a review, have yet the patience to go through large venerable volumes for the thoughts' sake, and for the many indirect aids they may furnish in the professions-for the pleasure of exploring the heaps or disorderly profusion of facts, opinions, fancies, inventions, and feelings, just as they crowded from the writer's mind,-inviting to such an exercise of powers, if one would experience all their richness and beauty, as would enable the student and reviewer to throw them into new, and, it may be, happier groups. Nature herself will ever inspire, as she lies beneath the eye of man; and the smaller artist may select and arrange the particulars which have been greedily and confusedly collected by some giant hand, and think himself a

creator.

Such thorough readers are the last to endure what are called beautiful extracts, the gems of an author, to serve as specimens. These are thought to be delusive. They tell you only the selecter's preference of this and that. A star may lose none of its beauty, and even gain in man's estimation, when seen alone, divided, as it were, from the populous realm of orbs to which it belongs. But it is not so with a fine literary fragment. A beautiful thought is here separated from much that would increase its effect and character; and more than this, you give it something of a nature and value to which it has no rightful claim, that do not belong to it in its place; so that when you take up the whole work, as you may be tempted to do, you will be on the outlook for such passages all the time, to the neglect and undervaluing of the rest of the book. Therefore what you admired so much before may never pass afterwards for its true worth, from your having taking it for something it was not. And here we must observe, that the edition of the Old English Prose Writers, named at the head of this paper, gives us entire works; so that, in as far as we go into an author's productions, a fair view is afforded of his genius, and of the particular performance mentioned, preparing us for a thorough study of all his writings.

Some may think that one good effect of a publication conducted on the principle of the one before us, will be to undeceive us, as to the real worth of many a writer, who has been ostentatiously referred to for years by learned men, as if he were their property, and they the only competent judges of his merit. Their word was the only pledge that his name should be celebrated among the many. Once there was a degree of mystery thrown over the less accessible books in our language, and a natural homage paid to what the initiated few alone could know. Thus, no doubt, a great deal of vague, exaggerated, and factitious praise has been bestowed by some modern critics upon these obscure writings in the belief, we must suppose, that the public, that the many, would never look into the matter. The studious few may, in their turn, have had a

false distinction conferred upon them for their exclusive_possession and professed knowledge of a presumed great secret. But let not the pretender exult, nor the simple and credulous be entire idolaters. The older literature has been for some years working its own way out of dingy recesses. The rare and heavy folios have been opened and thrown into portable octavos, even pocket-sized shapes; and the notice of general and also of dainty readers, as well as of critics, scholars, and professional men, has been commanded. That prevailing activity of mind which makes men seek for truth and for what is hid in every direction, and for gratification in every variety of thought and style, has not only put the living upon endless researches and inventions, but awakened our English dead to set forth fresher forms of ideas and expression, closer sentences of practical wisdom, more luxuriant imagery, and more apt, though frequently quaint or grotesque allusion, than their followers may readily match.

And even if these our less known ancients tell us much that is not new, either having been said before in Athens or in Rome, or been made familiar to us in the writings of their later admirers, who have not scrupled to borrow as well as praise; and if their most remarkable sayings often take the form of brief, careless, unpretending hints, whose full import might have surprised their authors, and one of which, in these days of complete views and expanded discussion, might fill a volume and establish a writer's name; yet all this does not and should not lessen our desire to see these men at work, to learn their ways, and listen to their very words. Their diction makes no small part of their originality, attractiveness, and value. Let the thought be nowise remarkable, yet it shall be expressed in a way that will draw attention and make deeper impressions-render the mind active upon related things, and see as if in a clearly conceived and distinctly executed picture what in other writers might be only a floating generality, or a confused and feeble combination-a bald abstraction, a truth to be admitted, but not felt or dwelt upon.

Long acquaintance with the elder prose need not and will not necessarily render our modern English speech too picturesque. The revival of an antiquated word or turn of expression need not be countenanced. All that we want is that the spirit of the earlier masters should be upon us, and not that we should ape their manner, or borrow what was merely outward and unessential.

In one of the volumes before us is to be found Sir Philip Sidney's "Defence of Poesy," which suggests a few observations.

It may be asked, for instance, how could this "Defence" be suggested or needed in the reign of Elizabeth, the greatest poetical age of England? How could he, who, with Raleigh, was the friend and almost the idol of Spenser, have thought that such a man's art

required apology or a champion? And as to the encouragement it might be supposed to offer to the great minds of the era, could Shakspere ever have regarded Sir Philip's views of dramatic poetry, and yet written plays that were so at variance with them? To leave questions and to come to the fact; the young chevalier seems to have girded himself for a battle against the pride and narrowness of the schoolmen, and the prejudices of the ignorant and bigoted, arraying against them learning, argument, expostulation, and satire; and not forgetting gentle appeals to those who had not yet decidedly gone over to the barbarians.

Sir Philip has gone to his work with all his heart; not to write a didactic treatise on poetry, as if such a work were no more called for then, than in the days of Aristotle, Horace, or Boileau: but to correct a present fatal error in some, to prepare the eyes of many more to look steadily on a new and powerful light; in short, to accomplish a great purpose at that time in the certainty that if his countrymen were once put in the right way, all would go on very well afterwards.

