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“This beautiful allegory,” adds Mr. Taylor, wise. The most of what Mr. Taylor has writ ' requires no illustration; but it constitutes ten on Schiller, on Goethe, and the new Literaone of the reasons for suspecting that the ture of Germany, a reader that loves him, as younger may eventually be the victorious we honestly do, will consider as unwritten, or Muse.” We hope not, but that the generous written in a state of somnambulism. He who race may yet last through long centuries. has just quitted Kotzebue's Bear-garden, and Tuiskone has shot through a mighty space, Fives-court, and pronounces it to be all stimusince this Poet saw her: what if she were now lant and very good, what is there for him to do slackening her speed, and the Britoness quick- in the Hall of the Gods? He looks transiently ening hers?
in; asks with mild authority,
“ Asian or If the Essay on Klopstock is the best, that Trinitarian? Quotidian or Stimulant?" and on Kotzebue is undoubtedly the worst, in this receiving no answer but a hollow echo, which book, or perhaps in any book written by man almost sounds like laughter, passes on, mutof ability in our day. It is one of those acts tering that they are dumb idols, or mere Nürnwhich, in the spirit of philanthropy, we could berg waxwork. wish Mr. Taylor to conceal in profoundest It remains to notice Mr. Taylor's Translasecrecy; were it not that hereby the “ stimu- tions. Apart from the choice of subjects, lant" theory, a heresy which still lurks here which in probably more than half the cases is and there even in our better criticism, is in unhappy, there is much to be said in favour some sort brought to a crisis, and may the of these. Compared with the average of sooner depart from this world, or at least from British Translations, they may be pronounced the high places of it, into others more suitable. of almost ideal excellence; compared with the Kotzebue, whom all nations, and kindreds, and best translations extant, for example, the Gertongues, and peoples, his own people the fore- man Shakspeare, Homer, Calderon, they may most, after playing with him for some foolish still be called better than indifferent. One hour, have swept out of doors as a lifeless great merit Mr. Taylor has: rigorous adbundle of dyed rags, is here scientifically ex- herence to his original; he endeavours at amined, measured, pulse-felt, and pronounced least to copy with all possible fidelity the turn to be living, and a divinity. He has such pro- of phrase, the tone, the very metre, whatever lific “invention,” abounds so in “fine situa- stands written for him. With the German tions,” in passionate scenes, is so soul-har- language he has now had a long familiarity, rowing, so stimulant. The Proceedings at Fow and, what is no less essential, and perhaps Street are stimulant enough; neither is prolific still rarer among our translators, has a decided invention, interesting situations, or soul-har- understanding of English. All this of Mr. rowing passion wanting among the Authors Taylor's own Translations: in the borrowed that compose there; least of all if we follow pieces, whereof there are several, we seldom, them to Newgate, and the gallows : but when except indeed in those by Shelley and Coledid the Morning Heruld think of inserting its ridge, find much worth; sometimes a distinct Police Reports among our Anthologies ? Mr. worthlessness. Mr. Taylor has made no conTaylor is at the pains to analyze very many science of clearing those unfortunate perof Kotzebue's productions, and translates formances even from their gross blunders. copiously from two or three : how the Siberian Thus, in that “excellent version by Miss Governor look on when his daughter was Plumptre,” we find this statement: Professor about to run away with one Benjowsky, who Müller could not utter a period without introhowever, was enabled to surrender his prize, ducing the words with under, “whether they had there on the beach, with sails hoisted, by business there or not;" which statement, were “ looking at his wife's picture;" how the peo- it only on the ground that Professor Müller was ple“ lift young Burgundy from the Tun,” not not sent to Bedlam, there to utter periods, we indeed to drink him, for he is not wine but a venture to deny. Doubtless his besetting sin Duke; how a certain stout-hearted West In- was mitunder, which indeed means at the same dian, that has made a fortune, proposes mar- time, or the like, (etymologically, with among,) riage to his two sisters, but finding the ladies but nowise with under. One other instance we reluciant, solicits their serving-woman, whose shall give, from a much more important subreputation is not only cracked, but visibly ject. Mr. Taylor admits that he does not make quite rent asunder, accepts her nevertheless, much of Faust: however, he inserts Shelley's with her thriving cherub, and is the happiest version of the Mayday Night ; and another of men ;-with more of the like sort. On the scene, evidently rendered by quite a different strength of which we are assured that, “ accord- artist. In this latter, Margaret is in the Cathe ing to my judgment, Kotzebue is the greatest dral during High-Mass, but her whole hought: dramatic genius that Europe has evolved since are turned inwards on a secret share and sor Shak-peare.” Such is the table which Mr. row: an Evil Spirit is whispering in her ear, Taylor has spread for pilgrims in the Prose the Choir chant fragments of the Dies iræ ; she Wilderness of Life: thus does he sit like a kind is like to choke and sink. In the original, host, ready to carve; and though the viands this passage is in verse; and, we presume, and beverage are but, as it were, stewed gar- in the translation also,-founding on the lic, Yarmouth herrings, and bluc-ruin, praise capital letters. The concluding lines an. them as “stimulant," and courteously presses these: the universe to fall to.
