No More Learning

157 (#181) ############################################

VI]
157
Lockhart
Libel actions and challenges to mortal combat filled the air. No
one would own to being responsible editor; and, as to the
Chaldee MS. ,' it would seem to have slipped in almost unawares,
if we can believe the account which Blackwood gave to those who
threatened him. After a large number of copies had been sold,
the magazine was suppressed, and future copies were published
without the famous paper. In the eyes of readers of a century later,
there are two articles in the same number that deserve even more
serious condemnation: namely, the violent attack on Coleridge and
his Biographia Literaria, written by Wilson, and the still more
virulent attack on Leigh Hunt and the Cockney school of poetry,
written by Lockhart. With Blackwoods Magazine, hatred of the
school,' giving it an extended signification, became an obsession.
Leigh Hunt, editor of the radical Examiner, was, doubtless, a red
rag to the young tory writers of Maga; but they must have been
blind indeed when they threatened with their wrath the 'minor
adherents' of the school—the Shelleys, the Keats's and the
Webbes. '
The only excuse Lockhart could make for himself in later years
was his extreme youth at the time when he first entered the service
of Maga. He had fallen under the influence of Wilson-a dozen
years his senior-whose enthusiastic temperament and social charm,
united with literary ability of a very high order, had, from the
beginning, greatly impressed him. Lockhart consoled himself
with the reflection that, in all probability, the reckless violence
and personalities of his friend and himself had done no harm to
anyone but themselves. The Magazine was sowing its wild oats,
and it was some time before Blackwood and his merry men
exerted themselves to acquire for it a respected and responsible
character. Lockhart's best friends, including Walter Scott, re-
gretted his close connection with what seemed to them to be a
species of literary rowdyism ; but Lockhart, though age moderated
and softened him, ever remained unshaken in his allegiance to
Maga.
In 1819, the indefatigable publisher found another recruit for
his turbulent monthly, in some ways no less remarkable than
Lockhart and Wilson-the Irishman Maginn. A more brilliant
trio of singular individualities have seldom been united in literary
enterprise. Lockhart, a son of the manse, had won distinction in
scholarship at the universities of Glasgow and Oxford. A born
linguist, he had betaken himself to the study of German and
Spanish literature. He had made the acquaintance of Goethe


## p. 158 (#182) ############################################

158
[CH.
Reviews and Magazines
not a
at Weimar, and, on his return home, he must at once have found a
position in the best literary circles of Edinburgh. Though he was
called to the bar, it was soon evident that his activities would find
their development rather in the pursuit of literature than in the
practice of the law. Lockhart was exceedingly clever with his pencil
as well as with his pen; and, in the exercise of both, he
gave
little amusement and offence to the good people of Edinburgh by
the pungency of his clever caricatures and vivid word-sketches,
which form part of Peter's Letters to his Kinsfolk, published
in 1819.
Wilson was a man of means, who, like Lockhart, had received
his education at the universities of Glasgow and Oxford, and, in
both, had won distinction as a scholar. As gentleman-commoner of
Magdalen, he had, moreover, achieved fame among undergraduates
as an athlete of great prowess, and some of his feats of strength
and agility, especially a long-jump in Christchurch meadows, were
long remembered. On leaving Oxford, he had bought the property
of Elleray on lake Windermere, where he had soon become
intimate with his poetical neighbours, Wordsworth, Coleridge and
Southey; but the sudden loss of a large portion of his fortune
compelled him to abandon the life of a country gentleman, and to
seek remunerative employment in Edinburgh. His poems, The
Isle of Palms and The City of the Plague, had already made him
known there. Jeffrey was ready to welcome him, and, in 1818,
inserted in The Edinburgh a very able article from his pen on the
fourth canto of Childe Harold. But political differences in those
days counted for much, and the energies of Wilson, withdrawn
from The Edinburgh, were quickly absorbed in fighting the battles
of toryism and Maga. The Edinburgh town council elected him
in 1819 to the chair of moral philosophy in the university, over Sir
William Hamilton-a startling and even outrageous proceeding,
only, of course, to be accounted for by the fact that the party
preferences of the town councillors dictated the selection. Never-
theless, Wilson was to prove a very good and stimulating professor.
Lockhart and Wilson were now fast friends, differing greatly in
personal characteristics, but alike in their recklessness and in the
violence of their language and in the mischievous delight with
which they assailed their foes and provoked commotion : Lockhart,
the Scorpion which delighted to sting the faces of men,' Wilson,
overflowing with boisterous animal spirits, warmhearted and
generous, but heedless as to the strength of his blows, or as
to restraining the violent outpouring of his feelings.
>


## p. 159 (#183) ############################################

vi]
Noctes Ambrosianae
159
To these two Scotsmen-'the Great Twin Brethren,' as they
are admiringly called in Annals of a Publishing House (Black-
wood)—there was added a typical Irishman, the brilliant, rol-
licking, reckless Maginn, once a schoolmaster in Cork, a man of
wit and learning, to whom Trinity college, Dublin, had given an
honorary degree. Taken into the utmost confidence by the inner
circle of Maga, Maginn, before long, was contributing a large
portion of its articles and almost all its verse; and he did it a yet
greater service, if it is true that the suggestion of the famous
Noctes Ambrosianae came from him. It was from Maginn that
Thackeray drew the portrait of captain Shandon in Pendennis.
Garnett has described him as
8 man of undoubtedly extraordinary faculties. They were those of an accom-
plished scholar grafted on a brilliant improvisatore—the compound consti-
tuting a perfectly ideal magazinist.
But, with all his endowments, his faults and failings were many.
In 1830, he did good work in founding Fraser's Magazine (on the
same lines as Blackwood), which, with the cooperation of such men
as Coleridge and Thackeray and Carlyle, was for years to stand
in the front rank of the monthlies. His connection with the news-
paper press, however, tended to become less reputable, and his
intemperate habits hastened the way downhill of a man who had
many admirers, and no enemy but himself.
The Blackwood group, however much their behaviour may have
occasionally shocked public sensibilities, contained men of very
remarkable genius. Through Wilson, De Quincey, now settled
in Edinburgh, obtained his introduction to Blackwood, and it
was as early as 7 January 1821 that he described himself, in a
letter to the startled editor, as the Atlas of the Magazine,' who
could alone 'save it from the fate which its stupidity deserved ! '
Coleridge, also an occasional contributor, was full of advice as to
its proper management. Lockhart, Hogg, Wilson, De Quincey,
Maginn would have been an awkward team for an editor or
publisher of less commanding qualities than Blackwood to control.
Noctes Ambrosianae added for many years greatly to the fame
and popularity of Maga. Striking out a new line, these papers
reported imaginary dialogues and conversations on questions and
events of the day, on remarkable books and the characters of
public men, carried on, at social gatherings and suppers at
Ambrose's, with all the freedom of familiar intercourse between
intimate friends. They were, to begin with, the composition of
several authors, of Lockhart or Hogg, of Wilson or Maginn; but,


