THE PENNY MAGAZINE

[Warwick Castle, from the Avon.]

Warwick Castle is one of the most interesting monuments of feudal grandeur in the kingdom. The view which we have given above is from the River Avon, from whose banks the principal part of the edifice abruptly rises, being built upon the solid rock of freestone which bounds the river. Viewed by itself, this portion of the building is not the most picturesque. But taken in connection with the ancient towers of the castle, with the ecclesiastical edifices of Warwick Town in the back-ground, and with the Avon and its beautiful bridge in front, it would be difficult to find a scene more imposing,—certainly impossible to find one so rich in historical associations, which should be also so uninjured by time.

[Cæsar’s Tower, and part of Warwick Castle, from the Island.]

Passing through a road cut through the solid rock, which now presents a plantation of shrubs judiciously arranged so as to shut out the view of the castle till it is suddenly presented to the eye, the visitor finds himself in a spacious area where he is at once surrounded by ancient fortifications, and Gothic buildings of a later date, now devoted to the peaceful occupation of the descendants of the old chieftains who here once held a stern and bloody sway over their trembling dependants. The keep, erected, it is said, in the days of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors, is now only a picturesque ruin. But two towers of high antiquity are still entire; and these are associated with the days of baronial splendour, when many a proud man, the lord of such a castle as this, 178held the lives and fortunes of trembling vassals in dependence upon his uncontrolled will. Miserable was the condition both of “the oppressor and the oppressed” in those evil times. One of these towers is called Cæsar’s—a common appellation of some commanding part of the fortress in many castles of remote antiquity.

[Guy’s Tower with the entrance to Warwick Castle from the Lower Court.]

Another, and the more important of these towers, is called Guy’s. This building is perhaps the most commanding feature of Warwick Castle. It is a hundred and forty-eight feet in height. From whatever point it is viewed its proportions are truly majestic. Its real grandeur is neither advanced nor impaired by the traditions with which it is connected. Sir Guy of Warwick is one of the heroes of the wild romances of the days of chivalry. He is said, as is said of most of these worthies, to have killed a giant and a dragon; but his chief exploit is thus recorded in an old ballad:—

In these days no great importance will be attached to this passage in the good knight’s prowess; and in truth many of the bragging feats of those days, when people rode about on great horses, clad in coats of mail, were not a whit more valuable to mankind, or evinced more real courage, than this vaunted destruction of the “Dun-cow.”

The state-rooms, which are exhibited at Warwick Castle, contain many objects deserving attention. Some of the pictures are of the first order of excellence, particularly several portraits by Vandyke. In a greenhouse, delightfully situated in the grounds surrounding the castle, is one of the finest and most perfect remains of antiquity, a Grecian vase of white marble, dug up from the ruins of the Emperor Adrian’s palace at Tivoli, and conveyed to England by the late Sir William Hamilton. Of this celebrated piece of sculpture, now called “the Warwick Vase,” we shall give a representation in a future number.

On the edge of the road that leads from Warwick to Coventry is a knoll, now almost covered with trees, which was the scene of one of the most remarkable events in our history, which forcibly illustrates the difference between the Warwick Castle of five centuries ago, and the Warwick Castle of the present day. It was on this mount that Piers Gaveston, the favourite of a weak monarch (Edward II.), was beheaded. The original name of this place was Blacklow-hill. It is now called either by that name, or by that of Gaveston-hill. Piers Gaveston, the clever but unprincipled favourite of the King, was the object of especial enmity to the great barons who were in opposition to the crown. After various conflicts with the monarch, they succeeded in banishing the favourite from the kingdom: but he having impudently returned in 1312, the Earl of Warwick forcibly seized upon his person, in defiance of an express convention, and bore him in triumph to Warwick Castle, where the Earls of Lancaster, Hereford, and Arundel, repaired to hold a consultation about their prisoner. His fate was speedily decided. He was dragged to Blacklow-hill, about two miles from Warwick Castle, where he was beheaded amidst the scorn and reproach of his implacable and perfidious enemies. On the top of Blacklow-hill there is a rude stone, on which the name of Gaveston, and the date of his execution, are cut in ancient characters. As we now look upon the beautiful prospect which this summit presents, it is satisfactory to contrast the peacefulness and the fertility that are spread around, with the wild appearance that the same spot must have exhibited at the period of lawless violence which we have described; and to reflect that such a tragedy can never again occur, as long as all men are under the equal justice of the laws.

