of Nelson” in the spring of 1830, a few weeks before the death of 
George IV., and vainly sought last winter to refresh his memory 
by another perusal. The “Life of Wesley,” from its subject, is 
not so popular ; but that also remains, after all that has been said 
for and against that extraordinary man, the best record of Wesley’s 
position in English literature and English religion. Allow me to 
read to you Southey’s own account of his design in writing it. [See 
Vol. IV., p. 294, of “ Life and Correspondence.” ] 
These two books furnish, the first for Sailors, the other 
for Clergymen, unfailing springs of living instruction and 
edification. 
I pass now to his Poems. They may be divided into three 
classes. I speak now of those poems which deserve to live. The 
first are the Ballads. It is difficult exactly to analyze the pleasure 
given to us by effusions so fantastic, and belonging to a vein of 
thought so eccentric. The pleasure they give is derived, I 
think, chiefly from two sources: one is the extraordinary mastery 
which they display over the English language in one of its most 
difficult forms. I remember that Arnold used to say, “that he did 
not know any poem which, in the same compass, shewed such an 
exuberance and such a concentration of the powers of English 
speech, as did the poem on the Waterfall of Lodore.” Secondly, 
there is the pleasure arising from the profound acquaintance and 
familiarity with the grotesque sentiment of the Middle Ages, such 
as in architecture is shewn in the gargoyles of our Cathedrals, and 
in literature, by the profuse display of ecclesiastical miracles, in 
which, as in the gargoyles, reverence and irreverence are combined 
in the most intricate mixture, and yet, owing to the absence of any 
sinister motive, irreverence never runs into absolute profaneness. 
Let me give a specimen of this: the poem on Queen Mary’s 
Christening. 
Secondly, there are the long historical or mythological poems, 
whose names I have already enumerated. Of these, as I have 
_ said, “Joan of Arc” must rank in the lowest place; even I have 
not been able to read it. ‘‘ Madoc” and “Roderick,” although they 
were my childhood’s delight, have lost much of their charm; yet, 
