LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 139 |
I First called, upon my return, on Dr. Wolcot. I found him little, if anything, altered; his faculties unclouded, and his conversation as piquant as ever. He once pulled off his wig, when I happened to be there. His head might have well served Gall and Spurzheim for the study of their whimsicalities. It was exceedingly fine. When young, he must have been very handsome. One of his sisters, whom I well remember, had the same fine features, both were of dark complexion.
I went into Warwickshire, after publishing one or two translation from
Körner; the song, “Men and Boys,” was one of them. Leamington was then rising into notice. A
fine hotel was building, and having an invitation to dine on the opening of the Bedford
Arms, to meet Dr. Parr, he invited me to Hatton, of
which invitation I did not hesitate to avail myself. I stopped a gap perchance here, in
default of an editorship, filling that office for some months. There was an election at
Warwick. The interest of the Warwick family could only return one member in place of two,
the liberals having succeeded in getting in their nominee. Dr. Parr
rode in from Hatton in the most extraordinary costume I ever remember, a dressing-gown
under his coat, a
140 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
“Well, Mr. Redding, it is all right. I think it useful that the aristocracy should not have it all their own way. Now my friend, Jack Toms is returned for the borough with Sir Charles Greville, things are as they should be. I have no objection to the castle interest returning one member. I respect our old families.” He added, “it is a triumph no doubt for the people here who can hardly be said to have been represented before. Who are you going to dine with to-morrow?”
“I don’t know. I have invitations from both members.”
“Come with me, we will dine with Sir Charles Greville. I wish him to see that there is nothing personal towards himself in the course we have pursued. He is an excellent man.”
He should have been Lord Warwick in place of his brother, he would have been a very popular Tory nobleman.
The next day we both dined with Sir
Charles. The party under twenty. As we were going, the Doctor said,
“the Castle has had a proper lesson in the return; I like the aristocracy if
it will keep within its proper limits.” When dinner was over, and two or
three glasses of wine had gone round, the Doctor asked permission to have his pipe, saying
he would go and sit by the chimney and take care the smoke went up, the Prince of Wales had allowed him his pipe at Carlton House. He
was in one of his best humours. Parr’s
appearance, when dressed for dinner,
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 141 |
142 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
His love of the simple manners of the old days was strong. He would go
into the kitchen about once in a month, and smoke his pipe by the fire, making
Jack Bartlam, as he called the Rev.
John Bartlam of Alcester, go with him—“now this is the way
our old fashioned clergy lived.” He would not let the servants go away.
Another custom of his, was never to let a beggar pass his door, without giving him
something. When with-
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 143 |
144 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 145 |
146 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
It was in the library at Hatton the Doctor related the circumstances. I was standing with my elbow on the chimney place, and was interested by the peculiar mode in which Parr told the tale, by his indignant manner, and reprobation of the Scotch judges, one of whom had notoriously prejudged the case, by saying in a public company before the trial, that besides fourteen years transportation, the offenders ought to be publicly flogged. This person’s name was Clerk. The crime was advocating Parliamentary Reform.
Parr drew my attention very awkwardly on entering his
church one Sunday morning, while he was reading the lessons, he stopped and fixed the eyes
of the whole congregation upon myself and a lady, who was my companion, by saying to his
servant, “Sam show that lady and gentleman into my pew.” In reading the
lessons, when he came to a wrong translation in a passage, he would stop and say, this is
not correctly translated, it should have been rendered so and so, or “This passage
has a different meaning from the original. I would not have you in error about any
thing, my good parishioners.” In reading the proclamation against vice and
immorality, he began, it was about the time
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 147 |
He rebuked me for calling the Athanasian creed
damnable—“damnatory, you mean Mr.
Redding, that we say, perhaps we mean the same.” He was much
attached to his little church, and loved to sit and listen to the bells. He was only
perpetual curate. When the owner of the living came, for a short time annually, who was a
Bristol clergyman, the Doctor contrived to be absent on a journey, and when he returned, he
would address his parishioners: “If you have heard any peculiar religious opinions
during my absence, forget them.” He would have common names used in place of
the more refined. I heard a lady ask for asparagus, “No madam,” said
Parr, “sparrowgrass if you
please.” I observed that he pronounced some old words in both the recognized
modes Alexandrĭa, and Alexandrīa, Euphrătēs, and Euphrātěs,
but he had Milton for an authority in the latter
case. He told me to see Italy, he had often wished it, but could never find leizure. No one
should die without seeing it—go, go! I was acquainted with his friends the
Bartlams, one of whom, the Rev.
John, died suddenly in Harley Street, an excellent divine and good scholar.
After his death, Parr had an empty chair put in his old place at the
table, on the days he used to come over from Alcester to dine.
Bartlam’s death was a great shock to him; he never resumed
his
148 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
I knew the Rev. Mr. Field who wrote Parr’s life, and attended his funeral, he died at the age of eighty-five, in August 1851, near Leamington. He was a descendant of the Cromwell family, and a dissenting clergyman, whom Parr desired might be one of his pall bearers, and “no high church pride to be shown on the occasion.” I believe I was a kind of favourite with Parr. Not a year before he died, I had agreed to spend ten days with him at Hatton. The first Mrs. Parr I never knew, nor had aoy desire to know, she was a dreadful vixen. The second was a quiet agreeable lady, of amiable manners, without any extraordinary intellectual pretensions.
