brated military commander, and conqueror of Scinde. In defending his brother, Sir William breaks out into the following eloquent reference to the great poet of his generation: Eulogium on Lord Byron. But while the Lord High Commissioner, Adam, could only see in the military resident of Cephalonia a person to be crushed by the leaden weight of power without equity, there was another observer in that island who appreciated, and manfully proclaimed the great qualities of the future conqueror of Scinde. This man, himself a butt for the rancour of envious dullness, was one whose youthful genius pervaded the world while he lived, and covered it with a pall when he died. For to him mountain and plain, torrent and lake, the seas, the skies, the earth, light and darkness, and even the depths of the human heart, gave up their poetic secrets; and he told them again, with such harmonious melody, that listening nations marvelled at the sound; and when it ceased, they sorrowed. Lord Byron noted, and generously proclaimed the merits which Sir Frederick Adam marked as defects. Sir William Napier died February 12, 1860. Assault of Badajos. From The History of the War in the Peninsula. Dry but clouded was the night, the air was thick with watery exhalations from the rivers, the ramparts and trenches unusually still; yet a low murmur pervaded the latter, and in the former lights flitted here and there, while the deep voices of the sentinels proclaimed from time to time that all was well in Badajos. The French, confiding in Phillipon's direful skill, watched from their lofty station the approach of enemies they had twice before baffled, and now hoped to drive a third time blasted and ruined from the walls. The British, standing in deep columns, were as eager to meet that fiery destruction as the others were to pour it down, and either were alike terrible for their strength, their discipline, and the passions awakened in their resolute hearts. Former failures there were to avenge on one side; on both, leaders who furnished no excuse for weakness in the hour of trial, and the possession of Badajos was become a point of personal honour with the soldiers of each nation; but the desire for glory on the British part was dashed with a hatred of the citizens from an old grudge, and recent toil and hardship, with much spilling of blood, had made many incredibly savage; for these things, which render the noble-minded averse to cruelty, harden the vulgar spirit. Numbers also, like Cæsar's centurion, who could not forget the plunder of Avaricum, were heated with the recollection of Rodrigo, and thirsted for spoil. Thus every passion found a cause of excitement, the wondrous power of discipline bound the whole together as with a band of iron, and in the pride of arms none doubted their might to bear down every obstacle that man could oppose to their fury. At ten o'clock, the castle, the San Roque, the breaches, the Pardaleras, the distant bastion of San Vincente, and the bridge-head on the other side of the Guadiana, were to be simultaneously assailed. It was hoped the strength of the enemy would quickly shrivel within that fiery girdle, but many are the disappointments of war. An unforeseen accident delayed the attack of the fifth division, and a lighted carcass, thrown from the castle, falling close to the third division, exposed its columns, and forced it to anticipate the signal by half an hour. Thus everything was suddenly disturbed, yet the double columns of the fourth and light divisions moved silently and swiftly against the breaches, and the guard of the trenches, rushing forward with a shout, encompassed the San Roque with fire, and broke in so violently that scarcely any resistance was made. Soon, however, a sudden blaze of light and the rattling of musketry indicated the commencement of a more vehement combat at the castle. There Kempt-for Picton, hurt by a fall in the camp, and expecting no change in the hour, was not present-there Kempt, I say, led the third division. He passed the Rivillas in single files by a narrow bridge under a terrible musketry, re-formed and ran up the rugged hill, to fall at the foot of the castle severely wounded. Being carried back to the trenches, he met Picton at the bridge hastening to take the command, but meanwhile the troops, spreading along the front, had reared their heavy ladders, some against the lofty castle, some against the adjoining front on the left, and with incredible courage ascended amidst showers of heavy stones, logs of wood, and bursting shells rolled off the parapet, while from the flanks musketry was plied with fearful rapidity, and in front, with pikes and bayonets, the leading assailants were stabbed and the ladders pushed from the walls: and all this was attended with deafening shouts, the crash of breaking ladders, and the shrieks of crushed soldiers answering to the sullen stroke of the fallen weights. Still swarming round the remaining ladders, those undaunted veterans strove who should first climb; but all were overturned, the French shouted victory, while the British, baffled, yet untamed, fell back a few paces, and took shelter under the rugged edge of the hill. There the broken ranks being re-formed, the heroic Colonel Ridge, springing forward, called with stentorian voice on his