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Title: Books and Authors
Curious Facts and Characteristic Sketches
Author: Anonymous
Release Date: November 2, 2009 [EBook #30396]
Language: English
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BOOKS AND AUTHORS ***
Produced by Delphine Lettau and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:
In the anecdote "DISADVANTAGEOUS CORRECTION", the point of the tale
depends on the difference between an i with a macron (long vowel) and an
i with a breve (short vowel) These have been represented as [=i] and
[)i] respectively.
Two changes have been made to the text:
In the anecdote "DR. JOHNSON'S CRITICISMS", one instance of the word
"by" was deleted from the passage: "just by by chance".
In "THE MERMAID CLUB", Johnson was changed to Jonson in the passage:
"Beaumont fondly lets his thoughts wander in his letter to Jonson..."
[Illustration: FINDING THE MANUSCRIPT DIARY OF JOHN EVELYN. _Page 7._]
[Illustration: Edinburgh: W. P. Nimmo.]
BOOKS AND AUTHORS:
Curious Facts and Characteristic Sketches
EDINBURGH:
WILLIAM P. NIMMO.
EDINBURGH: MURRAY AND GIBB,
PRINTERS TO HER MAJESTY'S STATIONERY OFFICE.
CONTENTS.
PAGE
Ale, Bishop Still's Praise of 83
A Learned Young Lady 149
Alfieri's Hair 153
Authors, Hard Fate of 59
Authorship, Pains and Toils of 125
Bad's the Best--Canning's Criticism 50
"Beggar's Opera," Origin of the 140
Bell, Death of Sir Charles 46
Blue-Stocking Club, the 10
Boar's Head Tavern, East Cheap, Relics of 115
Boileau's, A Carouse at 147
Bolingbroke at Battersea 112
Bolingbroke, his Creed 55
Booksellers in Little Britain 27
Boswell as the "Bear-leader" 118
Boswell's "Life of Johnson" 99
"Boz" (Dickens), Origin of the Word 99
Bottled Ale, Accidental Origin of 49
Bulwer's Pompeian Drawing-room 84
Bunyan's Copy of the "Book of Martyrs" 53
Bunyan's Escapes 57
Bunyan's Preaching 56
Burney, Miss, her "Evelina" 66
Butler and Buckingham 143
Byron, Lord, his Graceful Apology 39
Byron's "Corsair" 26
Byron and "My Grandmother's Review" 95
Byron's Personal Vanity 37
Canning, A Ludicrous Estimate of 50
Chalmers'(Dr.) Industry 103
Chalmers' Preaching in London 44
Chances for the Drama 68
Chatterton's Profit and Loss Reckoning 136
Classical Pun, A 47
"Clean Hands," Lord Brougham's 79
Clever Statesmen, Swift on 116
Cobbett's Boyhood 121
Coleridge in the Dragoons 120
Coleridge as a Unitarian Preacher 123
Coleridge's "Watchman" 32
Collins' Insanity 129
Collins' Poor Opinion of his Poems 13
Colton the Author of "Lacon" 52
Conscience, A Composition with 133
Copyrights, Value of some 65
Cowley at Chertsey 108
Cowper's "John Gilpin" 58
Cowper's Poems, First Publication of 21
Criticism, Sensitiveness to 142
Curran's Imagination 107
Dangerous Fools 84
Day and his Model Wife 109
Death-bed Revelations 49
Dennis, Conceited Alarms of 132
Devotion to Science 74
Disadvantageous Correction, Lord North's 75
Drollery must be Spontaneous 58
Dryden Drubbed 151
"Edinburgh Review," Origin of the 116
Evelyn's Diary Discovered at Wotton 7
"Felon Literature" 48
Fielding's "Tom Jones" 78
Fine Flourishes, Brougham's Rebuke of 39
Flattery, Moderate 80
Fontenelle's Insensibility 124
Foote's Wooden Leg 88
Fox and Gibbon 25
French-English Jeu-de-mot 81
Fuller's Memory 69
Gibbon's House at Lausanne 98
Goldsmith's "She Stoops to Conquer" 43
Haydn and the Ship Captain 138
Haydn's Diploma Piece at Oxford 139
Hearne's Love of Ale 22
Hervey, Lord, his wit 69
Hone's "Every-day Book" 56
Hoole, the Translator of Tasso 36
Hope's "Anastasius" 51
Ireland's Shakspearian Forgeries 33
Jerrold's Jokes, A String of 130
Jerrold's Rebuke to a Rude Intruder 155
Joe Miller at Court 128
Johnson and Hannah More 11
Johnson's Criticisms 97
Johnson's Latest Contemporaries 105
Johnson's Pretty Compliment to Mrs. Siddons 109
Johnson's Pride 26
Johnson's Residences and Resorts in London 77
Johnson's Wigs 76
Johnson and Lord Elibank 118
Johnson, Relics of, at Lichfield 119
"Junius," Rogers and 152
"Junius' Letters," Who Wrote? 89
Killing no Murder 141
Lamb, Cary's Epitaph on 67
Learning French, Brummell 102
Leigh Hunt and Thomas Carlyle 19
Lewis's "Monk" 42
Literary Coffee-houses in last Century 93
Literary Dinners 17
Literary Localities in London 55
Literary Men, the Families of 9
Locke's Rebuke to the Card-Playing Lords 137
Lope de Vega's Popularity 29
Lope de Vega's Voluminous Writings 28
Lovelace, The Last Days of 134
Mackintosh, Sir James, and Dr. Parr 28
Mackintosh's Humour 28
Magazine, the First 117
Magazines, the Sale of 72
Magna Charta recovered 25
Mathematical Sailors 41
Mermaid Club, The 144
Milton, Relics of 113
Mitford, Miss, her Farewell to Three-Mile Cross 12
Moore's Anacreontic Invitation 70
Moore's Epigram on Abbott 130
Morris, Captain, his Songs 14
Negroes at Home 130
O'Connell's Opinion of the Authorship of "Junius" 92
Patronage of Authors 100
Patronage of Literature in France 75
Payment in Kind 135
Physiognomy of the French Revolutionists 45
Poets in a Puzzle 71
Poetry of the Sea, Campbell on the 47
Pope, A Hard Hit at 150
Popularity of the Pickwick Papers 18
Porson's Memory 146
Quid pro Quo, Turner's 51
Reconciling the Fathers 27
Regality of Genius 77
Repartee, A Smart 52
Rival Remembrance--Gilford and Hazlitt 88
Romilly and Brougham 45
Sale, the Translator of the Koran 133
Shenstone, An Odd Present to 156
Sheridans, The Two 141
Sheridan's Careful Study of his Wit 23
Silence no sure Sign of Wisdom 44
Smith, James, one of the Authors of the "Rejected Addresses" 60, 80
Smollett's Hard Fortunes 154
Smollett's History of England 24
Smollett's "Hugh Strap" 13
Snail Dinner, the 106
Southey's Wife 73
Stammering Witticism, Lamb's 49
Sterne's Sermons 85
Swift's Disappointed Life 18
Swift's Three Loves 31
Thomson's Indolence 148
Thomson's Recitation of his Poetry 42
"Times" Newspaper, Writing up the 114
"Tom Cringle's Log," Authorship of 68
Tom Hill 85
Trimmer, Mrs. 117
Tycho Brahe's Nose 87
Voltairean Relics at Ferney, Sale of 79
Waller, the Courtier-Poet 156
Walton, Izaak, Relics of 82
Washington Irving and Wilkie at the Alhambra 111
"Waverley," the Authorship of 51
Way to Win them, Walpole's 96
Wycherley's Wooing 146
NOTE.
This collection of anecdotes, illustrative sketches, and _memorabilia_
generally, relating to the ever fresh and interesting subject of BOOKS
AND AUTHORS, is not presented as complete, nor even as containing all
the choice material of its kind. The field from which one may gather is
so wide and fertile, that any collection warranting such a claim would
far exceed the compass of many volumes, much less of this little book.
It has been sought to offer, in an acceptable and convenient form, some
of the more remarkable or interesting literary facts or incidents with
which one individual, in a somewhat extended reading, has been struck;
some of the passages which he has admired; some of the anecdotes and
jests that have amused him and may amuse others; some of the reminiscences
that it has most pleased him to dwell upon. For no very great portion of
the contents of this volume, is the claim to originality of subject-matter
advanced. The collection, however, is submitted with some confidence
that it may be found as interesting, as accurate, and as much guided by
good taste, as it has been endeavoured to make it.
BOOKS AND AUTHORS.
_CURIOUS FACTS AND CHARACTERISTIC SKETCHES._
THE FINDING OF JOHN EVELYN'S MS. DIARY AT WOTTON.[1]
The MS. Diary, or "Kalendarium," of the celebrated John Evelyn lay among
the family papers at Wotton, in Surrey, from the period of his death, in
1706, until their rare interest and value were discovered in the following
singular manner.
The library at Wotton is rich in curious books, with notes in John
Evelyn's handwriting, as well as papers on various subjects, and
transcripts of letters by the philosopher, who appears never to have
employed an amanuensis. The arrangement of these treasures was,
many years since, entrusted to the late Mr. Upcott, of the London
Institution, who made a complete catalogue of the collection.
One afternoon, as Lady Evelyn and a female companion were seated in
one of the fine old apartments of Wotton, making feather tippets,
her ladyship pleasantly observed to Mr. Upcott, "You may think this
feather-work a strange way of passing time: it is, however, my hobby;
and I dare say you, too, Mr. Upcott, have _your hobby_." The librarian
replied that his favourite pursuit was the collection of the autographs
of eminent persons. Lady Evelyn remarked, that in all probability the
MSS. of "_Sylva_" Evelyn would afford Mr. Upcott some amusement. His
reply may be well imagined. The bell was rung, and a servant desired to
bring the papers from a lumber-room of the old mansion; and from one of
the baskets so produced was brought to light the manuscript Diary of
John Evelyn--one of the most finished specimens of autobiography in the
whole compass of English literature.
The publication of the Diary, with a selection of familiar letters, and
private correspondence, was entrusted to Mr. William Bray, F.S.A.; and
the last sheets of the MS., with a dedication to Lady Evelyn, were
actually in the hands of the printer at the hour of her death. The work
appeared in 1818; and a volume of Miscellaneous Papers, by Evelyn, was
subsequently published, under Mr. Upcott's editorial superintendence.
Wotton House, though situate in the angle of two valleys, is actually on
part of Leith Hill, the rise from thence being very gradual. Evelyn's
"Diary" contains a pen-and-ink sketch of the mansion as it appeared in
1653.
[1] See the Frontispiece.
* * * * *
FAMILIES OF LITERARY MEN.
A _Quarterly_ Reviewer, in discussing an objection to the Copyright Bill
of Mr. Sergeant Talfourd, which was taken by Sir Edward Sugden, gives
some curious particulars of the progeny of literary men. "We are not,"
says the writer, "going to speculate about the causes of the fact; but a
fact it is, that men distinguished for extraordinary intellectual power
of any sort rarely leave more than a very brief line of progeny behind
them. Men of genius have scarcely ever done so; men of imaginative
genius, we might say, almost never. With the one exception of the noble
Surrey, we cannot, at this moment, point out a representative in the
male line, even so far down as the third generation, of any English
poet; and we believe the case is the same in France. The blood of beings
of that order can seldom be traced far down, even in the female line.
With the exception of Surrey and Spenser, we are not aware of any great
English author of at all remote date, from whose body any living person
claims to be descended. There is no real English poet prior to the middle
of the eighteenth century; and we believe no great author of any sort,
except Clarendon and Shaftesbury, of whose blood we have any inheritance
amongst us. Chaucer's only son died childless; Shakspeare's line expired
in his daughter's only daughter. None of the other dramatists of that
age left any progeny; nor Raleigh, nor Bacon, nor Cowley, nor Butler.
The grand-daughter of Milton was the last of his blood. Newton, Locke,
Pope, Swift, Arbuthnot, Hume, Gibbon, Cowper, Gray, Walpole, Cavendish
(and we might greatly extend the list), never married. Neither
Bolingbroke, nor Addison, nor Warburton, nor Johnson, nor Burke,
transmitted their blood. One of the arguments against a _perpetuity_
in literary property is, that it would be founding another _noblesse_.
Neither jealous aristocracy nor envious Jacobinism need be under such
alarm. When a human race has produced its 'bright, consummate flower'
in this kind, it seems commonly to be near its end."
* * * * *
THE BLUE-STOCKING CLUB.
Towards the close of the last century, there met at Mrs. Montague's a
literary assembly, called "The Blue-Stocking Club," in consequence of
one of the most admired of the members, Mr. Benjamin Stillingfleet,
always wearing _blue stockings_. The appellation soon became general as
a name for pedantic or ridiculous literary ladies. Hannah More wrote a
volume in verse, entitled _The Bas Bleu: or Conversation_. It proceeds
on the mistake of a foreigner, who, hearing of the Blue-Stocking Club,
translated it literally _Bas Bleu_. Johnson styled this poem "a great
performance." The following couplets have been quoted, and remembered,
as terse and pointed:--
"In men this blunder still you find,
All think their little set mankind."
"Small habits well pursued betimes,
May reach the dignity of crimes."
* * * * *
DR. JOHNSON AND HANNAH MORE
When Hannah More came to London in 1773, or 1774, she was domesticated
with Garrick, and was received with favour by Johnson, Reynolds, and
Burke. Her sister has thus described her first interview with Johnson:--
"We have paid another visit to Miss Reynolds; she had sent to engage Dr.
Percy, ('Percy's Collection,' now you know him), quite a sprightly modern,
instead of a rusty antique, as I expected: he was no sooner gone than the
most amiable and obliging of women, Miss Reynolds, ordered the coach to
take us to Dr. Johnson's very own house: yes, Abyssinian Johnson!
Dictionary Johnson! Ramblers, Idlers, and Irene Johnson! Can you picture
to yourselves the palpitation of our hearts as we approached his mansion?
The conversation turned upon a new work of his just going to the press
(the 'Tour to the Hebrides'), and his old friend Richardson. Mrs.
Williams, the blind poet, who lives with him, was introduced to us. She
is engaging in her manners, her conversation lively and entertaining.
Miss Reynolds told the Doctor of all our rapturous exclamations on the
road. He shook his scientific head at Hannah, and said she was 'a silly
thing.' When our visit was ended, he called for his hat, as it rained,
to attend us down a very long entry to our coach, and not Rasselas could
have acquitted himself more _en cavalier_. I forgot to mention, that not
finding Johnson in his little parlour when we came in, Hannah seated
herself in his great chair hoping to catch a little ray of his genius:
when he heard it, he laughed heartily, and told her it was a chair on
which he never sat. He said it reminded him of Boswell and himself when
they stopped a night, as they imagined, where the weird sisters appeared
to Macbeth. The idea so worked on their enthusiasm, that it quite
deprived them of rest. However, they learned the next morning, to their
mortification, that they had been deceived, and were quite in another
part of the country."
* * * * *
MISS MITFORD'S FAREWELL TO THREE MILE CROSS.
When Miss Mitford left her rustic cottage at Three Mile Cross, and
removed to Reading, (the Belford Regis of her novel), she penned the
following beautiful picture of its homely joys--
"Farewell, then, my beloved village! the long, straggling street, gay
and bright on this sunny, windy April morning, full of all implements of
dirt and mire, men, women, children, cows, horses, wagons, carts, pigs,
dogs, geese, and chickens--busy, merry, stirring little world, farewell!
Farewell to the winding, up-hill road, with its clouds of dust, as
horsemen and carriages ascend the gentle eminence, its borders of turf,
and its primrosy hedges! Farewell to the breezy common, with its islands
of cottages and cottage-gardens; its oaken avenues, populous with rooks;
its clear waters fringed with gorse, where lambs are straying; its
cricket-ground where children already linger, anticipating their summer
revelry; its pretty boundary of field and woodland, and distant farms;
and latest and best of its ornaments, the dear and pleasant mansion
where dwelt the neighbours, the friends of friends; farewell to ye all!
Ye will easily dispense with me, but what I shall do without you, I
cannot imagine. Mine own dear village, farewell!"
* * * * *
SMOLLETT'S "HUGH STRAP."
In the year 1809 was interred, in the churchyard of St. Martin's in the
Fields, the body of one Hew Hewson, who died at the age of 85. He was
the original of Hugh Strap, in Smollett's _Roderick Random_. Upwards of
forty years he kept a hair-dresser's shop in St. Martin's parish; the
walls were hung round with Latin quotations, and he would frequently
point out to his customers and acquaintances the several scenes in
_Roderick Random_ pertaining to himself, which had their origin, not in
Smollett's inventive fancy, but in truth and reality. The meeting in a
barber's shop at Newcastle-upon-Tyne, the subsequent mistake at the inn,
their arrival together in London, and the assistance they experienced
from Strap's friend, are all facts. The barber left behind an annotated
copy of _Roderick Random_, showing how far we are indebted to the genius
of the author, and to what extent the incidents are founded in reality.
* * * * *
COLLINS'S POEMS.
Mr. John Ragsdale, of Richmond, in Surrey, who was the intimate friend
of Collins, states that some of his Odes were written while on a visit
at his, Mr. Ragsdale's house. The poet, however, had such a poor opinion
of his own productions, that after showing them to Mr. Ragsdale, he
would snatch them from him, and throw them into the fire; and in this
way, it is believed, many of Collins's finest pieces were destroyed.
Such of his Odes as were published, on his own account in 1746, were not
popular; and, disappointed at the slowness of the sale, the poet burnt
the remaining copies with his own hands.
* * * * *
CAPTAIN MORRIS'S SONGS.
Alas! poor Morris--writes one--we knew him well. Who that has once read
or heard his songs, can forget their rich and graceful imagery; the
fertile fancy, the touching sentiment, and the "soul reviving" melody,
which characterize every line of these delightful lyrics? Well do we
remember, too, his "old buff waistcoat," his courteous manner, and his
gentlemanly pleasantry, long after this Nestor of song had retired to
enjoy the delights of rural life, despite the prayer of his racy verse:
"In town let me live, then, in town let me die;
For in truth I can't relish the country, not I.
If one must have a villa in summer to dwell;
Oh! give me the sweet, shady side of Pall Mall."
Captain Morris was born about the middle of the last century, and
outlived the majority of the _bon vivant_ society which he gladdened
with his genius, and lit up with his brilliant humour.
Yet, many readers of the present generation may ask, "Who was Captain
Morris?" He was born of good family, in the celebrated year 1745, and
appears to have inherited a taste for literary composition; for his
father composed the popular song of _Kitty Crowder_.
For more than half a century, Captain Morris moved in the first circles.
He was the "sun of the table" at Carlton House, as well as at Norfolk
House; and attaching himself politically, as well as convivially, to his
dinner companions, he composed the celebrated ballads of "Billy's too
young to drive us," and "Billy Pitt and the Farmer," which continued
long in fashion, as brilliant satires upon the ascendant politics of
their day. His humorous ridicule of the Tories was, however, but ill
repaid by the Whigs upon their accession to office; at least, if we may
trust the beautiful ode of "The Old Whig Poet to his Old Buff Waistcoat."
We are not aware of this piece being included in any edition of the
"Songs." It bears date "G. R., August 1, 1815;" six years subsequent to
which we saw it among the papers of the late Alexander Stephens.
Captain Morris's "Songs" were very popular. In 1830, we possessed a copy
of the 24th edition; we remember one of the ditties to have been "sung
by the Prince of Wales to a certain lady," to the air of "There's a
difference between a beggar and a queen." Morris's finest Anacreontic,
is the song _Ad Poculum_, for which he received the gold cup of the
Harmonic Society:
"Come thou soul-reviving cup!
Try thy healing art;
Stir the fancy's visions up,
And warm my wasted heart.
Touch with freshening tints of bliss
Memory's fading dream;
Give me, while thy lip I kiss,
The heaven that's in thy stream."
Of the famous Beefsteak Club, (at first limited to twenty-four members,
but increased to twenty-five, to admit the Prince of Wales,) Captain
Morris was the laureat; of this "Jovial System" he was the intellectual
centre. In the year 1831, he bade adieu to the club, in some spirited
stanzas, though penned at "an age far beyond mortal lot." In 1835, he
was permitted to revisit the club, when they presented him with a large
silver bowl, appropriately inscribed.
It would not be difficult to string together gems from the Captain's
Lyrics. In "The Toper's Apology," one of his most sparkling songs,
occurs this brilliant version of Addison's comparison of wits with
flying fish:--
"My Muse, too, when her wings are dry,
No frolic flight will take;
But round a bowl she'll dip and fly,
Like swallows round a lake.
Then, if the nymph will have her share
Before she'll bless her swain,
Why that I think's a reason fair
To fill my glass again."
Many years since, Captain Morris retired to a villa at Brockham,
near the foot of Box Hill, in Surrey. This property, it is said, was
presented to him by his old friend, the Duke of Norfolk. Here the
Captain "drank the pure pleasures of the rural life" long after many
a bright light of his own time had flickered out, and become almost
forgotten; even "the sweet, shady side of Pall Mall" had almost
disappeared, and with it the princely house whereat he was wont to
shine. He died July 11, 1835, in his ninety-third year, of internal
inflammation of only four days.
Morris presented a rare combination of mirth and prudence, such as human
conduct seldom offers for our imitation. He retained his _gaieté de
coeur_ to the last; so that, with equal truth and spirit, he
remonstrated:
"When life charms my heart, must I kindly be told,
I'm too gay and too happy for one that's so old."
Captain Morris left his autobiography to his family; but it has not been
published.
* * * * *
LITERARY DINNERS.
Incredible as it may appear, it is sometimes stated very confidently,
that English authors and actors who give dinners, are treated with greater
indulgence by certain critics than those who do not. But, it has never
been said that any critical journal in England, with the slightest
pretensions to respectability, was in the habit of levying black mail in
this Rob Roy fashion, upon writers or articles of any kind. Yet it is
alleged, on high authority, that many of the French critical journals
are or were principally supported from such a source. For example, there
is a current anecdote to the effect that when the celebrated singer
Nourrit died, the editor of one of the musical reviews waited on his
successor, Duprez, and, with a profusion of compliments and apologies,
intimated to him that Nourrit had invariably allowed 2000 francs a year
to the review. Duprez, taken rather aback, expressed his readiness to
allow half that sum. "_Bien, monsieur_," said the editor, with a shrug,
"_mais, parole d'honneur, j'y perds mille francs._"
* * * * *
POPULARITY OF THE PICKWICK PAPERS.
Mr. Davy, who accompanied Colonel Cheney up the Euphrates, was for a
time in the service of Mehemet Ali Pacha. "Pickwick" happening to reach
Davy while he was at Damascus, he read a part of it to the Pacha, who
was so delighted with it, that Davy was, on one occasion, called up in
the middle of the night to finish the reading of the chapter in which
he and the Pacha had been interrupted. Mr. Davy read, in Egypt, upon
another occasion, some passages from these unrivalled "Papers" to a
blind Englishman, who was in such ecstasy with what he heard, that he
exclaimed he was almost thankful he could not see he was in a foreign
country; for that while he listened, he felt completely as though he
were again in England.--_Lady Chatterton._
* * * * *
SWIFT'S DISAPPOINTMENT.
"I remember when I was a little boy, (writes Swift in a letter to
Bolingbroke,) I felt a great fish at the end of my line, which I
drew up almost on the ground, but it dropt in, and the disappointment
vexes me to this day; and I believe it was the type of all my future
disappointments."
"This little incident," writes Percival, "perhaps gave the first wrong
bias to a mind predisposed to such impressions; and by operating with
so much strength and permanency, it might possibly lay the foundation
of the Dean's subsequent peevishness, passion, misanthropy, and final
insanity."
* * * * *
LEIGH HUNT AND THOMAS CARLYLE.
The following characteristic story of these two "intellectual
gladiators" is related in "A New Spirit of the Age."
Leigh Hunt and Carlyle were once present among a small party of equally
well known men. It chanced that the conversation rested with these two,
both first-rate talkers, and the others sat well pleased to listen.
Leigh Hunt had said something about the islands of the Blest, or El
Dorado, or the Millennium, and was flowing on in his bright and hopeful
way, when Carlyle dropt some heavy tree-trunk across Hunt's pleasant
stream, and banked it up with philosophical doubts and objections at
every interval of the speaker's joyous progress. But the unmitigated
Hunt never ceased his overflowing anticipations, nor the saturnine
Carlyle his infinite demurs to those finite flourishings. The listeners
laughed and applauded by turns; and had now fairly pitted them against
each other, as the philosopher of Hopefulness and of the Unhopeful. The
contest continued with all that ready wit and philosophy, that mixture
of pleasantry and profundity, that extensive knowledge of books and
character, with their ready application in argument or illustration,
and that perfect ease and good-nature, which distinguish each of these
men. The opponents were so well matched, that it was quite clear the
contest would never come to an end. But the night was far advanced, and
the party broke up. They all sallied forth; and leaving the close room,
the candles and the arguments behind them, suddenly found themselves in
presence of a most brilliant star-light night. They all looked up.
