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moved to Florence (where, with the exception of occasional visits to England, and a residence of several years at Bath, he spent the most of his future life) about 1816, and died there, after about thirty years' sojourn, Sept. 17, 1864.

in Dutch. Meantime, he has not been read. It would be an affectation to think it."-DE QUIN

CEY's Notes on Landor, Bost., 1853, 245.



Greville, seat yourself under this oak, since, Sidney. Welcome, welcome! And now, if you had hungered or thirsted from your journey, you would have renewed the alacrity of your old servants in the hall.

Brooke. In truth I did so: for no otherwise the good household would have it. The birds met me first, affrighted by the tossing

of caps, and I knew by these harbingers who were coming. When my palfrey eyed them askance from their clamorousness, and shrank somewhat back, they quarrelled with him almost before they saluted me, and asked him many pert questions. What a for meditation! a solitude is the audiencepleasant spot, Sidney, have you chosen here chamber of God. Few days, very few in in every fresh posture of the limbs, in every our year like this: there is a fresh pleasure turn the eye takes.

See Emerson's English Traits, Harriet MarBrooke. I come again unto the woods and tineau's Biographical Sketches, Last Days of unto the wilds of Penshurst, whither my W. S. Landor, by Miss Kate Field, in Atlan-heart and the friend of my heart have long tie Monthly, April, May, and June, 1866. invited me. Landor's publications: A Collection of Poems, Lond., 1795, 8vo; Gebir, a Poem, 1798, 8vo, in Latin, Gebirus, Poema, Oxon., 1803, 12mo; Poems from the Arabic and Persian, with Notes by the Author of Gebir, Warwick, 1800, 4to; Simoniaca, a Poem, Lond., 1806, 12mo; Commentary on Memoirs of Mr. Fox, Lond., 1812, Svo: suppressed; Count Julian, a Tragedy, 1812; Idyllia He-up roica decem, Pisa, 1820, 8vo; Latin Poems, Lond., 24mo; Imaginary Conversations of Literary Men and Statesmen (First Series), Lond., 1824-28, 3 vols. 8vo, 2d edit., Lond., 1826-28, 3 vols. 8vo, Second Series, Lond., 1829, 2 vols. 8vo; Imaginary Conversations of Greeks and Romans, new edit., 1853, 8vo; Gebir, Count Julian, and other Poems, Lond., 1831, 8vo, and 1835, 12mo; Pericles and Aspasia, Lond., 1836, 2 vols. p. 8vo; Letters of a Conservative, 1836, 8vo; A Satire on Satirists, and Admonition to Detractors, Lond., 1836, 8vo; The Pentameron and Pentalogia, 1837, post 8vo: Andrea of Hungary and Giovanni of Naples: Dramas, 1839, post Svo; Poemata et Inscriptiones novis auxit (Idyllia, Heroica, Gebirus, Iambi, etc.), Lond., 1847, 18mo; Imaginary Conversations of King Carlo Alberto and the Duchess Belgioioso on the Affairs and Prospects of Italy, 1848; Popery, British and Foreign, Lond., 1851, p. 8vo, 1853, p. 8vo; Last Fruit off an Old Tree, Lond., 1853, cr. 8vo; Letters of an American, 1854, 12mo: published under the name of Pottinger; Antony and Octavius (Scenes for the Study, No. 1), Lond., 1856, 12mo; Dry Sticks Fagoted, Lond., 1857, 8vo. Collected Works, Lond., 1846, 2 vols. med. 8vo, again, Lond., 1853, r. 8vo; edited by John Forster, Lond., 1876, 8 vols. 8vo.

"Landor is strangely undervalued in England, usually ignored, and sometimes savagely attacked in the Reviews. The criticism may be right or wrong, and is quickly forgotten; but year after year the scholar must go back to Landor for a multitude of elegant sentences,-for wisdom, wit, and indignation that are unforgettable."-EMERSON: English Traits.

"Had Mr. Landor, therefore, been read in any extent answering to his merits, he must have become, for the English public. an object of prodigious personal interest. We should have had novels upon him, lampoons upon him, libels upon him; he would have been shown up dramatically upon the stage; he would, according to the old joke, have been 'traduced' in French, and also overset'

Youth, credulous of happiness, throw down
Upon this turf thy wallet, stored and swoln
That tires thee with its wagging to and fro;
With morrow-morns, bird eggs, and bladders burst,
Thou, too, would'st breathe more freely for it, Age,
Who lackest heart to laugh at life's deceit.