men to follow, and, seizing a ladder, raised it against the castle, to the right of the former attack, where the wall was lower, and where an embrasure offered some facility: a second ladder was placed alongside of his by the grenadier officer, Canch, and the next instant he and Ridge were on the rampart, the shouting troops pressed after them, and the garrison, amazed and in a manner surprised, were driven fighting through the double gate into the town: the castle was won. Soon a reinforcement from the French reserve came to the gate, through which both sides fired, and the enemy retired; but Ridge fell, and no man died that night with more glory-yet many died, and there was much glory. All this time the tumult at the breaches was such as if the earth had been rent asunder, and its central fires bursting upwards uncontrolled. The two divisions reached the glacis just as the firing at the castle had commenced, and the flash of a single musket, discharged from the covered way as a signal, shewed them the French were ready; yet no stir followed, and darkness covered the breaches. Some hay-packs were then thrown, some ladders placed, and the forlorn-hopes and storming-parties of the light division, five hundred in all, descended into the ditch without opposition; but then a bright flame, shooting upwards, displayed all the terrors of the scene. The ramparts, crowded with dark figures and glittering arms, were on one side; on the other, the red columns of the British, deep and broad, coming on like streams of burning lava; it was the touch of the magician's wand; a crash of thunder followed, and the storming-parties were dashed to pieces by the explosion of hundreds of shells and powder-barrels. For an instant the light division soldiers stood on the brink of the ditch, amazed at the terrific sight, but then, with a shout that matched even the sound of the explosion, they flew down the ladders, or, disdaining their aid, leaped, reckless of the depth, into the gulf below; and nearly at the same moment, amidst a blaze of musketry that dazzled the eyes, the fourth division came running in to descend with a like fury. There were only five ladders for both columns, which were close together, and the deep cut made in the bottom of the ditch, as far as the counter-guard of the Trinidad, was filled with water from the inundation; into this miry snare the head of the fourth division fell, and it is said above a hundred of the Fusileers, the men of Albuera, were there smothered. Those who followed, checked not, but, as if the disaster had been expected, turned to the left, and thus came upon the face of the unfinished ravelin, which, flame. In one of these attempts Colonel Macleod of the rough and broken, was mistaken for the breach, and 43d, whose feeble body would have been quite unfit for instantly covered with men; a wide and deep chasm was, war if it had not been sustained by an unconquerable however, still between them and the ramparts, from spirit, was killed. Wherever his voice was heard, there whence came a deadly fire, wasting their ranks. Thus his soldiers gathered, and with such strong resolution baffled, they also commenced a rapid discharge of did he lead them up the ruins, that when one, falling musketry, and disorder ensued; for the men of the behind him, plunged a bayonet into his back, he comlight division, whose conducting engineer had been dis- plained not, but continuing his course, was shot dead abled early, having their flank confined by an unfinished | within a yard of the sword-blades. There was, however, ditch intended to cut off the Santa Maria, rushed no want of gallant leaders or desperate followers, until towards the breaches of the curtain and the Trinidad, two hours passed in these vain efforts convinced the which were indeed before them, but which the fourth soldiers the Trinidad was impregnable; and as the division had been destined to storm. opening in the curtain, although less strong, was retired, and the approach impeded by deep holes and cuts made in the ditch, the troops did not much notice it after the partial failure of one attack, which had been made early. Gathering in dark groups, and leaning on their muskets, they looked up with sullen desperation at the Trinidad, while the enemy stepping out on the ramparts, and aiming their shots by the light of the fireballs which they threw over, asked, as their victims fell, Why they did not come into Badajos ? Great was the confusion; the ravelin was crowded with men of both divisions, and while some continued to fire, others jumped down and ran towards the breach; many also passed between the ravelin and the counterguard of the Trinidad; the two divisions got mixed, and the reserves, which should have remained at the quarries, also came pouring in until the ditch was quite filled, the rear still crowding forward, and all cheering vehemently. The enemy's shouts also were loud and terrible; and the bursting of shells and of grenades, the roaring of guns from the flanks, answered by the iron howitzers from the parallel, the heavy roll and horrid explosion of the powder-barrels, the whizzing flight of the blazing splinters, the loud exhortations of the officers, and the continual clatter of the muskets, made a maddening din. Now a multitude bounded up