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straction of a single mind,-as if it the spirit is effeminate and fashionable. would make itself the centre of the This, however, has been no obstacle universe, and there was nothing worth to the success of his poetry-for he cherishing but its intellectual diseases. , has just hit the town between the roIt is like a cancer eating into the heart mantic and the modern, and between of poetry. But still there is power, the two, has secured all classes of readand power rivets attention and forces ers on his side. In a word, said Mr admiration. “ His genius hath a de- Hazlitt, I conceive that he is to the mon," and that is the next thing to great poet what an excellent mimic is being full of the God. The range of to a great actor. There is no deterLord Byron's imagination is contract- minate impression left on the mind ed, but within that range he has great by reading his poetry.

The reader unity and truth of keeping. He rises from the perusal with new imchooses elements and agents congenial ages and associations, but he remains to his mind-the dark and glittering the same man that he was before. The ocean—the frail bark hurrying before notes to his poems are just as enterthe storm. He gives all the tumultu- taining as the poems themselves, and ous eagerness of action, and the fixed his poems are nothing but entertaindespair of thought. In vigour of style, ing. and force of conception, he surpasses Mr H. now proceeded to speak of every writer of the present day. His WORDSWORTH, whom he described as indignant apothegms are like oracles of the most original poet now living, and misanthropy. Yet he has beauty al- the reverse of Walter Scott in every lied to his strength, tenderness some- particular,-having nearly all that the times blended with his despair. But other wants, and wanting all that the the flowers that adorn his poetry bloom other possesses. His poetry is not exover the grave.

ternal, but internal; he is the poet of Mr Hazlitt next spoke of Walter mere sentiment. Great praise was Scott; whose popularity he seemed to given to many of the Lyrical Ballads, attribute to the comparative mediocri- as opening a finer and deeper vein of ty of his talents—to his describing that thought and feeling than any poet in which is most easily understood in a modern times has done or attempted ; style the most easy and intelligible, but it was observed, that Mr Wordsand to the nature of the story which worth's powers had been mistaken, he selects. Walter Scott, said the both by the age and by himself. He lecturer, has great intuitive power of cannot form a whole, said Mr H.-he fancy, great vividness of pencil in plac- wants the constructive faculty. He ing external objects before the eye. can give the fine tones of thought The force of his mind is picturesque drawn from his mind by accident or rather than moral. He conveys the nature, like the sounds of the Æolian distinct outlines and visible changes harp; but he is totally deficient in all in outward objects, rather than their the machinery of poetry. “ mortal consequences." He is very Mr Hazlitt here entered at some inferior to Lord Byron in intense pas- length into the origin of what has been sion, to Moore in delightful fancy, and called the Lake School of Poetry, and to Wordsworth in profound sentiment; endeavoured to trace it to the convulbut he has more picturesque power sion which was caused in the moral than any of them. After referring to world by the events of the French reexamples of this, Mr H. observed, that volution. This, and his concluding it is remarkable that Mr Westall's il- remarks on Southey and Coleridge, we lustrations of Scott's poems always omit, partly for want of room, but give one the idea of their being fac chiefly on account of the indefinite and similes of the persons represented, with personal nature of those remarks. ancient costume, and a theatrical air. The truth is, continued he, there is a When we undertook to give the foremodern air in the midst of the anti- going abstract of Mr Hazlitt's Lecquarian research of Mr Scott's poetry. tures, it was not our intention to have It is history in masquerade. Not only accompanied it by a single observathe crust of old words and images is tion in the shape of judgment, as to worn off, but the substance is become their merits or defects; but we find, comparatively light and worthless. that our own opinions have been The forms are old and uncouth, but strangely supposed to be identified

TO VARIOUS LITERARY CHARACTERS.

with those we have done nothing more man's person, he cannot intend the than detail. We choose, therefore, to epithet to apply to that; and how say a few words on the impression we “pimpled” may be interpreted with have received from these, and from reference to mind, we are not able to Mr Hazlitt's previous writings on si- divine.

