Der Ike those, which I dare say most of us he have had, at Pompeii, looking at Sallust's house and the relics of an orgy: a dried wineaz or two, a charred supper-table, the breast 157 a dancing-girl pressed against the ashes, the laughing skull of a jester: a perfect stillness round about, as the cicerone3 twangs his moral, and the blue sky shines calmly over the ruin. The Congreve Muse is dead, and her song 10 choked in Time's ashes. We gaze at the skeleton, and wonder at the life which once revelled ako he in its mad veins. We take the skull up, and dient; muse over the frolic and daring, the wit, scorn, Iste, he passion, hope, desire, with which that empty gain a 15 bowl once fermented. We think of the glances wching to that allured, the tears that melted, of the bright vet never in eyes that shone in those vacant sockets; and , and a of lips whispering love, and cheeks dimpling le Cows when with smiles, that once covered yon ghastly ...und he has a 20 yellow framework. They used to call those No trifle with teeth pearls once. See, there's the cup she drank from, the gold-chain she wore on her neck, the vase which held the rouge for her cheeks, her looking-glass, and the harp she home when it can- 25 used to dance to. Instead of a feast we find a gravestone, and in place of a mistress, a few bones! with effect. He sch lives in itself, d which has re which serves him h in retirement, orame w but vulgar, and vid disappointment have wych reads to make a man 30 gret which it pursues as wealth or the art of health, exceptible of method, and cram, los complete, in its Reading in these plays now, is like shutting your ears and looking at people dancing. What does it mean? the measures, the grimaces, the bowing, shuffling and retreating, the cavalier seul advancing upon those ladies-those ladies and men twirling round at the end in a mad gallop, after which everybody bows and 35 the quaint rite is celebrated. Without the music we can't understand that comic dance of the last century-its strange gravity and gaiety, its decorum or its indecorum. It has a jargon of its own quite unlike life; a sort of 40 moral of its own quite unlike life too. I'm afraid it's a Heathen mystery, symbolizing a Pagan doctrine; protesting—as the Pompeians very likely were, assembled at their theatre and laughing at their games; as Sallust and his 45 friends, and their mistresses, protested, crowned with flowers, with cups in their hands—against the new, hard, ascetic, pleasure-hating doctrine whose gaunt disciples, lately passed over from the Asian shores of the Mediterranean, were dom and the writing about life, sways 50 principle of the other, and laughs How for tight and the love of hy he hd-hood of laughes at these from the Pachet & tell you that dancing chape for fun as the Harlequin I have 35 a Horor of Congrove's plays over potong ad him, and my feelings were One of the houses laid bare by the excavations at Pompeii is commonly said to have belonged to Sallust. It is the contrast between the levity and licentiousness of Pompeii, jesting almost within the shadow of a volcano, and the inexorable and terrible doom that overtakes it, which suggests and gives point to Thackeray's comparison. The witty and immoral comedies of Congreve, like the relics of Pompeiian orgies, speak of a dead generation of tritlers, of a gayety destined to be choked in ashes. A name given to Italian guides for their volubility, in humorous allusion to the fluency of the great Roman orator Cicero. The cavalier who dances alone. for breaking the fair images of Venus and flinging the altars of Bacchus down. As the boy tosses the cup and sings his songhark! what is that chaunt coming nearer and nearer? What is that dirge which will disturb us? The lights of the festival burn dim-the 5 cheeks turn pale-the voice quavers—and the cup drops on the floor. Who's there? Death and Fate are at the gate, and they will come in. I fancy poor Congreve's theatre is a temple of Pagan delights, and mysteries not permitted except among heathens. I fear the theatre carries down that ancient tradition and worship, as masons have carried their secret signs and rites from temple to temple. When the libertine hero carries off the beauty in the play, and the dotard is laughed to scorn for 10 having the young wife: in the ballad, when the poet bids his mistress to gather roses while she may, and warns her that old Time is still a-flying: in the ballet, when honest Corydon courts Phillis under the treillage of the paste- 15 spoke to Lockhart, his biographer, were, "Be NIL NISI BONUM1 (From Roundabout Papers, 1860-1862) Almost the last words which Sir Walter a good man, my dear!" and with the last flicker of breath on his dying lips, he sighed a farewell to his family, and passed away blessing them. 2 board cottage, and leers at her over the head of grandpapa in red stockings, who is opportunely asleep; and when seduced by the invitations of the rosy youth she comes forward to the footlights, and they perform on each 20 other's tiptoes that pas which you all know, and which is only interrupted by old grandpapa awaking from his doze at the pasteboard châlet (whither he returns to take another nap in case the young people get an encore): when 25 Harlequin, splendid in youth, strength, and agility, arrayed in gold and a thousand colours, springs over the heads of countless perils, leaps down the throat of bewildered giants, and, dauntless and