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when we come to look more closely into his actions, we perceive much reason for distrusting the correctness of our former impressions. Chivalrous and self-sacrificing he was, in the highest sense; but we discover some glaring contradictions in his character, which considerably diminish our respect for his judgment and consistency. Let us run rapidly over the evidence on which we have been led to this conclusion. Clarendon and Falkland were inseparable friends. The praises of Falkland's learning, amiability, and generosity, are amongst the most eloquent and touching passages of contemporary characterization left to us by the historian. The first time a difference arose between them was in parliament, when the bill for taking away the legislative and judicial powers of the bishops was under discussion. Falkland was for the bill—Clarendon against it. At that time Popery was creeping into high places; and the famous London petition was in fact an earnest protest of the people against its encroachments. Lady Theresa's picture of its insidious progress might be applied with no less force to similar experiences of a more recent date.

“The revival of particular forms of worship, the peculiar cut of vestments, the internal arrangement and decoration of the churches, the introduction of pictures, candlesticks, and images on the communion table, the selling of crucifixes, the strict observances of saints' days, the publication of some books deemed too light for edification, and the hindering of others from being printed which were held as “gooly,” could never have found their place by the side of charges that most deeply affected the civil and religious condition of the Church of England, had they not been viewed as so many indications of a design to assimulate and re-unite with the Church of Rome, then declared by the prelates, in defiance of the 19th Article of their own church, never to have erred in fundamentals.’”

Such was the state of the Church when the bill for taking away the secular power of the bishops was introduced. Falkland had only just entered Parliament. He had already taken his stand beside Pym and Hampden against the “grievances,” of which ship-money was the most prominent; and he now denounced with patriotic enthusiasm the intolerance and Romish sympathies of the bishops. All this was perfectly consistent in itself. The party with which he coalesced from his first start in parliament was that of the people. They appear to have hailed his accession with ardor, and to have been willing to forget that, earn

est as he now was in his resistance to episcopal despotism, only a year or two had elapsed since he had taken service in the king's crusade against liberty of conscience in the north, for the purpose of forcing episcopal institutions and a compulsory liturgy on the Scotch. Perhaps that very circumstance may have given additional weight in the eyes of the patriots to his support of liberal doctrines in the House of Commons; but it is impossible, in the dispassionate estimate of history, not to regard his activity, on both sides of the same question, as a course of conduct that involved a direct contradiction in principle. That Clarendon took this view of it himself is evident from his account of the incident as it actually happened in the house. They always sat together; they generally came in together; and when they did not, the place of the absent friend was left vacant by the other members. Clarendon had just spoken against the bill, when Falkland, says Clarendon, “suddenly stood up and declared himself to be of another opinion.” He then goes on to describe the delight of the house at seeing the inseparable friends divided on so important a point; and he adds, “they could not abstain from a kind of rejoicing, and the more because they saw Mr. Hyde was much surprised by the contradiction, as in truth he was ; having never discovered the least inclination in the other towards such a compliance.” Lady Theresa observes that Clarendon ought not to have been surprised at Falkland's opinions on this subject, as he had expressed them a month before in a speech on episcopacy; but the fact that he was surprised is recorded by himself, and admits of as little doubt as the unexpected inconsistency by which it was occasioned. Then came the famous “Root and Branch” bill, and the bandying of bills between the two houses for the abolition of the temporal jurisdiction and authority of the clergy; and when, finally, a bill to that effect was brought into the Commons, differing in little from that which Lord Falkland had previously supported, he was found concurring with his friend in his opposition to it! In vain Hampden reproached him with his change of opinion; in vain the torrent swept on; Falkland, who seems to have been crotchety on points of form at the cost of great principles, refused to commit himself to the stream after having helped to throw down the flood-gates. The defence which is set up for him by our authoress is ingenious but weak, for it amounts to no more than this—that, having originally declared his conviction that a certain concession was necessary to the repose and security of the kingdom, he thought it ought to be resisted when it took the shape of a demand. It was not a time for public men to separate and break up their party on matters of etiquette and form; broad and decisive views and energy in the prosecution of them, were indispensable to the great work that was to be done; and for this work Falkland was unfitted by the constitution of his mind. It might easily be shown that, in turning aside upon such grounds from the cause he had so warmly espoused, he suffered a trivial sophistry to assert a fatal ascendancy over his judgment; but we have no space for disquisitions. The contrast between his subsequent career and that of Hampden is painful, and develops clearly the difference between the strong and faithful intellect, which rises with the demands of the occasion, vindicating and sustaining its consistency to the end, and the feebler reason which wastes its ingenuity in the vain endeavor to reconcile antagonistic elements. Falkland devoted himself to this sort of generous and hopeless Quixotism. It was like a man expending his life over such impossible problems as the philosopher's stone, or the o: of the circle. The king being now reduced to extremities, desired to call to his councils men who, opposing the abuses of the church and the monarchy, yet stood well affected to the crown; men who were for authority in its forms and against it in its usurpations, and who, when the conflict came between the final choice of the two, would be likely to take the side of authority, at all risks, as the more legitimate battle-ground. Falkland was one of these. Here was another inconsistency arising from his constitutional desire to propitiate opposing parties. He had the highest veneration for parliament, and but little trust in the king ; yet nevertheless he considered it his duty to accept office in the hour of royal trouble. He and Culpepper were accordingly sworn into the Privy Council; but Hyde, who was also solicited, wisely refused, consenting, however, to aid them with his counsels, the king pledging himself at the same time to do nothing relating to the Commons without their joint advice. This pledge was scarcely given when it was broken by the impeachment and arrest of Lord Kimbolton and five members of the Commons; an act, says Clarendon, “to which they were absolute strangers, and