A. Z. milar subjects.

We are not apt to imbibe half opinions, or to express them by halves; we shall therefore say at once, that letters of TIMOTHY TICKLER when Mr Hazlitt's taste and judgment are left to themselves, we think him among the best, if not the very best, LETTERIII.—To Francis Jeffrey, Esq. living critic on our national literature. His sincere and healthful perceptions MY DEAR JEFFREY, of truth and beauty, of falsehood and I DARE say, that when you receive this deformity, have a clearness, a depth, letter, you will wonder what the deuce and a comprehensiveness, that have Timothy Tickler has got to say to you; rarely been equalled. They appear to and, no doubt, that slavish' herd of come to him by intuition ; and he con- bay-admirers that dog your heels, will veys the impression of them to others, think it excessively impertinent that with a vividness and precision that an obscure person like me should of cannot be surpassed. But his genius fer admonition to so exalted a persone is one that will not be “ constrained age as the Editor of the Edinburgh by mastery." When, in spite of him- Review. But the truth is, that I ad. self, his prejudices or habits of per- mire you as much as they do, though sonal feeling interfere, and attempt to I have not been able to bring myself, shackle or bias its movements, it de- like them, to think you an oracle, serts him at once. It is like a proud whose inspiration, it is blasphemy to steed that has been but half broke to doubt, and whose very name ought to the bitt; when at liberty, it bounds be kept in reverential and inviolable along, tossing its head to the free air, silence. For nearly twenty years you and seeming to delight and glory in have made pretty free with the names, the beauty that surrounds it. But the talents, and acquirements, of all the moment it feels constraint, it curvets, literary men in Britain ; and have deand kicks, and bites, and foams at the cided upon their pretension to glory, mouth, and does nothing but mis- if not with dogmatical, at least with chief.

authoritative assurance. Something As we have not scrupled to declare, of this has been owing to the constituthat we think Mr Hazlitt is sometimes tion of your mind, which has made the very best living critic, we shall you, on the whole, greatly to overrate venture one step farther, and add, your own talents, and greatly to underthat we think he is sometimes the very rate the talents of others; and I am worst. One would suppose he had a willing to believe, that still more of it personal quarrel with all living write has been owing to the influence of ers, good, bad, or indifferent. In your assumed character as Critic of fact, he seems to know little about the age ; fully to support which, it them, and to care less. With him, to was necessary that you should subdue be alive is not only a fault in itself, within yourself all misgivings arising but it includes all other possible faults. from the occasional consciousness of He seems to consider life as a disease, inferiority, and at all times show a and death as your only doctor. He bold and defying front to the enemy. reverses the proverb, and thinks a Yet I am much mistaken if you, afdead ass is better than a living lion. ter all, have succeeded in deceiving In his eyes, death, like charity, either yourself or others into the bea “ covereth a multitude of sins.” În lief that you are the leading Spirit of short, if you want his praise, you the Age. With all your cleverness, inmust die for it; and when such praise genuity, and wit, there is a melanchois deserved, and given really con amore, ly want about all your writings. You it is almost worth dying for.

can expose what is little, but when have By the bye, what can our Editor's you created what is great? You can facetious friend mean by “ pimpled follow with nimble steps the route of Hazlitt?" If he knows that gentle other men, but into what recesses of

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knowledge have you ever conducted dear friend, you ought to have given, them as a guide ? It is a truth which that in future times pilgrims might will not be concealed, that you are not repair to the spot, and worship the a great man. There is something me- chair on which you took your evening teorous about you—and it is pleasant nap, haply beneath the wings of the to see that brilliant light glancing Spread Eagle,” or the mane of the through the lower regions of the sky “Red Lion,” or the bushy locks of the —but we fix our eyes at last on the “ Queen's Head.” What is the use large bright stars of heaven, and the of a bulletin at all, unless it be comtrack of the kindled vapour is forgot- prehensive and complete? The imten.

portance of the subject would have jusI beg your pardon, my dear Jeffrey, tified the most lengthened detail, for for this inflated manner of writing, so what was the meeting of Kings and ill-suited to epistolary correspondence, Emperors on “that famous Raft," and forming so very awkward an in- the celestial colloquy sublime," of Retroduction to the very trifling and ludi- viewer and Bard, in the back parlour crous subject on which I am about to of an Inn at Keswick? put a few questions. You have your- How you passed the night-how self such an exquisite perception of the many blankets you slept under-and absurd-you are so alive to the follies whether the hair mattrass was beand whimsies of others—that I am neath or above the feather-bed, you sure you will pardon me for laughing have, with that forgetfulness so chavery heartily at yourself, when you racteristic of genius, omitted to inform chance to make yourself ridiculous. the world. But next day “ you walkAnd surely, if ever man did nuake ed into the fields with Mr Coleridge,” himself ridiculous, you have done so, he clad, I presume, russet weeds," by your note on page 509, &c. of the and you in a natty surtout and hes56th Number of your Review, which, sians. “ His whole conversation was by some accident, I saw yesterday for poetry;" and when that light fare was the first time. Perhaps it may not be digested, “ he did you the honour to quite fair to allude to what is now for- dine with you at the Inn.” Next gotten-for I have regularly observed, morning, you parted to meet no more that each Number of your Work is –or, in your own simple words, “I so much better than that which pre- left Keswick, and have not seen him ceded it, that the existence of the one since.” destroys all remembrance of the other; I cannot well understand, my dear so that, in reality, there is but one Jeffrey, the nature of those feelings Number of the Edinburgh Review ex- which induced you to publish this isting in the world, and of all that bulletin. They seem to have been mighty family of pamphlets we see strangely compounded of excessive egobefore us, only the last-born, Benja- tism and shrinking timidity. Mr Colemin the Ruler.

