My antiquarian tendencies bring me acquainted with many neglected and obscure individuals connected with our earlier English literature, who, after "fretting their hour" upon life's stage, have passed away; leaving their names entombed upon the title-page of some unappreciated or crotchetty book, only to be found upon the shelves of the curious.

To look for these in Kippis, Chalmers, Gorton, or Rose would be a waste of time; and although agreeing to some extent with the Utilitarians, that we have all that was worth preserving of the Antediluvians, there is, I think, here and there a name worth resuscitating, possessing claims to a niche in our "Antiquary's Newspaper;" and for that distinction, I would now put in a plea on behalf of my present subject, William Blake.

Although our author belongs to the eccentric category, he is a character not only deserving of notice, but a model for imitation: the "bee in his bonnet" having set his sympathies in the healthy direction of a large philanthropy for the spiritual and temporal interests of his fellow men.

The congenial reader has already, I doubt not, anticipated that I am about to introduce that nondescript book bearing the running title—and it never had any other—of Silver Drops, or Serious Things; purporting, in a kind of colophon, to be "written by William Blake, housekeeper to the Ladies' Charity School."^[1] The curious in old books knows too, that, apart from its subject, the Silver Drops of W.B. has usually an attractive exterior; most of the exemplaires which have come under my notice being sumptuously bound in old morocco, profusely tooled; with the name of the party to whom it had apparently been presented, stamped in a compartment upon the cover. Its value is farther enhanced by its pictorial and emblematical accompaniments. These are four in number: the first representing a heart, whereon a fanciful picture of Charity supported by angels; second, a view of Highgate Charity Schools (Dorchester House); third, Time with his scythe and hour-glass^[2]; and the fourth, in three compartments, the centre containing butterflies; the smaller at top and bottom, sententious allusions to the value of time—"Time drops pearles from his golden wings," &c. These are respectable engravings, but by whom executed I know not. After these, and before coming to the Silver Drops, which are perhaps something akin to Master Brooks' Apples of Gold, the book begins abruptly: "The Ladies' Charity School-house Roll of Highgate, or a subscription of many noble well-disposed ladies for the easie carrying of it on." "Being well informed," runs the Prospectus, "that there is a pious, good, commendable work for maintaining near forty poor or fatherless children, born all at or near Highgate, Hornsey, or Hamsted: we, whose names are subscribed, do engage or promise, that if the said boys are decently cloathed in blew, lined with yellow; constantly fed all alike with good and wholsom diet; taught to read, write, and cast accompts, and so put out to trades, in order to live another day; then we will give for one year, two or three (if we well like the design, and prudent management of it,) once a year, the sum below mentioned," &c. The projector of this good work was the subject of my present note; and after thus introducing it, the worthy "woollen-draper, at the sign of the Golden Boy, Maiden Lane, Covent Garden," for such he was, goes on to recommend and enforce its importance in a variety of cajolling addresses, or, as he calls them, "charity-school sticks," to the great and wealthy; ostensibly the production of the boys, but in reality the concoctions of Mr. Blake, and in which he pleads earnestly for his hobby. In An Essay, or Humble Guess, how the Noble Ladies may be inclined to give to and encourage their Charity-school at Highgate, Mr. Blake farther humorously shows up the various dispositions of his fair friends:—"And first," says he, "my lady such-a-one cryed, Come, we will make one purse out of our family;" and "my lady such-an-one said she would give for the fancy of the Roll and charity stick. My lady such-an-one cryed by her troth she would give nothing at all, for she had waies enough for her money; while another would give five or six stone of beef every week." Again, in trying to come at the great citizen-ladies, he magnifies, in the following characteristic style, the city of London; and, by implication, their noble husbands and themselves:—"There is," says Mr. Blake, "the Tower and the Monument; the old Change, Guild-Hall, and Blackwall-Hall, which some would fain burn again; there is Bow steeple, the Holy Bible, the Silver Bells of Aaron, the godly-outed ministers; the melodious musick of the Gospels; Smithfield martyrs yet alive; and the best society, the very best in all the world for civility, loyalty, men, and manners; with the greatest cash, bulk, mass, and stock of all sorts of silks, cinnamon, spices, wine, gold, pearls, Spanish wooll and cloaths; with the river Nilus, and the stately ships of Tarshish to carry in and out the great merchandizes of the world." In this the city dames are attacked collectively. Individually, he would wheedle them thus into his charitable plans:—"Now pray, dear madam, speak or write to my lady out of hand, and tell her how it is with us; and if she will subscribe a good gob, and get the young ladies to do so too; and then put in altogether with your lordship's and Sir James's also: for it is necessary he or you in his stead should do something, now the great ship is come safe in, and by giving some of the first-fruits of your great bay, or new plantation, to our school, the rest will be blessed the better." The scheme seems to have offered attractions to the Highgate gentry:—"The great ladies do allow their house-keeper," he continues, "one bottle of wine, three of ale, half a dozen of rolls, and two dishes of meat a-day; who is to see the wilderness, orchard, great prospects, walks, and gardens, all well kept and rolled for their honours' families; and to give them small treats according to discretion when they please to take the air, which is undoubtedly the best round London." Notwithstanding the eloquent pleadings of Mr. Blake for their assistance and support, it is to be feared that the noble ladies allowed the predictions of his friends to be verified, and did "suffer such an inferiour meane and little person (to use his own phraseology) to sink under the burden of so good and great a work:" for we find that Gough, in allusion thereto, says (Topographical Anecdotes, vol. i. p. 644.):—

