No More Learning

No matter,' says Harry
again, but after what you chawed about, I don't like your com-
pany any farther, till we fall in again at the next village. '
What, Harry,' I cries, laughing heartier than ever, are you
afeard of your own mind with Tom Mills ? Pho,' he made
answer, walking on before me, and I followed him.
«(Yes, I kept saying to myself, he is afeard of his own
mind with his old shipmate. ' 'Twas a darker night than this,
and when I looked ahead, the devil (for I know 'twas he that
boarded me! ) made me take notice what a good spot it was for
Harry to fall foul of me. And then I watched him making way
before me, in the dark, and couldn't help thinking he was the
better man of the two -- a head and shoulders over me, and a
match for any two of my inches. And then again, I brought to
mind that Harry would be a heavy purse the better of sending
me to Davy's locker, seeing we had both been just paid off, and
got a lot of prize-money to boot; — and at last (the real red
devil having fairly got me helm a-larboard) I argufied with
myself that Tom Mills would be as well alive, with Harry
Holmes's luck in his pocket, as he could be dead, and his in
Harry Holmes's; not to say nothing of taking one's own part,
just to keep one's self afloat, if so be Harry let his mind run as
mine was running.
“All this time Harry never gave me no hail, but kept tack-
ing through these cursed rocks; and that, and his last words,
made me doubt him more and more. At last he stopped nigh
where he now lies, and sitting with his back to that high stone,
he calls for my blade to cut the bread and cheese he had got at
the village; and while he spoke I believed he looked glummer
and glummer, and that he wanted the blade, the only one
between us, for some'at else than to cut bread and cheese;
though now I don't believe no such thing howsumdever; but then
I did: and so, d’you see me, commodore, I lost ballast all of a
sudden, and when he stretched out his hand for the blade (hell's


## p. 1470 (#268) ###########################################

1470
JOHN AND MICHAEL BANIM
fire blazing up in my lubberly heart! ) - Here it is, Harry,' says
I, and I gives it to him in the side! - once, twice, in the right
place! ” (the sailor's voice, hitherto calm, though broken and
rugged, now rose into a high, wild cadence) — «and then how
we did grapple! and sing out one to another! ahoy! yeho! aye;
till I thought the whole crew of devils answered our hail from
the hill-tops! — But I hit you again and again, Harry! before
you could master me,” continued the sailor, returning to the
corpse, and once more taking its hand — “until at last you
struck, — my old messmate! — And now nothing remains for
Tom Mills— but to man the yard-arm! ”
The narrator stood his trial at the ensuing assizes, and was
executed for this avowed murder of his shipmate; Jeremiah
appearing as a principal witness. Our story may seem drawn
either from imagination, or from mere village gossip: its chief
acts rest, however, upon the authority of members of the Irish
bar, since risen to high professional eminence; and they can
even vouch that at least Jeremiah asserted the truth of
Publican's Dream. ”
« The
AILLEEN
'T'S
is not for love of gold I go,
'Tis not for love of fame;
Tho' Fortune should her smile bestow,
And I may win a name,
Ailleen,
And I may win a name.
And yet it is for gold I go,
And yet it is for fame,
That they may deck another brow
And bless another name,
Ailleen,
And bless another name.
For this, but this, I go — for this
I lose thy love awhile;
And all the soft and quiet bliss
Of thy young, faithful smile,
Ailleen,
Of thy young, faithful smile.


## p. 1471 (#269) ###########################################

JOHN AND MICHAEL BANIM
1471
And I go to brave a world I hate
And woo it o'er and o'er,
And tempt a wave and try a fate
l'pon a stranger shore,
Ailleen,
Upon a stranger shore.
Oh! when the gold is wooed and won,
I know a heart will care!
Oh! when the bays are all my own,
I know a brow shall wear,
Ailleen,
I know a brow shall wear.
And when, with both returned again,
My native land to see,
I know a smile will meet me there
And a hand will welcome me,
Ailleen,
And a hand will welcome me!
SOGGARTH AROON
(“O Priest, O Love ! ))
THE IRISH PEASANT'S ADDRESS TO HIS PRIEST
A"
m I the slave they say,
Soggarth Aroon ?
Since you did show the way,
Soggarth Aroon,
Their slave no more to be,
While they would work with me
Ould Ireland's slavery,
Soggarth Aroon ?
Why not her poorest man,
Soggarth Aroon,
Try and do all he can,
Soggarth Aroon,
Her commands to fulfill
Of his own heart and will,
Side by side with you still,
Soggarth Aroon ?


## p. 1472 (#270) ###########################################

1472
JOHN AND MICHAEL BANIM
Loyal and brave to you,
Soggarth Aroon,
Yet be no slave to you,
Soggarth Aroon,
Nor out of fear to you
Stand up so near to you –
Och! out of fear to you!
Soggarth Aroon!
Who, in the winter's night,
Soggarth Aroon,
When the cowld blast did bite,
Soggarth Aroon,
Came to my cabin door,
And on my earthen floor
Knelt by me, sick and poor,
Soggarth Aroon ?
Who, on the marriage day,
Soggarth Aroon,
Made the poor cabin gay,
Soggarth Aroon;
And did both laugh and sing,
Making our hearts to ring,
At the poor christening,
Soggarth Aroon ?
Who, as friend only met,
Soggarth Aroon,
Never did flout me yet,
Soggarth Aroon ?
And when my hearth was dim
Gave, while his eye did brim,
What I should give to him,
Soggarth Aroon?
Och! you, and only you,
Soggarth Aroon!
And for this I was true to you,
Soggarth Aroon;
In love they'll never shake
When for ould Ireland's sake
We a true part did take,
Soggarth Aroon!


