ON THE LOVE OF NATURE. 391 Not that all peasants or all philosophers are equally susceptible f these charming impressions. It is strange to observe the callousess of some men, before whom all the glories of heaven and earth ass in daily succession, without touching their hearts, elevating heir fancy, or bearing any durable remembrance. Even of those who pretend to sensibility, how many are there to whom the lustre of the rising or setting sun, the sparkling concave of the midnight ky, the mountain forest tossing and roaring to the storm, or warbling with all the melodies of a summer evening; the sweet nterchange of hill and dale, shade and sunshine, grove, lawn, and water, which an extensive landscape offers to the view; the scenery of the ocean, so lovely, so majestic, and so tremendous, and the many pleasing varieties of the animal and vegetable kingdom, could never afford so much real satisfaction as the steam and noise of a ball-room, the insipid fiddling and squeaking of an opera, or the vexations and wranglings of a card-table. But some minds there are of a different make, who, even in the early part of life, receive from the contemplation of nature a species of delight which they would hardly exchange for any other; and who, as avarice and ambition are not the infirmities of that period, would, with equal sincerity and rapture, exclaim 66 "I care not, Fortune, what you me deny; Through which Aurora shows her brightening face; Let health my nerves and finer fibres brace, Of fancy, reason, virtue, nought can me bereave."1 Such minds have always in them the seeds of true taste, and frequently of imitative genius. At least, though their enthusiastic or visionary turn of mind, as the man of the world would call it, should not always incline them to practise poetry or painting, we need not scruple to affirm that, without some portion of this enthusiasm, no person ever became a true poet or painter. For he who would imitate the works of nature must first accurately observe them, and accurate observation is to be expected from those only who take great pleasure in it. To a mind thus disposed, no part of creation is indifferent. In the crowded city and howling wilderness, in the cultivated province and solitary isle, in the flowery lawn and craggy mountain, in the murmur of the rivulet, and in the uproar of the ocean, in the radiance of summer and gloom of winter, in the thunder of heaven and in the whisper of the breeze, he still finds something to rouse or to soothe his imagination, to draw forth his affections, or to employ his 'Castle of Indolence. Canto ii., stanza 3. understanding. And from every mental energy that is not attended with pain, and even from some of those that are, as moderate terror and pity, a sound mind derives satisfaction; exercise being equally necessary to the body and the soul, and to both equally productive of health and pleasure. This happy sensibility to the beauties of nature should be cherished in young persons. It engages them to contemplate the Creator in His wonderful works; it purifies and harmonizes the soul, and prepares it for moral and intellectual discipline; it supplies a never-failing source of amusement; it contributes even to bodily health; and, as a strict analogy subsists between material and moral beauty, it leads the heart by an easy transition from the one to the other, and thus recommends virtue for its transcendent loveliness, and makes vice appear the object of contempt and abomination. An intimate acquaintance with the best descriptive poets, Spenser, Milton, and Thomson, but, above all, with the divine Georgic,' joined to some practice in the art of drawing, will promote this amiable sensibility in early years; for then the face of nature has novelty superadded to its other charms, the passions are not preengaged, the heart is free from care, and the imagination warm and romantic. 1 Virgil's descriptive poem. PERIOD FOURTH. FROM THE FRENCH REVOLUTION TO THE PRESENT TIME. HISTORICAL SKETCH. 1. The formal style which prevailed in the literature of the eighteenth century was, as has been already seen, the natural result of the habits of thought which were, during that period, established in the nation; and hence the same formality pervaded everything else on which the manners of the age could be impressed. The form and style of a work had, in fact, become of more importance than the matter; and upon them the author's attention was mainly concentered. The principles of literary composition became an important object of study, and everything was carefully reduced to rule. A writer was expected to proceed in his work according to some recognised and approved form; and any irregularity, any deviation from established rules, was sure to expose him and his writings to the censure and condemnation of the critics. Such a system evidently admitted of no passionate outbursts of feeling; of no lofty flights of imagination; of no strange novelties in thought or language; for all these were irreducible to rule, and were therefore carefully to be eschewed. The same principle was followed in judging of the works of previous authors; and hence, while the merits of Shakspere were freely admitted, it was considered a serious deduction from them that his works were irregular,—not formed according to the strict rules of dramatic art. From this constant attention to rule, there naturally resulted a very considerable degree of uniformity in the literary productions of the age, and at no period probably is our literature less characterized by individuality than in the first half of the eighteenth century. Without some alteration in the standard of excellence, it was impossible that any progress could be made; if regularity and decorum were to be considered the beau ideal of perfection, then nothing remained but an imitation of Pope and Addison, whose writings have in these respects never been excelled. Efforts were accordingly made at various periods during the progress of the century to break through the trammels of form which had so long fettered genius, and to adopt another standard of excellence; but though these have given a marked individuality of character to the works of those authors who were adventurous enough to make the attempt, they did not succeed in effecting any radical change in the prevalent style. The most important change was that introduced by Johnson. The language of Addison, though smooth and perspicuous, was wanting in dignity; and the sonorous diction and weighty periods of Johnson, so well adapted to give additional force and emphasis to any subject, however important, soon found numerous imitators. This, however, only alleviated the evil