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Of Keats we have some account. Hunt's criticism on Keats's poetry was what first made it at all truly known. In all the works in which he communicated with the public, and they were reviews, newspapers, magazines innumerable, Keats's poetry was the subject of his praise. This would have done little. Hunt's or any man's praise is absolutely worth nothing; but what was worth something was this, that he everywhere quoted beautiful passages from the poems he praised, and these passages gradually fixed themselves in the memory of many readers, and blended with all their modes of thinking. To Shelley and to Keats Hunt was a true friend. From Mr. Milnes's Remains of Keats, it would appear that Keats regarded Hunt and Shelley as disposed to depreciate his powers. This was an indication of mental disease, which not unfrequently exhibits itself in distrust of the sufferer's best friends.

During the time of his intimacy with Keats Hunt published a volume of poems, entitled "Foliage," of which he speaks with undue severity. He translated Tasso's Aminta, and he wrote the essays which appeared under the name of the Indicator. It is wonderful that so much which is genial, and calculated to survive, should have been produced by a man whose writings were, for the most part, suggested by the passing topics of the day, by the studies of his friends, or by casual conversations about books, and published to make out the means of livelihood. We incline to think that Hunt's collected works would have been better received by the public had it been possible to reproduce them as they were originally written, his reviews for instance, accompanied with his selections from the works which he was often the first to bring into notice, instead of the arrangement now adopted, of reprinting, under other titles, whatever he at present is not disposed to suppress.

Hunt's account of Italy is very good and very entertaining; but much of it has been printed before, and we have already given as much room as we can spare to this book. On his return to England, Hunt resumed the life of an author, which, indeed, can scarcely be said to have been for a moment interrupted during his Italian campaign, considering that all his notices of the country must have been drawn up from memoranda made there. We have a good many extracts from his poems, with his own comments explanatory of the "curious felicity" of his language, which is often exceedingly happy; and we see no reason why, like Wordsworth, he should not seek to bring out its full meaning. Still it would have been more graceful could this have been done for them by others. During the interval in which Southey sank into inaction, and before Wordsworth's appointment to the Laureateship, Hunt, who had re

The Laureateship-Caroline Bowles.

167

ceived some personal attentions from the Queen, and who thinks of her with feelings of affectionate loyalty, wrote a few pleasing poems on such occasions as the birth and baptism of some of the royal children; and he discusses at the close of these volumes what he calls the question of the Laureateship. There could be no unfitness in his appointment to the office. Hunt's poems are often of exceeding beauty. As to the old convictions for libel, even if Hunt were the author of paragraphs which were some thirty or forty years ago regarded as libellous, he has outgrown the feelings in which they originated, and he and every one ought to forget their existence. This question—if question there be-will probably be decided before these pages are printed. Had we a voice on the subject, we should wish that, in memory of the illustrious dead, and in the feeling of gratitude to one of the most graceful writers living, the laurel were bestowed on the wife of Southey, as the writer whom we have all known and all admired as Caroline Bowles.

With Mr. Hunt's speculations, which, as they pass the bounds of sense, he probably calls religious and philosophical, we shall not meddle. From the account which we have already given of him, derived from his own writings, our readers must see that he is an amiable, active-minded man, with no very accurate information on the subjects on which he would speak as if from the chair, and with no such habits of thoughtfulness as would give any peculiar value to what he may think. We therefore hope, that instead of the theological work which he tells us he has written and means to publish, we may obtain from him other legends of Florence, and more such stories as that of Rimini. He speaks, we regret to say, much of his declining health; and to produce anything genial or good, in poetry especially, health is absolutely necessary. In some respects these volumes have disappointed us. We should have wished to have learned more of Hazlitt and of Godwin, and some others of those whom we supposed to have been Mr. Hunt's familiar friends, than is here given. At our distance from London there would have been something even of the interest of romance in learning how the struggle for daily bread has been carried on for years by those who depend on the resources of the literary profession. The relations of the author and the bookseller to each other we should wish to know more of than has yet been revealed in any of these autobiographies--more, perhaps, than can with proper delicacy to the feelings of all concerned be ever revealed.

We think over these volumes with strange compassion for almost every person mentioned in them. What unhappiness everywhere and of all !-Byron, Keats, Godwin, Shelley, Hazlitt, and others yet more miserable-Hunt himself perhaps the

happiest and surely deserving so to be, as he seems to have both the desire and the power, in a very remarkable degree, of diffusing happiness around him. Still, many of his most cheerful essays are plainly written under the pressure of anxiety for himself or his friends; and it is to us quite wonderful to witness the self-sustaining power that supports him at all times. The saddest calamity that can befall the poet, that which Coleridge so eloquently describes, seems to have spared Hunt. His imagination seems never to have been paralyzed by the realities of life. With what great beauty does Coleridge describe this state of mind, in which all its faculties seem, if not destroyed, discrowned and obscured:

"There was a time when though my path was rough,
The joy within me dallied with distress,

And all misfortunes were but as the stuff

Whence fancy made me dreams of happiness:
For hope grew round me like the twining vine,
And fruits and foliage not my own seemed mine.
But now afflictions bow me down to earth;
Nor care I that they rob me of my mirth,
But, oh! each visitation

Suspends what Nature gave me at my birth,
My shaping spirit of imagination.

