The examiner. [volume] (Louisville, Ky.) 1847-1849, 1847-07-17


Look at Wordsworth, who was once 20
poor that he thought of doing what Milton
really did for li,elihoOd-taking pupils.
II, when his first published poems Jailed, lac
mad turned to win popular favor in some
more current STYLE where would have been
his most original poems? Lost amid a con-
fusion of transilory essays, srrngng Out OF
external fashions instead of native i'm
pulse.
Remember Charles Lamb. Read his let
ter addressed to Bernard Barton, the Qua
ker poet Charles had right to give adj
vice, for he practiced his own philosophy
For eight hours per diem, and for forty
years, he Sat on his high stool at the India
House; and yet hrs lot was happier than
that OF many literary men, though he Ell
dured sad visitations from that dark power
Of melancholy which loves to haunt genius,
and sometimes sheds over the brightest minds
the lurld gloom of an eclipse. Was he
not happier than his greater friend, Cole
ridge. ! would not pretend TO Judge this
man of capacious but i'll -detennined intel.
lect-l am rather inclined 10 blame the
country which cannot find right place and
right employment for such man, when
God sends him into the world but at pres
ent | wish TO censure neither the man of
genius nor his country, but TO draw from his
life lesson ior you. Read his letters, COM
planning that his time was FILTERED away in
''writing nonsense" (''the greater the better, y
says he) for the magazines. Coleridge do
ing that
But, perhaps, you would refer to Soulhey
as an instance OF success. Stay. Is one
literary man in thousand prepared TO live
his life, and go through his tolls lie was
a prisoner in his study al Greta Hail.
Though attracted to the North by the beau
~ of Us lake scenery, he was no more of
a tourist than many cOckneys so scorned by
our quondam romantic and rambling critic,
Christopher North. One season ne would
spend in his study, forgetting all the lakes
and mountains about him, while writing
TIE Curse Of kehdb,d, surrounded with the
NEUROLOGICAL shadows of Old India; or he
would let fine, blue summer shine vainly
over him. while plunged amid the antique
gloom of ecclesiastical history. And then
remember the sad close OF an over-studious
life-ihink of the gloom of that well-stored
library from which the light of intellect had
passed away for ever,
But Sir Walter Scott Here indeed,
the exception proves the rule. His genius,
with even its failings on the side of popu-
larity---the circumstances of his times-his
singularly happy temper all prove that he
is no lalr instance of a literary life. But
hear his own words-'.Literature may be a
handy walking stick. but it is no crutch !:
you must not lean upon it, And vet,
though he was prouder of the Abbotsford
plantations than of his romances, he leaned
too much upon his walking stick and
hence the sore drudgery Of his later days, of
which We have such melancholy record
in his journal.
| have warned YOU of the mistake of EN-
bIacing literature, OF any other idol, as a
substitute for LIFE, for the true. social, rea-
sonable, and happy life for which human
beings were created. Nothing less than a
Development of the whole man in a rea-
lsonable and harmonious course of action
can make him happy. have lost, through
some years of my life. the beauty and the
brightness of the whole, in devoting myself
unwisely to one part, the cultivation of the
intellect. And not even in this one part
have succeeded well-how could how
can part be Independent, Of the health OF
the whole man For my fond magma
lions of literary honors, | have sacrificed
the common privileges Of a social being.
For a considerable part of my time, | have
not iired--I have only unused and scrubbed
How many hours have spen, N dull de
lection, gazing listlessl y at my study-fr as
if | could draw inspiration from its embels,
rather than from the cheerful intercourse
and suggestive occurrences OF human life.
Peoples Journal