Εικόνες σελίδας
PDF
Ηλεκτρ. έκδοση

ratio as the increase of circulation. But, unfortunately, Mr. Colburn being endowed with more ingenuity than most people, contrived to dispossess D. L. R. of his rightful claims by changing the name of the periodical. D. L. R. had stipulated for a certain share in the profits of the London Weekly ReviewMr. Colburn metamorphosed it into the Court Journal, and by this adroit manœuvre deluded Richardson out of his property. We never doubted Mr. Colburn's abilities as a tactician, but we should scarcely have expected such a specimen of his ingenuity as this.

We must not forget to mentioni n this place that when D. L. R. made known his intention of returning to the shores of India, his literary associates gave him a farewell dinner, at which Thomas Campbell, the poet, presided. We cannot do better than transfer to our pages a brief notice of this dinner, which appeared in the London journals at the time, for it must be most gratifying to D. L. R.'s friends to peruse the well merited compliment paid to him by one of the most gifted men of the age :

-

"DAVID LESTER RICHARDSON, ESQ.

"The friends of D. L. Richardson, Esq., projector of The London Weekly Review, whose poetical talents and amiable private character have endeared him to a large and distinguished circle, comprehending some of the most illustrious names in the republic of letters, met on Saturday, the 3d inst. at the Free Masons' Tavern, for the purpose of paying him the public compliment of a farewell dinner, previous to his departure for India. The chair was taken by Thomas Campbell, Esq., whose convivial talents are only eclipsed by his splendid poetical reputation.

"At half-past six o'clock, the company sat down to an elegant dinner; and on the removal of the cloth, after the customary toasts, the health of Mr. Richardson was proposed in an animated speech by the Chairman. It was, he said, an unexpected pleasure to him, on joining the party assembled that evening-to pay a farewell tribute to their excellent friend and guest-to find it graced by the company of two individuals, whose presence on this occasion afforded him particular gratification; he meant his distinguished military friend Gen. Miller, who had signalized himself by his more than chivalrous services in a cause far more honourable than chivalry; and Mr. Martin, the poet painter, who, by the extraordinary creations of his unrivalled genius, has exceeded all that the most imaginative minds had ever conceived of beauty, grandeur, and magnificence. In proposing the health of Mr. Richardson, it would be needless for him to expatiate upon his merits; they were known to all his friends, and to none better than the party then assembled. Deep as might be his (Mr. Richardson's) regret at leaving his native country, it would be soothed by the conviction, that he left behind him those favourable impressions, which would afford to a heart constituted like his, the truest consolation, and best mitigate the pain of separation. And, though the occasion of the present meeting could not fail to give birth to some melancholy reflections, connected as it was, with the loss they were about to sustain of a dear and valued friend, whose elegant acquirements and refined taste are so conspicuous, it was his wish that it should be considered less in the light of a valedictory ceremony, than as an occasion of offering their sincere congratulations to their friend and guest, on the literary reputation he had already so creditably achieved, and their fervent hopes that his departure for India, which he had resolved upon, for reasons perfectly consistent with the spirit and manliness of his character, would furnish no bar to his fair and promising prospects in literature. The best wishes of his friends would accompany him to the scenes he was about to visit; and he trusted this public expression of their high opinion would be the more valuable, coming, as it did, from a body of men who never dealt in the base traffic of praise, nor stooped their independent heads to flatter. He concluded an eloquent and affectionate address, by proposing the health of Mr. Richardson, their valued friend and guest, which was drank with the greatest applause.

"Mr. RICHARDSON returned thanks in a short but feeling speech.

"The Chairman gave the health of General Miller with an eulogium on his services in South America.

"General Miller, in returning thanks, spoke as follows: In all my proceedings in South America, which have been so kindly adverted to, I have had the benefit of two great advantages, to which I have been more indebted than to any merits of my own-I mean good friends and good fortune. These have done nearly everything for me, and have left me no other title to approbation than what may be derived from a plain and straightforward course of conduct, and a steady perseverance in what I considered to be my duty-encouraged and animated by a fervent desire to do credit to my native country. And in this slight allusion to my personal history, I should be guilty of an injustice, if I omitted to express my obligation and gratitude to the heroism and valour of the common people, the common peasantry, and common soldiery of South America.

"The Chairman then gave the health of Mr. Martin. At the retirement of the Chairman at rather an early hour, in consequence of indisposition, General Miller was called to the Chair, and the evening concluded with great hilarity. The party broke up at a late hour."