Every body must be aware that the same word has sometimes several significations; and that words at the present day are often used in a different sense from that which they had a few centuries ago, or even in the time of our fathers. This necessarily arises from the great changes that are constantly taking place in society: new inventions and new ideas either require new words to express them, or render it necessary to use old words in new senses. Owing to the rapidity with which a population of a mixed character is pouring into the United States of North America, we find that new words are in the process of formation, because they are wanted; and we find also, that the English language in that country is occasionally borrowing a word from the language of the new comers. Thus, for instance, in some parts the word plunder is vulgarly used to signify baggage, having been introduced by the German settlers. A man who is just arriving at his place of destination may chance to hear himself spoken of in the following terms: “Mr. B. is just come with his plunder.” We do not mean that it should be inferred from this that the English language is much corrupted in the United States: on the contrary, we believe it is spoken with greater purity by a proportionally larger number in that country than in Great Britain. But still such changes as we have alluded to are taking place there with more rapidity than among ourselves.

One of the principal divisions of grammar is etymology, by which term is meant “the classifying of words which resemble one another in the mode in which they are written, and in the general meanings assigned to them.” The term etymology also includes “the tracing of the different significations of a word, and showing how one proceeds from another.” This latter division of the subject is one of great extent, and often of great difficulty; and though not well adapted either for the amusement or instruction of all classes of readers, yet it is still highly curious and interesting to many. The history of some words would be much more amusing than the lives of half the people included in our common Biographies.

Thus, to take a few familiar instances of the changes which words have undergone, we all know pretty well what is now meant by a knave; but this word formerly signified a servant, or person of inferior condition, who waited on a superior. In our translation of the Bible, the words “cunning workman” signify a “skilful workman”; but the word cunning has now a different meaning. Whose fault it is that these two words have changed their signification—whether it is the fault of the master or the man, we will not venture to decide.

It should be remarked that our language at present contains, in many instances, two sets of words which signify the same things. Such words as velocity, effeminate, timid, executed, differ respectively very little in meaning from the words swiftness, womanish, fearful, and done. The words of the former class are of Latin origin, and have for the most part been introduced into our language either directly from the Latin, or from the French and the Italian. We have received a large addition to such words within the last century; and we are still receiving them rather faster than they are wanted. Words of the second class belong to the real substance of our language, and may be called words of Saxon origin: it is this part of our language which resembles so closely the Dutch, the German, and some other European languages that belong to one and the same family.

As a specimen of our pure unmixed language, we can find none better than the received version of the Bible, which, for simplicity, force, and clearness, is hardly equalled by any other composition in the English tongue. The Lord’s prayer is a perfect example of 179genuine English: it contains very few words of Latin origin. It is altogether composed of pure Saxon terms; and for this reason alone, independent of its internal excellence, it would merit our peculiar attention, as showing the genuine beauty and simplicity of our ancient Saxon tongue.

The writings of Dr. Johnson may be considered as a specimen of Latinized English, which, though sometimes sounding and forcible, is more frequently bombastic, unmeaning, and disagreeable to all who relish simplicity, either in manner or in language. As a general rule, it may be safely affirmed, that our best writers, by which term we mean the best both in matter and in language, prefer words of Saxon origin; while those who pretend to more knowledge than they possess, are fond of dressing the littleness of their thoughts in the most gaudy attire they can find. Even the menders of shoes have caught the infection; and instead of the plain old announcement of “shoes mended here,” we are now frequently told that “repairs are executed;” while perhaps at the next door we may learn that “funerals are performed.”

It is of more importance than at first sight it may appear, that our children should be well trained to use and understand the Saxon part of our language; for though it is true that we now possess numerous Latinized words which are both useful and indispensable, it is also true that a great number of our words which come from the Latin or French do not convey ideas so clear and precise as the genuine words of our language. In composing books, then, for young children of all classes, but more particularly those of the poorer class, it is of great importance to avoid Latinized words as much as possible. When they have made some progress in understanding the meanings of the Saxon words, they may read books in which Latinized words are used whenever they are found necessary, which, we venture to say, will not often be the case.

In our next number we shall commence the classification of the Saxon nouns of our language.

There is no principle better settled, either in public or domestic economy, than this—that it is for the interest of consumers to buy commodities at the best and cheapest rate. Every sensible person acts upon this rule in his own affairs so far as he is able; but in consequence of the system of prohibiting and discouraging foreign commodities, upon which our legislature has heretofore acted, the public has been obliged to pay for certain British commodities considerably more than their value. This is not the place to inquire why any vestiges of the system of protecting duties, as they are called, have been suffered to remain, or whether the complaints of various interests, against the modification of the protective system, have been well or ill founded; but it may still be useful for us to say a few words upon the groundlessness of the assertions that are in the mouths of many, in regard to the supposed injurious tendency of a taste for foreign commodities, in preference to British. We mention the subject, purely as one of public economy, and not in reference to any question immediately before Parliament, or the public.

