While Fancy beholds these celestial appropriations, Reason, no less pleased, discerns the mighty benefit which so complete a renovation must produce below. Let the most determined foe to corruption, the most thorough-paced redresser of abuses, try to conceive a more absolute purification of the House than this was calculated to produce;--why, Pride's Purge was nothing to it;--the whole borough-mongering system would have been got rid of, fairly _exploded_;--with it, the senseless distinctions of party must have disappeared; faction must have vanished; corruption have expired in air. From Hundred, Tything, and Wapentake, some new Alfred would have convened, in all its purity, the primitive Wittenagemot,--fixed upon a basis of property or population, permanent as the poles----

From this dream of universal rest.i.tution, Reason and Fancy with difficulty awake to view the real state of things. But, blessed be Heaven, St. Stephen's walls are yet standing, all her seats firmly secured; nay, some have doubted (since the Septennial Act) whether gunpowder itself, or any thing short of a _Committee above stairs_, would be able to shake any one member from his seat;--that great and final improvement to the Abbey, which is all that seems wanting,--the removing Westminster-hall and its appendages, and letting in the view of the Thames,--must not be expected in our days. Dismissing, therefore, all such speculations as mere tales of a tub, it is the duty of every honest Englishman to endeavour, by means less wholesale than Guido's, to ameliorate, without extinguishing, Parliaments; to hold the _lantern_ to the dark places of corruption; to apply the _match_ to the rotten parts of the system only; and to wrap himself up, not in the m.u.f.fling mantle of conspiracy, but in the warm, honest _cloak_ of integrity and patriotic intention.

ELIA.

NUGae CRITICae

ON A Pa.s.sAGE IN "THE TEMPEST"

(1823)

As long as I can remember the play of the Tempest, one pa.s.sage in it has always set me upon wondering. It has puzzled me beyond measure. In vain I strove to find the meaning of it. I seemed doomed to cherish infinite hopeless curiosity.

It is where Prospero, relating the banishment of Sycorax from Argier, adds--

--For one thing that she did They would not take her life--

how have I pondered over this, when a boy! how have I longed for some authentic memoir of the witch to clear up the obscurity!--Was the story extant in the Chronicles of Algiers? Could I get at it by some fortunate introduction to the Algerine amba.s.sador? Was a voyage thither practicable? The Spectator (I knew) went to Grand Cairo, only to measure a pyramid. Was not the object of my quest of at least as much importance?--The blue-eyed hag--could _she_ have done any thing good or meritorious? might that Succubus relent? then might there be hope for the devil. I have often admired since, that none of the commentators have boggled at this pa.s.sage--how they could swallow this camel--such a tantalising piece of obscurity, such an abortion of an anecdote.

At length I think I have lighted upon a clue, which may lead to show what was pa.s.sing in the mind of Shakspeare when he dropped this imperfect rumour. In the "accurate description of Africa, by John Ogilby (Folio), 1670," page 230, I find written, as follows. The marginal t.i.tle to the narrative is--

_Charles the Fifth besieges Algier_

In the last place, we will briefly give an Account of the Emperour _Charles_ the Fifth, when he besieg'd this City; and of the great Loss he suffer'd therein.

This Prince in the Year One thousand five hundred forty one, having Embarqued upon the Sea an Army of Twenty two thousand Men aboard Eighteen Gallies, and an hundred tall Ships, not counting the Barques and Shallops, and other small Boats, in which he had engaged the princ.i.p.al of the _Spanish_ and _Italian_ n.o.bility, with a good number of the Knights of _Maltha_; he was to Land on the Coast of _Barbary_, at a Cape call'd _Matifou_. From this place unto the City of _Algier_ a flat Sh.o.r.e or Strand extends it self for about four Leagues, the which is exceeding favourable to Gallies. There he put ash.o.r.e with his Army, and in a few days caused a Fortress to be built, which unto this day is call'd _The Castle of the Emperor_.

In the meantime the City of _Algier_ took the Alarm, having in it at that time but Eight hundred _Turks_, and Six thousand _Moors_, poorspirited men, and unexercised in Martial affairs; besides it was at that time Fortifi'd onely with Walls, and had no Out-works: Insomuch that by reason of its weakness, and the great Forces of the Emperour, it could not in appearance escape taking. In fine, it was Attaqued with such Order, that the Army came up to the very Gates, where _the Chevalier de Sauignac_, a _Frenchman_ by Nation, made himself remarkable above all the rest, by the miracles of his Valour. For having repulsed the _Turks_, who having made a Sally at the Gate call'd _Babason_, and there desiring to enter along with them, when he saw that they shut the Gate upon him, he ran his Ponyard into the same, and left it sticking deep therein. They next fell to Battering the City by the Force of Cannon; which the a.s.sailants so weakened, that in that great extremity the Defendants lost their Courage, and resolved to surrender.

