of the erring and the helpless were a lifelong protest against the injurious laxity which enters into our estimate of the morals of genius. He was eminently happy in his life-long toils. He loved labor for itself, and he loved the subjects on which he toiled; and his conscience, nice as it was, could not but be satisfied and gratified at the spectacle of the aid and solace which, by his labors, he was able to give beyond his own family, to some who had no natural claim on him for support. In the spectacle of his social and domestic virtues, all remembrance of a bitter political and religious spirit may well be sunk. He was not a man qualified to have opinions, strictly so called. He could not sympathise in any views but those immediately held by himself; and the views which he most quarreled with were usually those which had been, no long time before, virulently held by himself.-MARTINEAU, HARRIET, 1849, A History of the Thirty Years' Peace, A. D. 1815-1846, vol. IV, p. 428. His forehead was very broad; his height was five feet eleven inches; his complexion rather dark, the eyebrows large and arched, the eye well shaped and dark brown, the mouth somewhat prominent, muscular, and very variously expressive, the chin small in proportion to the upper features of his face. He always, while in Keswick, wore a cap in his walks and partly from habit, partly from the make of his head and shoulders, we never thought he looked well or like himself in a hat. He was of a very spare frame, but of great activity, and not showing any evidence of a weak constitution. My father's countenance, like his character, seems to have softened down from a certain wildness of expression to a more sober and thoughtful cast; and many thought him a handsomer man in age than in youth; his eye retaining always its brilliancy, and . . . his countenance its play of expression. Though he did not continue to let his hair hang down on his shoulders according to the whim of his youthful days, yet he always wore a greater quantity than is usual; and once, on his arrival in town, Chantrey's first greetings to him were accompanied with an injunction to go and get his hair cut. When I first remember it, it was turning from a rich brown to the steel shade, whence it rapidly became almost snowy white, losing none of its remarkable thickness, and clustering in abundant curls over his massive brow.-SOUTHEY, CHARLES CUTHBERT, 1849-50, Life of Southey, ch. xxxii. Never in the course of my existence have I known a man so excellent on so many points. What he was as a son, is now remembered by few; what he was as a husband and a father, shows it more clearly than the best memory could represent it. The purity of his youth, the integrity of his manhood, the soundness of his judgment, and the tenderness of his heart, they alone who have been blest with the same qualities can appreciate. And who are they? Many with one, some with more than one, nobody with all of them in the like degree. So there are several who possess one quality of his poetry; none who possess the whole variety. Conscience with Southey stood on the other side of Enthusiasm. What he saw, he said; what he found, he laid open.-LANDOR, WALTER SAVAGE, 1850, To the Rev. C. Cuthbert Southey, Fraser's Magazine, vol. 42, pp. 647, 649. Some people assert that genius is inconsistent with domestic happiness, and yet Southey was happy at home and made his home happy, he not only loved his wife. and children though he was a poet, but he loved them better because he was a poet. He seems to have been without taint of worldliness. London with its pomps and vanities, learned coteries with their dry pedantry, rather scared than attracted him. He found his prime glory in his genius, and his chief felicity in home. affections. I like Southey.--BRONTË, CHARLOTTE, 1850, Letter to W. S. Wil liams, April 12; Charlotte Brontë and her Circle, ed. Shorter, p. 399. How great and how good a man he was! how fine a specimen of the generosity of labor! Giving so largely, so liberally, so unostentatiously, not from the superfluities of an abundant fortune, but from the hardwon earnings of his indefatigable toil! Some people complain of his change of politics; and I, for my own particular part, wish very heartily that he had been content with a very moderate modification of opinion. But does not the violent republicanism of youth often end in the violent toryism of age? Does not the pendulum, very forcibly set in motion, swing as far one way as it has swung the other? Does not the sun rise in the east and set in the west? As to his poetry, I suspect people of liking it better than they say. . . . Never was a man more beloved by all who approached him. Even his peculiarities, if he had any, were genial and pleasant.-MITFORD, MARY RUSSELL, 1851, Recollections of a Literary Life. His long and valuable works advanced slowly, because he always had different tasks on hand, and like a thorough-bred man of business, could at any time turn from one to another; but they advanced unremittingly; they were not scrawled and patched up invita Minerva, careless of all but the citizen's only object, to obtain immediate pelf; but they were finished so as to gain the author's approbation in the first place. Among his minor peculiarities I cannot but remember how in his unequalled calligraphy, he revived the accomplishment of monastic scribes in the middle ages, and how in divers instances he completed a long MS., bound it handsomely, and kept it for years on his shelves, before he thought of publication. Labor ipsa voluptas erat, even without one particle of pecuniary gain.