Of Southey, Coleridge once said that he was not able to apprcéiate Spanish poetry. "He wanted modifying power: he was a jewel-setter-whatever he found to his taste he formed it into, or made it into, the ornament of a story."

As is well known, Coleridge delivered many lectures, of which but few, and these very imperfect, specimens are extant. Frequent references are made to these in this Diary, and some extracts are given. What sort of a lecturer the poet was, the following remarks, which occur in a letter to Mrs. Clarkson, very clearly show:

"As evidences of splendid talent, original thought, and great powers of expression and fancy, they are all his admirers can wish; but as a discharge of his undertaking, a fulfilment of his promise to the public, they give his friends great uneasiness. As you express it, an enchanter's spell seems to be upon him,' which takes from him the power of treating upon the only subject his hearers are anxious he should consider, while it leaves him infinite ability to riot and run wild on a variety of moral and religious themes. In his sixth lecture he was, by advertisement, to speak of 'Romeo and Juliet,' and Shakespeare's females; unhappily, some demon whispered the name of Lancaster in his ear, and we had in one evening an attack on the poor Quaker, a defence of boarding-school flogging, a parallel between the ages of Elizabeth and Charles, a defence of what is untruly called unpoetic language, an account of the different languages of Europe, and a vindication of Shakespeare against the imputation of grossness!!!"

What wonder that Coleridge's contemporaries misunderstood him! How could the ordinary mortal, who, seeing an advertisement that a lecture was to be delivered on "Romeo and Juliet," went to hear it in the hope of being told something about the tragedy, help feeling surprise, mingled with anger, at the audacity of the lecturer in wholly disregarding his text, not even referring to it incidentally, and pouring forth a geries of comments on things in general? It is well to bear this in mind when reading of the comparative unpopularity of Coleridge during his lifetime. A great man is not bound to stoop in order to conciliate the good-will of the prejudiced and uninformed; but he is merely discharging his duty when he keeps his promise, and acts with consistency. It is curious that in one respect two men so dissimilar as Coleridge and Byron should have had much in common. They both ostentatiously disregarded the opinion of the public, and both suffered in conse

After a hesitation extending over nearly thirteen years, Mr. Robinson finally determined to make the Bar his profession, and to cease attempting to add to his income by the pursuit of literature. He confesses that his literary ventures were failures. One of these was a translation of a German fairy tale by Anton Wall, and of some extracts from the writings of Jean Paul Richter, an author then unkuown to fame in England. This volume was published in 1811. Coleridge and Charles Lamb praised it. The translator states that, as far as he knew, the book was never reviewed, and that it yielded him no credit. Commenting on this he sensibly remarks: "Perhaps, happily, for it was the failure of my attempt to gain distinction by writing that made me willing to devote myself honestly to the law, and so saved me from the mortification that follows a little literary success, by which many men of inferior faculties, like myself, have been betrayed into an unwise adoption of literature as a profession, which, after this year, I never once thought of."

Not

Now that the subject of Church Establishments is the topic of the day, the following anecdote of Thurlow, and declaration by Wordsworth, will be read with interest. Meeting Dr. Rees, the editor of the Encyclopædia which bears his name, at one of Messrs. Longman & Co.'s literary parties, Mr. Robinson heard him relate "that when, in 1788, Beaufoy made his famous attempt to obtain the repeal of the Corporation and Test Act, a deputation waited on the Lord Chancellor Thurlow to obtain his support. The deputies were Drs. Kippis, Palmer (of Hackney), and Rees. The Chancellor heard them very civilly, and then said: 'Gentlemen, I'm against you, by G-. I am for the Established Church, d-n me! that I have any more regard for the Established Church than for any other Church, but because it is established. And if you can get your d-d religion established, I'll be for that too!" This declaration is at all events a candid if rather too strong expression of individual opinion. There are those who would shrink from using Thurlow's language who employ his style of arguing. Indeed, Wordsworth acted thus when, in 1812, he earnestly defended the Church Establishment. He even said he would shed his blood for it. Nor was he disconcerted by a laugh raised against him on account of his having before confessed that he knew not when he had been in a church in his own country. All our ministers are so vile,' said he. The mischief of allowing the clergy

SO

Then follows a brief analysis of the plot. The remark is made that "the author's sense of the romantic and picturesque in nature is not so delicate, or his execution so powerful, as Mrs. Radcliffe's, but his paintings of men and manners are more valuable." The concluding sentence is: "There is more than the usual portion of good sense in this book, which may enjoy, though not immor. tality, at least a long life."

