The Sun.
London, England, 1846-07-01 00:00:00

MORN' IN JULY 1, 1846

LITERATURE.

BOGUE'S EUROPEAN LlBRARY.—History of
Civilisation. By M. Guizot.—Literary Histoy of the
Midd e Ages. By the Rev. Joseph Berington.
In issuing these two celebrated publications in such a
portable and moderately priced form, Mr. Bogue has per-
formed a strvice to the reading public, while he has
adorned his excellent series, entitled tile " European
Library." So important do we consider these works,
and so necessary do we conceive their perusal to be, that
we feel justified in designating them elementary books
to one of the widest fields of human knowledge. They
induct the reader to a capacious and yet concrete and
symmetrical cognizance of the progress of that ex •
traordinary race of beings of which he is an unit.
They are perhaps the most fitting pioneers of historical
lore ; they serve as a connecting medium between
ancient and modern times. Certainly the most itn-
r ortant fact to us, as inhabitants of the earth, is the fact
of barbarism having become modulated into civilisation.
Before we have acquired some accurate sense of the
manner in which this change was developed, of the
causes which originally withdrew mankind from their
primitive rudeness, and of the consequences
which have followed from that momentuous meta-
morphosis, we are ignorant of our tree position
in the scale of creation. That ignorance is an
intolerable anomaly (in the present age especially),
and it may be effectually dispelled by the perusal of
these volumes. Can there be a more for
cible recommendation to any literary venture
than this ? We opine not ; and in uttering
it we have been actuated solely by a love for truth and
a reverence for justice. One circumstance in connexion
with these Histories is singular enough, inasmuch as
they are intimately associated with each other in subject,
as well as in publication. The one is the production of
a Protestant Frenchman; the other of a Roman Catholic
Englishman. Any particular allusion to the " History
of Civilisation" by M. Guizot would be at once super-
fluous and impertinent, as the writings of that illustri-
ous stateman have justly achieved for themselves an
European celebrity. Since the chapters of the present
lucubrations were first pronounced in lectures
at the Sarbonne, in Paris, they have illicited
a constantly enlarging attention, both from the vastness
of the theme and the remarkable excellence of the com-
position. The survey taken by Guizot is peculiar for
its extent, and yet the remotest outlines of the panorama
are pencilled with a marvellous distinctness. The work
enlarges the mind, and imparts fresh vigour to the
faculties. In the "Literary History of the Middle
Ages," on the other hand, we obtain a more minute and
elaborated description of one segment in the cycle of
civilisation. Namely, of that extraordinary period in the
history of the world, when the popular intellect was slum-
bering save in the recesses of the casual philosophers, and,
be it said in justice, in the cloisters of the monasteries.
This, indeed, is not the only instance in which the cor-
rectness of the title of " Dark Ages," as applied to
those times, has been disproved. The secretary to
the present Archbishop of Canterbury has already spoken
boldly in defence of those ancient ecclesiastics; and has
sufficiently demonstrated that but for the literary and
scientific spirit which was fostered in the monastic
edifices, the classics would possibly have been
swallowed up and lost in the almost universal
apathy of the popular mind; and that, but for such cha-
racters as Copernicus, and Briar Bacon, and a thousand
others, either wearers of the cowl er clients of the cowl,
philosophy might have lagged on for many centuries, in
the same effete and slumberous manner. As a new ex-

position of these circumstances, the work of Berington
is extremely interesting, and, with its renowned com-
panion already noticed, cannot fail to carry instruction
and intellectual advantages among all classes of the com-
munity.

PLEASURES OF POESY. By W. H. Haynes.
The author of this little volume has altogether mis-
taken his subject. He can write a brilliant passage and
an effective stanza, but, as - far as these pages
can indicate, he is incapable of producing a con-
tinuous poem very far removed from medio-
crity. There is a want of sustained vigour,
and an indistinctness of conception, throughout these
two cantos which sadly deteriorate from their merit as
an accumulation of musical sentences. Akenside,
Rogers, Campbell, and Warton have severally dilated
upon the Pleasures of Imagination, Memory, Hope, and
Melancholy. Mr. Haynes attempts, if possible, a
loftier flight,—videlicit, the " Pleasures of Poesy."
But the presumed fraternity with his pre-
decessors renders his failure so much the more
manifest. He reminds one of the philosopher
in " Rasselas," who, to test the merits of his artificial
wings, ascends to the summit of a conspicuous eminence,
and tumbles into a lake. Is the water in this instance
Lethe ? Unquestionably it will prove so to the poem,
but the poet may extricate himself from the same catas-
trophe if he strives to compose something more likely to
live. We do not mean to imply that the writing is altogether
, faulty; on the contrary, there are in the volume para-
graphs of no inconsiderable beauty. But those advan-
tages are marred by such forced similitudes as, where
the author is speaking of the time,
" When Newton's eager telescopic eye,
Explor'd the realms of circumambient sky."
A figure of speech, which calls up an unpleasant recol-
lection of the visual organs of a lobster ! Again, the
repetition of strained adjectives, is a remarkable blemish
in the whole poem. For example, in the very same
page, (p. 50), we have :
" And his far roar awakens pallid fears, tic."
" Yet even thus, amid the pale alarm, kc."

