do by being caught in undress: but all who are really worth knowing about, will, on the whole, be gainers; and we should be well content to have no biographies but of those who would profit, as well as their readers, by being shown in new or in nearer lights.

character, and actually made discovery of large provinces in his understanding, of which scarcely an indication was to be found in his writings. In the last and lowest place-in so far, at least, as relates to the proper business of this branch of biography, the enlargement of our knowledge of the genius and character of individuals we must reckon that most common form of the memoirs of literary men, which consists of little more than the biographer's own (generally most partial) description and estimate of his author's merits, or of elucidations and critical summaries of his most remarkable productions. In this division, though in other respects of great value, must be ranked those admirable dissertations which Mr. Stewart has given to the world under the title of the Lives of Reid, Smith, and Robertson, the real interest of which consists almost entirely in the luminous exposi-lications themselves. It is from such sources tion we there meet with of the leading speculations of those eminent writers, and in the candid and acute investigation of their originality or truth.

The value of the insight which may thus be obtained into the mind and the meaning of truly great authors, can scarcely be overrated by any one who knows how to tur such communications to account; and we do not think we exaggerate when we say, that in many cases more light may be gained from the private letters, notes, or recorded talk of such persons, than from the most finished of their publications; and not only upon the many new topics which are sure to be started in such memorials, but as to the true charac ter, and the merits and defects, of such pub

alone that we can learn with certainty by what road the author arrived at the conclusions which we see established in his works; against what perplexities he had to struggle, We know it has been said, that after a man and after what failures he was at last enabled has himself given to the public all that he to succeed. It is thus only that we are often thought worthy of its acceptance, it is not fair enabled to detect the prejudice or hostility for a posthumous biographer to endanger his which may be skilfully and mischievously reputation by bringing forward what he had disguised in the published book-to find out withheld as unworthy,—either by exhibiting the doubts ultimately entertained by the authe mere dregs and refuse of his lucubrations, thor himself, of what may appear to most or by exposing to the general gaze those crude readers to be triumphantly established,—or conceptions, or rash and careless opinions, to gain glimpses of those grand ulterior specuwhich he may have noted down in the pri- lations, to which what seemed to common vacy of his study, or thrown out in the confi- eyes a complete and finished system, was, in dence of private conversation. And no doubt truth, intended by the author to serve only as there may be (as there have been) cases of a vestibule or introduction. Where such such abuse. Confidence is in no case to be documents are in abundance, and the mind violated; nor are mere trifles, which bear no which has produced them is truly of the highmark of the writer's intellect, to be recorded est order, we do not hesitate to say, that more to his prejudice. But wherever there is power will generally be found in them, in the way and native genius, we cannot but grudge the at least of hints to kindred minds, and as suppression of the least of its revelations; and scattering the seeds of grand and original are persuaded, that with those who can judge conceptions, than in any finished works which of such intellects, they will never lose any the indolence, the modesty, or the avocations thing by the most lavish and indiscriminate of such persons will have generally permitted disclosures. Which of Swift's most elaborate them to give to the world. So far, therefore, productions is at this day half so interesting from thinking the biography of men of genius as that most confidential Journal to Stella? Or barren or unprofitable, because presenting few which of them, with all its utter carelessness events or personal adventures, we cannot but of expression, its manifold contradictions, its regard it, when constructed in substance of infantine fondness, and all its quick-shifting such materials as we have now mentioned, moods, of kindness, selfishness, anger, and as the most instructive and interesting of all ambition, gives us half so strong an impres- writing-embodying truth and wisdom in the sion either of his amiableness or his vigour? vivid distinctness of a personal presentment, How much, in like manner, is Johnson raised-enabling us to look on genius in its first in our estimation, not only as to intellect but personal character, by the industrious eavesdroppings of Boswell, setting down, day by day, in his note-book, the fragments of his most loose and unweighed conversations? Or what, in fact, is there so precious in the works, or the histories, of eminent men, from Cicero to Horace Walpole, as collections of their private and familiar letters? What would we not give for such a journal-such notes of conversations, or such letters, of Shakespeare, Chaucer, or Spenser? The mere drudges or coxcombs of literature may indeed suffer by such disclosures-as made-up beauties might

elementary stirrings, and in its weakness as well as its strength, and teaching us at the same time great moral lessons, both as to the value of labour and industry, and the neces sity of virtues, as well as intellectual endowments, for the attainment of lasting excellence.