"Now," thought Hunt, "Carlyle's done for!--he can have no answer to
that!" "There!" shouted Hunt, "look up there! look at that glorious
harmony, that sings with infinite voices an eternal song of hope in the
soul of man." Carlyle looked up. They all remained silent to hear what
he would say. They began to think he was silenced at last--he was a
mortal man. But out of that silence came a few low-toned words, in a
broad Scotch accent. And who, on earth, could have anticipated what the
voice said? "Eh! it's a _sad_ sight!"----Hunt sat down on a stone step.
They all laughed--then looked very thoughtful. Had the finite measured
itself with infinity, instead of surrendering itself up to the influence?
Again they laughed--then bade each other good night, and betook
themselves homeward with slow and serious pace. There might be some
reason for sadness, too. That brilliant firmament probably contained
infinite worlds, each full of struggling and suffering beings--of beings
who had to die--for life in the stars implies that those bright worlds
should also be full of graves; but all that life, like ours, knowing not
whence it came, nor whither it goeth, and the brilliant Universe in its
great Movement having, perhaps, no more certain knowledge of itself,
nor of its ultimate destination, than hath one of the suffering specks
that compose this small spot we inherit.
* * * * *
COWPER'S POEMS.
Johnson, the publisher in St. Paul's Churchyard, obtained the copyright
of Cowper's Poems, which proved a great source of profit to him, in the
following manner:--One evening, a relation of Cowper's called upon
Johnson with a portion of the MS. poems, which he offered for
publication, provided Johnson would publish them at his own risk, and
allow the author to have a few copies to give to his friends. Johnson
read the poems, approved of them, and accordingly published them. Soon
after they had appeared, there was scarcely a reviewer who did not load
them with the most scurrilous abuse, and condemn them to the butter
shops; and the public taste being thus terrified or misled, these
charming effusions stood in the corner of the publisher's shop as an
unsaleable pile for a long time.
At length, Cowper's relation called upon Johnson with another bundle of
the poet's MS, which was offered and accepted upon the same terms as
before. In this fresh collection was the poem of the "Task." Not alarmed
at the fate of the former publication, but thoroughly assured of the
great merit of the poems, they were published. The tone of the reviewers
became changed, and Cowper was hailed as the first poet of the age. The
success of this second publication set the first in motion. Johnson
immediately reaped the fruits of his undaunted judgment; and Cowper's
poems enriched the publisher, when the poet was in languishing
circumstances. In October, 1812, the copyright of Cowper's poems was put
up to sale among the London booksellers, in thirty-two shares. Twenty of
the shares were sold at 212_l._ each. The work, consisting of two octavo
volumes, was satisfactorily proved at the sale to net 834_l._ per annum.
It had only two years of copyright; yet this same copyright produced the
sum of 6764_l._
* * * * *
HEARNE'S LOVE OF ALE.
Thomas Warton, in his Account of Oxford, relates that at the sign of
Whittington and his Cat, the laborious antiquary, Thomas Hearne, "one
evening suffered himself to be overtaken in liquor. But, it should be
remembered, that this accident was more owing to his love of antiquity
than of ale. It happened that the kitchen where he and his companion
were sitting was neatly paved with sheep's trotters disposed in various
compartments. After one pipe, Mr. Hearne, consistently with his usual
gravity and sobriety, rose to depart; but his friend, who was inclined
to enjoy more of his company, artfully observed, that the floor on which
they were then sitting was no less than an original tesselated Roman
pavement. Out of respect to classic ground, and on recollection that
the Stunsfield Roman pavement, on which he had just published a
dissertation, was dedicated to Bacchus, our antiquary cheerfully
complied; an enthusiastic transport seized his imagination; he fell on
his knees and kissed the sacred earth, on which, in a few hours, and
after a few tankards, by a sort of sympathetic attraction, he was
obliged to repose for some part of the evening. His friend was,
probably, in the same condition; but two printers accidentally coming
in, conducted Mr. Hearne, between them, to Edmund's Hall, with much
state and solemnity."
* * * * *
SHERIDAN'S WIT.
Sheridan's wit was eminently brilliant, and almost always successful; it
was, like all his speaking, exceedingly prepared, but it was skilfully
introduced and happily applied; and it was well mingled, also, with
humour, occasionally descending to farce. How little it was the
inspiration of the moment all men were aware who knew his habits; but a
singular proof of this was presented to Mr. Moore, when he came to write
his life; for we there find given to the world, with a frankness which
must have almost made their author shake in his grave, the secret
note-books of this famous wit; and are thus enabled to trace the jokes,
in embryo, with which he had so often made the walls of St. Stephen's
shake, in a merriment excited by the happy appearance of sudden
unpremeditated effusion.--_Lord Brougham._
Take an instance from this author, giving extracts from the common-place
book of the wit:--"He employs his fancy in his narrative, and keeps his
recollections for his wit." Again, the same idea is expanded into "When
he makes his jokes, you applaud the accuracy of his memory, and 'tis
only when he states his facts that you admire the flights of his
imagination." But the thought was too good to be thus wasted on the
desert air of a common-place book. So, forth it came, at the expense of
Kelly, who, having been a composer of music, became a wine-merchant.
"You will," said the _ready_ wit, "import your music and compose your
wine." Nor was this service exacted from the old idea thought sufficient;
so, in the House of Commons, an easy and, apparently, off-hand parenthesis
was thus filled with it, at Mr. Dundas's cost and charge, "who generally
resorts to his memory for his jokes, and to his imagination for his
facts."
* * * * *
SMOLLETT'S HISTORY OF ENGLAND.
This man of genius among trading authors, before he began his History
of England, wrote to the Earl of Shelburne, then in the Whig
Administration, offering, if the Earl would procure for his work the
patronage of the Government, he would accommodate his politics to the
Ministry; but if not, that he had high promises of support from the
other party. Lord Shelburne, of course, treated the proffered support of
a writer of such accommodating principles with contempt; and the work of
Smollett, accordingly, became distinguished for its high Toryism. The
history was published in sixpenny weekly numbers, of which 20,000 copies
were sold immediately. This extraordinary popularity was created by the
artifice of the publisher. He is stated to have addressed a packet of
the specimens of the publication to every parish-clerk in England,
carriage-free, with half-a-crown enclosed as a compliment, to have them
distributed through the pews of the church: this being generally done,
many people read the specimens instead of listening to the sermon, and
the result was an universal demand for the work.
* * * * *
MAGNA CHARTA RECOVERED.
The transcript of Magna Charta, now in the British Museum, was discovered
by Sir Robert Cotton in the possession of his tailor, who was just about
to cut the precious document out into "measures" for his customers. Sir
Robert redeemed the valuable curiosity at the price of old parchment,
and thus recovered what had long been supposed to be irretrievably lost.
* * * * *
FOX AND GIBBON.
When Mr. Fox's furniture was sold by auction, after his decease in 1806,
amongst his books there was the first volume of his friend Gibbon's
_Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_: by the title-page, it appeared
to have been presented by the author to Fox, who, on the blank leaf, had
written this anecdote of the historian:--"The author, at Brookes's, said
there was no salvation for this country until six heads of the principal
persons in administration were laid upon the table. Eleven days after,
this same gentleman accepted a place of lord of trade under those very
ministers, and has acted with them ever since!" Such was the avidity of
bidders for the most trifling production of Fox's genius, that, by the
addition of this little record, the book sold for three guineas.
* * * * *
DR. JOHNSON'S PRIDE.
Sir Joshua Reynolds used to relate the following characteristic anecdote
of Johnson:--About the time of their early acquaintance, they met one
evening at the Misses Cotterell's, when the Duchess of Argyll and another
lady of rank came in. Johnson, thinking that the Misses Cotterell were
too much engrossed by them, and that he and his friend were neglected
as low company, of whom they were somewhat ashamed, grew angry, and,
resolving to shock their suspected pride, by making the great visitors
imagine they were low indeed, Johnson addressed himself in a loud tone
to Reynolds, saying, "How much do you think you and I could get in a
week if we were to work as hard as we could?" just as though they were
ordinary mechanics.
* * * * *
LORD BYRON'S "CORSAIR."
The Earl of Dudley, in his _Letters_, (1814) says:--"To me Byron's
_Corsair_ appears the best of all his works. Rapidity of execution is
no sort of apology for doing a thing ill, but when it is done well,
the wonder is so much the greater. I am told he wrote this poem at ten
sittings--certainly it did not take him more than three weeks. He is a
most extraordinary person, and yet there is G. Ellis, who don't feel his
merit. His creed in modern poetry (I should have said _contemporary_) is
Walter Scott, all Walter Scott, and nothing but Walter Scott. I cannot
say how I hate this petty, factious spirit in literature--it is so
unworthy of a man so clever and so accomplished as Ellis undoubtedly
is."
* * * * *
BOOKSELLERS IN LITTLE BRITAIN.
Little Britain, anciently Breton-street, from the mansion of the Duke of
Bretagne on that spot, in more modern times became the "Paternoster-row"
of the booksellers; and a newspaper of 1664 states them to have published
here within four years, 464 pamphlets. One Chiswell, resident here in
1711, was the metropolitan bookseller, "the Longman" of his time: and
here lived Rawlinson ("Tom Folio" of _The Tatler_, No. 158), who stuffed
four chambers in Gray's Inn so full, that his bed was removed into the
passage. John Day, the famous early printer, lived "over Aldersgate."
* * * * *
RECONCILING THE FATHERS.
A Dean of Gloucester having some merry divines at dinner with him one
day, amongst other discourses they were talking of reconciling the
Fathers on some points; he told them he could show them the best way
in the world to reconcile them on all points of difference; so, after
dinner, he carried them into his study, and showed them all the Fathers,
classically ordered, with a quart of sack betwixt each of them.
* * * * *
DR. PARR AND SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH.
Sir James once asked Dr. Parr to join him in a drive in his gig. The
horse growing restive--"Gently, Jemmy," the Doctor said; "don't irritate
him; always soothe your horse, Jemmy. You'll do better without me. Let
me down, Jemmy!" But once safe on the ground--"Now, Jemmy," said the
Doctor, "touch him up. Never let a horse get the better of you. Touch
him up, conquer him, do not spare him. And now I'll leave you to manage
him; I'll walk back."
* * * * *
SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH'S HUMOUR.
Sir James Mackintosh had a great deal of humour; and, among many other
examples of it, he kept a dinner-party at his own house for two or three
hours in a roar of laughter, playing upon the simplicity of a Scotch
cousin, who had mistaken the Rev. Sydney Smith for his gallant synonym,
the hero of Acre.
* * * * *
WRITINGS OF LOPE DE VEGA.
The number of Lope de Vega's works has been strangely exaggerated by
some, but by others reduced to about one-sixth of the usual statement.
Upon this computation it will be found that some of his contemporaries
were as prolific as himself. Vincent Mariner, a friend of Lope, left
behind him 360 quires of paper full of his own compositions, in a
writing so exceedingly small, and so exceedingly bad, that no person
but himself could read it. Lord Holland has given a facsimile of Lope's
handwriting, and though it cannot be compared to that of a dramatist of
late times, one of whose plays, in the original manuscript, is said to
be a sufficient load for a porter, it is evident that one of Mariner's
pages would contain as much as a sheet of his friend's, which would, as
nearly as possible, balance the sum total. But, upon this subject, an
epigram by Quarles may be applied, written upon a more serious theme:
"In all our prayers the Almighty does regard
The judgment of the _balance_, not the _yard_;
He loves not words, but matter; 'tis his pleasure
To buy his wares by _weight_, not by measure."
With regard to the quantity of Lope's writings, a complete edition of
them would not much, if at all, exceed those of Voltaire, who, in labour
of composition, for he sent nothing into the world carelessly, must
have greatly exceeded Lope. And the labours of these men shrink into
insignificance when compared to those of some of the schoolmen and of
the Fathers.
* * * * *
POPULARITY OF LOPE DE VEGA.
Other writers, of the same age with Lope de Vega, obtained a wider
celebrity. Don Quixote, during the life of its ill-requited author, was
naturalized in countries where the name of Lope de Vega was not known,
and Du Bartas was translated into the language of every reading people.
But no writer ever has enjoyed such a share of popularity.
"Cardinal Barberini," says Lord Holland, "followed Lope with veneration
in the streets; the king would stop to gaze at such a prodigy; the people
crowded round him wherever he appeared; the learned and studious thronged
to Madrid from every part of Spain to see this phoenix of their country,
this monster of literature; and even Italians, no extravagant admirers,
in general, of poetry that is not their own, made pilgrimages from their
country for the sole purpose of conversing with Lope. So associated
was the idea of excellence with his name, that it grew, in common
conversation, to signify anything perfect in its kind; and a Lope
diamond, a Lope day, or a Lope woman, became fashionable and familiar
modes of expressing their good qualities."
Lope's death produced an universal commotion in the court and in the
whole kingdom. Many ministers, knights, and prelates were present when
he expired; among others, the Duke of Sesa, who had been the most
munificent of his patrons, whom he appointed his executor, and who was
at the expense of his funeral, a mode by which the great men in that
country were fond of displaying their regard for men of letters. It was
a public funeral, and it was not performed till the third day after his
death, that there might be time for rendering it more splendid, and
securing a more honourable attendance. The grandees and nobles who were
about the court were all invited as mourners; a novenary or service of
nine days was performed for him, at which the musicians of the royal
chapel assisted; after which there were exequies on three successive
days, at which three bishops officiated in full pontificals; and on each
day a funeral sermon was preached by one of the most famous preachers of
the age. Such honours were paid to the memory of Lope de Vega, one of
the most prolific, and, during his life, the most popular, of all poets,
ancient or modern.
* * * * *
SWIFT'S LOVES.
The first of these ladies, whom Swift romantically christened Varina,
was a Miss Jane Waryng, to whom he wrote passionate letters, and whom,
when he had succeeded in gaining her affections, he deserted, after a
sort of seven years' courtship. The next flame of the Dean's was the
well-known Miss Esther Johnson, whom he fancifully called Stella.
Somehow, he had the address to gain her decided attachment to him,
though considerably younger, beautiful in person, accomplished, and
estimable. He dangled upon her, fed her hopes of an union, and at length
persuaded her to leave London and reside near him in Ireland. His
conduct then was of a piece with the rest of his life: he never saw
her alone, never slept under the same roof with her, but allowed her
character and reputation to be suspected, in consequence of their
intimacy; nor did he attempt to remove such by marriage until a late
period of his life, when, to save her from dissolution, he consented to
the ceremony, upon condition that it should never be divulged; that she
should live as before; retain her own name, &c.; and this wedding, upon
the above being assented to, was performed in a garden! But Swift never
acknowledged her till the day of his death. During all this treatment of
his Stella, Swift had ingratiated himself with a young lady of fortune
and fashion in London, whose name was Vanhomrig, and whom he called
Vanessa. It is much to be regretted that the heartless tormentor should
have been so ardently and passionately beloved, as was the case with the
latter lady. Selfish, hardhearted as was Swift, he seemed but to live in
disappointing others. Such was his coldness and brutality to Vanessa,
that he may be said to have caused her death.
* * * * *
COLERIDGE'S "WATCHMAN."
Coleridge, among his many speculations, started a periodical, in prose
and verse, entitled _The Watchman_, with the motto, "that all might know
the truth, and that the truth might make us free." He watched in vain!
Coleridge's incurable want of order and punctuality, and his philosophical
theories, tired out and disgusted his readers, and the work was
discontinued after the ninth number. Of the unsaleable nature of this
publication, he relates an amusing illustration. Happening one morning
to rise at an earlier hour than usual, he observed his servant-girl
putting an extravagant quantity of paper into the grate, in order to
light the fire, and he mildly checked her for her wastefulness: "La!
sir," replied Nanny; "why, it's only _Watchmen_."
* * * * *
IRELAND'S SHAKSPEARE FORGERIES.
Mr. Samuel Ireland, originally a silk merchant in Spitalfields, was
led by his taste for literary antiquities to abandon trade for those
pursuits, and published several tours. One of them consisted of an
excursion upon the river Avon, during which he explored, with ardent
curiosity, every locality associated with Shakspeare. He was accompanied
by his son, a youth of sixteen, who imbibed a portion of his father's
Shakspearean mania. The youth, perceiving the great importance which his
parent attached to every relic of the poet, and the eagerness with which
he sought for any of his MS. remains, conceived that it would not be
difficult to gratify his father by some productions of his own, in the
language and manner of Shakspeare's time. The idea possessed his mind
for a certain period; and, in 1793, being then in his eighteenth year,
he produced some MSS. said to be in the handwriting of Shakspeare, which
he said had been given him by a gentleman possessed of many other old
papers. The young man, being articled to a solicitor in Chancery, easily
fabricated, in the first instance, the deed of mortgage from Shakspeare
to Michael Fraser. The ecstasy expressed by his father urged him to the
fabrication of other documents, described to come from the same quarter.
Emboldened by success, he ventured upon higher compositions in prose and
verse; and at length announced the discovery of an original drama, under
the title of _Vortigern_, which he exhibited, act by act, written in
the period of two months. Having provided himself with the paper of the
period, (being the fly-leaves of old books,) and with ink prepared by a
bookbinder, no suspicion was entertained of the deception. The father,
who was a maniac upon such subjects, gave such _éclat_ to the supposed
discovery, that the attention of the literary world, and all England,
was drawn to it; insomuch that the son, who had announced other papers,
found it impossible to retreat, and was goaded into the production of
the series which he had promised.
The house of Mr. Ireland, in Norfolk-street, Strand, was daily crowded
to excess by persons of the highest rank, as well as by the most
celebrated men of letters. The MSS. being mostly decreed genuine, were
considered to be of inestimable worth; and at one time it was expected
that Parliament would give any required sum for them. Some conceited
amateurs in literature at length sounded an alarm, which was echoed by
certain of the newspapers and public journals; notwithstanding which,
Mr. Sheridan agreed to give 600_l_. for permission to play _Vortigern_
at Drury-lane Theatre. So crowded a house was scarcely ever seen as on
the night of the performance, and a vast number of persons could not
obtain admission. The predetermined malcontents began an opposition
from the outset: some ill-cast characters converted grave scenes into
ridicule, and there ensued between the believers and sceptics a contest
which endangered the property. The piece was, accordingly, withdrawn.
The juvenile author was now so beset for information, that he found it
necessary to abscond from his father's house; and then, to put an end
to the wonderful ferment which his ingenuity had created, he published
a pamphlet, wherein he confessed the entire fabrication. Besides
_Vortigern_, young Ireland also produced a play of Henry II.; and,
although there were in both such incongruities as were not consistent
with Shakspeare's age, both dramas contain passages of considerable
beauty and originality.
The admissions of the son did not, however, screen the father from
obloquy, and the reaction of public opinion affected his fortunes and
his health. Mr. Ireland was the dupe of his zeal upon such subjects; and
the son never contemplated at the outset the unfortunate effect. Such
was the enthusiasm of certain admirers of Shakspeare, (among them Drs.
Parr and Warton,) that they fell upon their knees before the MSS.; and,
by their idolatry, inspired hundreds of others with similar enthusiasm.
The young author was filled with astonishment and alarm, which at that
stage it was not in his power to check. Sir Richard Phillips, who knew
the parties, has thus related the affair in the _Anecdote Library_.
In the Catalogue of Dr. Parr's Library at Hatton, (_Bibliotheca
Parriana_,) we find the following attempted explanation by the Doctor:--
"Ireland's (Samuel) 'Great and impudent forgery, called,' Miscellaneous
Papers and Legal Instruments, under the hand and seal of William
Shakspeare, folio 1796.
"I am almost ashamed to insert this worthless and infamously trickish
book. It is said to include the tragedy of _King Lear_, and a fragment
of _Hamlet_. Ireland told a lie when he imputed to _me_ the words which
_Joseph Warton_ used, the very morning I called on Ireland, and was
inclined to admit the possibility of genuineness in his papers. In my
subsequent conversation, I told him my change of opinion. But I thought
it not worth while to dispute in print with a detected impostor.--S. P."
Mr. Ireland died about 1802. His son, William Henry, long survived him;
but the forgeries blighted his literary reputation for ever, and he
died in straitened circumstances, about the year 1840. The reputed
Shakspearean MSS. are stated to have been seen for sale in a pawnbroker's
window in Wardour-street, Soho.
* * * * *
HOOLE, THE TRANSLATOR OF TASSO. THE GHOST PUZZLED.
Hoole was born in a hackney-coach, which was conveying his mother to
Drury-lane Theatre, to witness the performance of the tragedy of
_Timanthes_, which had been written by her husband. Hoole died in 1839,
at a very advanced age. In early life, he ranked amongst the literary
characters that adorned the last century; and, for some years before his
death, had outlived most of the persons who frequented the _conversazioni_
of Dr. Johnson. By the will of the Doctor, Mr. Hoole was enabled to take
from his library and effects such books and furniture as he might think
proper to select, by way of memorial of that great personage. He
accordingly chose a chair in which Dr. Johnson usually sat, and the
desk upon which he had written the greater number of the papers of the
_Rambler_; both these articles Mr. Hoole used constantly until nearly
the day of his death.
Hoole was near-sighted. He was partial to the drama; and, when young,
often strutted his hour at an amateur theatre in Lincoln's Inn Fields.
Upon one occasion, whilst performing the ghost in _Hamlet_, Mr. Hoole
wandered incautiously from off the trap-door through which he had
emerged from the nether world, and by which it was his duty to descend.
In this dilemma he groped about, hoping to distinguish the aperture,
keeping the audience in wonder why he remained so long on the stage
after the crowing of the cock. It was apparent from the lips of the
ghost that he was holding converse with some one at the wings. He at
length became irritated, and "alas! poor ghost!" ejaculated, in tones
sufficiently audible, "I tell you I can't find it." The laughter that
ensued may be imagined. The ghost, had he been a sensible one, would
have walked off; but no--he became more and more irritated, until
the perturbed spirit was placed, by some of the bystanders, on the
trap-door, after which it descended, with due solemnity, amid roars of
laughter.
* * * * *
LORD BYRON'S VANITY
During the residence of Lord Byron at Venice, a clerk was sent from the
office of Messrs. Vizard and Co., of Lincoln's Inn, to procure his
lordship's signature to a legal instrument. On his arrival, the clerk
sent a message to the noble poet, who appointed to receive him on the
following morning. Each party was punctual to the minute. His lordship
had dressed himself with the most studious care; and, on the opening of
the door of his apartment, it was evident that he had placed himself in
what he thought a becoming _pose_. His right arm was displayed over the
back of a splendid couch, and his head was gently supported by the
fingers of his left hand. He bowed slightly as his visitor approached
him, and appeared anxious that his recumbent attitude should remain for
a time undisturbed. After the signing of the deed, the noble bard made a
few inquiries upon the politics of England, in the tone of a finished
exquisite. Some refreshment which was brought in afforded the messenger
an opportunity for more minute observation. His lordship's hair had been
curled and parted on the forehead; the collar of his shirt was thrown
back, so that not only the throat but a considerable portion of his
bosom was exposed to view, though partially concealed by some fanciful
ornament suspended round the neck. His waistcoat was of costly velvet,
and his legs were enveloped in a superb wrapper. It is to be regretted
that so great a mind as that of Byron could derive satisfaction from
things so trivial and unimportant, but much more that it was liable to
be disturbed by a recollection of personal imperfections. In the above
interview, the clerk directed an accidental glance at his lordship's
lame foot, when the smile that had played upon the visage of the poet
became suddenly converted into a frown. His whole frame appeared
discomposed; his tone of affected suavity became hard and imperious; and
he called to an attendant to open the door, with a peevishness seldom
exhibited even by the most irritable.
* * * * *
LORD BYRON'S APOLOGY.
No one knew how to apologize for an affront with better grace, or with
more delicacy, than Lord Byron. In the first edition of the first
canto of _Childe Harold_, the poet adverted in a note to two political
tracts--one by Major Pasley, and the other by Gould Francis Leckie,
Esq.; and concluded his remarks by attributing "ignorance on the one
hand, and prejudice on the other." Mr. Leckie, who felt offended at the
severity and, as he thought, injustice of the observations, wrote to
Lord Byron, complaining of the affront. His lordship did not reply
immediately to the letter; but, in about three weeks, he called upon
Mr. Leckie, and begged him to accept an elegantly-bound copy of a new
edition of the poem, in which the offensive passage was omitted.
* * * * *
FINE FLOURISHES.
Lord Brougham, in an essay published long ago in the _Edinburgh Review_,
read a smart lesson to Parliamentary wits. "A wit," says his lordship,
"though he amuses for the moment, unavoidably gives frequent offence to
grave and serious men, who don't think public affairs should be lightly
handled, and are constantly falling into the error that when a person
is arguing the most conclusively, by showing the gross and ludicrous
absurdity of his adversary's reasoning, he is jesting, and not arguing;
while the argument is, in reality, more close and stringent, the more he
shows the opposite picture to be grossly ludicrous--that is, the more
effective the wit becomes. But, though all this is perfectly true, it is
equally certain that danger attends such courses with the common run of
plain men.