ridge, it appears, had brought forward Who ever thought they would live some vague and indefinite charges to see the day, when the Editor of the against you, the head and front of Edinburgh Review would publish in which was, that you had handled sethat work a bulletin of his tea-drink- verely the poems of a certain bard, afing at Keswick? I forget—it was not ter you had eaten his beef and drunk tea, but coffee. What an image! The his wine; whereas, the truth is, you stern destroyer of systems, political, had only sipp'd his coffee, and perhaps poetical, metaphysical—having" coffee munch'd his muffins. Even if it had handed to him” by Robert Southey's been as the “ Ancient Mariner” asservant-lass! He sips it-while the serted, the world, who seldom take a destined Laureate stands aloof “ with deep interest in affairs of that kind, cold civility,” and the “ Ancient Mari- would not have thought a whit the ner” “holds him with his glittering worse of you. But you began to think eye,” so that he can with the utmost that the fifteen million inhabitants of difficulty snatch a moment's intermis- these kingdoms had their eyes all fixed sion for a mouthful of buttered toast! upon you—and in the silence of night In this sublimated state of happiness, you heard voices calling on you to “ an hour or two” passes away,--and vindicate yourself against the Feast of then Mr Francis Jeffrey returns to the Poets. The public, who you im" the Inn,” the name of which, my agined were thinking only upon you,

NOTICES OF THE ACTED DRAMA IN

LONDON

were then trilling away their time a- ago! I wish to goodness I had kept bout the more general, though less in- them ; but I had no idea when I, then teresting affairs of Europe, and could an old stager, first heard you clipping not guess what was the meaning of all the King's English in the Outer House, this talk of coffee, and all the dark that you were to become so great a and mysterious charges of wickedness man, and I to remain only your affecand crime connected with the drink- tionate friend, ing of it.

TIMOTHY TICKLER. “ Such little things are great to little men."

But I will not press this matter any farther. Before concluding, however, I beg leave to say, that your behavi

No IV. our towards Mr Coleridge has been

MR KEAN. very far from being either candid or manly. Undoubtedly you were not un

Concluded from our last Number. der the necessity of praising his poetry It is a great and a very general misunless you admired it; but after the take to suppose that Mr Kean's acting free and friendly intercourse you had is deficient in dignity. So far from with him; and after the many flattering, this being the case, dignity is perhaps and probably sincere encomiums you the one quality it exhibits, and is disa paid his genius to his face, you were, tinguished by, oftener and more sucI think, bound in honour, either to let cessfully than by any other. Not the his poetical productions pass unnoticed, dignity resulting from a certain given or to review them yourself. It is a arrangement of the arms and legs on a poor and unworthy get off, to say that certain given occasion, according to a CHRISTABEL was reviewed by another set of theatrical bye laws " in that case person. You should have boldly ad- made and provided ;” but that real and vanced your own opinions--for you sustained mental dignity which springs are, with all your prejudices, an ex. from lofty and intense feeling, and is cellent judge of poetry, and could not allied to, and expressed by, spontanebut have seen beauty of some kind or ous and highly picturesque, yet perother in a poem enthusiastically ad- fectly temperate, graceful, and appromired by Scott and Byron. Instead priate bodily action. They must have of this, you committed the task to a strange notions of dignity, even in the savage and truculent jacobin, the very most common-place sense of the term, twitching of whose countenance is who do not find it in Mr Kean’s manenough to frighten the boldest muse ner in dismissing Cassio from his cominto hysterics. That person was not mand: "I love thee Cassio, - but neashamed to confess in his critique that ver more be officer of mine;" or in his he despised Mr Coleridge's poetry, be- apostrophy to his name, in Richard II. cause he hated his politics; as if no “ Arm, arm, my name ! A puny subject man could be admitted into the court strikes of Apollo who did not vilify his Majes. At thy great glory, &c.ty's government. And this restless or in his rebuke to Northumberland demagogue you let loose upon the friend in the same play: with whom “ you walked in the fields “ No lord of thine, thou haught, insulting about Keswick," “ whose whole conversation was poetry," who stood smil- or throughout the whole performance ingly by, while “ coffee was handed to of Richard III. you," and whom, “ as he liked to re- It is a vulgar error to call Mr Kean's ceive compliments,” “ you were led to acting undignified. It is exactly like gratify with that kind of fare.” There calling the Beggar's Opera vulgar. seems some little inconsistency of be- The persons who do this are those haviour in first buttering a'man all who quarrel with the ankles of the over with flattery, and then getting a Apollo Belvidere, because, forsooth, raw-boned prize-fighter to belabour the turn of them does not conform to himn with a hedge stake.

