are those who carry into mature life so much of childlike simplicity of character as to be unfit for letterwriting. The more common fault is, however, in the other direction-a gross or insidious egotism. Scott's style of correspondence has a very high merit in combining a frank expression of his own feelings along with a perpetual mindfulness of the feelings of those to whom he writes. The letters of Lord Byron displaying, even more than his poems, his command of vigorous English speechmake a perilous display of a morbid egotism, redeemed, indeed, at times, by flashes of kindly feeling, of generous impulse, and healthy opinion, so as to perplex the reader's judgment, or, at least, to plead for his pity to the misery of a soul distempered by nature, and far worse by a life of moral lawlessness; and by that pride which, tempting him often to brave the world's opinion by even affecting worse thoughts and worse deeds than were imputed to him, was fatal to the truthfulness of his character and of his writings. Of Southey's letters, interwoven with his biography, just completed, it is too soon to speak otherwise than with a general allusion to the interest of them, without attempting to measure their merits and their faults. Charles Lamb's letters resemble his inimitable essaysa quaint wisdom, a fine literary taste, and a loving and a brave heart dwelling together in that humour which was his peculiar gift. Letters of dedication may be merely mentioned in connection with this general subject. The early dedications abound in noble feeling, fitly expressed, with an eloquence that is midway between oratory and the familiarity of a letter. There followed a long period during which they were vitiated by fulsome and servile flattery. Of late years, truth has been restored on the dedication page; and many a one, in verse as well as prose, is a record of a genuine feeling of reverence, of admiration, and of love. Let me refer to one for the sake of a thought I wish (in conclusion) to leave in your minds. Charles Lamb dedicated his earliest volume to his sister-that afflicted sister to whom he devoted all his days. He consulted Coleridge in a letter in which he said, "I have another sort of dedication in my head for my few things, which I want to know if you approve of. I mean to inscribe them to my sister. It will be unexpected, and it will give her pleasure; or do you think it will look whimsical at all? . . . There is a monotony in the affections, which people living together (or, as we do now, very frequently seeing each other) are apt to give into; a sort of indifference in the expression of kindness for each other, which demands that we should sometimes call to our aid the trickery of surprise."* *These last words have suggested to me a dedication of this volume which I had not before designed. In parting with it, it seemed natural and congenial with my feelings to the dead to add a tribute, most deserved and unexpected, to the living. W. B. R. THE END. STEREOTYPED BY L. JOHNSON & CO. |