## p. 160 (#184) ############################################

160
[CH.
Reviews and Magazines
after two or three years, they became almost wholly the work of
Wilson. Beginning in 1822, they continued till 1835, and number
71 papers. Of these, 41, Wilson's own composition, have been
included in his collected works, edited by Ferrier, of which
they form the first four volumes. The characters who occupy the
stage are Christopher North (Wilson himself), Hogg, the Ettrick
shepherd, Timothy Tickler, more or less an impersonation of a
maternal uncle of Wilson, and, in a few papers, De Quincey—the
English Opium Eater,' and O'Doherty, representing Maginn.
Sometimes, personages wholly fictitious are introduced, while,
sometimes, real persons, without any consent of their own, are
pressed into the service at the good pleasure of Maga. The
inimitable wit and humour of these discussions, the freshness of
thought and criticism, and the racy language of the talkers, have
given Noctes a place in English literature. The impersonation of
Hogg, in particular, is a realistic triumph, and in that vivid
portraiture the Ettrick shepherd will live hardly less than in the
records of his actual life and work.
Another periodical of the nimbler and more familiar' kind
came to life very soon after the start of Blackwood, and very warm
grew the rivalry between the northern and the southern monthly.
The London Magazine (1820—9) had a short but very dis-
tinguished career, during which it introduced to its readers the
works of men who were to take a very high place in British
literature. Leigh Hunt and Lamb and Hazlitt were, in a special
degree, selected for denunciation by Maga and the hostile critics
of the northern metropolis, as representative of what they,
with lofty superiority, denominated 'the Cockney school. ' In
September 1821 appeared the first instalment of De Quincey's
Confessions of an Opium Eater, which stimulated public curiosity,
and which, as time went on, attracted a vast multitude of readers.
In the September following was published that Dissertation on
Roast Pig which ever since has been one of the most widely
appreciated and frequently quoted of all the Essays of Elia.
Keats, shortly before his death, published two poems in The
London; but, neither in its poetry nor in its prose, could 'the
Mohock Magazine' (for so the cockneys had nicknamed Maga) find
anything in The London to mitigate the violence of its hostility.
Maga was but slightly the senior of the conflicting magazines,
The London's first number having appeared only a couple of years
after the Chaldee MS. ' had rendered Blackwood famous. As
regards recourse to personalities and insults, there was little to
1


## p. 161 (#185) ############################################

vi] Colburn's New Monthly Magazine 161
choose between them. Literary criticism on either side became
submerged in torrents of personal abuse; and, in accordance with
the fashion of that day, it very soon became necessary for Lock-
hart and John Scott (the first editor of The London) to seek
satisfaction by meeting each other on the sod. ' A duel between
them having, at the last moment, been averted by a clumsily
managed and misapprehended arrangement, Lockhart returned to
Scotland, only to hear from his friend and second, Christie, that
he had himself felt bound to engage Scott in deadly combat at
Chalk farm, and had left him mortally wounded on the field of battle.
These unhappy events produced a great effect upon Lockhart,
whom his wisest and truest friends, Walter Scott, Christie and
others had in vain attempted to withdraw from intimate associa-
tion with Mohock methods. Jeffrey, indeed,
Jeffrey, indeed, had felt himself
compelled unwillingly to drop all connection with Maga's con-
tributors. Political differences may, perhaps, have counted for
something in bringing him to that determination; but that
Murray, who was in strong political sympathy, and had, with
Blackwood himself, a direct interest in the publication, should
have withdrawn all countenance from it, and that Walter Scott
should have remonstrated, indicate that, quite irrespective of
party leanings, violence and personality had exceeded even the
wide limits which the public sentiment of the day permitted.
When, in 1821, Thomas Campbell undertook the editorship of
Colburn's New Monthly Magazine, he declared in his preface that
its main object would be literary, not political. It reported the
news of the day, furnished a chronicle and register of events and
contained valuable original papers, prose and poetry, covering a
vast variety of subjects. Campbell's own Lectures on Poetry,
and several of his most admired poems, such as The Last Man,
first appeared in its pages. It was a miscellany, not a review or a
critical journal at all; and, though he obtained the services of
some distinguished men as contributors, Campbell's editorship,
which lasted nine years, was hardly successful. And now a new
era was opening for the monthlies, when the greatest masters of
English fiction were to turn to them as providing the readiest
access to the public ear, and when, for a magazine, there would be
no such 'sheet anchor' as a great novelist.
No one can take a broad survey of the work accomplished by
the English reviews and magazines that came into existence in
the earlier part of the nineteenth century, and by their successors,
without being impressed by the immense service they have
11
a
2
E. L. XII.
CH. VI.