the great breach as if driven by a whirlwind: but across the top glittered a range of sword-blades, sharp-pointed, keen-edged, immovably fixed in ponderous beams chained together and set deep in the ruins; and for ten feet in front the ascent was covered with loose planks studded with iron points, on which the feet of the foremost being set, the planks slipped, and the unhappy soldiers, falling forward on the spikes, rolled down upon the ranks behind. Then the Frenchmen, shouting at the success of their stratagem, and leaping forward, plied their shot with terrible rapidity, for every man had several muskets, and each musket, in addition to its ordinary charge, contained a small cylinder of wood stuck full of wooden slugs, which scattered like hail when they were discharged. Once and again the assailants rushed up the breaches, but the sword-blades, immovable and impassable, always stopped the charge, and the hissing shells and thundering powder-barrels exploded unceasingly. Hundreds of men had now fallen, hundreds more were dropping, yet the heroic officers still called aloud for new trials, and sometimes followed by many, sometimes by few, ascended the ruins; and so furious were the men themselves, that in one of these charges the rear strove to push the foremost on to the sword-blades, willing even to make a bridge of their writhing bodies; the others frustrated the attempt by dropping down, yet men fell so fast from the shot, it was hard to say who went down voluntarily, who were stricken, and many stooped unhurt that never rose again. Vain also would it have been to break through the sword-blades ; for a finished trench and parapet were behind the breach, where the assailants, crowded into even a narrower space than the ditch was, would still have been separated from their enemies, and the slaughter have continued. At the beginning of this dreadful conflict, Andrew Barnard had with prodigious efforts separated his division from the other, and preserved some degree of military array; but now the tumult was such, no command could be heard distinctly except by those close at hand, while the mutilated carcases heaped on each other, and the wounded, struggling to avoid being trampled upon, broke the formations: order was impossible! Nevertheless, officers of all stations, followed more or less numerously by the men, were seen to start out as if struck by a sudden madness, and rush into the breach, which, yawning and glittering with steel, seemed like the mouth of some huge dragon belching forth smoke and In this dreadful situation, while the dead were lying in heaps and others continually falling, the wounded crawling about to get some shelter from the merciless shower above, and withal a sickening stench from the burnt flesh of the slain, Captain Nicholas of the Engineers was observed, by Lieutenant Shaw of the 43d, making incredible efforts to force his way with a few men into the Santa Maria. Collecting fifty soldiers of all regiments, he joined him, and passing a deep cut along the foot of this breach, these two young officers, at the head of their band, rushed up the slope of the ruins; but ere they gained two-thirds of the ascent, a concentrated fire of musketry and grape dashed nearly the whole dead to the earth: Nicholas was mortally wounded, and the intrepid Shaw* stood alone! After this no further effort was made at any point, and the troops remained passive but unflinching beneath the enemy's shot, which streamed without intermission; for many of the riflemen on the glacis, leaping early into the ditch, had joined in the assault; and the rest, raked by a cross-fire of grape from the distant bastions, baffled in their aim by the smoke and flames from the explosions, and too few in number, had entirely failed to quell the French musketry. About midnight, when two thousand brave men had fallen, Wellington, who was on a height close to the quarries, sent orders for the remainder to retire and reform for a second assault; he had just then heard that the castle was taken, and thinking the enemy would still hold out in the town, was resolved to assail the breaches again. This retreat from the ditch was not effected without further carnage and confusion; for the French fire never slackened, and a cry arose that the enemy were making a sally from the flanks, which caused a rush towards the ladders. Then the groans and lamentations of the wounded, who could not move, and expected to be slain, increased; and many officers who did not hear of the order endeavoured to stop the soldiers from going back; some would even have removed the ladders, but were unable to break the crowd. All this time the third division lay close in the castle, and either from fear of risking the loss of a point which insured the capture of the place, or that the egress was too difficult, made no attempt to drive away the enemy from the breaches. On the other side, however, the fifth division had commenced the false attack on the Pardaleras, and on the right of the Guadiana the Portuguese were sharply engaged at the bridge; thus the town was girdled with fire; for Walker's brigade had, during the feint on the Pardaleras, escaladed the distant * Now Major-general Shaw Kennedy. Captain Nicholas, when dying, told the story of this effort, adding that