The following correspondence and extracts will, I trust, possess some interest for literary readers.
“My dear William,—Since my last I have visited Mr. J—— several times. The last time he
wished me to dine with him, which I happened not to be able to do, and was
very sorry for it, for his acquaintance is to me a matter of great
importance, not only from the engine he wields—and a formidable one it is,
being the most widely circulated journal in Europe—but also because he is
acquainted with all the principal literary characters of the day, and a
very pleasant kind of man. He was talking of Maginn, who writes a good deal for Blackwood, and spoke in high terms of his
talents; nevertheless, though he is his friend, he confessed he did not
think him a very considerate critic, and thought there was something
unfeeling in his persecution of Barry
Cornwall, who by the way is an acquaintance of my Spanish
friend’s. You may have seen those letters to Bryan
Proctor in “Blackwood’s
Magazine.” Barry Cornwall is, he
says, one of the mildest, modestest young fellows he ever saw, and does
anything but assume. Maginn, however, imagines that
those he attacks, think as little of the affair as himself, which is by no
means the case. The other day he attacked Campbell’s
| 388 | APPENDIX. |
* “The Writer Tam” was the name of this burlesque.—W. J. † Watts was also so offended with some of Maginn’s devilries, that in one of his letters to me he denounces him, in his wrath, as a blackguard.—W. J. |
| GERALD GRIFFIN. | 389 |
“My dear William, ever affectionately yours,
In this instance he (Foster)
was the chief cause of Gerald’s
deliverance from his embarrassments, though the latter did not know at the time the
full extent to which he was indebted to him. Immediately after the visit alluded to, he
went straight to Dr. Maginn and described what
he saw. Dr. Maginn with extreme good nature immediately
communicated with the editor of the “Literary Gazette,” and this led to the engagement which
Gerald alludes to above, and to the series of papers he there
speaks of * * * * *. I brought him a number of the “Literary
Gazette” one day, which contained a review of the work (Holland-tide), in which it is said,
some of the shorter tales were contributed by a friend, some of the offered
contributions were rejected by Griffin on the ground that they
would be thought to resemble in their manner the writings of Mr. Crofton Croker, that I thought would give him very
high satisfaction, as its praise was almost unbounded. I was surprised, however, to
find that it produced quite the contrary effect, and threw him into a state of
agitation that I little anticipated, one expression in it appearing to neutralise all
its approbation. Indeed I had no conception before of the degree to which an author
could be affected by so simple a thing, as a review of his work in a periodical, and
that review a favourable one. He seemed to read it with much gratification, until he
came to a part where the reviewer spoke of the shorter tales, and giving them also a
considerable degree of praise said, that “Little Jack Edy” was
almost Crofton Crokerish! The moment Gerald came to this
passage, I never saw anything like the state it put him into. It was not rage so much
his countenance expressed, as an appearance of the most violent agony. He crumpled the
paper in his hand, raised it high above his head, stamped violently, and almost dashed
it to the earth in the excess of his feeling. “Oh!” he said,
“Oh!” with a
| 390 | APPENDIX. |
Among incipient authors whom (to use a common phrase) it was in my power to “take by the hand” and pull up the steep, few had a heartier help than Mr. William Harrison Ainsworth, whose literary propensities were strong in youth, and who has since made so wide a noise in the world of fictitious and periodical literature. From some cause or another, which I cannot comprehend, he has given a notice to my publishers, to forbid the use of any of his correspondence in these Memoirs, though on looking over a number of his letters I can discover nothing discreditable to him, or aught of which he has reason to be ashamed. If the reluctance to have them, referred to was founded on a dislike to have my early regard and its consequent amicable acts recorded, I think he need hardly have entertained an apprehension of my boasting too much; and especially, as the circumstances were always his own common and continual boast, and but too flatteringly proclaimed on every apposite occasion to be agreeable even to my selfestimation. He was only one of many to whose first essays I paid similar attention; and that I maintained the same line of conduct in his case for years, as he pursued his popular career, only proved that my first impression of his talents was confirmed by his sequent productions. From “Sir John Chiverton,” so full of promise, to “Jack Shepherd” (the evils to be caused by which I did not foresee, and then spoke favourably of the graphic power it displayed), and from “Jack Shepherd” to the writer’s latest performance, it has ever been a pleasure to me to set him in the fairest colours before the world; and he
* See “Life of Gerald Griffin, Esq., by his Brother,” prefixed to the collected edition of his works, 1842. |
| W. H. AINSWORTH. UDE. | 391 |
| 392 | APPENDIX. |
“Potato Soufflé.—This dish as the good adventage to be good and cheep. Take as must large potato as you have gest for dinner, as this dish don’t looke well to be cut, whash them well, and select for that dish the better in shap, put them in the owen to be donne as well as to eat them with butter, then cut one opperture at the top, take out the in side with a spoone and put this in a stewpane, with two or three spoone of double cream, a small bit of butter, little salt, some sugar, litle lemon peel rasp in sugar, too yelk of eggs, and add to it the white well frosted, and put the appareil to the potato, and put this to the owen pretty hot, and warie the taste, some time lemon, same time orange flower water, &c. This dish is very prety and not vulgaire.”
But to return for a moment to the author of “Rookwood,” “Crichton,” and other deservedly popular productions—an author who is rarely surpassed in spirit when his characters are in action, and some of whose ballads and songs partake of the same sparkling vivacity—I shall only mention that after the Review of Crichton in the “Literary Gazette,” Mr. Bentley waited upon the writer the next morning, and offered him. 500l. for a new novel. As Froth (whose disciple I, on some occasions, feel myself rather disposed to be) says in the play, “I hope here be facts.”
I do not remember what became of a project for a “Lyceum Club,” built upon the pleasures of the Ude gourmet symposia, but the mighty minister of amphytrionic luxuries has retired to his mould, and Soyer, the magnificent, reigns, cooks, writes, and publishes in his stead.
