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Some specimens exist in earlier volumes, of this Magazine. But take a little gem, one of many, from his earliest poems. The following was written when he was nineteen :

MUTABILITY.

"I saw two children intertwine

Their arms about each other,
Like the lithe tendrils of a vine,
Around its nearest brother:
And ever and anon,

As gaily they ran on,
Each lookt into the other's face,
Anticipating an embrace.

"I markt those two when they were men,
I watcht them meet one day;
They toucht each other's hands, and then
Each went on his own way:
There did not seem a tie

Of love, the lightest chain,
To make them turn a ling'ring eye,
Or press the hand again.

"This is a page in our life's book
We all of us turn over;
The web is rent,

The hour-glass spent,

And, oh! the path we once forsook,
How seldom we recover!

"Our days are broken into parts,

And every fragment has a tale
Of the abandonment of hearts,

May make our freshest hopes turn pale;
Even in the plighting of our troth,
Even in the passion of our oath,
A cold, hard voice may seem to mutter
"We know not what it is we utter.'"

Some seventeen years ago Lord Houghton was sketched, with the addition of a little playful caricature, and of one or two touches inconsistent with the whole, which the better feelings of the man of genius who wrote that sketch will probably have long since led him to regret, in Mr. Disraeli's "Tancred," under the name of "Mr. Vavasour." The following sentences are a slightlymarred recognition of qualities which in the interval have become widely known:

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and perhaps just, but disqualifies a man in some degree for the business of life, which" requires for its conduct a certain degree of prejudice. Mr. Vavasour's breakfasts were renowned. Whatever your creed, class, or country-one might almost add, your character-you were a welcome guest at his matutinal meal, provided you were celebrated. That qualification, however, was rigidly enforced. Individuals met at his hospitable house who had never met before, but who for years had been cherishing in solitude mutual detestation, with all the irritable exaggeration of the literary character. He prided himself on figuring as the social medium by which rival reputations became acquainted, and paid each other in his presence the compliments which veiled their ineffable disgust. A real philosopher, alike from his genial disposition and from the influence of his rich and various information, Vavasour moved amid the strife sympathizing with every one; and perhaps, after all, the philanthropy, which was his boast, was not untinged by a dash of humour, of which rare and charming quality he possessed no inconsiderable portion. Vavasour liked to know everybody who was known, and to see everything which ought to be seen. His life was a gyration of energetic' curiosity, an insatiable whirl of social celebrity. There was not a congregation of sages and philosophers in any part of Europe which he did not attend as a brother. As for his acquaintances, he was welcomed in every land: his universal sympathies seemed omnipotent. Emperor and king, jacobin and carbonari, alike cherished him. He was the steward of Polish balls, and the vindicator of Russian humanity; he dined with Louis Philippe and gave dinners to Louis Blanc."

A better knowledge of Lord Houghton would have taught the writer, and has very likely already taught him, that he seeks not celebrity only, but talent, whether celebrated or obscure; and that merit, and not success, is the indispensable qualification. Many are the young authors, and obscure men of talent, who may afterwards perhaps attain fame or may miss it, who know the warmth of his sympathy and the constancy of his friendship. Merit or mark, though lowly or unfashionable, is, indeed, to him as beauty to Van Artevelde's Elena

"Beauty in plain attire her heart could fill; Yea, though in beggary, 'twas beauty still."

Nor can I admit the justice of the. insinuation that malice mingles in his catholic friendship and hospitality; rather do I believe in the poet-poli

tician's own account of his mission of conciliation in lines, published in 1840, which are worthy to be quoted for, themselves

66 Amid the factions of the Field of Life

The Poet held his little neutral ground, And they who mixt the deepest in the strife Their evening way to his seclusion found. "Thus, meeting oft the antagonists of the day, Who near in mute suspicion seemed to stand,

He said what neither would be first to say, And, having spoken, left them hand in hand."

