The Press. — London, England, 1857-11-28 00:00:00

ought to be the national sentiment towards Cromwell : God tried us once ; our rebel fathers fought; He glutted them with all the power they sought, Till, master'd by their own usurping brave, The free-born subject sank into a slave. It is only natural that those who deify Crom well should not see any speck in the conduct of William 111. In this history the conduct of William in the Glencoe affair is set forth in the light by which we fear it must always be regarded. After stating that the Glencoe massacre had " left the darkest stain on " William's character," the author gives a detailed account of that bloody episode, and thus concludes : The blood that had been thus ruthlessly shed cried aloud for vengeance, but it was long before it could make itself heard at all. It was not till the end of the ensuing year that William, at the earnest request of the Queen, ap pointed a commission to investigate the matter, and as the Duke of Hamilton, the president, died soon afterwards, he let the investigation drop, hoping apparently to evade the inquiry altogether, till at the beginning of 1695 the indig- nation of the Scotch Parliament could no longer be trifled with, and a second commission was appointed. Even then the expedient of delay was tried to blunt the wrath of the kinsmen of the victims, and the report was reluctantly produced. It absolved all but the Master of Stair ; and the Parliament, in a series of resolutions founded on the re port, left itto the royal wisdom to deal with him in such manner as might vindicate the honour of the Government, while at the same time they requested his Majesty to order Camptell, Lindsay, and the other officers actually con cerned in the massacre, to be prosecuted. The fatal war rant had been signed by William both at the top and at the bottom, in a manner only used to denote his desire for prompt obedience, but the Parliament had resolved that this fact did not show that he intended the results which had taken place. Unhappily for his fame he chose to prove to all the world that he had intended them. He did, indeed, dismiss Stair from his office fur a time, but he took many opportunities to show that he had in no degree lost his con fidence, and his whole conduct towards him was a proof that he had consented to the bloody deed before, and that he did nut in his heart condemn it after the execution. Glencoe will always be to William 111. what the assassination of the last of the Condos was to Napoleon I. It is " the damned spot " which will not " out." For the character of contemporary historians, we rejoice to say that rhiers has written in the most fearless and unflinching style about " the mighty crime " of the Duke D'Enghein's death. Though Mr. Yonge is a good narrator, he is not ajudicious critic. The following passage, attempting to characterise the literature of Queen Anne's reign, is loose and inaccurate, and conventional : It has often been called the Golden Age of English Literature, and though perhaps it may be found not quite to deserve so high a panegyric, nor to have produced writers, as a body, equal to those of the present century, yet it may well be proud of Bolingbroke, perhaps the greatest orator of our country, and certainly one of the most powerful and eloquent of political writers ; of Addison, whose exquisite liveliness of fancy was set off with the purest taste and a correct elegance of language which has never been surpassed, and who still more deserves the grateful admiration of pos terity because, in a gross and scoffing age, his pen was always enlisted in the cause of religion and virtue, so that, according to the beautiful panegyric of a suc ceeding moralist, he taught virtue not to be ashamed, and even turned many to righteousness; of Defoe, the his torian of the Plague and of the Union, and still more uni versally known as the author of the tale which has fasci nated the childhood of every reader, and which has not lost its attraction for those of more mature age, " Robinson Cnisoe ;" of Swift; whose writings, though often defaced by shameless scurrility, and still more discreditable gross ness, yet exhibit a vigour of genius and a mastery over the language which place him high among our English classics, though, by a singular caprice of fortune, he owes the greater part of his celebrity at the present day to his " Gulliver's Travels," which, designed as a political satire for a temporary purpose, has become a favourite book of numbers, who devour it as an amus!ng tale in utter disre gard or ignorance of its original object. In a different line of literature, Bentley, now in the prime of life, was raising the character of English scholarship by a combination of profound learning and unrivalled critical acuteness which places him at the head of all the scholars cf modern Europe ; and Pope, the most harmonious of poets, was beginning to smooth the hitherto somewhat rugged ca dences of English verse into rhythm