1845.] Character. 363 fections inclined him; jealous of the exercise of every faculty but the understanding. He set about his religious investigations with a prejudice against every opinion which harmonized with the sentiments of others. The enthusiasm which he dreaded so much in religion, was too constituent a part of him, not to appear in his endeavors to explode. religious errors. He became, without suspecting it, an enthusiast in free-thinking; bigoted against bigotry, credulous in whatever favored incredulity. We are satisfied that his suspicion of the biases of his affections and temperament drove him into an opposite extreme, and subtracted from him all the assistance which the heart gives to the reasoning powers. He exhibits more acuteness than comprehensiveness of mind; more power to overthrow than to build up. Blanco White, however, was a man of a very high order of mind, as well as of the utmost strength of character. When we consider how he disentangled himself from the subtleties and prejudices of Romanism, we do not wonder that his strength was exhausted in that struggle, and that the action of his mind was in some respects vitiated by mental and bodily effort, anxiety and disease, during the last few years of his most suffering life. He had passed through enough to break down any mind, and we cannot consider him as wholly sound in judgment or feeling during his concluding studies. His natural abilities appear in the facility and extent of his acquirements, in his extraordinary proficiency in the English language, and the variety and thoroughness of his accomplishments. He was a thorough musician, a good classical scholar, no mean poet, a most accomplished narrator, as his biography proves, and a master of the idiom and eloquence of a foreign tongue, and that the English. But it is his character which must excite the admiration of all capable of appreciating moral courage, inflexible rectitude and supreme. devotion to truth. These qualities attracted to him the reverence and love of some of the best minds on this side the Atlantic, and on the Continent, while he lived. The painful conclusions to which he came did nothing to lessen the estimation in which he was held. Nay, he could not have exhibited his moral rectitude as completely as he did, had he not run into errors which exposed him to almost universal suspicion and denunciation. He was faithful to conscience when it led him into deserts so dreary that God never designed his children should wander in them, and kept his integrity when deprived of supports which Heaven usually vouchsafes to virtue in its extremity. Without any of the encouragements or solaces which religion lends its disciples, he was still religious to the end. He accepted the duties, when stripped of the supports of faith. Believing in nothing that could sustain his delicate affections or encourage his fainting heart, he manifested a sublime fidelity to conscience to the last, and died a saint, without the faith or hope of a Christian. What Blanco White did believe, he believed with all his heart. It was in the sanctity of virtue. What a mighty buoyancy must that sentiment possess, to have borne him up under the terrible doubts and disbeliefs which hung upon his expiring soul! Who does not honor Blanco White more in his spiritual integrity and shattered faith, than though with the completest faith he had wanted a ray only of his moral brightness? Thank God, there is no necessary connexion between his infidelity and his moral elevation. But let those who are not so unfortunately circumstanced as to be tried with his doubts, see to it that, with all their helps, they possess something of his integrity and martyr-like fidelity to duty. It is impossible for us to do anything more than refer to the deeply interesting correspondence contained in these volumes, between Blanco White and Dr. Channing, Professor Norton, and other distinguished men. We cannot deny ourselves the pleasure of expressing the admiration we feel for the courage, simplicity, and modesty with which Mr. Thom has edited these volumes. None who have not read them, can appreciate the temptation he must have withstood to qualify or comment upon parts of the autobiography. We thank him for all he has done, and for all he has left undone. H. W. B. 1845.] Festus. 365 ART. VI.