he saw Shaw, repeating the hour aloud, declare that the breach could not be while thus standing alone, deliberately pull out his watch, and carried that night. with a few hundred soldiers, and entered San Christoval. Early next morning they surrendered upon summons to Lord Fitzroy Somerset, who with great readiness had pushed through the town to the drawbridge ere the French had time to organise further resistance; yet even at the moment of ruin, this noble governor had sent horsemen out from the fort in the night to carry the news to Soult's army, which they reached in time to prevent a greater misfortune. bastion of San Vincente. Moving up the bank of the place in various parts, and finally Veillande and Philriver, he reached a French guard-house at the barrier-lipon, both wounded, seeing all ruined, passed the bridge gate undiscovered, the ripple of the waters smothering the sound of the footsteps; but then the explosion at the breaches took place, the moon shone out, and the French sentinels, discovering the column, fired. The British soldiers, springing forward under a sharp musketry, began to hew down the wooden barrier at the covered way; but the Portuguese, panic-stricken, threw down the scaling-ladders; the others snatched them up, and forcing the barrier, jumped into the ditch; but there the guiding engineer was killed, there was a cunette which embarrassed the column, and when the foremost men succeeded in rearing the ladders, they were found too short, for the walls were generally above thirty feet high. The fire of the French was deadly, a small mine was sprung beneath the soldiers' feet, beams of wood and live shells were rolled over on their heads, showers of grape from the flank swept the ditch, and man after man dropped dead from the ladders. Fortunately, some of the defenders were called away to aid in recovering the castle, the ramparts were not entirely manned, and the assailants, having discovered a corner of the bastion where the scarp was only twenty feet high, placed three ladders under an embrasure which had no gun, and was only stopped with a gabion. Some men got up with difficulty, for the ladders were still too short, but the first man, being pushed up by his comrades, drew others after him, until many had gained the summit; and though the French shot heavily against them from both flanks and from a house in front, they thickened and could not be driven back. Half the 4th Regiment then entered the town itself, while the others pushed along the rampart towards the breach, and by dint of hard fighting successively won three bastions. In the last, General Walker, leaping forward sword in hand, just as a French cannoneer discharged a gun, fell with so many wounds, it was wonderful how he survived; and his soldiers, seeing a lighted match on the ground, cried out, "A mine!' At that word, such is the power of imagination, those troops whom neither the strong barrier nor the deep ditch, nor the high walls, nor the deadly fire of the enemy could stop, staggered back appalled by a chimera of their own raising; and in that disorder a French reserve under General Veillande drove on them with a firm and rapid charge, pitching some over the walls, killing others outright, and cleansing the ramparts even to the San Vincente : but there Leith had placed a battalion of the 38th, and when the French came up shouting and slaying all before them, it arose, and with one close volley destroyed them. Then the panic ceased, and in compact order the soldiers once more charged along the walls towards the breaches; yet the French, although turned on both flanks and abandoned by fortune, would not yield. Meanwhile the detachment of the 4th Regiment which had entered the town when the San Vincente was first carried, was strangely situated; for the streets, though empty, were brilliantly illuminated, no person was seen, yet a low buzz and whisper were heard around, lattices were now and then gently opened, and from time to time shots were fired from underneath the doors of the houses by the Spaniards, while the regiment, with bugles sounding, advanced towards the great square of the town. In its progress, several mules going with ammunition to the breaches were taken; but the square was as empty and silent as the streets, and the houses as bright with lamps. A terrible enchantment seemed to prevail; nothing to be seen but light, and only low whispers heard, while the tumult at the breaches was like the crashing thunder: there the fight raged; and quitting the square, the regiment attempted to take the enemy in reverse, but they were received with a rolling musketry, driven back with loss, and resumed their movement through the streets. At last the breaches were abandoned by the French, other parties entered the place, desultory combats took Now commenced that wild and desperate wickedness, which tarnished the lustre of the soldier's heroism. All indeed were not alike, hundreds risked and many lost their lives in striving to stop the violence; but madness generally prevailed, and the worst men being leaders, all the dreadful passions of human nature were displayed. Shameless rapacity, brutal intemperance, savage lust, cruelty and murder, shrieks and piteous lamentations, groans, shouts, imprecations, the hissing of fires