusty, amiable, fair;

he most dreaded. But he was strongly imBut she, whose breath embalm'd thy wholesome pressed with the belief that what he deair,

scribed had been no idle phantasy : he went Is gone : nor gold, nor gems can her restore.”

on to tell, “ that when the king came to Eng

land, about the time that the plague was in The first production of Drummond's, which London, he, being in the country, at Sir brought him into notice, was his elegy on the Robert Cotton's house, with old Cambden, death of Prince Henry, eldest son of King saw in a vision his eldest son, then a young James the First; it has often been said, that child, and at London, appear unto him with nobody could read it without being reminded the mark of blood upon his forehead, as if it of “Lycidas,” and it has been observed too, had been with a sword, at which, amazed, he that Milton's sonnets are remarkable for a prayed unto God; and in the morning he similarity in their flow and spirit to those of came unto Mr. Cambden's chamber to tell the poet of Hawthornden. It is supposed that him, who persuaded him it was but an apMilton greatly admired Drummond's writ- prehension, at which, he should not be deings, and his sympathies may have been so jected. In the meantime, there came letters strongly excited, as to have given uncon- from his wife of the death of that boy in the sciously, to some of his minor compositions, plague; he appeared to him, he said, of a a resemblance at which he had never aimed. manly shape, and of that growth, he thinks, His nephew and pupil, Philips, expressed he shall be at the resurrection.” himself in the highest terms with regard to Many years had passed away, since the Drummond's writings, and it has been thought one he had so much loved had been laid in that the estimation in which he held them her grave, and Drummond was now in his was but a reflection of his uncle's opinion ; forty-fifth year, when he chanced to see Mar" his poems," says Philips, " are the efforts garet Logan, (the granddaughter of Sir Robof a genius, the most polite and verdant that ert Logan.) Struck by her resemblance to ever the Scotch nations produced.” His his carly love, his feelings became deeply inprose writings were much valued, and it is terested, and he wooed and won her:-there thus Philips speaks of his history of the seven is every reason to think that he soon loved Jameses. “ Had there been nothing ex- her for her own sake, and that in the calm tant of his writings, consider but the lan- enjoyment of domestic life, surrounded by guage, how florid and ornate it is,—consider his wife and children, he found a consolation the order and the prudent conduct of the for the disappointment of his early hopes and story, and you will rank him in the number more passionate attachment.

He scarcely of the best writers." The elegy on the death could ever have left home; and indeed seems of Prince Henry impressed Ben Jonson so

to have had a horror of a sea voyage ; for strongly with an idea of the author's genius, he says in a letter to a friend, when speaking that he made his way to Hawthornden to of it, " A part of Noah's judgment, and no see him; it has been stated that he accom- small misery, that us Islanders cannot take plished the journey on foot; that he was not a view of God's earth, without crossing the disappointed, may be inferred from his hay. stormy, breaking, and deceitful sea.” In the ing remained with Drummond for three same letter he mentions the pleasure which



he had in the game of chess. From all that is A pleasnre void of grief, a constant rest,
incidently gathered, there is every reason to Eternal joy which nothing can molest!"
think that the companion whom he had chosen
made his home a happy one ; enthusiastically

Drummond was buried in the church of attached to King Charles, he espoused his Lasswade, in the neighborhood of Hawthorn

den. cause most warmly, and his thoughts and his

Lasswade is indeed a most fitting spot pen were constantly employed in its service ; for the last resting place of the poet; its quiet but to his lasting honor it may be said, that pastoral beauty; the river gliding gently on, Drummond appeared alike divested of par- seeming in its flow to tell of repose and tiality and prejudice, at a time when reason peace; and the lovely scenery by “sweet might have been blinded by excitement: he glen and greenwood tree,” through which it could plainly see and point out the errors of bends its way, make Lasswade, with all its Government, and he could tolerate the opin- pleasant paths, one of the most lovely spots ions which differed from his own. His writ- which can be met with anywhere. Nor can ings were directed to the maintenance of we forget that it was here Scott spent some peace, and none ever served bis sovereign of his happiest hours; it was his favorite with more devoted zeal, or with clearer views haunt in boyhood, and here the first days of of his true interest. The deep concern he his married life, and some succeeding sumtook in the royal cause, exposed him to great mers were passed, in the indulgence

