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knew nothing. He had hardly heard the elegant idiom of the Po? Has any modern name of Dryden. Some of our country- scholar understood Latin better than Fredmen, in the warmth of their patriotism, eric the Great understood French? Yet is have asserted that this ignorance must have it not notorious that Frederic the Great, been affected. We own that we see no after reading, speaking, writing French, ground for such a supposition. English and nothing but French, during more than literature was to the French of the age of half a century-after unlearning his mother Louis XIV. what German literature was to tongue in order to learn French, after living our own grand:athers. Very few, we sus- familiarly during many years with French pect, of the accomplished men who, sixty associates-could not, to the last, compose or seventy years ago, used to dine in Lei- in French, without imminent risk of comcester Square with Sir Joshua, or at Streath-mitting some mistake which would have am with Mrs. Thrale, had the slightest moved a smile in the literary circles of notion that Wieland was one of the first Paris? Do we believe that Erasmus and wits and poets, and Lessing, beyond all dispate, the first critic in Europe. Boileau knew just as little about the 'Paradise Lost,' and about Absalom and Ahitophel;' but he had read Addison's Latin poems, and admired them greatly. They had given him, he said, quite a new notion of the state of learning and taste among the English. Johnson will have it that these praises were insincere. Nothing,' says he, 'is better known of Boileau than that he had an injudicious and peevish contempt of modern Latin; and therefore his profession of regard was probably the effect of his civility rather than approbation.' Now, nothing is better known of Boileau than that he was singularly sparing of compliments. We do not remember that either friendship or fear ever induced him to bestow praise on any composition which he did not approve. On literary questions, his caustic, disdainful, and self-confident spirit rebelled against that authority to which every thing else in France bowed down. He had the spirit to tell Louis XIV. firmly and even rudely, that his Majesty knew nothing about poetry, and admired verses which were detestable. What was there in Addison's position that could induce the satirist, whose stern and fastidious temper had been the dread of two generations, to turn sycophant for the first and last time? Nor was Boileau's contempt of modern Latin either injudicious or peevish. He thought, indeed, that no poem of the first order would ever be written in a dead language. And did he think amiss? Has not the experience of centuries confirmed his opinion? Boileau also thought it probable, that, in the best modern Latin, For these reasons we feel assured that a writer of the Augustan age would have the praise which Boileau bestowed on the detected ludicrous improprieties. And who Machine Gesticulantes, and the Geranocan think otherwise? What modern schol- Pygmæomachia, was sincere. He certainly ar can honestly declare that he sees the opened himself to Addison with a freesmallest impurity in the style of Livy? dom which was a sure indication of esteem. Yet is it not certain that, in the style of Literature was the chief subject of conLivy, Pollio, whose taste had been formed versation. The old man talked on his faon the banks of the Tiber, detected the in-vorite theme much and well; indeed, as his

Fracastorius wrote Latin as well as Dr. Robertson and Sir Walter Scott wrote English? And are there not in the Dissertation on India, (the last of Dr. Robertson's works,) in Waverley, in Marmion, Scotticisms at which a London apprentice would laugh? But does it follow, because we think thus, that we can find nothing to admire in the noble aleaics of Gray, or in the playful elegiacs of Vincent Bourne? Surely not. Nor was Boileau so ignorant or tasteless as to be incapable of appreciating good modern Latin. In the very letter to which Johnson alludes, Boileau says 'Ne croyez pas pourtant que je veuille par là blâmer les vers Latins que vous m'avez envoyés d'un de vos illustres académiciens. Je les ai trouvés fort beaux, et dignes de Vida et de Sannazar, mais non pas d'Horace et de Virgile.' Several poems, in modern Latin, have been praised by Boileau quite as liberally as it was his habit to praise any thing. He says, for example, of the Père Fraguier's epigrams, that Catullus seems to have come to life again. But the best proof that Boileau did not feel the undiscerning contempt for modern Latin verses which has been imputed to him, is, that he wrote and published Latin verses in several metres. Indeed it happens, curiously enough, that the most severe censure ever pronounced by him on modern Latin, is conveyed in Latin hexameters. We allude to the fragment which begins

