SAMUEL BUTLER.* MR. BELL opens his pleasant and painstaking memoir of Butler with a Johnsonian paragraph: "Of the life of the author of Hudibras little is known, except that he was born in humble circumstances, and died in want. The obscurity of his birth did not prevent him from becoming famous; and his celebrity did not protect him against neglect and poverty." The little that is known, Mr. Bell, with his usual diligence, has collected and embodied in a biographical sketch of some thirty pages-the character of which, together with that of the notes, critical and illustrative, which liberally and literally elucidate the text, makes the present edition of Samuel Butler deserving of an "all hail!" from all classes. Born at Strensham in 1612; placed at the College School of Worcester, where he made rapid progress; possibly, not demonstrably, sent to Cambridge or Oxford; appointed justice's clerk to Mr. Jefferies, of Earl's Croombe; thence transferred to a pleasanter berth in the household of the Earl of Kent-and thence again to become justice's clerk to Sir Samuel Luke, the original of Hudibras; at the Restoration ap- . pointed secretary to Lord Carbery, who also made him steward of Ludlow Castle; retiring from these posts, for reasons unknown-marrying, and coming to want-reaping large harvests of popularity by means of "Hudibras;" but after the publication of the Second Part (in 1664) sinking into obscurity-emerging partially from it by publishing a Third Part, fourteen years later (in 1678)—and dying within two years of its appearance, some say of starvation, others (save the mark!) of gout, others of a decline, and others of a fever-buried in the churchyard of St. Paul's, Covent Garden, and followed thither by about twenty-five of his old acquaintance:-these few hints comprise nearly the sum total of our general knowledge of this incomparable wit. His name has become proverbial, whether with or without good reason, for the hard fate of genius, the cold shade of the aristocracy's indifference, and the inexcusable neglect of a deeply-indebted but wholly oblivious court. "Charles II.," says Villemain, "devait au poëte une reconnaissance dont il ne s'acquitta qu'en lui citant parfois des vers d'Hudibras. Butler, félicité et oublié, mourut pauvre, laissant un ouvrage original, qui, par malheur, est intraduisible, et qui même a vieilli pour les Anglais." That "Hudibras" is, par malheur, untranslatable into French, agreed; that it is out of date even in England, we hope the reception accorded to Mr. Bell's edition will prove a fallacy. But one may, after all, be permitted to doubt whether Charles II. was, consciously or unconsciously, so deeply indebted to the "royalist" poet as posterity has assumed. True, that Dennis says, "Butler was starved at the same time that the king had his book in his pocket,"-and that Colley Cibber asks, "Was not his book always in the pocket of his prince? And what did the mighty prowess of this knight-errant amount to? Why, he died, with * Poetical Works of Samuel Butler. Edited by Robert Bell. Three Vols. John W. Parker and Son. 1855. the highest esteem of the Court, in a garret,"-and again that Voltaire says (as Villemain had not forgotten), "Butler turned King Charles's opponents into ridicule, and all the recompense he ever had for it was, that the king often quoted his verses." But, as regards the question of Butler's claims as a zealous king's man, perhaps the Merry Monarch was shrewd enough to suspect, as a possibility, what Hazlitt affirms (in his polemico-political manner) as a certainty, that Butler hardly merited anything on the score of loyalty to the house of Stuart, and that Charles might very well have reproached him with wanting to show his own wit and sense rather than to favour a tottering cause-besides that Butler has "even been suspected, in parts of his poem, of glancing at majesty itself." Mr. Hannay has similarly observed, that although "Hudibras," as a portion of satirical literature, occupies the historical position, nominally, of a satire on the Anti-Royalist party,-its merit consists in the higher fact of its containing satire on the world's weaknesses generally— the fine sayings which are quoted from its pages telling with equal force against all parties. "I decline," he adds, "to concede Butler to the Royalists as their peculiar property. In his Remains he satirises the vices of Charles the Second's time, the fashions and the wickednesses of that basest of all periods, just as severely as he does the bad aspects of the life of the opposite party." Notwithstanding this refusal to "concede" Butler to the anti-puritan party, the latter may surely claim him as their "peculiar property," not without peculiar propriety, so long as the whole scope of "Hudibras," its very being's end and aim, remains as clear as for nearly two centuries it has been: at the same time there is ground for supposing that Butler's attachment to royalty, incarnate in a Charles Stuart, has been exaggerated or misinterpreted to some extent, by indignant expositors of his chiaroscuro history, his illustrious-obscure career. Mr. Bell calls it unnecessary to seek in Butler's work, or in his opinions, the causes of the indifference with which he was treated, since the Court was