In these general remarks our readers will easily perceive that we mean to shadow forth our conceptions of the character and peculiar merits of the work before us. It is the history not of a man of action, but of a student, a philosopher, and a statesman; and its value consists not in the slight and imperfect account of what was done by, or happened to,

the individual, but in the vestiges it has lections of all who had most familiar access to fortunately preserved of the thoughts, senti-him in society. It was owing perhaps to this ments, and opinions of one of the most power- vigour and rapidity of intellectual digestion ful thinkers, most conscientious inquirers, and that, though all his life a great talker, there most learned reasoners, that the world has never was a man that talked half so much ever seen. It is almost entirely made up of who said so little that was either foolish or journals and letters of the author himself; frivolous; nor any one perhaps who knew and impresses us quite as strongly as any of so well how to give as much liveliness and his publications with a sense of the richness poignancy just and even profound observaof his knowledge and the fineness of his un- tions, as others could ever impart to startling derstanding-and with a far stronger sense extravagance, and ludicrous exaggeration. The of his promptitude, versatility, and vigour.* vast extent of his information, and the natural His intellectual character, generally, can- gaiety of his temper, made him independent not be unknown to any one acquainted with of such devices for producing effect; and, his works, or who has even read many pages joined to the inherent kindness and gentleof the Memoirs now before us; and it is need-ness of his disposition, made his conversation less, therefore, to speak here of his great at once the most instructive and the most knowledge, the singular union of ingenuity generally pleasing that could be imagined. and soundness in his speculations-his perfect candour and temper in discussion-the pure and lofty morality to which he strove to elevate the minds of others, and in his own conduct to conform, or the wise and humane allowance which he was ready, in every case but his own, to make for the infirmities which must always draw down so many from the higher paths of their duty.

Of his intellectual endowments we shall say no more. But we must add, that the Tenderness of his domestic affections, and the deep Humility of his character, were as inadequately known, even among his friends, till the publication of those private records: For his manners, though gentle, were cold; and, though uniformly courteous and candid in society, it was natural to suppose that he was not unconscious of his superiority. It is, therefore, but justice to bring into view some of the proofs that are now before us of both these endearing traits of character. The beautiful letter which he addressed to Dr. Parr on the death of his first wife, in 1797, breathes the full spirit of both. We regret that we can only afford room for a part of it.

These merits, we believe, will no longer be denied by any who have heard of his name, or looked at his writings. But there were other traits of his intellect which could only be known to those who were of his acquaintance, and which it is still desirable that the readers of these Memoirs should bear in mind. One of these was, that ready and prodigious Memory, by which all that he learned seemed to be at once engraved on the proper "Allow me, in justice to her memory, to tell compartment of his mind, and to present you what she was, and what I owed her. I was itself at the moment it was required; another, my youth. I found an intelligent companion, and guided in my choice only by the blind affection of still more remarkable, was the singular Ma- a tender friend; a prudent monitress, the most turity and completeness of all his views and faithful of wives, and a mother as tender as children opinions, even upon the most abstruse and ever had the misfortune to lose. I found a woman complicated questions, though raised, without who, by the tender management of my weaknesses, design or preparation, in the casual course of She became prudent from affection; and though of gradually corrected the most pernicious of them. conversation. In this way it happened that the most generous nature, she was taught economy the sentiments he delivered had generally and frugality by her love for me. During the most the air of recollections-and that few of those critical period of my life, she preserved order in my with whom he most associated in mature life, affairs, from the care of which she relieved me. She could recollect of ever catching him in the gently reclaimed me from dissipation; she propped act of making up his mind, in the course of dolence to all the exertions that have been useful my weak and irresolute nature; she urged my inthe discussions in which it was his delight to or creditable to me, and she was perpetually at hand engage them. His conclusions, and the grounds to admonish my heedlessness and improvidence. of them, seemed always to have been pre- To her I owe whatever I am; to her whatever I viously considered and digested; and though shall be. Such was she whom I have lost! And he willingly developed his reasons, to secure I have lost her after eight years of struggle and distress had bound us fast together, and moulded our the assent of his hearers, he uniformly seemed tempers to each other, when a knowledge of her to have been perfectly ready, before the cause worth had refined my youthful love into friendship, was called on, to have delivered the opinion and before age had deprived it of much of its origi. of the court, with a full summary of the argu-nal ardour,-I lost her, alas! (the choice of my ments and evidence on both sides. In the youth, and the partner of my misfortunes) at a mowork before us, we have more peeps into the ment when I had the prospect of her sharing my preparatory deliberations of his great intellect that scrupulous estimate of the grounds of decision, and that jealous questioning of first impressions, which necessarily precede the formation of all firm and wise opinions.-than could probably be collected from the recol

