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toils of an unbroken solitude, and send forth the fruits of them, in one rich tide of moral and literary improvement over our land. It is true, that all the labours of that period were not rendered up, in one consecrated offering, to the cause of theology. It is true, that among the names of Wallace, and Henry, and Robertson, and Blair, and M Knight, and Campbell, some can be singled out, who chose the classic walk, or gave up their talent to the speculations of general philosophy. Yet the history of each individual amongst them, proves that, in these days, there was time for the exercise of talent that these were the days, when he, among the priesthood, who had an exclusive taste for theology, could give the whole force of his mind to its contemplations that these were the days, when a generous enthusiasm for the glories of his profession, met with nothing to stifle or vulgarise it that these were the days, when the man of prayer, and the man of gospel ministrations, could give himself wholly to these things, and bring forth the evidence of his profiting, either in authorship to all, or in weekly addresses to the people of his own congregation. It is true, that the names which I have now gathered, are all from the field of a lofty and conspicuous literature. Yet I chiefly count upon them, as the tokens of such a leisure, and of such a seclusion, and of such an habitual opportunity, for the exercises of retirement, as would give tenfold effect to the worthiest and most devoted ministers of a former generation

as enabled the Hamilton and Gillies of our own city, to shed a holier influence around them, and have throned, in the remembrance of living men, the Erskine, and Walker, and Black, of our metropolis, who maintained, throughout the whole of their history, the aspect of sacredness, and gave every hour of their existence to its contemplations and its labours.

"What is it that must cause all resemblance of this to disappear from a future generation? Not that their lot will be cast in an age of little men. Not that Nature will send forth a blight over the face of our establishment, and wither up all the graces and talents which, at one time, signalized it. Not that some adverse revolution of the elements will bring along with it some strange desolating influence on the genius and literature of the priesthood. The explanation is nearer at hand, and we need not seek for it among the wilds or the obscurities of mysticism. Nature will just be as liberal as before; and bring forth the strongest and the healthiest specimens of mind, in as great abundance as ever; and will cast abroad no killing influence at all, to stunt any one of its aspiring energies; and will just, if she have free play, be as vigorous with the moral as with the physical productions of a former generation. This change, of which the fact will be unquestionable, however much the cause may elude the public observation, will not be the work of Nature, but of man.

There will be no decay of talent whatever, in respect to the existence of it. The only decay will be in the exercise of talent. It will be that her solitudes have all been violated that her claims have all been unheeded and despised-that her delicacies have all been overborne-above every thing, that her exertions and her capabilities have been grossly misunderstood it not being known how much restraint stifles her and the employments of ordinary business vulgarise her and distraction impedes the march of her greater enterprizes and the fatigue she incurs by her own exercises, if accumulated by the fatigue of other exercises, which do not belong to her, may at length enervate and exhaust her altogether. Thus it is, that an unlearned public may both admit the existence of the mischief, and lament the evils of it, and yet be utterly blind to the fact, that it is a mischief of their own doing. They lay their own rude estimate on a profession, of the cares and the labours of which they have no experience-and, instead of cheering, do they scowl upon the men who vindicate the privileges of our order. They are perpetually measuring the habits and the conveniencies of literary business, of which they know nothing, by the habits and conveniencies of ordinary business, of which they know something. And thus it is, that instead of the blind leading the blind, the blind, in the first instance, turn upon their leaders-they give the whole weight of their influence and opinion to that cruel process, by which the most enlightened priesthood in the world, if they submit to it, may, by the lapse of one generation more, sink down into a state of contentment with the tamest, and the humblest, and the paltriest attainments. Nor will it at all alleviate, but fearfully embitter, the whole malignity of this system, should its operation be such, that, in a succeeding age, both our priests and our people will sit down in quietness, and in great mutual satisfaction with each other -the one fired by no ambition for professional excellence; the other actuated by no demand for it-the one peaceably leaning down to the business of such services as they may be called to bear; the other not seeking, and not caring for higher services.