It sometimes requires a stout push, and
sometimes a sudden resistance in the wisest
men, not to become for a moment the most
foolish. What have I done? I have fairly
challenged you, so much my master.

Sidney. You have warmed me; I must cool a little, and watch my opportunity. So now, Greville, return you to your invitations, and I will clear the ground for the company; youth, age, and whatever comes between, with all their kindred and dependencies. Verily we need few taunts or expostulations, for in the country we have few vices, and consequently few repinings. I take especial care that my labourers and farmers shall never be idle. In church they are taught to love God, after church they are practised to love their neighbour; for business on work-days keeps them apart and scattered, and on market-days they are prone to a rivalry bordering on malice, as competitors for custom. Goodness does not more certainly make men happy, than happiness makes them good. We must distinguish between felicity and prosperity, for prosperity leads often to ambition, and ambition to dis

appointment; the course is then over; the wheel turns round but once, while the reaction of goodness and happiness is perpetual. Brooke. You reason justly, and you act rightly. Piety, warm, soft and passive as the other round the throne of Grace, is made callous and inactive by kneeling too much; her vitality faints under rigorous and wearisome observances.

Sidney. Desire of lucre, the worst and most general country vice, arises here from the necessity of looking to small gains. It is the tartar that encrusts economy.

Brooke. Oh, that anything so monstrous should exist in this profusion and prodigality of blessings! The herbs are crisp and elastic with health; they are warm under my hand, as if their veins were filled with such a fluid as ours. What a hum of satisfaction in God's creatures! How is it, Sidney, the smallest do seem the happiest?

Sidney. Compensation for their weaknesses and their fears; compensation for the shortness of their existence. Their spirits mount upon the sunbeam above the eagle; they have more enjoyment in their one summer than the elephant in his cen


Brooke. Are not also the little and lowly in our species the most happy?

In our

Sidney. I would not willingly try nor over-curiously examine it. We, Greville, are happy in these parks and forests; we were happy in my close winter-walk of box, and laurestinus, and mezereon. earlier days did we not emboss our bosoms with the crocuses, and shake them almost unto shedding with our transports? Ah, my friend, there is a greater difference both in the stages of life and in the seasons of the year than in the conditions of men; yet the healthy pass through the seasons, from the clement to the inclement, not only unreluctantly, but rejoicingly, knowing that the worst will soon finish, and the best begin again anew and we are all desirous of pushing forward into every stage of life excepting that alone which ought reasonably to allure us most, as opening to us the Via Sacra, along which we move in triumph to our eternal country. We may in some measure frame our minds for the reception of happiness, for more or for less: but we should well consider to what port we are steering in search of it, and that even in the richest we shall find but a circumscribed and very exhaustible quality. There is a sickliness in the firmest of us, which induces us to change our side, though reposing ever so softly; yet, wittingly or unwittingly, we turn again soon into our old position. God hath granted unto both of us hearts easily contented; hearts fitted for every station,


because fitted for every duty. What appears the dullest may contribute most to our genius; what is most gloomy may soften the seeds and relax the fibres of gaiSometimes we are insensible to its kindlier influence, sometimes not. We enjoy the solemnity of the spreading oak above us; perhaps we owe to it in part the mood of our minds at this instant; perhaps an inanimate thing supplies me while I am speaking with all I possess of animation. Do you imagine that any contest of shepherds can afford them the same pleasure that I receive from the description of it; or that in their loves, however innocent and faithful, they are so free from anxiety as I am while I celebrate them? The exertion of intellectual power, of fancy and imagination, keeps from us greatly more than their wretchedness, and affords us greatly more than their enjoyment. We are motes in the midst of generations; we have our sunbeams to circuit and climb. Look at the summits of all the trees around us, how they move, and the loftiest the more so; nothing is at rest within the compass of our view except the grey moss on the park-pales. Let it eat away the dead oak, but let it not be compared to the living one.

Imaginary Conversations.



Ascham. Thou art going, my dear young lady, into a most awful state; thou art passing into matrimony and great wealth. God hath willed it. Submit in thankfulness. Thy affections are rightly placed and well distributed. Love is a secondary passion in those who love most, a primary in those who love least. He who is inspired by it in a high degree is inspired by honour in a higher: it never reaches its plenitude of growth and perfection but in the most exalted minds. Alas! alas!

Jane. What aileth my virtuous Ascham? What is amiss? Why do I tremble?