Parr was a good economist. If there were to be only four at table, he ordered his cook to prepare, for that number, something plain and good. A friend or two would drop in, and then he would go to his cook and order something additional, and was often obliged to do this two or three times. The turnpike tolls fell off after his decease, on that part of the road, so numerous were those who called at Hatton to visit or compliment its curate. Some came from America, France, and the German states. In the course of a conversation about Arius and Athanasius, in which I said that the latter had killed Arius, or something like it, Parr went into the whole affair at once, but had not proceeded far before he recollected he must visit the cook, for the day was drawing on. While he was absent, I scrawled the following lines. Dr. Parr in soliloquy:
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 149 |
“More coming to dine?” Then a pipe-puff and wink—
“There’s Cormouls from Tanworth—there’s you—
I must step to the cook—there’s Jack
Bartlam, I think,
And there’s whimsical Arthur, that’s two—
There’s Kendal from Warwick; we shall eight be at table,
I must punish economy harder,
I must! Yes, to the cook, and see if she’s able
To add a fresh dish from the larder—
I’ll be back in a moment, and end the dispute
About Athanasius, whom you make a brute!”
|
The doctor laughed. Then puffed away, gave a whole history of Athanasius and Arius off hand. Reproved me for speaking disrespectfully of some of the fathers, but all in good humour, and we had an uncommonly pleasant day. When I quitted the county, to go to Hatton and take leave was an imperious duty. I found Parr from home. I left a note, as I expected to have gone again to the continent. He wrote me in his illegible hand.
I thank you much for sending me the ‘Globe.’ I haven’t had time
yet to read the correspondence between Murat and Talleyrand,
and during the confusion of preparing a catalogue of my library, I have put it
by in some place where, in my present hurry, I know not the place to look for
them. I must thank you for giving them to me, and they shall be treasured as a
keepsake. Most heartily do I wish health and happiness to you.
150 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
“To Mr.
Redding, with Dr.
Parr’s best
respects and kindest wishes.”
I saw him for the last time, in that row of low brick houses, a little
westward of St. George’s Hospital, facing Hyde Park. I sat an hour or two with him,
talking of the change of the times, from those when Priestly was persecuted at Birmingham, and the walls were chalked with
“no philosophers.” I asked if he was not afraid, especially as the mob was
directed in its outrages by those who knew better. He said that he had a horse ready in his
stable, and some friends who would have given him timely information. Twenty miles, even
for a mad mob, was rather a long march to burn a poor parson’s house. He should have
lost his library, and that would have been a sad thing, but it could not be helped. The mob
only ‘talked’ of proceeding to Hatton. He was the friend of
Priestly, and they could never make him otherwise by intimidation.
If Priestly’s political or religious tenets were opposed to
those of the church of England, his great scientific attainments and their utility, should
have saved him from such usage. He said he dared the storm. If they burned his house, so
far from changing his sentiments by that, they would have strengthened them. I promised to
visit Warwickshire again, and bidding him farewell, saw him no more.
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 151 |
The Reverend Robert Bland, of Kenilworth, that excellent scholar, editor of the Greek anthology, I used to meet at Hatton, but his duties prevented frequent visits. He died in the prime of life, about the same time as Parr.
The Reverend Mr. Cormouls was another clergyman with whom I was acquainted there. He lived ‘at Tanworth, and had in early life been in the service of the East India Company. His parish was retired, and he was much attached to it. The church was on the summit of a hill. He was like a father to his parishioners, and his knowledge, acquired in the world and abroad, enabled him to render kind services to the poor. He made up and supplied them with simple medicines. He put an end to their quarrels and disputes. He was an excellent horticulturist. He published a book containing some crotchetty ideas of his own respecting the laws of motion. Robust of constitution, he used to plunge into a deep pond in one of his fields every morning, and dive from end to end. His sermons were plain and practical, well adapted to the capacity of his country hearers. He abhorred polemical discussions and theological hair splitting. Parr declared him one of the most honest and useful clergymen he knew. “He loves his parish as well as I do mine.” I published two letters to the doctor on the game laws, while I was in the county. The following letter from that worthy clergyman makes mention of them. I had promised to visit him.
152 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
I do not lament your non-arrival, because I have that pleasure to come, and should now, perhaps, have been on the point of losing it; beside, possibly each may have more and more interesting matter to communicate next Saturday I hope.
“I admire your just and manly compliment to our friend
Dr. Parr, and your luminous and able
law history and deductions from the game laws. Your remedy is certainly an
improvement upon existing laws. But there is now an additional grievance upon
the community in some districts, that I think will be likely, like many other
grievances, to supply the means of its own cure. The game on some estates is
eating a fourth of the husbandman’s crop, to his own ruin and the public
privation. The question will arise whether the land is to be considered as the
supporter of game or man, and which shall be reckoned the most valuable
creature. If the philosophers carry the point, of the equal animality of the
two species, I vote for the preservation of the game and the destruction of
man, who if more powerful, is the more miserable of the two, and, therefore, it
is but wise to kill off as many of the species as are unnecessary to the
preservation of hares, partridges, and pheasants from foxes and weasels. This
being the employ to which the great so willingly devote themselves, and they of
necessity being the wisest, because they are the first of their kind, the earth
should be voided for the support of game alone, and a suitable number of
sportsmen. Seriously, however, I think all game beyond the precincts of a
gentleman’s own demesne, which ought not to be more than from five
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 153 |
“I have been thinking of, but have not yet matured my plan, of fowl and game farms. Perhaps the latter may be impracticable, if not, it may come to the price per weight of the former, for it costs no more to rear. The other and heavier business I have just now on the anvil, may overthrow my consideration of this subject entirely. But I have no objection to communicate my conceptions to any who may think it an object worth pursuit.