"Nor is it only by wit that genius offends: flowers of imagination,
flights of oratory, great passages, are more admired by the critic than
relished by the worthy baronets who darken the porch of Boodle's--chiefly
answering to the names of Sir Robert and Sir John--and the solid
traders, the very good men who stream along the Strand from 'Change
towards St. Stephen's Chapel, at five o'clock, to see the business of
the country done by the Sovereign's servants. A pretty long course of
observation on these component parts of a Parliamentary audience begets
some doubt if noble passages, (termed 'fine flourishes,') be not taken
by them as personally offensive."
Take, for example, "such fine passages as Mr. Canning often indulged
himself and a few of his hearers with; and which certainly seemed to be
received as an insult by whole benches of men accustomed to distribute
justice at sessions. These worthies, the dignitaries of the empire,
resent such flights as liberties taken with them; and always say, when
others force them to praise--'Well, well, but it was out of place; we
have nothing to do with king Priam here, or with a heathen god, such
as Æolus; those kind of folk are all very well in Pope's _Homer_ and
Dryden's _Virgil_; but, as I said to Sir Robert, who sat next me, what
have you or I to do with them matters? I like a good plain man of
business, like young Mr. Jenkinson--a man of the pen and desk, like his
father was before him--and who never speaks when he is not wanted: let
me tell you, Mr. Canning speaks too much by half. Time is short--there
are only twenty four hours in the day, you know.'"
* * * * *
MATHEMATICAL SAILORS.
Nathaniel Bowditch, the translator of Laplace's _Mécanique Céleste_,
displayed in very early life a taste for mathematical studies. In the
year 1788, when he was only fifteen years old, he actually made an
almanack for the year 1790, containing all the usual tables, calculations
of the eclipses, and other phenomena, and even the customary predictions
of the weather.
Bowditch was bred to the sea, and in his early voyages taught navigation
to the common sailors about him. Captain Prince, with whom he often
sailed, relates, that one day the supercargo of the vessel said to him,
"Come, Captain, let us go forward and hear what the sailors are talking
about under the lee of the long-boat." They went forward accordingly,
and the captain was surprised to find the sailors, instead of spinning
their long yarns, earnestly engaged with book, slate, and pencil,
discussing the high matters of tangents and secants, altitudes, dip,
and refraction. Two of them, in particular, were very zealously
disputing,--one of them calling out to the other, "Well, Jack, what have
you got?" "I've got the _sine_," was the answer. "But that ain't right,"
said the other; "_I_ say it is the _cosine_."
* * * * *
LEWIS'S "MONK."
This romance, on its first appearance, roused the attention of all the
literary world of England, and even spread its writer's name to the
continent. The author--"wonder-working Lewis," was a stripling under
twenty when he wrote _The Monk_ in the short space of ten weeks! Sir
Walter Scott, probably the most rapid composer of fiction upon record,
hardly exceeded this, even in his latter days, when his facility of
writing was the greatest.
* * * * *
THOMSON'S RECITATIONS.
Thomson, the author of the "Seasons," was a very awkward reader of his
own productions. His patron, Doddington, once snatched a MS. from
his hand, provoked by his odd utterance, telling him that he did not
understand his own verses! A gentleman of Brentford, however, told the
late Dr. Evans, in 1824, that there was a tradition in that town of
Thomson frequenting one of the inns there, and reciting his poems to the
company.
* * * * *
GOLDSMITH'S "SHE STOOPS TO CONQUER."
Goldsmith, during the first performance of this comedy, walked all the
time in St. James' Park in great uneasiness. Finally, when he thought
that it must be over, hastening to the theatre, hisses assailed his
ears as he entered the green-room. Asking in eager alarm of Colman the
cause--"Pshaw, pshaw!" said Colman, "don't be afraid of squibs, when we
have been sitting on a barrel of gunpowder for two hours." The comedy
had completely triumphed--the audience were only hissing the after
farce. Goldsmith had some difficulty in getting the piece on the stage,
as appears from the following letter to Colman:--"I entreat you'll
relieve me from that state of suspense in which I have been kept for a
long time. Whatever objections you have made, or shall make, to my play,
I will endeavour to remove, and not argue about them. To bring in any
new judges either of its merits or faults, I can never submit to. Upon a
former occasion, when my other play was before Mr. Garrick, he offered
to bring me before Mr. Whitehead's tribunal, but I refused the proposal
with indignation. I hope I shall not experience as hard treatment from
you, as from him. I have, as you know, a large sum of money to make up
shortly; by accepting my play, I can readily satisfy my creditor that
way; at any rate, I must look about to some certainty to be prepared.
For God's sake take the play, and let us make the best of it; and let me
have the same measure at least which you have given as bad plays as
mine."
* * * * *
SILENCE NOT ALWAYS WISDOM.
Coleridge once dined in company with a person who listened to him, and
said nothing for a long time; but he nodded his head, and Coleridge
thought him intelligent. At length, towards the end of the dinner, some
apple dumplings were placed on the table, and the listener had no sooner
seen them than he burst forth, "Them's the jockeys for me!" Coleridge
adds: "I wish Spurzheim could have examined the fellow's head."
Coleridge was very luminous in conversation, and invariably commanded
listeners; yet the old lady rated his talent very lowly, when she
declared she had no patience with a man who would have all the talk to
himself.
* * * * *
DR. CHALMERS IN LONDON.
When Dr. Chalmers first visited London, the hold that he took on the
minds of men was unprecedented. It was a time of strong political
feeling; but even that was unheeded, and all parties thronged to hear
the Scottish preacher. The very best judges were not prepared for the
display that they heard. Canning and Wilberforce went together, and got
into a pew near the door. The elder in attendance stood alone by the
pew. Chalmers began in his usual unpromising way, by stating a few
nearly self-evident propositions, neither in the choicest language, nor
in the most impressive voice. "If this be all," said Canning to his
companion, "it will never do." Chalmers went on--the shuffling of the
conversation gradually subsided. He got into the mass of his subject;
his weakness became strength, his hesitation was turned into energy;
and, bringing the whole volume of his mind to bear upon it, he poured
forth a torrent of the most close and conclusive argument, brilliant
with all the exuberance of an imagination which ranged over all nature
for illustrations, and yet managed and applied each of them with the
same unerring dexterity, as if that single one had been the study of a
whole life. "The tartan beats us," said Mr. Canning; "we have no
preaching like that in England."
* * * * *
ROMILLY AND BROUGHAM.
Hallam's _History of the Middle Ages_ was the last book of any
importance read by Sir Samuel Romilly. Of this excellent work he formed
the highest opinion, and recommended its immediate perusal to Lord
Brougham, as a contrast to his dry _Letter on the Abuses of Charities_,
in respect of the universal interest of the subject. Yet, Sir Samuel
undervalued the Letter, for it ran through eight editions in one month.
* * * * *
PHYSIOGNOMY OF THE FRENCH REVOLUTIONISTS.
It is remarkable, (says Bulwer, in his _Zanoni_,) that most of the
principal actors of the French Revolution were singularly hideous in
appearance--from the colossal ugliness of Mirabeau and Danton, or the
villanous ferocity in the countenances of David and Simon, to the filthy
squalor of Marat, and the sinister and bilious meanness of the Dictator's
features. But Robespierre, who was said to resemble a cat, and had also
a cat's cleanliness, was prim and dainty in dress, shaven smoothness,
and the womanly whiteness of his hands. Réné Dumas, born of reputable
parents, and well educated, despite his ferocity, was not without a
certain refinement, which perhaps rendered him the more acceptable to
the precise Robespierre. Dumas was a beau in his way: his gala-dress
was a _blood-red_ coat, with the finest ruffles. But Henriot had been a
lacquey, a thief, a spy of the police; he had drank the blood of Madame
de Lamballe, and had risen for no quality but his ruffianism; and Fouquier
Tinville, the son of a provincial agriculturist, and afterwards a clerk
at the bureau of the police, was little less base in his manners, and
yet more, from a certain loathsome buffoonery, revolting in his speech;
bull-headed, with black, sleek hair, with a narrow and livid forehead,
and small eyes that twinkled with sinister malice; strongly and coarsely
built, he looked what he was, the audacious bully of a lawless and
relentless bar.
* * * * *
DEATH OF SIR CHARLES BELL.
This distinguished surgeon died suddenly on April 29, 1842, at Hallow
Park, near Worcester, while on his way to Malvern. He was out sketching
on the 28th, being particularly pleased with the village church, and
some fine trees which are beside it; observing that he should like to
repose there when he was gone. Just four days after this sentiment had
been expressed, his mortal remains were accordingly deposited beside the
rustic graves which had attracted his notice, and so recently occupied
his pencil. There is a painful admonition in this fulfilment.
* * * * *
CLASSIC PUN.
It was suggested to a distinguished _gourmet_, what a capital thing a
dish all fins (turbot's fins) might be made. "Capital," said he; "dine
with me on it to-morrow." "Accepted." Would you believe it? when the
cover was removed, the sacrilegious dog of an Amphytrion had put into
the dish "Cicero _De finibus_" "There is a work all fins," said he.
* * * * *
POETRY OF THE SEA.
Campbell was a great lover of submarine prospects. "Often in my
boyhood," says the poet, "when the day has been bright and the sea
transparent, I have sat by the hour on a Highland rock admiring the
golden sands, the emerald weeds, and the silver shells at the bottom of
the bay beneath, till, dreaming about the grottoes of the Nereids, I
would not have exchanged my pleasure for that of a connoisseur poring
over a landscape by Claude or Poussin. Enchanting nature! thy beauty is
not only in heaven and earth, but in the waters under our feet. How
magnificent a medium of vision is the pellucid sea! Is it not like
poetry, that embellishes every object that we contemplate?"
* * * * *
"FELON LITERATURE."
One of the most stinging reproofs of perverted literary taste, evidently
aimed at Newgate Calendar literature, appeared in the form of a
valentine, in No. 31 of _Punch_, in 1842.
The valentine itself reminds one of Churchill's muse; and it needs no
finger to tell where its withering satire is pointed:--
"THE LITERARY GENTLEMAN.
"Illustrious scribe! whose vivid genius strays 'Mid Drury's stews
to incubate her lays, And in St. Giles's slang conveys her tropes,
Wreathing the poet's lines with hangmen's ropes; You who conceive
'tis poetry to teach The sad bravado of a dying speech; Or, when
possessed with a sublimer mood, Show "Jack o'Dandies" dancing upon
blood! Crush bones--bruise flesh, recount each festering sore--
Rake up the plague-pit, write--and write in gore! Or, when
inspired to humanize mankind, Where doth your soaring soul its
subjects find? Not 'mid the scenes that simple Goldsmith sought,
And found a theme to elevate his thought; But you, great scribe,
more greedy of renown, From Hounslow's gibbet drag a hero down.
Imbue his mind with virtue; make him quote Some moral truth before
he cuts a throat. Then wash his hands, and soaring o'er your
craft--Refresh the hero with a bloody draught: And, fearing lest
the world should miss the act, With noble zeal _italicize_ the
fact. Or would you picture woman meek and pure, By love and virtue
tutor'd to endure, With cunning skill you take a felon's trull,
Stuff her with sentiment, and scrunch her skull! Oh! would your
crashing, smashing, mashing pen were mine, That I could "scorch
your eyeballs" with my words,
"MY VALENTINE."
* * * * *
DEATH BED REVELATIONS.
Men before they die see and comprehend enigmas hidden from them before.
The greatest poet, and one of the noblest thinkers of the last age, said
on his death-bed:--"Many things obscure to me before, now clear up and
become visible."
* * * * *
STAMMERING WIT.
Stammering, (says Coleridge,) is sometimes the cause of a pun. Some one
was mentioning in Lamb's presence the cold-heartedness of the Duke of
Cumberland, in restraining the duchess from rushing up to the embrace of
her son, whom she had not seen for a considerable time, and insisting
on her receiving him in state. "How horribly _cold_ it was," said the
narrator. "Yes," said Lamb, in his stuttering way; "but you know he is
the Duke of _Cu-cum-ber-land_."
* * * * *
ORIGIN OF BOTTLED ALE.
Alexander Newell, Dean of St. Paul's, and Master of Westminster School,
in the reign of Queen Mary, was an excellent angler. But Fuller says,
while Newell was catching of fishes, Bishop Bonner was catching of
Newell, and would certainly have sent him to the shambles, had not a
good London merchant conveyed him away upon the seas. Newell was fishing
upon the banks of the Thames when he received the first intimation of
his danger, which was so pressing, that he dared not go back to his own
house to make any preparation for his flight. Like an honest angler, he
had taken with him provisions for the day; and when, in the first year
of England's deliverance, he returned to his country, and to his own
haunts, he remembered that on the day of his flight he had left a bottle
of beer in a safe place on the bank: there he looked for it, and "found
it no bottle, but a gun--such the sound at the opening thereof; and this
(says Fuller) is believed (casualty is mother of more invention than
industry) to be the original of bottled ale in England."
* * * * *
BAD'S THE BEST.
Canning was once asked by an English clergyman, at whose parsonage he
was visiting, how he liked the sermon he had preached that morning.
"Why, it was a short sermon," quoth Canning. "O yes," said the preacher,
"you know I avoid being tedious." "Ah, but," replied Canning, "you
_were_ tedious."
* * * * *
LUDICROUS ESTIMATE OF MR. CANNING.
The Rev. Sydney Smith compares Mr. Canning in office to a fly in amber:
"nobody cares about the fly: the only question is, how the devil did it
get there?" "Nor do I," continues Smith, "attack him for the love of
glory, but from the love of utility, as a burgomaster hunts a rat in a
Dutch dyke, for fear it should flood a province. When he is jocular, he
is strong; when he is serious, he is like Samson in a wig. Call him a
legislator, a reasoner, and the conductor of the affairs of a great
nation, and it seems to me as absurd as if a butterfly were to teach
bees to make honey. That he was an extraordinary writer of small poetry,
and a diner-out of the highest lustre, I do most readily admit. After
George Selwyn, and perhaps Tickell, there has been no such man for the
last half-century."
* * * * *
THE AUTHORSHIP OF "WAVERLEY."
Mrs. Murray Keith, a venerable Scotch lady, from whom Sir Walter Scott
derived many of the traditionary stories and anecdotes wrought up in
his novels, taxed him one day with the authorship, which he, as usual,
stoutly denied. "What!" exclaimed the old lady, "d'ye think I dinna ken
my ain groats among other folk's kail?"
* * * * *
QUID PRO QUO.
Campbell relates:--"Turner, the painter, is a ready wit. Once at a
dinner where several artists, amateurs, and literary men were convened,
a poet, by way of being facetious, proposed as a toast the health of the
_painters_ and _glaziers_ of Great Britain. The toast was drunk; and
Turner, after returning thanks for it, proposed the health of the
British _paper-stainers_."
* * * * *
HOPE'S "ANASTASIUS."
Lord Byron, in a conversation with the Countess of Blessington, said
that he wept bitterly over many pages of _Anastasius_, and for two
reasons: first, that _he_ had not written it; and secondly, that _Hope_
had; for it was necessary to like a man excessively to pardon his
writing such a book; as, he said, excelling all recent productions, as
much in wit and talent as in true pathos. Lord Byron added, that he
would have given his two most approved poems to have been the author of
_Anastasius_.
* * * * *
SMART REPARTEE.
Walpole relates, after an execution of _eighteen_ malefactors, a woman
was hawking an account of them, but called them _nineteen_. A gentleman
said to her, "Why do you say _nineteen_? there were but _eighteen_
hanged." She replied, "Sir, I did not know _you_ had been reprieved."
* * * * *
COLTON'S "LACON."
This remarkable book was written upon covers of letters and scraps
of paper of such description as was nearest at hand; the greater
part at a house in Princes-street, Soho. Colton's lodging was a
penuriously-furnished second-floor, and upon a rough deal table,
with a stumpy pen, our author wrote.
Though a beneficed clergyman, holding the vicarage of Kew, with
Petersham, in Surrey, Colton was a well-known frequenter of the
gaming-table; and, suddenly disappearing from his usual haunts in
London about the time of the murder of Weare, in 1823, it was strongly
suspected he had been assassinated. It was, however, afterwards
ascertained that he had absconded to avoid his creditors; and in 1828
a successor was appointed to his living. He then went to reside in
America, but subsequently lived in Paris, a professed gamester; and it
is said that he thus gained, in two years only, the sum of 25,000_l_. He
blew out his brains while on a visit to a friend at Fontainebleau, in
1832; bankrupt in health, spirits, and fortune.
* * * * *
BUNYAN'S COPY OF "THE BOOK OF MARTYRS."
There is no book, except the Bible, which Bunyan is known to have
perused so intently as the _Acts and Monuments_ of John Fox, the
martyrologist, one of the best of men; a work more hastily than
judiciously compiled, but invaluable for that greater and far more
important portion which has obtained for it its popular name of _The
Book of Martyrs_. Bunyan's own copy of this work is in existence, and
valued of course as such a relic of such a man ought to be. It was
purchased in the year 1780, by Mr. Wantner, of the Minories; from him it
descended to his daughter, Mrs. Parnell, of Botolph-lane; and it was
afterwards purchased, by subscription, for the Bedfordshire General
Library.
This edition of _The Acts and Monuments_ is of the date 1641, 3 vols,
folio, the last of those in the black-letter, and probably the latest
when it came into Bunyan's hands. In each volume he has written his name
beneath the title-page, in a large and stout print-hand. Under some of
the woodcuts he has inserted a few rhymes, which are undoubtedly his own
composition; and which, though much in the manner of the verses that
were printed under the illustrations of his own _Pilgrim's Progress_,
when that work was first adorned with cuts, (verses worthy of such
embellishments,) are very much worse than even the worst of those.
Indeed, it would not be possible to find specimens of more miserable
doggerel.
Here is one of the Tinker's tetrasticks, penned in the margin, beside
the account of Gardiner's death:--
"The blood, the blood that he did shed
Is falling one his one head;
And dredfull it is for to see
The beginers of his misere."
One of the signatures bears the date of 1662; but the verses must
undoubtedly have been some years earlier, before the publication of his
first tract. These curious inscriptions must have been Bunyan's first
attempts in verse: he had, no doubt, found difficulty enough in tinkering
them to make him proud of his work when it was done; otherwise, he would
not have written them in a book which was the most valuable of all his
goods and chattels. In later days, he seems to have taken this book for
his art of poetry. His verses are something below the pitch of Sternhold
and Hopkins. But if he learnt there to make bad verses, he entered fully
into the spirit of its better parts, and received that spirit into as
resolute a heart as ever beat in a martyr's bosom.[2]
[2] Southey's Life of John Bunyan.
* * * * *
LITERARY LOCALITIES.
Leigh Hunt pleasantly says:--"I can no more pass through Westminster,
without thinking of Milton; or the Borough, without thinking of Chaucer
and Shakspeare; or Gray's Inn, without calling Bacon to mind; or
Bloomsbury-square, without Steele and Akenside; than I can prefer
brick and mortar to wit and poetry, or not see a beauty upon it beyond
architecture in the splendour of the recollection. I once had duties to
perform which kept me out late at night, and severely taxed my health
and spirits. My path lay through a neighbourhood in which Dryden lived,
and though nothing could be more common-place, and I used to be tired to
the heart and soul of me, I never hesitated to go a little out of the
way, purely that I might pass through Gerard-street, and so give myself
the shadow of a pleasant thought."
* * * * *
CREED OF LORD BOLINGBROKE.
Lord Brougham says:--"The dreadful malady under which Bolingbroke
long lingered, and at length sunk--a cancer in the face--he bore with
exemplary fortitude, a fortitude drawn from the natural resources of
his vigorous mind, and unhappily not aided by the consolations of any
religion; for, having early cast off the belief in revelation, he had
substituted in its stead a dark and gloomy naturalism, which even
rejected those glimmerings of hope as to futurity not untasted by the
wiser of the heathens."
Lord Chesterfield, in one of his letters, which has been published by
Earl Stanhope, says that Bolingbroke only doubted, and by no means
rejected, a future state.
* * * * *
BUNYAN'S PREACHING.
It is said that Owen, the divine, greatly admired Bunyan's preaching;
and that, being asked by Charles II. "how a learned man such as he could
sit and listen to an itinerant tinker?" he replied: "May it please your
Majesty, could I possess that tinker's abilities for preaching, I would
most gladly relinquish all my learning."
* * * * *
HONE'S "EVERY-DAY BOOK."
This popular work was commenced by its author after he had renounced
political satire for the more peaceful study of the antiquities of our
country. The publication was issued in weekly sheets, and extended
through two years, 1824 and 1825. It was very successful, the weekly
sale being from 20,000 to 30,000 copies.
In 1830, Mr. Southey gave the following tribute to the merits of the
work, which it is pleasurable to record; as these two writers, from
their antipodean politics, had not been accustomed to regard each
other's productions with any favour. In closing his _Life of John
Bunyan_, Mr. Southey says:--
"In one of the volumes, collected from various quarters, which were sent
to me for this purpose, I observe the name of William Hone, and notice
it that I may take the opportunity of recommending his _Every-day Book
and Table Book_ to those who are interested in the preservation of
our national and local customs. By these curious publications, their
compiler has rendered good service in an important department of
literature; and he may render yet more, if he obtain the encouragement
which he well deserves."
* * * * *
BUNYAN'S ESCAPES.
Bunyan had some providential escapes during his early life. Once, he
fell into a creek of the sea, once out of a boat into the river Ouse,
near Bedford, and each time he was narrowly saved from drowning. One
day, an adder crossed his path. He stunned it with a stick, then forced
open its mouth with a stick and plucked out the tongue, which he supposed
to be the sting, with his fingers; "by which act," he says, "had not God
been merciful unto me, I might, by my desperateness, have brought myself
to an end." If this, indeed, were an adder, and not a harmless snake,
his escape from the fangs was more remarkable than he himself was aware
of. A circumstance, which was likely to impress him more deeply, occurred
in the eighteenth year of his age, when, being a soldier in the
Parliament's army, he was drawn out to go to the siege of Leicester,
in 1645. One of the same company wished to go in his stead; Bunyan
consented to exchange with him, and this volunteer substitute, standing
sentinel one day at the siege, was shot through the head with a
musket-ball. "This risk," Sir Walter Scott observes, "was one somewhat
resembling the escape of Sir Roger de Coverley, in an action at Worcester,
who was saved from the slaughter of that action, by having been absent
from the field."--_Southey._
* * * * *
DROLLERY SPONTANEOUS.
More drolleries are uttered unintentionally than by premeditation. There
is no such thing as being "droll to order." One evening a lady said to a
small wit, "Come, Mr. ----, tell us a lively anecdote;" and the poor
fellow was mute the rest of the evening.
"Favour me with your company on Wednesday evening--you are such a lion,"
said a weak party-giver to a young _littérateur_. "I thank you," replied
the wit, "but, on that evening I am engaged to eat fire at the Countess
of ----, and stand upon my head at Mrs. ----."
* * * * *
ORIGIN OF COWPER'S "JOHN GILPIN."
It happened one afternoon, in those years when Cowper's accomplished
friend, Lady Austen, made a part of his little evening circle, that she
observed him sinking into increased dejection; it was her custom, on
these occasions, to try all the resources of her sprightly powers for
his immediate relief. She told him the story of John Gilpin, (which had
been treasured in her memory from her childhood), to dissipate the gloom
of the passing hour. Its effects on the fancy of Cowper had the air
of enchantment. He informed her the next morning that convulsions of
laughter, brought on by his recollection of her story, had kept him
waking during the greatest part of the night! and that he had turned
it into a ballad. So arose the pleasant poem of John Gilpin. To Lady
Austen's suggestion, also, we are indebted for the poem of "the Task."
* * * * *
HARD FATE OF AUTHORS.
Sir E. B. (now Lord) Lytton, in the memoir which he
prefixed to the collected works of Laman Blanchard,
draws the following affecting picture of that author's
position, after he had parted from an engagement upon
a popular newspaper:--
"For the author there is nothing but his pen, till that and life
are worn to the stump: and then, with good fortune, perhaps on his
death-bed he receives a pension--and equals, it may be, for a few
months, the income of a retired butler! And, so on the sudden loss
of the situation in which he had frittered away his higher and
more delicate genius, in all the drudgery that a party exacts from
its defender of the press, Laman Blanchard was thrown again upon
the world, to shift as he might and subsist as he could. His
practice in periodical writing was now considerable; his
versatility was extreme. He was marked by publishers and editors
as a useful contributor, and so his livelihood was secure. From
a variety of sources thus he contrived, by constant waste of
intellect and strength, to eke out his income, and insinuate
rather than force his place among his contemporary penmen. And
uncomplainingly, and with patient industry, he toiled on, seeming
farther and farther off from the happy leisure, in which 'the
something to verify promise was to be completed.' No time had
he for profound reading, for lengthened works, for the mature
development of the conceptions of a charming fancy. He had given
hostages to fortune. He had a wife and four children, and no
income but that which he made from week to week. The grist must
be ground, and the wheel revolve. All the struggle, all the
toils, all the weariness of brain, nerve, and head, which
a man undergoes in his career, are imperceptible even to his
friends--almost to himself; he has no time to be ill, to be
fatigued; his spirit has no holiday; it is all school-work. And
thus, generally, we find in such men that the break up of the
constitution seems sudden and unlooked-for. The causes of disease
and decay have been long laid; but they are smothered beneath the
lively appearances of constrained industry and forced excitement."