## p. 1473 (#271) ###########################################

JOHN AND MICHAEL BANIM
1473
THE IRISH MAIDEN'S SONG
Yºu
ou know it now — it is betrayed
This moment in mine eye,
And in my young cheeks' crimson shade,
And in my whispered sigh.
You know it now — yet listen now —
Though ne'er was love more true,
My plight and troth and virgin vow
Still, still I keep from you,
Ever!
Ever, until a proof you give
How oft you've heard me say,
I would not even his empress live
Who idles life away,
Without one effort for the land
In which my fathers' graves
Were hollowed by a despot hand
To darkly close on slaves —
Never!
See! round yourself the shackles hang,
Yet come you to love's bowers,
That only he may soothe their pang
Or hide their links in flowers -
But try all things to snap thein first,
And should all fail when tried,
The fated chain you cannot burst
My twining arms shall hide-
Ever!
111-93


## p. 1474 (#272) ###########################################

1474
THÉODORE DE BANVILLE
(1823-1891)
fire
HÉODORE FAULLAIN DE BANVILLE is best known as a very
skillful maker of polished artificial verse. His poetry stands
high; but it is the poetry not of nature, but of elegant
society. His muse, as Mr. Henley says, is always in evening dress.
References to the classic poets are woven into all of his descriptions
of nature. He is distinguished, scholarly, full of taste, and brilliant
in execution; never failing in propriety, and never reaching inspira-
tion. As an artist in words and cadences he has few superiors.
These qualities are partly acquired, and
partly the result of birth. Born in 1823,
the son of a naval officer, from his earliest
years he devoted himself to literature. His
birthplace, Moulins, an old provincial town
on the banks of the Allier, where he spent
a happy childhood, made little impression
on him. Still almost a child he went to
Paris, where he led a life without events, –
without even a marriage or an election to
the Academy; he died March 13th, 1891.
His place was among the society people
and the artists; the painter Courbet and
DE BANVILLE the writers Mürger, Baudelaire, and Gautier
were among his closest friends. He first
attracted attention in 1848 by the publication of a volume of verse,
(The Caryatids. In 1857 came another, Odes Funambulesque,'
and later another series under the same title, the two together con-
taining his best work in verse. Here he stands highest; though
he wrote also many plays, one of which, (Gringoire,' has been acted
in various translations. The Wife of Socrates) also holds the stage.
Like his other work, his drama is artificial, refined, and skillful. He
presents a marked instance of the artist working for art's sake.
During the latter years of his life he wrote mostly prose, and he has
left many well-drawn portraits of his contemporaries, in addition to
several books of criticism, with much color and charm, but little
definiteness. He was always vague, for facts did not interest him; but
he had the power of making his remote, unreal world attractive, and
among the writers of the school of Gautier he stands among the first.



## p. 1475 (#273) ###########################################

THÉODORE DE BANVILLE
1475
LE CAFÉ
From The Soul of Paris)
warm
MAGINE a place where you do not endure the horror of being
alone, and yet have the freedom of solitude. There, free
from the dust, the boredom, the vulgarities of a household,
you reflect at ease, comfortably seated before a table, unincum-
bered by all the things that oppress you in houses; for if useless
objects and papers had accumulated here they would have been
promptly removed. You smoke slowly, quietly, like a Turk, fol-
lowing your thoughts among the blue curves.
If you have a voluptuous desire to taste some
or
refreshing beverage, well-trained waiters bring it to you immedi-
ately. If you feel like talking with clever men who will not
bully you, you have within reach light sheets on which are printed
wingèd thoughts, rapid, written for you, which you are not forced
to bind and preserve in a library when they have ceased to
please you. This place, the paradise of civilization, the last and
inviolable refuge of the free man, is the café.
It is the café; but in the ideal, as we dream it, as it ought to
be. The lack of room and the fabulous cost of land on the
boulevards of Paris make it hideous in actuality. In these little
boxes — of which the rent is that of a palace -- one would be
foolish to look for the space of a vestiary. Besides, the walls
are decorated with stovepipe hats and overcoats hung on clothes-
pegs — an abominable sight, for which atonement is offered by
multitudes of white panels and ignoble gilding, imitations made
by economical process.
And let us not deceive ourselves) the overcoat, with which
one never knows what to do, and which makes us worry every-
where,- in society, at the theatre, at balls, - is the great enemy
and the abominable enslavement of modern life. Happy the
gentlemen of the age of Louis XIV. , who in the morning dressed
themselves for all day, in satin and velvet, their brows protected
by wigs, and who remained superb even when beaten by the
storm, and who, moreover, brave as lions, ran the risk of pneu-
monia even if they had to put on, one outside the other, the
innumerable waistcoats of Jodelet in Les Précieuses Ridicules! !
“How shall I find my overcoat and my wife's party cape ? ” is
the great and only cry, the Hamlet-monologue of the modern
man, that poisons every minute of his life and makes him look


## p. 1476 (#274) ###########################################

1476
THÉODORE DE BANVILLE
with resignation toward his dying hour. On the morning after
a ball given by Marshal MacMahon nothing is found: the over-
coats have disappeared; the satin cloaks, the boas, the lace scarfs
have gone up in smoke; and the women must rush in despair
through the driving snow while their husbands try to button
their evening coats, which will not button!
One evening, at a party given by the wife of the President
of the Chamber of Deputies, at which the gardens were lighted
by electricity, Gambetta suddenly wished to show some of his
guests a curiosity, and invited them to go down with him into
the bushes. A valet hastened to hand him his overcoat, but the
guests did not dare to ask for theirs, and followed Gambetta as
they were! However, I believe one or two of them survived.
At the café no one carries off your overcoat, no one hides it;
but they are all hung up, spread out on the wall like master-
pieces of art, treated as if they were portraits of Mona Lisa or
Violante, and you have them before your eyes, you see them con-
tinually. Is there not reason to curse the moment your eyes
first saw the light? One may, as I have said, read the papers;
or rather one might read them if they were not hung on those
abominable racks, which remove them a mile from you and force
you to see them on your horizon.
As to the drinks, give up all hope; for the owner of the café
has no proper place for their preparation, and his rent is so enor-
mous that he has to make the best even of the quality he sells.
But aside from this reason, the drinks could not be good, because
there are too many of them. The last thing one finds at these
coffee-houses is coffee. It is delicious, divine, in those little Ori-
ental shops where it is made to order for each drinker in a spe-
cial little pot. As to syrups, how many are there in Paris ? In
what inconceivable place can they keep the jars containing the
fruit juices needed to make them? A few real ladies, rich, well-
born, good housekeepers, not reduced to slavery by the great
shops, who do not rouge or paint their cheeks, still know how to
make in their own homes good syrups from the fruit of their
gardens and their vineyards. But they naturally do not give
them away or sell them to the keepers of cafés, but keep them
to gladden their flaxen-haired children.
Such as it is, — with its failings and its vices, even a full cen-
tury after the fame of Procope, — the café, which we cannot drive
out of our memories, has been the asylum and the refuge of
many charming spirits. The old Tabourey, who, after having