of the hostility when the Civil War broke out; the simple tastes which so often mark minds of last proof which he gave of his affection for the highest stamp. He loved to trim the Charles was indeed an affecting one. When garden of his cottage, to cultivate its flowers, he found that his royal master was beheaded, and train its ereeping plants; he constructed he fell into a deep melancholy; he languish- a rustic archway as an entrance to his humed but for a few months, and then died. ble abode. Nor," I have heard him say, The last lines which he is supposed to have Lockhart tells," was he prouder of any work written, run thus :-

than of this.” The romantic solitudes by the banks of the Esk, where he delighted to

stroll-Roslin with its rocks and glen,-and “Love, which is here a care

sweet Hawthornden, That wit and will doth mar, Uncertain truce, and a most certain war;

“ Where Jonson sat in Drummond's silent shade." A shrill tempestuous wind

influenced his mind in no common degree, Which doth disturb the mind, And like wild waves, all our designs commove.

and first called forth those powers which -Among those powers above

were to charm the world, in the fine ballads Which see their Maker's face,

which would alone have sufficed to immortalIt a contentment is, a quiet peace,

ize his name.

NEW WORK OF HARTLEY COLERIDGE.- man whose brief career was at once uneventHartley Coleridge's “Lives of Northern ful and tragic. The sonnets of Hartley ColeWorthies” has just appeared under the edi- ridge are not surpassed by any in the lantorial care of his brother, to whom the public i guage. When will Messrs. Ticknor, Reed & owes the interesting and pathetic memoir and Fields, of Boston, issue their long-announced the collection of poems and Marginali, of a reprint of his life and poems.

From the British Quarterly Review.


In reading Sir James Stephen there is this respect, also, the two friends have their much to remind us of Mr. Macaulay. The course in common. points in which they resemble each other are Both writers are remarkable for the extent sufficiently observable to render the points in of their reading. The reading of Mr. Macaulay, which there is a difference only the more in- from his having been ever either reading or teresting. We may add, too, that something writing, is probably more discursive and extrabesides the possession of kindred gifts has ordinary than that of his distinguished friend. contributed to place these two names in re- But the writings of Sir James Stephen exlationship. The fathers of these gentlemen bibit him as a man whose tastes have been were public men of great worth, and fast always disposing him to make excursions into friends; and the sons grew up in habits of widely diversified fields of authorship. In intimacy both at home and at college. Mr. literature, we find both bringing within their Macaulay, with the slight interruption occa cognizance, and under the power of their sioned by his visit to India, has been wedded, analysis, the well-known and the little known, as the world knows, all his life to literature. the light and the ponderous-works which Sir James Stephen, on the other hand, has weak men would overlook as insignificant, been occupied until somewhat beyond the and works on which even the strong look meridian of his days in professional or official with dismay, because swollen into libraries, duties. His powers of labor are prodigious. the ore that may be in them having its place As Under Secretary for the Colonies, his as in the midst of a continent of material not mastery of all questions relating to the bis- very pleasant to deal with. In the power of tory and state of our colonial empire was steady and laborious reading we are inclined such, we suspect, as no second man in the to give precedence to Sir James. Few would kingdom possessed, and such as scarcely any have bad patience to read as our author must second man could have acquired. An odd have read, in order to write as he has writkind of paradise to a man of cultivated genius ten, on Luther, and Calvin, and Baxter ; on that world of state-papers must have been! St. Francis and Loyola; on the Port-RoyalBut though divorced from literature com- ists and the Bollandists. Mr. Macaulay paratively during a great part of life, Sir would seem to be endowed with a more restJames has been gradually returning to it for less literary activity, with a more intense and some years past; and the productions which ceaseless curiosity about books, and about have been the result may assist us in judging what may be seen of humanity through the as to the success with which he would have spectacles of books; and with a memory, if occupied this ground, had it been, as in the report speaks truly, of more wonderful case of Mr. Macaulay, his only ground. We tenacity than can be attributed to Sir James scarcely need say that Mr. Macaulay wrote Stephen. But we are, we think, quite safe himself into fame as a contributor to the in saying, that if Sir James has read someEdinburgh Review. The same may be said what less than Mr. Macaulay, he has reof Sir James Stephen. Mr. Macaulay has flected more. If he has not travelled so far now withdrawn from periodical literature, over the surface of history as his learned and is employing his powers in a walk of au- friend, it is because he has more frequently thorship more independent and personal. In descended beneath that surface. If he be

