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curious gaze; the gossiping treasures of Strawberry Hill and other family repositories, that revived the wits, and poets, and beauties of a past age; the diaries of Evelyn and Pepys; the inimitable letters of Cowper drawn from their sacred privacy; the policy and intrigues of courts laid bare; the whole world of literature and the living world of Europe stirred to their inmost depths. What rich materials in the wars and politics of the times-in the rise and fall of Napoleon-in the overthrow of kings and dynasties—in the perturbations even of the mighty heart of England throbbing to be free! What discoveries in science and the arts-steam, gas, railways, and all that facilitates and sweetens social intercourse! Over such vast and interesting fields had the ‘Edinburgh Review' to travel, moving firmly under the guidance of its editor, with elate and confident step, and attended by thousands who caught its enthusiasm, and echoed its sentiments and opinions.

"We have traced some of the circumstances which imparted interest and novelty to the plan of the Review.' Its grand distinction, however, and the genuine source of its success, was the ability and genius it displayed, coupled with the perfect independence and boldness of the writers. Within the small circle of its projectors were men qualified to deal with questions in physical science, in political economy (the chosen field of Horner), in politics (the favorite ground of Brougham), in law, poetry, and the belles lettres. They had wit, irony, and sarcasm at will, with the higher attributes of eloquence, correct principles of reasoning and analysis, strong sense, and a love of freedom. They were free from all external restraint; they were young, and had both fortune and reputation to achieve. To give consistency and stability to the scheme, the editor labored with unceasing attention and judgment. No other member of the fraternity could have supplied his place. His own contributions were also from the first the most popular and effective in the work. He selected the departments of poetry, biography, and moral philosophy, with occasional excursions into the neighboring domains of history and politics. The first number of the 'Review' displayed the leading characteristics of his style and manner. It could not show the whole extent and richness of the vein, but we saw its peculiar quality, and could form an estimate of its probable value. The opening paper is a critique on the now-forgotten work of M. Mounier on the Causes of the French Revolution,' and it is distinguished by great ability in tracing and comparing political events, and trying them by the tests of history and philosophy. Some of the reviewers' distinctions and illustrations are very happy, and a high moral tone is preserved throughout the whole. This first effort is a key-note to much of Jeffrey's reasoning, and to his clear and pointed expression. Subsequently his style became more loose and oratorical, from his increased practice at the bar, and the haste with which he wrote many of his reviews; but it gained also in power and copiousness. To the state of society and literature in France at this period he paid much attention; and his admirable articles on Marmontel, on Grimm, on Madame du Duffand, &c., are invaluable for the moral lessons they inculcate, and the earnestness with which the importance of our social and domestic duties is portrayed and recommended. The reviewer pene

trated through the gaiety and glitter of the salons of Paris, and showed how little of real worth or of real happiness was contained amidst all their splendor. He delighted to expatiate on the superiority of those humble virtues which are of daily use and benefit, which brighten the domestic hearth, and shed contentment and joy on all the private and ordinary relations of life. And in this respect the example of the critic was in beautiful accordance with his precepts. He was the most affectionate relation-' not in the least ambitious of new or distinguished acquaintances, nor by any means fond of large parties or the show and bustle of life; there was no one to whom all the charities of home and kindred were more endeared.'1