"Quid numeris iterum me balbutire Latinis, Longe Alpes citra natum de patre Sicambro, Musa, jubes?"

young hearer thought, incomparably well. [captain of the ship gave up all for lost, and Boileau had undoubtedly some of the quali-confessed himself to a capuchin who hap ties of a great critic. He wanted imagina-pened to be on board. The English heretic, tion; but he had strong sense. His lite- in the mean time, fortified himself against rary code was formed on narrow principles; the terrors of death with devotions of a very but in applying it, he showed great judg- different kind. How strong an impression ment and penetration. In mere style, ab- this perilous voyage made on him, appears stracted from the ideas of which style is from the ode-"How are thy servants the garb, his taste was excellent. He was blest, O Lord!" which was long after pubwell acquainted with the Greek writers; lished in the Spectator. After some days and, though unable fully to appreciate their of discomfort and danger, Addison was creative genius, admired the majestic sim-glad to land at Savona, and to make his plicity of their manner, and had learned way, over mountains where no road had from them to despise bombast and tinsel. yet been hewn out by art, to the city of It is easy, we think, to discover in the Spectator" and the "Guardian," traces of the influence, in part salutary and in part pernicious, which the mind of Boileau had on the mind of Addison.

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At Genoa, still ruled by her own Doge, and by the nobles whose names were inscribed on her Book of Gold, Addison Imade a short stay. He admired the narrow streets overhung by long lines of tow

While Addison was at Paris, an event took place which made that capital a dis-ering palaces, the walls rich with frescoes, agreeable residence for an Englishman and the gorgeous temple of the Annunciation, a Whig. Charles, second of the name, and the tapestries whereon were recorded King of Spain, died; and bequeathed his the long glories of the house of Doria. dominions to Philip, Duke of Anjou, a Thence he hastened to Milan, where he younger son of the Dauphin. The King of contemplated the Gothic magnificence of France, in direct violation of his engage- the cathedral with more wonder than pleaments both with Great Britain and with the sure. He passed Lake Benacus while a States-General, accepted the bequest on gale was blowing, and saw the waves ragbehalf of his grandson. The house of Bouring as they raged when Virgil looked upon bon was at the summit of human grandeur. them. At Venice, then the gayest spot in England had been outwitted, and found Europe, the traveller spent the Carnival, herself in a situation at once degrading and the gayest season of the year, in the midst perilous. The people of France, not pre- of masques, dances, and serenades. Here saging the calamities by which they were he was at once diverted and provoked, by destined to expiate the perfidy of their the absurd dramatic pieces which then dissovereign, went mad with pride and de-graced the Italian stage. To one of those light. Every man looked as if a great pieces, however, he was indebted for a estate had just been left him. "The French conversation," said Addison," begins to grow insupportable; that which was before the vainest nation in the world is now worse than ever." Sick of the arrogant exultation of the Parisians, and probably foreseeing that the peace between France and England could not be of long duration, he set off for Italy.

In December, 1700, he embarked at Marseilles. As he glided along the Ligurian coast he was delighted by the sight of myrtles and olive-trees, which retained their verdure under the winter solstice. Soon, however, he encountered one of the black storms of the Mediterranean. The

*It is strange that Addison should, in the first line of his travels, have misdated his departure from Marseilles by a whole year, and still more strange that this slip of the pen, which throws the whole narrative into inextricable confusion, should have been repeated in a succession of editions, and never detected by Tickell or by Hurd.

valuable hint. He was present when a ridiculous play on the death of Cato was performed. Cato, it seems, was in love with a daughter of Scipio. The lady had given her heart to Cæsar. The rejected lover determined to destroy himself. He appeared seated in his library, a dagger in his hand, a Plutarch and a Tasso before him; and, in this position, he pronounced a soliloquy before he struck the blow. We are surprised that so remarkable a circumstance as this should have escaped the notice of all Addison's biographers. There cannot, we conceive, be the smallest doubt that this scene, in spite of its absurdities and anachronisms, struck the traveller's imagination, and suggested to him the thought of bringing Cato on the English stage. It is well known that about this time he began his tragedy, and that he finished the first four acts before he returned to England.