## p. 162 (#186) ############################################

162
(CH.
Reviews and Magazines
7
rendered to English literature, both by direct contribution, and by
the support they have given (often essential support) to men in
their younger days, who were to achieve future literary eminence.
At the same time, it is difficult not to be struck by the strange
fatality under which their criticism, in very conspicuous instances,
went hopelessly astray. Especially in the hostile reception given
to new poetical works of real genius, the leaders of English
criticism appear, to the eyes of a later generation, to have been
singularly blind. We have already noticed the attitude assumed
by The Edinburgh towards Wordsworth and the ‘lakers. The
Quarterly, in 1818, showed as little discrimination, in that well-
known article by the redoubtable Croker which has been popularly,
į but erroneously, made responsible for the death of Keats. In its
centenary number, The Quarterly justly observed that a worse
choice could not have been made than that of Croker for dis-
cussing the merits or demerits of 'the poet's poet'; since, though
some poetry may have been within his range, and though he
admired Scott and Byron, Croker was a thoroughly unpoetical
person. ' This is true ; but, if an explanation, it is certainly no
excuse for the choice. Inasmuch as Lockhart saw in Keats merely
'a cuckney follower' of Leigh Hunt, and as Shelley, at this period,
seems almost to have shared Lockhart's sentiments, it seems safer
to fall back upon Andrew Lang's comment :
6
Shelley's letter to Leigh Hunt, with Lockhart's obiter dicta, prove that
poet and writer alike may fail fully to know contemporary genius when they
meet it, and may as in Shelley's preference for Leigh Hunt to Keats prefer
contemporary mediocrity,
It is not given to all men—even to all editors—to recognise
'genius when they meet it. ' On the other hand, editors and
critics have very often discovered, and enabled to win fame, quite
unknown men, possessed, as the world in later days has recognised,
of real ability, men who, but for them, might have had great diffi-
culty in emerging from obscurity at all. Moreover, the editor of
a periodical has often a difficult task in building up, out of varied
and excellent material, a complete and effective whole. It is not
surprising that the relations between Carlyle and his editors were,
notwithstanding his indisputable genius, sometimes strained. He
could not stand 'editorial hacking and hewing,' he wrote to
Macvey Napier of The Edinburgh, for, surely, he, of all men, might
be trusted to write quietly, without hysterical vehemence, as one
a
1 See Andrew Lang's Life of Lockhart, vol. I.


## p. 163 (#187) ############################################

VI]
163
Periodical Literature
Literature
who not merely supposed but knew. Lockhart, of The Quarterly,
was compelled to decline an article from Carlyle on chartism,
partly, because he stood in awe of his powerful lieutenant, Croker,
and, partly, because the article almost assumed the dimensions of a
book. In the years 1833 and 1834, Sartor Resartus was appearing
in Fraser; but the editor was hurrying it to a close, finding that
it did not meet the taste of his readers.
A century and more has passed since Walter Scott declared)
there was no literary criticism to be found outside The Edinburgh.
In quantity, at all events, the deficiency was soon supplied ; and
quarterlies and monthlies and weekly and daily newspapers
poured out a never ceasing flood of comment on almost every
publication that saw the light Reviews and magazines soon
outgrew the extravagance of their stormy youth, and the excessive
violence of language and the gross personalities once in fashion
passed away almost as completely as the habit of duelling. The
meeting between Jeffrey and Moore, and the more tragical en-
counter between Christie and Scott, brought credit to no one.
Personal animosity and private dislike continued occasionally to
colour criticism and to make it more scathing and pungent, as when
Macaulay and Croker, in their respective organs, dusted each
other's jackets’; but, differences between men of the pen were
now left to the pen to settle ; so, even the courts of law ceased
to be invoked in their quarrels. The extraordinary develop-
ment of periodical literature, as of journalism, in recent times,
has greatly changed the character of literary criticism and the
public to which it appealed—so much so that it is difficult for us,
nowadays, to understand the thrill of emotion with which the
first number of The Edinburgh was received, or the violent
excitement created throughout the country by the extravagancies
and absurdities of the Chaldee MS. '
Yet, the great services rendered, in the early years of the
nineteenth century, by the pioneers of the new advance of
periodical literature in this country, and of independent criticism
in many fields, in that of literature more especially, will, neverthe-
less, remain unforgotten.
6
6
11-2


## p. 164 (#188) ############################################

CHAPTER VII
HAZLITT
Of the group of romantic writers whose work appeared chiefly
in the magazines of the first quarter of the nineteenth century, no
one led an existence more detached than William Hazlitt. By
temperament, he loved isolation, delighting to go alone on his
walks into the country so that he might turn over in his mind
some favourite abstract proposition and try to analyse, for his own
gratification, some peculiar phase of human nature. In thinking
upon political affairs he had assumed a position at variance with
that held by most contemporary Englishmen. 'He wilfully placed
himself,' writes De Quincey, 'in collision with all the interests
that were in the sunshine of this world and with all the persons
that were then powerful in England. ' That he was not popular
did not, however, make him, like Swift, a cynic. He had no high
social ambitions which could not be realised. No man was ever
more free from the desire of political preferment. Apparently, his
highest aim was to write in a manner that would satisfy himself.
Disappointment came to him when he saw others treat lightly
convictions to which he clung with desperate earnestness. He was
embittered when he discovered a friend wavering in his loyalty to
a cherished ideal or when some one spoke with derision of his idols,
especially of Rousseau, Napoleon, or the principles of the French
revolution. With almost everybody worth knowing in London he
became acquainted, but he quarrelled with all, so that when
he died, in 1830, only Charles Lamb stood at his bedside. If we
really learn to understand this isolated temperament, we shall find
an admirable strain of courage and honesty, a conspicuous lack of
double-dealing in a time when it might have been of temporary
advantage for him to have trimmed his sails to the varying winds.
No less a man than Charles Lamb discovered the real heart; for he
wrote to Southey :
I should belie my own conscience if I said less than that I think W. H.
to be in his natural and healthy state one of the wisest and finest spirits
!