“My best respects to Mr. S., I shall be happy if the old gentleman, or any of the young ones will accompany you, and your horse or horses. If you come on horseback, when you reach Hockley turn down the road for Stratford, and the first lane or turn to the right, about three hundred yards from Hockley House, is the turn for Tanworth. Keep that lane for about a quarter of a mile, and turn down the greater and plainer road to the left, and it will bring you to Umberslade Park gate. Skirt the outside of the park, till through an opening you see the church, which will be your guide. This opening is about a mile and a quarter from the park lower gate.
“If you come on foot, make the most practicable way you can see from Umberslade House, a large house like Stoneleigh Abbey. Having attained that, the church will guide you.
154 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
While at Tanworth, we had some conversation on what concerns all men in every nation, that of which so many only talk. In that day, there was less clerical priggery, little Roman tendency, no sermonizing nor authorship, no walls placarded with play-bills, and quack advertisements—that is there was less religious and literary trading, and I believe more disinterested principle. We had often discussions on religious topics, and on the differences in creeds, and the various dogmas put forth. His last note to me concluded thus:—
“With respect to the life to come, the notices of it are clear in Socrates and Pythagoras, in the Chinese and Gentoo moralists also, independent of scripture. Indeed, those of the two last are but the old patriarchal religion or that of tradition, at least of the consensus hominum. For the greatest question that lies against scripture is not whether its generals of hopes are sound and its duties right, but whether its histories were not compiled and suited to the principles. Now, prophecy and the sublime character of the completer of scripture answer this—but more on this subject at another time and occasion.
“In the mean time, to live happily, live within your power, keep money in your pocket, live as in the Lord’s flock and pasture, and the knowledge of his presence and intentions will come of their own accord, and increase to your last day.
I well remember neither he nor Parr
would tolerate
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 155 |
Dr. Wade, called, afterwards in London, the
“radical Doctor,” vicar of St. Nicolas, in Warwick, was a pupil of Parr’s, who designated him as “whimsical
Arthur,” a term which was exemplified in his subsequent
life. I became acquainted with him in Warwickshire. His family was one of reputation. His
father I well recollect, a respectable justice of the peace, who executed his duties in a
considerate and honourable manner. He healed disputes, and never bore hard upon the poor.
He had two sons, the elder brought up to the church, died several years before the Doctor,
having a living in Shropshire. Dr. Wade was sent to sea in early life,
as a midshipman, and was in the ‘Immortalité’ frigate, Commodore
Owen, in active service off Boulogne, while the flotilla was preparing; the
frigate was often a mark for the French shells. One burst over
Wade’s head among the rigging, and getting leave to come
home soon afterwards, he brought with him a couple of the jagged ugly looking splinters.
His mother, most attached to her younger son, would not let him go again to sea, and it was
determined to fabricate a clergyman out of the incipient middy. In a little time, when
sufficiently advanced, he was placed under Parr’s tuition, and
became a good scholar. He was a little restless in
156 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
“Dr. Wade,” I
replied, “I have never changed my principles. I am a moderate man, but a liberal
at setting out in life, and am so still. We have a liberal ministry. I am no chartist,
or abettor of chartists.” We parted. In a few days I met him in St.
James’s Park. “Good morning, Doctor,” I addressed him, as usual.
He made no reply, though I halted. I then
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 157 |
I have that clinging to the past, rather than the present, which is
common to us all, and love old friends. I am seldom lured by the illusions of hope as to
future friendships. The doctor I never saw again. In person he was strongly made, and took
little exercise. He wrote with perspicuity, and could preach as good a sermon as any bishop
on the bench. I imagine he had a great desire of notoriety, but would not be at the pains
to work it out, and like many public characters not more clever, sought it through
supporting some popular predilection of the hour where he could be regarded as a man of
influence. The love of clerical ease which fattens, is neither the temperament for the
divine, nor the politician under the sable garb. The doctor championed extreme opinions
à I’outrance. Poor Lord Melbourne, the kindest and most gentlemanly
158 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
“Your letter ‘refreshed’ me in this region
of dullness and stupidity, more than perhaps you will suppose. Your dialogue
between Brandenburgh House and Carlton House (in the Times), has excited attention
here, though party feeling may qualify the term with some. You write in such
good spirits, that I conclude you have leisure. If so, I should be
inexpressibly happy
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 159 |
“Mr. Greathead’s house at Guy’s Cliff, when you come down, will be worthy your notice. I am not sufficiently versed in architecture to characterize the ornaments and decorations he is adding.
“I think of going to the continent next May. Permit me to thank you for the compliment with respect to my undertaking some literary occupation for the attainment of honest fame. It is my sincere wish to do so, but how to begin, and what to exercise my feeble efforts upon is as much as ever a puzzle. Perhaps in more leisure moments you may assist me to a subject. I sometimes think of collecting, as many materials of the political state and general feeling of the modern French and their king as I can, also of the state of the Italians and Spaniards, and then institute comparisons between them and ourselves, so as to mark the gradations of their advancement and decline, politically, and individually.