"Every thing that is said for the evils of such a system, should elevate, in public estimation, all our living clergymen. It came upon them in the way of gradual accumulation; and, at each distinct step, it wore the aspect of a benevolent and kind accommodation to the humbler orders of society. They are not to blame that it has been admitted; and I call upon the public to admire, that they have stood so well its adverse influence on all their professional labours. But there is one principle in human nature, which, if the system be not done away, will, in time, give a most tremendous certainty to all our predictions. It does not bear so hard on the natural indolence of man, to spend his life in bustling and miscellaneous activity, as to spend his life in meditation and prayer. The

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former is positively the easier course of existence. The two habits suit very ill to gether; and, in some individuals, there is an utter incompatibility betwixt them. But should the alternative be presented of adopt ing the one habit or the other singly, the position is unquestionable, that it were better for the ease, and the health, and the general tone of comfort and cheerfulness, that a man should lend out his person to all the variety of demands for attendance, and of demands for ordinary business, which are brought to bear upon him, than that he should give up his mind to the labours of a strenuous and sustained thoughtfulness. Now, just calculate the force of the temptation to abandon study, and to abandon scholarship, when personal comfort and the public voice, both unite to lure him away from them-when the popular smile would insinuate him into such a path of employment, as, if he once enter, he must bid adieu to all the stern exercises of a contemplative solitude; and the popular frown glares upon that retirement, in which he might consecrate his best powers to the best interests of a sadly misled and miscalculating generation -when the hosannahs of the multitude cheer him on to what may be comparatively termed a life of amusement; and the condemnation, both of unlettered wealth and unlettered poverty, is made to rest upon his name, should he refuse to let down the painful discipline of his mind, by frittering it all away amongst those lighter varieties of management, and of exertion, which, by the practice of our cities, are habitually laid upon him. Such a temptation must come, in time, to be irresistible; and, just in proportion as it is yielded to, must there be a portion of talent withdrawn from the literature of theology. There must be the desertion of all that is fine, and exquisite, and lofty, in its contemplations. There must be a relapse from the science and the industry of a former generation. There must be a decline of theological attainments, and theological authorship. There must be a yearly process of decay and of deterioration, in this branch of our national literature. There must be a descending movement towards the tame, and the feeble, and the common-place. And thus, for the wretched eclat of getting clergy to do, with their hands, what thousands can do as well as they, may our cities come, at length, to barter away the labour of their minds, and give such a blow to theology, that, amongst men of scholarship and general cultivation, it will pass for the most languishing of the sciences.

"And here I cannot but advert to the observation of Hume, who, be his authority in religion what it may, must be admitted to have very high authority in all matters of mere literary experience. He tells us, in the history of his own life, that a great city is the only fit residence for a man of letters; and his assertion is founded on a true discernment of our nature. In the country,

there may be leisure for the pursuits of the understanding; but there is a want of impulse. The mind is apt to languish in the midst of a wilderness, where, surrounded perhaps by uncongenial spirits, it stagnates and gathers the rust of decay, by its mere distance from sympathy and example, and the animating converse of men who possess a kindred taste, and are actuated by a kindred ambition. Transport the possessor of such a mind to a town, and he there meets with much to arouse him out of all this dormancy. He will find his way to men, whose views and pursuits are in harmony with his own-and he will be refreshed for action, by the encouragement of their society-and he will feel himself more linked with the great literary public, by his personal approximation to some of its most distinguished members and communications from the eminent, in all parts of the country, will now pour upon him in greater abundanceand above all, in the improved facilities of authorship, and from his actual position within the limits of a theatre, where his talents are no sooner put forth into exercise, than the fruits of them may be brought out into exhibition-in all this, we say, there is a power and a vivacity of excitement, which may set most actively agoing the whole machinery of his genius, and turn to its right account those faculties which, else, had withered in slothfulness, and, under the bleak influences of an uncheered and unstimulated solitude, might finally have expired.