In

This Diary contains numerous examples of the morbid dogmatism of Wordsworth. Few men of genius ever had a higher opinion of themselves than he had. There was something sublime in his egotisın. Here are two specimens of it, which tally with what others have related:-During a walk with Mr. Robinson in 1812, "he spoke of his own poems with the just feeling of confidence which a sense of his own excellence gives him." "He is persuaded that if men are to become better and wiser, the poems will sooner or later make their way. But if we are to perish, and society is not to advance in civilisation, it would be,' said he, wretched selfishness to deplore the want of personal reputation.' The approba tion he has met with from some superior persons compensates for the loss of popularity, though no man has completely understood him, not excepting Coleridge, who is not happy enough to enter into his feelings. 'I am myself,' said Wordsworth, 'one of the happiest of men, and no man who does not partake of that happiness, who lives a life of constant bustle, and whose felicity depends on the opinions of others, can possibly comprehend the best of my poems.' I urged an excuse for those who can really enjoy the better pieces, and who are yet offended by a language they have by early instruction been taught to consider unpoetical, and Wordsworth seemed to tolerate this class, and to allow that his admirers should undergo a sort of education to his works." Not long after this, "speaking of his own poems, he said he valued them principally as being a new power in the literary world.”

་

As a test of Mr. Robinson's taste respecting works of fiction, we may cite his opinion of Waverley, the book which made the year 1815 as memorable in the history of novels as the battle of Waterloo did in the annals of war. On the whole, his opinion, written when he was fresh from the perusal of the work, is a proof of his sagacity as a critic. It begins with this sentence:"The writer has united to the ordinary qualities of prose

A greater test of Mr. Robinson's critical power is furnished by his remarks on the poems of Keats. Having mentioned the fact of his reading them, he adds, the Hype rion is "really a piece of great promise. There are a force, wildness, and originality in the works of this young poet, which, if his perilous journey to Italy does not destroy him, promise to place him at the head of the next generation of poets." Again, "I am greatly mistaken if Keats do not very soon take a high place among our poets.'

of

After Mr. Robinson began to practise as a barrister, his personal history is comparatively tame. He attended court, he went circuit; what is less common, he got a good deal of business, and earned a comfortable income. His professional duties did not interfere with his private pleasures. He corresponded with his friends, visited them, kept himself abreast of the literature of the day, and led not only a busy, but an envia ble life. During the vacations he made trips to the Lakes, where he held instruc tive converse with Wordsworth; he made tours in France, Germany, and Italy, sometimes alone, sometimes in the company Wordsworth or Southey. The narratives of these journeys are extremely readable. There is hardly anything in them about eating and drinking, hotels or conveyances. But of instructive conversations and shrewd comments, of curious meetings, and telling remarks on persons and scenery, there is large store. To give the most cursory ac count of these things is hardly possible within reasonable limits. Nor can a tithe of the anecdotes, which are at once novel and memorable, be quoted. At the sacrifice, then, of much that we should gladly place before our readers, we must pass rapidly over the remaining pages of this work, merely paus ing at long intervals to reproduce some pointed and valuable saying to serve as an addition to the illustrations given rather of the general richness of the harvest than of the precise amount and worth of the yie'd.