In speaking of Mr. W. Harrison
Ainsworth, I may take the opportunity of setting many readers,
particularly in the right, in respect to another author of nearly the same name, viz.,
Mr. William Francis Ainsworth, whom I have
frequently seen confounded with his cousin, though nothing can be more opposite than
their literary pursuits and works. Whilst Mr. W. Harrison
Ainsworth has revelled in the fanciful field of invention and lighter
composition, Mr. W. Francis Ainsworth has delved deeply into the
mines of learning and science, and classic antiquity. In geology I am not aware that he
has any superior, and his description of the marvellous caves of Bally-
| CAPTAIN WEDDELL. THE PIG. | 393 |
The straightforward and coolly intrepid character of Weddell, stamped him the perfect successor to the bravest nautical heroes of the elder times, who, in their small frail barks explored the wildest seas and most desolate regions of the earth. On his return from his Antarctic voyage, he was greeted with great applause by all who were interested in Polar discoveries, and received many deserved compliments and marks of honour. It was my good fortune to hail his book (1825) in a style which procured the annexed acknowledgment, and led to a lasting friendship.
“Your very able review has given my book a
stamp of
| 394 | APPENDIX. |
“With respectful remembrance,
“Yours very faithfully,
I am sorry to confess that a (what shall I call it?) of four dozen pints of the finest Malmsey Madeira, brought from the Island, attended this seaman’s thank-ye, and I could only requite the “what shall I call it,” by hospitalities and attentions to the bestower when in town, and a continued tribute to his persevering conduct, as opportunities arose for its public notice. Among the aspirations of my warm friend was his candidature for the post of superintendent of Leith docks, for success in which he was, notwithstanding my efforts, too late in the field, and the office was carried by my jovial steam-vessel intimate Captain Dall. Weddell’s narrative of his Antarctic voyage, on which he penetrated to a higher latitude than had ever been previously reached, even by Cook or any other navigator in expeditions fitted out for discovery by Government, made a great sensation; and until the last splendid achievements of Sir James Clark Ross, he stood at the head of the gallant explorers of the southern hemisphere—as it still does among the foremost of enthusiastic private enterprise, in any age or perilous sea. I am proud of my name being given in his map to an Island, though at Cape Horn, and so desolate and unproductive, that even in my worst days, I have never thought of proceeding to that stormy region to take possession of my undoubted property, with its icebergs and pen-guins (such natural subjects for a pen-man), and, it might be, a native Patagonian or two, only I should have been afraid to attempt the rule over the females of so gigantic a people, however loyal and attached!
Poor Weddell did not long
survive to enjoy the triumph of his brave exploits. He was more wrapped up in the
ambition to follow up his brilliant naval adventures than to look out for and realise
the fruits of commercial industry in the ships entrusted to his command—and ship-owners
do not enter, with eagerness, into such feelings. The result was that the strong-built
and strong-hearted sailor fell into embarrassments, and sank under their pressure. He
had, however, from his own
| CAPTAIN WEDDELL. THE PIG. | 395 |
Hogarth, Cruikshank, or Leech might have envied the spectacle of this baptism, and their pencils have immortalised this story of a pig without a poke.
To poor Weddell, even in this vein of merry recollection, I must, however, bid adieu. He was a worthy of the right sort for sea or land,
An honest man, the noblest work of God. |
| 396 | APPENDIX. |
“Death’s Doings,” with twenty-four plates, designed and etched by Mr. Dagley, as dedicated to his friend Mr. Douce, and composed of several original productions of his own, and contributions from various writers. The etching I endeavoured to illustrate, represented, the Skeleton, as a butler, or waiter, drawing a magnum for four convivial fellows boozing at a table, whose appearances are alluded to in the text—as follows:—
“An’ if it be the last bottle, Death is quite welcome; for then Life hath run to very dregs and lees, and there is nothing more in it which can be called enjoyment. Ah, whither have ye sped, ye jovial Hours, which on bright-winged glasses, far different from yon sandy remembrancer, floated away so blissfully; as the bird poised high in air, the trouble of the ascent over, glides without effort or motion, through the brilliant pleasures of yielding space. How ye sparkled and ran on, like gay creatures of the element gifted with more than magic powers. Beautiful and slight ephemera, fragile as you seemed, what mighty loads of cares did you easily bear off in your aerial flight! Ponderous debts which might weigh nations down; the griefs of many loves, enow to drown a world; the falsehoods of friends, the malice of enemies; anxieties, fears, troubles, sorrows—all vanished as drinking ye proceeded in your mystic dance! I picture ye in my fancy, now, ye Hours, as sparkling, joyous, and exquisite insects, flitting past with each a burden of man’s miseries on his shoulders sufficient to break the back of a camel, and borne from the lightened hearts of your true worshippers. But, alas! alas! for all things mortal—we must come to the last at last.
“Yet let the grim tyrant approach at any time,
sith it must be so, and at what time can he approach when we should
less regard his frown. Like the unconscious lamb, which ‘licks
the hand just raised to shed its blood,’ we play with his
bony fingers as he presents the latest draught; and let his dart be
dipped in the rosy flood, we die feeling that wine gives to Death
| THE LAST BOTTLE. | 397 |
|
Behold that breathless corpse;
You’ll be like it when you die:
Therefore drink without remorse,
And be merry, merrily.
Ai-lun, Ai-lun, Ai-lun,* quo’ he!
