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JAMES BAILIE FRASER.

MR. JAMES BAILIE FRAsen has, like Mr Morier, described the life and manners of the Persians by fictitious as well as true narratives. In 1828 he published The Kuzzilbash, a Tale of Khorasan, three volumes, to which he afterwards added a continuation under the name of The Persian Adventurer, the title of his first work not being generally understood: it was often taken, he says, for a cookery book' | The term Kuzzilbash, which is Turkish, signifies |Red-head, and was an appellation originally given by Shah Ismael I. to seven tribes bound to defend their king. These tribes wore a red cap as a dis|tinguishing mark, which afterwards became the military head-dress of the Persian troops; hence the word Kuzzilbash is used to express a Persian soldier; and often, particularly among the Toorkomans and Oozbeks, is applied as a national designation to the people in general. Mr Fraser's hero relates his own adventures, which begin almost from his birth ; for he is carried off while a child by a band of Toorkoman robbers, who plunder his father's lands and village, situated in Khorasan, on the borders of the great desert which stretches from the banks of the Caspian Sea to those of the river Oxus. The infant bravery of Ismael, the Kuzzilbash, interests Omer Khan, head of a tribe or camp of the plunderers, and he spares the child, and keeps him to attend on his own son Selim. In the camp of his master is a beautiful girl, daughter of a Persian |captive; and with this young beauty, “lovely as a child of the Peris, Ismael forms an attachment that increases with their years. These early scenes are finely described; and the misfortunes of the fair Shireen are related with much pathos. The consequences of Ismael's passion force him to flee. He assumes the dress of the Kuzzilbash, and crossing the desert, joins the army of the victorious Nadir | Shah, and assists in recovering the holy city of | Mushed, the capital of Khorasan. His bravery is rewarded with honours and dignities; and after various scenes of love and war, the Kuzzilbash is united to his Shireen. “Scenes of active life are painted by the author with the same truth, accuracy, and picturesque effect which he displays in landscapes or single figures. In war, especially, he is at home; and gives the attack, the retreat, the rally, the bloody and desperate close combat, the flight, pursuit, and massacre, with all the current of a heady fight, as one who must have witnessed such terrors.” A brief but characteristic scene—a meeting of two

warriors in the desert—is strikingly described, though the reader is probably haunted with an idea that European thoughts and expressions mingle with the author's narrative:— | By the time I reached the banks of this stream the sun had set, and it was necessary to seek some retreat where I might pass the night and refresh myself and my horse without fear of discovery. Ascending the river bed, therefore, with this intention, I soon found a recess where I could repose myself, surrounded by green pasture, in which my horse might feed ; but as it would have been dangerous to let him go at large all night, I employed myself for a while in cutting the longest and thickest of the grass which grew on the banks of the stream for his night's repast, permitting him to pasture at will until dark; and securing him then close to the spot I meant to occupy, after a moderate meal, I commended myself to Allah, and lay down to rest.

The loud neighing of my horse awoke me with a start, as the first light of dawn broke in the East.

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come no nearer on thy peril, or I shall salute thee

with this arrow from my bow!” “Why, boy, returned the stranger in a deep manly voice, and speaking in the same tongue, “thou art a bold lad, truly 1 but set thy heart at rest, I mean thee no harm.” “Nay, rejoined I, “I am on foot, and alone. I know thee not, northy intentions. Either retire at once, or show thy sincerity by setting thyself on equal terms with me: disinount from thy steed, and then I fear thee not, whatever be thy designs. Beware l’And so saying, I drew my arrow to the head, and pointed it towards him. “By the head of my father' cried the stranger, ‘thou art an absolute youth ! but I like thee well; thy heart is stout, and thy demand is just; the sheep trusts not the wolf when it meets him in the plain, nor do we acknowledge every stranger in the desert for a friend. See,” continued he, dismounting actively, yet with a weight that inade the turf ring again—“See, I yield my advantage; as for thy arrows, boy, I fear them not.” With that he slung a small shield, which he bore at his back, before him, as if to cover his face, in case of treachery on my part, and leaving his horse where it stood, he advanced to me.

Taught from my youth to suspect and to guard against treachery, I still kept a wary eye on the motions of the stranger. But there was something in his open though rugged countenance and manly bearing that claimed and won my confidence. Slowly I lowered my hand, and relaxed the still drawn string of my bow, as he strode up to me with a firin composed sted.