-GILLIES, ROBERT PEARCE, 1854, Memoirs of a Literary Veteran. His hair [in 1839] was black, and yet his complexion was fair; his eyes I believe to be hazel and large; but I will not vouch for that fact: his nose aquiline; and he has a remarkable habit of looking up into the air, as if looking at abstractions. The expression of his face was that of a very acute and aspiring man. So far, it was even noble, as it conveyed a feeling of a serene and gentle pride, habitually familiar with elevating subjects of contemplation. And yet it was impossible that this pride could have been offensive to anybody, chastened as it was by the most unaffected modesty; and this modesty made evident and prominent by the constant expression of reverence for the great men of the age (when he happened to esteem them such), and for all the great patriarchs of our literature. The point in which Southey's manner failed the most in conciliating regard was in all which related to the external expressions of friendliness. No man could be more sincerely hospitable-no man more essentially disposed to give up even his time (the possession which he most valued) to the service of his friends. But there was an air of reserve and distance about him-the reserve of a lofty, self-respecting mind, but, perhaps, a little too freezing in his treatment of all persons who were not among the corps of his ancient fireside friends. Still, even towards the veriest strangers, it is but justice to notice his extreme courtesy in sacrificing his literary employments for the day, whatever they might be, to the duty (for such he made it) of doing the honours of the lake and the adjacent mountains. Were it to his own instant ruin, I am satisfied that he would do justice and fulfil his duty under any possible difficulties, and through the very strongest temptations to do otherwise. For honour the most delicate, for integrity the firmest, and for generosity within the limits of prudence, Southey cannot well have a superior. DE QUINCEY, THOMAS, 1854, Autobiography from 1803 to 1808, Collected Writings of Thomas De Quincey, vol. II, pp. 317, 327. In associating with Southey, not only was it necessary to salvation to refrain from touching his books, but various rites, ceremonies, and usages must be rigidly observed. At certain appointed hours only was he open to conversation; at the seasons which had been predestined from all eternity for holding intercourse with his friends. Every hour of the day had its commission-every half-hour was assigned to its own peculiar, undeviating function. The indefatigable student gave a detailed account of his most painstaking life, every moment of which was fully employed and strictly pre-arranged, to a certain literary Quaker lady. "I rise at five throughout the year; from six till eight I read Spanish; then French for one hour; Portuguese next, for half an hour, --my watch lying on the table; I give two hours to poetry: I write prose for two hours; I translate so long; I make extracts so long," and so of the rest until the poor fellow had fairly fagged himself into his bed again. "And, pray, when dost thou think, friend?" she asked, dryly, to the great discomfiture of the future Laureate. HOGG, THOMAS JEFFERSON, 1858, The Life of Percy Bysshe Shelley, vol. II, p. 27. An English worthy, doing his duty for fifty noble years of labour, day by day storing up learning, day by day working for scant wages, most charitable out of his small means, bravely faithful to the calling which he had chosen, refusing to turn from his path for popular praise or princes' favour; I mean Robert Southey. We have left his old political landmarks miles and miles behind; we protest against his dogmatism; nay, we begin to forget it and his politics; but I hope his life will not be forgotten, for it is sublime in its simplicity, its energy, its honour, its affection! In the combat between Time and Thalaba, I suspect the former destroyer has conquered; Kehama's curse frightens very few readers now; but Southey's private letters are worth piles of epics, and are sure to last among us as long as kind hearts like to sympathize with goodness and purity and love and upright life.-THACKERAY, WILLIAM MAKEPEACE, 1861, George the Fourth, The Four Georges. Southey was a man well up in the fifties; 1835, was sixty-one] hair gray, not yet hoary, well setting off his fine, clear-brown complexion; head and face both smallish; as indeed the figure was while seated; features finely cut; eyes, brow, mouth, good in their kind; expressive all, and even vehemently so, but betokening rather keenness than depth either of intellect or character; a serious, human, honest, but sharp almost fierce-looking thin man, with very much of the militant in his aspect, in the eyes especially was legible a mixture of sorrow and of anger, or of angry contempt, as if his indignant fight with the world had not yet ended in victory, but also never should in defeat. Southey at last completely rose from his chair to shake hands: he had only half risen and nodded on my coming in; and all along