"This Hospital at Highgate, called the Ladies' Charity School, was erected by one W. Blake, a woollen-draper in Covent Garden; who having purchased Dorchester House, and having fooled away his estate in building, was thrown into prison."

Even here, and under such circumstances, our subject was nothing daunted; for the same authority informs us, that, still full of his philanthropic projects, he took the opportunity his leisure there admitted to write another work upon his favourite topic of educating and caring for the poor; its title is, The State and Case of a Design for the better Education of Thousands of Parish Children successively in the vast Northern Suburbs of London vindicated, &c. Besides the above, there is another remarkable little piece which I have seen, beginning abruptly, "Here followeth a briefe exhortation which I gave in my owne house at my wife's funerall to our friends then present," by Blake, with the MS. date, 1650; and exhibits this original character in another not less amiable light:—"I was brought up," says he, "by my parents to learne Hail Mary, paternoster, the Beliefe, and learne to reade; and where I served my apprenticeship little more was to be found." He attributes it to God's grace that he fell a reading the Practice of Piety, by which means he got a little persuading of God's love to his soul:—"Well, my time being out, I set up for myselfe; and seeking out for a wife, which, with long waiting and difficulty, much expence and charge, at last I got. Four children God gave me by her; but he hath taken them and her all again too, who was a woman of a thousand." Mr. B. then naturally indulges in a panegyric upon this pattern of wives, and reproaches himself for his former insensibility to her surpassing merits: relating with great naÏvetÉ some domestic passages, with examples of her piety and trials, in one of which latter the enemy would tempt her to suicide:—"There lie your garters," said he; "but she threw them aside, and so escaped this will of the Devil."

In conclusion, let me inquire if your Highgate correspondents are cognisant of any existing institution raised upon the foundation of William Blake's Charity School at Dorchester House?

J. O.

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A POEM BY SHELLEY, NOT IN HIS WORKS.

The following poem was published in a South Carolina newspaper in the year 1839. The person who communicates it states that it was among the papers of a deceased friend, in a small packet, endorsed "A letter and two poems written by Shelley the poet, and lent to me by Mr. Trelawney in 1823. I was prevented from returning them to him, for which I am sorry, since this is the only copy of them—they have never been published." Upon this poem was written, "Given to me by Shelley, who composed it as we were sailing one evening together."

