perhaps wonder at this; and therefore, to give a general answer once for all, I think it sufficient to observe, that I had a great many to carry on the succession; but as they never were concerned in any extraordinary affairs, nor ever did any remarkable things, that I ever heard of-only rise and breakfast, read and saunter, drink and eat, it would not be fair, in my opinion, to make any one pay for their history.' In lieu of this, the reader is treated to dissertations on the origin of earthquakes, on muscular motion, of phlogiston, fluxions, the Athanasian creed, and fifty other topics brought together in heroic contempt of the unities of time and place. Such a fantastic and desultory work would be intolerable if it were not, like Rabelais and Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy -though in a greatly inferior degree-redolent of wit, scholarship, and quaint original thought. Amory promised to give the world an account of Dean Swift. I knew him well,' he says, 'though I never was within sight of his house, because I could not flatter, cringe, or meanly humour the extravagances of any man. I had him often to myself in his rides and walks, and have studied his soul when he little thought what I was about. As I lodged for a year within a few doors of him, I knew his time of going out to a minute, and generally nicked the opportunity.' Unfortunately, though Amory lived thirty years after making this declaration, he never redeemed his promise.

Portrait of Marinda Bruce.

In the year 1739, I travelled many hundred miles to visit ancient monuments, and discover curious things; and as I wandered, to this purpose, among the vast hills of Northumberland, fortune conducted me one evening, in the month of June, when I knew not where to rest, to the sweetest retirement my eyes have ever beheld. This is Hali-farm. It is a beautiful vale surrounded with rocks, forest, and water. I found at the upper end of it the prettiest thatched house in the world, and a garden of the most artful confusion I had ever seen. The little mansion was covered on every side with the finest flowery The streams all round were murmuring and falling a thousand ways. All the kind of singing-birds were here collected, and in high harmony on the sprays. The ruins of an abbey enhance the beauties of this place; they appear at the distance of four hundred yards from the house; and as some great trees are now grown up among the remains, and a river winds between the broken walls, the view is solemn, the picture fine.

greens.

as I supposed, from a similitude of faces, and informing her that her father, if I was right, was my near friend, and would be glad to see his chum in that part of the world. Marinda replied: "You are not wrong,' and immediately asked me in. She conducted me to a parlour that was quite beautiful in the rural way, and done, she said, had I arrived before his removal to a welcomed me to Hali-farm, as her father would have better world. She then left me for a while, and I had time to look over the room I was in. The floor was covered with rushes wrought into the prettiest mat, and the walls decorated all round with the finest flowers and shells. Robins and nightingales, the finch and the linnet, were in the neatest reed cages of her own making; and at the upper end of the chamber, in a charming little open grotto, was the finest strix capite aurito, corpore rufo, that I have seen, that is, the great eagle owl. This beautiful bird, in a niche like a ruin, this room, I thought they were all natural at my first looked vastly fine. As to the flowers which adorned coming in; but on inspection, it appeared that several baskets of the finest kinds were inimitably painted on the walls by Marinda's hand.

These things afforded me a pleasing entertainment for about half an hour, and then Miss Bruce returned. One of the maids brought in a supper-such fare, she said, as her little cottage afforded; and the table was covered with green peas and pigeons, cream-cheese, new bread and butter. Everything was excellent in its kind. The cider and ale were admirable. Discretion and dignity appeared in Marinda's behaviour; she talked with judgment; and under the decencies of ignorance was concealed a valuable knowledge.

CHARLOTTE LENNOX-CATHERINE MACAULAY.

Among the literary names preserved by Boswell and Horace Walpole are those of MRS CHARLOTTE LENNOX (1720-1804), and MRS CATHERINE MACAULAY (1733-1791). The former wrote several novels, one of which, The Female Quixote, 1752, is an amusing picture of female extravagance consequent on romance-reading. Mrs Lennox also published a feeble critical work, Shakspeare Illustrated, and translated from the French Brumoy's Greek Theatre, The Life of Sully, &c. The first novel of this lady (Harriot Stuart, 1751) was celebrated by Johnson and a party of ladies and gentlemen in the Devil Tavern, where a sumptuous supper was provided, and Johnson invested the authoress with a crown of laurel !

sufficient for half-a-dozen pair.