## p. 1477 (#275) ###########################################

THÉODORE DE BANVILLE
1477
been illustrious, now has a sort of half popularity and a pewter
bar, formerly heard the captivating conversations of Barbey and
of Aurevilly, who were rivals in the noblest salons, and who
sometimes preferred to converse seated before a marble table in
a hall from which one could see the foliage and the flowers of
the Luxembourg, Baudelaire also talked there, with his clear
caressing voice dropping diamonds and precious stones, like the
princess of the fairy tale, from beautiful red, somewhat thick lips.
A problem with no possible solution holds in check the writers
and the artists of Paris. When one has worked hard all day it is
pleasant to take a seat, during the short stroll that precedes the
dinner, to meet one's comrades and talk with them of everything
but politics. The only favorable place for these necessary acci-
dental meetings is the café; but is the game worth the candle,
or, to speak more exactly, the blinding gas-jets? Is it worth
while, for the pleasure of exchanging words, to accept criminal
absinthe, unnatural bitters, tragic vermouth, concocted in the
sombre laboratories of the cafés by frightful parasites ?
Aurélien Scholl, who, being a fine poet and excellent writer,
is naturally a practical man, had a pleasing idea. He wished
that the reunions in the cafés might continue at the absinthe
hour, but without the absinthe! A very honest man, chosen for
that purpose, would pour out for the passers-by, in place of every-
thing else, excellent claret with quinquina, which would have the
double advantage of not poisoning them and of giving them
a wholesome and comforting drink. But this seductive dream
could never be realized. Of course, honest men exist in great
numbers, among keepers of cafés as well as in other walks of
life; but the individual honest man could not be found who
would be willing to pour out quinquina wine in which there was
both quinquina and wine.
In the Palais Royal there used to be a café which had
retained Empire fittings and oil lamps. One found there real
wine, real coffee, real milk, and good beefsteaks. Roqueplan,
Arsène Houssaye, Michel Lévy, and the handsome Fiorentino
used to breakfast there, and they knew how to get the best
mushrooms. The proprietor of the café had said that as soon
as he could no longer make a living by selling genuine articles,
he would not give up his stock in trade to another, but would
sell his furniture and shut up shop. He kept his word. He
was a hero.


## p. 1478 (#276) ###########################################

1478
THÉODORE DE BANVILLE
BALLADE ON THE MYSTERIOUS HOSTS OF THE FOREST
From “The Caryatids)
S"
TILL sing the mocking fairies, as of old,
Beneath the shade of thorn and holly-tree;
The west wind breathes upon them pure and cold,
And still wolves dread Diana roving free,
In secret woodland with her company.
'Tis thought the peasants' hovels know her rite
When now the wolds are bathed in silver light,
And first the moonrise breaks the dusky gray;
Then down the dells, with blown soft hair and bright,
And through the dim wood, Dian thrids her way.
With water-weeds twined in their locks of gold
The strange cold forest-fairies dance in glee;
Sylphs over-timorous and over-bold
Haunt the dark hollows where the dwarf may be,
The wild red dwarf, the nixies' enemy:
Then, 'mid their mirth and laughter and affright,
The sudden goddess enters, tall and white,
With one long sigh for summers passed away;
The swift feet tear the ivy nets outright,
And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way.
She gleans her sylvan trophies; down the wold
She hears the sobbing of the stags that flee,
Mixed with the music of the hunting rolled,
But her delight is all in archery,
And naught of ruth and pity wotteth she
More than the hounds that follow on the flight;
The tall nymph draws a golden bow of might,
And thick she rains the gentle shafts that slay;
She tosses loose her locks upon the night,
And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way.
ENVOI
Prince, let us leave the din, the dust, the spite,
The gloom and glare of towns, the plague, the blight;
Amid the forest leaves and fountain spray
There is the mystic home of our delight,
And through the dim wood Dian thrids her way.
Translation of Andrew Lang.


## p. 1479 (#277) ###########################################

THÉODORE DE BANVILLE
1479
AUX ENFANTS PERDUS
I
KNOW Cythera long is desolate;
I know the winds have stripped the garden green.
Alas, my friends! beneath the fierce sun's weight
A barren reef lies where Love's flowers have been,
Nor ever lover on that coast is seen!
So be it, for we seek a fabled shore,
To lull our vague desires with mystic lore,
To wander where Love's labyrinths beguile;
There let us land, there dream for evermore,
“It may be we shall touch the happy isle. ”
The sea may be our sepulchre. If Fate,
If tempests wreak their wrath on us, serene
We watch the bolt of Heaven, and scorn the hate
Of angry gods that smite us in their spleen.
Perchance the jealous mists are but the screen
That veils the fairy coast we would explore.
Come, though the sea be vexed, and breakers roar,
Come, for the breath of this old world is vile,
Haste we, and toil, and faint not at the oar;
"It may be we shall touch the happy isle. ”
Gray serpents trail in temples desecrate
Where Cypris smiled, the golden maid, the queen,
And ruined is the palace of our state;
But happy loves flit round the mast, and keen
The shrill winds sings the silken cords between.
Heroes are we, with wearied hearts and sore,
Whose flower is faded and whose locks are hoar.
Haste, ye light skiffs, where myrtle thickets smile
Love's panthers sleep 'mid roses, as of yore:
“It may be we shall touch the happy isle. ”
ENVOI
Sad eyes! the blue sea laughs as heretofore.
Ah, singing birds, your happy music pour;
Ah, poets, leave the sordid earth awhile;
Flit to these ancient gods we still adore:
“It may be we shall touch the happy isle. ”
Translation of Andrew Lang.


