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JAMES HENRY LEIGH HUNT.

HUNT, JAMES HENRY LEIGH, an English poet, critic, and essayist; born at Southgate, near London, October 19, 1784; died at Putney, near London, August 28, 1859. He wrote a number of poems, published in 1802, under the title of “Juvenilia.” then engaged as theatrical critic for "The News," and in 1807 published a volume of “Essays on the Performers of the London Theatres." Later he joined his brother John in the management of “The Examiner.” In 1815 he published “ The Descent of Liberty,” a mask, and in 1816 a narrative poem, “The Story of Rimini.” The “Round-Table," the joint work of Hunt and William Hazlitt, appeared in 1817, "Foliage" in 1818, "Hero and Leander" and “Bacchus and Ariadne” in 1819. His health failed, and in 1821 he sailed to Italy. During his residence in Italy he translated Redi's “Bacco in Toscana ” and wrote “The Religion of the Heart.” In 1825 he returned to England. For several years after this Hunt struggled with ill-health and misfortune. His industry was unremitting. Among his works not previously mentioned are "Sir Ralph Esher" (1832); “Captain Sword and Captain Pen” (1835); “A Legend of Florence," a drama (1840); “ Palfrey, a Love-Story of Old Times” (1842); “Stories from the Italian Poets” (1846); “A Jar of Honey from Mount Hybla," a volume on the "Pastoral Poetry of Sicily" (1847); “The Town, its Character and Events” (1848); his “Autobiography” (1850); “Imagination and Fancy, " “ Wit and Humor,” “ A Book for a Corner,” and “ The Old Court Suburb.” His narrative poems, original and translated, were published in 1855 in a volume entitled “ Stories in Verse.” He also edited “The Tatler,” “The London Journal,” “ The Monthly Repository,” and “The Indicator,” and contributed to the “Edinburgh Review," the “Westminster Review," and edited the plays of Wycherly, Congreve, and Farquhar.

RONDEAU.

JENNY kissed me when we met,

Jumping from the chair she sat in:
Time, you thief! who love to get

Sweets into your list, put that in!

Say I'm weary, say I'm sad,

Say that health and wealth have missed me,
Say I'm growing old; but add, -

Jenny kissed me!

THE OLD LADY.

(From "The Indicator.”) If the old lady is a widow and lives alone, the manners of her condition and time of life are so much the more apparent. She generally dresses in plain silks, that make a gentle rustling as she moves about the silence of her room ; and she wears a nice cap with a lace border, that comes under the chin. In a placket at her side is an old enamelled watch, unless it is locked up in a drawer of her toilet for fear of accidents. Her waist is rather tight and trim than otherwise, and she had a fine one when young; and she is not sorry if you see a pair of her stockings on a table, that you may be aware of the neatness of her leg and foot. Contented with these and other evident indications of a good shape, and letting her young friends understand that she can afford to obscure it a little, she wears pockets, and uses them well too. In the one is her handkerchief, and any heavier matter that is not likely to come out with it, such as the change of a sixpence; in the other is a miscellaneous assortment, consisting of a pocket-book, a bunch of keys, a needle-case, a spectacle-case, crumbs of biscuit, a nutmeg and grater, a smelling-bottle, and according to the season an orange or apple, which after many days she draws out warm and glossy, to give to some little child that has well-behaved itself.