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which they perfectly detested.” What course was now open to Falkland, as an up. right and independent man? Retirement from the councils of the king. But he did not retire; and the arguments by which his conduct in this juncture is defended might have been advantageously spared. He not only remained in the Privy Council, but gave in his adhesion to an act he “detested,” by accepting the seal of a Secretary of State four days after that act was accomplished. This proceeding requires no commentary. Then followed the ludicrous coup d'état in the Commons, when the king went in person to demand the five members, and the subsequent flight from Whitehall, which His Ma. jesty never re-entered as king of England. Throughout all the scenes that followed leading up to the Commission of Array and the breaking out of the civil war, Falkland was staunch to the king, whose perpetual duplicities afforded ground enough for any man of conscience to withdraw from his ser: vice. But this was the chivalric error of his character. He held all the more to his fidel. ity in the royal cause as adversity thickened around it; and much as we may lament the imbroglio of falsities in which it involved him, it is difficult to refuse our admiration to the devotion he exhibited under the most untoward circumstances. Lady Theresa is a some pains to liberate him from the impuls: tion of having had any share in the perfidi. ous policy pursued by the king; but the whole exculpation rests on the doubt as to what part of the declarations to which his signature was attached were really adopted by him. We wish we could give him the benefit of the doubt. But he had not even the excuse of Fairfax, whose name was used by the Commons without his knowledge of assent, and at times, too, when he was not in London, and could not have been cognizan of the proceedings he was thus made to ap: pear to sanction. Falkland was present and active in the king's service, and it is not de: nied that he actually signed these declara. tions. His responsibility, therefore, is clear. Even if it were otherwise, if it could be as: sumed to be true, that he was constantly acting in the king's service against his con: victions, that he was the strenuous advocal” for peace while he was contributing horse: and help in other shapes to the war, an that he showed an unwearied zeal in caro ing out measures of which his moral conso tions disapproved, we do not see that ho reputation can derive much advantage from an argument which defends his conduct “

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the expense of his honor. He certainly cannot have credit both ways. He eitber approved of the perfidies he subscribed, or acted upon them in opposition to his conscience. So far as his earnest desire for peace was engaged in these transactions, he might have felt that he had already done enough, in the hope of bringing round a reconciliation, by assenting to a course of treacheries which he must have abhorred ; and when that failed, and war had become inevitable, he should have vindicated his principles by withdrawing from the stage. The most curious contradiction of all was, that, being foremost amongst those who labored for peace, he was equally prominent in his exposure of himself in the field, assigning as a reason for so conspicuous a display of heroism, the necessity of showing to the world that his love of peace did not proceed from any fear of war. These contradictions and inconsistencies evince a weakness of will strangely opposed to the received notions of Falkland's character, and above all to his undaunted bravery in the hour of danger. The qualities of moral and physical courage were not mingled in him in equal proportions; and his nature appears to have been too sensitive and impressionable for the stratagems in which he be. came entangled in the service of the king. It must be felt that he comes out of them like a man who was always placed in dilemmas, for which, of all men, he was the least qualified by taste, habit, or capacity. Yet in spite of the shadows that fell upon his path from the moment he renounced his political connections with Pym and Hampden, it is difficult to resist the charm which attaches to him in his personal relations, and the melancholy interest which is inseparable from the incidents of his life. A scholar and a poet, a munificent patron of letters, distinguished in his house by the genial grace of his hospitalities, and in the field of battle by a spirit of gallantry sans peur et sans reproche, he will always be regarded as one who, notwithstanding many errors of judgment, reflected lustre upon the cause in which he was sacrificed at the early age of four-andthirty. The biography of Lord Capell is more stirring, and will probably be found more attractive on that account, than the memoir of Falkland. He, too, commenced his parliamentary career on the side of the patriots, was raised to the peerage, and all at once went over to the king. Joining his majesty at York, he was afterwards present at the

