5 Walpole was jealous of the honour and credit of the Antiquarian pursuits which he had indulged: he was rightly fearful that if they fell into inferior hands, they would be brought into ridicule. He dreaded lest barrowhunters and tombstone-transcribers, should consider themselves of his fra ternity and felt, perhaps, as would a man of large fortune and exquisite delight in the Arts, who had erected some magnificent Gothic pile under the direction of Wyatt, at the visit of some pert citizen, who, having Gothicised his villa by the road-side with the aid of the village carpenter, came to inspect his edifice, as if they were men of congenial taste! Walpole was not generous; but too much was expected of him. He was not rich: all his fortune was the salary of a good place, with which, it must be admitted that he did wonders as far as himself was concerned. He early found that minor authors and artists looked up to him with a hope of patronage, which it was impossible for him to fulfil; while his fastidious manners made every thing less elegant than himself displeasing and troublesome. Such, I am convinced, were the 4 real emotions of those feelings in Walpole, which Mr. D'I. has placed among "The Calamities of Authors." No real consciousness of inferiority made him unhappy, or damped the satisfaction derived from his literary pursuits, A right estimate of his own talents had rather a tendency to produce content, than, by raising false expectations, to be followed by future disappointment. I believe him to have enjoyed the pleasures of this world beyond most men; with as little intermixture of its rubs and mortifications as has often occurred. That liberty of censure, which Mr. D'Israeli claims over the opinions and powers of others, he must allow in its turn to be exercised on himself. Having taken up the establishment of a favourite topick, he twists all literary history to bear upon his purpose. The infelicity of authors, like those of all other aspirants after fame, are no doubt numerous: but do not let him press into the service those which are not real. Those of Walpole are not the only ones which I could instance. He says, that "if the literary historian caunot philosophise, while he investigates, he will convert one of the most pleasing and instructive branches of literature, the history of the human mind, into a barren fertility, and heap up a wild chaos, because he cannot expand it into a beautiful creation." It is true: but he had better philosophise deeply, or not at all. It is not philosophy to trick into form plausible theories, which will not abide the test of examination. It is not philosophy to bring forward only one side of the question without producing its counterpart. It is not philosophy to tell us only of the Calamities of authors, without balancing against them their Enjoyments. It is not philosophy to be piquant when one ought to be profound; and epigrammatic when one ought to be eloquent. Such a taste is apt to mistake froth for depth, and the sparkles of superficial prettiness for philosophical light.A deep philosophy sees the human character not partially, but in all its various windings; sees foibles in the best, and some saving virtues in the worst. It looks broadly upon the world, and instructs and engages by an interesting simplicity, in which "truth is sufficient to fill the mind," without the aid of varnish, or the narration of wonders. We intreat Mr.D'Israeli, therefore, not to be quite so confident of his own superiority in "the philosophy of Literary History." He has written a sprightly and amusing book: but it certainly is not deep, any more than it is sufficiently particular in those details, which he so much affects to despise. A greater simplicity; a less ambitious taste; a nicer feeling, both of nature and of art, would have sccured approbation and interest to a second perusal of his book as well as to the first. In the opinion here given, which is written with perfect honesty, I am confident I have the concurrence of several eminent Literati. H. R. Mr. URBAN, BE 1 Sept. 18. EFORE a man presumes to appear before the publick as an Author, it is his duty to fortify his mind to the endurance of censure and ridicule. Whoever imagines that knowledge, learning, talents, genius, can protect him, is ignorant of the present state of the press, and the mode in which the criticisms of the day are manufactured. Were judg ments of books to be formed by those who were qualified for the task, it would be utterly impossible for such total contradictions to exist as the pe sults, that the prospect of censure, which ought to keep folly and vice in awe, becomes no longer formidable, while it is indiscriminately heaped on all; or formidable only to those who want encouragement, and not repression. There is no human production which, by an adverse or partial view of it, or a little misrepresentation, may not be made objectionable or ridiculous. Were the works of Spenser, or Shakspeare, or Milton, now first to appear, what endless opportu nities for malignant criticism, for. laborious and plausible disquisitions on propriety and good sense, and chaste diction, and classical ease, and other principles of good writing, might they afford! The crest idiot or madman that ventures on the press, may now reconcile himself to any jest or any reprehension; for he fares no worse than many a writer of the most brilliant talents, or most profound learning! FORTIS, SED NON ACER. Mr. URBAN, Sept. 5. These weapons wound no longer than, like those of the assassin, they I can be hurled in the dark! Let the band from whence they issue be seen, and it is instantly arrested in its course! The writer of a book has given some involuntary offence; has been necessitated to check some imperti-BSERVING in p. 150, that innent advances; to make an inadequate return for some fulsome flattery; or to