“But, my dear Sir, you must be tired of reading my
crude suggestions to myself. However, believe me to be
160 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
P.S. Mrs. F. desires to be remembered to you.
Mrs. F. was his father’s sister, who resided at the vicarage with him.
I had many letters in a style totally at variance with his political tenets in his latter years, but they are not of interest to the reader. He had become D.D. His latin sermon was thought excellent. He wrote me from St. John’s on that occasion.
I told you I intended to be at Cambridge about this time,
and here I am. You told me you would run down and see me. I expect you will be
as good as your word. All the choice I allow you as a man of honour is to fix
your own time for coming. As an opera goer, you will not care about Madam Sontag, nor would you desire any great
craniological or physionomical satisfaction by the study of the Duke of Gloucester’s head or countenance,
who is Chancellor. Not that his head would look bad among the
“Heads” of the university, but you may perhaps call to mind the
soliloquy of the Fox in the statuary’s shop—‘Tis a pity so
fine
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 161 |
After twenty years’ acquaintance, even under Parr’s definition of Dr. Wade’s character of “whimsical,” our acquaintance could hardly have been supposed to terminate in such a manner. What had I to do with his wild political opinions, having shifted his old principle with so much indifference. Parr’s voluminous wig would have experienced earthquake tremulousness on hearing of his pupil’s new fangled ideas. He would never have passed it over. Deeply indebted to Sir Francis Burdett personally, yet when Sir Francis abused Fox for his whiggery in 1806, as he had abused Pitt for his Toryism, Parr wrote him as follows:
162 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
“My heart aches for you. I cannot assent to the principles, or approve of the spirit which appears in your advertisement. I do not forget that you were in the most disinterested manner my patron. I shall never cease to keep in view the noble qualities of your mind. Much I lament your errors, and I tremble at the prospect of their consequences. I think it is my private duty to tell you so, and my public duty to support the administration, which you, to my surprise and sorrow, have determined to oppose. From the bottom of my soul, dear Sir Francis I wish you health and every worldly blessing, and I pray God Almighty to deliver you from your counsellors, who mean little good to you, and will do less to their country. I shall strive to give my vote for you and Mr Byng on Monday. Farewell! Heaven is witness to my sincerity, when I subscribe myself, with great respect, your well wisher.
This letter was given me by the Reverend Dr.
Harwood, the venerable historian of Lichfield, at that city, when Sir Francis wound up his career by turning his coat, ten
or a dozen years after Parr’s decease. I have
not seen it in his Memoirs. It broke off the intercourse between Parr
and Burdett for a considerable time, but they finally became
reconciled. In 1838, in Staffordshire, when the baronet took the chair to uphold a working
man’s association, to show how incon-
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 163 |
While I was in Warwickshire, the Prince Regent paid a visit to Ragely, the fine estate of the marquis, whose lady was such a favourite of his royal highness. The daughter of a wealthy tenant of the marquis had an uncommon desire to see the prince, and told Lady Hertford of it. Her ladyship said, “to be sure, poor girl, she shall see him.”
She stationed the girl and a companion female in the ante-room, through
which the prince would pass to the drawing-room. Unfortunately, Lady Hertford told her princely guest that the girls had a wonderful
inclination to see him, and where she had placed them. The prince on passing through the
room went up to the lasses and addressed them, when one fell on the carpet, having fainted
away, and the other stood speechless as a statue. The prince quickened his pace out of the
room, and sent Lady Hertford to operate for their restoration. I
turned the affair into rhyme, in the shape of a letter, descriptive of the scene from a
rustic lass to her friend at Birmingham. I fear it made a laugh at the expence of the poor
girls, but really such rustic manners ought not to have been extant in those times,
especially when the affability of the Regent was so
remarkable. Ladies do not think so much of the awfulness of a prince just now. The country
people of Warwickshire were a
164 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
I had been only eight or nine miles from the grave of Shakspeare and had not visited it. The subject was started at breakfast one day, when a friend was with me.
“Will you go?” I said, “it is a fine morning, the walk of eight or nine miles over a most beautiful road is nothing.”
We set out accordingly, glanced at Lucy’s place, on the left hand, where the same family resides still in its descendants, and went straight into Stratford Church. There we lingered at the poet’s tomb without perceiving that a congregation had assembled, almost as scanty, it is true, as that of Swift, when no one but his clerk was present, and he addressed him, “dearly beloved Roger.” We hastened away from the church, the service being begun before we were clear of the door, and left his ashes who wanted no memorial of his glory—no weak witness of his name who soared so loftily:—
“And so sepulchred, in such pomp doth lie, That kings for such a tomb would wish to die!” |
There appears no certainty that the house in which Shakspeare is said to have been born is the real place. I
never met with any satisfactory evidence to show it was so. On what ground the tradition
rests, I am unaware. Tradition is in most things a very fallacious guide. There was a style
in a field called Julius Cæsar’s style. A
noted antiquary insisted that it was a proof of there being some work of the Romans
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 165 |
The head of the Lucy family, at that time, I also well recollect. He was a little insignificant man, ambitious of parliamentary honours, and paid dearly for an estate near Fowey in Cornwall, which before the Reform Act returned two members, but lost both after the act passed.