raising of the standard at Nottingham, and thenceforth became one of the most active and enterprising adherents of hunted royalty throughout the calamitous incidents of the war and the dispersion of the king's family. His life is a sort of microcosm of the flying camp and the vicissitudes of the court, in which he personally participated. It is related with vigor and skill, and displays to much advantage the versatility and literary power of the writer. We need not trace Lord Capell through the struggles of sequestration, the escapes and wanderings in Jersey and on the Continent, and the subsequent return to England —circumstantial details which form a part of the general history, and for a minute and vivid account of which the reader may be referred to the narrative before us. Passing over these incidents, we come to that memorable closing scene of his life which, as it forms the most striking passage in his career, has received the largest share of attention from his biographer. Having obtained a pass to return to England, and being permitted by the House of Lords to reside at his own house, he appears to have occupied himself ostensibly in making a composition for delinquency. But his zeal on behalf of the king was not to be extinguished by any terrors the Parliament could inspire. His majesty was at Hampton Court, in the hands of the army, and thither Lord Capell repaired to pay his duty. This led to a renewal of his secret correspondence with Clarendon and others, having for its object the rekindling of the flame of loyalty and the collecting of resources to resuscitate the hopeless contest. The next move was in Essex, where the royalists made a bold demonstration under Goring and Norwich; and where they were joined by Capell, Lucas, Lisle, and Gascoigne, who, hearing of the approach of Fairfax, shut themselves up in Colchester. The issue is well known. After a protracted siege, Colchester, starved and riddled, was compelled to surrender to mercy; Lucas and Lisle were executed on the spot, Gascoigne was spared on the ground of his being a foreigner, and Capell was reserved for trial by the Parliament, who, finding him guilty of high treason, sentenced him to death. Great credit must be given to Lady Theresa Lewis for the careful and dispassionate spirit in which she sifts the evidence and traces the whole course of the proceedings in the case of Lord Capell: and however opinions may differ in reference to the justice or humanity of the verdict which doomed him to the scaffold, there cannot be any hesitation in awarding to his biographer the highest praise for the ability and impartiality with which she has treated a question often discussed before, but never with so much fulness and clearness of statement. The cases of Capell, Lucas, and Lisle were not in all aspects similar. They were special points upon which they presented special differences; but they all came within the same interpretation of treason to the state. Capell himself had the courage to assert to Ireton, that as they were all equally concerned (alluding to Lucas and Lisle,) they should have all shared the same fate; and if he had been condemned with his companions, the verdict would at least have fallen within the operation of those military tribunals whose decisions, however their severity might be lamented, could not be arraigned on the ground of illegality or injustice. But the quarter which was given to him at that moment justified to some extent the belief that his life would be spared, although in handing him over to be dealt with by the civil power, no such expectation was or could be implied. In the course subsequently adopted by the two houses of Parliament there are traces of vacillation which still further encouraged the reliance of Lord Capell's friends upon the mercy of his judges; but the crisis that was coming—the great catastrophe that was now looming over the deliberations of the legislature—appears to have led the Commons to the ultimate conviction that it would have been dangerous to the peace of the kingdom and derogatory to its justice to extend to a peer a measure of forbearance that had been withheld from men of lesser rank and influence. We cannot agree with his able biographer, that, he was “tried for his life and condemned to death, in spite of assurance of fair quarter.” We find no such assurance given in

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Monument To THE AUTHOR of HUDIBRAs. —The churchwardens of St. Paul's church, Covent Garden, have resolved to erect memorial tablets for two well-known poets, whose remains rest within their precincts, Butler, the author of “ Hudibras,” and Dr. Walcott, the noted Peter Pindar. St. Paul's, Covent Garden, is a church rich not only in sepulchral memorials, but in historical and literary associations. It was designed by the celebrated architect, Inigo Jones, and consecrated by Juxon, Bishop of London, in the time of Charles 1. There is a tradition

any formal or authoritative shape; but the question is nevertheless fairly argued and exhausted in the luminous investigation to which it is submitted by Lady Theresa.