Those who lament the use in this country of French silks, or French gloves, seem to take it for granted that the use of such articles throws out of employment, as a matter of course, a certain number of British artisans, and that the country is consequently impoverished in proportion. But such reasoners must be very ignorant of the nature of trade, because nothing is more certain than that the French have never yet given us gratis a single yard of silk, or a single pair of gloves, but that an equivalent in British produce or manufactures, or the value thereof, is given in exchange for every cargo of French goods that crosses the channel. Those who buy must also sell; nor can there be any trade, whether between nations or individuals, unless on a fair principle of reciprocity. This country, therefore, can never be impoverished, nor the demand for British labour diminished, by the importation of French silks, or any other foreign manufactures, in how large quantity soever.

It must, however, be admitted, that the tendency of any sudden change in the law which introduces foreign manufactures into the market, to the discouragement of British is necessarily, at first, to throw some workmen out of employment, by changing the direction of the demand for labour. This is one of the inconveniences that unavoidably follows an alteration in an old established system of policy; but we believe that the magnitude of such inconveniences has been very greatly exaggerated. At all events, if one demand for labour be closed by the abolition of restriction in a particular instance, it is quite clear that an equivalent demand must be opened in some other quarter, and therefore that the aggregate demand for labour in the country cannot be at all diminished. The question, therefore, comes to this, whether it is better that the persons occupied in a particular branch of labour should not be inconvenienced by being obliged to change the nature of their work, or that the whole mass of consumers should be enabled to buy a foreign commodity which can be imported better and cheaper than it can be made in Great Britain? The issue is between the few and the many; and, whether the benefit to be derived by the many, from the particular measure, is not greater than the loss or inconvenience to be consequently sustained by the few? Not that good, or evil, ought to be estimated by the numbers who would participate in the advantages of one measure, or another; but that governments ought never to be unmindful that it is the interest of the consumer, or in other words, of the nation at large, which it is their bounden duty to consult and advance, in preference to the subordinate claims of any class of individuals.

If then, it is certain, that the same encouragement is afforded to British industry, whether we consume what is made abroad, or what is manufactured under our own eyes, it is time that we should hear less of those foolish lamentations of the growing taste for foreign fashions, which are constantly in the mouths of those who will not take the trouble to reflect. We may be perfectly sure that neither does Don Miguel present us with port wine, nor will the supply of it be continued, any longer than we furnish to the Portuguese, British manufactures. The ladies of England have no more reason to fancy it ungenerous, or unpatriotic, to ornament themselves with the beautiful and elegant fabrics of France, than they have for considering it wrong to drink Chinese tea for their breakfasts, instead of a decoction from indigenous plants. Those who make it a matter of conscience to dress themselves exclusively in British stuffs, should, for consistency’s sake, use roasted wheat to the avoidance of coffee, and all other substitutes of the like nature, in preference to the genuine articles; for the simple reason that the substitutes are made in Great Britain, and that the original articles are produced out of it.

Whilst, therefore, we love and honour our country with an affection and reverence which other lands cannot so well claim from Englishmen, we must beg to repudiate that kind of patriotism which would force us into an absurd disregard of the advantages of living in a civilized age. It is not true patriotism, but the spirit of monopoly, that is fostered by the erroneous notions we condemn; and monopolies will always be hateful in the eyes of honest governments, for they are repugnant to the welfare of the mass of the people.

Our conceptions of the plan of Nature must, to say the least, be ever imperfect: perhaps we do not err in supposing that it is the design of Providence to fill all space with life and enjoyment. We may look in two directions at her works; by the assistance of the microscope we find everywhere minute vegetable and animal productions:—rising from the contemplation of these, we turn to that luxuriant vegetation, and to those huge animals which, according to the economy and fabric of the animal body, exhibit the largest possible dimensions. Of these it would appear that many have yielded their abode to man, and are now extinct.

In the great plains of South America, and more especially behind Buenos Ayres, in that flat country which is washed by the Parana and its tributaries, there are found the remains of enormous animals. Their bones lie sunk in the mud, or alluvial soil; and sometimes, during a very dry season, when the waters are low, they appear standing up above the surface like trunks of trees, or snags as they are called in America. Such are the bones lately brought to London by the very meritorious exertions of Mr. Parish.

The inhabitants of a remote district saw the pelvis of the animal which we are going to describe, appearing above the water, and throwing a lasso, or cord, over it, they drew it ashore. The pelvis is the circle of bones which extends from haunch to haunch; and we may form some conception of its size, both from the manner in which it was found, and from the lively remark of Professor Buckland, on seeing this portion of the skeleton—that two of the largest members of the Geological Society might pass through its circle. When we put our hands upon our haunches, we rest them upon the wings of the pelvis: now if we extend our arms to the utmost, we have an exact measure of the breadth of the bones of which we are speaking, for it measures across from five to six feet.