## p. 165 (#189) ############################################

CH. VII] Hazlitt's Early Years 165
breathing. So far from being ashamed of that intimacy which was betwixt
us, it is my boast that I was able for so many years to have preserved it entire,
and I think I shall go to my grave without finding, or expecting to find, such
another companion.
Some light may be thrown upon Hazlitt's temperament and
upon his antagonistic attitude toward the prevailing opinions of
his day by a recital of some of the incidents of his life. From
his forbears, he inherited traditions of dissent. His paternal
ancestors had come originally from Holland to Ireland. There,
the elder William Hazlitt was born and grew to be a man of
strong character, destined to impress those with whom he asso-
ciated. He received the master's degree from the university of
Glasgow, where he established for himself a reputation for liberal
views on religion and politics. He married the daughter of a
nonconformist ironmonger and began his career as a unitarian
minister. Wherever his profession took him, he attracted men of
such intellectual ability as Priestley and Benjamin Franklin and
achieved more than local fame on account of his powers of dis-
cussion. At Maidstone, William Hazlitt, the future essayist,
was born on 10 April 1778. From Maidstone, the family moved
to Bandon, county Cork, Ireland, where the father aroused the
suspicions of the townspeople by an apparently too great devotion
to the cause of the American soldiers in Kinsale prison. Recog-
nising his increasing unpopularity, he decided to try his fortunes
in America. Like many a radical of his day, he believed that
there his ideals of liberty would become a reality. His three
years in America present shifting scenes ending in disappoint-
ment and a determination that his family should return to
England. In the following winter (1787–8), the father was
called to the little church at Wem, near Shrewsbury. For more
than a quarter of a century, the Hazlitts lived in this remote
village. Most of the years between the age of ten and twenty-
two, young William spent at Wem. So far, there is little indi-
cation of what the future had in keeping for the son of the poor,
obscure, dissenting minister. The diary written by his sister
Margaret in America attests his delight in the long walks across
country with his father in Massachusetts. Numerous references
in his essays describe with enthusiasm the pleasure which he found
in walking with his father in the country about Wem and in talking
on metaphysical subjects.
The other influence which seems with increasing years to have
grown into a passion is the impression of nature upon him. His


## p. 166 (#190) ############################################

166
[CH.
Hazlitt
eye was ever turned out of the window. In his own garden at
Wem, he watched with a sympathy akin to Thoreau's 'the broccoli
plants and kidney beans of his own rearing. His tramps led him
into all parts of Shropshire, to Peterborough, and into Wales.
Nature was company enough' for him. Although he afterwards
wrote much and well about books, he always associated everything
with outdoor life-books which he had read, churches or pictures
which he had seen, people whom he had met. Even the battles of
Napoleon had such associations :
On the same day the news of the battle of Austerlitz came; I walked out
in the afternoon and, as I returned, saw the evening star set over a poor man's
cottage with other thoughts and feelings than I shall ever have again.
He struggled long and hard to find himself and his place in the
world. When he was fifteen, he was sent by his father to the
nonconformist theological seminary at Hackney. There, he found
a deal of metaphysics to his liking, and, also, soon discovered
that the ministry was not to be his calling. Fortunately for him,
his brother John was a portrait-painter in London working under
the direction of Sir Joshua Reynolds. To his brother's studio,
William made frequent visits and became enamoured of the pro-
fession of painting. He was more than ever in doubt what to do.
After an unsuccessful year at school, he returned to Wem. He could
not preach, he would like to paint, he wished to write but could not.
'I was at that time dumb, inarticulate, helpless like a worm by the
wayside. ' One day, in 1796, he found a copy of Burke's Letter to a
Noble Lord. For the first time, he felt what it must be to write,
'to be able to convey the slightest conception of my meaning to
others in words. ' Then, a new light shone into his soul. He met
Coleridge, heard him preach, walked and talked with him and was
invited to visit him at Nether Stowey and to meet Wordsworth.
What this meant for Hazlitt he has described, with the charm of a
poet, in My First Acquaintance with Poets, one of the finest
essays in the language. As if from a dream, the young man of
twenty arose with a resolution that the greatest discouragements
could not shake off. Not quite ready to give up painting, he
spent a little while with his brother in London. He crossed to
the Louvre, where, for several months, he made copies of the
masters for friends at home and actually went about in northern
England painting portraits of his father, Wordsworth, Coleridge,
Lamb and others. Then, his career as a painter came abruptly to
a close. Nothing remained for him but to write.
1


## p. 167 (#191) ############################################

VII]
167
His Later Life
>
Like the careers of the other romantic essayists of the period,
Hazlitt's life presents nothing of thrilling interest. We know
little about it, aside from references in his essays, in the interesting
diary of Crabb Robinson and in the letters of Charles and Mary
Lamb. He became a friend of the most notable people in
London ; above all, he was always welcome at the rooms of the
Lambs. He has left us the best description of one of their Wednes-
day evenings. Unfortunately, he came to know a certain Sarah
Stoddart, a friend of Mary Lamb. After an unromantic court-
ship, they were married in 1808, with Charles Lamb as one of the
four witnesses. Charles wrote ominously to Southey, 'I was at
Hazlitt's marriage and had like to have been turned out several
times during the ceremony. Anything awful makes me laugh. '
After the wedding, the Hazlitts moved to Sarah's cottage at
Winterslow, a little village about six miles from Salisbury. For
about three years they lived at Winterslow, and afterwards, for
brief periods, Hazlitt repaired thither to obtain some of the
seclusion which contributed largely to his best writing. To neither
of the two persons was the union agreeable, and they planned to
go together to Scotland to obtain a divorce. A second marriage,
with a Mrs Bridgewater, proved a mere episode in his life and
seemed to confirm the opinion held by his friends that at least
Hazlitt's temper was not conducive to a life of marital happiness.
Twenty-five years were allotted to Hazlitt for his life-work.
In that short span, he succeeded in making his way to fame from
absolute obscurity, without the prestige of family or wealth, with
no formal education and no friends of influence. This he achieved
at a time when there were many men of Titanic mould. He won
distinction as a lecturer ; his criticisms on books, pictures and
plays were widely read; he became known as one of the best
talkers and he was the target of the invectives of some of the
cleverest, as well as the most brutal, of the reviewers in the leading
magazines.
The writings of Hazlitt have recently been collected by A. R.
Waller and Arnold Glover and published in twelve large, closely
printed volumes, in all about six thousand pages. Not many
of us would wish to read all these pages. Some of his writing
is forced and superficial, notably his essays on philosophy; some
is unpleasant, for example, the sentimental record of his passion
for the stupid servant girl in Liber Amoris; some is bitter and
full of prejudice; but, withal, there is much, very much, that is
fine, so fine that William Ernest Henley only yesterday could