She had a volume of Shakspeare in her hand as I came softly towards her, having left my horse at a distance with my servant; and her attention was so much engaged with the extremely poetical and fine lines which Titania speaks in the third act of the Midsummer Night's Dream, that she did not see me till I was quite near her. She seemed then in great amazement. She could not be much more surprised if I had dropped from the clouds. But this was soon over, upon my asking her if she was not the daughter of Mr John Bruce,

mated composition. To ridicule Mrs Macaulay's republicanism, Johnson one day proposed that her footman, a very sensible, civil, well-behaved fellow-citizen,' should be allowed to sit down to dinner with them. The lady, of course, was indignant; but she held to her levelling doctrines in theory, and before her death, had visited George Washington in America, and written against Burke's denunciation of the French Revolution.

of the period. Mrs Montagu was left a widow with a large fortune, and her house became the popular resort of persons of both sexes distinguished for rank, classical taste, and literary talent. Numerous references to this circle will be found in Boswell's Johnson, in the Life of Dr Beattie, the works of Hannah More, &c. Mrs Montagu was authoress of a work highly popular in its day, Essay on the Writings and Genius of Shakspeare, compared with the Greek and French Dramatic Poets, with some Remarks upon the Misrepresenta tions of M. de Voltaire, 1769. This essay is now chiefly valued as shewing the low state of poetical and Shakspearean criticism at the time it was written. A memoir, with letters, of Mrs Montagu was published in 1873 by Dr Doran, under the title of A Lady of the Last Century. Mrs Chapone's principal work is Letters on the Improvement of the Mind, 1773. Two years afterwards she published a volume of Miscellanies in Prose and Verse. All her writings are distinguished for their piety and good sense.

DR RICHARD FARMER-GEORGE STEEVENS— JACOB BRYANT.

In 1766, DR RICHARD FARMER, of Emanuel College, Cambridge (1735-1797), published an Essay on the Learning of Shakspeare, which was considered to have for ever put an end to the dispute concerning the classic knowledge of the great dramatist. Farmer certainly shewed that Shakspeare had implicitly followed English translations of the ancient authors-as North's Plutarch copying even their errors; but more careful and reverent study of the poet has weakened the force of many of the critic's conclusions. The due appreciation of Shakspeare had not then begun. A dramatic critic and biographer, GEORGE STEEVENS (1736-1800), was associated with Johnson in the second edition of his Shakspeare, 1773. In 1793 he published an enlarged edition of his Shakspeare. He was acute and well read in dramatic literature, but prone to literary mystification and deception. Gifford styled him the Puck

of commentators.'

A student and scholar, JACOB BRYANT (17151804) engaged the attention of the learned and critical world throughout a long life by his erudition, inventive fancy, and love of paradox. His most celebrated works are A New System or Analysis of Ancient Mythology, 1774-76; Observations on the Plain of Troy, 1795; and a Dissertation concerning the War of Troy, 1796. The object of Bryant was to shew that the expedition of the Greeks, as described by Homer, is fabulous, and that no such city as Troy existed. A host of classic adversaries rose up against him, to one of whom-Mr J. B. S. Morritt, the friend of Sir Walter Scott-he replied, but his theory has not obtained general acquiescence. Bryant also wrote several theological treatises and papers on classical subjects. It is worthy of remark that though this able and amiable man doubted and denied concerning Homer, he was a believer in the fabrications of Chatterton, having written observations to prove the authenticity of the Rowley poems.

