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tive and intellectual character. An English scene received, he never stops to consider how far his is thus described :
own professed opinions may be consistent with Clifton, in vain thy varied scenes invite
each other: hence he contradicts himself almost as The mossy bank, dim glade, and dizzy height;
often as any other body. Jeffrey, in one of his most The sheep that starting from the tufted thyme,
brilliant papers, has characterised in happy terms Untune the distant churches' mellow chime;
the class of minds to which Mr Landor belongs. As o'er each limb a gentle horror creeps,
• The work before us,' says he, is an edifying exAnd shake above our heads the craggy steeps,
ample of the spirit of literary Jacobinism-flying Pleasant I've thought it to pursue the rower,
at all game, running a-muck at all opinions, and at While light and darkness seize the changeful oar,
continual cross-purposes with its own. This spirit The frolic Naiads drawing from below
admits neither of equal nor superior, follower nor A net of silver round the black canoe,
precursor: "it travels in a road so narrow, where but Now the last lonely solace must it be
one goes abreast.” It claims a monopoly of sense, To watch pale evening brood o'er land and sea, wit, and wisdom. To agree with it is an impertiThen join my friends, and let those friends believe nence; to differ from it a crime. It tramples on old My cheeks are moistened by the dews of eve.
prejudices; it is jealous of new pretensions. It seizes The Maids Lament' is a short lyrical flow of opinions, and when they are countenanced by any
with avidity on all that is startling or obnoxious in picturesque expression and pathos, resembling the one else, discards them as no longer fit for its use. more recent effusions of Barry Cornwall :
Thus persons of this temper affect atheism by way of I loved him not; and yet, now he is gone,
distinction ; and if they can succeed in bringing it I feel I am alone.
into fashion, become orthodox again, in order not to I checked him while he spoke; yet could he speak, be with the vulgar. Their creed is at the mercy of Alas! I would not check.
every one who assents to, or who contradicts it. All Por reasons not to love him once I sought,
their ambition, all their endeavour is, to seem wiser And wearied all my thought
than the whole world besides. They hate whatever To vex myself and him: I now would give
falls short of, whatever goes beyond, their favourite My love could he but live
theories. In the one case, they hurry on before to Who lately lived for me, and when he found
get the start of you; in the other, they suddenly 'Twas vain, in holy ground
turn back to hinder you, and defeat themselves. An He hid his face amid the shades of death!
inordinate, restless, incorrigible self-love, is the key I waste for him my breath
to all their actions and opinions, extravagances and Who wasted his for me; but mine returns,
meannesses, servility and arrogance. Whatever And this lone bosom burns
soothes and pampers this, they applaud ; whatever With stilling heat, heaving it up in sleep,
wounds or interferes with it, they utterly and vinAnd waking me to weep
dictively abhor. A general is with them a hero Tears that bad melted his soft heart : for years if he is unsuccessful or a traitor; if he is a conWept he as bitter tears!
queror in the cause of liberty, or a martyr to it, he Merciful God!' such was his latest prayer,
is a poltroon. Whatever is doubtful, remote, vi. *These may she never share !
sionary in philosophy, or wild and dangerous in Quieter is his breath, his breast more cold
politics, they fasten upon eagerly, “recommending Than daisies in the mould, Where children spell athwart the churchyard gato
and insisting on nothing less ;" reduce the one to
demonstration, the other to practice, and they turn His name and life's brief date.
their backs upon their own most darling schemes, Pray for him, gentle souls, whoe'er ye be,
and leave them in the lurch immediately.' When the And oh! pray, too, for me!
reader learns that Mr Landor justifies Tiberius and We quote one more chaste and graceful fancy, en- Nero, speaks of Pitt as a poor creature, and Fox as titled Sixteen :
a charlatan, declares Alfieri to have been the greatIn Clementina's artless mien
est man in Europe, and recommends the Greeks, in Lucilla asks me what I see,
their struggles with the Turks, to discard fire-arms, And are the roses of sixteen
and return to the use of the bow, he will not deem Enough for me!
