1822.1 Memoir of Giovanni Belzoni, Esq: nevolos & dis pqdx Mr. Belzoni had long since taken possession of it, he went direct to the Island; and affecting to the simple natives that he could read the hie roglyphics, pretended, that they indicated the obelisk to belong to M. Drouetti's ancestors. By this, and several other means, added to some presents, he nearly frustrated Mr. Belzoni's design of removing the obelisk but he was not of a character to bend before difficulties, and he succeeded in carrying it to Thebes, where he met with Mrs. Belzoni, who had returned from Jerusalem. From the moment of his arrival, M. Drouetti took every opportunity of coming to an open quarrel with him; but finding he would not be provoked, he employed his two agents, Lebulo and the renegado Rossignan, to assault him publicly at the head of thirty Arabs. They were soon joined by M. Dronetti himself, but several other Arabs who happened to be passing, stopped to see what was the matter, and took Mr. Belzoni's part. Finding it dangerous to remain any longer in Alexandria, Mr. Belzoni determined to leaveEgyptaltogether, and having conveyed his collection of antiquities, his sarcophagus, models, drawings, &c. on board, he sailed for Alexandria, where he found letters, on his arrival, from the Consul, and Mr. Bankes, who 107 were then a The Consul re- agreed to these conditions, he was quested of him to stop in Alexandria, till he had an answer from England, and obtained redress for the manner in which he was treated. In consequence of this delay, Mr. Belzoni purposed making a journey to the Oasis of Ammon. He set off, accordingly, and visited many of those places whose primitive glory is long since set, but which still derive an importance, from the splendour of their ancient fame. Amongst others, We may note the lake Moeris, the town and temple of Haron, the ancient town of Denay, the ancient Bacchus, the ruins of Arsinoe, &c. With the present state of these places he makes us particularly acquainted, a and his opinions, with regard to the relations which they Bear to others, mentioned in ancient history, are peculiarly interesting. Having procured a guide through the deserty he pursued his course westward; and, after a journey of two days, came to various tumuli, permitted to pursue his researches. He visited, among other places, the tombs and fountain mentioned by Herodotus in Melpomene, and which he places near the temple of Jupiter Ammon. Having explored every thing of note here, and in the adjacent country, he returned once more to Rosetta, and thence to Alexandria. Having obtained no redress for the assault, committed on his person by Drouetti and his agents, he sailed for his native country, where he passed over to England, as already related. Since his arrival, he has published an account of his travels and discoveries, from which we have collected our materials for the present memoir. Our limits, however, do not permit us to enter into the spirit of the work, or the reasonings of its author; and we have, therefore, confined ourselves chiefly to such matters as related to the active, and not to the speculative part of his life. 156) ESSAY ON THE GENIUS OF COWLEY, DONNE AND) O of aliaп0001 01 offlib o ar tidoida. 9070 golation 9tologA bea.s wat tad CLIEVELAND.so ed age 29 16919 Toy 93endelso of evils (Continued from page 48.) ai ti sbal geams bobler ventes to al -wod asmoldon deilged feelings of nature become, consequently, extinct; their voice is not heard: their impulse is disregarded; and we consider them just and natural only, when they with t those from whom we agree think it impious to dissent. This appears to me to be the reason, why all natural feeling is destroyed, while we are travelling from the state of nature, where we have no authority to direct us, to the state of perfect knowledge, where we are enabled to estimate the real value of every authority to On these two r assent is required. to which It is only states we can exercise a perfect Freedom opinion and of language, because, in the one, we know not what restriction means, and, in the other, we despise the restriction to which the tyranny of authority would endeavour to subject us. These appear to me to be the reasons, why every trace of natural feeling seems to be extinct in the writings of Cowley and his contemporaries.Perhaps I do not assert more than I could easily prove, when I say, that every line, every idea, every sentiment in Cowley, Donne, Clieveland, &c. can be traced to the philosophy, the metaphysics, or the literature of their predecessors. They never venture to think for themselves, and their highest aim is to present the thoughts of others in a different aspect. They never consult their own feelings: they even address their mistress as if she were totally destitute of all natural feeling, as if she were an intellectual being, who was as were an in the least subect to the dominion of the senses; ject and as if she could only esteem the whose love was a mere heterogeneous compound of conceit and wit, not the man who loved her as a man, and whose love had not the Temotest alliance with metaphysical combinations. Who can trace the least spark of natural affection in the following comparison, which Donne makes between himself who travels, and his wife who stays at home, to a pair of compasses? Dryden very justly observes of Donne, that he affects the metaphysics, not only in his satires, but in his amorous verses, where nature only should reign, and perplexes the minds of the fair sex with nice speculations of philosophy, when he should engage tertain theag w their hearts and of