## p. 1480 (#278) ###########################################

1480
THÉODORE DE BANVILLE
BALLADE DES PENDUS
W**
HERE wide the forest bows are spread,
Where Flora wakes with sylph and fay,
Are crowns and garlands of men dead,
All golden in the morning gay;
Within this ancient garden gray
Are clusters such as no man knows,
Where Moor and Soldan bear the sway:
This is King Louis's orchard close !
These wretched folk wave overhead,
With such strange thoughts as none may say;
A moment still, then sudden sped,
They swing in a ring and waste away.
The morning smites them with her ray;
They toss with every breeze that blows,
They dance where fires of dawning play:
This is King Louis's orchard close!
All hanged and dead, they've summoned
(With Hell to aid, that hears them pray)
New legions of an army dread.
Now down the blue sky flames the day;
The dew dies off; the foul array
Of obscene ravens gathers and goes,
With wings that flap and beaks that flay:
This is King Louis's or chard close !
ENVOI
Prince, where leaves murmur of the May,
A tree of bitter clusters grows;
The bodies of men dead are they!
This is King Louis's orchard close!
Translation of Andrew Lang.


## p. 1481 (#279) ###########################################

1481
ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD
(1743–1825)
W
PHEN Lætitia Aikin Barbauld was about thirty years old, her
friend, Mrs. Elizabeth Montague, wishing to establish a col-
lege for women, asked her to be its principal. In her letter
of refusal Mrs. Barbauld said :— “A kind of Academy for ladies, where
they are to be taught in a regular manner the various branches of
science, appears to me better calculated to form such characters as
the Précieuses or Femmes Savantes than good wives or agreeable com-
panions. The very best way for a woman to acquire knowledge is
from conversation with a fatlier or brother.
The thefts of knowledge in our sex
are only connived at while carefully con-
cealed, and if displayed are punished with
disgrace. ” It is odd to find Mrs. Barbauld
thus reflecting the old-fashioned view of
the capacity and requirements of her own
sex, for she herself belonged to that brill-
iant group — Hannah More, Fanny Burney,
Maria Edgeworth, Jane Austen, Joanna Bail-
lie, Mary Russell Mitford -- who were the
living refutation of her inherited theories.
Their influence shows a pedagogic impulse
to present morally helpful ideas to the pub ANNA L. BARBAULD
From preceding generations whose
lives had been concentrated upon household affairs, these women
pioneers had acquired the strictly practical bent of mind which
comes out in all their verse, as in all their prose.
The child born at Kibworth Harcourt, Leicestershire, a century
and a half ago, became one of the first of these pleasant writers for
young and old.
She was one of the thousand refutations of the
stupid popular idea that precocious children never amount to any.
thing When only two, she could read roundly without spelling,
and in half a year more could read as well as most women. Her
father was master of a boys' school, where her childhood was passed
under the rule of a loving but austere mother, who disliked all
intercourse with the pupils for her daughter. It was not the fash-
ion for women to be highly educated; but, stimulated perhaps by the
scholastic atmosphere, Lætitia implored her father for a classical

lic.


## p. 1482 (#280) ###########################################

1482
ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD
training, until, against his judgment, he allowed her to study Greek
and Latin as well as French and Italian. Though not fond of the
housewifely accomplishments insisted upon by Mrs. Aikin, the eager
student also cooked and sewed with due obedience.
Her dull childhood ended when she was fifteen, for then her
father accepted a position as classical tutor in a boys' school at
Warrington, Lancashire, to which place the family moved.
The new
home afforded greater freedom and an interesting circle of friends,
among them Currie, William Roscoe, John Taylor, and the famous
Dr. Priestley. A very pretty girl, with brilliant blonde coloring and
animated dark-blue eyes, she was witty and vivacious, too, under
the modest diffidence to which she had been trained. Naturally she
attracted much admiration from the schoolboys and even from their
elders, but on the whole she seems to have found study and writing
more interesting than love affairs. The first suitor, who presented
himself when she was about sixteen, was a farmer from her early
home at Kibworth. He stated his wishes to her father. “She is in
the garden,” said Mr. Aikin. “You may ask her yourself. ” Lætitia
was not propitious, but the young man was persistent, and the posi-
tion grew irksome. So the nimble girl scrambled into a convenient
tree, and escaped her rustic wooer by swinging herself down upon
the other side of the garden wall.
During these years at Warrington she wrote for her own pleas-
ure, and when her brother John returned home after several years'
absence, he helped her to arrange and publish a selection of her
The little book which appeared in 1773 was highly praised,
and ran through four editions within a year. In spite of grace and
fluency, most of these verses seem flat and antiquated to the modern
reader. Of the spirited first poem (Corsica,' Dr. Priestley wrote to
her:-"I consider that you are as much a general as Tyrtæus was,
and your poems (which I am confident are much better than his ever
were) may have as great effect as his. They may be the coup de grace
to the French troops in that island, and Paoli, who reads English,
will cause it to be printed in every history in that renowned island. ”
Miss Aikin's next venture was a small volume in collaboration
with her brother, Miscellaneous Pieces in Prose by J. and A. L.
Aikin. This too was widely read and admired.
Samuel Rogers has
related an amusing conversation about the book in its first vogue:
«I am greatly pleased with your Miscellaneous Pieces,” said Charles
James Fox to Mrs. Barbauld's brother. Dr. Aikin bowed.
ticularly admire, continued Fox, your essay Against Inconsistency
in our Expectations. )” “That,” replied Aikin, “is my sister's. ” «
like much,” continued Fox, “your essay on Monastic Institutions. ) »
«That,” answered Aikin, is also my sister's. ” Fox thought it wise
poems.
I par-