Uneda.

Philadelphia.

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THE IMPOSSIBILITIES OF HISTORY.

In The Tablet of June 18 is a leading article on the proposed erection of Baron Marochetti's statue of Richard Coeur de Lion. Theology and history are mixed: of course I shall carefully exclude the former. I have tried to trace the statements to their sources; and where I have failed, perhaps some of your readers may be able to help me.

"When the physicians told him that they could do nothing more for him, and when his confessor had done his duty faithfully and with all honesty, the stern old soldier commanded his attendants to take him off the bed, and lay him naked on the bare floor. When this was done, he then bade them take a discipline and scourge him with all their might. This was the last command of their royal master; and in this he was obeyed with more zeal than he found displayed when at the head of his troops in Palestine."

I find no record that "the stern old soldier," who was then forty-two years of age, and whom the writer oddly calls Richard II., had any reason to complain of want of zeal in his troops. They fought well, and flogged well—if they flogged at all. Richard died of gangrene in the shoulder; and I have the authority of an eminent physician for saying, that gangrene, so near the vital parts, would produce such mental and bodily prostration, that it is highly improbable that the patient, unless in delirium, should give such an order, and impossible that he should live through its execution.

Hume and Lingard do not allude to the "discipline;" and the silence of the latter is important. Henry says:

"Having expressed great penitence for his vices, and having undergone a very severe discipline from the hands of the clergy, who attended him in his last moments," &c.—Vol. iii. p. 161. ed. 1777.

He cites Brompton, and there I find the penance given much stronger than in The Tablet:

"PrÆcepitque pedes sibi ligari, et in altum suspendi nudumque corpus flagellis cÆdi et lacerari, donec ipse prÆciperat ut silerent. Cumque diu cÆderetur, ex prÆcepto, ad modicum siluerunt. Et spiritu iterum reassumpto, hoc idem secundo ac tertio in abundanti sanguinis compleverunt. Tamdiu in se revertens, afferri viaticum sibi jussit et se velut proditorem et hostem, contra dominum suum ligatis pedibus fune trahi."

This is taken from Brompton's Chronicle in Decem Scriptores HistoriÆ AnglicanÆ, 1652, p. 1279., edited by Selden. As Brompton lived in the reign of Edward III., he is not a high authority upon any matter in that of Richard I. I cannot find any other. Hoveden and Knyghton are silent. Is the fact stated elsewhere? Hoveden states, and the modern historians follow him, that after the king's death, Marchader seized the archer, flayed him alive, and then hanged him. My medical authority says, that no man could be flayed alive: and that the most skilful operator could not remove the skin of one arm from the elbow to the wrist, before the patient would die from the shock to his system.

Mr. Riley, in a note on the passage in Hoveden, cites from the Winchester Chronicle a possible account of Gurdum being tortured to death. The historian of The Tablet, in the same article, says:

"We are far from attributing absolute perfection to the son of Henry II., one of that awful race popularly believed to be descended from the devil. When Henry, as a boy, practising Whiggery by revolting against his father, was presented to St. Bernard at the Court of the King of France, the saint looked at him with a sort of terror, and said, 'From the Devil you came, and to the Devil you will go.'"

The fact that Henry II. rebelled against his father is not given in any history which I have read; and the popular belief in the remarkable descent of Henry, and consequently of our present royal family, is quite new to me, and to all of whom I have inquired. Still, finding that the writer had an authority for the "discipline," he may have one for the Devil. If so, I should like to know it; for I contemplate something after the example of Lucian's Quomodo Historia sit conscribenda.

H. B. C.

U. U. Club.

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"QUEM DEUS VULT PERDERE PRIUS DEMENTAT."

Having disposed of the allegation that the Greek Iambic,

was from Euripides, by denying the assertion, I am also, on farther investigation, compelled to deny to him also the authorship of the cited passage,—

"?ta? de ?a??? ??d?? p??s??? ?a??, t?? ???? ??a?e p??t??."

