ing this secession, the present Archbishop of Dublin most generously settled on him an allowance of 1007. a year, and the Queen presented him out of the Royal Bounty Fund with no less a sum than 3001. at one time. He had, therefore, nothing to complain of in the way of persecution for his heresy. In fact, we have scarcely ever read the life of a man who, depending on the most precarious of literary resources, contrived more easily to pass through the perils of his position. Yet it is remarkable, that there is scarcely an arrangement with which Mr. Blanco White does not habitually express great discontent, save and except the pension and bounty above mentioned. Whatever we may think of Mr. Blanco White's character, and however we may view his mutations of mind, the excellence of his style as an author is such, that these volumes must prove attractive. It only remains to select some specimens of their contents. Take a few passages (the first in a letter to J. S. Mill, Esq.) of a purely literary character: so handled. I think I must re-write the article, but whether I succeed or not, I shall not grudge the labor. I have obtained the Mepurpose of writing upon them. The barbamoirs of Godoy, which I am reading for the rous treatment which that man has received, excites my indignation. I am aware that the readers of the Review must not have too much of by-gone Spanish politics; but for the honor of the Review itself, I wish to take the necessary trouble to treat the subject in a manner, that may call up some sympathy for a man whom Europe has not only condemned, but trampled under foot, because a set of people, calling themselves Spanish Patriots, chose to inflict summary punishment on the object of their long-dissembled envy. I have seen Spain licking the dust to flatter him. I have read your Article in the fourth Number with great pleasure. Your father's observations on Architecture coincide with my own. triumphal arch at the new palace was an eyesore to me when I was in London. It is strange that the architect should not perceive that, unless you stand right before it, the arch throws the whole building out of perspective. The article is written in a masterly style." The On another occasion we have a still more elaborate criticism on Gil Blas : "Your notes in pencil would draw out a good article even from my tired brain, if age "I had made an attempt many years ago to and illness had not exhausted it. But if I re-read Gil Blas a second time, in order to form cover a little, I will try what I can do. In a well-grounded opinion of its merits; for I point of taste, I agree with Kant, who, if I have never considered it as a work worthy of have not misunderstood him, acknowledges the reputation it enjoys; but I was soon tired that it cannot be subjected to universal princi- by the never-ending string of stories, which ples. Still, when the model is presented, the are brought from every corner of the domains principle of approbation or disapprobation of invention, to swell up the history of a should be made out by the reflecting judgment. worthless rogue. I have this time surmountI certainly thought that the observations from ed my reluctance: and my final judgment is which my disapprobation of Lamb's style of this. The whole merit of the Romance in humor proceeds, were more generally received question consists in the smoothness of the narthan your remarks imply. I ought, however, rative; and that kind of ingenuity which, by a to have remembered that there is a set of very certain disregard of probability, can turn comable men, writing constantly as critics, whose mon life into a source of adventures, interestprincipal fund of humor arises from the roys-ing to idle curiosity, especially that of the tering, (I use their own descriptive word,) carousing, eating, and drinking spirits, which they take a pleasure to bring out before the public, with the same kind of satisfaction as a set of half-drunken noblemen and their parasites at Oxford would feel in showing the world what freedom they can use with it. Their humorous writing is a kind of Row. It is unquestionable that much of the talk which you find, especially in Blackwood, would be impertinent and coarse in refined company; how then can it be tolerable when addressed to the public? I cannot bear Fielding in many parts of his works, though I greatly admire his talent. As for Gil Blas, I am a perfect heretic. You have in a few words stated the very ground of my objection: Le Sage's novels are a collection of epigrams upon morals and manners, made up for that very purpose. The truth of Nature is to me too sacred to be young. But I declare that, in a moral point of view, it is impossible to read any thing more revolting, more palsying to the soul. There is not one trait of disinterested virtue in the whole of the work. Tom Jones is not a flattering representation of life; but how full it is of invigorating pictures of the noble qualities with which nature endows many a heart. In Gil Blas, mankind, without exception, consists of odious reptiles; another Mosaic Deluge, but with no ark, would be the fittest