without rousing him into a state of exasperation as violent as the emotions into which Iago worked the husband of Desdemona. I thought a reference to it now would rather amuse than offend him, and ventured to tell him that I would "drink a measure to the health of the black Othello." I was astounded at the effect it had upon him. He rose-said nothing-gave me a look of fiery indignation, and, before I could utter a word of remonstrance or apology, darted from the house. I lament to say, that I have never seen him since. No. XVI. BERKELEY-MONTAIGNE-D'ISRAELI-IRVING-DRYDENPOPE, &c. H.-I saw poor yesterday, he was very weak and infirm. Old age has fallen heavily upon him. And yet it seems but a short while ago, since you and he and I made a cheerful trio, devouring shoals of white bait at Greenwich. The unexpected meeting of an old friend, upon whose features Time has written some of his sternest truths, makes one too conscious of one's own mortality, and excites a melancholy feeling of the brevity of life. Swift says that no wise man ever wished to be younger. I do not agree with him. L.-How like a passing dream the whole world appears to a thoughtful spirit! The mind is like a magic lantern, and gives its own light to a quick succession of phantasmagoric figures. All that we behold we create for ourselves. Berkeley's theory is not the eccentric frolic of an ingenious metaphysician, but a truly philosophical speculation. H. Are you serious in saying so? L.-Perfectly. We are such stuff As dreams are made of, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep. H.-I grant that the theory of the immateriality of the world is not to be overthrown by argument, and that Dr. Johnson's attempt to refute it by stamping upon a stone, was a proof that he did not understand the subject; but there are many first truths which must be taken for granted, and which it would be absurd to reject because they admit not of formal demonstration. L.-The Doctor, I suppose, thought he was imitating Diogenes, who, when called upon for a definition of motion, got up and walked. H.-Berkeley's theory is not exclusively the property of any single philosopher, but is almost as old as the world itself. It has been familiar to the Brahmins of Hindostan for many thousand years. L.-That only proves that it is founded on truth. It is the natural offspring of the thoughtful mind, in all climes and under all conditions. Berkeley's theory makes life a sort of dream; and that life is a dream, is a proverbial truism in every circle of society. If life were in some respects less dream-like than it is, it would be less endurable. It is trite to remark upon the pleasures of hope and the satiety of possession. That which seems literal is tasteless. We live but in the past or in the future that is to say in Cloud-land. 'Tis distance lends enchantment to the view. The past charms us because it is sleeping tranquilly in the moonlight of memory, and the future delights us because it laughs in the golden sunshine of Hope. H.-Instead of indulging in fantastic visions and fruitless speculations, it would be better for us if every object that recalled our mortality to mind, were regarded as a broad hint to us to take time by the forelock and to set our house in order. L.-The turn of our present discourse reminds me that I have just been dipping into Montaigne's Essay on Death. It is a very striking production. Almost every sentence teems with thought, and is provocative of meditation. H.-Montaigne, with all his faults, is an inexpressibly delightful writer. U L.-As to his egotism, I confess that I like him all the better for it. Had he been less bravely egotistical, he would have been less sincere and infinitely less entertaining. Egotism is offensive only when it is associated with a dense stupidity or a freezing pride. The egotism of the lively-minded and the warm-hearted is always agreeable-except to the envious and malignant. Egotism gives a peculiar interest even to such frivolous and gossiping productions as Colly Cibber's Apology, and those passages in great writers which exhibit their personal feelings, are always amongst the readers' favorites. Milton and Pope and Cowper enchant us with their egotism, and who does not lament that Shakspeare has obliged the world with so few revelations of his own individual nature? H.-There are hints and glimpses of Shakspeare's personal feelings and circumstances in his sonnets. L-It is a pity that men of genius are generally so reserved. for there is a prejudice against them amongst the vulgar, which would soon pass away if all great men were as open and companionable as Sir Walter Scott. H.