But as they were thus intending, there was a Witch of the Town, whom the History doth not name, which went to seek out _a.s.sam Aga_, that Commanded within, and pray'd him to make it good yet nine Days longer, with a.s.surance, that within that time he should infallibly see _Algier_ delivered from that Siege, and the whole Army of the Enemy dispersed, so that _Christians_ should be as cheap as Birds.

In a word, the thing did happen in the manner as foretold; for upon the Twenty first day of _October_ in the same Year, there fell a continual Rain upon the Land, and so furious a Storm at Sea, that one might have seen Ships hoisted into the Clouds, and in one instant again precipitated into the bottom of the Water: insomuch that that same dreadful Tempest was followed with the loss of fifteen Gallies, and above an hundred other Vessels; which was the cause why the Emperour, seeing his Army wasted by the bad Weather, pursued by Famine, occasioned by wrack of his Ships, in which was the greatest part of his Victuals and Ammunition, he was constrain'd to raise the Siege, and set Sail for _Sicily_, whither he Retreated with the miserable Reliques of his Fleet.

In the mean time that Witch being acknowledged the Deliverer of _Algier_, was richly remunerated, and the Credit of her Charms authorized. So that ever since Witchcraft hath been very freely tolerated; of which the Chief of the Town, and even those who are esteem'd to be of greatest Sanct.i.ty among them, such as are the Marabou's, a Religious Order of their Sect, do for the most part make Profession of it, under a goodly Pretext of certain Revelations which they say they have had from their Prophet _Mahomet_.

And hereupon those of _Algier_, to palliate the shame and the reproaches that are thrown upon them for making use of a Witch in the danger of this Siege, do say, that the loss of the Forces of _Charles_ V., was caused by a Prayer of one of their _Marabou's_, named _Cidy Utica_, which was at that time in great Credit, not under the notion of a _Magitian_, but for a person of a holy life.

Afterwards in remembrance of their success, they have erected unto him a small mosque without the _Babason_ Gate, where he is buried, and in which they keep sundry Lamps burning in honour of him: nay they sometimes repair thither to make their _Sala_, for a testimony of greater Veneration.

Can it be doubted for a moment, that the dramatist had come fresh from reading some _older narrative_ of this deliverance of Algier by a witch, and transferred the merit of the deed to his Sycorax, exchanging only the "rich remuneration," which did not suit his purpose, to the simple pardon of her life? Ogilby wrote in 1670; but the authorities to which he refers for his Account of Barbary are--Johannes de Leo, or Africa.n.u.s--Louis Marmol--Diego de Haedo--Johannes Gramaye--Braeves--Cel.

Curio--and Diego de Torres--names totally unknown to me--and to which I beg leave to refer the curious reader for his fuller satisfaction.

L.

ORIGINAL LETTER OF JAMES THOMSON

(1824)

The following very interesting letter has been recovered from oblivion, or at least from neglect, by our friend Elia, and the public will no doubt thank him for the deed. It is without date or superscription in the ma.n.u.script, which (as our contributor declares) was in so "fragment.i.tious" a state as to perplex his transcribing faculties in the extreme. The poet's love of nature is quite evident from one part of it; and the "poetical posture of his affairs" from another. Whether regarded as elucidating the former or the latter, it is a doc.u.ment not a little calculated to excite the attention of the curious as well as the critical. We could ourselves write an essayful of conjectures from the grounds it affords both with respect to the author's poems and his pride. But we must take another opportunity, or leave it to his next biographer.

DEAR SIR,

I would chide you for the slackness of your correspondence; but having blamed you wrongeously[47] last time, I shall say nothing till I hear from you, which I hope will be soon.

[47] _Sic in MS._

There's a little business I would communicate to you before I come to the more entertaining part of our correspondence.

I'm going (hard task) to complain, and beg your a.s.sistance. When I came up here I brought very little money along with me; expecting some more upon the selling of Widehope, which was to have been sold that day my mother was buried. Now it is unsold yet, but will be disposed of as soon as can be conveniently done; though indeed it is perplexed with some difficulties. I was a long time living here at my own charges, and you know how expensive that is; this, together with the furnishing of myself with clothes, linen, one thing and another, to fit me for any business of this nature here, necessarily obliged me to contract some debts.