MARGARET. What a purveyor with this palate shall say to Nectar and Ambrosia, may be curious as a I feel imprison'd. The thick pulars gird me. question in Natural History, but hardly other- The vaults low'r o'er me. Air, air, I saint.
reach a second edition, which we hope, perEVIL SPIRIT.
haps he may profit by some of our hints, and Where wilt thou lie concealed ? for sin and shame render the work less unworthy of himself and Remain not hidden-wo is coming down.
of his subject. In its present state and shape, this English Temple of Fame can content no
one. A huge, anomalous, heterogeneous mass, Quid sum misor tum dicturus ?
no section of it like another, oriel-window Quem patronum rogaturus ?
alternating with rabbit-hole, wrought capital Cuin vir justus sit securus.
on pillar of dried mud; heaped together out EVIL SPIRIT.
of marble, loose earth, rude boulder-stone;
hastily roofed in with shingles,-such is the From thee the glorified avert their viero,
Temple of Fame ; uninhabitable either for The pure forbear to offer thee a hand.
priest or statue, and which nothing but a con•
tinued suspension of the laws of gravity can Quid sum miser tum dicturus ?
keep from rushing ere long into a chaos of stone and dust. For the English worshipper,
who in the meanwhile has no other temple, we Neighbour, your"
search out the least dangerous apartments; for
the future builder, the materials that will be -Your what?-Angels and ministers of grace valuable. defend us !—" Your Drambottle." Will Mr. Taylor have us understand, then, that “the And now, in washing our hands of this allnoble German nation," more especially the too sordid but not unnecessary task, one word fairer half thereof, (for the “ Neighbour” is on a more momentous objeci. Does not the Nachbarin, Neighbouress,) goes to church with a existence of such a Book, do not many other decanter of brandy its pocket? Or would indications, traceable in France, in Germany, he not rather, even forcibly, interpret Flüsch- as well as here, betoken that a new era in the chen by vinaigrette, by volatile-salts ? — The world spiritual intercourse of Europe is approach. has no notice that this passage is a borrowed ing; that instead of isolated, mutually repulone, but will, notwithstanding, as the more sive National Literatures, a World-Literature charitable theory, hope and believe so. may one day be looked for? The better minds
We have now done with Mr. Taylor; and of all countries begin to understand each other; would fain, after all that has come and gone, and, which follows naturally, to love each part with him in good nature and good will. other and help each other; by whom ultimateHe bas spoken freely, we have answered freely all countries in all their proceedings are Jy. Far as we differ from him in regard to governed. German Literature, and to the much more im- Late in man's history, yet clearly at length, portant subjects here connected with it; deeply it becomes manifest to the dullest, that mind as we feel convinced that his convictions are is stronger than malter, that mind is the creator wrong and dangerous, are but half true, and, and shaper of matter; that not brute Force, if taken for the whole truth, wholly false and but only Persuasion and Faith is the king of fatal, we have nowise blinded ourselves to his this world. The true Poet, who is but the in• vigorous talent, to his varied learning, his sin- spired Thinker, is still an Orpheus whose Lyre cerity, his manful independence and self-sup- lames the savage beasts, and evokes the dead port. Neither is it for speaking out plainly rocks to fashion themselves into palaces and ihat we blame him. A man's honest, earnest stately inhabited cities. It has been said, and opinion is the most precious of all he possesses: may be repeated, that Literature is fast be let him communicate this, if he is to communi- coming all in all to us; our Church, our Sencate any thing. There is, doubtless, a time lo ate, our whole Social Constitution. The true speak, and a time to keep silence; yet Fon- Pope of Christendom is not that feeble old tenelle's celebrated aphorism, I might have my man in Rome; nor is its Autocrat the Nahand full of truth, and would open only my little poleon, the Nicolas, with his half million even finger, may be practised also to excess, and of obedient bayonets; such Autocrai is him. the little finger itself kept closed. That