This part of the skeleton was brought to the authorities at Buenos Ayres; from whom Mr. Parish had interest to obtain it: after which, he sent some hundred miles into the country; had the bottom of the river sounded and dragged for the remainder of the bones; and, finally, had that part of the water dammed off, so as to obtain the skull, the vertebræ of the spine and of the tail, the bones of the hinder extremity, and the shoulder bone. This skeleton, imperfect as it is, proves to be, not the mastodon, or fossil animal of the Ohio, but the great fossil animal of Paraguay, the last discovered of the extinct species, and called megatherium by Cuvier, from two Greek words which signify the great monster.

An imperfect skeleton of this animal is in the Royal Cabinet of Natural History at Madrid; and it is singular enough that what is wanting in those bones is supplied in the present. Some doubts were entertained, for example, whether the pelvis made a complete circle, for this part, in the Madrid skeleton, was broken off in front; the sagacious Cuvier presumed that it did; and our specimen proves it.

Examining these bones, putting them together, and comparing them with the drawings of Joseph Garrega, Madrid, 1796, and of Dr. Pander and Dr. D’Alton, of Bonn, 1821, we may venture upon some speculations concerning them. The hinder parts of this animal must have been of great magnitude and strength compared with the anterior part. Anatomists know, from the inspection of the bones, what was the condition of the muscles; for the processes by which they are acted upon are ever strong and projecting, when the muscles are powerful. The processes of the pelvis show what large and strong muscles must have operated upon the thigh bone; and the thigh bone itself is an extraordinary object. It is two feet five inches in length; is three feet four inches round its thickest, and two feet two inches round its smallest, part; it is thus twice or three times the thickness of the thigh bone of the elephant. It is of very great solidity, and the ridges or processes which stand out from it, imply that the muscles were of extraordinary power. The bones of the leg, the tibia and fibula, which are separate in other animals, are here short, thick, and united into one compact bone. The calcaneum, or heel bone, projects far, being more than a foot in length, and thus it gives a powerful lever to the muscles that are attached to it. And the bones of the toes are, indeed, very curious; exhibiting to the comparative anatomist that structure which is adapted for the attachment of long and clumsy claws—but neither like the split hoof of the ruminating animals, nor the retractile claws of the feline, or cat tribe, and resembling more the tardigrade class, or sloths. Some have estimated the foot to be upwards of four feet in length, and to be a foot in breadth.

A most ingenious member of the Geological Society, in his observations upon this subject, conceived that this great strength was given to the hinder extremities of the animal, that it might the better stand upon three feet, and scratch with the fore foot that was free. We should have the more willingly assented to this idea had the hind foot been obviously calculated for standing upon; but the processes of the bones, and the formation of the toes, seem to indicate that this limb was to be more actively employed. Why not suppose that it dug like such animals as we see employed in digging?—they work with their fore feet, and, after a certain 181accumulation, make more desperate exertions with their hind feet, to clear away the encumbrance. On the whole, the extremities of this animal must have been short compared with his length, and the breadth of his haunches; for his height is not estimated at more than seven feet. As we have said, the processes of the bones imply great muscular strength, and, probably, activity,—such activity as we see in the motions of the armadillo.

Nothing is more surprising than the smallness of the head in this animal: indeed we could not have believed that the head belonged to these enormous bones, had not Mr. Cliff put the vertebræ together, and did we not see that those of the neck corresponded with each other; and that the anterior vertebra of all, the atlas, fitted exactly into the articulating processes of the skull. This part is imperfect, but happily the teeth and a portion of the jaw are here. The teeth are most singular in their structure. There are no incisors or front teeth. Probably the animal had a projecting snout, like the tapir in the Zoological Gardens. It certainly had not a trunk like the elephant; because the length of the neck, as shown by the vertebræ, enabled it to reach the ground with the mouth: and neither the form of the bones of the face, nor the holes through which the nerves pass, indicate the attachment of such an organ as the trunk. The teeth are seated in the back part of the jaw; their ground surfaces enter into one another with extraordinary exactness; and the enamel is so placed that they are worn in a manner quite peculiar. They are unlike the teeth of the lion or of the tiger; they obviously suffered great attrition: and are provided against a rapid wasting by the mode of their growth, which resembles that of the front teeth of animals which gnaw—the rodentia. The projecting incisor teeth of the beaver, for example, cut like an adze, but they necessarily suffer from the attrition; to provide against which they grow at their roots, and advance forwards in proportion as they waste on their exposed surfaces. These teeth of the megatherium, although in the usual place of grinders, have the provision for growing at the fangs, whilst they waste on their crowns; which implies that they were used in cutting vegetables, and, probably, the roots dug out of the earth. From the processes of the scapula, or shoulder-blade, we see that this animal had a clavicle, or collar-bone, and that the radius and ulna had free rotatory motion: the marks upon the humerus, too, show that the muscles which roll the wrist-joint were powerful: now these, with the adaptation in the form of the toes for long and strong claws, lead us to believe that the animal turned out the earth like the mole, and was in structure something between the sloth and the ant-eater. Altogether, it would appear that he dug and searched for roots, and lived on vegetables.