## p. 1483 (#281) ###########################################

ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD
1483
to say no more about the book. The essay Against Inconsistency
in our Expectations) was most highly praised by the critics, and pro-
nounced by Mackintosh “the best short essay in the language. ”
When thirty years old, Lætitia Aikin married Rochemont Bar-
bauld, and went to live at Palgrave in Suffolk, where her husband
opened a boys' school, soon made popular by her personal charm and
influence. Sir William Gell, a classic topographer still remembered;
William Taylor, author of a Historic Survey of German Poetry);
and Lord Chief Justice Denman, were a few among the many who
looked back with gratitude to a childhood under her care.
Perhaps her best known work is the “Early Lessons for Children,
which was written during this period. Coming as it did when, as
Hannah More said, there was nothing for children to read between
(Cinderella and the Spectator, it was largely welcomed, and has
been used by generations of English children. The lessons were
written for a real little Charles, her adopted son, the child of her
brother, Dr. Aikin. For him, too, she wrote her Hymns in Prose
for Children,' a book equally successful, which has been translated
into French, German, Spanish, Italian, and even Latin.
After eleven busy years at Palgrave, during which, in spite of her
cheerful energy, Mrs. Barbauld had been much harassed by the nerv-
ous irritability of her invalid husband, the Barbaulds gave up their
school and treated themselves to a year of Continental travel. On
their return they settled at Hampstead, where Mr. Barbauld became
pastor of a small Unitarian congregation. The nearness to London
was a great advantage to Mrs. Barbauld's refreshed activity, and she
soon made the new home a pleasant rendezvous for literary men and
women. At one of her London dinner parties she met Sir Walter
Scott, who declared that her reading of Taylor's translation of Bür-
ger's Lenore) had inspired him to write poetry. She met Dr. John-
son too, who, though he railed at her after his fashion, calling her
Deborah and Virago Barbauld, did sometimes betray a sincere admi-
ration for her character and accomplishments. Miss Edgeworth and
Hannah More were dear friends and regular correspondents.
From time to time she published a poem or an essay; not many,
for in spite of her brother's continual admonition to write, hers was
a somewhat indolent talent. In 1790 she wrote a capable essay upon
the repeal of the Test and Corporation Acts; a year later, a poetical
epistle to Mr. Wilberforce on the Slave Trade; in 1792, a defense of
Public Worship; and in 1793, a discourse as to a Fast Day upon the
Sins of Government.
In 1808 her husband's violent death, the result of a long insanity,
prostrated her for a time. Then as a diversion from morbid thought
she undertook an edition of the best English novels in fifty volumes,


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1484
ANNA LÆTITIA BARBACLD
for which she wrote an admirable introductory essay.
She also
made a compilation from the Spectator, Tatler, Guardian, and Free-
holder, with a preliminary discourse, which she published in 1811.
It was called “The Female Speaker,' and intended for young women.
The same year her (Eighteen Hundred and Eleven,' a patriotic di-
dactic poem, wounded national self-love and drew upon her much
unfriendly criticism, which so pained her that she would publish no
more. But the stirring lines were widely read, and in them Macaulay
found the original of his famous traveler from New Zealand, who
meditates on the ruined arches of London Bridge. Her prose style,
in its light philosophy, its humorously sympathetic dealing with
every-day affairs, has been often compared with Addison's.
Her old age was serene and happy, rich in intellectual companion-
ships and in the love and respect of many friends. Somewhere she
speaks of that state of middling life to which I have been accus-
tomed and which I love. " She disliked extremes, in emotion as in all
things, and took what came with cheerful courage. The poem Life,'
which the self-satisfied Wordsworth wished that he had written, ex-
presses her serene and philosophic spirit.
AGAINST INCONSISTENCY IN OUR EXPECTATIONS
A
S MOST of the unhappiness in the world arises rather from
disappointed desires than from positive evil, it is of the
utmost consequence to attain just notions of the laws and
order of the universe, that we may not vex ourselves with fruit-
less wishes, or give way to groundless and unreasonable discon-
tent.
The laws of natural philosophy, indeed, are tolerably
understood and attended to; and though we may suffer incon-
veniences, we are seldom disappointed in consequence of them.
No man expects to preserve orange-trees in the open air through
an English winter; or when he has planted an acorn, to see it
become a large oak in a few months. The mind of man naturally
yields to necessity; and our wishes soon subside when we see the
impossibility of their being gratified.
Now, upon an accurate inspection, we shall find in the moral
government of the world, and the order of the intellectual system,
laws as determinate, fixed, and invariable as any in Newton's
Principia. ' The progress of vegetation is not more certain than
the growth of habit; nor is the power of attraction more clearly
proved than the force of affection or the influence of example.


