“Many are the characters who pass through the vale of life, who in their
time contributed to the improvement of society by their accomplishments,
rendered service to literature by their learning, and enlivened and
delighted numerous circles by their wit, who have been suffered to pass
away, as though they had never been, without any memorial of their
talents, or their virtues. To plant one slip of myrtle or of laurel round
the graves of such, to rescue from ‘dumb forgetfulness’ even the few who
have been comprehended within the limited circle of our own personal
knowledge, cannot surely be deemed an unamiable, nor altogether a useless
office.”
With such an apostrophe, the Sexagenarian commences the notes, which are
here modified and curtailed, of the individuals next introduced. Two of
the same name first present themselves—_sed valde dissimiles_.
Both of them were highly estimable as men, desireable as companions,
accomplished and valuable as authors, though in very different ways.
One was facetiousness and good humour personified, the other was
grave and saturnine: the conversation of the one was full of vivacity
and mirth-inspiring anecdote, animated by much reading and extensive
knowledge of the world; the other instructed his hearers by his
diversified knowledge, which he readily communicated, and although there
were some “pursuers of literature,” who affected to ridicule his talents,
no insinuation could be more injurious or false. Even on the very subject
which provoked the aspersions of the satirist, sounder critics allowed
that he had the best end of the staff. He got the better of an adversary
elated with popular favour, presumed to be at the head of one particular
branch of criticism, in which indeed he had spent a long and laborious
life.
The publications of these two namesakes, as might be imagined, were alike
different. One was a very entertaining and instructive essayist, a most
skilful and accomplished biographer, an editor of various popular works,
in which office he evinced a perfect knowledge of our language in all
its stages from barbarity to refinement, great sagacity, sound judgment,
and a cultivated taste. But neither did he escape the merciless rage of
critics. What author can expect it? Who that writes a book may not at
the same time exclaim,
Ut quidem Hercle in medium hodie processerim
Væ illis Virgis miseris quæ hodie in tergo morientur meo.
But however the critic might gratify some latent spleen, the author’s
reputation did not in the smallest degree suffer, nor was his zeal
diminished. When the Sexagenarian retired from the world, he left his
friend in the plenitude of honest fame, successfully pursuing his
accustomed labours.
The works of the other nameless namesake were of a more profound and
solid character. They embraced the large circle of politics, history,
biography, language, and various criticism. They are as numerous and
elaborate as those of the Spanish Cervantes, or of our own Philemon
Holland. But they evinced deep research, extensive investigation,
profound thinking, great judgment, and, it might almost be said,
uncircumscribed knowledge.
Different as they were in talents, in their pursuits, dispositions
and manners, both distinguished the Sexagenarian with their intimate
acquaintance, and both continued with him, as long as he remained near
them, a pleasing interchange of such literary stock as they severally
possessed.
Vere mihi hoc videor esse dicturus, ex omnibus iis qui in
harum artium studiis liberalissimis sint, doctrinisque versati
minimam copiam poetarum egregiorum extitisse.