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CHAPTER VI.

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W. GIFFORD—R. WESTLEY HALL DARE—ASSIZE INTELLIGENCE—GLOUCESTERSHIRE AND THE WYE.

But friendship doth two souls in one comprise— Here in a deep recess of thought we find Pleasures which entertain and which exalt the mind; Pleasures which do from friendship and from knowledge rise, Which make us happy as they make us wise.—Roscommon.

Pursuing my labours in the “Literary Gazette,” it will not be disadvantageous to my claim for industry (being, as Francis Mahony scornfully calls it when he does not quite approve of the products, “one of the industrious fleas”) that I found time to write a review on the Pindarees, and prepare others of greater length for the “Quarterly Review,”—delighted with the intimacy and friendship of its editor, the well-abused William Gifford. I say nothing of the merciless politics and mohawk literary onslaught with which his opponents charged him: I speak of him as he always was to me, full of gentleness, a sagacious adviser, and instructive upon so comprehensive a scale that I never met his superior among the men of the age most renowned for vast information, and captivating powers in communicating it. To him I must return hereafter.

Another politico-literary labour of love was undertaken to promote the cause of a friend whom I dearly prized, and

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with whom for many a year I enjoyed that choice happiness which results from cordial sympathies and esteem. I allude to the late Robert Westley Hall Dare; who appeared, to my partial but discerning eyes, to be rusting away a life which might be serviceable to his country, in the too-secluded repose of a private gentleman. I had measured his talents, and I urged him to seek a seat in the legislature, in order to rouse him from inactivity and excite his energies in a sphere of action worthy of himself. I succeeded in attaining a sort of passive acquiescence; and then set myself to work, in earnest, to prepare his way as a candidate for the county of Essex. With this view, I wrote a series of letters (December, 1819, and January, 1820), under the signature of “An Essex Freeholder,” in the “Essex Herald,” published by Messrs. Meggy and Chalk, at Chelmsford, and widely circulated in the home and several adjacent counties. These were then republished in a pamphlet, which my friend Mr. Freeling, when presented with it, as in duty bound, pronounced to be “admirable;” but be that as it might, the desired effect was produced, and the county began to look to Mr. Dare as one of its members. But certain private, as well as public considerations, touching Mr. (afterwards Lord) Western and Mr. Tower, determined him against an immediate canvas, and his patriotic aspirations were satisfied with the popular influence imparted to the politics he “supported for the honour, the safety, and the happiness of the country,” without caring to endanger the cause by embarking in the contest. Such was the tenor of the first letter I received from him after my pamphleteering adventure; and it showed how deserving he was of the honour he, for the moment, so liberally surrendered. When the proper time came, he stood, and was elected with every

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tribute due to his estimable qualities as a country gentleman, and his honest independence as a politician. That I partook of the triumph may readily be supposed; and in many ways it ministered to my heartfelt gratification in succeeding years. I cannot forbear from recalling these pleasant memories, as a farther proof that a ready pen and even a limited literary repute procure, at least, some compensations, unattainable by other pursuits, for the evils inseparable from the profession of letters.

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To be present at an assize, and be able to examine the administration of the criminal law under the auspices of a high sheriff, was a very desirable thing for an inquisitive public writer (to whom every new source for acquiring information is of importance); and with my strong regard for the individual, and prospect of other enjoyments, the occasion altogether promised me a most interesting holiday, and that promise was more than realised. The gentleman alluded to in the note was Mr. Thomas King, with whom I had opportunities of investigating the inmost penetralia of the system of criminal jurisprudence as then administered; and I am bound to state that the impression on my mind was little short of horrible. This is, however, no place for an account of our inquiries, having access to every quarter, nor for an essay on legal or jurisprudential defects, even though they are as yet only partially remedied. Suffice it to say, that we found acquittals and convictions, discharges and executions, little better than a lottery, and were shocked by the reckless and apathetic conduct of the prisoners who were subjected to this ordeal, and which must have been produced on the doctrine of chances whereby they were permitted to live or doomed to die.

Some of the cases were very distressing, and the results so different from what Mr. King and I anticipated, from our previous minute examinations in the gaol, that we were as much afflicted as astonished. The prisoners had mock trials among themselves, and but too truly cast some for death, whilst they transported and imprisoned others with a strange sort of prophetic accuracy. But I have not yet displayed my flattering passports to this, to me, most attractive scene. They follow:—

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A CRIMINAL BLACK LIST.