Our only night, no sky light, drink about,
quo’ we.
|
“Time they tell us, waits for no man;—
Time and Tide, For no man bide; |
While here we meet, a jovial band, No Son of Discord’s impious hand Dare fling the apple, fire the brand, To mar our social joy: |
Free, as our glorious country free, Prospering in her prosperity, With wine, and jest, and harmony, We Pleasure’s hours employ. |
But lo, he whose face is half concealed by that arm uplifted with the sparkling glass, he has drunk till the tender mood of philosophy steals over his melting soul. His maudlin eye would moisten with a tear at a tale of sorrow or a plaintive
* Literally in the Greek, “Behold that corpse; you will resemble it after your death: drink now, therefore, and be merry.”—(See Herodotus and Plutarch, on the Egyption Maneros, passim). The fine chorus of Ai-lun, “He is dwelling with the night,” is, we trust, pathetically rendered. |
| 398 | APPENDIX. |
Death comes but once, the philosophers say, And ’tis true, my brave boys, but that
once is a clencher: It takes us from drinking and loving away, And spoils at a blow the best tippler and
wencher. Sine Ai-lun, though to me very odd it is, Yet, I sing it, too, as my friend quotes
Herodotus. |
And Death comes to all, so they tell us again, Which also I fear, my brave boys, is no fable; Yet the moral it teaches, to me is quite plain: ’Tis to love all we can and to drink all
we’re able. Sing, again, Ai-lun, though to me odd it is; But ’tis Greek, very good I hope, and
comes from Herodotus. |
Let the sparkling glass go round, The sparkling glass where care is drowned; For while we drink, we live, we live! Let the joyous roof ring with the measure, The sweetest of the muses’ treasure That Music’s voice can give. Thus crowned, the present beams with pleasure, The memory of the past is lighter, The prospect of the future brighter— And while we drink, we live, we live. Chorus.—We live, we live, we live,
we live, For while we drink, we live, we live. |
“Another cork is drawn. At the smacking sound cares,
fears, pains, fly from the unruffled soul of man, as wild fowl fly from the
placid lake at the report of the fowler’s gun. The undulating
agitation of the instant,—the centric, concentric, elliptic, parabolic, and
every imaginary shape into which its glancing bosom is broken, ripples and
sparkles with light, and all then gently subsides into smoothness and
serenity.—The calm is delicious, and the bowl becomes more and more brimmed
with
| THE LAST BOTTLE. | 399 |
|
The brave, and the learned, and the good, and the wise,
All come to the same simple close of “Here lies.”
Then let us employ
Our moments in joy—
And before the sure end make the best use of Time.
’Twere folly to pine
O’er generous wine,
Since sadness is madness, and gloom is life’s crime,
‘Trinc, trinc, trinc,’*—I speak,
French words and French wines are far better than Greek.
|
|
Look, along the bright board, like a river it flows
With a liquid whose sparkling no water e’er knows;
While’the banks are with friends in good fellowship crowned,
Who bathe deep in the stream and ne’er fear being drowned,
’Tis Bacchus’ hour,
So let him out-pour
All his treasures, while we make the best use of Time;
Friendship and wine
Are union divine,
And when drunk, mortal drunk, mortal man is sublime!
‘Trinc, trinc, trinc,’—I speak,
French words and French wines are far better than
Greek.
|
“Encore, encore—no more, no more: the last measure is full, the last verse is sung, the last cork has left the neck of the last bottle open. The gloomy assassin strikes—He who has been so often dead drunk, what is he now? At the next meeting there was one chair empty, one jolly dog absent—Ai-lun. And what
* When the oracle of the Holy Bottle was pronounced by the trinkling of the drops which fell from it, quoth Panurge, “Is this all that the Trismegistian Bottle’s words mean? In truth I like it extremely, it went down like mother’s milk.”—“Nothing more,” returned Bacbuc (the high priest), “for trinc is a Panomphean word, that is, a word understood, used, and celebrated by all nations, and signifies Drink.”—See Rabelais for this adventure of Pantagruel and Panurge. |
| 400 | APPENDIX. |
|
Here lies William Wassail, cut
down by the Mower;
None ever drank faster or paid their debts slower—
Now quiet he lies as he sleeps with the Just.
He has drank his Last Bottle, and fast, fast
he sped it o’er,
And paid his great debt to his principal Creditor;
And compounded with all the
rest, even with Dust.”
|
Carrington died in 1830, and in 1849, his poems complete in the popular form of one small volume were published; and received from my pen the melancholy tribute justly due to them as natural purifying and beautiful; proceeding from an intense love of nature, and displaying descriptive powers of the finest order. I also expressed my gratification at being enabled to recal to memory, at the distance of time which had elapsed since my first friendly intercourse with him, the cordiality of my welcome to his “Dartmoor,” and his over estimate of my praise and services; and it is a congenial addition to the enjoyment of such feelings to insert here a letter on the occasion from a son worthy of his sire, in talent and every estimable social quality.