perfectly impartial in its neglect of literary claims. Were it otherwise, the subject of the poem, and the prononcé Protestantism of the poet, who was a thorough good hater of The Roman Mufti with his triple crown, might suggest reasons for his not being, or having, a potent friend at Court. "Hudibras," says Mr. Bell, " came too late to render much practical service to the royalists. The struggle was over, the victory was won, the adherents of Cromwell were dispersed or dead, and the utmost that the ridicule of the poet could effect was to disinter the ascetic dogmas and dismal manners of Puritanism, and hold them up to derision and contempt. This was something; but it was an inferior merit to that of aiding in the contest, and contributing to the triumph, or to the still more valuable talent which was available for present and future uses. They, however, who, like Cowley, suffered in the Civil Wars, or, like Dryden, laboured zealously under the Restoration, fared little better. Nor can it be reasonably supposed that Butler's uncompromising Protestantism had anything to do with the ingratitude of royalty, since Charles found it convenient to make the same profession himself, and his successor ascended the throne with a pledge to maintain the Established Church." Upon the whole, Mr. Bell reasonably concludes, there was nothing peculiar, or exceptional (however exceptionable-c'est différent) in the case of Butler, who but shared the same fate which, with greater or lesser severity, descended upon all the writers who supported the cause of the Stuarts. Nor, we submit, has sufficient weight been ascribed to the subjective side of the question, in respect of Butler's constitution and character. From all that we can gather of his temperament and personal habits, he was by no means the man to push his way onwards and upwards; reckless of, and robustly breasting, the hustling herd of timeservers, place-seekers, tuft-hunters, and lickspittles innumerous. If we may not say of him, as of Milton, that his "soul was like a star"-thus far star-like we may call him, that he "dwelt apart." As a narrative poem, "Hudibras," it must be admitted, is a failure. The two leading characters, again, have wonderfully little to interest us in them. Compared, as so constantly they are-particularly by foreign critics, who, not appreciating, are led to disparage the satire-with Don Quixote and Sancho Panza, they are wofully deficient in power to attract and please. "The knight Hudibras," says M. Villemain (who, by the way, informs his French readers that the original of Hudibras was one "sir Luck"), "is a good imitation of the pedantic reforming party; but how far he is from that amiable and admirable fou, Don Quixote! And as for Ralph the Independent, though he is as great a coward and gets beaten as often as Sancho, his arguments about preaching and discipline are by no means equal to the good squire's proverbs." M. Philarète Chasles rejects the trite comparison of Butler's hero with him of La Mancha, and (for novelty's sake?) declares him a Sir Charles Grandison by anticipation! "Le celèbre Hudibras, mal à propos comparé à Don Quichotte, n'est qu'un Grandisson anticipé; sous la grotesque charge, tracée spirituellement et lourdement par Butler, vous trouvez déjà la subtilité, la prétention, la morgue, le pédantisme sermonaire, la minutieuse rigidité, l'hypocrisie sensuelle et la régularité affectée que Fielding reprochait au héros de Richardson." Fielding and a few "jolly companions every one" would have relished this parallel a vast deal more than solemn Mr. Samuel himself, and his female bevy of admirers, could be expected to do: Richardson's chevalier preux et sans reproche the antitype of the obese and oleaginous "chevalier Hudibras"-alas, to what base uses we are liable, Sir Charles! However, that the knight and squire of Cervantes are the prototypes of master and man in Butler, can hardly be gainsaid; and, as Leigh Hunt truly remarks, the latter are as little like their prototypes as two dreary puppets are unlike excesses of humanity. They are not even consistent with their other prototypes, the Puritans, or with themselves, for they are dull fellows unaccountably gifted with the author's wit." But what wit! Butler is the best subject possible to be studied by him who would learn, by example, the distinction with a difference between humour and wit. Humour there is next to none in "Hudibras," or any other of Butler's poems. Wit there is to overflowing. Wit oozes out of his finger-ends with every other stroke of his pen-whether upstrokes so fine, or downstrokes so strong. The extraordinary variety in the evolutions of his wit is one of its most specific qualities. He proved himself indeed and indeed a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy. It were worth while to collate his Jan.