The light way in which human life was treated in those days disgusted me
with the assizes. There were then a hundred and sixty offences punishable with death, from
high treason to picking a pocket of one shilling. I once or twice attended them. Reporters
were not always to be had in the country, I never was a reporter, and could do no more than
write off the heads of the cases, but this was generally sufficient. I have seen prisoners
acquitted by accident, who were so certain of being found guilty, that the minds of the
members of the bar present, and of the spectators were made up from the evidence for the
prosecution. Prisoners, too stupid to make the most inefficient defence for themselves,
were often sacrificed. As to the judge being the prisoner’s advocate, it is
impossible. My belief is, that this was one of those empty saws current in the time the
judges were little more than instruments of the crown, to engender a false reliance upon
them, and thus render convictions more facile where the crown was interested. It is a
laborious thing to hunt out evidence, arrange it, and put it in a proper state for a
defence. How could
166 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
I remember sitting once with the counsel close to a servant girl, in the
prime of life, who had murdered her mistress, as some said, ‘under the immediate
instigation of the devil.’ She did not attempt a justification. She only said her
young mistresses had gone out for a walk, and she was below cutting up a cucumber, when
something came into her head that she must kill her. She went up stairs, and cut the old
lady’s throat with the
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 167 |
The solicitor threw me a piece of paper open. “No, she will be executed here, and cut up at Mr. —— the surgeon, on Tuesday.”
The prisoner was alive in the full flush of health, not yet found guilty, only the wood panel of the partition between us. In regard to a fellow creature’s doom, such was the light way in which life was spoken about, in a case of essential madness one can hardly doubt.
“Two men to be hung to-day, gentlemen, at twelve o’clock,” the gaoler would say, coming into the magistrates’ room, “the time is approaching.”
The chairman would then propose an adjournment until half-past two, to
lunch in the interim, when the men would have been strangled and cut down, after hanging an
hour for passing a pound note, or stealing to the value of a few shillings. I remember men
for small offences comparatively, who were executed with few spectators present. In those
days, it was the criminal of magnitude, that drew the sympathy of crowds. Two convicts, I
remember, behaved well, until the chaplain began a practice of endeavouring to worm out a
confession as to an accomplice. From that moment, they would have no more communication
with him, not even on the scaffold, and so they died. How greatly is all this changed
since! How nobly is the spirit and letter of
168 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
On returning to town, I sent some articles to the New Monthly Magazine, a publication originally in double
columns, like the “Gentleman’s,” a strange medley of politics and chance articles. It
belonged to Mr. Colburn, who determined to improve
it. Talfourd, the late judge, and myself, both
commenced writing in it about 1820. Talfourd was studying the law in
the Temple. He contributed several papers, principally on the lake style of poetry. He was
at that time, a great devotee to Charles Lamb’s
school of authorship, and all he then wrote had a tint of its peculiarity.
Colburn had set his magazine to high Tory principles, speculating
for success in a rivalry with Sir Richard Phillips,
who had carried on the Monthly Magazine for some years
before, on the opposite side. The New Monthly was, at first,
rampant in its politics. It had existed about five or six years, low enough in literary
merit. William Grenville Graham, already mentioned,
introduced me to Talfourd, both belonging to the Temple.
Talfourd and Graham were forensic rivals at
the academics in Chancery Lane. The former and myself were to aid in the improved work,
which had then no ostensible editor, the papers being sent to the printer, with some
arrangement as to order of place, but no rule as to tone. The politics had become little
distinguishable, because the political speculation had met no support, being feeble and ill
sustained. The literary character of the work was to be the desideratum in future.
Colburn wanted a good editor’s name. He knew how the public
were managed by a name, and he could pay handsomely. He made this
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 169 |
170 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 171 |
“O, all that will do,” said Campbell, “but some of the other articles I have, will be thought to give my opinions.”
He was so absorbed in his labours though with little progress, that he
never looked at mine. Among others whom I asked to aid us, was Aberdeen Perry of the “Morning
Chronicle,” a very intelligent and discerning personage. He knew Campbell as an old friend. I had contributed to his
columns. He flatly refused, because the “New
Monthly” was the title of another magazine, named “New” for
party purposes. “Attack principles if you will, it is all well, but to take a name
with the view of profiting by it under such objects, it is impossible—I cannot
approve of such an act. There was a ‘New
Times’ started against the ‘Times.’ How should I like a ‘New Morning Chronicle’ to be
brought out against me, by an advantage taken of the law. I know neither
Campbell nor you had anything to do with that, the old
sentiments of the magazine will not be supported, I am aware, but it is the sanction of
a bad principle.” Perry kept his word. I had
received an introduction to Ugo Foscolo, when I came
from Paris two years before. I now urged him to contribute. He sent an article on
Neapolitan affairs. I had still time to complete my own share of the work, but found myself
obliged to interfere where it was a continued trespass upon my leisure. Two or three
trifles were all I wrote on my own account. I had completed turning the “Lyre
172 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 173 |
“This belongs to your part of the magazine. Mr. Canning sent it by Mr. Courtenay.”
“What am I to do with it—it is for the Political Events?”
“I don’t know, I dare say it is for us to publish; you are to do what you think best with it, I suppose.”
The article suited, I was pleased to be able to put it in entire. After the magazine came out, I met Courtenay, in a great fume.
“Why you have published Canning’s letter which I gave Campbell expressly, as a guide not to make any mistake about what Canning had written, the other publications having given erroneous accounts. Canning is annoyed greatly about it.” I mentioned that Campbell had given it to me to use as I pleased—that I deeply regretted it, now it was too late.