“Dear Sir,—
“Allow me to offer you my sincere thanks for
your very kind notice of the little volume containing my late
father’s poems. Your remarks are not only valuable to me as embodying
a favourable opinion of my father’s writings, but peculiarly so on
account of the friendly feeling which you manifested towards him
personally. He always attached great importance to your
| THE LITERARY FUND. | 401 |
“With every good wish, and begging you to accept my best respects,
I had purposed, notwithstanding what I have elsewhere said about the Literary Fund, to have entered into some farther details of my connexion with it, and my strenuous exertions for a number of years to augment its resources and extend its benefits; but on arriving at this point of my undertaking, I find that it may not (at the present) be. I must content myself with the briefest possible notice of a few, as I think, curious or interesting particulars, which belong to byegone times. On my joining the supporters of the “Charity,” the late Mr. James Christie, was first my leader, and then my warmest coadjutor in every effort suggested for its benefit. We recruited stewards, we solicited and obtained subscriptions, and we suggested plans of improvements together. Two-and-thirty years ago we endeavoured to accomplish for the anniversary, a recitation by Macready of a poem by Hookham Frere (then in Malta); and about the same time I joined the club, so advantageously presided over by Sir B. House, with the soul of humanity incarnated in the massive frame of the Rev. Dr. Yates, the treasurer, and his constant V. P.* I was also elected on the general committee. Of Fitzgerald’s annual recitations, however well meant, Mr. Christie was no admirer; and I remember his endeavours
* My practice in transferring to the fund any monies mistakenly forwarded to the Gazette as a remuneration for supposed favours, helped somewhat to gratify the longings of the worthy treasurer. |
| 402 | APPENDIX. |
On the election of a successor to the office, a very eligible candidate, in the person of Mr. T. K. Hervey, had thoughts of standing; but the previous canvas, on behalf of a gentleman who has since raised himself to merited public distinction, and whose pretensions I cordially supported, had confirmed the general opinion in favour of his fitting qualifications, and secured his being chosen; and consequently no contest ensued. He was elected accordingly, and filled, while he occupied it, the station much to his own honour and the advantage of the fund—need I name Mr. (now Sir) C. P. Roney. I fancy the greatest shock he received in the discharge of his duties was when I cut Soane’s portrait into ribbands, and carried the slip of canvas with the eyes on it to show him at the Opera, where I knew he was; and which drove him in dismay from a ballet that no young Irishman could dream of leaving except under very violent pressure indeed. I was menaced with heaven knows what vengeance for committing this atrocious (and I confess half-crazy) deed, but the impulse was defensible, and the annexed squib, at the time, set it in its true light.
“The feud between Sir John Soane and the Literary Fund has at length ‘in hollow murmurs died away;’ the talented but too zealous perpetrator of the mutilation has been gently rebuked, and there the matter ends—unless, indeed, the suggestion given below be acted upon, which we scarcely anticipate:—
|
(Dr. T. loquitur.)
Ochone! Ochone!
For the portrait of Soane!
Jerdan! you ought to have let it alone,
Don’t you see that instead of “removing the bone
Of contention,” the apple of discord you’ve thrown?
One general moan,
Like a tragedy groan,
Bursts forth when the picturecide deed became known.
When the story got blown,
From the Thames to the Rhone,
|
| THE LITERARY FUND. | 403 |
|
Folks were calling for ether and Eau de Cologne,
All shocked at the want of discretion you’ve shown.
If your heart’s not a stone,
You will forthwith atone,
The best way to do that is to ask Mr. Rone—
—y to sew up the slits; the Committee you’ll
own,
When it’s once stitched together, must see that it’s Soane.*
|
Of other zealous co-adjutors I shall merely mention Mr. Gent, in conjunction with whom at one anniversary, we brought a larger sum of subscription into the treasury, than all the other members and stewards put together (1823). But my annual efforts were (as I have stated) incessant and very productive. Another name I ought to record with eulogy, is that of Mr. William Tooke, still an ardent friend to the Institution; and another, Mr. John Britton, who has retired from his active and beneficial labours—so effective for many years—in the cause. Sir Henry Ellis, and Mr. B. Cabbell, were also prominent and important contributors in the benevolent design; and one of my later acts in the concern was to form the third party with them, as a deputation to the Duke of Somerset to obtain his Grace’s assent to accept the Presidency of the Fund. Later still I performed a similar duty in the application to the Marquis of Lansdowne, now so auspiciously at its head.
I continue to take a sincere interest in its good management and faithful administration; and am therefore glad to learn that a proposition is on foot to give up its present unnecessarily expensive house establishment, and obtain more appropriate and less costly accommodations in a more convenient locality. Of old, economy at home, and liberality to the unfortunate, were the rigid principles upon which the Literary Fund was established and governed.
|
Qu. Sewn?—Print. Dev. |
| 404 | APPENDIX. |
A playful note of L.E.L. will farther show from what a height I have fallen.
“You see I have obeyed your orders and dated. I own the day of the month is wanting, but you must make allowance for a * * * beginner.
“I have not been out of the house till yesterday, when Mrs. Windham called, and would take no denial—so home I went and dined with them. She desired me to ask you if you thought you could procure a box at Drury-lane or the Adelphi. I did not like to refuse asking you—as at the worst it only costs you a civil excuse. She asked me to go and see Gustave on Tuesday, which I declined; and I suspect Mr. W. won’t stand two boxes in one week. Saturday is the night she wants it, but of course don’t bother yourself. I am very anxious to hear what you are doing—I think if you could manage it, a run down to Clifton would do you a world of good. I want so to know if you approved my review of the ‘B. of Beauty.’ I miss so very much not being able to talk to you about my judgments before they become quite definite. There was such handsome mention of my story and poem of the ‘New Monthly,’ in the ‘Morning Post’—and even the ‘Atlas’ praises my tale of ‘The Pleiad.’ I was so sorry to hear of your sore throat. I have seen nobody, heard nothing—begin to despair of Bentley publishing my novel. I do consider myself such an ill-used person.
“If you should send before I come in, this will be ready. I am going for some paper.