re- self but a more cunningly-devised bayonet and serve, and knowing silence, long so universal military engine in the hands of a mightier than among us, is less the fruit of active benevo- he. The true Autocrat and Pope is that man, lence, of philosophic tolerance, than of in- the real or seeming Wisest of the past age; difference and weak conviction. Honest Skep- crowned after death; who finds his Hierarchy ticism, honest Atheism, is better than that of gifted Authors, his Clergy of assiduous withered, lifeless Dilettantism and amateur Journalists; whose Decretals, written not on Eclecticism, which merely toys with all opi- parchment, but on the living souls of men, it nions; or than that wicked' Machiavelism, were an inversion of the Laws of Nature to which, in thought denying every thing, except disobey. In these times of ours, all Intellect that Power is Power, in words, for its own wise has fused itself into Literature: Literature, purposes, loudly believes every thing: of both Printed Thought, is the molten sea and wonder. which miserable habitudes the day, even in bearing Chaos, into which mind after mind England, is wellnigh over. That Mr. Taylor casts forth its opinion, its feeling, to be molten belongs not, and at no time belonged, to either into the general mass, and to work there; Inof these classes, we account a true praise. Of terest after Interest is engulfed in it, or em. his Historic Survey we have endeavoured to barked on it: higher, higher it rises round all point out the faults and the merits : should he the Edifices of Existence; they must all be molten into it, and anew bodied forth from it, depths of Time, is a subject for prophetic con or stand unconsumed among its fiery surges. jecture, wherein brightest hope is not un: Wo to him whose Edifice is not built of true mingled with fearful apprehension and awr Asbest, and on the everlasting Rock; but on at the boundless unknown. The more chee the false sand, and of the drift-wood of Ac- ing is this one thing which we do seed cident, and the paper and parchment of anti- know—That its tendency is to a universal quated Habit! For the power, or powers, exist European Commonweal; that the wisest in not on our Earth, that can say to that sea, roll | all nations will communicate and co-operate; back, or bid its proud waves be still.
whereby Europe will again have its true What form so omnipotent an element will Sacred College, and Council of Amphictyous ; assume; how long it will welter to and fro as wars will become rarer, less inhuman, and, in a wild Democracy, a wild Anarchy; what the course of centuries, such delirious ferocity Constitution and Organization it will fashion in nations, as in individuals it already is, may for itsell, and for what depends on it, in the i be proscribed, and become obsolete for ever.
TRAGEDY OF THE NIGHT-MOTH.
[Fraser's Magazine, 1831.)
Magna Ausus. 'T is placid midnight, stars are keeping
Their meek and silent course in heaven ; Save pale recluse, all things are sleeping,
His mind to study still is given.
Allured by ta per gleaming bright;
On Goethe's mystic page to light.
A universe of fire it seems
Or fount whence Life and Motion streams. What passions in her small heart whirling,
Hopes boundless, adoration, dread; At length her tiny pinions twirling,
She darts and-puff!—the moth is dead! The sullen flame, for her scarce sparkling,
Gives but one hiss, one fitful glare ; Now bright and busy, now all darkling,
She snaps and fades to empty air. Her bright gray form that spread so slimly,
Some fan she seemed of pigmy Queen; Her silky cloak that lay so trimly,
Her wee, wee eyes that looked so keen, Last moment here, now gone for ever,
To nought are passed with fiery pain; And ages circling round shall never
Give to this creature shape again?
Poor moth! near weeping I lament thce,
Thy glossy form, thy instant wo; | 'T was zeal for "things too high" that sent thee
From cheery earth to shades below. Short speck of boundless space was needed
For home, for kingdom, world to thee! Where passed unheeding as unheeded,
Thy slender life from sorrow free. But syren hopes from out thy dwelling,
Enticed thee, bade thee Earth explore, Thy frame, so late with rapture swelling,
Is swept from Earth for evermore !
Me too a restless asking mind
To seek the good I ne'er shall find.
With humble joys and vulgar fate,
Moth of a larger size, a longer date !