bursting from the houses, the crashing of doors and windows, and the reports of muskets used in violence, resounded for two days and nights in the streets of Badajos! On the third, when the city was sacked, when the soldiers were exhausted by their own excesses, the tumult rather subsided than was quelled: the wounded men were then looked to, the dead disposed of. Five thousand men and officers fell during the siege, including seven hundred Portuguese; three thousand five hundred were stricken in the assault, sixty officers and more than seven hundred men slain on the spot. Five generals, Kempt, Harvey, Bowes, Colville, and Picton, were wounded, the first three severely; six hundred men and officers fell in the escalade of San Vincente, as many at the castle, and more than two thousand at the breaches: each division there lost twelve hundred! But how deadly the strife was at that point may be gathered from this: the 43d and 52d Regiments of the light division alone lost more men than the seven regiments of the third division engaged at the castle! Let it be remembered that this frightful carnage took place in a space of less than a hundred yards square; that the slain died not all suddenly, nor by one manner of death; that some perished by steel, some by shot, some by water; that some were crushed and mangled by heavy weights, some trampled upon, some dashed to atoms by the fiery explosions; that for hours this destruction was endured without shrinking, and the town was won at last these things considered, it must be admitted that a British army bears with it an awful power. And false would it be to say the French were feeble men; the garrison stood and fought manfully and with good discipline, behaving worthily. Shame there was none on any side. Yet who shall do justice to the bravery of the British soldiers? the noble emulation of the officers? Who shall measure out the glory of Ridge, of Macleod, of Nicholas, of O'Hare of the Rifles, who perished on the breach at the head of the stormers, and with him nearly all the volunteers for that desperate service? Who shall describe the springing valour of that Portuguese grenadier who was killed, the foremost man at the Santa Maria? or the martial fury of that desperate rifleman, who, in his resolution to win, thrust himself beneath the chained sword-blades, and there suffered the enemy to dash his head to pieces with the ends of their muskets? Who can sufficiently honour the intrepidity of Walker, of Shaw, of Canch, or the resolution of Ferguson of the 43d, who, having at Rodrigo received two deep wounds, was here, with his hurts still open, leading the stormers of his regiment, the third time a volunteer, and the third time wounded! Nor are these selected as pre-eminent; many and signal were the other examples of unbounded devotion, some known, some that will never be known; for in such a tumult much passed unobserved, and often the observers fell themselves ere they could bear testimony to what they saw but no age, no nation, ever sent forth braver troops to battle than those who stormed Badajos. When the havoc of the night was told to Wellington, the pride of conquest sunk into a passionate burst of grief for the loss of his gallant soldiers. Further light has been thrown on the Spanish war, as well as on the whole of our other military operations at the period, by the publication of The Despatches of Field-marshal the Duke of Welling ton, by LIEUTENANT-COLONEL GURWOOD, twelve volumes, 1836-38. The skill, moderation, and energy of the Duke of Wellington are strikingly illustrated by this compilation. No man ever before,' says a critic in the Edinburgh Review, 'had the gratification of himself witnessing the formation of such a monument to his glory. His despatches will continue to furnish, through every age, lessons of practical wisdom which cannot be too highly prized by public men of every station; whilst they will supply to military commanders, in particular, examples for their guidance which they cannot too carefully study, nor too anxiously endeavour to emulate.' The son of the Great Captain, the present Duke of Wellington, has published several additional volumes of his illustrious father's correspondence. The History of British India, by JAMES MILL (1773-1836), is by far the ablest work on our Indian empire. It was published in 1817-18, in five volumes. This work led to the author being employed in conducting the correspondence of the East India Company. Mr Mill was a man of acute and vigorous mind. He was a native of Logie Pert, near Montrose, and soon rose above his originally humble station by the force of his talents. He contributed to the leading reviews, co-operated with Jeremy Bentham and other zealous reformers, and also took a high position as an original thinker and metaphysician. He had early abandoned the creed of his youth, and become a sceptic as hard and confirmed as David Hume; and he taught his son, John Stuart Mill, to be equally unbelieving and equally decided in his unbelief. In fame and talent, however, the son eclipsed his father. Mr Mill's History has been continued to the close of the government of Lord W. Bentinck in 1835, by Mr Horace H. Wilson, the work then forming nine volumes, 1848. JAMES BOSWELL. A great number of biographical works were