"But with all the defects of this posthumous work, I read it with a pleasure surpassed by nothing but my disgust to the posthumous works of Butler, Whence could this difference arise in these works of sheer wit and sheer wisdom? I suppose from this, that sheer wit, being indeed folly, is opposite to sheer wisdom answer. Dr. Hurd makes the following remarks in "The composition of the characters in Lord Clarendon's Continuation is, as you truly observe, its chief fault: of which the following, I suppose, may be the reason. Besides that business and age, and misfortunes, had perhaps sunk his spirits, the Continuation is not so properly the history of the first six years of Charles the Second, as an anxious apology for the share himself had in the administration. This 'has hurt the composition in several respects. Amongst others, he could not with decency allow his pen that scope in his delineation of the chief characters of the court, who were all his personal enemies, as he had done in that of the enemies to the King and Monarchy in the Grand Rebellion. The endeavour to keep up a shew of candour, and especially to prevent the appearance of a rancorous resentment, has deadened his colouring very much, besides that it made him sparing in the use of it. Else, his inimitable pencil had attempted, at least to do justice to Bennet, to Berkeley, to Coventry, to the nightly cabal of facetious memory, to the Lady, and if his excessive loyalty had not intervened, to his infamous master himself. That there was somewhat of this in the case, seems clear from some passages where he was not so restrained; such, for instance, as the additional touches to Falkland's and Southampton's cha racters. With all this, I am apt to think there may still be something in what I said of the nature of the subject. Exquisite virtue and enormous vice afford a fine field for the historian's genius. And hence Livy and Tacitus are, in their way, perhaps equally entertaining But the little intrigues of a selfish court, about carrying or defeating this or that measure, about displacing this, and bringing in that minister, which interest nobody very much but the parties concerned, can hardly be made very striking by any abilities of the relator. If Cardinal de Retz has succeeded, his scene was busier, and of another nature from that of Lord Clarendon. But however this be, and when all abatements are made, one finds the same gracious facility of expression; above all, one observes the same love of virtue and dignity of sentiment, which ennobled the History of the Rebellion. And if this raises one's ideas, most, of the writer, the Continuation supports and confirms all that one was led to conceive of the man and the minister. April 1, 1809 N° LXXIII. Letter to the Ruminator. MR. RUMINATOR, I WRITE from an impulse of gratitude. At this delightful season, when a poetic imagination acquires redoubled influence, I reflect with 'enthusiasm on the many hours of enjoyment which your lucubrations have bestowed on me. In those essays, Sir, I have ever met with sentiments with which it has afforded me the purest pleasure to feel my own ideas in unison; though I know not with what propriety I now trouble you with this declaration, coming from an unknown and obscure individual. Sir, there is a certain mode of life, and peculiarity of situation, which is more likely than any other to produce and cherish poetic enthusiasm. To be accustomed from infancy to the deepest seclusion, and to the wild and majestic scenery of nature, though accompanied with some disadvantages, is perhaps the greatest mean of laying a foundation for this temper of mind. The placid tranquillity of verdant woods, the roaring of the mountain torrent, the sweet interchange, and inexpressible in fluence of morn and evening, contemplated in the bosom of magnificent scenery, must sooner or later produce, in a mind possessed of any feeling, a correspondent glow of sentiment and imagination. Even Johnson, whose indifference to rural beauty is well known, has yet borne testimony in one of the most striking passages of his Journey through Scotland to its powerful influence. I have not the book within reach, and therefore cannot quote; but the passage is probably known to every reader whom I should wish to interest. From my earliest recollections, I have been familiarized to seclusion, in a beautiful and sequestered corner of the country. To you, Sir, it is unnecessary to describe the various enjoyments, which, in a situation of this kind, must await a mind attached to contemplation, and which can employ itself in pursuit of the Muses. It has been my supreme delight to wander through groves, and sequestered vallies, where no intruder was ever known to disturb the freedom of solitary meditation; and to indulge myself in pouring forth, amid the blast that swept over the neighbouring forest, innumerable attempts at poetical composition, with but little consideration of their fate, or regard to correctness. But heavens! how boundless are the intentions! how wild and impossible the designs! and above all, how glorious and transporting the poetical visions, which have adorned the day-dreams in which I so much delighted to indulge! Even now, I cannot help reflecting with enthusiasm on the unmixed happiness which I then enjoyed. One remark very forcibly occurs to my recollection, which is, that of all the classical authors known to me at present, those which formerly became my associates, in wandering through the woods, and which I was accustomed to read aloud to the dashing waterfall, are recollected with most gratitude, and above all others most forcibly imprinted on the memory. I cannot however, when talking of a country life, use the words of Cowper, "I never framed a wish, or formed a plan, for having been told that it was most commendable to follow some profession, I conquered, in idea, every obstacle, and established my abode in cities, amid the hum of men,' with as little difficulty as I had before entered the court of the Fairy Queen, or quaffed ale along with warriors, in the hall of Odin. But the time has at last arrived, when these threats were to be put into execution; and when that which is commonly called life began to dawn— Alas, Mr. Ruminator! I have here found a brilliant imagination to be but a deceitful guide. My golden |