I had counted him a lean little man; but now he shot suddenly aloft into a lean tall one; all legs, in shape and stature like a pair of tongs,-which peculiarity my surprise doubtless exaggerated to me, but only made it the more notable and entertaining. . . . Had again more than once to notice the singular readiness of the blushes,―amiable red blush, beautiful like a young girl's, when you touched genially the pleasant theme; and serpent-like flash of blue or black blush (this far, very far the rarer kind, though it did recur, too), when you struck upon the opposite. Now blushing, under his gray hairs, rosy like a maiden of fifteen; now slaty almost, like a rattle-snake, or fiery serpent. How has he not been torn to pieces long since, under such furious pulling this way and that? He must have somewhere a great deal of methodic virtue in him; I suppose, too, his heart is thoroughly honest, which helps considerably!-CARLYLE, THOMAS, 1867, Southey, Reminiscences, ed. Norton, vol. II, pp. 279, 281, 284. A man so lovable, so pure-hearted, soundhearted, manly, tender, and true.-JACOX, FRANCIS, 1872, Literary Society, Aspects of Authorship, p. 159. I never met any literary man who so thoroughly answered my expectations as Southey. His face is at once shrewd, thoughtful, and quick, if not irritable, in its expression; a singular deficiency of space in its lower portion, but no deficiency of feature or expression; his manner cold, but still; in conversation, bland and gentle, and not nearly so dogmatic as his writings would lead one to imagine.-CHORLEY, HENRY FOTHERGILL, 1873, Autobiography, Memoirs and Letters, vol. I, p. 277. He wrought in his place day after day, season after season. He submitted to the good laws of use and wont. He grew stronger, calmer, more full-fraught with stores of knowledge, richer in treasure of the heart. Time laid its hand upon him gently and unfalteringly: the bounding step became less light and swift; the ringing voice lapsed into sadder fits of silence; the raven hair changed to a snowy white; only still the indefatigable eye ran down the long folio columns, and the indefatigable hand still held the pen-until all true life had ceased. . . . What makes the life of Southey eminent and singular, is its unity of purpose, its persistent devotion to a chosen object, its simplicity, purity, loyalty, fortitude, kindliness, truth. -DOWDEN, EDWARD, 1880, Southey (English Men of Letters), p. 80. I knew Southey only in London, meeting him more than once at the house of Allan Cunningham. I wish I had known more of him, for in my heart and mind he holds a place higher than is held by any other great man with whom I have been acquainted. To me, he is the beau-ideal of the Man of Letters; a glory to his calling to whom all succeeding authors by profession may point back with pride. Not only was his life one of diligent and fruitful labor; it was marked by almost every manly virtue that may combine to crown a king of men. If we look at his public career we find it distinguished throughout by industry, energy, rigid integrity, and noble pride-the pride of a Sidney of the pen, whose aim before all things was to keep his honor stainless. We turn to his private life, and all we learn of it shows to us Southey as a devoted husband, a judicious and affectionate father, a warm and faithful friend. Though he had to struggle, nearly all his own life through with poverty, he was ever ready to hold out a helping hand to those whose struggles for fame were just beginning, or as in the case of Chatterton's sister, to tender generous and effectual aid to the unfortunate relatives they had left. . . . My remembrance of him is that of a form, not tall but stately a countenance full of power, yet also of gentleness; and eyes whose keen and penetrating glance had justly caused them to be likened to the hawk's, but that on occasion could beam and soften with the kindliest and tenderest emotion. His head was perhaps the noblest and handsomest among English writers of his time.-HALL, SAMUEL CARTER, 1883, Retrospect of a Long Life, pp. 321, 322. His guerdon of praise must be without suspicion of blame where his life and character stand for judgment. His personal purity was indeed the purity of Marcus Cato, who was virtuous by the necessity of a happy nature which could not be otherwise.-CAINE, HALL, 1883, Cobwebs of Criticism, p. 52. In his conversation Southey was perfectly easy and unpretending, never shunning to speak his real sentiments of men, or of principles, either of a public or a private nature. And though very caustic sometimes, and even severe in his remarks, yet generally far more inclining to the good-natured in his opinions and in his discourse.-BRAY, ANNA ELIZA, 1883, Autobiography, ed. Kempe, p. 309. In the autumn of 1823 I went to the Lake country and paid a visit to Southey. He was then about fifty years of age. He was the first of our great men with whom I had come face to face. Afterwards I became acquainted with most of his eminent contemporaries, and of my ownwith Wordsworth, Coleridge, Scott, Moore, Campbell, Tennyson, and Browning, among poets; among historians, with Hallam, Ma caulay, Froude, Carlyle, and Lecky; among statesmen, with all, I think, that were conspicuous except Canning, Brougham, who combined with intellectual pre-eminand Disraeli; and I have found none attractive.