* * * * *
JAMES SMITH, ONE OF THE AUTHORS OF "REJECTED ADDRESSES."
A writer in the _Law Quarterly Magazine_ says:--To the best of our
information, James's _coup d'essai_ in literature was a hoax in
the shape of a series of letters to the editor of the _Gentleman's
Magazine_, detailing some extraordinary antiquarian discoveries and
facts in natural history, which the worthy Sylvanus Urban inserted
without the least suspicion. In 1803, he became a constant contributor
to the _Pic-Nic_ and _Cabinet_ weekly journals, in conjunction with Mr.
Cumberland, Sir James Bland Burgess, Mr. Horatio Smith, and others. The
principal caterer for these publications was Colonel Greville, on whom
Lord Byron has conferred a not very enviable immortality--
"Or hail at once the patron and the pile
Of vice and folly, Greville and Argyle."
One of James Smith's favourite anecdotes related to him. The Colonel
requested his young ally to call at his lodgings, and in the course
of their first interview related the particulars of the most curious
circumstance in his life. He was taken prisoner during the American
war, along with three other officers of the same rank; one evening they
were summoned into the presence of Washington, who announced to them
that the conduct of their Government, in condemning one of his officers
to death as a rebel, compelled him to make reprisals; and that, much to
his regret, he was under the necessity of requiring them to cast lots,
without delay, to decide which of them should be hanged. They were then
bowed out, and returned to their quarters. Four slips of paper were put
into a hat, and the shortest was drawn by Captain Asgill, who exclaimed,
"I knew how it would be; I never won so much as a hit of backgammon in
my life." As Greville told the story, he was selected to sit up with
Captain Asgill, under the pretext of companionship, but, in reality, to
prevent him from escaping, and leaving the honour amongst the remaining
three. "And what," inquired Smith, "did you say to comfort him?" "Why, I
remember saying to him, when they left us, _D---- it, old fellow, never
mind_;" but it may be doubted (added Smith) whether he drew much comfort
from the exhortation. Lady Asgill persuaded the French minister to
interpose, and the captain was permitted to escape.
Both James and Horatio Smith were also contributors to the _Monthly
Mirror_, then the property of Mr. Thomas Hill, a gentleman who had
the good fortune to live familiarly with three or four generations of
authors; the same, in short, with whom the subject of this memoir thus
playfully remonstrated: "Hill, you take an unfair advantage of an
accident; the register of your birth was burnt in the great fire of
London, and you now give yourself out for younger than you are."
The fame of the Smiths, however, was confined to a limited circle until
the publication of the _Rejected Addresses_, which rose at once into
almost unprecedented celebrity.
James Smith used to dwell with much pleasure on the criticism of a
Leicestershire clergyman: "I do not see why they (the _Addresses_)
should have been rejected: I think some of them very good." This, he
would add, is almost as good as the avowal of the Irish bishop, that
there were some things in _Gulliver's Travels_ which he could not
believe.
Though never guilty of intemperance, James was a martyr to the gout;
and, independently of the difficulty he experienced in locomotion, he
partook largely of the feeling avowed by his old friend Jekyll, who used
to say that, if compelled to live in the country, he would have the
drive before his house paved like the streets of London, and hire a
hackney-coach to drive up and down all day long.
He used to tell, with great glee, a story showing the general conviction
of his dislike to ruralities. He was sitting in the library at a
country-house, when a gentleman proposed a quiet stroll into the
pleasure-grounds:--
"'Stroll! why, don't you see my gouty shoe?'
"'Yes, I see that plain enough, and I wish I'd brought one too,
but they're all out now.'
"'Well, and what then?'
"'What then? Why, my dear fellow, you don't mean to say that you
have really got the gout? I thought you had only put on that shoe
to get off being shown over the improvements.'"
His bachelorship is thus attested in his niece's album:
"Should I seek Hymen's tie,
As a poet I die,
Ye Benedicts mourn my distresses:
For what little fame
Is annexed to my name,
Is derived from _Rejected Addresses_."
The two following are amongst the best of his good things. A gentleman
with the same Christian and surname took lodgings in the same house. The
consequence was, eternal confusion of calls and letters. Indeed, the
postman had no alternative but to share the letters equally between the
two. "This is intolerable, sir," said our friend, "and you must quit."
"Why am I to quit more than you?" "Because you are James the Second--and
must _abdicate_."
Mr. Bentley proposed to establish a periodical publication, to be called
_The Wit's Miscellany_. Smith objected that the title promised too much.
Shortly afterwards, the publisher came to tell him that he had profited
by the hint, and resolved on calling it _Bentley's Miscellany_. "Isn't
that going a little too far the other way?" was the remark.
A capital pun has been very generally attributed to him. An actor, named
Priest, was playing at one of the principal theatres. Some one remarked
at the Garrick Club, that there were a great many men in the pit.
"Probably, clerks who have taken Priest's orders." The pun is perfect,
but the real proprietor is Mr. Poole, one of the best punsters as well
as one of the cleverest comic writers and finest satirists of the day.
It has also been attributed to Charles Lamb.
Formerly, it was customary, on emergencies, for the judges to swear
affidavits at their dwelling-houses. Smith was desired by his father to
attend a judge's chambers for that purpose, but being engaged to dine in
Russell-square, at the next house to Mr. Justice Holroyd's, he thought
he might as well save himself the disagreeable necessity of leaving the
party at eight by dispatching his business at once: so, a few minutes
before six, he boldly knocked at the judge's, and requested to speak
to him on particular business. The judge was at dinner, but came down
without delay, swore the affidavit, and then gravely asked what was the
pressing necessity that induced our friend to disturb him at that hour.
As Smith told the story, he raked his invention for a lie, but finding
none fit for the purpose, he blurted out the truth:--
"'The fact is, my lord, I am engaged to dine at the next
house--and--and----'
"'And, sir, you thought you might as well save your own dinner by
spoiling mine?'
"'Exactly so, my lord, but----'
"'Sir, I wish you a good evening.'"
Smith was rather fond of a joke on his own branch of the profession;
he always gave a peculiar emphasis to the line in his song on the
contradiction of names:
"Mr. Makepeace was bred an attorney;"
and would frequently quote Goldsmith's lines on Hickey, the associate
of Burke and other distinguished cotemporaries:
"He cherished his friend, and he relished a bumper;
Yet one fault he had, and that was a thumper,
Then, what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye:
He was, could he help it? a special attorney."
The following playful colloquy in verse took place at a dinner-table
between Sir George Rose and himself, in allusion to Craven-street,
Strand, where he resided:--
"_J. S._--'At the top of my street the attorneys abound.
And down at the bottom the barges are found:
Fly, Honesty, fly to some safer retreat,
For there's craft in the river, and craft in the street.'"
"_Sir G. R._--'Why should Honesty fly to some safer retreat,
From attorneys and barges, od rot 'em?
For the lawyers are _just_ at the top of the street,
And the barges are _just_ at the bottom.'"
* * * * *
CONTEMPORARY COPYRIGHTS.
The late Mr. Tegg, the publisher in Cheapside, gave the following list
of remunerative payments to distinguished authors in his time; and he is
believed to have taken considerable pains to verify the items:
Fragments of History, by Charles Fox, sold by Lord Holland, for 5000
guineas. Fragments of History, by Sir James Mackintosh, 500_l._
Lingard's History of England, 4683_l._ Sir Walter Scott's Bonaparte was
sold, with the printed books, for 18,000_l._; the net receipts of
copyright on the first two editions only must have been 10,000_l._ Life
of Wilberforce, by his sons, 4000 guineas. Life of Byron, by Moore,
4000_l._ Life of Sheridan, by Moore, 2000_l._ Life of Hannah More,
2000_l._ Life of Cowper, by Southey, 1000_l._ Life and Times of George
IV., by Lady C. Bury, 1000_l._ Byron's Works, 20,000_l._ Lord of the
Isles, half share, 1500_l._ Lalla Rookh, by Moore, 3000_l._ Rejected
Addresses, by Smith, 1000_l._ Crabbe's Works, republication of, by Mr.
Murray, 3000_l._ Wordsworth's Works, republication of, by Mr. Moxon,
1050_l._ Bulwer's Rienzi, 1600_l._ Marryat's Novels, 500_l._ to 1500_l._
each. Trollope's Factory Boy, 1800_l._ Hannah More derived 30,000_l._
per annum for her copyrights, during the latter years of her life.
Rundell's Domestic Cookery, 2000_l._ Nicholas Nickleby, 3000_l._
Eustace's Classical Tour, 2100_l._ Sir Robert Inglis obtained for the
beautiful and interesting widow of Bishop Heber, by the sale of his
journal, 5000_l._
* * * * *
MISS BURNEY'S "EVELINA."
The story of _Evelina_ being printed when the authoress was but
seventeen years old is proved to have been sheer invention, to trumpet
the work into notoriety; since it has no more truth in it than a
paid-for newspaper puff. The year of Miss Burney's birth was long
involved in studied obscurity, and thus the deception lasted, until
one fine day it was ascertained, by reference to the register of the
authoress' birth, that she was a woman of six or seven-and-twenty,
instead of a "Miss in her teens," when she wrote _Evelina_. The story
of her father's utter ignorance of the work being written by her, and
recommending her to read it, as an exception to the novel class, has
also been essentially modified. Miss Burney, (then Madame D'Arblay,) is
said to have taken the characters in her novel of _Camilla_ from the
family of Mr. Lock, of Norbury Park, who built for Gen. D'Arblay the
villa in which the work was written, and which to this day is called
"Camilla Lacy." By this novel, Madame D'Arblay is said to have realized
3000 guineas.
* * * * *
EPITAPH ON CHARLES LAMB.
Lamb lies buried in Edmonton churchyard, and the stone bears the
following lines to his memory, written by his friend, the Rev. H. F.
Cary, the erudite translator of _Dante_ and _Pindar_:--
"Farewell, dear friend!--that smile, that harmless mirth,
No more shall gladden our domestic hearth;
That rising tear, with pain forbid to flow--
Better than words--no more assuage our woe.
That hand outstretch'd from small but well-earned store
Yield succour to the destitute no more.
Yet art thou not all lost: through many an age,
With sterling sense and humour, shall thy page
Win many an English bosom, pleased to see
That old and happier vein revived in thee.
This for our earth; and if with friends we share
Our joys in heaven, we hope to meet thee there."
Lamb survived his earliest friend and school-fellow, Coleridge, only a
few months. One morning he showed to a friend the mourning ring which
the author of _Christabelle_ had left him. "Poor fellow!" exclaimed
Lamb, "I have never ceased to think of him from the day I first heard of
his death." Lamb died in _five days after_--December 27, 1834, in his
fifty-ninth year.
* * * * *
"TOM CRINGLE'S LOG."
The author of this very successful work, (originally published in
_Blackwood's Magazine_,) was a Mr. Mick Scott, born in Edinburgh in
1789, and educated at the High School. Several years of his life were
spent in the West Indies. He ultimately married, returned to his native
country, and there embarked in commercial speculations, in the leisure
between which he wrote the _Log_. Notwithstanding its popularity in
Europe and America, the author preserved his incognito to the last. He
survived his publisher for some years, and it was not till Mr. Scott's
death that the sons of Mr. Blackwood were aware of his name.
* * * * *
CHANCES FOR THE DRAMA.
The royal patent, by which the performance of the regular drama was
restricted to certain theatres, does not appear to have fostered this
class of writing. Dr. Johnson forced Goldsmith's _She Stoops to Conquer_
into the theatre. Tobin died regretting that he could not succeed in
hearing the _Honeymoon_ performed. Lillo produced _George Barnwell_
(an admirably written play) at an irregular theatre, after it had been
rejected by the holders of the patents. _Douglas_ was cast on Home's
hands. Fielding was introduced as a dramatist at an unlicensed house;
and one of Mrs. Inchbald's popular comedies had lain two years
neglected, when, by a trifling accident, she was able to obtain the
manager's _approval_.
* * * * *
FULLER'S MEMORY.
Marvellous anecdotes are related of Dr. Thomas Fuller's memory. Thus, it
is stated that he undertook once, in passing to and from Temple Bar to
the farthest conduit in Cheapside, to tell at his return every sign as
they stood in order on both sides of the way, repeating them either
backward or forward. This must have been a great feat, seeing that every
house then bore a sign. Yet, Fuller himself decried this kind of thing
as a trick, no art. He relates that one (who since wrote a book thereof)
told him, before credible people, that he, in Sidney College, had taught
him (Fuller) the art of memory. Fuller replied that it was not so, for
_he could not remember that he had ever seen him before;_ "which, I
conceive," adds Fuller, "was a real refutation;" and we think so, too.
* * * * *
LORD HERVEY'S WIT.
Horace Walpole records Lord Hervey's memorable saying about Lord
Burlington's pretty villa at Chiswick, now the Duke of Devonshire's,
that it was "too small to inhabit, and too large to hang to your watch;"
and Lady Louisa Stuart has preserved a piece of dandyism in eating, which
even Beau Brummell might have envied--"When asked at dinner whether he
would have some beef, he answered, 'Beef? oh, no! faugh! don't you know
I never eat beef, nor horse, nor any of those things?'"--The man that
said these things was the successful lover of the prettiest maid of
honour to the Princess of Wales--the person held up to everlasting
ridicule by Pope--the vice-chamberlain whose attractions engaged the
affections of the daughter of the Sovereign he served; and the peer
whose wit was such that it "charmed the charming Mary Montague."
* * * * *
ANACREONTIC INVITATION, BY MOORE.
The following, one of the latest productions of the poet Moore,
addressed to the Marquis of Lansdowne, shows that though by that time
inclining to threescore and ten, he retained all the fire and vivacity
of early youth. It is full of those exquisitely apt allusions and
felicitous turns of expression in which the English Anacreon excels. It
breathes the very spirit of classic festivity. Such an invitation to
dinner is enough to create an appetite in any lover of poetry:--
"Some think we bards have nothing real--
That poets live among the stars, so
Their very dinners are ideal,--
(And heaven knows, too oft they are so:)
For instance, that we have, instead
Of vulgar chops and stews, and hashes,
First course,--a phoenix at the head,
Done in its own celestial ashes:
At foot, a cygnet, which kept singing
All the time its neck was wringing.
Side dishes, thus,--Minerva's owl,
Or any such like learned fowl;
Doves, such as heaven's poulterer gets
When Cupid shoots his mother's pets.
Larks stew'd in morning's roseate breath,
Or roasted by a sunbeam's splendour;
And nightingales, be-rhymed to death--
Like young pigs whipp'd to make them tender
Such fare may suit those bards who're able
To banquet at Duke Humphrey's table;
But as for me, who've long been taught
To eat and drink like other people,
And can put up with mutton, bought
Where Bromham rears its ancient steeple;
If Lansdowne will consent to share
My humble feast, though rude the fare
Yet, seasoned by that salt he brings
From Attica's salinest springs,
'Twill turn to dainties; while the cup,
Beneath his influence brightening up,
Like that of Baucis, touched by Jove,
Will sparkle fit for gods above!"
* * * * *
THE POETS IN A PUZZLE.
Cottle, in his Life of Coleridge, relates the following amusing
incident:--
"I led the horse to the stable, when a fresh perplexity arose. I removed
the harness without difficulty; but, after many strenuous attempts, I
could not remove the collar. In despair, I called for assistance, when
aid soon drew near. Mr. Wordsworth brought his ingenuity into exercise;
but, after several unsuccessful efforts, he relinquished the achievement,
as a thing altogether impracticable. Mr. Coleridge now tried his hand,
but showed no more grooming skill than his predecessors; for, after
twisting the poor horse's neck almost to strangulation and the great
danger of his eyes, he gave up the useless task, pronouncing that the
horse's head must have grown (gout or dropsy?) since the collar was put
on; for he said 'it was a downright impossibility for such a huge _os
frontis_ to pass through so narrow a collar!' Just at this instant, a
servant-girl came near, and, understanding the cause of our consternation,
'La! master,' said she, 'you don't go about the work in the right way.
You should do like this,' when, turning the collar completely upside
down, she slipped it off in a moment, to our great humiliation and
wonderment, each satisfied afresh that there were heights of knowledge
in the world to which we had not yet attained."
* * * * *
SALE OF MAGAZINES.
Sir John Hawkins, in his "Memoirs of Johnson," ascribes the decline of
literature to the ascendancy of frivolous Magazines, between the years
1740 and 1760. He says that they render smatterers conceited, and confer
the superficial glitter of knowledge instead of its substance.
Sir Richard Phillips, upwards of forty years a publisher, gives the
following evidence as to the sale of the Magazines in his time:--
"For my own part, I know that in 1790, and for many years previously,
there were sold of the trifle called the _Town and Country Magazine_,
full 15,000 copies per month; and, of another, the _Ladies' Magazine_,
from 16,000 to 22,000. Such circumstances were, therefore, calculated to
draw forth the observations of Hawkins. _The Gentleman's Magazine_, in
its days of popular extracts, never rose above 10,000; after it became
more decidedly antiquarian, it fell in sale, and continued for many
years at 3000.
"The veriest trifles, and only such, move the mass of minds which
compose the public. The sale of the _Town and Country Magazine_ was
created by a fictitious article, called _Bon-Ton_, in which were given
the pretended amours of two personages, imagined to be real, with two
sham portraits. The idea was conceived, and, for above twenty years,
was executed by Count Carraccioli; but, on his death, about 1792,
the article lost its spirit, and within seven years the magazine was
discontinued. The _Ladies' Magazine_ was, in like manner, sustained by
love-tales and its low price of sixpence, which, till after 1790, was
the general price of magazines."
Things have now taken a turn unlooked for in those days. The price of
most magazines, it is true, is still more than sixpence--usually a
shilling, and at that price the _Cornhill_ in some months reached an
impression of 120,000; but the circulation of _Good Words_, at sixpence,
has touched 180,000, and continues, we believe, to be over 100,000.
* * * * *
MRS. SOUTHEY.
And who was Mrs. Southey?--who but she who was so long known, and so
great a favourite, as Caroline Bowles; transformed by the gallantry of
the laureate, and the grace of the parson, into her matrimonial
appellation. Southey, so long ago as the 21st of February, 1829,
prefaced his most amatory poem of _All for Love_, with a tender address,
that is now, perhaps, worth reprinting:--
"TO CAROLINE BOWLES.
"Could I look forward to a distant day,
With hope of building some elaborate lay,
Then would I wait till worthier strains of mine,
Might have inscribed thy name, O Caroline!
For I would, while my voice is heard on earth,
Bear witness to thy genius and thy worth.
But we have been both taught to feel with fear,
How frail the tenure of existence here;
What unforeseen calamities prevent,
Alas! how oft, the best resolved intent;
And, therefore, this poor volume I address
To thee, dear friend, and sister poetess!
"_Keswick, Feb. 21, 1829._ "ROBERT SOUTHEY."
The laureate had his wish; for in duty, he was bound to say, that
worthier strains than his bore inscribed the name of Caroline connected
with his own--and, moreover, she was something more than a dear friend
and sister poetess.
"The laureate," observes a writer in _Fraser's Magazine_, "is a
fortunate man; his queen supplies him with _butts_ (alluding to the
laureateship), and his lady with Bowls: then may his cup of good fortune
be overflowing."
* * * * *
DEVOTION TO SCIENCE.
M. Agassiz, the celebrated palæontologist, is known to have relinquished
pursuits from which he might have been in the receipt of a considerable
income, and all for the sake of science. Dr. Buckland knew him, when
engaged in this arduous career, with the revenue of only 100_l._: and
of this he paid fifty pounds to artists for drawings, thirty pounds for
books, and lived himself on the remaining twenty pounds a year! Thus did
he raise himself to an elevated European rank; and, in his abode, _au
troisième_, was the companion and friend of princes, ambassadors, and
men of the highest rank and talent of every country.
* * * * *
DISADVANTAGEOUS CORRECTION.
Lord North had little reason to congratulate himself when he ventured
on an interruption with Burke. In a debate on some economical question,
Burke was guilty of a false quantity--"_Magnum vect[)i]gal est
parsimonia._" "_Vect[=i]gal_," said the minister, in an audible
under-tone. "I thank the noble lord for his correction," resumed the
orator, "since it gives me the opportunity of repeating the inestimable
adage--"_Magnum vect[=i]gal est parsimonia._" (Parsimony is a great
revenue.)
* * * * *
PATRONAGE OF LITERATURE.
When Victor Hugo was an aspirant for the honours of the French Academy,
and called on M. Royer Collard to ask his vote, the sturdy veteran
professed entire ignorance of his name. "I am the author of _Notre Dame
de Paris_, _Les Derniers Jours d'un Condamné_, _Bug-Jargal_, _Marian
Delorme_, &c." "I never heard of any of them," said Collard. "Will you
do me the honour of accepting a copy of my works?" said Victor Hugo. "I
never read new books," was the cutting reply.
* * * * *
DR. JOHNSON'S WIGS.
Dr. Johnson's wigs were in general very shabby, and their fore-parts
were burned away by the near approach of the candle, which his
short-sightedness rendered necessary in reading. At Streatham, Mr.
Thrale's butler always had a wig ready; and as Johnson passed from the
drawing-room, when dinner was announced, the servant would remove the
ordinary wig, and replace it with the newer one; and this ludicrous
ceremony was performed every day.--_Croker._
* * * * *
SHERIDAN'S "PIZARRO."
Mr. Pitt was accustomed to relate very pleasantly an amusing anecdote
of a total breach of memory in some Mrs. Lloyd, a lady, or nominal
housekeeper, of Kensington Palace. "Being in company," he said, "with
Mr. Sheridan, without recollecting him, while _Pizarro_ was the topic of
discussion, she said to him, 'And so this fine _Pizarro_ is printed?'
'Yes, so I hear,' said Sherry. 'And did you ever in your life read such
stuff?' cried she. 'Why I believe it's bad enough,' quoth Sherry; 'but
at least, madam, you must allow it's very loyal.' 'Ah!' cried she,
shaking her head--'loyal? you don't know its author as well as I do.'"
* * * * *
DR. JOHNSON IN LONDON.
The following were Dr. Johnson's several places of residence in and near
London:--
1. Exeter-street, off Catherine-street, Strand. (1737.)
2. Greenwich. (1737.)
3. Woodstock-street, near Hanover-square. (1737.)
4. Castle-court, Cavendish-square, No. 6. (1738.)
5. Boswell-court.
6. Strand.
7. Strand, again.
8. Bow-street.
9. Holborn.
10. Fetter-lane.
11. Holborn again; at the Golden Anchor, Holborn Bars. (1748.)
12. Gough-square. (1748.)
13. Staple Inn. (1758.)
14. Gray's Inn.
15. Inner Temple-lane, No. 1. (1760.)
16. Johnson's court, Fleet-street, No. 5. (1765.)
17. Bolt-court, Fleet-street, No. 8. (1776.)
* * * * *
REGALITY OF GENIUS.
Gibbon, when speaking of his own genealogy, refers to the fact of
Fielding being of the same family as the Earl of Denbigh, who, in common
with the Imperial family of Austria, is descended from the celebrated
Rodolph, of Hapsburgh. "While the one branch," he says, "have contented
themselves with being sheriffs of Leicestershire, and justices of the
peace, the others have been emperors of Germany and kings of Spain; but
the magnificent romance of _Tom Jones_ will be read with pleasure, when
the palace of the Escurial is in ruins, and the Imperial Eagle of
Austria is rolling in the dust."
* * * * *
FIELDING'S "TOM JONES."
Fielding having finished the manuscript of _Tom Jones_, and being at the
time hard pressed for money took it to a second-rate publisher, with the
view of selling it for what it would fetch at the moment. He left it
with the trader, and called upon him next day for his decision. The
bookseller hesitated, and requested another day for consideration; and
at parting, Fielding offered him the MS. for 25_l._
On his way home, Fielding met Thomson, the poet, whom he told of the
negotiation for the sale of the MS.; when Thomson, knowing the high
merit of the work, conjured him to be off the bargain, and offered to
find a better purchaser.
Next morning, Fielding hastened to his appointment, with as much
apprehension lest the bookseller should stick to his bargain as he
had felt the day before lest he should altogether decline it. To the
author's great joy, the ignorant trafficker in literature declined, and
returned the MS. to Fielding. He next set off, with a light heart, to
his friend Thomson; and the novelist and the poet then went to Andrew
Millar, the great publisher of the day. Millar, as was his practice with
works of light reading, handed the MS. to his wife, who, having read it,
advised him by no means to let it slip through his fingers.
Millar now invited the two friends to meet him at a coffee-house in the
Strand, where, after dinner, the bookseller, with great caution, offered
Fielding 200_l._ for the MS. The novelist was amazed at the largeness
of the offer. "Then, my good sir," said Fielding, recovering himself
from his unexpected stroke of good fortune, "give me your hand--the book
is yours. And, waiter," continued he, "bring a couple of bottles of your
best port."
Before Millar died, he had cleared eighteen thousand pounds by _Tom
Jones_, out of which he generously made Fielding various presents, to
the amount of 2000_l._; and he closed his life by bequeathing a handsome
legacy to each of Fielding's sons.