what they have chosen to consider as My dear fellow-God bless you— the standard of gentility. With them good bye-Pray do let me hear from Dr Johnson is a more dignified proseyou. You seem to have given up let- writer than Milton, because the latter ter-writing entirely. What immense could say, “ How d'ye do,” in three sheets I used to have from you long words, while the former put a mask

man," &c.

goes to bed :

upon nothing, and induced us to mis- the floor of his tent, in Richard III. ; take it, at first sight, for something and his noble death-scene in the same else. With them, a person who writes play. English is not fit to be read by Eng. But we begin to find that we have lishmen, and they scorn to understand got upon a topic almost too fertile for any one who makes himself intelligi- the limits in which we are compelled ble. They cannot conceive a wise to treat of it. We must have done. man without a large wig, and think Besides, we ought to have a little conit a very undignified proceeding in a sideration for those look-warm, yet king to put a night-cap on when he good-sort of people who think Mr

Kean is “a very clever young man,' -“ A clout upon that head but who are loath to admit that any Where late a diadem stood !"

one can be possessed of genius who has Mr Kean must be content to do with- not been dead a century or two. But out the patronage of these kind of peo- they should recollect that actors, unple, till he grows as tall as Mr Con- like other votaries of the fine arts, canway. In the mean time he is quite not reckon upon immortality, even if dignified enough for nature and Shak- they deserve it. It is but common speare, which is all that can be reason. justice, therefore, to place the laurel ably demanded of him.

upon their living brows. It slips off It is another remarkable feature of the moment they die, and will not be Mr Kean's acting, that, even when he persuaded to flourish upon their graves. is performing Shakspeare, he affects We shall mention some of Mr Kean's you not so much by what he says, and faults and deficiencies, and conclude by his manner of saying it, as by the with some general observations on a effect which you see that what he says few of his principal characters. produces upon himself. From this it A critic in an Edinburgh paper has, results, that the attention is exclusively as far as we know, been the only one fixed on what he is employed in at the to remark, that Mr Kean's voice is moment you are looking at him. Or merely defective not bad. We think if it ever wanders from what he is do- this is true. His voice is greatly deing, it is always to what he has done ficient in power and compass, and is in the last scene or act-never to what therefore totally unfit for lofty dehe will do in the next. He never ex- clamation ; but it has a pathos that cites that idlest of all our mental pro- makes up for every thing. Though pensities, mere curiosity, because he its tones do not strike upon the ear always fills and satisfies the mind, and like the tinkling of a rill passing over leaves it no time or inclination to gaze a bed of pebbles*, they sink into the about it. We never wish to see him heart like the sighing of the breeze in a new character; on the contrary, he among the strings of an Æolian harp. always delights us most in those plays And its occasional harshness is adwe are best acquainted with. For mirably adapted to express the brothough he never plays a character ex- ken and tempestuous sounds that burst actly as any one predicts before hand from a soul torn asunder by conflictthat he will play it, yet he always best ing passions. With all its defects, satisfies those who are best entitled to it would be difficult to exchange Mr anticipate how it should be played. In Kean's voice for one better fitted for fact he recreates all his characters, and its uses. It might be improved by adds to them all—but never in a wrong additions—from that of Macready's spirit. We say this without any cau- for instance but we would not part tious qualification whatever. And it with one of its own notes. is even more true of Shakspeare's char- It is singular that Mr Kean, who acters than of any others. Mr Kean has nearly banished the mock-heroic

gilds refined gold;" he“ paints the from our stage, should be the very lily;" he “ throws a perfume on the person who at times exhibits the most violet ;' and yet one is never disposed of it. In fact, this is his grand fault. to exclaim against his additions as He frequently gives what is called the “wastefull and ridiculous excess.” We level-speaking of a part, in a style that might name a hundred examples of would not disgrace an amateur theatre this. Take among others his returning to kiss the hand of Ophelia, after Whose voice is like a rill that slips his apparently harsh treatment of her; Over the sunny peebles breathingly. his drawing figures with his sword on

LEIGH HUNT

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