On his way from Venice to Rome, he

was drawn some miles out of the beaten was to be seen at Naples, Addison saw. road, by a wish to see the smallest inde- He climbed Vesuvius, explored the tunnel pendent state in Europe. On a rock where of Posilipo, and, wandered among the vines the snow still lay, though the Italian spring and almond-trees of Capreæ. But neither was now far advanced, was perched the lit- the wonders of nature, nor those of art, tle fortress of San Marino. The roads could so occupy his attention as to prevent which led to the secluded town were so him from noticing, though cursorily, the bad that few travellers had ever visited it, abuses of the government and the misery and none had ever published an account of of the people. The great kingdom which it. Addison could not suppress a good had just descended to Philip V. was in a natured smile at the simple manners and state of paralytic dotage. Even Castile institutions of this singular community. and Arragon were sunk in wretchedness. But he observed, with the exultation of a Yet, compared with the Italian dependenWhig, that the rude mountain tract which cies of the Spanish crown, Castile and Arformed the territory of the republic,swarmed ragon might be called prosperous. It is with an honest, healthy, and contented clear that all the observations which Adpeasantry; while the rich plain which sur-dison made in Italy tended to confirm him rounded the metropolis of civil and spirit- in the political opinions which he had ual tyranny, was scarcely less desolate adopted at home. To the last, he always than the uncleared wilds of America.

spoke of foreign travel as the best cure for Jacobitism. In his Freeholder, the Tory fox-hunter asks what travelling is good for, except to teach a man to jabber French, and to talk against passive obedience.

At Rome, Addison remained on his first visit only long enough to catch a glimpse of St. Peter's, and of the Pantheon. His haste is the more extraordinary, because the Holy Week was close at hand. He has From Naples, Addison returned to Rome given no hint which can enable us to pro- by sea, along the coast which his favorite nounce why he chose to fly from a specta- Virgil had celebrated. The felucca passed cle which every year allures from distant the headland where the oar and trumpet regions persons of far less taste and sensi- were placed by the Trojan adventurers on bility than his. Possibly, travelling, as he the tomb of Misenus, and anchored at night did, at the charge of a Government distin- under the shelter of the fabled promontory guished by its enmity to the Church of of Circe. The voyage ended in the Tiber, Rome, he may have thought that it would still overhung with dark verdure, and still be imprudent in him to assist at the most turbid with yellow sand, as when it met magnificent rite of that church. Many the eyes of Eneas. From the ruined port eyes would be upon him; and he might of Ostia, the stranger hurried to Rome; find it difficult to behave in such a manner as to give offence neither to his patrons in England, nor to those among whom he resided. Whatever his motives may have been, he turned his back on the most august and affecting ceremony which is known among men, and posted along the Appian way to Naples.

and at Rome he remained during those hot and sickly months when, even in the Augustan age, all who could make their escape fled from mad dogs and from streets black with funerals, to gather the first figs of the season in the country. It is probable that when he, long after, poured forth in verse his gratitude to the providence which had enabled him to breathe unhurt in tainted air, he was thinking of the August and September which he passed at Rome.

Naples was then destitute of what are now, perhaps, its chief attractions. The lovely bay and the awful mountain were indeed there. But a farm-house stood on It was not till the latter end of October, the theatre of Herculaneum, and rows of that he tore himself away from the mastervines grew over the streets of Pompeii. pieces of ancient and modern art, which The temples of Pæstum had not indeed are collected in the city so long the misbeen hidden from the eye of man by any tress of the world. He then journeyed great convulsion of nature; but, strange to northward, passed through Sienna, and for say, their existence was a secret even to a moment forgot his prejudices in favor of artists and antiquaries. Though situated classic architecture as he looked on the within a few hours' journey of a great capi- magnificent cathedral. At Florence he tal, where Salvator had not long before spent some days with the Duke of Shrewspainted, and where Vico was then lectur- bury, who, cloyed with the pleasures of ing, those noble remains were as little ambition, and impatient of its pains, fearknown to Europe as the ruined cities over- ing both parties, and loving neither, had grown by the forests of Yucatan. What determined to hide in an Italian retreat, VOL. III. No. II. 15

near him.