love.' en visgall Donne has not confined his metaphysical jargon to his poetical productions. It is equally characteristic of his prose writings. Even in the dedication of his poetical works to Lord Craven, where it might naturally be expected he would have laid aside his conceits and witticisms, he concludes, by representing the collection of his own poems as a pyramid on which his Lordship's statue might rest secure; in which, by the bye, the whole compliment is to himself, and not to his Lordship. He leaves it doubtful, however, whether it be his Lordship's statue or himself, that is to rest on this pyramid., Although these poems, he 66 says, were formerly, written upon several occasions, to several persons, they now unite themselves, and are become one pyramid to set your Lordship's statue upon, where you (not the statue) may stand, like armed Apollo, the defender of the the Muses, encouraging the poets now alive to celebrate your great acts." Indeed, it is difficult to think well of the national character of the English nobility, at a time when such puerile absurdities were received as compliments. There is great reason to believe, that we owe little to our ancestors for that dig. nity and true pride of character, of which we justly boast at present; nor would it, perhaps, be wandering far from the truth, to assert, that we are more nearly allied to the French, the Germans, or the Spaniards, of the present day, in point of national character, than we are to our own great grandfathers. We hear no longer of that prostitution of genius which was so common in England, down to the commencement of the eighteenth century. Patrons were at this time addressed as demi-gods. The language of adulation could not be too servile, and, indeed, it is difficult to determine, which is the most offensive and revolting to our nature, the poet who basely sacrifices at the altar of wealth, or the patron who suffers himself to be exalted almost into the throne of omnipotence, where he *་་་ "Assumes the God, And seems to shake the spheres." Happily, these lords of the creation have no existence at present. English noblemen are too enlightened to think themselves honoured by being elevated above their own species, and endowed with attributes of excellence, which are placed beyond the reach of human attainment. Reason has so far established her dominion amongst us, ase to remove the veil which had been woven in the loom of fendal despotism, and interposed between the higher and lower classes of society. This veil prevented them from being mutually acquainted with each other; for the former class not only believed themselves to be of a superior order to the latter, but even the latter themselves became conIverts to the opinion. In many parts of Ireland, this blind homage to ancestry, arising from a belief that they inherit a sort of superior nature, prevails at the present day, a fact which it is so difficult to reconcile to reason, that few can give it credence who have not actually resided among them. The English nobleman, however, has long ceased to believe, that nature has drawn any line of distinction between him and the peasant. He has, indeed, frequently to pity the ignorance of the latter; he finds himself possessed of many endowments which are entirely denied to him; he finds himself removed from him by a vast expanse of mental illumination; but he places none of these differences to the account of nature; and he justly attributes them to the advantages of education and cultivated society-to the agency of circumstances, and the influence which they exercise over the human mind. The genius of the literature of every age is considerably influenced by the moral character of the people. Poets and historians are scarcely left any alternative but that of writing what will please, or of not writing at all. They cannot please, however, without accommodating themselves to the political prejudices and national character of the people for whom they write. A nation that respects its own character will produce chaste and moral writers, but where this character is forgotten, where every individual consults only the propensities of his own nature, the genius of morality and patriotic virtue wings her flight to some happier confines, and a swarm of licentious writers, sensual poets, and timeserving historians immediately suc ceed. The stage, particularly, becomes a theatre of profanation and impiety. This licentiousness seems to have infected the English nation, and, consequently, the English writers, from the middle of the seventeenth to the middle of the eighteenth century, more than any other country in Europe. The prostitution of ge nius was no where more evident than on the stage; and the writer, who could not accommodate himself to the rage of the times, had no chance of advancing himself in public estimation. If we were to judge of Dryden's character through the mes dium of his dramatic works, the sensuality of his muse would convey but a faint conception of that diff 110 Essay on Cowley, Donne and Clieveland. bevol or woy dw snowcur oft moes 108 dence and real modesty which characterized his life. The impressions were too feeble of [AUG. arborg two eil zo tibstɔeib ɛyaizo figure his creatures! If the comedies of Congreve did not rack him with remorse, in his last moments,phel to the strong pleadings of must have been lost to all sense of necessity, and he yielded to that licentiousness of manner, and obscenity of description, which could alone crown his dramatic compositions, if not with fame, at least with success. He lived to lament the immorality of his plays, but