* * * * *
VOLTAIRE AND FERNEY.
The showman's work is very profitable at the country-house of Voltaire,
at Ferney, near Geneva. A Genevese, an excellent calculator, as are all
his countrymen, many years ago valued as follows the yearly profit
derived by the above functionary from his situation:--
Francs.
8000 busts of Voltaire, made with earth of
Ferney, at a franc a-piece 8,000
1200 autograph letters, at 20 francs 24,000
500 walking canes of Voltaire, at 50 francs each 25,000
300 veritable wigs of Voltaire, at 100 francs 30,000
------
In all 87,000
* * * * *
CLEAN HANDS.
Lord Brougham, during his indefatigable canvass of Yorkshire, in the
course of which he often addressed ten or a dozen meetings in a day,
thought fit to harangue the electors of Leeds immediately on his
arrival, after travelling all night, and without waiting to perform his
customary ablutions. "These hands are clean!" cried he, at the
conclusion of a diatribe against corruption; but they happened to be
very dirty, and this practical contradiction raised a hearty laugh.
* * * * *
MODERATE FLATTERY.
Jasper Mayne says of Master Cartwright, the author of tolerable comedies
and poems, printed in 1651:--
"Yes, thou to Nature hadst joined art and skill;
In thee, Ben Jonson still held Shakspeare's quill."
* * * * *
EVERY-DAY LIFE OF JAMES SMITH.
"One of the Authors of the _Rejected Addresses_" thus writes to a
friend:[3]--
"Let me enlighten you as to the general disposal of my time. I breakfast
at nine, with a mind undisturbed by matters of business; I then write to
you, or to some editor, and then read till three o'clock. I then walk to
the Union Club, read the journals, hear Lord John Russell deified or
_diablerized_, (that word is not a bad coinage,) do the same with
Sir Robert Peel or the Duke of Wellington; and then join a knot of
conversationists by the fire till six o'clock, consisting of lawyers,
merchants, members of Parliament, and gentlemen at large. We then and
there discuss the three per cent. consols, (some of us preferring Dutch
two-and-a-half per cent.), and speculate upon the probable rise, shape,
and cost of the New Exchange. If Lady Harrington happen to drive past
our window in her landau, we compare her equipage to the Algerine
Ambassador's; and when politics happen to be discussed, rally Whigs,
Radicals, and Conservatives alternately, but never seriously,--such
subjects having a tendency to create acrimony. At six, the room begins
to be deserted; wherefore I adjourn to the dining-room, and gravely
looking over the bill of fare, exclaim to the waiter, 'Haunch of mutton
and apple tart.' These viands despatched, with the accompanying liquids
and water, I mount upward to the library, take a book and my seat in
the arm-chair, and read till nine. Then call for a cup of coffee and a
biscuit, resuming my book till eleven; afterwards return home to bed. If
I have any book here which particularly excites my attention, I place my
lamp on a table by my bed-side, and read in bed until twelve. No danger
of ignition, my lamp being quite safe, and my curtains moreen. Thus
'ends this strange eventful history,'" &c.
[3] In his Comic Miscellanies.
* * * * *
FRENCH-ENGLISH JEU-DE-MOT.
The celebrated Mrs. Thicknesse undertook to construct a letter, every
word of which should be French, yet no Frenchman should be able to read
it; while an illiterate Englishman or Englishwoman should decipher it
with ease. Here is the specimen of the lady's ingenuity:--
"Pre, dire sistre, comme and se us, and pass the de here if yeux canne,
and chat tu my dame, and dine here; and yeux mai go to the faire if yeux
plaise; yeux mai have fiche, muttin, porc, buter, foule, hair, fruit,
pigeon, olives, sallette, forure diner, and excellent te, cafe, port
vin, an liqueurs; and tell ure bette and poll to comme; and Ile go tu
the faire and visite the Baron. But if yeux dont comme tu us, Ile go to
ure house and se oncle, and se houe he does; for mi dame se he bean
ill; but deux comme; mi dire yeux canne ly here yeux nos; if yeux love
musique, yeux mai have the harp, lutte, or viol heere. Adieu, mi dire
sistre."
* * * * *
RELICS OF IZAAK WALTON.
Flatman's beautiful lines to Walton, (says Mr. Jesse) commencing--
"Happy old man, whose worth all mankind knows
Except himself,"
have always struck us as conveying a true picture of Walton's character,
and of the estimation in which he was held after the appearance of his
"Angler."
The last male descendant of our "honest father," the Rev. Dr. Herbert
Hawes, died in 1839. He very liberally bequeathed the beautiful painting
of Walton, by Houseman, to the National Gallery; and it is a curious
fact, as showing the estimation in which anything connected with Walton
is held in the present day, that the lord of the manor in which Dr.
Hawes resided, laid claim to this portrait as a heriot, though not
successfully. Dr. Hawes also bequeathed the greater portion of his
library to the Dean and Chapter of Salisbury; and his executor and
friend presented the celebrated prayer-book, which was Walton's, to
Mr. Pickering, the publisher. The watch which belonged to Walton's
connexion, the excellent Bishop Ken, has been presented to his amiable
biographer, the Rev. W. Lisle Bowles.
Walton died at the house of his son-in-law, Dr. Hawkins, at Winchester.
He was buried in Winchester Cathedral, in the south aisle, called Prior
Silkstead's Chapel. A large black marble slab is placed over his remains;
and, to use the poetical language of Mr. Bowles, "the morning sunshine
falls directly on it, reminding the contemplative man of the mornings
when he was, for so many years, up and abroad with his angle, on the
banks of the neighbouring stream."
* * * * *
PRAISE OF ALE.
Dr. Still, though Bishop of Bath and Wells, seems not to have been over
fond of water; for thus he sings:--
"A stoup of ale, then, cannot fail,
To cheer both heart and soul;
It hath a charm, and without harm
Can make a lame man whole.
For he who thinks, and water drinks,
Is never worth a dump:
Then fill your cup, and drink it up,
May he be made a pump."
* * * * *
DANGEROUS FOOLS.
Sydney Smith writes:--If men are to be fools, it were better that they
were fools in little matters than in great; dulness, turned up with
temerity, is a livery all the worse for the facings; and the most
tremendous of all things is a magnanimous dunce.
* * * * *
BULWER'S POMPEIAN DRAWING-ROOM.
In 1841, the author of _Pelham_ lived in Charles-street, Berkeley-square,
in a small house, which he fitted up after his own taste; and an odd
_melée_ of the classic and the baronial certain of the rooms presented.
One of the drawing-rooms, we remember, was in the Elizabethan style,
with an imitative oak ceiling, bristled with pendents; and this room
opened into another apartment, a fac-simile of a chamber which Bulwer
had visited at Pompeii, with vases, candelabra, and other furniture to
correspond.
James Smith has left a few notes of his visit here: "Our host," he says,
"lighted a perfumed pastile, modelled from Vesuvius. As soon as the
cone of the mountain began to blaze, I found myself an inhabitant of
the devoted city; and, as Pliny the elder, thus addressed Bulwer, my
supposed nephew:--'Our fate is accomplished, nephew! Hand me yonder
volume! I shall die as a student in my vocation. Do thou hasten to take
refuge on board the fleet at Misenum. Yonder cloud of hot ashes chides
thy longer delay. Feel no alarm for me; I shall live in story. The author
of _Pelham_ will rescue my name from oblivion.' Pliny the younger made
me a low bow, &c." We strongly suspect James of quizzing "our host."
He noted, by the way, in the chamber were the busts of Hebe, Laura,
Petrarch, Dante, and other worthies; Laura like our Queen.
* * * * *
STERNE'S SERMONS.
Sterne's sermons are, in general, very short, which circumstance gave
rise to the following joke at Bull's Library, at Bath:--A footman had
been sent by his lady to purchase one of Smallridge's sermons, when, by
mistake, he asked for a _small religious_ sermon. The bookseller being
puzzled how to reply to his request, a gentleman present suggested,
"Give him one of Sterne's."
It has been observed, that if Sterne had never written one line more
than his picture of the mournful cottage, towards the conclusion of his
fifth sermon, we might cheerfully indulge the devout hope that the
recording angel, whom he once invoked, will have blotted out many of
his imperfections.
* * * * *
"TOM HILL."
A few days before the close of 1840, London lost one of its choicest
spirits, and humanity one of her kindest-hearted sons, in the death of
Thomas Hill, Esq.--"Tom Hill," as he was called by all who loved and
knew him. His life exemplified one venerable proverb, and disproved
another; he was born in May, 1760, and was, consequently, in his 81st
year, and "as old as the hills;" having led a long life and a merry one.
He was originally a drysalter; but about the year 1810, having sustained
a severe loss by a speculation in indigo, he retired upon the remains of
his property to chambers in the Adelphi, where he died; his physician
remarking to him, "I can do no more for you--I have done all I can. I
cannot cure age."
Hill, when in business at the unlettered Queenhithe, found leisure
to accumulate a fine collection of books, chiefly old poetry, which
afterwards, when misfortune overtook him, was valued at 6000_l._ Hill
was likewise a Mæcenas: he patronized two friendless poets, Bloomfield
and Kirke White. The _Farmer's Boy_ of the former was read and admired
by him in manuscript, and was recommended to a publisher. Hill also
established _The Monthly Mirror_, to which Kirke White was a contributor.
Hill was the Hull of Hook's _Gilbert Gurney_. He happened to know
everything that was going on in all circles; and was at all "private
views" of exhibitions. So especially was he favoured, that a wag recorded,
when asked whether he had seen the new comet, he replied--"Pooh! pooh! I
was present at the private view."
Hill left behind him an assemblage of literary rarities, which it
occupied a clear week to sell by auction. Among them was Garrick's cup,
formed from the mulberry tree planted by Shakespeare in his garden at
New Place, Stratford-upon-Avon; this produced forty guineas. A small
vase and pedestal, carved from the same mulberry-tree, and presented to
Garrick, was sold with a coloured drawing of it, for ten guineas. And a
block of wood, cut from the celebrated willow planted by Pope, at his
villa at Twickenham, brought one guinea.
* * * * *
TYCHO BRAHE'S NOSE.
Sir David Brewster relates that in the year 1566, an accident occurred
to Tycho Brahe, at Wittenberg, which had nearly deprived him of his
life. On the 10th of December, Tycho had a quarrel with a noble
countryman, Manderupius Rasbergius, and they parted ill friends. On the
27th of the same month, they met again; and having renewed their
quarrel, they agreed to settle their differences by the sword. They
accordingly met at seven o'clock in the evening of the 29th, and fought
in total darkness. In this blind combat, Manderupius cut off the whole
of the front of Tycho's nose, and it was fortunate for astronomy that
his more valuable organs were defended by so faithful an outpost. The
quarrel, which is said to have originated in a difference of opinion
respecting their mathematical attainments, terminated here; and Tycho
repaired his loss by cementing upon his face a nose of gold and silver,
which is said to have formed a good imitation of the original. Thus,
Tycho was, indeed, a "Martyr of Science."
* * * * *
FOOTE'S WOODEN LEG.
George Colman, the younger, notes:--"There is no Shakspeare or Roscius
upon record who, like Foote, supported a theatre for a series of years
by his own acting, in his own writings; and for ten years of the time,
upon a wooden leg! This prop to his person I once saw standing by his
bedside, ready dressed in a handsome silk stocking, with a polished
shoe and gold buckle, awaiting the owner's getting up: it had a kind of
tragic, comical appearance, and I leave to inveterate wags the ingenuity
of punning upon a Foote in bed, and a leg out of it. The proxy for a
limb thus decorated, though ludicrous, is too strong a reminder of
amputation to be very laughable. His undressed supporter was the
common wooden stick, which was not a little injurious to a well-kept
pleasure-ground. I remember following him after a shower of rain, upon
a nicely rolled terrace, in which he stumped a deep round hole at every
other step he took, till it appeared as if the gardener had been there
with his dibble, preparing, against all horticultural practice, to plant
a long row of cabbages in a gravel walk."
* * * * *
RIVAL REMEMBRANCE.
_Mr. Gifford to Mr. Hazlitt._
"What we read from your pen, we remember no
more."
_Mr. Hazlitt to Mr. Gifford._
"What we read from your pen, we remember before."
* * * * *
WHO WROTE "JUNIUS'S LETTERS"?
This question has not yet been satisfactorily answered. In 1812, Dr.
Mason Good, in an essay he wrote on the question, passed in review all
the persons who had then been suspected of writing these celebrated
letters. They are, Charles Lloyd and John Roberts, originally treasury
clerks; Samuel Dyer, a learned man, and a friend of Burke and Johnson;
William Gerard Hamilton, familiarly known as "Single-speech Hamilton;"
Mr. Burke; Dr. Butler, late Bishop of Hereford; the Rev. Philip
Rosenhagen; Major-General Lee, who went over to the Americans, and took
an active part in their contest with the mother-country; John Wilkes;
Hugh Macaulay Boyd; John Dunning, Lord Ashburton; Henry Flood; and Lord
George Sackville.
Since this date, in 1813, John Roche published an Inquiry, in which he
persuaded himself that Burke was the author. In the same year there
appeared three other publications on Junius: these were, the Attempt of
the Rev. J. B. Blakeway, to trace them to John Horne Tooke; next were
the "Facts" of Thomas Girdlestone, M.D., to prove that General Lee was
the author; and, thirdly, a work put forth by Mrs. Olivia Wilmot Serres,
in the following confident terms:--"Life of the Author of _Junius's
Letters_,--the Rev. J. Wilmot, D.D., Fellow of Trinity College, Oxford;"
and, like most bold attempts, this work attracted some notice and
discussion.
In 1815, the Letters were attributed to Richard Glover, the poet of
_Leonidas_; and this improbable idea was followed by another, assigning
the authorship of the Letters to the Duke of Portland, in 1816. In the
same year appeared "Arguments and Facts," to show that John Louis de
Lolme, author of the famous Essay on the Constitution of England, was
the writer of these anonymous epistles. In 1816, too, appeared Mr.
John Taylor's "Junius Identified," advocating the claims of Sir Philip
Francis so successfully that the question was generally considered to
be settled. Mr. Taylor's opinion was supported by Edward Dubois, Esq.,
formerly the confidential friend and private secretary of Sir Philip,
who, in common with Lady Francis, constantly entertained the conviction
that his deceased patron was identical with Junius.
In 1817, George Chalmers, F.S.A., advocated the pretensions of Hugh
Macaulay Boyd to the authorship of Junius. In 1825, Mr. George Coventry
maintained with great ability that Lord George Sackville was Junius; and
two writers in America adopted this theory.
Thus was the whole question re-opened; and, in 1828, Mr. E. H. Barker,
of Thetford, refuted the claims of Lord George Sackville and Sir Philip
Francis, and advocated those of Charles Lloyd, private secretary to the
Hon. George Grenville.[4]
In 1841, Mr. N. W. Simons, of the British Museum, refuted the
supposition that Sir Philip Francis was directly or indirectly
concerned in the writing; and, in the same year, appeared M. Jaques's
review of the controversy, in which he arrived at the conclusion that
Lord George Sackville composed the Letters, and that Sir Philip Francis
was his amanuensis, thus combining the theory of Mr. Taylor with that of
Mr. Coventry.
The question was reviewed and revived in a volume published by Mr.
Britton, F.S.A., in June 1848, entitled "The Authorship of the Letters
of Junius Elucidated;" in which is advocated with great care the opinion
that the Letters were, to a certain extent, the joint productions of
Lieut.-Colonel Isaac Barré, M.P., Lord Shelburne, (afterwards Marquess
of Lansdowne,) and Dunning, Lord Ashburton. Of these three persons the
late Sir Francis Baring commissioned Sir Joshua Reynolds, in 1784-5, to
paint portraits in one picture, which is regarded as evidence of joint
authorship.
Only a week before his death, 1804, the Marquess of Lansdowne was
personally appealed to on the subject of _Junius_, by Sir Richard
Phillips. In conversation, the Marquess said, "No, no, I am not equal to
_Junius_; I could not be the author; but the grounds of secrecy are now
so far removed by death (Dunning and Barré were at that time dead), and
change of circumstances, that it is unnecessary the author of _Junius_
should much longer be unknown. The world is curious about him, and I
could make a very interesting publication on the subject. I knew Junius,
and _I know all about_ the writing and production of these Letters."
The Marquess added, "If I live over the summer, which, however, I don't
expect, I promise you a very interesting pamphlet about Junius. I will
put my name to it; I will set the question at rest for ever." The death
of the Marquess, however, occurred in a week. In a letter to the _Monthly
Magazine_, July 1813, the son of the Marquess of Lansdowne says:--"It
is not impossible my father may have been acquainted with the fact; but
perhaps he was under some obligation to secrecy, as he never made any
communication to me on the subject."
Lord Mahon (now Earl Stanhope) at length and with minuteness enters, in
his History, into a vindication of the claims of Sir Philip Francis,
grounding his partisanship on the close similarity of handwriting
established by careful comparison of facsimiles; the likeness of the
style of Sir Philip's speeches in Parliament to that of _Junius_--biting,
pithy, full of antithesis and invective; the tenderness and bitterness
displayed by _Junius_ towards persons to whom Sir Philip stood well or
ill affected; the correspondence of the dates of the letters with those
of certain movements of Sir Philip; and the evidence of _Junius_' close
acquaintance with the War Office, where Sir Philip held a post. It seems
generally agreed that the weight of proof is on the side of Sir Philip
Francis; but there will always be found adherents of other names--as
O'Connell, in the following passage, of Burke:--
"It is my decided opinion," said O'Connell, "that Edmund Burke
was the author of the 'Letters of Junius.' There are many
considerations which compel me to form that opinion. Burke was the
only man who made that figure in the world which the author of
'Junius' _must_ have made, if engaged in public life; and the
entire of 'Junius's Letters' evinces that close acquaintance with
the springs of political machinery which no man could possess
unless actively engaged in politics. Again, Burke was fond of
chemical similes; now chemical similes are frequent in Junius.
Again; Burke was an Irishman; now Junius, speaking of the
Government of Ireland, twice calls it 'the Castle,' a familiar
phrase amongst Irish politicians, but one which an Englishman,
in those days, would never have used. Again; Burke had this
peculiarity in writing, that he often wrote many words without
taking the pen from the paper. The very same peculiarity existed
in the manuscripts of Junius, although they were written in a
feigned hand. Again; it may be said that the style is not Burke's.
In reply, I would say that Burke was master of many styles. His
work on natural society, in imitation of Lord Bolingbroke, is as
different in point of style from his work on the French Revolution,
as _both_ are from the 'Letters of Junius.' Again; Junius speaks
of the King's insanity as a divine visitation; Burke said the very
same thing in the House of Commons. Again; had any one of the
other men to whom the 'Letters' are, with any show of probability,
ascribed, been really the author, such author would have had no
reason for disowning the book, or remaining incognito. Any one of
them but Burke would have claimed the authorship and fame--and
proud fame. But Burke had a very cogent reason for remaining
incognito. In claiming Junius he would have claimed his own
condemnation and dishonour, for Burke died a pensioner. Burke
was, moreover, the only pensioner who had the commanding talent
displayed in the writings of Junius. Now, when I lay all these
considerations together, and especially when I reflect that a
cogent reason exists for Burke's silence as to his own authorship,
I confess I think I have got a presumptive proof of the very
strongest nature, that Burke was the writer."[5]
[4] Supported by the following note, written by Dr. Parr, in his copy
of "The Letters of Junius:"--"The writer of 'Junius' was Mr. Lloyd,
secretary to George Grenville, and brother to Philip Lloyd, Dean of
Norwich. This will one day or other be generally acknowledged.--S. P."
[5] Personal Recollections of the late Daniel O'Connell, M.P. By William
J. O'N. Daunt.
* * * * *
LITERARY COFFEE-HOUSES IN THE LAST CENTURY.
Three of the most celebrated resorts of the _literati_ of the last
century were _Will's Coffee-house_, No. 23, on the north side of Great
Russell-street, Covent Garden, at the end of Bow-street. This was the
favourite resort of Dryden, who had here his own chair, in winter by the
fireside, in summer in the balcony: the company met in the first floor,
and there smoked; and the young beaux and wits were sometimes honoured
with a pinch out of Dryden's snuff-box. Will's was the resort of men of
genius till 1710: it was subsequently occupied by a perfumer.
_Tom's_, No. 17, Great Russell-street, had nearly 700 subscribers, at a
guinea a-head, from 1764 to 1768, and had its card, conversation, and
coffee-rooms, where assembled Dr. Johnson, Carrick, Murphy, Goldsmith,
Sir Joshua Reynolds, Foote, and other men of talent: the tables and
books of the club were not many years since preserved in the house, the
first floor of which was then occupied by Mr. Webster, the medallist.
_Button's_, "over against" Tom's, was the receiving-house for
contributions to _The Guardian_, in a lion-head box, the aperture for
which remains in the wall to mark the place. Button had been servant to
Lady Warwick, whom Addison married; and the house was frequented by
Pope, Steele, Swift, Arbuthnot, and Addison. The lion's head for a
letter-box, "the best head in England," was set up in imitation of
the celebrated lion at Venice: it was removed from Button's to the
Shakspeare's Head, under the arcade in Covent Garden; and in 1751, was
placed in the Bedford, next door. This lion's head is now treasured as a
relic by the Bedford family.
* * * * *
LORD BYRON AND "MY GRANDMOTHER'S REVIEW."
At the close of the first canto of _Don Juan_, its noble author, by way
of propitiating the reader for the morality of his poem, says:--
"The public approbation I expect,
And beg they'll take my word about the moral,
Which I with their amusement will connect,
As children cutting teeth receive a coral;
Meantime, they'll doubtless please to recollect
My epical pretensions to the laurel;
For fear some prudish reader should grow skittish,
I've bribed my Grandmother's Review--the British.
I sent it in a letter to the editor,
Who thank'd me duly by return of post--
I'm for a handsome article his creditor;
Yet if my gentle muse he please to roast,
And break a promise after having made it her,
Denying the receipt of what it cost,
And smear his page with gall instead of honey,
All I can say is--that he had the money."
_Canto I. st._ ccix. ccx.
Now, "the British" was a certain staid and grave high-church review, the
editor of which received the poet's imputation of bribery as a serious
accusation; and, accordingly, in his next number after the publication
of _Don Juan_, there appeared a postscript, in which the receipt of any
bribe was stoutly denied, and the idea of such connivance altogether
repudiated; the editor adding that he should continue to exercise his
own judgment as to the merits of Lord Byron, as he had hitherto done
in every instance! However, the affair was too ludicrous to be at once
altogether dropped; and, so long as the prudish publication was in
existence, it enjoyed the _sobriquet_ of "My Grandmother's Review."
By the way, there is another hoax connected with this poem. One day
an old gentleman gravely inquired of a printseller for a portrait of
"Admiral Noah"--to illustrate _Don Juan_!
* * * * *
WALPOLE'S WAY TO WIN THEM.
Sir Robert Walpole, in one of his letters, thus describes the relations
of a skilful Minister with an accommodating Parliament--the description,
it may be said, having, by lapse of time, acquired the merit of general
inapplicability to the present state of things:--"My dear friend, there
is scarcely a member whose purse I do not know to a sixpence, and whose
very soul almost I could not purchase at the offer. The reason former
Ministers have been deceived in this matter is evident--they never
considered the temper of the people they had to deal with. I have known
a minister so weak as to offer an avaricious old rascal a star and
garter, and attempt to bribe a young rogue, who set no value upon money,
with a lucrative employment. I pursue methods as opposite as the poles,
and therefore my administration has been attended with a different
effect." "Patriots," elsewhere says Walpole, "spring up like mushrooms.
I could raise fifty of them within four-and-twenty hours. I have raised
many of them in one night. It is but refusing to gratify an unreasonable
or insolent demand, and _up starts a patriot_."
* * * * *
DR. JOHNSON'S CRITICISMS.
Johnson decided literary questions like a lawyer, not like a legislator.
He never examined foundations where a point was already ruled. His whole
code of criticism rested on pure assumption, for which he sometimes gave
a precedent or authority, but rarely troubled himself to give a reason
drawn from the nature of things. He judged of all works of the imagination
by the standard established among his own contemporaries. Though he
allowed Homer to have been a greater man than Virgil, he seems to have
thought the Æneid to have been a greater poem than the Iliad. Indeed, he
well might have thought so; for he preferred Pope's _Iliad_ to Homer's.
He pronounced that after Hoole's translation of _Tasso_, Fairfax's would
hardly be reprinted. He could see no merit in our fine old English
ballads, and always spoke with the most provoking contempt of Dr.
Percy's fondness for them.
Of all the great original works which appeared during his time,
Richardson's novels alone excited his admiration. He could see little
or no merit in _Tom Jones_, in _Gulliver's Travels_, or in _Tristram
Shandy_. To Thomson's _Castle of Indolence_ he vouchsafed only a line of
cold commendation--of commendation much colder than what he has bestowed
on _The Creation_ of that portentous bore, Sir Richard Blackmore. Gray
was, in his dialect, a barren rascal. Churchill was a blockhead. The
contempt which he felt for Macpherson was, indeed, just; but it was, we
suspect, just by by chance. He criticized Pope's epitaphs excellently.