## p. 168 (#192) ############################################

168
[ch.
Hazlitt
6
6
say, 'Hazlitt is ever Hazlitt; and at his highest moments Hazlitt
is hard to beat, and has not these many years been beaten. '
In whatever he did he was an enthusiast. The same gusto
which, as a boy, he had shown in his discussions with his father, he
displayed in his reading of philosophy and in his first attempt
(Essay on the Principles of Human Action, 1805) to elucidate
the systems of Hartley and Helvetius. He liked to cherish his
experiences : books that he had read, plays which he had seen,
pictures that he had admired. He liked to discuss abstract
propositions while he walked alone in the country, trying to
'forget the town and all that is in it. He liked to tell what he
liked and, above everything, be liked to try to say things in his
own way. And he succeeded so well that Stevenson, who admired
him ungrudgingly, once said of him, “We are all mighty fine
fellows, but none of us can write like Hazlitt.
Certainly, it was,
for him, better to travel than to arrive'; else, it would be difficult
to understand how a man so widely hated, so bitterly attacked,
so much alone, could say on his death-bed : 'Well, I have had a
happy life. '
The subjects of his lectures or essays on authors and their
works include almost every name worth knowing in English
literature from Chaucer to Hazlitt's own day-men of varied
literary attainment of the Elizabethan era, wits of the restoration,
comic writers, dramatists, poets, novelists of the eighteenth
century and almost all his contemporaries.
When we consider that he did not have the guides and hand-
books of today which tell us dogmatically what to like and how to
appreciate the masterpieces of English literature, we get a better
understanding of the range and variety of these criticisms. He
had had almost no formal training, he knew little of ancient
classical literature in the original languages; but, somehow, in his
goings to and fro, he had laid hold of some of the great books of
the world and he had read them well : perhaps he knew Shake-
speare best, Montaigne was his model essayist and he knew
something of Le Sage, Rabelais, Rousseau, Boccaccio, Cervantes,
Goethe and Schiller. Among English writers, his favourites were
Spenser, Milton, Congreve, Swift, Arbuthnot, Burke, Fielding,
Richardson and Scott.
If his preparation for the task of a literary critic seems not
what we should expect today, certainly we are surprised how well
he succeeded in appraising the best English literature. Perhaps
his greatest service to his time was the attention which he


## p. 169 (#193) ############################################

VII]
Hazlitt as a Critic
169
directed to Shakespeare. Chagrined by the lack of intelligent
English criticism of Shakespeare, he praised without reserve
A. W. Schlegel for his sympathetic interpretation and set to
work to discuss each play with a gusto that has never been
excelled. Heine stated that, up to his time, Hazlitt's was the
best comment on Shakespeare. Perhaps his criticism lacked the
profoundness and philosophical insight of Coleridge and the
affectionate appreciation of Lamb, but it is more inclusive than
either. For the reader of today who wishes to read the plays of
Shakespeare with unadulterated enjoyment, not deviating into
dogmatic assertion or scientific research, Hazlitt is a sure guide.
His series of comments on Shakespeare's plays and characters is a
challenge to the reader to turn again to the scenes where he will
find something new in an old familiar passage. We can be certain
that Hazlitt has not led us into a waste of philological or philo-
sophical speculation. He does not put himself between Shakespeare
and ourselves but helps us to know Shakespeare better as a poet
and as a dramatist who saw life from many angles.
Likewise, the other dramatists of Shakespeare's day and
writers of prose receive most intelligent appreciation. Perhaps
the best of his critical work is the clear and discriminating
interpretation of the spirit of the Elizabethan age. Sifting the
gold from the dross, he sets in proper place the men and forces
which made the era great. In his discussion of seventeenth
century writers, he sounds surprisingly modern. His regard for
Milton, Bunyan, Sir Thomas Browne and Jeremy Taylor does not
show the same degree of devotion as does Lamb's quaint imitation
of them, but his judgment of their work as literature is certainly
more to be trusted by the reader who desires to view English
literature in its true perspective. Like many of his successors,
Hazlitt found the eighteenth century interesting in its virility, and
his preferences are amazingly supported by the best judgment of
today. He appreciated intelligently the forceful simplicity of
eighteenth century style and inherited the best qualities of that
style. He displayed genius in his ability to discern what was
real beneath the formality and affectation of eighteenth century
manners. His criticism of Pope, whom most of his contemporaries
did not understand, shows with what intelligence he recognised
Pope as the poet of art in contrast with Shakespeare the poet
of nature. He extolled the eloquence of Burke and urged re-
peatedly that here was the finest model for the expression, in
prose, of imaginative feeling.