this general description far from inapplicable in
the case. And yet the Imaginary Conversations Lucilla asks if that be all,
and other writings of Mr Landor are amongst the Have I not culled as sweet before ?
most remarkable prose productions of our age, writAh yes, Lucilla! and their fall I still deplore.
ten in pure nervous English, and full of thoughts
which fasten themselves on the mind, and are 'a joy I now behold another scene,
for ever.' It would require many specimens from Where pleasure beams with heaven's own light,
these works to make good what is here said for and More pure, more constant, more serene,
against their author; we can afford room for only And not less bright.
one, but in it are both an example of his love of Faith, on whose breast the loves repose,
paradox, and of the extraordinary beauties of thought Whose chain of flowers no force can sever,
by which he leads us captive. It forms part of a And Modesty, who, when she goes,
conversation between Lords Chatham and ChesterIs gone for ever.
field: Mr Landor will be remembered rather as a prose Chesterfield. It is true, my lord, we have not always writer than as a poet, and yet his writings of that been of the same opinion, or, to use a better, truer, kind are marked by singular and great blemishes. and more significant expression, of the same side in A moody egotistic nature, ill at ease with the com- politics ; yet I never heard a sentence from your mon things of life, has flourished up in his case into lordship which I did not listen to with deep attena most portentous crop of crotchets and prejudices, tion. I understand that you have written some pieces which, regardless of the reprobation of his fellow- of admonition and advice to a young relative; they men, he issues forth in prodigious confusion, often are mentioned as being truly excellent; I wish I in language offensive in the last degree to good could have profited by them when I was composing taste. Eager to contradict whatever is generally I mine on a similar occasion.
Chatham. My lord, you certainly would not have mountain know in some measure its altitude, by done it, even supposing they contained, which I am comparing it with all objects around; but those who far from believing, any topics that could have escaped stand at the bottom, and never mounted it, can comyour penetrating view of manners and morals; for pare it with few only, and with those imperfectly. your lordship and I set out diversely from the very Until a short time ago, I could have conversed more threshold. Let us, then, rather hope that what we fuently about Plato than I can at present; I had have written, with an equally good intention, may read all the titles to his dialogues, and several scraps produce its due effect; which indeed, I am afraid, of commentary; these I have now forgotten, and am may be almost as doubtful, if we consider how inef- indebted to long attacks of the gout for what I have fectual were the cares and exhortations, and even the acquired instead. daily example and high renown, of the most zealous Chesterfield. A very severe schoolmaster! I hope and prudent men on the life and conduct of their he allows a long vacation ? children and disciples. Let us, however, hope the Chatham. Severe he is indeed, and although he sets best rather than fear the worst, and believe that there no example of regularity, he exacts few observances, never was a right thing done or a wise one spoken in and teaches many things. Without him I should vain, although the fruit of them may not spring up in have had less patience, less learning, less reflection, the place designated or at the time expected. less leisure; in short, less of everything but of sleep.
Chesterfield. Pray, if I am not taking too great a Chesterfield. Locke, from a deficiency of fancy, is freedom, give me the outline of your plan.
not likely to attract so many listeners as Plato. Chatham. Willingly, my lord; but since a greater Chatham. And yet occasionally his language is man than either of us has laid down a more compre- both metaphorical and rich in images. In fact, all hensive one, containing all I could bring forward, our great philosophers have also this property in a would it not be preferable to consult it? I differ in wonderful degree. Not to speak of the devotional, nothing from Locke, unless it be that I would recom- in whose writings one might expect it, we find it mend the lighter as well as the graver part of the abundantly in Bacon, not sparingly in Hobbes, the ancient classics, and the constant practice of imitat- next to him in range of inquiry and potency of ining them in early youth. This is no change in the tellect. And what would you think, my lord, if you system, and no larger an addition than a woodbine to discovered in the records of Newton a sentence in the à sacred grove.
spirit of Shakspeare? Chesterfield. I do not admire Mr Locke.