he did not live to behold the stage reformed, or disposed to reject profligate characters, and indelicate scenes. The English stage, or rather the English nation, has surpassed all other countries for its indelicate comedy: Accustomed to the indelicacy of our own comedy," says Dr. Blair, “and amused with the wit and humour of it, its immorality too easily escapes our observation. But all f foreigners, the French especially, who are accustomed to a bet Segula with more decent stage, nishment. Voltaire, who is, assuredly, none of the most austere moralists, plumes himself not a little upon the superior bienseance of the French theatre and says, "that the language of English comedy is the language of debauchery, not of politeness." M. Moralt, in his letters upon the French and English na tion, ascribes the corruption of manners in London to comedy, as its chief cause. Their comedy," he surprise and asto ༔ virtue." We cannot, however, agree with Lord Kaimes in laying the entire blame on the writers of comedy If the taste of the nation at large had not been vitiated, immodest writers would find no encourage ment, and, consequently, would not cultivate that species of comedy,q which tended neither to sincrease their wealthy nor their reputation 946 at least, the greater censure: must attach to the nation, for what will not a writer do, who lives o seby his profession? That excuse, whichs Churchill pleads in his own behalf, will always be found stronger in de ti fence of writers than any plea which the nation can ever advance in dest fence of itself. 9/rasido ati lis jole avroq out asi hunger "What proof might do; what h 0716791 903 mont On all it once held dear; what fear, ari back from death, Reasoninj as Ja In treason to my soul descend to bear, it Trusting to fate, I neither know nor the care." of no other counsays the school in which the bboy a otai hrot try 18 hdw viinivil 3dt youth ith of both sexes familiarize themWe do not, by this, mean to advo selves with vice, which is never recate profligate writers; we presented there as vice, but as mere mean to say that, culpable as the rol gaiety.' "As for comedy," says are, they are still less so Diderot,in his observations upon nation that encourages them. While dramatic poetry, "the English have the stage continued to be the great A none they have, in their place, nursery of voluptuous writers, it was satires full, indeed, of gaiety and not wonderful, indeed, that thosey & force, but without morals, and with who frequented it, did not escape out taste,-Sans mœurs et sans gout." the contagion which it was so highlyT calculated to infuse. Of this plea Lord Kaimes, in his "Elements of Criticism," has censured the indelisure it may be truly said, cacy of English comedy in terms still stronger than Dr. Blair's, concluding his invective against it in these words:- "How odious ought those writers to be, who thus spread infection through their native counica try, employing the talents which they have received from their Maker most traiterously against himself, by endeavouring to corrupt and dis wong dist rist Principium dulce est, at finis amoris amarus, to 191 Læta venit Venus, tristis abire soletnice BUCHANANA 920s boob woy ni gedT Ovid himself, the prince of amate tory poetry, confesses the danger of A the voluptuous muse, though i he says, in making this confession, he DUAT brings discredit on his own productionsames ont la 126153891) eiñowgi dow mai absx tea bis Eloquar invitus, tenerosne tange poetas, Submoveo dotes impius ipse meas. 09TYL 19V9wod Jonnss-9 W Even Shakspeare, wholis, at bot tom, perhaps the most moral of all writers, is so replete with that indelibacy which was the growth of his ownage, and with which he was necessarily obliged to conform in part, that he is too gross for his greatest admirers at present; and, accordingly, we have an edition of his works, in which the obscene pas sages are expunged. When the mental powers are once vitiated in any of their functions, and become subject to van improper or immoral influence, the contagion becomes, in a manner, universal, and the mind takes a false and distorted view of all its objects. Accordingly, we find that the perversion of moral senti ent sacrificed truth and modesty to obscenity and licentiousness, banished, nature altogether from the literary productions of the time; and servility became the natural consequence of false sentiment and conceit. Cowley, Donne, and Clieveland unite, perhaps, more than all the rest, this prostrate servility of adulation to a total abandonment of nature, whose modesty they left at an immeasurable distance behind them. Doune, not satisfied with transforming the Countess of Bedford into a goddess, endows her with that which is object of ONDE one of Christian admon of his he addresses ennintelligible ve lowing the fol rant:- Reason is our soul's left u Their loves, who have the blessing of Grew from their reason; mine from fair faith grew. Therefore I study you first in your Then in your deeds, accesses, and re- 12 ΟΙΚ But soon the reasons why you're loved by allidw vashout lost bas 909b Grow infinite, and so pass reason'sTM Then back again to implicit faith I fall, reach; outly to And rest on what the Catholic voice doth teach. In We think that Paradise and Calvary,!98 Look, Lord, and find both Adams met I Of Clieveland, little remains to bedt said, as all our observations on Donnèni and Cowley are applicable to him. He has not a single poem worthy the t talent attention of a reader of taste; and it af nok luna ahli gola ai que Zib bu iquid at zaitovcobus And what you read, and what yourself devise.noft |