He had written praises of a regicide:

He had written praises of all kings whatever; He had written for republics far and wide,

And then against them bitterer than ever.

For pantisocracy he once had cried

Aloud-a scheme less moral than 'twas clever; Then grew a hearty anti-Jacobin

Had turn'd his coat--and would have turn'd his skin.

Coleridge and Wordsworth underwent exactly the same political metamorphosis as Southey, but they never awakened, because they never deserved, one-tenth part of the animosity with which Southey was justly regarded. In 1794, when Southey quitted Oxford, he was filled with the enthusiasm for liberty which the events of the French Revolution had engendered in every noble and unprejudiced mind. With the exception of a volume of short verses, published in conjunction with his friend Lovell, his earliest work was a tragedy, entitled 'Wat Tyler,' written for the express purpose of proving how desirable are liberty, communism and perfect equality, and how absolutely necessary it is to the happiness of mankind that domineering priests and despots should disappear from the earth. This production is chiefly characterized by baldness of diction and poverty of thought, but the nobility of its purpose gave it a temporary success. Southey, however, soon disowned all that it contained of good, and in republishing it at the close of his life did not attempt to correct, nor even to offer any apology for, its youthful crudeness; he apparently thought the treatment perfect, but the conception odious, and the reason he gives for according it a place among his works is that 'it seemed proper that a production, which will be specially noticed whenever the author shall be delivered over to the biographers, should be included here.' In 1795, Southey's opinions remained unchanged, and in this year he published Joan of Arc,' his first considerable poem, the subject of which had been suggested to him by Coleridge, and the poem written two years before its publication. Al

though Joan of Arc' was completed before Southey attained his twentieth year, it approaches as nearly to true 1 epic poetry as any one of his more mature and more pretentious production. One reason for this is to be found in the fact that, unlike' Thalalu, 'The Curse of Kehama' et hoc genus omne, its subject is really susceptible of epic treatment, and in the hands of an ardent lover of patriotic liberty could not fail to be ennobling, at least in conception, however faulty might be the poetical execution. As a poem 'Joan of Arc' contained a full share of those faults and excellencies natural to Southey, which will be spoken of later on; at present we are only concerned with its political aspect, Writing in 1837, Southey himself says that the chief cause of its favourable reception was, that it was written in a republican spirit,' and there can be little doubt of the strict truth of this. In the first edition of the poem, the Maid of Orleans is conducted in a vision to the realms of eternal woe, and beholds there all the great conquerors of the earth who, during their lives, deluged the earth with blood, and as she gazed upon them :

A deep and hollow voice from one went forth; Lo! I am here, The hero conqueror of Agincourt, Henry of England! . Wretched that I am! I might have reign'd in happiness and peace, My coffers full, my subjects undisturb'd, And Plenty and Prosperity had loved To dwell amongst them; but in evil hour, Seeing the realm of France, by faction torn, I thought in pride of heart that it would fall An easy prey. I persecuted those

Who taught new doctrines, though they taught the

was out of place in such a poem.* And now let us turn from this picture of George III. to the one presented to us by Southey in The Vision of Judg ment,' and on comparing them the most ardent lover of royalty will own that if the first be harsh and unjust, the second is absolutely indefensible, either on the score of taste, or of truth. In the address dedicating The Vision of Judgment' to George IV., Southey calls it a tribute to the sacred memory of our late revered Sovereign,' and proceeds to eulogize the House of Brunswick in the most fulsome terms, concluding with the astounding remark that, 'The brightest portion of British history will be that which records the improvements, the works, and the achievements of the Georgian Age.' Such a preface fitly prepares us for the poem itself, which is a vision vouchsafed to the poet of the reception which George III's soul met with after death at the tribunal of Heaven, where his accusers are called forth to testify against him, only to be utterly and completely confounded. We will not touch upon the wretched taste which could justify, to a poet's mind, such a semi-blasphemous conception, but will merely set forth Southey's mode of dealing with his self-chosen subject. The powers of Hell are first called upon to bring forward any accusation they may have against the Monarch, and