* A short account of Sir James' parentage, education, and personal history is here omitted.

better days!

"The philosophy which I have learnt only teaches me that virtue and friendship are the greatest of human blessings, and that their loss is irreparable. It aggravates my calamity, instead of consoling me consolation. Governed by those feelings, which under it. But my wounded heart seeks another have in every age and region of the world actuated

the human mind, I seek relief, and I find it, in the soothing hope and consolatory opinion, that a Benevolent Wisdom inflicts the chastisement, as

well as bestows the enjoyments of human life; that Superintending Goodness will one day enlighten the darkness which surrounds our nature, and hangs over our prospects; that this dreary and wretched life is not the whole of man; that an animal so sagacious and provident, and c pable of such proficiency in science and virtue, is not like the beasts that perish; that there is a dwelling-place prepared for the spirits of the just, and that the ways of God will yet be vindicated to man."

We may add part of a very kind letter, written from India, in 1808, in a more cheerful mood, to his son-in-law Mr. Rich, then on a mission to Babylon,-and whose early death so soon blasted the hopes, not only of his afflicted family, but of the whole literary world.

In the same sad but gentle spirit, we have this entry in 1822:—

"Walked a little up the quiet valley, which on this cheerful morning looked pretty. White sorg on the stone under the tree. my mind was sootbed by reading some passages of in the Quarterly Review. With no painful humility I felt that an enemy of mine is a man of geus and virtue; and that all who think slightingly of me may be right."

But the strongest and most painful expres sion of this profound humility is to be found in a note to his Dissertation on Ethical Philosophy; in which, after a beautiful eulogium on his deceased friends, Mr. George Wilson and Mr. Serjeant Lens, he adds

"And now, my dear Rich, allow me, with the "The present writer hopes that the good-natured liberty of warm affection, earnestly to exhort you reader will excuse him tor having thus, perhaps to exert every power of your mind in the duties of unseasonably, bestowed heartfelt commendation your station. There is something in the serious-on those who were above the pursuit of praise, and ness, both of business and of science, of which your the remembrance of whose good opinion and goodvivacity is impatient. The brilliant variety of your will helps to support him, under a deep sense of attainments and accomplishments do, I fear, flatter faults and vices." you into the conceit that you may indulge your genius,' and pass your life in amusement; while you smile at those who think, and at those who act But this would be weak and ignoble. The success of your past studies ought to show you how much you may yet do, instead of soothing you with the reflection how much you have done.

Habits of seriousness of thought and action are necessary to the duties, to the importance, and to the dignity of human life. What is amiable gaiety at twenty-four might run the risk, if it was unaccompanied by other things, of being thought frivo. lous and puerile at forty-four. I am so near forty four, that I can give you pretty exact news of that dull country; which yet ought to interest you, as you are travelling towards it, and must, I hope, pass through it.

