heart and the movements of his mind as historical and philosophical data. Though he almost invariably trusts himself, he is almost as invariably in the right. For, as some are born poets, so he, too, was born a critic, with no small infusion of the poetic character. Analytic judgment (of the very finest and rarest kind), and poetic fancy naturally rich, and rendered still more copious and brilliant by the golden associations of his life, early intercourse with honourable poets, and a most appreciative sympathy with the master-pieces of poesy. Admirable as a genial critic on books and men, of manners and character, of philosophical systems and theories of taste and art, yet he is more especially the genuine critic in his favourite walks of art and poesy; politics and the true literature of real life—the domestic novels, the drama, and the belles lettres. We shall not now stop to enumerate in detail the distinctive traits of this master, beyond a mere mention of his most striking qualities as a writer. As a descriptive writer, in his best passages, he ranks with Burke and Rousseau, in delineation of sentiment, and a rich rhetorical vein, he has whole pages worthy of Taylor or Lord Bacon There is nothing in Macaulay, for profound gorgeous declamation, superior to the character of Coleridge, or of Milton, or of Burke, or of a score of men of genius whose portraits he has painted with love and with power. In pure criticism who has done so much for the novelists, the essayists, writers of comedy; for the old dramatists and elder poets? Lamb's fine notes are mere notes-Coleridge's improvised criticisms are merely fragmentary, while if Hazlitt has borrowed their opinions in some cases, he has made much more of them than they could have done themselves. Coleridge was a poet; Lamb, an humorist. To neither of these characters had Hazlitt any fair pretensions, for with all his fancy he had a metaphysical understanding (a bad ground for the tender plant of poesy to flourish in), and to wit and humour he laid no claim, being too much in earnest to indulge in pleasantry and jesting-though he has satiric wit at will and the very keenest sarcasm. Many of his papers are prose satires, while in others there are to be found exquisite jeux d'esprit, delicate banter, and the purest intellectual refinements upon works of wit and humour. In all, however, the critical quality predominates, be the form that of essay, criticism, sketch, biography, or even travels — W. A. Jones; “Essays upon Authors and Books, New York, 1849. [The article from which the above is taken originally appeared in the Democratic Review, August, 1846, under the title of "Critics and Criticisms of the 19th Century." Mr. Jones is favourably known as a contributor to American periodical literature; and spoken of by his contemporaries as a writer evincing a "sharp, critical acumen, sound common sense, and general felicity of expression."] BARRY CORNWALL'S RECOLLECTIONS OF HAZLITT. He had, perhaps, little imagination or humour, though he had a keen sense of them in others: but his critical powers, when they were unfettered, and there was no personal dislike in the way, were second to none; and that he could probe a subject to its depths, and deal with questions of almost every kind, his volumes of essays and criticisms abundantly testify. He was not only a critic on poetry and painting (both of which he understood and traced up to their subtlest beauties), but he was also a metaphysical writer of power, and one of the most acute observers of men and manners that ever lived. His style, when he chose, was firm and clear, but he did not disdain ornament. Sometimes, indeed, he would cull all the flowers of rhetoric, and scatter his quotations freely; but this was for popularity's sake or from carelessness, not from poverty; for, even when he F wandered farthest from simplicity, his matter was always valuable. The reader will find, amidst the filigree in which he chose sometimes to set his thoughts, morsels of pure and solid gold. If anyone, on rising from the perusal of Hazlitt's essays and criticism, should declare that he had obtained little or nothing from them, it is clear that the fault would not lie with the author. His books are full of wisdom. Besides he was always for a man having fair play at one time or another. Let him have fair play now. He resembled, it is true, all persons who meet in hostility; he sometimes saw only the adverse face of his enemies, as his enemies saw nothing but what was objectionable in him. But that he could cast aside all political feeling, all personal animosity, and do justice to the partisans of an opposite faction, is evident. There is no one who has given a greater measure of praise to the writings of Mr. Wordsworth and Sir Walter Scott than he. No one has said such fine things of the unprofitable genius of Mr. Coleridge. The reputation of Mr. Wordsworth, in fact, is most indebted (next to the poet's own talents) to the criticism of Mr. Hazlitt; if he had his interlunar moments, he had many bright periods also, when he was candid, generous, and impartial. Half his life was employed in warring against what he considered as prejudices, in establishing truths, advocating the popular cause, and reviving the almost extinct fame of unjustly-neglected writers. He admired the old English authors, both in prose and verse. He had less respect for the moderns; perhaps this might be because he had studied them less. He did not think slightly of Shakspeare, as Lord Byron