“Yours truly,
| FOUNDATION OF GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY. | 405 |
Considering that the original projectors of this important Society have hardly received the credit due to them for their exertions in bringing it to the point when it was publicly adopted and organised on their basis, I deem it an act of justice to print the following statement and data. The first suggestion was conveyed to me by the letter signed A. C. C—— (a clerk or librarian in the India House), and its substance noticed in the “Literary Gazette” of 24th May, 1828. The annexed is the letter, which I did think it requisite to publish entirely:—
“Sir,—Few
occurrences in the literary world are, I think, calculated to produce
greater pleasure than the establishment of the Asiatic Translation Fund,
which has just taken place. As a whole its regulations are excellent, but
there is one to which I wish to call attention by the medium of your paper,
which has, I know, been pretty generally disapproved of. This is the
proposal to publish certain translations in the French language. Far be it
from me to depreciate that language or to undervalue its excellences, which
all must acknowledge to be great: but still at a time, when our own tongue
is advancing into popularity on the continent, and when it is in fact
commencing a struggle for supremacy with the French, it must be owned to be
unwise to play into the enemy’s hands in this manner. Nothing more
contributed to the universal spread of our antagonist’s arms than the
universal spread of her language, and nothing has more contributed to the
universal spread of her language than the custom prevalent amongst too many
of our authors of taking for granted an acquaintance with that language,
and thus, in a manner, enforcing the acquisition of it. Let us hope that
this want of generalship will soon be amended, that our future fashionable
novels will not like Almacks be written half in one
| 406 | APPENDIX. |
“Having thus given vent to my patriotic feelings on this subject, you will allow me to inquire in what manner the Fund means to proceed with such translations from the Sanscrit, as are executed by foreign writers. It is to be hoped that the English translation of these will be superintended by some one acquainted with the original (the foreign translator if possible), or otherwise it is to be feared that much of the spirit of the Sanscrit will be suffered to evaporate in this complicated process. I am glad to observe that such numbers of learned foreigners have come forward on this occasion.
“This Society has certainly filled up one great hiatus in the list of the English literary associations; but there is another almost equally important to supply, which no steps appear to be taking. I allude to the want of a Geographical Society—a want which is the more singular, as our nation has always been, and still is, the very foremost in promoting geographical discoveries. The establishment of a society would of course do little if anything towards the augmentation of our spirit of enterprise, because it is already at the greatest height it can be supposed possible to attain to, but still it would furnish a point of union to travellers and scientific men, and a depository for geographical information, which it is shameful that we should want. I am convinced that if such an association were now to be formed it would in a few years become even more eminent and more eminently useful than the famous society of Paris. A library would soon be formed, for it cannot be conceived that the travellers who have shown themselves so eager to present their works to our continental rivals would be backward in paying the same compliment to us. Few things could be conceived more interesting than an evening party (what our neighbours would call a soirée) at the rooms of the Society, after the return of some distinguished traveller, his drawings, maps, curiosities, &c. lying on the tables, and himself in the centre of a circle of busy inquirers, anxious ever to catch a glance at the celebrated man.
| GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY. | 407 |
“With the earnest wish that these hurried remarks and suggestions may, by their insertion in your journal, attract the attention of some one of influence in these matters,
“I remain, sir, yours, &c.
“P.S. I am irresistibly induced to make this rambling letter yet more rambling by inquiring whether Sir Walter Scott is yet in town, and what is his residence. I would keep watch at his door for four and twenty hours, were it only to catch a momentary glimpse of the wizard of the North. Please to answer this in your next.”
On the 20th of September, Mr. Huttmann’s letter (in my text) kept the subject partially alive, but 1829 passed away without any very strenuous efforts in private, and the proposal seemed to be all but asleep.
On the 8th of May, 1830, however, appeared the observations also given in my text, and embodying the steps which had then recently been adopted to revive the scheme, which was acknowledged in a letter of the 18th, from Mr. Britton, and farther particulars of the progress made, promised; but I do not find any published trace of the communication, and presume it was superseded by the meeting under Mr. Barrow, on the 24th of the same month. But Mr. Britton had previously addressed the gist of what had been concerted in the following letter to Mr. Davies Gilbert, and the prospectus which I have specified was issued.
“It appears, from what has come to my knowledge, that several
gentlemen, wholly unconnected, both in London and in various parts of the country,
have meditated on the formation of a Geographical Society, some of whom have their
favourite schemes, some have vague and crude theories, some have made collections
on the subject, and others, a large majority, are ready to co-operate in any
judicious plan that may be calculated to promote the science by means of a
respectable and effective institution. Hence it is evident that the friends to the
cause are numerous and ardent, and in my own estimation it is equally evident that,
as soon as an efficient committee be formed, and ‘a local habitation and a
name’ be obtained, that the accession of members will be rapid, and
of the most
| 408 | APPENDIX. |
“The following will convey some idea of the extent of the objects contemplated by geography, with the variety and interest of their tendencies.”
The printed prospectus, dated May 16, was, when the proof was corrected, as follows:—
“Among the numerous societies of this vast
metropolis, there is not one devoted to geography, yet it is generally
admitted that this is a science of paramount consequence to the interests
of a nation. It is also a lamentable fact, that the geographical writings
of this, and indeed of other countries, are still very imperfect and
defective. The Society founded at Paris for geographical purposes, in 1821,
almost immediately enrolled the names of 300 members. By the activity of
those members, by the éclat attached to their
proceedings, and by the numerous prizes they confer, it may be presumed
that both new inquiries have been excited, and useful results obtained.
England, however, requires for itself a Geographical Society, and the
present epoch may be considered favourable to its establishment. Profiting
by the constitution and laws of its foreign precursor, and also by those of
other institutions in London, if may be founded
| GEOGRAPHICAL SOCIETY. | 409 |
“In order to show, at a glance, the beneficial and various inquiries which it is proposed to encourage, the leading divisions of the science may be arranged under the following heads:—
ABSOLUTE. Of the mass and form of the Globe; motions and intrinsic properties of the Globe; of effects from celestial causes.
PHYSICAL. Natural divisions and geological features of the world; mountains, plains, deserts, mines, and minerals; particulars of the animal and vegetable kingdoms; seas, lakes, rivers, and springs; currents, tides, hydrographical data; climate, winds, weather, and seasons; volcanoes, earthquakes, and other phenomena.
SPECIAL. Ancient and modern history of the earth; the distribution of races and languages; names, derivation, and revolutions of states and cities; latitudes and longitudes, astronomical and geodesical; the variation, dip, and other magnetic phenomena; determination of heights and distances; relative magnitude of all countries and nations.