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ANNA LÆTITIA BARBALLD
1485
The man, therefore, who has well studied the operations of
nature in mind as well as matter, will acquire a certain modera-
tion and equity in his claims upon Providence. He never will
be disappointed either in himself or others. He will act with
precision; and expect that effect and that alone, from his efforts,
which they are naturally adapted to produce.
For want of this, men of merit and integrity often censure
the dispositions of Providence for suffering characters they despise
to run away with advantages which, they yet know, are pur-
chased by such means as a high and noble spirit could never
submit to. If you refuse to pay the price, why expect the pur-
chase ? We should consider this world as a great mart of com-
merce, where fortune exposes to our view various commodities, -
riches, ease, tranquillity, fame, integrity, knowledge. Everything
is marked at a settled price. Our time, our labor, our ingenuity,
is so much ready money which we are to lay out to the best
advantage. Examine, compare, choose, reject; but stand to your
own judgment: and do not, like children, when you have pur-
chased one thing, repine that you do not possess another which
you did not purchase. Such is the force of well-regulated
industry, that a steady and vigorous exertion of our faculties,
directed to one end, will generally insure success.
Would you, for instance, be rich: Do you think that single
point worth the sacrificing everything else to? You may then
be rich. Thousands have become so from the lowest beginnings,
by toil, and patient diligence, and attention to the minutest
article of expense and profit. But you must give up the pleas-
ures of leisure, of a vacant mind, of a free, unsuspicious temper.
If you preserve your integrity, it must be a coarse-spun and
vulgar honesty. Those high and lofty notions of morals which
you brought with you from the schools must be considerably
lowered, and mixed with the baser alloy of a jealous and
worldly-minded prudence. You must learn to do hard if not
unjust things; and for the nice embarrassments of a delicate and
ingenuous spirit, it is necessary for you to get rid of them as
fast as possible. You must shut your heart against the Muses,
and be content to feed your understanding with plain, household
truths. In short, you must not attempt to enlarge your ideas,
or polish your taste, or refine your sentiments; but must keep
on in one beaten track, without turning aside either to the right
hand or to the left. “But I cannot submit to drudgery like this:


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1486
ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD
man
I feel a spirit above it. ” 'Tis well: be above it then; only do
not repine that you are not rich.
Is knowledge the pearl of price? That too may be purchased
– by steady application, and long solitary hours of study and
reflection. Bestow these, and you shall be wise. “But” (says
the man of letters) "what a hardship is it that many an illiter-
ate fellow who cannot construe the motto of the arms on his
coach, shall raise a fortune and make a figure, while I have
little more than the common conveniences of life. ” Et tibi magui
satis ! — Was it in order to raise a fortune that you consumed
the sprightly hours of youth in study and retirement ? Was it
to be rich that you grew pale over the midnight lamp, and dis-
tilled the sweetness from the Greek and Roman spring? You
have then mistaken your path, and ill employed your industry.
“What reward have I then for all my labors ? What reward!
A large, comprehensive soul, well purged from vulgar fears and
perturbations and prejudices; able to comprehend and interpret
the works of
of God. A rich, flourishing, cultivated
mind, pregnant with inexhaustible stores of entertainment and
reflection. A perpetual spring of fresh ideas; and the conscious
dignity of superior intelligence. Good heaven! and what reward
can you ask besides?
“But is it not some reproach upon the economy of Provi-
dence that such a one, who is a mean, dirty fellow, should have
amassed wealth enough to buy half a nation ? Not in the least.
He made himself a mean, dirty fellow for that very end. He has
paid his health, his conscience, his liberty, for it; and will you
envy him his bargain ? Will you hang your head and blush in his
presence because he outshines you in equipage and show ? Lift
up your brow with a noble confidence, and say to yourself, I have
not these things, it is true; but it is because I have not sought,
because I have not desired them; it is because I possess some-
thing better. I have chosen my lot. I am content and satisfied.
You are a modest man — you love quiet and independence,
and have a delicacy and reserve in your temper which renders
it impossible for you to elbow your way in the world, and be
the herald of your own merits. Be content then with a modest
retirement, with the esteem of your intimate friends, with the
praises of a blameless heart, and a delicate, ingenuous spirit; but
resign the splendid distinctions of the world to those who can
better scramble for them.


## p. 1487 (#285) ###########################################

ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD
1487
The man whose tender sensibility of conscience and strict
regard to the rules of morality makes him scrupulous and fear-
ful of offending, is often heard to complain of the disadvantages
he lies under in every path of honor and profit. "Could I but
get over some nice points, and conform to the practice and opin-
ion of those about me, I might stand as fair a chance as others
for dignities and preferment. ” And why can you not ? What
hinders you from discarding this troublesome scrupulosity of
yours which stands so grievously in your way? If it be a small
thing to enjoy a healthful mind, sound at the very core, that
does not shrink from the keenest inspection; inward freedom
from remorse and perturbation; unsullied whiteness and sim-
plicity of manners; a genuine integrity,
“Pure in the last recesses of the mind; »
if you think these advantages an inadequate recompense for
what you resign, dismiss your scruples this instant, and be a
slave-merchant, a parasite, or — what you please.
“If these be motives weak, break off betimes; »
and as you have not spirit to assert the dignity of virtue, be
wise enough not to forego the emoluments of vice.
I much admire the spirit of the ancient philosophers, in that
they never attempted, as our moralists often do, to lower the
tone of philosophy, and make it consistent with all the indul-
gences of indolence and sensuality. They never thought of hav-
ing the bulk of mankind for their disciples; but kept themselves
as distinct as possible from a worldly life. They plainly told
men what sacrifices were required, and what advantages they
were which might be expected.
“Si virtus hoc una potest dare, fortis omissis
Hoc age deliciis
If you would be a philosopher, these are the terms. You must
do thus and thus; there is no other way. if not, go and be one
of the vulgar.
There is no one quality gives so much dignity to a character
as consistency of conduct. Even if a man's pursuits be wrong
and unjustifiable, yet if they are prosecuted with steadiness and
vigor, we cannot withhold our admiration. The most character-
istic mark of a great mind is to choose some one important