‘Youth,” said he, “had my intentions been hostile,

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it is not thy arrows or thy bow, no, northy sword and

spear, that could have stood thee much in stead. I

am too old a soldier, and too well defended against

such weapons, to fear them from so young an arm.

But I am neither enemy nor traitor to attack thee

unawares. I have travelled far during the past night,

and mean to refresh myself awhile in this spot before

I proceed on my journey; thou meanest not,’ added he with a smile, “to deny me the boon which Allah extends to all his creatures? What! still suspicious? Come, then, I will increase thy advantage, and try to win thy confidence.” With that he unbuckled his sword, and threw it, with his matchlock, upon the turf a little way from him. “See me now unarmed ; wilt thou yet trust me?' Who could have doubted longer? I threw down my bow and arrows: “Pardon,’ cried I, “my tardy confidence; but he that has escaped with difficulty from many perils, fears even their shadow : here,” continued I, “are bread and salt, eat thou of them; thou art then my guest, and that sacred tie secures the faith of both.” The stranger, with another smile, took the offered food.

The following passage, describing the Kuzzilbash's return to his native village, affects us both by the view which it gives of the desolations caused in half barbarous countries by war and rapine, and the beautiful strain of sentiment which the author puts into the mouth of his hero:

We continued for some time longer, riding over a track once fertile and well-cultivated, but now returned to its original desolation. The wild pomegranate, the thorn, and the thistle, grew high in the fields, and overran the walls that formerly enclosed them. At length we reached an open space, occupied by the ruins of a large walled village, among which a square building, with walls of greater height, and towers at each corner, rose particularly conspicuous. As we approached this place I felt my heart stirred within me, and my whole frame agitated with a secret and indescribable emotion; visions of past events seemed hovering dimly in my memory, but my sensations were too indistinct and too confused to be intelligible to myself. At last a vague idea shot through my brain, and thrilled like a fiery arrow in my heart; with burning cheeks and eager eyes I looked towards my companion, and saw his own bent keenly upon Ine. ‘Knowest thou this spot, young man?” said he, after a pause: “if thy memory does not serve thee, cannot thy heart tell thee what walls are these?' I gasped for breath, but could not speak. ‘Yes, Ismael,” continued he, “these are the ruined walls of thy father's house; there passed the first days of thy childhood; within that broken tower thy eyes first saw the light ! But its courts are now strewed with the unburied dust of thy kindred, and the foxes and wolves of the desert rear their young among its roofless chambers. These are the acts of that tribe to which thou hast so long been in bondage—such is the debt of blood which cries out for thy vengeance!” I checked my horse to gaze on the scene of my infant years, o: companion seemed willing to indulge me. Is it indeed true, as some sages have taught, that man's good angel hovers over the place of his birth, and dwells with peculiar fondness on the innocent days of his childhood? and that in after years of sorrow and of crime she pours the recollection of those pure and peaceful days like balm over the heart, to soften and improve it by their influence? How could it be, without some agency like this, that, gazing thus unexpectedly on the desolate home of my fathers, the violent passions, the bustle, and the misery of later years, vanished from my mind like a dream ; and the scenes and feelings of my childhood came fresh as yesterday to my remembrance? I heard the joyous clamour of my little brothers and sisters; our games, our quarrels, and our reconciliations, were once more present to me; the grave smile of my father, the kind but eternal gabble of my good old nurse; and, above all, the mild sweet voice of my beloved mother, as she adjusted our little disputes, or soothed our childish sorrows—all rushed upon my mind, and for

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talents of Liston and Mathews in a popular and

effective light, and had a great run of success. Several musical operas were then produced in rapid succession by Hook, as The Invisible Girl, Music Mad, Darkness Visible, Trial by Jury, The Fortress, Tekeli, Erchange no Robbery, and Killing no Murder. Some of these still keep possession of the stage, and evince wonderful knowledge of dramatic art, musical skill, and literary powers in so young an author. They were followed (1808) by a novel which has been described as a mere farce in a narrative shape. The remarkable conversational talents of Theodore Hook, and his popularity as a writer for the stage, led him much into society. Flushed with success, full of the gaiety and impetuosity of youth, and conscious of his power to please and even fascinate in company, he surrendered himself up to the enjoyment of the passing hour, and became noted for his “boisterous buffooneries,’ his wild sallies of wit and drollery, and his practical hoares. Amongst his various talents was one which, though