D. L. R. returned to India in 1829. He had over-staid the five years allowed by act of Parliament to officers absent from duty. In the month of October,

to return to India, and although it would have been impossible for him to have reached Bengal, within the boundaries of the five years' limitation, the Court gained the consent of the Board of Controul to an indulgence, which, in this special instance, they were pleased to confer on our friend. They decreed, that if D. L. R. took his passage in a ship, to sail in the ensuing month, they would not visit him with any ill consequence, on account of having over-staid his time. He then took a passage in a vessel, advertized to sail early in November; it was accidentally delayed till December, and on this account the Government of Bengal suspended him from the service, until such time as the decision of the Court of Directors might be made known to them. This threw D. L. R. entirely upon his literary resources, and whilst he was waiting for, the decision of the Court, concerning which he had very few misgivings, he employed himself in conducting certain literary periodicals. The answer which he received froin the Court of Directors, after a suspension of about a year and half, was, as he anticipated, favourable; he was then appointed a Member of the Arsenal Committee; which detained him at Calcutta, until his promotion to a Captaincy, whereon he applied for permission, which was granted, to be transferred to the Invalid list. From the middle of the year 1829 to the end of 1835, he was employed upon editing various literary works, of which the following is, we believe, a correct enumeration:

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]

Early in 1835, D. L. R. was appointed Aid-de-Camp to Lord William Bentinck, and upon that Nobleman's departure from India he was elected Professor of Literature in that noble institution, the Hindoo College. The Managers were unanimous in their election of him, and the appointment gave general satisfaction. He had not been long installed into his new office, before he applied to the Education Committee for a class-book, out of which to instruct his pupils; the Committee then proposed to D. L. R. that he should himself prepare a work for that purpose, and promised to take two thousand copies of the book, when completed. To this D. L. R. readily consented, and the book is now passing through the press. It will contain selections from all the most esteemed poets that England has produced from the time of Chaucer to the present day. It is to be a royal octavo volume, containing about eight hundred pages, and will, we are sure, for we have seen the greater part of it, form the most complete work of the kind that has ever emarated from the press. Mr. Macaulay undertook to prepare a similar work of selections from our prose writers; but having sketched out the design, he left it to be completed by Sir Edward Ryan, who will perform the task, we doubt not, full as well as the great literary Lycurgus himself.

We have some how or other neglected in this brief sketch of D. L. R.'s life to speak, in its proper place, of the publication of his two principal works. We do not much regret the omission, as it has furnished us with a natural link of transition, whereby we may pass from the author to his works.

The Ocean Sketches and other Poems were printed in 1833, and the Literary Leaves, in 1835. It is of the latter work, that we purpose to speak, as in this volume the better portion of all his previous writings, both prose and poetry, has been incorporated. We hope to receive all credit for the sincerity with which we intend to execute our task; we will do our best to be strictly impartial, and angels could do no more.

If we were called upon to characterize D. L. R. as a poet, we should say, without a moment's hesitation, that he is the poet of domestic life. We do not remember any English writer (and we think that our poetical readings have embraced the whole range of British bards) who has given utterance, with such a

the parent, and the friend. It would be impossible to peruse, with attention either his essays or his poems, without inwardly saying, "These are the outpourings of a kindly, affectionate heart." He who does not feel the generous sympathies of his nature excited by such appeals, full of the best spirit of humanity, as they are, must indeed have

a hideous heart,

A heart of stone-of smooth, cold, frightful stone;

and little would we wish to enrol him in the cherished list of our associates. To us these appeals are irresistible. We ever feel kinder, and better, aye, and wiser too, after a commune, however brief, with the writings of D. L. R. There is something in them which melts the heart into tenderness even at seasons when we feel most worldly and most obdurate. And what is this but to say that these writings are full of nature and truth? Words could not move us, nor the spirit informing them, if it were not an emanation from the great spirit of natural beauty. D. L. R. possesses a key which unlocks the chambers of the human heart. And is not this the true end of poetry-to awaken generous emotions, virtuous sympathies, benevolent yearnings? The disciples of the Conrad-and-Harold school; or, as Mr. Southey has christened it, the Satanic school, may hold a different opinion; all that we can say is, we do not envy them. They may prate about force and energy, and masculine vigour, and exhaust their vocabulary of pet expressions; but they will never make converts of us. What they call force and energy, is nothing more than fustian and bombast. There is force enough in Hieronymo, in Tamburlaine, in the Jew of Malta; but what pleasure is there derivable from the perusal of these inflated, antique tragedies. One page of Marlowe's Hero and Leander is worth all his tragedies put together. Marston is a more forcible writer than Shakespeare, but his plays have not even been re-printed, in this age of re-prints; and Mr. Maturin is a far more forcible romance-writer than Sir Walter Scott; but who ever thinks of reading the diableries of Melmoth, and who does not read the Heart of Mid-Lothian? hope very soon to hear no more of this cant about energy and vigour. Let us have anything introduced into our literature rather than the villanous exaggerations, the monstrous distortions, that at present disfigure the literature of France. We would rather that Hayley and Pye should be set up as intellectual models than Maturin and Monk Lewis. It is far better to be lulled to sleep by the dullness of the one than to be haunted by the grim terrors of the other. Feebleness is better than exaggeration; there may be some approach to nature in the former, but with the latter she has nothing to do.