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1488
ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD
object, and pursue it through life. It was this made Cæsar a
great man. His object was ambition: he pursued it steadily;
and was always ready to sacrifice to it every interfering passion
or inclination.
There is a pretty passage in one of Lucian's dialogues, where
Jupiter complains to Cupid that though he has had so many
intrigues, he was never sincerely beloved. In order to be loved,
says Cupid, you must lay aside your ægis and your thunder-
bolts, and you must curl and perfume your hair, and place a
garland on your head, and walk with a soft step, and assume a
winning, obsequious deportment. But, replied Jupiter, I am not
willing to resign so much of my dignity. Then, returns Cupid,
leave off desiring to be loved. He wanted to be Jupiter and
Adonis at the same time.
It must be confessed that men of genius are of all others
most inclined to make these unreasonable claims. As their relish
for enjoyment is strong, their views large and comprehensive,
and they feel themselves lifted above the common bulk of man-
kind, they are apt to slight that natural reward of praise and
admiration which is ever largely paid to distinguished abilities;
and to expect to be called forth to public notice and favor:
without considering that their talents are commonly very unfit
for active life; that their eccentricity and turn for speculation
disqualifies them for the business of the world, which is best
carried on by men of moderate genius; and that society is not
obliged to reward any one who is not useful to it.
have been a very unreasonable race, and have often complained
loudly of the neglect of genius and the ingratitude of the age.
The tender and pensive Cowley, and the elegant Shenstone, had
their minds tinctured by this discontent; and even the sublime
melancholy of Young was too much owing to the stings of dis-
appointed ambition.
The moderation we have been endeavoring to inculcate will
likewise prevent much mortification and disgust in our commerce
with mankind. As we ought not to wish in ourselves, so neither
should we expect in our friends, contrary qualifications. Young
and sanguine, when we enter the world, and feel our affections
drawn forth by any particular excellence in a character, we imme-
diately give it credit for all others; and are beyond measure dis-
gusted when we come to discover, as we soon must discover, the
defects in the other side of the balance. But nature is much
The poets


## p. 1489 (#287) ###########################################

ANNA LÆTITIA BARBALLD
1489
more frugal than to heap together all manner of shining qualities
in one glaring mass. Like a judicious painter, she endeavors to
preserve a certain unity of style and coloring in her pieces.
Models of absolute perfection are only to be met with in romance;
where exquisite beauty, and brilliant wit, and profound judgment,
and immaculate virtue, are all blended together to adorn some
favorite character. As an anatomist knows that the racer cannot
have the strength and muscles of the draught-horse; and that
winged men, griffins, and mermaids must be mere creatures of
the imagination: so the philosopher is sensible that there are
combinations of moral qualities which never can take place but in
idea. There is a different air and complexion in characters as
well as in faces, though perhaps each equally beautiful; and the
excellences of one cannot be transferred to the other. Thus if
one man possesses a stoical apathy of soul, acts independent of
the opinion of the world, and fulfills every duty with mathemat-
ical exactness, you must not expect that man to be greatly influ-
enced by the weakness of pity, or the partialities of friendship;
you must not be offended that he does not fly to meet you after
a short absence, or require from him the convivial spirit and
honest effusions of a warm, open, susceptible heart. If another
is remarkable for a lively, active zeal, inflexible integrity, a strong
indignation against vice, and freedom in reproving it, he will
probably have some little bluntness in his address not altogether
suitable to polished life; he will want the winning arts of conver-
sation; he will disgust by a kind of haughtiness and negligence
in his manner, and often hurt the delicacy of his acquaintance
with harsh and disagreeable truths.
We usually say
That man is a genius, but he has some
whims and oddities - Such a one has a very general knowledge,
but he is superficial, etc. Now in all such cases we should speak
more rationally, did we substitute “therefore ” for “but”: “He
is a genius, therefore he is whimsical;” and the like.
It is the fault of the present age, owing to the freer com-
merce that different ranks and professions now enjoy with each
other, that characters are not marked with sufficient strength;
the several classes run too much into one another. We have
fewer pedants, it is true, but we have fewer striking originals.
Every one is expected to have such a tincture of general knowl-
edge as is incompatible with going deep into any science; and
such a conformity to fashionable manners as checks the free
III-94


## p. 1490 (#288) ###########################################

1490
ANNA LÆTITIA BARBALLD
a
woman
as
a
workings of the ruling passion, and gives an insipid sameness to
the face of society, under the idea of polish and regularity.
There is a cast of manners peculiar and becoming to each
age, sex, and profession; one, therefore, should not throw out
illiberal and commonplace censures against another. Each is
perfect in its kind:
a woman; a tradesman as
tradesman. We are often hurt by the brutality and sluggish con-
ceptions of the vulgar; not considering that some there must be
to be hewers of wood and drawers of water, and that cultivated
genius, or even any great refinement and delicacy in their moral
feelings, would be a real misfortune to them.
Let us then study the philosophy of the human mind. The
man who is master of this science will know what to expect
from every one.
From this man, wise advice; from that, cordial
sympathy; from another, casual entertainment. The passions and
inclinations of others are his tools, which he can use with as
much precision as he would the mechanical powers; and he can
as readily make allowance for the workings of vanity, or the bias
of self-interest in his friends, as for the power of friction, or the
irregularities of the needle.
A DIALOGUE OF THE DEAD
BETWEEN
HELEN
AND
MADAME MAINTENON
ELEN
He
Whence comes it, my dear Madame Maintenon, that
beauty, which in the age I lived in produced such extraor-
dinary effects, has now lost almost all its power ?
Maintenon-I should wish first to be convinced of the fact,
before I offer to give you a reason for it.
Helen — That will be very easy; for there is no occasion to
go any further than our own histories and experience to prove
what I advance. You were beautiful, accomplished, and fortu-
nate; endowed with every talent and every grace to bend the
heart of man and mold it to your wish; and your schemes were
successful; for you raised yourself from obscurity and dependence
to be the wife of a great monarch. — But what is this to the
influence my beauty had over sovereigns and nations! I occas-
ioned a long ten-years' war between the most celebrated heroes
of antiquity; contending kingdoms disputed the honor of placing
on their respective thrones; my story is recorded by the
me