-The world in general do not understand what genius is;it is confounded with abstruse learning or mere cleverness. Some people stare if you tell them that Shakspeare and Burns, of whose intellectual greatness they have only a vague general notion, were, in the ordinary sense of the words, ignorant or illeducated men. Coarse shrewdness, or a mere knowledge of languages, or superficial accomplishments, they can appreciate at once-but they cannot recognize the claims of original genius. It is difficult to persuade the mob that a good linguist may be a stupid fellow, or that a man who knows no language but his own may be a great genius, Yet he that is but able to express No sense at all in several languages, Will pass for learneder than he that's known To speak the strongest reason in his own. The showy acquirements of a smart man of the world are often preposterously elevated above the rarest gifts of intellect. Even men of great learning are sometimes miserably incapable of appreciating original power, or recognizing its true signs. Dr. Parr once fell upon his knees and kissed with reverence the stupid forgeries of Ireland, who pretended to have discovered some new plays of Shakspeare. Bentley with his "slashing hook" improved Milton. It requires no ordinary penetration to do full justice to the mental superiority of men with whom we are brought into close contact; familiarity is apt to breed contempt—at least in vulgar minds. I once asked a gentleman what he thought of Hazlitt, to whom I had lately introduced him ;—" Oh! he's an odd fellow!" was the reply. L.-With what a fine genial feeling the elder D'Israeli has collected his anecdotes illustrative of the literary character! Did you know him personally? H.-No.-I have never met him; but I always feel as if I had received from him the highest personal kindness. His Essay on the Literary Character was the first book that I read with interest, and I trace my love of literature to the impulse given to my mind in youth by that generous and ingenious work. Byron seems to have greatly enjoyed this writer's most elegant and instructive literary gossip-if gossip it must be called, though it deserves a more respectful name. L.-Byron speaks of him very oddly as "that most entertaining and researching writer." H. I understand that his conversation overflows with anecdote, and that he can hardly write a brief letter to a friend without pouring forth specimens of his rich literary stores. Our friend R. quite a stranger to him, sent him, amongst other literati, a copy of his Literary Leaves. His acknowledgement of its receipt is close at hand. I will show it to you. ***** Here it is. The allusion to Steevens is excellent. Bradenham House, Bucks, 4th February, 1839. True-too true-my dear Sir, I received a year passed, your very acceptable Literary Leaves,' and more than once have they been turned over with no ordinary gratification. The topics were congenial to my taste, and treated with that correct judgment which secures for them a permanent value; nor was I less interested in those deep and tender emotions which prompted your very elegant verse-the faithful domestic picture of your heart, I am very rarely in London,-but I remember calling on Mr. John Richardson to acknowledge the receipt of your volume, and, as he was in communication with you, to send, through him, the letter I intended to write. I can't now tell you what occurred, but I more than once remembered to do what has not been done. Procrastination, we have been told, is 'the thief of time'-but it is something worse: for it not only defrauds us of our good intentions, but smothers our affections; for I can truly assure you, your volume awoke a sympathy in me which I have often wished to express. But writing and even reading have become a painful effort, since my sight has nearly abandoned me-as I think you must perceive in my irregular scribble. The mystery-if mystery it be-enveloping the Sonnets of Shakspeare' -seems to have grown darker, by the novel elucidations which have latterly variously appeared. Some are positive that they have ascertained the singular person to whom they are addressed; and a Mr. J. A. Brown, has arranged them as ' Shakspeare's Autobigraphical Poems'-a small volume which I have not yet seen, but which several reviewers speak favorably of. These 'Sonnets' have had a singular fate since Steevens declared that nothing short of an act of Parliament was necessary to compel us to read them, and he, boldly as impudently, rejected them from the works of Shakspeare. As Steevens was not deficient in critical judgment, and was a malicious wag, whenever he had his friend and rival Malone in view, this false and ridiculous decision may have only been one of the many unfair tricks or traps which he laid to catch his brother commentator. Boswell told me of several which had only originated in this mischievous Puck, who, when he had beguiled some innocent into the mire, always screamed in laughter. I hope this letter, which I send to London, may reach you by the mail you desire-but of this I must remain uncertain. At all events, believe me to remain, Dear Sir, Very truly yours, I know my son received your volume, and was equally gratified with it as myself. He has little or no leisure for any literary correspondence since he has entered into public life, and necessarily into miscellaneous correspondence with his constituents. Capt. D. L. Richardson. L.-D'Israeli the Younger is a man of real genius. But it |