Many people make a point of inspecting the famous biscuit manufactory at Carlisle: this, however, we did not care for seeing: so, after satisfying ourselves with a leisurely survey of the streets, with their good-looking shops, and taking a peep at the interior of the courthouses, we returned to the station, and presently found. ourselves once more comfortably seated in a railway carriage en route for Penrith. It seemed as though, on this day, we were specially destined to encounter entertaining travelling companions: for, amongst the passengers was a most intelligent American gentleman, who enlivened the journey with interesting details of his impressions regarding England, and amusing descriptions of social manners and customs in America. Seventeen days ago (he told us) he left the United States, and had reached. England in the unprecedentedly short period of nine days: for it was eight days since he landed in England! And then he enlarged upon various American excellencies,-the conveniences of their railway carriages, (where no distinction of first and second class is known, and where the passengers can walk about from one end of the gigantic car to the other, as they please,) and the good fare of their hotels. Graphic and judicious as were his remarks upon England and America, I could just discern a little pardonable tendency in everything to exalt the latter country, which at length tempted me to join the conversation, by quietly asking if they had any venerable cathedrals or grey old castles in America. With a smile of courtesy he ac. knowledged that their cathedrals were of modern date, (or, as I should express it, those of a daughter church,) and that only nations which have lived in feudal times can boast of historic castles. At that moment our train came in sight of the mountains, to which some one directed attention, when I, charmed at having won this graceful homage from America towards her Mother Church and her fatherland, felt myself happy in the opportunity of returning the compliment, by frankly confessing that our mountains and lakes must truly yield the palm of precedence before the sovereign peaks and the majestic floods of the western world. Our arrival at Penrith station broke off the interesting conversation. With light step and merry heart for the last time we tripped along Penrith streets; for on the morrow we expected to "Hie away, high away, Over bank and over brae," along the margin of Ulleswater, through the heart of those dear old mountains, to Patterdale! ROSA. THE PSYCHE OF JOSEPH BEAUMONT. SOME of my readers may have heard the name of the poem which stands at the head of this article. But I do not think that I am wronging them, if I assume that none of them have ever waded through a folio of twenty allegorical cantos. That which few people would do for themselves, many may be glad to have done for them; and I propose to give a short account of the plot, and extracts from the exquisite poetry which here and there shines out amidst a waste of dreary and formidable mediocrity. In the reign of Charles II., Cambridge was the head quarters of a little band of learned men, whom it might have been difficult for the world to match. Pearson, the 1 Sir Walter Scott. dust of whose writings is gold, Gunning, the first dialectician of his day,-Barrow,-Duport,-and other intellectual giants;―among whom neither last nor least, was Joseph Beaumont, Master of Peterhouse, and Regius Professor of Divinity. A devoted son of the Church during the civil wars, he was so happy as long to survive them, dying, in the fulness of years and honour, in 1703. Psyche was his great work, and it went through two editions. Both are lying before me; but I quote from the first. The second, though much altered, and in some places corrected, is not an improvement on the original; and it would be as great an injustice to cite it, as it would be to Akenside to take his rechauffé of the Pleasures of the Imagination as the standard edition. In Beaumont's hand the torch of allegorical poetry, lighted by Spenser, and conveyed on by the two Fletchers, was finally extinguished; and it is worth noticing, that this was a Cambridge school. Its four great poets were all Cambridge men; while Donne and Cowley, closely allied to it, were of the same University. Without further preface, I enter on my subject. Psyche, then, (that is, the Soul) has been set apart by the Prince of the Celestial City for Himself: she is absent from Him, but earnestly longing for the time when He shall send for her, and she shall become His for ever. She is attended by two servants: Syneidesis, (Conscience)-Beaumont, like Milton, pronounces his Greek accentually-and Charis (Grace.) Her bosom friend is Thélema, (The Will) and Phylax is her guardian angel. The first canto opens with a Council of the Infernal Spirits, who advise on the best means of drawing Psyche from her love to the Prince. The description of this assembly sometimes rises almost to sublimity, but more frequently sinks to an opposite extreme; as when it is said that over Satan's seat glows on an iron shield, A Dragon displayed gules on sable field." They determine on first employing Aphrodisius (Impurity) and he is accordingly despatched on that errand. Meanwhile Phylax, foreseeing the attack, prepares to defeat it. He descends from the sky,-and, on his way, borrows some of the Rainbow's hues for his garments. These are prettily said to be "A mantle, spun of silky down, which from The birds of his own Paradise did come." Beaumont had Cowley in clear of his master's faults. his eye; but he here steers The Angel in the Davideis is described in terms that would not disgrace a milliner; and the last touch to his garments is said to have been this: "Of a new rainbow ere it fret or fade, The choicest piece cut out, a scarf is made." Phylax's errand to Psyche is briefly and strikingly told. It was— "To make her live her proper life ;—for she Was born to live unto eternity." To guard her against Aphrodisius, he relates the story of Joseph, on which a good deal of poetry is spent, though the general effect, to modern ears, is not very edifying. At the conclusion of the narrative, Psyche is warned to take no step inconsiderately, because "Haste very seldom with success doth go, But doth all fortune-save the bad-outrun." The second canto opens with that time of morning"When as the honey of Heav'n's golden hives, The summer clouds bathed the soft breasts of flowers." Psyche becomes weary of remaining at home, and, accompanied by her attendants, wanders forth into a pleasant wood, and sits down on a flowery bank by a stream. Here Syneidesis falls asleep, and Charis withdraws. Presently a boar rushes out of a thicket: poor Psyche endeavours to fly; but falls right in the path of the beast; whereupon our poet ventures on this monstrous bathos : "Loud were his roars; yet her shrieks did transcend ; That Heaven and earth, and-her own throat !-did rend." Aphrodisius, having assumed the form of a Court Gallant, kills the boar, and the two sit down and converse. Psyche has almost yielded to his seduction, when Phylax wakes Syneidesis, and they remove her from the wood. She spends the night in lamenting her fault: and Beaumont, in mentioning her tears, exclaims, "Oh righteous profit of unrighteous pleasure, Whose total sum's made up of desperate loss! Of unconceived sweets; the thirsty ground Warm in her bosom Grace's gentle gales." Phylax again takes her to the grove, and displays it to her in its true colours: it is said, very picturesquely, "The heavy nodding trees all languished, And every sleepy bough hung down its head." Aphrodisius is also shown to her in his native form,— and an image follows, worthy of Spenser : "Like to some oven's black arch, so hung his brows |
