WORDSWORTH. 275 begun on those two days which will always stand out in our memory lit up with unexpected sunshine-strangers that we were one moment, and almost the next linked with such bonds of sympathy, admiring and enjoying together as old friends! "The Reminiscences' of Wordsworth reinforce just as one would desire the conception of him we form after a careful and meditative study of his works; of all his works, his prose no less than his Poems. Indeed, I think the strong intellect, strong feeling, sturdy, massive individuality' you felt so conscious of in his presence reveal themselves wonderfully in that noble essay on The Convention of Cintra. I would cheerfully barter for it the poems of his later life if need be. There is a generous ardour, clear-sightedness, grasp, a lofty eloquence in it not easy to match. It really took me by storm this winter. Many besides myself have and will, I doubt not, feel very grateful to you for your just and sympathetic explanation of what was unthinkingly or ungenerously called his personal vanity and egotism. It is a charge that has been laid at the door of other great poets. If they did not believe in themselves and were not strongly absorbed in the workings of their own genius, and did not know that they have given the best expression they were capable of to the subjects they have treated, they would not be great poets. Add to this that they are generally characterized by a candour amounting to naïveté, and one sees what a handle they may give to the thoughtless or the cynical!" Many years ago, Thomas Carlyle, when in conversa tion with Alexander Gilchrist, compared a man of genius to a burning ship which has been set on fire for the glorification of the spectators on land,' a saying which seems to illuminate the subject-with Carlyle's wonted flash of wit. The study of Lamb brings the student into contact with Coleridge: the author of the Life of Mary Lamb felt the fascination of the poet's genius, indeed at this time thought of writing his life, only, as the following letter to Mrs. Watson shows, she was not in full sympathy with Coleridge's orthodoxy. November 22 1884:-" As to his Poetry, that the best he did is as perfect as anything in the language, brother poets and critics all agree. He is already a classic. In regard to his place as a philosopher, time and time only will decide the amount of permanent value in his work. "In Poetry each perfect work remains a separate and enduring monument; what comes after adds to the world's riches, but does not supersede what went before. But in philosophy, which is at bottom, I suppose, the search for and the orderly setting forth of knowledge concerning the profoundest verities of man's nature and environment and their relations to each other, it sometimes happens that the new destroys, or at any rate renders of small value the old-the new light makes the old statements palpably inadequate or false. I have a deep conviction in my own mind that the new insight into nature and into the physical half of man, conquered on the one hand by Darwin in research, and on the other by the physicists, with their wondrous revelations of the active energetic nature of what we have regarded as dead inert matter (all its atoms in ceaseless, varied, complex movement) are bringing to light such an entirely new point of departure for the philosopher that he will leave behind all the old systems as abortive. "Were Coleridge's master-mind (with the right physical temperament added to it) in its prime working here to-day, no doubt he would be the pioneer in a magnificent philosophical movement forward. But, as I said, time and great masters in these fields of thought must settle this. "No candid, thoughtful mind can deny, I think, that Coleridge had in him the making, the gifts of a great philosopher, and also that the main calamity and weakness of his life so handicapped him, so undermined his powers of continuous concentration, that he has not left behind him any philosophical work which does the same justice to his splendid endowments of that kind, that his work as a Poet does; do not you think so? . . [This letter was written before Traill's Life of the poet was published.] Coleridge's biographer "should set before the reader the living breathing figure of the man, who was more ardently loved by the greatest men of his time and land than it has ever fallen to the lot of any poet to be-the man to whom Wordsworth wrote "There is no grief, no sorrow, no despair And for whom Lamb cherished a life-long ardour of affection and admiration that was the greatest joy of his sad, storm-clouded life. . . In this, her last letter to John Burroughs (January 19 1885) Carlyle is again discussed :-" Dear Friend: I feel not a little refreshed by your 'Carlyle,' which I have just read. It arrived at the busy Christmas time, since when the quiet moment for enjoying it was not easy to find. May it silence the host of little whippersnappers who are crowing so loud here over what they take to be the humiliation of a great and proud spirit in the Froude Confessional. "I agree in almost everything you say (and say so vigorously), with here and there an inward protest, that would make lively talk if we were together. By the by, I see with regret you adhere to your old dictum about Lamb. Lamb was to be judged by his life first, and his writings afterwards read in the light of that tragic story. And you must remember that when Carlyle wrote the mean judgment you quote, the story of his life was still unknown. Its silent uncomplaining heroism would have brought a blush of shame to Carlyle's cheek had he ever been at the pains to read it. . . "Did you notice in the last volume a passage from Carlyle's Journal about America that might have been written by Walt? I have it not at hand to quote, but the substance was this:- American Anarchy. Yes; it is huge, loud, ugly to soul and sense, raging wildly in that manner from shore to shore. But I ask myself sometimes, Could your Frederic Wilhelm, your wisest Frederic, by the strictest government, by any conceivable SIR WILLIAM HAMILTON. 279 skill in the art of charioteering, guide America forward in what is its real task at present-task of turning a savage immensity into arability, utility, and readiness for becoming human, as fast and well as America itself, with its very anarchies, gasconadings, vulgarities, stupidities, is now doing? No; not by any means. That withal is perfectly clear to me this good while past.' Returning to the subject of Elia, she says:-"I wish before finally making up your mind about Lamb, you would read my little book and see if it does not make you like him better." Walter White is an old friend whose acquaintance the reader made in Chapter five. Upon his retirement from assistant Secretaryship of the Royal Society, Anne Gilchrist says " It is, no doubt, wise to lay down the burthen of such large responsibilities as those you have carried so long and so successfully before they become overwhelming. And I think and hope the calmness and sense of freedom will bring good compensation for the loss of active interest and participation in the important work carried on by the Royal Society. If ever a man might feel his leisure well earned W. W. may. "Perhaps you will take up the pen and write a brief autobiography by and by-always a valuable bequest to society from a sincere man." Upon receiving a copy of The Life of Sir William Rowan Hamilton, from the author, she writes: "My dear Mr. Graves: It is a noble gift you have sent me. Accept my grateful thanks. Proud and full of pleasure in it do I feel the pleasure only beginning, as I turn the leaves hastily, arrested here |