But his observations on Shakspeare's plays, and Milton's poems, seem to
us as wretched as if they had been written by Rymer himself, whom we
take to have been the worst critic that ever lived.
* * * * *
GIBBON'S HOUSE, AT LAUSANNE
The house of Gibbon, in which he completed his "Decline and Fall," is
in the lower part of the town of Lausanne, behind the church of St.
Francis, and on the right of the road leading down to Ouchy. Both the
house and the garden have been much changed. The wall of the Hotel
Gibbon occupies the site of his summer-house, and the _berceau_ walk has
been destroyed to make room for the garden of the hotel; but the terrace
looking over the lake, and a few acacias, remain.
Gibbon's record of the completion of his great labour is very impressive.
"It was on the day, or rather the night, of the 27th of June, 1787,
between the hours of eleven and twelve, that I wrote the last line of
the last page, in a summer-house in my garden. After laying down my pen,
I took several turns in a _berceau_, or covered walk of acacias, which
commands a prospect of the country, the lake, and the mountains. The
air was temperate, the sky was serene, the silver orb of the moon was
reflected from the waves, and all nature was silent."
At a little inn at Morges, about two miles distant from Lausanne, Lord
Byron wrote the _Prisoner of Chillon_, in the short space of _two days_,
during which he was detained here by bad weather, June 1816: "thus
adding one more deathless association to the already immortalized
localities of the Lake."
* * * * *
ORIGIN OF "BOZ." (DICKENS.)
A fellow passenger with Mr. Dickens in the _Britannia_ steam-ship,
across the Atlantic, inquired of the author the origin of his signature,
"Boz." Mr. Dickens replied that he had a little brother who resembled
so much the Moses in the _Vicar of Wakefield_, that he used to call him
Moses also; but a younger girl, who could not then articulate plainly,
was in the habit of calling him Bozie or Boz. This simple circumstance
made him assume that name in the first article he risked to the public,
and therefore he continued the name, as the first effort was approved
of.
* * * * *
BOSWELL'S "LIFE OF JOHNSON."
Sir John Malcolm once asked Warren Hastings, who was a contemporary and
companion of Dr. Johnson and Boswell, what was his real estimation
of Boswell's _Life of Johnson_? "Sir," replied Hastings, "it is the
_dirtiest_ book in my library;" then proceeding, he added: "I knew
Boswell intimately; and I well remember, when his book first made its
appearance, Boswell was so full of it, that he could neither think nor
talk of anything else; so much so, that meeting Lord Thurlow hurrying
through Parliament-street to get to the House of Lords, where an
important debate was expected, for which he was already too late,
Boswell had the temerity to stop and accost him with "Have you read my
book?" "Yes," replied Lord Thurlow, with one of his strongest curses,
"every word of it; I could not help it."
* * * * *
PATRONAGE OF AUTHORS.
In the reigns of William III., of Anne, and of George I., even such men
as Congreve and Addison could scarcely have been able to live like
gentlemen by the mere sale of their writings. But the deficiency of the
natural demand for literature was, at the close of the seventeenth, and
at the beginning of the eighteenth century, more than made up by the
artificial encouragement--by a vast system of bounties and premiums.
There was, perhaps, never a time at which the rewards of literary merit
were so splendid--at which men who could write well found such easy
admittance into the most distinguished society, and to the highest
honours of the state. The chiefs of both the great parties into which
the kingdom was divided, patronized literature with emulous munificence.
Congreve, when he had scarcely attained his majority, was rewarded for
his first comedy with places which made him independent for life. Rowe
was not only poet laureate, but land-surveyor of the Customs in the port
of London, clerk of the council to the Prince of Wales, and secretary
of the Presentations to the Lord Chancellor. Hughes was secretary
to the Commissioners of the Peace. Ambrose Phillips was judge of the
Prerogative Court in Ireland. Locke was Commissioner of Appeals and of
the Board of Trade. Newton was Master of the Mint. Stepney and Prior
were employed in embassies of high dignity and importance. Gay, who
commenced life as apprentice to a silk-mercer, became a secretary of
Legation at five-and-twenty. It was to a poem on the death of Charles II.,
and to "the City and Country Mouse," that Montague owed his introduction
into public life, his earldom, his garter, and his auditorship of the
Exchequer. Swift, but for the unconquerable prejudice of the queen,
would have been a bishop. Oxford, with his white staff in his hand,
passed through the crowd of his suitors to welcome Parnell, when that
ingenious writer deserted the Whigs. Steele was a Commissioner of
Stamps, and a member of Parliament. Arthur Mainwaring was a Commissioner
of the Customs, and Auditor of the Imprest. Tickell was secretary to the
Lords Justices of Ireland. Addison was Secretary of State.
But soon after the succession of the throne of Hanover, a change took
place. The supreme power passed to a man who cared little for poetry
or eloquence. Walpole paid little attention to books, and felt little
respect for authors. One of the coarse jokes of his friend, Sir Charles
Hanbury Williams, was far more pleasing to him than Thomson's _Seasons_
or Richardson's _Pamela_.
* * * * *
LEARNING FRENCH.
When Brummell was obliged by want of money, and debt, and all that, to
retire to France, he knew no French; and having obtained a grammar for
the purpose of study, his friend Scrope Davies was asked what progress
Brummell had made in French. He responded, that Brummell had been
stopped, like Buonaparte in Russia, by the _Elements_.
"I have put this pun into _Beppo_, (says Lord Byron), which is a fair
exchange and no robbery, for Scrope made his fortune at several dinners,
(as he owned himself,) by repeating occasionally, as his own, some of
the buffooneries with which I had encountered him in the morning."
* * * * *
JOHNSON'S CLUB-ROOM.
In a paper in the _Edinburgh Review_, we find this cabinet picture:--The
club-room is before us, and the table, on which stands the omelet for
Nugent, and the lemons for Johnson. There are assembled those heads
which live for ever on the canvas of Reynolds. There are the spectacles
of Burke, and the tall thin form of Langton; the courtly sneer of
Beauclerc, and the beaming smile of Garrick; Gibbon tapping his snuff-box,
and Sir Joshua with his trumpet in his ear. In the foreground is that
strange figure which is as familiar to us as the figures of those among
whom we have been brought up--the gigantic body, the huge massy face,
seamed with the scars of disease; the brown coat, the black worsted
stockings, the grey wig, with the scorched foretop; the dirty hands, the
nails bitten and pared to the quick. We see the eyes and nose moving with
convulsive twitches; we see the heavy form rolling; we hear it puffing;
and then comes the "Why, sir!" and the "What then, sir?" and the "No,
sir!" and the "You don't see your way through the question, sir!"
* * * * *
DR. CHALMERS'S INDUSTRY.
In October, 1841, Dr. Chalmers commenced two series of biblical
compositions, which he continued with unbroken regularity till the day
of his decease, May 31, 1847. Go where he might, however he might be
engaged, each week-day had its few verses read, thought over, written
upon--forming what he denominated "Horæ Biblicæ Quotidianæ:" each
Sabbath-day had its two chapters, one in the Old and the other in the
New Testament, with the two trains of meditative devotion recorded to
which the reading of them respectively gave birth--forming what he
denominated "Horæ Biblicæ Sabbaticæ." When absent from home, or when the
manuscript books in which they were ordinarily inserted were not beside
him, he wrote in short-hand, carefully entering what was thus written
in the larger volumes afterwards. Not a trace of haste nor of the
extreme pressure from without, to which he was so often subjected, is
exhibited in the handwriting of these volumes. There are but few words
omitted--scarcely any erased. This singular correctness was a general
characteristic of his compositions. His lectures on the Epistle to the
Romans were written _currente calamo_, in Glasgow, during the most
hurried and overburthened period of his life. And when, many years
afterwards, they were given out to be copied for the press, scarcely a
blot, or an erasure, or a correction, was to be found in them, and they
were printed off exactly as they had originally been written.
In preparing the "Horæ Biblicæ Quotidianæ," Chalmers had by his side,
for use and reference, the "Concordance," the "Pictorial Bible,"
"Poole's Synopsis," "Henry's Commentary," and "Robinson's Researches in
Palestine." These constituted what he called his "Biblical Library."
"There," said he to a friend, pointing, as he spoke, to the above-named
volumes, as they lay together on his library-table, with a volume of the
"Quotidianæ," in which he had just been writing, lying open beside
them,--"There are the books I use--all that is Biblical is there. I have
to do with nothing besides in my Biblical study." To the consultation of
these few volumes he throughout restricted himself.
The whole of the MSS. were purchased, after Dr. Chalmers's death, for a
large sum of money, by Mr. Thomas Constable, of Edinburgh, her Majesty's
printer; and were in due time given to, and most favourably received by,
the public.
* * * * *
LATEST OF DR. JOHNSON'S CONTEMPORARIES.[6]
In the autumn of 1831, died the Rev. Dr. Shaw, at Chesley,
Somersetshire, at the age of eighty-three: he is said to have been the
last surviving friend of Dr. Johnson.
On the 16th of January, in the above year, died Mr. Richard Clark,
chamberlain of the City of London, in the ninety-second year of his age.
At the age of fifteen, he was introduced by Sir John Hawkins to Johnson,
whose friendship he enjoyed to the last year of the Doctor's life. He
attended Johnson's evening parties at the Mitre Tavern, in Fleet-street;[7]
where, among other literary characters he met Dr. Percy, Dr. Goldsmith,
and Dr. Hawksworth. A substantial supper was served at eight o'clock;
the party seldom separated till a late hour; and Mr. Clark recollected
that early one morning he, with another of the party, accompanied the
Doctor to his house, where Mrs. Williams, then blind, made tea for them.
When Mr. Clark was sheriff, he took Johnson to a "Judges' Dinner," at
the Old Bailey; the judges being Blackstone and Eyre. Mr. Clark often
visited the Doctor, and met him at dinner-parties; and the last time he
enjoyed his company was at the Essex Head Club, of which, by the
Doctor's invitation, Clark became a member.
[6] See, also, an ensuing page, 120.
[7] Johnson, by the way, had a strange nervous feeling, which made him
uneasy if he had not touched every post between the Mitre Tavern and
his own lodgings.
* * * * *
A SNAIL DINNER.
The chemical philosophers, Dr. Black and Dr. Hutton, were particular
friends, though there was something extremely opposite in their external
appearance and manner. Dr. Black spoke with the English pronunciation,
and with punctilious accuracy of expression, both in point of matter and
manner. The geologist, Dr. Hutton, was the very reverse of this: his
conversation was conducted in broad phrases, expressed with a broad
Scotch accent, which often heightened the humour of what he said.
It chanced that the two Doctors had held some discourse together upon
the folly of abstaining from feeding on the testaceous creatures of the
land, while those of the sea were considered as delicacies. Wherefore
not eat snails? they are known to be nutritious and wholesome, and even
sanative in some cases. The epicures of old praised them among the
richest delicacies, and the Italians still esteem them. In short, it was
determined that a gastronomic experiment should be made at the expense
of the snails. The snails were procured, dieted for a time, and then
stewed for the benefit of the two philosophers, who had either invited
no guests to their banquet, or found none who relished in prospect the
_pièce de resistance_. A huge dish of snails was placed before them:
still, philosophers are but men, after all; and the stomachs of both
doctors began to revolt against the experiment. Nevertheless, if they
looked with disgust on the snails, they retained their awe for each
other, so that each, conceiving the symptoms of internal revolt peculiar
to himself, began, with infinite exertion, to swallow, in very small
quantities, the mess which he internally loathed.
Dr. Black, at length, showed the white feather, but in a very delicate
manner, as if to sound the opinion of his messmate. "Doctor," he said,
in his precise and quiet manner--"Doctor--do you not think that they
taste a little--a very little, green?" "D----d green! d----d green!
indeed--tak' them awa',--tak' them awa'!" vociferated Dr. Hutton, starting
up from table, and giving full vent to his feelings of abhorrence. So
ended all hopes of introducing snails into the modern _cuisine_; and
thus philosophy can no more cure a nausea than honour can set a broken
limb.--_Sir Walter Scott._
* * * * *
CURRAN'S IMAGINATION.
"Curran!" (says Lord Byron) "Curran's the man who struck me most. Such
imagination!--there never was anything like it that I ever heard of.
His _published_ life--his published speeches, give you no idea of the
man--none at all. He was a _machine_ of imagination, as some one said
that Prior was an epigrammatic machine." Upon another occasion, Byron
said, "the riches of Curran's Irish imagination were exhaustless. I have
heard that man speak more poetry than I have ever seen written--though I
saw him seldom, and but occasionally. I saw him presented to Madame de
Stael, at Mackintosh's--it was the grand confluence between the Rhone
and the Saone; they were both so d----d ugly, that I could not help
wondering how the best intellects of France and Ireland could have taken
up respectively such residences."
* * * * *
COWLEY AT CHERTSEY.
The poet Cowley died at the Porch House, Chertsey, on the 21st of July,
1667. There is a curious letter preserved of his condition when he
removed here from Barn Elms. It is addressed to Dr. Sprat, dated
Chertsey, 21 May, 1665, and is as follows:--
"The first night that I came hither I caught so great a cold, with
a defluxion of rheum, as made me keep my chamber ten days. And,
too, after had such a bruise on my ribs with a fall, that I am yet
unable to move or turn myself in bed. This is my personal fortune
here to begin with. And besides, I can get no money from my tenants,
and have my meadows eaten up every night by cattle put in by my
neighbours. What this signifies, or may come to in time, God knows!
if it be ominous, it can end in nothing but hanging."----"I do hope
to recover my hurt so farre within five or six days (though it be
uncertain yet whether I shall ever recover it) as to walk about
again. And then, methinks, you and I and _the Dean_ might be very
merry upon St. Ann's Hill. You might very conveniently come hither
by way of Hampton Town, lying there one night. I write this in
pain, and can say no more.--_Verbum sapienti._"
It is stated, by Sprat, that the last illness of Cowley was owing to his
having taken cold through staying too long among his labourers in the
meadows; but, in Spence's _Anecdotes_ we are informed, (on the authority
of Pope,) that "his death was occasioned by a mere accident whilst his
great friend, Dean Sprat, was with him on a visit at Chertsey. They had
been together to see a neighbour of Cowley's, who, (according to the
fashion of those times,) made them too welcome. They did not set out for
their walk home till it was too late; and had drank so deep that they
lay out in the fields all night. This gave Cowley the fever that carried
him off. The parish still talk of the drunken Dean."
* * * * *
A PRETTY COMPLIMENT.
Although Dr. Johnson had (or professed to have) a profound and unjustified
contempt for actors, he succeeded in comporting himself towards Mrs.
Siddons with great politeness; and once, when she called to see him at
Bolt Court, and his servant Frank could not immediately furnish her with
a chair, the doctor said, "You see, madam, that wherever you go there
are _no seats to be got_."
* * * * *
THOMAS DAY, AND HIS MODEL WIFE.
Day, the author of _Sandford and Merton_, was an eccentric but amiable
man; he retired into the country "to exclude himself," as he said, "from
the vanity, vice, and deceptive character of man," but he appears to
have been strangely jilted by women. When about the age of twenty-one,
and after his suit had been rejected by a young lady to whom he had paid
his addresses, Mr. Day formed the singular project of educating a wife
for himself. This was based upon the notion of Rousseau, that "all the
genuine worth of the human species is perverted by society; and that
children should be educated apart from the world, in order that their
minds should be kept untainted with, and ignorant of, its vices,
prejudices, and artificial manners."
Day set about his project by selecting two girls from an establishment
at Shrewsbury, connected with the Foundling Hospital; previously to
which he entered into a written engagement, guaranteed by a friend,
Mr. Bicknell, that within twelve months he would resign one of them
to a respectable mistress, as an apprentice, with a fee of one hundred
pounds; and, on her marriage, or commencing business for herself, he
would give her the additional sum of four hundred pounds; and he further
engaged that he would act honourably to the one he should retain, in
order to marry her at a proper age; or, if he should change his mind, he
would allow her a competent support until she married, and then give her
five hundred pounds as a dowry.
The objects of Day's speculation were both twelve years of age. One of
them, whom he called Lucretia, had a fair complexion, with light hair
and eyes; the other was a brunette, with chesnut tresses, who was styled
Sabrina. He took these girls to France without any English servants,
in order that they should not obtain any knowledge but what he should
impart. As might have been anticipated, they caused him abundance of
inconvenience and vexation, increased, in no small degree, by their
becoming infected with the small-pox; from this, however, they recovered
without any injury to their features. The scheme ended in the utter
disappointment of the projector. Lucretia, whom he first dismissed,
was apprenticed to a milliner; and she afterwards became the wife of a
linendraper in London. Sabrina, after Day had relinquished his attempts
to make her such a model of perfection as he required, and which included
indomitable courage, as well as the difficult art of retaining secrets,
was placed at a boarding-school at Sutton Coldfield, in Warwickshire,
where she was much esteemed; and, strange to say, was at length married
to Mr. Bicknell.
After Day had renounced this scheme as impracticable, he became suitor
to two sisters in succession; yet, in both instances, he was refused. At
length, he was married at Bath, to a lady who made "a large fortune the
means of exercising the most extensive generosity."
* * * * *
WASHINGTON IRVING AND WILKIE, IN THE ALHAMBRA.
Geoffrey Crayon (Irving), and Wilkie, the painter, were fellow-travellers
on the Continent, about the year 1827. In their rambles about some of
the old cities of Spain, they were more than once struck with scenes and
incidents which reminded them of passages in the _Arabian Nights_. The
painter urged Mr. Irving to write something that should illustrate those
peculiarities, "something in the 'Haroun-al-Raschid style,'" which
should have a deal of that Arabian spice which pervades everything in
Spain. The author set to work, _con amore_, and produced two goodly
volumes of Arabesque sketches and tales, founded on popular traditions.
His study was the Alhambra, and the governor of the palace gave Irving
and Wilkie permission to occupy his vacant apartments there. Wilkie was
soon called away by the duties of his station; but Washington Irving
remained for several months, spell-bound in the old enchanted pile. "How
many legends," saith he, "and traditions, true and fabulous--how many
songs and romances, Spanish and Arabian, of love, and war, and chivalry,
are associated with this romantic pile."
* * * * *
BOLINGBROKE AT BATTERSEA.
When the late Sir Richard Phillips took his "Morning's Walk from London
to Kew," in 1816, he found that a portion of the family mansion in which
Lord Bolingbroke was born had been converted into a mill and distillery,
though a small oak parlour had been carefully preserved. In this room,
Pope is said to have written his _Essay on Man_; and, in Bolingbroke's
time, the mansion was the resort, the hope, and the seat of enjoyment,
of Swift, Arbuthnot, Thomson, Mallet, and all the contemporary genius of
England. The oak room was always called "Pope's Parlour," it being, in
all probability, the apartment generally occupied by that great poet, in
his visits to his friend Bolingbroke.
On inquiring for an ancient inhabitant of Battersea, Sir Richard
Phillips was introduced to a Mrs. Gilliard, a pleasant and intelligent
woman, who told him she well remembered Lord Bolingbroke; that he used
to ride out every day in his chariot, and had a black patch on his
cheek, with a large wart over his eyebrows. She was then but a girl,
but she was taught to look upon him with veneration as a great man. As,
however, he spent little in the place, and gave little away, he was not
much regarded by the people of Battersea. Sir Richard mentioned to
her the names of several of Bolingbroke's contemporaries; but she
recollected none except that of Mallet, who, she said, she had often
seen walking about in the village, while he was visiting at Bolingbroke
House.
* * * * *
RELICS OF MILTON.
Milton was born at the _Spread Eagle_,[8] Bread-street, Cheapside,
December 9, 1608; and was buried, November, 1674, in St. Giles's Church,
Cripplegate, without even a stone, in the first instance, to mark his
resting-place; but, in 1793, a bust and tablet were set up to his memory
by public subscription.
Milton, before he resided in Jewin-gardens, Aldersgate, is believed to
have removed to, and "kept school" in a large house on the west side of
Aldersgate-street, wherein met the City of London Literary and
Scientific Institution, previously to the rebuilding of their premises
in 1839.
Milton's London residences have all, with one exception, disappeared,
and cannot be recognised; this is in Petty France, at Westminster, where
the poet lived from 1651 to 1659. The lower part of the house is a
chandler's-shop; the parlour, up stairs, looks into St. James's-park.
Here part of _Paradise Lost_ was written. The house belonged to Jeremy
Bentham, who caused to be placed on its front a tablet, inscribed,
"SACRED TO MILTON, PRINCE OF POETS."
In the same glass-case with Shakspeare's autograph, in the British
Museum, is a printed copy of the Elegies on Mr. Edward King, the subject
of _Lycidas_, with some corrections of the text in Milton's handwriting.
Framed and glazed, in the library of Mr. Rogers, the poet, hangs the
written agreement between Milton and his publisher, Simmons, for the
copyright of his _Paradise Lost_.--_Note-book of 1848._
[8] The house has been destroyed many years.
* * * * *
WRITING UP THE "TIMES" NEWSPAPER.
Dr. Dibdin, in his _Reminiscences_, relates:--"Sir John Stoddart
married the sister of Lord Moncrieff, by whom he has a goodly race of
representatives; but, before his marriage, _he was the man who wrote
up the Times newspaper_ to its admitted pitch of distinction and
superiority over every other contemporary journal. Mark, gentle reader,
I speak of the _Times_ newspaper during the eventful and appalling
crisis of Bonaparte's invasion of Spain and destruction of Moscow. My
friend fought with his _pen_ as Wellington fought with his _sword_: but
nothing like a tithe of the remuneration which was justly meted out to
the hero of Waterloo befel the editor of the _Times_. Of course, I speak
of remuneration in degree, and not in kind. The peace followed. Public
curiosity lulled, and all great and stirring events having subsided, it
was thought that a writer of less commanding talent, (certainly not
the _present Editor_,) and therefore procurable at a less premium,
would answer the current purposes of the day; and the retirement of Dr.
Stoddart, (for he was at this time a civilian, and particularly noticed
and patronised by Lord Stowell,) from the old _Times_, and his
establishment of the _New Times_ newspaper, followed in consequence. But
the latter, from various causes, had only a short-lived existence. Sir
John Stoddart had been his Majesty's advocate, or Attorney-General, at
Malta, before he retired thither a _second_ time, to assume the office
of Judge."
* * * * *
RELICS OF THE BOAR'S HEAD TAVERN, EASTCHEAP.
The portal of the Boar's Head was originally decorated with carved oak
figures of Falstaff and Prince Henry; and in 1834, the former figure was
in the possession of a brazier, of Great Eastcheap, whose ancestors had
lived in the shop he then occupied since the great fire. The last grand
Shakspearean dinner-party took place at the Boar's Head about 1784. A
boar's head, with silver tusks, which had been suspended in some room in
the house, perhaps the Half Moon or Pomegranate, (see _Henry IV._, Act.
ii., scene 3,) at the great fire, fell down with the ruins of the
houses, little injured, and was conveyed to Whitechapel Mount, where it
was identified and recovered about thirty years ago.
* * * * *
ORIGIN OF "THE EDINBURGH REVIEW."
The _Edinburgh Review_ was first published in 1802. The plan was
suggested by Sydney Smith, at a meeting of _literati_, in the fourth or
fifth flat or story, in Buccleugh-place, Edinburgh, then the elevated
lodging of Jeffrey. The motto humorously proposed for the new review
by its projector was, "_Tenui musam meditamur avena,_"--_i.e._, "We
cultivate literature upon a little oatmeal;" but this being too nearly
the truth to be publicly acknowledged, the more grave dictum of "_Judex
damnatur cum nocens absolvitur_" was adopted from _Publius Syrus_, of
whom, Sydney Smith affirms, "None of us, I am sure, ever read a single
line!" Lord Byron, in his fifth edition of _English Bards and Scotch
Reviewers_, refers to the reviewers as an "oat-fed phalanx."
* * * * *
CLEVER STATESMEN.
However great talents may command the admiration of the world, they do
not generally best fit a man for the discharge of social duties. Swift
remarks that "Men of great parts are often unfortunate in the management
of public business, because they are apt to go out of the common road
by the quickness of their imagination. This I once said to my Lord
Bolingbroke, and desired he would observe, that the clerk in his office
used a sort of ivory knife, with a blunt edge, to divide a sheet of
paper, which never failed to cut it even, only by requiring a steady
hand; whereas, if he should make one of a sharp penknife, the sharpness
would make it go often out of the crease, and disfigure the paper."
* * * * *
THE FIRST MAGAZINE.
The _Gentleman's Magazine_ unaccountably passes for the earliest
periodical of that description; while, in fact, it was preceded nearly
forty years by the _Gentleman's Journal_ of Motteux, a work much more
closely resembling our modern magazines, and from which Sylvanus Urban
borrowed part of his title, and part of his motto; while on the first
page of the first number of the _Gentleman's Magazine_ itself, it is
stated to contain "more than any book of the _kind_ and price."
* * * * *
MRS. TRIMMER.