Chesterfield. I should look upon it as upon a wonChatham. Nor 1--he is too simply grand for ad- der, not to say a miracle: Newton, like Barrow, had miration-I contemplate and revere him. Equally no feeling or respect for poetry; deep and clear, he is both philosophically and gram Chatham. His words are these :-'I don't know matically the most elegant of English writers. what I may seem to the world ; but as to myself, I
Chesterfield. If I expressed by any motion of limb seem to have been only like a boy playing on the or feature my surprise at this remark, your lordship, sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then findI hope, will pardon me a slight and involuntary trans- ing a smoother pebble or å prettier shell than ordigression of my own precept. I must intreat you, be- nary, whilst the great ocean of Truth lay all undisfore we move a step farther in our inquiry, to inform covered before me.' me whether I am really to consider him in style the Chesterfield. Surely Nature, who had given him the most elegant of our prose authors ?
volumes of her greater mysteries to unseal; who had Chatham. Your lordship is capable of forming an bent over him and taken his hand, and taught him to opinion on this point certainly no less correct than decipher the characters of her sacred language; who mine.
had lifted up before him her glorious veil, higher Chesterfield. Pray assist me.
than ever yet for mortal, that she might impress her Chatham. Education and grammar are surely the features and her fondness on his heart, threw it back two driest of all subjects on which a conversation can wholly at these words, and gazed upon him with as turn; yet if the ground is not promiscuously sown, if much admiration as ever he had gazed upon her.* what ought to be clear is not covered, if what ought to be covered is not bare, and, above all, if the plants are choice ones, we may spend a few moments on it not unpleasantly. It appears then to me, that elegance EDWIN ATHERSTONE is author of The Last Days in prose composition is mainly this; a just admission of Herculaneum (1821) and The Fall of Nineveh of topics and of words ; neither too many nor too few of (1828), both poems in blank verse, and remarkable either; enough of sweetness in the sound to induce us for splendour of diction and copiousness of descripto enter and sit still; enough of illustration and tion. The first is founded on the well-known dereflection to change the posture of our minds when struction of the city of Herculaneum by an eruption they would tire; and enough of sound matter in the of Mount Vesuvius in the first year of the Emperor complex to repay us for our attendance. I could Titus, or the 79th of the Christian era. Mr Atherperhaps be more logical in my definition and more stone has followed the account of this awful occur. concise; but am I at all erroneous ?
rence given by the younger Pliny in his letters to Chesterfield. I see not that you are.
Tacitus, and has drawn some powerful pictures of Chatham. My ear is well satisfied with Locke: I the desolating fire and its attendant circumstances. find nothing idle or redundant in him.
Chesterfield. But in the opinion of you graver men, * A very few of Mr Landor's aphorisms and remarks may would not some of his principles lead too far?
be added : He says of fame-Fame, they tell you, is air; Chatham. The danger is, that few will be led by but without air there is no life for any; without fame there them far enough: most who begin with him stop is none for the best. The happy man,' he says, “is he short, and, pretending to find pebbles in their shoes, and stands firmly on the higher ground; he who knows that
who distinguishes the boundary between desire and delight, throw themselves down upon the ground, and complain of their guide.
pleasure is not only not possession, but is often to be lost, Chesterfield. What, then, can be the reason why he observes - Quickness is amongst the least of the mind's
and always to be endangered by it.' of light wit or sarcasm, Plato, so much less intelligible, is so much more
properties. I would persuade you that banter, pun, and quoted and applauded ?
quibble are the properties of light men and shallow capaChatham. The difficulties we never try are no diffi- cities; that genuine humour and true wit require a sound and culties to us. Those who are upon the summit of a I capacious mind, which is always a grave one.'