"In his disquisitions on the old masters of our literature, Jeffrey did good service. His reviews of the writers of the Elizabethan age and of later periods are generally excellent. He revelled among the creations of Shakspeare, Massinger, and Beaumont and Fletcher, and dwelt with cordial delight on the ornate graces of Jeremy Taylor or Sir Thomas Browne, as on the milder charms of Addison, the sweep of Dryden's versification, and the pointed brilliancy of Pope. The modern revival of a taste for those great authors may be partly ascribed to the Edinburgh Review.' And for the critic's severity in assailing those on the lower slopes of Parnassus who departed from such models, he had this excuse-that he conceived it to be his duty to punish all sins of irregularity and conceit, that he might keep the public taste from corruption, and reform the offender. He had another apology common to periodical writers, and which, in his genial frankness and acknowledged supremacy, he could afford to produce. When recanting some of his strictures on the character of Burns, he said-'A certain tone of exaggeration is incident, we fear, to the sort of writing in which we are engaged. Reckoning a little too much, perhaps, on the dulness of our readers, we are often unconsciously led to overstate our sentiments in order to make them understood; and when a little controversial warmth is added to a little love of effect, an excess of coloring is apt to steal over the canvas, which ultimately offends no eye so much as our own.' He seems also to have aimed at blending a conversational freedom and carelessness with his criticisms, as if ambitious, like Congreve, to be more of the gentleman than the author. This contributed to the tone of superiority which the Review' assumed from its commencement, and which the suffering authors felt to be peculiarly galling. It unquestionably made the articles more piquant; and when the reviewer rose above the conventional level, the contrast afforded by his finer passages was the more conspicuous and effective. If he had been more profound in imagination or feeling, he must have lost some of that airy elegance, and fancy, and spontaneous grace, which contributed so much to his success. Another distinctive quality was the great taste with which Jeffrey made selections from the works he reviewed. Whatever was new or striking, solemn, picturesque, or figurative in language or matter, was sure to be extracted. The finest scenes in a new novel, the best passages of a poem, a book of travels, or a work of biography, were generally to be found in the Edinburgh Review,' and

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Memoir and Correspondence of Mrs. Grant, of Laggan.

the criticism with which the whole was linked together, or the manner in which the plot was described by the acute and lively critic, rivalled, if it did not excel, the work of the author. The setting was as precious as the jewels."

During all the time that Mr. Jeffrey was editing the "Review"-exerting an influence in the republic of letters more commanding and more widespread in both hemispheres than any other man that ever lived-he was steadily advancing in his practice at the bar, and gaining a reputation as a lawyer second only to his reputation as a critic. In 1820, he was elected Lord Rector of the University of Glasgow, and in 1829 he was chosen Dean of the Faculty of Advocates, an honor unanimously conferred upon him by his brethren of the bar, and which was justly regarded not only as a token of personal confidence and respect, but as an unequivocal recognition of his having reached the summit of his profession as an advocate. On his election to this office, he resigned the editorship of the "Edinburgh Review" into the hands of Mr. Macvey Napier.

The year 1830 brought Mr. Jeffrey prominently into public life, by his being appointed Lord Advocate-the prime minister for Scotland-in the administration of Earl Grey. He accepted the office with sincere reluctance, for he had to leave the retirement of private life, in which he had his chief solace and delight. He was elected to Parliament, and took his seat in the House of Commons in February, 1831, and remained a member for more than three years. Here he barely sustained his former reputation, but did not add to it; and though he delivered a brilliant speech in favor of the Reform Bill, he made no attempt to shine as a debater.

On his retirement from political life, he was welcomed again to the Supreme Court of his country by all the legal profession and by the public; for all had confidence in his learning, his discernment, and his industry, as well as his inflexible moral principles. His judicial labors were relieved by his unabated love of literature. He contributed a few articles to his early love, the "Edinburgh," including critiques on the lives of Mackintosh and Wilberforce; and at length he consented to a publication of a selection from the whole of his contributions, similar collections having been made and published with great success from the writings of Macaulay and Sydney Smith. The work appeared in 1844, in four volumes, being only about a third of what he had actually written for the 'Review.'

"The great critic thus realized all he aspired to, and much more. He made good his claim to 'titles manifold.' His four volumes, though not containing all his most original or striking essays, are a repertory of sound and valuable maxims, fine conceptions, and correct definitions. The actual writings, however, afford no just criterion of the benefits which Jeffrey conferred upon his country. Who can calculate the impulse which he gave to thought and opinion, to the whole current of our literature, to correct principles of taste and reasoning, to enlarged views of government, of public duty, and private morality! Much that is valuable and instrumental in periodical writing perishes in their use. The arguments necessary to help on any great cause become to a certain extent superfluous and antiquated

when that cause is won, as elementary dissertations on law or morals cease to interest in an advanced state of society. During his twenty-six years of active duty as editor and reviewer, Jeffrey had stored the public mind with principles and opinions which we have seen reduced to practice, and which no party would now dispute, but which were violently assailed when presented in the pages of the 'Edinburgh Review.' To appreciate him aright, we must go back to the times in which he wrote, when literary criticism was low and servile, and political independence a rare and dangerous quality when he had to contend with discouragements on every hand, and to inspire or cherish the taste and feelings of which we now reap the advantages. Some of the reviews in his collected works, devoted entirely to political questions-to Ireland, the nature of our relations with America, the state of parties in England, and the subjects of parliamentary reform and criminal jurisprudence-are solid and valuable constitutional treatises. He not merely lightens on the subject-he reasons closely on it, and is logical as well as brilliant."