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familiar in some other countries, whose language affords it facilities, has hitherto been rare, if not unknown in ours, namely the power of improvisatising, or extemporaneous composition of songs and music. Hook would at table turn the whole conversation of the evening into a song, sparkling with puns or witty allusions, and perfect in its rhymes. “He accompanied himself (says a writer in the Quarterly Review) on the pianoforte, and the music was frequently, though not always, as new as the verse. He usually stuck to the common ballad measures; but one favourite sport was a mimic opera, and then he seemed to triumph without effort over every variety of metre and complication of stanza. About the complete extemporaneousness of the whole there could rarely be the slightest doubt.” This power of extempore verse seems to have been the wonder of all Hook's associates; it astonished Sheridan, Coleridge, and the most illustrious of his contemporaries, who used to hang delighted over such rare and unequivocal manifestations of genius. Hook had been introduced to the prince regent, afterwards George IV., and in 1812 he received the appointment of accomptant-general and treasurer to the colony of the Mauritius, with a salary of about £2000 per annum. This handsome provision he enjoyed for five years. The duties of the office were, however, neglected, and an examination being made into the books of the accomptant, various irregularities, omissions, and discrepancies were detected. There was a deficiency of about

£12,000, and Hook was ordered home under the

charge of a detachment of military. Thus a dark cloud hung over him for the remainder of his life; but it is believed that he was in reality innocent of all but gross negligence. On reaching London in 1819, he was subjected to a scrutiny by the Audit Board, which did not terminate until after the lapse of nearly five years. He was then pronounced to be liable to the crown for the deficit of £12,000. In the meantime he laboured assiduously at literature as a profession. He became, in 1820, editor of the John Bull newspaper, which he made conspicuous for its advocacy of high aristocratic principles, some virulent personalities, and much wit and humour. His political songs were generally admired for their point and brilliancy of fancy. In 1823, after the award had been given finding him a debtor to the crown in the sum mentioned, Hook was arrested, and continued nearly two years in confinement. His literary labours went on, however, without interruption, and in 1824 appeared the first series of his tales, entitled Sayings and Doings, which were so well received that the author was made £2000 richer by the production. In 1825 he issued a second series, and shortly after that publication he was released from custody, with an intimation, however, that the crown abandoned nothing of its claim for the Mauritius debt. The popular novelist now pursued his literary career with unabated diligence and spirit. In 1828 he published

a third series of ‘Sayings and Doings; in 1830, Mar

well; in 1832, The Life of Sir David Baird; in 1833, The Parson's Daughter, and Love and Pride. In 1836 he became editor of the New Monthly Magazine, and contributed to its pages, in chapters, Gilbert Gurney, and the far inferior sequel, Gurney Married, each afterwards collected into a set of three volumes. In 1837 appeared Jack Brag; in 1839, Births, Deaths, and Marriages; Precepts and Practice; and Fathers and Sons. His last avowed work, Peregrine Bunce, supposed not to have been wholly written by him, appeared some months after his death. The production of thirty-eight volumes within sixteen years—the author being all the while editor, and almost sole writer, of a newspaper, and for seve

ral years the efficient conductor of a magazine— certainly affords, as the Quarterly Review remarks, sufficient proof that he never sank into idleness. At the same time Theodore Hook was the idol of the fashionable circles, and ran a heedless round of dissipation. Though in the receipt of a large income—probably not less than £3000 per annum—by his writings, he became involved in pecuniary embarrassments; and an unhappy connexion which he had formed, yet dared not avow. entailed upon him the anxieties and responsibilities of a family. Parts of a diary which he kept have been published, and there are passages in it disclosing his struggles, his alternations of hope and despair, and his ever-deepening distresses and difficulties, which are inexpressibly touching as well as instructive. At length, overwhelmed with difficulties, his children unprovided for, and himself a victim to disease and exhaustion before he had completed his 53d year, he died at Fulham on the 24th of August 1842. The works of Theodore Hook are very unequal, and none of them perhaps display the rich and varied powers of his conversation. He was thoroughly acquainted with English life in the higher and middle ranks, and his early familiarity with the stage had taught him the effect of dramatic situations and pointed dialogue. The theatre, however, is not always a good school for taste in composition, and Hook's witty and tragic scenes and contrasts of character are often too violent in tone, and too little discriminated. Hence, though his knowledge of high life was undoubted, and his powers of observation rarely surpassed, his pictures of existing manners seem to wear an air of caricature, imparted insensibly by the peculiar habits and exuberant fancy of the novelist. His pathos is often overdone, and his mirth and joyousness carried into the regions of farce. He is very felicitous in exposing all ridiculous pretences and absurd affectation, and in such scenes his polished ridicule and the practical sagacity of the man of the world, conversant with its different ranks and artificial distinctions, are strikingly apparent.

