TRADITION AND DEVELOPMENT.

415

the Bible, acknowledged to be divine by its own internal character, and corresponding to the image of the divine within us, not by any external testimony of the visible Church. Surely it shows those to have reason on their side, who refuse to be absolutely determined, in all the articles of their belief, by majorities of ancient Bishops and Doctors, or even by their consentient voice. It begins to be generally felt that no consistent scheme of doctrine can be obtained from the ancient Fathers; and that the principle of development must be freely acted on, in order to the maintenance of any Church system founded in the Christian Revelation, and connected with it by unbroken tradition. But this principle of development is contradictory to the general mind of the Ancient Church, which always appeals to Scripture and the continuous teaching of the Church authorities; it is incongruous with the rootprinciples of a system of externalism and uniformity of doctrine in its intellectual aspect, which ought to be supported by outward and historic testimony. Hereafter a Head Bishop, or a General Council, may decide that Arianism is, after all, the right doctrine of the Godhead, and who could disprove the assertion that it was the proper development of the original belief, always acknowledged by a part of the Church, held in germ, and so forth. Development is too large a key for the lock to which it is deceptively applied. The lock it really fits is one which opens into the illimitable Court of Anarchy, not into the area of the existing visible Church system. There is no conceivable corruption or transmutation of doctrine and practice, which may not be called a true development, if there is no rule or standard by which the legitimacy of the extension is to be judged; and all depends on the judgment of an irresponsible Head, presumed to be the oracle through which Christ speaks to His Church.

My daughter and I lately met at the house of my

excellent old friend, Mr. Kenyon, that poetical pair, Mr. and Mrs. Browning. You probably know her as Elizabeth Barrett, author of the "Seraphim," "Drama of Exile," and many ballads and minor poems, among which "Cowper's Grave" is of special excellence. She has lately published "Casa Guidi Windows," a meditative, political poem of considerable merit; Mazzini admires it, and it has been translated into Italian. Mrs. Browning is in weak health, and cannot remain in this foggy clime; they are to reside in Paris. She is little, hard-featured, with long dark ringlets, a pale face, and plaintive voice, something very impressive in her dark eyes and her brow. Her general aspect puts me in mind of Mignon,-what Mignon might be in maturity and maternity. She has more poetic genius than any other woman living, perhaps more than any woman ever showed before, except Sappho. Still there is an imperfectness in what she produces; in many passages the expressions are very faulty,-the images forced and untrue, the sentiments exaggerated, and the situations unnatural and unpleasant. Another pervading fault of Mrs. Browning's poetry is rugged, harsh versification, with imperfect rhymes, and altogether that want of art in the department of metre, which prevents the language from being an unobstructive medium for the thought. Verse and diction are the bodily organism of poetry; this body ought to be soft, bright, lovely, carrying with it an influence and impression of delightfulness, yet not challenging attention by itself. These defects in poetical organism are inimical to the enduring life of the poetry; the same or similar thoughts will reappear in better form, and so supersede the earlier version; whereas, if poetic thoughts are once bodied to perfection, they will remain and exclude all future rivals. There is fear with regard to many of our present producers of poetry, lest the good that is in them should be swamped by the inferior matter, which gives a grotesque air to their compositions at large.

It has been ever a favourite saying with me, that there is one line of literature, and only one, in which women can do something that men cannot do, and do better; and that is a certain style of novel. I warmly admire the better novels produced by women during the last seventy or eighty years, -the writings of Inchbald, Burney, Edgeworth, Jane Austen, Miss Ferrier, and those interesting productions of the present day, from the pen of Mrs. Marsh and Miss Bronté. Mrs. Gore's novels are full of talent, and display a most extensive acquaintance both with modern books and modern things; but there is a most unpleasant tone about them. "Jane Eyre" and "Shirley," by Miss Bronté, are full of genius. There is a spirit, a glow and fire about them, a masculine energy of satire and of picturesque description, which have delighted me; but they also abound in proofs of a certain hardness of feeling and plebeian coarseness of taste. The novels of Mrs. Marsh, upon the whole, please me better than any that are now forthcoming. They are thoroughly feminine; and though often too diffuse, their diffuseness may be skimmed over without leaving any unpleasant impression on the mind. "The Wilmingtons," with its sequel, "Time the Avenger," is to my feelings an interesting book.