"This applies, in all its parts, to the literature of theology, and gives us to see how much the cities of our land might do for the advancement of its interests. They might cast a wakeful eye over the face of the country-and single out all the splendour and superiority of talent which they see in our establishment-and cause it to emerge out of its surrounding obscurity-and deliver it from the chill and langour of an uncongenial situation-and transplant it into a kindlier region, where, shielded from all that is adverse to the play or exercise of mind, and encouraged to exertion by an approving and intelligent piety, it may give its undivided labour to things sacred, and have its solitude for meditation on these things, varied only by such spiritual exercises out of doors, as might have for their single object the increase of Christian worth and knowledge amongst the population.

This is what cities might do for Theology. But what is it that they in fact do for it? The two essential elements for literary exertion, are excitement and leisure. The first is ministered in abundance out of all those diversities of taste and understanding which run along the scale of a mighty population. The second element, if we give way much longer to the system which prevails among you-if we lay no check upon your exertions, and make no stand against the variety of your inconsiderate demands upon us if we resign our own right of judgment

upon our own habits and our own conveniences, and follow the impulse of a public, who, without experience on the matter, can feel no sympathy and have no just calculation about the peculiarities of clerical employment-then should we be robbed of this second element altogether. We should lie under the malignity of an Egyptian bondage-bricks are required of us, and we have no straw. The public would like to see all the solidities of argument, and all the graces of persuasion, associated with the cause of sacred literature. But then they would desolate the sanctuaries of literature. They would drag away mind from the em

ployments of literature. They would leave not one moment of time or of tranquillity for the pursuits of literature. They would consume by a thousand preposterous servilities all those energies of the inner man, which might, every one of them, be consecrated with effect, to the advancement of literature. In one word, they would dethrone the guardians of this sacred cause from the natural eminency of their office altogether; and, weighing them down with the burden of other services, they would vulgarise them out of all their taste and all their generous aspirings after literature."

NOTICES OF REPRINTS OF CURIOUS OLD BOOKS,
No V.

The Life and Errors of John Dunton.*

THOUGH at the end of the "Short Memoir of the Author" we observe the initials, J. B. N., yet we have no doubt that we owe this, which is beyond all comparison the most amusing reprint we have been called upon to notice, to the excellent and venerable Mr Nichols, whose genuine love for literary history has already been so well displayed in the productions which have issued from his press. The publisher of the Gentleman's Magazine, and the compiler of the Literary Anecdotes, could not possibly have amused a portion of his old age with any occupation more congenial to his own taste than with the superintendence of this new edition of the Autobiography of the once celebrated, or at least notorious, though now forgotten, John Dunton. Neither, unless we are much mistaken, could he easily have drawn out from the neglected mines of our minor literature, any thing more likely to find favour in the eyes of those readers who are penetrated with some portion of the love of antiquarianism. Nay, we might go much farther than this; for those who enjoy gossip, scandal, slander, quaintness, humour, and extravagant self-conceit,-all will find abundant gratification in their departed bibliopole's delineation of himself, his friends, his enemies,-and above all, in his solemn commemoration of "all the spurns his patient merit took" from the government and the people of

England at the beginning of the last century. The period in which the Livery of London could name John Dunton among its members, was indeed a very remarkable one; and its: history, civil, political, military, ecclesiastic, and even literary, may in general be conceived to be pretty well known. In the midst, however, of all the innumerable treatises which have preserved for us so much minute information concerning all the great personages of that age, from Queen Anne and George I. up to Swift, Addison, and Steele, it is not to be denied that there still remain many, very many points, in regard to which a common reader is left to complete for himself the unfinished picture that has come down to us.