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Thomas Colley GRATTAN, an Irish writer of fiction, commenced his literary career in 1819 with a poetical romance entitled Philibert, which was smoothly versified, but possessed no great merit. In 1823 appeared his Highways and Byways, tales of continental wandering and adventure, written in a light, picturesque, and pleasing manner. These were so well received that the author wrote a second series, published in 1824, and a third in 1827. In 1830 he came forth with a novel in four volumes, The Heiress of Bruges; a Tale of the Year Sirteen Hundred. The plot of this work is connected with the attempts made by the Flemish to emancipate themselves from the foreign sway of Spain, in which they were assisted by the Dutch, under Prince Maurice. A power of vivid description and obser

We may collect from his novels (especially the “Sayings and Doings,' which were vation of nature appears to be Mr Grattan's principal merit. His style is often diffuse and careless; and he does not seem to have laboured successfully in constructing his stories. His pictures of ordinary life in the French provinces, as he wandered among the highways and byways of that country with a cheerful observant spirit, noting the peculiarities of the people, are his happiest and most original efforts. MR T. H. ListER, a gentleman of rank and aristocratic connexions, was author of three novels, descriptive of the manners of the higher classes; namely, Granby, 1826; IIerbert Lacy, 1827; and Arlington, 1832. These works are pleasingly written, and may be considered as affording correct pictures of domestic society, but they possess no features of novelty or originality to preserve them for another generation. A strain of graceful reflection, in the style of the essays in the Mirror and Lounger, is mingled with the tale, and shows the author to have been a man of refined and cultivated taste and feeling. In 1838 Mr Lister published a Memoir of the Life and Administration of the Earl of Clarendon, in three volumes, a work of considerable talent and research, in preparing which the author had access to documents and papers unknown to his predecessors. Mr Lister died in June 1842, at which time he held the government appointment of Registrar-general of births, marriages, and deaths. The following brief description in ‘ Granby' may be compared with Mr Wordsworth's noble sonnet composed upon Westminster Bridge.

[London at Sunrise.]

Granby followed them with his eyes; and now, too full of happiness to be accessible to any feelings of jealousy or repining, after a short reverie of the purest satisfaction, he left the ball, and sallied out into the fresh cool air of a suminer morning—suddenly passing from the red glare of lamplight to the clear sober brightness of returning day. He walked cheerfully onward, refreshed and exhilarated by the air of morning, and interested with the scene around him. It was broad daylight, and he viewed the town under an aspect in which it is alike presented to the late retiring votary of pleasure, and to the early rising sons of business. | He stopped on the pavement of Oxford Street to con| template the effect. The whole extent of that long vista, unclouded by the mid-day smoke, was distinctly visible to his eye at once. The houses shrunk to half their span, while the few visible spires of the adjacent churches seemed to rise less distant than before, gaily

tipped with early sunshine, and much diminished in apparent size, but heightened in distinctness and in | beauty. Had it not been for the cool gray tint which slightly mingled with every object, the brightness was almost that of noon. But the life, the bustle, the busy din, the flowing tide of human existence, were all wanting to complete the similitude. All was hushed and silent; and this mighty receptacle of human beings, which a few short hours would wake into active energy and motion, seemed like a city of the dead. There was little to break this solemn illusion. Around were the monuments of human exertion, but the hands which formed them were no longer there. Few, if any, were the symptoms of life. No sounds were heard but the heavy creaking of a solitary wagon, the twittering of an occasional sparrow, the monotonous tone of the drowsy watchman, and the distant rattle of the retiring carriage, fading on the ear till it melted into silence: and the eye that searched for living objects fell on nothing but the grim great-coated guardian of the night, Inuffled up into an appearance of doubtful character between

bear and man, and scarcely distinguishable, by the colour of his dress, from the brown flags along which he sauntered. Two novels of the same class with those of Mr Lister were written by the present MARQUIs of NorMANBy; namely, Matilda, published in 1825, and Yes and No, a Tale of the Day, 1827. They were well received by the public, being in taste, correctness of delineation, and general good sense, superior to the ordinary run of fashionable novels.

