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on this occasion, stole the veteran quid, and substi- , more, assuredly, would not be required from one tuted in its place a dead mouse just taken from the to whom so little had been given. He lived about trap. Presently the sleeper, half wakening with- four years after this removal. His brother Edward out unclosing his eyes, and half-stupefied, put up died a year before him, of pulmonary consumption. his hand, and, taking the mouse with a finger and This event affected him deeply. He attended the funthumb, in which the discriminating sense of touch eral, described the condition of the coffins in the famhad been blunted by coarse work and unclean hab- ily vault in a manner which I well remember, and said its, opened his mouth to receive it, and, with a slow, that his turn would be next. One day, on my return sleepy tongue, endeavored to accommodate it to its from school at the dinner-hour, going into the sumusual station, between the double teeth and the cheek. mer-house, I found him sitting in the middle of the Happening to put it in headforemost, the hind legs room and looking wildly. He told me he had been and the tail hung out, and a minute or more was very ill, that he had had a seizure in the head, such spent in vain endeavors to lick these appendages in, as he had never felt before, and that he was certain before he perceived, in the substance, consistence, something very serious ailed him. I gave the and taste, something altogether unlike tobacco. alarm ; but it passed over; neither he himself, nor Roused at the same time by a laugh which could no any person in the house, knew what such a seizure longer be suppressed, and discovering the trick indicated. The next morning he arose as usual, which had been played, he started up in a furious walked down stairs into the kitchen, and as he was rage, and, seizing the poker, would have demol- buttoning the knees of his breeches, exclaimed, ished the squire for this practical jest, if he had not Lord, have mercy upon me!” and fell from the provided a retreat by having the doors open, and chair. His nose was bleeding when he was taken taking shelter where Thomas could not, or dared up. Immediate assistance was procured, but he not, follow him.

was dead before it arrived. The same quiet humor, with exquisite touches uť a quiet and deep-felt pathos, are in the notice Bristol Theatre and its associations, though as

We must pass for the present the notices of the of this uncle William's death.

pleasant as a fairy tale ; and content ourselves For one or two years he walked into the heart of with illustrating their effect in a humorous little the city every Wednesday and Saturday to be shaved, ancedote. and to purchase his tobacco ; he went, also, sometimes to the theatre, which he enjoyed highly. On

While this dramatic passion continued, I wished no other occasion did he ever leave the house ; and, my friends to partake it ; and soon after I went to as inaction, aided, no doubt, by the inordinate use Williams' school, persuaded one of my school-felof tobacco, and the quantity of small beer with lows to write a tragedy. Bellard was his name, which he swilled his inside, brought on a prema- the son of a surgeon at Portbury, a good natured ture old age, even this exercise was left off. As good fellow, with a round face which I have not soon as he rose, and had taken his first pint of beer, seen for seven or eight-and-thirty years, and yet which was his only breakfast, to the summer-house fancy that I could recognize it now, and should be he went, and took his station in the bow-window right glad to see it. He liked the suggestion,

and as regularly as a sentinel in a watch-box. Here it agreed to it very readily, but he could not tell what was his whole and sole employment to look at the to write about. I gave him a story. But then anfew people who passed, and to watch the neighbors, other difficulty was discovered; he could not devise with all whose concerns at last he became perfectly names for the personages of the drama. I gave intimate, by what he could thus oversee and over- him a most heroic assortment of propria quæ marihear. He had a nickname for every one of them. | bus et feminis. He had now got his Dramatis PerIn the evening, my aunt and I generally played at sone, but he could not tell what to make them say, five-card loo with him, in which he took an intense and then I gave up the business. interest ; and if, in the middle of the day, when I

But not only the schoolboys and the schoolcame home to dinner, he could get me to play at marbles in the summer-house, he was delighted. masters live again in these vivid recollections, but The points to which he looked on in the week were

even the occasional visitors of the schools, startthe two mornings when Joseph came to shave him; ling and impressive to a boy for their awful familthis poor journeyman barber felt a sort of compas- iarity to his pedagogue, return with all their porsionate regard for him, and he had an insatiable ap- tentous importance once again. The best sketch petite for such news as the barber could communi- of this sort is that of a Bristol breeches-maker in