without removing it. Cowper may properly be considered as the first poet of eminence who entered upon an entirely new course from that so constantly trodden since the days of Pope. The charms of nature were once again celebrated without the aid of conventional and threadbare similes, or antithetical couplets. Percy's "Reliques opened up the stores of an older literature, in which the feelings, untrammeled by forms, had found free utterance. Burns poured forth those melodies which are engraven imperishably on the hearts of his countrymen. Finally, the French Revolution ushered Europe into a new era; freed men at once and for ever from the bonds of routine and form, and produced that universal and intense mental excitement without which genius has never been stimulated to put forth all its strength. At a time when every man's feelings were excited, the breasts of the authors of the age burned with a sympathetic ardour; and they threw off the shackles of a literary despotism with the same impetuosity with which, over the greater part of Europe, the rising nations burst the fetters which had so long enslaved them. The long struggle in which the power and the very existence of our nation were at stake, kept up the enthusiasm at the highest pitch; and the literary tastes of an age thus living in the midst of tumult and excitement, naturally sympathized more with the free, rich, irregular literature of the times of Elizabeth and the Stewarts, than with the cold, formal, unimpassioned authors who had presided over the world of letters since the days of Anne. Pope and Addison were dethroned, and the reverence which they had so long received was now paid to Spenser, and Shakspere, and Milton; to Bacon, and Taylor, and Hall. It was impossible, however, that the influence of the eighteenth century could be entirely effaced: what was artificial and formal in its peculiarities has indeed passed away; but what of real excellence it possessed yet remains. Such is still the influence of Pope, that the mere use of his heroic couplet compels, as by an irresistible spell, even the most diffuse and prolix versifier to abandon his verbosity, and to aim at conciseness and vigour. No prose writer of any eminence has appeared since the days of Johnson in whose writings we shall not detect traces, more or less numerous, of the peculiarities of the great lexicographer's style. The literature of the present day has thus, along with the warmth and freedom of the older writers, a greater vigour of language, and greater clearness of thought; a better sustained uniformity of style, and a more carefully polished versification, than prevailed in our older literature; and for these excellences we are indebted to the influence of the eighteenth century. When the excitement of the French Revolution had passed away, and the national mind began to cool down, the new style was already formed, and it was no longer possible to revert to the old. Various causes have combined to impress its peculiar character on the style that is now prevalent. The common cultivation of German literature has led to the introduction of many uncouth foreign terms into the language, and has infused into much of our literature a spirit of mystic philosophy, which is indeed sometimes profound, but is more usually only obscure. The energy, also, so characteristic of our age has introduced an exaggerated tone of writing, which raises the merest trifles into importance, and often degenerates into rant and extravagance. Form and rule are almost totally overlooked in composition,a defect most apparent, perhaps, in the poetry of the day, and which is likely to exercise a very prejudicial influence on the lasting popularity of much of our literature. By a certain class of writers, regu. larity seems to be held in perfect abhorrence, and their works, in consequence, exhibit every conceivable species of irregularity and eccentricity. On the whole, it may be said that, while the writers of the present day are most likely to peruse with pleasure the authors of the seventeenth century, it is desirable that, with the view of remedying the deficiencies and correcting the errors to which we are most exposed, more attention should be paid to the literature of the last century. 99 66 99.66 2. It was, as has already been mentioned, in the poetry of the age that the first indications were given of the approaching change of style. The publication by Bishop Percy, in 1765, of his "Reliques of Ancient English Poetry," showed that there were some whose minds were more deeply impressed with the deep pathos, artless rhymes, and simple language of the old ballads, than with the stately language, artificial style, and faultless versification of their contemporaries. A still more important step was taken by Cowper; living a recluse life, far from the pomp and vanity of the world which he disliked and despised, writing not for fame or popular applause, but to beguile his idle hours and distract his distempered mind, he was peculiarly qualified to be the founder of a new school of poetry. His first volume of poems, which appeared in 1782, and comprised "Table Talk,' Progress of Error,' Truth,' Hope," "Charity," and other pieces, still bears traces of the manner of Pope; but his next and greatest work, "The Task," which appeared in 1785, was an open revolt from his authority. Written without any definite plan, in blank verse, unpolished and often prosaic, in language often loose, rambling, and redundant, giving full vent to all the poet's own feelings, and describing with the most painstaking minuteness every feature in the scenery of his daily haunts, it affords a most striking contrast to the smooth, pointed couplets, the concise, energetic language, and conventional decorum of Pope, and was evidently the inauguration of a new poetical era. Perhaps the finest of Cowper's poems is his "Lines on Receiving my Mother's Picture:" equally sincere and earnest with the rest of his poems, it is, perhaps in consequence of his employing rhyme in it, much more concise and free from verbiage than usual. As to the merit of his blank-verse translation of Homer, critics are much divided in opinion; it has certainly never been so popular as that of Pope, and many are inclined to think that it is as far removed from the spirit of the original. The "Botanic Garden" of Darwin, a contemporary of Cowper, is now known almost exclusively by those extracts which are occasionally printed to ridicule the inanity of the subject and the extravagance of the style. Crabbe published during the life of Cowper his earliest poems, the "Library," "Village," and Newspaper." In his versification he adhered to the school of Pope, |