## p. 170 (#194) ############################################

170
[CH.
Hazlitt
Hazlitt's criticism of his contemporaries in The Spirit of the
Age is in accord with his courageous position on all questions.
That he should sit in judgment on his own friends seemed to
him as natural as that he should speak out what he thought of
writers long since dead. It was inevitable that the personal esti-
mate should play a part here; but it is remarkable how a full
century accepts his verdict. To be sure, there are bits of ill-
temper and personal prejudice, but there is so much which is
sound and genuine that it is safe to say that these essays are
almost the last of Hazlitt's writings which the student of English
literature would surrender. The particular essays show the
fighting qualities of a man who was animated with fiery courage,
whom Gifford and the whole pack of hostile reviewers found a
most worthy antagonist. What he thought most worthy we still
admire, Coleridge, Cobbett, Scott, the greatest and wisest' of the
novelists, Wordsworth, 'the most original poet now living. We
do not hate all that he hated, but what he loved we find is most
deserving of our love.
To his envious contemporaries, who taunted him with a lack of
reading which, they affirmed, was displayed by the frequent re-
currence of the same quotation in his essays, he said,
I have been found fault with for repeating myself and for a narrow range
of ideas. To a want of general reading I plead guilty and am sorry for it
but perhaps if I had read more I might have thought less.
Perhaps that was an easy way to excuse himself; but it is true
that he tried most earnestly to cultivate the habit of thinking, and
detested nothing so much as servile imitation. He wished to
think and feel for himself. If he did not drink deep, he was an
expert taster. He wrote as he would have talked, guided by
an unusually catholic sympathy. No one literary form or period,
author or group of writers blinded him to the enjoyment of the
long sweep of varied literary expression. He had not sworn
allegiance to any school. Without historical or scientific equip-
ment, he was possessed of a rare faculty for describing a literary
movement and putting his finger on the central and impelling
force. For the mere dates of an author's life or mere linguistic
details, he had little interest. His enjoyment of Hamlet, Lear,
Othello, was not affected by any questions of textual uncertainty
or priority of composition. To him, it was sufficient that here
was poetry of a high order, that here was something that made
him glad to be alive.
An important contribution of Hazlitt is his comment on the


## p. 171 (#195) ############################################

VII)
171
Hazlitt's Dramatic Criticism
stage, largely included in A Review of the English Stage; or, A
Series of Dramatic Criticisms (1818, 1821). His first continuous
employment was on The Morning Chronicle, in 1813, for which he
wrote his first dramatic criticism, and, save for a few unimportant
things by Leigh Hunt, the first of its kind in our literature.
Later, he wrote for The Examiner, The Champion, The Times
and, finally, The London Magazine. These hundred or more of
articles include much interesting discussion of the theatres, plays
and actors of his time. His visits took him to Drury lane, Covent
garden, The Haymarket, The Lyceum, The King's, Surrey, The
Adelphi, The Coburg, The Aquatic and The East London. He wrote
of all the plays of Shakespeare, of those of the restoration and the
eighteenth century which were still given and of the first perform-
ances of plays of his own time. He described winter and summer
plays, pantomimes, operas and oratorios. He has left the best
account of the actors and actresses whom he saw, the Kembles, Kean,
Macready, Booth, Bannister, Miss Stephens, Mrs Siddons, as well
as sketches of others of whom we now know only the names. As
with his appreciation of literature, Hazlitt was not a formal critic
of the drama and theatre. His taste was formed under the
direction of his feelings. He wrote of the drama with gusto, not
because it was a great literary form made illustrious by Shake-
speare, possessed of formal technique and of a brilliant history, but
because he liked to go to the play to see the happy faces in the
pit,' to watch the actors in their parts and then, enriched by the
happy experiences of the evening, to go home to think it all over.
We like the stage because we like to talk about ourselves. We
do not like any person or persons who do not like plays. ' His
criticism is the vivid record of these impressions. He watched
closely the entrances and exits of the actors, their eyes, faces,
hands, listened to the cadences of the spoken sentences, and
marked the differences in an actor on successive evenings. Rarely
did he analyse a play as a formal composition, nor was he much
interested in the technique of the verse. The fine speeches held
him and the varying gales of passion, as they sweep the characters
into this or that extremity. A drama was something to be played,
and his comments took the form of personal descriptions of
Kemble as Sir Giles Overreach, Miss O'Neill as Lady Teazle,
Mrs Siddons as Lady Macbeth, Macready as Othello, or Kean as
lago, Shylock or Richard III.
In this field, he was a pioneer and his writings mark an epoch
in the history of theatrical criticism. Before his day, honest
6
6


## p. 172 (#196) ############################################

172
[ch.
Hazlitt
reviews of plays were unknown. Leigh Hunt had seen the oppor-
tunity and had introduced the new department in The Examiner,
but his imprisonment and that of his brother on account of
libellous publications had prevented the continuance of this phase
of their work. Not only was Hazlitt the first to give attention to
dramatic criticism, but he was, also, without special training for
this form of writing. He had always liked to go to the play and,
in the years of his closest intimacy with Charles Lamb, had spent
many evenings in the different London theatres. His fondness for
the theatre and his natural zest in human action were a sufficient
preparation for him in any work which required the power of
observation and of vivid description. As a critic of the stage, he
conceived it to be his duty to be fair to the actor and to the
public. We doubt if he allowed himself to express an opinion
which he did not sincerely hold, or indulge in praise or blame
which he thought not deserved.
Though I do not repent of what I have said in praise of certain actors,
yet I wish I could retract what I had been obliged to say in reprobation of
actors. . . . I never understood that the applauded actor thought himself
personally obliged to the newspaper critic; the latter was merely supposed
to do his duty.
a
As a boy and as a young man, Hazlitt loved pictures. To him,
they were the reflection of what was beautiful in nature. It will
be remembered that he tried to become a painter and turned aside
from that profession only when he recognised that he could not be
equal to any one of his ideal painters, Claude, Rembrandt, Titian
or Raphael. He wrote once, 'I am a slave to the picturesque,' and
so he was. In the face of nature, he saw the charm of line and
colour, and his essays abound in passages that could only have
been written by one who was sensitive to those effects of landscape
which the painter sees. Doubtless, he had some skill of hand, for
his brother and friends encouraged him to become a painter, but
he felt that, in this work, he could not succeed, and, therefore,
would not try. Happily for English literature, however, he
knew much about painting from his conversations with Flaxman,
Haydon and Northcote and his reading of Sir Joshua Reynolds
and Jonathan Richardson, and equipped with this knowledge,
he turned from painting to writing about pictures.
It is safe to say that no essayist, contemporary with him, was
his equal in natural aptitude or in knowledge of what the painter
was trying to achieve, although he never really fashioned his ideas
into a system. As in his other criticism, he was an enthusiast