For not to think of what I needs must feel,
But to be still and patient all I can ;
And haply, by abstruse research to steal
From my own nature all the natural man.
This was my sole resource, my only plan:
Till that which suits a part infects the whole,
And now is almost grown the habit of my soul.

Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind,
Reality's dark dream!"

COLERIDGE: Dejection, an Ode. We had intended concluding our paper with these lines by Coleridge; but beautiful as they are, we wish for our readers and ourselves some relief from their dreadful melancholy; and it is fairer to our author to give a few lines of his own, written in his own cheerful and hoping spirit:

"Fancy's the wealth of wealth, the toiler's hope,
The poor man's piecer out, the Art of Nature-
Painting her landscapes twice; the Spirit of fact,
As matter is the Body; the pure gift

Of Heaven to poet and to child, which he
Who retains most in manhood, being a man
In all things fitting else, is most a man;
Because he wants no human faculty,

Nor loses one sweet taste of the sweet world."

The English Universities.

169

ART. VII.-Report of the Adjourned Debate in the House of Commons on the English Universities. July 18, 1850.

IN our last Number we discussed the Scottish Universities, their condition and prospects: we are now about to speak of those of England. The few allusions which we then made to the latter were merely such as seemed necessary for the sake of contrast, and need in no way prejudice an independent consideration of them now on a larger scale. Academical establishments are, indeed, so closely connected with the other institutions of a country, and with the general state of feeling of which these institutions are at once the result and the cause, that they cannot well be surveyed, except from a peculiarly national and local point of view. The English Church, the English press, the habits of English society, in a word the English character, are all so many reasons why we should reserve the ancient seats of English learning for our distinct and separate regard. Our plan leads us, on the present occasion, to treat of them exclusively, as if there were no others in existence; to examine their relation to England and Englishmen, without taking into account any countervailing influence which may be at work in other parts of the empire, so that some kind of compromise and harmony may perhaps be required, in order to adjust our estimate of the general aspect of the higher education in Great Britain. Such an adjustment we cannot now promise. We must leave it to the thoughtful candour of the reader. The position of the University question in England is of a nature which may well engross all our attention during the space which we can command, and those who follow us are not likely to complain that the sphere occupied is too narrow to admit of deep or extensive interest. We may add, that our facts will, in many cases, be borrowed from Oxford alone, but that their general import will be found to affect Cambridge no less, the past and present fortunes of the two Universities, as compared with other educational bodies, being substantially the same, while there is no ground for supposing that any future circumstances in affecting the one will leave the other untouched.

It is of course necessary that our survey should be in some measure historical. A national institution, to be properly comprehended, must be contemplated in more than one stage of its development; and the peculiar circumstances of the English Universities, so far from making them an exception to the rule, only bring them more unmistakably under its operation. We have nothing to do, however, with mere antiquarianism, or a minute scrutiny of dates and events, useful as such researches

are, and essential as a ground-work for inquiry. In profiting by the discoveries of others, our study has not been to add to them, nor is it our business needlessly to repeat them. We can but attempt a sketch of their results, describing so much of the past as may serve to illustrate the present, and perhaps, though this is more than usually uncertain, give us some assurance for the future.

Passing over the origin of the English Universities, which, like that of most things in the world that command our respect and sympathy, is involved in somewhat mythical obscurity, let us look at them as they existed during the three centuries previous to the Reformation. It is at the beginning of that period that we first hear of them under that name-a name which is nothing more than the legal term for a corporation, as being a collection of individuals; while unincorporated they had been called studia generalia, places for teaching all branches of learning. Each of the Universities is thus a body presided over by a Chancellor, and having the power of conferring degrees in the several Faculties. These degrees are both certificates of proficiency and licenses to teach. Whatever may have been the case formerly, they have by this time acquired a technical significance. The voluntary system has been superseded by something more regular and organized. The titles of Bachelor, Master, and Doctor have come to mark distinct ranks in each Faculty. None but graduates can teach; and all graduates are bound to teach; the Bachelors reading lectures under the auspices of their superiors, as a sort of exercise for themselves, the Masters and Doctors being the full instructors of the students. This compulsory régime gradually becomes modified to suit the general convenience. The laws of demand and supply make it possible to relax the obligation by abridging the period of teaching, or, in academical language, of regency, required from each Master or Doctor. All are not wanted to be teaching always, or even for a considerable time together. Some are willing to take more of their share of work; others are equally anxious to take less; and the division of labour begins to operate. The time of necessary regency is made shorter and shorter; at last, though nominally continued, its labours are made dispensable altogether, the voluntary regents being relied on for the performance of all necessary duties. The élite of these volunteers are finally secured to the University by another innovation. Up to this point the regents had been supported by fees from the students, at first, perhaps, varying in amount, but afterwards, at least during the times with which we are at present concerned, authoritatively fixed. Such a mode of payment, however regulated, must still have been rather precarious; and the object of the new boon was to diminish this evil,

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