end for them: nothing else can satisfy the mind when wishing to free the earth from such a disgusting tribe of reptiles. Moses must have read Gil Blas prophetically before he described his Cataclysmos. The Spaniards need not be jealous of Gil Blas. In my opinion Le Sage must have made use of a large collection of detached Spanish Novelas, which abounded in manuscript from the time of Philip II. to that of the Bourbons. But the talent with which the ma- | phors are so like the figurative language of terials are managed is entirely his own. The Euphuism, that any one who knows and propermost obvious proof of this conjecture arises ly detests it in the extravagant compositions of from the frequent mangling of Spanish names. certain Italian and Spanish Poets, feels an inLe Sage must have been often puzzled by the stinctive dislike to many passages of ShaksSpanish hand, in words which are either form-peare, merely from that external resemblance. ed according to no general analogy, or express But the difference between the Bombast of the such allusions as must escape a foreign- former, and the true and natural richness of er-especially one who (as it is ascertained) the English Poet, is immense. The two had never been in the country. I cannot guess, styles have nothing in common except the for instance, what word he distorted into La Novelty of the Figures. The Euphuist Cosclina, the name he gives to the gipsy, the seeks that Novelty blindly, rashly, extravamother of Scipion; but any Spaniard will in- gantly: Shakspeare finds it without effort, unstantly perceive that the combination of s, c, 1, der the Inspiration of his Genius. His Metais repugnant to his language. There are nu- phors are full of the truest and most vigorous merous instances of this kind. Le Sage's Life. He shows you the secret ties of Relamind might have for its symbol a snake, agile, tionship by which Nature connects the, appaflexible, smooth, and cold, with a great readi- rently, most distant notions. But it must be ness to use its sharp teeth. He had no sense confessed that he fails in a few instances, and of beauty whatever-either physical or moral. runs into the Bombast which, in his time, had There is not a description of scenery in the begun to corrupt the Taste of all Europe. whole work: his female beauties are slightly Here, as in all cases of superstitious Veneradescribed, and just so far as to be made appé- tion, the blind Worshippers will stop their ears tissantes. Virtue, to him, is an accident arising and cry,-Heresy! Such want of Discrimi from circumstances; and he is anxious to nation, however, shows that the Taste, of caution his readers that it is a most dangerous which such people boast, is more Profession and, after all, a most useless thing in the than Reality. Much indeed has been written world. The moral of the whole work is-Be on Shakspeare; but I conceive that there is a clever villain. I shall carry a thorough ha- still room for-or rather a real Want of-a tred of Gil Blas to my grave." work to guide the young Mind in the Study of his Plays-I shall probably be laughed at We will now extract a few remarks on when I say that I think I could write such a Shakspeare: For Hamlet, and the trifling of his favor, work.-Let the scorning doubt continue: I am not likely to make the trial. ** Last night, "It is curious that my Admiration of the just before going to bed, I opened Hamlet, and, great poets has regularly increased with Age. reading on for awhile, came to one of the most This especially happens to me in regard to beautifully tender, as well as original illustraShakspeare. When 1 came to England, tions, which can be met with in any Poet. It though to a certain degree I had spoken the had never struck me in the same degree it did Language of the country from Childhood, I this time. The Genius of Shakspeare seems did not understand it sufficiently to enter into to have dropt a Simile of the greatest beauty the spirit of Shakspeare's Plays. Neverthe-almost unconsciously, as the Queen of the less there were in them Characters, and passa- without much thinking when, where, or how. Fairies would drop a pearl of immense value, ges, which I admired, and which, by their per It is the begining of Laertes' leave-taking culiar attraction, brought me constantly back to those Compositions. Without making his Speech to Ophelia. dramatic Works a peculiar Study, at any time, I have never dropt them for any considerable period. The Marks in my old little Copy prove this. Unfortunately I had it originally only stitched; and upon getting it bound many of those Marks were pared off with part of the Margins: else I could show the progress of my Approbation by the gradual ad- The simile is so appropriate, and yet so novel; dition of the parallel lines, which I have long it is so full of Tenderness and Life, that I canused as a Sign of liking a Passage. For a per-not well express all I feel in its Presence." son whose usual Standard of Taste has been the ancient Classics, especially if (as it happened to me) he has studied the French Writers right or wrong, on Wordsworth :anterior to the Revolution, the stumbling-block in Shakspeare is found not so much in the "I have just now received the last two volwant of the Unities, as in the novelty and umes of Wordsworth's Poems, stereotyped boldness of his Metaphors. It requires a per-edition. My efforts to find out that extraordifect familiarity with the living World of the Poet's imagination, to perceive, at once, the Analogies from which his Metaphors proceed. In external Character and Form those Meta We have, too, a clever criticism, whether nary excellency which W.'s friends would proclaim in the tone of a Crusade against the infidels who do not think with them, have been repeated and sincere; but I remain still a true; heretic. In this extensive collection there are appears to have been at last; with this indeed compositions of a very high merit: but only difference, that what he named Infidelthere is also a great mass of things which, ity or even Atheism, while within the though scarcely ever without some merit, may Church of Rome, he denominated Christibe said to be published by an act of wilfulness, and for no other reason whatever. Words- anity after he forsook the Church of Engworth has been spoilt by a coterie who, having land. Even with the Unitarians, whom he formed a joint-stock company of wit (wit in the nominally joined, he had little in common, old sense) at school, have carried on its con- as his correspondence with Dr. Channing, cerns with the most inflexible perseverance. Professor Norton, and George Ripley abunBy admiring and praising each other for half dantly shows. They were all willing to a century, they have, as it were, dunned a great part of the public into their interest. claim more validity for the Imagination Whatever, therefore, owing to habit, to early than he was willing to concede. Any sysfriendship, to association with the scenery tem of opinions may be called Christianity among which the poet has spent his life,-nay, upon the plan adopted by Mr. Blanco with his wife and children (all of whom, I hear, White. The logical formula of it is this: are amiable)—whatever, I say, revives in the Truth is Christianity: my opinions are Poet's friends any pleasant recollection, be it even the most childish baby-rhymes, produces therefore my opinions are Christiandelight; and that delight is proclaimed ity." These opinions, we repeat, continover the country, through Papers, some ued substantially the same throughout all way or other, in their interest. To those who his transitions from sect to sect. The have not such associations, the Collection in modifications they received were merely six volumes is exceedingly fatiguing. One superficial. From the defects of his educais angry almost at every other page, and yet tion, and the accidents of his position, Mr. there is so much that makes one respect the Blanco White had, unfortunately, accuswriter, that there is no avenging the annoyance tomed himself, like many of his countryby throwing the book away. But, in regard to myself, the most unpleasant result of read-men, to disguise his sentiments; he felt it ing a considerable part of this collection, page irksome to do so, but he did it; and waited after page, is the incessant perception of until it was quite convenient to throw off the something like a wailing note, uninterruptedly cloak. This he did, both with the Church sounding, with no other change but that of Rome and the Church of England. His which arises from its approaching not unfrequently to a howl, like that of a man under the apology is, that he was incapable of seeing impression of inspiration, at the sight of sin. in either case, à priori, the evils inherent This mental drone-pipe is to me intolerable. in these establishments; that he had to 'Wail, wail, daughters of the English Jerusa- discover them by experience; that when lem, for all men are not priests, and all the he had made the discovery, he struggled to world is not Tory; there are still wicked men get himself free from contracts into which who do not think Buonaparte a fiend incarnate. he had been deluded; and that it was a Woe, woe! Woe to the Church, Woe to the still longer time before he was satisfied of Constitution! In a word, Mr. Wordsworth is too frequently a party poet, and not a small the conclusion that such evil belongs to all part of his inspiration comes from fanaticism. institutional churches. The decision of "P. S.-If a good musician took it into his Mr. Blanco White's honesty depends on head to write down every thing he whistles to the assumption of this as a fact; whether himself, or to his children-every idle volun- it be so or not, fortunately not having been tary which comes up when he sits at the piano, the keeper of Mr. Blanco White's conhe would produce a collection of music similar to that of Wordsworth's poetry. I do not deny science, we are unable to form a judg that if the musician were as eminent in his art as W. is in his, there would be many excellent pieces in the collection; but it would contain a great quantity of trash.” ment. MONUMENT TO THE MEMORY OF COLUMBUS. The impression which we have received, on a perusal of these volumes, is, that the opinions of Mr. Blanco White were equi- From Turin, we hear that the king of Sardinia distant from those of all religious parties has subscribed 50,000 livres, and the French govwhatever. We have, that is to say, failed, ernment 1,000 francs, towards the monument as we hinted at the beginning, to find in about to be erected at Genoa, to the memory of the epochs of his destiny the growth of his Columbus, and that it is intended, if possible, to intellect. There seems to us to be no evo-tember, 1846,-the day when the Congress of be ready for its inauguration on the 15th of Seplution-but what he was at first, that he Italian Savans will open at Genoa.