Forth from the lurid cloud a Demon came at the summons;

It was the Spirit by which his righteous reign had been troubled,'

This portentous demon is exceedingly

*Southey's pusillanimous withdrawal of these verses may have stimulated Landor to revive the description of the Monarch more pointedly, in the following lines, which occur in Gebir, published in 1802:

"Iberia bore him but the breed accurst Inclement winds blew blighting from north-east," "He was a warrior then, nor fear'd the gods ? "Gebir, he feared the demons, not the gods Though them indeed his daily face adored : And was no warrior, yet the thousand lives Squandered, as stones to exercise a sling, And the tame cruelty and cold caprice,

Oh madness of mankind ! address'd, adored !"'

shadowy in outline, and it is difficult at first to understand whom or what he represents, but the lines which inform us that he was graced with

'Numberless faces,

Numberless bestial ears erect to all rumours,

restless,

and

And with numberless mouths which were fill'd with lies as with arrows,"

give the first clue, and when he calls as witnesses Wilkes and Junius, we become quite certain that the terrible fiend is the personification of His Majesty's Loyal Opposition in the House of Commons. It is hardly necessary to say that Wilkes and Junius are represented as damned spirits who have been allowed a short respite from torment, in order to attend this trial; but all the canons of decency, not to mention good taste, are so consistently violated in the poem, that we may pass over this breach of them as trifling. These diabolical witnesses having fled in silence and dismay (can it be that the good Southey dared not let them speak?), the spirit of George Washington, of all possible spirits in Heaven or Hell, appears to speak a good word for his ancient foe, and he does it by means of the following extraordinary

utterance:

'Thou too didst act with upright heart, as befitted a Sovereign True to his sacred trust, to his crown, his kingdom and people.

Heaven in these things fulfill'd its wise, though inscrutable purpose,

While we work'd its will, doing each in his place as became him.'

This idea of a partnership between Washington and George III., in which both were working for a common end, would be intensely ludicrous, were it not that we lose sight of the comic side of the picture in sorrow that so good and true a man as Southey, should have forgotten his better nature and debased himself so utterly. It is impossible to continue further in the description of this poem, without incurring grave risk of reflecting some of the unctuous profanity into which Southey allowed his ultra-loyalty to betray him. Suffice it to say that

George III. is supposed to be received into the region of bliss, and that he meets there amongst others, Richard I., Charles I., and the Black Prince, the last named being rather a curious protegé for the author of Joan of Arc.' It may be supposed, however, that Henry V. himself would also have 'been there, but that the author, some twenty years before, had disposed of him otherwise; we cannot imagine any more valid excuse for his exclusion from such a company. In the course of the poem George IV., that heartless, polished, padded ruffian, is thus alluded to:

Right in his father's steps hath the Regent trod, was the answer:

Firm hath he proved and wise, at a time when weakness or error

Would have sunk us in shame, and to ruin have hurried us headlong,

True to himself hath he been, and Heaven has rewarded his counsels.'

The two points on which Southey enraged his former party, and even disgusted the most sensible of his friends, were adulation of George IV., whose vices were notorious, and enthusiastic, loud-mouthed approbation of the wars with France, even to the extent of justifying them in their inception. The lapse of nearly two generations has enabled a calm. verdict to be rendered on the conduct of England towards France at the close of the eighteenth century, and there are few men now living, no matter what their politics, who will deny that, by her action at that time, England, in mon with the rest of Europe incurred a grave responsibility, and brought evil forces into play which are only now exhausting themselves. The first interference with the affairs of a friendly nation rendered possible the career of the first Buonaparte; this led to a second interference, which was absolutely necessary for the safety of Europe, and the settlement then arrived at rendered possible, nay, almost inevitable, the twenty years of Imperialism which emasculated France, and from which she is but now recovering.