This ingenious woman was the daughter of Joshua and Sarah Kirby, and was
born at Ipswich, January 6, 1741. Kirby taught George the Third, when
Prince of Wales, perspective and architecture. He was also President of
the Society of Artists of Great Britain, out of which grew the Royal
Academy. It was the last desire of Gainsborough to be buried beside his
old friend Kirby, and their tombs adjoin each other in the churchyard at
Kew.
Mrs. Trimmer, when a girl, was constantly reading Milton's _Paradise
Lost_; and this circumstance so pleased Dr. Johnson, that he invited her
to see him, and presented her with a copy of his _Rambler_. She also
repeatedly met Sir Joshua Reynolds, Dr. Gregory, Sharp, Hogarth, and
Gainsborough, with all of whom her father was on terms of intimacy. Mrs.
Trimmer advocated religious education against the latitudinarian views
of Joseph Lancaster. It was at her persuasion that Dr. Bell entered the
field, and paved the way for the establishment of the National Society.
Mrs. Trimmer died, in her seventieth year, in 1810. She was seated at
her table reading a letter, when her head sunk upon her bosom, and she
"fell asleep;" and so gentle was the wafting, that she seemed for some
time in a refreshing slumber, which her family were unwilling to
interrupt.
* * * * *
BOSWELL'S BEAR-LEADING.
It was on a visit to the parliament house that Mr. Henry Erskine,
(brother of Lord Buchan and Lord Erskine,) after being presented to Dr.
Johnson by Mr. Boswell, and having made his bow, slipped a shilling
into Boswell's hand, whispering that it was for the sight of his
_bear_.--_Sir Walter Scott._
* * * * *
LORD ELIBANK AND DR. JOHNSON
Lord Elibank made a happy retort on Dr. Johnson's definition of oats, as
the food of horses in England, and men in Scotland. "Yes," said he, "and
where else will you see _such horses, and such men_?"--_Sir Walter Scott._
* * * * *
RELICS OF DR. JOHNSON AT LICHFIELD.
The house in which Dr. Johnson was born, at Lichfield--where his father,
it is well known, kept a small bookseller's shop, and where he was
partly educated--stood on the west side of the market-place. In the
centre of the market-place is a colossal statue of Johnson, seated upon
a square pedestal: it is by Lucas, and was executed at the expense of
the Rev. Chancellor Law, in 1838. By the side of a footpath leading from
Dam-street to Stow, formerly stood a large willow, said to have been
planted by Johnson. It was blown down, in 1829; but one of its shoots
was preserved and planted upon the same spot: it was in the year 1848 a
large tree, known in the town as "Johnson's Willow."
Mr. Lomax, who for many years kept a bookseller's shop--"The Johnson's
Head," in Bird-street, Lichfield, possessed several articles that
formerly belonged to Johnson, which have been handed down by a clear and
indisputable ownership. Amongst them is his own _Book of Common Prayer_,
in which are written, in pencil, the four Latin lines printed in Strahan's
edition of the Doctor's Prayers. There are, also, a sacrament-book, with
Johnson's wife's name in it, in his own handwriting; an autograph letter
of the Doctor's to Miss Porter; two tea-spoons, an ivory tablet, and a
breakfast table; a Visscher's Atlas, paged by the Doctor, and a manuscript
index; Davies's _Life of Garrick_, presented to Johnson by the publisher;
a walking cane; and a Dictionary of Heathen Mythology, with the
Doctor's MS. corrections. His wife's wedding-ring, afterwards made into
a mourning-ring; and a massive chair, in which he customarily sat, were
also in Mr Lomax's possession.
Among the few persons living in the year 1848 who ever saw Dr. Johnson,
was Mr. Dyott, of Lichfield: this was seventy-four years before, or in
1774, when the Doctor and Boswell, on their tour into Wales, stopped at
Ashbourne, and there visited Mr. Dyott's father, who was then residing
at Ashbourne Hall.[9]
[9] "The Dyotts," notes Croker, "are a respectable and wealthy family,
still residing near Lichfield. The royalist who shot Lord Brooke when
assaulting St. Chad's Cathedral, in Lichfield, on St. Chad's Day, was
a Mr. Dyott."
* * * * *
COLERIDGE A SOLDIER.
After Coleridge left Cambridge, he came to London, where soon feeling
himself forlorn and destitute, he enlisted as a soldier in the 15th
Elliot's Light Dragoons. "On his arrival at the quarters of the
regiment," says his friend and biographer, Mr. Gilman, "the general of
the district inspected the recruits, and looking hard at Coleridge, with
a military air, inquired 'What's your name, sir?' 'Comberbach!' (the
name he had assumed.) 'What do you come here for, sir?' as if doubting
whether he had any business there. 'Sir,' said Coleridge, 'for what most
other persons come--to be made a soldier.' 'Do you think,' said the
general, 'you can run a Frenchman through the body?' 'I do not know,'
replied Coleridge, 'as I never tried; but I'll let a Frenchman run me
through the body before I'll run away.' 'That will do,' said the
general, and Coleridge was turned in the ranks."
The poet made a poor dragoon, and never advanced beyond the awkward
squad. He wrote letters, however, for all his comrades, and they
attended to his horse and accoutrements. After four months service,
(December 1793 to April 1794), the history and circumstances of
Coleridge became known. He had written under his saddle, on the stable
wall, a Latin sentence (Eheu! quam infortunii miserrimum est fuisse
felicem!) which led to an inquiry on the part of the captain of his
troop, who had more regard for the classics than Ensign Northerton, in
_Tom Jones_. Coleridge was, accordingly, discharged, and restored to his
family and friends.
* * * * *
COBBETT'S BOYHOOD.
Perhaps, in Cobbett's voluminous writings, there is nothing so complete
as the following picture of his boyish scenes and recollections: it has
been well compared to the most simple and touching passages in
Richardson's _Pamela_:--
"After living within a hundred yards of Westminster Hall and the
Abbey church, and the bridge, and looking from my own window into
St. James's Park, all other buildings and spots appear mean and
insignificant. I went to-day to see the house I formerly occupied.
How small! It is always thus: the words large and small are
carried about with us in our minds, and we forget real dimensions.
The idea, such as it was received, remains during our absence from
the object. When I returned to England in 1800, after an absence
from the country parts of it of sixteen years, the trees, the
hedges, even the parks and woods, seemed so small! It made me
laugh to hear little gutters, that I could jump over, called
rivers! The Thames was but 'a creek!' But when, in about a month
after my arrival in London, I went to Farnham, the place of my
birth, what was my surprise! Every thing was become so pitifully
small! I had to cross in my postchaise the long and dreary heath
of Bagshot. Then, at the end of it, to mount a hill called Hungry
Hill; and from that hill I knew that I should look down into the
beautiful and fertile vale of Farnham. My heart fluttered with
impatience, mixed with a sort of fear, to see all the scenes of my
childhood; for I had learned before the death of my father and
mother. There is a hill not far from the town, called Crooksbury
Hill, which rises up out of a flat in the form of a cone, and is
planted with Scotch fir-trees. Here I used to take the eggs and
young ones of crows and magpies. This hill was a famous object in
the neighbourhood. It served as the superlative degree of height.
'As high as Crooksbury Hill,' meant with us, the utmost degree of
height. Therefore, the first object my eyes sought was this hill.
I could not believe my eyes! Literally speaking, I for a moment
thought the famous hill removed, and a little heap put in its
stead; for I had seen in New Brunswick a single rock, or hill of
solid rock, ten times as big, and four or five times as high! The
post-boy, going down hill, and not a bad road, whisked me in a few
minutes to the Bush Inn, from the garden of which I could see the
prodigious sand hill where I had begun my gardening works. What a
nothing! But now came rushing into my mind all at once my pretty
little garden, my little blue smock-frock, my little nailed shoes,
my pretty pigeons that I used to feed out of my hands, the last
kind words and tears of my gentle and tender-hearted and
affectionate mother. I hastened back into the room. If I had
looked a moment longer, I should have dropped. When I came to
reflect, what a change! What scenes I had gone through! How
altered my state! I had dined the day before at a secretary of
state's, in company with Mr. Pitt, and had been waited upon by men
in gaudy liveries! I had had nobody to assist me in the world. No
teachers of any sort. Nobody to shelter me from the consequence of
bad, and nobody to counsel me to good behaviour. I felt proud. The
distinctions of rank, birth, and wealth, all became nothing in my
eyes; and from that moment (less than a month after my arrival in
England), I resolved never to bend before them."
Cobbett was, for a short time, a labourer in the kitchen grounds of the
Royal Gardens at Kew. King George the Third often visited the gardens
to inquire after the fruits and esculents; and one day, he saw here
Cobbett, then a lad, who with a few halfpence in his pocket, and Swift's
_Tale of a Tub_ in his hand, had been so captivated by the wonders of
the royal gardens, that he applied there for employment. The king, on
perceiving the clownish boy, with his stockings tied about his legs by
scarlet garters, inquired about him, and specially desired that he might
be continued in his service.
* * * * *
COLERIDGE AN UNITARIAN PREACHER.
During his residence at Nether Stoney, Coleridge officiated as Unitarian
preacher at Taunton, and afterwards at Shrewsbury. Mr. Hazlitt has
described his walking ten miles on a winter day to hear Coleridge
preach. "When I got there," he says, "the organ was playing the 100th
psalm, and, when it was done, Mr. Coleridge rose and gave out his
text:--'He departed again into a mountain himself alone.' As he gave out
his text, his voice rose like a stream of rich distilled perfume; when
he came to the two last words, which he pronounced loud, deep, and
distinct, it seemed to me, who was then young, as if the sounds had
echoed from the bottom of the human heart, and as if that prayer might
have floated in solemn silence through the universe. The idea of St.
John came into my mind, of one crying in the wilderness, who had his
loins girt about, and whose food was locusts and wild honey. The
preacher then launched into his subject, like an eagle dallying with
the wind. The sermon was upon peace and war--upon Church and State; not
their alliance, but their separation; on the spirit of the world and the
spirit of Christianity; not as the same, but as opposed to one another.
He talked of those who had inscribed the cross of Christ on banners
dripping with human gore! He made a poetical and pastoral excursion;
and, to show the fatal effects of war, drew a striking contrast between
the simple shepherd-boy driving his team a-field, or sitting under the
hawthorn, piping to his flock, as though he should never be old, and the
same poor country-lad crimped, kidnapped, brought into town, made drunk
at an alehouse, turned into a wretched drummer-boy, with his hair
sticking on end with powder and pomatum, a long cue at his back, and
tricked out in the finery of the profession of blood.
"'Such were the notes our once-loved poet sung;'
and, for myself, I could not have been more delighted if I had heard the
music of the spheres."
* * * * *
FONTENELLE'S INSENSIBILITY.
Fontenelle, who lived till within one month of a century, was very
rarely known to laugh or cry, and even boasted of his insensibility. One
day, a certain _bon-vivant_ Abbé came unexpectedly to dine with him. The
Abbé was fond of asparagus dressed with butter; Fontenelle, also, had a
great _gout_ for the vegetable, but preferred it dressed with oil.
Fontenelle said, that, for such a friend, there was no sacrifice he
would not make; and that he should have half the dish of asparagus
which he had ordered for himself, and that half, moreover, should be
dressed with butter. While they were conversing together, the poor
Abbé fell down in a fit of apoplexy; upon which Fontenelle instantly
scampered down stairs, and eagerly bawled out to his cook, "The whole
with oil! the whole with oil, as at first!"
* * * * *
PAINS AND TOILS OF AUTHORSHIP.
The craft of authorship is by no means so easy of practice as is
generally imagined by the thousands who aspire to its practice. Almost
all our works, whether of knowledge or of fancy, have been the product
of much intellectual exertion and study; or, as it is better expressed
by the poet--
"the well-ripened fruits of wise decay."
Pope published nothing until it had been a year or two before him, and
even then his printer's proofs were very full of alterations; and, on
one occasion, Dodsley, his publisher, thought it better to have the
whole recomposed than make the necessary corrections. Goldsmith
considered four lines a day good work, and was seven years in beating
out the pure gold of the _Deserted Village_. Hume wrote his _History of
England_ on a sofa, but he went quietly on correcting every edition till
his death. Robertson used to write out his sentences on small slips of
paper; and, after rounding them and polishing them to his satisfaction,
he entered them in a book, which, in its turn, underwent considerable
revision. Burke had all his principal works printed two or three times
at a private press before submitting them to his publisher. Akenside and
Gray were indefatigable correctors, labouring every line; and so was our
prolix and more imaginative poet, Thomson. On comparing the first and
latest editions of the _Seasons_, there will be found scarcely a page
which does not bear evidence of his taste and industry. Johnson thinks
the poems lost much of their raciness under this severe regimen, but
they were much improved in fancy and delicacy; the episode of Musidora,
"the solemnly ridiculous bathing scene," as Campbell terms it, was
almost entirely rewritten. Johnson and Gibbon were the least laborious
in arranging their _copy_ for the press. Gibbon sent the first and only
MS. of his stupendous work (the _Decline and Fall_) to his printer; and
Johnson's high-sounding sentences were written almost without an effort.
Both, however, lived and moved, as it were, in the world of letters,
thinking or caring of little else--one in the heart of busy London,
which he dearly loved, and the other in his silent retreat at Lausanne.
Dryden wrote hurriedly, to provide for the day; but his _Absalom and
Achitophel_, and the beautiful imagery of the _Hind and Panther_, must
have been fostered with parental care. St. Pierre copied his _Paul and
Virginia_ nine times, that he might render it the more perfect. Rousseau
was a very coxcomb in these matters: the amatory epistles, in his new
_Heloise_, he wrote on fine gilt-edged card-paper, and having folded,
addressed, and sealed them, he opened and read them in the solitary
woods of Clairens, with the mingled enthusiasm of an author and lover.
Sheridan watched long and anxiously for bright thoughts, as the MS. of
his _School for Scandal_, in its various stages, proves. Burns composed
in the open air, the sunnier the better; but he laboured hard, and with
almost unerring taste and judgment, in correcting.[10]
Lord Byron was a rapid composer, but made abundant use of the
pruning-knife. On returning one of his proof sheets from Italy, he
expressed himself undecided about a single word, for which he wished to
substitute another, and requested Mr. Murray to refer it to Mr. Gifford,
then editor of the _Quarterly Review_. Sir Walter Scott evinced his love
of literary labour by undertaking the revision of the whole of the
_Waverley_ Novels--a goodly freightage of some fifty or sixty volumes.
The works of Wordsworth, Southey, Coleridge, and Moore, and the occasional
variations in their different editions, mark their love of the touching.
Southey was, indeed, unwearied after his kind--a true author of the old
school. The bright thoughts of Campbell, which sparkle like polished
lances, were manufactured with almost equal care; he was the Pope of our
contemporary authors.[11] Allan Cunningham corrected but little, yet his
imitations of the elder lyrics are perfect centos of Scottish feeling
and poesy. The loving, laborious lingering of Tennyson over his poems,
and the frequent alterations--not in every case improvements--that
appear in successive editions of his works, are familiar to all his
admirers.
[10] "I have seen," says a Correspondent of the _Inverness Courier_, "a
copy of the second edition of Burns's 'Poems,' with the blanks filled
up, and numerous alterations made in the poet's handwriting: one
instance, not the most delicate, but perhaps the most amusing and
characteristic will suffice. After describing the gambols of his 'Twa
Dogs,' their historian refers to their sitting down in coarse and rustic
terms. This, of course, did not suit the poet's Edinburgh patrons, and
he altered it to the following:--
'Till tired at last, and doucer grown,
Upon a knowe they sat them down.'
Still this did not please his fancy; he tried again, and hit it off in
the simple, perfect form in which it now stands:--
'Until wi' daffin weary grown,
Upon a knowe they sat them down.'"
[11] Campbell's alterations were, generally, decided improvements; but
in one instance he failed lamentably. The noble peroration of Lochiel
is familiar to most readers:--
"Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,
With his back to the field and his feet to the foe;
And leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame."
In the quarto edition of _Gertrude of Wyoming_, when the poet collected
and reprinted his minor pieces, this lofty sentiment was thus
stultified:--
"Shall victor exult in the battle's acclaim,
Or look to yon heaven from the death-bed of fame."
The original passage, however, was wisely restored in the subsequent
editions.
* * * * *
JOE MILLER AT COURT.
Joe Miller, (Mottley,) was such a favourite at court, that Caroline,
queen of George II., commanded a play to be performed for his benefit;
the queen disposed of a great many tickets at one of her drawing-rooms,
and most of them were paid for in gold.
* * * * *
COLLINS' INSANITY.
Much has been said of the state of insanity to which the author of the
_Ode to the Passions_ was ultimately reduced; or rather, as Dr. Johnson
happily describes it, "a depression of mind which enchains the faculties
without destroying them, and leaves reason the knowledge of right,
without the power of pursuing it." What Johnson has further said on this
melancholy subject, shows perhaps more nature and feeling than anything
he ever wrote; and yet it is remarkable that among the causes to which
the poet's malady was ascribed, he never hints at the most exciting of
the whole. He tells us how Collins "loved fairies, genii, giants, and
monsters;" how he "delighted to roam through the meanders of enchantment,
to gaze on the magnificence of golden palaces, to repose by the waterfalls
of Elysian gardens." But never does he seem to have imagined how natural
it was for a mind of such a temperament to give an Eve to the Paradise
of his Creation. Johnson, in truth, though, as he tells us, he gained
the confidence of Collins, was not just the man into whose ear a lover
would choose to pour his secrets. The fact was, Collins was greatly
attached to a young lady who did not return his passion; and there seems
to be little doubt, that to the consequent disappointment, preying on
his mind, was due much of that abandonment of soul which marked the
close of his career. The object of his passion was born the day before
him; and to this circumstance, in one of his brighter moments, he made
a most happy allusion. A friend remarking to the luckless lover, that
his was a hard case, Collins replied, "It is so, indeed; for I came into
the world _a day after the fair_."
* * * * *
MOORE'S EPIGRAM ON ABBOTT.
Mr. Speaker Abbott having spoken in slighting terms of some of Moore's
poems, the poet wrote, in return, the following biting epigram:
"They say he has no heart; but I deny it;
He _has_ a heart--and gets his speeches by it."
* * * * *
NEGROES AT HOME.
When Lord Byron was in Parliament, a petition setting forth, and calling
for redress for, the wretched state of the Irish peasantry, was one
evening presented to the House of Lords, and very coldly received. "Ah!"
said Lord Byron, "what a misfortune it was for the Irish that they were
not born black! they would then have had plenty of friends in both
Houses"--referring to the great interest at the time being taken by some
philanthropic members in the condition and future of the negroes in our
West Indian colonies.
* * * * *
A STRING OF JERROLD'S JOKES.
At a club of which Jerrold was a member, a fierce Jacobite, and a
friend, as fierce, of the Orange cause, were arguing noisily, and
disturbing less excitable conversationalists. At length the Jacobite, a
brawny Scot, brought his fist down heavily upon the table, and roared
at his adversary, "I tell you what it is, sir, I spit upon your King
William!" The friend of the Prince of Orange rose, and roared back to
the Jacobite, "And I, sir, spit upon your James the Second!" Jerrold,
who had been listening to the uproar in silence, hereupon rang the bell,
and shouted "Waiter, spittoons for two!"
At an evening party, Jerrold was looking at the dancers, when, seeing a
very tall gentleman waltzing with a remarkably short lady, he said to a
friend at hand, "Humph! there's the mile dancing with the milestone!"
An old lady was in the habit of talking to Jerrold in a gloomy, depressing
manner, presenting to him only the sad side of life. "Hang it," said
Jerrold, one day, after a long and sombre interview, "she would not
allow that there was a bright side to the moon."
Jerrold said to an ardent young gentleman, who burned with desire to
see himself in print: "Be advised by me, young man: don't take down the
shutters before there is something in the windows."
While Jerrold was discussing one day, with Mr. Selby, the vexed question
of adapting dramatic pieces from the French, that gentleman insisted
upon claiming some of his characters as strictly original creations. "Do
you remember my Baroness in _Ask No Questions_?" said Mr. Selby. "Yes,
indeed; I don't think I ever saw a piece of yours without being struck
by your _barrenness_," was the retort.--_Mark Lemon's Jest-book._
* * * * *
CONCEITED ALARMS OF DENNIS.
John Dennis, the dramatist, had a most extravagant and enthusiastic
opinion of his tragedy of _Liberty Asserted_. He imagined that there
were in it some strokes on the French nation so severe, that they would
never be forgiven; and that, in consequence, Louis XIV. would never make
peace with England unless the author was given up as a sacrifice to the
national resentment. Accordingly, when the congress for the negotiation
of the Peace of Utrecht was in contemplation, the terrified Dennis waited
on the Duke of Marlborough, who had formerly been his patron, to entreat
the intercession of his Grace with the plenipotentiaries, that they
should not consent to his surrender to France being made one of the
conditions of the treaty. The Duke gravely told the dramatist that he
was sorry to be unable to do this service, as he had no influence with
the Ministry of the day; but, he added, that he thought Dennis' case
not quite desperate, for, said his Grace, "I have taken no care to get
myself excepted in the articles of peace, and yet I cannot help thinking
that I have done the French almost as much damage as Mr. Dennis himself."
At another time, when Dennis was visiting at a gentleman's house on
the Sussex coast, and was walking on the beach, he saw a vessel, as he
imagined, sailing towards him. The self-important timidity of Dennis
saw in this incident a reason for the greatest alarm for himself, and
distrust of his friend. Supposing he was betrayed, he made the best
of his way to London, without even taking leave of his host, whom he
believed to have lent himself to a plot for delivering him up as a
captive to a French vessel sent on purpose to carry him off.
* * * * *
A COMPOSITION WITH CONSCIENCE.
Lully, the composer, being once thought mortally ill, his friends called
a confessor, who, finding the patient's state critical, and his mind
very ill at ease, told him that he could obtain absolution only one
way--by burning all that he had by him of a yet unpublished opera. The
remonstrance of his friends was in vain; Lully burnt the music, and the
confessor departed well pleased. The composer, however, recovered, and
told one of his visitors, a nobleman who was his patron, of the sacrifice
he had made to the demands of the confessor. "And so," cried the nobleman,
"you have burnt your opera, and are really such a blockhead as to
believe in the absurdities of a monk!" "Stop, my friend, stop," returned
Lully; "let me whisper in your ear: I knew very well what I was
about--_I have another copy._"
* * * * *
SALE, THE TRANSLATOR OF THE KORAN.
The learned Sale, who first gave to the world a genuine version of
the Koran, pursued his studies through a life of wants. This great
Orientalist, when he quitted his books to go abroad, too often wanted a
change of linen; and he frequently wandered the streets, in search of
some compassionate friend, who might supply him with the meal of the
day.
* * * * *
THE LATTER DAYS OF LOVELACE.
Sir Richard Lovelace, who in 1649 published the elegant collection
of amorous and other poems entitled _Lucasta_, was an amiable and
accomplished gentleman: by the men of his time (the time of the civil
wars) respected for his moral worth and literary ability; by the fair
sex, almost idolized for the elegance of his person and the sweetness
of his manners. An ardent loyalist, the people of Kent appointed him to
present to the House of Commons their petition for the restoration of
Charles and the settlement of the government. The petition gave offence,
and the bearer was committed to the Gate House, at Westminster, where he
wrote his graceful little song, "Loyalty Confined," opening thus:
"When love, with unconfined wings,
Hovers within my gates,
And my divine Althea brings
To whisper at my grates;
When I lie tangled in her hair,
And fettered in her eye;
The birds that wanton in the air
Know no such liberty."
But "dinnerless the polished Lovelace died." He obtained his liberation,
after a few months' confinement. By that time, however, he had consumed
all his estates, partly by furnishing the king with men and money, and
partly by giving assistance to men of talent of whatever kind, whom he
found in difficulties. Very soon, he became himself involved in the
greatest distress, and fell into a deep melancholy, which brought on
a consumption, and made him as poor in person as in purse, till he
even became the object of common charity. The man who in his days of
gallantry wore cloth of gold, was now naked, or only half covered with
filthy rags; he who had thrown splendour on palaces, now shrank into
obscure and dirty alleys; he who had associated with princes, banqueted
on dainties, been the patron of the indigent, the admiration of the wise
and brave, the darling of the chaste and fair--was now fain to herd with
beggars, gladly to partake of their coarse offals, and thankfully to
receive their twice-given alms--
"To hovel him with swine and rogues forlorn,
In short and musty straw."
Worn out with misery, he at length expired, in 1658, in a mean and
wretched lodging in Gunpowder Alley, near Shoe Lane, and was buried at
the west end of St. Bride's church, Fleet Street. Such is the account of
Lovelace's closing days given by Wood in his _Athenæ_, and confirmed by
Aubrey in his _Lives of Eminent Men_; but a recent editor and biographer
(the son of Hazlitt) pronounces, though he does not prove, the account
much exaggerated.
* * * * *
PAYMENT IN KIND.
The Empress Catherine of Russia having sent, as a present to Voltaire,
a small ivory box made by her own hands, the poet induced his niece to
instruct him in the art of knitting stockings; and he had actually
half finished a pair, of white silk, when he became completely tired.