What seemed her wildest, grandest charms, Eternal Truth and Beauty hailing,
Like thee, I rushed into her arms. What gained we, little moth? Thy ashes,
Thy one brief parting pang may show: And withering thoughts for soul that dashes
From deep to deep, are but aʼdeath more slow
[EDINBURGH Review, 1831.)
Tue healthy know not of their health, but, issued clear victorious force; we stood as in only the sick: this is the Physician's Aphorism; the centre of Nature, giving and receiving, in and applicable in a far wider sense than he harmony with it all; unlike Virgil's Husband. gives it
. We may say, it holds no less in men, “ too happy because we did not know our moral, intellectual, political, poetical, than in blessedness.” In those days, health and sick. merely corporeal therapeutics; that wherever, ness were foreign traditions that did not conor in what shape soever, powers of the sort cern us; our whole being was as yet One, the which can be named vital are at work, herein whole man like an incorporated Will. Such, lies the test of their working right, or working were Rest or ever-successful Labour the huwrong.
man lot, might our life continue to be: a pure, In the Body, for example, as all doctors are perpetual, unregarded music; a beam of peragreed, the first condition of complete health sect white lighi, rendering all things visible, is, that each organ perform its function uncon- but itself unseen, even because it was of that sciously, unheeded; let but any organ announce perfect whiteness, and no irregular obstruction its separate existence, were it even boastfully, had yet broken it into colours. The beginning and for pleasure, not for pain, then already has of Inquiry is Disease: all Science, if we conone of those unfortunate “false centres of sen- sider well, as it must have originated in the sibility” established itself, already is derange- feeling of something being wrong, so it is and ment there. The perfection of bodily well- continues to be but Division, Dismemberment, being is, that the collective bodily activities and partial healing of the wrong. Thus, as seem one; and be manifested, moreover, not in was of old written, the Tree of Knowledge themselves, but in the action they accomplish. springs from a root of evil, and bears fruits of If a Dr. Kitchener boast that his system is in good and evil. Had Adam reinained in Parahigh order, Dietetic Philosophy may indeed dise, there had been no Anatomy and nos take credit; but the true Peplician was that Metaphysics. Countryman who answered that, “ for his part, But, alas, as the Philosopher declares, “Life he had no system.” In fact, unity, agreement, itself is a disease; a working incited by sufis always silent, or soft-voiced; it is only dis- fering;" action from passion! The memory cord that loudly proclaims itself. So long as of that first state of Freedom and paradisiac the several elements of Life, all filly adjusted, Unconsciousness has faded away into an ideal can pour forth their movement like harmonious poetic dream. We stand here too conscious tuned strings, it is a melody and unison ; Life, of many things: with Knowledge, the symptom from its mysterious fountains, flows out as in of Derangement, we must even do our best to celestial music and diapason,-which also, like restore a little Order. Life is, in few instances, that other music of the spheres, even because and at rare intervals, the diapason of a heait is perennial and complete, without interrup- venly melody; oftenest the fierce jar of disruption and without imperfection, might be fabled tions and convulsions, which, do what we will, to escape the ear. Thus, too, in some lan- there is no disregarding. Nevertheless, such guages, is the state of health well denoted by a is still the wish of Nature on our behalf; in term expressing unity ; when we feel ourselves all vital action, her manifest purpose aud as we wish to be, we say that we are whole. effort is, that we should be unconscious of it,
Few mortals, it is to be feared, are perma- and, like the peptic Countryman, never know nently blessed with that felicity of having no that we “have a system." For indeed vital systemi :" nevertheless, most of us, looking action everywhere is emphatically a means, back on young years, may remember seasons not an end; Life is not given us for the mere of a light, aërial translucency and elasticity, sake of Living, but always with an ulterior and perfect freedom; the body had not yet external Aim: neither is it on the process, on become the prison-house of the soul, but was the means, but rather on the result, that Na. its vehicle and implement, like a creature of ture, in any of her doings, is wont to intrust us the thought, and altogether pliant to its bid with insight and volition. Boundless as is the ding. We knew not that we had limbs, we domain of man, it is but a small fractional only lifted, hurled, and leapt; through eye and proportion of it that he rules with Consciousear, and all avenues of sense, came clear un- ness and by Forethought: what he can conimpeded tidings from without, and from within trive, nay, what he can altogether know and
comprehend, is essentially the mechanical, * 1. An Essay on the Origin and Prospects of Man. the vital; it is essentially the mysterious, and
small; the great is ever, in one sense or other, By Thomas Hope. 3 vols. 8vo. London, 1831,
2. Philosophische Vorlesungen, insbesondere über Philo, only the surface of it can be understood. But vorgetragen zu Dresden im December, 1828, und in den Nature, it might seem, strives, like a kind ersten Tagen des Januars 1829. (Philosophical Lectures, mother, to hide from us even this, that she is a especially on the Philosophy of Language and the Gin mystery: she will have us rest on her beautiof Speech. Written and delivered at Dresden in De- ful and awful bosom as if it were our secure cember, 1828, and the early days of January, 1829.) By Friedrich von Schlegel. 8vo. Vienna, 1830.