com

Southey, however, cannot be

blamed for not anticipating the events and the verdict of history: the spirits who were strong enough to foresee, and bold enough to denounce the consequences of England's conduct, were few indeed, and they met with but little honour during life. But Southey is to be blamed for flattering a vicious Prince he himself, a man of purest morals and most exalted social virtue, must, in this instance at least, have consciously degraded what should have been to him a sacred art. It is not to be supposed, however, that the sins of The Vision of Judgment' passed unpunished in Southey's lifetime. He was ill-advised enough to publish a Preface to the poem, in which he inveighed against what he called the

Satanic' school of poetry, and actually had the hardihood to call upon the law to devise means of suppressing those men of diseased hearts and depraved imaginations.' It is not very clear that he wished to denounce any one outside of Lord Byron and the Edinburgh Reviewers, who had vexed his soul by their criticisms, but his reference to the first named was so evident that Byron took up the cudgels and administered such a castigation as poet never received before. There is no finer example of mocking, withering sarcasm in any language than Byron's Vision of Judgment; the contemptuous, biting preface, would alone annihilate most men, and the pungent wit and exquisite ridicule of the poem itself, must have made even Southey, the impervious egotist, wince and tremble. He felt himself unable to cope with such a giant as Byron, and took his well-merited punishment in

silence.

Southey had accepted the office of Laureate in 1813, after it had been offered to, and declined by, Sir Walter Scott. It is stated in Lockhart's Life of Scott, that Southey attached as a condition of his acceptance, that he should not be called upon for any of those formal odes on the occasions of Royal birthdays, &c., which had ren

dered the name of his predecessor Pye so notorious and so ridiculous. Southey, however, expressly denies that he made any such stipulation, informing us on the contrary, that immediately after his appointment the New Year's Ode was called for and duly furnished, and that he continued to prepare odes for any occasion on which he thought they might be demanded. It is certain, therefore, that the disuse of the custom was the gradual work of time, and was not accelerated by any special action on Southey's part. It is hardly fair to criticise seriously performances written to order, such as the 'Carmen Triumphale' or the 'Carmen Nuptiale;' they drew down upon the poet great and deserved ridicule during his lifetime, and they are certainly not worth dilating upon after his death. It is only necessary to mention them in discussing Southey's political conduct, because of the proof they afford, that the violence of his recantation from his early opinions, prevented him from rescuing the office of Laureate from the degradation into which it had fallen under the wretched Pye. It has remained for Mr. Tennyson to demonstrate, that a great poet may hold the office without sacrifice of his dignity as a man, or risk of his reputation as a poet. We have said enough to show that although Southey's change of opinion was undoubtedly natural, thoroughly sincere, inspired by high motives and firm conviction, the actions which resulted from it were unworthy of so good a man, and laid him open, not only to the aspersions of his contemporaries, but to the just reproach of posterity. An ardent loyalist may become a sincere republican without of necessity being a regicide, but, reversing the cases, this latter was the part which Southey deliberately chose to play. It is not that he changed his opinions-had he been from his youth upwards an enthusiastic defender of Church and King his course would be no less blameworthy-nor is

it necessary to enquire whether his earlier or his later beliefs are the best for the general adoption of mankind; the fault with which he is charged lies altogether outside the discussion of such questions; it consists in the proven fact that he flattered and fawned upon his Royal friends, and vilified and traduced his own quondam allies; and this must for ever remain a dark spot on an otherwise bright

escutcheon.