The description of Lord Houghton's life as "a gyration of energetic curiosity, an insatiable whirl of social celebrity," is not too strong; and the combination of such a life with great acquirements and constant literary occupation, and with the mental activity which enables him to keep pace with the progress of almost all branches of literature and speculative philosophy, and to study and prosecute more political questions than are undertaken by most legislators, is truly matter for amazement. To the large mind Mr. Disraeli has done justice, but not to the large heart which is with it. This has been well described with one single touch, by a well-known popular writer, another "Apostle," who, in his own quaint manner, in one of the volumes of the "Friends in Council," has set himself to think how his friends would treat him if he should get into serious trouble or discredit, and declares himself confident of one thing, that "Pontefract" would instantly ask him to dinner.

There can hardly be a literary reputation whose growth and spread have been so remarkable and satisfactory as that which has come in early manhood to the author of the "Claims of Labour" and the "Friends in Council." These and other books, published without a name, addressing neither the passions nor the imagination, written in no gorgeous or glittering style, but one singularly simple, unadorned, and clear, altogether unaided by arts of puffing, pushed by no newspaper or review, silently, steadily, widely worked their way to "the general heart of man;"

and the author of the "Friends in Council" had a large circle of readers and fame, before the name of Arthur Helps was generally known. I believe that, as is often the case, the merits of this writer were widely appreciated in the United States, even before they obtained a similar wide appreciation in. England. I cannot conceive a more decisive test of fame-as decisive, certainly, as the "Digito monstrari et dicier, hic est "-than what accidentally came under my notice a few years ago, viz.,. a lecture given in a provincial town (by, I think, an American lecturer), called "An Evening with Arthur Helps." The "Claims of Labour" made the beginning of his popularity, and the "Friends in Council" is the most popular of his works. Many of the readers of these books are perhaps yet unacquainted with the learning, wisdom, and eloquence (see, for instance, the eloquent description of the city of Mexico) of his "History of the Conquest of America," or with the practical wisdom condensed into his "Essays written in the Intervals of Business"-superior, perhaps, in some respects, and certainly for conciseness, to the Essays of the "Friends in Council." And few beyond the friends of his youth know of a little volume, which was published while he was at Cambridge, and which it is to be regretted that he has not reproduced-a little collection of aphorisms, "Thoughts in the Cloister and the Crowd," which, at the time of its anonymous publicacation, attracted the notice, and obtained the highly favourable judgment, of John Stuart Mill. This is twenty-seven years ago. The little book was the subject of an article by Mr. John Mill, which also treated of aphorisms generally, in the "London Review" of January, 1837. The same distinguished thinker and writer had been foremost to give warm welcome to the first poetry of Alfred Tennyson. I remember, when a boy, first learning of Alfred Tennyson's name and poetry, by an article written by John Stuart Mill, pointing out the beauties and great promise of poems in which the Quarterly of that,

day could find nothing but matter for sneers and ridicule. This was published, in 1830 or 1831, in a Magazine called the Monthly Repository, edited by W. J. Fox. It is generally known that Arthur Helps is the author of the Preface to the collection of the Prince Consort's "Speeches and Addresses."

Among living and dead there are many other members of this Cambridge Society known more or less to fame. Let me first enumerate a few of the living: Frederick Maurice; Dr. Kennedy, the Head Master of Shrewsbury; Trench, Archbishop of Dublin, poet as well as divine; another poet and divine, Alford, the Dean of Canterbury; James Spedding, who, having served for some time in the Colonial Office, refused nearly twenty years ago the honourable offer of succession to Sir James Stephen as Under-Secretary for the Colonies, that he might patiently devote himself to his long labour of love on the life and works of Bacon; the Regius Professor of Greek, W. H. Thompson, a member of the late Commission on Public Schools; Charles Merivale, the distinguished Latin scholar and Roman historian, the present chaplain to the House of Commons; Kenneth Macaulay, the member for Cambridge, whose endowments singularly fitted him for distinction in the House of Commons, but whom enfeebled health has prevented from seeking there the prominence which in younger days of strength he had, with surprising rapidity, acquired at the Bar; W. F. Pollock, the translator of Dante; Tom Taylor, in all whose versatile accomplishments and industry are to be seen high principles of taste and moral aim, and the brightest element of whose various fame is the elevation by scholarship and moral purpose of his popular dramas; Maine, who is now maintaining in India, as Legislative Member of Council, the high name which he had acquired as a philosophical lawyer, and as author of a treatise on Ancient Law; another young jurist of solid reputation, Fitzjames Stephen, author of "A General View of the Criminal Law of England;" Butler, the distinguished

young head-master of Harrow; William Johnson, of Eton; and let me end this list with one who may, without invidiousness, be selected from among the younger hopes of the Society, who has lately, in the pages of this Magazine, made a brilliant beginning in literature as the Indian "Competition Wallah," and who, the heir of two reputations, is expected by many to follow not unworthily in the two careers of literature and of politics.