There is another fact important to our speculations on the habits of this animal; there has been brought home from the same districts, and found along with bones similar to these, though remotely placed from the present specimen, a cover like the shell of the armadillo, but of a size like a great brewer’s boiler, and studded with tubercles, like the nails upon a prison-door. If this shell covered the animal, for what purpose of defence could it be? An ingenious geologist conceived that the animal had the power of flinging up the soil in such masses, that, in descending, it required a protection to its back. This conjecture will hardly be satisfactory; and yet to suppose that such a creature, possessed of such dimensions, could have a formidable enemy, and that it required the protection of a defensive armour, like the armadillo, is perhaps equally extravagant.

According to the methods of the naturalists, from the circumstance of this animal wanting the front teeth, we should class it with the Edentés of Cuvier, and, following that author, place it along with the megalonyx (having large claws). This latter animal, also extinct, President Jefferson described as a great lion, higher in limbs than our largest ox, and the enemy of the grand mastodon, thereby presenting a terrific idea of the ancient world. But Cuvier, by his knowledge of anatomy, proved it to have been a vegetable feeder, and to be properly classed with the tardigrade animals, a harmless race.

This specimen of the megatherium, in its magnificent ruins, must give activity to the fancy. It is said that there is nothing interesting in antiquarian research, but as it is associated with man,—with human action or suffering. But here are remains which carry the mind back to the most remote times; not into the contemplation of the ages of mankind, but to the earlier condition of the globe, when it was undergoing a succession of changes, which were, at length, to suit it for the abode of the human race.

The condition of a part of these bones may convey an idea of the plains where they are found. Some of them are nearly consumed by fire; the natives using them for setting their kettles on when cooking. To understand how they should be applied for such uses, we must recollect that there is no stone to resist the fire; and that there is nothing but mud and vegetable productions for many hundred miles around where these bones were discovered.

The wood-cut of the megatherium at the head of this notice is copied from a plate in the great work of Cuvier on Fossil Bones, which representation is from the specimen in Madrid.

[Dryden]

