however, the regular routine of school business and amusements, which hardly leaves an Eton boy leisure for reflection on extraneous subjects, entirely removed from his mind this regret for the lost pleasures of home, and reconciled him to his novel situation and its pursuits. The same traits of disposition which he brought with him to Eton still remain. Our system may be compared to the hand 'of the jeweller, who was employed in setting the breast-plate of the High Priest with precious stones, which merely rounded off the rough prominences, and gave a polish to the gems, so as to reduce the separate parts to harmonize with the whole, without destroying the individual beauty of each; and the same constitutes the partial metamorphosis of character which takes place at Eton. Bellamy is always most anxious for the vacation; home is the atmosphere most congenial to his feelings, and he invariably imports among us, on his return to Eton, some new branch of study, or an old one revived the last scientific whimsy which has been afloat in the blue stocking circles. During the long summer Holidays the family had been on a visit at one of the Sussex watering places, and conchology was the ascendant of the hour. Bellamy came back to Eton with a large assortment of shells and other marine productions in his trunk, and a string of appropriate dissertations on their respective shapes and colours in his mouth. We were ceaselessly attacked by lectures on monovalves, bivalves, and multivalves, on the spiral symmetry of the wintletrap, and the delicate transparency of the dactylus. I have often quarrelled with him for the superficial nature of this pursuit ; and am willing to make the pub lic a party in the dispute. Why should his inquiries, I ask, be confined to the wild appearance of the shell? Surely he ought to be tempted forwards to natural history, and be able to give an answer of the habits of the animal tenant, and investigate the muscular action, by which the valves are opened or closed at the instinct or will of the creature. If even common curiosity does not carry him thus far, he is much more deficient in laudable ambition after knowledge than the child who cuts a hole in his drum; not, as I would argue, merely from a wanton love of mischief, but rather from a philosophical impulse to discover the cause of sound. Bellamy's Christmas vacation, I understand, was almost entirely monopolized by his visits to the British Museum, whither his sisters accompanied him, for the purpose of pursuing a practical investigation of the science, which has lately come in vogue, of pronouncing on the temper and disposition of individuals from the form and curvature of their lips; and the old marbles were famous subjects for our amateurs to practise upon, and tax their ingenuity to a laughable pitch. (N.B. This branch of physiognomy by the way might be turned to the benefit of the Club, as discriminative of the merits of future Candidates.)-I had no doubt myself that Bellamy would be successful in his canvass for a seat in our House, owing to the powerful interest which Golightly was expected to make in favour of this protegè of his. Though we all know that Charles is but superficial in most of his acquirements, he is nevertheless a most useful member of our little world, from the variety of his pursuits; and he proved 6 a manner as all his former hobbies. There is only one exception to the general rule, and that is his fondness for antiquarian pursuits; in attestation of which you will find in his room a great box full of mossy fragments of antique castles; sepulchral relics,' which he has committed sacrilege to procure; old coins,' whose inscriptions are illegible; pebbles from Portland Isle;' a precious scrap of embalmed wrapper ;' 'a tattered duodecimo,' which he tells you is a specimen of Caxton's typography, &c. &c. I will not add a word more: the man is before you, as like as he can stare, though I say it; but if this production has not been effectual enough to make you acquainted with him, his conduct as a fellow member of our Honourable Society will soon make up all deficiencies; for the Ethiop will not change his skin, nor the Leopard his spots. himself in no respect more serviceable than to the above gentleman in his quondam capacity of manager of the Theatre. His voice not having as yet roughened into manhood's hoarseness, he was unanimously allowed to be the Sinclair of his day: his taste was correct, and his ear good; consequently his vocal exertions were answered by the rapturous encores of a delighted audience. But every thing in its proper place! If we happen to be studiously composing our theme, it is no trifling nuisance to be interrupted in our flights of thought, and dragged back to earth by a screaming duet, which Messrs. Golightly and Bellamy may be getting up' on the other side of a thin wainscotting. Luckily, however, for the repose of his Dame's house, this Hermogenic fit was of no longer duration than any of his other fancies; it lasted till the succeeding Holidays, and was then shaken off in as summary The Honourable Gentlemen were of course elected without opposition, with the exception of Michael's black ball. They were immediately introduced to the Club. Mr. Bellamy came in with a very pretty ladylike air, and treated us with such a bow as the Secretary really hath not seen since he accompanied Miss Hodgson to Monsieur D'Egville. Mr. Swinburne looked as foolish as if he was making his debut at Almack's. His embarrassment excited compassion in every one. Even Mr. Oakley was so much affected by it that he offered him a seat at his tea-table. Songs from various members concluded the evening. Mr.O'Connor, elated by the praise bestowed on his Greek, gave us an extempore effusion addressed to the new Members. Having a vacant page, and nothing further to notice, I shall conclude the fifth King of Clubs with what Mr. O'Connor calls his INAUGURATION ODE. Hail to ye! hail! ye dissimilar Dubs! Plumb-pudding Matthew, and syllabub Charles, Hail to thee, Swinburne! in raptures I call on In parsing and prosing, in grammar and Greek. Thine is the wisdom that flies from Quadrilles; Bentley, or Baxter, or Brunck, or Ruhnkenius, * And though Mr. Gerard don't think you're a genius, Come in your cloak of Hibernian frieze, Sterling and Courtenay will set you to work; While you are prosing of Persian or Punic, And thou, who thy rhymes must be hitching and stitching, bewitching," "well turn'd." ‡ Come from thine Aunts, and thy Sisters the Blues, But no, thou art pale at the mention of Rum, Hail to ye both, ye dissimilar Dubs; Plum-pudding Matthew and syllabub Charles; (Hear, hear, hear!) (Signed) RICHARD HODGSON, Secretary. "Quadrilles."