Its first appearance is in Barnes, who quotes it from Athenagoras "sine auctoris nomine." Carmeli includes it with others, to which he prefixes the observation,—

"A me piacque come al Barnesio di porle per disteso, ed a canto mettervi la traduzione in nostra favella, senza entrare tratto tratto in quistioni inutili, se alcuni versi appartengano a Tragedia di Euripide, o no."

There is, then, no positive evidence of this passage having ever been attributed, by any competent scholar, to Euripides. Indirect proof that it could not have been written by him is thus shown:—In the Antigone of Sophocles (v. 620.) the chorus sings, according to Brunck,—

"For a splendid saying has been revealed by the wisdom of some one: That evil appears to be good to him whose mind God leads to destruction; but that he (God) practises this a short time without destroying such a one."

Now, had Barnes referred to the scholiast on the Antigone, or remembered at the time the above-cited passage, he would either not have omitted the conclusion of his distich, or he would at once have seen that a passage quoted as "?? t??, of some one," by Sophocles, seventeen years the senior of Euripides, could not have been the original composition of his junior competitor. The conclusion of the distich is thus given by the old scholiast:

The words "when he wills it" being left out by Barnes and Carmeli, but which correspond with the last line of the quotation from Sophocles. The old scholiast introduces the exact quotation referred to by Sophocles as "a celebrated (notorious, ???d???) and splendid saying, revealed by the wisdom of some one, et? s?f?a? ??? ?p? t????."

Indeed, the sentiment must have been as old as Paganism, wherein, whilst all voluntary acts are attributed to the individual, all involuntary ones are ascribed to the Deity. Even sneezing was so considered: hence the phrase common in the lower circles in England, "Bless us," and in a higher grade in Germany, "Gott segne euch," which form the usual chorus to a sneeze.

The other scholiast, Triclinius, explains the passage of Sophocles by saying, "The gods lead to error (????) him whom they intend to make miserable (d?st??e??): hence the application to Antigone, who considers death as sweet."

T. J. Buckton.

Lichfield.

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SHAKSPEARE CORRESPONDENCE.

A Passage in "The Taming of the Shrew."—Perhaps I mistake it, but Mr. C. Mansfield Ingleby seems to me to write in a tone as if he fancied I should be unwilling to answer his questions, whether public or private. Although I am not personally acquainted with him, we have had some correspondence, and I must always feel that a man so zealous and intelligent is entitled to the best reply I can afford. I can have no hesitation in informing him that, in preparing what he terms my "monovolume Shakspeare," I pursued this plan throughout; I adopted, as my foundation, the edition in eight volumes octavo, which I completed in 1844; that was "formed from an entirely new collation of the old editions," and my object there was to give the most accurate representation of the text of the folios and quartos. Upon that stock I engrafted the manuscript alterations in my folio 1632, in every case in which it seemed to me possible that the old corrector might be right—in short, wherever two opinions could be entertained as to the reading: in this way my text in the "monovolume Shakspeare" was "regulated by the old copies, and by the recently discovered folio of 1632."

Mr. Ingleby will see that in the brief preface to the "monovolume Shakspeare," I expressly say that "while a general similarity (to the folio 1632) has been preserved, care has been taken to rectify the admitted mistakes of the early impression, and to introduce such alterations of a corrupt and imperfect text, as were warranted by better authorities. Thus, while the new readings of the old corrector of the folio 1632, considerably exceeding a thousand, are duly inserted in the places to which they belong, the old readings, which, during the last century and a half, have recommended themselves for adoption, and have been derived from a comparison of ancient printed editions, have also been incorporated." I do not know how I could have expressed myself with greater clearness; and it was merely for the sake of distinctness that I referred to the result of my own labours in 1842, 1843, and 1844, during which years my eight volumes octavo were proceeding through the press. Those labours, it will be seen, essentially contributed to lighten my task in preparing the "monovolume Shakspeare."