Ascham. I remember a sort of prophecy, made three years ago; it is a prophecy of thy condition and of my feelings on it. Recollectest thou who wrote, sitting upon the sea-beach, the evening after an excursion to the Isle of Wight, these verses? Invisibly bright water! so like air, On looking down I fear'd thou couldst not bear My little bark, of all light barks most light, And look'd again, and drew me from the sight, And, hanging back, breathed each fresh gale aghast, And held the bench, not to go on so fast.

Jane. I was very childish when I composed them; and, if I had thought any inore about the matter, I should have hoped

you had been too generous to keep them in your memory as witnesses against me.

Ascham. Nay, they are not much amiss for so young a girl, and there being so few of them, I did not reprove thee. Half an hour, I thought, might have been spent more unprofitably; and I now shall believe it firmly, if thou wilt but be led by them to meditate a little on the similarity of situation in which thou then wert to what thou

art now in.

Jane. I will do it, and whatever else you command; for I am weak by nature and very timorous, unless where a strong sense of duty holdeth and supporteth me. There God acteth, and not His creature. Those were with me at sea who would have been attentive to me if I had seemed to be afraid, even though worshipful men and women were in the company; so that something more powerful threw my fear overboard. Yet I never will go again upon the water.

Ascham. Exercise that beauteous couple, that mind and body, much and variously, but at home, at home, Jane! in-doors, and about things in-doors; for God is there too. We have rocks and quicksands on the banks of our Thames, O lady, such as Ocean never heard of; and many (who knows how soon!) may be ingulfed in the current under their garden walls.

Jane. Thoroughly do I now understand you. Yes, indeed, I have read evil things of courts; but I think nobody can go out bad who entereth good, if timely and true warning shall have been given.

Ascham. I see perils on perils which thou dost not see, albeit thou art wiser than thy poor old master. And it is not because Love hath blinded thee, for that surpasseth his supposed omnipotence; but it is because thy tender heart, having always leant affectionately upon good, hath felt and known nothing

of evil.

I once persuaded thee to reflect much: let me now persuade thee to avoid the habitude of reflection, to lay aside books, and to gaze carefully and steadfastly on what is under and before thee.

Jane. I have well bethought me of my duties: Oh, how extensive they are! what a goodly and fair inheritance! But tell me, would you command me never more to read Cicero, and Epictetus, and Plutarch, and Polybius? The others I do resign: they are good for the arbour and for the gravel walk: yet leave unto me, I beseech you, my friend and father, leave unto me for my fireside and my pillow, truth, eloquence, courage, constancy.

Ascham. Read them on thy marriage-bed, on thy child-bed, on thy death-bed. Thou spotless, undrooping lily, they have fenced

thee right well. These are the men for men: these are to fashion the bright and blessed creatures whom God one day shall smile upon in thy chaste bosom. Mind thou thy husband.

Jane. I sincerely love the youth who hath espoused me; I love him with the fondest, the most solicitous affection; I pray to the Almighty for his goodness and happiness, and do forget at times, unworthy supplicant! the prayers I should have offered for myself. Never fear that I will disparage my kind, religious teacher by disobedience to my husband in the most trying duties.

Ascham. Gentle is he, gentle and virtuous; but time will harden him: time must harden even thee, sweet Jane! Do thou, complacently and indirectly, lead him from ambition.

Jane. He is contented with me, and with home.

Ascham. Ah, Jane! Jane! men of high estate grow tired of contentedness.

Jane. He told me he never liked books unless I read them to him: I will read them to him every evening; I will open new worlds to him, richer than those discovered by the Spaniard: I will conduct him to treasures-oh, what treasures!-on which he may sleep in innocence and peace.

Ascham. Rather do thou walk with him, ride with him, play with him, be his fairy, his page, his everything that love and poetry have invented: but watch him well; sport with his fancies, turn them about,—like the ringlets round his cheek; and if he ever meditate on power, go toss up thy baby to his brow, and bring back his thoughts into his heart by the music of thy discourse.