Those who take the trouble to peruse the two comely octavos which have now been given to us by Mr Nichols, will perhaps have little difficulty in confessing that a certain part of the vacuum has been supplied by the indefatigable self-love of the institutor of the "Athenian Club," and the author of " the Dublin Scuffle." We would fain hope that the example of this eminent individual may not be altogether thrown away on his successors, our own contemporary bibliopoles; and should have much pleasure could we imagine that our commendations of him and his works might add any additional stimulus to excite some among their number to

The Life and Errors of John Dunton, citizen of London, with the Lives and Characters of more than a thousand contemporary Divines, and other persons of literary eminence; to which are added, Dunton's Conversations in Ireland-Selections from his other genuine Works and a faithful portrait of the author. 2 vols 8vo. Nichols, Son, and Bentley, London. 1818.

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do for their age what Dunton has done for his. To say the truth, we are not acquainted with any class of men whose opportunities are more favourable for the collecting of valuable materials of anecdote, than the worthy "fathers of the Row." There are no traffickers, with whose minutest and most pecu liar objects of interest so large a portion of readers must at all times be found to sympathize. The autobiography of any other tradesman or merchant would attract few but those of his own particular calling; but we venture to say, that few books of that species would present a more agreeable amusement to many great masses of the reading public, in the year 1919, than a Sketch of the Life and Errors of William Blackwood, or Archibald Constable, or John Ballantyne, citizens of Edinburgh,-or of William Davies, or John Murray, citizens of London, written in true Duntonian fulness and freedom, by any one of these intelligent heads of the profession.

But, to begin from the beginning, as our author himself has done.-John Dunton, the hero of this his own long story, was born at Graffham, in Huntingdonshire, the 14th of May, 1659; of which place his father, the Rev. Mr John Dunton, was rector. The particulars of his birth are detailed by the autobiographer as minutely as if he could have accurately remembered every thing that occurred; for, as he sagaciously insinuates, there is nothing so small in itself which it is not interesting to know concerning a great man. Who is not delighted to read in Plutarch how the bees clustered around the cradle of Alexander? Who does not sympathize with the distress of the midwife, who at first thought that John Dunton had come a dead manchild into the world,-and her joy when the infant Worthy began, at the sprinkling of a little cold water, to exhibit some symptoms of that vigour which was destined in after days to keep Paternoster-Row in a ferment? "The first appearance I made," says our candid historian, "was very mean and contemptible; and, as if Nature had designed me to take up only some insignificant and obscure corner in the universe, I was so diminutive a creature that a quart pot could contain the whole of me with ease."

"From such beginnings mighty things arise; Se small a star can brighten all the skies." VOL. VI.

"In this condition," he continues, " and long before I had any articulate use of my tongue, I gave the world sufficient evidence of a child of Adam, and the certain tokens of corrupt nature and passion were more and more ap parent as I made advances in age and strength."-We cannot pretend to offer any conjecture what sinful symptoms these might be, that typified at so early a period the after offences of John Dunton's life and conversation-the disturbance he created among his own family and relations by the fretfulness of his dispositions and the many sheets which his future Cacoethes scribendi was destined to cover with its impurities.

We

The incidents of the tender years of our hero are not in general, however, of a very extraordinary nature. shall only take notice of one or two remarkable persecutions which the "non sine diis animosus infans" experienced.

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He once fell into the water, and had like to be drowned; " but, as Provi dence would have it, my cousin John Reading was lying on the bank, and saved me."-Another time he swallowed a leaden bullet, and just when the family have given up all hopes of him, "behold! up it bolted;"-" and here," he goes on, that I may not prove ungrateful to a preventing Mercy, I shall add a third danger that my childish curiosity exposed me to." He was amusing himself, it seems, with chewing a bearded ear of corn, when it stuck in his throat, and he could not get rid of it. In this extremity, says he, "some of my relations, viz. Malmesey of Chesham, aunt Reading, her daughter Anne, Mrs Mary Gossam, Sarah Randal, &c. &c. who were walking in the fields, found re, speechless and gasping, and with much difficulty set me to rights again." John confesses, notwithstanding of all these events, that he still continued to be a true child of Adam. He has no diffidence in owning, that it was more easy for him to utter a lie than a truth, and remarks, that he has reason to be thankful to Providence for having made him a coward-but for which circumstance, he owns, he would have been the foremost in all pranks of petty pilfering. When the boys of the school robbed an orchard, John Dunton was always placed sentinel at a considerable distance, till on one occasion his fears for himself got the better of his sense of duty, and by a too precipitate flight D

he left all his associates in the lurch. After this, John had no apples to roast at night, and grew very sulky with every body about him.