There is perhaps too much of terrible and gloomy Purple and edged with gold; and, standing then painting, yet it enchains the attention of the reader, Upon the utmost summit of the mountand impresses the imagination with something like Round, and yet round-for two strong men a task dramatic force. Mr Atherstone's second subject is Sufficient deemed-he waved the splendid flag, of the same elevated cast : the downfall of an Asiatic Bright as a meteor streaming. empire afforded ample room for his love of strong
At that sight and magnificent description, and he has availed The plain was in a stir: the helms of brass himself of this license so fully, as to border in many Were lifted up, and glittering spear-points waved, passages on extravagance and bombast. His battle And banners shaken, and wide trumpet mouths scenes, his banquets, flowering groves, and other Upturned ; and myriads of bright-harnessed steeds descriptions of art and nature, are all executed with Were seen uprearing, shaking their proud heads; oriental splendour and voluptuousness—often with And brazen chariots in a moment sprang, dazzling vividness and beauty and true poetical And clashed together. In a moment more feeling. The failure of the author to sustain the Up came the monstrous universal shout, interest of the reader is owing, as a contemporary Like a volcano's burst. Up, up to heaven critic pointed out, to the very palpable excess in the multitudinous tempest tore its way, which he employs all those elements of pleasing, and Rocking the clouds : from all the swarming plain to the disproportion which those ornaments of the And from the city rose the mingled cry, scene bear to its actual business-to the slowness Long live Sardanapalus, king of kings! with which the story moves forward, and the diffi- May the king live for ever!' Thrice the flag culty we have in catching a distinct view of the The monarch waved; and thrice the shouts arose characters that are presented to us, through the Enormous, that the solid walls were shook, glare of imagery and eloquence with which they | And the firm ground made tremble. are surrounded. This is the fault of genius-espe
Amid the far-off hills, cially young genius--and if Mr Atherstone could With eye of fire, and shaggy mane upreared, subdue his oriental imagination and gorgeousness The sleeping lion in his den sprang up; of style, and undertake a theme of more ordinary Listened awhile—then laid his monstrous mouth life, and of simple natural passion and description, Close to the floor, and breathed hot roarings out he might give himself a name of some importance
In fierce reply. in the literature of his age. The following passages, descriptive of the splen
He comes at lengthdour of Sardanapalus's state, have been cited as The thickening thunder of the wheels is heard :
Upon their hinges roaring, open fly happy specimens of Mr Atherstone's style :
The brazen gates : sounds then the tramp of hoofsThe moon is clear-the stars are coming forth And lo! the gorgeous pageant, like the sun, The evening breeze fans pleasantly. Retired Flares on their startled eyes. Four snow-white steeds, Within his gorgeous hall, Assyria's king
In golden trappings, barbed all in gold, Sits at the banquet, and in love and wine
Spring through the gate; the lofty chariot then, Revels delighted. On the gilded roof
Of ebony, with gold and gems thick strewn, A thousand golden lamps their lustre fling,
Even like the starry night. The spokes were gold, And on the marble walls, and on the throne
With felloes of strong brass ; the naves were brass, Gem-bossed, that high on jasper-steps upraised, With burnished gold o'erlaid, and diamond rimmed ; Like to one solid diamond quivering stands,
Steel were the axles, in bright silver case; Sun-splendours flashing round. In woman's garb The pole was cased in silver : high aloft, The sensual king is clad, and with him sit
Like a rich throne the gorgeous seat was framed ; A crowd of beauteous concubines. They sing, Of ivory part, part silver, and part gold: And roll the wanton eye, and laugh, and sigh, On either side a golden statue stood : And feed his ear with honeyed flatteries,
Upon the right and on a throne of gold-
Great Belus, of the Assyrian empire first,
And worshipped as a god; but, on the left,
In a resplendent car by lions drawn,
Behind the car,
Full in the centre, on the ebon ground,
The planets, each one blazing diamond.
[The Bower of Nehushta.]