August 9th.—The anniversary of the birth of John Dryden. This great poet was born in 1631, in the parish of Aldwinkle-All-Saints, Northamptonshire, where his father, the third son of Sir Erasmus Dryden, Bart., had a small estate. The poet’s third son, Erasmus Henry, eventually succeeded to this baronetcy. All Dryden’s near connexions appear to have attached themselves in the civil wars to the party of the Parliament; and the poet himself, afterwards so celebrated for his royalist strains, began also by exercising his talents on that side of the question. The first verses by which he made himself much known, were his ‘Heroic Stanzas on the Death of Oliver Cromwell,’ in which he celebrated the memory of the Protector and his actions with no cold or sparing panegyric. When the Restoration, however, a few months after, brought other principles or 182professions into fashion, Dryden, with many more, made no scruple to adopt the new creed. His Elegy on Cromwell was followed by his ‘Astræa Redux,’ an effusion of thanksgiving ‘on the happy Restoration and Return of his sacred Majesty Charles II.;’ and that by a shorter piece on the coronation of the same monarch. As the poet, however, was yet only in his twenty-ninth year, perhaps it may be thought that he had not passed the age for the only change of political opinion which is usually looked upon with indulgence—the first, namely, which a man makes, or that in which he relinquishes the creed of education and custom, for that of reason and experience. And it is at least to be said for Dryden, that after this he distinguished himself by no second apostacy, but, right or wrong, adhered steadily during the remainder of his days to the colours under which he now took his place, although he lived to see the time when it would certainly have been for his worldly interest to have again changed sides, and when he would also have had many and high examples to countenance him in so doing. It was in the year after the publication of his ‘Astræa Redux’ that he first appeared in the character of a dramatist, which he afterwards sustained by so long a series of productions. His commencing effort in this line was his play entitled ‘The Duke of Guise,’ It was in the ‘Annus Mirabilis,’ however, which appeared in 1667, that his genius first broke forth with any promise of that full effulgence at which it eventually arrived. It is with the publication of this poem too that he may be properly said to have entered upon authorship as a profession; and from that event till the close of the century, his life may be described as having been but one long literary labour, scarcely ever relieved by any considerable interval of repose. We cannot here go over in detail the names and dates of his manifold productions; but we may merely observe that no fewer than twenty-eight dramas, and eight original poems of considerable length, besides many minor effusions, and several volumes of poetical translation from Chaucer, Boccaccio, Ovid, Theocritus, Lucretius, Horace, Juvenal, Persius, and Virgil, together with no small number of treatises in prose, in the shape of dedications, prefaces, and other more elaborate disquisitions, attest the unwearied industry, as well as the singular fertility of his mind. Such incessant exertions were so far from exhausting his genius, that his powers continued not only to do their work with unimpaired elasticity, but even apparently to gather new vigour and dexterity to the last. His celebrated ‘Alexander’s Feast,’ and his admirable Fables, (the latter, translations indeed, in so far as the incidents are concerned, from Boccaccio and Chaucer, but made by Dryden entirely his own by the embellishment and the filling up,) were written when the illustrious author was on the verge of his seventieth year, and suffering under poverty and accumulated afflictions, from which he was relieved by death a few months afterwards. He died on the 1st of May, 1700, and was buried in Westminster Abbey, in a grave next to that of Chaucer. Among our English poets Dryden stands at the head of the school to which he belongs, which, however, is not that of the highly imaginative, but rather that of the intense, energetic, and pointed, in feeling and expression. Pope, who is to be classed as, in many respects, his pupil, has excelled him in precision, regularity, and neatness of diction, and his wit, also, if not more brilliant, is certainly more refined and unmixed; but he has not approached Dryden either in the rich and varied music of his verse, or in the cordiality of his indignant declamation, or in the exquisitely free and easy flow of his merely discursive passages. There is nothing, indeed, more perfect in the language than Dryden’s reasoning in rhyme. Here, and in every thing else, his extraordinary command of expression is one of the chief sources of his strength. Dryden’s vocabulary, without comprehending the whole extent of the English tongue, is yet complete for the demands of his particular range of composition. Certainly few writers have wielded language with a more perfect mastery of the weapon. And it is this which not only gives much of its power to his poetry, but has also imparted to his prose style a charm that has been rarely equalled. It deserves, however, to be remarked, that to his affluence of words are probably to be in part ascribed some of his defects as well as many of his excellences. As a dramatist he has almost completely failed, and perhaps to a greater degree than he otherwise would have done, simply because he was so consummate a rhetorician. In his plays, as in all his other productions, he has given us sonorous verse and splendid declamation in abundance, but little true passion—many feats of art, but few touches of nature—much, in short, to fill the ear, but almost nothing to move the heart. But on another account also, indeed, Dryden was altogether unfitted to excel as a dramatic writer. He wanted the power of forgetting and abstracting himself from his merely personal feelings. But nearly every thing that Dryden has written most forcibly—every thing he has done in which there is really any passion, derives the chief portion of its animation from its being the mere utterance of his own rage, or scorn, or exultation, or other pervading sentiment at the moment. There is none of that passing out of himself into another being, the capacity of which is the soul of dramatic genius, and by the exertion of which a great dramatist seems not to speak through his characters, but only, as it were, to listen to what they say, and faithfully to write it down.

This is a volume which we hold to be eminently deserving of a place in our library list. Its merits are, first, that it contains an extraordinary quantity of matter for the price, and is therefore a very cheap book; and secondly, that it contains almost nothing but what is excellent in quality, and is therefore a book whose possession is really a treasure. It is also beautifully printed.

To those who do not know the volume, its title may not convey a correct notion of what it is. It is not a collection of poetical extracts, but of entire poems. None of the pieces are in any way abridged or altered. Whatever is given is printed in an unmutilated and perfect form, as it came from the pen of the author, and is to be found in the fullest and most authentic edition of his works. The book becomes, in this way, in the literal sense of the expression, a poetical library,—that is to say, an assemblage not of scattered leaves, from the works of our poets, but of their principal works themselves. Here are the whole of the Paradise Lost, the Paradise Regained, the Comus, and the Samson Agonistes, of Milton; Dryden’s Palemon and Arcite, in three books; J. Philips’s Cyder, in two books; Addison’s Campaign, and his Letter from Italy; Prior’s Alma, and his Solomon; Gay’s Trivia, and his Shepherd’s Walk; Somerville’s Chase; Pope’s Rape of the Lock, his Essay on Man, and his Moral Essays; Thomson’s Seasons, his Castle of Indolence, and his Liberty, in five parts; Churchill’s Rosciad; Young’s Night Thoughts, and his Universal Passion; Akenside’s Pleasures of Imagination; Goldsmith’s Traveller, and his Deserted Village; Johnson’s London, and his Vanity of Human Wishes; Armstrong’s Art of Preserving Health; Cowper’s Task, his Review of Schools, his Table Talk, and his Conversation; and Beattie’s Minstrel. In addition, there are a great number of smaller pieces by these writers, and also by Ben Jonson, Cowley, Waller, Parnell, Rowe, Green, Tickell, Hammond, Swift, A. Philips, Collins, Shenstone, Gray, Smollet, Lyttleton, the Wartons, and Mason. These poems probably contain altogether considerably 183more than 100,000 lines; and certainly could not be purchased, in any other form in which they have ever been published, for anything like the cost of the present volume. The biographical and critical notices with which the productions of each writer are introduced, are short and unpretending; but although they cannot be described as containing anything either very profound or very brilliant, the opinions which they advance are for the most part inoffensive and sensible enough, and at least as records of dates, compiled from common sources, but we believe tolerably accurate, they will be found useful.