not so fully versed in all that men have done, * Lectures on the History of France. By the Right it is because he has felt prompted to concern Honorable Sir JAMES STEPHEN, K.C.B., LL.D., Professor of Modern History in the University of Cam- himself with a prior question—the question bridge. 2 vols. 8vo. London: Longman. 1851. as to what men are. That question--the whence and why of humanity—though in it- But all sins, even the sins of omission, are self the question of questions, is one with retributive. The man who contents himself which Mr. Macaulay will hold no parley- with being merely artistic, will not rise to no, not for a moment. No enchanter ever the highest eminence even as an artist. kept more resolutely within his circle than Man is not a being of intellect only. He is a does Mr. Macaulay within his boundary-line moral and religious being. This is to be of the seen and temporal. His own individ- remembered by those who would discourse uality is marked-potent; but there is no of him with the desired fulness, or to him conscious subjectivity in him. He lives to with the desired effect. The artist, speaking the outward, the inward is left to care for it to us from the marble, the canvas, or self. His universe of being, past and pres- through human speech, must know huent, is, for the most part, a universe of pic-manity--know it, and have strong sympathy tures. It is nearly all made up of what the with it in its highest forms of spiritual beauty eye can see, the ear can listen to, or the and sublimity, if he would depict it effecthand can touch. His main business is with ively in those forms. It is not too much to the good or bad acting that has taken place say, that the degree in which men of genius in the world, not so much with the actors. have failed in their aspirations has resulted The surface deed, and the surface motive, more from their want of goodness, than are vividly before you; but rarely does he from their want of genius. If Milton had disclose to you anything more latent. not felt how awful goodness is, his descrip

With Sir James Stephen, however, it is tion of it would never have been given to us. not so. He must descend deeper, and as So in a thousand instances beside. the consequence he must ascend higher. Herein lies the difference between what is The more he sees of what man has done, the called Christian art and Pagan art. Chrismore earnest becomes his inquiry as to what tianity presents manifestations of beauty and man is; and the more he explores the cham- greatness other than are found elsewhere, bers of the human spirit, the stronger is the and higher than are found elsewere ; and the feeling which impels him to ascend to the artist who would depict them truly, must oracle of a higher Spirit, and to ask grave have come so far under their influence as to questions THERE. In this fact we have our have felt their attraction, so as to have been explanation of the circumstance that the de- fascinated, as it were, into the study of them. partment of reading and authorship on which That he should fail in such attempts it is not Sir James Stephen has bestowed the greatest necessary that he should be a bad man,-it attention, viz., the lives of religious men as is enough that he is not a good man, and such, is that on which Mr. Macaulay would that somewhat in the Christian sense of goodappear to have bestowed the least. Of ness. This new beauty and new greatness, course, it is manifest enough, that the author which came to humanity nearly two thousand of the memorable papers in the Edinburgh years since, have never ceased to be part of Review on Ranke's Lives of the Popes, and it—the purer, the nobler, the progressive on Lord Bacon, must have read considerably part of it. both in the history of the Church and in the Nothing is farther from our thought than history of philosophy. But it is no less to say, that men of Mr. Macaulay's powers clear, that, from some cause, Mr. Macaulay should never give themselves to writing has the power of treating even such themes, without intending to preach. We have no so as to be capable of infusing into them an such meaning. Goethe is not a person to be extraordinary energy, and of throwing over classed among saints ; but he appears to bave them an extraordinary brilliancy; and, at had his seasons in which he came under the the same time, a manner which leaves all the influence of all good along with all evil, and vital questions that should be suggested by to have concentrated his thought intensely, them wholly untouched. The pictures which at intervals, on both. As the result, bis pass before you are pictures of things as estimate of religion in its relation to huthey are, not of things as they ought to be. manity was such as to dispose him to assign Not that this is consciously done. Mr. to its subtle, complex, and powerful inMacaulay's sympathies are generous and fluence, a large space in every development noble. In so far as he is at all a teacher, of man. In his view, to ignore religion in his teaching is of admirable quality; but his man was to ignore the most potent and probias is, we have said on a former occasion, to ductive element of his nature; and to ignore sink the instructor in the painter, the prophet the Christian religion, was to ignore the rein the artist.

ligious as diffusing its creative and its forma

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