POLITICAL. Population, division of the people, general statistics; artificial division of lands, agriculture, produce; commerce, manufactures, fisheries; government, manners, customs, laws, policy; canals, roads, mills, bridges, markets; religion, education, forces, arts.
“The object of the proposed society is to collect, register, and digest all the useful facts comprehended under the above titles; and it is considered that, with moderate funds, the following objects may be readily accomplished, viz.:—
“I. A convenient house, or chambers, for the members to meet in at stated times; to preserve their books, papers, and other property; and to which strangers and foreigners may be admitted.
“II. A library to contain all the best books on geography, with maps, charts, and plans, old and new.
“III. A correspondence to be formed with
similar societies in different parts of the world, or with natives of
foreign countries
| 410 | APPENDIX. |
“IV. The society may be a depository for all the geographical knowledge that exists: from its books, maps, &c., the most exact information may be obtained by persons who propose to visit foreign countries; and our own travellers, who often collect much useful information that is never published, might deposit the results of their observations or inquiries in the library of this society.
“V. Were prizes occasionally offered, as in the Parisian society, for the determination of particular questions, many of our countrymen, who visit remote regions, would doubtless be stimulated to those diligent observations and enquiries which would extend our knowledge of geographical facts.
“VI. In a short time the society would possess a mass of materials and information which they would wish to communicate to the public; for the society, to be extensively useful, must impart its acquired knowledge to the world.
“VII. Instead of printing occasionally an expensive volume of transactions, accessible but to few persons, except members, it is thought that it will be more advisable to publish periodically, in a small and cheap form, all the original communications of approved merit, as well as the useful results at which the society arrives. Such a geographical journal, it is presumed, will be likely to find a sufficient number of purchasers to defray all its expenses, and even add something to the funds of the society.
“The preceding plan and remarks are committed to the press, and submitted to the consideration of a few literary and scientific gentlemen, merely to direct their attention to the subject; to call forth their opinions and suggestions for the furtherance of the object; and to solicit the advice and aid of those who are at once qualified and disposed to co-operate in the establishment of a British Geographical Society.
“The secretary arrogates no merit on the
occasion but that of volunteering his services as a medium of communication
between parties, and undertaking to act as an official adviser and agent
till the system be matured, and the society be organised. He will then
readily resign his post to any person who may be chosen by the body of
subscribers; and further pledges himself to present some useful books,
maps, &c.,
| BABY. | 411 |
|
“Death sends Truth hefore it as its messenger.”
|
Every reader of common sagacity will readily perceive at once how the following auto-biography was communicated; and therefore I will not, as is too much the fashion among authors by profession, trouble them with unnecessary explanation. Suffice it to say, that the authenticity of the narrative is unquestionable; for I had it out of the individual’s own mouth, and I have not altered one syllable. Sceptical persons might doubt the existence of those precocious talents which enabled Baby at the early age of twenty-four hours to deliver the painful relation of all its experience and sufferings in this world; but when it is recollected that the human mind often exhibits wonderful phenomena amid the bright glances which precede death, it will be acknowledged that the present memoir is the result of one of these half-mundane, half-celestial illuminations of the spirit.
“My first perception of life,” said Baby, “or at least the first particular which
I consider it fitting to record—for I am
| 412 | APPENDIX. |
“The moment I perceived that her intentions were fatal, I set up a squall which you might have heard, in the stillness of the night, quite across the square; but it was utterly disregarded, or made the subject of mockery. ‘There’s a stout boy,’ cried the demon, ‘I’ll warrant ye, that will expand the bones of his head for him.’ My poor head indeed was the immediate object of her attack; for taking another gulp of gin from a glass, and spouting some of the fiery fluid into her hand, she instantly deluged my skull with it, and rubbed with all her might. Oh, the dreadful torture which I endured! The burning substance penetrated through the fontinelle, or mole of the head, to my very brain, and scorched it into agony. I writhed and screamed in vain; and, the paroxysm of madness over, uttered a low and piteous moaning which might have melted the heart of a fiend. But mercy was never meant for me. Conscious of my inherent rights and dignity as a British man-child, and resolved to support both at the expense of my fortune and existence, oppression and tyranny were soon leagued against me, and I was crushed by the foul combination.
“Not yet a quarter of an hour old, the barbarous usage I had undergone was but a prelude to the whole iniquitous course which was systematically pursued against me by all but one being, who, from her affection to me, was exposed to almost equally relentless persecution. My poor mamma, she alone showed any sympathy for Baby; but she was too powerless to afford me sufficient succour in aid of my own brave exertions.
| BABY. | 413 |
“Finding that the application of the gin, though it turned my brain, did not absolutely destroy me, the old woman, whom they called Nurse (Curse would have been a juster title) endeavoured to kill me in another way. There was a large brown pan in the middle of the appartment filled with tepid water, and into this the murderess plunged me headlong. She thought she could drown me, but again my activity and presence of mind prevailed, and I saved myself from a watery grave by the vigour with which I kicked, and the force with which I squalled. Astonished by my courageous conduct, and baffled in her vile scheme, the tigress was compelled to desist; but if she could not accomplish the murder she could gratify her hellish spite, which she did by taking an opportunity to scrape me from head to foot, more in the manner of a dead pig than a living boy. I was much hurt by this process; my excoriated skin smarted all over, and I could do nothing but cry and howl as if my lungs were bursting. To this natural appeal no attention whatever was paid by my unnatural enemies.
“The next attempt upon me was of a different, but hardly less infamous character. You are aware how they used to treat their mummies in Egypt in the olden time. From this I presume the hint was taken for the new torment practised upon me. Laying me in her lap, the malignant old woman took a long roll of linen and began to swathe me up as if indeed I were a defunct Egyptian, never intended to stir or breathe more on this earth. Round and round did she whirl me; and I never experienced such a sensation of giddiness before, as that which now overcame me. I could frame an idea what it was to be tumbled about, but to be tossed and gyred in this violent manner was too much to be borne. I was, however, reduced to passive endurance by being so tightly bound, and so worn out by the conflict I had inflexibly maintained, that I seemed almost reckless of what was done to me.