There is another edition of this book, divided into several volumes, and sold at a considerably higher price; but that in one volume, which we have described, is the edition both for the single student and also for the economically conducted subscription library. In this shape too it is a capital book for the traveller’s trunk or portmanteau—a whole library of delightful reading, which hardly occupies the room of a single change of linen. The publishers, we ought likewise to mention, have lately brought out another volume to match with the present, containing many of the principal works (the whole of the Faery Queene among others) of our earlier poets. This is also an extremely beautiful book, but, from being larger than its predecessor, it is considerably dearer. The critical notices have the advantage of being from the pen of Mr. Southey.

There is no department in which English literature is richer than in that of poetry, nor is the literature of any country richer in this department than that of England. For nearly five hundred years, that is to say from the middle of the fourteenth century, when Chaucer flourished, to the middle of the nineteenth in which we ourselves live, our language has been constantly accumulating wealth of this description. Of all the works of former times, the writings of our old poets are beyond all comparison those which are still the best known, and may be most truly said yet to live. A great poem is indeed the only sort of literary production that ever gains a real immortality. Among prose works, one supplants another as successive generations come into being; and the older are little more than remembered in name, almost without being ever read. Certainly, they lose altogether their popular acceptance. The reason of this is to be found, without looking for it in any superior excellence, or preeminent natural attraction, which poetry may possess. A great poem is the only sort of work which can be said to be really finished and perfect—to be something which any addition would injure. All other works are written for the time merely till others on the same subject shall be composed, with the aid of better lights, to take their places; poems only are written for all ages. Milton knew this well, when, resolving, as he has himself recorded, to produce a work which men should not willingly let die, he addressed himself to the composition of a great poem. The only other species of work that can compete in this respect with a great poem is a work of pure science. The same quality of perfection (not absolute excellence, but absolute finish), which belongs to the former, may belong also to the latter, in so far as it goes. Thus, the Iliad of Homer has descended to us, a popular book, from the remotest times, and, along with it, the Elements of Euclid.

The popular errors and misstatements that exist in history are innumerable. The writers of the early annals of England, as those of other countries, have generally had a strong feeling for the marvellous, and where different versions of an event obtained, have chosen rather that which was most striking and dramatic, than that which was most true, or best supported by contemporary evidence. Later historians have but too often adopted their stories without doubt or examination.

One of such narratives is that of the death of King Richard II., which represents that unfortunate but vicious monarch as being murdered in Pomfret Castle by Sir Piers of Exton and his assistants, but not till he had made a most heroic resistance, snatching a battle-axe from one of his assailants, and with it laying no less than four of them dead at his feet.

This was the account inserted in all our current histories, and learnt by every school-boy in Goldsmith’s Abridgement: but within these few years the ingenious Mr. Tytler, in his History of Scotland, has inserted a very different one, and maintains,—“that Richard contrived to effect his escape from Pomfret Castle; that he travelled in disguise to the Scottish Isles; and that he was there discovered, in the kitchen of Donald, the Lord of the Isles, by a jester, who had been bred up at his court;—that Donald, Lord of the Isles, sent him, under the charge of the Lord Montgomery, to Robert III., King of Scotland, by whom he was supported as became his rank, so long as that monarch lived;—that he was; after the death of the king, delivered to the Duke of Albany, the governor of the kingdom, by whom he was honourably treated;—and that he finally died in the castle of Stirling, in the year 1419, and was buried on the north side of the altar, in the church of the preaching friars, in the town of that name.”

Now this story, which has been adopted by Sir Walter Scott in his epitome of Scottish History, and which is as romantic as our popular version, seems to be, like it, decidedly incorrect. All contemporary historians of the death of Richard II. give a totally different account from either of the preceding. “Of these, Thomas of Walsingham, Thomas Otterbourne, the Monk of Evesham, who wrote the life of Richard, and the continuator of the Chronicle of Croyland, all relate that Richard voluntarily starved himself to death, in a fit of despair, in his prison at Pomfret. To these must also be added the testimony of Gower the poet to the same effect, who was not only a contemporary, but had been himself patronised by Richard.”