Teach him to live unto God and unto thee; and he will discover that women, like the plants in woods, derive their softness and tenderness from the shade. Imaginary Conversations.


born 1776, Fellow of Oriel College, 1798, Bishop of Killaloe and Kilfenora, 1820, of Down and Connor, 1823, and of Dromore, 1842, died 1848. He is best known as coeditor with the Rev. Richard D'Oyly of a Bible published by the Society for Promoting Christian Knowledge,-the Bible, with Notes Explanatory and Practical, taken from the most Eminent Writers of the Church of England, Oxford, 1817, 3 vols. 4to; edited by Bishop Hobart, with additions, New York, 1818-20, 2 vols. 4to. Mant also published An Appeal to the Gospel: Bampton Lecture, Oxf. and Lond., 1812, 8vo; The Book of

Common Prayer, Selected with Notes, 1820, must know that obedience to the command4to; The Book of Psalms in an English Met-ments of Christ is on every account the duty rical Version, with Notes, Oxf., 1824, 8vo; of him who calls himself a Christian. Is, Biographical Notices of the Apostles, Evan- then, the partaking in the sacrament of the gelists, and other Saints, Oxf., 1828, 8vo; Lord's Supper one of the commandments of The Clergyman's Obligations Considered, 2d Christ? Hear and consider the words of one edit., Oxf., 1830, 18mo; The Gospel Miracles: of His Apostles, and then answer for yourin a Series of Poetical Sketches, etc., 1832; selves. The British Months; a Poem, 1835, 2 vols. fp. 8vo; History of the Church of Ireland, 1839-41, 2 vols. 8vo; also Poems, Oxf., 1806, sm. 8vo, and five volumes of Sermons, 1813 -38.



You know that the Son of God undertook to redeem and save mankind from the sad state [of sin] into which they had fallen ;to satisfy the offended justice of His Father; to suffer in His own person, and thereby to make atonement, for the sins of men ;-and at the same time to repair and renew that nature, which was so fatally polluted and diseased, by giving to men a new spirit, and by enabling them both to will and to do things pleasing unto God. You know that in order to this, the Son of God was made man; that in that form He took upon Himself the nature and the sins of men ;;-that He then submitted to a cruel and disgraceful death, for the redemption and salvation of you and all mankind; whom He thus restored to the favour of God, and thereby made it possible for you to recover that piness which had been lost by the original fall of our first parents. Finally, you know that God was so pleased with the wonderful love and goodness shown in this precious sacrifice of His Son, that He promised to pardon all men who through faith in IIis blood should truly repent of their sins, and should prove their repentance by obeying the commandments of His Son, and should thus fulfil the conditions which He was pleased to appoint for their salvation.

"I have received of the Lord" (saith St. Paul in his first Epistle to the Corinthians) "that which also I delivered unto you, That the Lord Jesus the same night in which he was betrayed took bread: and when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you this do in remembrance of me. After the same manner also he took the cup, when he had supped, saying, This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me. For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord's death till he come. (1 Cor. xi. 23-26.) If you attend to this passage, you will find an express commandment positively and clearly given by our Saviour, Jesus Christ, in these words, which occur twice in the course of the passage: "This do in remembrance of me." Christ, then, commanded something to be done.

If again you consider the passage, you will find what it was that He commanded to be done. He was blessing and giving bread and wine, when He told the persons to whom He gave them, to do the same things in rehap-membrance of Him. To bless and give bread and wine, then, are the things which Christ commanded to be done.

These things (I say) you all know; and knowing these things, must you not think, nay, rather, must you not know, it to be a duty which you owe to Christ, to obey any commandment which He may lay upon you, in return for the sufferings which He endured for your sakes and for the blessings which He has purchased for you? Must you not know it to be a duty, which you owe to yourselves, to obey His commandments, if on your obedience to His commandments depends the question, whether or not you shall receive any share in those blessings which He died to purchase?

Surely the most inattentive and thoughtless man amongst you, if he think at all,

If again you consider the passage, and compare it with the accounts given of the institution of the Lord's Supper by St. Matthew, St. Mark, and St. Luke, you will perceive that the commandment of Christ to bless and give bread and wine in remembrance of Him, was first committed to His Apostles, at that time the ministers of His word:-and if you further consider it, you will perceive that it was not meant to be confined to them alone, but was also committed to those who should succeed the Apostles as ministers of the Gospel, because St. Paul speaks of "shewing the Lord's death till he come." And as the Lord will not come again before the end of the world, the commandment must remain in force as long

as the world shall last.

You see, then, that the ministers of Christ are commanded by Him to bless and to give bread and wine in remembrance of Him. And to whom are they to give them? Why certainly to the people committed to their spiritual charge; who are therefore as much bound to attend and partake in the Lord's

Supper as the minister is bound to attend and distribute it: for we cannot give as we are commanded, unless you are ready to receive. Is it not, then, the commandment of your Lord and Saviour Jesus Christ that you partake in the holy communion of His body and blood? Is not the partaking in it a duty which you owe to Christ who died for you, and to whom you promised obedience at your baptism? And is it not a duty which you owe to yourselves, if you would receive any benefit from His death?