-TAYLOR, SIR HENRY, 1885, ence so much of what was personally Autobiography, vol. 1, p. 46. Southey was probably one of the most ings in his library are those of all bookrepresentative of literary men. His feellovers, although he could express these feelings in language which few of them have at command.-WHEATLEY, HENRY B., 1886, How to Form a Library, p. 54. "The Ballad-Monger," "The Bard of the Bay," "The Blackbird," "My Epic Renegade," "The First Man of Letters in Europe," "Illustrious Conqueror of Common-Sense," "Mouthy,' "Mouthy," "The Poet of Greta Hall," "Turncoat."-FREY, ALBERT R., 1888, Sobriquets and Nicknames, p. 466. Such was this knightly, this true brotherly and fatherly man-this gentleman, head and shoulders above the literati of his day in pure unselfishness, unworldliness, and simple-minded honesty; such this true defender of the sanctities of house and home; this pattern father, husband, and friend; this exemplar of unostentatious piety; this high-souled, pure-hearted, patient man; this genial host. Such was this lofty scholar, this humble, child-like doer of each day's work to the full reach of his power; this encyclopædia of learning; this grave thinker; this poet of his time.-RAWNSLEY, H. D., 1894, Literary Associations of the English Lakes, vol. I, p. 59. He did not write very rapidly; and he corrected, both in MS. and in proof, with the utmost sedulity. Of the nearly 14,000 books which he possessed at his death, it is safe to say that all had been methodically read, and most read many times; while his almost mediaval diligence did not hesitate at working through a set of folios to obtain the information or the corrections necessary for a single article. -SAINTSBURY, GEORGE, 1896, A History of Nineteenth Century Literature, p. 66. It is a curious fact that Southey holds poetry, yet in his lifetime no one was more no place in the hearts of present lovers of honoured than he. It may be that his personality, rather than his poems, attracted the admiration of his contemporaries. Now no one knows him. Who in the present generation has read "Thalaba," that "wild and wondrous song," or the "Curse of Kehama," as wild, as strange, as fascinating? Why were these poems the delight of the age which saw their birth, and are yet forgotten now? To me, who in my childhood lived upon them, this must ever remain a mystery. Let me try to picture Southey as he sat in my mother's drawing-room. I do not remember that his features were particularly striking, and he was not tall, or of the stately presence which characterized his brother, Dr. H. H. Southey. But his eyes! A dark and liquid brown, so full of love, when he was silent and calm, that you thought perchance nothing but love was there; but when he spoke the liquid brown was fire, yet fire made of roses, and the beam that darted from his eyes seemed to reach far into the room. Again I say, would that I could remember the words he spoke; but I was a child, and a very young one.-AGNEW, MARY COURTENAY, 1896, Lions in the Twenties, Temple Bar, vol. 107, p. 114. The change in Southey's political and religious opinions which made the republican of 1793 a tory, the author of "Wat Tyler" a poet laureate, and the independent thinker whom Coleridge had just managed to convert from deism to unitarianism a champion of the established church, inevitably exposed Southey to attack from the advocates of the opinions he had forsaken. There can be no question of Southey's perfect sincerity. The evolution of his views did not differ materially from that traceable in the cases of Wordsworth and Coleridge. But the immediate advantage to the convert was more visible and tangible, and Southey provoked retaliation by the uncharitable tone he habitually adopted in controversy with those whose sentiments had formerly been his own. Every question presented itself to him on the ethical side. But constitutionally he was a bigot; an opinion for him must be either moral or immoral; those which he did not himself share inevitably fell into the latter class, and their propagators appeared to him enemies of society. At the same time his reactionary tendencies were not unqualified. He could occasionally express liberal sentiments. 403 GARNETT, RICHARD, 1898, Dictionary of POEMS I should say that the predominant qualities of his poetry were picturesqueness, sweetness of sentiment, and purity of diction. He is now my favorite. His miscellaneous poems are full of various excellence.-STORY, JOSEPH, 1799, Life and Letters, vol. 1, p. 80. track; his thoughts, while they are those Thou still wilt verseward plod thy weary way; If still in Berkeley ballads most uncivil, too. -BYRON, LORD, 1809, English Bards and How Southey has fallen! A Pegasus like his turned into a cream-coloured horse MOORE, THOMAS, 1814, Correspondence for State occasions: it is quite melancholy. of Leigh Hunt, vol. I, p. 94. His Laureate odes are utterly and intolerably bad, and, if he had never written anything else, must have ranked him below Colley Cibber in genius, and above him in conceit and presumption.-JEFFREY, FRANCIS LORD, 1816, The Lay of the Laureate, Edinburgh Review, vol. 26, p. 449. Of Mr. Southey's larger epics, I have but a faint recollection at this distant time, but all that I remember of them is mechanical and extravagant, heavy and |