“I fancied at last they were going to execute me without the formality of judge or jury, for they put an ugly cap upon my head, and brought a band under my chin and across my throat to strangle me, drawing the ligature even to suffocation. I cannot tell how I escaped, but I did escape this, the third attempt upon my life, within the first thirty minutes of its duration.
“A very few moments’ repose being allowed
me, I began to
| 414 | APPENDIX. |
“Having walked into the world about midnight, I looked at the time-piece on the mantel-shelf, and found that I had been more than two hours in this busy life; but circumstances had crowded so rapidly into that space, and I had been made so utterly miserable by the stirring scenes in which I acted so important a part, that I felt no appetite whatever. On the contrary, I seemed to entertain a loathing for food; my indignation may therefore be conceived when I observed the odious female, to whom I have so often already had occasion to allude, preparing some diet, and evidently for me. I knew it by the scowl upon her countenance, as she took up a bottle and poured some of its contents into a silver teaspoon; my presentiment was almost instantly realised. Seizing me quickly unawares, I had barely a moment to extend my jaws in the act of bawling for assistance, when the gag or spoon was thrust into my mouth, and the whole of its nauseous freight forced down my throat. Scream I could not—a sort of gurgling noise was all that could be heard; I sank back, and thus tasted the first of bitterness my youthful stomach was doomed to receive.
“I have intimated that, like other geniuses, I
was born with literary tastes, and a taste for the fine arts. I am sure,
had my life been prolonged, I should have turned a celebrated author as
well as painter. As it has been decreed, I can only claim the fame of being
‘The Little Unknown.’ But there
was something curious in the coincidence that my earliest acquaintance with
literature and painting should be so vastly disagreeable as to consist of
my reading Ol. Ricini on the bottle whence I had
been poisoned, and swallowing that oil which might have been the medium of
a nobler production than it was now destined to produce. Mingled with the
tints of a Titian, it
| BABY. | 415 |
“A sense of sickness took possession of me. I asked myself Is this the food of human beings? Is it for the enjoyment of such delicacies as this that gourmandism and sensuality fill so prodigious an extent in the existence of men? If it be so, how I pity them! Ah! were their palates as pure as mine, how would they abhor and nauseate such indulgences! I am ashamed to own it, but as this is a biography of truth (and I believe the only one ever written), I must confess, à la Rousseau, that I internally exclaimed with an oath, ‘It is d——d bad.’ The recording angel, I trust, considering my provocation, would deal mercifully with this offence.
“Fatigue had now completely exhausted me, and sleep began to steal over my faculties. A yawn was the sign of this soporific condition; and will it be credited that the wretched Nurse would not even permit this natural symptom? She who had violently forced my mouth open for her own cruel purpose, would not suffer me to open it myself, but the moment she saw me seeking this relief, she clapped her finger and thumb under my lower jaw, which she pushed upwards till I thought it would have cracked again.
“Inured to suffering, sleep at length closed my weary eyelids, and I slumbered free from sorrows for awhile. But it was the mere insensibility of tired nature—not a sweet and refreshing repose. Ignorant people, and especially poets, talk of balmy sleep being like an infant’s. Bah! they must have forgotten their infancy—the swaddling which precludes free respiration—the other incumbrances of babyhood. For my share I had a horrid dream. I fancied I was put away from the world again, and I could, but I will not, a tale unfold.
“I woke but to fresh troubles, to new and
unheard-of inflictions, of which it is almost impossible to state whether
the utter nastiness or the barbarity were the most shameful. Like a
criminal from the rack condemned to undergo further ordeals, no sooner did
the Nurse notice that I was taking a survey of the chamber than she
immediately darted upon her prey. From a small skillet or pan she spooned
forth a thickish unpleasant substance, whether called pap or gruel I never
could learn, for I heard both names applied indiscriminately: and first—oh,
beast!—drawing the mess through an ordeal of mouth never to
| 416 | APPENDIX. |
“The consequence might easily have been foreseen, but it was very hard that, from no excess of my own, I was attacked with cholera—the fashionable name for what my grandmamma in ultra-refinement termed a stomach complaint. But whether called by a learned Greek, a fashionable, or a vulgar name, I was compelled to indure what I had been compelled to incur. I was no volunteer glutton or drunkard: superior to man I had not made the ill of which I had so much to complain.
“Had it not been for the continuance of my malady, I might have fancied that the world was not a perpetual hell. For several hours I was not meddled with. A great piece of flannel was wrapped round my head and shoulders, and I was smothered in the bed, which had something of warmth more consonant to my constituted habits than the cold of a winter night, to which I had been so much exposed.
“A weary period having elapsed, I was removed from my nest. The fire yet burned cheerfully, but the candle had grown to an immense wick with a top like the dome of St. Paul’s, and a light dim and flickering. Nurse sat by the fireside in a great arm-chair, smelling more than ever of the beverage which was as the breath of her nostrils; that breath, by-the-by, was ever and anon turned to a deep, but by no means musical diapason. Lying on her knee during one of these naps, I gazed around with that degree of curiosity which new situations commonly excite, for I naturally wished to become acquainted with the manners, habits, and customs of my fellow creatures. The view impressed me with no idea of comfort. Phials with labels about their necks, pipkins, napkins, basins, clothes, chairs, and tables at all sort of angles, &c., &c., seemed so untidy that I could well understand why it was called a sick-room; it was enough to make any body sick.