We

In D. L. R. there is nothing over-strained-all is quiet, all subdued, all natural. There is one poem, certainly, in the collection, which may in some measure be subjected to the charge of exaggeration; and we like it less than any poem in the book, although the critics one and all have commended it. We have a notion, however, that D. L. R. perfectly coincides with us in this opinion. The poem to which we refer is called the Soldier's Dream, and is something in the Charnel-house style. With this solitary exception all D. L. R.'s writings, both prose and poetry, are full of quiet beauty and natural grace. They do not strike or startle us, but they gently win their way to our hearts. They have a sort of Claude-like repose about them, and we dwell lingeringly upon the scenes he describes as we do upon the painted creations of the Italian. There is nothing petulant or ill-natured in his writings-no pride, no misanthropy, no sarcasm. He is imbued with too noble a philosophy, ever to scorn, to abuse, or to insult his fellows. He is a little of an optimist we think, and we like him the better for being so. There is an exculpatory vein running through his writings, which to us is peculiarly delightful. He seeks for good in every thing, and is full of sanctifying charities. Take, for example, the following passage from an essay entitled Summer and Winter. He is dilating upon the soothing influences of a calm summer's day. See, how charitably he makes excuse for that, which is the most frequent source of petulant complaint in people of ardent temperament-we mean, the want of sympa thy in others:

"Even actual misfortune comes in a questionable shape, when our physical constitution is in per

fully does the light of external nature sometimes act upon the moral system, that a sweet sensation steals gradually over the heart, even when we think we have reason to be sorrowful, and while we almost accuse ourselves of a want of feeling. The fretful hypochondriac would do well to bear this in mind, and not take it for granted that all are cold and selfish who fail to sympathize in his fantastic cares. He should remember, that men are sometimes so buoyed up by the sense of corporeal power, and a communion with nature in her cheerful moods, that things connected with their own personal interest, which at other times would irritate them to madness, pass by them like the wind. He himself must have had his intervals of comparative happiness, in which the causes of his present afflictions would have appeared trivial and absurd. He should not then, expect persons whose blood is warm in their veins, and whose eyes are open to the blessed sun in heaven, to think more of his sorrows than he would himself, were his mind and body in a health

ful state.