LADY CAROLINE LAMB—LADY DAC RE—countess of Mort LEY-LADY CHAIRLOTTE BURY.

LADY CARolin E LAMB (1785-1828) was authoress

of three works of fiction, which, from extrinsic cir

cumstances, were highly popular in their day. The first, Glenarvon, was published in 1816, and the hero was understood to ‘body forth' the character and sentiments of Lord Byron It was a representation of the dangers attending a life of fashion. The second, Graham Hamilton, depicted the difficulties and dangers inseparable, even in the most anniable minds, from weakness and irresolution of character.

The third, Ada Reis (1823), is a wild Eastern tale, the hero being introduced as the Don Juan of his day, a Georgian by birth, who, like Othello, is “sold to slavery,’ but rises to honours and distinctions. In the end Ada is condemned, for various misdeeds, to eternal punishment! The history of Lady Caroline Lamb is painfully interesting. She was united, before the age of twenty, to the Honourable William Lamb (now Lord Melbourne), and was long the delight of the fashionable circles, from the singularity as well as the grace of her manners, her literary accomplishments, and personal attractions. On meeting with Lord Byron, she contracted an unfortunate attachment for the noble poet, which continued three years, and was the theme of much remark. The poet is said to have trifled with her feelings, and a rupture took place. “For many years Lady Caroline led a life of comparative seclusion, principally at Brocket Hall. This was interrupted by a singular and somewhat romantic occurrence. Riding with Mr Lamb, she met, just by the park-gates, the hearse which was conveying the remains of Lord Byron to Newstead Abbey. She was taken home insensible: an illness of length and severity succeeded. Some of her medical attendants imputed her fits, certainly of great incoherence and long continuance, to partial insanity. At this supposition she was invariably and bitterly indignant. Whatever be the cause, it is certain from that time her conduct and habits materially changed; and about three years before her death a separation took place between her and Mr Lamb, who continued, however, frequently to visit, and, to the day of her death, to correspond with her. It is just to both parties to add, that Lady Caroline constantly spoke of her husband in the highest and most affectionate terms of admiration and respect.' * A romantic susceptibility of temperament and character seems to have been the bane of this unfortunate lady. Her fate illustrates the wisdom of Thomson's advice—

Then keep each passion down, however dear, Trust me, the tender are the most severe.

The Recollections of a Chaperon, 1833, by LADy DACRE, are a series of tales written with taste, feeling, and passion. This lady is, we believe, also authoress of Trevelyan, 1833, a novel which was considered at the time of its publication as the

* Annual Obituary for 1829.

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best feminine novel, in many respects, that had appeared since Miss Edgeworth's Vivian. Among other works of this class may be mentioned the tale of Dacre, 1834, by the CountEss of MoRLEY ; and several fashionable novels (The Divorced, Family Records, Love, The Courtier's Daughter, &c.) by LADY CHARLotte Bury. This lady is the supposed authoress of a Diary Illustrative of the Times of George IV., a scandalous chronicle, published in 1838. It appears that her ladyship (then Lady Charlotte Campbell) had held an appointment in the household of the Princess of Wales, and during this time she kept a diary, in which she recorded the foibles and failings of the unfortunate princess and other members of the court. The work was strongly condemned by the two leading critical journals—the Edinburgh and Quarterly Review— and was received generally with disapprobation.

R. PLUMER WA Rio.

MR R. PlUMER WARD published in 1825 a singular metaphysical and religious romance entitled Tremaine, or the Man of Refinement. The author's name was not prefixed to his work; and as he alluded to his intimacy with English statesmen and political events, and seemed to belong to the evangelical party in the church, much speculation took place as to the paternity of the novel. The writer was evidently well-bred and intellectual—prone to philosophical and theological disquisitions, but at the same time capable of forcible delineation of character, and the management of natural dialogue and incidents. The prolixity of some of the dissertations and dialogues, where the story stood still for half a volume, that the parties might converse and dispute, rendered ‘Tremaine’ somewhat heavy and tedious, in spite of the vigour and originality of talent it displayed. In a subsequent work, De Vere, or the Man of Independence, 1827, the public dwelt with keen interest on a portraiture of Mr Canning, whose career was then about to close in his premature death. The contention in the mind of this illustrious statesman between literary tastes and the pursuits of ambition, is beautifully delineated in one passage which has been often quoted. It represents a conversation between Wentworth (Canning), Sir George Deloraine, a reserved and sentimental man, and Dr Herbert. The occasion of the conversation was Wentworth's having observed Deloraine coming out of Westminster Abbey by the door at Poets' Corner. Meeting at dinner, Sir George is rallied by Wentworth on his taste for the monuments of departed genius; which he defends; and he goes on to add—

