The Middlebury register. [volume] (Middlebury, Vt.) 1850-1882, 1854-02-22
III strIlan j .



with us now, and they hang trembling on
the horizons verge about to fall, and we
watch them anxiously. fearing, lest each
glimmcr should be the last. Shelley and
Keats were earliest taken from us, as
though they were the best beloved of the
gods, and one by one the rest have gone,
from Byron to Scott-from Scott to
Wordsworth, the flower of our era. 10
politics, oratory and poetry; and now
the band dwindles to two or three, De
Quincy, Leigh Hunt, Landor, and John
Wilson, being the chief of those who re-
main Glorious old Christopher North
lies there in Scotlaud with the hand of
death on him, and the cold, solemn shad.
ow of the grave stealing over him. What
merry bouts OF wit we have had with him.
and what ambrosal nights We have spent
together but the song is ended, the
laughter is hushed and the lord Of the
feast takes his departure. lie has run
his career, and that magnificent presence
of his is now wreck. The mountain
that we used to look up to with such cx
pcctancy. is cold and dark and will emit
no more flashes of wit, or passion. or
pathos. Wilson is one of those spirits
who start in the race with the loftiest as
pirarions and boldest representations,
armed at every point, and mighty to
overcome. They loom upon us with such
large proportions, aud such a flush of
glory clings about them, they seem like
the early gods, looming upon us through
the dawn light of time. But somehow,
they DO not reach the goal of our pros
phecy The flower of their promise dies
out, bat tho fruit does not follow The
woudrous impression Of their powers
which they produce upon their immcdi.
ate circle of friends and admirers docs
not get stamped upon the world, and the
public reputation of Christopher North
bears no comparison to that estimate of
his genius entertained by his lovers and
worshippers. They arc apt to speak of
what he might have done. we have to
judge Of what he has actually accom-
plished They stand on the summit of
their admiration, and speak Of land of
to us seems exaggerated. Jchn Wilson
has lived his life rather than written 1t.
Richly endowed he has lavished his pre-
cious gifts in so many ways, rather than
them in one, and no man can
be the perfect master in all He is not
Scotland's greatest son, but next to Burns
where shall we find his peer?
And here is Walter Savage I.andor
with his Last Fruit off an old Tree"
who in the mournfullcst words tell US
q strove with none, for none was worthy my
strife,
Nature loved and next to nature art;
/ rarmled boih hands before the fire ofHte,
II sinks, amt ! an rcady 10 Depart"
But we trust this is not the last Fruit
the Tree that bore such may be old, but
must have vigorous sap running in it,
and building capabilities still. This
fruit is sound and ripe, and wears as rich
q bloom as any that was gathered years
ago Such hale old tree must have
another good crop in it, Byron had his
sneer at the author of "Gcbir" in the
= English Bards and Scotch Reviewers
but we think Landor may calmly abide
the question of posterity with the poet
peer. The reputation of Landor has
been Of slow growth, as most things arc
that are built for Immortality. He is
not at all well-known, or widely read in
England perhaps not so much so as in
America, which is the case with several
of our best living writers, including De
Quincy, the Brownings, and Tennyson
but he has a glorious imagination, and a
peerless originality, lie is like one Of
the OLD Greeks working in modern Eng
lish, such is the ideal grace, the piercing
purity and the severe strength OF his
writings Our modern style Of writing
is essentially Of the Pictorial School, and
many who carve in marble are coloris.s.
But Landers style is the statuesque
calm, and grand. and doubtless the more
eternally true Landor has always been
sHenced down in high places, as there
exists an insuperablc objection to him
there His politics go against him, oil
bis tendencies and sympathics being re-
publican But he has superb aud care
less scorn for popularity. There is nc
man who so much reminds us of brave
John Milton, as Walter Savage Landol
JOHN Milton, as he walked amidst o
world Of foes. batting no jot Of heart oil
hope" hemmed in by royalists, but re
publican still Landor can still grip Iii,
pen as though it were the dagger tha
should strike n despot down. and fnl
such words AS these abroad
"The Americans have declared thci
sentiments freely. loudly, widely, con
sistontly. against the violence and perfd,
of Russia and Austria They must d.
greatly more. They must offer an asy
lum TO whoever, rising up against opptes
sion, shall, in the absence Of law and jus
tice, have slain those who caused it. Con
spiracies will never moro exist iftwo pei
sons (but preferably one) will undertak
the glorious task which not only antiaui
ty applauded, but which has been ar
plauded year after year, generation al
ter generation, century after century, i
the seclasion of colleges, and raised tn
FIRST tumult in the boyish heart"
A comfortable doctrine that for hi
KNoUTsHIP of Russia, and that slee
young dabbler in blood, the murderer {
Hungary, and the " hope of his country.
There are no signs of the speedy pul
lication of Carlyle's work on the Lii
and Times Of Frederick the Great ii
has not had the best health of late, bu
is better now His mother died o
Christmas day. Thomas Carlyle, an
his brother DR. Carlyle, one of the tran
lators of Dante, were at tho funeral.
Tennyson is silent, or sings darklin,
, in his Twiclanhnm rntraat IL go