## p. 173 (#197) ############################################

VII] Hazlitt's Writings on Art 173
depending upon the turn taken by his personal impressions. One
requirement only he insisted upon : that “art must be true to
nature. ' By this, he meant no mere photographic reproduction,
but an interpretation of nature by the artist, expressed in such a
way that the picture conveyed a meaning. So, he never thought
of praising mere technical excellence. The canvasses of his beloved
Claude, Titian, Rembrandt were more than mere delineations, they
were allied to poetry, each expressing, in its own beautiful form,
the meaning of life, an emanation of the moral and intellectual
part of our nature, as well as of the sensitive.
In his appreciation of painting, he tried, above everything else,
to be honest with himself. He did not lack the courage to say
what he honestly felt or saw.
Before Ruskin was born, he wrote:
'In landscape Turner has shown a knowledge of the effects of air
and of powerful relief in objects which was never surpassed. ' He
was not less ready to praise rising young artists, such as Haydon
and Wilson, than he was to join in the universal approbation of such
masters as Claude, Poussin, Rembrandt or Titian. And he would
as readily indicate what he regarded as faults in the masters as
praise the excellence of artists hitherto unknown. If he got no
further than an expression of his feelings, at any rate he said
what he liked, not because it was the fashion to like a certain
picture or because he found it starred in a guide-book, but because
he liked it.
My taste in pictures is, I believe, very different from that of rich and
princely collectors. . . . I should like to have a few pictures hung round the
room that speak to me with well-known looks, that touch some string of
memory, not a number of varnished, smooth, glittering gew-gawe.
Like some other writers of the romantic period, he contributed
little or nothing to a philosophical discussion of the arts. Ever
since the wonderful day when he acted as guide to Charles and Mary
Lamb through the gallery of Blenheim, he has been an inspiration
to the layman who has wished to cultivate a liking for good
pictures. At a time when few people were allowed to see famous
paintings in English galleries, Hazlitt described these pictures
for his readers vividly and rapturously, before Ruskin's sympa-
thetic criticism, with its imaginative descriptions of pictures and
buildings, made people see more in the world that lay about them.
That his work had a serious result is attested by Gosse, who, in
the introduction to his edition of Hazlitt's Conversations of James
Northcote, says: ‘he claimed for painting the identity of a branch


## p. 174 (#198) ############################################

174
[CH.
Hazlitt
of literature and expended on it the wealth of his ever-fervid and
impassioned imagination. '
For the majority of readers, the most interesting part of
Hazlitt's work is to be found in his miscellaneous essays.
.
Like his most worthy contemporaries, Lamb, De Quincey, Words-
worth, Byron, Shelley, he set forth his personal experiences
and his personal prejudices. Here, then, we come nearest to the
real man Hazlitt. To repeat the lines which he frequently quoted,
he liked
To pour out all as plain
As downright Shippen or as old Montaigne.
The best of Hazlitt, then, is to be found in such essays as
My First Acquaintance with Poets, On Going a Journey, The
Feeling of Immortality in Youth, On Reading Old Books, On
Reading New Books, Of Persons One Would Wish to have seen,
On the Fear of Death, On Disagreeable People, On Taste, On
Familiar Style, The Sick Chamber, The Fight. After everything
has been sifted, Hazlitt is to be judged by these essays, and, doubt-
less, he would be willing to have it so.
On one occasion, he wrote, “I have not written a line that licks
the dust. Incidents of his early life had kept burning the fires
of independence and courageous expression. Born in a family
known for its hearty acceptance of the views of dissent, he had
grown up in close association with his father, with whom he
enjoyed discussion upon the most abstract subjects. To the ideals
of his youth he had clung tenaciously and he had shunned the
appearance of deserting the cause of republicanism or liberty in
any form. His first published composition was a letter to The
Shrewsbury Chronicle (1791), in which he stood out for fair treat-
ment of Priestley, whose house had been burned by a mob in
Birmingham. He did not follow the judgments of English critics,
neither was he held in thrall by the thought of Germany or
France. He wished to see and feel things for himself. This spirit
of independence, sometimes blinded by ill-temper or bitter re-
sentment, was always asserting itself, whether in championing the
cause of a new actor, in praising an aspiring young painter, in
giving a new turn to an old definition or in holding at bay the pack
of reviewers whose numbers made them bold to attack a superior
antagonist. He was born not to be a coward. He was a good
fighter. Although he often found himself in a minority of one,
he
found enjoyment in the feeling that he was right according to
his abstract principles.