“He is forgetful, indeed, if that is the case,” said Courtenay, much chagrined.
When I told the poet of it he said: “What the devil did Courtenay give it to me for at all? I forgot all about it.”
I was thus obliged to be careful, and consume time
174 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
I had known many of the literary characters of the
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 175 |
I met Peter Finnerty just after
Campbell and myself began our labours. He smiled
about Perry’s delicacy as to literary titles.
Who did not know Peter in those days?
176 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 177 |
Alluding to the cause of Lord Londonderry’s death, there was a singular story current soon afterwards, which remains uncontradicted, in reference to that event. I heard it repeated at a private table, where a man of rank, who knew him well was present, and no disbelief of it was expressed.
Despite Campbell’s acumen, and Du Bois’s reading, a wag outwitted both in the first number, in an article giving an account of “the writings of one Richard Clitheroe.” The hurry and confusion incident on getting out the number, which in most periodical works, generally renders’ the first one of the worst, because it is intended to be the best, could alone account for the admission, professedly, of a paper by a writer of the Reign of James I., who left plays in two quarto volumes, of which only one copy was extant; specimens of the pretended play were given, and it was stated that the early part of the author’s life was prefixed. These statements were themselves suspicious. Only one copy extent; plays in two quarto volumes of so late a date, unknown, together with their author!
When Canning died, I wrote the
article respecting him in the
“New Monthly Magazine.” I have
already spoken of meeting this distinguished man. His eloquence was of a high order,
singularly elaborate and exact for one of his poetical temperament. It was a stream of pure
unadulterated English, flowing copiously with classic elegance, seldom assisted by those
elevated
178 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
Where so many good speakers were found, it was no little glory to shine
pre-eminent. Canning was, perhaps, our first orator
when he died—for Brougham had none of the graces
in his oratory, however powerful. He appeared studied in language, and lucid. He had a good
intonation, and a candid and manly delivery. He possessed great power, though in this
respect alone he was inferior to Brougham. He was for the most part in
full possession of himself, his style highly refined, and he always produced a deep
impression upon his hearers. His logic was never confused, nor his resources common-place,
like those of Sir Robert Peel. But it may be doubted
whether the elegant musical flow of his language, bordering upon fastidious correctness, or
the arguments clothed in it, would alone have obtained him the celebrity he deservedly did
obtain. He possessed a quality which was peculiarly well adapted to render him attractive
to an English audience; for his speeches, though so correct and elegant, being generally
unmingled with spirit-stirring paroxysms of declamation, might seem tame to coarse
unpolished ears. The quality alluded to, was a happy wit, of a species peculiarly his
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 179 |
Thus Canning obtained a reputation
for candour from his opponents which they denied to his associates. If, for example, the
question were one of Borough corruption and Reform, while his colleagues asserted all was
as it should be, perfect and pure, Canning granted that the evils
complained of existed; that the representation was not so perfect as it might be made; but
he opposed the sweeping change required, because the evil that existed was less than that
which would accrue in endeavouring to administer a remedy. In his speeches, he was not
sparing of the figures of rhetoric, yet, when he
180 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 181 |
Canning had concentrated in union, for the common benefit, the moderate men of two great political parties, which had consented to merge, in consideration of the general welfare, those few shades of speculative opinion upon which they differed. It was Canning who showed them that their mutual differences ought not to be put into the balance against a positive benefit to the community. He thus consolidated one of the most honourable and disinterested coalitions which Great Britain ever saw. He was forsaken, and ungenerously treated by his former coadjutors, men as far below him in intellect and genius, as they were inferior in honest patriotic feeling. He had recourse for support to those who differed from him on political questions, much less than they who had so cavalierly attempted to expel him from the honourable post, his sovereign had conferred upon him. He had given the country of his affection, reason to believe that the state of public affairs would be considered in sober earnestness; and that every practicable remedy would be applied to existing evils. The people were no longer to be deluded with ministerial promises, made without the intention of their fulfilment. Session after session of parliament being suffered to pass in merely asking supplies, and making an empty parade of words, marshalled in the same courtier-bred phrases, and he was just beginning to witness the success of his measures, and to receive the well-merited reward of applause from his fellow-citizens.
Having attained the summit of a laudable ambition, he could not, perhaps,
have quitted the world at a moment more propitious to an honourable reputation, when his
term of life is considered. Protracted years had not left
182 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
His triumph over the jealousy of his former coadjutors was complete. He saw them fall into merited contempt, while he proceeded to restore a truly British tone of character to the government. He had disconcerted the Holy Alliance; called a new world into existence; negotiated for the independence of Greece; maintained the honour of England and Portugal; heard his name re-echoed from remote shores in strains of gratifying homage to his talents; begun to apply the principles of philosophy to politics; maintained the reform of the Navigation Laws; occupied himself in retrenching the public expenditure, and maturing other plans for universal good, and, finally he died in the field, harnessed, and at the post of honour.
Here was enough of glory for the satisfaction of human vanity, and much
more than fell to the lot of a tithe of the distinguished men who preceded him. It was for
his country alone Canning should have survived, for the people of England, of whom he
proudly styled himself one, to whom he looked for support, and of which number he died. He
sprang not from the “order,” the ignorant, bigoted, haughty and selfish portion
of which had denied him, and the king and people of England their support. He sprang from
the people, the source of all intellect of moment, of all power in all nations, if they
knew how to use that truth; he
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 183 |
About this time the cockney school of literature, as it was called, gave the tone to a small class of publications. It was a school of contracted views, affecting great simplicity and benevolence, and might be called a branch in descent from Southey and the Lake School, but mixed up with metropolitan opinions, and a habit of dwelling upon trifles, and holding very limited ideas of things. It was confined, or nearly so, to a circle ten miles round London.