-Athenæum. THE PILGRIM FATHERS. From the British Quarterly Review. This interesting and valuable article is from the pen of Dr. Vaughan, the worthy Editor of the British Quarterly.-ED. History of the Colonization of the United States. By George Bancroft. Vols. i. ii. iii. Boston and London. with little more difficulty than the order of a court ceremonial. But the policy intended to secure an abject submission at home, became the unwilling parent of an enlightened independence abroad. Intolerance of freedom forced it upon new experiments, and proved eminently favorable to its development and power. The seed cast out found a better lodgment, and sent forth a richer fruit. The new world afforded space for its germination amd growth which the old could not have supplied; and the new world has re-acted upon the old in the cause of freedom, as the old could not have acted upon itself. Even now, also, we are only in the beginning of that great outburst of enterprise and improvement which we trace to those memorable times, and in great part to the narrow and selfish policy of the agents above named. It is instructive to observe how much is done in the government of the world by the ignorance of men more than by their knowledge. What we do from design is a small amount compared with what we do beyond our forethought. In all our plans we prophesy in part. The action of to-day generates the action of to-morrow. The scheme widens as it advances from purpose towards accomplishment. The one thing intended, brings along with it a host of The mind of the people of England two things not intended; and as our vision centuries since teemed with thoughts and takes in a wider compass, consequences and excitements, of which the men of our time contingencies are seen to multiply. One have no just conception. Our knowledge man creates the void, and another gives it in this respect must depend on the force of occupancy. One agency unlocks the stream, our imagination, hardly less than on the and a multitude are in waiting to affect its extent of our reading. The great questions, course and issue. Evil comes from good, both in politics and religion, which then and good comes from evil. Thus mockery agitated society, were comparative novelis cast over all human foresight. In this ties. The wonders of the new world, and twilight of perception the greatest men of the whole southern hemisphere, were dishave labored-Wycliffe and Luther, Colum-coveries of yesterday. National questions, bus and Bacon. Much that was in their accordingly, were debated with a degree of heart they have done, but much more which passionateness and earnestness, such as we their heart never conceived have they ac- seldom feel; while distant regions loomed complished. Being dead, they still speak, before the fancies of men in alliance [with and they still act-but the further the un-every thing shadowy, strange, and mysteridulations of their influence extend, the less ous. The old world seemed to be waking at is the semblance between the things which their side, as from the sleep of ages; and a are realized and the things which were ex-new world rose to their view, presenting pected. They have done less than they treasures which seemed to be inexhaustible. hoped, and more-much that they would have done, and much that they would not have done. In short, in the providence of our world, enough is plain and fixed to give pulsation to virtue and hope in the righthearted; but enough is obscure and uncertain to rebuke impatience, and to suggest many a lesson of humility. The wonder of to-day was succeeded by the greater wonder of to-morrow, and the revelations seemed to have no end. At the same time, to very many their native land had become as a house of bondage, and the waters of the Atlantic were the stream which separated between them and their promised home. It was the pleasure of Elizabeth, and of That feeling is now among the bygone her successors James and Charles, to take in our social history. But the traces of it upon them the office of the persecutor. In are still at times discoverable. The broadthat honorable vocation they found coad-er and deeper stream, now rolling on, jutors of suitable capacity and temper, in leaves its nooks and eddying points, where Whitgift, Bancroft, and Laud. The sover- something of the past still retains a place, eign and the priest gave themselves to such employment, in