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John was a bad scholar-the natural difficulties of the Greek tongue, and "what worse," says he, 66 a silent passion for a virgin in my father's house quite unhinged all my resolutions of study." His father, however, was determined still to give him a chance of " some affinity to the muses:" so at the age of fifteen years he was bound apprentice to Mr Thomas Packhurst, bookseller in London, a religious and just man.' Here, as he says, he might at least have the opportunity of becoming skilled in the outside of erudition-the shell and casks of learning." The confinement of the shop sickened him at first, and being quizzed by the other apprentices, he once fairly ran off to his father in the country. But there the gravity of paternal admonition, and John's own good sense soon restored him to his right mind-and he returned to Mr Packhurst, after an absence of a few days, with a settled purpose, which was soon changed into a settled love of application; nor from this time does it appear that he ever had any doubt for a moment that the highest, as well as the most delightful of all human occupations is that of a bookseller. Henceforth, Piso seemed in his eyes a greater man than twenty Horaces-and Pope himself was scarcely regarded as any thing better than a piece of the furniture of Lintot's shop. The only interruption to which his professional avocations were now exposed, arose out of his old tendre for La Belle Passion. The origin of his first apprentice flame is somewhat whimsical-although very much we can believe in the course of apprentice life. One of his fellow apprentices forged a love-letter to him, in the name of a certain " young virgin," then a boarder with Mr Packhurst-as follows:

"DEAR SIR,We have lived some time together in the same family, and your distant conversation has given me a little impatience to be better acquainted with you. I hope your good nature will not put any constructions upon this innocent address to my disadvantage; and should you discover it, it would certainly expose yourself at the expence of your

"SUSANNAH S-ING."

"I was strangely surprised," says he," at this Billet-doux, and more in regard the lady had all the little and the charming prettinesses both of wit and beauty that might easily have gained her as many conquests as she pleased; in short, so licentious and extravagant was my folly, that I gave her a billet the same day, in which I made an appointment to meet her in Grocers' Garden the next evening, where we both attended; but so soon as I revealed the occasion, she told me she was ignorant of it. However, this romantic courtship gave both of us a real passion; but my Master, making a timely discovery of it, sent the lady into the country; and absence cooled our passions for us, and by little and little we both of us regained our liberty."

was

At the expiration of the apprenticeship, which was spent in this manner, John gave an entertainment to no less than a hundred apprentices, to celebrate the funeral. It must be observed, however, that John was no ordinary apprentice when he guilty of this piece of extravagance. He had made himself conspicuous as a principal leader on the part of the whigs; i. e. the whig apprenticeswhen they on one occasion made an address to Sir Patience Ward, Lord Mayor of London. John having been one of the first in the procession which carried this address, was of course one of the first who heard the Lord Mayor's excellent advice in reply, "Go home and mind your business, boys,"-but he could not help regarding himself already as a party-man of some consequence-and, indeed, in a petition to George II. written a great many years after, we find him still returning to the whiggery of his apprenticeship, as one of his greatest merits. However, he now became a bookseller on his own account, but to avoid too large a rent he took only half a shop, a warehouse, and a fashionable chamber.

"PRINTING was now the uppermost in my thoughts, and Hackney Authors began to ply me with "Specimens," as earnestly, and with as much passion and concern, as the Watermen do Passengers with Oars and Scullers.

"I had some acquaintance with this Generation in my Apprenticeship, and had never any warm affection for them; in regard I always thought their great concern lay more in how much a Sheet, than in any generous respect they bore to the Commonwealth of Learning; and, indeed, the Learning itself of these Gentlemen lies very often in as little room as their Honesty; though they will pretend to have studied

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