Thus his days past in wearisome uniformity. the days of buckskin, a glorious fellow, Pullen by He had no other amusement, unless in listening to hear a comedy read ; he had not, in himself, a single resource for whiling away the time, not even If I could paint a portrait from memory, you that which smoking might have afforded him ; and should have his likeness. Alas, that I can only being thus utterly without an object for the present give it words ! and that that perfect figure should at or the future, his thoughts were perpetually recur- this hour be preserved only in my recollections ! ring to the past. His affections were strong and Sic transit gloria mundi! His countenance exlasting. Indeed, at his mother's funeral his emo- pressed all that could be expressed by human feattions were such as to affect all who witnessed them. ures, of thorough-bred vulgarity, prosperity, pride That grief he felt to the day of his death. I have of purse, good living, coarse humor, and boisterous also seen tears in his eyes when he spoke of my good nature. He wore a white tie-wig. His eyes sisters, Eliza and Louisa, both having died just at were of the hue and lustre of scalded gooseberries, that age when he had most delight in fondling them, or oysters in sauce. His complexion was of the and they were most willing to be fondled. Whether deepest extract of the grape ; he owed it to the it might have been possible to have awakened him Methuen treaty; my uncle, no doubt, had seen it to any devotional feelings may be doubted; but he growing in his rides from Porto ; and heaven knows believed and trusted simply and implicitly, and how many pipes must have been filtered through the Pullenian system, before that fine permanent Wat Tyler and the Vision of Judgment, or similar purple could have been fixed in his cheeks. He strains of loyalty. His quarrels with Byron and appeared always in buckskins of his own making, the “Satanic School” exposed him to the satirical and in boots. He would laugh at his own jests with a voice like Stentor, supposing Stentor to have attacks of Don Juan and the Liberal; and their been hoarse ; and then he would clap old Williams poetical form embalmed his life and characteristics on the back with a hand like a shoulder of mutton in a more enduring shape than the political assaults, for breadth and weight. You may imagine how unless it were the jeux d'esprit of Canning. great a man we thought him. They had probably Hence, the novelty of Southey's biography must been boon companions in their youth, and his visits be inner rather than outer, and must refer 10 seldom failed to make the old man lay aside the



thoughts rather than deeds. schoolmaster. He was an excellent hand at demanding half a holyday; and when he succeeded

In this point of view it is worth a full exposition , always demanded three cheers for his success, in for, independently of his literary eminence, Southey which he joined with all his might and main. If was the head of a class. If Pope set the first I were a believer in the Romish purgatory, I should example of emancipation from patronage or place, make no doubt that every visit that he made to showing that the time had come when a man of that schoolroom, was carried to the account of his genius might reap a sufficient pecuniary reward good works. Some such set-off he needed ; for he behaved with brutal want of feeling to a son who by his works—and if Goldsmith was the first had offended him, and who, I believe, would have who really addressed the peopleSouthey was perished for want, if it had not been for the charity the original of the modern littérateur, who follows of John Morgan's mother; an eccentric but thor-authorship as a regular profession, and holds the oughly good woman, and one of those people pen of a “ready writer.” Writers, indeed, exwhom I should rejoice to meet in the next world. isted before his time, who were ready enough to This I learnt from her several years afterwards. undertake anything that was offered to them ; At this time Pullen was a widower between fifty but they neither bronght knowledge to their labor, and sixty ; a hale strong-bodied man, upon whom his wine-merchant might reckon for a considerable nor exercised it conscientiously, nor were able tó annuity, during many years to come. He had