The last sentence is extracted from an interesting paper lately read by Lord Dover before the Royal Society of Literature. By comparing the different authorities Lord Dover has clearly proved the incorrectness of the two stories; and though evidence is wanting to substantiate the fact, that Richard was not “for-hungered,” or starved to death by his keepers, “the probabilities of the case would appear to be very strongly in favour of his voluntary starvation.”

Courts of Justice among Crows.—Those extraordinary assemblies, which may be called crow-courts, are observed here (in the Feroe Islands) as well as in the Scotch Isles; they collect in great numbers as if they had been all summoned for the occasion. A few of the flock sit with drooping heads; others seem as grave as if they were judges, and some are exceedingly active and noisy, like lawyers and witnesses; in the course of about an hour the company generally disperse, and it is not uncommon, after they have flown away, to find one or two left dead on the spot.—Landt’s Description of Feroe Islands.

Dr. Edmonstone, in his view of the Shetland Islands, says that sometimes the crow-court, or meeting, does not appear to be complete before the expiration of a day or two, crows coming from all quarters to the session. As soon as they are all arrived, a very general noise ensues, the business of the court is opened, and shortly after, they all fall upon one or two individual crows (who are supposed to have been condemned by their peers) and put them to death. When the execution is over, they quietly disperse.

A Persian philosopher, being asked by what method he had acquired so much knowledge, answered, “By not being prevented by shame from asking questions when I was ignorant.”

The banian-tree (Ficus Indica) is one of the many species of the fig-tree, and deserves notice, not only as a fruit-tree, but from its being a sacred tree with the Hindoos in the East Indies, from the vast size that it attains, and from the singularity of its growth. The fruit does not exceed that of a hazel-nut in bigness; but the lateral branches send down shoots that take root, till, in course of time, a single tree extends itself to a considerable grove. This remarkable tree was known to the ancients. Strabo mentions, that after the branches have extended about twelve feet horizontally, they shoot down in the direction of the earth, and there root themselves; and when they have attained maturity, they propagate onward in the same manner, till the whole becomes like a tent supported by many columns. This tree is also noticed by Pliny with a minute accuracy, which has been confirmed by the observations of modern travellers; and Milton has rendered the description of the ancient naturalist almost literally, in the following beautiful passage:—

Some specimens of the Indian fig-tree are mentioned as being of immense magnitude. One near Mangee, twenty miles to the westward of Patna, in Bengal, spread over a diameter of 370 feet. The entire circumference of the shadow at noon was 1116 feet, and it required 920 feet to surround the fifty or sixty stems by which the tree was supported. Another covered an area of 1700 square yards; and many of almost equal dimensions are found in different parts of India and Cochin China, where the tree grows in the greatest perfection. A particular account of the banian-tree (sometimes called the pagod-tree) is given in Cordiner’s ‘Ceylon.’ Mr. Southey has also described it both in the spirit of a poet and a naturalist. The cut given above, which is copied from Mr. Daniell’s splendid work on ‘Oriental Scenery,’ well illustrates this description:—

Portuguese Robinson Crusoe, Diego Alvarez.—He was wrecked upon the shoals on the north of the bar of Bahia. Part of the crew were lost; others escaped this death to suffer one more dreadful; the natives seized and eat them. Diego saw there was no other possible chance of saving his life, than by making himself as useful as possible to these cannibals. He therefore exerted himself in recovering things from the wreck, and by these exertions succeeded in conciliating their favour. Among other things he was fortunate enough to get on shore some barrels of powder, and a musket, which he put in order at his first leisure, after his masters were returned to their village; and one day, when the opportunity was favourable, brought down a bird before them. The women and children shouted Caramuru! Caramuru! which signified “a man of fire!” and they cried out that he would destroy them: but he gave to understand to the men, whose astonishment had less of fear mingled with it, that he would go with them to war, and kill their enemies. Caramuru was the name which from thenceforward he was known by. They marched against the Tapuyas; the fame of this dreadful engine went before them, and the Tapuyas fled. From a slave Caramuru became a sovereign. The chiefs of the savages thought themselves happy if he would accept their daughters to be his wives; he fixed his abode upon the spot where Villa Velha was afterwards erected, and soon saw as numerous a progeny as an old patriarch’s rising round him. The best families in Bahia trace their origin to him.—Southey’s History of Brazil.

It is evident that nature has made man susceptible of experience, and consequently more and more perfectible; it is absurd then to wish to arrest him in his course, in spite of the eternal law which impels him forward.—Du Marsais.