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nterceffion of this new patron, he was now recommended to the onfideration of the Literary Fund; and received a supply of money nd clothes, that feemed to put him, for a time at leaft, beyond he reach of expofure. Our readers, however, will perceive, From the following extract, how greatly his mifconduct exceeded all ordinary calculation.

As he was now well dreft, apparently relieved from his embarraffments, and with favourable profpects opening to him, his friends entertained a hope that he would have difcretion enough to make a good ufe of his profperity. But this expectation was very fhort-lived. Within a week after he had appeared in his new clothes, as Sir James Burges was fitting in the evening in his library, he heard a loud noife and a violent altercation in his hall. On going out to inquire the cause of fuch an toufual tumult, he found Dermody ftruggling with two of his fervants, who endeavoured to prevent him from forcing his way into the boufe. And, indeed, his appearance was fuch as completely to juftify them; for he was literally in rags, was covered with mud (in which it appeared that he had been juft rolled), had a black eye, and a fresh wound on his head from which the blood trickled down his breaft; and, to crown the whole, was fo drunk as to be hardly able to ftand or fpeak. As foon as Sir James could recognize him, he released him from the hands of his fervants; and conducting him into his library, inquired the reafon of his appearing in fuch a condition. Dermody accounted for his being fo ill dreft, by faying that he had pawned his new clothes. As for his dirt and wounds, he said he had been arrested and carried to a (punginghoufe, where he had been drinking with the bailiffs, and writing a poem which he wished to take to Sir James, but they would not let him; fo that he had watched his opportunity, and flipped off; but had been overtaken by them, and obliged to fight his way.' II. 169-70. The compallion of Sir James withstood this exhibition; and he perfifted in his attention to this devoted bacchanal, till his repeated misconduct and fhameless folicitations at laft wearied out his be nevolence, and fhut his ears to his entreaties. The way in which he now lived, may be judged of from the following paflages.

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At one time he might be feep in his garret in company with his hofts the cobler and his wife, and forme attic lodger of equal confequence, regaling on a goofe which his industry had roafted by a ftring in his own apartment; while the pallet-bed, which food in a corner, was ftrewed with various vegetables the fire-fide decorated with nuinerous foaming pots of porter; and the cobler's work-ftool, boot-leg, lap-ftone, &c, were commodiously placed as ats. On another occafion, in fome neighbouring alehouse, entertaining the fame perfonages with the various rarities which reforts of this defcription generally af ford; where, as the aftonished guests, enveloped in clouds of fmoke, fat liftening with rapture to the eloquence of Dermody, the hoft was to be difcovered in the back ground applauding with one hand, while bis ther dexterously fcored an addititional item to the bill. II. 223-4

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At another time, his biographer having occafion to call for him, on entering the house his ears were affailed by violent plaudits and huzzas, which appeared to iffue from the attic ftory. Having little curiofity to inquire into the cause of these extraordinary rejoicings, he only requested to fee Dermody. The good woman of the houfe quickly dispatched a meffenger to give the proper information; and the author was foon ufbered into a room, at the top of which fat Dermody in a new fuit of clothes, furrounded by half a score of the landlord's fmoking acquaintances; the table ftrewed with tobacco, pipes, and a plentiful flow of wine and fpirits; and the fideboard loaded with bottles, the late contents of which had left the members of this elevated fociety in a ftate of equal jollity and confufion,' II. 225-6.

We add but one trait more.

A few days previous to writing this letter, Dermody had dined in Piccadilly; when the author, perceiving his fhoes and ftockings to be in a very bad condition, fent and purchased a pair of each, which Dermody put into his pocket with the intention of wearing them the following morning. The next evening, however, he made his appearance without either fhoes, flockings, hat, neckcloth, or waistcoat; and in a flate of intoxication not to be endured. He had pledged the fhoes and flockings, got drunk with the money, and in a fray in the streets had loft his other neceffaries. He entered the houfe in this ftate, told his tale, threw on the floor the duplicate of the articles he had pledged, demanded other apparel, was refused, fwore a few oaths, threatened to deitroy a fideboard of glafs, alarmed the whole family, was turned out of doors, and during the remainder of the night took shelter in a shed fitted up for fome cattle in one of the fields leading from Westminster to Chelfea. Vol. II. Note, p. 229-30.