as well suited to enchant the ear as the playful fancy which breathed throughout it with ever-varying imagery was calculated to delight the sense, and though not equal to Dryden in either the loftiness of his ideas or in the exuberant richness of his language, was laying the foundation of a school which lasted till the end of the century, and which still finds numerous admirers and some not alto gether unsuccessful disciples. Lord Brougham has ably given his reasons for holding Bolingbroke to have been the greatest orator, not merely " of our country," but of " modern times." Defoe's history of the " Scottish Union " is not a classical work, and is referred to in our time THE PRESS, NOVEMBER 28, 1857. only for want of a better book. The subject did not allow that admirable writer to show his peculiar powers. " Mastery over language" was by no means a special characteristic of Swift. The rhetoric of exalted passions, of romantic sensibility, ef high-toned enthusiasm, was not amongst his gifts. His " Anglicism " of style was genuine and idiomatic, but the comparative narrowness of its limits can be at once seen by contrasting his style with the prose works of Dryden. But Swift, we do not forget, had a pure grammar and precision of syntax which were often wanted in Dryden, who indulged too much in what he has himself called " his !idly way of writing." The re• ference to Bentley should have been more special and minute ; while the sentence on Pope is a curiosity for its length, besides being most faulty in its grammar. Its " and's " and " as's" remind one of the in tricacies of " Rosamond's Bower." But passages like this are not common in the volume. It is likely that this work may reach another edition, and we advise Mr. Yonge to cite his authorities, and to add a good index. His torical works can be more easily enlarged than almost any other kind of composition. The Life of John Baitint, the Irish Novelist. By Patrick Joseph Murray. London: Lay. WE can easily understand that this is not a species of biography likely to find favour with a particular class of critics. The fash;on of the present time is to make the hero of a biography little more than a peg on which to hang a certain amount of literary or antiqua rian anecdote. The stream of his existence is scarcely visible as it creeps along between the tangled mass of gossip, dissertation, and com mentary with which it is overgrown. We do not mean to deny that works of this kind are often very pleasant reading. As a narrow brook, with its reeds and sedges and thick overhanging hawthorns, may be more pictu resque than a river, so an essay on the Irish litterateurs of Banitn's day would doubtless be a very agreeable and interesting volume, but Banim himself would be smothered by it. We want to have the man brought out into the light—to see him by himself, and not merely as one of a class. Now, this one great object is just what Mr. Murray has accom plished. There is no pretension about his book whatever. He makes no attempt to show off a range of miscellaneous reading, or that large acquaintance with little things for which so many contemporary memoir-writers are distinguished. He has given us a simple and straightforward narrative of Banim's career—his struggles, joys, and sorrows from his birth to his death—and has produced, we are bound to confess, as interesting a tale as it has often been our pleasure to peruse. One piece of advice we may perhaps tender to Mr. Murray without giving him offence, and that is, to moderate in future the excessively Car lylesque tone of his style. His opening pages are greatly disfiguted by this unfortunate peculiarity. None can wield Mr. Carlyle's pen but himself. In any other hand it scrawls, and splutters, and blotches, till the paper is pretty well spoiled. John Banim was born at Kilkenny on the 3rd of April, 1798—an ominous year. His father was a respectable yeoman, but with so much intelligence as to desire a good educa tion for his children. John was sent to school in his fourth year, and after numerous changes, completed his studies in Kilkenny College ; a seminary from which many famous Irishmen have proceeded—among others, Bishop Berkeley, and, according to Mr. Murray, Dean Swift. Banim, like Pope, was a precocious author, and in his tenth year being struck with Tom Moore's appearance at the Kilkenny Theatre, he called on the bard next morning with a copy of verses:— Moore, remembering probably the trembling anxiety with which he had, in his fourteenth year, sent " the attempts of a youthful muse " to the editor of " The Anthologia Hibernica," and the " honour end glory " which he enjoyed when he found himself, shortly afterwards, called " our esteemed correspondent T. M.," received his odd little visitor kindly. He read a few of the verses, inquired as to his progress at school, advised him to be attentive and diligent, and closed the interview by asking, if there was anything he could do to oblige " his brother 1163 Poet." To be