-FESTUS. A POEM of which the brave and earnest corn-law rhymer, Elliot, could say, "it contains poetry enough to set up fifty poets," must be an extraordinary work; and the author is certainly a most remarkable man, if at the age of twenty-three he has actually won the high position which a critic, not prone to overpraise, has assigned to him, in saying, that "Wordsworth excepted, who belongs to the past generation, there are but two living poets in England, Taylor and Tennyson, who can be named near him." Still higher is the praise bestowed in the assertion, that in splendor and power, as sure as the sun shines, this poem cannot be outdone in the English tongue, thus far, short of Milton." Such a book may not be slighted. It was made known to readers in this country some four years since by an admirable review in the Dial, of which it is a sufficient recommendation, that it has been acknowledged in England, as the most discriminating and justly appreciating notice that has yet appeared. Now we have, thanks to Mr. Mussey, an edition reprinted here, and all who love good books will own and study it. We are willing for our own part to confess, here in the outset, that taking Festus for all in all, we regard it as unsurpassed, perhaps unequalled by any creation of genius in the light literature of our age. This is a strong statement, but it is calmly made; and a thorough acquaintance with the book will, we are confident, establish the correctness of this judgment. We regret that space and time do not permit the full criticism which such a master-piece merits. But we must content ourselves with brief hints. Our poet shall introduce himself. L'ENVOI. "Read this, world! He who writes is dead to thee, Festus. A Poem. By PHILIP JAMES BAILEY, Barrister at Law. First American Edition. Boston: B. B. Mussey. 1845. 16mo. pp. 416. Went through was of the soul-rack. The degree A few bright seeds: he sowed them - hoped them truth. The autumn of that seed is in these pages. God was with him, and bade old Time, to the youth, Unclench his heart, and teach the book of ages. -- Peace to thee, world! - farewell! May God the Power, And God the Love- and God the Grace, be ours!"-p. 413. With such a book as this in hand one wishes to be, as the mesmerisers say, "impressible." We would not dare to touch it with coldness and cavilling; but would approach it with awe, as if laying our finger on the very heart of the writer. It is a confession in the ear of humanity; a pouring out of the soul's most holy secrets as at a judgment-day; a prayer in the temple of the all-present witness. We would let the author's "sphere" possess us. We would, for the time, see with his eyes, think with his mind, feel the impulse of his passions. Thus only, by looking on this self-portrait "in the same light in which it was drawn and colored," as Festus himself says, can we estimate aright his struggles, his personal limitations, God's work of wonder in him. The first, superficial, outside impression of Festus Bailey, for the author and the book are wholly one, is of his extremely quick sensibility, and of his prodigal expenditure of life. The creature is all nerve; he feels with agonising intensity both pleasure and pain, and seems to be consuming, to use his own image, "Like a bright wheel, which burns itself away, Benighting even night with its grim limbs."-p. 76. No poem of any time or language has manifested greater keenness of sensation. It would be impossible by extracts to give any notion of the profuse allusion to beauty of all kinds and degrees, with which this characteristic sensibility has crowded every page. As well attempt by a handful of wild flowers to represent the luxuriance of a western prairie, or pluck icicles from glittering boughs and shrubs to image the lustre of woods and fields changed to a magic garden by a winter's rain. The temperament of the man is in the highest scale of the poetic; he is a genuine child 1845.] Characteristics of the Author. 367 of nature. Such excess of rapture is indeed morbid. Yet it would be better never to have been born, than not to have experienced the passionate love of mere existence, which exclaims with Festus, And look, and live, and bask, and bless myself I am thy son."—p. 61. As an illustration of his childlike exuberance of natural delight, take Clara's words: "How still the air is! the tree-tops stir not: But stand and peer on Heaven's bright face as though It slept and they were loving it: they would not Have the skies see them move for summers; would they? And, the next dawn, back with the sun to heaven; And so on through eternity, sweet cloud! I cannot but think that some senseless things Are happy. Often and often have I watched A gossamer line sighing itself along The air, as it seemed; and so thin, thin and bright, That I have envied it, I have, and followed; Oft watched the sea-bird's down blown o'er the wave, Now out of sight, now seen, till in some bright fringe A playful death it dies, and mourned its death."-pp. 69, 70. It is quite observable however, that the eye and touch in Bailey are so dominant, that the ear has but small chance to glean its share of pleasure. The allusions are but few and slight to music, though occasionally sweetly significant, |