SAMUEL BUTLER.

SAMUEL BUTLER, an English satirical poet, born at Strensham, Worcestershire, in February, 1612; died Sept. 25, 1680. He was educated at the college school of Worcester, and is said to have studied in one of the Universities. After leaving school, he served for some time as justice's clerk, acquiring familiarity with legal terms and processes, and giving his leisure hours to the study of music and poetry. He then entered the service of the Countess of Kent, where he had access to a good library. We next find him employed, perhaps as tutor, by Sir Samuel Luke, a zealous Puritan and colonel in the Parliamentary army, who is supposed to have been the original of Hudibras, and whose family and associates probably supplied Butler with material for his satire. Immediately after the Restoration he was appointed secretary to Lord Carberry, the steward of Ludlow Castle. In 1663 he published the first part of "Hudibras," the object of which was to ridicule the Puritans. The second part appeared in 1664, and the third in 1678. It attained immediate and wide popularity, but it brought its author little money. He died in poverty, and was buried in St. Paul's Church, Covent Garden. After his death, his miscellaneous writings were collected and published under the title, "The Genuine Remains of Mr. Samuel Butler." Among them is a collection of "Characters" in prose.

The general design of "Hudibras" was derived from "Don Quixote." The situations of the mock epic are few but ludicrous, and the whole canvas is embellished with imagination, raillery, subtle casuistry, brilliant epigrams, and sparkling wit. "Hudibras" consists of 10,000 verses, and is one of the most frequently quoted books in the language. The standard edition by Dr. Z. Grey (1744) has frequently been reprinted. Butler's next important works are: "The Elephant in the Moon," a satire on the Royal Society; a series of prose "Characters"; and an "Ode to Duval,” the famous highwayman.

HUDIBRAS DESCRIBED.

WHEN civil fury first grew high,

And men fell out, they knew not why;
When hard words, jealousies, and fears

Set folks together by the ears,

And made them fight, like mad or drunk, For dame Religion as for Punk,

Whose honesty they all durst swear for,
Tho' not a man of them knew wherefore;
When Gospel-Trumpeter, surrounded
With long-ear'd rout, to battle sounded,
And pulpit, drum ecclesiastick,

Was beat with fist, instead of a stick;
Then did Sir Knight abandon dwelling,
And out he rode a-colonelling.

A wight he was, whose very sight would
Entitle him Mirror of Knighthood;
That never bent his stubborn knee
To anything but Chivalry;

Nor put up blow, but that which laid
Right worshipful on shoulder blade:
Chief of domestic knights and errant,
Either for cartel or for warrant;

Great on the bench, great in the saddle,
That could as well bind o'er, as swaddle;
Mighty he was at both of these,
And styled of war, as well as peace.
So some rats, of amphibious nature,
Are either for the land or water.
But here our authors make a doubt
Whether he were more wise, or stout:
Some hold the one, and some the other;
But howso'er they make a pother,
The difference was so small, his brain
Outweighed his rage but half a grain;
Which made some take him for a tool
That knaves do work with, called a fool:
For't has been held by many, that
As Montaigne, playing with his cat,
Complains she thought him but an ass,
Much more she would Sir Hudibras;
For that's the name our valiant knight
To all his challenges did write.
But they're mistaken very much,
"Tis plain enough he was not such;
We grant, although he had much wit,
H' was very shy of using it;

As being loath to wear it out,
And therefore bore it not about,
Unless on holidays, or so,

As men their best apparel do.

Beside, 'tis known he could speak Greek As naturally as pigs squeak;

That Latin was no more difficile,

Than to a blackbird 'tis to whistle:

Being rich in both, he never scanted
His bounty unto such as wanted;
But much of either would afford

To many, that had not one word.

For Hebrew roots, although they're found
To flourish most in barren ground,
He had such plenty, as sufficed
To make some think him circumcised;
And truly so, perhaps, he was,
'Tis many a pious Christian's case.
He was in logic a great critic,
Profoundly skilled in analytic;
He could distinguish, and divide

A hair 'twixt south, and southwest side;
On either which he would dispute,
Confute, change hands, and still confute.
He'd undertake to prove, by force
Of argument, a man's no horse;
He'd prove a buzzard is no fowl,
And that a lord may be an owl,

A calf an alderman, a goose a justice,

And rooks Committee men and Trustees.

He'd run in debt by disputation,

And pay with ratiocination.

And this by syllogism, true

In mood and figure, he would do.
For rhetoric, he could not ope
His mouth, but out there flew a trope;
And when he happened to break off
I' th' middle of his speech, or cough,
H' had hard words ready to show why,
And tell what rules he did it by;
Else, when with greatest art he spoke,
You'd think he talked like other folk.
For all a rhetorician's rules

Teach nothing but to name his tools.

But, when he pleased to show't, his speech

In loftiness of sound was rich;

A Babylonish dialect,

Which learned pedants much affect.
It was a party-colored dress

Of patched and piebald languages;
'Twas English cut on Greek and Latin,
Like fustian heretofore on satin ;
It had an old promiscuous tone

As if h' had talked three parts in one;

Which made some think, when he did gabble, Th' had heard three laborers of Babel;

Or Cerberus himself pronounce

A leash of languages at once.
This he as volubly would vent

As if his stock would ne'er be spent:
And truly, to support that charge,
He had supplies as vast and large;
For he could coin, or counterfeit
New words, with little or no wit;
Words so debased and hard, no stone
Was hard enough to touch them on;
And when with hasty noise he spoke 'em,
The ignorant for current took 'em;

That had the orator, who once

Did fill his mouth with pebblestones

When he harangued, but known his phrase, He would have used no other ways.

In mathematics he was greater
Than Tycho Brahe, or Erra Pater:
For he, by geometric scale,

Could take the size of pots of ale;
Resolve, by sines and tangents straight,
If bread or butter wanted weight;
And wisely tell what hour o' th' day
The clock does strike, by Algebra.

Besides, he was a shrewd philosopher,
And had read every text and gloss over;
Whate'er the crabbed'st author hath,
He understood b' implicit faith:
Whatever skeptic could inquire for,
For every why he had a wherefore;
Knew more than forty of them do,
As far as words and terms could go.

All which he understood by rote,
And, as occasion served, would quote;
No matter whether right or wrong,
They might be either said or sung.
His notions fitted things so well,
That which was which he could not tell;
But oftentimes mistook the one

For th' other, as great clerks have done.
He could reduce all things to acts,
And knew their natures by abstracts;
Where entity and quiddity,

The ghost of defunct bodies fly;
Where truth in person does appear,
Like words congealed in northern air.
He knew what's what, and that's as high.
As metaphysic wit can fly.

In school divinity as able

As he that hight Irrefragable;
A second Thomas, or, at once
To name them all, another Duns;
Profound in all the Nominal
And Real ways, beyond them all:
And, with as delicate a hand,
Could twist as tough a rope of sand;
And weave fine cobwebs, fit for skull
That's empty when the moon is full;
Such as take lodgings in a head
That's to be let unfurnished.

He could raise scruples dark and nice,
And after solve 'em in a trice;

As if Divinity had catched

The itch, on purpose to be scratched;
Or, like a mountebank, did wound
And stab herself with doubts profound,
Only to show with how small pain
The sores of Faith are cured again;
Although by woeful proof we find,
They always leave a scar behind.
He knew the seat of Paradise,
Could tell in what degree it lies;
And, as he was disposed, could prove it,
Below the moon, or else above it.
Whether the serpent, at the fall,
Had cloven feet, or none at all.