If you happen to have any communication with Newbury Port, Massachusetts, but this is a vain thought. I was thinking of my unseen friends and correspondents, Mr. and Mrs. Tracey, of that place. My last to them spoke of my weakened health, and they are anxious to know how I am going on. I cannot give a good report of myself, and from several causes must not attempt more letter-writing at present. My kindest wishes attend them. I have already sent kind regards and thanks to Mr. and Mrs. Reed. Accept the same yourself, dear sir, and may you long have health and strength to enjoy the infinite delights of literature, and the loveliness of "this bright, breathing world," which the

poets teach us to admire, and the Gospel makes us hope to find again in that unseen world whither we are all going.Believe me truly your friend,

III.

SARA COLERIDGE.

Prayer for Temporal and Spiritual Benefits.

To Miss FENWICK.

September 4th, 1851.-Your friendship, dear friend, has been one great blessing of these last years of my life, and I trust not only a comfort and happiness, but a lasting benefit, which will survive all the worsening and decay of our poor, frail, earthly tabernacle. My gratitude to you is one of my deepest feelings. God bless you, and bestow upon you all whatsoever He knows to be best for you. must still pray for temporal comforts to be granted you. We are to pray ever, and He will set our prayers straight. But still more earnestly, and with more confidence for you and for myself, I ask for that peace which passes understanding.-Ever most affectionately your friend, SARA COLERIDGE.

IV.

Increase of Illness-Fancied Wishes-Trial and Effects of Mesmerism -Editorial Duties still fulfilled-Derwent Isle and Keswick Vale-Visit of the Archdukes to General Peachey in 1815-Old Letters-Death; and the Life beyond it.

TO AUBREY DE VERE, Esq.

10, Chester Place, Oct. 1st, 1851.-My dear Friend,-You will regret very much to learn how much worse and weaker I am than when you saw me last. I cannot now walk more than half an hour at a time, when I am at the best. At Margate an hour or hour and twenty minutes did not fatigue me. I still take short walks twice a day, but how long my power of doing this will last I cannot say.

You can hardly imagine how my mind hovers about that old well-known churchyard, with Skiddaw and the Bas

senthwaite hills in sight; how I long to take away Mama's remains from the place where they are now deposited, and when my own time comes, to repose beside her, as to what now seems myself, in that grassy burial-ground, with the Southeys reposing close by. My husband I hope to meet in heaven; but there is a different feeling in regard to earlier ties. Hartley and Mr. Wordsworth I would have where they are, in that Grasmere churchyard, within an easy distance of Keswick, as it used to be in old times.

These are strong feelings, translated into fancied wishes, -not sober earnest. When we are withdrawn from society and the bustle of life, in some measure, and our thoughts are from any cause fixed on the grave, how does the early life rise up into glow and prominence, and, as it were, call one back into itself! Yet during that early life how I looked forward, imagining better things here below than I had yet experienced, and going beyond this world altogether, into the realms above!

A few weeks ago, my old friend C. H. Townshend * came to town for a short time on business from Lausanne. He reproached me for not trying mesmerism, and on my yielding to his representations on the subject, brought Dr. Elliotson to give me advice. My housemaid willingly undertook the business, and was instructed, and now mesmerizes regularly twice a day. The effect on me is not strong, sophisticated as my nerves have been by morphine; but there is a perceptible peculiar sensation produced by the passes. They soothe me at the time, and make me drowsy, and I think there is some beneficial influence exerted on the constitution. From what I feel, I am much inclined to believe that some agent in the physical frame is called into action by

* The name of Mr. Chauncy Hare Townshend will be familiar to all visitors at the South Kensington Museum, where the fine collection of pictures and jewels, bequeathed by him to that institution, is now exhibited. He wa the author of "Facts in Mesmerism," and of several volumes of poetry, and was, besides, an accomplished amateur artist and musician.-E. Ĉ.