called his " brother poet " was quite suffi— cient for Banim ; but the offer of obliging him was too flattering to be slighted, so, after some consideration, he told the goodnatured bard that there was nothing in the world he should like so much as a season ticket to the private theatre, where he could see Mr. Mooro on the nights of performance. This request was at once granted, and, tor the remainder of the theatrical season, little John Banim was happy as his heart could desire,—the same ticket which opened the theatre to him was, he considered, a tribute to his poetic ability. And how the boy's soul would have swelled could he then have known that but twentytwo years later his own fame would be so fully acknowledged that this same great poet, whom he was now so anxious to please, would, when in Kilkenny, call upon old Michael Banim, and, finding that he was from home, write, as a card, and leave for the old man, these words— " Mr. Thomas Moore called to pay his respects to the father of the author cf 'The O'Hara Family !' " It was Banim's first intention to pursue the career of an artist, and he became for a time a pupil of the Royal Dublin Society. Gradu ally, however, and primarily, perhaps, owing to the necessity of earning money, he drifted into literature. In his letters home there is constant allusion to "newspaper scribbling " and reporting." He was still hovering be tween the two professions, when an event occurred which finally turned the scale— namely, the success of a poem entitled " Ossian's Paradise," which he sold to a London publisher for 201. The poem was published in February, 1821, and on the 28th of May following, the tragedy of Damon and Pythiaa, by John Banim, E*q., was performed at Covent Garden, with Macready and Charles Kemble in the principal parts. The accept ance of the play was owing in great measure to the kind recommendation of Mr. Sheil, but it had intrinsic merits, and " all the London " papers were unanimous in its praise." The year after this success was spent with his own family, and at the conclusion of it, having taken to wite a pretty Irish girl with the pretty name of Ellen Ruth, daughter of an Irish gentleman farmer of the old school, Banim set off for London to commence literary man in earnest. His first lodgings were at No. 7, Amelia place, Brompton ; and, owing to the success of his play, he was able to obtain employment at once. The following letter is very interesting, and natural and manly : London, April 4th, 1822. My dear Michael,—Do not be so uneasy about me ; I am in the receipt of a weekly stipend, that is, paid weekly, but it is a settled annuity, which keeps the pot boiling very well. As soon as I was fixed I took up a newspaper, looked over the advertisements, saw a new periodical ad►ertised, wrote immediately to the proprietor;, furnishing some specimens of my capability; was treated with immediate attention, and soon engaged, and I sin right well pleased with the concern altogether. _ _ _ And now you must praise me, and say that I have not succeeded badly at the outset, considering that I am only an Irish country boy. I work hard, to be sure, to meet my engagement; it is what I expected, and what I like. I am not iodebttd to a single introductory letter : this to me is delightful— to work one's own way, without incurring obligation, sweetens labour The expense of travelling has been very great, and the cost of living here out of all proportion with Kilkenny. Then why, you will say, saddle yourself with a responsi bility to create the expense ? My dear Michael, this is my answer—l have purchased, by my outlay, rational happ... ness, settled habits, and a continual stimulus to fume exertion. With the money I have expended lam as haply as any fellow can be, in my humble sphere. lam in excellent health and spirits. My appetite may be said to be too voracious for my income; and further, Ellen keels me in countenance in this respect. I go to bed early, rise early, drink nothing but water or tea ; work with a liking for it, all the day long, and I have my cheerful fireside, with a companion thereat whose smile cheers me after my toil. Three months after this he obtained an addi tional engagement on the Literary Register, so we may presume that he was now earning quite sufficient money to meet all his simple wants with ease. These bright beginnings were, however, soon to be overcast. Banim had miscalculated neither his own genius nor his own prudence, but there was an enemy at hand whom it was impossible to ward off. Banim's health gave way, and, to add to his distress, his wife began to display symptoms of a very delicate constitu tion. Still he fought manfully to keep his head above water. The following little anec dote will be read with sympathy by all : His wife's ill health, and a slight attack of his own pains, were again pressing upon his slender resources; and being unwilling to delay his task—the completion of the tales—by entering into any new engagements with pub-