-VOL. CVI. NO. CCCCXXI. D poems with Barrow's definition of wit (in his fourteenth Sermon)-breaking up the latter into separate clauses, and illustrating each individual clause in the long catalogue by instances drawn from the witty inventions of Samuel Butler. Hazlitt has somewhere expressly affirmed that " Hudibras" satisfactorily fulfils every one of. Barrow's conditions of wit. From the quaintest and queerest to the most dignified and refined type, his wit runs through the whole gamut, and accepts all revolutions, in mirthful meditation fancy free. Now we have some such grotesque couplet as No Indian prince has to his palace More followers than a thief to the gallows; and now some such noble image as in the famous lines, For loyalty is still the same, Variety of some kind is needed-by most readers, at least, felt to be so-in reading "Hudibras;" for we question whether many give him, at one sitting, more than a "little go" examination. Excess of wit can satiate, like any other good thing; and somehow or other Butler is found to satiate sooner than many a far duller bard. Hazlitt indeed asserted that it is difficult to lay "Hudibras" down, because one thought is inserted into another, and the links in the chain of reasoning are so closely riveted, that the attention seldom flags, but is kept alive (without any other assistance) by the mere force of writing. But this logical coherence, this dialectic aspect of the work, rather repels than fascinates the "general." And where one would be found to say ditto to Mr. Hazlitt, probably a score would share in Gray's want of interest in "Hudibras," as a book to settle down to, and would believe Bishop Warburton to be the spokesman of the bulk of even Butler's panegyrists, when his lordship said that he too should have felt like Gray, apathetic not to say antipathetic, but for his interest in the times which "Hudibras" satirises. In fact, Butler is perhaps too witty to be popular,-too exclusively witty, and not humorous enough. English people love not to read long together by a lumen siccum, a dry light. They crave unction, oil in their lamp. But take Butler by snatches, read him by intervals, consult the digestive powers, so as not to overload them with good things till you have "no stomach" for more-so read, mark, and inwardly digest him—and who will not declare him worthy of Mr. Abel Samson's most emphatic Pro-di-gi-ous! AMATEUR LECTURERS. BY E. P. ROWSELL. WE seem to be on the eve of a mania for lecturing. What a long list we have now of titled and distinguished men who kindly give time and trouble to the delivery of gratuitous lectures. Lord Carlisle, Lord Ellesmere, Sir Robert Peel, Lord John Russell, Mr. Gladstone, Cardinal Wiseman, are all more or less identified with lecturing, a perfect host of minor fry have followed and are following in their wake, and by-and-by we expect there will scarcely be a man of any ability in the country who will not occasionally deliver public addresses of this character. And, indeed, we heartily hope it may be so. Every man who has any knowledge worth possessing is ready and willing to impart that knowledge to others. Attainments of real value both elevate the mind and open the heart. There is no selfish wish to hide and hoard up in any miserly spirit the fruits which by their very nature induce an opposite course, and which lead, irresistibly, those who have realised them to impart of their acquirements to others less fortunately circumstanced. There is a point, however, which we suggest in regard to gratuitous lectures. Very pleasing it is, no doubt, to lecture before a refined and appreciating audience, upon some graceful and poetical topic. The titles of some of the lectures delivered by the gifted men we have mentioned are rather startling, from their vagueness and intangibility. We must confess that, not having heard them, we are quite in the dark as to what they can have been about. We are mystified as to how an hour can possibly have been occupied in dilating upon such agreeable but rather dreamy matters as those which have been hitherto dealt with by this class of lecturers. Now we are afraid we shall scare these noblemen and gentlemen by a respectful hint which we are about to whisper. No question but that the huge audiences of well-dressed people, some of them wealthy, all of them well-to-do, have been pleasant to regard; no question but that the topic, congenial in its refinement and delicacy to the cultivated mind engaged upon it, has been a theme dwelt upon with sincere delight, and that, therefore, there has been no real task, but pleasure; but, philanthropists, there are other audiences which you might address, and other themes not unworthy (in respect of their practical value) of your powers, which as yet have not been cared for. Here is a large, ugly, not over-clean, ill-lighted, cold room, lying outside a gloomy, overgrown manufacturing town. It is crowded, but with such an audience! Stalwart labourers and mechanics, with their wives and families, are sitting on a multitude of forms (with no such luxuries as backs) placed as closely together as may be. A lecturer is speaking to them with all the earnestness he can command. His topic is very humble: it is comprised in the few and simple words, "The Happy Home." But such eloquence he displays in its treatment, such glowing earnestness he exhibits as he draws vivid contrasts between the Happy and the Unhappy Home, as he shows in every light, and with all the force which high oratorical talent enables him to wield, the dark, dreary causes of sorrow leading to crime and to ruin, and places beside them those things which form a sure foundation of peace and prosperity! The tones are |