751]

Life of William Hutton, written by himself.

me are not surprised.
statement either false or coloured."

The whole volume, though in a few instances it may be thought too minutely circumstantial, is well worthy of perusal. We shall give an extract or two from the concluding parts of it.

[752

There is not a turning upon the above complaint, I remarked that, during the last 20 or 30 years I had been afflicted with the gravel, and had had three or four fits every year, which continued, with excruciating pain, from one to four or five days. I will,' said one of the gentlemen, tell you a "1810. A faithful friend is a real certain cure. Abstain from spirits, wine, treasure; his sensations are mine; if and malt liquor; drink cyder, perry, or he is wounded I am hurt; by his cares milk; and, although it will not totally mine are reduced; his happiness aug- eradicate the gravel, you will never have ments mine: friendship is a partnership another fit.' I replied that I never drank of sentiment, and one that is sure to spirituous liquors, and seldom liked, profit, for by giving we are gainers.- but daily used the produce of malt; May 15th I lost my valuable and worthy that though I had four cyder farms I friend William Ryland, after an intimate could not conveniently be accommoconnexion, which continued, without dated with cyder or perry, but was fond the least interruption, more than 59 years. of milk.-Though I had but little exWhile batchelors we daily sought each pectation from this tavern prescription, other out. While passing through the I have followed it during the last seven married state, which continued in each years, in which time I have not drank a about 40 years, the same friendly intercourse continued; and while widowers the affection suffered no abatement, the secrets of one were the secrets of both. His life was a continued series of vivacity, good humour, and rectitude. I have reason to believe he never did a bad act knowingly, or uttered a bad word. A man may have many friends, but seldom has, at the same time, more than one bosom friend; the cabinet is generally fitted for one jewel only. In taking a retrospective view of a protracted life, I find six of these cabinet counsellors, from whom nothing was hidden; five were separated by removal of place, and one by death.

quart of malt liquor, or had a fit of the gravel. The only evil attending this change of beverage is, that when I call for tilk upon a journey, it is apt to cover my landlady's face with a cloud; but her countenance brightens up when I pay the price of wine.

"November 17 I walked 12 miles with ease.

"1812. In 1742 I attended divine service at Castle Gate Meeting, in Nottingham. The minister, in elucidating his subject, made this impressive remark: that it was very probable in 60 years every one of that crowded assembly would have descended into the grave. Seventy years have elapsed, and there is more reason to conclude that I am the only person left. This day, October 11, is my birth-day; I enter upon my 90th year, and have walked 10 miles."

Here the kind-hearted Veteran's Diary is ended;-and his beloved daughter takes up the pen.

"1811. At the age of 82 I considered myself a young man; I could, without much fatigue, walk 40 miles a day, but, during the last six years, I have felt a sensible decay; and, like a stone rolling down the hill, its velocity in creases with the progress: the strings of the instrument are, one after another, "Mine," says Miss Hutton, "is the giving way, never to be brought into melancholy task of laying the captune. My father died of the gravel and stone on the building.' I undertake it stone at the age of 67; his brother of with tears to the memory of my father the same disorder at 51. I first perceived and friend.-Minute as the foregoing the gravel at 27, but it was for many narrative is, I hope a few additional years of little consequence. In 1804 I particulars of its author and subject will went to Worcester to the sale of an not be unacceptable. These may be estate, which, being ended, I spent the the more readily pardoned, as I look evening with five or six gentlemen, all upon my father's history to be the most strangers to me. The conversation complete picture of human life, from its

Life of William Hutton, F.A.S.S.

[754

voice, a pin might have been heard to fall to the ground."

In like manuer the affectionate daughter fills up a few of the outlines in her father's life, and brings us to the bed of sickness, which terminated his earthly existence, Sept. 20, 1814.

In conclusion she says,

say,

me.

753] springing into existence, to its wearing out, by the natural exhaustion of the vital principles, that ever was drawn by man; and the few touches that are added will be chiefly such as mark the progress of decay, and put the finishing stroke to the whole. In the year 1791 my father carefully inspected the remains of the City of Verulam, and had begun a history "My father recollected with grati of that place, which was undertaken with tude to Providence the success that had the same ardour and spirit of research as crowned the exertions of his youth. his History of the Roman Wall. This How thankful ought I to be,' he would he intended for his friend Mr. Nichols; for the comforts that surround but his remarks were destroyed at the Where should I have been now if riots, and he could never resume the I had continued a stockinger? I must subject. In 1796, after we had lost my have been in the workhouse. They all beloved mother, my father's affection and go there when they cannot see to work. mine being less divided, centered more I have all I can wish for: I think of upon each other. On our journey to these things every day.' My father Barmouth it was se evident, that we seldom spoke of his death; but I have were sometimes taken for lovers, and reason to believe he constantly watched sometimes for husband and wife. One its approach, and was sensible of eveperson went so far as to say to my father, ry advance he made towards it.-He You may say what you will, but I am has delineated his own character in-the sure that lady is your wife.' At Matlock, history he has written of his life. Little at the age of 79, my father was a prodigy. more remains to be said, and I hope He was the first acquaintance and guide that little will not be too much. I think of new comers, and the oracle of such as the predominant feature in my father's were established in the house. Easy character was the love of peace. No and gay, he had an arm for one, a hand quarrel ever happened within the sphere, for another, and a smile for all. When of his influence, in which he did not act he was silent he was greatly admired for the part of a mediator, and endeavour to his placid and benign countenance. At conciliate both sides; and, I believe, table my father spoke little; but one no quarrel ever happened where he was night after supper he asked me for a concerned in which he did not relinquish glass of wine. I felt some surprize at a part of his right. The first lessons he the unusual demand, but I poured it out. taught his children were, that the giving He drank it, and pushing his glass to me up an argument was meritorious, and again said, 'Give me another,' 'I dare that having the last word was a fault.— not, father,' said I, I am afraid it will My father's love of peace made him make you ill.' 'I tell thee give me generally silent on those inexhaustible another,' said he smiling, it will do me subjects of dispute and animosity, religion no harm.' I gave it him in silence, and and politics. His sufferings at the riots with fear. The effect of two glasses of drew his sentiments from him, and he wine upon my father's temperate habit gave them without reserve: they will be was extraordinary. He spoke of his found too liberal for the present day former life, he became animated, his Public opinion, like the pendulum of a eyes sparkled, his voice was elevated, clock, cannot rest in the centre. From every other sound gradually died away. the time of the riots it has been verging The company looked at him with aston- towards bigotry and slavery. Having ishment. The near heard him with reached its limits, it will verge towards attention, the distant bent forward with the opposite extremes, infidelity and anxiety. Of 23 persons at table, every auarchy. Truth is the centre; and, one appeared a profound and eager perhaps, my father's opinions may not listener; and, in the pauses of my father's have been wide of the mark."