“As morning approached, two or three maids
began to peep in. They giggled, walked on tiptoe, and appeared as highly
elated as if each had borne a son of her own. They drank with the Nurse,
and carried off some tea and sugar to make breakfast.
| BABY. | 417 |
“Carrying me in her arms, the Nurse about this time went towards the window, and quietly withdrawing the curtain, lest my mamma should observe how malignantly she was treating me, exposed me to the full glare of morning. The flash of pain was excessive; instinct shut up my eyes, or I should have been blinded for life. But this was only one of the slightest of the miseries heaped upon me.
“Soon after, my first acquaintance on earth returned, under pretence of inquiring about my health. The villain, in my own hearing, approved of all that had been done to me, and spoke of repeating the same kind of usage, if I presumed to dispute their authority. While he was talking another man came in, who I soon gathered was another ruthless enemy of mine. Indeed I saw now that he was the origin of all my distress—the instigator of my persecution, and like a coward bribed others to commit the crime he had not courage to perpetrate with his own hands. I tried hard to divine what new plot was hatching against me, but could not make it out. I only observed this fellow slip the bribe into the open fingers of the other, who—though called doctor, which is derived from learning—looked smilingly like a murderer, evidently promised acquiescence, and walked away, grinning most diabolically as he conveyed the gold to his pocket.
“The noise, I presume, waked my poor mamma,
for she uttered a low noise, and moved slightly on her pillow. Alas! it was
but to provoke outrage; the second savage strode up to the bed, and putting
his face close to hers gave her a smack, which, though partially concealed,
was perfectly audible to my ear. How I longed for a giant’s strength
to punish the miscreant! but I was condemned to a similar fate. The
suffering saint was so accustomed to ill-treatment, that she only smiled
faintly and waved her pale hand, when the assassin quitted his prey and
advanced towards me. My rage and hatred were inconceivable: I think I could
have repelled him had he assailed me alone, but one of his infamous
associates was still left to help him; she held me towards him, and he
served me exactly as he had served my martyr of a mother. Till then I
| 418 | APPENDIX. |
“A few words passed between them; and again inflicting the torture upon his unhappy and unresisting wife, the flinty-hearted tyrant withdrew.
“I had hitherto preserved considerable resolution under the indignities and dangers of my situation; but the last occurrence depressed me exceedingly. I clearly perceived that the only living creature attached to me by sympathy was exposed to the worst of injuries on that account: I saw that she was broken-spirited and uncomplaining, though decidedly unable to undergo, as I had done, the continued attacks of our adversaries: as a proof of this, I may state, that she took a cup of the oil, which the nurse presented to her, without even kicking or squalling. My soul died within me, and the shock of my feelings, I have no doubt, hastened my own dissolution.
“Well, the day wore on: several women called
in for a few minutes, and all seemed of a mind that I ought to be made away
with. One advised a second spoonful of oil as the means; another something
named Daffy’s Elixir; a third, a drop or two of gin—on which the
Nurse swallowed a bumper aside, to show, as it were, how it might be taken
without flinching. Among the rest, was a very old female, whom they styled
grandmamma, because she was dressed in a stately guise: this hideous person
disguised herself by putting two round glasses over her eyes, and then came
close to me. Oh, the insufferable beldam! a powder, of the most pungent and
acrid nature, which she had concealed about her nose till near enough to
shake it over my innocent organs, was so cunningly applied that I was not
even
| BABY. | 419 |
“By degrees we were left again to night and solitude; but my nerves had been so lacerated, and my constitution so impaired, that it soon became too evident the machinations of the conspirators were likely to terminate to their contentment. Lest it should be too slow, one of them was again sent for—my first worthy friend—and he ordered more poisons to be forced down my throat. In nothing was I left to nature; my very limbs were encumbered as if they had dreaded that being born a sans culottes, a sans culottes I should die: the inconveniency of this I will not describe. I was born to ill-luck in everything—to good-luck in nothing.
“Flayed, drowned, insulted, incapacitated, smothered, abused, tortured, poisoned, is it to be wondered at that I resigned myself quietly to the prospect of a release? My poor mamma was unhappy, and cried; and the last of the conspirators appeared upon the stage. He was a ferocious looking fellow, with a red face and twinkling eyes; and I suppose he was brought at the late hour from a masquerade as he was dressed in a domino. I fancy he had taken off his mask, but I will not positively assert aught of which I am not sure. Be that as it may, he took a little book from his pocket, and mumbled a few sentences (it would have gratified the literary taste with which I was born had he uttered them distinctly); he then dipped his fingers into some water, and contemptuously threw it in my face. Previous to this, however, there was a dispute among the actors in my tragedy. Mamma said softly, ‘Let it be William Frederick Augustus Gustavus: I so love a beautiful name, and one of which he may be proud hereafter.’ But my ruthless Papa replied, ‘No, it must be Peter Nathaniel, or uncle Peter may be offended, and old Nat. Curmudgeon, who has promised to stand godfather, forget him in his will.’ ‘Peter Nathaniel,’ accordingly exclaimed the black ruffian, when he dashed the water over my piteous countenance.
“It was of less consequence, for the curtain
was now about to fall; I felt too weak to resist this last contumely, and
submitted to be placed on the bed of my sorrowing parent. She laid me
gently on her bosom, and the sight was so affecting that
| 420 | APPENDIX. |
With this beautiful sentence Baby concluded his autobiography, to which I have only two particulars to add, which I did not introduce into the narration for fear they might interrupt its simple pathos and elegant connexion. When I heard Baby state in the course of it, oftener than once, that he was a genius and born with a natural taste for literature, I thought it right to ask him for a definition of a man—a definition which Plato, and a considerable number of philosophers since Plato, have failed to reach. To this he replied, with wonderful promptitude—
Man is a Writing Animal. |
“Since I have been so
quickly done for, I marvel what I was begun for!!!”
|
Palmam qui meruit ferat.—W.
J.
|
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