My answer respecting the passage in The Taming of the Shrew, referred to by Mr. Ingleby, will, I trust, be equally satisfactory; it shall be equally plain.

I inserted ambler, because it is the word substituted in manuscript in the margin of my folio 1632. I adopted mercatantÈ, as proposed by Steevens, not only because it is the true Italian word, but because it exactly fits the place in the verse, mercatant (the word in the folios) being a syllable short of the required number. In the very copy of Florio's Italian Dictionary, which I bought of Rodd at the time when I purchased my folio 1632, I find mercatantÈ translated by the word "marchant," "marter," and "trader," exactly the sense required. Then, as to "surely" instead of surly, I venture to think that "surely" is the true reading:

"In gait and countenance surely like a father."

"Surely like a father" is certainly like a father; and although a man may be surly in his "countenance," I do not well see how he could be surly in his "gait;" besides, what had occurred to make the pedant surly? This appears to me the best reason for rejecting surly in favour of "surely;" but I have another, which can hardly be refused to an editor who professes to follow the old copies, where they are not contradicted. I allude to the folio 1628, where the line stands precisely thus:

"In gate and countenance surely like a Father."

The folio 1632 misprinted "surely" surly, as, in Julius CÆsar, Act I. Sc. 3., it committed the opposite blunder, by misprinting "surly" surely. Another piece of evidence, to prove that "surely" was the poet's word in The Taming of the Shrew, has comparatively recently fallen in my way; I did not know of its existence in 1844, or it would have been of considerable use to me. It is a unique quarto of the play, which came out some years before the folio 1623, and is not to be confounded with the quarto of The Taming of the Shrew, with the date of 1631 on the title-page. This new authority has the line exactly as it is given in the folio 1623, which, in truth, was printed from it. It is now before me.

J. Payne Collier.

July 10.

Critical Digest of various Readings in the Works of Shakspeare.—There is much activity in the literary world just now about the text of Shakspeare: but one most essential work, in reference to that text, still remains to be performed,—I mean, the publication of a complete digest of all the various readings, in a concise shape, such as those which we possess in relation to the MSS. and other editions of nearly every classical author.

At present, all editions of Shakspeare which claim to be considered critical, contain much loose information on readings, mixed up with notes (frequently very diffuse) on miscellaneous topics. This is not in the least what we require: we need a regular digest of readings, wholly distinct from long debates about their value.

What I mean will be plain to any one who is familiar with any good critical edition of the Greek New Testament, or with such books as Gaisford's Herodotus, the Berlin Aristotle, the Zurich Plato, and the like. We ought to have, first, a good text of Shakspeare: such as may represent, as fairly as possible, the real results of the labours of the soundest critics; and, secondly, page by page, at the foot of that text, the following particulars:

I. All the readings of the folios, which should be cited as A, B, C, and D.

II. All the readings of the quartos, which might be cited separately in each play that possesses them, either as a, b, c, d; or as 1, 2, 3, and 4.

III. A succinct summary of all the respectable criticisms, in the way of conjecture, on the text. This is especially needed. The recent volumes of Messrs. Collier, Singer, and Dyce, show that even editors of Shakspeare scarcely know the history of all the emendations. Let their precise pedigree be in the last case recorded with the most absolute brevity; simply the suggestion, and the names of its proposers and adopters.

IV. To simplify this last point, a new siglation might be introduced to denote the various critical editions.

Such a publication should be kept distinct from any commentary; especially from one laid out in the broad flat style of modern editors. Mr. Collier's volume of Emendations, &c., for instance, need not have occupied half its present space, if he had first denoted his MS. corrector by some short symbol, instead of by a lengthy phrase; and, secondly, introduced his suggestions by some such formularies as those employed in classical criticisms, instead of toiling laboriously after variations in his style of expression, till we are wearied by the real iteration which lies under the seeming diversity.