live by their wits, at least respectably. In all

purchased some lands adjacent to the Leppincott prop- these points Southey was the reverse ; for although erty near Bristol, in the pleasantest part of that he had resources apart from literature, (his pension, fine neighborhood. Sir Henry Leppincott was his salary as Laureate, and, in the outset, 1601. a elected member for the city, at that election in which year allowed him by his schoolfellow, Mr. C. W. Burke was turned out. He died soon afterwards ; w. Wynne,) yet he had family claims upon hina his son was a mere child; and Pullen, the glorious Pullen, in the plenitude of his pride, and no doubt through life, and his income from his own labors in a new pair of buckskins, called on the widow; was sufficient for respectable subsistence. introduced himself as the owner of the adjacent It is desirable to have a full account of the estate ; and upon that score, without further cere- thoughts of such a man, and the gradual changes mony, proposed marriage as an arrangement of they underwent. It is also well to be able to mutual fitness. Lady Leppincott, of course, rang trace the acquisition of his knowledge; the the bell, and ordered the servants to turn him out of the house. This is a story which would be deemed economy of time, and the steady industry, by too extravagant in a novel; and yet you would which so much was prepared for and written; the believe it without the slightest hesitation, if you had influence that years and outward events exercised ever seen the incomparable breeches-maker. upon his opinions and his productions. Whether

six full-sized and closely-printed volumes may not In closing this book we have heartily to congratulate Mr. Southey on having opened the biog- partake a little of the “ ne quid nimis,” will be

better told when greater progress is made with raphy of his father with a volume of such striking

the work. As regards the correspondence in the and sterling interest.

volume before us, the book would have been imFrom the Spectator.

proved by a somewhat more vigorous excision ; The life of Southey was uneventful; its very by the omission of mere expressions of opinion, occurrences derive their color from his opinions or of minor details in reference to other people. rather than from the nature of the acts, though As yet, however, the extraneous or unimportant circumstances have given much publicity to the matter is less than might have been imagined. leading incidents. His early views on politics and Nearly a half of the volume is occupied by a religion, and the enthusiasm with which he urged family history and autobiography, by Southey them, excited the hostility of the Pitt tories; the himself. It was begun in the year 1820, when attacks of the Antijacobin giving to his early career the writer was six-and-forty, and was addressed in a celebrity it would not have attained by itself. a series of seventeen letters to his friend John When years and experience cooled his enthusiasm May. It brings down the writer's life and and altered his views, and he became linked with reminiscences to the age of fifteen, just before he men who attacked his old opinions and some of had to leave Westminster School for a severe jeu his old associates with a coarseness and fury which d'esprit on flogging, which Dr. Vincent, the head were wrongfully attributed to him, he roused the master, took to himself. But this part contains anger of whigs and radicals, as he had formerly something more than the writer's autobiography. done that of their opponents. His life was then The family history is told at a length rather disassailed for the wide extremes of opinion between proportioned to its interest. The dwellings with

his son.

the furniture of his parents and immediate relations | ions. We move no longer in the same circles, and are described in a style which partakes of the no longer see things in the same point of view. minutely garrulous. The picture of his own

I never now write a long letter to those who think

with me—it is useless to express what they also feelings, his mind and its progress, the sketches of feel ; and as for reasoning with those who differ the various characters in his own family and at from me, I have never seen any good result from school, are fuller of interest. Even the foreign argument. I write not in the best of spirits ; my matters and family genealogy contribute with the mother's state of health depresses me

—the more

Edith is likebiography to form a picture of middle-class life so as I have to make her cheerful. and society such as it existed sixty or seventy wise very unwell; indeed, so declining as to make years ago ; although not altogether free from the me somewhat apprehensive for the future. A few

months will determine all these uncertainties, and using-up habit of the professional littérateur, and perhaps change my views in life, or rather destroy not devoid of the “ longueurs" which Byron them. This is the first time that I have expressed attributed to “ Bob Southey."

the feelings that often will rise. Take no notice The second half of the volume relates to of them when you write. Southey's life from the age of fifteen to twenty

It is probable, however, that his health had five, and consists of his correspondence for the period embraced, with a connecting narrative by icence : anxiety, mental exertion, and a seden

something to do with his greater epistolary retIts principal topics are Southey's career at college, his rejection of the church from con- and the volume closes with medical advice and a

tary life, had begun to produce their usual effects; scientious motives, his struggling uncertainty in

partial suspension of his literary labors. regard to a profession, the scheme of Pantisocracy, his literary projects in conjunction with Coleridge of character, which more or less accompanied the

The correspondence exhibits some weaknesses and others, and the composition of Joan of Arc author through life ; but it also bears witness 10 and Madoc, with many of his minor poems. Το

his honesty of purpose and motive. He declined this period also belong his first marriage, his

the church, in which he had fair pruspects, of famjourney to Spain and Portugal, his appearance before the world as an author, his unsuccessful ily consequence to him, because he could not sub

scribe the Articles. Similar feelings threw him attempt to study for the bar, his final withdrawal from law and London, and his commencement of upon the world to find his own bread and that of literature as the fixed pursuit of his life, in his enthusiasm in politics and social philosophy, it

others as he could ; while, though not devoid of twenty-fifth year.