Of Charles Buller I have already spoken at length. I will mention a few other members of this Society, who have prematurely died, leaving works and a name behind them, an instalment only of "unfulfilled renown." There was John Sterling, who has had the high honour of being the subject of two rival biographies by two such men as Julius Charles Hare and Thomas Carlyle; whose beautiful poem, the "Sexton's Daughter," ought to be known by all; whom I only saw and heard once,-" Virgilium vidi tantum,"-but the music of whose full and flowing eloquence as heard on that occasion has never faded from my ears.1 There were the two Hallams, the elder of whom will be ever remembered by that great threnodia, greater than "Lycidas" or "Adonais," which our Poet Laureate has made in his memory, and the younger of whom was regarded by his contemporaries as of promise hardly inferior to his brother's.2 There were John Kemble, the wellknown Anglo-Saxon scholar; Henry Lushington, who was Secretary of Government in Malta, and whose virtues and accomplishments and works, much diminished by constant ill-health, have been recorded in the charming biography of his friend and brotherapostle, Venables; and, lastly, I will

1 Archdeacon Hare says of his reputation as a speaker at Cambridge, "I have been told by several of the most intelligent among his contemporaries that, of all the speakers they ever heard, he had the greatest gift of natural eloquence." Carlyle, speaking of his college reputation as a speaker, says, that Charles Buller was considered to be the only one of his companions who came near him.

2 See Dr. John Brown's "Hora Subsecivæ," first series, for notices of the two Hallams.

name one with whom I was united in close friendship, the late Secretary of the Civil Service Commission, John Gorham Maitland, the extent of whose powers and attainments his great modesty veiled from the world. At Cambridge he seemed never to have any work to do; yet he was third classic of his year, second Chancellor's medallist, and seventh wrangler. His mind embraced all subjects, and was as fitted for the work of life as for speculation. His superiors in the Civil Service Commission-I can speak for one of them at least, Sir John Lefevre-knew his capacity and worth.

A few young men at College, attracted to companionship by a common taste for literature and speculation, make a Society for a weekly essay and discussion. Such societies have often been made in public schools and Universities. This Society was founded about 1820 by some members of St. John's College, among whom was Tomlinson, the late Bishop of Gibraltar. In a few years it gravitated to Trinity, and it began to be famous in the time of Buller, Sterling, Maurice, and Trench. Then came the halo of Tennyson's young celebrity. Mr. Venables has alluded to the Society in his Life of Henry Lushington, as the chief pleasure and occupation of Lushington's Cambridge days. Quoting from one of Lushington's Essays a charming passage of reminiscences of his college life, Mr. Venables adds to the quotation a happy description of his

own.

"There is,' he says in one of the accompanying essays, 'a deep truth and tenderness in the tone in which Giusti recalls those four happy years spent without care; the days, the nights "smoked away" in free gladness, in laughter, in uninterrupted talk; the aspirations, the free open-hearted converse, as it was then, of some who now meet us disguised as formal worldlings; all the delights of that life, whether at Cambridge or at Pisa, that comes not again.' Youthful conversation of

the higher class, though it would seem crude and pedantic to mature minds, is more ambitious, more earnest, and more fruitful, than the talk which furnishes excitement and relaxation in later life. Our Cambridge discussions would have been insufferably tedious to an experienced and accomplished listener of fifty; but in the audacity of metaphysical conjectures or assertions, in the partisanship of literary enthusiasm, in the exuberant spirits, the occasional melancholy, the far-fetched humour of youth, all were helping each other, governed by the incessant influence of contagious sympathy. Like many past and future generations of students, we spent our days—

"In search of deep philosophy, Wit, eloquence and poetry,

Arts which I loved, for they, my friend, were thine.""