753]

From the Panorama.

Poetry.

POETRY.

THE VISIONS OF YOUTH.

HERE was a time when youth's fair sun,
Rising o'er childhood's cloudless sky,
Its bright career with joy begun,

As if its light could never die ;

But like that magic lamp of old*
Entombed with the illustrious dead,
Would last, while passing ages rolled
Unfelt, unnoted, as they fled.

Then Hope her future path descried,
Gay with a thousand blooming flowers,
The world before her, all untried!
Seemed bright as Eden's changeless bowers;
And all around enchantment breathed,
Each tint was bright, each smile was true;
To her no Friendship e'er deceived,
And time on wings of Zephyr flew.
Then all was lonely, all serene !
No cloud o'er that fair landscape passed;
And life was but a morning dream,
Gay, bright, and happy to the last!
These were the visions of my youth;
And, like the mists of early day,
They, in the sober light of truth,
Faded and vanished all away.

I found that life, too bright at first,
Was not the Paradise I deemed;
I saw the landscape fade, reversed,
And then a gloomy waste it seemed!
Romantic hope, too highly wrought,
Had sketched such scenes as cannot be ;
And then, enthusiastic thought
Shrunk from the cold reality.

To toil thro' years of mental strife,
To see unceasing bardships rise,
To know the thorny path of life,
But as a trial to the wise.

To see my day-dreams melt away,
When Truth her magic wand applied,
And all my visions, day by day,
Towards fainter distance softly glide.
This was a trial, such as then
I had not learn'd, alas! to bear ;
I sought the cherub Hope again,
But she had vanish'd into air!

Then other and less beauteous shades,
Usurped her dwelling in my breast;
Romance, the genius of the glades,
Became my fair fantastic guest.
And then I wooed fictitious woe,
I loved the solitary sigh,'
The luxury of tears that flow,
In silence from the faded eye.'

In solitude, unsought, unseen,
My sorrow only was my muse !
My votive wreaths no longer green
I steeped in sad Parnassian dews,

*To the readers of Walter Scott, this "ma

gic lamp" will be familiar---vide the scene of Melrose Abbey, at Michael Scott's tomb.

The roses wreathed around my lyre,
I scattered o'er the blasted plain;
Bade them no more my song inspire
Yet let the withered thorns remain.
And o'er each sweet responsive string
The gloomy cypress I entwined;
That every outward scene might fling
Its mournful shadow o'er my mind.
That dream of folly, too, in gone!
I blush that once it was my crime !
And Reason, sternly looking on,
Condemns that utter waste of time!
Of time that cannot be again,
Of talent that was never given
To fix in minds romantic pain,
Or prove ingratitude to Heaven.
For what are we, that we repine
At aught unerring Wisdom gives?
Who murmurs at the will Divine,
But mocks the mercies be receives.
And I have spurned the parent hand,
Which sunote and chastened to improve:
Have murmured at the high command,
Which, strict in justice, proved its love.
But shall I mourn my follies past,
If they have taught me better things?
---No---I have learnt that Time at last,
Has nought so lovely as his wings!
They steal, 'tis true, our gayest hours,
And bear our bloom of health away;
Not evening dews or summer showers
So noiseless or so brief as they.

But then they teach us by their fight
To travel onwards to the sky;
To reach that perfect pure delight
Which crowns Religious Hope on high.
And have I gained that blissful state
Which sees the present with delight,
And, with confiding hope elate,
Believes"whatever is, is right?"
Yes---now I know that tranquil bliss
Which springs from a contented mind,
That calm and fervent happiness
The visionary ne'er can find!

1756

Humbly I look to brighter scenes,
And gladly hail that form benign
Of Mercy who with brightest beams
Cheering all hearts, shall smile on mine!
APRIL, 1817.

From the European Magazine.

SONG.

O. H.

WLove's balmy sweetness breathing;

THEN Cupid prompts the virgin sigh,

On eider down the Moments fly,
Hope's rosy garland wreathing.
And should stern Winter's icy hand
The fragrant blossoms sever,
Or tyrant Duty's harsh command
Constrain to part for ever!

Still the breast its bloom will cherish,
Faithful love can never perish.

73

Poelry.