She generally occupies two rooms, in the neatest condition possible. In the chamber is a bed with a white coverlet, built up high and round to look well, and with curtains of a pastoral pattern, consisting alternately of large plants and shepherds and shepherdesses. On the mantelpiece are more shepherds and shepherdesses, with dot-eyed sheep at their feet, all in colored ware; the man perhaps in a pink jacket, and knots of ribbons at his knees and shoes, holding his crook lightly in one hand and with the other at his breast, turning his toes out and looking tenderly at the shepherdess ; the woman holding a crook also, and modestly returning his look, with a gypsy hat jerked up behind, a very slender waist with petticoat and hips to counteract, and the petticoat pulled up through the pocket-holes, in order to show the trimness of her ankles. But these patterns of course are various. The toilet is ancient, carved at the edges, and tied about with a snow-white drapery of muslin. Beside it are various boxes, mostly japan; and the set of drawers are exquisite things for a little girl to rummage, if ever little girl be so bold, containing ribbons and laces of various kinds ; linen smelling of lavender, of the flowers of which there is always dust in the corners; a heap of pocket-books for a series of years; and pieces of dress long gone by, such as head-fronts, stomachers, and flowered satin shoes with enormous heels. The stock of letters are under especial lock and key. So much for the bedroom. In the sitting-room is rather a spare assortment of shining old mahogany furniture, or carved arm-chairs equally old, with chintz draperies down to the ground; a folding or other screen, with Chinese figures, their round, little-eyed meek faces perking sideways; a stuffed bird, perhaps in a glass case (a living one is too much for her); a portrait of her husband over the the mantelpiece, in a coat with frog-buttons, and a delicate frilled hand lightly inserted in the waistcoat; and opposite him on the wall is a piece of embroidered literature framed and glazed, containing some moral distich or maxim worked in angular capital letters, with two trees or parrots below in their proper colors; the whole concluding with an A-B-C and numerals, and the name of the fair industrious, expressing it to be her work, Jan. 14, 1762.” The rest of the furniture consists of a looking-glass with carved edges, perhaps a settee, a hassock for the feet, a mat for the little dog, and a small set of shelves, in which are the “ Spectator" and “Guardian,” the “ Turkish Spy,” a Bible and Prayer-Book, Young's “ Night Thoughts” with a piece of lace in it to flatten, Mrs. Rowe's “Devout Exercises of the Heart," Mrs. Glasse's “Cookery,” and perhaps “ Sir Charles Grandison” and “ Clarissa.” “ John Buncle” is in the closet among the pickles and preserves. The clock is on the landing-place between the two room doors, where it ticks audibly but quietly ; and the landing-place is carpeted to a nicety. The house is most in character, and properly coeval, if it is in a retired suburb, and strongly built, with wainscot rather than paper inside, and lockers in the windows. Before the windows should be some quivering poplars. Here the Old Lady receives a few quiet visitors to tea, and perhaps an early game at cards; or you may see her going out on the same kind of visit herself, with a light umbrella running up into a stick and crooked ivory handle, and her little dog, equally famous for his love to her and captious antipathy to strangers. Her grandchildren disliked him on holidays, and the boldest sometimes ventures to give him a sly kick under the table. When she returns at night she appears, if the weather happens to be doubtful, in a calash ; and her servant in pattens follows half behind and half at her side, with a lantern. Her opinions are not many nor new.

She thinks the clergyman a nice man. The Duke of Wellington, in her opinion, is a very great man; but she has a secret preference for the Marquis of Granby. She thinks the young women of the present day too forward, and the men not respectful enough, but hopes her grandchildren will be better; though she differs with her daughter in several points respecting their management. She sets little value on the new accomplishments; is a great though delicate connoisseur in butcher's meat and all sorts of housewifery; and if you mention waltzes, expatiates on the grace and fine breeding of the minuet. She longs to have seen one danced by Sir Charles Grandison, whom she almost considers as a real person. She likes a walk of a summer's evening, but avoids the new streets, canals, etc.; and sometimes goes through the church-yard where her children and her husband lie buried serious but not melancholy. She has had three great epochs in her life: her marriage; her having been at court, to see the King and Queen and Royal Family; and a compliment on her figure she once received in passing, from Mr. Wilkes, whom she describes as “ a sad loose man, but engaging." His plainness she thinks much exaggerated. If anything takes her at a distance from home, it is still the court; but she seldom stirs even for that. The last time but one that she went was to see the Duke of Würtemberg; and most probably for the last time of all, to see the Princess Charlotte and Prince Leopold. From this beatific vision she returned with the same admiration as ever for the fine comely appearance of the Duke of York and the rest of the family, and great delight at having had a near view of the Princess, whom she speaks of with smiling pomp and lifted mittens, clasping them as passionately as she can together, and calling her, in a transport of mixed loyalty and self-love," a fine royal young creature," and “Daughter of England."

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THE OLD GENTLEMAN.

(From "The Indicator.") OUR Old Gentleman, in order to be exclusively himself, must be either a widower or a bachelor. Suppose the former.

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