the virtues of industry, frugality, and independence of thought, and may be reckoned one of the benefactors of mankind. Franklin was a native of Boston in America, and was brought up to the trade of a printer. By unceasing industry and strong natural talents, which he assiduously culti vated, he rose to be one of the representatives of Philadelphia, and after the separation of America from Britain, he was ambassador for the states at the court of France. Several important treaties were negotiated by him, and in all the fame and fortunes of his native country-its struggles, disasters, and successes-he bore a prominent part. The writings of Franklin are not numerous; he always, as he informs us, 'set a greater value on a doer of good than on any other kind of reputation.' His Poor Richard's Almanac, containing some homely and valuable rules of life, was begun in 1732. Between the year 1747 and 1754 he communicated to his friend, Peter Collinson, a series of letters detailing New Experiments and Observations on Electricity, made at Philadelphia, in which he established the scientific fact, that electricity and lightning are the same. He made a kite of a silk handkerchief, and set it up into the air, with a common key fastened to the end of a hand. His son watched with him the result; hempen string, by which he held the kite in his clouds came and passed, and at length lightning sparks from the key, which gave him a slight came; it agitated the hempen cord, and emitted electrical shock. The discovery was thus made: the identity of lightning with electricity was clearly his feelings at the discovery, that he said he could manifested; and Franklin was so overcome by willingly at that moment have died! The political, miscellaneous, and philosophical works of afterwards republished, with additions, by his Franklin were published by him in 1779, and were is the most valuable of his miscellaneous pieces; grandson, in six volumes. His memoir of himself

his

essays scarcely exceed mediocrity as literary of benevolence and practical wisdom. In 1817, compositions, but they are animated by a spirit Franklin's grandson, William Temple Franklin, published two volumes of the Private Correspond ence of his grandfather between the years 1753 and 1790. These are less known than his essays and autobiography-which have always been popular—and we shall subjoin a few extracts.

The Cost of Wars, and Eulogium on Washington. I hope mankind will at length, as they call themselves reasonable creatures, have reason and sense enough to settle their differences without cutting throats; for in my opinion there never was a good war or a bad peace. What vast additions to the conveniences and comforts of living might mankind have acquired, if the money utility! What an extension of agriculture, even to the spent in wars had been employed in works of public tops of our mountains; what rivers rendered navigable, or joined by canals; what bridges, aqueducts, new roads, and other public works, edifices, and improvements, rendering England a complete paradise, might not have been obtained by spending those millions in doing good, which in the last war have been spent in doing mischief; in bringing misery into thousands of families, and destroying the lives of so many thousands of working-people, who might have performed the useful labour ! .

Should peace arrive after another campaign or two, and afford us a little leisure, I should be happy to see

you will, on one side of the lake, see a rich and beautiful landscape of cultivated fields, rising to the eye in fine inequalities, with noble groves of oak, happily dispersed, and climbing the adjacent hills, shade above shade, in the most various and picturesque forms. On the opposite shore, you will find rocks and cliffs of stupendous height, hanging broken over the lake in horrible grandeur; some of them a thousand feet high, the woods climbing up their steep and shaggy sides, where mortal foot never yet approached. On these dreadful heights the eagles build their nests: a variety of waterfalls are seen pouring from their summits, and tumbling in vast sheets from rock to rock in rude and terrible magnificence; while, on all sides of this immense amphitheatre, the lofty mountains rise round, piercing the clouds in shapes as spiry and fantastic as the very rocks of Dovedale. To this I must add the frequent and bold projection of the cliffs into the lake, forming noble bays and promontories; in other parts, they finely retire from it; and often open in abrupt chasms or clefts, through which at hand you see rich and uncultivated vales; and beyond these, at various distance, mountain rising over mountain; among which new prospects present themselves in mist, till the eye is lost in an agreeable perplexity:

Where active fancy travels beyond sense, And pictures things unseen. Were I to analyse the two places into their constituent principles, I should tell you that the full perfection of Keswick consists of three circumstances-beauty, horror, and immensity united-the second of which alone is found in Dovedale. Of beauty it hath little, nature having left it almost a desert; neither its small extent, nor the diminutive and lifeless form of the hills, admit magnificence. But to give you a complete idea of these three perfections, as they are joined in Keswick, would require the united powers of Claude, Salvator, and Poussin. The first should throw his delicate sunshine over the cultivated vales, the scattered cots, the groves, the lake, and wooded islands; the second should dash out the horror of the rugged cliffs, the steeps, the hanging woods, and foaming waterfalls; while the grand pencil of Poussin should crown the whole with the majesty of the impending mountains.