There should be none of this phrasework in the digest which I recommend. If indeed it were found absolutely necessary to connect it with a commentary, then arrange the two portions of the apparatus as in Arnold's edition of Thucydides: the variÆ lectiones in the middle of the page, and the comment in a different type below it. But I repeat, it would be better still to give us the digest without the comment. All would go into one large volume. And it cannot be doubted that such a volume, if thoroughly well done, would furnish at once a sort of textus receptus, and a critical basis, from which future editors might commence their labours. It would also be an indispensable book of reference to all who treat of, or are interested in, the poet's text. Such, I say, would be its certain prospects if the editor were at once an accurate, painstaking scholar, and a man of true poetical feeling. The labour would be great, but so would be the reward. It is only what the ablest scholars have proudly undertaken for the classics, even in the face of toils far more severe. Would that Mr. Dyce could be roused to attempt it!

B.

Emendations of Shakspeare.—I am sadly afraid, what with one annotator and another, that we, in a very little time, shall have Shakspeare so modernised and weeded of his peculiarities, that he will become a very second-rate sort of a person indeed; for I now see with no little alarm, that one of his most delightful quaintnesses is to give way to the march of refinement, and be altogether ruined. Hazlitt, one the most original and talented of critics, has somewhere said, that there was not in any passage of Shakspeare any single word that could be changed to one more appropriate, and as an instance he gives a passage from Macbeth, which certainly is one of the most perfect and beautiful to be found in the whole of his works:

There are some who differ from Hazlitt in the present day, and assert that there is an error in the press in Dogberry's reproof of Borachio for calling him an "ass." The passage as it stands is as follows:

"I am a wise fellow; and which is more, an officer, and which is more, a householder, and which is more, as pretty a piece of flesh as any is in Messina, and one that knows the law, go to; and a rich fellow enough, go to; and a fellow that hath had losses, and one that hath two gowns, and everything handsome about him."

His having had losses evidently meaning, though he was then poor, that his circumstances were at one time so prosperous, that he could afford to bear losses; and he, even then, had a superfluity of wardrobe in "two gowns, and everything handsome about him." But this little word losses, the perfect Shakspearian quaintness of which is universally acknowledged, is to be changed into leases; if it should be leases, how is it that it does not follow upon "householder," instead of being introduced so many words after? as, if leases were the proper word, it would assuredly have suggested itself immediately as an additional item to his respectability as a householder: for a moment only fancy similar corrections to be introduced in others of Shakspeare's plays, and Falstaff be made to exclaim at the robbery at Gad's Hill, "Down with them, they dislike us old men," instead of "they hate us youth;" for Falstaff was no boy at the time, and this might be advanced as an authority for the emendation. But seriously, if this alteration is sent forth as a specimen of the improvements about to be effected in Shakspeare, from an edition of his plays lately discovered, I shall, for one, deeply regret that it was ever rescued front its oblivion; for with my prejudices and prepossessions against interpolations, and in favour of old readings, I shall find it no easy matter to reconcile my mind to the new. Strip history of its romance, and you deprive it of its principal charm; the scenery of a play-house imposes upon us an illusion, and though we know it to be so, it is not essential that the impression should be removed. I remember once travelling at night in Norfolk, and a part of my way was through a wood, at the end of which I came upon a lake lit up by a magnificent moon. I subsequently went the same road by day: the wood, I then found, was a mere belt of trees, and the lake had dwindled to a duck-pond. I have ever since wished that the first impression had remained unchanged; but this is a digression. There is no author so universal as Shakspeare, and would that be the case if he was not thoroughly understood? He is appreciated alike in the closet and on the stage, quoted by saints and sages, in the pulpit and the senate, and your nostrum-monger advertises his wares with a quotation from his pages; does he then require interpreting who is his own interpreter? Johnson says of him that—

"Panting Time toil'd after him in vain."