The publications of these two namesakes, as might be imagined, were alike different. One was a very entertaining and instructive essayist, a most skilful and accomplished biographer, an editor of various popular works, in which office he evinced a perfect knowledge of our language in all its stages from barbarity to refinement, great sagacity, sound judgment, and a cultivated taste. But neither did he escape the merciless rage of critics. What author can expect it? Who that writes a book may not at the same time exclaim,
Ut quidem Hercle in medium hodie processerim
Væ illis Virgis miseris quæ hodie in tergo morientur meo.
But however the critic might gratify some latent spleen, the author’s reputation did not in the smallest degree suffer, nor was his zeal diminished. When the Sexagenarian retired from the world, he left his friend in the plenitude of honest fame, successfully pursuing his accustomed labours.
The works of the other nameless namesake were of a more profound and solid character. They embraced the large circle of politics, history, biography, language, and various criticism. They are as numerous and elaborate as those of the Spanish Cervantes, or of our own Philemon Holland. But they evinced deep research, extensive investigation, profound thinking, great judgment, and, it might almost be said, uncircumscribed knowledge.
Different as they were in talents, in their pursuits, dispositions and manners, both distinguished the Sexagenarian with their intimate acquaintance, and both continued with him, as long as he remained near them, a pleasing interchange of such literary stock as they severally possessed.
Vere mihi hoc videor esse dicturus, ex omnibus iis qui in harum artium studiis liberalissimis sint, doctrinisque versati minimam copiam poetarum egregiorum extitisse.
CHAPTER XXXV.
In turning over the pages of the manuscript which has afforded the materials for these Volumes, it excited no little surprize, that in a literary life so extended and diversified, there seemed to be no mention of poetry or poets. It was notorious that the Sexagenarian had a sort of propensity for the art, and had dabbled in it himself; but it seemed odd that having lived with most of those, who, in his day, were considered as more or less accomplished in this way, he should no where notice either them or their productions.