Meeting Macaulay for the first time in 1826, Mr. Robinson characterized him as "one of the most promising of the rising

generation I have seen for some time." ." "He has a good face, not the delicate features of a man of genius and sensibility, but the strong lines and well-knit limbs of a man sturdy in body and mind. Very eloquent and cheerful. Overflowing with words, and not poor in thought. Liberal in opinion, but no Radical. He seems a correct as well as a full man. He showed a minute knowledge of subjects not introduced by himself."

lor." (6

During a sojourn in Italy Mr. Robinson became acquainted with one of the Italian friends of Queen Caroline. This was the Marchioness Sacrati. She went to England at the Queen's request as a witness in her favour, but she was not summoned to give evidence at the trial. The Marchioness's opinion was that the Queen was innocent, that her manners were coarse, and that her sanity was doubtful. Interrogated as to whether she had seen Brougham, she replied, "Oh, yes! That Monsieur Broggam was a grand coquin.' "Take care, Madame, what you say; he is now ChancelN'importe; c'est un grand coquin." "What makes you use such strong language?" Because, to answer the purposes of his ambition, he forced the Queen to come to England." "Indeed!" "The Queen told me so; and Lady Hamilton confirmed it. I said to her, when I first saw her, 'Why are you here? She said, 'My lawyer made me come. I saw him at St. Omer, and I asked him whether I should go to England. He said, "If you are conscious of your innocence you must go. If you are aware of weaknesses, keep away.": The Marchioness raised her voice and said, "Monsieur, quelle femme, même du bas peuple, avouera à son avocat qu'elle a des foiblesses? C'était un traître ce Monsieur Brog-gam."

"I also asked her whether she knew of the other lawyer, Monsieur Denman. The change in her tone was very remarkable, and gave credibility to all she said. She clasped her hands, and exclaimed, in a tone of admiration, O, c'était un ange, ce Monsieur Denman. Il n'a jamais douté de l'innocence de la reine.'

habit of repeating the words of the Marchioness Sacrati in society, the notion itself may have thereby not only have obtained currency, but have also been accepted as well founded. Although quite ready to retail whatever was damaging to Brougham, Lord Campbell yet treated this topic with impartiality and truthfulness. Miss Martineau, whose severity is that of the critic, not of the envious and impotent rival, has unfortunately written in her memoir as if she gave credit to the insinuation.* That the Marchioness told Mr. Robinson what Queen Caroline told her is doubtless true. But, then, there is an insuperable objection to placing implicit reliance on every statement made by that Queen. Her innocence may admit of controversy, but as to her veracity there can hardly be two opinions. In this case, there is documentary evidence of an unimpeachable kind to prove that in leaving St. Omer and journeying to England, the Queen acted against the advice of her Attorney-General, and that she took her departure before he was even aware of her resolve to undertake the journey at all hazards. The truth was, that Brougham did not possess the influence over her which he supposed himself to have. She followed the dictates of her self-will. When the result was disastrous she had no hesitation in imputing the blame to others, and she had no difficulty in persuading biassed friends to believe that she spoke the truth.f

An interest of a different kind attaches to the notices of two men whose acquaintance Mr. Robinson made in 1832, and of wnom he then wrote as follows. The first of these, Carlyle, he characterizes as "a deep-thinking German scholar, a character, and a singular compound. His voice and manner, and even the style of his conversation, are those of a religious zealot, and he keeps up that character in his declamation against the anti-religious. And yet, if not the god of his idolatry, he has at least a priest and prophet of his Church in Goethe, of whose profound wisdom he speaks like an enthusiast. But for him, Carlyle says he should not now be alive. He owes everything to him! But in strange union with such idolatry is his admiration of Buonaparte. Another object of his eulogy is— Cobbett, whom he praises for his humanity and love of the poor! Singular, and even

*"He went to meet and escort her on the Conti

nent."-Biographical Sketches. By Harriet Martineau. P. 159.