published during this period. The French have cultivated biography with more diligence than the English; but much has been done of late years to remedy this defect in our national literature. Individual specimens of great value we have long possessed. The Lives of Donne, Wotton, Hooker, and Herbert, by Izaak Walton, are entitled to the highest praise for the fullness of their domestic details, no less than for the fine simplicity and originality of their style. The Lives of the Poets, by Johnson, and the occasional Memoirs by Goldsmith, Mallet, and other authors, are either too general or too critical to satisfy the reader as representations of the daily life, habits, and opinions of those whom we venerate or admire. Mason's Life of Gray was a vast improvement on former biographies, as the interesting and characteristic correspondence of the poet, and his literary diary and journals, bring him personally before us, pursuing the silent course of his studies, or mingling occasionally as a retired scholar in the busy world around him. The success of Mason's bold and wise experiment prompted another and more complete work-The Life of Dr Johnson, by Boswell. JAMES BOSWELL (1740-1795) was by birth and education a gentleman of rank and station-the son of a Scottish judge, and heir to an ancient family and estate. He had studied for the bar; but being strongly impressed with admiration of the writings and character of Dr Johnson, he attached himself to the rugged moralist, soothed and flattered his irritability, submitted to his literary despotism and caprice; and sedulously cultivating his acquaintance and society whenever his engagements permitted, he took faithful and copious notes of his conversation. In 1773-Boswell. accompanied Johnson to the Hebrides; and after the death of the latter, he published, in 1785, his Journal of the Tour, being a record of each day's occurrences, and of the more striking parts of Johnson's conversation. The work was eminently successful. And in 1791 Boswell gave to the world his full-length portrait of his friend, The Life of Samuel Johnson, LL.D., in two volumes quarto. A second edition was published in 1794; and the author was engaged in preparing a third when he died. A great number of editions have since been printed, the latest of which was edited by Mr J. W. Croker. Anecdotes and recollections of Johnson were also published by Mrs Piozzi, Sir John Hawkins, Malone, Miss Reynolds, &c. Boswell had awakened public curiosity, and shewn how much wit, wisdom, and sagacity, joined to real worth and benevolence, were concealed under the personal oddities and ungainly exterior of Johnson. Never was there so complete a portraiture of any single individual. The whole time spent by Boswell in the society of his illustrious friend did not amount to more than nine months; yet so diligent was he in writing and inquiringso thoroughly did he devote himself to his subject, that notwithstanding his limited opportunities, and the claims of society, he was able to produce what all mankind have agreed in considering the best biography in existence. Though vain, dissipated, and conceited, Boswell had taste enough to discern the racy vigour and richness of Johnson's conversation, and he was observant enough to trace the peculiarities of his character and temperament. He forced himself into society, and neglected his family and his profession, to meet his friend; and he was content to be ridiculed and slighted, so that he could thereby add one page to his journal, or one scrap of writing to his collection. He sometimes sat up three nights in a week to fulfil his task, and hence there is a freshness and truth in his notes and impressions which attest their fidelity. Boswell must have possessed considerable dramatic power to have rendered his portraits and dialogues so animated and varied. His work introduces us to a great variety of living characters, who speak, walk, and think, as it were, in our presence; and besides furnishing us with useful, affecting, and ennobling lessons of morality, live over again the past for the delight and entertainment of countless generations of readers. Boswell's convivial habits hastened his death. In 1856 a volume of Letters addressed by Boswell to his friend the Rev. Mr Temple, was published, and painfully illustrated the weakness and vanity of his character. The talents and character of Boswell have been successfully vindicated by Carlyle from the strictures of Macaulay and others, who insist so strongly on the biographer's imputed meanness of spirit, egregious vanity, folly, and sensuality, scarcely allowing him a single redeeming good quality. His bad qualities, as Carlyle says, lay open to the general eye; his good qualities belonged not to the time he lived in, were far from common then, and indeed, in such a degree, were almost unexampled. Towards Johnson his feeling was not sycophancy, which is the lowest, but reverence, which is the highest, of human feelings.' 