talents and accomplishments which, if they author. Halifax had now nothing to give. had been united with fixed principles and He had fallen from power, had been held civil courage, might have made him the up to obloquy, had been impeached by the foremost man of his age. These days, we House of Commons; and, though his Peers are told, passed pleasantly; and we can had dismissed the impeachment, had, as easily believe it. For Addison was a de- it seemed, little chance of ever again filllightful companion when he was at his ing high office. The Epistle, written at ease; and the Duke, though he seldom such a time, is one among many proofs forgot that he was a Talbot, had the inval- that there was no mixture of cowardice or uable art of putting at ease all who came meanness in the suavity and moderation which distinguished Addison from all the Addison gave some time to Florence, other public men of those stormy times. and especially to the sculptures in the At Geneva, the traveller learned that a Museum, which he preferred even to those partial change of ministry had taken place of the Vatican. He then pursued his jour-in England, and that the Earl of Manchesney through a country in which the rava- ter had become secretary of state. Manges of the last war were still discernible, chester exerted himself to serve his young and in which all men were looking for- friend. It was thought advisable that an ward with dread to a still fiercer conflict. English agent should be near the person of Eugene had already descended from the Eugene in Italy; and Addison, whose diRhætian Alps, to dispute with Catinat the plomatic education was now finished, was rich plain of Lombardy. The faithless the man selected. He was preparing to ruler of Savoy was still reckoned among enter on his honorable functions, when all the allies of Louis. England had not yet his prospects were for a time darkened by actually declared war against France. But the death of William III. Manchester had left Paris; and the nego- Anne had long felt a strong aversion, tiations which produced the grand Alliance against the house of Bourbon, were in progress. Under such circumstances, it was desirable for an English traveller to reach neutral ground without delay. Addison resolved to cross Mont Cenis. It was December; and the road was very different from that which now reminds the stranger of the power and genius of Napoleon. The winter, however, was mild, and the passage was, for those times, easy. To this journey Addison alluded when, in the ode which we have already quoted, he said that for him the Divine Goodness had 'warmed the hoary Alpine hills.'

It was in the midst of the eternal snow that he composed his Epistle to his friend Montagu, now Lord Halifax. That Epistle, once widely renowned, is now known only to curious readers; and will hardly be considered by those to whom it is known as in any perceptible degree heightening Addison's fame. It is, however, decidedly superior to any English composition which he had previously published. Nay, we think it quite as good as any poem in heroic metre which appeared during the interval between the death of Dryden and the publication of the Essay on Criticism.' It contains passages as good as the secondrate passages of Pope, and would have added to the reputation of Parnell or Prior. But, whatever be the literary merits or defects of the Epistle, it undoubtedly does honor to the principles and spirit of the

personal, political, and religious, to the Whig party. That aversion appeared in the first measures of her reign. Manchester was deprived of the seals, after he had held them only a few weeks. Neither Somers nor Halifax was sworn of the Privy Council. Addison shared the fate of his three patrons. His hopes of employment in the public service were at an end; his pension was stopped ; and it was necessary for him to support himself by his own exertions. He became tutor to a young English traveller; and appears to have rambled with his pupil over great part of Switzerland and Germany. At this time he wrote his pleasing treatise on 'Medals.' It was not published till after his death; but several distinguished scholars saw the manuscript, and gave just praise to the grace of the style, and to the learning and ingenuity evinced by the quotations.

From Germany Addison repaired to Holland, where he learned the melancholy news of his father's death. After passing some months in the United Provinces, he returned about the close of the year 1703 to England. He was there cordially received by his friends, and introduced by

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them into the Kit-Cat Club-a society in impossible to abstain from adopting also which were collected all the various talents their financial policy. The natural conseand accomplishments which then gave lus-quences followed. The rigid Tories were tre to the Whig party.