the sagacious expectation that the opinions of men were matters to be shaped according to the royal pleasure, and still secures to it some influence over the preseut. It is now about twice seven years since we passed a few pleasant weeks in one of the less peopled districts of Dor setshire-that county which Charles II. is those sights which "we fools of nature" said to have described as the only county shrink from, than the spaces covered in England fit to be the home of a gentle- with the deep shadows of those overman. What the qualities were which, in hanging trees-the living things, which the estimation of royalty, gave so much of budded and grew in the times of other the air proper to the home of gentle blood generations, and which seemed to lift themto the county of Dorset, it will not be diffi- selves aloft, as in a proud consciousness of cult to conjecture. Dorsetshire is remarka- being more associated with what has been ble for the almost total absence of the usual than with what is. Within, also, there was signs of trade and manufactures. It is no much to strengthen fancies of this comless remarkable, as a natural consequence, plexion. There were the gloomy stairs, for the absence of any considerable middle with their dark walls, their long worn steps, class to separate hetween the serfs who till and their railwork of massy oak. Apartthe ground, and the lords who own it. Even ments, with their antique panellings, their agriculture is prosecuted within such lim- faded tapestry, and their concealed doorits as may consist with leaving an ample ways. At night, the birds, who chose their portion of its surface in the good feudal lodgment amidst the ancient masonry of condition of extended sheep-walks and the chimneys, failed not to send their toopen downs. Such Dorsetshire has ever been, such it still is; but, thanks to projected railroads, such we trust it is not always to be. kens of inquietude into the chambers below, as the gale from the neighboring channel came with tumultuous force upon the land. Part of the building, also, had become a ruin, thickly mantled with ivy, where owls might have pleaded their long holding as a right of tenantry, and from which they sallied forth at such times, as if glad to mingle their screams with the night storm, or to flap their wings against the casement of the sleeper. On the occasion adverted to, we were indebted for a season to the hospitalities of an honest yeoman, whose residence had been occupied in other days by personages of much higher pretension than our host. It was an ancient mansion on a hill-side, overlooking an extended valley, which from the corresponding forms of the hills front- To one apartment in that interior a speing each other, resembled the bed of some cial mystery attached. It bore the name of departed Ganges or St. Lawrence. The the book-room. Of that room the master of lower part of the valley was cultivated and the house always retained the key. It was wooded, but the high slopes of the hills a part of his tenure that the contents of the were treeless and shrubless, except on the book-room should on no account be disspot where the dwelling of our yeoman turbed. Among those contents, beside a friend presented itself. That structure, curious library, were many other curious with its somewhat castellated front, with its things—such as a bonnet, said to have been long ascent of half decayed steps, its muti- worn by Queen Elizabeth when visiting lated balustrades, and its ample terrace, those western parts of her dominions; also rose amid lofty elms and chesnuts, forming a fan, which had been wielded by that royal a picture not the less pleasant to look upon hand; a whole suit of kingly apparel, refrom its contrast with the surrounding bar- ported to have been worn by Charles II., renness. Altogether this Dorset mansion and to have been left at the mansion by its was of a sort to work powerfully on that royal visitor. Above all, a skull was there. superstitious feeling and credulity, which It was the skull of a murdered man. are so deeply rooted in the mind of every mark of the death wound was visible upon rural and secluded population. The sounds it. Tradition said that the victim of human which came after nightfall, in the autumnal violence was an African-a faithful servant and winter season, across that valley, from in the family which once found its stately the distant sea, and which passed in such home beneath that venerable roof. Amidst wild and strange notes through the branch- so much pointing to the dim past, we may es of those ancient trees, and through the be sure that the imagination of the dwellers crazy apertures of that more ancient build-in the old hall on the hill-side was not by ing, did not fall upon the ear without some awakening effect upon the imagination. The dead, who once had paced those terrace walks were not forgotten; and where could there be a more fitting haunt for any means unproductive. Of course we must not confess to any participation in such susceptibilities in our own case. It was, however, a dark night, and a rough one too, when we obtained |