His laft patron was Lord Sidmouth, who enabled him to bring cut another volume of poetry in 1802, and contributed liberally to his comfort and relief. But no admonitions could withhold Dermody many hours from the pot-houfe, and no money could keep him many days from the gaol. His conftitution at last gave way under the preffure of fo many irregularities; he ran from his creditors and benefactors, to a miferable cottage in the village of Sydenham, where he expired, in July 1802, at the age of 27.

Such is the hiftory of Thomas Dermody; whofe adventures are chronicled in these volumes with as much minutenefs as if he had been a paragon of worth and accomplishment, and whofe genius is trumpeted forth as if it had outfhone that of all his pcetical predeceffors. We confefs that we do not perceive the utility of fuch a publication; and that we look with fome degree of difapprobation on the patronage and indulgence which was lavished upon fuch a wretch as Dermody. Of his poetical productions, we know nothing more than is contained in thefe volumes; but

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they are fufficient to fatisfy us that his talents were of an inferior defcription. He has confiderable fweetnefs of verification, and a copious and easy flow of expreffion; but we find little original in his conceptions: he is a great copyift; and, where he does not give way to a vein of puerile parody, or vulgar mock heroic, feems generally contented with amplifying, in loofe and declamatory language, the ideas which he borrows from our most popular authors. After all, it is by no means fo difficult to write toler able poetry, as the world appears to imagine; nor is the merit of this kind of labour fo great, in our apprehenfion, as to atone for the want of common decency, or to monopolize the charity on which virtuous misfortune has fo much stronger a claim. There are quantities of poetry as good as most of Dermody's, which pafs quietly to oblivion every fix months, without ever being miffed by the world; and when his name ceases to be heard of, which will happen, we doubt not, in four or five years, in fpite of the ftir occafioned by his eccentricities, we rather think that the state of our poetical readers will be more gracious, than that of the prefent generation. In fhort, we cannot help fufpecting that it is more to our national vanity, and our taste for monsters of all defcriptions, than to any tender fympathies for the fufferings of genius, that we fhould afcribe the profufe and unmerited bounty which was poured into the purfe of this prodigy of verfe and debauchery. For our own parts, we think it would have been quite as well for the world, and much better for himself, if he had been allowed to follow out his natural progrefs, from the house of correction to the gallows; or, at any rate, if he had been left under the whole fome difcipline of the fergeants and drummers in the ranks of Lord Granard's regiment of foot.

ART. XIV. Paradis Perdu. Traduit par Jacques De Lille, &c. Paris et Londre. 1805..

MR 'R DE LILLE, the most famous of living poets, has, in the decline of life, undertaken a translation of the most celebrated of English poems. The merits of Paradife Loft, indeed, are not confined to England alone; they have been so univerfally felt and acknowledged throughout Europe, that many critics have gone the length of comparing the author with the most illuftrious poets of antiquity; and few have fcrupled to place him on the fame pedestal with the great Italian poets of the middle age.

In attempting to lay before the public our remarks on this tranflation, we are aware that we may appear to have undertaken a

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talk of great delicacy. Fortunately, however, fome of those circumstances, which at first fight feem to threaten us with the most formidable obftacles, on a nearer approach produce a very contrary effect. The established reputation of Milton confiderably alleviates our labours. His excellences and his defects have been fo frequently and fo ably canvaffed, and his merits as an epic poet have been fo accurately afcertained, that it would be fuperfluous to attempt to add to the numerous criticisms on this subject that are already in the poffeffion of the public. Mr De Lille's reputation, too, as a poet, is very generally understood. Multa virum meritis fuftentat fama tropæis. The work, however, immediately under our confideration, differs materially from any that he has hitherto sent forth into the world, fince it is in this that he has for the first time deserted his ordinary style of poetry, and has at tempted to foar, on a loftier and more adventurous wing, into regions he had never penetrated before. It remains, therefore, for us to examine, how far he was qualified for this attempt, and how he has fucceeded in the execution of it.