During the latter years of Lord Jeffrey's life, though his health had been shaken by several severe attacks, his cheerfulness and clearness of intellect were undiminished. He scarcely seemed old at seventy-six. Recent circumstances had revived his interest in the "Edinburgh Review." His only child, a daughter, was married to Mr. Empson, professor of law in East India College, at Haileybury; and in 1847, on the death of Mr. Macvey Napier, Mr. Empson succeeded to the editorship of that journal, from which his illustrious relative had derived such solid and lasting honors. He occasionally employed a leisure hour in aiding the editor until within one week of his death, and sat in court even within four days of it. On returning from the court on Tuesday, January 26, 1850, he complained of a slight accession of cold: fever ensued, and on the succeeding Saturday, while his medical attendant was in the act of feeling his pulse, life became extinct. "He was mourned deeply and widely with no common sorrow. He had lived and died among his own people; and his native country, amidst her grief, rejoiced, and will long rejoice-in his fame."

THE PERISHABLE NATURE OF A POET'S FAME.

Next to the impression of the vast fertility, compass, and beauty of our English poetry, the reflection that recurs most frequently and forcibly to us, in accompanying Mr. Campbell through his wide survey, is the perishable nature of poetical fame, and the speedy oblivion that has overtaken so many of the promised heirs of immortality. Of near two hundred and fifty authors, whose works are cited in these volumes, by far the greater part of whom

Read a very interesting sketch of his life in "Chambers' Papers for the People," the last article in the second volume.

Campbell's "Specimens of British Poets," from a review of which in the "Edinburgh Review," this extract is taken.

were celebrated in their generation, there are not thirty who now enjoy anything that can be called popularity-whose works are to be found in the hands of ordinary readers-in the shops of ordinary booksellers or in the press for republication. About fifty more may be tolerably familiar to men of taste or literaturethe rest slumber on the shelves of collectors, and are partially known to a few antiquaries and scholars.

Now, the fame of a poet is popular, or nothing. He does not address himself, like the man of science, to the learned, or those who desire to learn, but to all mankind; and his purpose being to delight and to be praised, necessarily extends to all who can receive pleasure, or join in applause. It is strange, and somewhat humiliating, to see how great a proportion of those who had once fought their way successfully to distinction, and surmounted the rivalry of contemporary envy, have again sunk into neglect. We have great deference for public opinion; and readily admit that nothing but what is good can be permanently popular. But while we would foster all that it bids to live, we would willingly revive much that it leaves to die. The very multiplication of works of amusement necessarily withdraws many from notice that deserve to be kept in remembrance, for we should soon find it labor, and not amusement, if we were obliged to make use of them all, or even to take all upon trial.

As the materials of enjoyment and instruction accumulate around us, more and more must thus be daily rejected and left to waste for while our tasks lengthen, our lives remain as short as ever; and the calls on our time multiply, while our time itself is flying swiftly away. This superfluity and abundance of our treasures, therefore, necessarily renders much of them worthless; and the veriest accidents may, in such a case, determine what part shall be preserved, and what thrown away and neglected. When an army is decimated, the very bravest may fall; and many poets, worthy of eternal remembrance, have been forgotten, merely because there was not room in our memories for all.

By such a work as the "Specimens," however, this injustice. of fortune may be partly redressed-some small fragments of an immortal strain may still be rescued from oblivion—and a wreck of a name preserved, which time appeared to have swallowed up forever. There is something pious, we think, and endearing, in the office of thus gathering up the ashes of renown that has passed away; or rather, of calling back the departed life of a transitory glow, and enabling those great spirits which seemed to be laid forever, still to draw a tear of pity, or a throb of admiration, from the hearts of a forgetful generation. The body of their poetry,

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