And this I say, Christian brethren, even supposing this to be no more than an ordinary commandment of our Saviour. But there are circumstances which distinguish this from all other commandments, and make it in an especial manner your duty. It is the last and, as it were, the dying commandment and request of your Saviour. He who was on the right hand of God the Father, in whom shone the fulness of His Father's glory, and who was the express image of his person: He humbled Himself for He took your nature and form upon Him; He became obedient unto death, even the cruel and ignominious death of the cross; and when He was now upon the point of fulfilling His surprising love towards you by laying down His life for your sakes, He gives you this commandment, that you eat and drink the bread and wine offered you by His ministers! Is not the last request of a dying friend entitled to some regard? And of Him, too, who was such a friend?


It is the way by which you are to show remember" Christ, and have a




just sense of His goodness towards you "This do" (said He) “in remembrance of me." You may indeed say that you remember Christ, that you have a just sense of His goodness, although you do not partake in the communion of His body and blood. But if He has appointed a particular way by which He would have you remember Him, I know not how you can show that do remember Him, except by following that one way; and I know not how you can stand acquitted of forgetfulness and ingratitude to Ilim, unless you perform this His command



The partaking in the Lord's Supper is again the only proper act of Christian worship. The professors of other religions, Jews, Turks, and Heathens, worship God by praying too, by thanking, and by praising Him. In addition to these acts of worship, Christians perform that of eating and drinking bread and wine, as Christ has commanded. So that however devoutly you may worship God in general when you come to Church, you do not in so strict a sense worship as Christians unless you partake in the

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bread and wine, which represents the body and blood of Christ; and thus perform that act which Christ has made a mark of distinction to His followers.

The partaking in the holy communion is also a duty which you owe to yourselves on account of the benefits which you may receive from it: not only that benefit which may be expected by all who generally fulfil God's commandments, but those particular benefits which follow upon a hearty and conscientious performance of this. Sermons, Vol. i., 249.

HENRY HALLAM, LL.D., Eton and Oxford, died 1859, was the author born at Windsor, 1777, and educated at of three great works, "either of which," as I have remarked in another place, "is of sufficient merit to confer upon the author literary immortality": A View of the State 1818, 2 vols. 4to (supplementary Notes, of Europe during the Middle Ages, Lond., 1848, 8vo), 11th edit., 1855, 3 vols. cr. 8vo, Popular edition, 1857, 3 vols. p. 8vo, New York, Widdleton, 3 vols. cr. 8vo, in French, by P. Dudouit and A. R. Borghers, Paris, 1830-32, 4 vols. 8vo, 2d edit., 1837, 4 vols. 8vo; The Constitutional History of England, from the Accession of Henry VII. to the Death of George II., 1760, Lond., 1827, 2 vols. 4to, 8th edit., 1855, 3 vols. cr. 8vo, Popular edition, 1857, 3 vols. post 8vo, New York, Widdleton, 3 vols. cr. 8vo, in French, add to it Constitutional History of Engedited by Guizot, Paris, 1828, 4 vols. 8vo: land since the Accession of George III., 1760-1820, by Sir T. E. May, Lond., 1871, 3 vols. 8vo; New York, 1880, 12mo; Introduction to the Literature of Europe, in the 15th, 16th, and 17th Centuries, Lond., 1837-39, 4 vols. 8vo, 5th edit., 1856, 4 vols. cr. 8vo, New York, 4 vols. cr. 8vo, in French, by M. A. Borghers, Paris, 1839, 4 vols. 8vo.

"The cold academic style of Robertson may suit the comparative calmness of the eighteenth century, but the fervour and animation of its close commu

nicated itself to the historical works of the next.

HALLAM was the first historian whose style gave token of the coming change; his works mark the transition from one age and style of literature to

another. In extent and variety of learning, and

a deep acquaintance with antiquarian lore, the historian of the Middle Ages may deservedly take a place with the most eminent writers in that style that Europe has produced; but his style is more imaginative than those of his laborious predecessors, and a fervent eloquence or poetic expression often reveals the ardour which the heartstirring events of his time had communicated to his disposition."-SIR ARCHIBALD ALISON: Hist. of Europe, 1815-1852, ch. v.

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