“It would do all you men of power good if you were to visit them too; for it would show you how little more than upon a level is often the reputation of the greatest statesman with the fame of those who, by their genius, their philosophy, or love of letters, improve and gladden life even after they are gone.’ The whole company saw the force of this remark, and Wentworth not the least among them. “You have touched a theme,’ said he, “which has often engaged me, and others before me, with the keenest interest. I know nothing so calculated as this very reflection to cure us poor political slaves (especially when we feel the tugs we are obliged to sustain) of being dazzled by meteors.’ ‘Meteors do you call them to said Dr Herbert. “Men do not run after meteors with such rapid and persevering steps as you great people pursue ambition.” “I grant you,' returned his friend ; and if we did not think them something better, who would give himself [q, themselves] up to such labour, such invasions of their privacy and

leisure, as we are forced to undergo to “What is it, then, that so seduces you !” “A little intoxication,” returned Mr Wentworth, laughing off a subject which he did not wish carried too far; “for which you philosophers say we ought to be whipped, and for

which whipped we often are. Those, however, who

want this whipping would do well to take Sir George's advice, and visit the shrines of the mighty dead. They would see how inferior most of themselves are in present estimation to beings who, when alive, could not, in splendour at least, compare with them. I have too often made the reflection, and was not the happier for it.’ ‘You cannot be serious,” said the divine; * since who are such real benefactors to mankind as enlightened legislators and patriot warriors What poet, I had almost said what philosopher, can stand in competition with the founder or defender of his country?’ ‘Ask your own Homer, your own Shakspeare,” answered Wentworth, forgetting his ambition for a moment in his love of letters. “You take me in my weak part,” said Herbert, “and the subject would carry us too far. I would remark, however, that but for the Solous, the Romuluses, the Charlemagnes, and Alfreds, we should have no Homer or Shakspeare to charm us.” “I know this is your favourite theme,” said the minister, “and you know how much I agree with you. But this is not precisely the question raised by Sir George; which is, the superiority in the temple of fame enjoyed by men distinguished for their efforts in song or history (but who might have been mere beggars when alive) over those who flaunted it superciliously over them in a pomp and pride which are now absolutely forgotten.” “I will have nothing to do with supercilious flaunters,' replied Herbert; “I speak of the liberal, the patriotic, who seek power for the true uses of power, in order to diffuse blessing and protection all around them. These can never fail to be deservedly applauded; and I honour such ambition as of infinitely more real consequence to the world than those whose works (however I may love them in private) can, from the mere nature of things, be comparatively known only to a few.” “All that is most true,' said Mr Wentworth ; ‘and for a while public men of the description you

mention fill a larger space in the eye of mankind;

that is, of contemporary mankind. But extinguish their power, no matter by what means, whether by

losing favour at court, or being turned out by the

country, to both which they are alike subject ; let death forcibly remove them, or a queen die, and their light, like Bolingbroke's, goes out of itself; their influence is certainly gone, and where is even their reputation 1 dying flame of a taper, after which they soon cease to be mentioned, perhaps even remembered.’ ‘Surely,’ said the doctor, “this is too much in extremes.” “And yet, continued Wentworth, “have we not all heard of a maxim appalling to all lovers of political fame, “that nobody is missed ?” Alas! then, are we not compelled to burst out with the poet:

“What boots it with incessant care,
To tend the homely slighted shepherd's trade,
And strictly meditate the thankless muse?
Were it not better done, as others use,
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade,
Or with the tangles of Nearra's hair:"'

Both Sir George and De Vere kindled at this; and the doctor himself smiled, when the minister proceeded. “In short,” said he, “when a statesman, or even a conqueror is departed, it depends o the happier poet or philosophic historian to make even his name known to posterity; while the historian or poet acquires immortality for himself in conferring upon his heroes an inferior existence.’ ‘Inferior existence l' exclaimed Herbert. ‘Yes; for look at

It may glimmer for a minute, like the

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