Unfinished as the stockings were, however, he sent them to her Majesty,
accompanied by a charmingly gallant poetical epistle, in which he told
her that, "As she had presented him with a piece of man's workmanship
made by a woman, he had thought it his duty to crave her acceptance,
in return, of a piece of woman's work from the hands of a man."--When
Constantia Phillips was in a state of distress, she took a small shop
near Westminster Hall, and sold books, some of which were of her own
writing. During this time, an apothecary who had attended her once when
she was ill, came to her and requested payment of his bill. She pleaded
her poverty; but he still continued to press her, and urged as a reason
for his urgency, that he had saved her life. "You have," said Constantia,
"you have indeed done so: I acknowledge it; and, in return, here is my
life"--handing him at the same time the two volumes of her "Memoirs,"
and begging that he would now take _her life_ in discharge of his
demand.
* * * * *
CHATTERTON'S PROFIT AND LOSS RECKONING.
Chatterton, the marvellous boy, wrote a political essay for the _North
Briton_, Wilkes's journal; but, though accepted, the essay was not
printed, in consequence of the death of the Lord Mayor, Chatterton's
patron. The youthful patriot thus calculated the results of the
suppression of his essay, which had begun by a splendid flourish about
"a spirited people freeing themselves from insupportable slavery:"
"Lost, by the Lord Mayor's death, in this essay, £ 1 11 6
Gained in elegies, £ 2 2 0
Do. in essays, 3 3 0
--------
5 5 0
----------
Am glad he is dead by £ 3 13 6"
* * * * *
LOCKE'S REBUKE OF THE CARD-PLAYING LORDS.
Locke, the brilliant author of the _Essay on the Human Understanding_,
was once introduced by Lord Shaftesbury to the Duke of Buckingham
and Lord Halifax. But the three noblemen, instead of entering into
conversation on literary subjects with the philosopher, very soon sat
down to cards. Locke looked on for a short time, and then drew out his
pocket-book and began to write in it with much attention. One of the
players, after a time, observed this, and asked what he was writing. "My
Lord," answered Locke, "I am endeavouring, as far as possible, to profit
by my present situation; for, having waited with impatience for the
honour of being in company with the greatest geniuses of the age, I
thought I could do nothing better than to write down your conversation;
and, indeed, I have set down the substance of what you have said for the
last hour or two." The three noblemen, fully sensible of the force of
the rebuke, immediately left the cards and entered into a conversation
more rational and more befitting their reputation as men of genius.
* * * * *
HAYDN AND THE SHIP CAPTAIN.
When the immortal composer Haydn was on his visit to England, in 1794,
his chamber-door was opened one morning by the captain of an East
Indiaman, who said, "You are Mr. Haydn?" "Yes." "Can you make me a
'March,' to enliven my crew? You shall have thirty guineas; but I must
have it to-day, as to-morrow I sail for Calcutta." Haydn agreed, the
sailor quitted him, the composer opened his piano, and in a few minutes
the march was written. He appears, however, to have had a delicacy rare
among the musical birds of passage and of prey who come to feed on the
unwieldy wealth of England. Conceiving that the receipt of a sum so
large as thirty guineas for a labour so slight, would be a species of
plunder, he came home early in the evening, and composed other two
marches, in order to allow the liberal sea captain his choice, or make
him take all the three. Early next morning, the purchaser came back.
"Where is my march?" "Here it is." "Try it on the piano." Haydn played
it over. The captain counted down the thirty guineas on the piano, took
up the march, and went down stairs. Haydn ran after him, calling, "I
have made other two marches, both better; come up and hear them, and
take your choice." "I am content with the one I have," returned the
captain, without stopping. "I will make you a present of them," cried
the composer. The captain only ran down the more rapidly, and left Haydn
on the stairs. Haydn, opposing obstinacy to obstinacy, determined to
overcome this odd self-denial. He went at once to the Exchange, found
out the name of the ship, made his marches into a roll, and sent them,
with a polite note, to the captain on board. He was surprised at
receiving, not long after, his envelope unopened, from the captain, who
had guessed it to be Haydn's; and the composer tore the whole packet
into pieces upon the spot. The narrator of this incident adds the
remark, that "though the anecdote is of no great elevation, it expresses
peculiarity of character; and certainly neither the composer nor the
captain could have been easily classed among the common or the vulgar of
men."
* * * * *
HAYDN'S DIPLOMA PIECE AT OXFORD.
During his stay in England, Haydn was honoured by the diploma of Doctor
of Music from the University of Oxford--a distinction not obtained even
by Handel, and it is said, only conferred on four persons during the
four centuries preceding. It is customary to send some specimen of
composition in return for a degree; and Haydn, with the facility of
perfect skill, sent back a page of music so curiously contrived, that in
whatever way it was read--from the top to the bottom or the sides--it
exhibited a perfect melody and accompaniment.
* * * * *
ORIGIN OF THE BEGGAR'S OPERA.
It was Swift that first suggested to Gay the idea of the _Beggar's
Opera_, by remarking, what an odd, pretty sort of a thing a Newgate
pastoral might make! "Gay," says Pope, "was inclined to try at such a
thing for some time; but afterwards thought it would be better to write
a comedy on the same plan. This was what gave rise to the _Beggar's
Opera_. He began on it; and when he first mentioned it to Swift, the
doctor did not much like the project. As he carried it on, he showed
what he wrote to both of us; and we now and then gave a correction, or a
word or two of advice, but it was wholly of his own writing. When it was
done, neither of us thought it would succeed. We showed it to Congreve,
who, after reading it over, said, 'It would either take greatly, or be
damned confoundedly.' We were all, at the first sight of it, in great
uncertainty of the event, till we were very much encouraged by hearing
the Duke of Argyle, who sat in the next box to us, say, 'It will do--I
see it in the eyes of them.' This was a good while before the first act
was over, and so gave us ease soon; for the Duke (besides his own good
taste) has as particular a knack as any one now living, in discovering
the taste of the public. He was quite right in this, as usual; the good
nature of the audience appeared stronger and stronger every act, and
ended in a clamour of applause."
* * * * *
THE TWO SHERIDANS.
Sheridan made his appearance one day in a pair of new boots; these
attracting the notice of some of his friends: "Now guess," said he, "how
I came by these boots?" Many probable guesses were then ventured, but in
vain. "No," said Sheridan, "no, you have not hit it, nor ever will. I
bought them, and paid for them!" Sheridan was very desirous that his
son Tom should marry a young lady of large fortune, but knew that Miss
Callander had won his son's heart. Sheridan, expatiating once on the
folly of his son, at length broke out: "Tom, if you marry Caroline
Callander, I'll cut you off with a shilling!" Tom, looking maliciously
at his father, said, "Then, sir, you must borrow it." In a large party
one evening, the conversation turned upon young men's allowances at
college. Tom deplored the ill-judging parsimony of many parents in that
respect. "I am sure, Tom," said his father, "you have no reason to
complain; I always allowed you £800 a-year." "Yes, father, I confess you
allowed it; but then--it was never paid!"
* * * * *
KILLING NO MURDER.
In a journey which Mademoiselle Scudéry, the Sappho of the French, made
along with her no less celebrated brother, a curious incident befell
them at an inn at a great distance from Paris. Their conversation
happened one evening to turn upon a romance which they were then jointly
composing, to the hero of which they had given the name of Prince Mazare.
"What shall we do with Prince Mazare?" said Mademoiselle Scudéry to her
brother. "Is it not better that he should fall by poison, than by the
poignard?" "It is not time yet," replied the brother, "for that business;
when it is necessary we can despatch him as we please; but at present
we have not quite done with him." Two merchants in the next chamber,
overhearing this conversation, concluded that they had formed a conspiracy
for the murder of some prince whose real name they disguised under
that of Mazare. Full of this important discovery, they imparted their
suspicions to the host and hostess; and it was resolved to inform the
police of what had happened. The police officers, eager to show their
diligence and activity, put the travellers immediately under arrest,
and conducted them under a strong escort to Paris. It was not without
difficulty and expense that they there procured their liberation, and
leave for the future to hold an unlimited right and power over all the
princes and personages in the realms of romance.
* * * * *
SENSITIVENESS TO CRITICISM.
Hawkesworth and Stillingfleet died of criticism; Tasso was driven mad by
it; Newton, the calm Newton, kept hold of life only by the sufferance of
a friend who withheld a criticism on his chronology, for no other reason
than his conviction that if it were published while he lived, it would
put an end to him; and every one knows the effect on the sensitive
nature of Keats, of the attacks on his _Endymion_. Tasso had a vast and
prolific imagination, accompanied with an excessively hypochondriacal
temperament. The composition of his great epic, the _Jerusalem
Delivered_, by giving scope to the boldest flights, and calling into
play the energies of his exalted and enthusiastic genius--whilst with
equal ardour it led him to entertain hopes of immediate and extensive
fame--laid most probably the foundation of his subsequent derangement.
His susceptibility and tenderness of feeling were great; and, when his
sublime work met with unexpected opposition, and was even treated with
contempt and derision, the fortitude of the poet was not proof against
the keen sense of disappointment. He twice attempted to please his
ignorant and malignant critics by recomposing his poem; and during the
hurry, the anguish, and the irritation attending these efforts, the
vigour of a great mind was entirely exhausted, and in two years after
the publication of the _Jerusalem_, the unhappy author became an object
of pity and terror. Newton, with all his philosophy, was so sensible to
critical remarks, that Whiston tells us he lost his favour, which he had
enjoyed for twenty years, by contradicting him in his old age; for "no
man was of a more fearful temper."
* * * * *
BUTLER AND BUCKINGHAM.
Of Butler, the author of _Hudibras_--which Dr. Johnson terms "one of
those productions of which a nation may justly boast"--little further is
known than that his genius was not sufficient to rescue him from its
too frequent attendant, poverty; he lived in obscurity, and died in
want. Wycherley often represented to the Duke of Buckingham how well
Butler had deserved of the royal family by writing his inimitable
_Hudibras_, and that it was a disgrace to the Court that a person of his
loyalty and genius should remain in obscurity and suffer the wants which
he did. The Duke, thus pressed, promised to recommend Butler to his
Majesty; and Wycherley, in hopes to keep his Grace steady to his word,
prevailed on him to fix a day when he might introduce the modest and
unfortunate poet to his new patron. The place of meeting fixed upon was
the "Roebuck." Butler and his friend attended punctually; the Duke
joined them, when, unluckily, the door of the room being open, his Grace
observed one of his acquaintances pass by with two ladies; on which he
immediately quitted his engagement, and from that time to the day of his
death poor Butler never derived the least benefit from his promise.
* * * * *
THE MERMAID CLUB.
The celebrated club at the "Mermaid," as has been well observed by
Gifford, "combined more talent and genius, perhaps, than ever met
together before or since." The institution originated with Sir Walter
Raleigh; and here, for many years, Ben Jonson regularly repaired with
Shakspeare, Beaumont, Fletcher, Selden, Cotton, Carew, Martin, Donne,
and many others whose names, even at this distant period, call up a
mingled feeling of reverence and respect. Here, in the full flow and
confidence of friendship, the lively and interesting "wit-combats" took
place between Shakspeare and Jonson; and hither, in probable allusion to
some of them, Beaumont fondly lets his thoughts wander in his letter to
Jonson from the country:--
"What things have we seen
Done at the Mermaid? heard words that have been
So nimble, and so full of subtle flame,
As if that every one from whom they came,
Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest."
For the expression, "wit-combats," we must refer to Fuller, who in his
"Worthies," describing the character of the Bard of Avon, says: "Many
were the wit-combats between Shakspeare and Ben Jonson. I behold them
like a Spanish great galleon, and an English man-of-war. Master Jonson,
like the former, was built far higher in learning, solid, but slow in
his performances; Shakspeare, like the latter, less in bulk but lighter
in sailing, could turn with all tides, tack about and take advantage of
all winds, by the quickness of his wit and invention." With what delight
would after generations have hung over any well-authenticated instances
of these "wit-combats!" But, unfortunately, nothing on which we can
depend has descended to us.
* * * * *
PORSON'S MEMORY.
Professor Porson, the great Græcist, when a boy at Eton, displayed the
most astonishing powers of memory. In going up to a lesson one day, he
was accosted by a boy in the same form: "Porson, what have you got
there?" "Horace." "Let me look at it." Porson handed the book to his
comrade; who, pretending to return it, dexterously substituted another
in its place, with which Porson proceeded. Being called on by the
master, he read and construed the tenth Ode of the first Book very
regularly. Observing that the class laughed, the master said, "Porson,
you seem to me to be reading on one side of the page, while I am looking
at the other; pray whose edition have you?" Porson hesitated. "Let me
see it," rejoined the master; who, to his great surprise, found it to
be an English Ovid. Porson was ordered to go on; which he did, easily,
correctly, and promptly, to the end of the Ode. Much more remarkable
feats of memory than this, however, have been recorded of Porson's
manhood.
* * * * *
WYCHERLEY'S WOOING.
Wycherley being at Tunbridge for the benefit of his health, after
his return from the Continental trip the cost of which the king had
defrayed, was walking one day with his friend, Mr. Fairbeard, of
Gray's Inn. Just as they came up to a bookseller's shop, the Countess
of Drogheda, a young, rich, noble, and lovely widow, came to the
bookseller and inquired for the _Plain Dealer_--a well-known comedy of
Wycherley's. "Madam," said Mr. Fairbeard, "since you are for the _Plain
Dealer_, there he is for you"--pushing Wycherley towards her. "Yes,"
said Wycherley, "this lady can bear plain dealing; for she appears to
me to be so accomplished, that what would be compliment said to others,
would be plain dealing spoken to her." "No, truly, sir," said the
Countess; "I am not without my faults, any more than the rest of my sex;
and yet I love plain dealing, and am never more fond of it than when it
tells me of them." "Then, Madam," said Fairbeard, "You and the Plain
Dealer seem designed by Heaven for each other." In short, Wycherley
walked with the Countess, waited upon her home, visited her daily while
she was at Tunbridge, and afterwards when she went to London; where, in
a little time, a marriage was concluded between them. The marriage was
not a happy one.
* * * * *
A CAROUSE AT BOILEAU'S.
Boileau, the celebrated French comedian, usually passed the summer at
his villa of Auteuil, which is pleasantly situated at the entrance of
the Bois de Boulogne. Here he took delight in assembling under his roof
the most eminent geniuses of the age; especially Chapelle, Racine,
Molière, and La Fontaine. Racine the younger gives the following account
of a droll circumstance that occurred at supper at Auteuil with these
guests. "At this supper," he says, "at which my father was not present,
the wise Boileau was no more master of himself than any of his guests.
After the wine had led them into the gravest strain of moralising, they
agreed that life was but a state of misery; that the greatest happiness
consisted in having been born, and the next greatest in an early death;
and they one and all formed the heroic resolution of throwing themselves
without loss of time into the river. It was not far off, and they actually
went thither. Molière, however, remarked that such a noble action ought
not to be buried in the obscurity of night, but was worthy of being
performed in the face of day. This observation produced a pause; one
looked at the other, and said, 'He is right.' 'Gentlemen,' said Chapelle,
'we had better wait till morning to throw ourselves into the river, and
meantime return and finish our wine;'" but the river was not revisited.
* * * * *
THOMSON'S INDOLENCE.
The author of the _Seasons_ and the _Castle of Indolence_, paid homage
in the latter admirable poem to the master-passion or habit of his own
easy nature. Thomson was so excessively lazy, that he is recorded to
have been seen standing at a peach-tree, with both his hands in his
pockets, eating the fruit as it grew. At another time, being found in
bed at a very late hour of the day, when he was asked why he did not get
up, his answer was, "Troth, man, I see nae motive for rising!"
* * * * *
A LEARNED YOUNG LADY.
Fraulein Dorothea Schlozer, a Hanoverian lady, was thought worthy of the
highest academical honours of Göttingen University, and, at the jubilee
of 1787, she had the degree of Doctor of Philosophy conferred upon her,
when only seventeen years of age. The daughter of the Professor of
Philosophy in that University, she from her earliest years discovered an
uncommon genius for learning. Before she was three years of age, she was
taught Low German, a language almost foreign to her own. Before she was
six, she had learned French and German, and then she began geometry;
and after receiving ten lessons, she was able to answer very difficult
questions. The English, Italian, Swedish, and Dutch languages were next
acquired, with singular rapidity; and before she was fourteen, she knew
Latin and Greek, and had become a good classical scholar. Besides her
knowledge of languages, she made herself acquainted with almost every
branch of polite literature, as well as many of the sciences, particularly
mathematics. She also attained great proficiency in mineralogy; and,
during a sojourn of six weeks in the Hartz Forest, she visited the deepest
mines, in the common habit of a labourer, and examined the whole process
of the work. Her surprising talents becoming the general topic of
conversation, she was proposed, by the great Orientalist Michaelis, as
a proper subject for academical honours. The Philosophical Faculty, of
which the Professor was Dean, was deemed the fittest; and a day was
fixed for her examination, in presence of all the Professors. She was
introduced by Michaelis himself, and distinguished, as a lady, with the
highest seat. Several questions were first proposed to her in mathematics;
all of which she answered to satisfaction. After this, she gave a free
translation of the thirty-seventh Ode of the first Book of Horace, and
explained it. She was then examined in various branches of art and
science, when she displayed a thorough knowledge of the subjects. The
examination lasted two hours and a half; and at the end, the degree of
Doctor of Philosophy was unanimously conferred upon her, and she was
crowned with a wreath of laurel by Fraulein Michaelis, at the request of
the Professors.
* * * * *
A HARD HIT AT POPE.
Pope was one evening at Button's Coffee-house, where he and a set of
literati had got poring over a Latin manuscript, in which they had found
a passage that none of them could comprehend. A young officer, who heard
their conference, begged that he might be permitted to look at the
passage. "Oh," said Pope, sarcastically, "by all means; pray let the
young gentleman look at it." Upon which the officer took up the manuscript,
and, considering it awhile, said there only wanted a note of interrogation
to make the whole intelligible: which was really the case. "And pray,
Master," says Pope with a sneer, "what is a _note of interrogation_?"--"A
note of interrogation," replied the young fellow, with a look of great
contempt, "is a little _crooked thing_ that asks questions."
* * * * *
DRYDEN DRUBBED.
"Dryden," says Leigh Hunt, "is identified with the neighbourhood of
Covent Garden. He presided in the chair at Russell Street (Will's
Coffee-house); his plays came out in the theatre at the other end of it;
he lived in Gerrard Street, which is not far off; and, alas for the
anti-climax! he was beaten by hired bravos in Rose Street, now called
Rose Alley. The outrage perpetrated upon the sacred shoulders of the
poet was the work of Lord Rochester, and originated in a mistake not
creditable to that would-be great man and dastardly debauchee." Dryden,
it seems, obtained the reputation of being the author of the _Essay on
Satire_, in which Lord Rochester was severely dealt with, and which
was, in reality, written by Lord Mulgrave, afterwards the Duke of
Buckinghamshire. Rochester meditated on the innocent Dryden a base and
cowardly revenge, and thus coolly expressed his intent in one of his
letters: "You write me word that I am out of favour with a certain poet,
whom I have admired for the disproportion of him and his attributes. He
is a rarity which I cannot but be fond of, as one would be of a hog that
could fiddle, or a singing owl. If he falls on me at the blunt, which
is his very good weapon in wit, I will forgive him if you please, _and
leave the repartee to Black Will with a cudgel_." "In pursuance of this
infamous resolution," says Sir Walter Scott, "upon the night of the
18th December 1679, Dryden was waylaid by hired ruffians, and severely
beaten, as he passed through Rose Street, Covent Garden, returning from
Will's Coffee-house to his own house in Gerrard Street. A reward of fifty
pounds was in vain offered in the _London Gazette_ and other newspapers,
for the discovery of the perpetrators of this outrage. The town was,
however, at no loss to pitch upon Rochester as the employer of the
bravos; with whom the public suspicion joined the Duchess of Portsmouth,
equally concerned in the supposed affront thus revenged.... It will
certainly be admitted that a man, surprised in the dark, and beaten
by ruffians, loses no honour by such a misfortune. But if Dryden
had received the same discipline from Rochester's own hand, without
resenting it, his drubbing could not have been more frequently made a
matter of reproach to him; a sign, surely, of the penury of subjects for
satire in his life and character, since an accident, which might have
happened to the greatest hero that ever lived, was resorted to as an
imputation on his character."
* * * * *
ROGERS AND "JUNIUS."
Samuel Rogers was requested by Lady Holland to ask Sir Philip Francis
whether he was the author of _Junius' Letters_. The poet, meeting
Sir Philip, approached the ticklish subject thus: "Will you, Sir
Philip--will your kindness excuse my addressing to you a single
question?" "At your peril, Sir!" was the harsh and curt reply of the
knight. The intimidated bard retreated upon his friends, who eagerly
inquired of him the success of his application. "I do not know," Rogers
said, "whether he is Junius; but, if he be, he is certainly Junius
_Brutus_."
* * * * *
ALFIERI'S HAIR.
Alfieri, the greatest poet modern Italy produced, delighted in
eccentricities, not always of the most amiable kind. One evening, at the
house of the Princess Carignan, he was leaning, in one of his silent
moods, against a sideboard decorated with a rich tea service of china,
when, by a sudden movement of his long loose tresses, he threw down one
of the cups. The lady of the mansion ventured to tell him, that he had
spoiled the set, and had better have broken them all. The words were no
sooner said, than Alfieri, without reply or change of countenance, swept
off the whole service upon the floor. His hair was fated to bring another
of his eccentricities into play. He went one night, alone, to the
theatre at Turin; and there, hanging carelessly with his head backwards
over the corner of the box, a lady in the next seat on the other side of
the partition, who had on other occasions made attempts to attract his
attention, broke out into violent and repeated encomiums on his auburn
locks, which were flowing down close to her hand. Alfieri, however,
spoke not a word, and continued his position till he left the theatre.
Next morning, the lady received a parcel, the contents of which she
found to be the tresses which she had so much admired, and which the
erratic poet had cut off close to his head. No billet accompanied the
gift; but it could not have been more clearly said, "If you like the
hair, here it is; but, for Heaven's sake, leave _me_ alone!"
* * * * *
SMOLLETT'S HARD FORTUNES.
Smollett, perhaps one of the most popular authors by profession that
ever wrote, furnishes a sad instance of the insufficiency of even the
greatest literary favour, in the times in which he wrote, to procure
those temporal comforts on which the happiness of life so much depends.
"Had some of those," he says, "who were pleased to call themselves my
friends, been at any pains to deserve the character, and told me
ingenuously what I had to expect in the capacity of an author, when
first I professed myself of that venerable fraternity, I should in all
probability have spared myself the incredible labour and chagrin I have
since undergone." "Of praise and censure both," he writes at another
time, "I am sick indeed, and wish to God that my circumstances would
allow me to consign my pen to oblivion." When he had worn himself down
in the service of the public or the booksellers, there scarce was left
of all his slender remunerations, at the last stage of life, enough to
convey him to a cheap country and a restoring air on the Continent.
Gradually perishing in a foreign land, neglected by the public that
admired him, deriving no resources from the booksellers who were drawing
the large profits of his works, Smollett threw out his injured feelings
in the character of Bramble, in _Humphrey Clinker_, the warm generosity
of his temper, but not his genius, seeming to fleet away with his breath.
And when he died, and his widow, in a foreign land, was raising a plain
memorial over his ashes, her love and piety but made the little less;
and she perished in unbefriended solitude. "There are indeed," says
D'Israeli, "grateful feelings in the public at large for a favourite
author; but the awful testimony of these feelings, by its gradual
process, must appear beyond the grave! They visit the column consecrated
by his name--and his features are most loved, most venerated, in the
bust!"
* * * * *
JERROLD'S REBUKE TO A RUDE INTRUDER.
Douglas Jerrold and some friends were dining once at a tavern, and had a
private room; but after dinner the landlord, on the plea that the house
was partly under repair, requested permission that a stranger might
take a chop in the apartment, at a separate table. The company gave the
required permission; and the stranger, a man of commonplace aspect, was
brought in, ate his chop in silence, and then fell asleep--snoring so
loudly and discordantly that the conversation could with difficulty be
prosecuted. Some gentleman of the party made a noise; and the stranger,
starting out of his nap, called out to Jerrold, "I know you, Mr. Jerrold,
I know you; but you shall not make a butt of me!" "Then don't bring your
hog's head in here!" was the instant answer of the wit.
* * * * *
AN ODD PRESENT TO SHENSTONE.
An Edinburgh acquaintance is related to have sent to Shenstone, in 1761,
as a small stimulus to their friendship, "a little provision of the best
Preston Pans snuff, both toasted and untoasted, in four bottles; with
one bottle of Highland Snishon, and four bottles Bonnels. Please to let
me know which sort is most agreeable to you, that I may send you a fresh
supply in good time."
* * * * *
WALLER, THE COURTIER-POET.
Waller wrote a fine panegyric on Cromwell, when he assumed the
Protectorship. Upon the restoration of Charles, Waller wrote another in
praise of him, and presented it to the King in person. After his Majesty
had read the poem, he told Waller that he wrote a better on Cromwell.
"Please your Majesty," said Waller, like a true courtier, "we poets are
always more happy in fiction than in truth."
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