splendid, dances danger 30 was the first ambassador whom the New World down: when Mr. Punch, that Godless old rebel breaks every law and laughs at it with odious triumph, outwits his lawyer, bullies the beadle, knocks his wife about the head, and hangs Two men, famous, admired, beloved, have just left us, the Goldsmith and Gibbon of our time. Ere a few weeks are over, the critic's pen will be at work, reviewing their lives, and passing judgment on their works. This is no review, or history, or criticism: only a word in testimony of respect and regard from a man of letters, who owes to his own professional labour the honour of becoming acquainted with these two eminent literary men. One of Letters sent to the Old. He was born almost with the republic; the pater patriæ had laid his hand on the child's head. He bore Washington's name: he came amongst us bringing the the hangman-don't you see in the comedy, in 35 kindest sympathy, the most artless, smiling good-will. His new country (which some people here might be disposed to regard rather superciliously) could send us, as he showed in his own person, a gentleman, who, though the song, in the dance, in the ragged little Punch's puppet-show-the Pagan protest? Doesn't it seem as if Life puts in its plea and sings its comment? Look how the lovers walk and hold each other's hands and whisper! 40 himself born in no very high sphere, was most finished, polished, easy, witty, quiet; and, socially, the equal of the most refined Europeans. If Irving's welcome in England was a kind one, was it not also gratefully remem Sing the chorus-"There is nothing like love, there is nothing like youth, there is nothing like beauty of your springtime. Look! how old age tries to meddle with merry sport! Beat him with his own crutch, the wrinkled old 45 bered? If he ate our salt, did he not pay us dotard! There is nothing like youth, there is nothing like beauty, there is nothing like strength. Strength and valour win beauty and youth. Be brave and conquer. Be young and happy. Enjoy, enjoy, enjoy! Would you 50 his own? His books are read by millions of his know the Segreto per esser felice? Here it is, in a smiling mistress and a cup of Falernian."7 with a thankful heart? Who can calculate the amount of friendliness and good feeling for our country which this writer's generous and untiring regard for us disseminated in countrymen, whom he has taught to love England, and why to love her. It would have been 1 The Latin proverb runs De mortuis nil nisi bonum, concerning the dead nothing but good. 2 Washington Irving died Nov. 28, 1859; Lord Macaulay died Dec. 28, 1859. 3 During one of Washington's visits to New York a Scotch maid servant had presented the boy Irving to the great man with the words "Please your honour, here's a bairn was named after you." The president thereupon gave him his blessing. Cf. C. D. Warner's Life of Irving, p. 23. easy to speak otherwise than he did: to inflame Mirns and endste Seeta. New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, and remarked how in every place he was honoured and welcomed. Every large city has its "Irving House." The country 5 takes pride in the fame of its men of letters. The gate of his own charming little domain on the beautiful Hudson River was for ever swinging before visitors who came to him. He shut out no one. I had seen many pictures of his house, and read descriptions of it, in both of which it was treated with a not unusual Ameriean exaggeration. It was but a pretty little cabin of a place; the gentleman of the press who took notes of the place, whilst his kind old Su der Brea, s banimal others have borne 15 bost was sleeping, might have visited the whole PUN P for ng ke him, je muze bouse in a couple of minutes. way a gurl si æxe terme s So sul fondly And how came it that this house was so small, when Mr. Irving's books were sold by te he's are ride a hundreds of thousands, nay, millions, when snake har delta s protits were known to be large, and the ཝཱཙ '' habits of life of the good old bachelor were son and notoriously modest and simple? He had loved once in his life. The lady he loved died; and he, whom all the world loved, never sought to replace her. I can't say how much the thought of that fidelity has touched me. Does not the very cheerfulness of his after life add to the pathos of that untold story? To grieve always was not in his nature; or, when he had his sorVos and rejoicings 30 row, to bring all the world in to condole with xwn to his na him and bemoan it. Deep and quiet he lays Ne bad a national the love of his heart, and buries it; and grass a his speeches, hid and flowers grow over the scarred ground in we sat de people loved him due time. her worchy represented 35 Irving had such a small house and such nar****** 24 hat young community row rooms, because there was a great number Adega do with him abundant of people to occupy them. He could only afwww.well treated with ford to keep one old horse (which, lazy and Kave od American writers, of aged as it was, managed once or twice to run a strangely solicitous 40 away with that careless old horseman). He wake of quite obscure British could only afford to give plain sherry to that depressed by their judg- amiable British paragraph-monger, who saw id boveng wont home medalled by the patriarch asleep over his modest, blamecoumarred by the University, less cup, and fetched the public into his private He chamber to look at