We have not left ourselves room to enter upon the life of the Marquis of Hertford, one of the most distinguished and enlightened of the king's supporters, who, like Falkland and Capell, began his public career in the ranks of the reformers and ended it in the service of the king, but who, more fortunate than they, lived to hail the era of the Restoration, and to be rewarded for his fidelity and rein. stated in his honors. The biography is crowded with valuable matter, and carries us into scenes which develop sources of interest of a different character from those which constitute the attraction of the preceding narratives; so, that, upon the whole, by a judicious choice of subjects, the writer has been enabled to avoid the tediousness of repeating the same incidents, although dealing with the same general subject, and to impart freshness and individuality to each of her memoirs.

If in our notice of this work we have given more space to the biography of Falkland than to that of the others, it is because his name is more familiar in the mouths of men in relation to the chivalry of the cavaliers; but the general reader will probably discover more interest of a dramatic and exciting kind, and closer views of the eventful life of the period, in the biographies of Capell and Hertford. Taken altogether, they form an excellent pendant to the History of the Ro bellion, and combine, with the responsible earnestness of the political memoir, some of the most fascinating characteristics of the romantic chronicle. The work is written throughout in the best taste, and displays a capacity of research and original observa. tion not often found in such happy combina: tion.

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al story, resting, however, on no better althority than that of gossiping Harry Walpole, that the Earl of Bedford of those days, on sending for Inigo Jones, said he wanted * chapel for the parishioners of Covent Garden, but that he wished not to go to any considerable expense. “In short,”he added. “I would not have it much better than * barn.” “Well,” was the architect's reply, “you shall have the handsomest barn " England.” . The portico has always been admired for its chasteness and simplicity.

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It will be a welcome intimation to a very large public of readers that a collected edition of Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton's poetical and dramatic writings has been commenced, of which the first very handsome volume, with a well engraved portrait and vignette title, is now before us. It will include a selection of his youthful and all his more mature poems, “some not before printed, some entirely re-written from the more imperfect productions of earlier years,” all subjected to careful revision. It is to contain also the comedies and plays, and will range when completed with the library edition of that brilliant series of novels and romances with which the same writer has enriched our language.

To those who are curious in tracing a most fruitful, active, and original mind through its earlier to its more mature development, this collection of Sir E. B. Lytton's poems presents the same kind of interest as may be found in his collected novels and tales. No man has been a more resolute, a more unwearied student. Perhaps no popular writer has had greater temptations to encourage, in the growth and application of his genius, what certainly no man has more steadily chastened and subdued. As the brilliance of success never gave him overweening confidence, neither has occasional non-success damped his energy or betrayed his just confidence in the power which has at last won general and earnest recognition. “If it was na weel bobbit, we'll bobbit again.” We have the results in the collected edition now begun, and in the claim it establishes, no longer disputable, to the title of dramatist and poet. o

Turning to see the changes which “revision” has made in some of the poems with which we were familiar, we have been struck

* The Poetical and Dramatic Works of Sir Ed. ward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. Vol. I. Narrative #." “The New Timon,” &c. Chapman and

ll.

The Poems and Ballads of Schiller. Translated by Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton, Bart. Second Edition. Blackwood and Sons.

by the improvement in the early and very beautiful one of “Milton.” The idea of this fragment (for it is a succession of scenes rather than a connected romance) is to depict the great poet in the three periods of his life, beginning from that youthful one of Italian travel with which tradition has coupled the anecdote of the Italian lady, attracted by his beauty when asleep, who dropped Guarini's epigram by his side, and making of this incident a thread to connect the youth, manhood, and age of Milton. Let the reader familiar with the original poem observe the simpler and more beautiful structure of one of its most admired passages in this edition--that in which the poet is exhibited at the close of his life, as Marvel nobly designated him, “blind but bold.”

The old man felt the fresh air o'er him blowing,
Waving thin locks from musing temples pale;
Felt the quick sun thro' cloud and azure going,
And the light dance of leaves upon the gale,
In that mysterious symbol-change of earth
Which looks like death, tho' but restoring birth.
Seasons return ; for him shall not return
Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn.
Whatever garb the Mighty Mother wore,
Nature to him was changeless evermore.—
List, not a sigh —tho' fall'n on evil days,
With darkness compass'd round—those sightless
eyes
Need . the sun; nightly he sees the rays,
Nightly he walks the bowers, of Paradise.
High, pale, still, voiceless, motionless, alone,
Death-like in calm as monumental stone,
Lifting his looks into the farthest skies,
He sate; And as when some tempestuous day
Dies in the hush of the majestic eve,
So on his brow—where grief has pass'd away,
Reigns that dread stillness grief alone can leave.

There are also some fine lines allusive to the occasional excesses that are charged against Milton's associates in the struggle for English freedom.

Whate'er their errors, lightly those condemn

Who, o they felt not, fought not, glow’d and err'

Had left us what their fathers left to them—

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