"With what a light heart and eager appetite did I enter the little breakfast parlour, whose glassdoors opened upon a bed of flowers! The table was spread with dewy and delicious fruits from our own garden, and gathered by fair and friendly hands. Sweet and luscious as were these natural dainties to the sight and taste, they were of small account in comparison with the fresh cheeks and cherry lips that so frankly accepted the wonted early greeting. Alas! how that dear domestic circle is now divided, and what a change has since come over the spirit of our dreams! Yet still I cherish boyish feelings, and the past is sometimes present. As I give an imaginary kiss to an "old familiar face," and catch myself almost unconsciously, yet literally, returning imaginary smiles, my heart is as fresh and fervid as of yore. Fifteen thousand miles do not change or separate faithful spirits, nor annihilate early associations. Parted friends may still share the light of love, as severed clouds are equally kindled by the same sun.* We are fully alive to the merits of D. L. R. as a descriptive poet. It is his own opinion, and the opinion, we believe, of all his friends, that his descriptions. of inanimate nature are superior to his other metrical performances. We can not think this-for us the Ocean Sketches have far less charm than his domestic pieces; his lesser poems which he has addressed more immediately to the human heart. We are at issue upon this point with the whole host of Richardson's reviewers. The Ocean Sketches are bright Turner-like sea-views -they are beautiful, and dazzling, and highly-coloured; they attract the eye at once, but we cannot linger on them-they awaken scenic remembrances but not heart-felt associations, and therefore they do not dwell upon the mind. The spirit of humanity pervades them not. They are gorgeous views without a figure in them, and therefore they lack vitality. This is a fault which, we acknowledge, lies more in the subject than in the execution of the pictures, but we have a fault to find with their execution. The Ocean Sketches are overladen with epithets; it is the nature of descriptive poetry to abound in them to a certain extent, but a few will be as graphic as a multitude. Now D. L R.'s epithets are always descriptive; they are always the best that can be chosen ; but there are too many of them and their multiplicity dazzles rather than illuminates our view. The Ocean Sketches are admirably true to nature. Indeed, but a little time ago, when ocean-voyagers ourselves, we found that we were frequently repeating passages of the Sketches, which had been long buried in the store-house of our memory, but of whose possession we were utterly ignorant, until we beheld in reality the very images the poet has described. Higher praise to their truthfulness we cannot bestow; but we wish that they had been less elaborated. We wish that the artist had dashed a little less colour upon his canvas, and struck out a more simple effect. Wordsworth's descriptions are the finest in the language, but they are very little burthened with epithets. We will quote one of the Ocean Sketches entire, which will enable our readers to perceive at once both the characteristic beauties and defects of these graphic poems.

[blocks in formation]

66

[blocks in formation]

Are motionless, and yield fantastic forms
Of antique towers, vast woods and frozen lakes,
Huge rampant beasts, and giant phantoms seen
In wildering visions only.

High o'er head,
Dazzling the sight, hangs, quivering like a lark,
The silver Tropic-bird;-at length it flits
Far in cerulean depths and disappears,
Save for a moment, when with fitful gleam

It waves its wings in light. The pale thin moon,
Her crescent floating on the azure air,

Shows like a white bark sleeping on the main
When not a ripple stirs. Yon bright clouds form,
(Ridged as the ocean sands, with spots of blue,
Like water left by the receding tide,)

A fair celestial shore ! - How beautiful!
The spirit of eternal peace hath thrown
A spell upon the scene! The wide blue floor
Of the Atlantic world-a sky-girt plain-
Now looks as never more the Tempest's tread
Would break its shining surface; and the ship
Seems destined ne'er again to brave the gale,
Anchored for ever on the silent deep!

Now here the first passage we have marked with italics is eminently beautiful and descriptive; it is not only admirably true to nature, but it is a fine specimen of Imitative Harmony." There is not a word too few or too many and any change would be for the worse. But a little further on, where he describes the flying fish, the same image is introduced three times in the same number of lines. The bright-winged tribe flash, and glitter in the sun. The word flash is the most graphic word in the language that the poet could have employed. It might well have afforded to stand alone without any assistance from its brethren. We have the same objections to make to the description of the tropic bird a little lower down in the same poem. There is a like redundant display of glittering words-" dazzling", "silver," "gleam" and "light," are all to be found in the same paragraph. One of the most popular, but, in our opinion, one of the most over-rated poets of the age, has subjected himself to a similar accusation, in a far more extraordinary degree. Our readers will have little difficulty in discovering that we allude to Thomas Moore, whose principal work, though the most popular book ever written, is all spangle and tinsel, with very little of the genuine ore of poetry in its composition. As a specimen of its tinsel, we may parenthetically quote a passage, which glitters about fifty times more than the extracts we have quoted from D. L. R. We must premise that this is an admired passage-one of those which boys of sixteen and girls at a boarding-school under-line with a pencil, and scratch opposite to it, in the margin, the word "beautiful"

To one, who looked from upper air
O'er all the enchanted regions there;
How beauteous must have been the glow
The life, the sparkling from below!
Fair gardens, shining streams, with ranks
Of golden melons on their banks,

More golden where the sun-light falls;
Gay lizards, glittering on the walls
Of ruined shrines, busy and bright

As they were all alive with light;
And yet more splendid numerous flocks
Of pigeons, settling on the rocks
With their rich, restless wings that gleam
Variously in the crimson beam

Of the warm west, as if inlaid

With brilliants from the mine, &c., &c., &c.

Now, if an artist were desirous of transferring this gorgeous scene to the canvas, he would find it necessary, as a preliminary step, to betake himself to

D. L. R. has an admirable essay on this subject in the Literary Leaves, which we warmly

« ΠροηγούμενηΣυνέχεια »