The collected works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 01 (of 12)Hazlitt, William
General
The collected works of William Hazlitt, Vol. 01 (of 12)
Hazlitt, William
English essays -- 19th century
The modern Quakers come as near the mark in these cases as they can.
They do not go to plays, but they are great attenders of
spouting-clubs and lectures. They do not frequent concerts, but run
after pictures. We do not know exactly how they stand with respect to
the circulating libraries. A Quaker poet would be a literary
phenomenon.
Footnote 41:
We have made the above observations, not as theological partisans, but
as natural historians. We shall some time or other give the reverse of
the picture; for there are vices inherent in establishments and their
thorough-paced adherents, which well deserve to be distinctly pointed
out.
Footnote 42:
Is all this a rhodomontade, or literal matter of fact, not credible in
these degenerate days?
Footnote 43:
One of the most interesting traits of the amiable simplicity of
Walton, is the circumstance of his friendship for Cotton, one of the
‘swash-bucklers’ of the age. Dr. Johnson said there were only three
works which the reader was sorry to come to the end of, _Don Quixote_,
_Robinson Crusoe_, and the _Pilgrim’s Progress_. Perhaps Walton’s
_Angler_ might be added to the number.
Footnote 44:
Oxberry’s manner of acting this character is a very edifying comment
on the text: he flings his arms about, like those of a figure pulled
by strings, and seems actuated by a pure spirit of infatuation, as if
one blast of folly had taken possession of his whole frame,
‘And filled up all the mighty void of sense.’
Footnote 45:
The following lines are remarkable for a certain cloying sweetness in
the repetition of the rhymes:
_Titania._ Be kind and courteous to this gentleman;
Hop in his walks, and gambol in his eyes;
Feed him with apricocks and dewberries,
With purple grapes, green figs, and mulberries;
The honey-bags steal from the humble bees,
And for night tapers crop their waxen thighs,
And light them at the fiery glow-worm’s eyes,
To have my love to bed, and to arise:
And pluck the wings from painted butterflies,
To fan the moon beams from his sleeping eyes;’
Nod to him, elves, and do him courtesies.’
Footnote 46:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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