It is fcarcely neceffary, we truft, to fay that we are actuated by no illiberal prejudice, when we ftate the ftyle and character of French poetry to be among the greatest difficulties Mr De Lille had to encounter. Differing, as the French language does from our own, it is ftill the fair and honourable rival of it. Each has its characteristic excellences, each its characteristic defects; and, whatever may be our opinion of their comparative merits, it would be abfurd to deny the excellence of that language, which, with the fingle exception of England, is more or less the language of polifhed fociety throughout all the countries of Europe. This general diffusion, indeed, may be partly owing to the extended power and political intereft of the French nation; but it muft in ftill greater part be attributed to its own intrinfic merit, and to its delicacy and perfpicuity, which fo peculiarly adapt it to the purposes of converfation and business. It is not with converfation or bufinefs, however, that we are now concerned; and we shall not be accused, we believe, of any national injuftice to the poetical merits of the French, if we affert that it is not fo well calculated for the loftier flights of poetry as the Spanish, the Italian, or the English. Much may be faid, certainly, for the language of a Corneille, a Racine, and a Voltaire; and all that we feriously pretend to maintain is, that the ftyle and character of French poetry is not only very different from the style and character of English poetry, but that it is peculiar to the nation to which it belongs. Neither Italy nor England, we admit, have ever produced an author exactly of the fame calibre as Racine; and France, on the other hand, never has, and probably never will, pro

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duce poets at all resembling Dante or Ariofto, Shakespeare or Milton.

The impediment, then, of his native language, was the first Mr De Lille had to ftruggle with; the next feems to grow out of this, and to be as it were a part of it, viz. the neceffity of rhyme. No difficulty more ferious can prefent itself to the tranflator of a work written in English blank verse, than to be obliged to terminate each couplet by a chime of founds; and the ftyle and character of Milton is, of all our poets except, Shakefpeare, the most abhorrent from this neceffary appendage to French verfification. We remarked in a former Number, that the manner of Thomson afforded certain facilities to a rhyming tranflator, beyond any other of our writers in blank verfe. With Milton, however, the cafe is exactly the reverse ;-his characteriftic excellences-his characteristic defects, are most repugnant to it. The fublimity of his conceptions-the boldness of his metaphors-the ftrength and propriety of his expreffions-the harmonious ftructure of his periods-and even his oftentatious parade of learning, all render it peculiarly difficult to reconcile him to the fhackles of rhyme.

It only remains, then, to confider, whether there is any thing peculiar to Mr De Lille's ftyle of verfification, which would enable him to rife above the difficulties a French tranflation of Paradife Loft would naturally have to contend against. Mr De Lille has, it is true, a ftyle of his own; and poffibly may, hereafter, be regarded as the founder of a new fchool in French poetry. Unfortunately, however, for his prefent purpose, the genius and character of his school must be regarded as most oppofite to that of the great author whom he has undertaken to copy. The genius of Mr De Lille would have harmonized better with Thomson or Cowper, with Goldsmith or Pope; he is most in his element, when he is defcribing flowers, or woods, or gardens but he has rarely ventured into the higher walks of poetry: how then could he expect to foar on the fublime pinions of our Milton, how

To fing of chaos and eternal night,

Taught by the heavenly mufe, to venture down

The dark defcent, and up to reascend,

Though hard and rare--?'

The most exact tranflation we ever remember to have seen, is that of Taffo's Aminta by Jaraguay. We will merely cite a few lines, to fhew what may be expected from a comparison of the whole work with the original.

• Conofco la ritrofa Fanciullezza
Qual tu fei, tal io fui: così portava

La vita, e 'l volto, e così biondo il crine,

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