The facts about Pantisocracy are pretty well was, though a youthful, a reasoning, not a headknown from Mr. Cottle's interesting Reminiscences of people on his own side ; and it does not seem

strong enthusiasm. The critic could see the errors of Coleridge ; the history of Southey's epic and that his Christianity was ever altogether shaken, other poems have been told by himself in the

though he held a singular kind of Socinianism. prefaces to his collected edition ; much incidental information about the whole of this period may

The sterling firmness and honesty of Southey also be gleaned from various memoirs and the Fricker was not in original standing equal to his

were shown in his marriage. The family of Miss letters of Southey that have been published. The interest of this part lies less in the narrative of the own, and reverses had overtaken them. Her facts than in the pictures of mind and character. of Byron's couplets ; when his aunt Tyler was

position is known by the lordly personality of one To his intimate friends, especially to Mr. Bedford made acquainted with his plans of emigration and of the Exchequer, Southey pours out himself fully marriage, she turned him out of doors, on a wet upon all subjects, whether public or personal, with

autumn night, leaving him to walk home, a disfeelings as enthusiastic as might be supposed from

tance of nine miles. His uncle Hill, the Chaplain a projector of a society, where

property should be in common, and literature, science, virtue, and his father's failure, was milder, and more politic :

at Lisbon who had supported him at Oxford after what not, cultivated by all its members, alternately he offered to take him to Portugal for a few with the cultivation of the earth.

His style

months. partakes of his feelings. It is verbose, with a touch of the schoolboy or “freshman,” sometimes Mr. Hill's object in this was partly to take him occupied in turning and pointing periods, some

out of the arena of political discussion into which times declamatorial, and giving little promise of him round to more moderate views, and also to wean

he had thrown himself by his lectures, and bring the solidity it afterwards attained, though there him if possible from what he considered an “ imis its easy flow. Much of this raw character, prudent attachment.” In the former object he however, passed away with his teens; and the partly succeeded; in attempting to gain the latter, call to express his opinions to others left him too. he had not understood my father's character. Hé In 1798, when in his twenty-fourth year, he writes was too deeply and sincerely attached to the object thus to Mr. Wynn.

of his choice to be lightly turned from it; and

the similarity of her worldly circumstances to his You call me lazy for not writing : is it not the own would have made him consider it doubly dissame with you? Do you feel the same inclination honorable even to postpone the fulfilment of his for filling a folio sheet now is when in '90 and '91 engagement. we wrote to each other so fully and so frequently? When the day was fixed for the travellers to de The inclination is gone from me. I have nothing part, my father fixed that also for his wedding-day ; to communicate—no new feelings-no new opin- T and on the 14th of November, 1795, was united


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at Radclift Church, Bristol, to Edith Fricker. , English as this. My mother, I believe, never went Immediately after the ceremony they parted. My to any but a dancing-school, and her state was the mother wore her wedding-ring hung round her more gracious. But her half-sister, Miss Tyler, neck, and preserved her maiden name until the re- was placed at one in the neighborhood under a port of the marriage had spread abroad. The fol- Mrs. whom I mention because her history is lowing letters will explain these circumstances, characteristic of those times. Her husband carried and fill up the interval until his return.

on the agreeable business of a butcher in Bristol To Grosvenor C. Bedford, Esq.

while she managed a school for young ladies about

a mile out of the town. His business would not Nov. 21, 1795, Nan Swithin, near St. Columbs.

necessarily have disqualified her for this occupation, Grosvenor, what should that necromancer deserve (though it would be no recommendation,) Kirke who could transpose our souls for half an hour, White's mother, a truly admirable woman, being and make each the inhabitant of the other's tene- in this respect just under like circumstances. But ment? There are so many curious avenues in mine, Mrs. - might, with more propriety, have been a and so many closets in yours, of which you have blacksmith's wife; as in that case, Vulcan might never sent me the key.