'Consider, too, with what force, diligence, and vivacity he has rendered back all which, in Johnson's neighbourhood, his open sense had so eagerly and freely taken in. That loose-flowing, careless-looking work of his is as a picture by one of nature's own artists; the best possible resemblance of a reality; like the very image thereof in a clear mirror-which, indeed, it was. Let but the mirror be clear, this is the great point; the picture must and will be genuine. How the babbling Bozzy, inspired only by love, and the recognition and vision which love can lend, epitomises nightly the words of wisdom, and so, by little and little, unconsciously works together for us a whole Johnsoniad; a more free, perfect, sunlit, and spirit-speaking likeness, than for many centuries had been drawn by man of man! Scarcely since the days of Homer has the feat been equalled.' GIBBON-LORD SHEFFIELD-DR CURRIE. With a pardonable and engaging egotism, which forms an interesting feature in his character, the historian GIBBON had made several sketches of his own life and studies. From these materials, and embodying verbatim the most valuable portions, LORD SHEFFIELD compiled a Memoir, which was published, with the miscellaneous works of Gibbon, in 1795. A number of the historian's letters were also included in this collection; but the most important and interesting part of the work is his Journal and Diary, giving an account of his literary occupations. The calm unshrinking perseverance and untiring energy of Gibbon form a noble example to all literary students; and where he writes of his own personal history and opinions, his lofty philosophical style never forsakes him. Thus he opens his slight Memoir in the following strain: to suppress the pride of an ancient and worthy race. The satirist may laugh, the philosopher may preach, but Reason herself will respect the prejudices and habits which have been consecrated by the experience of mankind.' Gibbon states, that before entering upon the perusal of a book, he wrote down or considered what he knew of the subject, and afterwards examined how much the author had added to his stock of knowledge. A severe test for some authors! From habits like this sprung the Decline and Fall. In 1800, DR JAMES CURRIE (1756-1805) published his edition of the Works of Burns for the benefit of the poet's family, and enriched it with an excellent Memoir, that has served for the groundwork of many subsequent Lives of Burns. It has been found that he tampered rather too freely with the poet's MSS., but generally to their advantage. The candour and ability displayed by Currie have scarcely been sufficiently appreciated. Such a task was new to him, and was beset with difficulties. He believed that Burns's misfortunes arose chiefly from his errors-he lived at a time when this impression was strongly prevalent-yet he touched on the subject of the poet's frailties with delicacy and tenderness. He estimated his genius highly as a great poet, without reference to his personal position, and thus in some measure anticipated the unequivocal award of posterity. His remarks on Scottish poetry and on the condition of the Scottish peasantry, appear now somewhat prolix and affected; but at the time they were written, they tended to interest and inform the English reader, and to forward the author's benevolent object, in extending the sale of the poet's works. By his generous, disinterested labours, Dr Currie materially benefited the poet's family. WILLIAM HAYLEY-LORD HOLLAND. After the death of Cowper in 1800, every poetical reader was anxious to learn the personal history and misfortunes of a poet who had afforded such exquisite glimpses of his own life and habits, and the amiable traits of whose character shone so conspicuously in his verse. His letters and manuscripts were placed at the disposal of MR WILLIAM HAYLEY, whose talents as a poet were then greatly overrated, but who had personally known Cowper. Accordingly, in 1803-4, appeared The Life and Posthumous Works of William Cowper, three volumes quarto. The work was a valuable contribution to English biography. The inimitable letters of Cowper were themselves a treasure 'A lively desire of knowing and of recording beyond price; and Hayley's prose, though often our ancestors so generally prevails, that it must poor enough, was better than his poetry. What depend on the influence of some common principle the 'hermit of Eartham' left undone has since in the minds of men. We seem to have lived been supplied by Southey, who in 1835 gave the in the persons of our forefathers: it is the labour world an edition of Cowper in fifteen volumes, and reward of vanity to extend the term of this about three of which are filled with a life of the ideal longevity. Our imagination is always active poet, and notes. The Lives of both Hayley and to enlarge the narrow circle in which nature has Southey are written in the style of Mason's confined us. Fifty or a hundred years may be Memoir, letters being freely interspersed throughallotted to an individual, but we step forwards out the narrative. Of a similar description, but not beyond death with such hopes as religion and to be compared with these in point of interest or philosophy will suggest; and we fill up the silent execution, is the Life of Dr Beattie, by Sir William vacancy that precedes our birth, by associating Forbes, published in 1806, in two volumes. ourselves to the authors of our existence. Our In the same year LORD HOLLAND published an calmer judgment will rather tend to moderate than | Account of the Life and Writings of Lope Felix 74 337 |