Addison was, during some months after his return from the Continent, hard pressed by pecuniary difficulties. But it was soon in the power of his noble patrons to serve him effectually. A political change, silent and gradual, but of the highest importance, was in daily progress. The accession of Anne had been hailed by the Tories with transports of joy and hope; and for a time it seemed that the Whigs had fallen never to rise again. The throne was surrounded by men supposed to be attached to the prerogative and to the Church; and among these none stood so high in the favor of the Sovereign, as the Lord-Treasurer Godolphin, and the Captain-General Marlborough.

The country gentlemen and country clergymen had fully expected that the policy of these ministers would be directly opposed to that which had been almost constantly followed by William; that the landed interest would be favored at the expense of trade; that no addition would be made to the funded debt; that the privileges conceded to Dissenters by the late King, would be curtailed, if not withdrawn; that the war with France, if there must be such a war, would, on our part, be almost entirely naval; and that the Government would avoid close connexions with foreign powers, and, above all, with Holland.

But the country gentlemen and country clergymen were fated to be deceived, not for the last time. The prejudices and passions which raged without control in vicarages, in cathedral-closes, and in the manorhouses of fox-hunting squires, were not shared by the chiefs of the ministry. Those statesmen saw that it was both for the public interest, and for their own interest, to adopt a Whig policy; at least as respected the alliances of the country and the conduct of the war. But if the foreign policy of the Whigs were adopted, it was

We are sorry to say that, in the account which

Miss Aikin gives of the politics of this period, there

alienated from the Government. The votes of the Whigs became necessary to it. The votes of the Whigs could be secured only by further concessions; and further concessions the Queen was induced to make.

At the beginning of the year 1704, the state of parties bore a close analogy to the state of parties in 1826. In 1826, as in 1704, there was a Tory ministry divided into two hostile sections. The position of Mr. Canning and his friends in 1826 corresponded to that which Marlborough and Godolphin occupied in 1704. Nottingham and Jersey were, in 1704, what Lord Eldon and Lord Westmoreland were in 1826. The Whigs of 1704, were in a situation resembling that in which the Whigs of 1826 stood. In 1704, Somers, Halifax, Sunderland, Cowper, were not in office. There was no avowed coalition between them and the moderate Tories. It is probable that no direct communication tending to such a coalition had yet taken place; yet all men saw that such a coalition was inevitable, nay, that it was already half formed. Such, or nearly such, was the state of things when tidings arrived of the great battle fought at Blenheim, on the 13th August, 1704. By the Whigs the news was hailed with transports of joy and pride. No fault, no cause of quarrel, could be remembered by them against the Commander whose genius had, in one day, changed the face of Europe, saved the Imperial throne, humbled the House of Bourbon, and secured the Act of Settlement against foreign hostility. The feeling of the Tories was very different. They could not, indeed, without imprudence, openly express regret at an event so glorious to their country; but their congratulations were so cold and sullen, as to give deep disgust to the victorious general and his friends.

Godolphin was not a reading man. Whatever time he could spare from business he was in the habit of spending at New-market or at the card-table. But he was not

absolutely indifferent to poetry; and he are more errors than sentences. Rochester was was too intelligent an observer not to perthe Queen's uncle; Miss Aikin calls him the ceive that literature was a formidable enQueen's cousin. The battle of Blenheim was fought in Marlborough's third campaign; Miss Aikin says that it was fought in Marlborough's second campaign. She confounds the dispute which arose in 1703, between the two Houses, about Lord Halifax, with the dispute about the Aylesbury men, which was terminated by the dissolution of 1705. These mistakes, and four or five others, will be found within the space of about two pages,

(i. 165, 166, 167.)

gine of political warfare; and that the great Whig leaders had strengthened their party, and raised their character, by extending a liberal and judicious patronage to good writers. He was mortified, and not without reason, by the exceeding badness of the poems which appeared in honor of the battle of Blenheim. One of those poems

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