have served for a type of her husband in his fate, Here I am, in a huge and handsome mansion, but not in the complacency with which he submitnot a finer room in the county of Cornwall than ted to it, horns sitting as easily on his head as upon the one in which I write; and yet have I been the beasts which he slaughtered. She was a handsilent, and retired into the secret cell of my own some woman, and her children were, like the Harheart. This day week, Bedford! There is some- leian Miscellany, by different authors. This was thing in the bare name that is now mine, that notorious ; yet her school flourished notwithstandwakens sentiments I know not how to describe : ing, and she retired from it at last with a competent never did man stand at the altar with such strange fortune, and was visited as long as she lived by her feelings as I did. Can you, Grosvenor, by any former pupils. This may serve to show a great effort of imagination shadow out my emotion? improvement in the morals of middle life. She returned the pressure of my hand, and we parted in silence. -Zounds! what have I to do

The following is Southey's reminiscence of his with supper!

dancing-days, and his dancing-master, a man of

the name of Walters. And again he writes to his friend Cottle. To Joseph Cottle, Esq.

That poor man was for three years the plague of

my life, and I was the plague of his. In some Falmouth, 1795.

unhappy mood he prevailed on my mother to let My dear Friend, I have learnt from Lovel the me learn to dance ; persuading himself, as well as news from Bristol, public as well as private, and her, that I should do credit to his teaching. It both of an interesting nature. My marriage is be- must have been for my sins that he formed this opincome public. You know my only motive for wish-ion : in an evil hour for himself and for me was it ing it otherwise, and must know that its publicity formed; he would have had much less trouble in can give me no concern. I have done my duty. teaching a bear, and far better success.

I do not Perhaps you may hardly think my motives for mar-remember that I set out with any dislike or conrying at that time sufficiently strong. One, and tempt of dancing ; but the unconquerable incapacity that to me of great weight, I believe was never which it was soon evident that I possessed, promentioned to you. There might have arisen feel-duced both, and the more he labored to correct an ings of an unpleasant nature at the idea of receiving incorrigible awkwardness, the more awkwardly of support from one not legally a husband ; and (do course I performed. I verily believe the fiddlestick not show this to Edith) should I perish by ship was applied as much to my head as to the fiddlewreck, or any other casualty, I have relations whose strings when I was called out. But the rascal had prejudices would then yield to the anguish of affec: a worse way than that of punishing me. He would tion, and who would love, cherish, and yield all take my hands in his, and lead me down a dance; possible consolation to my widow. Of such an evil and then the villain would apply his thumb-nail there is but a possibility : but against possibility it against the flat surface of mine, in the middle, and was my duty to guard. Farewell. Yours sincerely,

press it till he left the mark there : this species of

torture I suppose to have been his own invention ; ROBERT SouthEY.

and so intolerable it was, that at last whenever he We will close the present notice with a few had recourse to it I kicked his shins. Luckily for

me he got into a scrape by beating a boy unmercigleanings from what after all is the most interest- fully at another school, so that he was afraid to ing part of the volume—the autobiography. This carry on this sort of contest ; and, giving up at last was the state of female education and middle-class all hope of ever making me a votary of the Graces morals some eighty years ago.

or of the dancing Muse, he contented himself with

shaking his head and turning up his eyes in hopeFemale education was not much regarded in her lessness whenever he noticed my performance. [his mother's) childhood. The ladies who kept boarding-schools in those days did not consider it

" The child is father of the man." Southey's necessary to possess any other knowledge them- earliest effort at prose (he began to compose verse selves than that of ornamental needlework. Two as early as he could remember) was the type of sisters, who had been mistresses of the most fash- much of his future writing, a skilful reproduction ionable school in Herefordshire, fifty years ago, used of other people's matter. to say when they spoke of a former pupil, Her went to school to we;" and the mistress of what Sometimes, when Williams was in good humor, some ten years later, was thought the best school he suspended the usual business of the school and near Bristol, (where Mrs. Siddons sent her daugh- exercised the boys in some uncommon manner. ter,) spoke, to my perfect recollection, much such For example, he would bid them all take their





slates, and write as he should dictate. This was

What myriads have died to try their spelling ; and I remember he once be

In war's terrific pride, gan with this sentence—" As I walked out to take Their woe and agony the demon's mirth! ihe air, I met a man with red hair, who was heir to And as their spirits took their flight, a good estate, and was carrying a hare in his hand.” What visions of the future struck them with affright! Another time he called upon all of a certain standing to write a letter, each upon any subject that he pleased. You will perhaps wonder to hear that no