did, nor sneer at him as an "uncultivated genius.” On the contrary, he thought that he was worth a century of Lord Byrons; that he had as much method and more wit, and a hundred times the wisdom, and delicacy, and genius, of that splenetic poet. Amongst his contemporaries, he knew and admired the writings of Wordsworth; the talents of Coleridge; and (I think beyond all else) the novels of Sir Walter Scott. The last paper which Hazlitt ever wrote appeared in the "New Monthly Magazine" for August last, and was entitled "The Sick Chamber.” His admirers will derive a melancholy pleasure from referring to it. He was shortly afterwards taken ill, and died at his lodgings in Frith-street, in the early part of September. I saw him (once only) as he lay, ghastly, shrunk, and helpless, on the bed from which he never afterwards arose. His mind seemed to have weathered all the dangers of extreme sickness, and to be safe and as strong as ever. But the physical portion had endured sad decay. He could not lift his hand from the coverlid; and his voice was changed and diminished to a hoarse whistle, resembling a faint scream that I have heard from birds. I never was so sensible of the power of Death before. He has overthrown greater men. But the mere history of death and sickness does not suggest the same awful reflections as the actual visible image of a man gasping and struggling (in vain !) on the threshold of the grave. He is dead and with him died strong intellect, powerful passions, fine taste, and many rare qualities. No one is all evil or good. Perhaps the real distinctions between men are slenderer than we generally imagine. He had faults; but he was incomparably superior (in acuteness of mind and honesty of purpose) to what his enemies supposed or asserted. Let them believe thus much, on the faith of this assertion, now that he is gone !* It has been supposed that Hazlitt was dogmatical and fond of controversy, and that he resented any opposition to his opinions. This is an * It has been said that Hazlitt died forsaken and in poverty. This is not the fact. He was as well off as he generally was; and he had friends who provided all that was necessary for him, and stood by him to the last. error. He liked discussion-fair, free talk, upon subjects that interested him; but few men ever yielded more readily to argument, for few ever sought truth more sincerely. He had no overweening sense of his own superiority; indeed, as far as I could perceive, he was utterly without vanity. He was very candid, and would hear his own opinions canvassed with the utmost patience: I mean, if one took a proper opportunity; for he had his deaf hour like most others. In his conversation he was plain, amusing, convincing. There was nothing of the ambitious or florid style, which is sometimes perceptible in his writings. He was rarely eloquent. Once or twice, when stung by some pertinacious controversialist, I have known him exhibit eloquent and impetuous declamation, but in general he used the most familiar phrases, and made truth, rather than triumph, the object of discussion. He enjoyed anecdotes illustrative of character, spoke pithily upon occasion, and, when in good spirits and good humour, was the most delightful gossip in the world! I am no politician; and I do not, therefore, venture to acquiesce in or dissent from his political opinions. I differed with him (materially, indeed) as to the good qualities of certain existing individuals, and, in some respects, as to the quality of their writings. But in regard to the dead—the poets and painters of past ages—his judgment appeared to me to be almost unerring; and as an essayist recording his observations upon men and manners, I do not know that he has left his equal.-" My Recollections of the late William Hazlitt," in "New Monthly Magazine," Vol. 29, 1830, attributed to Barry Cornwall. HAZLITT'S PERSONAL APPEARANCE. The truth is, that for depth, force, and variety of intellectual expression, a finer head and face than Hazlitt's were never seen. I speak of them when his countenance was not dimmed and obscured by illness, or clouded and deformed by those fearful indications of internal passion which he never even attempted to conceal. The expression of Hazlitt's face, when anything was said in his presence that seriously offended him, or when any peculiarly painful recollection passed across his mind, was truly awful-more so than can be conceived as within the capacity of the human countenance; except, perhaps, by those who have witnessed Edmund Kean's last scene of "Sir Giles Overreach" from the front of the pit. But when he was in good health, and in a tolerable humour with himself and the world, his face was more truly and entirely answerable to the intellect that spoke through it than any other I ever saw, either in life or on canvas; and its crowning portions, the brow and forehead, was, to my thinking, quite unequalled for mingled capacity and beauty. For those who desire a more particular description, I will add, that Hazlitt's features, though not cast in any received classical mould, were regular in their formation, perfectly consonant with each other, and so finely chiselled" (as the phrase is) that they produced a much more prominent and striking effect than their scale of size might have led one to expect. The forehead, as I have hinted, was magnificent; the nose precisely that (combining strength with lightness and elegance) which physiognomists have assigned as evidence of a fine and highly cultivated