. _
What shall be said, moreover, of such dissonant rhymes
as these :

" Transmuter of base passions to the ore
Of love that leaves the breast no longer poor !"
" To the fair orb of day, with homage due,
In worship bent the Incas of Peru."
Again, is there no lack of grammatic construction in the
following ?
', Whose obelisks retain the midnight lore
Of buried time, which apse 0i.....f0r bore 1"
Such expositions of failure as the foregoing, are anything
but hypercritical, since, with the like flaws, no real
eminence in poetry can ever be attained. Mr. Haynes
has endeavoured to breathe through the opheoclide of
metre, and his powers have proved inadequate : let him
restrict himself to the flageolet of metre, and he will
succeed. A passable ballad, or a tolerable canzonet,
would always be preferable to a laboured and abor-
tive epic. _

DRAMAS FOR THE STAGE. By George
Stephens. Two Vols.
Our national literature, perhaps, is more en-
riched with dramatic writings than with any
other description of composition. And this cir-
cumstance arises not so much from the num-
ber of our professedly dramatic poets, as from the fact
of almost all our celebrated bards having, without ex-
ception, arahitioned the production of a play. Thus
Milton, with an essentially epic mind, has given posterity
his delicious masque of " COMUS," as well as the " Sam-
son Agonistes ;" thus Thomson, though almost solely
endowed with a descriptive genius, produced the " Tan-
cred and Sigismun, a," with the " Edward and Eleo-
nora;" thus also Dryden, whose chief capacities were
those of a translator and a lyrist, displayed considerable
fecundity as a playwright. Within our own times
Byron, who rose before the world as a satirical and
meditative poet, with a greater facility in the production
of cantos than of colloquies, of stanzas than of scenes,
was not contented without the publication of " Manfred"
and " Cain ;" while Shelley, at first lost in the exalta-
tion of ethical philosophy, ushered into immortal life,
possibly the most glorious of his creations, certainly the
most splendid tragedy of modern times, his "Cenci."
Such as these are, so to speak, the adventitious aids
thrown in, from generation to generation, to our dra-
matic literature. And, what with our great English
dramatists, advisedly so called, our Shaksperes, Jon-
sons, Wycherleys, Sheridans, Farquhars, Beaumonts,
Knowles s, Massingers, and Talfourds, render Great
Britain in the world of letters second to none other in
ancient or modern times. It is from this very richness
and splendour of our dramatic compositions that, we
conceive, may be derived the decadence of the popular
passion for theatrical amusements—the decadence at least
as far as the representation of new plays are concerned.
The Shaksperian drama can never, it is true, become
distasteful to the public, as long as the language in
which the great Titan of Poesy has written, continues
in existence ; for, as the lexicographer has said in his
behackneyed, but not less beautiful phrase, " Shak-
pere wrote not for an age, but for all time."
It is in the modern drama that the histrionic art has for
a long period been exhibiting tokens of a scarcely re-
parable decay ' - and this, because we are already so
inundated with masterpieces in that style of literature
that we have become fastidious beyond measure.
We have awaked to a consciousness that time
may be employed to infinitely better ad-
vantage in studying and restudying the chef d'oeuvres
of our many matchless dramatists, than in frittering
evenings away in company with the O'Keefes and the
Reynolds, and the Dimonds. That, we take it, is the
whole secret of the so-called downfall of the stage. The
people will never fail to relish the repetitions of the
book-shelf plays, such as are performed at the Hay-
market, at Sadler's Wells, and occasionally at the Prin-
cess's. But notwithstanding all the epigrammatic sparkle
and keenness, and dagger-like flashing of wit, which is
the principal characteristic of Jerrold ; notwithstanding
the jocund and rollicking boxhonsinie of Bourcicault, or
the stern reflectiveness of Spicer, the modern drama,
looking at it in its general aspect, cannot by any means
flourish. This is not in consequence of a deficiency of ster-
ling dramatists, for we can boast a Talfourd, a Sheridan
Knowles, and (vide " The Lady of Lyons," and "Riche-
lieu," and " Money,") a Bulwer : neither is it from a
paucity of histrionic talent, while Macready, and Miss
Faucit, and Farren continue before the footlights. It is
rather from that spirit of the age, to which we have
already referred—a spirit of intense thoughtfulness,
and hence a spirit Of fastidiousness. The motto of
this generation might aptly enough be " Cui
Bono 4" We are therefore persuaded that Mr. Stephens,
in publishing two large volumes of tragedies and
comedies like the present, has adventured ton much.
He has adventured too much in presenting Lo public
criticism a collection of plays which, while they evince
the scope of his intellect, are nevertheless too crude
and precipitate to acquire him any solid or imme-
diate popularity. We regret this the more as in several
portions of his work we recognise a very considerable
aptitude for dramatic invention, and a very nervous flow
of ideas and expression. Had he restricted himself to
the composition of a single play instead of attempting so
many ; had he pruned exuberances and scrupulously
collated the manuscripts of that one performance ; had
he in fine concentrated his very admirable powers upon
a solitary theme, and thrown his whole imagination
and his whole judgment into its execution,
we aro convinced that he might more readily
have secured the attention of his contemporaries,
and through them of posterity, than by the laborious
production of these two volumes. Will he redeem his
vantage ground ? He has, we feel, the innate capacity