The subjects treated upon were not drawn from the infinite diversity of
mind the metropolis proffers for study, but from rural contemplations, and descantings upon
the scenery of nature almost upon the verge of the streets and houses. The Alps were
nothing to Primrose Hill, and the elms upon its summit, were as the cedars of Lebanon to
the ready writer. Hampstead outvied Parnassus, dandelions and daffydown-dillies,
butter-cups and periwinkles, outshone roses and exotics in the floral song. The sensibility
was awakened to novel things, much in the way Coleridge, with a spice of the same tendency, addressed a Jerusalem pony,
“I hail thee brother!” New phrases were coined for application to
the plashy ground tenanted by Rhodes the cowkeeper, and his lacteal
animals, and the peak of Hampstead became as famous in their view as Chimborazo in that of
the Herr Humboldt. Wilson ridiculed the school in “Blackwood” too unmercifully, pushing his ridicule as usual to excess, as
if making small
184 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 185 |
186 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
The “old man of the mountain,” seemed in a little time to have fallen off Campbell’s shoulders. Matters got then to the other extreme. All the responsibility rested with me without the honour, he said I knew as well what would suit as he did. His want of punctuality as to his copy was at first troublesome, because his own article always commenced a number. He was generally accurate in stating the quantity of pages his matter would make, I kept back a little poetry to fill up a vacancy in case it should occur. I then got all the rest of the magazine printed, the first sheet or half sheet going to press last, to the printer’s great relief. Even at the eleventh hour, the typographer was too often vexed about Campbell’s copy, when my cares for the month were at an end.
I have spoken of Foscolo, the
great name of the later Italian literature. I was introduced to him by a letter from
M. Biagioli, of the College of Louis le Grand,
in Paris. When I returned, after my long absence, I
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 187 |
His scraggy neck was bare, but amid all, his countenance was expressive of high genius. He was scrupulously neat in his person, and gentlemanly when he pleased.
His frame was compact, rather actively made, his stature of the middle
height, his address mild. His temper was exceedingly irascible, and kindled from the
slightest cause. He had applied to his studies with that enthusiastic ardour which is not
so much the accompaniment of literary investigation as of genius. I once found him at
noon-day in Wigmore Street, in summer, shut up, studying by candle light, having prolonged
his sitting from the night before, while he was composing an article for the “Quarterly Review.” He had studied the
finest writers of Greece and Italy down to those of the middle ages inclusive. Admiring
Alfieri, he imitated him in keeping as close as
possible to the severe style of
188 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
At that time our literature had not lowered its standard as it has done
since, and there were well-educated persons in sufficient numbers to afford such a writer a
great degree of patronage. He has given the world his own opinion of himself in a sonnet to
be found among his writings. It is not literally correct, for we are apt to draw our own
portraits too flatteringly. He possessed versatility of talent, a pure taste, and was a
sound reasoner. His mind was truly elevated, and his memory wonderfully retentive. His
temper was his great failing, and he would too often disregard the latter in the relation
of any fact, and thus
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 189 |
“Now, M. Foscolo,” said Santa Rosa, “how many inhabitants are there in Geneva?”
To this Foscolo put in the plea of ignorance.
“How many are there in Paris?”
“Nine hundred thousand, perhaps a million,” replied Foscolo angrily.
“Very well, M. Foscolo,
the population of Geneva is
190 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
“It is true, I saw it in the Almanac de Gotha; you will find it there.”
“Have you got a copy?”
“I have not. It is some time since.”
“Now if Paris contains a million of people, and Geneva twenty thousand, it is absurd to argue the matter further, M. Foscolo. There must be half a million of females in Paris, young and old, and in Geneva altogether only ten or eleven thousand.”
“You do not credit me I see. I do not know it myself. I only spoke of the information contained in the Gotha almanack.”*
“And you could hardly credit it, if you had reflected a moment.”
“You will not believe me, I see, M. de Santa Rosa—no, no!”
Here he worked himself into a fury, and rising from the table, his eyes flashing fire, went into an adjoining room, and threw himself upon a sofa. Campbell walked off, as was his way, Porro and Santa Rosa sat perfectly tranquil. Pecchio first, and then I, went into the room to calm him, but in vain, and we took our departure. The next time we met, it was all forgotten. We used to play at chess together, when he would make a bad move, and flying into a passion with himself tear off his hair by the handful. I, therefore, proposed that we should play no more, as it might lead to a
* I suspect this statement originated in the same sources as one of a Mr. Haidone, at a public meeting where all sorts of random assertions are made for a purpose. |
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 191 |
We had, I remember, a breakfast party in Wigmore Street. The venerable patriarch and historian, Mr. Roscoe, then nearly eighty years of age, was present. Rogers and Campbell, I forgot who besides, were of the party. We waited long for the Poet of Memory, who always lay long in bed. During the interval, I could not help admiring once more, and for the last time, the fine old Roman character, or what I fancy to be so, of Roscoe. His countenance, stature, bearing, all well-sustained the illusion. It is seldom celebrated personages carry with them so close an alliance between noble personal appearance and mental excellence. His reputation is fully sustained, whose only lasting reputation is to be preserved in the better and wiser intellects of the age. He was one of man’s true nobility, a race that the breath of kings can neither make nor unmake. No two individuals could exhibit contrasts more strikingly opposed than Roscoe and Foscolo. But the minds of both were of the richest ore.