So much for what I would call the permanent beauties of this astonishing scene. Were I not afraid of being tiresome, I could now dwell as long on its varying or accidental beauties. I would sail round the lake, anchor in every bay, and land you on every promontory and island. I would point out the perpetual change of prospect; the woods, rocks, cliffs, and mountains, by turns vanishing or rising into view: now gaining on the sight, hanging over our heads in their full dimensions, beautifully dreadful : and now, by a change of situation, assuming new romantic shapes; retiring and lessening on the eye, and insensibly losing themselves in an azure mist. I would remark the contrast of light and shade, produced by the morning and evening sun; the one gilding the western, the other the eastern, side of this immense amphitheatre; while the vast shadow projected by the mountains, buries the opposite part in a deep and purple gloom, which the eye can hardly penetrate. The natural variety of colouring which the several objects produce is no less wonderful and pleasing: the ruling tints in the valley being those of azure, green, and gold; yet ever various, arising from an intermixture of the Íake, the woods, the grass, and corn-fields; these are finely contrasted by the gray rocks and cliffs; and the whole heightened by the yellow streams of light, the purple hues and misty azure of the mountains. Sometimes a serene air and clear sky disclose the tops of the highest hills; at other times, you see the clouds involving their summits, resting on their sides, or descending to their base, and rolling among the valleys, as in a vast furnace. When the winds are high, they roar among the cliffs and caverns like peals of

thunder; then, too, the clouds are seen in vast bodies sweeping along the hills in gloomy greatness, while the lake joins the tumult, and tosses like a sea. But in calm weather, the whole scene becomes new; the lake is a perfect mirror, and the landscape in all its beauty; islands, fields, woods, rocks, and mountains are seen inverted and floating on its surface. By still moonlight (at which time the distant waterfalls are heard in all their variety of sound), a walk among these enchanting dales opens such scenes of delicate beauty, repose, and solemnity, as exceed all description.

HORACE WALPOLE.

HORACE WALPOLE (1717-1797) would have held but an insignificant place in British literature, if it had not been for his correspondence and memoirs, those pictures of society and manners, compounded of wit and gaiety, shrewd observation, sarcasm, censoriousness, high life, and sparkling language. His situation and circumstances were exactly suited to his character and habits. He had in early life travelled with his friend Gray, the poet, and imbibed in Italy a taste for antiquity and the arts, fostered, no doubt, by the kindred genius of Gray, who delighted in ancient architecture and in classic studies. He next tried public life, and sat in parliament for twenty-six years. This added to his observation of men and manners, but without increasing his reputation, for Horace Walpole was no orator or statesman. His aristocratic habits prevented him from courting distinction as a general author, and he accordingly commenced collecting antiques, building a baronial castle, and chronicling in secret his opinions and impressions of his contemporaries. His income, from sinecure offices and private sources, was about £4000 per annum; and, as he was never married, his fortune enabled him, under good management and methodical arrangement, to gratify his tastes as a virtuoso. When thirty years old, he had purchased some land at Twickenham, near London, and here he commenced improving a small house, which by degrees swelled into a feudal castle, with turrets, towers, galleries, and corridors, windows of stained glass, armorial bearings, and all the other appropriate insignia of a Gothic baronial mansion. Who has not heard of Strawberry Hill—that ‘little plaything house,' as Walpole himself styled it, in works of art, rare editions, valuable letters, mewhich were gathered curiosities of all descriptions, morials of virtue and of vice, of genius, beauty, taste, and fashion, mouldered into dust! This valuable collection was in 1842 scattered to the winds-dispersed at a public sale. The delight with which Walpole contemplated his suburban retreat, is evinced in many of his letters. In one to General Conway-the only man he seems ever to have really loved or regarded—he runs on in this enthusiastic manner :

Strawberry Hill.

You perceive that I have got into a new camp, and have left my tub at Windsor. It is a little plaything house that I have got out of this Chevenix's shop [Strawberry Hill had been occupied by Mrs Chevenix, a toyis set in enamelled meadows, with filigree hedges— woman!], and is the prettiest bauble you ever saw. It

A small Euphrates through the piece is rolled,
And little fishes wave their wings of gold.