## p. 175 (#199) ############################################

VII]
His Models
175
For us, the most interesting result of this independence is his
resolution not to be satisfied with anything short of his best in
writing. Two fine examples always stood before him-Montaigne,
who may be said to have been the first to say as an author what
he felt as a man,' and Burke, who ‘poured out his mind on paper. '
He has told us, in many places, of his difficulty in learning how
to write.
6
Oh, how little do they know who have never done anything but repeat
after others by rote, the labor, the yearnings and misgivings of mind it costs
to get the germ of an original idea, to dig it out of the hidden recesses of
thought and nature and to bring it half-ashamed, struggling, and deformed
into the day-to give words and intelligible symbols to that which was never
imagined or expressed before.
That he succeeded to an unusual degree in his ambition is now
a matter of record. Coleridge wrote of him that he said things
in his own way. His vigorous mind, seriously given to thinking,
would not be satisfied with expression that fell short of his con-
ception of clearness. He was not content with the homely
simplicity of Defoe, or the intellectual force of Swift: he aspired to
succeed, as Burke had succeeded, in conveying something of the
beauty and eloquence of truth and nature. What he wrote must
express all the shades of his sensitive imagination. It is not strange,
then, that he knew the meaning of words and strove unceasingly
to get the proper word for the proper place. The ephemeral
word or phrase found no place in his style, nor was he given to
coining words or to transplanting foreign words. Conse-
quently, his diction is remarkable for its purity. How well
he made the standard English vocabulary serve his purpose may
be found in his description of The Fight, where he does not feel
the need of adopting the slang of the ring to give a thrilling
account of an exciting contest. It is interesting to contrast this
passage with De Quincey's Murder as one of the Fine Arts. Not
only did he search for the right word but he strove for conciseness
in so far as the language would convey all that he wished to say.
'I hate to see a load of band-boxes go along the street, and I hate
to see a parcel of big words without anything in them. '
Hazlitt seems never to have been without the word which
would express with directness and vividness what was in his mind.
That he could parry as with a rapier, William Gifford must have
learned to his discomfort while he read the celebrated Letter.
De Quincey called his style 'abrupt, insulated, capricious, and
. . . non-sequacious. ' There is a sense in which this is true. For
-


## p. 176 (#200) ############################################

176
[CH.
Hazlitt
a time, the thought seems not to move. It is thrown into the
air like balls by a juggler, and we catch reflections of it, and
are thrilled and excited to pleasure in watching. One happy
phrase after another-an old quotation in a new setting, a
flash of sentiment, a bit of keen perceiving, a wise observation
on life—all thrown together, carry us on with a rapidity and a
stateliness that are not excelled in English literature.
The opening passage of his essay on poetry illustrates the
movement of his expository writing. Here, we have Hazlitt
thinking with overflowing zest upon a subject which was life to
him. Because he is trying to write something on a subject
which every critic or poet has discussed does not embarrass him.
As a man of feeling, who cannot reduce poetry to mere formal
words, he pours himself out with the richness and seriousness of
the most unabashed romanticist.
Or we may turn to his essay, The Feeling of Immortality
in Youth, to the passage beginning 'To see the golden sun, and
the azure sky. Observe the gusto with which he follows the
'
thought until he is actually out of breath. Here is the elaborate
stateliness of Sir Thomas Browne or Jeremy Taylor without the
quaintness of the seventeenth century which allured Charles
Lamb. In outline, it is formal and imposing; in meaning, it is
concrete, vivid and personal.
The virility of his enthusiasm is best shown in his delight in
outdoor life. No writer of today, after a century given to the
study and enjoyment of open air life, writes of it with greater zest
and more consistent inspiration. His essay, On Going a Journey,
is a pleasure to all lovers of Stevenson and Thoreau.
In many respects, the most memorable piece of writing of
William Hazlitt is the essay to which he has given the attractive
title, My First Acquaintance with Poets, one of the fine, immortal
essays in our language. The young man of twenty meets in
1798 the philosopher Coleridge and the poet Wordsworth. The
man of forty looks back through the glamour of the intervening
years and breaks forth with lyric enthusiasm at the thought of
these rich experiences.
In these essays, we have some of the best of Hazlitt-an
expression which is concrete, vivid, personal, vigorous ; the voice
of a manly and courageous seeker after truth, who sees nothing
inconsistent in the combination of truth and sentiment, truth and
beauty.
Hazlitt's habit of repeated quotation has caused irritation to


## p. 177 (#201) ############################################

VII]
His Quotations
177
>
6
6
6
6
>
6
many readers. He used innumerable quotations, consisting of a
mere phrase or of many lines, whenever he desired. If they do not
serve him as they stand, he does not hesitate to change a word or
phrase or to join two or more quotations together. He took supreme
pleasure in an apt phrase, whether of his own coinage or whether
he had picked it up long before in some source which he had taken
no pains to remember. He sought justification in the manner in
which he made his quotations convey his own ideas. Some of the
lines which he liked best to quote are here given as he wrote
them. Our life is of mingled yarn, good and ill together,' 'holds
the mirror up to nature,' 'web of our life,' 'too much i’ the sun,'
comes home to the business of men,' 'the stuff of which our life
is made,' sees into the life of things,' ever in the haunch of
winter sings,' 'fate, fore-will, foreknowledge absolute,’ ‘come like
shadows, so depart,' 'at one proud swoop,' with all its giddy
raptures,' 'the witchery of the soft blue sky,' 'it smiled and it
was cold,' sounding on his way,''men's minds are parcel of their
fortunes. ' A glance at this list will show the preponderance of
.
quotations from Shakespeare. These he applied everywhere and
in every possible connection. Next after Shakespeare, as sources,
come Milton, the Bible, Spenser, Dryden, Pope, Gray, Cowper,
Rousseau, Sterne, Fielding, Wordsworth. He had not the slightest
reluctance to appropriate a phrase that he liked in any book
which he read.
One characteristic marks his style especially, his use of the
parallel construction and contrast. He liked to join his subjects
in pairs; for example, Cant and Hypocrisy, Wit and Humour,
Past and Future, Thought and Action, Genius and Common
Sense, Patronage and Puffing, Writing and Speaking and so on
ad infinitum. So, he was much accustomed to discussing his
subject with the aid of contrast, as Wilkie and Hogarth, Shake-
speare and Jonson, Chaucer and Spenser, Voltaire and Swift,
Thomson and Cowper, Addison and Steele, Gray and Collins,
Dryden and Pope. In this particular, he had an influence upon
modern literary criticism, which has often used this means of
defining the relative importance of English writers.
Some readers, nourished on the fare of the Victorians, have
objected to Hazlitt on the ground that his writing shows mere
feeling and no moral purpose. Certainly, one does not think of
him as a inoralist with a message like Carlyle, Ruskin, Arnold, or
Browning, yet he, like all great English writers, was guided by
certain principles and was consistently true to certain ideals.
12
E. L. XII.
CH. VII.


## p. 178 (#202) ############################################

178
[CH.