James' personal character to enter ready The reader now knows enough of Sr into the spirit of any extracts we may lay t fore him. The most valuable of these are supplied by his letters, journals, and occa sional writings, while enjoying the compara tive leisure of his Indian residence, or the complete leisure of his voyage to and from that country: and, with all due deference ta opposite opinions, this is exactly what we should have expected. Sir James Macktosh, it is well known, had a great relish or Society; and had not constitutional vie (after his return from India) to go through much Business without exhaustion and fatigue. In London and in Parliament, therefore, his powerful intellect was at once too much dis sipated, and too much oppressed; and the traces it has left of its exertions on those You came here so early as to have made few scenes are comparatively few and inadequate. sacrifices of friendship and society at home. You In conversation, no doubt, much that was de can afford a good many years for making a hand-lightful and instructive was thrown out; and. some fortune, aud still return home young. You for want of a Boswell, has perished! But do not feel the force of that word quite so much as though it may be true that we have thus best the light and graceful flowers of anecdote and conversation, we would fain console ourselves with the belief that we have secured the more precious and mature fruits of studies and meditations, which can only be pursued a advantage, when the cessation of more impor

"I hope you will profit by my errors. I was once ambitious to have made you a much improved edition of myself. If you had stayed here, I should have laboured to do so, in spite of your impatience; as it is, I heartily pray that you may make your self something much better.

I could wish: But for the present let me hope that the prospect of coming to one who has such an affection for you as I have, will give your country some of the attractions of home. If you can be allured to it by the generous hope of increasing the enjoyments of my old age, you will soon discover in it sufficient excellences to love and admire; and it will become to you, in the full force of the term,

a home."

We are not sure whether the frequent aspirations which we find in his private letters, after the quiet and repose of an Academical situation, ought to be taken as proofs of his humility, though they are generally expressed in language bearing that character. But there are other indications enough, and of the most unequivocal description-for example, this entry in 1818:

has, I think, a distaste for me. I think the worse of nobody for such a feeling. Indeed I often feel a distaste for myself; and I am sure I should not esteem my own character in another person. It is more likely that I should have disrespectable or disagreeable qualities, than that should have an unreasonable antipathy.

Vol. ii. p. 344.

tunate calls has "left us leisure to be wise."

With reference to these views, nothing has struck us more than the singular vigour and alertness of his understanding during the dul small cabin, in a tropical climate, in a state progress of his home voyage. Shut up in a of languid health, and subject to every sort of annoyance, he not only reads with an dustry which would not disgrace an ardent Academic studying for honours, but plunges eagerly into original speculations, and finishes off some of the most beautiful compositions in the language, in a shorter time than would be allowed, for such subjects, to a contractor for leading paragraphs to a daily paper. Iu less than a fortnight, during this voyage, be seems to have thrown off nearly twenty ehbe rate characters of eminent authors or states

men in English story-conceived with a justness, and executed with a delicacy, which would seem unattainable without long meditation and patient revisal. We cannot now venture, however, to present our readers with more than a part of one of them; and we take our extract from that of Samuel Johnson.

"In early youth he had resisted the most severe tests of probity. Neither the extreme poverty nor the uncertain income to which the virtue of so many men of letters has yielded, even in the slightest degree weakened his integrity, or lowered the dignity of his independence. His moral principles (if the language may be allowed) partook of the vigour of his understanding. He was conscientious, sincere, determined; and his pride was no more than a steady consciousness of superiority in the most valuable qualities of human nature. His friendships were not only firm, but generous and tender, beneath a rugged exterior. He wounded none of those feelings which the habits of his life enabled him to estimate; but he had become too hardened by serious distress not to contract some disregard for those minor delicacies which become so keenly sensible, in a calm and prosperous fortune. He was a Tory, not without some propensities towards Jacobitism; and a High Churchman, with more attachment to ecclesiastical authority and a splendid worship, than is quite consistent with the spirit of Protestantism. On these subjects he neither permitted himself to doubt, nor tolerated difference of opinion in others. But the vigour of his understanding is no more to be estimated by his opinions on subjects where it was bound by his prejudices, than the strength of a man's body by the efforts of a limb in fetters. His conversation, which was one of the most powerful instruments of his extensive influence, was artificial, dogmatical, sententious, and poignant; adapted, with the most admirable versatility, to every subject as it arose, and distinguished by an almost unparalleled power of serious repartee. He seems to have considered himself as a sort of colloquial magistrate, who inflicted severe punishment from just policy. His course of life led him to treat those sensibilities, which such severity wounds, as fantastic and effeminate; and he entered society too late to acquire those habits of politeness which are a substitute for natural delicacy..

both extremes are condemned to perpetual revolution. Those who select words from that permanent part of a language, and who arrange them according to its natural order, have discovered the true secret of rendering their writings permanent; and of preserving that rank among the classical writers of their country, which men of greater intellectual power have failed to attain. Of these writers, whose language has not yet been at all superannuated, Cowley was probably the earliest, as Dryden and Addison were assuredly the greatest.