him. Irving could only live ***** $d honoured and admired. GARY WAY trigued for his honours, very modestly, because the wifeless, childless Narang wow them, and, in Irving's in- man had a number of children to whom he *** *** others, the old country was glad was as a father. He had as many as nine 45 nieces. I am told-I saw two of these ladies *** Amorise the love and regard for Irving 30 at his house-with all of whom the dear old Party wars are man had shared the produce of his labour and “Be a good man, my dear." One can't but think of these last words of the veteran Chief PANAX bagong thon and are carried on genius. of worldly success, admiration, prosperity. Was Irving not good, and, of his works, was not his life the best part? In his family, gentle, generous, good-humoured, affectionate, self 5 right. Years ago there was a wretched outcry raised because Mr. Macaulay dated a letter from Windsor Castle, where he was staying. Immortal gods! Was this man not a fit guest for any palace in the world? or a fit companion for any man or woman in it? I dare say, after Austerlitz, the old K. K. court officials and footmen sneered at Napoleon for dating from Schönbrunn.8 But that miserable "Windsor denying; in society, a delightful example of complete gentlemanhood; quite unspoiled by prosperity; never obsequious to the great (or, worse still, to the base and mean, as some public men are forced to be in his and other countries); eager to acknowledge every contemporary's merit; always kind and affable to the young members of his calling; in his professional bargains and mercantile dealings delicately honest and grateful; one of the most 10 Castle" outcry is an echo out of fast-retreatcharming masters of our lighter language; the constant friend to us and to our nation; to men of letters doubly dear, not for his wit and genius merely, but as an exemplar of goodness, probity, and pure life:-I don't know what 15 sort of testimonial will be raised to him in his own country, where generous and enthusiastic acknowledgment of American merit is never wanting: but Irving was in our service as well as theirs; and as they have placed a stone at 20 superiority of the very tallest of the party; Greenwich yonder in memory of that gallant young Bellot, who shared the perils and fate of some of our Arctic seamen, I would like to hear of some memorial raised by English writers and friends of letters in affectionate remem- 25 brance of the dear and good Washington Irving. 4 ing old-world remembrances. The place of such a natural chief was amongst the first of the land; and that country is best, according to our British notion at least, where the man of eminence has the best chance of investing his genius and intellect. If a company of giants were got together, very likely one or two of the mere six-feet-six people might be angry in the incontestable and so I have heard some London wits, rather peevish at Macaulay's superiority, complain. that he occupied too much of the talk, and so forth. Now that wonderful tongue is to speak no more, will not many a man grieve that he no longer has the chance to listen? To remember the talk is to wonder: to think not only of the treasures he had in his memory, but of the trifles he had stored there, and could produce with equal readiness. Almost on the last day I had the fortune to see him, a conversation happened suddenly to spring up about senior wranglers, and what they had done in after life. To the almost terror of the persons pres As for the other writer, whose departure many friends, some few most dearly-loved, and multitudes of admiring readers deplore, our republic has already decreed his statue, and 30 he must have known that he had earned this posthumous honour. He is not a poet and man of letters merely, but citizen, statesman, a great British worthy. Almost from the first moment when he appears amongst boys, 35 ent, Macaulay began with the senior wrangler of 1801-2-3-4, and so on, giving the name of each, and relating his subsequent career and rise. Every man who has known him has his story regarding that astonishing memory. It amongst college students, amongst men, he is marked, and takes rank as a great Englishman. All sorts of successes are easy to him: as a lad he goes down into the arena with others, and wins all the prizes to which he has a mind. A 40 may be that he was not ill pleased that you place in the senate is straightway offered to the young man. He takes his seat there; he speaks, when so minded, without party anger or intrigue, but not without party faith and a should recognize it; but to those prodigious intellectual feats, which were so easy to him, who would grudge his tribute of homage? His talk was, in a word, admirable, and we ad Of the notices which have appeared regarding Lord Macaulay, up to the day when the present lines are written (the 9th of January), the reader should not deny himself the pleasure sort of heroic enthusiasm for his cause. Still 45 mired it. Joseph René Bellot (1826-53), a French naval officer In 1839, when Macaulay became Secretary of War, he announced the fact to his constituents in a letter dated from Windsor Castle, the Royal Palace, as though it were his residence. The London Times attacked him, and among those who had their laugh at his expense was Thackeray himself. But Thackeray made ample amends for what Trevelyan calls "a very innocent and not illnatured touch of satire," in this passage. 