'Twas a spot That, like huge sea-cliffs, gird the city in,
Herself had chosen, from the palace walls Myriads of wanton feet go to and fro:
Farthest removed, and by no sound disturbed, Gay garments rustle in the scented breeze,
And by no eye o’erlooked; for in the midst Crimson, and azure, purple, green, and gold ;
Of loftiest trees, umbrageous, was it hidLaugh, jest, and passing whisper are heard there; Yet to the sunshine open, and the airs Timbrel, and lute, and dulcimer, and song ;
That from the deep shades all around it breathed, And many feet that tread the dance are seen, Cool and sweet-scented. Myrtles, jessamineAnd arms upflung, and swaying heads plume-crowned. Roses of varied hues—all climbing shrubs, So is that city steeped in revelry.
Green-leaved and fragrant, had she planted there,
And trees of slender body, fruit, and flower;
At early morn had watered, and at ere,
Its liquid diamonds flinging to the sun
With a soft whisper. To a graceful arch
No subterfuge! The pillared crypt, and cave
Within the circus, tribunal, and shrine,
Grasping his gold; the bacchant at his wine;
Nor all they loved ered, or deemed divine, Or, for the languid limbs, a downy couch,
Found help or rescue ; unredeemed they drank Inviting slumber. At the noon-tide hour,
Their cup of horror to the dregs, and fell Here, with some chosen maidens would she come, With Heaven's avenging thunders for their knell. Stories of love to listen, or the deeds Of heroes of old days: the harp, sometimes,
Their city a vast sepulchre—their hearth Herself would touch, and with her own sweet voice
A charnel-house! The beautiful and brave, Fill all the air with loveliness. But, chief,
Whose high achievements or whose charms gave birth When to his green-wave bed the wearied sun
To songs and civic wreath, unheeded crare : Had parted, and heaven's glorious arch yet shone,
A pause 'twixt life and death: no hand on earth, A last gleam catching from his closing eye-
No voice from heaven, replied to close the grave The palace, with her maidens, quitting then,
Yawning around them. Still the burning shower Through vistas dim of tall trees would she pass
Rained down upon them with unslackening power. Cedar, or waving pine, or giant palm
'Tis an old tale! Yet gazing thus, it seems Through orange groves, and citron, myrtle walks,
But yesterday the circling wine-cup went Alleys of roses, beds of sweetest flowers,
Its joyous round! Here still the pilgrim deems Their richest incense to the dewy breeze
New guests arrive-the reveller sits intent Breathing profusely all-and having reached
At his carousal, quaffing to the themes The spot beloved, with sport, or dance awhile
Of Thracian Orpheus : lo, the cups indent On the small lawn to sound of dulcimer,
The conscious marble, and the amphoræ still
Seem redolent of old Falerno's hill!
It seems but yesterday! Half sculptured there, Amid the twilight saunter, listing oft
On the paved Forum wedged, the marble shaft The fountain's murmur, or the evening's sigh,
Waits but the workman to resume his care, Or whisperings in the leaves—or, in his pride
And reed it by the cunning of his craft. Of minstrelsy, the sleepless nightingale
The chips, struck from his chisel, fresh and fair, Flooding the air with beauty of sweet sounds : Lie scattered round; the acanthus leaves ingraft And, ever as the silence came again,
The half-wrought capital; and Isis' shrine
Retains untouched her implements divine.
The streets are hollowed by the rolling car
In sinuous furrows; there the lava stone In 1833 appeared two cantos of a descriptive poem, Retains, deep grooved, the frequent axle's scar. The Heliotrope, or Pilgrim in Pursuit of Health, being Here oft the pageant passed, and triumph shone; the record of a poetical wanderer in Liguria, Hetru- Here warriors bore the glittering spoils of war, ria, Campania, and Calabria. The style and versi- And met the full fair city, smiling on fication of Byron's Childe Harold are evidently With wreath and pæan-gay as those who drink copied by the author; but he has a native taste and The draught of pleasure on destruction's brink. elegance, and a purer system of philosophy than the noble poet. Many of the stanzas are musical and The frescoed wall, the rich mosaic floor, picturesque, presenting Claude-like landscapes of the Elaborate, fresh, and garlanded with flowers glorious classic scenes through which the pilgrim Writ with the name of their last tenant-towers
Of ancient fable :-crypt, and lintelled door passed. We subjoin the description of Pompeii- That still in strength aspire, as when they bore that interesting city of the dead :
Their Roman standard—from the whelming showers Pompeia! disentombed Pompeia! Here
That formed their grave—retum, like spectres risen, Before me in her pall of ashes spread
To solve the mysteries of their fearful prison ! Wrenchod from the gulf of ages-she whose bier Was the unbowelled mountain, lifts her head The author of the Heliotrope' is Dr W. BEATTIE, Sad but not silent! Thrilling in my ear
a London physician of worth, talent, and beneShe tells her tale of horror, till the dread
volence, who is also author of Scotland Illustrated, And sudden drama mustering through the air, Switzerland Illustrated, Residence in the Court of GerSeenus to rehearse the day of her despair! Joyful she feasted 'neath her olive tree, Then rose to 'dance and play:' and if a cloud O’ershadowed her thronged circus, who could see
CHARLES LAMB, a poet, and a delightful essayist, The impending deluge brooding in its shroud ?