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During the week to which I was thus invited, I made the acquaintance of several Essex gentry, whose mansions and estates were afterwards my healthful resorts for hospitable recreation and sports of the field. With Squire Western I sat up for nights, till almost day-break, disputing on politics and corn-laws, and I witnessed the black list of the convictions brought in to the judge (Baron Richards) and, shuddering with terror saw him affix the fatal mark to two names, left for the law to take its course upon their unhappy owners. One was about the finest specimen of an English peasant that could be imaged by a romance writer. Had there been a murderer to hang his life would have been saved; but as it was, his was the most heinous crime in the catalogue, and one that had become prevalent, and so, poor fellow, for giving drugs to a wretched female to prevent their mutual disgrace, he was condemned and executed.

Another case interested me, and caused some amusement. A prisoner was tried for stealing a tent from a gentleman’s grounds, and was traced dragging it along the lawn in the dewy morning and across a stream. I was sitting at the end of the bench, and recognised in the culprit the son of a respectable woman who lived near me in Brompton, and had a fruit and flower garden which my family used to patronise. My crony, Curwood, was in the court below, and I handed him a note, telling him the circumstance and asking him to do what he could for the accused, who had no counsel. The case was, however, clearly proven, and

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the abstraction of the tent, and a pail along with it, brought home to my luckless client. I thought it was all over, and that Curwood “had not a bone to throw at a dog,” when he got up and read the indictment, which ran for stealing so many yards of Russia duck, made &c., upon which he took a legal objection, that if they were to go to the origin, or component articles, of the thing stolen they had no right to describe it by a middle term, and that if the prisoner was not charged with stealing a tent they had no right to accuse him of stealing duck, and might as legally have specified the thread of which it was woven, the hemp which grew it, or the seed from which it sprung. It may be guessed that this ingenious argument was enough to perplex an Essex jury, and the prisoner was acquitted. The prosecutor hinted something about proceeding on the pail, but Curwood cleverly feigned utter astonishment at the idea, and appealed to the most intelligent jury if, after having acquitted the unfortunate man of the serious offence with which he had been charged, they would enter into such a paltry matter as a valueless pail. The jurors with one voice ignored such barbarity, and my protégé left the dock a free and astonished piece of honesty. Sorry am I to add, that, on my return home, and relating to his mother the service I had rendered her offspring, she expressed her extreme regret at my interference, as she thought she would be well quit of her torment at Botany Bay; and, fortunately for her, he was tried for another felony at the very next Old Bailey sessions, and transported!

With one note more I shall close this episode, relating to a portion of my happy intercourse with as upright and

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noble-minded a man as ever lived; one who contributed to thousands of my pleasures: for his estates (so close to London, too!) were mine for shooting, fishing, or recreating, whenever I chose to send the necessary orders; and to his mansion I was ever welcome when I could spare time for that social delight.

We had nearly a week of dinners to the farmers electors for the county; and, with few exceptions, it is hardly possible to conceive, so near London, and so short a while ago, such an unsophisticated and uncouth set of guests. Their bewilderment with the dishes and wines—their ludicrous mistakes and blunders—their being upon their best manners—and, indeed, the whole “treating” would have

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afforded the merriest of volumes to the foremost of comic writers.

My stay at Hay Hill, with its magnificent prospect, and

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our tour, with his wife and daughter, down the Wye, including two days of incessant rain at Monmouth, were enjoyed to the utmost.

The knowledge of the fine arts in this part of the island was laughably shown one day, when riding out with Miss King. We were driven, by a sudden storm, to take shelter in the mansion of a Welch squire. I was struck by a fine miniature over the chimney-piece, and was admiring it much, when the owner observed he was glad to see me so well pleased with it; “for,” said he, “you know, of course, whose portrait it is.” I pretended ignorance; and then he informed me that it was a faithful likeness of the Man of Ross. The Man of Ross was, no doubt, the hero of that neighbourhood; but the portrait, with its costume exquisitely finished, was a Petitôt of Prince Rupert!!

For years I was indulged with the privilege of shooting at Hay Hill, when I could go so far, and always over Mr. Dare’s estates in Essex, near Ilford, Theydon-bois, Rainham, et cetera; and, to a laborious writer, such relaxations were inestimable, conducing alike to invigorate the body and restore the mind.