7 K. K. in German stands for Kaiserlich Königlich, i. e. Imperial Royal. 8 The Austrian Imperial residence, three miles southwest of Vienna. In Cambridge University the student taking first place in the mathematical tripos or honor examination. of looking especially at two. It is a good sign of the times when such articles as these (I mean the articles in The Times and Saturday Review) appear in our public prints about our public men. They educate us, as it were, to admire rightly. An uninstructed person in a museum or at a concert may pass by without recognizing a picture or a passage of music, which the connoisseur by his side may show him is a masterpiece of harmony, or a wonder 10 of artistic skill. After reading these papers, you like and respect more the person you have admired so much already. And so with regard to Macaulay's style there may be faults of course what critic can't point them out? But 15 for the nonce we are not talking about faults: we want to say nil nisi bonum. Well-take at hazard any three pages of the "Essays" or "History;"-and, glimmering below the stream of the narrative, as it were, you, an 20 He acted the whole scene: he paced up and average reader, see one, two, three, a half-score of allusions to other historic facts, characters, literature, poetry, with which you are acquainted. Why is this epithet used? Whence is that simile drawn? How does he manage 25 in two or three words, to paint an individual, or to indicate a landscape? Your neighbour, who has his reading, and his little stock of literature stowed away in his mind, shall detect more points, allusions, happy touches, 30 indicating not only the prodigious memory and vast learning of this master, but the wonderful industry, the honest, humble previous toil of this great scholar. He reads twenty books to write a sentence; he travels a 35 scoundrels, ever so victorious and successful; hundred miles to make a line of description. strange lore would he not fetch for you at your bidding! A volume of law, or history, a book of poetry familiar or forgotten (except by himself who forgot nothing), a novel ever so old, 5 and he had it at hand. I spoke to him once about "Clarissa." 11 "Not read 'Clarissa'!" he cried out. "If you have once thoroughly entered on 'Clarissa' and are infected by it, you can't leave it. When I was in India I passed one hot season at the hills, and there were the Governor-General, and the Secretary of Government, and the Commander-in-Chief, and their wives. I had 'Clarissa' with me: and, as soon as they began to read, the whole station was in a passion of excitement about Miss Harlowe and her misfortunes, and her scoundrelly Lovelace! The Governor's wife seized the book, and the Secretary waited for it, and the Chief Justice could not read it for tears!" down the "Athenæum" library: I dare say he could have spoken pages of the book-of that book, and of what countless piles of others. In this little paper let us keep to the text of nil nisi bonum. One paper I have read regarding Lord Macaulay says "he had no heart." Why, a man's books may not always speak the truth, but they speak his mind in spite of himself: and it seems to me this man's heart is beating through every page he penned. He is always in a storm of revolt and indignation against wrong, craft, tyranny. How he cheers heroic resistance; how he backs and applauds freedom struggling for its own; how he hates how he recognizes genius, though selfish villains possess it! The critic who says Macaulay had no heart, might say that Johnson had none: and two men more generous, and more Many Londoners-not all-have seen the British Museum Library. I speak à cœur ouvert, 10 10 and pray the kindly reader to bear with me. I have seen all sorts of domes of 40 loving, and more hating, and more partial, Peters and Pauls, Sophia, Pantheon,-what not?-and have been struck by none of them so much as by that Catholic dome in Bloomsbury, under which our million volumes are and more noble, do not live in our history. Those who knew Lord Macaulay knew how admirably tender and generous, and affectionate he was. It was not his business to and call for bouquets from the gallery as he wept over them. If any young man of letters reads this little sermon-and to him, indeed, it is addressed housed. What peace, what love, what truth, 45 bring his family before the theatre footlights, what beauty, what happiness for all, what generous kindness for you and me, are here spread out! It seems to me one cannot sit down in that place without a heart full of grateful reverence. I own to have said my 50 I would say to him, "Bear Scott's words in grace at the table, and to have thanked heaven for this my English birthright, freely to partake of these bountiful books, and to speak the truth I find there. Under the dome which held Macaulay's brain, and from which his 55 gies for shortcomings, or explanations of vices solemn eyes looked out on the world but a fortnight since, what a vast, brilliant, and wonderful store of learning was ranged! what 10 From an open heart. your mind, and 'be good, my dear."" Here are two literary men, gone to their account, and, laus Deo,12 as far as we know, it is fair, and open, and clean. Here is no need of apolo which would have been virtues but for un 11 Clarissa Harlowe, Samuel Richardson's novel, published 1748. Lovelace, the principal male character in the book, is an unscrupulous libertine, 12 Praise to God. |