taste; though there was a peculiar character about the nostrils, like that observable in those of a fiery and unruly horse. The mouth, from its ever-changing form and character, could scarcely be described, except as to its astonishingly varied power of expression, which was equal to and greatly resembled that of Edmund Kean. His eyes, I should say, were not good. They were never brilliant, and there was a furtive, and at times 66 a sinister look about them, as they glanced suspiciously from under their overhanging brows, that conveyed a very unpleasant expression to those who did not know him. And they were seldom directed frankly and fairly towards you; as if he were afraid that you might read in them what was passing in his mind concerning you. His head was nobly formed and placed, with (until the last few years of his life) a profusion of coal-black hair, richly curled, and his person was of the middle height, rather slight, but wellformed and put together.-P. G. Patmore; “My Friends and Acquaintance." 1854. Vol. 2, p. 302. The following epitaph was inscribed on a tombstone raised over Hazlitt's grave by an old and warmly-attached friend : HERE RESTS WILLIAM HAZLITT, Born April 10th, 1778. Died 18th September, 1830. "On the Fear of Death." Viz. : "To see the downfall of the Bourbons, was driven from France 29th July, 1830.) That some friendly hand should consign The first (unanswered) Metaphysician of the age. And a yearning for the good of Human Nature. The unconquered Champion of Truth, Liberty, and Humanity, This stone is raised by one whose heart is A Chronological Eist of the Writings of William Hazlitt, with Explanations and Opinions. An Essay on the Principles of Human Action: being an argument in favour of the Natural Disinterestedness of the Human Mind. To which are added some remarks on the Systems of Hartley and Helvetus. 1805. ["The only thing I ever piqued myself upon was the writing the Essay on the Principles of Human Action.""-Essay "On Great and Little Things," in "Table Talk," Vol. 2, p. 170. "A work of great ability."-Sir James Mackintosh. "Mr. Hazlitt has also left behind him an early work, entitled 'An Essay on the Principles of Human Action;' little known, and rarely to be met with, but full of original remarks, and worthy a diligent perusal.”—E. L. Bulwer; "England and the English." Vol. 3. "The noble subtleties of Mr. Hazlitt's eloquent and ingenious Essay on the Principle of Human Action.""-London Magaziue. 1821. "On Pulpit Oratory," p. 307. "D. I have the book in the closet, and if you like, we will turn to the place. It is after that burst of enthusiastic recollection (the only one in the book) that Southey said at the time was something between the manner of Milton's prose works and Jeremy Taylor. "B. Ah! I as little thought then that I should ever be set down as a florid prose writer as that he would become poet laureate."-"Self-Love and Benevolence; a Dialogue" in "Sketches and Essays," by William Hazlitt, now first collected by his Son. 1839. Page 145. This essay was reprinted in 1836, considerably improved, from marginal corrections in the author's copy, with the addition of an Essay on 66 Abstract Ideas." An account of this work, under the title of "Hazlitt's First Essay," will be found in the Monthly Repository for 1835, page 480, written by Mr. R. H. Horne, author of "Exposition of the False Medium," &c., from which the following passage is taken :-"The idea of this work originated in his reflections on a speech which Mirabeau, the accredited author of the 'Système de la Nature,' has put into the mouth of a supposed infidel at the day of judgment; and the first rough draft or outline of the plan of his essay was made at the age of eighteen, an instance of early development of the reasoning powers that has few parallels in history. He had previously, however, written several brief metaphysical treatises as studies; and it appears, from certain letters of remonstrance on his part, that his father entertained objections to his engaging his mind in speculations of so abstruse and important a nature at such an age. These objections seem to have been eventually overruled by subsequent letters, in one of which he enters into an explanation of the plan and purpose of his argument in the projected essay. But the work itself was the laboured production of eight years, and was not published till 1805, the author being then twenty-six years of age." "His first production, published anonymously, and entitled 'An Essay on the Principles of Human Action,' sprang, as we have said, from his early and solitary studies. And this probably led its author to speak of it at all times, with parental pride, as his best. Certainly it is a shrewd and ingenious essay; but, without entering into its pretensions, as a defence of the natural benevolence of the human mind, its style-dry, stiff, and rigid, resembling rather the hard and sapless writings of Mill or Austen, than the soft flow of Dugald Stewart, or the rainbow radiance overhanging the dark metaphysic gulf of Brown-prevented altogether its popularity, but did not blind the sharp and candid eye of Sir James Mackintosh from perceiving its merits, even amid the enervating heat of Hindostan, and testifying it in a way most gratifying to its author's feelings. As it is, not a thousand persons have probably ever seen or heard of it. It rests on the same forgotten shelf with two still more original and powerful metaphysical treatises, Sir William Drummond's 'Academical |