The object of the "Defence" is to state the claims of poetry strongly, even to the putting down of history and philosophy, should they pretend to equal agency on the minds of men. "Neither philosophers nor historiographers," he says, "could at the first have entered into the gates of popular judgments, if they had not taken a great disport of poetry." In prosecuting this object the ripe modern reader may see that Sir Philip has fallen into some puerilities, some injustice to other studies, some excess in pushing a simple thing too far and that barely deserved mentioning at all. In speaking of the different forms or classes of poetry, he does not always go enough into their essence or whole character. But he is full of spirit upon the one great point that poetry is the power to move the mind-to kindle and elevate it, to mould and purify it-to give impulse rather than direction, and pictures rather than facts and opinions. "The philosopher with his learned definitions,' he says, be it of virtue or vice, matters of public policy or private government, replenisheth the memory with many infallible grounds of wisdom, which, notwithstanding, lie dark before the imagination and judging power, if they be not illuminated or figured forth by the speaking picture of poetry." Again,

"To be moved to do that which we know, or to be moved with desire to know, herein of all sciences (I speak still of human, and according to the human conceit) is our poet the monarch. For he doth not only show the way, but giveth so sweet a prospect into the way, as will entice any man to enter into it: nay, he doth, as if your journey should lie through a fair vineyard, at the very first give you a cluster of grapes, that full of that taste you may long to pass farther. He beginneth not with obscure definitions, which must blur the margin with interpretations, and load the

memory with doubtfulness, but he cometh to you with words set in delightful proportion, either accompanied with, or prepared for, the well-enchanting skill of music; and with a tale, forsooth, he cometh unto you, with a tale that holdeth children from play, and old men from the chimney-corner; and, pretending no more, doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue; even as the child is often brought to take wholesome things, by hiding them in such other as have a pleasant taste; which, if one should begin to tell them the nature of the aloes or rhubarbarum they should receive, would sooner take their physic at their ears than at their mouth so is it in men (most of them are childish in their best things till they be cradled in their graves); glad they will be to hear the tales of Hercules, Achilles, Cyrus, and Æneas; and hearing them must needs hear the right description of wisdom, valour, and justice; which, if they had been barely, that is to say, philosophically, set out, they would swear they be brought to school again."

:

It would be hardly fair were we to select more from this little treatise, which every one should read. We therefore leave it with grateful remembrance of the author's wit and devotedness, of his animated and joyous descriptions, and of the beauties of language that are scattered over the whole; of words, phrases, and images which, however antiquated, have yet to those who are little acquainted with, or accustomed to, them, the newness and the gloss of youth, and the greater force and beauty because they are free from every thing like common-place.

The immediate effect of the "Defence" may not be easily settled. But we may believe that so much excellent, generous sentiment, warmly and yet reasonably set forth, and coming from a courtier, knight, scholar, and poet, the loved and admired of all, may have done much to give dignity to an art, which, from Sir Philip's own account, appears to have been in little popular esteem, and which he is constrained to call," this now scorned skill."

In the same volume where the "Defence" appears is to be found John Selden's "Table Talk," a writer who flourished in the first half of the seventeenth century. What would Sir Philip Sidney have made of such a man as Selden? Courteous as he was, and an admirer of profound learning, still could the knight have pardoned such a view of poetry as this, come from whom it might?

As

""Tis a fine thing for children to learn to make verse: but when they come to be men, they must speak like other men, or else they will be laughed at. 'Tis ridiculous to speak, or write, or preach in verse. 'tis good to learn to dance, a man may learn his leg, learn to go handsomely; but 'tis ridiculous for him to dance when he should go.

"'Tis ridiculous for a lord to print verses: 'tis well enough to make them to please himself; but to make them public is foolish. If a man in a private character twirls his band-springs, or plays with a rush to please himself, 'tis well enough; but if he should go into Fleet-street, and sit VOL. III. (1841.) No. IV. 2 P

upon a stall, and twirl a band-spring, or play with a rush, then all the boys in the street would laugh at him."

"Verse proves nothing but the quantity of syllables; they are not meant for logic."

The "Table-Talk" is a collection of remarks, &c. that fell from Selden in familiar conversation, and were preserved by his secretary. They are probably well enough reported. They certainly have a marked character throughout. The wit and humour-sometimes a little homely and cynical-the strong sense, the sturdy independence, the easy use of learning, the knowledge of everything that is going on, and a clear opinion about it,-these all belong to one and the same man. But the reader will be most likely to remember his dry quiet way of saying grave things; as in these passages:"A king outed of his country, that takes as much upon him as he did at home, in his own court, is as if a man on high, and I being upon the ground, used to lift up my voice to him, that he might hear me, at length should come down, and then expects I should speak as loud to him as I did before.” "Old friends are best. King James used to call for his old shoes; they were easiest to his feet."""Twas an unhappy division that has been made between faith and works. Though in my intellect I may divide them, just as in the candle I know there is both light and heat, but yet put out the candle, and they are both gone." "Catholics say, we out of our charity believe they of the church of Rome may be saved, but they do not believe so of us; therefore their church is better, according to ourselves. Is that an argument their church is better than ours, because it has less charity?"

son.

The "Religio Medici" of Sir Thomas Browne is the principal work of one of the volumes of the "Library of the Old English Prose Writers." He is an author who seems to have been more generally read and esteemed than most of the early ones, a circumstance that may be ascribed partly to his peculiar merit, and partly to his life having been written by so popular a person as Dr. JohnHe is, indeed, a writer and thinker of rare excellence, and the value of what he has left behind him has been proved by the admiration of those who have lived among opinions and manners different from those of his own time. When you When you first open his book, you perceive at once that you are communing with a mind that has arrived at peculiar results by peculiar processes. The stamp of originality is upon every sentence. Nothing is taken at second-hand, and nothing suggests obvious and familiar associations. The range of his mind is boundless, and he seems acquainted with every province of thought. There is a nobility and grandeur in his ideas and sentiments which show them to come from a mind accustomed to take the most comprehensive views, to compare their