Being a stranger, it is a wonder how I got any credit; but I cannot expect it will be long sustained, unless I immediately clear it. Even now, I believe it is at a crisis--my friends have no money to send me, till the land is sold; and my creditors will not wait till then. You know what the consequence would be. Now the a.s.sistance I would beg of you, and which I know, if in your power, you will not refuse me, is a letter of credit on some merchant, banker, or such like person in London, for the matter of twelve pounds; till I get money upon the selling of the land, which I am at last certain of, if you could either give it me yourself, or procure it: though you owe it not to my merit, yet you owe it to your own nature, which I know so well as to say no more upon the subject: only allow me to add, that when I first fell upon such a project, (the only thing I have for it in my present circ.u.mstances,) knowing the selfish inhumane temper of the generality of the world, you were the first person that offered to my thoughts, as one to whom I had the confidence to make such an address.

Now I imagine you are seized with a fine romantic kind of melancholy on the fading of the year--now I figure you wandering, philosophical and pensive, amidst brown withered groves; whilst the leaves rustle under your feet, the sun gives a farewell parting gleam, and the birds--

Stir the faint note, and but attempt to sing.

Then again, when the heavens wear a more gloomy aspect, the winds whistle and the waters spout, I see you in the well-known cleugh, beneath the solemn arch of tall, thick, embowering trees, listening to the amusing lull of the many steep, moss-grown cascades; while deep, divine contemplation, the genius of the place, prompts each swelling, awful thought. I am sure you would not resign your place in that scene at an easy rate:--None ever enjoyed it to the height you do, and you are worthy of it. There I walk in spirit, and disport in its beloved gloom.

This country I am in is not very entertaining; no variety but that of woods, and them we have in abundance. But where is the living stream?

the airy mountain? or the hanging rock? with twenty other things that elegantly please the lover of Nature. Nature delights me in every form.

I am just now painting her in her most luxurious dress; for my own amus.e.m.e.nt, describing winter as it presents itself. After my first proposal of the subject--

I sing of winter, and his gelid reign; Nor let a ryming insect of the spring Deem it a barren theme, to me 'tis full Of manly charms: to me, who court the shade, Whom the gay seasons suit not, and who shun The glare of summer. Welcome, kindred glooms!

Drear awful wintry horrors, welcome all! &c.

After this introduction, I say, which insists for a few lines further, I prosecute the purport of the following ones:--

Nor can I, O departing Summer! choose But consecrate one pitying line to you: Sing your last temper'd days and sunny balms, That cheer the spirits and serene the soul.

Then terrible floods, and high winds, that usually happen about this time of the year, and have already happened here (I wish you have not felt them too dreadfully); the first produced the enclosed lines; the last are not completed. Mr. Rickleton's poem on Winter, which I still have, first put the design into my head--in it are some masterly strokes that awakened me--being only a present amus.e.m.e.nt, it is ten to one but I drop it whenever another fancy comes across. I believe it had been much more for your entertainment, if in this letter I had cited other people instead of myself; but I must refer that till another time. If you have not seen it already, I have just now in my hands an original of Sir Alexander Brands (the crazed Scots knight of the woeful countenance), you would relish. I believe it might make Mis[48] John catch hold of his knees, which I take in him to be a degree of mirth, only inferior, to fall back again with an elastic spring. It is very [here a word is waggishly obliterated] printed in the Evening Post: so, perhaps you have seen these panegyrics of our declining bard; one on the Princess's birth-day; the other on his Majesty's, in [obliterated] cantos, they are written in the spirit of a complicated craziness. I was lately in London a night, and in the old play-house saw a comedy acted, called Love makes a Man, or the Fop's Fortune, where I beheld Miller and Cibber shine to my infinite entertainment. In and about London this month of September, near a hundred people have died by accident and suicide. There was one blacksmith tired of the hammer, who hung himself, and left written behind him this concise epitaph:--

I, Joe Pope, Lived without hope And died by a rope.

Or else some epigrammatic Muse has belied him.

Mr. Muir has ample fund for politics in the present posture of affairs, as you will find by the public news. I should be glad to know that great minister's frame just now. Keep it to yourself--you may whisper it too in Mis John's ear. Far otherwise is his lately mysterious brother, Mr.

Tait, employed. Started a superannuated fortune, and just now upon the full scent. It is comical enough to see him amongst the rubbish of his controversial divinity and politics, furbishing up his antient rusty gallantry.

Yours, sincerely, J. T.

Remember me to all friends, Mr. Rickle, Mis John, Br. John, &c.

[48] _Mas?_