28. March of Population.—Nothing exhibits a greater contrast between England and the Continent than the progress of population. I believe it goes on at least three times as fast in the British Isles as in France and Germany. Many causes may be assigned for this disproportion. The immense outlet for redundant population in our colonies—the prodigious extent of our commerce and manufactures—the early period of marriage, especially in Ireland—these are among the chief causes of the rail-road speed at which the multiplication of mankind goes on in this country. On the Continent, it is just the reverse. The pace of population there is quite “a la schnell-post.” But lest this degree of velocity should endanger the state waggon, government (in many parts of Germany) has affixed a drag to the wheels, in the shape of a law prohibiting matrimony, unless the high contracting parties can produce proof of their possessing ways and means for supporting themselves and families. If this regulation obtained in Great Britain, it would stop one half of the marriages in Scotland, two-thirds of those in England, and nine-tenths of those in Ireland. Here is a hint for the Poor Law Commissioners, that may induce them to bring a Bill into Parliament for the prevention of imprudent marriages, which would be more effectual in checking pauperism than the terrors of the workhouse.
But, when we consider that colonization and commerce carry off an immense redundancy of British population, how are we to account for the permanent or domiciliated population of these islands increasing so much more rapidly than that of the Continent, where the safety-valves are of such narrow dimensions? There are some causes of these different rates of progression, which are little known in this country; but the chief cause must be the greater degree of prudence exercised by the people of France and Germany than by the people of Great Britain.
29. Poetry.—The transition from population to poetry is not so abrupt as might at first appear; for although we may have population without poetry, we shall rarely have poetry without population. Looking at the words of the German language, a stranger to that language would be apt to conclude that it must be as difficult to mould them into music or poetry, as to convert hob-nails into ivory teeth—the bristles of a boar into the ermine of a judge—or the rocks of Iona into columns of crystal. Yet nothing would be a more erroneous prejudice than this conclusion. The German, like the English language, is so rich in synonimes, as to afford every facility for the intonations of the musician, and variety of expression of the poet. The poverty of the French language in this respect, presents a remarkable contrast to the German and English. French poetry must have the jingle of rhyme to make it bearable by the ear. A French poem in blank verse, would be like a monkey striding along on huge stilts, exciting roars of laughter from the spectators. But this poverty in synonims, renders the French language more precise, and the individual words less equivocal than in any other. Hence its universal advantages in diplomatic communications, where the synonims of other tongues would give rise to perpetual ambiguity and quibble.
A curious, not to say ludicrous, attempt has lately been made by an American author to transplant the poetry of Goethe and Schiller into English by literal translation, the said author maintaining that poetry will be poetry still; and that the more close and servile the traduction, the better will the spirit of the original poetry be preserved! The following rather favourable specimen of this attempt to clothe German ideas in English words, is quite a “curiosity of literature,” and worth preserving.
“TO A NATURALIST.
“‘What Nature hides within’—
O thou Philistine!—
‘No finite mind can know.’
My friend, of this thing