For an authentic statement of this important

episode in the life of Queen Caroline and the career of Lord Brougham, see Yonge's Life of Lord Liverpool, vol. iii. chapter 24.

entry in his Diary. The last sentence is unfinished, and the words are added, "But I feel incapable to go on." Two days afterwards his illness alarmed his friends. On the evening of the 5th of February, after a few hours of insensibility, he quietly breathed his last.

Before taking leave of a Diary, which will doubtless become a favourite book with the lovers of our best literature, let us briefly indicate the character of its author as manifested in its pages, and as exhibited in his life. It is impossible to resist the impression that Mr. Robinson had much in common with Boswell. They both set up for their ardent worship men whom they regarded as matchless heroes. To Boswell, Dr. Johnson was a literary Jupiter. In his eyes, wisdom was incarnated in the person of the burly, pompous, dogmatic, and proud lexicographer. Less narrow in his tastes, and more accurate in his judgment, Mr. Robinson selected, from among the celebrities of his generation, Goethe and Wordsworth as the two men who were depositaries of the sacred fire. To their weaknesses he was not blind, but he was most considerate for their shortcomings. Nothing gave him greater pleasure than to spread abroad their fame. During his lifetime he succeeded in persuading many Germans to read the poems of Wordsworth, and in inducing many Englishmen to recognise the genius of Goethe. His Diary will continue the work. It will enable thousands to appreciate both these poets more highly than formerly, by enabling them to understand them better.

Yet despite many points of resemblance, Mr. Robinson and Boswell were in essentials the antipodes of each other. Shrewd and sensible as Boswell undoubtedly was, he had in him an element of the buffoon. He was as happy to be made a show of himself as to exhibit the excellences of his mind's idol. If he had not been extremely vain he would never have written a Life which will keep alive the memory of one who would otherwise have been wholly neglected by succeeding generations. But there was no screw loose in the character of Mr. Robinson. A clear head and a logical intellect kept him from committing any gross mistake owing to the intensity of his admiration for certain men. He was competent to judge of their quality. He did not hesitate to point out a blunder in a poem by Wordsworth, nor to admit that Goethe had made mistakes. He was a hero-worshipper, but no idolater.

found as was his admiration of the beautiful in verse and prose. As a Dissenter he had experienced the deadening effects of intolerance. His efforts were naturally directed towards emancipating his brethren in the faith from the disabilities under which they pined. It was not till the middle of his life that he took up this work in earnest. In early manhood his religious opinions were lukewarm. As late as the age of forty, he wrote: "Though I am not religious myself, I have great respect for a conduct which proceeds from a sense of duty, and is under the influence of religious feelings." Afterwards, a reaction took place: he passed from the calm of indifference to the vehemence of conviction, and, formally professing himself a Unitarian, became one of the champions of his sect. Thinking that Dissenters should have the means of education within their reach, he actively co-operated with the founders of the London University. Believing that a training school for Unitarians was desirable he helped to found University Hall. He founded the Flaxman Gallery, which is not only one of the great attractions of University College, but is also the most splendid monument by which the genius of the great English sculptor could be honored and perpetuated. To the end of his life, the promotion of the interests of these places of education was pursued by him with untiring energy. His greatest political triumph was the passing of the Act relating to Dissenters' Chapels, an Act of which he was the energetic promoter and zealous advocate, and of which the effect was to extend to Unitarians the legal protection enjoyed by other Dissenters.

While the religious body of which Mr. Robinson was a member has the greatest cause to cherish his memory, his name and his good deeds will not fail to make a lasting impression on the public at large, when this Diary is in their hands, and its contents in their minds. Those who look back with pleasure to the time when they heard from the eloquent lips of the writer of the Diary many of the neatly-phrased stories and pithy anecdotes with which it is filled, will peruse it with the greater delight because the printed page, while recalling to their minds the image of the departed, is rich in materials wherewith to form an estimate of his disposition and talents, even more honourable and lofty than the flattering estimate which, during his lifetime they had formed and cherished. It is a work to which no review can do full justice. In order to be thoroughly appreciated it must be read from beginuing three volumes which compose Upwards of fifteen hundred