of quaint peculiar humour and fancy, was born in On went the games ! mirth and festivity
London on the 18th February 1775. His father Increased-prevailed: till rendingly and loud The earth and sky with consentaneous roar
was in humble circumstances, servant and friend to Denounced her doom—that time should be no more.
one of the benchers of the Inner Temple; but Charles
was presented to the school of Christ's hospital, Shook to its centre, the convulsive soil
and from his seventh to his fifteenth year he was Closed round the flying : Sarno's tortured tide an inmate of that ancient and munificent asylum. O’erleapt its channel-eager for its spoil!
Lamb was a nervous, timid, and thoughtful boy: Thick darkness fell, and, wasting fast and wide, while others were all fire and play, he stole along Wrath opened her dread floodgates! Brief the toil with all the self-concentration of a monk.' He would And terror of resistance: art supplied
have obtained an exhibition at school, admitting him
to college, but these exhibitions were given under thorough appreciation of the spirit of the old dra- . the implied if not expressed condition of entering matists, and a fine critical taste in analysing their into the church, and Lamb had an impediment in genius. Some of his poetical pieces were also comhis speech, which in this case proved an insuperable posed about this time; but in these efforts Lamb obstacle. In 1792 he obtained an appointment in barely indicated his powers, which were not fully the accountant's office of the East India Company, displayed till the publication of his essays signed residing with his parents; and 'on their death,' Elia, originally printed in the London Magazine says Sergeant Talfourd, he felt himself called In these his curious reading, nice observation, and upon by duty to repay to his sister the solicitude poetical conceptions, found a genial and befitting with which she had watched over his infancy, and field. They are all,' says his biographer, Sergeant well, indeed, he performed it. To her, from the age Talfourd, carefully elaborated ; yet never were of twenty-one, he devoted his existence, seeking works written in a higher defiance to the conventhenceforth no connexion which could interfere with tional pomp of style. A sly hit, a happy pun, a her supremacy in his affections, or impair his ability humorous combination, lets the light into the intrito sustain and to comfort her.' The first composi- cacies of the subject, and supplies the place of pontions of Lamb were in verse, prompted, probably, derous sentences. Seeking his materials for the by the poetry of his friend Coleridge. A warm ad most part in the common paths of life—often in the miration of the Elizabethan dramatists led him to humblest—he gives an importance to everything, imitate their style and manner in a tragedy named and sheds a grace over all.' In 1825 Lamb was John Woodvil, which was published in 1801, and emancipated from the drudgery of his situation as mercilessly ridiculed in the Edinburgh Review as a clerk in the India House, retiring with a handsome specimen of the rudest state of the drama. There pension, which enabled him to enjoy the comforts, is much that is exquisite both in sentiment and ex- and many of the luxuries of life. In a letter to pression in Lamb's play, but the plot is certainly Wordsworth, he thus describes his sensations after meagre, and the style had then an appearance of his release :—'I came home FOR EVER on Tuesday affectation. The following description of the sports week. The incomprehensibleness of my condition in the forest has a truly antique air, like a passage overwhelmed me. It was like passing from life in Heywood or Shirley :
into eternity. Every year to be as long as three;
that is, to have three times as much real timeTo see the sun to bed, and to arise,
time that is my own-in it! I wandered about Like some hot amourist with glowing eyes,
thinking I was happy, but feeling I was not. But Bursting the lazy bonds of sleep that bound him, that tumultuousness is passing off, and I begin With all his fires and travelling glories round him. to understand the nature of the gift. Holidays, Sometimes the moon on soft night-clouds to rest,
even the annual month, were always uneasy joys, Like beauty nestling in a young man's brcast,
with their conscious fugitiveness, the craving after And all the winking stars, her handmaids, keep
making the most of them. Now, when all is holiAdmiring silence while these lovers sleep.