Those

Some fifteen generations of young "Apostles" have passed from college into life. A few have gained eminence, several distinction. The just pride of members of the Society in the fame of its greater ornaments cannot surely be proscribed by the most cynical. Within the Society itself there is no hierarchy of greatness. All are friends. who have been contemporaries meet through life as brothers. All, old and young, have a bond of sympathy in fellow-membership. All have a common joy and a common interest in the memory of bright days that are gone, of daily rambles and evening meetings, of times when they walked and talked with single-hearted friends in scenes hallowed by many memories and traditions or by the banks of Cam, or in the lime-tree avenues of Trinity, or within sound of the great organ of the great chapel of King's, or in the rural quiet of Madingley or Grantchester,sometimes perhaps

"Yearning for the large excitement which the coming years would yield," but all, as they stood on the threshold of life, hopeful and happy, gladdened by genial influences which are never forgotten, and sunned by warm friendships of youth which never die.

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WILLIAM BLAKE.

THE life of a most extraordinary man has recently appeared, and should be studied by all who are interested in the curiosities of literature and art.' To this generation he is nearly unknown. To his contemporaries he most frequently seemed to be a madman. Yet of this strange being-at once a poet and a painter-Wordsworth said: "There is something in his madness which "interests me more than the sanity of "Lord Byron and Walter Scott." Fuseli and Flaxman declared that the time would come when his designs should be as much sought after and treasured in portfolios as those of Michael Angelo. "Blake is d-good to steal from," said Fuseli. And, ah! sir," said Flaxman, "his poems are as grand as his pictures." Who is the unknown genius that is praised so highly, and what has he done? The answer is given in two goodly volumes, to which three ardent admirers have contributed. The late Mr. Gilchrist, who distinguished himself by the production of a good biography of Etty, has traced the incidents of Blake's life; Mr. Dante Rossetti, one of the leading preRaphaelite painters, has edited Blake's poetry and criticised his style of art; and Mr. W. M. Rossetti has produced a critical catalogue of Blake's designs. The work produced by three such able men is very interesting. Perhaps they overrate Blake's merits, but their opinion, if exaggerated, is worth examining; and they have done really a good work in rescuing from oblivion one of the most extraordinary men of our nation.

William Blake was born in 1757, and he died in 1827. He was born, he

1 The Life of William Blake, "Pictor Ignotus," with Selections from his Poems and other Writings: By the late Alexander Gilchrist, author of "The Life of William Etty :" illustrated from Blake's own works in facsimile by W. J. Linton, and in Photolithography; with a few of Blake's original Plates. 2 vols. Macmillan and Co. 1863.

lived, and he died in London. His threescore and ten years covered a most important, a most active period in the history of English art and poetry; and what manner of man he was we can see at once in the earliest incident of his childhood which is known. When he had not yet entered his teens he saw a vision. He beheld a tree at Peckham Rye all filled with angels. He told his father of the sight on coming home, and was about to receive a flogging for the supposed lie, when his mother interfered and saved him for that once. All his life he saw such visions. "Did you ever see a fairy's funeral, madam ?" he once said, quite gravely, to a lady; "I have." And then he described how, in the stillness of his garden, he had seen a procession of little creatures of the size and colour of green and grey grasshoppers, bearing a body laid out on a roseleaf, which they buried with songs. At this time he was an artist, and drew with wonderful truthfulness the sights which he saw in vision. He really saw what he drew; and if the vision changed its appearance he could not go on. He once saw and drew the ghost of a flea ! See the portrait of this amazing monster at page 255—a sketch of singular vigour, which any one once seeing will never forget. As he was drawing this ghostly flea, it appeared in vision to move its mouth, and he had to take the portrait over again. again. Mr. Richmond, the well-known portrait-painter, was one of his admirers, and finding his invention flag during a whole fortnight, went to Blake, as was his wont, for advice. When he told Blake that his power of invention had been failing him, the strange visionary turned suddenly to Mrs. Blake and said, "It is just so with us, is it not, for weeks together when the visions forsake us ? What do we do then, Kate ?" "We kneel down and pray, Mr. Blake," was the reply. He prayed for vision,

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