The Press.
London, England, 1855-01-27 00:00:00

IC ittraturt.

Memoirs of the Life and Writings of James
Montgomery. By John. Holland and James
Everett. London : Longmans.
BIOGRAPHY is so delightful a department of
literature that it is provoking to meet with
specimens of it which one is compelled to
condemn. There are few men who have
attained any honourable eminence whose lives
do not deserve some record, and such record,
if composed with ordinary judgment, is sure
to afford pleasant reading. It has been very
well observed that all history is resolvable
into biography; the knowledge of what men
have done and suffered is the knowledge it
imports us most to know, and is the founda-
tion on which we must erect the superstruc-
ture of our own lives. The greatest among
us possesses little of intellectual acquirement
he can call his own, in comparison of that
which he has inherited or acquired from
others.
James Montgomery was a true poet. He
has written pieces which will last as long as
the English tongue. He was not a volu-
minous writer. He composed slowly and
with great labour, but he had, like other
gifted men, his moments of inspiration, and
then the hoarded products of his brain came
forth as gems of the purest water, without
flaw or blemish. His "Grave" is one of the
most perfect lyrics in our tongue, sublime in
conception, original in rythm, elevated in sen-
timent, and of the most exquisite delicacy in
expression. It appears superfluous to praise
a piece so well known, but we are prone to over
look the surpassing beauty of some compositions
simply because they are familiar. We pity
the person who can even recal this noble poem
to mind without emotion. It made a deep
impression on Byron, and many years later he
composed a piece in the same stanza, which by
ibe melody bad left a lasting impression on his
ear. If any one would see how inferior Byron
with his superlative genius could be to the
poor Sheffield bard he need only compare
with the " Grave " of the latter the lines writ-
ten by the noble bard at Missolonghi, said to
be the last he ever wrote :
It thou regret thy youth, why live ?
The land of honourable death
Is here—up to the field and givo
Away thy breath.
The life of Montgomery was very uneventful ;
he spent nearly the whole of his days in
Sheffield, closely engaged in the drudgery of
conducting, as proprietor, editor, and printer,
a weekly newspaper; yet we should have been
glad of a memoir which fairly related his
career, traced the progress of his mild genius,
exhibited his character, and even included
some of his correspondence. But the authors
of this work have published two volumes of
" Memoirs," which come down no later than
1812, and have put together a mass of matter
in no other order than chronological succes-
sion, of about the dullest and most worthless
kind which we ever had the misfortune to
meet with in print. What can be thought of
the taste which swells these volumes with old
newspaper cuttings, and retails scraps of the
commonplace conversations which occurred
between the poet and the editors of this work,
both, as we understand, dissenting ministers
of Sheffield? Where the trial of Montgomery
is related the most approved form of penny-a-
line reporting is adopted, ex. gr.
Mr. Vaughan rose on the part of the defendant, and ad-
dressed the court and jury in a speech of considerable
length, which was delivered with the most impressive
energy, and heard, notwithstanding frequent interruptions
from the gentlemen on the bench, with the most profound
attention," /ie.
The commencement of the book shows the
unhappy notion which these simple gentlemen
have conceived of the duty of a biographer.
The poet was named Montgomery : very well.
Then the name is to be traced from " the Con-
quest downwards," and particular enumera-
tion must be made of all the eminent persons
who have borne it ; but after " Domesday
Book," and " Chevy Chase," and the " Ameri-
can War," the confession is made that Mont-
gomery could trace his blood from none of
the worthies mentioned. Of his ancestors it
is said "he knew but little. He had heard it