day, there are no holidays. I can sit at home, in Sometimes outstretched, in very idleness,
rain or shine, without a restless impulse for walkings. Nought doing, saying little, thinking less,
I am daily steadying, and shall soon find it as natural To view the leaves, thin dancers upon air,
to me to be my own master, as it has been irksome Go eddying round; and small birds how they fare,
to have had a master.' He removed to a cottage When mother Autumn fills their beaks with corn,
near Islington, and in the following summer, went Filched from the careless Amalthea's horn;
with his faithful sister and companion on a long And how the woods berries and worms provide,
visit to Enfield, which ultimately led to his giving Without their pains, when earth has nought beside
up his cottage, and becoming a constant resident at To answer their small wants. To view the graceful deer come tripping by,
that place. There he lived for about five years, Then stop and gaze, then turn, they know not why,
delighting his friends with his correspondence and Like bashful younkers in society.
occasional visits to London, displaying his social To mark the structure of a plant or tree,
racy humour and active benevolence. In 1830 he
committed to the press a small volume of poems, And all fair things of earth, how fair they be.
entitled Album Verses, the gleanings of several years, In 1802 Lamb paid a visit to Coleridge at Keswick, and he occasionally sent a contribution to some and clambered up to the top of Skiddaw. Notwith- literary periodical. In September 1835, whilst standing his partiality for a London life, he was taking his daily walk on the London road, he deeply struck with the solitary grandeur and beauty stumbled against a stone, fell, and slightly injured of the lakes. “Fleet Street and the Strand,' he says, his face. The accident appeared trifling, but erysiare better places to live in for good and all than pelas in the face came on, and in a few days proved amidst Skiddaw. Still, I turn back to those great fatal. He was buried in the churchyard at Edmonplaces where I wandered about participating in their ton, amidst the tears and regrets of a circle of warmly greatness. I could spend a year, two, three years attached friends, and his memory was consecrated among them, but I must have a prospect of seeing by a tribute from the muse of Wordsworth. A Fleet Street at the end of that time, or I should complete edition of Lamb's works has been published mope and pine away.' second dramatic attempt by his friend Mr Moxon, and his reputation is still was made by Lamb in 1804. This was a farce en on the increase. For this he is mainly indebted to titled Mr H., which was accepted by the proprietors his essays. We cannot class him among the favoured of Drury Lane theatre, and acted for one night; but sons of Apollo, though in heart and feeling he might 80 indifferently received, that it was never brought sit with the proudest. The peculiarities of his style forward afterwards. “Lamb saw that the case was were doubtless grafted upon him by his constant hopeless, and consoled his friends with a century of study and life-long admiration of the old English puns for the wreck of his dramatic hopes.' In 1807 writers. Beaumont and Fletcher, Massinger, Jeremy he published a series of tales founded on the plays Taylor, Browne, Fuller, and others of the elder of Shakspeare, which he had written in conjunction worthies (down to Margaret, Duchess of Newcastle), with his sister, and in the following year appeared were his chosen companions. He knew all their his Specimens of English Dramatic Poets who lived fine sayings and noble thoughts; and, consulting about the time of Shakspeare, a work evincing a l his own heart after his hard duy's plodding at the