Under the notion of being independent, Foscolo was apt to behave with rudeness. He had ceased to visit Holland
House, for he had a great dislike to Lady Holland,
saying, in his energetic way, “I would not go to heaven with Lady
Holland—I could go to hell
192 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
“You are hoaxing me, M. Foscolo, I know where the original of that bust of Daphne is to be found; this is a cast from it.”
He took my remark ill, saying some coarse things. I observed to him that
I sat quiescent when he and some of his southern friends raged and fumed upon small
occasions, but that he must not expect to play upon me by things palpably erroneous. He
then began to abuse a friend of mine. I smiled at first, but though he was exceedingly
provoking, I merely took up my hat to go away; when he became still more enraged. I calmly
observed to him: “M. Foscolo, you are a
Venetian, or else I should have thought you a Greek of the Lower Empire—what have I
done or said to irritate you to such a degree?” I had used no threat, but told him I
pitied him. I bore no animosity towards him, God forbid, then or now. I had so sincere a
respect for his nobler qualities, that I never could have been his enemy. I imagined, and
do so still, that his low living laid the foundation of the complaint that terminated his
existence, and caused much of his irritability. I often remonstrated with him upon the
subject. I once found he had passed two whole days, having taken only a single cup of
coffee. The day
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 193 |
I called upon Campbell, and told him the story, and he agreed to go with me We went early, and saw Mr. Rawlinson, the magistrate, who laughed at the affair, but thought I might have been a little brusque upon the occasion from my complexion. We waited some time before Foscolo came, unattended, and began a story to the bench, which I ventured to interrupt, by saying:
“I suppose M. Foscolo’s purpose is to bind me over to keep the peace, can it not be done at once? It is rather hard to have a double infliction under the present proceeding.”
“Is that what you wish, M. Foscolo?” said the magistrate.
Foscolo replied in the affirmative, but still wanted to tell his story, which the magistrate said was occupying time uselessly. I signed the necessary document, and two other securities, one of whom was Campbell, having done the same, we took our departure.
Poor Foscolo! I saw him no more
alive. I visited his grave in Chiswick church-yard, when memory pain-
194 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
“What does this dagger do here, Foscolo?”
“I am not thinking of suicide. I have been composing, and I must have all that contributes to help the mind before my eyes—there is a skull. Here are my thoughts, shewing me an illegible scrawl upon paper. You have my ‘Sepulchres?’”
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 195 |
“I have.”
“What part do you like best?”
“I know which really pleases me the most—not the more touching portions, but that scene which brings up the past in so spirited a manner off the Isle of Eubœa; next the allusion to Parini.”
“I think myself it is a spirited passage, but the subject lends it the interest, one judges too partially of oneself.”
Some of his Greek translations were wonderfully terse and spirited, full of the fire of true poetry. When I reflect on the failings “flesh is heir to,” it is rare that in the sons of genius they are not balanced by corresponding virtues. Foscolo’s generosity, and his kindness of soul, were pre-eminent. Most of his failings were the results of an irritable bodily constitution, and too little of that reflection on common things, which he devoted to the lofty and ideal, of which the many feel so little, and which the world is little worthy of feeling. Here is a specimen of his French:
“Ce n’est que depuis avant hier, que j’ai
apris de maladie de ——; mais j’ai été en même
tems tranquilisé par Mrs. Campbell,
qui m’assure comme il n’existait plus de danger. Le même soir,
j’ai reçu votre billet dont je vous remercie de tout mon cœur,
et je vous en aurais remercié plustôt sans l’indisposition qui
depuis plusieurs jours me tourmente, accompagnée d’une constante head-ach qui à peine me permet de faire usage de
mes yeux; et mes yeux aussi sont en mauvaise condition. Lorsque je pourrai
sortir, j’irai sous peu vous
196 | FIFTY YEARS’ RECOLLECTIONS, |
The following is a specimen of the epistolary English of this extraordinary and gifted man.
“For heaven’s sake send me by the bearer, and you shall have them returned to-morrow, all the numbers of the N. M. M. in which I wrote, but more particularly all those in which I wrote about Pietro delle Vigne, and Guido Cavalcanti, and if you have any remaining proofs of the article of Sordelle, or my French MS., or that of your own translation of the Sappho, send it to me.
“Do not disappoint me, because I depend on those articles for some quotations—good bye.
“The bearer will wait for an answer. Forgive the dictation of my letter, because I am sitting for my portrait before M. Pistrucchi, poet and painter. If you wish to hear his improvisations, you must come this evening to tea at eight o’clock,
LITERARY AND PERSONAL. | 197 |
His notes bore no date, but the day of the week. He pourtrayed himself in the sonnet below, of which I have already spoken.*
It is not possible to recur to those perished days, when I used to meet Foscolo, Santa Rosa, and others, the better natives of the south, and to recal conversations and friendly discussions, mostly faded from memory, without adding another bosom query to the mystery of our humanity, regretting too, at how low a rate they were once valued, compared to the elevated price which memory at present sets upon them.
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