"The third period may be called the Rhetorical, and is distinguished by the prevalence of a school of writers, of which Johnson was the founder. The fundamental character of this style is, that it employs undisguised art, where classical writers appear only to obey the impulse of a cul ivated and adorned nature, &c.

As the mind of Johnson was robust, but neither nimble nor graceful, so his style, though sometimes significant, nervous, and even majestic, was void of all grace and ease; and being the most unlike of all styles to the natural effusion of a cultivated mind, had the least pretensions to the praise of eloquence. During the period, now near a close, in which he was a favourite model, a stiff symmetry and tedious monotony succeeded to that various music with which the taste of Addison diversified his periods, and to that natural imagery which his beautiful genius seemed with graceful negligence to scatter over his composition.'

We stop here to remark, that, though concurring in the substance of this masterly classification of our writers, we should yet be disposed to except to that part of it which represents the first introduction of soft, graceful, and idiomatic English as not earlier than the period of the Restoration. In our opinion it is at least as old as Chaucer. The English Bible is full of it; and it is among the most common, as well as the most beautiful, of the many languages spoken by Shakespeare. Laying his verse aside, there are in his longer passages of prose-and in the serious as well as the humorous parts-in Hamlet, and Brutus, and Shylock, and Henry V., as well as in Falstaff, and Touchstone, Rosalind, and BeneIn the progress of English style, three periods dick, a staple of sweet, mellow, and natural may be easily distinguished. The first period extended from Sir Thomas More to Lord Clarendon. English, altogether as free and elegant as that Dyring great part of this period, the style partook of Addison, and for the most part more vigorof the rudeness and fluctuation of an unformed lan- ous and more richly coloured. The same may guage, in which use had not yet determined the be said, with some exceptions, of the other words that were to be English. Writers had not dramatists of that age. Sir James is right yet discovered the combination of words which best perhaps as to the grave and authoritative wrisuits the original structure and immutable constitution of our language. While the terms were Eng-ters of prose; but few of the wits of Queen lish, the arrangement was Latin-the exclusive language of learning, and that in which every truth in science, and every model of elegance, was then contemplated by youth. For a century and a half, ineffectual attempts were made to bend our vulgar tongue to the genius of the language supposed to be superior; and the whole of this period, though not without a capricious mixture of coarse idiom, may be called the Latin, or pedantic age, of our style.

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In the second period, which extended from the Restoration to the middle of the eighteenth century, a series of writers appeared, of less genius indeed than their predecessors, but more successful in their experiments to discover the mode of writing most adapted to the genius of the language. About the same period that a similar change was effected in France by Pascal, they began to banish from style, learned as well as vulgar phraseology; and to confine themselves to the part of the language naturally used in general conversation by well-educated men. That middle region which lies between vulgarity and pedantry, remains commonly unchanged, while

Anne's time were of that description. We shall only add that part of the sequel which contains the author's general account of the Lives of the Poets.

"Whenever understanding alone is sufficient for poetical criticism, the decisions of Johnson are generally right. But the beauties of poetry must be felt before their causes are investigated. There is a poetical sensibility, which in the progress of the mind becomes as distinct a power as a musical ear or a picturesque eye. Without a considerable degree of this sensibility, it is as vain for a man of the greatest understanding to speak of the higher beauties of poetry, as it is for a blind man to speak of colours. But to cultivate such a talent was wholly foreign from the worldly sagacity and stern shrewd ness of Johnson. As in his judgment of life and character, so in his criticism on poetry, he was a sort of free-thinker. He suspected the refined of affectation; he rejected the enthusiactic as absurd; and he took it for granted that the mysterious was