petition." Later still we read: "If I do not greatly deceive myself, my 'History of Portugal' will be one of the most curious books of its kind that has ever appeared;" and of the Brazilians, he affirms, that his history of their country would "be to them what the work of Herodotus is to Europe." Failure only made him hug the closer this deluding support. If a book fell still-born from the press, the fault lay not with the writer, but in the obtuseness of the readers; another generation would discern its merit. A little reflection might have dissipated much of this egotistical vanity. It reveals the secret of the pertinacious ridicule and opposition he experienced through life; perhaps it is the sole secret of Lord Byron's contemptuous hatred. But though it produced him much annoyance and ill-will, it occasioned probably a far larger counterbalance of happiness: and if the nerve be too delicate to bear the sharp light of truth, let the blind man dream on in his blindness.
To his periodical writings too much praise cannot be given. Easy and flowing, they were exactly adapted to their end, not tasking the mind by any severe ratiocination or profound disquisition, but evolving the different bearings of the subject with pliancy and address, and free from the miserable flippancy some reviewers so marvellously mistake for wit. They were his most popular essays, but he regretted the labour they required, and grudged every moment of time that was not devoted to writing for some future and imaginary public. A proposal was once made to him, that he should superintend "The Times" newspaper. The remuneration offered was on the most liberal scale. It is seldom any want of discernment is manifested on such a subject in that quarter, and we think it would have been Southey's proper sphere. His laborious industry would have been beneficially exerted in a noble