-Vide No. II. p. 126.-P. C. + "Bewitching."-Vide No. IV. p. 271, line 21.-P. C. + "Well turned."-Vide No. IV. p. 271, line 10. P.C. ON CHARLES LAMB'S POETRY. MY DEAR PAM,-Charles Lamb has published so little, and, as far as my observation has gone, that little from many groundless prejudices has been so little read, that I reckon upon the merit of introducing a new Writer altogether to at least one half of your gentle Readers. If I can show then any thing worthy of remembrance, any thing that savours of a fine and genial mind, and which none but one of the kindliest temperament and warmest affections could have produced, I think I shall have a claim to the thanks of every true son of the Muses, who may have been hitherto a stranger to the works of this author. Perhaps it is needless to premise that I do not consider Lamb a great Poet; he appears to be agitated by none of that fervent spirit of imagination, which masters and absorbs the faculties of one possessed by that "fine frenzy" of which Shakspeare speaks; there is in him no mysterious profoundness of thought, which gives subject for meditation, when the words are well nigh forgotten; but little wayward brilliancy of fancy; no romance; but all he can justly lay claim to in his poetry, is a heartfelt tenderness, a domestic freedom, and once or twice the most perfect excellence in what has been called the "curiosa felicitas" of language, that can well be conceived. As a crític, or rather (for now-a-days criticism seems to mean nothing but dull analysis, or verbal pulling to pieces of the suffering subject,) as an Indicator of the essentials of the Genius of Shakspeare and Hogarth, and as a discerning advocate of all our old and golden dramatists, I do not scruple to pronounce him first-rate ;-as the author of "Rosamond Gray" he will make ever girl and boy, aye and youth too, sigh and muse: as the exquisite imitator of that queer ancient Master, Burton, he will make you laugh, even although you could have been as saturnine as they of Drurylane, at the distress of poor damned " Mr. H." Finally, without exception, and it is saying a good deal in the present day, Charles Lamb writes the best, the purest, and most genuine English of any man living. I know there are many persons, who for the most part are real lovers of Poetry, and very just and accurate judges of merit and peculiarities in Poets, who cannot endure ought else but what is in their opinions the " highest heaven of invention;"-absorbed in Spenser, Shakspeare, and Milton, they look down upon Fletcher, or Collins, or Burns; adoring Byron, or Shelley, or Wordsworth, they cannot waste their time and their feelings upon Lamb, Montgomery, or Campbell: life, they say, is short; Poetry after all is but an amusement, and when they may enjoy that amusement in highest luxury and most enduring profit to their minds why hunt about for scraps and fragments of genius, which, when found, hardly repay the labour of the chase? True-let the busy Merchant, the keen Lawyer, the important Physician, stand out of the question; it is quite enough, in all conscience, if they ever humanize their hearts for a half hour with Hermia and Lysander, with Una in Faery, or with Eve in Paradise: but, from the devoted scholar, from the meditative man of literature, from the watchman and nursery-father of genius in all its forms, we expect other things; that he should know that great powers are not necessarily universal ones; that the grand intellectual instrument is valuable in all its melodies; and that sometimes even the milder and gentler tones issuing from it are more pleasing, because more symphonious with the feelings of the mass of mankind; that the rose, though not endued with the umbrageous magnificence of the forest oak, hath still a faint, yet exquisite perfume of its own; and that many have remembered the Sparrow of Catullus, who have forgotten the Hector of Homer. I am not decrying the study, the rapturous study, of the master-spirits of the earth, nor puffing up into an absurd importance the flutterings of the little gregarious birds around the eagle of Heaven :-far from it; let your admiration of the first be paramount, but why should it be exclusive of the second? Read Shakspeare, but why not also read sweet Fletcher? Read Burns, but why trample upon Hogg? Lastly, to the esoteric Wordsworthian I would say, "Muse on your idol; I do not forbid you; but condescend to pluck a flower from the shady vernal garden of the good-tempered, kindly-affectioned Charles Lamb!" It is far from my wish to kindle any incense to printed imbecility; I am more deaf than rocks to sailors, when the pulings of peasants are quoted and reviewed as the bursting forth of genius from the dust: I hate Della Crusca and all his little ones; neither am I much of a humour to believe that Master Dallas will turn out a great poet, because Pope wrote verses, perhaps not so good as his, at twelve years old! I make a difference between genius and mere cleverness: the slightest sure mark of the first I hold myself bound to watch; for the second I care not if it be bound in morocco, or soiled with a gingerbread cake. The one is valuable, and deserves education, because it is the orphan of a Divinity; the latter (more Romano) may, without injury to the republic, be allowed to take its own chance of growing fat and plump, and turning out good common sense. This is my criterion of judging the Spirits; and thus it is, because I perceive, and have been charmed by, the plaintive querulousness, and sometimes joyous ebulliency, of his heart, that I now think Charles Lamb worthy of a short notice in the pages of "The Etonian." |