withhold the admission of some of fered assistance which would inevitably have disgraced his work; the of fended individual seeks his revenge in the character of a Reviewer, damns with oracular decision the work to which he sought, with every mean adulation,to be an humble appendage, and gratifies the envy and rivalry of all who hate superiority by silly objections which are mistaken for criticism, and abuse which is mistaken for wit. The Edinburgh Review may render colourable, though it cannot always justify, its relentless severity, by the inimitable talent and spirit which it never ceases to put forth. But it will not do for inferior journals, which display all its malignity without any of its power, which imitate the prance of the war-horse with the awkward curvetlings of the cow, or the ass; and think, that in proportion as their contortions are absurd, they prove their strength and agility. So long as this general system of abuse prevails; while neither genius nor virtues can impose the smallest degree of that respect which fosters them; this dreadful consequence re formation is requested about the Earl of Banbury, and Duke of Roxburghe, the Enquirer may have ample information about the former in the Third Voluine of Banks's Extinct Baronage of Englaud, and may refer to the Gent. Mag. for 1793, p. 375. where he will find that the last person claiming the title died at Winchester, 18 March of that year. And as to the Dukedom of Roxburghe, I have no doubt, that when Mr. Wood favours the world with his promised new edition of Sir Robert Douglas's Peerage, there will be a full and satisfactory account given of the late contest about that title and estate: suffice it for the present to say, that Robert, the first Earl of Roxburghe, died in 1650, having had issue a son Henry, Lord Ker, who died in 1643, leaving four daughters, of whom Margaret, the third, was married to Sir Henry Innes of that ilk (lunes), bart, whose heir and representative, Sir James Innes Norcliffe Ker, bart. was, on 20 June 1810, declared by the House of Peers heir to the late Duke of Roxburghe, and put in possession of the estates; and, on 11 May 1812, was declared, by the same authority, Duke of Roxburghe, and Possessor of all the other Scots titles. E. Mr. Mr. URBAN, Salop, March 13. you inclosed And vigorous years-his Evening hours to I the Church of Losed a Drawing of. Long ere the Night approach'd, his task I.) which I think has never been engraved, though one of the most stately parochial churches in England. It is cruciform, with a beautiful lofty tower in the centre, in which is a melodious peal of eight bells. The architecture is less florid than is usual in the larger ecclesiastical buildings of the 15th century. The nave has six pointed arches on each side, reposing on clustered pillars, which are light and graceful. The four arches under the tower are remarkably lofty, and richly overspread with mould ings. The choir retains its antient stalls; and in the large windows are very abundant remains of painted glass. On the screen of the choir stands an admirable organ by Snetzler. There are no monuments of much. antiquity, though several handsome ones of the reigns of Elizabeth aud James the First, chiefly of the Lords Presidents of the Council of North Wales. The length of the Church from West to East is 220 feet; the breadth of the nave and ailes 75 feet; length of transept, North to South, 123 feet. This spacious and lofty structure crowns the summit of the gentle eminence on which the beautiful Town of Ludlow stands, and is a grand object as viewed from the surrounding country. H. 0. Mr. URBAN, Sept. 1. STRA TRAYING lately into a Church yard (sicut meus est mos), I found an Epitaph that well deserves a place in your pages, or in any other. It struck me at the first reading as something that had not been produced by the common village poet, more so at the second; but, on recollecting what ladies lived at the great house, all doubts vanished,-I exclaimed-Aut Erasmus, aut In the church-yard of Chipsted, in Surrey, on a head stoné, "To the memory of Mr. Edward Vernon, who departed this life August the 24th, 1810, in his 79th year. "Here Vernon lies, who, living, taught the way, [tant, day. How best to spend man's short, impor To virtuous toil his Morn of life was given, BENT. MAG. September, 1812. was done, [sun; And mildly cheerful shone his Evening Nor pain nor sickness could such peace His faith was certainty, his hope was destroy, [joy. Good, wise, and tranquil, eminently blest, [rest." Content he liv'd, and peaceful sunk to You shall now see what the village poet says at Shere, in the same county, on a most diligent, honest, and exact poor woman, who for many in the week (except on Mondays), years travelled seven miles every day from her own habitation to the neighbouring post-town, with letters and parcels, returning at night, and at last died by the road-side in going to her house, in a winter's night, in Dec. 1808. She was found the next morn ing. The lines are thus put on the "frail memorial" over her grave. died Dec. 17, 1808, aged 57 years. "For twenty years that road I gone, at "In memory of Ann Manssel, who last I could not reach my home, With my burden in distress, dropt in a fit to please the just. Than God did please that Death should cease to take me to his place of rest. So all my friends that are left behind to follow me prepare in time." Yours, &c. W. B. 4. Joan, married, in 1631, Sir William Boteler, of Teston (or, as Lady Fanshawe says in her Memoirs, of Levins) in Kent: he was slain at Cropedy Bridge, as your Correspondent. says, at the head of a regiment which he had raised for King Charles I. In 1647 she re-married Sir Philip Warwick, who wrote his own Memoirs, and died in 1682. In the church of Chiselhurst, in Kent, is a monument *The character here given was most strictly just. for |