home ; on he bottomless, boundless Deep,
whereon all human things fearfully and won- | not that it is any thing surprising: Milton,
standing is not to prove, and find reasons, but However, without venturing into the abstruse, to know and believe. Of Logic, and its limits, or too eagerly asking Why and How, in things and uses and abuses, there were much to be where our answer must needs prove, in great said and examined; one fact, however, which part, an echo of the question, let us be content chiefly concerns us here, has long been to remark farther, in the merely historical familiar; that the man of logic and the man way, how that Aphorism of the bodily Physi- of insight; the Reasoner and the Discoverer, or cian holds good in quite other departments. even Knower, are quite separable,-indeed, for Of the Soul, with her activities, we shall find most part, quite separate characters. In pracit no less true than of the Body: nay, cry the tical matters, for example, has it not become Spiritualists, is not that very division of the almost proverbial that the man of logic cannot unity, Man, into a dualism of Soul and Body, prosper? This is he whom business people itself the symptom of disease; as, perhaps, call Systematic and Theorizer and Wordyour frightful theory of Materialism, of his monger; his vital intellectual force lies dormant being but a Body, and therefore, at least, once or extinct, his whole force is mechanical, conmore a unily, may be the paroxysm which scious: of such a one it is foreseen that, when was critical, and the beginning of cure! But once confronted with the infinite complexities omitting this, we observe, with confidence of the real world, his little compact theorem enough, that the truly strong mind, view it as of the world will be found wanting; that unless Intellect, as Morality, or under any other as he can throw it overboard, and become a new pect, is nowise the mind acquainted with its creature, he will necessarily founder. Nay, strength; that here as before the sign of health in mere Speculation itself, the most ineffectual is Unconsciousness. In our inward, as in our of all characters, generally speaking, is your outward world, what is mechanical lies open dialectic man-at-arms; were he armed cap-ato us : not what is dynamical and has vitality. pie in syllogistic mail of proof, and perfect of our Thinking, we might say, it is but master of logic-fence, how little does it avail the mere upper surface that we shape into him! Consider the old Schoolmen, and their articulate Thoughts ;-underneath the region pilgrimage towards Truth: the faithfullest of argument and conscious discourse lies the endeavour, incessant un wearied motion, often region of meditation; here, in its quiet myste- great natural vigour; only no progress: nothing rious depths, dwells what vital force is in us; but antic feats of one limb poised against the here, if aught is to be created, and not merely other; there they balanced, somersetted, and manufactured and communicated, must the made postures; at best gyrated swiftly, with work go on. Manufacture is intelligible, but some pleasure, like Spinning Dervishes, and trivial ; Creation is great, and cannot be un- ended where they began. So it is, so will it derstood. Thus if the Debator and Demon- always be, with aŭ System-makers and builders strator, whom we may rank as the lowest of of logical card-castles; of which class a cer. true thinkers, knows what he has done, and taip remnant must, in every age, as they do in how he did it, the Artist, whom we rank as the our own, survive and build. Logic is good, highest, knows not; must speak of Inspiration, but it is not the best. The Irrefragable Docand, in one or the other dialect, call his work tor, with his chains of induction, his corollaries, the gift of a diviuity.
dilemmas, and other cunning logical diagrams But on the whole, “genius is ever a secret and apparatus, will cast you a beautiful horoto itself;" of this old truth we have, on all sides, scope, and speak reasonable things; neverthedaily evidence. The Shakspeare takes no airs less your stolen jewel, which you wanted him to for writing Hamlet and the Tempest, understands find you, is noi forthcoming. Often by some