## p. 1491 (#289) ###########################################

ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD
1491
Do you
father of verse; and my charms make a figure even in the an-
nals of mankind. You were, it is true, the wife of Louis XIV. ,
and respected in his court, but you occasioned no wars; you are
not spoken of in the history of France, though you furnished
materials for the memoirs of a court. Are the love and admi-
ration that were paid you merely as an amiable woman to be
compared with the enthusiasm I inspired, and the boundless
empire I obtained over all that was celebrated, great, or power-
ful in the age I lived in ?
Maintenon — All this, my dear Helen, has a splendid appear-
ance, and sounds well in a heroic poem; but you greatly deceive
yourself if you impute it all to your personal merit.
imagine that half the chiefs concerned in the war of Troy were
at all influenced by your beauty, or troubled their heads what
became of you, provided they came off with honor? Believe
me, love had very little to do in the affair: Menelaus sought to
revenge the affront he had received; Agamemnon was flattered
with the supreme command; some came to share the glory,
others the plunder; some because they had bad wives at home,
some in hopes of getting Trojan mistresses abroad; and Homer
thought the story extremely proper for the subject of the best
poem in the world. Thus you became famous; your elopement
was made a national quarrel; the animosities of both nations
were kindled by frequent battles; and the object was not the
restoring of Helen to Menelaus, but the destruction of Troy by
the Greeks. — My triumphs, on the other hand, were all owing
to myself, and to the influence of personal merit and charms over
the heart of man. My birth was obscure; my fortunes low; I
had past the bloom of youth, and was advancing to that period
at which the generality of our sex lose all importance with the
other; I had to do with a man of gallantry and intrigue, a
monarch who had been long familiarized with beauty, and accus-
tomed to every refinement of pleasure which the most splendid
court in Europe could afford: Love and Beauty seemed to have
exhausted all their powers of pleasing for him in vain. Yet this
man I captivated, I fixed; and far from being content, as other
beauties had been, with the honor of possessing his heart, I
brought him to make me his wife, and gained an honorable title
to his tenderest affection. — The infatuation of Paris reflected little
honor upon you. A thoughtless youth, gay, tender, and impress-
ible, struck with your beauty, in violation of all the most sacred


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1492
ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD
laws of hospitality carries you off, and obstinately refuses to
restore you to your husband. You seduced Paris from his duty,
I recovered Louis from vice; you were the mistress of the Tro-
jan prince, I was the companion of the French monarch.
Helen–grant you were the wife of Louis, but not the
Queen of France. Your great object was ambition, and in that
you met with a partial success; - my ruling star was love, and I
gave up everything for it. But tell me, did not I show my influ-
ence over Menelaus in his taking me again after the destruction
of Troy?
Maintenon — That circumstance alone is sufficient to show that
he did not love you with any delicacy. He took you as a posses-
sion that was restored to him, as a booty that he had recovered;
and he had not sentiment enough to care whether he had your
heart or not. The heroes of your age were capable of admiring
beauty, and often fought for the possession of it; but they had
not refinement enough to be capable of any pure, sentimental
attachment or delicate passion. Was that period the triumph of
love and gallantry, when a fine woman and a tripod were placed
together for prizes at a wrestling-bout, and the tripod esteemed
the most valuable reward of the two ? No; it is our Clelia, our
Cassandra and Princess of Cleves, that have polished mankind
and taught them how to love.
Helen — Rather say you have lost sight of nature and pas-
sion, between bombast on one hand and conceit on the other.
Shall one of the cold temperament of France teach a Grecian
how to love ? Greece, the parent of fair forms and soft desires,
the nurse of poetry, whose soft climate and tempered skies dis-
posed to every gentler feeling, and tuned the heart to harmony
and love! - was Greece a land of barbarians ? But recollect, if
you can, an incident which showed the power of beauty in
stronger colors — that when the grave old counselors of Priam
on my appearance were struck with fond admiration, and could
not bring themselves to blame the cause of a war that had
almost ruined their country; - you see
I charmed the old as
well as seduced the young.
Maintenon — But I, after I grown old, charmed the
young; I was idolized in a capital where taste, luxury, and mag-
nificence were at the height; I was celebrated by the greatest
wits of my time, and my letters have been carefully handed
down to posterity.
was


## p. 1493 (#291) ###########################################

ANNA LÆTITIA BARBAULD
1493
Helen — Tell me now sincerely, were you happy in your ele-
vated fortune ?
Maintenon Alas! Heaven knows I was far otherwise: a
thousand times did I wish for my dear Scarron again.
He was
a very ugly fellow, it is true, and had but little money: but the
most easy, entertaining companion in the world: we danced,
laughed, and sung; I spoke without fear or anxiety, and was
sure to please. With Louis all was gloom, constraint, and a
painful solicitude to please — which seldom produces its effect;
the king's temper had been soured in the latter part of life by
frequent disappointments; and I was forced continually to en-
deavor to procure him that cheerfulness which I had not myself.
Louis was accustomed to the most delicate flatteries; and though
I had a good share of wit, my faculties were continually on the
stretch to entertain him,- a state of mind little consistent with
happiness or ease; I was afraid to advance my friends or punish
my enemies. My pupils at St. Cyr were not more secluded from
the world in a cloister than I was in the bosom of the court; a
secret disgust and weariness consumed me. I had no relief but
in my work and books of devotion; with these alone I had a
gleam of happiness.
Helen — Alas! one need not have married a great monarch for
that.
Maintenon - But deign to inform me, Helen, if you were
really as beautiful as fame reports ? for to say truth, I cannot in
your shade see the beauty which for nine long years had set the
world in arms.
Helen -- Honestly, no: I was rather low, and something sun-
burnt; but I had the good fortune to please; that was all. I
was greatly obliged to Homer.