Oh fools! my brethren dear, task ever perplexed me so wofully as this. I had

The fighters on this sphere, never in my life written a letter, except a formal one The victims of your chieftains' angry strife! at Corston before the holydays, every word of

For, if ye would not wield which was of the master's dictation, and which

The gun, sword, spear and shield, used to begin “ Honored Parents." Some of the And would not dice away your soul and life, boys produced compositions of this stamp: others, The conquerors of this wretched world who were a little older and more ambitious, wrote Would be from all their dizzy height of glory hurled. in a tradesmanlike style, soliciting orders, or acknowledging them, or sending in an account. For my part I actually cried for perplexity and vexation.

For truly war 's a game, Had I been a blockhead this would have provoked

Ending in woe and shame, Williams; but he always looked upon me with a

Which frenzied kings no longer here would play favorable eye, and, expressing surprise rather than

Were but their subjects wise,

Or if with open eyes anger, he endeavored both to encourage and shame me to the attempt. To work I fell at last, and pres

They looked on all the horrors of the fray, ently presented him with a description of Stone - Or tried to guage the depth of crime, henge, in the form of a letter, which completely When men on piles of brothers' bones to glory

climb! filled the slate. I had laid hands not long before upon the Salisbury Guide, and Stonehenge had appeared to me one of the greatest wonders in the O Glory! proud and high, world. The old man was exceedingly surprised,

I see thy column night and not less delighted ; and I well remember how All covered with the conqueror's sculptured tale; much his astonishment surprised me, and how much

But truly reared, alas ! I was gratified by his praise. I was not conscious

Not of hewn stone and brass, of having done anything odd or extraordinary, but But of poor widows' tears and orphans' wail : the boys made me so; and to the sort of envy Of human bones and blood 't is builtwhich it excited among them I was indebted for a Of myriad men, who died in agony and guilt. wholesome mortification.

Like column, with strange awe,
For the Living Age.

The peace-pledged statesman I saw,

As once he wandered o'er the Servian plain,

Upreared of skulls all white 1849.

As marble to the sight, BY REV. WILLIAM ALLEN, D. D., A DELEGATE FROM

Of many a thousand human wretches slain :NORTH BARRINGTON, MASS.

I would such monument arose As sang great Milton ;-on that happy morn,

O’er every sleeping conqueror which history knows. When Christ, God's Son, the PRINCE OF PEACE, was born,

By all the dead, who sleep

Beyond the Alpine steep,

Beyond the Pyrenean summits high,
“No war or battle's sound

On Egypt's level shore,
Was heard the world around ;

Or where Rhine's waters pour,
The idle spear and shield were high uphung,

Or ’neath the snows of Russia's northern sky,
The hooked chariot stood
Unstained with hostile blood,

We bid you change all hate to love,

And deeds of arms for righteous deeds approved The trumpet spake not to the armed throng,

above! And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by.”

By all the bright array

Of God's great judgment day,

When—as his Word is true—these dead will rise,
Short calm, but emblem sure

And when proud conqueror's ear
Of Peace, that will endure,

No madding shout will hear,
When Christ shall rule in all the hearts of men ; But turned on him will be their fiery eyes,
When Truth his midday beams

We bid you seek your fellows' good,
O’er all the earth outgleams,
And Love Fraternal shall bear sway again :

And breathe the spirit of true Human BROTHER

Truth, Love, and Peace, in union strong,
Will quench all War, and check the desolating

O Switzerland ! thy snows most pure





And mountains, that endure,

*War is a game, which, were their subjects wise, But ah! what streams of blood,

Kings would not play at. CowPER
With overflowing flood,

+ In the Place Vendome, at Paris. Have spread o'er all the smiling fields of earth! # Lamartine : see his Pilgrimage, III., 106, Am. Edit.


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