To turn from Southey's political career to his social life, is to emerge from a heated, unhealthy atmosphere into pure air, and bright, health-giving sunshine. In every relation of life, as husband, father, friend, he was alike admirable and above reproach. He was severely moral without being ascetic; nobly generous without being profuse; tender-hearted as a woman without a woman's weakness; ingenuous as a child without a child's ignorance; a charming companion, a faithful friend and a tender lover; he was incapable of envy, and wilful injustice was impossible to him. We have noticed the chief incidents of Southey's youth, as the best stand-point from which to point out his faults as a politician but in order to illustrate fully his virtues as a private citizen, we should have to refer to nearly every action of a long and meritorious life. Fortunately such a task is not only impossible, but quite unnecessary to our present purpose; the main excellencies of Southey as a man are so patent, that a brief reference to the leading events of his career, will afford ample evidence of their existence. The year following his final leave-taking of the University, Southey accompanied his uncle Dr. Herbert to Lisbon. Before he left England he married Miss Edith Fricker, of Bristol, whose two sisters had previously been united, the one to Coleridge, and the other to Southey's friend, Lovell. His stay in Portugal was not a long one, but he wisely applied himself vigorously to the study of Spanish and Portuguese,.

and to his knowledge of these languages we owe nearly all of the least unworthy part of his poetry. During his absence his brother-in-law Lovell died, and Southey's conduct to his widow is one of the noblest episodes of a noble life. Immediately upon his return to England, although he himself at the time was so poor that he could not claim the wife from whom he had parted at the churchdoor, Southey busied himself in the attempt to obtain a provision for Mrs. Lovell. As soon as he had a home of his own, he generously invited her to share it, and together with her son she became an honoured inmate of the celebrated Greta Hall. For some time Southey's ultimate career was uncertain; he tried the law, but threw it up in less than a year, and again visited Portugal; on his return he made a trial of official life, being appointed Private Secretary to Mr. Corry, Chancellor of the Exchequer for Ireland, but his unbusinesslike habits rendered him totally unfit for the post, and he wisely anticipated dismissal by resignation. During the whole of this time, however, he had been most industrious as an author, and had met with more than average success, as far as reputation went, although the pecuniary results of his labours had not been very encouraging. However, he determined in spite of all discouragements, to devote himself wholly to the life of a student and a poet, and to win by industry, competence in the only career for which he was fitted. Before his short trial of official life, Southey had visited Coleridge at Greta Hall, and in 1803 he joined his brother-poet as a permanent occupant of the house, and thus had the good fortune to be classed among the Lake Poets. Here the two families, Mrs. Lovell and her son being regarded as part of Southey's, lived amicably together, and here it was that Southey formed his library, that noble collection of books which was his chief pride, and the supreme de

his

light of his life. Southey loved books with that rare love, which distinguishes them as in some sort personal friends, not to be lightly thrown aside or disregarded, even when all possible good has been extracted from them. He agreed with Charles Lamb in thinking, that every book has an individuality of its own, and that its outward clothing should be, in some sort, appropriate; and that, where a book is at once both good and rare, 'no casket is rich enough, no casing sufficiently durable to honour and keep safe such a jewel.' His books were magnificently bound, and much as he loved, and deeply as he studied, the inside of them, he took a pride in their appearance which bespoke the true book-lover. In this respect he presented a curious contrast with Wordsworth; the books that Wordsworth loved were few in number; little library was thumbed and tattered and dogs-eared, and he cared nothing for any book, merely as a book, irrespective of the information to be gained from it. In one sense this dif ference between the two poets was both natural and characteristic. No man owed less to books than Wordsworth; no poet is so entirely indebted to them for his name and fame as Southey. Southey's library has been well called bis wife,' but it would, perhaps, be more fitting to say that he regarded each book in it with the affection of a father for a child. We can call to mind few more pathetic pictures than that of Southey, old and enfeebled in body, and still more enfeebled in mind, his overwrought intellect having at last fallen in ruins, sitting in his library and taking down one after another his dearly-loved books, gently stroking and patting them, and then hopelessly returning to the shelves the old friends whose voices had become dumb to him for ever. Southey's methodical and intensely industrious habits astonished all who knew him; he made it an absolute rule to get through a certain